The Spyglass Portal: A Lighthouse Novel

by Coverstone, Stacey

  “If you need me, I’m only a phone call away,” Dr. Teagan said to bolster her confidence and give encouragement. “You hold the power to change your life, Samantha. No one else does. You’ve always taken control of every situation that came your way. Take control now.”

  Samantha nodded. She was mentally and physically exhausted from emotional turmoil and lack of sleep. She owed it to herself to try to get her life back on track.

  * * * *

  Driving through the village of Pavee Cove several days later, Samantha felt like she’d stepped into a Norman Rockwell painting. It was more charming than any New England coastal town she’d seen. Neighbors talked across white picket fences and tended manicured gardens as children rode their bikes with dogs padding behind. Old Glory waved from flagpoles, and the architectural details on the town buildings all appeared to be historic and original. Everything looked picture perfect. Even the bandstand in the middle of town was getting a fresh coat of white paint by a man who whistled while he worked.

  As she neared the shore, the smell of fish, saltwater, and sea air tickled her nostrils. A sense of familiarity washed over her as she brought her car to a stop and gazed out the windshield to the sailboats skimming the cobalt blue water of the Atlantic Ocean. This place was beautiful.

  Her hometown of Portland was perched on a peninsula, jutting out into Casco Bay, but Sam had not made time, in quite a while, to stroll the waterfront or cobblestone streets of the Old Port section of the city. She’d always been too busy working. There were no excuses now not to relax and enjoy what Pavee Cove had to offer. Dr. Teagan had been kind enough to arrange for her to stay here so she could heal. She intended on making the time count, which would include lots of time on the beach.

  A short distance up the road, the lighthouse came into view. Samantha parked the car in a gravel lot and stepped out and stretched her limbs. A patch of tiger lilies swayed in the gentle breeze, seeming to welcome her.

  Her gaze traveled up the painted stone structure, standing what she estimated to be two hundred feet above the ocean. If the light tower were accessible, there’d be an incredible birds-eye view of the sea. She could just imagine watching the sun set from the top.

  The breeze blew through her hair, lifting it off her shoulders and causing a chill to whisper across her nape. At the same time, a peculiar sensation flowed through her body. She ran her gaze up and down the structure again. A feeling hinted she’d been inside this lighthouse before and had looked out over the water. But that was impossible. She’d never even heard of Pavee Cove before Dr. Teagan mentioned it.

  Shaking off the strange feeling, she popped the trunk and lifted out her two suitcases. A concrete sidewalk linked the parking lot to the lighthouse. This made rolling her suitcases easy.

  Glimpsing past the lighthouse to the blue water beyond and hearing it lapping onto the beach set her heart soaring. As she strolled closer to what was to be her home for the next few weeks, she allowed a small smile to play on her lips. For the first time in three months, there was hope that she might get a decent night’s sleep tonight.

  Standing at the base of the gigantic lighthouse made her feel like a tiny ant. Imagining herself that way was a reminder that life, and the things that happened along the way, was beyond her control—a lesson she’d been learning in therapy.

  She slipped the ancient looking, square-headed key into the door lock and ducked her five foot six body to avoid bumping her head on the low doorframe. In the 1800s when the lighthouse had been erected, the wooden door must have been built for a lighthouse keeper the size of a Hobbit, she thought with a chuckle.

  Once she’d dragged her suitcases in, she gazed around and smiled, pleasantly surprised with what she saw. Black and white tiles covered the floor, and a spiral staircase painted red disappeared into a floor above.

  The bottom level of the lighthouse consisted of a spacious living area, where square windows on opposite sides of the uniquely shaped room let in light. Samantha marveled over a compact but contemporary kitchen before advancing up the circular staircase to find the bedroom, a light and airy space graced by another window. A peek into the small bathroom presented a toilet, sink and stall shower, and another window. The furniture in the home was comfortable, casual beach style. Everything was spotless, like a maid had recently been in to clean.

