Serendipity Calls

On two different coasts, the warp and weft of the loom of destiny drew two threads together. A fortunate stroke of serendipity began to weave them into one fabric. Two lives, thousands of miles apart, became intertwined.

In 1898, on the East Coast, Maryanne sat reading by kerosene lantern light in a house near the harbor. Three-masted schooners and steamships rested on the sheltered waters of her Atlantic Ocean seafaring community.

The streets and busy shops were quiet in the evening's twilight. Horses pulling carriages passed occasionally, taking some of Maryanne's customers wearing her latest lady's fine fashion creations to the theater. The rumble of one of the new horseless carriages sometimes passed also.

Maryanne recalled the days when her late husband used to accompany her to the local social activities. She pushed away the feelings of yearning, burying them deep inside.

She thought, "I am so grateful for my dear little daughter, Emily. She brings me smiles, laughter and cuddles every day."

The sun was setting on the other side of the country on the west coast, casting golden glows on the Pacific Ocean.

Elias lit the wicks to start the lighthouse beacon shining from the tower. The sunset afterglow was mirrored on the ocean waves below in fiery reflections.

He was happy that he no longer fought the angry seas of the winter storms. Elias was done with the treacherous waves, rocks, and sand bars of the entrance to the mouth of the Columbia River on the trips to Portland, Oregon.

Elias felt glad his Captain days were over. His nights no longer contained dreams of the three-masted schooners, steamships, and sailors shipwrecked at the bottom of the sea.

He knew why the northwest part of the Pacific Coast of America was called "the graveyard of the Pacific."

Elias liked to be called "Captain" even though he was retired. The navy blue lightkeeper uniform and cap fit the title. Sitting alone at night, he wore his brass-buttoned coat and visored hat.

He tried not to think about the days before his wife passed from the infectious illness while he was away on a voyage.

"If only I had been there. Perhaps I could have done something," he thought.

Elias remembered how he lost his desire to be battling the seas. Every time his ship passed the tall white lighthouse sitting high on the isolated cliffs, he was captivated by the scene.

Steep mountains covered with Douglas Fir trees formed a backdrop. Sandy beaches were mixed with rocky outcroppings.

"It's like a dream I have seen before," he thought.

Still a young captain, but with impressive achievements, he applied to be a keeper at the Mystic Lighthouse and received a political appointment.

Elias learned to polish the soot from the kerosene off the glass facets of the crystal fresnel light, 8 1/2 feet high and 6 feet wide.

When he looked out of the lantern room at the top of the 60-foot lighthouse tower, sitting on the 200-foot tall bluff, feelings of wonder washed over him.

He was up in the sky with seagulls circling both above and below him. Wisps of foggy low clouds blew past him below and the ocean peeked through mists in the mornings.

He trimmed the lighthouse beacon wicks, filled the kerosene reservoirs, and lighted the flames for the beacon to shine while it rotated, propelled by giant clockwork-style gears.

Planting vegetables in the kitchen garden, farming crops in the valley below the lighthouse, and tending to the horses and livestock filled his days.

Riding a trusty, gentle-eyed, grey horse with floppy ears, a ragged mane, and a scrawny tail, he took the trail to his neighbor's sheep ranch for visits. They drank brandy, smoked cigars, and traded stories.

"I'm signing up to homestead another 160-acre section and expand the sheep herd," Bret, his neighbor would say.

"Someday you're going to have a thousand acres, Bret," Elias would answer.

"You might be right," Bret laughed.

The sharp-footed horse stepped carefully along the rugged trail, carrying his passenger home by lantern light.

The wildlife and wilderness became companions for Elias too.

Herons and egrets waded in the waters. Black bears lumbered by. Bald eagles soared over the trees.

He escaped from feelings of loneliness by reading and living in the world of stories.

The other two lighthouse keepers were married and had children. Elias lived alone and in his Victorian house on the high bluffs near the lighthouse.

Night had fallen on the other coast where Maryanne lived, and her village was quiet. A kerosene lamp sent a bright glow across the book in her hands, and Maryanne read the text rapidly.

 “Jules Verne, my favorite author,” she thought. “Around the World in 80 Days.” Below that it said, “Tales for the Adventurous.” Her heart quickened and her eyes held anticipation.

 On the west coast, Elias saw the beacon flashing across the ocean with its distinctive pattern. He envisioned the ships recognizing it, plotting their courses, and felt satisfied to be helping them navigate safely.

Elias wore his double-breasted navy blue coat with the brass buttons and his peaked lighthouse keeper’s cap with the visor. His mustache, trimmed beard, and sharp eyes completed the picture he presented.

He went to the ground floor of the lighthouse tower, sat down near the warmth of the wood-burning Franklin Stove, and picked up his book from the wooden crate that held the traveling library. 

He thought, “Here’s a book for a captain like me,” and began to read Jules Verne’s “Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea.” The subtitle said, “Captain Nemo’s Strange Ocean Voyage.” Elias thought, “I’ve had some strange voyages too.” He felt contentment filling him and his loneliness was forgotten. 

On the other coast, Maryanne paused in her reading, and in the flash of a single moment, like a bright beacon hitting her with light, she decided to take a step into the unknown. 

Instantly she felt her body relax, the vice-like clamps eased, and she felt a new lightness come over her.

“My life journey does not lie in the world of the familiar,” she thought. 

She read again the newspaper ad titled “Oregon Coast, Retired Sea Captain, Lighthouse Keeper, A Good Man Seeking a Hardworking, Good Woman of Virtue.”

Maryanne picked up a pen and paper. Then she paused. “Should she really do this?”

On the other side of the country, Elias looked up from reading and gazed at the starry twilight sky. Something in the back of his mind seemed to awaken. He filled his lungs with a deep breath of air.

