 |
| Amelia Light |
Captain Taylor stood at the helm of the
Gentle Comfort after having safely
piloted her from the low-lying coastal savannah. Concentrating on the history
of the local lighthouse in the distance to clear his head of thoughts of the
girl, he struck up a conversation with Catfish, his first mate. Catfish
O'Halleran, former skipper of the
Green Water Gertie, was a craggy old sailor,
with a deep whiskey voice and eyes the powder blue of a husky dog. His russet
curls were often the envy of women who, to a person, immediately decided their
beauty was wasted on such a scrounge. Catfish always stood close and looked
hard at people. Strangers declared him dimwitted. Acquaintances knew better.
"Hey Fish, do you know much about
that lighthouse back there?"
Catfish was always interested in whatever
young Waite had to say. He'd sailed with Kenneth Taylor and had known the boy
since his father was lost at sea. He and Waite were steadfast friends. The old
salt probably had more knowledge than anyone around when it came to the ports
on the Atlantic coast, but he sensed the captain needed to talk so he patiently
indulged him. Catfish cocked his leathery face to the right to catch a better
earful.
Moving to the chart room behind the
bridge, Waite double-checked his vessel's course while he spoke. "The
other evening in the ship's library, I pulled out a ragged old volume about
this area. It talked about 'the Amelia Light,' as the Fernandinians call it,
and how it's been here on the north end of the island at the Amelia and St.
Mary's Rivers entrance since 1838. Even though the brick tower is only 60 feet
tall, it sits on the second highest elevation of the entire east coast. That
puts the lighthouse 107 feet above sea level. You can see her glow 19 miles
out."
"Is that so?" Catfish said,
interested. He knew sea lore and geography, but didn't know exact figures. He
always felt Waite to be a smart man, smarter than himself. "Go on. This is
real educational."
"Let's see. I think it said there're
58 hand-hewn
New England granite steps to the
prism room and, originally, there were 14 whale oil lamps that were replaced
with a third order Fresnel lens. A cable and weight system is wound by the
keeper and that rotates the lens."
The workings of a lighthouse were common
knowledge to sailors, but Catfish let Waite continue the lesson.
"The thing has two walls. There's an
exterior wall that's 22 feet across at the bottom and 10 1/2 feet at the top.
The interior wall is a straight nine foot cylinder all the way up."
Looking over at the old man, Waite realized Catfish was being overly attentive
to his ramblings. "Anyway, I found it fascinating."
"Yup, prit-near the most
fascinatinest thing I ever heard meself."
Waite burst out laughing.
"At least, it's good to see you
smilin' for a change. Dad blasted, if you ain't been a mean cuss since that
tornado they had here a month ago. I've been scrapin' together my courage and
fixin' to talk to ya about it. What's grievin' ya, Waite?"
"Have I been all that bad? So bad
that even you have to worry about what you say to me? You can talk to me about
anything, Fish. Anytime."
"Then don't take exception to what I'm about to say, but is it that
little gal that just come on board, the one with all that mess of pretty brown
hair? I seen the way you looked at her. Are you girl-sick, son?"
Waite tensed, ready to tell Fish he was
wrong and to mind his own goddamn matters. He caught himself before he'd
uttered a curt word. He'd never been disrespectful to his friend. No woman was
going to make him behave so now. Because of their past bond, Catfish had every
right to offer his opinion and Waite was obliged to listen. He walked over and
closed the door, not wanting any others to hear his personal business.
"Ever since that night on the beach, the night of the storm, I haven't
been able to rid my thoughts of her."
Fish hadn't heard Waite speak so of any
female before this.
"Her features are before me no matter
where I look." Waite needed to tell someone and his soul emptied itself.
"When I found her on the shore, I was dumbstruck by her beauty. At first,
it was all physical, or so I figured. As soon as I rode away from her, I knew
better. I felt possessed by something more than want of sex. I've a feeling
inside that tortures me because it craves a like response from her. Something
isn't complete without her.
"But hell, she's too young for me.
I've tried hard, real hard, to convince myself she was too inexperienced for a
reckless sea dog. Too innocent. That I'd hurt her, be too rough with her body
and her mind. Didn't you find it strange that I had business in
Savannah every trip south
these last weeks? That I asked you to take command of the
Gentle Comfort on her runs to and from Fernandina? You picked me up
on the return north and never said a word. You must've suspected something,
Fish."
"I guessed you'd tell me when ya was
good and ready. I didn't want to push none."
Waite kept on. "Just to be in her
town was an ordeal, but I had to take control. I had to face things. When we
arrived yesterday in Fernandina, all my resolve left me. That's why I stayed
aboard. I wasn't just reading. The truth is I was studying, investigating where
she comes from, trying to get closer to her somehow. The more knowledge I
acquired about her background, the worse I wanted her. So I purposely started
drinking last night until I passed out. With enough liquor in me, I knew she'd
be safe from the wild man who wanted to pound on her door in the middle of the
night and take her away for himself.
"This morning, with damn near the
worst hangover I've ever had as a reminder of my determination, I was prepared
to be strong and leave town without ever attempting to see her. I was counting
the minutes until we pulled out, until I escaped
Amelia Island.
You can't know how shocked I was when she arrived at the foot of the dock, her
father handing her over to me! It was her uncle, Clabe Duffy, who corresponded
with me. I didn't know the name. I swear to God, I had no earthly idea she was
one of the girls I was to watch over. Now she's here, aboard my ship, and so is
temptation. I don't know what to do."
Waite turned his back and peered out at
the water. Catfish could plainly see his captain was drained. "What I have
to say might not be too comfortin' at first, but hear me out, would ya? Yes,
this gal is young. Yes, she's probably inexperienced. Fact is, you'd best face
it. One day, someone will come along and change all that."
The thought of another man touching
Breelan made the muscles cramp in his forearms as Waite clenched his fists to
stone.
"Then why in God's good name
shouldn't it be you? Don't knock yourself, boy. When the time is right, you'll
know how to handle this girl, how to treat her with respect and ..."
Catfish turned the color of blood from embarrassment, the only time in his long
life, "And bring her to maturity. You're the best and most honorable man I
know."
When the time is right - Waite had said
that very thing to Breelan the first night they'd met. "Thank you for the
kind words, old friend. But suppose she wants no part of me. So far she hasn't
been what you'd call receptive, let alone interested in me."
"The only way you'll find out is to
test the waters." He chuckled at his seaman's pun. "I have a feelin'
those hateful looks she was throwin' at ya could be turned to sugar if ya just
give it a chance. I say talk to her soon. I don't know if the crew is up to
much more of your moonin' around. You're mean with longin' for her, Waite.
'Sides, we all have eyes, and she's might near the fairest lookin' maiden I've
seen round here in a long while. There's bound to be a pack of beaus houndin'
her at every turn. Remember, he who hesitates, gets run over."
Waite weighed the older man's comments
carefully. Those comments were welcome because it was exactly what Waite wanted
to hear. He'd needed permission somehow. Or was it assurance that he was doing
no wrong? Whatever in hell it was, he'd soon find the right time to tell Miss
Breelan Dunnigan of his serious attraction - before he was aced out by some
other lucky bastard.
Marie writes: We do not have any sort of holiday honoring our fathers or mothers in my time, Jane Marie, but we should. It is a grand idea. I have three things to share about my wonderful father, Michael Dunnigan. 
