To Keep the South Manitou Light

26

93 “Help! Help me!” Jessie shouted. “I’m over the railing! Help!” Jessie craned her neck backward to look up. All she could see was the underside of the balcony. “Mama!” she yelled. “I’m over here! I can’t hang on!” Jessie closed her eyes and strained to keep her hold just one more minute, just one more second. Opening her eyes, it was Omie’s face she saw, Omie peering over the railing at her. “Help me, Omie!” Jessie cried. “Please . . . help me!” Omie swayed back and forth, clutching the top rail. With a sudden movement, she bent over the railing and grabbed Jessie’s right wrist. Then leaning way over, she grabbed Jessie’s left wrist. Jessie’s fingers let go of the railing. She shut her eyes. She felt her heart stop. For a horrible instant, Omie seemed to lose her balance, and it seemed to Jessie that both she and Omie were going to fall head over heels down to the rocks below. But then Jessie felt herself being lifted up, up and over the railing. Omie fell backward against the curving wall of the lighthouse, tumbling Jessie onto the balcony’s snowy floor. Jessie lay on the icy metal, gasping for breath. Her heart hammered in her ears. She pressed her head back against the cold balcony. It felt so solid, so good. Jessie was crying . . . laughing. She wasn’t going to fall. She wasn’t going to die. 26 Jessie raised her head. Omie was still sitting where she had landed. She was chewing on her hand, her eyes wide. Jessie crawled over to her. Slowly, she helped her up. Jessie was crying now. “Omie,” she said, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I said.” Omie rocked backed and forth. She opened her mouth as if she were going to speak but then closed it again. Jessie took Omie’s hand and led her back through the door of the lighthouse. She pushed the iron door shut and leaned against it. Oh, how wonderful that felt. Turning back to Omie, she saw, in the glow from the light, tears trickling down the wrinkles of the old woman’s face. Taking both of Omie’s gnarled, bare hands in her gloved ones, Jessie said, “Omie, we didn’t fall. Because of you, we didn’t fall. You saved my life, Omie.” Omie looked hard at Jessie as if she were trying to remember . Her own little girl named Jessie? Uncle Jim falling? Or was she thinking about what had just happened? She looked puzzled and sad, a mixture of both. “You were so good, Omie,” Jessie said and then corrected herself. “You are good, Omie.” She squeezed the old woman’s hands. A smile spread across Omie’s face. “Good,” she repeated. “Good, Omie. Good, Jessie.” And Jessie found herself, for the second time in her life, clutched in Omie’s strong arms. 94 ...