by Karen Hesse
The weather has been very warm for several days, the mercury rising to the suffering altitude of 96 degrees in the shade. As hot as it is, the chill never leaves the room where Mother and Father are present.
Thursday, July 18, 1861
Clear. Wind N. Fresh.
I thought it would be Father leaving, to fight for the Union, but it is Lightkeeper Dunne who has left us. He said nothing to us of his intentions until this very day. He simply waited for the arrival of the new Keeper and departed. I never did grow fond of Keeper Dunne, though he was a good enough Lightkeeper. Still I don’t know anything about the new Keeper. Father and I will be busy until Keeper Hale is accustomed to this station. I am most relieved that Father is staying, at least for the moment.
Mother hoped that Father would be promoted from Assistant Lightkeeper to Head Keeper, but the Lighthouse Board will never consider such action because of the mark on Father’s record.
I am not certain how I shall stand with Keeper Hale. He has a handful of rosy children, and he and his wife are as big and boisterous as whales. They treat me as a child. Keeper Hale laughs when I tell him I am an equal in the keeping of the Light. I cannot suffer the thought of losing my place here. I shall never relax around him. Fortunately his children are not old enough to help with the Lighthouse duties, and they will keep his wife so busy she will be no help, either. Soon enough, Keeper Hale will see the value of my extra hands, my extra ears, my extra eyes.
Oda Lee cut through the piney woods in front of me while I was gathering kindling for the house.
She stopped and stared at me. She had never held still so close to me before. I didn’t know what to do. Finally, to break the silence, I told her Keeper Dunne had left.
Oda Lee was quiet awhile. “I know,” she said. “They all go in the end.”
Sunday, July 21, 1861
Clear. Wind S.E. Light
A flock of black skimmers rested out on the shoals, making a great noise this morning as Keeper Hale led the lot of us in prayer.
I played with Keeper Hale’s children this afternoon. I was not certain we should be so noisy on the Sabbath. But Keeper Hale did not discourage us. There are five little Hales, three girls, two boys, none older than eight. The oldest girls, Sarah and Alice, have a gift for fancy. They make up games all day to keep the three smallest ones, Mary, James, and William, entertained. They cheer me. They are so full of laughter and life. Even their rooms, so dark when Keeper Dunne occupied them, are dappled now with sea light. Mrs. Hale asked if there were not any berries on this whole island, and Keeper Hale came along as we went on a hunt for them.
Keeper Hale acted like a great bear as we marched through the woods, and the children ran screaming back to me every time he growled. They peeked around my legs, drawing my skirts about them. We ate plenty of berries during our outing. But we brought back enough to satisfy Mrs. Hale’s recipe for berry pie.
Monday, July 22, 1861
Clear. Wind N. Moderate.
Keeper Hale, Father, and I talked as we polished the lenses and the reflectors this morning. With each passing day Keeper Hale permits me to do more of my normal Lighthouse chores.
There is an ease between Father and Keeper Hale. I believe they are friends already in a way Father and Keeper Dunne never were. I have never known Father to have a friend other than Uncle Edward. It is good for him to have someone here to speak with.
As we worked, Keeper Hale told us of his sister who lives in South Carolina. She grew up in the North and has no fondness for slavery. Nor does her husband. They have servants, but they are paid, much as Uncle Edward pays Daisy.
Father said, “Imagine living in South Carolina and supporting the Union, Wickie. If the rebels despise the Union at a distance, how much more they must despise their Union neighbors.”
He asked if Keeper Hale’s sister and her family were safe in South Carolina.
Keeper Hale opened his huge arms and said jovially that she could come here and stay with him if she wanted. I do not know where he would put one more person. His rooms are filled to the edges with children and books and the most fascinating possessions.
Later, when Father and I were alone working in the garden, we came close to each other as we moved down the rows, plucking out weeds. “It must be like that for Mother,” I said. “The way it is for Keeper Hale’s sister. Surrounded by people who feel different from you.”
