Lighthouse

It's 1962 in the racist south, Ella is black, Danny is white, and everything is on fire.

When a city is engulfed in flames, there is usually one of two reasons behind it. One, poor wiring and buildings that are far too closely spaced to meet safety requirements, or two, riots; people who are angry at change, or lack thereof, or even a sports event, who feel the best way to fix something is to destroy everything.

Today, it is riots, white men are angry over integration of schools and buses. They see change and they hate it, they hate it because its color is black; their color is black. They are different, they are not White Anglo-Saxon Protestants, therefore they are not equal to those that are and do not deserve to be treated as such. They are not people, they are personified and sentient property being treated as people, and that is scary.

He looks at her, her eyes locked on a burning town where men are being lynched and women raped and houses are being set aflame and everything is smoke and ashes and panicked screaming. Finally, she looks back, and he can tell she fights to keep a neutral face, that she refuses to show fear or sadness.

“Why are they doing this? This is 1962, not the middle ages.”

“This is 1962 in the racist south, what’s the difference? They’d be up in arms because your dress is nice if they could rationalize it, and it is a nice dress.” He kisses her forehead, marble skin contrasting against her ebony face, “And you’re too smart in all the wrong areas for your own damn good, bringing up history. At least, for your own damn good in the opinion of some of the men here.”

“And when do I get to decide what’s ‘for my own damn good?’ All these men here want me to know about dresses and homemaking and birthing babies. They want me to be the help but I know I’m destined for more than just the help. When do I get to pick my destiny?”

He pulls a cigarette out of his pocket and lights it, “When America stops being so goddamn bigoted. You know, when I finally join the Marines, I’ll get us out of here. I’ll get us out and put you through college and medical school and you can open your own office, fixing people like you always do.”

She smiles up at him, “That’s a sweet thought, Danny, but--”

“But nothin’, Ella Stiles. I’ll get stationed in the North, and bring you with me, and we’ll get married and have lots of babies and it’ll all pan out, trust me, darling. We won’t have to pretend anymore.”

Ella’s smile faded as reality crashed back on her, and she realized just how much she had really gotten into that fantasy. For a moment, she forgot she was here under false pretenses. According to the townsfolk, she was the help, and he was a single guy who just never found time to date the many girls who sought him out but were far too dainty to admit it. She played her role well, just not in the way they thought. The house was spotless, but a sharp rap to the top of the head with a wooden cooking spoon every once in a while was enough to deter him from getting too used to her acting like the help and putting his own dishes in the sink. Only one person knew, little Holt from down the street who wasn’t so little anymore. The boy was a beanpole and damn well knew it, but still insisted he’d help protect them if the time came. The boys were always watching out for her, said they had a bond that transcended race; they were all born in May so that made them all connected, an unbreakable bond, because no matter how much anyone wished it, they couldn’t change the day they were born and the day that they die. Eventually the boys took up residence together and it only made sense that Ella became the help when they did, except she wasn’t really the help…

Finally, finally, she smiles back at him, then gazes at the city from their front porch. She runs a thumb over his hand, “Danny.”

“Yes?”

“I’m gonna have a baby.”

“Wait, what?”

“A baby. Your baby.”

Danny doesn’t know whether to panic or jump for joy.

“Oh Ella. We need to get out of here, then, and fast. This isn’t a place for a baby, not a mixed baby anyway.”

“I know.” Their phone rings and Ella runs in and picks up.

“Roth and Drain residence, Miss Ella Stiles speaking.”

“Ella. It’s Holt. Take what you need and get out of there. I’m coming down there as soon as I hang up. They know, everyone knows.” The phone drops from Ella’s hands with a clunk, and Danny runs in. Ella is leaning on the table, breathing deeply. He puts a hand on her back, and she jumps.

“Ella, it’s just me. Who was it?”

“Holt. We need to get everything and run.” Ella grabs a suitcase, small and lightweight to be carried over the shoulder, and begins shoving in their clothes. Danny grabs her arm, “Ella! What in the hell is going on?”

“Everyone knows! We need to go.”

Danny’s green eyes widen behind wire rimmed glasses, “Where?”

“The lighthouse.”

“The lighthouse? Ella, there’s a storm coming!”

“Exactly, you can’t set fire to wet grass, and if we get up there before the storm, we can hide out until it’s started, and no one will follow us!” She grabs another bag, filling it with plenty of food and glass jars of water wrapped neatly in rags to keep them from breaking and candles and a couple of blankets and bath soap and towels.

