Mystery of Desolation Point

Chapter 1

April, 1905

Desolation Point, my prison for the next year, emerged from the fog. Each rhythmic stroke from the two sturdy sailors took me closer to land. The tender ship, now a hazy outline, swayed in a world of fog-shrouded gray. A tingle of dread raced up my backbone as I remembered whispered conversations about this cursed place. I pulled my cloak closer and wrinkled my nose at the damp wool’s pungent odor.

Last night, Orin sneaked into my bedroom with the same tired question, Do you believe in ghosts?

No. I’d kept my voice steady, so he wouldn’t hear my fright, and repeated what we’d heard Father tell Mother. The October shipwrecks for the past seven years were caused by bad weather.

But there could be ghosts around. Think about all the men who drowned.

I don’t believe in ghosts.

Orin changed topics. Are you worried about finding the body of a murdered man or meeting a murderer?

Orin, I said sternly, you’re scaring yourself.

I’d like to see a ghost. Maybe the last lighthouse keeper murdered the missing sea captain and the assistant keeper.

Father said the head keeper had been dismissed because he used strong spirits, not because he murdered anyone.

Then what happened to his assistant and to Diamond Dan?

I don’t know. Nobody knows. I turned my back to my brother, hoping he would take the hint and go back to his bed.

We could solve the mysteries. Orin tapped the middle of my back. Well, you could. You’re real smart, Mary, but I could help.

We’re not going to look for either ghosts or murderers. You should go to bed.

After Orin left, I pulled the pillow over my head trying to block the knowledge of the terrible events spawned at Desolation Point, but time could not be blocked. And today I sat in a rowboat, getting ever closer to the place which existed under a spell of misfortune.

I see the lighthouse.

When Orin jumped from his seat and pointed to the white conical form with the black railing, I grabbed his arm and jerked him back to his spot, fearful his antics would swamp us.

Mary, stop rocking the boat! Father’s voice boomed over the clamor of the waves and the howl of the wind. He used hand motions to tell me to shift my weight to the left, then uncoiled the rope and threw it over the dock’s upright timber.

I lifted my chin and looked at Mother for encouragement. She offered a wan smile and dropped her gaze. Father never talked much, and sometimes loneliness overwhelmed Mother. Before we left, Aunt Catherine reminded me I’d have to help during Mother’s resting times. Mother’s shoulders rose and fell with deep breaths. She studied her hands, not raising her head to look at our new home. I’d seen that vacant expression on Mother’s face before, and it forecast a difficult day.

Charles, the taller of the two sailors, extended an oar to a short bow-legged man dressed in a pea coat and a cap with ear flaps tied under his chin. His shape looked like a Humpty-Dumpty egg and his large middle made his arms and legs look like skinny sticks.

Hans Frankel, he said and snugged up a second rope from the rowboat to the landing. Glad to see my replacement.

Father grasped his hand, steadying his movement from the rocking boat to the landing. Eli Kruger. Harriet and Mary. Father pointed to us and then grabbed Orin, who lost his balance when he jumped from the boat seat to the dock. My boy, Orin. He’s pretty excited about living at a lighthouse.

Frankel raised and lowered his eyebrows a couple of times in Orin’s direction. And Desolation Point Lighthouse harbors scary secrets and mysteries. Mr. Frankel helped me from the boat. Got a couple of youngsters myself. We’re in Belle Harbor If you tried to walk to there, it would take more than two weeks. Not many could handle this remote posting.

We can! Orin dashed toward our new quarters and ran around the lighthouse before the wobbly sensation left my legs and my stomach settled.

Orin raced toward us, arms extended like a soaring seagull, and skidded to a stop next to me. Mr. Frankel, do you think Diamond Dan stashed his treasure on this point?

Captain Dan, now that’s a tale. I wager Mary would like to hear that story too. Mr. Frankel glanced from me to Orin and laced his fingers over his ample belly. I’m start with Dan. The man loved diamonds. It’s rumored he traded all his savings for the pretty baubles. Could be a legend, could be truth. I don’t know of anyone who actually saw them, except the ones he wore.

Mary and I can look for those diamonds. Right Mary?

