The Girl in the Lighthouse (Arrington)

by Roxane Tepfer Sanford

  I reached down and carefully pulled the photograph out from under the trunk, then brought the candle up to it. The photograph was taken of Sutton Hall in its glory days; it appeared to be some sort of event or celebration from before the war ravaged the South. I couldn’t quite make out the people in the scene; the photographer must have been far away. Slaves and ladies and gentleman stood about. The women relaxing in front of the mansion, beneath the familiar magnolia trees, wore beautiful dresses with enormous crinolines that filled out their skirts. Their hair was done in ringlets and curls, and the men conversed with each other in frock coats, trousers, boots, and very dapper top hats. Two men stood on the front porch, side by side. I recognized my grandfather in the photograph, but no one else, no matter how I concentrated.

  I placed the photograph in the pocket of my skirt and decided I had seen enough for now, and slowly made my way back to the staircase. I heard the door creak open and saw the glow from a candle coming up. Alarmed, I crouched in the nearest corner and hid behind one of the trunks. I watched Abigail creep up the stairs and stop at the landing. She walked further ahead, stopped in the center of the attic, and then placed the candle on the seat of a chair. For a moment she was silent, then, as if in some kind of a trance, she called in a whisper, “Jacob-Thomas, your momma is here.”

  I waited anxiously, holding my breath to see what would happen next. She called out again, then straightened her spine and looked to the end of the expansive room, and I heard the childlike laugh for the first time.

  “Come here, my boy,” she said, lifting the candle and sitting down in an old, worn chair.

  I eased up a little to get a better look then froze as the ghost of a young boy appeared from the darkness. He appeared to float across the floor until he reached Abigail, then he stopped. With angst-filled eyes, she reached out for him then the spirit laughed again, and in a blink of an eye, was gone. Abigail lowered her head into her hands and began to weep. After so many years, she still cried for the boy who had been taken from her. I wondered what had happened to Jacob-Thomas. What had caused him to lose his life at such a young age? Whatever had left a boy dead at such a young age must have been horrible.

  Abigail sobbed in silence as the night passed, and I suspected it might possibly have been a nightly ritual. Then she sat in the chair for several hours, singing hymns that Momma used to sing. Her voice was soothing and reminded me of my younger days, and began to ease me into sleep. I tried to fight my heavy lids, I didn’t want to lie down and close my eyes, but I was overtaken by exhaustion and in the cold, dark corner of the ghostly attic, I fell asleep.

  My dreams were filled with my youthful, happy days on Jasper Island. Ayden, Heath, and I blissfully frolicked in the chilly, North Atlantic waters, laughing and splashing one another. Heath’s brilliant blue eyes were full of happiness when he looked at me, and Ayden’s smile lit up my heart. The sun shone high above and warmed our faces; we were happy and free, with not a care in the world. The day in my dream seemed endless, and I could almost taste the salt of the sea on my lips as the light sounds of laughter filled my ears and pulled me back into my dreadful reality like a slap in the face.

  The boyish apparition stood over me as dull light filtered through the three dormered windows of the attic, then vanished in an instant. I gasped and shot up, nearly banging my head on the beam above. It was morning; I had to get back to my room before I was noticed missing. My heart in my throat, I hurried down the stairs until I reached the bottom, where I inched open the door and peeked into the hall. There was no one there, so I crept out and ran, as fast as I could without bumping into any walls. As I turned into the next wing, I stopped at the corner, looked all around, and then hurried on, until I reached my room. My heart beat fast in my chest, and when I finally made it to my room, there was Hamilton, a plate containing my hard-boiled egg in hand. I didn’t take the time to really look at him and breathed a sigh of relief. I was safe. I stopped to catch my breath, then the door slammed closed, and Grandmother stepped out from where she had been waiting behind the door.

  I froze, and I will never forget the fury in her eyes as she took her cane and gave me a massive blow to the head, sending me hurtling to the floor. The room began to spin, and I felt blood gush from my head. I saw Grandmother lift the cane again from the corner of my eye. Hamilton, sensing that she was going to beat me to death, came to pull me out of the way, but the cane smashed down on his temple and sent him crashing into the wall. Then he slumped to the floor.

