Chapter12
The next morning, Cassidy woke with a sense of purpose she hadn’t felt in weeks.She wasn’t filled with the caffeine-fueled urgency that had driven her corporate life, but something steadier and more grounded.
She had a project.Not just a marketing campaign or a client deliverable, but something real.Something that mattered to actual people with actual memories and actual lives.
She dressed in shorts—she only had two pairs and should really go shopping—and a cotton shirt, then grabbed her laptop bag.Before leaving, she paused at the sunroom window.The Gulf stretched out calm and blue under the morning sun.A few boats dotted the horizon.Everything looked peaceful.
Her phone sat on the kitchen counter where she’d left it last night.She picked it up and saw three new emails from work.She set it back down without opening them.
Progress.
She found Winnie in the courtyard garden, deadheading a gardenia bush.The older woman looked up and smiled.
“Morning, dear.You’re up early.”
“I wanted to ask you something.”She set down her bag.“I’m working on understanding the festival better.The Harbor Ladies were helpful when they talked to me yesterday.”
“The Harbor Ladies Club talked with you?That’s progress.”
“A bit.But I want to show them and Bryan that I really am interested in learning what the festival means to the town.I thought it might be useful to look at historical photos.Maybe old newspaper clippings.Get a sense of how it’s evolved over the years.”
Winnie snipped another dead bloom.“That’s a good idea.The lighthouse museum has quite a collection.Festival photos, old editions of The Beacon, various records, and documents.You’re welcome to look through anything you’d like.”
“Really?I wouldn’t be intruding?”
“The museum exists to preserve our history.Can’t do that if no one ever looks at it.”Winnie straightened and brushed dirt from her hands.“Come on.I’ll show you where everything is.”
The lighthouse museum occupied a small building off the lightkeeper’s cottage.Winnie opened the door and led her into a circular room with whitewashed walls and tall windows.
Display cases lined the perimeter, filled with old navigation equipment, vintage photographs, and logbooks with careful handwritten entries.A model of the lighthouse as it had looked in 1885 occupied a central table.
“The archives are back here.”Metal shelving units held labeled boxes and binders.“Festival materials are on the middle shelf.Newspaper archives are over there.Take your time.If you need anything, I’ll be in the keeper’s quarters.”
“Thank you, Winnie.”
“My pleasure.”Winnie paused at the door.“It’s good to see you taking an interest in our history.Understanding where we’ve been helps us figure out where we’re going.”
After Winnie left, Cassidy stood in the archive room and felt slightly overwhelmed.There were dozens of boxes, decades of materials.She could spend weeks here.
She started with the festival files.The first box held photos from the inaugural event years ago.An older photo showed a man—she assumed was Bryan’s grandfather—at a grill, smoke rising around him as he cooked fish.The crowd was small, maybe two hundred people like Dorothy had said, but everyone looked happy.
The second box held materials from later years.She found the first boat parade photos with strings of lights and lanterns reflecting on dark water.The first sandcastle contest, with children kneeling in the sand while parents watched.A newspaper clipping with the headline “Starlight Harbor Festival Draws Record Crowd” and a photo of a mayor cutting a ribbon.
She pulled out her phone and started taking pictures.These would be perfect for a historical timeline in the festival brochure.Not slick marketing photos, but real moments.Real people.Real community.
The third box held financial records.She almost skipped it, but her corporate training made her curious.She pulled out a ledger from fifteen years ago and flipped through vendor fees, sponsorship contributions, and expense reports.
Everything looked normal.Small-town festival finances, carefully tracked by volunteers who probably had no formal accounting training but knew how to balance a checkbook.
She was about to put it back when she noticed another box on a lower shelf.It was older, the cardboard worn at the edges.The label read “Lighthouse Operations 1940-1950.”
That wasn’t festival material, but something made her pull it out anyway.
Inside were leather-bound logbooks, their pages yellowed with age.She opened one carefully and found daily entries in neat handwriting.Weather conditions, ship sightings, and maintenance notes.The mundane record of lighthouse operations.
She opened it and turned the pages.At the year 1943, she found an entry that made her pause.
March 15, 1943.Official ceremony held.Lighthouse operations to continue under private arrangement.
