Galen shook his head.
“Bikes and I never got along. I spent more time falling off of them and looking up from the ground than I ever did riding them. I’ll let you two youngsters do the romantic bicycling bit and just go on shank’s mare to get around the island.”
He turned toward the chapel area. The sky was now darkening as the last wisps of maroon highlighted the horizon. He pointed toward the marsh area and Nancy cried out, “Look at those bobbing lights! Maybe the pirates and Indians are coming!”
Then she laughed and nudged Edison.
“I don’t think so,” Edison replied. “They’re probably will-o’-the-wisps.”
Galen frowned but said nothing as they headed back toward the guest house.
The morning sky glowed blood red the next day and the winds seemed suddenly aggressive. Edison rolled over in bed and as he stretched like a large cat he caught Nancy looking at him.
“We should have come here sooner,” he said yawning and stretched again.
“Don’t you feel just like we did on Mackinac Island?”
She reached out and half-stroked, half-patted his head.
“Why don’t we eat breakfast late?”
The sky had turned vermilion when they finally decided to get up. They stared out the window and Nancy started to shake her head.
“Not again. We just got here!”
Edison turned on his weather band radio and tuned to the NOAA frequency for the area.
“Low pressure area building up 200 miles east of Florida with potential for storm activity within 12 hours,” the mechanical voice of the announcer intoned.
“Oh, no!” he groaned.
“Come on, let’s at least see something before we have to leave in a hurry,” Nancy commiserated. “I have the two bikes ready. If all goes well we’ll meet Galen for lunch.”
“He’s still determined to do his walking thing?”
Yes, and I think he needs to be alone for awhile. His meeting with Dr. Crowley seemed to upset him.”
“He’s trying to escape from the idea that he could do other things. I guess I’m the luckiest guy around,” Edison concluded. “I have you!”
“Okay, lover boy, no more of that. Let’s get biking!”
They ate breakfast quietly. Teddy had told them of a weather change but said not to worry. The only thing they needed to remember was if the siren at the marina started to sound, they had to get their butts in gear and be ready to leave the island quickly. On that encouraging note, they walked out to the bike racks.
Galen had slept poorly the previous night, but not because of the hotel accommodations. Those had been excellent. The window of his large single room faced the ocean, and the blend of moving water and air on top of the pleasant evening meal made the right combination to quiet even his nervous energy. But the meeting with his old classmate had unsettled him. Could he really consider making such a large change at this stage in his life?
Things had gone well career-wise. He loved what he did. And yet Bill’s words nagged at him. Maybe if Leni or Cathy had lived, then he would have given more thought to taking time off—doing other things. All he had now was his practice.
Out and about now, he slowly meandered toward the lighthouse. He stared up at the great rock monument to men of the sea and wondered about the thoughts of the builders and its occupants over the years. He noted the entrance and peered in at the circular staircase to the living quarters and light bench at the top. Should he climb it? No, he wanted to see the chapel and then check out the marsh area. No telling what types of birds and plants he would see there. Maybe he might even find the true source of the night luminescence. Edison’s will-o’-the-wisps didn’t quite fit the pattern of those lights last night.
He walked farther east toward the wedding chapel and admired the stone beauty of the place. Conflicting memories hit him as he looked through the windows. He stepped across the doorway footing and stood, silent and alone, in the quiet-shadowed room meant to celebrate union and happiness. The small amount of light entering through the chapel windows cast a lavender hue in front of him, and he cried quietly in memory of what might have been.
And then, as the wind rustled through the open doorway, it seemed to whisper to him:
Hurry, Tony, it’s not too late.
He turned, wiped his face with both hands to clear away the mist then stepped back outside. A sense of purpose seemed suddenly to command his spirit. Somehow he felt compelled to check out the marsh. He headed down the path into ever increasing foliage.
“Bob, I’m worried. You’ve told me how Galen is always so precise about keeping appointments. It’s strange for him not to show up for lunch.”
