The Night Mark(44)

If this man didn’t shut up, Faye was about to gag him with a gourd. She hoped there was some in the garden. They might come in handy.

“The garden’s right out back,” Carrick said, pointedly ignoring the comment. His jaw was clenched, and Faye could sense it took effort to unclench it. “We’ll pick you something to take home.”

As Carrick and Hartwell walked out the back door, Faye lingered long enough to catch Dolly’s eye. She smiled at Dolly. Dolly didn’t smile back.

When Faye reached the men, she found Hartwell standing in the center of the garden surveying the cultivated land like his own private kingdom. Faye, too, looked around, trying not to gawk. It was her first time seeing the garden, as well. It was massive, half an acre at least, with a dozen rows of corn, a dozen rows of tomatoes and at least two dozen rows of potatoes. On top of that she saw cucumber plants, onions, head after head of lettuce, red cabbage and cauliflower. Did they grow all their own food here? Most of it, it seemed. Thankfully there were also strawberry plants and blueberry bushes. She wouldn’t have to live entirely on vegetables.

In a small fenced pasture to the side of the garden, Faye spotted not a cow but three brown goats. Oh, joy. As if unpasteurized wasn’t bad enough, she was going to be drinking goat’s milk here.

Faye wandered among the rows and twisted a few ripe cucumbers off their stems while Carrick and Hartwell talked.

“Where were you again before they sent you all the way down here to our little light, Chief?” Hartwell asked. Both Carrick and Hartwell had their hands in their pockets, but their postures couldn’t have been more different. Carrick looked humble and worn-out. Hartwell looked like a squire on a Sunday stroll.

“Boston,” Carrick said. “I was up at the Boston Light.”

“Boston. That’s right. Nice town. I was just up there a week ago. Very busy city. So many people you could get lost in a crowd and never be seen again,” he said, and smiled in Faye’s direction. “I must say I’m happy to be back home in a place where we all keep an eye on each other. You like our islands, Chief Morgan?”

“Love it here.”

“Good to hear. Very good. We’re very fond of our lighthouse families,” Hartwell said. He gave Faye a little wink over his shoulder. She pretended not to see that. “So how’s that monstrosity up there work, Chief? You got to pour in the kerosene and light a match every couple hours?”

“Gas,” Carrick said. “Acetylene gas. The mechanism was built in the Netherlands. You should be proud, Mr. Hartwell. This is the only lighthouse with a gas lamp running in the Carolinas. If the experiment works, they might try it everywhere.”

“Now, what do you mean if it works?” Hartwell asked. “Doesn’t it work right now? Didn’t it work last night?”

“It works,” Carrick said, wincing slightly. “It’s just...ah...gas is a little unstable. There were a few accidents.”

“Accidents? Big? Little?”

“Well, one lighthouse exploded,” Carrick said. “But that’s not going to happen here. Hope not anyway. You want to go up and see the improvements?”

Hartwell took a step back. “You know what, Chief? I think I’ll admire it from afar.”

Carrick was trying to scare the shit out of Hartwell on purpose—Faye was certain of that. After all, Carrick had run gas into the keeper’s cottage, so surely it wasn’t too dangerous. Then again, powering a house in 1921 with any sort of gas sounded about as safe as powering a house with lightning. Who knew? Maybe if the house blew up and Faye died again, she’d end up back in 2015 where she belonged.

“It’s a pretty fine setup y’all have out here,” Hartwell said, nodding at the garden and the house. “Nice view, even if you do have to live out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“We’re grateful to have the work,” Carrick said. “Lots of men don’t this year.”

“Doesn’t look like y’all are going to starve. I see cabbage. I see corn and peas and melons and summer squash. This must have taken some doing.”

“Our Dolly’s got a green thumb.”

“Good to have a girl around like that. She lives here, I suppose?”

“No. She has brothers and sisters and parents,” Carrick said evenly. “They need her at home when she’s not here.”

“So you all are all alone out here, aren’t you? Just the two of you most of the time?”

“Who else would we need?” Carrick asked.

“Daddy told me the Lighthouse Bureau offered to find you an assistant keeper and you told them no. You don’t want the help?”

“The light is automated now, so it mostly runs itself. I’m just here to wind the flash and run the foghorn. If something happens, Faith can radio the Hunting Island station. They have a keeper and two assistants, and one of them could be here in under and hour by boat.”

“What if there’s a storm and they can’t make it over here?”

“I’m teaching Faith how the light works. She can take over if something happens.”

“Seems like a lot of hard work for such a young lady.” Hartwell glanced at her, a cursory glance, quick and dismissive.

“Wives and widows and daughters have been running lights for fifty years or more, Mr. Hartwell,” Carrick said. “The keeper’s widow is running the Red Point lighthouse as we speak.”