Great Lakes Light: Regional Romance, #1

By Kari Trumbo

Tossed on the stormy waters of Lake Superior, can three best friends risk everything to bring the safety of a lighthouse?

Guide in the Storm

April is a journalist, working tirelessly the night of November 28, 1905. She captures photographs of ships going down in the gale. A lighthouse could've saved them. When she shares her story and a lobbyist comes to team up with her, can the pair work together, or will his connection to the men trying to stop them keep them apart?

Safety on the Rock

Danielle travels to Washington D.C. to watch the lighthouse hearings. Her lifelong friend and confident, Oliver, sits by her side as the legislature determines what is more important, men or money. She takes a risk to keep a representative safe, but can Oliver keep her from the danger of people who'd like the world to forget the stormy waters of Lake Superior?

Light in the Darkness

Candice has watched her friends help the process of bringing a lighthouse to Split Rock, but what can she do? Her father is a ship's captain and she's far too close to the problem. He introduces her to Acke, a young captain who is the answer to the problems at the build site. But will he survive the dangerous conditions to bring the needed supplies when fall storms hit the Great Lakes?

Will anyone see a light over Lake Superior from Split Rock? Follow these three friends in their quest to bring a lighthouse to the largest of the Great Lakes.

Get the entire Regional Romance Series featuring scenic historic locations, exciting drama, and sweet (yet swoony) romance!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inked in Faith Publications LLC
• Release date: Mar 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215585207

Book preview

GUIDE IN THE STORM

Series logo

By Kari Trumbo

PROLOGUE

Two Harbors, Minnesota November 28th, 1905

April Decker buttoned her coat tightly, ignoring the howling wind outside. She’d already donned two pairs of wool stockings and trousers. Slippery, jagged rocks near the lighthouse and snow-covered rough terrain were no places for skirts. Some would say they were no place for women, either, but April wasn’t about to pay them any attention. The storm of the century was upon them, and the Lord alone knew what the toll would be.

You can’t possibly be going out in this. Danielle held tight to April’s arm. If I know you, you’ll hike for miles or stay out way past when you should.

April tugged free. I can, and I must.

She avoided the question of hiking, since there really was no question at all. She wrapped a scarf tightly about her neck and knotted it. A journalist had to not only cover the storm, but the damage it would do. That journalist might as well be her. With winds at fifty knots or more and out of the northeast, the fleet of iron ore ships were in grave danger.

But you’ll freeze! It’s already been storming for an entire day. Danielle held tight to April’s camera to keep her from leaving. This is madness. Let one of the older reporters from Duluth do this. I hate this money-making ignorance as much as you, but not enough to die for it.

They’d all discussed—at length and far into the night—how much they despised the iron industries’ new tactic of keeping sailing vessels and the men who worked on them out on the water far later in the season than was prudent. The loss of life already that year told a tale.

She planned to tell that tale to the world.

Some of those moneymakers live in Duluth. Do you think they’ll tell the whole story or only the part that keeps money coming in? This storm is bigger than the others. Maybe…just maybe…if the world sees what is happening here, something will be done. It’s morning. Good light for pictures. I’ll document it.

Danielle’s face sank in defeat. I don’t want you to go. You know I’ll be pacing all day until you return. I worry about you. She had always been the mature worrier of the three.

April clutched her close and hoped she wouldn’t worry too much. How could she survive without her dearest friends? Put a warmer on for me when I return. I’ll be shivering all night without it.

And she would return—with photographs to prove what all the old sailors were saying about the greatest of the Great Lakes. Superior was a living beast from fall to late spring and shouldn’t be tested. The lake had been frequently called the ‘most dangerous piece of water in the whole world.’

"I can do that much. I’m not sure what else I can do." Danielle handed back the precious camera.

Pray. But not for me. Pray for the men out there on those ships. They’re too heavy and don’t have the power needed to weather a storm like this. Father says many are ignoring the warnings since they withstood the squall only a few days ago with no incidents. They say there’s no way two such storms can hit in the span of a week.

Danielle shook her head and held out April’s mittens. Superstition goes both ways, bad and good. Sometimes you believe nothing bad can happen when it will and vice versa.

If only she could count on fisherman’s luck. The storm isn’t even as bad as it will get.

Danielle nodded her agreement. April and Danielle had both grown up near Duluth, on the North Shore, when their fathers moved them to Two Harbors the same year right before the end of school. They both knew the hazards the lake posed.

April and her two closest friends, Candice Plaine and Danielle Laurens, rented a home from one of her father’s acquaintances. While much of the town was rough and perhaps a little seedy, their home was farther inland near her father in a small pocket of middle-class workers who’d moved from Duluth to get away from the huge city.