  Piercing screams of terror shot through the mammoth house while I lay almost unconscious in my own blood. I remember Abigail’s deafening howls and Grandmother’s livid accusations.

  “It’s the girl’s fault. If she wasn’t the seed of the devil himself, none of this would have happened.”

  “You need to get a doctor!” Abigail yelled.

  When Grandmother didn’t respond, Abigail did all she could to lift me and drag me over to the bed, sobbing uncontrollably all the while.

  When she had me half on the bed, and only after she wrapped the wound on my head with her apron, she looked at Hamilton and fell over his body.

  “Get off of him,” Grandmother commanded.

  “You go get a doctor for Miss Lillian, or I’m going to the constable!” Abigail hollered through her tears.

  Without a word, Grandmother spun around and left. I thought for sure she would leave me there to die, but hours later, she arrived with a doctor, who checked my wound, then offered me syrup that quickly sent the room spinning and made my body feel like it was floating up in the clouds. I had no memory of Hamilton’s body being carried out or any idea of what was going on around me until more than a week had passed.

  In a foggy haze, I lifted my heavy head off my blood-stained pillow to find myself alone in my room, the door wide open. A small table had been brought up to my room, and on it, an empty bottle sat beside a spoon, bowl, and pitcher. There were a pile of bloody rags covered in flies on the floor.

  It took a few minutes for my eyes to come into complete focus, and then I slid off the bed. I stood, dizzy, and leaned on the bed to keep from falling, waiting until the lightheaded feeling went away. It was difficult to remember the reason my head throbbed and why I had a large bump on it.

  It took a great effort, but I slowly steadied my legs and proceeded from the room, wandering aimlessly down the hall, not knowing where exactly I was going. It was difficult to gather my senses, and I found myself spinning in circles, confused and lost. I was sure I heard voices, laughter, and then sobs. I decided to follow them through the dim corridor, down the grand staircase, and out the front door. As soon as I stepped outside into the rain I was drenched, and my bare feet sank into cold mud. I pulled the hair away from my face and gazed around. I looked for the light; if I could find the light from the tower, that’s where Daddy would be. There was no light, and I called for him.

  “Daddy? Daddy where are you?”

  I heard the sobs again. It must be Momma, I thought. She was crying again, alone and locked away in her room. But I couldn’t find them and there were no answers. I tried to find my way through the pouring rain, and I fell; I got up, only to fall again. I began to cry, not from pain, but from my loss. I began to remember that Daddy was gone. Momma was gone. I gave up searching for things that could never be, and lay in the mud of a freshly dug grave, allowing the rain to saturate me as I succumbed to the confused anguish that consumed me.

  I stared up at the dark, grey, ominous sky looming over Sutton Hall. I stayed in the muddy graveyard until my delusions of the past and present cleared and life as I knew it took me back. But in the time it took for the rain to flood the grounds around the mansion, I realized I had been abandoned once again. My footsteps echoed throughout the mammoth house, and I looked around in disbelief. What little furniture had once been strewn about was gone. I went from empty room to empty room, even back up to the attic; it was all gone—the trunks, the clothes, the broken chairs and tables. Even
the old cobwebs had been disrupted by the removal of long stationary items. It had all happened without warning, as quick as the blink of an eye. I was completely alone.

  Grandmother was gone; she had forsaken Sutton Hall for good, though her ruthless presence lingered, and there was no sign of Abigail. I looked around for clues, a letter, for any explanation, but found nothing. All I had left was my blood-soaked, fly-ridden bed. I still had the armoire that contained Momma’s dresses and books and a key I no longer needed. The door was open; there was no one left to lock me away anymore.

  I wandered through the house, dripping a trail of water behind me and thought I had lost my mind, and was in some kind of strange dream; after all, I did receive a severe blow to the head. Maybe I was dead and wandered the halls the way Jacob-Thomas had, just waiting for someone to call for me.

