The rocks of the island were slick—for the island was almost entirely rock—and she slid a few feet in her haste as she darted for her boat. Situated in a small cove behind the protection of her main island and the jetty, her boat happily bobbed, waiting for her.
She looked over her shoulder to the sea and assessed those waves. Down here, they didn’t seem much worse than the storms she had witnessed in her childhood, and based on where the boat fell, she could already map out several shoals she could use should her boat fail her.
She swore again. She would not let men die for her cowardice. It had taken an exorbitant amount of convincing to allow her to be the keeper of the lighthouse in the first place as a woman—though it was often an inherited position—and she was not about to prove them right. She was every bit the keeper her father and his father before him were.
She got in the boat.
It was bouncy immediately but surprisingly not dramatically worse than anything she had encountered before. Why had her heart been so apprehensive this morning? This was nothing she couldn’t handle. In fact, as a child, she had often gone out when the water frothed because there was nothing more exhilarating than her boat just barely being able to breach the coming wave. It had driven Father crazy, but she was sure he had allowed it for moments just like this, so that she would have confidence when it was needed and would be able to perform any rescue.
For now in the boat, actuallydoingsomething and not just sitting around waiting, her heart hardened with resolve and fear melted away. Activity was always easier than apprehension for her. She’d pick doing over waiting any day.
She sent up one last prayer—for both her safety and the men’s—and left the cove.
The waves were fierce—that, she could not deny—but she was rowing her boat perpendicular to them so she was ableto breach them. Up and over, up and over, her little twenty foot boat just barely broke through the crest each time.
The wind screamed in her ear and the thunder roared, as if both were cursing her for trying to redeem their well-earned prey.
It only made her smile. There was nothing more fun than defying nature.
It was an effort to fight the current, but with these winds, she dared not use a sail. Slowly but surely, she made her way out to the wreck. She could see it here and there as the waves allowed. It was mostly under but not totally, still on some sandbar no doubt, and from the look of the ship, the bar was too shallow for ships but too deep for men. She had to move fast.
The way the current was traveling she could already tell it would be easier to take any survivors to the sandy cove maybe a mile north rather than continue to fight the ocean’s pull back to the lighthouse. It was fine enough. Though she wouldn’t have the supplies to treat any injuries herself, she would be far closer to town and the doctor.
She paddled as swiftly as she could, and when she was maybe a hundred yards off, she began her cries, “Is anyone out there? Can you hear me?” again and again. The storm drowned out her voice; the sky released a torrent as if it would use mere rain to silence her until it had had due time to claim every last victim.
But then she heard a faint “Help!”
She rowed to it with all her strength, and breaking over the tip of a wave, she saw a black head of tangled hair and frantically waving arms. “Here, here!” he cried before another wave swept him under and she lost sight of him again.
Damned if she lost someone so close within her grasp now, she scoured the water, feeling practically frantic herself until she saw his head again.
“Here,” he started, but his voice sounded garbled with water.
“Save your strength!’ she cried, getting near him. Letting go of the oars, she reached out and grabbed him. “Kick!” she yelled as she hoisted him up with all her strength.
It was enough to get his torso over the side and she then helped fling his legs over the rest of the way as he fell in sideways and headfirst in the most ungraceful display she had ever seen. She was always so amused by how strange and awkward humans could look when everything in the sea practically danced.
“How many men?” she called over the roar of the sea and rain as she took the oars and began steering their boat to again correctlyface the waves.
“Ten total,” he called. “Including me. Let me row!”
“Just get your breath first,” she said, already scanning the water for her next target. She didn’t like how choked this man’s breaths sounded, nor how rapid.
“I assure you I’m fine,” he said, hand out as if he’d take them.
“As am I,” she said. “So sit down and rest.”
She didn’t wait for his response—with the right man, they could be at that all night—and she started calling out again, “Is anyone there?”
He joined her in the call and soon the two of them were screaming to the heavens in search of their next man.
Finally, she saw one and yelled, “There!” A blond man. He looked tired but was doing his best to keep swimming.
“Hold on!” she cried, timing it with the waves to spin the boat to come to him.
With her additional recruit, it was easy enough to drag the new man into the boat. He was practically limp with exhaustion, his skin pale, but he gave them a weak smile as he hit the deck. She didn’t like it. Eight men left and they were already pulling out ones that looked like hell.
“Shouldn’t we get closer to the boat?” the first man called to her.
