The Captain's Final Anchor

The old house groaned with each rumble of thunder, the panes of the grimy glass windows rattling violently. Rebecca pulled her shawl tightly around her as a particularly ferocious gust of wind howled outside, much like a rabid beast clawing to get in. She tightened her grip around the lantern, her only source of light in the shadowy darkness of the barren room. A bolt of lightning momentarily lit the space, casting a ghostly blue aura on the dust-covered floorboards.

Her gaze swept the space, void of any furnishings apart from the few tattered cobwebs hanging from the rafters. Then she noticed the window across the way, wide open, shutters smacking against the house. The banging had awoken her, and with a sigh of relief that it was nothing more than a loose shutter, Rebecca hurried to the window.

As she made to slide the window down, a flurry of movement from the beach below caught her eye. Near the jetty of rocks stood a dark shape, its identity indistinct through the sheets of rain. Rebecca strained her eyes, trying to make sense of the sight. Through the blustery gale, she watched the blur come closer, melding into the figure of a man.

With a gasp, Rebecca watched as he stopped at the base of the hill, his pale face turning upward to the attic window. With a shiver of fear, she realized he was staring straight at her.

****

Twelve hours earlier…

A beautiful summer afternoon found Rebecca and her son William making their way down the winding, seaside road toward their new home. A gentle breeze playfully ruffled Rebecca’s auburn locks and William’s head of sandy blond hair. To the left lay the glittering sea, its vast, majestic blueness stretching off into the distance. Everything was quiet, aside from the steady clip-clop of the horse’s hooves, pebbles crunching underneath the carriage wheels, and the rolling crash of waves against the rocks.

“Mm. Smell that salty air,” Rebecca breathed. William nodded, eager to catch another glimpse of the sea. His first time seeing such a sight, he was quickly transfixed by its beauty.

“Life out here’s sure going to be different from the city,” he said.

“It will take some getting used to, but we’ll manage,” his mother replied cheerfully. She pushed aside the flicker of doubt within her.

Since her husband died, they had been struggling to make ends meet, and Rebecca knew it was time for a fresh start. Henry had made many ties with important people all over the coast. So when the opportunity arose to take over an old lighthouse, Rebecca jumped at the chance. Of course, she knew there was much to learn, and she also knew the townspeople had little faith that a single widow and her young son could handle such a grave responsibility. But Rebecca was a stubborn woman, and she was determined to prove them wrong.

“Look, Ma, there it is!” William’s voice startled Rebecca from her thoughts. She followed his gaze to a small farmhouse, surrounded by a neat yard with a white picket fence and a lighthouse, splendid and towering, attached to the right side of the home.

As the carriage came to a halt, William jumped down, racing toward the door.

“Willy, wait,” Rebecca called, climbing down to join him. Pulling a large iron key from her reticule, she unlocked the door, which opened with a click.

It took them hardly any time to look through the house; it was cozy and quaint with a charm that instantly made Rebecca feel at home.

They spent the afternoon settling in, and as evening fell, they made their first trip to the lighthouse, instruction manual in hand. It took some figuring, but just as darkness set in they managed at last to turn on the light.

By the time Rebecca was tucking William into his small, straw-stuffed bed back at the house, a heavy wind was starting to rise.

“Ma…?” The young boy quavered, his blue eyes wide like saucers. Rebecca placed a soothing hand on his head.

“It’s all right, Willy,” she said gently. “It’s just a storm. We’re perfectly safe here.” When his eyes at last grew heavy, she crept back to her own chamber.

Will we ever get used to it here? Rebecca wondered silently. She tried to remain cheerful for her son, but doubts continued to cloud her thoughts. Everything was so foreign and new. William was counting on her to lead the way forward. But there was so much to do.

Including, she thought as she watched a thin stream of water drip from the ceiling, fixing up this old house. That alone would take some doing, never mind operating the lighthouse…

Bang, bang! Rebecca jumped as a loud slamming echoed through the house. She listened, straining her ears against the steadily increasing wind. Bang, bang!

She took a deep breath, steadying her quickening heartbeat. Reaching for the lantern on the bedside table, Rebecca started out the door. She paused at William’s room, listening, but all was quiet. He was sleeping soundly. She continued down the hall, realizing the ruckus was coming from the attic. The one room they hadn’t explored whilst settling in.

Cautiously, she began her ascent up the twisting wooden stairs, each step producing a loud, heart-stopping creak. Rebecca dared not think of what would happen should someone be up there, already alerted that she would soon reach the door.

She was at the top of the stairs now, reaching out a shaky hand, wrapping her fingers around the doorknob. Quickly, she pushed it open, the old wood moaning in protest.

The attic was utterly empty, and it took only seconds for Rebecca to realize the cause of the clatter came from a pair of loose shutters on the window.

