Chapter 2

Upon entering the lighthouse, they were immediately amazed, and stayed that way until their heads hit pillows her uncle provided.

The interior of the ‘fort’, as Kit dubbed it, was one huge room, with a kitchen in one corner, the works that turned the light in the middle, a workshop along one whole end, and a bed in the other corner. Just one bed.

There was one chair in the workshop, and one chair by a table in the kitchen.

A stone staircase went up one wall and to a trap door in the ceiling, where one of those gabled roof peaks would be. It looked like there was a room up there. When Laurie looked at the other end, where the other peaked roof was, she saw a ladder going to a smaller trap door in the ceiling.

Behind a curtain there was a privy that was piped to dump into the sea. Other pipes brought both cold and heated water into the fort. The heated water was a by-product of the boiler that powered the gears that turned the huge mast, which rose up through the tower, and upon which was mounted the Middleton Light.

A system of pipes fed oil to the stove, so no firewood was needed. A pump operated by a long wooden pole pumped oil up into the top of the tower, where it was used to fuel the fire that made the light. Uncle Martin worked at night, when the light was needed to warn ships away from the Middleton reefs. That he had been awake in the morning when they arrived was the result of a broken gear that he was repairing. They ate what he offered while he finished that. Then, telling them not to touch anything he went to bed. There were big mechanical shutters that covered the windows, and when he pulled a lever, it became almost as dark as night in the fort.

Laurie and Kit went outside to explore.

They found that there was, hidden in the metal binding of both the front and rear doors, a place one could put one’s fingers to pull. While the doors could be barred from the inside, neither was ever locked, based on the fact that the big planks used for that purpose were bowed and dusty in their storage corners. Once outside, with the door closed, Kit spoke.

“What do you think?”

She looked around. The land she saw was bleak, with the huge boulders blocking the sight of whatever was beyond them.

“I have nowhere else to go,” she said.

“He seems different than people said,” mused Kit. “I guess he’s your uncle, though.”

“It’s hard to tell, but I think he’s older than my mother,” said Laurie. “He is rough, I suppose, but I feel less alone in the world.”

“So you’re going to stay?”

She looked at him. “I think so, yes.”

“Then I’ll stay too. I’ll keep an eye on you.”

She stiffened. “I need no one to keep an eye on me!”

He grinned. “Then I’ll keep an eye on him.” He looked off in one direction. “Come on! Let’s go see what’s what around here!”

Behind the fort, meaning away from the sound of the crashing waves they couldn’t see, there was a barn. There were animals in it, and a big ore wagon. There was a draft horse, with a good disposition. There was a milk cow, and chickens, and two cats, though neither of them would permit the youngsters to touch them.

The barn was cut into the hillside, so that the door to the loft at one end was at ground level. They could tell by the tracks, that the wagon was backed up to this door frequently. When they opened the door they saw rows of big wooden barrels, such as Kit had described seeing her uncle lift single handedly. Laurie bumped one with her hip and bounced off. She rubbed her hip and thought about how strong a man would have to be to lift one of these barrels.

Inside the loft at the other end of the barn there was a large tank, with pipes coming out of it that went through the wall of the barn. They went outside and saw that the pipes went into the wall of the tower. Kit knew there was oil in the barrels and he figured out that they were dumped into the big tank, and that the pipes carried it into the tower to the boiler, and pumps inside.

The rest of the property turned out to be an island, or perhaps a peninsula, depending on how you looked at it. The only connection to the mainland was the road they had come along, and the boulders that lined it.

When they ventured to see the water, they found no beach, and the waves crashed into the rocks along the shore, sending up huge plumes of white mist and sprays of water. They had fun making a game of trying to scamper away from them to avoid getting soaked. In the end they had to lie out on top of some boulders to let the sun dry them off.

“I surely do wish I had another dress,” complained Laurie.

“I only have this one outfit too,” commented Kit.

They dozed, awaking when the sun was past its zenith. Hunger drove them back to the fort, where her uncle was up, and a pot of chowder was on the boil. He served them both big mugs of the steaming stuff, which was rich with seafood bits. He also had fresh baked bread. He watched as both teens ate with gusto.

“Now,” he said. “For Mistress Laurie, there is housework, and eventually the task of learning the lighthouse keeper’s trade. In time you may leave this place ... to marry ... or seek other fortune. Until then, you are a lighthouse keeper’s apprentice.”

He looked at her, waiting for her response. Her dark eyes stared back at his and she said nothing.

He turned to Kit. “There are animals to be cared for, and supplies of oil to pick up at the docks. The machinery of this place requires frequent repair. I make the parts here in the shop. Are you willing to learn the trade of blacksmithing to earn your keep?”

Laurie looked at Kit curiously. She had no idea what his hopes and dreams were, but he acted like he enjoyed being an outcast. Despite his gallant statement that he would stay and watch over her, she expected him to laugh and take his leave. Instead, he merely nodded. “I can do those things.”

“Good!” boomed Uncle Martin. “You will sleep in the barn, at least for the summer.” He began cleaning things off the table.

Laurie said “What about me? Where am I to sleep?”

Martin turned and said “It will take time to build another bed. Until then we will have to share the one we have.” He went to the sink and began washing out the dishes. “Ah! See what I do! I am used to doing everything myself. This is someone else’s job now.”