“Yeah, well, it’s almost three now. Let’s give him a little more time before we send out the hounds.”
They had done as much of the two-thousand developed acres of the island as they could during their morning bike ride. It was tiring but worth it, because it returned them to the days when they were young and just starting out together and they savored it. After three-and-a-half decades their marriage remained fresh and, yes, exciting to them. How many couples could say that at one year, much less thirty-five?
They headed back to their bikes, which they had parked in front of the B&B, and were going to start looking for Galen when he appeared, a wild look on his face and loaded with bags.
“Come on, I need you!” was all he said as he walked briskly down the street.
They had all they could do to keep up with him as he headed down the poorly marked marsh path. He said nothing for what seemed like ages until they came to a small clearing. He quickly took the bags to the edge and waited.
As Edison and Nancy joined him they saw the reason for his mad rush: three children, in rags, dirty, wild-looking and gaunt, huddled together.
“I can’t get them to say anything,” Galen said. “They’re most likely in shock.”
Nancy moved slowly toward the trio. Instinctively she started to hum a song from her childhood, softly, as the children watched her but did not move. She knelt down, looked closely at the children then started speaking in Spanish.
Me illamo es Nancy. Estos son mis amigos, Edison y Galen. ¿Lo que son sus nombres?
“My name is Nancy. These are my friends, Edison and Galen. What are your names?”
The middle child, a girl, half-whispered back, “I’m Carmelita.”
Galen and Edison also moved forward then, kneeling on the ground, each in turn pointed at himself and said, in Spanish: My name is Edison. My name is Galen.
Then the two boys piped up: I’m Federico. I’m Antonio.
Nancy sat down next to the children, and Edison and Galen in turn tried gently but persuasively to ask them what happened. The three adults struggled with memories of school-learned Spanish to understand the horrors the children began to relate to them. The sea-swept life raft and the beaching far north of their destination on the undeveloped side of Bald Head Island made the adults wonder how this possibly could have happened. Was it the storm-changed currents or the whim of the gods?
The children grew silent. Their small voices suddenly replaced by the rising of the wind and the distant sound of thunder.
He was born of Gaiea and Zeus, midwifed by Poseidon in the kingdom of water and air and swaddled by all the Furies that were.
He came to life slapped by the mighty electric winds of Zeus and breastfed on the milk of moisture-laden warm air rising from Gaiea.
He entered puberty with all the angst and tantrums of adolescence as his temper flowed in cyclonic gusts of ever-increasing speed.
Charged particles served like grains of sand within to create myriads of pearl-like moisture drops, now surfeited by Poseidon’s warm ocean kingdom.
He proclaimed his presence with all the power of his one-hundred-fifty-mile-per-hour winds.
He was HURRICANE!
He was a god, the son of the mightiest of gods. As he felt the power coursing through him, his winds rose even higher. Within the quiet of his mind’s eye, he reveled at his strength and drove himself even farther. The blood of mother Gaiea and the strength of father Zeus flowed through him.
He was invincible.
Again the sound of thunder shook them. The three adults looked at one another. Not this soon. A storm couldn’t have moved in this fast. And then they heard the marina siren. It must be a bad one and moving fast.
Galen had a thought and opened the old Leica camera and took pictures of the children and the debris of their landing site on the island. Maybe it would help identify them later.
Edison grabbed Federico and put him across his shoulders. Galen did likewise with Antonio as did Nancy with Carmelita. They had used Galen’s supplies to clean up the children, feed them as best as possible, and make makeshift covers to replace the tattered clothes that had all but fallen off of their bodies.
They moved quickly through the marsh, occasionally stumbling as the sky grew darker and more ominous. It would take at least another half-hour to get back to the marina side of the island while carrying the children.
They heard the second siren call. One more and the ferry would be leaving for the safety of the mainland.
They were within site of the chapel when the third siren screamed out.
They watched, helpless, as the ferry moved quickly from the quay into the now-roiling waters.
Galen spoke first.
