The Rising of Glory Land

by Janie DeVos

  Shoving thoughts of the gruesome scene aside, I said, “Adam, you haven’t seen my folks or Dylan, have you?” I knew if he had, he would have told me immediately, but I still had to ask.

  “No,” he replied, the worry in his eyes evident. “Didn’t know they were all down here.”

  “Yes, they—they had business in Key West,” I said, stopping myself from mentioning my wedding. “Then they were stopping at Alligator.”

  Striker cut in, sparing me from having to explain any more. “We need to get to Alligator now, Adam. Hopefully, Dylan’s okay, and Max and Eve are with him. You ready, Eliza?”

  “Yes,” I confirmed. I wanted to question Adam about his involvement with Owen and F.L.E.A.C., but it wasn’t the time. I was far more concerned about the wellbeing of my family. Seeing the casualties was increasing my anxiety level to near panic.

  “I’m sorry to be cutting this so short, Adam,” Striker whispered as he ushered me out of the kitchen and through the living room. “But if the Harjos aren’t at Alligator, then we’ll need to start looking along the barrier islands, and in the Keys,” he finished more loudly as we stepped outside. “We’re gonna fill up our water jug at your tank before headin’ out, if that’s okay.” Adam assured him it was. “Good luck here,” Striker said, looking around at the people on the floor.

  “And good luck to y’all, too,” Adam replied. “They’re no fools, Eliza—them folks of yours. They’ll be okay.”

  “I pray you’re right, Adam. I truly do.” I said, trying to force a smile and failing.

  We left Carysfort within fifteen minutes of our arrival, and as we made our way toward Alligator Reef lighthouse, I carried on a silent one-way conversation with God. I just hoped He was listening.

  Chapter 27

  A Light in the Storm

  We arrived at Alligator Reef lighthouse, and the one-hundred-and-fifty-foot screw-pile structure looked as though it had fared as well as Fowey and Carysfort had. Just as they had at Carysfort, people milled around on the second platform looking as though they, too, had ridden out the storm in the most catastrophic way. But, unlike Carysfort, there were women and children among this group. Standing at the railing with some of them was Dylan. He was looking toward the shore of Islamorada through a pair of binoculars, and then writing something down.

  “He’s taking tidal readings.” Striker smiled, looking very relieved. No sooner had he said it than Dylan turned toward us, the sound of the motorboat’s engine alerting him to the fact that he had more company. Recognition dawned on his face, followed by a broad smile that left no question as to the joy he felt in seeing us alive and well. And I was certain my smile mirrored his.

  Hurrying down to the dock, Dylan tied our lines to the pilings and then reached his hand down to help me off the boat. Once I was on the dock my brother caught me up in a hug that lasted a long time. When he pulled away from me, he searched my face as if to reassure himself that I was truly there and in one piece. Then Dylan turned his attention to Striker and hugged him, too. I’d never known my brother to be so outwardly affectionate, especially with another man.

  “Are Mama and Papa here?” I immediately asked.

  “No,” Dylan said, and worry instantly replaced the joy on his face. “But, Eliza, you know Pa wasn’t going to take any chances with Ma. They probably stayed in Key West. They’ve got telegraph machines down there, so it’s likely they received early enough warnings about the storm to just stay in port. Listen, I’m worried about ’em, too,” he admitted, as though he realized that I could see through his false bravado. “But y’all come on up to the house and at least have some coffee before you go lookin’ for them.”

  We followed Dylan to the keeper’s quarters, and as we walked through the crowd of folks sitting outside, I greeted them quietly, almost cautiously. Though they didn’t look as beat up as the survivors from the Jenny had, many looked as though they’d seen a ghost. Some stood off by themselves staring out at the ocean, while others chatted nervously away.

  “Where’d they come from, Dylan?” I asked once it looked like we were alone in the quarters.