“It is hardly the same, Wickie,” Father said. But he would say no more.
Tonight, as I stand watch, I have so much to think about.
Keeper Hale’s sister has made a life for herself in South Carolina. She loves her home there as I love mine here. We have been at Fenwick Light from the start. We were here when Keeper Dunne touched the lucerne to the very first wick for the very first time. I remember the tiny flames growing behind their prisms. I remember those flames within their glass lenses…. Those lenses reminded me of flower petals when I first saw them. I remember the lantern room becoming a cage of light.
We have kept the Light burning here ever since, so that no more lives would be lost in the dangerous waters off our stretch of the Delaware shore.
Mother says that Father has no understanding of his responsibilities. When she speaks to him at all, it is to remind him of his past mistakes. To accuse him of present mistakes. She says if Father understood his responsibilities, he would never have stranded us on Fenwick Island.
I wonder about Mother’s words, about Father’s choices. Does responsibility to family weigh more than responsibility to something greater?
I have never seen Father do anything but honor his responsibilities at the Light. He would sooner die than let Fenwick Light become a Dark House, an extinguished lighthouse. A Dark House is deadly. The Lightkeeper must carry the consequences of that darkness for a lifetime.
But what of our own lives? Are we a Dark House, Mother, Father, and I? After watching Keeper Hale and his family, what else can I think? And if our life is a Dark House, whose responsibility is it? And what are the consequences? And how long must those consequences be carried?
Saturday, July 27, 1861
Clear. Wind N.W. Fresh.
Inspection at 10 A.M. Condition very good.
From Manassas Junction, Virginia, along Bull Run, there is word of a slaughter of Union soldiers. The Union troops were vastly outnumbered and exhausted. They panicked and rushed into retreat. The losses are frightful. Wagons are arriving in Alexandria and Washington, carrying dead and wounded.
I pray Daniel was nowhere near the action.
Thursday, August 1, 1861
Clear. Wind S.E. Light.
Keeper Hale has decided that on Sunday we shall raise a pole here at Fenwick Island from which to fly a large national flag. All citizens from on and off the island who are loyal to the Union are invited to attend the flag raising. Keeper Hale thundered up our stairs this morning to ask Mother to help Mrs. Hale provide refreshments. Generously, he gave her an allowance with which to do so. I do not know where he found the money to undertake such an affair.
After he bounded down the stairs again, Mother muttered, “I’ll not labor with that abolitionist wife of his. Nor will I lift a finger to help the man who has taken your father’s position.”
Mother is weary beyond her limit, and present circumstances have not improved her temper. Keeper Hale’s children are noisy, night and day. To me it is a joyful sound, but the precious little sleep Mother once got is lost to her with all the commotion of those busy children.
Keeper Hale does not know how to deal with Mother. He believes everyone enjoys the same good health and robust constitution he and his family enjoy.
I told Mother I would take the money and go to Bayville and get supplies for her. “I’ll work with the Keeper’s wife.”
Mother shook her head. She would not part with Keeper Hale’s money.
“Mother, you can’t just take it.”
“Why not? We have so little. Your father should be Head Keeper
.”
I do not have enough money to buy supplies for Keeper Hale’s refreshments myself. The money I earn selling fish disappears as soon as I purchase more medicine for Mother from Dr. McCabe.
But Keeper Hale is expecting refreshments contributed by our family.
Rather than fighting with Mother, I decided I’d better catch some fish to sell, in the hopes of earning what Mother would not part with. I picked my way over the ribbons of rotting seaweed, dragging the skiff down to the water’s edge. The gulls wheeled overhead.
Oda Lee appeared from nowhere just as I prepared to push off.
“Fine day,” she said.
I jumped. Then tried to hide the fact that she had startled me. I brushed wisps of hair back from my face, speechless.
Oda Lee asked me if I had a crab in my knickers.
I laughed.
Then I told Oda Lee about the new Keeper and his party on Sunday.
