The Secrets of Black Dean Lighthouse

by Jack Dey

  The porch light blinked on as Mister Spock barked avidly, announcing their arrival. Her dad had named Becky’s dog and though the dog was old now, his ears still stood out like the famous Star Trek personality's. Becky had objected at first, but as Spock grew, his features and personality so mimicked the character it just seemed he grew into the name as well.

  Emma stood at the door peering into the night, obviously trying to recognise the occupants of the visiting car over the blinding headlights. As the car lights extinguished, Emma’s face lit up in the warm glow of recognition, grinning with exuberance and accompanied by a wildly waving hand. Soon after, Brett and Becky deserted the Kia and approached the porch light.

  “Becky? Brett? What are you doing out at this time of night?” Emma quizzed, engulfing both in an affectionate hug.

  Brett smiled and then nodded to Becky.

  “Got some news, Mum,” Becky said proudly, holding Brett’s hand.

  “Well, come inside and I’ll attempt to wake your father. He’s asleep in front of the television.”

  As Brett and Becky followed Emma into the lounge and took their seats, Becky glanced affectionately across to her snoring father and his performance competing with the television’s nonsense. Pointing the remote at the TV monitor and silencing its prattle, Emma hoped to quieten the swirling vortex spiralling around her husband’s drainage just as easily.

  “Jake...! JACOB!”

  Jacob swallowed a snort halfway down his throat and nearly choked on it, sputtering awake in a desperate attempt to re-enter the land of the conscious. Through sleep laden eyes he struggled to focus, pulling himself into an upright position before erupting into a delighted smile.

  “Hello, Dad.”

  “Becky?! Brett?! What brings you out at this time of night?” Jacob staggered to his feet, meeting his daughter’s hug halfway across the room and then intercepted the vice-like grasp of his favourite son-in-law.

  “We have some news to tell you and Mum. I... that is, we... are going to have a baby. You are going to be grandparents!”

  The atmosphere inside the Forest household took on a carnival attitude, everyone talking at once, congratulatory hugs and kisses flying in all directions. Once the excitement abated, Becky and Emma disappeared into the kitchen and prepared a celebratory supper while Brett and Jake sat and talked.

  “How’s the paper business going, son?”

  “It’s good; I am really enjoying it, Dad. I am hanging my hopes on getting the chief editor's job once he retires in a few weeks and then we should be able to apply for a housing loan to buy a four bedroom house just down the road.”

  “Four bedrooms?!” Jake raised his eyebrows.

  “Beck has her heart set on at least four kids,” Brett replied, running his hands through his locks and wondering what he had gotten into.

  Mister Spock abruptly jumped to his feet as the two women brought in a tray full of cakes, chocolates and sweet smelling hot coffee. His big tongue slapped from one side of his mouth to the other, watching the treats with keen interest and thinking if he played his wanton eyes correctly, he would be rewarded with a tasty morsel from the tray. As the four adults talked and laughed, slowly devouring the goodies, Mister Spock turned on the charm, entreating each person individually, gaining the desired result and scoring on all four occasions.

  The room fell silent for a few moments as coffee lubricated exhilarated tonsils and tastebuds. Glancing sideways at Becky, Brett’s face took on a contemplative expression and filled the void with a question, directing the enquiry toward Emma first and then swept his eyes to include Jacob. “Becky’s been having some nightmares again recently. She hasn’t had them for years and now for some reason they’re returning. What do you know of this girl, Katie, and the place called Contention Island?” Brett let the question hang and waited for Emma to reply and as he studied the older woman’s expression, Emma’s eyes clouded slightly and she glanced across at Jacob, leaving Brett watching the troubled interlude with the gaze of a newspaper man.

  Finally, Emma sighed and then cautiously offered something of what she knew. “We aren’t sure what the nightmares mean and yes, they have bothered Becky throughout her life. There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to them and even after talking to a number of psychologists about Katie, the best they can come up with is it’s like an imaginary friend, blaming it on Becky being an only child.” Emma dropped her hands dejectedly into her lap and surprised Brett as a big tear rolled down her cheek.

