a novella

Originally published in The Great Lakes Lighthouse Brides Romance Collection

CHAPTER 1

Oct. 4, 1883—Thunder Bay Island, Lake Huron

The wail of a ship’s whistle jerked Anna Wilson from sleep despite the cotton wadding she’d shoved in her ears before bed to fend off the fog signal. Another blast sounded, and then a third, while she untangled her nightgown and legs from the quilt. Heart pounding, she pushed Barnacle out of her way and ignored the sleepy meow of protest.

The whistle was too loud and too close to the island. Thunder Bay Island’s fog signal moaned its response as she pulled the cotton from her ears. The ship’s whistle blasted three more times while Anna charged down the stairs, her bare feet smacking the wooden steps.

Auntie Laurie poked her head from the downstairs bedroom. Gray hair fanned in all directions around her nightcap. “What’s going on, child?”

“It’s a distress signal.”

“Of course it is. I’ll awaken Gretchen. With her hearing getting so bad—” The old lady shut the door on the rest of her sentence.

Anna raced through the arched brick passageway to the foot of the metal circular stairs leading up to the lighthouse tower. She stopped on the bottom step, cold metal against her feet, her hand clenching the handrail.

“Uncle Jim?”

The stairs vibrated as Uncle Jim descended. Anna let go of the rail and stepped back.

“What could you see?” she called.

“Not a blasted thing. Fog’s too thick.” He stopped at the bottom, wrinkles deep around his eyes beneath the rolled hat brim. “Doug’s gone to the mainland. I can’t leave the tower, not on a night like this.”

She stood tall and smoothed her hair away from her face. “Tell me what to do.” After all, this was what she’d come for. This was a chance to prove herself worthy of becoming the first female lighthouse keeper on Thunder Bay Island.

Uncle Jim stroked his beard. “Bound to be a bad one. That whistle’s close.”

“Too close?”

“Aye. She’s likely on the rocks.” He clamped his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Go to the lifesaving station. Remember the way?”

Could she find it in the dark through the fog? She’d have to. What choice did she have? She nodded.

“Run and change.” He sighed. “Suppose the aunties will go with you, even if you try to stop them.”

“I imagine they will.”

“Go. I’ll join you at daybreak if you’ve not returned by then.”

Anna ran back to her bedroom, faster with each wail of the ship’s whistle. Garbed in her work dress with woolen stockings and a heavy shawl, she hurried to the back door for her boots.

Auntie Laurie, hair neatly tucked under a wool scarf, stomped into her boots while Auntie Gretchen, looking for all the world like a scrawny bear rousted from hibernation, grabbed quart jars of canned chicken from the pantry and stuffed them into a crate. She shoved a basket of potatoes into Anna’s arms then thrust a sack of onions at Auntie Laurie.

“What are these for?” Anna clutched the basket to her middle.

“Soup.” Auntie Gretchen wrapped her shawl around her shoulders. “If they fish any live ones out of the water, they’ll need warming up from the inside out.”

If.

The word hung like a specter in the room. A shiver ghosted across Anna’s shoulders.

“Now, sister,” Auntie Laurie said. “Of course some are alive. Someone is sounding the distress whistle, after all.” She settled her shawl, tucked two jars of chicken under her arm, picked up the onions, and stepped outside, holding the door. “Let’s not delay when men need rescuing.”

Auntie Gretchen mumbled under her breath as she grabbed the crate and a lantern.

Anna followed the two old women into the damp darkness, thankful that they’d taken the lead. It was her first time responding to an emergency at the lifesaving station. There’d been a few minor accidents with fishing boats during the summer, but those had happened in the daylight, and Uncle Jim had been there, leaving Anna back at the lighthouse with the aunties, shielded from everything. Tonight, she’d be in the thick of things.

But what if some of the sailors died?

She swallowed even though her throat had gone dry. When she’d cajoled Uncle Jim into letting her come to the island after Father’s death the past spring, she’d overlooked this aspect of what it meant to live in a lighthouse. It wasn’t all keeping the lamp burning to guide sailors on their journey. She made a fist of the hand she’d used to grasp the handrail to the tower steps. That wasn’t the only thing she’d overlooked. But she could do it. She had to do it. Anything was better than being the dependent little sister living with one of her overbearing brothers.

She hoped.

“Hold the light higher, I stumbled on something.” Auntie Laurie limped in front of Anna.

Auntie Gretchen lifted the lantern higher. “My arm isn’t a ship’s mast, you know.”

Anna hustled up beside the old woman. “Here. Let me.” She reached for the lantern and held it aloft. “Can you both see better?”

“Thank you, my dear,” Auntie Laurie said. “So thoughtful.”

The ten-minute walk took almost twice that long through the darkness and fog. Droplets clung to Anna, weighing down her shawl and making it sparkle in the torches outside the lifesaving station.

Auntie Gretchen opened the door, and they filed into the empty main hall. They headed straight for the kitchen in the back, the source of warmth and the aroma of strong coffee.

Mrs. Persons stood near the huge black stove. Her air of quiet authority settled the nervous tumult brewing in Anna’s middle. Only Captain Persons inspired more confidence to those on Thunder Bay Island than Celia Persons.

“Got a sinker out in the bay, eh?” Auntie Gretchen’s voice dominated the room. It was said if the fog signals ever failed, they could use her vocal cords for a replacement.

