slept not one wink that night. I felt like a ship dashed on the rocks, with the sea pushing me one way, and the wind pulling me another. How could I decide between staying and leaving, between living with Papa or abandoning him to go with Margaret and Celia? There was the lure of faraway places, and my love of Devils Rock, both of them strong and tugging at me.

Not having slept, I rose early to fix breakfast. Margaret stumbled in and I could tell that she hadn't slept, either. Neither of us was hungry again, so Mr. Callahan got three servings of porridge, and I kept Papa's hot on the back of the stove. But Papa didn't come for breakfast.

I knocked on his door. When there was no answer, I peeked in. His bed hadn't been slept in. I checked the tower. The lamps were still burning. Papa had not been in the tower room. With fear beginning to prickle my skin, I ran down to the boat landing. Papa's skiff was gone.

Papa had never left like that before. Something was terribly wrong.

Margaret was as worried as I was.

“Why would he just leave without telling us?” she said.

“I'm sure there's no need to worry,” Mr. Callahan said. “He probably just went for supplies.”

“He would have told us,” Margaret said.

Mr. Callahan frowned. “Has Mr. MacKinnon ever left the light unattended before?” he asked.

Margaret whirled on him, and I swear her eyes were snapping blue sparks.

“The light is not unattended,” she said. “Quila is here and she's every bit as capable of keeping the light as Mr. MacKinnon or Abby Burgess or anyone else, for that matter!”

I smiled, thinking Abby just might have met her match in Margaret Malone, and I was grateful for Margaret's loyalty, but worried no less.

“I guess I can wait here one more day,” Mr. Callahan said, “but I'll have to leave tomorrow. If Mr. MacKinnon hasn't returned by then, I'll have to appoint a replacement.”

I blew out the lamps, trimmed the wicks, and polished the reflectors. I was grateful I had something to keep my hands busy, but wished the same for my mind. I couldn't come up with a good reason for Papa to leave the way he had, and worried about his state of mind. His heart had never healed from losing Mama, and to lose Margaret, too … maybe he'd left us for good. If that were true, and if Margaret left with Celia, I'd be truly alone. I could see myself roaming the cliffs at night, my hair wild, keening into the wind, growing mad as Mrs. Blair had.

I spent the day on the cliffs, my eyes trained on the horizon, watching for Papa's boat, but there was nothing but the grey sea.

Margaret brought out a woolen blanket and wrapped it around my shoulders.

“Come in for some hot tea,” she said, but I shook my head.

“He'll be all right,” Margaret said. “If ever a man could take care of himself, it's your father.” She hesitated, but I knew what she was going to ask. If I'd made my decision.

“I cannot leave the light unattended,” I said. “And I won't leave Papa. He seems strong, but he isn't. He needs me.”

I watched for Papa as long as there was daylight, and then climbed the tower steps to light the lamps. I'd seen Papa do it a thousand times, no, three thousand times, and I'd even helped him do it, but still, my hands shook as I held the match to the wicks.

Margaret put Celia to bed. I heard her singing:

On wings of the wind o'er the dark rolling deep,
angels are coming to watch o'er thy sleep.
Angels are coming to watch over thee,
so list to the wind coming over the sea.
Hear the wind blow, love, hear the wind blow.
Lean your head over and hear the wind blow.

I wandered back down to the kitchen. Margaret joined me and we sat, not speaking, listening to the tick-tick-tick of the clock, and the wind, but I was listening more for the creak of Papa's oarlocks, and the sound of the skiff scraping against the rocks. Sleep tugged at my eyelids. My head nodded, once, twice, and then Papa was in the room, smelling of salt and the sea, and even though I was fourteen and almost as tall as he, I ran into his arms and buried my face against his chest.

“The light guided me home,” he said. “I knew I could count on you, Quila.”

“We were worried about you, Franklin,” Margaret said. I couldn't remember her using his first name before.

“No need,” Papa said. “I brought you something.” He stepped outside and came back carrying a pail. Papa tipped the pail onto Margaret's lap, and blueberries tumbled out, filling her apron.

“I wish they were emeralds,” he said. Margaret looked dazed.

“You went to pick blueberries?” she said.

“That,” Papa said, “and to work up the nerve to ask you to be my wife.”

It took a moment for his words to sink in, for both Margaret and me.

“It's as hard as that, is it?” Margaret said.

“Thinking of a life with me?” Papa shook his head.

“What's hard is the life you'd be agreeing to. I'm more married to this light than to any woman, with nothing to offer but long hours and loneliness, little pay and even less place to spend it.”

“Sure, and you've given me plenty of reasons to say no,” Margaret said. “Can you give me one reason to say yes?”

Papa was quiet so long I didn't think he was going to answer her. Then he took her hand, and she rose to follow him. I trailed along behind. Papa led Margaret out to the cliffs, where the moonlight spilled onto the sea.

“That Land of Light where the fairies live,” Papa said. “What did it take to keep the door open?”

“Metal,” Margaret said. “A piece of metal formed by human hands.”

“Like this?” Papa said, and moonlight glinted off the ring he held in his hand. Above him, the tower flashed its light far out into the darkness.

“The Land of Light,” he said. “I'm hoping you've found it right here.”