“Uncle Martin?” said Laurie. She had been looking at the bed. It was large, and there would be plenty of room in it for them to sleep without touching. She wasn’t quite sure she wanted to do that, but she also didn’t want to refuse his hospitality.

He turned to look at her. She stood up. “My dress ... I have worn it constantly since my things were stolen. I haven’t had it off for ... two weeks. I need something else to wear.”

He slapped his head. “Of course, I am a fool. We will go to town. There is a dry goods store there and they’ll have things ... women’s things.” He rooted around in a corner. “Until then, perhaps this will do?” he held up an old shirt of his. Two Laurie’s could fit in it. He turned to Kit. “And you? You have nothing? No saddle or gear?” When Kit shook his head Martin threw him several shirts too. “I cannot pay you much, but I can buy you some clothes when we go to town. There is an account there, for the lighthouse, and for needs such as these.”

Kit said as how he thought that was fair. He yawned and said he was going out to the barn to go to sleep. Martin moved more things and came up with an oil lantern. Kit saw something on a bench and picked it up. It was a book, titled “Tom Sawyer”

“Can I borrow this?” he asked.

One of Martin’s busy eyebrows rose and he said, “You read?”

Kit nodded.

“Take it,” Martin said. “It is newly written by a man I’ve heard talk about. Most of that talk is unkind. But this story tells me he is wise. When you’re finished with it I have more ... many more”.

Kit left, the book already open in his hands.

Laurie was holding up one of the shirts he had given her. It was worn, and had holes in it in places. That was no problem. She knew how to sew.

Martin saw her examining the shirt. “You’ll have to wash them. I have soap.”

She looked up. “Is there somewhere I could ... bathe? I feel so ... filthy.”

His face screwed up. “I’m sorry child” he grumbled. “I have lived alone too long in this empty place. I have no manners.” He went to the workshop to a large table. He lifted the top, and it came up in his hands. Under it was a big copper tub. “When I installed it, the easiest place to put it was here.”

He turned taps and steaming water began to pour into the tub. Laurie’s mouth watered at the thought of taking a hot bath.

Her uncle sounded contrite. “You’ll have to wash the shirts in the tub too. You don’t have to use your bath water, though. There’s plenty of water.”

He looked around the big room. “If I can get the lumber I can build some walls, I suppose, and a bed for you. Privacy has never been needed here.” He turned off the hot water. “You know, your mother and I shared both bed and bath until she went off to get married. It was our family way. Let me get some towels and I’ll help you with your bath.”

Laurie’s mouth dropped open. “But...” then she stopped.

“But what, child?” he said.

She stamped her foot. “How many times must I tell you I am not a child?”

He looked at her and smiled. “No, you are no child. Don’t be angry. It is just a habit ... a way of speaking. Now, do you want this bath or not?”

She itched to be in the water. “Just turn away while I get in.” He did and she tore off the filthy and stiff dress she had worn for weeks. The water was too hot, but she didn’t care. She gave a great sigh of relief as she sank down to her neck and leaned back. It was wonderful. She closed her eyes and lay her head back, luxuriating in the feel of warmth that went bone deep.

When she opened them, her uncle was standing over the tub. She started to be shy, but he had soap in his hand and she felt a rush of almost sexual pleasure at the prospect of being able to scrub herself really clean.

His bass rumble came. “Here, let me wash your hair for you. I used to wash your mother’s hair when we bathed.” Laurie leaned forward and suddenly realized the water was crystal clear, and that he could see her naked body clearly. Her hands came up and covered her breasts instinctively. He ignored her and scooped water in his great hands to drop on her head, soaking her and making her sputter. She had to use her hands to get the water out of her eyes. Then she smelled the soap.

It wasn’t the harsh lye soap her mother had made in the big kettle over a fire. This was soap from France, or some other exotic place, that smelled like flowers. His strong hands began rubbing that wonderful soap into her hair. His fingers massaging her scalp felt amazing and the hot water soothed every ache in her body.

“Now dunk your head” he said.

She had two choices. She could roll to her hands and knees and drop her head into the water, but then her bare buttocks would be exposed. But the tub was big enough for him, which meant she could just scoot forward a little and then lay back, and her head would go under the water. That would make her hair fall to her back when she raised her head up again. But it would also lay her naked body out completely for him to see through the water.

“If I lay back you’ll see me.” she said, unable to meet his eyes.

“I can see you already,” he said, with a smile she could see through his beard.

“You shouldn’t look at me Uncle Martin.” She felt blood rushing to her face, even though she knew it was already red from the heated water.

“Now why in the world would you say that?” he replied.

She was so surprised that she looked right in his face.

He went on “You’re a beautiful woman and your nakedness is something any man anywhere would be most appreciative of. I count myself very, very lucky to be able to see your charms.”

“But we don’t even know each other!” she squeaked.

“Yes, this is true, I suppose. I am also a man, though we are kin ... Now ... dunk your head.”

And so, she ignored her shyness and lay back in the water. Her hair floated out around her face and she felt his hands on her scalp, getting her hair clean.

But what she was thinking about was that her nipples were cold ... where they had broken out of the water and were now right in front of her Uncle’s eyes. For some reason she couldn’t understand, and had no time to reflect on, that caused a sweet almost pain, of sorts ... between her legs...