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)
“Sure. But be careful on the stairs—they’re steep and narrow.”
Robert unlocked the heavy wooden door at the base, and they stepped into a circular room that smelled of salt air and old wood. Stone walls, painted white, surrounded them, with a spiral staircase winding upward into darkness.
“The beacon room is at the top,” he said, handing her a flashlight. “There’s a landing about halfway up where keepers stored oil.”
Lily began climbing, her steps echoing in the confined space. The stairs demanded respect—steep and narrow, forcing her to pause twice to catch her breath. But when she reached the top and stepped into the beacon room, the view stole what breath remained.
The harbor spread out below them, dotted with fishing boats and pleasure craft. The town looked like a postcard from this height—white houses with red roofs, the church steeple rising above the treeline, cars moving along streets that resembled toy roads.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.
“The keepers used to say this was the best view on the coast,” Robert said, joining her at the windows. “They could see ships coming from miles away, and had time to prepare if a storm was approaching.”
Lily pulled out her camera and began taking pictures—the view, the beacon mechanism, the narrow confines of the room where keepers had spent their evenings. She imagined herself as the human guardian of this light, knowing that your work was the difference between safety and disaster for every ship that passed.
“Dad, what was it really like for the Aldriches when automation happened?”
Robert stayed quiet for a moment, looking out at the harbor. “I think it was difficult. Gerald needed to learn new systems and procedures. It wasn’t just a job change—it was the end of a traditional way of life.”
“But they stayed with operations?”
“Gerald did. His son Winston moved away for a while, but he came back. He’s the mayor now.”
Lily made notes as they talked, trying to capture not just the facts but the emotional weight of the transition. This was the kind of human story that could make her research paper stand out—not just dates and technical details, but the real impact of technological change on ordinary people.
They explored for another hour, examining the automated beacon system, touring the keeper’s house where Gerald Aldrich still maintained his office. Robert showed her the small rooms where children slept, the kitchen where meals were prepared, the front porch where keepers had watched the sea.
As they prepared to leave, Lily took one last look around the beacon room. The afternoon sun was beginning to set, and soon the automated light would start its nightly cycle. But for just a moment, she envisioned herself as a keeper from decades past, understanding the burden that came with this position.
A brief chill touched her spine—not fear, exactly, but a sudden awareness of how small she was in this vast tower, how isolated this place must have felt during winter storms. The sensation passed quickly, but it left her with a deeper appreciation for the courage it must have taken to live here, to accept the responsibility of keeping the light burning no matter what.
“Ready to go?” Robert asked.
“Yeah.” Lily collected her camera and notebook. “Thanks for bringing me up here, Dad. This really helps me understand what I’m writing about.”
As they drove back toward town, Lily reviewed her notes and photographs. She had the basic framework now—construction dates, technical details, family names. Tomorrow she’d start filling in the human stories, beginning with a visit to the town archives and perhaps a phone call to Gerald Aldrich.
That evening, she wanted to organize everything she’d learned, to begin shaping the scattered facts into the structure of a real research paper. She already anticipated what she might discover in the records, what stories the former keepers might be willing to share.
The beam swept across the harbor behind them, beginning another night’s watch over the dark water. And for the first time in her life, Lily understood what that light really meant—not just a navigation aid, but a promise that someone was always watching, always ready to guide lost ships safely home.
She could never have imagined how much those lost ships would come to mean to her own story.
two
The microfiche machine at the Westerly Cove Library wheezed every time Lily advanced the film. She hunched over the viewer for three hours, squinting at yellowed newspaper pages that flickered past in a parade of local advertisements, church socials, and fishing reports. Her neck stiffened, and the ancient fluorescent bulb cast everything in a sickly green light that made her eyes water.
“This is medieval,” she muttered, winding the film backward to re-read an article about a 1922 town selectmen meeting. The print had faded until she could barely make out the words.
“What’s medieval?” Sarah Whitfield appeared beside her table, arms full of books from the local history section. Her friend looked refreshed and cheerful—a stark contrast to Lily’s growing frustration with 1920s microfilm.