“Why did they let it grow up?” Ben shoved his fingers through his hair as he stared at the wall of new-growth forest and brambles that stood between him and Robertson’s lighthouse.
His hair was getting so long it was starting to bother him. Maybe he should talk Moriah into cutting it. Then it hit him that Moriah cutting it would also involve Moriah running her fingers through his hair. The thought made his knees go weak, so maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. He needed to find a barber, preferably a male barber.
He reminded himself it would not be wise to get romantically involved with Moriah. As much as he admired her, now that he knew everything, falling in love with her would be a disaster. He had important work to do in Brazil, and she would be a hindrance. The girl needed a nice, normal Manitoulin Islander man in her future, not him.
“It was never more than packed dirt, anyway.” Standing a few paces in front of him, Moriah jammed her hands into her back pockets and planted her boots firmly apart as she surveyed the dense woods. A dark blue baseball cap printed with the words “Robertson’s Resort” was pulled low. Her plain, white tank top showed off the firm muscle in her upper arms and back.
To Ben, her stance was entrancing. She was especially cute when in full work-mode.
Forget it, McCain, he warned himself again. He forced his attention away from Moriah and back to the subject at hand.
She seemed completely unaware of his attention. “After the Fresnel lens was stolen, the Coast Guard deliberately let the road grow over to discourage sightseers and vandals.”
“That’s the third time you've mentioned a Fresnel lens. What’s so special about it?”
“It was revolutionary. In the early 1800's, when most of the light towers were built, the lights on the Great Lakes were nothing more than oil-burning lamps with reflectors behind them. It required as many as ten lamps to make a light bright enough to warn a ship. Then, a Frenchman by the name of Fresnel experimented with creating layers of specially cut glass surrounding and reflecting one lamp. A Fresnel lens is lovely. It looks sort of like a huge, multifaceted diamond with a light glowing inside. I’ve seen miniature replicas sold as jewelry in lighthouse catalogs. Ours was called a second order light, which was one of the largest on the lakes. It was nearly as tall as a man.”
“And it’s not possible to buy one anymore?”
“Not to my knowledge. I don’t know where you could ever get one, unless you could talk a museum out of one of them, which is not likely. There are lighthouse history buffs who keep lists of every Fresnel lighthouse lens known. Even the one we had wasn't new when it arrived, back in the 1800’s.”
“How did your people end up with a used lens?”
“It started out inside a light tower on the shores of southern Georgia. The light keeper grew so afraid the Union army would destroy or take it that he secretly dismantled and buried each lens in the sand. The story goes that he was so destitute after the war, he secretly sold it and blamed it’s disappearance on the Union troops.”
“When did it disappear from the Robertson lighthouse?”
“Soon after my grandfather's death. The Coast Guard had already installed their automated light pole, but the road was still passable then. The lighthouse became a favorite place for late-night beach parties, and since we didn't own it, there was nothing Katherine nor I could do. The lens disappeared soon after. It was either destroyed, or someone got a lot of money for it. There's an extremely strong market for original lighthouse memorabilia.”
“Did you know your grandfather well?”
“He helped Katherine raise me as long as he was able. I learned quite a few things about tools and carpentry trotting around behind him, getting underfoot. Eventually, I became competent enough to be a bit of help to him. I was thirteen when he died.”
Moriah pulled off the baseball cap and let her hair swing free, ruffling it with her fingers.
“It’s warm this morning.” She twisted her hair into a loose knot and tucked it beneath her cap again. It was such an innocent, womanly gesture that it made Ben swallow hard.
Even though he had only known her a few days, he wished with all his heart it was within his power to give her the lighthouse for her own. He also wished he could give her the Fresnel lens and, while he was at it, the sun, the moon, and the stars. But he was just a stonemason, not a magician. The best he could do was put the tower back together. Maybe seeing it in good repair would be gift enough.
He cleared his throat. “Well, we can't start until we get a road in. Are you sure you’re okay helping me with this project?”
“I am,” she said. “Even if I don’t own it, I couldn’t bear to see someone else mess it up. There might be some on the island who are better carpenters, but no one cares about it more than me. It would probably drive me nuts not to be involved in bringing it back to life.”
Ben felt a combination of relief and excitement tinged with worry. To have Moriah around all summer as they worked on a project together—well, he wasn’t sure life could get much better than that. But, he reminded himself yet again, he couldn’t afford to get too attached to the girl.
“The road is impassable,” he said. “I barely made it through that one time I walked to the lighthouse to see you. We’ll have to make it into a road again before we can do anything else. Do you know of a good heavy equipment operator?”
“Let's go see my buddy, Jack.” Moriah turned toward him and smiled. “He can use the work, and you’ll like him.”
“I don’t have to like him. All I need to know—is he any good?”
“Jack is so good, he can just about do brain surgery with a backhoe.” Moriah tossed him the keys to her truck. “You drive.”