But Paul was back, she told herself. Paul had missed her. Surely they would be able to work things out.
Once in bed, though, once she had closed her eyes, all she could see was that telltale oval of glass on the window of his car.
CHAPTER THIRTY- FIVE
Paul Macelli was back, more nervous than the first time, if that was possible. Mary had been waiting weeks for him and was beginning to think he wouldn’t come again, that he’d lost his courage after his first visit. She hated waiting. She was ninety years old. It seemed like all she did these days was wait.
Paul adjusted his glasses and took the tape recorder from his briefcase, setting it once again on the broad arm of Mary’s rocking chair. He pressed the button to begin recording.
“I’d like to hear about
“So they did,” she said, a little surprised, but pleased all the same. “What do you want to know?”
“You said you met your husband in Deweytown. Is that where you grew up?”
“Oh, yes. Deweytown was just about cosmopolitan compared to Kiss River, I can tell you that. My father owned a little grocery store over there. Caleb was worried I wouldn’t want to leave Deweytown, but I had plenty of spunk in those days. I thought it would be an adventure living in Kiss River.”
“And was it?”
Mary smiled. “At times, yes. At other times—well, it didn’t matter. I was always one for having a good imagination. I knew how to keep myself occupied when there was nothing more exciting going on than watching the beacon go round.” Mary clamped her lips shut. She’d better watch how much she said. She looked over at him as he adjusted his glasses again. He was jiggling one leg up and down, sending an irritating vibration into the floor of the porch.
“So,” he said. “Tell me how you came to be known as the Angel of the Light.”
“Well.” Mary looked out at the street. “I guess you could say I had a way with people, and living out at Kiss River, you got real hungry for company. So any time I’d hear someone in the village was sick, I’d take them food and make sure they had whatever it was they needed. Sometimes I’d carry them across the sound to the doctor in Deweytown in our little boat. I guess I just got a reputation for helping people out.”
Mary shifted in the rocker. It had bothered her that people thought she was so good. They hadn’t known her, really.
“Caleb and I made a good team,” she continued, looking once again at Paul. “We were both hard workers, and we both loved the lighthouse. Anytime I’d see a ship, I’d go out on the gallery and wave. So I guess I got myself a reputation that way, too. Sailors would ask each other who that lady on the lighthouse was, and they’d say, why, that’s Mary Poor, who’s always friendly, always doing a good turn for someone. Sailors watched for me then, hoping I’d be out waving when they went by.”
She looked toward the harbor and closed her eyes to block out the view of the boats, imagining in their place the towering white spire of the lighthouse.
“I could cook, too.” She opened her eyes again and smiled. “I was a bit famous for my persimmon cakes and puddings. I believe you’ve had a taste of one of my persimmon cakes, haven’t you?”
“Uh.” Paul dropped his pen, bent over to pick it up. “I don’t recall,” he said, straightening up again.
“Too bad I couldn’t make one right now,” Mary said, “but they don’t allow us to cook. Or drink. Or smoke. You have a cigarette with you today?”
“Sorry, no. I don’t smoke.” He shifted in the rocker and pushed the recorder a little closer to Mary. “Tell me about the work you did with the Life Saving Service.”
Mary felt herself color and hoped that Paul Macelli did not notice. “Well, I guess that’s another reason they got to calling me the Angel. A more important reason, really.” She sat up taller in the chair, straightening her spine. “I was very strong, you see. I could swim better than most men. I’d be out in the ocean nearly every day, swimming back and forth, back and forth. My arms were solid as brick, and my legs too, from climbing up to the top of the tower.” Mary smiled to herself. “I had a dream of working with the Life Saving Service, you see. We knew a lot of the men who worked over at the station and I’d ask to go out with them when they were rescuing someone. Of course they just laughed at me. But in 1927, I finally got my chance. Caleb and I were down a mile or so on the beach because we heard there was a boat stranded on the bar. When we got there, the boys from the Life Saving Station had just sent out their power boat to try to save the crew. It was real squally that day, and the power boat got hit straight on by a big breaker and started going to pieces. There were just a few of the men left on the beach with their old surfboat. They quick got in and headed out to sea, and I saw my chance.” Mary smiled to herself. “I just jumped in with them, in my skirt and all. They were too shorthanded and too shocked to stop and tell me to get out. I’ll tell you, those oars felt right natural to me, and we managed to load the fellas from the power boat into the surfboat without a hitch. I was stiff in the shoulders for a few days, but I didn’t care. After that, the Life Saving crew sometimes called on me—unofficially, of course—when they needed an extra pair of hands.”
Mary rested her head against the back of the rocker. All this talking was wearing on her.
“Would you like to stop for today?” Paul asked.
Mary shook her head. “I’m not finished just yet,” she said. There was one last story she needed to tell—and a story it was, more fiction than fact. She’d told it this way for so long now, she could hardly remember the truth anymore. “You see, in the end it was my courage—or maybe my foolhardiness—that cost me my husband. In July of 1964, I was up in the tower when I spotted a man swimming off Kiss River and it looked like he was in trouble. I ran down to the beach and went in after him. He was unconscious when I got to him and he was just too heavy for me and I started getting crampy and going under. Caleb somehow caught sight of us and he came out to the beach and jumped in after the both of us. He managed to get us out, too, but it was all too much for him. He was sixty- four years old. His heart stopped right there and he fell out on the sand.”
“I’m sorry,” Paul said. “That’s a tragic way to lose someone.”
Mary stared into space for a moment. “Yes, it was,” she said finally. She raised her hands and dropped them on her thighs. “Well, that’s all for today, I think.”
“Of course.” Paul turned off his recorder and stood up. “Thanks again for your help,” he said.
Mary watched him walk down the sidewalk to his car. The stories had tired her, made her remember things about herself she did not like to remember. And they made her remember a night long ago when she’d told those