Auntie Laurie shrugged out of her shawl and hung it next to the stove, wisps of steam rising from the damp wool. “How can we help?”

“Let’s assume the best and plan for the worst,” Mrs. Persons said. “You brought the makings for soup. Good. You start that while Anna and I light a fire in the hall stove and then roll out the cots and blankets. God willing, we’ll only have a bunch of cold men to feed.”

“Amen,” the aunties murmured in unison.

“Oh, child.” Auntie Laurie came forward and cupped Anna’s cheek. “This is your first shipwreck, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“We’ve had a long run of good luck. It was bound to give out sooner or later.” Auntie Gretchen hung her shawl next to her sister’s. “I hope they fish a few out alive, at least.”

“Now, sister.” Auntie Laurie’s hands settled on her hips. “Let’s do like Celia said and hope for the best.”

Auntie Gretchen snorted and thumped her quart jars on the table. “All right, but you know as well as I that the lake wreaks havoc on a night like this.” She rolled her R’s, a reminder of her Russian heritage that grew more pronounced when she was agitated.

“Don’t mind her, child,” Auntie Laurie said. “She’ll soon have soup made fit to snatch a man back from death’s door. Oh.” She pressed her hand to her chin. “Not that we’ll need to, of course.”

“Hurry, Anna. They’ll be here within the hour,” Mrs. Persons said over her shoulder. “We must be ready.”

Anna swallowed against the dryness again before scurrying after her.

***

The eerie flash from the lighthouse broke the gloom surrounding the dock as Maksim Ivanov stepped from the rescue boat. The fog swallowed the beam before it could reach the dangerous waters beyond. If only the captain of the S.S. James Davidson had seen that beacon in time.

The men around him spoke too fast, and he didn’t understand much past the words ship, rocks, and fog. Pavel Orlov had been herded onto the other rescue boat, leaving Maksim with three sailors from the Davidson along with the burly rescue crew speaking their hurried English.

He followed the men along a pebbled path until a building formed out of the fog, torches lit on each side of its door. The scent of something savory mingled with the cold mist. His stomach growled. One of the nearby rescue workers laughed and smacked a meaty hand against Maksim’s shoulder. Maksim managed to grin while keeping on his feet. The man spewed a tangle of English words that meant nothing, but Maksim nodded and followed him into the building.

Warmth radiated from a flat-topped stove in the center of the room. Maksim, along with the sailors, pulled off gloves and stretched fingers toward the heat. How much worse it would have been had they been thrown from the ship when it ran aground on the reef. The fog had dampened everything, but at least they weren’t drenched.

A diminutive woman clapped her hands and commanded their attention. She made an announcement. He understood coffee and soup and smiled along with the rest of the men, two of whom broke from the group and returned from the back room with a steaming kettle and the largest coffeepot Maksim had ever seen. Behind them came a young woman with hair some shade between red and brown. She carried bowls and smiled as the men lined up to receive a helping of the fragrant concoction.

Maksim got in line. He nodded his thanks when the tiny woman—who appeared to be in charge—handed him a cup of dark coffee. He stepped closer to the younger woman ladling the soup. A smattering of pale freckles splashed across her nose. She tilted her head and asked him a question. His English was improving, but tonight he couldn’t concentrate on the words. He shrugged and shook his head.

The sailor behind him answered her. The word Ruskie pooled in a ball of resentment in his hollow belly. He didn’t need to know much English to know that most of the sailors looked down on him. In fact, most of the people he’d met since coming to America had looked down on him.

The young woman in front of him smiled. A beautiful smile. She pressed a bowl into his hand, then gave the remaining bowls to one of the rescue crew and filled his ears with hasty English words. She turned and hurried to the back room.

Maksim balanced his bowl, stepped out of the line, and took a cautious sip of the scalding coffee. The chairs around the tables were full. He looked for a place to sit.

The young woman emerged a moment later with two old women in tow.

“Welcome, boy, welcome,” one of the old women said. The words were stilted and heavily accented—but they were Russian.

Homesickness tugged at Maksim’s heart. “You speak Russian?”

“Da, we do.” She pointed at the other woman. “This is Auntie Gretchen, and I am Auntie Laurie.”

He set his bowl and cup on the end of a nearby table, then pulled the knit cap from his head. “I am Maksim Ivanov.”

“You’re bleeding.” Auntie Gretchen pulled a cloth from her pocket. “Bend down.” She held his chin and scrubbed his forehead with more force than gentleness. The pretty girl with the freckles hovered close by. He did his best not to wince with her watching. Once Auntie Gretchen released his chin, he nodded toward the girl.

“Is she your granddaughter?”

“Nyet, but we’d claim her if we could.” Auntie Laurie beamed at the girl. “Her name is Anna, and she lives at the lighthouse. As do we.”

Auntie Gretchen leaned closer and gave him a bold wink. “She isn’t married.”

Maksim took a step back, at a complete loss for words…in either language.

“Sister, I swear the most untimely things fall from your mouth. Anna would be so embarrassed if she understood you. And this poor boy looks like he just swallowed a frog.”

Auntie Gretchen shrugged and winked at Maksim again. “Some opportunities don’t come twice. A wise sailor knows when to drop anchor.”

But he wasn’t a sailor. He was a stowaway.

paperback ISBN: 979-8357166333 – ebook ASIN: ‎B0BH384WH7 – audiobook ASIN: B0CSSXSZL1

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