A Pocketful of Passage

11. A Pocketful of Passage

The Amaranth arrived as scheduled. Piles of wood were transferred from the ship to the dock while the captain and Mr. Lane discussed the weather, the war, and the latest Coast Guard news. Daddy put our boxes on the tender. Then he hugged and kissed each of us. “Be good and listen to your mother,” he said. “I’ll see you in December!” Then Daddy hugged Mama and whispered in her ear. She smiled and whispered something to him. “You folks ready?” the captain asked, glancing at his watch. 71 A Pocketful of Passage 01฀Campbell฀text.indd฀฀฀71 12/8/06฀฀฀1:53:48฀PM “All set,” Daddy replied. Mama led us up the short gangplank, and Daddy stayed on the dock. It was hard to leave Daddy, but I knew we would see him again. However, this was the last time I would see Passage Island. I looked at the stone lighthouse and the wonderful tower, our tram, the rocks and trees. “Remember all the colors,” I thought. “Remember.” The engine rumbled and the Amaranth eased away from the dock. I started to cry. Big silent tears ran down my face and dripped off my chin. I wiped them away with the back of my hand, but it was no use. I couldn’t stop crying. I tried to look back at the island, to see it one last time, but the ship rocked crazily as she plowed through the rough water and I fell against the rail. “Come inside, Annie,” Mama shouted. “Come inside right now or you’ll get washed overboard!” I obeyed, and I stumbled into the cabin because it was hard to see through my tears. Mama sat on a bench with one arm around Jo and the other cradling Sonny. I wanted to be alone and slumped down on a bench at the other end of the room. My nose was running, so I reached into my jacket pocket for a hankie. Empty. Maybe it was in my overalls pocket, I thought. So I stuck my hand into the pocket next to my leg. No hankie, but I felt other things. My fingers curled around them and gently pulled them out. In the palm of my hand were things I had collected during the summer: some pebbles, a greenstone, a bit of string, A Pocketful of Passage 72 01฀Campbell฀text.indd฀฀฀72 12/8/06฀฀฀1:53:48฀PM and a soft white feather with a gray tip. The feather was tattered because it had been in my pocket ever since Pete’s gull had dropped it on his dock. I didn’t care. When I saw it I couldn’t help but smile through my tears. I stroked it with my finger and remembered that exciting day. Gently , very gently, I slipped these bits and pieces back in my pocket and thought for a long, silent minute. I had left a bit of myself buried in a small tin box behind the lighthouse on Passage Island. But I had taken away a pocketful of Passage . I had a bit of the island with me. These treasures and the memories of my favorite lighthouse were mine to keep forever. A Pocketful of Passage 73 01฀Campbell฀text.indd฀฀฀73 12/8/06฀฀฀1:53:49฀PM 00฀Campbell฀FM.indd฀฀฀6 12/8/06฀฀฀1:52:53฀PM This page intentionally left blank ...