29
103 After she prepared the new lamp, Jessie slowly made her way up the ladder to the lantern. How will I ever tell Mama about tonight? she wondered. She remembered a story her grandmother had told about a woman whose brown hair turned white in an instant when she had a terrible scare. Jessie looked at her untidy braids, not white, not yet. Maybe when I have time to sit and think about what happened, Jessie thought. Maybe I’d better not tell Mama everything, at least not till she’s better and, for sure, not till we have some help or . . . Jessie didn’t want to think of that other possibility, at least not right now. Carefully, she placed the new lamp inside the lantern and closed the brass-hinged door. The circles of flame danced through the prisms of the lantern in a kaleidoscope of light. Jessie turned to look out the windows—now clear because she had gone out onto the icy balcony and scraped them, scraped them so the light could shine out across the treacherous Manitou Channel—all the way to the dark, low hills of the mainland. She touched the curved prisms of the lantern. With the cuff of her Granddad’s uniform she rubbed the brass fittings—polished, taken care of for so many years by her family. What does it mean to be brave? Jessie had always thought of her father sailing his ship through the wild waves. She thought of her mother, her grandfather, her Uncle Jim, and the courage it 29 took to climb that ladder to the icy balcony around the light. But there was another kind of courage, one she hadn’t comprehended as little as one day ago, the kind of courage it takes to write a letter and send it, realizing that you might be sending away forever everything you know and love. Mr. Hostetler was right, Jessie thought. She had done some growing up overnight. In two days, the mailboat would come on its twice-a-month trip to the island. Jessie knew, no matter what it might mean for her and her family, that she would send her mother’s second letter to the Lighthouse Service. In the half-moon-shaped harbor, she could see the silhouettes of ships, schooners, and steamers—how many, she didn’t know—rocking in the protected waters. Looking to the east, she saw the faintest crimson streak in the sky over Pyramid Point. In less than an hour it will be light, she thought. As she turned to leave the lantern room, Jessie spotted a schooner, its sails puffed with the wind, cutting its way toward the safety of the harbor. Through habit, Jessie counted the masts —three. Then she stopped and leaned closer to the window, squinting, trying to bring the ship closer. There was something very familiar about this three-masted schooner. Could it be her father’s ship, the Isabella? She was almost sure that it was. Jessie hurried down the ladder and through the hatch, clanging the iron door above her, closing it to protect the light. The End 104 ...
OR
