Лилиан Браун - The Cat Who Came To Breakfast

Qwilleran had a feeling that he had just found buried treasure. The lighthouse mystery had never been mentioned by Homer Tibbitt.

Harriet returned. "My grampa told this story over and over again, so I practically know it by heart. My great-grampa was mixed up in it."

"Is that so? Was he a lightkeeper himself?"

"No, the guv'ment never hired islanders. That made "em mad! It was like saying they were too dumb, or couldn't be trusted. The guv'ment hired three men from the mainland to live on the rock and keep the light burning. It was an oil lamp in those days, you know. Every so often a guv'ment boat delivered oil for the beacon and food for the keepers, and it was all hauled up the cliff by rope. There were some zigzag steps chiseled in the side of the cliff—you can see "em from the lake—but they were slippery and dangerous. Still are! When the guv'ment boat brought a relief man, he was hauled up like the groceries, by rope."

"How did your great-grandfather become involved, Harriet?"

"Well, he was kind of a leader, because he could read and write."

"Was that unusual?"

"Ay-uh. They didn't have a school. The settlers were kind of a forgotten colony—not only forgotten but looked down on."

"Where did your great-grandfather get his learning, then?"

"His pa taught him. His pa was kind of a preacher, but that's another whole story."

Qwilleran said impatiently, "Don't keep me in suspense, Harriet. What happened?"

"Well, one dark night my great-grampa woke up suddenly and didn't know why. It was like a message from the Lord. Wake up! Wake up! He got out of bed and looked around outside, and he saw that the beacon wasn't burning. That was bad! He put on his boots and took a lantern and went to the lighthouse, to see what was wrong. It was about a mile off. When he got there, there weren't any men around, and then he shouted—no answers! The fence gate was locked, so he climbed over. The door on the keepers" cottage was standing open, but there was nobody there. He thought of trying to light the beacon himself, but the door to the tower was locked. He didn't know what to do."

"There was no wireless at that time?" Qwilleran asked.

"No wireless—no radio—no telephone. That was a long time ago, Mr. Q. So ... my great-grampa went home. Passing ships must've reported the beacon being out, because . . . pretty soon the island was swarming with constables and soldiers, arresting people, searching houses, and even digging up backyard graves. They didn't have regular cemeteries then."

"Did they think the islanders had murdered the men? What would be the motive?"

"The guv'ment thought the islanders really wanted ships to be wrecked so they could rob them. They believed the old lie about pirate blood. That was a hundred years ago, and people still believe it! Makes me boiling mad!"

"Old legends never die," Qwilleran said. (They only get made into movies, he thought.) "Were the bodies ever found?"

"Never. The police suspected my great-grampa and took him to the mainland for questioning."

"Why? Because he climbed over the fence?"

"Because he could read and write. They thought he was dangerous."

"Incredible! Are you sure this story is true, Harriet?"

She nodded soberly. "He kept a diary and wrote everything down. My ma has it hidden away."

Qwilleran said, "I'd give a lot to see that diary!" He was thinking, What a story this will make!... Homer Tibbitt, eat your heart out!

"Ma won't show the diary to anybody," Harriet said. "She's afraid it'll be stolen."

"Haven't you ever seen it?"

"Only once, when I was in seventh grade. I had to be in a program for Heritage Day, so my ma let me see it. It had some weird things."

"Like what?" he asked.

"I remember one page, because I had to memorize it for the program. August 7. Fine day. Lake calm. Light wind from southeast. Hauled nets all day. Mary died in childbirth. Baby is fine, thank the Lord ... August 8. Cool. Some clouds. Wind shifting to northeast. Three rabbits in traps. Buried Mary after supper. Baby colicky. A few days after, the light burned out," Harriet concluded, "and the soldiers dug up the grave."

"Ghastly!" Qwilleran said. "How could your greatgrandfather write about such things without emotion?"

"Islanders don't cry. They just do what they have to do," said Harriet, "and it doesn't matter how hard it is."

Qwilleran thought, They never laugh either. He asked her, "Had the islanders been on friendly terms with the lightkeepers?"

"Ay-uh. They celebrated feast days together, and Grampa took them fresh fish sometimes. They'd give him some hardtack. The islanders couldn't go inside the fence, but the keepers could come out."

"Were there any changes in the system after the disappearance?"

"Well, the guv'ment kept on sending three men from the mainland to do the job, but they had big dogs."

"Congratulations, Harriet. You report the facts as if you were actually there."

"I've heard it so many times," she said modestly.

"It'll make a sensational piece for the "Qwill Pen" column. Is it okay to quote you?"

Her pleasure at being complimented turned to sudden alarm. "Which do you mean? Not the lighthouse story!"

"Especially the lighthouse mystery," he corrected her. "This is the first I've heard of such an incident, and I've read a lot of county history."

Harriet put her hands to her face in chagrin. "No! No! You can't write anything about that! I just told you because I thought you'd be personally interested. I didn't know ..."

Why, Qwilleran wondered, do people give journalists sensational information or personal secrets that they don't want published? And why are they so surprised when it appears in print? What would happen if I ran this story anyway? Historical data obtained from an anonymous source ... And then he thought, The lighthouse story might be a hoax. Does she know it's not true? It might be a family fiction invented to go with the ambiguous bronze plaque in the lighthouse compound. As for the diary, that's probably a myth, too. To Harriet he said, "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't publish the lighthouse story. Your reason will be confidential."

"It'll make trouble. It'll make trouble in the village." She moistened her lips anxiously.

"What kind of trouble?"

"Don't you know what happened Memorial weekend? I think Mr. Exbridge stopped it from getting in the paper. Some men from the mainland—from Lockmaster—came to the village with shovels and started digging for buried pirate treasure. They dug big holes in front of Ma's house and near the school. They had a map that they'd bought for fifty dollars from some man in a bar."

Qwilleran suppressed an urge to chuckle. "How did the villagers get rid of them?"

"Some rabbit hunters chased them out. The diggers complained to the sheriff's deputy about harassment, but he laughed and told them to go home and say nothing about it, or they'd look like fools. He reported it to Mr. Exbridge, though, and Mr. Exbridge said he'd done right."