  When I entered what had been Grandmother and Grandfather’s room, I passed a mirror behind the door, obviously accidentally left behind, and saw my own reflection. I looked nothing like an apparition. I was not a ghost; I was very much alive and left to fend for myself, alone. I was no longer a prisoner; I had my freedom and could do as I pleased. I felt much the same way as the former slaves; the doors of sovereignty were opened, but without a place to go, it almost held no value. Then I thought it was up to me to make what I could of the opportunity handed to me. I would go to Warren’s cabin, and there I would wait for him until his return.

  I changed into a clean, dry dress, glanced around my prison for what I believed would be the last time, and then made my exit, not looking back. I believed I remembered the way. It didn’t seem long ago that I was brought back to Sutton Hall, bound and gagged, then beaten. I was sure of the direction, and although my walk seemed a hundred times longer, I finally made it to Warren’s tiny cabin.

  I didn’t expect him to be there and proceeded up to the small porch. On my walk, I thought about how long he had been gone and figured he could return any day. I was relieved to find the door unlocked.

  Everything appeared as it had been when I forcefully taken away. The cabin was untidy; his bed was not made from the last night he slept there. I went to the bed, sat down, and thought about how wonderful such a simple thing as a clean bed was. It still didn’t seem real; I was actually free from the chains of evil that bound me to Sutton Hall. No longer was there a grandmother to fear; in fact, I had nothing to fear any longer. I just needed to wait for Warren, and when he heard what had unfolded to lead me to him, he would want to take me away to start our life together. I could almost feel the ocean breezes against my face as I imagined the days ahead on Cape Cod.

  I suspected Warren would make me an honest woman and marry me. It couldn’t happen soon enough, and I sat on his bed and locked my eyes on the door, anticipating his return at any moment.

  Day slipped gracefully into night, and though I found myself sitting in the darkness, I kept my stare, unwavering as the hours passed, fixed on the door until morning approached. The bright orange glow of the new day beamed through the small windows of the cabin, onto my face. I closed my eyes, and they remained closed until the sun rose high and morning was fully underway. Still, I was not tired, and had no desire to alter my commitment. I would sit there, eyes wide open and fixed on the door, with all the endurance I had left, until Warren came home. Occasionally, I thought I saw his shadow approach the porch and my heart would stop, but then I’d realize it was just the shadow of a branch and I’d be disappointed, take a breath, and resume my steadfast position.

  This went on for as long as I could keep my eyes open, until my lids grew so heavy that sleep won out and I lowered my head and drifted off to sleep, only to wake early into another day, angry with myself. The moment Warren walked through the door, I wanted to see his expression; I wanted to watch his sea green eyes light up and hear him call me to him. That fantasy played over and over again in my mind, so much so that my heart began to race and I became fidgety and restless. After days of sitting I finally got up. My empty stomach had been rumbling, and I decided to go through his cupboards to find something to eat, but there was nothing. So I went outside to the well, drank as much water as I could to fill me up, then went back inside, and returned to my place. Then a wonderful idea came to me. I had noticed a tin tub out on the porch, and I dragged it into the kitchen. I made a small fire and proceeded to heat up some water. I would soak myself, maybe for hours.

  As soon as I slipped into the warm bath, I immediately went into a calm, serene state, leaned my head back, and virtually melted into the heat, which felt as if it were taking off the ugly, hideous layers of years spent in the God-awful walls of the house that Grandmother ruled.

  The water was just hot enough to remove the filth, the blood, the dirt, and the pain—both inside and out. I had brought a bristled brush in with me and began to scrub every inch of my body, so much so that when I finally decided I was cleansed, my body was red and raw. But to me, it was a good ache; it meant I wouldn’t have to carry the stench of Sutton Hall, and although the scars on my back from the whipping would always be there, I couldn’t see them.

