Love's Journey on Manitoulin Island: Eliza's Lighthouse (Book 4)

By Serena B. Miller

Snowstorms. Starving wolves. An Isolated Lighthouse.
It is 1875 and Liam Robertson, keeper of the Tempest Bay Lighthouse, disappears during a series of record-breaking snowstorms on Manitoulin Island, Canada.
Miles from civilization, his wife, Eliza, and their fragile, ten-year-old son are virtually trapped inside the lighthouse.
When the remnants of a dog sled team drags a half-dead stranger to her door. Eliza knows she must try to save the man’s life, but she soon fears that she and her son might be in danger as the man’s ramblings reveal that he spent years in prison.
While parceling out their dwindling food supplies, and with no way to call for help, Eliza keeps the great light burning, clinging to the hope that it will guide her husband home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: L. J. Emory Publishing
• Release date: Oct 26, 2018
• ISBN: 9781940283432

Serena B. Miller

Prior to writing novels, Serena Miller wrote for many periodicals, including Woman’s World, Guideposts, Reader’s Digest, Focus on the Family, Christian Woman, and The Detroit Free Press Magazine. She has spent many years partnering with her husband in full-time ministry and lives on a farm in southern Ohio near a thriving Amish community.

Book preview

Prologue

Astorm was raging outside, but Ben wasn’t worried. The lighthouse which he and Moriah had turned into a home had withstood many storms over the last century and a half. This storm was bad, but the stone walls were so thick and solid there was a good chance even the thunder might not awaken Moriah. She was grabbing a few winks of sleep after taking turns with Ben walking the floor with their fussy baby son most of the night. Little Petey McCain had finally exhausted himself and now lay sleeping, nestled in the crook of Ben’s left arm.

Before they were married, Ben had been so sick in love with Moriah he thought it impossible to love another human being more. He had been wrong about that. Watching her labor to bring his tiny son into the world—such an ordeal it had been—and then seeing her eyes soften into tears of happiness at the sight of their new born son squalling and waving angry fists in the air… well, his heart ached almost to the point of bursting with love for her and this precious bundle.

Their baby boy had gained a bit of weight in the eight days since he had been born, but Ben could still hold him in the palm of one of his big, stone mason hands. So tiny and new, and yet already equipped and programmed with everything needed to grow into a fully functioning person. Petey was a miracle, and so was Moriah.

He wanted to give her something more than just words of thanks for giving them this precious little boy to raise, which was why, at 3 a.m., he was attempting to transcribe Moriah’s great-great-grandmother’s journal into some readable form with one hand while cradling the baby with the other.

The journal, which they had discovered inside a hidden compartment of an old walnut desk built into one corner of the lighthouse, was filled with fancy, old-fashioned writing. It had been written with either a steel nub pen, or a quill. There were blots and splotches in many places, and the writing was faded. Every inch of each page was filled with Eliza’s cramped handwriting. Paper had been at a premium in those days, especially in homes like the lighthouse which was far from a stationer’s shop.

He held the opened journal closer to his nose trying to discern yet one more faded word. Moriah’s great-great-grandmother’s journal was extremely difficult to read. In addition to all the other issues of age and ink, she had used the practice of writing horizontally until the page was filled, and then turning the page and writing vertically—employing a method of cross-writing that he had observed in a few old letters in museums. It was a social invention of the 1800’s when postage and paper were expensive and every scrap was valued and used. Translating Eliza’s journal from a foreign language would have been far easier for him.

It would take patience to transcribe the thing, much like trying to untangle a huge ball of knotted string, but he had lots of patience. Especially now, since he suspected there were secrets in here that Moriah would want to know.

Using only a pen, a fresh notebook, a magnifying glass and a good light, he began to slowly copy out one word after another. Moriah would be eager to read this, and he was happy to have something productive to do while he held his newborn son and allowed his beloved wife to rest.

---

From the journal of Eliza Robertson

May 10, 1874

My husband, Liam Robertson, gave me this leather journal as a gift for my birthday. It is a pretty thing, carefully made with sturdy stitches and filled with lovely paper. It still smells of a book binder’s shop. I’ve not used it yet for fear I would ruin it with accidental ink blots and my poor use of words.