  Obviously, the fittings, equipment, and clockwork mechanisms that had once made the lighthouse work had all been removed from the interior shell. Knowing what renovations cost, Samantha figured Dr. Teagan’s friend must have spent a boatload of cash to restore the inside of this landmark. And he or she had done a good job.

  She glided down the stairs again and carefully hauled her suitcases back up to the bedroom, leaving them at the foot of the bed. As she stood at the bottom of the staircase on the bedroom level, she peered up and felt something akin to a magnet tugging at her feet and legs. It was a sensation she was powerless to ignore. As she began climbing to the next level, she knew the final flight of steps led to the light tower.

  Her heart jumped with each slow step she took. The weird notion that she’d been there before sent a shiver racing down her spine. Her breath hitched. An overwhelming sense of being dragged up the stairs caused her stomach to roll. It was almost as if she could feel hands on her body, forcing her up.

  Stopping to suck in a ragged breath, she swallowed the panic that stuck in her throat without warning. Telling herself there was no reason for apprehension, she forced her feet to move again.

  When she reached the top, she felt breathless and dizzy. Leaning over and bracing her hands on her knees, Samantha inhaled fresh air until the feeling passed. But what she saw once she lifted her head and stepped into the glass-enclosed area caused gooseflesh to pepper her arms.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The panoramic view of the expansive ocean meeting the blue sky was as gorgeous as she’d expected it would be. Spying a door that exited onto an observation deck, Samantha moved across the room and stepped outside. She placed her hands on the iron rail and watched seagulls squawk and glide in front of her as she drew in a deep breath of salty air.

  A feeling of solitude and peace settled over her as sea breeze blew through her hair and rays of sun warmed her bare arms. After a few moments of being mesmerized by the ocean waves crashing and breaking upon the shore below, the feeling of being off-balance passed and she re-entered the light tower to examine the large lamp that took up nearly the entire space.

  Thick crystal surrounded it. She wondered if the lamp still worked. It only took a minute to locate an electrical switch on the wall near the entrance to the room. Dr. Teagan’s friend must have realized the value of maintaining the historic integrity of the light tower while automating the feature with modern electronics. She’d look forward to coming up tonight and trying the light out.

  One more glance out the window at the beautiful aerial view and then she’d take a walk on the beach. She was here to relax and heal her broken heart. What better way to start than with a quiet stroll along the shoreline?

  As Sam bellied up to the glass, her foot sunk into the wall. What the…?

  She knelt and poked her finger into the hole her foot had made and realized the lower half of the wall was covered in material similar to paper Mache. No wonder her sandal had gone straight through it!

  Feeling something hard behind the wall, she gently tore at the paper and bent to peer in. It looked like a box. With her curiosity fully aroused, she peeled the paper back further and reached in to pull out a mahogany case. It was about sixteen inches long and six inches wide. The picture of an anchor was artistically carved on top.

  With her heart lodged in her throat, Samantha sat cross-legged on the floor and placed the box in her lap. Who did it belong to? And why was it hidden behind the wall? How long had it been stashed there? Her fingers itched with enthusiasm as she opened the lid.

  A spyglass lay cradled in a nest of dark green velvet. Samantha was barely breathing when s
he carefully lifted the instrument out of its case and studied it. Obviously it was a nautical, handheld telescope—the kind sea captains used. It appeared to be antique and was about fourteen inches long and made of brass.

  The warm burn of pleasure started at her core and spread to every nerve ending as more questions and possible scenarios formed in her mind regarding the unexpected find.

  Why had it been secreted away? For how many years had it been covered over in the wall? For what reason would someone have to hide a beautiful old telescope? It didn’t make sense, but mysteries usually didn’t—until they were solved.

  With a thrill of excitement she hadn’t felt in months, Sam scrambled to her feet and wiped the lens with the bottom of her shirt. She placed the spyglass to her eye and swung it over the horizon. Fish jumped in the water! She pulled the apparatus down and squinted at the waves, seeing nothing with the naked eye.

