May 1998
Manitoulin Island, Ontario
Through the dirty window of the old light keeper’s office, Moriah watched the wind and rain whip Lake Huron into a frenzy of white topped waves.
The lake had so many moods. There were times when it rested, still and smooth as glass. Other times it was cheerful, lapping at the sandy beach of Tempest Bay as though inviting everyone to come play. In winter it could be treacherous, enticing people out onto ice that was not always as sturdy as it appeared. And some winters it chose to become almost magical by creating glistening ice caves out of the freezing wave action it threw against the shore.
This afternoon, it seemed to be lashing out in hurt and confusion, which perfectly matched her own inner struggle.
“I need to get out of here,” she told Ben. “I need to talk to Katherine.”
“We’ll go soon,” Ben said. “It would be suicide to try crossing right now in that metal fishing boat of yours.”
“I know.” She sighed in frustration.
It was unusual for her to want to leave the ruins of the old lighthouse. For as long as she could remember, it had been her private sanctuary—a fortress against all the things that could go wrong in life.
The day her grandfather died, it was here that she fled, curling up on an old sleeping bag and crying herself sick, while the walls of the light house cradled her. It was within these walls to which she often ran in the summer when the guests at the fishing resort where she worked got on her last nerve. It was here that she had come to recuperate from all the angst and worries she’d experienced during high school.
But the storm combined with the violent nightmare she’d just experienced, made the place feel ominous and threatening today instead of a fortress against life’s problems.
She had no idea why her mind had decided to serve up such a nightmare. Ben and she had simply been discussing and making notes on the upcoming restoration of the ruined lighthouse—a pleasant task—when the storm came up and they took shelter inside the keeper’s cottage. To while away the time, she’d asked him to tell her about his translation work with the Yahnowa tribe. Unfortunately, she had been exhausted, and had fallen into a half-sleep while he was still talking.
His descriptions of the Yahnowa people and the jungle had somehow brought on such a terrifying nightmare that she was still trembling from the shock of it. In it, she had been a small child in the Yahnowa village, peering through the slats of a neighboring hut while her mother and father were slashed to death by murderous, painted, half-naked Yahnowa men. She’d even dreamed that a man by the name of Petras had stood outside the hut fighting for her life. Petras was Ben’s father’s name—a fact she didn’t remember having ever known.
The whole thing was such a disturbing image it had shaken her to the core, but she knew it could not be based on any sort of real-life experience. Her mother and father had died in a plane crash on their way to do mission work. She had been raised by her grandfather and aunt from the age of five. Except for being orphaned at such an early age, she had lived a very ordinary life.
Her hope was that her aunt might be able to help her figure out why she’d experienced such a mixed up, crazy nightmare. Katherine often knew things that she did not.
Ben was nearly as confused as Moriah. Nicolas had never mentioned the fact that Moriah might be the daughter of the missionaries who had been killed in the same massacre that had taken his father. The name of Robertson was a fairly common one. It had never occurred to him that Moriah’s parents could have been those people. Especially since Katherine had told him that Moriah’s parents had been killed in a plane crash.
And yet…the Yahnowa people still spoke fondly of a little girl who had once lived among them, a child they called Little Green eyes.
Moriah’s eyes were strikingly green.
With her screams from the nightmare still ringing in his ears, he decided to not upset her further by mentioning his suspicion to her. If there was any possible way that she was the child who had survived the massacre, it was not his place to tell her.
A lightning bolt hit nearby so close that they both jumped. Even though the structure they were in was made of stone, Ben knew they were not safe. His greatest concern was the roof. He hoped it held, but he’d noticed that it was starting to rot in many places. He did not like their chances if the heavy, soggy, roof fell on them.
“It might be best for us to get away from the window,” he said. “And it probably wouldn’t be a bad idea to stay out of the middle of the room. I know this roof is weak.”
Moriah glanced up. “You’re right.”
She went back to the spot where they had been sitting and dropped down onto the floor. She leaned her back against the stone wall and drew her knees up to her chest, still trembling slightly.
“Are you okay?” Ben sat down beside her.
