To Keep the South Manitou Light

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86 The sight of the old woman blocking the doorway was so unexpected , so out of place up at the top of the light, that it made Jessie stumble back onto the icy balcony. “Fallen down, fallen down.” Omie wobbled her head sadly back and forth. Suddenly Jessie was somewhere else. She was a little girl with cold hands playing with her dog on the ice-crusted snow blanketing the beach. It was a gray day with snow in the air. Uncle Jim was on the upper balcony of the lighthouse. His arm moved up and down as he scraped the ice off the tall windows. Her dog barked, and she turned to see Omie struggling down the beach toward her. Every step Omie took left a deep footprint in the snow. Her breath sent out clouds of steam that hung in the air. “Jessie, meine Jessie,” she said, opening her arms. “Home, kommen home.” “I’m not your Jessie. No, I’m not!” she cried, backing away. Her little dog circled them, barking, barking. Then Omie caught hold of her and hugged her close. She felt as if she were suffocating inside Omie’s damp, smelly shawl. “Leave me alone!” she cried, trying to fight her way out of the woman’s embrace. 24 “Uncle Jim!” she shouted. “Uncle Jim!” At the top of the lighthouse, he turned and looked down. “Omie!” he yelled. He stepped over the rail and started climbing down the ladder . But then something happened, something awful happened, and he was falling . . . somersaulting down . . . down. Omie’s strong arms let go of her. And everything was quiet. Quiet except for the sound of the gray waves slapping against the icy rocks. All this Jessie saw in an instant. Then she was back, standing on the windswept lower balcony with Omie in the doorway. Jessie screamed, her cry piercing the curtain of the blizzard and bouncing off the rocks below. Omie backed into the round room at the top of the lighthouse. “Omie! You killed him! You killed my Uncle Jim, didn’t you? You made him fall!” Jessie felt the words strangling her.“Why did you grab me? You made me yell for him. That made him fall. Didn’t it, Omie? Didn’t it?” The old woman rocked sadly back and forth, her head bowed. “I hate you, Omie! I hate you!” Jessie shouted, her voice choked. “I never want to see you again!” Omie lowered her head, not meeting Jessie’s eyes. She backed down the stairs, her large body filling the opening. When her gnarled fingers let go of the rim, Jessie banged the hatch shut. She lifted the wooden ladder from its alcove beside the door, and her mother’s gloves fell from one of the rungs. She shoved her trembling hands into the soft leather and then pushed the ladder through the door and out onto the slippery balcony. Again she struggled to pull the door shut, and it finally clanged against its metal frame. Inside her grandfather’s clothes, she was drenched with sweat. Looking up, Jessie lifted the wooden ladder until its metal 87 hooks grabbed the top of the iron railing. She shook the ladder. It seemed to be latched securely. Pressing herself against the rungs of the ladder, she inched her way upward. “Don’t look down. Just don’t look down,” she told herself. Rung after rung, she climbed. Now she was at eye level with the balcony. With her gloved hand she brushed off the snow. The knobby iron balcony under it was, as she feared, covered with a layer of ice. Hugging the ladder, she scraped at the ice in front of her. Now was the hardest part, going up the final rungs and stepping over the top of the ladder and down onto the balcony. “Just don’t think, Jessie, just don’t think,” she told herself. As she raised her left leg over the railing, a gust of icy wind whipped around the lighthouse, almost knocking her off-balance. Sleet pelted her face. Jessie gripped the railing. Squinting her eyes, she stepped over the top of the ladder and down onto the balcony. For what seemed like a long while, she huddled between the ice-covered windows and the ladder, unable to move. It was the burst of anger toward Omie that had gotten her up here, but now...