Mary Burton - The Lightkeeper's Woman

“Don’t die on me!”

The old man was drowning, and it was her fault they’d come out here. She should have waited until tomorrow. Why hadn’t she just waited?

Mr. Crowley’s head popped to the surface a good five feet from the boat. He gasped for air and spit up a lungful of water. Desperation tightened his face as he reached again for the oar she held out. His fingers dug into the smooth wood like fishhooks and he pulled himself closer to the boat.

Alanna struggled to keep the paddle steady. She strained against his weight and fought not to tumble into the water herself. Her limbs burned from exertion. The cold had sunk to the marrow of her bones. “I can’t hold on much longer.”

He spit out a mouthful of water. “Pull, woman, pull,” he yelled. “I ain’t ready to die yet.”

Her breath was labored, and she fought against the weariness slipping into her bones.

Crowley pulled himself closer to the boat and then swung one hand over the rim. He drew in a deep breath and struggled to pull himself in the boat. “Grab my belt, woman!”

Alanna dropped the oar and reached for Crowley’s thick belt. Angry wind blew rain sideways, but she tightened her numb fingers around the leather and pulled him up. He lifted one foot up on the side of the boat and yanked himself out of the water.

She felt a tremor of elation. He was going to make it back into the boat. He would get them to shore. Everything was going to be fine.

A swell of water from the north blindsided Alanna. The unexpected shove to her overextended body threw her off balance. She tried to right herself but she tumbled over the edge of the boat into the water.

Her open mouth and eyes filled with seawater and for dark, tense seconds, she flailed around, not sure what was up and what was down. Her skirts weighed her down and her lungs ached for air. Forced to tap into energy she’d never known she possessed, she kicked and battled the sea.

Alanna burst through the surface. Her arms smacked against the choppy waters and she struggled to keep her face above water long enough to breathe. Air filled her lungs. She was a strong swimmer, but her clothes made staying afloat in the choppy water next to impossible.

Salt water stung her eyes, blurred her vision. She focused on the Sea Witch. It bounced on the water just out of her reach. “Help!”

Crowley glanced in her direction and scanned the waves.

“Help!” she shouted. “Over here.”

For the briefest instant his gaze locked on her. And then he turned away.

“I’m here!”

Crowley sank the oars back into the water and started to row away from her toward the mainland.

Barely able to stay above water, she raised her arm to signal him. “Help! Mr. Crowley, don’t leave me.”

The old seaman rowed away from her as if he hadn’t heard her plea.

Had the wind drowned out her voice? “Help!”

Please save me.

Her legs and arms neared exhaustion. She started to sink. She gulped in a mouthful of water.

The idea that she might die stoked her anger and made her fight harder. But her fury was no match for the numbing cold. She slipped under the water.

Her lungs begged for air, but she knew the next breath would fill her lungs with water, not air. How long could she hold on? Thirty seconds? Forty?

There was so much she’d done wrong in her life. She should have found it in her heart to forgive Caleb. She should have tried to understand him better. She should have listened more closely to her father during the days before his suicide.

Let me live. I swear I’ll make amends. I’ll never miss church again. I’ll give more time to the poor.

Please, I don’t want to die.

A viselike grip wrapped around the collar of her dress.

Death had come to claim her.

She clawed at the hand and kicked her legs wildly. She would not go into the underworld without a fight.

But her body was beyond exhaustion and Death was too strong. It pulled her through the water.

Then suddenly, she broke through the surface of the water. Air! She sucked in oxygen as rain pelted her face. The hard edge of a boat scraped against her belly before she unceremoniously landed in the bottom of a boat.

Alanna collapsed on her side, coughing. Chilled to the bone, she lay still for a moment as she filled and refilled her body with oxygen. Slowly, her mind cleared enough for her to realize she was safe.

“Mr. Crowley?” she said, her eyes still closed.

“Crowley’s gone.” Anger tinged a raspy voice.

“Where?”

He draped a worn blanket over her shivering body. “Back toward the mainland.”

Her teeth chattering, she clutched the rough blanket with trembling hands. So cold. “He left me.”

“Yes.”

She huddled under the blanket. “Am I dead?”

“No, you’re very much alive.”

She nearly wept with gratitude. “Thank you.”

Black-booted feet braced on either side of her. “Don’t thank me yet. We’re far from safe.”

She opened her eyes. Rain dropped on her face, making it difficult to focus.

Her rescuer’s face was turned toward the lighthouse’s steady beacon, but she could see that he was dressed in a heavy black coat and wore a stocking cap. His shoulders were broad, his legs powerfully built. Large callused hands gripped the oars.

Tears tightened her chest. What little strength remained, the cold now sapped. Struggling to think, she closed her eyes and slipped into unconsciousness.

Caleb glanced down at Alanna. Curled on the bottom of his boat, she was breathing, but she looked painfully small and her blond curls were matted against her pale skin.

She’d need warm, dry clothes soon or the cold would suck the life from her. But for now, all he could do for her was get her to shore.

Caleb set his sights on the lighthouse shore. His body was well conditioned to the hard work but soon the winds would be too much for him.

The dory bumped against the sandy shore thirty minutes later. He jumped from the boat and yanked it onto land. Rain pelted his face as he tied the boat line to the moorings of a small dock.

He quickly stowed the oars in the boat bottom and lifted Alanna into his arms. Even with the weight of her damp clothes and cape, he could tell she’d lost weight. Alanna had always been vibrant and alive, never frail.

The years had taken a toll on them both.

The thought offered Caleb no satisfaction as he hoisted her against his chest and started toward the small white-framed cottage just a hundred yards from the base of the lighthouse. A black shutter had come loose from its lock and banged in the wind against the side of the house. A rooster-shaped weather vane atop the roof spun wildly in circles.

He glanced up toward the lighthouse to make sure the light still burned bright. Satisfied when he saw its steady flash, he strode up the five steps to the porch and pushed through the front door.

Water dripped from his clothes and Alanna’s skirts as he strode down the darkened hallway toward a back room he reserved for the rescued. He laid her on a bed outfitted with fresh sheets.

Caleb pulled off his wet gloves and lit a lamp and then the preset fire in the hearth. He waited until flames flickered, sparked and spit out the first bit of warmth.

He drew back, shrugged off his coat and hung it on the back of a wooden chair before turning his attention to Alanna.

He raised the lantern. Her damp blond ringlets blanketed her face and her gloved fingers were curled into small fists as if she still fought for her life.

He touched her cheek, needing to reassure himself that she was real. Her skin felt cold, but her breathing sounded stronger.

The wet clothes were seeping the warmth from her body and if he didn’t undress her soon, what the storm hadn’t accomplished, hypothermia would.