My husband does not understand my hesitation to use this gift. The journal is just a tool, he says. Something to be used. Not something to be saved. Liam is a man of common sense. Until he met me, he spent most of his life at sea with other men. He is often puzzled by my woman’s nonsense.

I’m not sure what to write about. Perhaps I should describe how Liam and I first met. It was in Quebec City right after he returned from a long voyage. Men who have been cooped up for many months on ships often have to let off steam once they find themselves on dry land, especially if there is money in their pockets and taverns to visit.

This was the case with Liam. He was happily engaged in fisticuffs one spring morning at one of the city’s many taverns while I was passing by on my way to the school where I taught. He fell out of the tavern door still clinging to the gentleman whom he seemed determined to kill, knocking me to the ground in the process. It was very upsetting. He was exceedingly drunk and obnoxious.

After he sobered up and remembered the incident, he inquired about me from some townspeople, and showed up at my boarding house with flowers and a charming apology. It did not take many weeks before the apology turned into a proposal. I was flattered to have such a handsome man willing to give up a life at sea in order to marry me. I accepted his proposal in spite of some of my women friends warning me of the dangers of marrying a man who seemed as fond of drink as Liam. Before we married, he promised to stop, but he has not been able to keep that promise.

He was a ship’s carpenter when we met, and carpentry is how he makes a living for us now. It is not a good living. He struggles to get enough work. Sometimes that causes him to drink more than is good for him, and that means frequently doing work that is not his best. That makes people hesitant to hire him, which sends him back to the taverns. It is a cycle I do not know how to break.

Liam began his life at sea as a young cabin boy. It is all he has ever known. Giving it up for me has, I think, been more difficult for him than he expected. He is often frustrated and angry. I wish I was enough to make the sacrifice worth it, but I fear I am not.

Other than that, there is not much to write about. My days are spent caring for Liam and Zachary, who is our ten-year-old son. I cook. I clean. I read, and sometimes I visit friends. Neither Liam nor I have any close family left. That is something we share in common. I wish we could have had more children, but we were not so blessed. It is a sadness, but there is nothing to be done.

Liam says he may have a surprise for me soon, and that I will have many new things to write about. I am not certain that I want to be surprised.

April 25, 1874

We received an official-looking letter from the Canadian government today. It says Liam Robertson has been appointed light keeper at the Tempest Bay lighthouse on Manitoulin Island. This was astonishing to me. I had no idea Liam was even considering such a thing. A ship captain for whom Liam once did a kindness, and who has some influence with those in charge of the lighthouses, got this appointment for him. Liam is enormously pleased. This means we will be provided with a home and steady pay. It also means he will get to live within sight of a large body of water. He misses the sea.

Our son, Zachary, and I will go with him, of course. In many ways I dread this move. Manitoulin Island is a primitive place and Tempest Bay is very isolated. But I am happy for our family because there is an extra silver lining to this appointment. Liam has promised to keep no hard liquor at the lighthouse since he wants to succeed at this endeavor. He knows he has a weakness, and is determined never to neglect his duties and put sailors’ lives in danger. The closest village is eleven miles away, which is a long way to walk to find a tavern. Perhaps things will be better between us if he takes this job.

For that, I am willing to live in a lighthouse in the middle of nowhere.

Ben glanced down. Little Petey was beginning to root around and mewl like a newborn kitten, so he took the baby in to see his mommy. By his calculations, Moriah had gotten a solid two hours of sleep, which wasn’t a lot but much better than nothing.

As for him, he was enjoying working on Eliza’s journal too much to go to sleep quite yet. He took Petey into the bedroom, roused Moriah, and deposited the sweet little thing in her arms.

He’s hungry again? Moriah’s voice was thick with sleep. So soon?

I think he takes after me, Ben chuckled. Speaking of which, while you nurse him, I’m going to go fix a sandwich. Can I bring you anything?

Water, Moriah said. Just water. I feel like I could drink an ocean.