Sure. I ruffled Orin’s hair, feeling braver with my feet on solid ground.

Mr. Frankel gestured to a spot left of the dock. Dan’s ship wrecked right out there.

Charles coughed heavily, then bumped against Mr. Frankel and pointed to the dock full of boxes and barrels. Frankel, spare us your long-winded tales. There’s work to do.

Instead of helping Charles and Arnold, Mr. Frankel moved next to Mother and twisted the toe of his boot. I’m not much of a housekeeper. Place is pretty much as that miserable drunk left it.

Father patted the shorter man on the back. You came here as a light keeper, not a housekeeper, right?

True. And you’ll find the light in immaculate condition and the watch log up to date. I lived in the room off the stairway and did my cooking on an open fire.

I’d have done the same, Father said. No need for one man to rattle around in a family house.

Frankel rocked back on his heels. Woodpile and water barrel are full. Have to tell you, I’m eager to get away from this place.

Because of the ghosts? Orin bounced from one foot to the other.

Maybe. Lots of shipwrecks, so plenty of dead men prowling about. Mr. Frankel grabbed Orin’s shoulders, causing him to jump.

You got me. Orin shook himself like a wet dog. Have you seen any?

Can’t say I have. Heard some strange sounds, but never saw an apparition. Mr. Frankel turned to Father. I’d worry more about wolves than ghosts. Had a big one as a regular visitor, brave as brass. Most shy away from humans, but not this one. If you see him drooling, shoot.

I’m a decent shot, Father said.

And I’m learning. Orin puffed out his skinny chest. Maybe I’ll kill the wolf.

You’ll probably be too busy watching for ghosts. Father smiled at my brother with a gentleness I only saw when he looked at Orin.

Mr. Frankel motioned to the weather-beaten shed. Fellows, you can use the sled for the barrels and boxes. Have to act like horses in harness to pull these supplies up the hill, but it’s a lot easier than doing it by hand.

When Orin followed the sailors, Father turned the conversation back to the most recent mystery surrounding our new home.

You know what happened here? Father asked.

Nobody knows. Light went out. A keeper and an assistant were assigned here, but when the boat arrived to check on the light, the keeper was alone. Lots of blood and no assistant keeper.

I leaned closer so I wouldn’t miss any details.

Heard the keeper is in a special hospital, Father said.

He is. Most think he killed his assistant, but no body’s been found.

Rather you didn’t say anything to my boy. Don’t need to put thoughts of murdered men in his head. Father reached into his pocket for a big brass key. Harriet, you and Mary go to the quarters. These men will need a good meal before they leave.

Chapter 2

Sand lay across the porch in drifted dunes. After several tugs on the screened door, Mother forced the sand back. She fitted the key into the lock and opened the heavy wooden door. Gasping, Mother reached for me.

Now I understood what Frankel meant by leaving the quarters as the drunk left them. Heavy layers of dust sat on the upholstered sofas and chair. Grime and smoky residue blocked the view from the windows and gritty silt covered the floor like a carpet.

The kitchen table was littered with plates crusted with old food, the splattering of wax from burned out candles, wadded papers, and empty liquor bottles. Some bottles stood, while others slept on their sides. The brilliant black eyes of a well-fed rat stared at us from the shelf over the wood stove. Mother’s face turned as gray as the grit on the floor, but knowing we couldn’t cook until we cleaned, I rolled up my sleeves for battle.

Mother held our family together with her music and her cheerfulness until the need for rest took over. I resented the laughter bubbling up from the men stacking the boxes and barrels on the sled. I longed to be a part of their happy company instead of facing depressing squalor and Mother’s withdrawal into silence.

I’ll get wood and water. I grabbed the wood carrier in one hand and a bucket in the other.

Mother would be better when I got back. She would.

She would have her coat off.

She would be wearing her apron.

She would be sweeping or picking up dishes or beating the dust out of furniture.

She would.

But when I started back, a mournful keening came from the house. I hurried, even though my haste caused some of the precious water to slosh out of the bucket. Mother’s hands were on her opposite shoulders and she rocked back and forth humming.