April ducked out, closing and locking the door behind her. From the small house where they lived in Two Harbors the bay was a short hike away. Two Harbors had two lighthouses, one on land and one at the furthest end of a pier jutting far out into the water. Thank the Lord a small metal lighthouse had been placed at the end or a ship could miss the exact location of the bay.

She wouldn’t be safe from the waves there, nor on the rocky shore, but she could go to the lighthouse near Agate Bay. The tall red building sat atop a hill with better views of the water. The beacon had been there since 1892 and the bricks made the little house look extra cheery and sturdy. Not to mention she’d be able to see the color better in the storm.

Sleet and snow hit her face like sand pellets as she made her way through the uneven side streets. She ducked her head against the wind and bright, blinding white. Rocks protruded from the ground, gouging into the thin soles of her boots along the trail to the lighthouse.

By staying within the trees and between homes, she kept out of the driving wind and sleet, but her steps slipped and faltered on the icy, snow-covered ground. Waves crashed against the distant shore punctuating the howl of the wind. A shiver wracked her body and she held tight to her camera case as she pushed ahead.

Being on land was harsh. On the water, the situation had to be terrifying.

In the distance, a dark shape appeared momentarily, flashing again much higher. She picked her way slowly to the rocky edge and held fast to a tree as close to the shore as she could reach and avoid the massive waves crashing mere feet away. If she got soaked now, there would be no braving the storm, she’d have to get home before she froze to death.

A ship barely within sight plunged into the trough of a deep wave, surfacing again slightly nearer the shore, its barge following close behind. Her heart raced with each bob and correction as the two ships danced and parried on the turbulent water.

The motion was so outside the natural movement of ships that it struck her as completely unreal and impossible. Nothing moved on deck that she could see. The barge was like a ghost ship. Either the men weren’t there, or she couldn’t see them at that distance in the wash of waves and snow. She mouthed a silent prayer for their safety as the foghorn sounded behind her, a shuddering eerie noise.

The visibility was too poor to tell the names of the ships as they tried to weather the swells, but she knew exactly what was happening inside the steam vessel in the lead. Candice’s father had told all three friends how the big ships worked.

On a normal day, a gigantic steam cargo ship would tow a barge full of iron ore. The first ship would easily manage the massive haul with its large engines. The tow cable remained taut and pulled the barge along, though many barges also had sails in the event they had to move on their own.

Storm waves like the ones the men faced meant the engine room became the busiest place on the vessel. The barge would be in the worst shape as the unwieldy vessel was longer and cumbersome on the water with no tangible way to steer. Every time the propellers of the steam ship crested the water, the main engineer had to shut off the engines or risk vibrating the whole ship apart.

If the waves didn’t destroy it first.

She gripped the tree limb tighter and carefully unwrapped her camera from both her carrier and its expensive leather case. She’d sewn a carrying case so she could haul her camera around on her neck when the weather was poor and still have use of her hands.

Light wouldn’t be a problem. There was plenty of bright reflection from the snow, but her images might be blurry and difficult to see with all the movement of the thick flurries and the water tossing the boats around. Her Eastman Kodak Brownie camera only produced exposures of two-and-a-quarter inches square, and the aperture could be touchy.

She put her eye to the viewer and rested her arm on the thick tree limb, slowly and carefully adjusting the shutter slide on the top. The tree was the most stable thing in a world that seemed to tumble around her. Her stomach was pleased she’d avoided breakfast that morning.

On the lake, the ship pitched, diving into a wave. The barge followed close behind, its bow cresting a wave as the stern of the other ship floated in midair. She clicked the button, before quickly turning the key to advance the film. She took another picture, then another in the hope that she could string them together to show the violence of the storm.

There were only six photos available on the roll and she wanted to document as much as she could. This had been the worst weather season for shipping so far and predictors said storms would only worsen as the winter wore on.

Ships didn’t take long to glide past on a normal day, but with the bucking wind and waves, the massive freight ship and its partner couldn’t make any headway. There wasn’t time between the waves to gather steam. She watched in horror through her viewer as the ships neared the rocky shore and each other.

Click. Or was that a crack? She moved the camera from its position and the tension from hunching over the viewer seized her back, and a shiver skittered down her spine. If only she could see the image she’d taken. The next moment a louder crack rent the air. She searched the ships for signs of movement.

Distant yells and orders sounded through the storm as the vessel slowly turned into deeper water. She searched for what could’ve made the noise. A few minutes later, she realized they’d cut the tow rope to the barge.

Lord, help them, she whispered, trying not to breathe and break her concentration. The barge would be at the mercy of the wind and waves. The craft was already far too close to the shore.

Her stiff fingers gripped the wooden box camera tightly and she forced herself to take carefully take images, slow and steady, as both ships managed to make their way past her. Visibility shifted from about a quarter mile to almost nothing depending on the gusts of wind and the severity of the snow.