Even in the face of danger, Miss Ella Stiles wanted to be clean.

“This really is a pretty spot to be alone, Ella. How did you find it?”
Ella stretched out on the grass, and Danny lay down beside her. Her skin still smelled like vanilla from the cake she’d made Holt for his birthday, and he wanted to kiss fingers that could cook and clean and could deliver a mean blow with a spoon.
“Mama used to bring me here to look, to teach me about the sea and all of the things across it, how Africa was either across this one or the other one, but she just knew it was this one. She said this ocean just felt like it would lead her back to her roots if she could follow it.” Ella sits up, “There’s a spirit in that lighthouse, y’know. Saw her myself.”
“Not truths are unbecoming, Miss Ella.”
“Good thing I’m being truthful then, isn’t it? It’s a girl, pretty blonde thing with short hair. Must have been a flapper.”
“Oh really? Tell me about her.”
“Well, I decided I wanted to go swimming, and thought I could go it alone, but I went too far out and started to drown. Suddenly, I felt someone pull me up, and carry me to shore. She looked at me, and asked if I was okay. I said yes. She laughed, told me I was too tired and panic-stricken to be telling the truth, and asked me why I was swimming in choppy, pre-storm waters. I told her I thought I could handle it, and asked who she was. She smiled and said, ‘Isabelle’. She said she lives in the lighthouse, and I told her that nobody lives up there. She said she’d been up there for ten years. You see, her lover was a sailor, and she went and she waited there for him. Turns out, the door locks from the outside, and the lover never arrived, so she sits there, and she sings, soft like a siren, waiting for him to come and get her. In fact, her voice is so powerful, so enticing, it sends ships off course.”
“That’s disturbing.”
“And makes sense of all the boat crashes in the last ten years.”
Holt smiles, “Well, maybe she’ll talk to you again one day.”
Ella makes a face, “You don’t have to believe it. I do.”
“We’ll see, Miss Ella. We’ll see.”

The sound of the riot seems to increase, and Holt is beating, beating, beating on the door, and it snaps Danny out of his daydreams. He opens the door, and Holt begins to fill a third bag with supplies, including Ella’s medical kit and a fourth bag with rags and rocks from the yard before covering it with some of his old clothes and one of Ella’s work dresses.

“Danny, you’re the strongest, carry this and let them grab it. They’ll stop and search it and get distracted long enough to get to the light house. There is about ten men.”

Ella grabs Holt’s arm, “How’s Mama and Daddy and Bo?”

“I hid them, hid them all. I’ll sneak them to you in cover of night, and sail you all out myself.”

“To where?”

“Ellis Island. There’s a way around the immigration station.”

The flicker of flames begins to get closer, the yard is burning.

Ella pushes Danny through the rear door, and they run, heading down the path to the lighthouse. Sure enough, men are on them, snatching and grabbing until they get Danny’s decoy. Danny takes off ahead and takes one of the bags from Ella, pushing her forward, ahead of him. She makes it to the lighthouse first, slipping on the damp grass and throwing the door open. Danny follows behind as the rain becomes more intense.

Holt sticks his head in the door, “I’ve got to close it and lock it from the outside, make sure you lock it from the inside. The rain’s gonna swell it, and it will stick. You will be stuck until a day after the storm passes when the heat kicks in but the good thing is that they’re going to be locked out too.” Ella kisses his forehead, “Please don’t get hurt.”

“I can’t promise that.”

“Then don’t die.”

Holt pulls a pistol out of his pocket, “I’ve got five rounds to kill ten men.  Danny?”

Ella pulls his, and another one out of the bag, “Take them.”

“Who’s…?”

“Stop asking stupid questions and run before you get hurt.”

Holt slams the swollen door, hard, as chaos explodes outside. Danny locks it and pulls Ella and the bags further and further into the darkness, and Holt is yelling. Shots go off, and Holt keeps yelling. His yells slowly fade, and Danny exhales and lights a candle. They make their way up the winding staircase and into the bedroom. Ella lays beside him, “Do you think he’ll come back?”

“Holt is a fighter. He’ll be back.”

***

“It’s been three weeks, Danny. Danny?”

Danny sits up, eyes sunken in and pale. The storm had lasted for damn near a week, and they only had food rations for a week. His body felt weak, his stomach felt as if it was caving in, and Ella looked worse. He kept filling her with water, trying to make sure her body held on, their child held on. Danny grabs her hand, “Is she moving?”