Mother, I said cheerfully. I’ve got water. Let’s get started. I tugged on the shoulders of Mother’s coat, until she moved her arms so I could remove it. I pulled her apron from the valise, led her to the cook stove, and placed wood, kindling, and matches within her reach and turned to face the mess.

This filthiness could cause any decent person to go mad. I picked up the empty liquor bottles and put them in the trash bin. I stacked the books and papers so I could go through them at a more leisurely time. Some were drawings of hideous creatures, others of ships splitting in half. I could entertain Orin for hours with these papers, great fodder for his active imagination.

Mother began cleaning the shelf which the rat had abandoned. She plunged her cleaning rag into the bucket, wrung it out, and continued her task while I filled the sink with hot water, and dropped in the grubby dishes to soak. Next, I scrubbed the kitchen table until I was satisfied, then turned to the larder. Mother and I worked in a silence broken only by the hammering waves and yowling wind.

Before we finished the kitchen, Charles, the black-bearded sailor opened the door and coughed. Mrs. Kruger, you ready for us? Holy Mackerel! Oh, sorry, Ma’am, Miss. He whistled. Arnold, come look at this.

The smaller sailor, followed by Orin, surveyed the room. They did take the keeper off in cuffs, but Frankel could have cleaned a bit, knowing a family would be coming.

I exhaled loudly. Maybe Mr. Frankel spent his time searching for treasure or ghosts.

We’ll pitch in. Let’s have a look at the rest. Arnold wrinkled his nose at the stench.

Wow! I’ve never seen any place this dirty. Orin clapped excitedly and wowed his way around the quarters. Mary, the chamber pot really stinks. It’s filled with dried-up stinky stuff, and there was vomit on the floor and bugs are crawling around in it. Orin tugged on my apron.

Orin, go through the drawers in the bedrooms to see if you can find anything clean, useful, or . . . I lowered my voice. ". . . anything to explain the Desolation Lighthouse mysteries.

The sailors worked as effectively and efficiently as women, and soon the two bedrooms and the nursery gleamed. They wiped the walls, mopped the floors, and even took the curtains out to air. Charles asked me to inspect their work, and I managed a smile when I saw the miracles they’d performed.

I’ll do soup, you do the biscuits. Mother’s quiet voice caught me by surprise. Maybe this spell wouldn’t last as long as most.

I passed onions, carrots, canned tomatoes, rice, and dried beef to Mother, then I mixed biscuits while Mother made soup.

Orin studied the drawings I’d found. Suddenly, he tapped on the floor with alternate feet in a quick pattern that sounded like heavy rain. He’d discovered something. I wanted to look, but I couldn’t spare the time, since the men milled aimlessly, waiting to be called for supper.

Father and Mr. Frankel walked the path from the boathouse to the quarters, their heads close together and laughing like old friends.

Father held the screen door for Mr. Frankel. Harriett, Mr. Frankel has left us this place in tip-top shape. Not one iota of dust on the Fresnel lens, and the boat and the boathouse are in apple-pie order. When’s dinner?

I answered for Mother. About twenty minutes. I just put the biscuits in. We’ve been busy cleaning. I hoped Mr. Frankel noticed the irritation in my tone.

Mr. Frankel looked sheepish. I’m good with the workings of the lighthouse, but as far as housekeeping…

Pretty obvious you’re not a housekeeper. Charles winked at the interim keeper and then bent over in a coughing fit.

Arnold slapped his pal on the back. Once he gets through coughing, we’ll bring up more wood and water.

Orin waved the sketchbook. Mary, come see what I found.

Go ahead, Mary. Amuse Orin. Nothing more to do but wait for the biscuits to brown, Mother said.

Chapter 3

I rubbed my aching back, appreciative for the reprieve, and sank into the seat next to Orin. He didn’t speak, just pointed to the page in the sketchbook showing a giant winged creature with a man in its mouth. What appeared to be blood fell from the man’s limp body, and I hoped Orin hadn’t heard Mr. Frankel tell Father about the blood and missing man. He was prone to nightmares.

Where’d you get this?

Big bedroom.

I took the book from Orin. These pictures looked similar to ones I’d found on the dining room table. His sketchbook included drawings of dragons, long lightning bolts, huge waves, and a