Her heart plummeted and she searched the frothy water for any sign of other vessels. The foghorn blew once again as a warning to ships she couldn’t see in the huge flurries but there was only white and gray and the scream of the wind.

CHAPTER ONE

December 15, 1905, Two Harbors Minnesota

April clutched her hot cocoa in her chilled fingers after a day on the pier in Duluth. It’s just not fair. We’ve tried so many things and there’s nothing happening.

Her closest friends and housemates Danielle Laurens and Candice Plaine sat knitting nearby, close to the fire. None of them had spoken much after their long day. They had all taken the train to Duluth and spent hours on the docks, attempting to get signatures on a petition. Many of the old mariners weren’t interested in signing anything that wasn’t from the Lake Carriers’ Association, even if it seemed like an idea that might help them.

Candice looked up from her project. Father says the work you’ve done is admirable and so helpful. Without your story, many of the captains would not have even looked at the appeal.

April wasn’t one to use the language of the men on the docks, but a few choice words came to mind, none of which she spoke aloud. Instead, she chose one her father’s housekeeper used often. Hogwash. They all know the danger more than anyone. It’s those men from the city, drunk with the money from the iron ore boom, whom I worry about. What are a few lives when they’re making millions? A tear trekked down her cheek, not for the first time.

Since the night of the Mataafa storm, where thirty-three men had lost their lives and twenty-nine vessels were damaged or lost, she’d worked with her friends for change. Candice’s father had put together a petition and they had all spoken to ships’ captains to have it signed.

The ships she’d watched through her camera, the Lafayette and her barge, the Manila, had both gone aground near the Split Rock River. There had only been one lost life on those vessels but each and every life was precious. Remembering the wind and waves still kept her awake at night.

Father says you should be at the meeting at the end of the week. Especially if you’re concerned that our voices won’t be heard. He thinks the request could go all the way to Washington D.C. Candice set aside her knitting. "Your story was powerful. Having the Minnesota Pioneer pick it up…"

April’s cheeks heated at the praise. These were her friends, not editors and journalists in the field whose admiration she desired more than anything.

It was advantageous, nothing more, she allowed. Especially since so many stories had been written and many had focused on the barge whose wreck had made so much news that the entire storm had now been named after it.

My story was one of a multitude, and no more important than any other. And many mariners would ignore the article since the account had been penned by a woman, even though she was a woman who lived through the incident on the shore. What could a woman who’d never set foot on a shipping vessel know about them or their industry?

Danielle disagreed. All the more reason for people to read it. Your story had feeling, depth…

April held up her hand to stop her friend. I don’t want to rise above the others because I’m a woman. I want to rise above because my writing is the best. She’d even begun drafting articles as A. Decker, knowing her family name was common and few editors would connect her to the stories under her name, simply so she could see how far she could reach.

Be that as it may, Danielle continued, fixing a bobby pin in her thick dark hair, "My acquaintance, Trevor Christoff, is eager to meet with you after reading the story. He thinks it’s more than advantageous."

April groaned. Danielle had mentioned him many handfuls of times in the three weeks since the storm. He was a lobbyist in St. Paul and the last person she wanted to befriend or be near. He seemed more a part of the problem than the solution.

And how is he going to help matters? This seems like a waste of our time. What else can I do? We’ve already carried around the petition with negligible effect and my story is out there in almost any library for anyone who might want to read it. Which still gave her gooseflesh.

He could be an ally. We could use all of those we can get. Danielle stood and held tight to her narrow skirts as she knelt in front of the fire and poked the ashes with the long cast iron poker. December on the North Shore could leave anyone chilled if the fire wasn’t maintained.

Candice’s father might be influential, but someone from St. Paul— Danielle whistled in a most unladylike way, probably learned from Candice.

If he’s your friend, why don’t you get him to come and lobby for you? Why me? I don’t understand the connection. The whole thing felt as dodgy as a white squirrel.

Because he wants to meet the writer who penned the story. The one out of all the stories of heartbreak who softened his heart.

Candice was probably the roughest of the group, being raised by a ship’s captain and with no mother. She rolled her eyes dramatically and added a sigh for emphasis. That sounds like something Mrs. Allinder would say at church. All fuss. No substance. He liked her story, let’s not add dramatics.

April bristled. Since drafting that story she hadn’t had another great success and she knew substance when she saw it. Her well of pertinent words had simply dried up. If only her memories would do the same.

Are you speaking to me or to Danielle?

You, you ninny. Candice stood and planted her hands to her hips. For fifteen years we’ve been friends and the one thing I’ve always known about you was that you loved to write. When your papa bought that camera and told you to change the world with it, I knew what to expect. Her eyes softened and turned sad. Now, I don’t. I find you crying by the window. I see you trying to write, but the page is exactly as blank when I come back later as it was when I left you. What if…having someone around to tell you how great your stories are brings back your writing?

