72 Jessie rushed into the sitting room. “Mama, the light! There’s something wrong!” Her mother looked at her, puzzled. Jessie was shocked at how strained her mother’s face looked. Propped up on a pillow, her ankle had swollen to twice its normal size. “Yes? What is it?” her mother asked, shaking her head as if to clear it. “The light’s blurry, Mama.” Trying to sit up, Jessie’s mother said, “Check the outside of the kitchen window. See if there’s ice on it.” Jessie had never heard fear in her mother’s voice—until now. As Jessie pushed up the window, a gust of freezing wind tore the curtain rod off its hooks. Leaning outside, she reached up to touch the panes of glass.They were cold, but they weren’t covered with ice. “No ice, just rain,” Jessie hurried to report. “Thank God,” her mother said, lying back down. She looked so tired. Jessie wished she could just let her mother sleep, but she had to have answers. “But, Mama, what do I do? The light isn’t shining clear.” Her mother struggled up onto her elbows. “The windows around the lantern are probably steamed up,” she said. “It’s gotten so cold outside, and the lamp makes heat up there. Go up into 21 73 the watch room and get the bottle of glycerine. You know where that is, don’t you?” “Yes, Mama,” Jessie replied, picking up the afghan that had fallen to the floor. “Pour some of the glycerine onto a clean cloth—there should be several up there. Then wipe the inside of the windows around the lantern. That usually keeps the glass from fogging up.” Jessie covered her mother with the afghan. Her mother winced when it touched her ankle. “Let’s just leave the ankle uncovered, honey,” she said, trying to smile. Jessie wanted to be the one being covered up, comforted. Nothing like this was supposed to happen. “Mama,” she began, “I’m sorry. I thought there wouldn’t be any storms. I thought Papa might come home.” Her mother reached over and took her hand. “How many times have we been through this, Jessie? You know I’ve forgiven you. Right now we just have to do the best we can.” Her voice caught as she tried to shift her foot to a more comfortable position . She looked up at Jessie with so much concern and worry that Jessie had to quickly look down at the braided rug. Squeezing her daughter’s hand, she corrected herself. “You’ll have to do the best you can, Jessie.” A blast of cold air swept across the room. Jessie raced to close the kitchen window that in her haste she had left open. # Jessie struggled up the spiral steps of the lighthouse. The heavy oilcan banged against each iron step. “One, two, three, four, five, . . .” she counted, her long skirt tangling around her legs. Every time she got to twenty-five she could rest on the small, level space before the next set of steps. On her next trip down, she vowed to find her grandfather’s trousers [18.206.185.68] Project MUSE (2024-03-29 13:09 GMT) and pull them on over her skirt. Maybe she would even wear his jacket instead of the shawl, which certainly wasn’t designed for this kind of work. She didn’t have the strength to lift the oilcan up through the first hatch and onto the floor of the watch room. So, slowly, carefully , she backed down the last twenty-five steps. I’ll just have to leave it down here, she thought, and make trips down to it when I need the oil. In the watch room, she found the bottle of glycerine and the clean cloths. Tucking the cloths in the waistband of her skirt, she made her way up the final fourteen iron steps and lifted the second hatch. Quickly closing it, she climbed the ladder to the lantern. Careful to avert her eyes from the blinding light, she poured some glycerine onto one of the cloths and began wiping the inside of the tall windows that surrounded the lantern. She moved quickly so she wouldn’t obscure the light, so the ship captains could see that it was a steady light, the South Manitou Island Light, and not be confused. Jessie didn’t look down; she tried not even to look out. She tried to pretend...