To Keep the South Manitou Light

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70 It was a fact. Jessie’s mother couldn’t walk. Not now. Maybe not for weeks. It was another fact that Jessie couldn’t stop the storm, the high waves, and the blasts of wind and sleet from coming. Jessie cranked the handle of the fog bell. She had to think. She had to force herself to think. Everything depended on her now. Everything. The light, the bell, her mother, all the ships entering the Manitou Passage tonight. Jessie gripped the wooden handle tightly, winding, winding. It was pitch dark outside. Night had come early. The metal gears of the fog bell reflected the light of Jessie’s lantern. With a creak, the door swung open. Jessie turned her head to see Omie rocking back and forth in the doorway. Right now, I need help, Jessie thought. Considering her feelings toward Omie, Jessie felt like a hypocrite, but if Omie could help with the bell, that would be one less thing to worry about. “Omie, I need you!” Jessie yelled, trying to make her voice heard over the clang. Omie grinned and nodded. “When the bell slows down,” Jessie yelled, “turn this crank to wind it up again. Do you understand?” Omie grinned and nodded again. Jessie wasn’t sure if Omie understood, so she took her hand, sticky with jelly, and placed it on the handle. She helped Omie 20 turn the crank a few times. Then Omie did it herself. The old woman looked up at Jessie, a questioning look in her heavy-lidded eyes. “Good, that was good, Omie,” Jessie said cupping her hands so Omie could hear. Omie smiled. “Good, good,” she repeated. “Just don’t wind it too tight,” Jessie added, remembering Omie’s strength. If the chain broke . . . Jessie didn’t even finish the thought. It wouldn’t break. “Not too tight,” Jessie said again. Jessie hurried to build a fire in the pot-bellied stove and pulled up her grandfather’s chair for Omie to sit on. Omie had already found his can of chewing tobacco. She spit a brown plug of it onto the brick floor. Jessie handed her an empty can. She didn’t wait for her to spit again. Instead, she yelled, “Omie, remember, don’t wind it too tight!” Omie nodded and grinned. A streak of tobacco juice dribbled out of one corner of her mouth. Cold rain stung Jessie’s cheeks as she made her way up the dark path to the house.“Please, God,” she prayed out loud.“Don’t let the chain break.” Jessie wondered if it had been a good idea after all to ask Omie to wind the bell. The good thing, Jessie thought, is that she’s out of the house.The idea of Omie wandering around in the house and the possibility that Omie might climb up the winding steps of the lighthouse made Jessie shudder . At least I’ll know where Omie is, she thought. Jessie looked up at the light that her mother had lit before she had fallen, before everything had changed. The light was burning, but—the light that should have been piercingly bright was blurred. Something was happening to the light! 71 ...