Oda Lee asked if the new Keepers were Abolitionists.
I nodded.
She wanted to know how Mother felt about her new neighbors.
I looked down and said I didn’t know.
This time it was Oda Lee’s turn to laugh.
I always thought Oda Lee so peculiar. But today, she understood not only what I said to her, but what I did not say, as well.
Sunday, August 4, 1861
Cloudy. Wind S.E. Light.
Keeper Hale led us in prayer at dawn. Services with Keeper Hale are unlike any services I have ever attended in all my life. Keeper Hale’s words are full of glory and goodness and bounty and life. Not a dark or somber word escapes his mouth.
Saw Oda Lee out on the beach early this morning. While she scavenged, Father, Keeper Hale, and I carried oil up from the oil house and filled the reservoirs. We cleaned and brightened every pane of glass and every reflector, polished every piece to brilliancy, the brasswork, too. Then I drew the curtains and washed down the rooms. When I looked again, Oda Lee was simply sitting on the beach, her arms resting on her knees, staring out to sea. Napoleon sat beside her.
When I came out of the Lighthouse, Oda Lee motioned to me.
I looked back at the house to see if Mother might be watching, then came across the dunes, my hands stained and smelling of lamp rouge.
Oda Lee never looked at me once, the entire time I approached her. Instead she kept her eyes on the sea. I kept turning back toward the second-story window of our house. The window where Mother stands.
While I turned to look back the last time, Oda Lee slipped away. For a moment, I thought of the time in the Lighthouse when I was on watch and I heard a footstep on the stair, but then no one came to me in the watch room.
I walked through the dune grass to where Oda Lee had been sitting and nearly tripped over a basket set right in the path. The basket was filled with supplies. I had managed to purchase a few things. But in the basket was all I needed to help with Keeper Hale’s party. The basket came from Oda Lee. Who else?
But why did she leave it for me? I am much unnerved by her.
For a moment I hesitated, uncertain about whether I should take the basket or not. These supplies were from Oda Lee’s scavenging expeditions.
But then Mrs. Hale called to me.
And without a second thought, I lifted the basket and ran all the way back to her.
Mrs. Hale and I set straight to work with the baking. The party was set for four in the afternoon.
We had help from the children, who were sticky up to their elbows and streaked with flour across their cheeks and foreheads. Even Keeper Hale was put to work after he and Father had set the pole.
At four, with everyone cleaned back up, we waited, looking across the Ditch. Uncle Edward came with Daisy, though he was reluctant to leave the store unattended. Still, he said it was important for both of them to come. While we waited for the others, Uncle Edward told us that someone sent a parcel to the editor of The Smyrna Times. It looked as if they were returning a copy of the paper from several days past, but when the bundle was unwrapped, a yard of brown domestic cloth with blood and scabs fell out. Smallpox! Someone had attempted to infect the editor and his staff at The Smyrna Times with smallpox. They are a pro-Union paper. Fortunately no harm was done.
No one else ever came to Keeper Hale’s party.
Keeper Hale never lost his good spirits. Nor did Mrs. Hale. We made a picnic out of it and had a wonderful time.
Mother stayed in her room.
Oda Lee came out and stood a good distance down the beach. When we raised the national flag, she turned her back on us and walked away.
Thursday, August 8, 1861
Clear. Wind S.E. Light.
I saw what Keeper Hale wrote about me to the Lighthouse Board. He says I am a sturdy girl, frugal in all things, even language. He states that I carry equally one-third of the Keeper’s responsibilities, and my logs and attendance to duties are beyond reproach. He recommends not only that I be retained in the service of the Fenwick Light, but that I be compensated for my work. I was not certain I would like Keeper Hale or his noisy family when they first arrived. I was not certain he would permit me to remain at my Lighthouse duties. I judged him wrongly.
Grandmother has come out to the station to help with Mother as Mother’s health has taken a turn for the worse. Grandmother complains about the children downstairs at every opportunity. Yet I am so fond of them.