Ben brought her a large glass of water from the kitchen.

Can you bring me the nursing pillow? she asked, as the baby latched on.

Of course. Ben helped position the special pillow just right. Then he helped prop her up a bit more while she drank.

Can you believe it? she said, after draining the glass, Black Hawk actually showing up with the missing Fresnel lens right after Petey was born?

It’s still hard to believe, Ben said. And it’s so much bigger than I envisioned. I need to get someone to help me install it soon so we can get our front room back.

"Don’t even think about installing that beautiful thing without me, Moriah said. Please wait a few more days until I can help."

Of course, Ben said. I was thinking of making a bit of a ceremony out of that first lighting of the lamp. Have Nicolas and Katherine over. Black Hawk, as well.

That sounds wonderful. It is definitely the best baby gift ever. she said. Can you believe Black Hawk had it hidden away all those years to keep it safe and never once mentioned it to anyone?

Yes, my love, he said. I’d believe about anything you told me about Black Hawk.

Moriah, now wide-awake and well-hydrated, fixated on her new baby. She stroked his downy head while he nursed. I’m fine now. You go and get yourself something to eat.

Ben went back to the kitchen. While he put a ham sandwich together, his thoughts were still on Eliza’s journal. So Liam had a bit of a drinking problem, did he? It would be interesting to see how well he had done with that, especially with the responsibilities of the lighthouse upon him.

Ben knew quite a bit about alcoholism because of his own father. He knew that alcoholics who tried to stop drinking without getting help often became something the behavioral experts called a dry drunk. Their access to alcohol might dry up, but the anger that often fueled the drinking continued. Even though he was only a few pages into the journal, he was already developing a concern for Eliza and Zachary’s living situation. Especially after having discovered the ancient remains of Liam’s body—and the head trauma that had caused the man’s death. Had it been a fall? Or something more sinister?

Unless he missed his guess, something had gone terribly wrong in this lighthouse many years ago.

Soon, Moriah and Petey were fast asleep, nestled together in the bed. He could have happily sat and marveled at them all night, but he wanted to get back to Eliza’s journal. An easy-to-read copy was the best gift he could think of to give Moriah in gratitude for having his child. He pulled his attention away from his precious family and settled into an armchair in the bedroom where he could keep an eye on them while he continued to work.

How he wished he could see through the old-fashioned handwriting, into the real-life, day-to-day existence of Eliza, Zachary, and Liam…

Chapter 1

March, 1875

The keepers are required to be unremitting in their attention to the illuminating apparatus, plate glass of the lanterns, lamps, wicks, chimneys, ventilation, and dampers.

—Instructions & Directions to Light Keepers–1871

Zachary Robertson wished he was brave, but he knew he was not. This was a great frustration to his father.

"What’s wrong with the boy? Father had said to Mother three nights ago when, once again, she lit a candle in the window of Zachary’s room. He’s ten. Why do we have to leave a candle burning all night?"

A ten-year-old boy is still a child, Liam, she argued. He believes wolves will come through the window unless there is a lit candle on the window sill to keep them out.

You spoil him, Father complained. It’s a waste of a good candle. When I was ten I was already earning my way as a cabin boy. Nobody had to light candles for me!

Zachary was ashamed of being a coward, but he could not help it. There was too much to be afraid of since they had moved into the lighthouse.

He rubbed a circle in the frost of his bedroom window and stared out at the white landscape. The strong wind blew the deep snow drifts into large flurries that danced upon the ice of the lake. Winter here at the lighthouse was beautiful but deadly.

It grew darker outside as he sat beside the window. He felt a tightness in his chest develop as he watched the last weak streaks of sunset disappear beneath the horizon. He had expected his mother home long before now.

I will only be gone a short while, she had said. Now that the blizzard has lessened, I want to go search for your father. I have an idea of where he might be.

Zachary nodded.

Don’t let the fire in the stove go out, she said. I’ll be back soon.

He nodded again, his throat so swollen with fear that he could not speak.

It was only last night that Father had left the lighthouse, slamming the solid oak door behind him so hard that Zachary winced. There had been harsh words between Father