Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 102280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
The first document was a contract dated 1882, written in elaborate cursive that required several minutes to decipher. It outlined the agreement between the federal government and local contractors for the lighthouse’s construction, specifying materials, timelines, and payment schedules. Lily copied key details into her notebook, noting that the original budget had been $15,000—a significant sum for that era.
As she worked through the documents, the lighthouse’s early years took shape. The keeper’s logs from the 1890s recorded daily weather observations, ship sightings, and maintenance activities. Most entries followed routine patterns, but occasionally she discovered more intriguing details.
Lily flipped through standard weather observations and maintenance notes until her pen stopped mid-sentence. She read the entry again, then grabbed her highlighter.
October 15, 1894: Heavy fog through evening. Fog signal activated at 8:00 PM. Northeast—three boats, no running lights. The harbor master notified.
She turned pages faster now, scanning for similar anomalies.
November 3, 1895: Lamp room window—storm damage, temporary repair complete. Fishermen report dark moon traffic at Gull’s Point. Investigated. No improper activity found.
“Gull’s Point,” she muttered, writing the name in capital letters and circling it twice. She’d lived here her entire life and had never heard that name. Unless . . . she grabbed the 1890s harbor survey map from another folder. Her finger traced the coastline until she found it—a small inlet marked northeast of the lighthouse, exactly where the keeper had spotted those boats without lights.
The documents from the early 1900s showed gaps in the record keeping, suggesting either lost materials or periods when the lighthouse operated understaffed. The records became detailed again when she reached the 1920s folder, coinciding with increased maritime activity along the coast.
She wanted to talk this out with Sarah, but didn’t think to ask her to come along. Lily needed a sounding board. She bit her lower lip, looked at the phone on the research desk, and then at the door. She figured the phone was there for a purpose, and that purpose being she needed to talk to her best friend.
Lily picked up the receiver and dialed Sarah’s number. After three rings, Sarah answered.
“Hey, are you doing homework?”
“No, what’s up? Where are you? I called but your mom said you weren’t home.”
“I’m at the historical society.”
“That creepy house place?”
“Yeah, listen to this.”
Lily read the 1923 entries aloud, her voice rising with each new detail. “They’re not even trying to hide it by the end—’cargo transfer observed,’ ‘men working systematically,’ ‘regular operation.’”
“So Westerly Cove had bootleggers. That’s hardly shocking news.”
"But look at the timing." Lily spread the documents across the table, phone wedged between her ear and shoulder. "After Edmund Hawthorne died in October, they brought in Thompson as the new keeper. Thompson documents everything for two months, then BAM—transfer to Portland and instructions about 'professional discretion.' After that, Williamson's entries become monotonous: 'clear skies, calm seas, light operational.'"
"You think they got rid of Thompson because he was too observant?"
"Thompson was supposed to be a safe replacement after Edmund's 'accident,' but he turned out to be just as honest. So they transferred him out and brought in someone who would stay quiet."
“Okay, that’s suspicious. But Lily—”
“I haven’t told you the best part yet.”
She continued reading, finding similar entries throughout late 1923 and early 1924. The lighthouse keepers appeared caught between their duty to report unusual activity and their understanding that local authorities might not be entirely neutral on the matter.
November 8, 1923: First night as lighthouse keeper. Previous keeper E. Hawthorne died in a storm accident last month. Strange to find equipment in the lower level that doesn't appear in any maintenance records.
December 15, 1923: Heavy smuggling activity observed. Reported to harbor master as instructed. HM advised to "focus on maritime safety matters" and avoid "unnecessary speculation about civilian activities."
January 20, 1924: Received transfer orders to Portland station effective immediately. New keeper Williamson arrives Monday. Instructed to maintain "appropriate professional discretion" in log entries and to brief replacement only on "standard operational procedures."
A soft knock interrupted her call. Lily looked up to see Mrs. Pennington in the doorway, tea service balanced on a silver tray, her expression carefully neutral.
“Sarah, I have to go. Mrs. Pennington's here with refreshments.” She hung up and closed the keeper’s log.
“I thought you might need some fuel,” Mrs. Pennington announced, setting the tray down with deliberate precision. “You’ve been quite . . . focused.”
“Thank you.” Lily accepted the delicate porcelain cup, watching Mrs. Pennington’s eyes sweep across the open documents on the table. “I’ve found some fascinating material about Prohibition-era activity. The lighthouse keepers documented extensive smuggling operations in the 1920s.”
Mrs. Pennington’s hand stilled on the teapot handle. “Did they indeed?”
“The records show local authorities knew about the smuggling but chose not to interfere. Do you know anything about how that worked?”
“That’s quite before my time, dear.” Mrs. Pennington straightened, smoothing her skirt. “And even if I possessed such knowledge, I’m not certain it would be appropriate for discussion. Some old stories serve better as history than as conversation topics.”