Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 102280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Mrs. Warren laughed softly. “The Aldriches, yes. Gerald’s still the keeper there, has been for decades through all the changes.” Her expression grew thoughtful. “Though I think there might have been some transition issues when they automated the light. Gerald had to adapt his methods, you know.”
“What kind of transition issues?”
“Oh, nothing dramatic. Just the usual complications when technology changes how you do a job you’ve done the same way for generations.” She began turning off the reading lamps. “You might want to talk to Gerald himself. He’d remember better than anyone.”
Lily collected her books and notes, her mind churning with possibilities. Family disputes could make compelling research angles, especially if they involved Gerald adapting to new technology. And if the current mayor belonged to the keeper family, that added another layer of local political interest.
The October afternoon had grown crisp during her time inside, and the setting sun cast long shadows across the parking lot. Lily could see the structure from here, its white tower beginning to glow pink in the autumn light. Soon, the automated beacon would begin its nightly rotation, sweeping across the harbor as it had for the past sixteen years.
But for over a century before that, human hands had tended the light. Generations had made that small house their home, raised their children within sight of the sea, and maintained the beacon that guided ships safely to harbor.
Lily started walking toward home, research materials tucked under her arm. Tomorrow she’d start making phone calls, maybe visit the town archives if she could get a ride. But tonight, she wanted to look through whatever old maintenance logs her father might have access to, to see if any remnants of the human era still existed in the building.
The prospect filled her with the same excitement she’d felt when she first started working on the school newspaper. This was what she loved about journalism—the detective work, the slow accumulation of facts that eventually revealed a larger truth.
She had no idea how much larger the truth would be.
The Morgan house smelled like pot roast and garlic bread when Lily pushed through the front door. Her mother’s voice drifted from the kitchen, accompanied by the soft rock station she always listened to while cooking.
“That you, sweetheart?”
“Yeah, Mom.” Lily dropped her backpack by the stairs and headed toward the kitchen, where Martha Morgan stirred a sauce on the stove. At forty-two, her mother still moved with quick energy and the warm expression that had made her popular with Lily’s friends throughout elementary school.
“How did everything go today?”
“Well. I received my senior research project assignment.”
“Already? Seems early.” Martha tasted her sauce and reached for the salt. “What’s your topic?”
“The lighthouse.”
Martha’s wooden spoon paused mid-stir. “The structure?”
“Hawthorne Point. I’m going to research its history, maybe focus on the keeper families.” Lily opened the refrigerator and grabbed a Coke. “Mr. Davidson said it was a good choice because Dad works there.”
“That’s . . .” Martha resumed stirring, but her movements had lost their easy rhythm. “That’s interesting, honey. I’m sure you’ll do a great job.”
The careful tone made Lily look up. “Is there a problem with that topic?”
“No, no problem. It’s just . . .” Martha set down the spoon and turned to face her daughter. “It has been part of this town for so long, I think people sometimes forget there are real stories behind it. Real people who called it home.”
“That’s what I want to write about. The human side of history.”
Martha nodded slowly. “Just remember that some of those people might still be around. The Aldriches, for instance. You’ll want to be respectful when you ask questions.”
“Of course. I’m not planning to write gossip, Mom. This is serious research.”
“I know you are, sweetheart. You always are.” Her expression returned to its usual warmth, but tension remained in her shoulders. “Your father should be home soon. He may have access to old records you could examine.”
Lily worked at the kitchen table for the next hour, organizing her research notes while her mother finished cooking. The sounds of home surrounded her—the radio playing softly, the occasional sizzle from the stove, her mother humming along to songs she’d grown up with.
This was what she’d miss most about home when she went to college. Not the town itself, but this sense of belonging, of being part of a stable and warm foundation. Brown University would be exciting, but it would also be four hundred miles away from everything she’d ever known.
The front door opened, and her father’s voice called out. “I smell something amazing cooking in here.”
Robert Morgan appeared in the doorway, still wearing his work clothes and carrying the metal toolbox he took everywhere. At forty-five, he had steady hands and the patient demeanor of someone who’d spent decades fixing things that other people couldn’t understand.