“I will be,” she said. “But I’m having trouble wrapping my mind around what just happened. That nightmare was so real! I can still smell the smoke of the little cooking fire inside the hut.”
“Must have been scary.”
“It was.”
They sat in silence for a while. Then Moriah asked the question he had hoped she wouldn’t until he’d had a chance to speak privately with Katherine.
“How did your father die, Ben?”
There it was.
Ben was an awful liar, so as usual, he simply fell back on the truth.
“My father was killed by the Yahnowa, as was Nicolas’s mother.”
He winced when he heard her sudden intake of breath.
“I’m feeling very confused right now,” Moriah said.
“I was just a kid when Dad went there,” Ben explained. “My dad met Nicolas’s mother, Dr. Janet Bennett, on a trip. He was so impressed and intrigued by her and her work he went to go help in whatever way he could. I stayed with my uncle while he was gone.”
“So, you and Nicolas both had parents who were killed by the Yahnowa? When did you find out about each other?”
“We knew of each other from the beginning of my dad and his mother’s relationship, but I never met him until last fall. That’s when he closed his medical practice and came to see if any of the clinic his mother built in the Amazon still existed.”
“Does it?”
“No. At least not much of it. The clinic was abandoned for a long time after Dr. Janet died. Finally, some veteran missionaries, Abraham and Violet Smith, braved going in. The jungle had completely taken over the few structures when I got there. It never was all that much of a place to begin with.”
“What about the tribal people?” Moriah asked. “Have they ever talked with you about what happened that night?”
“Not much, and there’s no good reason to bring it up. We know what happened. The older ones who still live in the village are embarrassed by what happened. They weren’t part of the killings, anyway.”
Moriah began to braid a strand of her hair. He’d noticed this before. It seemed to be a reflex comforting action—something to keep her hands busy when she was under stress or thinking hard.
“Do you suppose that was the village where my parents were headed when their plane crashed?” Moriah said. “My grandfather and Katherine never talked much about where my parents were going. I got the feeling it made them sad to talk about it, so I seldom brought it up, but I probably overheard some things over the years. Do you suppose when you started talking about the Yahnowa my brain did something weird with the information and triggered a nightmare?”
Ben dodged the question. “I’m no expert on nightmares.”
He noticed a lessening of the wind and rain as the lightning moved further away. Moriah heard it, too.
“The storm is starting to calm down,” Moriah said. “Maybe we can leave soon.”
“Maybe.”
He watched as she rubbed a hand over the cracked linoleum floor. There had once been a floral pattern to it, but most of it had worn off.
“My great-great-grandmother, Eliza Robertson, nearly starved here her first winter. I often wonder what it might have been like to live here back then. ”
Ben was grateful for the change of subject. “How much do you know about her?”
“Not a lot. There aren’t any written records I’ve been able to find. Even the old log book was taken away by the government when the lighthouse was decommissioned. I know her husband, Liam, disappeared and was never found. The spring thaw was late. The lighthouse tender—that’s what they call a ship that is specially made to bring supplies to the lighthouses—wasn’t able to get through. She had one child with her when it happened, a little boy.”
“Did they ever find her husband?”
“No. Once the ship was finally able to break through the ice and get to them, the authorities came and searched. They never found a trace.
A rogue gust of wind blew down the chimney and scattered smoke and embers from the fireplace.
“As first dates go,” Ben rubbed the smoke out of his eyes, “I’d say this one has not gone particularly well.”
“I was not aware this was a date.”
Ben ignored her comment. “Let’s see; we’ve had tears, screams, and nightmares from when you fell asleep. I got scratched up from all the brambles and pine trees I encountered trying to walk that old road here. We’re damp from the rain. My backside is killing me from sitting on the floor. I’m hungry. We both smell like smoke. That rain-soaked roof might collapse at any moment. Did I happen to mention I made the acquaintance of a black bear on the way here?”
“You did?” Moriah said.
“I only caught a glimpse of him or her from a distance, but I was impressed.” He stretched out his legs. “You sure know how to show a guy a good time, Moriah.”
She leaned her head back against the wall beside him. “And to think, I wasn’t even trying.”