She hastened over to find the latch, wondering how it was that the window was wide open, but as she leaned forward to do so, she suddenly saw something large and dark moving on the beach below. Rebecca paused, and soon a form emerged from the watery darkness; a form which was clearly the outline of a person. Just then, the sweeping ray from the lighthouse glided across the turbulent sea, resting for a mere second on the figure. Rebecca let out a gasp as, in that second, she realized what she was staring at was a man. A tall, thin man, standing stock still, staring up at the attic window. For a second it seemed as if their gaze met, but then the light was gone, and all that could be seen was inky darkness.

Rebecca blinked and shook her head, attempting to make sense of what she had just seen. It couldn’t be possible. A man, standing out there at the edge of the water, unaffected by the howling rain and wind? Why would anyone be out there in such a storm? And why was he staring straight up at her like that? He couldn’t possibly have seen her.

The beam of light circled back again, but when it reached the patch of beach where the man had stood, he was nowhere to be seen. Rebecca felt an unexplainable chill run down her back. She didn’t know why she felt so unsettled.

I must have imagined it, she decided, hastening to leave the attic. She shut the door firmly behind her as she made her way back to the safety of her room.

****

Rebecca and William awoke to a bright, sunny morning, with no evidence of the violent storm from the night before. The nightmarish memory of that strange man staring up at her from the beach was already fading into what seemed a bad dream, and Rebecca was in high spirits as she prepared their breakfast.

Suddenly, a sharp rap sounded at the door. William started, his brows furrowed.

“Should I open the door?” He asked. Rebecca hesitated, wondering who could be happening by, with their closest neighbors being several miles away.

“I’ll get it,” she told him. “You mind the fire.”

As she slowly opened the heavy door, a tall, thin man dressed in a sharp-looking sea captain’s uniform met her gaze. He had dark, chestnut hair and light grey eyes. There was some unique quality about them which immediately struck Rebecca…they were piercing, as if they could see through one’s very soul. And yet, there was also a warmth and kindness to them, especially when the man pulled back his lips in a soft smile.

As Rebecca studied him, a sudden jolt of recognition tore through her and she let out an involuntary gasp, taking a small step back into the house.

“Why you’re - you’re the man I saw last night,” she stammered. “You were standing on the beach. Looking up at the house.”

The man’s expression turned slightly quizzical, his smile now one of good-natured humor.

“On the beach? In the middle of a storm? You must be mistaken, Ma’am.”

Rebecca felt her cheeks growing red, suddenly feeling rather foolish.

“Yes, I-I suppose you are right. What can I do for you, Mr…?”

“Morgan, if you please. I was passing through town when I heard the old lighthouse was again occupied, this time by a widow and her young son…I thought I would stop by to offer my assistance?”

Rebecca stared at him, completely taken by surprise.

“I…thought you might need some help around here, while you’re settling in,” he said quickly, noting her hesitation. “I’m sure this old place could use some repairs, and I’ve had some experience with lighthouses.”

“Well I…I’m really not in a position to take on an extra hand.”

“Oh, I don’t ask for any pay,” Morgan said. “All I ask is a place to stay…just for the time being, that is.”

Rebecca hesitated, wondering why she didn’t simply turn him away on the spot. A strange man living in their house?

“We could sure use the help, Mister,” came William’s small voice. Rebecca startled as he ran up behind her. “Don’t you think so, Ma? You were just saying there was too much work for two people…”

Rebecca looked away and thought for a moment, knowing full well it was foolish to offer a man they had just met a room in their home. And yet, she did need the help…and there was something about him…something she couldn’t quite explain and yet something which told her there was no need to fear him.

“I suppose we could use some assistance,” she said at last with a soft smile. “There’s a spare room upstairs…we truly appreciate your help.”

****

The next two weeks passed quickly, and Morgan was true to his word. He painted the picket fence, taught Rebecca all she needed to know about lighthouses, and even repaired the roof with new shingles. But Rebecca’s favorite moments came in the evenings, when the three of them sat around the fireplace, Morgan playing sea shanties on his fiddle. He played fast, lively songs that got their feet tapping, but mostly there were slow, sad tunes, the single, echoing notes of the violin gently rising and falling like the waves of the sea. It was during these times, as Rebecca watched the firelight flicker across Morgan’s face, that she wondered just who he was.

During those times, they asked him many questions: where he came from, why he never changed from his uniform, and where he planned to go after his work there had finished. Morgan always answered politely with that soft smile of his, but he remained vague. This troubled Rebecca deeply, and the more time that passed, the more sure she became that Morgan was the man from the beach. But she did not bring the matter up again, and Morgan’s kindness caught her attention more than anything else.

