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A Beacon of Love

By J. Carol Nemeth

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Chapter One
June 1928
Cape Hatteras, Buxton, North Carolina

Holding the binoculars to his eyes, Mike searched the horizon as distant lightning flashed. The night sky and blackness of the ocean melded together making it hard to tell which he was seeing. Rain splashed against the lenses. Yanking a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped them as best as he could. The rain and the wind made it difficult, but he searched the turbulent waters. Lightning flashed, momentarily lighting the white-capped waves.
Where was that boat? Intelligence had confirmed it would be there...somewhere. It had to be. He’d surveilled the coastal waters along the Outer Banks every night for a couple weeks, and his gut told him they were there. Scanning the ocean from left to right and back again, he hoped for a light or a signal. Anything to indicate its presence. Mike’s eyes strained in the darkness and after a while he began to think they were playing tricks on him. Lightning flashed again, brighter and closer. He lowered the binoculars, blinked, then lifting them once again, continued his search.
He’d been here for hours, and just when he thought he’d give up for the night, he spotted a light in the distance. Just to the south a faint light winked off and on. No tricks on his eyesight this time. It was really a boat. It rose and fell on the choppy seas, occasionally disappearing behind a turbulent wave as it was blocked from view then it reappeared again on top of the next wave. Could it be the boat? Could it be the one he’d been searching for? Hope surged in his breast as he watched the faint light continue its northern route. Lightning flashed, lighting up the vessel momentarily. He didn’t know if it was the boat or if perhaps it was a fishing trawler or a Coast Guard cutter. He’d find out, that was for sure. He’d find out.
~
As Ava Sinclair pedaled her Schwinn bicycle toward the Cape Hatteras light station, she enjoyed the warm morning breeze blowing gently off the Atlantic Ocean. Having lived in Buxton, North Carolina her entire life, she’d endured everything from gentle breezes to hurricanes and would always prefer the kiss of a gentle breeze against her skin. She reached up to push back tendrils of hair that had slipped from its twist and hit a pothole in the dirt road nearly sending her bicycle sideways. Grabbing the handlebar, she righted herself and continued on her way.
Ava eyed the cloth sack of vegetables in her bicycle’s wicker basket to ensure that nothing was dislodged by the bump. She was on a mission for Mother who had declared the Jennette family could use the early beans from her garden, what with all the mouths they had to feed. Then she returned her gaze to the distant structure that loomed above the trees and everything else on the Island.
Cape Hatteras Lighthouse, the tallest landmark on the island, never failed to fill her with a sense of pride and as she approached it now, that feeling filled her breast. Mr. Unaka Jennette, the lighthouse keeper, had once told her it was the tallest lighthouse in the whole country. With its black and white spiraling stripes, it was just plain beautiful. It was his pride and joy. Daily he hauled fuel by hand to the top of the magnificent structure, and that was no easy task. She’d followed him up on occasion and watched as he’d filled the fuel tank. He kept the wicks trimmed and the Fresnel lens polished to a sparkle. He’d been known to climb the two hundred and sixty-eight steps a dozen times in a day.
Ava halted her bike in front of the principle lighthouse keeper’s house where Mr. and Mrs. Jennette lived with their passel of seven children. Leaning her bicycle against the porch railing, she stepped onto the porch, but before Ava could knock on the screen door, Mrs. Sudie Jennette swung it open.
“Well hello, Ava. How are you this fine morning?” Sudie Jennette wiped her hands on the white apron that covered her gray skirt and white blouse. “And what brings you over our way?”
Ava pulled the cloth sack from her bike basket and held it out to Mrs. Jennette. “Good morning, Mrs. Jennette. Mother asked me to bring these beans to you. They’re the only thing producing in her garden yet but we have plenty for ourselves and to share.”
“Oh my lands.” Mrs. Jennette pressed her hands against her chest in excitement. Accepting the sack, she glanced inside. “Would you look at those? We’ll be eating well tonight. Thank your mother for me, won’t you?”
As they stood chatting, they heard the door to the lighthouse shut and saw Mr. Jennette walking toward them. His voice carried across the yard. “Good morning, Miss Ava. How are you this lovely summer day? Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“I’m doing fine, Captain Naka.” Ava used the nickname that everyone on the island referred to the lighthouse keeper by. “And you?”
“Oh, just fine and dandy. Couldn’t pick a more beautiful day, could you?” He waved an all-encompassing arm to include the sky, the yard and the ocean beyond. “What’s been keeping you away, young lady?”
“I’ve just been very busy at the library. A large donation of books came in from a wealthy estate up near Kitty Hawk. Apparently someone left them to our tiny library in their will, and now I have the very daunting task of finding room for them.” She flung up a cautious hand. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you. I’m just not sure where I’m going to put them all.”
“Hmmm,” the good captain considered. “Perhaps we’ll have to bring it up at our next town council meeting. Either move the library to larger quarters, or add on to the one we’ve got.”
Before Ava could respond, a male voice greeted them from near the sandy dunes at the edge of the yard.
“Good morning.”
They turned to see a tall young man in fishing attire as he approached them. His newsboy cap was pulled low over his eyes cloaking them in shadow. A white button-down shirt with sleeves rolled to his elbows, minus a starched collar, hugged his muscular form. Brown twill trousers and a tan fishing vest sporting various hooks and lures completed his casual attire. A large fishing creel hung from one shoulder while he carried a surf fishing pole in one hand and two large fish on a stringer in the other hand.