  “We’ve gotta keep our voices down,” Dylan said softly. “I’ve got two sleeping in John Stack’s room. He’s the other keeper that’s usually here. I’ll grab the coffee. Y’all go sit down.”

  “You said ‘usually here,’” I said, sliding onto one of the four chairs at the small kitchen table. “You mean he isn’t now? Were you alone through all this?”

  “Yeah,” Dylan confirmed, setting a pot of coffee on the table, and then retrieving three mugs from a cupboard. “Usually, there’s at least another guy with me, but John was taking shore leave before I was due to head for Miami. And when the barometer started dropping, and we knew we had a bad one headin’ in, Murph O’Brien was so worried about his wife and kid bein’ alone over in Tavernier that I told him to get out of here before it got any worse. He didn’t wait for me to tell him a second time, either. Things went downhill real fast after that.”

  “How bad did it blow?” Striker asked as he spooned sugar into his coffee.

  “We had sustained winds at a hundred,” Dylan replied. “But the anemometer read gusts up to one thirty. About seven last night, that paddlewheeler, the Livingston, went down right off of here. These poor folks were just tourists on it. They were on their way to Key West when they hit Tennessee Reef, about a half mile south of here. They said they didn’t get hung up on it so the Livingston was able to limp back this way. They got about a quarter mile from here before the ship went down, taking some of the passengers with her, including their captain, Jonah White.

  “All night long, the waves kept buildin’ and then they started washing over the second platform here,” Dylan continued, “one right after the other, like it was nothin’. That’s forty-five feet high! I was afraid windows would be blown in, so I got everyone moved into the tower. People sat on the winding staircase, hangin’ on for dear life to the railing, peerin’ through it like they were in jail. I guess, in a strange way, they were. They were scared to death listening to the storm outside, tryin’ its best to get in. Grown men were sobbing like the ladies and little ones, and I can’t say as I blame ’em. It took my best not to join ’em. Lord, the sound in the tower was eerie. Bein’ that it’s a cylinder, it sounded like a weird hollow roar. It was terrifying. We had one oil lamp, but I didn’t dare bring any more in there with us. If one fell over, and a fire started…That ’a been the end. It was hotter ’n hell, too,” he added. “But it was the safest place for everyone to be, so that’s where we rode it out.” He looked across to the window. “I can still hear that roar,” he said softly.

  “Dylan, how’d all these people get from the wreck to here?” Striker asked. “There must be at least twenty of ’em.”

  “I took—”

  Before Dylan had the chance to finish, a boat’s fog horn sounded at the same time people on the deck started shouting about a ship coming. We hurried outside and saw a large steam-powered trawler named the Port o’ Call approaching from the south. Hurrying over to the railing, Dylan rang a large ship’s bell mounted to a pole. It was just another way to alert a ship that help was needed. Much earlier, he’d hung the flag upside down as a distress signal, and it had been spotted by the ship’s crew.

  “Yo, lighthouse!” a man shouted up to us after stepping out of the pilothouse. “You got folks wanna ride in to Miami?”

  “We do!” Dylan confirmed. “Got about seventeen here. How many you got room for?”

  “We can take ’em all. We were helpin’ with the folks that went down on houseboat number nine just south of here, but most of ’em already got picked up. We got plenty of room. I’ll pull alongside.” The pilot ducked back into the pilot house and maneuvered the boat parallel to the dock.

  “Eliza, would you go wake those two in John’s bedroom, please?” Dylan asked. “They’re two sisters and…well
, you better go in and get ’em. Striker, can you help me get the rest of these folks on board?”

  I went back into the quarters and softly knocked on the bedroom door. “Who is it?” a young, frightened-sounding voice asked softly.

  “It’s Eliza. I’m Dylan’s sister—you know, the lighthouse keeper.”

  “Oh, come in,” the girl said.

  In the bedroom were two young women. One appeared to be about my age, while the other looked a little younger. The older one had light brown hair that had obviously been arranged in a pretty bun on the back of her head at the start of their trip, but was now hanging in disarray around her face. The younger woman had dark brown hair, and it, too, hung loosely around her face. Both had bright blue eyes that had been reddened by crying.