The thought had never crossed her mind. In fact, she had plenty of people cheer her on right under her own roof. Why would she need a stranger to do it? But if Candice thought his presence might help…maybe she shouldn’t be so quick to turn him away.

How would I go about meeting him? She held up her hands to calm both friends when they turned to her and started talking excitedly at once. With the hubbub, she couldn’t hear either one.

Danielle took a deep breath, and her smile made her dimple deeper. He really is a fine man. I went to university with him the semester I attended in Minneapolis. We’ve kept in touch since school by letters and he tells me about his family and his sisters. And his friend Oliver Scott. At the mention of that name, her lips puckered slightly in an attempt to hide a smile.

He might be finer than frog hair, but that still doesn’t tell us how he’s supposed to get here. Candice scowled.

April almost laughed at Candice’s chagrin, but she didn’t want to give the impression this man was welcome. If he could help, then meeting him might be worth the effort, though she wasn’t sure how he could when they hadn’t been able to get the signatures of any captains and they had the backing of Captain Plaine. This man was a complete stranger to them.

We could go down to the Post Office and telephone him. I know he’s working, but he would gladly take a call. Danielle’s brow puckered as if she were thinking of more ideas.

April couldn’t hold in a chuckle after that. From all of us? Wouldn’t that be a hoot?

The fire crackled in the hearth and Danielle finally stood, brushing off her skirt. It would be. And, with his help, we have a better chance of success. Never again.

That had been their chant since she’d returned from capturing pictures of the storm. Never again would they let industry take lives for profit if they could help it. All three of them had worked to tell anyone who would listen, but the people along the shore were already tired of the constant shipping traffic and the push for more, more, more.

What they needed was to expand their sphere. You might be right, April said to no one in particular. Perhaps meeting him is exactly what I need to do to get certain influential people to listen.

Danielle held out her hand. April covered it with hers and Candice strode over and slapped hers on top with a stinging swat and a giggle. Danielle sighed and glanced skyward. Never again?

The other two answered in unison, Never.

She nodded. Then we’re all in agreement. April will meet with Trevor and see if he can help us get a light somewhere along the rocky coast, like here in town.

With all April’s scouting and hiking, she’d seen many places that would work. Many were high with great rocky outcroppings and would provide a good place. Stoney Point was a most likely choice. The sheer rock was flat, high, and wouldn’t need as much stone blasted out. She’d only seen its towering face by small boat, but the rock was impressive, and dangerous.

If there had been a lighthouse there in November, the Lafayette might not have gone down. But she couldn’t do the work of getting a lighthouse alone.

CHAPTER TWO

December 18, 1905, St. Paul Minnesota

Reading bills set to go before the Senate and House put Trevor Christoff ahead of his peers, since most of them had little time for it. With the exception of a few activists, who were only lobbyists because of their pet interests, many only did the job for the money.

He’d never thought he could make a career of lobbying but, after some fortunate meetings, his wealthy boss paid him to go to the Capitol and yell on his behalf. He wasn’t alone, though some were ineffective as more than a body in the lobby. Bodies sometimes counted when they wanted the government to know whether one particular idea was highly desirable or not…at least to a certain small section of the population.

He moved aside the stack of papers left to read to reveal a story he’d found in the Duluth Evening Herald weeks before. Though he had a tentative connection to the woman who wrote it, he still hadn’t managed to schedule a meeting with her.

His boss had been angry about her story, thinking her angry words painted a very callous picture of the wealthy in Minnesota and beyond. He couldn’t disagree, but that story had triggered something deep inside him. For once, he couldn’t change like a chameleon to swing to his boss’s way of thinking. He couldn’t lobby against April Decker and her story of the November Gale on Lake Superior.

A telephone rang at the tall operator’s station along the wall on the other end of the building. His boss had connections with the St. Paul based Minnesota Pioneer newspaper which meant he had a desk there to do his work, giving him the perfect opportunity to hand over the article he’d read to a journalist friend. They’d reprinted the story gladly.

He flicked the paper and his eyes adjusted quickly to the tiny print. Wind. Waves. She wrote so well and with so much heart he could practically feel the spray. He needed someone like her to speak when the coalition came to St. Paul to ask them for a lighthouse, if someone could make that happen. In this case, the lobbyists wouldn’t be active, with the exception of those who held special interests. His own boss might try, but he would forgo payment before he’d take on that job.

Trevor, telephone call for you! the operator yelled. She had a device in her ear and sat at a wall that looked more complicated than a subway line. Wires and plugs connected all over in a confusing jumble of boxes and openings.

He picked his way across the room and sat at the desk near the