  Becky reached for her mother’s hand. “I know that’s bunkum, Mum. I’ve never needed for anyone, least of all an imaginary friend. I was so happy just being with you two and besides, I had many friends in the neighbourhood.”

  Troubled by Emma’s distress, Brett was very much aware she’d dealt with the nightmares for many years, too and had come up with a disturbing blank as to their cause. Feeling a camaraderie with his in-laws and noticing Emma’s crestfallen demeanour, Brett offered an apology, “I am sorry, Mum. I didn’t mean to open up a nerve.” Yet as Brett’s confession tumbled into the conversation, he couldn’t help feeling the intensity of emotion Emma was displaying seemed a little misplaced.

  Emma acknowledged Brett with a nod and then sniffed back another tear, stroking her daughter’s face as she kneeled by her side. “What was your latest dream, honey?” Emma poised herself for more bad news.

  Becky closed her eyes, hoping to insulate herself against the scenes and trying to remember the sequence of events in her nightmare. With a sigh that set the depth of anguish for the conversation, Becky whispered, “Katie was back on Contention Island, Mum.”

  Emma whimpered and then tried to conceal her reaction, but the emotion had leaked out before she could stop it and it was noticed.

  Becky continued, “It was a stormy night and it was raining and blowing hard. She was shivering and crying, searching the breakers.”

  Emma’s eyes glazed over, staring at the wall, but when she whispered everyone had to strain to hear. “Did she see it?”

  Becky took hold of her mother’s trembling hand again and tried to brace herself to release the words. “Yes, Mum, she saw it.”

  Brett was just about to ask a question when Becky continued, “She fainted in the sand, Mum, and he carried her away.”

  Without warning, Becky’s mother buried her face in her hands and dissolved into trembling sobs. “Please, I am not strong enough to hear anymore,” Emma pleaded feebly, her shoulders convulsing with the weight of Becky’s declaration.

  Bothered by the intuitions of a newspaper man, something began to niggle Brett about Emma’s depth of involvement in Becky’s dreams, but he tried to stifle the suspicion and push down the nagging doubt that Emma knew something and wasn’t coming clean.

  Protected in her husband’s embrace and whispering above the fear, Emma gasped in a breath. ”It isn’t good that Katie’s been back to Contention Island.”

  The moments went by without conversation as everyone tried to come to terms with the situation, surrounding Emma, and while the upsetting images of Katie dissipated, Emma regained her composure and put Brett and Becky at ease.

  “Thank you for sharing your beautiful news, my darlings,” Emma hugged her daughter and son. “I am sorry for reacting to the nightmares like this. It was quite a shock.”

  Sensing it was time to leave and let Emma and Jacob recover from his probing questions, Brett led his wife to the door, but the intuitive niggling just wouldn’t let up. He would revisit this scene again as soon as an opportunity arose. There was something strange happening here and Emma was the key to it.

  As Jacob and Emma waved from the porch and watched the grey Kia drive slowly away, Jacob’s stomach knotted. “We have to tell them, Emma. We should have done it years ago.”

  *~*~*~*

  Chapter 5

  Acknowledgement

  For my parents: Bolek and Alenka Protlenski.

  Your struggles and courage are an inspiration to me
.

  In dedication to the memory of your lives.

  The journey out of preoccupation Poland had been intensely risky for Bolek and Alenka Protlenski. They had been warned by the underground that the Nazi war machine was on the move and that Poland was their intended destination. 1938 was the year that rumours of war were on every tongue. Regardless of the propaganda that it was a peaceful mission, Majiv’s constant urging unsettled young Bolek, and he and his pregnant Alenka joined the gathering throngs leaving Krakow and heading for the free west. It was a difficult decision leaving family and friends, but all agreed it was necessary.

  Although their relatives weren’t wealthy, they gave the couple as much money as they could spare to make the trip and start a new life. Majiv had been prophesying the Nazi conquest of peaceful Poland for the past year, and his connections with the underground probably saved the Protlenski line. Eventually arriving in the free west, Bolek had used up much of the money he had been given on bribes, to gain safe passage for himself and Alenka into the United States and now he had to find work. At that stage America was not involved in any war, but the financial crash of 1929 was still evident everywhere and work was hard to get, especially for migrants. Eventually, he found employment on a government civil project, digging out subway tunnels by hand and although it was difficult work under appalling conditions, it paid just enough to put a dingy roof over their heads and a meal a day on the table.