It wasn’t long before she found herself thinking how nice it was to have a man around after all this time, and she realized one chilly, foggy evening that she had come to care for Morgan deeply.

It was on this evening, as the boys sat by the fire telling stories, that Rebecca was dusting the floors when she noticed the door of Morgan’s room was slightly open. It was the one room she hadn’t gone in since he had arrived, but after two weeks, she reasoned, it could surely do with a dusting.

She slowly opened the door, peering inside. She was immediately impressed with how orderly everything was...the bed was so neat, the blanket perfectly un-creased, that it almost looked like Morgan hadn’t even slept there. But that couldn’t be possible.

Rebecca made her way further into the room, drawing the curtains open so as to bring in the last of the sunset. I wonder why he keeps it so dark in here, she mused. Then her gaze fell on something perched on the small bedside table; a small, polished box. Rebecca moved closer, noticing an engraving carved on the lid.

Capt. James R. Morgan, HMS Eternity, it read. So he is a sea captain, Rebecca thought to herself. HMS Eternity. Why did that name sound so familiar? She felt a prickle of unease, though she didn’t know why.

Rebecca hesitated, her hands hovering above the box. She knew she had no right to look inside, and she felt a twang of guilt as she imagined the horrified expression on William’s face if he could see her right then. But her curiosity got the better of her. There were so many things she didn’t know about Morgan, and anything, even a small item in a box, would surely tell her something about this mysterious man. Hands shaking slightly, she lifted open the smooth, curved lid.

Rebecca stared at the small, rolled up piece of paper wedged against the inside. Before she could talk herself out of it, she was reaching in and unrolling the paper.

It was a clipping from an old newspaper article. 1832, it read in the top right corner. Her eyes moved down to a bolded heading in the center of the page.

“Shipwreck off the Maine Coast!” it read. “All thirty crew members dead. No survivors.”

Rebecca looked below the heading and what came next nearly stopped her heart.

“James Morgan of the HMS Eternity perished alongside his crew after bravely attempting to save his first mate from falling into the icy December water.”

Rebecca stared at the article, re-reading the sentence over and over again. James Morgan of the HMS Eternity. Perished alongside his crew.

“No,” she said aloud. “It can’t be. It’s…it’s not possible.”

Then all at once everything made sense. The vague answers. The strange, distant gleam in Morgan’s eyes. The way he often spoke of the sea, and the songs he played…sad and mournful. And his uniform…something she had never paid much attention to, but which now, she realized, seemed important. The material slightly older, the folds of his collar from a time gone by.

But even as she thought these things, Rebecca scolded herself. Was she trying to tell herself she had fallen for a ghost? A phantom of a man who had perished over fifty years before?

“Ma! Ma!”

Rebecca whirled around as William came bursting into the room. When he caught sight of her he ran over, and Rebecca hastily set the box down.

“Morgan’s gone,” the boy exclaimed, gasping for breath. “I looked everywhere. One minute we were sitting by the fire, and the next, he had vanished.”

Rebecca’s stomach gave a sickening lurch. She followed William out of the room, somehow knowing they wouldn’t find him.

They searched each room when a loud banging came from above. They rushed upstairs, finding the attic door wide open. The window had also been thrown open, the shutters banging against the house.

“He’s not here,” William sighed, scanning the room. “I’ll go check outside.”

Rebecca heard the pitter-patter of William’s footsteps retreating downstairs, but she found she couldn’t move. She couldn’t turn away from the window. It was quite dark outside now, the only source of light emanating from the moon.

She made her way over to the window, the cool night air washing over her. Something small and white caught her eye, wedged in between a piece of wood. It was a scrap of paper, a note scrawled across the front:

Rebecca. My time with you and William is at an end. My work here is done, and I must return to the sea. I suspect you have already discovered my origins, but let me explain. I used to live here, many years ago. The lighthouse had been dark for some time until you came. As soon as your beam of light passed over the sea, I sensed you needed assistance. I hope my time here was helpful, and I have no doubt you and William shall do fine. Remember me, Rebecca, though I have gone…if you wish to see me, you may do so by the light of the full moon, when the light forms a path across the sea. Until then, Morgan.

Rebecca’s vision blurred as she raised her eyes to the sea. The clouds suddenly parting, there appeared a shimmering patch of light upon the black waves. At once, the unmistakable outline of a ship rose up from the depths, grand and majestic, two large masts rising into the velvety sky. There was a strange, glowing quality about the vessel, as if it weren’t truly there. The sails were tattered, but it did little to erase the ship’s splendor. And there, at the bow, was the figure of a man, tall and erect.

Rebecca smiled, knowing it was Morgan. The figure raised a hand, his face turned toward the window. She returned the wave, and though her heart was heavy as she watched the ghost ship sail away, she knew this goodbye was not forever.