  With the spyglass repositioned to her eye again, she moved it back and forth, from sky to sea to sand. Through the lens, the view was brighter, clearer and sharper.

  Just as she set her gaze on the beach, a blue mist drifted across the lens. That was weird. There were no clouds passing by to cause a shadow. Checking to see if there was dirt on the lens, and finding none, she raised the spyglass to her eye again and swung it back to the beach.

  A little girl caught her eye. She was walking through the sand toward the ocean. The next moment, she strode with purpose straight into the water. Magnified three times her normal size but with her back to her, Samantha couldn’t see the girl’s face. She could tell by her size, however, that she was probably five or six. The water splashed around her ankles and then rose to her knees as she waded further out.

  Her arms hung limp at her sides, unmoving. As if she were in a dream, or sleepwalking, she sank deeper into the swallowing waves. Her blue sundress grew wet as the water swirled around her waist and then broke at her chest, dampening the tip of her ponytail. Still, she trudged further into the water.

  Samantha’s heart began to pound. Something wasn’t right. The girl wasn’t playing. She hadn’t gone in for a swim. It was almost as if she were…

  Curls of foam splashed over the child’s shoulders. All at once, her head disappeared under a rising swell.

  Utter shock crushed Samantha’s attempt to scream. She swung the spyglass up and down the beach again. There seemed to be no one around. Not a soul ran to the child’s rescue.

  She lowered the spyglass and finally found her voice. “Hey! Little girl!” she shrieked, pounding on the glass. The child’s head popped up and then went under again. Sam ran through the small door and onto the observation deck. Leaning over the rail, she glanced down at the beach and screamed, “Please! Someone help her!”

  Suddenly, a stabbing pain—worse than any headache she’d ever been struck with—pierced her head. The feeling was similar to a crochet hook being shoved into her temples and twisted. Groaning, she shut her eyes, felt the spyglass slip from her hand, and her world went black.

  * * * *

  Samantha woke to a hand jiggling her arm. The pain in her head had subsided, but she felt soggy. Soggy? Yes, wet and soggy. When she ran a hand through her hair, it was damp, as were her clothes. It felt like she was lying in wet sand. Slowly opening her eyes, she squinted into the red and wind-burned face of an old man with gray whiskers. He wore a cap adorned with a dozen fishing hooks.

  “Are ya okay, Miss?”

  She nodded. “I think so. What happened? Have I been unconscious?”

  “Yep. You’re lucky I saw ya when I did. What were you doing in the ocean if ya can’t swim? Ya nearly drowned yourself.”

  “Ocean? I wasn’t in the—” Her words stopped in mid-sentence as her thoughts flew back to the last thing she remembered, which was standing on the observation deck of the lighthouse watching a girl drown. With the old man’s assistance, she stood up and tried to make sense out of her jumbled thoughts.

  “You shouldn’t have gone in if ya can’t swim,” the man repeated gruffly.

  “I know how to swim. But I tell you, I wasn’t in the water. At least, I don’t remember going in.” She rubbed her aching temples.

  The old man’s tone softened. “Maybe ya bumped your head and lost your memory, but trust me when I say you were in the water. I pulled ya out of the surf, Miss.”

  Confused, Samantha wondered if she’d had a seizure of some kind and had fallen over the lighthouse rail and gotten swept into the sea. She glanced around. “Where’s the little girl? Did you save her, too? Please tell me you did.”

  The man’s bushy brows knitted together. “What little girl? You, me, and the painter over there are the only ones on this beach.” He pointed to a man who strode toward them through the sand. Behind him, in the distance, Sam could see an artist’s easel set up near an outcropping of large rocks.

  This made no sense. What had happened to the child? And how had she ended up there on the beach, soaked to the skin? Had she run down to save the child herself and fallen and hit her head, as the old man suggested? Shivers racked her body, so she hugged herself to ward off the chill.