  By early 1939, Majiv Bolek arrived, weighing in at 7 pounds 9 ounces. He had a shock of black hair and piercing baby blue eyes, with Alenka giving birth at home aided by a Jewish midwife neighbour.

  News from relatives in Poland was sporadic and by 1940, all communication had stopped. It was later uncovered that all of Bolek's and Alenka’s relatives had died in a Nazi concentration camp, while Majiv had perished working in the underground trying to save as many of his people as he could, helping them escape the Polish borders before being betrayed to the Gestapo by a supposed friend. In particular, the news of Majiv’s death drove a stake into Bolek’s heart. He detested the Nazis for destroying his family and his friend, becoming consumed with hatred, and in 1943 enlisted in the US armed forces, seeking a way to make retribution while dismissing Alenka’s tearful pleas. He had to take revenge on Nazi blood for the blood of Poland and his friend.

  By January 1944, Katarzyna Alenka arrived, 6 pounds 7 ounces. Alenka announced her arrival to Bolek in a letter and by this time, he had finished basic training and was waiting for deployment.

  Then the fateful day in July 1944, Alenka was feeding Katarzyna when a knock came at the front door. She interrupted the baby's meal time and made her way to answer the enquirer, but then her heart stopped as she gazed up at an army official standing in the doorway. With a letter in his hand and a stern expression hiding a battle behind his eyes, the soldier stammered as he glanced at the young woman with a baby in her arms.

  “M... Mrs Protlenski?”

  “Yes, that’s me,” Alenka confirmed in broken English.

  “I’m sorry, ma'am,” he replied, handing her the letter. “Your husband died bravely serving his country.”

  That was the day my mother curled up and died inside and life forever changed for me and Katie. I turned fifteen in 1954 and by the 12th July of that same year, Katie and I buried Alenka Protlenski, our mother. Giving up on life without Bolek, our father, she died of a broken heart. God rest her soul.

  *~*~*~*

  “Majiv, are you ready to go back to work?!”

  “Yes, Mrs Lieberman, I will be right down,” Majiv responded, figuring he was needed back at the bakery, his voice carrying down the staircase to the waiting people below. The young dark haired Majiv closed his notebook and placed his pen back in a cup, then straightened his room and quickly descended the stairs to meet the voice of the old Jewish woman.

  Since Alenka’s death almost a year ago, Majiv and Katie had lived with Mr and Mrs Lieberman, a childless couple who’d stepped into the destitute children’s lives and become mother and father, taking them in as their own. Mr Lieberman had apprenticed Majiv in his bakery business and was teaching him the trade. At sixteen, the early hours expected of a baker were a challenge to Majiv, but Mr Lieberman kept him on time with his firm and fair father’s hand.

  Majiv’s tall, dark and athletic features turned the heads of women, even at sixteen. His coal black curly hair, lightly olive skin and deep blue eyes drew attention wherever he went, but innocently unaware of the stares, his attention was focused on his apprenticeship and doing what Mr Lieberman expected.

  Katie, at eleven, was growing into the beauty she was destined to become, yet her skinny, girlish frame was far from that of a woman. She, like Majiv, was slightly dark and stunning and overflowed with charisma, charming people many years older than herself. Under the watchful eye of Mrs Lieberman, Katarzyna was a high achieving student attending a local Jewish-Christian school and following in her mother figure’s footsteps, she was also learning to run an efficient household.

  Unfortunately, in post-war America discrimination against migrants was like a game and a right to some local people in the mixed neighbourhoods. The Liebermans' apartment had been attacked with racist slogans painted across the front door, leaving Majiv angry at the senseless acts perpetrated against such loving people.

