The Lighthouse on Cape Eden

I breathed in deeply, letting the fresh air fill my lungs. It didn't choke me like the city air or leave a strange film in my throat. I could taste the salt on the back of my tongue. It was oxygen rich due to the evergreen mountains behind me. The bluffs towering over the ocean.

I relished in the sight of the grayish blue water foaming and tossing up spray. Despite the cold bite of winter and the harsh wind that nipped at my skin, I felt calm looking at it. Safe even.

'Angry Seas' is what my father called it; When the Pacific Ocean churned and turned into the color of my eyes. I had known that a storm would be coming since yesterday morning. The dawn had been eerie pink. Nearly red. "Red sky at night, sailors' delight. Red sky in morning, sailors' take warning." My father used to repeat that old saying every night and I had yet to experience a time when it hadn't proved true.

Pulling my coat tighter around me and pulling up my collar to protect my neck from the wind, I started to tromp back down to the light house. The warm light swept out over the sea, cutting through the fog. It's pretty, red roof standing out in contrast to the old white walls of the light station. The tall, golden-green sand reed, or as I like to call it, needlegrass, bent with each gust of wind, creating an effect that looked quite similar to rolling waves.

As I opened the door, the wind rushed in with me before I struggled to close it. Once closed, I huffed out a breath of slight relief. Inside my small home, the warmth against my cold cheeks and nose caused my skin to tingle. I stripped off my heavy coat, revealing my, still heavy, winter dress.

"Spicy?" My dear husband's head peeked into the mud room. "I'm glad your back. I was starting to get worried about the storm."

My parents had named me Spice. Spice Elizabeth Taylor. My father was a fisherman and I had spent many a day out on his boat, learning things a young lady in the 1890s probably oughtn't be learning. My mother had hoped that I might choose to move inland. Marry a young man from a good family where I could spend my days cooking, cleaning, and tending to children without having to deal with the harsh winter storms of the coast. But instead, I fell in love Samuel Cawne. The son of the Lighthouse keeper. As children, he was the one who gave me the nickname, "Spicy". Spice Elizabeth? Spice E.? I suppose it made sense to him.

When old Mister Cawne died, Samuel took over the duties at the light station. His mother had long since passed. When he requested father's permission to court me, Father happily gave it. Although mother huffed in the beginning, she came around in time to get much too excited over our wedding. That had been in April. And now in December we had gotten accustomed to living in the small quarters of the warm light station.

"I wish you didn't go out when the weather is like this," he said as he approached me. Taking my hand and gesturing for me to sit on the bench.

I sat down as gently as I could and watched him squat before me, lifting my legs and untying my boots. "If you worry so much then you should join me," I smiled. "Even in the worst of storms it's so beautiful."

He moved to the other boot as I watched his lips lift into a smirk. "I don't think anyone in this town loves this place as much as you do."

I hummed in thought. "My father perhaps."

"I like to think that your father and I love and respect this place the same. We are blessed to be here. But both your father and I have no qualms complaining about the weather. But you go out in the wind and the rain, come back soaked to the bone, and say nothing but how beautiful it was." His tone was condescending but he was grinning at me.

"Well you needn't worry so much."

He smirked. "How conceited of you to think that it is you that I'm worried about." He bent his head and kissed my swollen stomach.

I scoffed lightly. "In that case you can do the dishes tonight." Sam laughed. His pretty, soft, green eyes shining. He pushed himself up to kiss my lips. "Would be my pleasure."

I sighed as he helped me up, following him into the warm living area. The evening was pleasant. Our conversation ranging from the new pastor, to the sad death of Mrs. Shirley. I had gone to pay a visit to her surviving family that day. Sam of course, did the dishes as his penance for the comment he had made. Actually, he did dishes quite often, especially since he'd discovered I was with child. I think I'll be quite sad when the special treatment fades away after this little one's birth.

After dinner, he busied himself with scrubbing and polishing the tools that he'd need to care for the panes and burners in the lighthouse gallery during the night and in the morning. I admired him for his commitment. Waking up every few hours of the night, never leaving the lighthouse unattended for long unless I was there to do the work myself, which he rarely let happen, all so that sailors and fishermen would always know where the shore was. So that people could stay safe.

I kept busy with my knitting. Something I had always found quite boring as a child compared to pulling up nets, climbing trees, clamming, and berry picking. But now, I found it relaxing as well as a practical use of my time. Besides, I had procrastinated and now with an unknown amount of time left, my child had no blankets to keep them warm. Which was my own fault really. I had thought I had plenty of time until a couple of weeks ago when Doctor Evans had come for a visit and told us that the baby might come much sooner than we thought. So now, my poor knitting skills were being put to the test as I rushed to finish my blanket.

"How do your hands not get tired?"

I looked up, startled from my deep concentration. "What?"

Sam chuckled and I now noticed that he was watching me. I wonder how long he'd been staring. "Your hands. I was wondering how they don't get tired from you attacking your task like that."

"Oh." I set my needles down and flexed my fingers. "Well they hurt a bit actually but it's nothing I can't work through." He hummed, cleaning off his hands.

"You've been working through it for more than an hour now. I say we call it a night."

"Agreed. I'll just finish one more row." I said picking it up again. Before I realized he had gotten up, he was at my side, taking the needles from my fingers. He kissed my hands before taking my chin and pressing a warm, chaste kiss to my lips.

"Come on. I'll get the lights. It's too cold and too dark and too stormy to stay awake when I could have a warm, soft bed with you next to me."

I pursed my lips, pretending to think. "Perhaps it sounds a bit more enticing than knitting." He smiled warmly at me, pulling me to my feet.

I didn't grow up thinking that I'd fall in love with the Lighthouse keeper's son, or that I would be the Lighthouse keeper's wife, but I didn't mind it one bit. I never thought I'd ever love like I love Sam. How I love the cold winter storms that make evenings by the hearth ever sweeter. How I love how my child kicks whenever Sam kisses my ever growing belly. How I love my lighthouse that sits a top the bluff of Cape Eden.