Leave The Light On

The old woman sat gazing out the storm paned windows as she had done every night for seventy years.  Her name was Amelia, but none now lived that called her such. Long white hair, that was once a deep auburn, fell about her shoulders. Her skin had lost its youthful luster; it was now dried by the sun and salty air. But something in her gentle countenance and soft blue eyes gave a hint of the beauty she once was.

Amelia pulled a worn shawl tightly around her thin shoulders but it was a feeble effort. The draft had already seeped into her aged bones.  But she would not leave her post in the lantern room of the old lighthouse.  Not until death finally came to claim her.

Years ago, each day Amelia would have lovingly cleaned the interior and exterior of the lantern panes, cleaned the optic with spirits of wine. She also cleaned the chimney of the lamp, always making sure that spare clean lamps and chimneys were on hand. The clock weight was wound and the clockworks cleaned and oiled. These preparations for the coming evening she would have had completed before 10:00 am.

In the evening, as the keeper of the lighthouse, Amelia would ascend to the lantern room and check the wind direction. Then she would carefully adjust the vents to allow just enough draft into the lantern room. The entering draft would rise along the interior sides of the lantern panes keeping them from fogging.  The draft also sucked the fumes from the oil burning lamp out of the lantern room.  Once her work was done Amelia would walk along the galleries, looking for a ship out on the horizon.

Amelia was no longer required to wind the weights or trim the wicks of the lamp. No longer did she go about adjusting the vents. There was no lamp chimney that needed cleaning. The oil burning lamp had long ago been replaced by a modern eclectic one.  In fact the lighthouse no longer needed a keeper. And if it did she would be too old for the task. Amelia’s beloved lighthouse had outlived her.

Amelia was in her nineties now and knew death would not be long in coming. She felt it draw nearer every day. 

But until then she would watch the horizon for that ship. She would continue waiting for him, as she had promised long ago.

Amelia fingered the locket at her throat and let her eyes slipped closed. Her mind began a journey down the river of time.

She was a young girl of seventeen again.  Her red hair floated on the breeze, her skirts swirled around her ankles, as she ran along the white sands. She could smell the salt in the air, almost taste it.  Another ship had been dashed upon the rocks.  The wreckage lay a few yards off shore. All that could now be seen of the once proud schooner was a broken mast, its torn sails flapping in the wind. The churning sea was littered with debris. The foaming tide had carried splinters of wood, crates, barrels, and other items and deposited them on the sandy shore. It was among this refuse that she found him.

He could not have been much older than she. The boy’s fair hair was pasted to his head, wet from the sea. His features were pale with an almost bluish hue. Grains of sand clung to his face and lips. The sailor dress he wore had been reduced to rags. Upon the chest of the white v-neck shirt was a bloom of scarlet. Amelia placed her hand over the wound.  Her hand came away sticky with blood. 

The boy, whom she later learned was called Nicholas, did not wake for a full three days and three nights.  During that time he was under Amelia’s gentle care. Nicholas woke weak from loss of blood and malnutrition. Amelia fed him, bathed him, and gently cared for his wounds over the next several weeks.  Nicholas told her of his travels and adventures. He had seen many beautiful and exotic lands, but he had always longed for home. Amelia told him about her life on the island and how she had always longed for adventure.

When it was time for Nicholas to go he found it broke his heart to leave her behind.  Amelia begged him to stay but she knew he could not. It was his time to go.

Nicholas took Amelia’s hand and looked deep into her eyes. She had never before or never since felt a gesture so intimate. “I will be back, I swear.” He whispered. “If you leave a light on, I will be back.”

Amelia had seen to the construction of the lighthouse and became its faithful keeper ever since. She vowed that the treacherous rocks would not take another soul as they had her beloved Nicholas.

Amelia slowly opened her eyes. She gazed once more out the storm paned windows. This time there was a ship on the horizon. It was not one of the steam ships or even one of the modern gas engine ships.  The light from the lens above fell upon the ocean illuminating a wooden schooner traveling at full sail. Amelia’s lips parted in a warm smile. She rose from her seat, letting the shawl fall from her shoulders and flutter to the floor. She no longer needed it.

On the way to the door, Amelia caught her reflection in a looking glass. She raised a slender hand to caress a cheek that was no longer withered with age.  Her hair was once more the color of flames instead of snow.  In the mirror Amelia could see the figure of an old woman in the background. She was seated in a chair before the great windows of the tower. The woman was so serene she might have been sleeping.  

Amelia descended the spiral staircase with a new found youth. She headed to the shore waiting for her true love to land.