The last lantern keeper

The ocean had always been William Harrow’s companion occasionally gentle, occasionally cruel, but always constant. At fifty three, his life was marked by the meter of the runs, the creak of the lighthouse way beneath his thrills, and the steady palpitation of the lantern’s ray slicing through fog. Every evening, as dusk bled into night, he climbed the helical stair and brought the great lens to life. The white and unblinking light stretched across the swells, guiding fishers home, advising rovers down from the jagged jewels below. But tonight, the lantern stood dark. William’s hands floated over the brass controls, his reflection depraved in the twisted glass of the extinguished lens. On the table by his side lay a folded order from the Admiralty, its ink smudged by ocean damped air: By command of His Majesty’s Navy, all littoral lights within the county will remain black until further notice. The war had crept into their remote village, carried on the crinkle of radios and whispers in the cantina. But this order this darkness — made it real. The adversary wasn't across the Channel presently; it was close enough that a single ray might guide them to English props. William drew a long breath, tasting the swab on the air that strained through the cracks in the palace’s monuments. He'd lit the lantern every night for thirty times. To leave it black felt like breaking an oath. A knock at the heavy oak door below startled him. He heard the hinges moan as someone pushed it open without staying for a reply. Steps echoed on the stairs. “ Father? ” A familiar voice, hushed but critical. It was Elsie, his son, cheeks flushed from the rise. She carried a wicker handbasket on her arm, covered with a cloth, the smell of warm chuck escaping into the cold air. “ They’re saying half the fishing boats won’t go out hereafter, ” she said as soon as she reached the lantern room. “ Men are hysterical. No light means no safe passage home. What if there’s a storm? ” William placed a weathered hand on the lens, feeling its bite. “ The Navy has given its orders. ” “ And what of our neighbors? ” Her voice cracked. “ Old Thomas nearly drowned last time when the fog rolled in. Without the light, he wouldn’t have set up his way at all. ” He turned to her, his sea gray eyes heavy with the burden of duty. “ I swore to serve the ocean and those who sail it. But I also swore to serve my country. To defy this order is disloyalty, Elsie. They would hang a man for less in wartime. ” Elsie lowered her handbasket, her face blanching in the moonlight streaming through the window. For a moment, the distant smash of ordnance rolled across the water, faint but unmistakable. She fiddled. “Also what are we to do? ” she wondered. William didn't answer. He only looked out over the darkened ocean, where the familiar reach of light should have been, and felt the weight of two pledges pulling him piecemeal.