  “I’m Eliza,” I said again.

  “I’m Kathy Baker,” the older one said. “And this is Clara, my sister,” she added.

  “A ship’s here. It’s gonna take y’all back to Miami,” I explained. “It’s at the dock, so you’ll need to hurry.” I started to leave the room but turned back to them. “Are y’all here with anyone?”

  “Mother and Father went down…” Clara said, but couldn’t finish.

  “Do you have anyone else here?” I asked softly, hating the thought that these young women would be alone in Miami. It was obvious from the way they spoke that they were from the north, and they’d been through enough without having to navigate an unfamiliar place by themselves.

  “An aunt and uncle,” Kathy replied. “Aunt Halcyon gets seasick, so she didn’t want to come on the trip.” She tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace. Her grief was too fresh and heavy.

  “Okay, good,” I said, relieved. “Y’all need to hurry now. Can I help you do anything?” When they assured me they didn’t need anything, I turned to leave.

  “Eliza?” Kathy stopped me.

  “Yes?”

  “Your brother…well, he’s a hero, really,” she said softly.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Your brother saved every one of us who’s here. Even while the weather was still terrible, he got that sailboat in the water and made four trips to where the ship went down. We’d have drowned, otherwise. He’s…well…We’re all very grateful.”

  The young woman had confirmed what I’d guessed. I knew there was no way these people swam to the lighthouse in that rough water. I was extremely proud of him.

  “He’s a pretty special person.” I smiled. “Okay, y’all better hurry,” I urged as I left the room.

  I walked out of the quarters and over to the railing. Most of the survivors were either on board the trawler, or on the lower platform waiting to board, and Dylan and Striker were assisting them.

  “Dylan,” I shouted down to him. “Kathy and Clara Baker are comin’ down. Don’t let ’em leave without ’em.”

  Dylan nodded, and as I stood there watching my brother and Striker, I knew that I was looking at two of the finest men I’d ever met. They’d put the lives of others ahead of their own, and because of that, people had survived. I just prayed that three more of the four I’d set out to find could be counted among the living.

  Chapter 28

  A Darkened Light

  As soon as the Port o’ Call departed, Striker said that he wanted to talk to Dylan and me. I was anxious to get underway, especially since it was getting later in the day, but from the seriousness of his tone, and the look on his face, I knew there was something weighing heavily on his mind. We made our way back up to the keeper’s quarters and returned to the kitchen table.

  “What’s goin’ on?” my brother asked.

  “I was on shore leave last week,” Striker began. “Two nights before the hurricane came in, it was lookin’ like we might get a bad storm—you know, the typical summer stuff. So I went down to the southern end of Key Biscayne.”

  “Why would you do that?” I interrupted.

  “Just bear with me,” he said. “I’m gettin’ to that. Anyway, that storm moved on south. It never amounted to anything. It was perfectly quiet. I didn’t have to be back at the lighthouse for a few days yet, so I decided to stick around down there. The next night, another storm blew in, but this one was a real gully washer. I stood there on that shore watchin’ Fowey Light, and I swear on a stack of Bibles, I saw the light go out for about a minute.”

  “You mean like it was turned out, or covered, or somethin’?” I asked, incredulously.

  “Yeah, somethin’ like that,” Striker confirmed.

  I looked over at Dylan and saw that he had actually gone pale. He looked as though he’d seen a ghost. “Did anything go down that night—any wrecks?” he asked in a low voice.

  “Don’t know,” Striker said. “I wanted to look around the next day but the weather was startin’ to pick up. We started getting the outer bands of the hurricane. But I’d be willin’ to bet something did. I never got the chance to do any askin’ though, and now so many vessels have gone down because of the storm that it’s hard to tell what sank before or during it.”