The change the Hales have brought to this island is wonderful. Downstairs, in Keeper Hale’s quarters, there is always a river of voices. There are thumps and bangs and shouts and laughter. It is a sweet sound. But Grandmother criticizes with every breath. I feel as if our rooms are suddenly too small.
I wake to the sound of the Hale children singing and chattering. Those happy sounds fill me with a contentment I have never known before. Today Sarah and Alice raced up the Lighthouse stairs as I was polishing the brass. They would not leave me alone until I promised to come swimming with them. Yesterday, I took little Mary out in the skiff and taught her to fish. The children are forever drawing me into their games. James and William spend hours and hours building forts in the sand, only to bash them down in a matter of seconds, gleefully, with their plump little feet. Mary and James take particular pleasure in chasing Napoleon around the house, across the dunes, along the beach, and I chase after them … to make certain no harm comes to either child or cat. Napoleon could escape from them in a moment if he was truly annoyed, but he likes their attention as much as I.
Father has given his cot to Grandmother and is sleeping here at the Light. That gives us more time together, though now I must steal time to write in you, my diary. In silence, this afternoon, Father and I watched the gulls and herons. From high above we studied the movements of the sandpipers and the sanderlings, the knots and the yellowlegs, the curlews and the oystercatchers. I tried to talk with Father about Mother. But Father stopped me. He said there are certain things that should not be discussed between father and child. I will try to respect and obey Father. But it is hard to live with so many questions.
The news is full of skirmishes in Missouri and Kansas, and in Maryland. The Delaware regiment is not involved. People in Bayville continue to speak of the devastation done to the Union troops at Bull Run last month. I am grateful for every day Daniel is not in battle.
Grandmother brought peaches with her when she came. I baked three peach pies. Mother’s favorite is peach pie. But I could not get her to take even the smallest taste. Happily, Grandmother succeeded where I failed.
Keeper Hale and his family were delighted with the extra pie I made for them.
I do not know what Oda Lee thought of hers. I left it on the path in the basket placed precisely where I had found it filled with supplies a week ago.
Sunday, August 11, 1861
P. Cloudy. Wind E. Moderate.
Keeper Hale led us in prayers of celebration this morning.
This afternoon, Uncle Edward explained the Confiscation Bill to me, the one just passed in
Congress. If property is discovered, especially property devoted to the uses of the Rebellion, that property may be confiscated and sold. When the property involved is a slave, the United States Government will not take the role of slave trader. The slave shall be set free.
I wish no one would come to the island for a while, and that I did not have to leave it. I wish that Father and the Hales and I could just keep the Light and not see anyone, not talk to anyone until this lunacy is over, until the country is the country again, and there is peace. I wish we could go back … back to before South Carolina seceded, back to before Mother and Father began their fights. But how far back would we have to go?
Beginning tomorrow, school resumes. How odd it will seem without Mr. Warner. The new head teacher is from Maryland. I do not know how we shall manage together.
Five companies of the Delaware Regiment returned to Wilmington Saturday, their three months having expired. The report is that they are in good health. They have been engaged in watching bridges in Maryland and have not seen even a skirmish. They will be paid off in a day or two, then mustered out of service.
Daniel has signed on with the Second Delaware Regiment for three years, but I believe he must be mustered out of the three-month regiment first. Mrs. Worthington had a letter from him on Friday. We don’t know where he is now. I brought Mrs. Worthington some shad yesterday and visited with her a spell. Daniel’s little sisters like to climb into my lap. They want stories about the barefooted Hale children. They want stories about Daniel. They miss their big brother. I miss their big brother, too.
I try to be civil with Grandmother. She has softened a little. Watching Mother in such pain has softened us all. Grandmother pats Mother down with a cool dampened cloth in the dark bedroom. Outside the curtains is the brilliant light of the sea, but in Mother’s room it is as still and dark as a grave.