  Her gaze latched onto the figure approaching in bare feet. Blinking against the bright sun and wiping salt and spray from her eye, she could tell he was fit and probably near her age. He wore docker-style shorts and a t-shirt that showed off muscular legs and well-developed biceps.

  He must have seen something, or he wouldn’t be coming this way.

  “You gonna be all right, Miss?” the old man asked.

  “Y…y…yes,” she stammered between clicking teeth as she reached out to shake his hand. “Thank you for your help.”

  He nodded and sauntered off in the other direction.

  Feeling disoriented and grappling with uncertainty, Samantha called out to the approaching man. “Did you see her?” she asked as he drew closer. “The little girl?”

  When he stopped in front of her, she felt her heart thrash in her chest. At the same time, his hazel eyes enlarged, and his gaze raked her from head to toe.

  “Are you all right, Miss? I saw an old man pull you out of the water and thought I could help.” He stared beyond her to where the fisherman had disappeared. “Why did he run off like that?”

  Reeling with confusion, she took several steps backwards, not caring about the old man. She felt her face petrify into a mask of terror. “It can’t be…”

  A frown drew the man’s brows together. “Pardon? Are you injured? Do you need to see a doctor?”

  Her limbs began to quake, and not just from being wet. This couldn’t be happening. She wondered if she was asleep and having another nightmare. “Who are you? Is this some kind of a sick joke?”

  The man jolted like he’d been shot. “Joke? I don’t know what you’re talking about, Miss.”

  Sam glanced up and down the beach, but they were alone.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, calmly. “I don’t have a cell phone with me, but I think I should get you to a doctor. “ When he reached for her hand, she jerked away from him and felt fear-pumped adrenaline race through her veins.

  “What’s going on here?” she exclaimed. Full-blown terror clawed at her insides as she searched the eyes she’d know anywhere.

  The man angled his head. “I don’t understand, Miss.”

  “Please stop calling me Miss. You know my name.”

  He raised his hands as if he was surrendering to an enemy. “I’m sorry, but we’ve never met before. I’m just a guy trying to help.”

  Samantha skimmed trembling fingers through her tangled hair trying to make sense of the moment. She must have a brain tumor that was making her hallucinate. Or maybe she’d suffered a heart attack or an aneurism and died. That had to be it! She was dead, and she was a ghost speaking to another ghost. There was no other possibility.

  The man warily moved toward her again.

  “Am I dead?” she asked.

  His footfalls halted. “No, but you might have been if th
at old man hadn’t fished you out. Apparently, you don’t know how to swim.”

  Her teeth clicked together with cold. “You know I can swim.”

  When he cocked his head again, she searched his face, the same face she’d kissed goodbye in the hospital before coming to Pavee Cove. “How can it be?” she choked out. “I’m afraid. But I still need to know. Please tell me it’s you.”

  His gaze narrowed. “Who do you think I am, Miss?”

  She drew in a shallow breath and whispered, “Chad?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “My name’s not Chad,” he said. The muscle in his granite jaw twitched. He repeated, “You’re hurt. I have a truck that’s down the beach. Let me take you to a doctor.”

  Samantha’s pulse continued to race. Her gaze caught in his dark hair; hair that was no longer cut short but was pulled back in a ponytail. Her eyes skimmed over the black stubble that peppered his cheeks and chin and traveled up and down the strapping physique that towered over her by five inches. If she didn’t know her friend was back in Portland in a hospital hooked up to machines, she could swear this man was Chad. But he couldn’t be, could he?

  “I don’t want to go to a doctor,” she said.

  The man inhaled deeply. “If you refuse, then at least let me walk you home. Have you got someone to help you there?”

  She continued to search his face. The resemblance was uncanny, and it scared the crap out of her. Had Chad ever mentioned having a twin? No. She would have remembered that kind of information. She couldn’t explain what was happening, but she had to try. “Do you have a relative living in Portland?” she blurted.

  A slight curve raised his lips into a crooked grin—just like Chad’s. “No. I have no one in Portland, and no brothers or male cousins, if that’s to be your next question. I’m an only child.”