  “Are you sure the oil didn’t just run out, or there wasn’t some kind of problem?” I asked, still stunned.

  “That’s highly doubtful,” Striker said. “Those lenses are fairly foolproof. Besides, even a novice light keeper would know that the day’s first order of business is to make sure the fuel is filled to the top.”

  “Maybe it was just an oversight,” I said weakly, looking at both of them. And both of them had the same reaction: They smiled at me as if I knew better. And I did.

  “After we’re done lookin’ for your folks, I’m gonna check with the Department of Commerce and Labor to see which ships have gone down around here in the recent past, and cross-check it against who the lighthouse keepers were during those times. Don’t know that Miami has that information since the Port of Entry is in Key West, so I’ll check down there.

  “I wish I’d spent more time at the light with Owen,” Striker continued, “but I was usually on shore leave when he was there with Jim Altman and Adam. The little time I did spend with him seemed like business as usual, and there weren’t any wrecks. And, Dylan, I know you didn’t spend any time with him at all, so there’s no way you’d have been able to tell if something wasn’t quite right.”

  “Eliza! Oh, damn!” Dylan exclaimed as he ran his right hand through his long, chestnut hair. “Here we are questioning Owen’s part in something that may or may not be so, and you’re engaged to the man! I’m sorry. I—”

  “I’m not,” I interrupted firmly. “I mean, I’m not engaged to him—not any longer,” I added. “Let me just say that I think you have all the reason in the world to take a hard look at him. I found out he’s buying up the Everglades land that belonged to the Seminole tribe,” I explained, but I didn’t mention that Owen had struck me when I’d found out. Striker didn’t mention it either. No doubt he figured that was something only I had the right to bring up. My bruises had faded enough that unless I pointed them out, Dylan wouldn’t notice them on my tan skin, and because I had no desire to revisit that violent moment again, I moved on.

  “Dylan, you know who partnered with Owen in those land purchases? Adam!” I said, before my brother could offer up an answer.

  “Adam’s in cahoots with Owen?” my brother asked, almost in disbelief.

  “Apparently so, at least in some things,” Striker said. “We’ve just got to get to the bottom of what all those ‘some things’ might be.”

  “What do you need us to do, Striker?” I asked. We needed to wrap up the conversation so that we could resume the search for my parents.

  “Nothing, really,” he answered. “I just wanted you to know what I believe is going on, and what I’m plannin’ to do about it. That’s all.”

  “Lord, I wish I could go with y’all,” Dylan said.

  “You’re right where y
ou need to be,” I told him as I stood up. “C’mon. Walk us down to the boat.”

  Once down on the dock, Dylan finally had a chance to take a good look at Striker’s motorboat. “She’s a real beauty!” he exclaimed. “Is that the one you told me about building some time back?”

  “It is,” Striker confirmed. “It still needs work, but it’s runnin’ pretty good.”

  “It’s gotta be!” Dylan replied. “You’ve made it here in waters that are still plenty choppy. What a fine thing you’ve accomplished! Really fine!” He was clearly impressed.

  “We’ll let you know what we find out—about your parents, as well as Owen,” Striker said as he shook Dylan’s hand before climbing down into the bow.

  “Say a prayer we find Mama and Papa,” I said as I hugged my brother. “Say plenty of ’em, ya hear?” I let him go and started to climb into the boat, but I turned back to him for a moment.

  “Dylan, one of the girls taking a nap in John’s room—Kathy Baker, I think she said her name was. She was the one with the light brown hair.”

  “Yes, I know which one you’re talking about,” he confirmed. “She was the older of the two.”

  “Yes!” I said. “Kathy told me how you saved all those people on the Livingston—going back several times in your boat to get ’em.” I brought my hand up to his face, cupping it. “I couldn’t be any prouder of you, Dylan. I honestly couldn’t.”

  My brother’s face turned slightly red under his tan. “I didn’t do anything any other keeper wouldn’t have done.”