  Sensing the growing hatred in Majiv, Mr Lieberman took him aside. “Majiv, hatred starts as a snowflake but ends in an avalanche and if you let hatred take root in your heart, it will destroy you from the inside. These people who do these things are doing us a favour, for they teach us to forgive where forgiveness is not due and to love God and each other. Our God tells us if someone slaps you on one cheek then offer them the other, also.”

  With Mr Lieberman’s words permanently trapped in his mind and constantly echoing around in his thoughts, Majiv was returning home alone from the bakery one evening when he was taunted by a gang of youths around his own age. As they cornered him, eight to one, Majiv remembered the speech of Mr Lieberman. Hatred starts as a snowflake and ends in an avalanche. With the old man’s example and his wisdom modelled for Majiv to follow, the youth held his ground, ready to stand up to whatever they intended to do. But at the sound of a booming voice, the courageous gang valiantly scattered.

  “Need some help, son?!”

  A large, old African-American, built like a mountain, stepped up to Majiv’s rescue. “These street kids have nothing better to do than harass goodly folk,” the man spoke softly, watching the scattering gang members disappearing up the road. “Thomas Jefferson,” the old man held out his hand.

  Majiv stared at the big man with interest and the look in his eyes said, You’re not Thomas Jefferson.

  “I ain't the Thomas Jefferson; I was just named after him.”

  Majiv took the big hand offered and shook it. “Majiv Protlenski. Thanks for helping me.”

  “Folk just call me Tom. You live with old Mr and Mrs Lieberman, don’t ya?”

  “Yes, sir, that’s right,” but Majiv became uneasy with the questioning.

  “They helped me to find my feet after the war and settle back into civilian life when I returned from fighting the Nazis, so any friend of the Liebermans is like family to me.”

  After that chance meeting, Tom became a regular visitor into the Lieberman household, with his war stories keeping Majiv enthralled and their friendship blossomed.

  After Tom intervened into the situation with the gang, a new spate of cowardly retribution was levelled against the Liebermans. Old Mr Lieberman was called out of bed at midnight by police when someone set fire to his bakery business. As Majiv and Mr Lieberman walked through the smouldering ruins, Majiv heard Mr Lieberman speak in a low, flat voice.

  “Majiv, hatred starts as a snowflake and ends in an avalanche. This, too, we will recover from.”

  *~*~*~*

  Chapter 6

  Emit Krueger hadn’t slept properly since the disappearance of Rebellious almost three days ago. The f
lagship of his flailing company had just vanished, and with it so did his hopes of trading out of the mess that had been caused by the stock market crash and the subsequent collapse of the country’s economy. With an aching, sleep deprived head and a squinting gaze from the two-storey mansion’s second floor window, he followed the driveway contour down onto the sweeping lush front lawn and manicured gardens of his sprawling estate. In the harsh economic landscape, no one had money and if he tried to sell the property to keep the company alive, he wouldn’t get anything for it. He rubbed his aching and tired temples, trying to think of a plan, a stroke of genius that would turn his misfortune around, but his dull and foggy business head refused to cooperate.

  If the rumour mongers were right and the crew of Rebellious had tried to traverse Black Dean at high tide and in the dark, then there certainly was no evidence of their claims and they may never know her fate. Krueger angrily pounded the stone wall beside the window frame. What was Captain Michaels thinking? Then his mind drifted back two months to the scene in the boardroom when he had announced the schedules for Rebellious; the stunned looks on the faces of his executives and the angry challenge from Wallis Pike, a junior board member and a talented up and coming hotshot. He remembered Pike’s furious speech and his own swift rebuttal that had silenced Pike’s anger like a snuffed out fuse.

  “You’ll just have to find a way to meet the schedules and I don’t care if they are impossible and people don’t like the conditions. You will enforce company policy and follow my directives if you wish to remain employed as an executive in this company! Times are tough, gentlemen, which calls for tougher decisions and everyone has to suffer a little and give two hundred percent to keep this company floating... meeting over!”

  Although Krueger was the owner of Rebellious, he’d never stepped foot onboard the cutter and had no idea how his decisions were affecting the lives and safety of the people trying to comply. All he saw was the fragile bottom line.