  I took a long, deep breath, and after I was dressed and my hair had naturally dried into long, silky waves that cascaded over my shoulders and down my back, I walked out to the porch and fell into the rocker. The day was mild, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, I watched as the birds flew from tree to tree and squirrels gathered nuts and seeds to bury for a feast at a later time. The pale blue skies were filled with white puffy clouds, and I smiled, thinking of Momma and Daddy. They were up there, somewhere, looking down on me. I suspected they were finally happy, since they had been reunited in Heaven. I believed Momma had her sanity back, and Daddy was young again. All seemed well; my life was falling back into place, and I had finally taken the first of a few steps that would return me north. It was only a matter of time before I could visit the Daltons and wander the island, remembering my younger days, which truly were the very best days of my life. The sooner Warren returned, the sooner I could get out of Georgia, leaving my tragic memories behind with the empty house that sat on the once-magnificent plantation.

  After days and nights of waiting for Warren, my heart sinking with each passing minute, I decided to go find him. Savannah was only fifteen miles away, and I was sure I could walk there in less than a day.

  I gathered myself and gingerly headed up the dirt road towards the capital. I was grateful the day was cool and most of the oppressive summer days were behind us. My shoes barely fit; I was a full size larger than Momma had been, and they had holes in them, which allowed pebbles to get in. I occasionally had to stop alongside the road and clean them out. By the fifth time I had done this, I heard a wagon coming in the distance and scurried under some brush so I wouldn’t be detected. I was still leery of strangers; always in the back of my mind, I feared Grandmother had changed her mind, returned to the plantation, and would come for me.

  As it drew closer, I realized it was an elderly man aboard a large, lumbering mud wagon. He hadn’t spotted me, and I took the opportunity to jump on the back, hide under the cover, and hitch a ride into Savannah. The ride was horribly bumpy, and knocked me about, but I endured and jumped out, undetected, as soon as I heard the horse’s hooves hit the cobblestone city streets. My plan was to go to the railway station, steal into one of the box cars, and make my way to Massachusetts.

  Savannah was much more confusing than I remembered. There were streets going in every direction and houses upon houses. I heard the whistle of the train and followed the sound through the bustling streets. People strolled along, finely dressed, and as I passed, they would stare, point, whisper, and giggle. At first, I didn’t understand what they were laughing about or why they mocked me. Then I managed to make out what they were saying.

  “Would y’all look at that dress she is wearing? That girl looks like she is still waiting on Jefferson Davis to rescue us,” a woman snickered.

  Among the locals I was out of place, a figure strai
ght out of the war—all because of my clothes. A man even approached and stopped me in my tracks to taunt me.

  “Y’all look ready for some debutante ball,” he teased. He was with a few other men, whose eyes scanned me up and down and whose lips, under their bushy moustaches, revealed lustful smiles.

  “I’m going to the station,” I said nervously.

  “Do y’all realize we did, in fact, lose the war?”

  “Please, let me be. This is the only dress I have,” I cried.

  They all doubled over with laughter.

  “Hey, she ain’t no southern bell. She talks like a Yankee!” one man exclaimed.

  They had stopped me in the middle of the busy street and circled me as carriages and buggies whizzed dangerously by. When I heard the steam whistle blow again, I tried to nudge my way out, but the man before me grabbed me and pulled me into him. His breath smelled like the stuff Daddy used to drink. His teeth were yellow and covered in bits of chewing tobacco. I had never seen such a hideous face before.

  “Y’all is one of the prettiest little ladies I have ever seen walkin’ these here streets,” he said, then to my astonishment, he reached out and grabbed one of my breasts.

  I gasped and smacked his hand away, on the verge of tears. They continued to laugh as I pushed my way through and ran ahead, darting around horse-drawn wagons and carriages, hearing their laughter until I made it around a corner and up another unfamiliar street.

  I stopped and leaned against the brick wall of a general store to catch my breath and calm myself. I was trembling and caught up in my fright. People went in and out, but only gave me strange glances. I wasn’t going to stay but one more minute, when I was again approached by a man, though he was much more dignified and well dressed.