“The safest place is probably the lighthouse. It’s survived almost two hundred years of storms.”
“But we need emergency equipment,” Edison said. “You and Nancy get the kids over there. I’m going to get my gear.”
He raced up the steps of the deserted boarding house.
Galen swung Federico up to his other shoulder, and he and Nancy made their way in the increasing wind toward the lighthouse. As they neared the entrance, they heard running footsteps. It was Edison with his radio equipment and tool kits in hand.
The locked entrance to Old Baldy gave way under Edison’s pry bar, and the three adults, weighed under by kids and kits, slowly trudged up the two hundred steps until they reached the caretaker’s ledge.
Edison gave a weary grin and looked at the youngsters.
“I have a surprise for you,” he said as he handed each one a granola food bar.
“I found Teddy’s secret stash,” he said in response to raised eyebrows.
“We need to get the children settled down,” Nancy said as she spread out some of the sheeting in Galen’s supply pack on the floor. “This storm hasn’t even hit its peak yet, and already it sounds like all the banshees on Earth are out there singing. Bob, did you bring any light?”
Edison nodded, reached into his pack and pulled out two lumilights and a book and handed them to Nancy. With a twisting motion she activated the chemical lights, sat down on the sheets and motioned the children to sit around her. She began to read, knowing that they wouldn’t understand, but hoping it would settle them down—and maybe even her and Edison and Galen as well.
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,” she began.
Soon they all had fallen asleep. The shrieking wind had been lullaby to their exhaustion. But Galen slept only lightly and soon quietly rose, trying his best not to disturb the other two adults or the children. Slowly and carefully he climbed higher into Old Baldy’s light portal.
Even the venerable old lighthouse trembled at the tumult of nature outside. He reached the platform and stared out at the colors of darkness. Giant fingers seemed to reach down from heaven to clutch the Earth frantically. In the depths of his rational mind, he knew it wasn’t so. Electrons actually climbed the heated charged air to outline the sky. But he couldn’t shake the imagery of those hands. He slowly circled the window expanse looking outward. And then his eyes locked on one vista.
There were clouds. Seemingly out of place in the windswept darkness, their margins appeared illuminated. He watched, fixated like a moth to flame, as the cloud rims spiraled outward, opening into a huge iris.
Galen thought he was staring into the eye of a god.
Father Zeus!
Yes, my son?
Help me to understand. I glimpsed down at Mother Gaiea and half-saw, half-felt something. It was the tiniest spark but it seemed to know me and I in turn knew it. It was not afraid.
It is called Man, my son.
He turned away from the lighthouse portals and quietly made his way back to the others who remained blissfully under the spell of Lethe. Carefully he lay down and draped his arm over the sleeping Antonio. At long last, Galen slept.
Beloved Zeus, it is time for our son to return to us.
Gaiea, my love, ask and it is yours.
He felt it happening, slowly at first, then with rising intensity. His winds, the power of his soul began to slow. His blood poured downward with increasing speed and he felt the ever increasing weakness. He felt tired. His mind’s eye questioned this change. And then he heard the call.
It is time for you to return to us, my son. It is time to join your brothers and sisters on Olympus.
Then he knew. He was a god, but he was dying, just as the gods before him.
His eye looked upward.
In one last shout he cried out
.
Mother, Father, Why have you done this to me?
Apollo rode his chariot from the east and its golden-red rays lit up the early morning sky. Galen awoke to find Antonio curled up under his right arm. He saw that Federico was safely ensconced with Edison and Carmelita with Nancy. He coughed lightly and the two other adults awoke to the same sight. The children, exhausted beyond belief, remained in peaceful sleep.
Nancy was first to voice what they all were thinking.
“What are we going to do with them? Are you going to contact one of your government types, Galen?”
“Like hell I will,” he grumbled. “The last thing I want to see is a repeat of the Elian Gonzalez fiasco and the agents of some latter-day Janet Reno breaking down doors to send them back to Cuba.”
As he uttered those words, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.