“She’s too tiny to move more than little flutters, gotta wait until I get big to ask those questions. It’s been three weeks. Holt isn’t coming back.”

“Yes he is. He has to. It’s just not safe right now.”

“I’m so hungry.”

“Drink some water.”

“I’m not thirsty.”

“Which means you need to drink. Didn’t you tell me that?”

Ella accepts the water and lays down on Danny’s legs, knees drawn to her barely swollen tummy, protecting it.

“Tell me about the flutters, Ella.”

***

A week later, Holt opens the door under cover of night, arm in a sling and apologizing profusely. Danny tries to shake Ella awake, but she doesn’t respond. He listens for her heart, and it’s beating is light, barely audible. He carries her into the open air, shakes her, and slaps her face with water.

“No, no, no. There won’t be three ghosts. Come on, Ella.”

Holt slings their bags into the small steamboat, “Three?”

“She’s pregnant. Ella, wake up. Please!”

Finally, finally, Ella stirs. She looks up at Holt, then to Danny, and down to her tummy, then back at Danny with her hands over her stomach.

“I can’t feel the flutters.”

***

Twins, the doctors at Ellis Island said. Two little babies. She’s miscarried, they said, stress and lack of nourishment, the second and third ghosts in the lighthouse, two more deaths in the civil rights movement where everything was wrong, so wrong…

“But you can try again…”

Ella clutches at Danny, uniformed Danny, sharp, clean and buzzcut Danny, and he hold her there, carries her out like a child as she sobs about her babies.

They go home, and they try. They try again and again until Danny has to go to boot camp, and Ella waits. She waits, and she cries, and she writes him letters and reads his letters and he tells her to wait, just wait. So she waits until one morning, she’s sick, and the next, and the next. Soon, she’s running to the bus, and tapping her foot in the waiting room and finally being seen.

When Danny comes back, tanned and strong and officially a Marine, Ella is swollen fat and sensitive, her moods on a pendulum that Danny takes in stride. Finally, finally, she goes into labor, and it’s screaming and tears but in the end it’s worth it to have not one, but two perfect baby boys in her arms.

The year is 1963. Dr. King has a dream and so does Ella, and the boys are growing, walking. They’ve got green eyes and soft hair and people point but Ella beams, one hand clutching the hand of a tottering baby, keeping him steady, and the other hand locked onto Danny’s. She is shameless and proud, and when her oldest, David, runs, she shows it off. When Eddie runs right after him, then past him, Danny picks him and his brother up and swings them, and kisses them goodbye. There is a war going on, and daddy is needed.

Ella waits again. She reads letters and measures her boys and hears them speak; one says mama, the other calls for daddy. She waits by the window, and the boys do too.

It is 1964, and the boys are two. Ella is 22, and so are Danny and Holt. Holt moves in to help with the boys, but explains that he is not their father. Their father is fighting in a war to help people who need him. The boys understand and are confused all at once.

The year is 1965, and it is November. The letters are slowing. Danny’s battalion is set to come home. The boys are three and excited, Ella is anxious.

The year is 1966. The summer is warm and Danny is at the door, eyes bright, but his hands and arms are scarred. There is scarring further inside, but he doesn’t show it to Ella and Holt like he shows them the battle scars, doesn’t speak of it like he speaks of his medal of honor and his purple heart. Instead, he curls up on the couch with his four year old boys, and he kisses them, and he cries.

The year is 1971. Danny and Ella and Holt are 29, and Danny has hung up his uniform already. The boys are nine, and out of school for the summer, and they have fought to defend their mother’s honor. Ella scolds, and cries, and cleans up cuts, and Danny paces and wants to march up to parents and make demands and threats but Ella won’t allow it. He settles for a phone call and an angry promise, then hugs his sons. The movement may seem to be slowing where they are, but its scars still ring deep, even in the children.

This is a family that needs to be healed.

They drive back to the south, back to the still-standing house where they lived and back to the lighthouse, and Danny and Ella lay flowers down. Eddie grabs his mother’s hand and asks about her tears. She wipes her eyes and smiles.

“Boys…did I ever tell you there’s three ghosts in this lighthouse? I’ve seen them and felt them myself.”

Author's Note

Please, tell me anything you think I may be doing right or wrong so that I may improve my writings in the future,

Reviews

[Unam]

A marvelous story, gripping, real, and emotional! You are a very sound and professional writer. I admire your style, it is so poetic and dramatic that you can feel the severity of the story. Please continue such great work!