Keeper of the Light

Mary watched her young driver strike out for the beach before turning to her uneasy guests. “Good morning, Mr. Macelli. Mrs. Macelli,” she said.

“Hello, Mrs. Poor,” Olivia said, and Paul grunted a barely audible greeting.

Mary turned her gaze to the house. “It’s been a good long time since I’ve set eyes on this place,” she said. “I thought for sure I’d never see it again.” She looked toward one of the bulldozers near the edge of the dune and shook her head. “Well, let’s take a look inside.”

They followed Mary slowly to the front door of the house. She walked with the aid of a cane. She was taller than Olivia had expected her to be, and she looked very old, much older than she’d seemed at the home.

Alec walked next to Mary, with Olivia a few steps behind them, and Paul behind her. Olivia glanced back at her husband once, encouraging him to keep pace with her, but he looked straight through her. He seemed very unhappy about this entire outing, and she figured that her presence was the cause of his dismay.

They walked into the spacious, airy living room of the house. There was a large brick fireplace, faced by two wicker rockers and a wing chair. Paul clicked on his tape recorder, while Mary turned around in a circle in the middle of the room.

“Needs a paint job in here,” she said, lifting her cane toward one of the dingy walls. “I never would have let it get this gray.”

Alec took a few pictures while Paul stood rigidly in the center of the room, holding the recorder in his outstretched palm.

“Well, let’s see. What can I tell you about this room?” Mary asked herself. “It was, of course, the hub of the household. When Elizabeth was young, she and Caleb and I would play games in here at night, and I remember a few nights when this room would be filled with survivors of one wreck or another. We’d keep them for a few nights or so, till they could get back to the mainland.” She looked down at the wicker rocker. “I did many a crosswords in that chair, I can tell you that,” she said.

It was, if anything, slightly cool in the living room, yet Olivia could see that Paul was perspiring. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead. She couldn’t imagine that her presence alone was enough to have drained all color from his face. She wanted to ask him if he was ill, but it was too quiet in the room. He wouldn’t want the attention drawn to himself.

They walked into the kitchen. “The damn room I fell and broke my hip in.” Mary touched Alec’s arm. “If it weren’t for that wife of yours, I’d still be lying there on that floor.”

Alec smiled at her.

Mary told them about the hand pump that used to stand in one corner of the kitchen, and the cisterns that collected rainwater to be used in the house. She showed them the pantry and the large downstairs bedroom, along with the tiny bathroom that had been added on in the sixties.

“Upstairs now,” the old woman said, lifting her cane toward the narrow stairway.

Alec and Paul practically carried Mary up the stairs, each of them taking an elbow and nearly lifting her off her feet as they climbed to the second story. They stopped at the first room on the right, a large bedroom with rustic furniture and a quilt on the bed.

“Caleb’s mother made that,” Mary said, pointing her cane at the quilt. She began talking about the room. It had been the bedroom of her daughter Elizabeth, she said, whose boyfriend had set a ladder against her south window one night, and carried her away with him to escape the isolation of Kiss River.

Paul was not well. He closed his eyes as Mary spoke, and his breathing was fast and shallow. Olivia could actually see the staccato beating of his heart in the collar of his shirt. She leaned toward him. “Are you ill?” she whispered.

He shook his head without looking at her, and she took a step away from him. Mary spoke about Elizabeth’s bedroom a few minutes longer, and Alec took some pictures before they moved on to the next room, another bedroom, this one much smaller than the first. Olivia saw the white spire of the lighthouse through the window.

“And this one was Annie’s room,” Mary said. They stood in the hallway, peering inside.

“Annie’s room,” Alec said. “You mean…my Annie?”

“Yes indeed,” Mary said. “The room where Annie brought her young men.”

“Where she…?” Alec frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Mary turned to look squarely at Paul. “You know what I mean, don’t you, Mr. Macelli?”

The Adam’s apple bobbed in Paul’s throat. His face had gone gray, and his fingers shook as he turned off the recorder and hung it on his belt. “I have no idea,” he said.

“Oh, I think you have a very good idea,” the old woman said. “An excellent idea. She loved the way you looked when you’d come over in your costume. You know, from the Lost Colony play.”

Alec turned to face Paul. “What is she talking about?”

Paul shook his head. “God only knows.” He looked at Mary and spoke loudly. “You have me confused with someone else,” he said.

Olivia could barely breathe. She wished she could do something to break the tension crackling in this hallway. She wished she could stop Mary Poor from saying another word, but the old woman was already opening her mouth, already pointing her cane toward the double bed.

“How many afternoons did the two of you spend in that bed?” she asked Paul.

“I’ve had enough.” Paul turned toward the stairs, but Alec caught his arm.

“What’s going on, Paul?” he asked. “I think you’d better tell me.”

Paul faced them again, but he shut his eyes. He took off his glasses, rubbing the reddened patches of skin