"A serendipity can happen anytime.” He breathed out, raised his eyebrows slightly, and sighed with a smile.

On nights when it was his shift to tend the beacon, Elias often stayed the night in the lighthouse tower. Elias felt comforted in the lighthouse ground floor with the warming stove and his books, preferring it to his bedroom and living quarters. The warmth of the stove made the little lighthouse room feel cozy and the books took him to faraway lands and adventures.

What wonders lay out there?” Elias watched the beacon light from above sweep across the steep headlands of the coast. Against the night sky, he pictured a dream. 

He and a smiling woman were in his Victorian lighthouse keeper’s house, sitting in cozy warmth by the low flames of the stove. They were surrounded by a large group of children, and the woman held a newborn baby. There were smiles and laughter.

Elias thought about the ad he placed in the newspapers, nationwide.

He thought, “Would any woman be interested in moving to the remote lighthouse, the stormy wilderness, and the muddy trails of the Oregon coast? A trip of 8 hours on horseback to a village of 300 people?”

 Across the vast country on the other side, Maryanne sat next to her black and gold etched Singer Sewing Machine. It had all the latest gadgets of 1898. Tables with rolls of fabric, scissors, tailor’s chalk, measuring tapes, and other seamstress tools surrounded her.

A sign above the shop door said, “Fine Dressmaking and Tailor.” A few blocks away the Atlantic Ocean waves splashed in the harbor.

Maryanne reached out again for the newspaper ad. Sitting at the gleaming wood of her dainty Victorian desk in the sewing room, she moved ruffled fabrics with tiny stitches out of her way and looked closer at the printed text on the newspaper.

She was a robust woman, tall and strong from working on the family farm nearby. Her bright eyes noticed details, her quick mind processed information, and her words were carefully chosen.

The detailed, lacy dresses she wore, combined with the elaborate hats, created a memorable image when combined with her height. But she was not a threatening figure.

Maryanne combined her talent for detail with thoughtfulness and tenderness in her demeanor. Friends and clients found themselves attracted to her like a magnet. 

Maryanne looked at the photos of her late husband. They were arranged on her desk. She thought of her little Emily, only 4 years old. Maryanne decided Emily needed a father. She was finished with going through the days with the dull determination of a young widow. Her husband would have wanted her to go on and start a new life.

She looked out the window at the night, dreaming of herself with a new husband, a baby, and a happy group of children.

Maryanne thought, "Every day seemingly impossible things happen."

She pictured her sweet little Emily’s dear face, asleep now in the bedroom, and thanked the creator for the blessings of her daughter. Her throat tightened and her eyes softened.

“Emily needs brothers and sisters,” Maryanne thought. "I could start a correspondence, take it slowly, and find out more."

She picked out a photo of herself and Emily in their most fashionable dresses. 

Then Maryanne picked up a blank paper and a quill pen. 

In flowing, artistic script she wrote, “Dear Sir, I am writing to answer your newspaper ad…” When she was finished she put it into an envelope and addressed it. 

Maryanne knew the letter could travel by train across the country. When it reached Oregon, it would need to be carried by a variety of wagons and ferries crossing rivers. 

She remembered seeing photos of the Oregon coast. "Wilderness, long beaches, cliffs, mountains and valleys. Adventure," she thought.

In the meantime, Maryanne decided to focus on her seamstress work. Perhaps there would not even be a reply. The lighthouse keeper would probably find someone who lived nearby.

Tossed into a mailbag, the letter began its long journey. The mailbag was sorted at various destinations and resorted again.

After the train left the mail in Oregon, the letter began another trip where it bounced along the dirt roads of Oregon in a wagon. 

At last, the letter was picked up by a homesteader named Bret, who had a sheep farm in the mountain meadows near the lighthouse. Bret left the community post office in Mystic Beach with a bundle of mail for other local farmers and homesteaders.

He stayed overnight at the small hotel on the river, in the village of 300 people. Tomorrow he would go home and drop off his friends' mail on the way.

The next day he rode his trusty chestnut horse for 8 hours over the muddy trails of winter and the wet, packed sands of beaches at low tide. Finally, he arrived at the lighthouse on the way to his homestead farm. 

“Hello Elias, here’s your mail.”

The homesteader smiled and handed the letter to his friend at the lighthouse keeper's white Victorian house overlooking the sea.

Elias saw a yellowish envelope with graceful writing for the address. The envelope was smudged and creased from its journey. One corner had a small tear.

It was from the east coast. "I'm amazed this letter made it all the way here," he said.

Elias looked at the town and state in the address and thought, “Who did he know from there? Who wrote with this artistic handwriting?”

His mind raced. “No, it couldn’t be. All the way from the Atlantic coast?”

"The east coast. What could we have in common?"

"What could we talk about?"

His thoughts and feelings poured out like water bursting from a dam.

"Someone coming from the East Coast could take the train now most of the way. Then it would be horse and wagon over rugged Oregon trails and rough roads."

He tried to picture a woman traveling across the country to the remote lighthouse.

In his mind, he saw himself meeting the happy woman at the train station and then taking her on the long wagon ride home to the remote lighthouse. They were talking and getting to know each other on the way.

On the other side of the country, Maryanne felt a gentle surge of energy inside and she paused, wondering. 

In the ground floor of the lighthouse, on the opposite coast, Elias felt cozy next to the flames of the wood fired warming stove with his book. He looked out the window and watched the beacon flashing over the ocean.

Something stirred inside him, and he felt the tension flow away. With soft eyes, he looked out at the moonlit sky. A contented sigh escaped him.

He patted his shirt pocket, where the rumpled letter sat, close to his heart.