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| Amelia Light |
"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
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
"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
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.