“Well howdy, young man,” called Captain Naka. “Looks as if you’ve done well this morning. Those are some dandy looking Spanish mackerel. Take you long to land ‘em?”
“Not really,” the man halted near them. He held up the stringer then looked back at the group. “I’m mostly fishing for the fun of it, so I can’t use these. They’re just too big to throw back, and I thought I’d see if you folks could use them.”
“Oh my lands,” Mrs. Jennette’s hands flew to her cheeks. “You really can’t use them?”
“Nope. I’m staying at a boarding house in town so have no way to cook them up.” The fisherman shook his head, sighed dramatically then eyed them again. “But if you’re not interested, I’m sure the proprietress of the boarding house would be happy to get them.”
“Oh, no, we’d be more than happy to take them off your hands, young feller,” Captain Naka said with a rush. “We have a houseful of children and this would go a long way toward feeding ‘em.”
“Then, they’re all yours.” The stranger held up the stringer.
“Oh, my lands,” said Mrs. Jennette. “Thank you ever so much. That’s very kind of you, sir.”
He waved her words away. “Think nothing of it. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. and Mrs.….?
“Jennette,” finished Captain Naka. “Mr. and Mrs. Unaka Jennette. And you are?”
“Michael Kelly, but just call me Mike.” The young man held out a hand and shook the captain’s. He tipped his cap toward Mrs. Jennette then turned his shadowed gaze on Ava.
A prickle of something she couldn’t explain raced up Ava’s spine. Strange. She’d never met this man before. Why should meeting his eyes do that? It’s not like they were…what? She couldn’t even identify their color in the shade of his hat’s brim and the bright sunlight. Mentally shaking herself, she shifted from one foot to the other, feeling unexplainably awkward.
“And you’re Miss Jennette?” he asked, watching her.
“Oh, no. I’m just a friend of the family.”
“This is Miss Ava Sinclair,” Captain Naka introduced her proudly. “She’s almost like a daughter. She’s our town librarian and Sheriff Sinclair’s sister.”
“Really? So you live in Buxton as well?”
“Yes,” Ava nodded. “All my life.”
“Fascinating.” The word seemed to slip from him before he could stop it, and Ava’s cheeks grew warm. Hmmm. The temperature must be climbing although it was predicted to be mild today.
“Pardon?” asked the captain.
“I mean living here on the island your whole life would be fascinating.”
“I suppose,” agreed Mrs. Jennette, a thoughtful expression creasing her brow. “Life’s rather slow here, and we don’t get strangers often. How long have you been here, Mr. Kelly?”
“A couple of weeks. Just taking in the scenery and fishing. I usually throw the fish back, but this is the best catch yet and I had to share it.” He paused then handed the stringer to Captain Naka. “Well, I’ve taken up enough of your morning. It was a pleasure meeting you all. I’ll pick up my stringer another time. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
Ava felt his gaze land on her features and was oddly certain he was talking directly to her.
~
Mike strolled north across the sand dunes to where he’d parked his 1925 Ford convertible roadster. The rolling waves on the beach and the sound of seagulls barely penetrated his thoughts as he recalled the chocolate doe-eyes of Miss Sinclair. Tendrils of honey-blond hair had slipped loose from her twist and caressed her peach complexion in the morning sea breeze. He’d had the inexplicable desire to touch those cheeks and hair and discover if they truly were as soft and silky as they looked. He’d seen the flash of a dimple in her cheek. Yep. That was a nice touch.
Stopping beside the car, he tossed the creel and rod onto the passenger floorboard then leaned against the door and faced the ocean. Yanking his cap from his head, he ran his hand through his hair. Putting a big fat kibosh on that line of thinking would be necessary. With his mission first and foremost in importance, getting involved with the local librarian wasn’t part of the plan.
Besides, his Bureau of Prohibition boss, Mr. Page, wouldn’t be happy with distractions. This was far too important. He had to find out who was behind the rum-running from the Caribbean and help put a stop to it. Prohibition had been implemented eight years ago, and the battle to stop bootleggers and rum-runners was at an all-time high. The Bureau had put a serious kink in many a plan, but the villains always seemed to come up with a new one.
Intel had suggested a rum-runner boat passed by the Outer Banks at least three or four times a week. In spite of his diligent surveillance, last night was the first possible sighting he’d had, and even that wasn’t definite.
So Miss Sinclair’s brother was the local sheriff. He should probably make his acquaintance. Only time would tell but he might need local law enforcement to help out in this investigation. It wouldn’t hurt to seek out the sheriff. And perhaps a chance encounter with his sister would at least bring a bright moment to his day.
~
Ava parked her bicycle in the shed behind the house and hurried in the back door into the kitchen.
“So, how are the Jennettes today, dear?” Mother asked from the porcelain enamel kitchen sink where she filled a pot with water from the old hand pump and carried it to the cook stove.
“They’re fine and send their appreciation for the beans.” Ava reached for the bowl of green beans by the sink and, sitting at the kitchen table, began to snap them. “And to top it off, a fisherman caught two Spanish mackerel, brought them to the house and gave them to the Jennettes. I’d say they’ll have quite a meal tonight.”
Mrs. Sinclair spun around and gazed at her daughter. “A fisherman? Anyone we know?”
“No. Just a stranger in town. He said he’s here for the scenery and fishing. I suppose when he’s had his fill, he’ll head home.”
“Well, we don’t get strangers here often. What was he like, dear?”
Several beans slipped to the floor and Ava bent to retrieve them. “Oh, I don’t know. Nothing special, really.”
“Older? Younger? Middle aged, perhaps?”
“Oh, average, I suppose,” Ava evaded.
Knowing Mother, if she knew the stranger was tall, dark and handsome, she’d likely seek him out and lay claim to him for her daughter. And Ava didn’t need that. Didn’t want it. Right? She was doing just fine without a man in her life. Perhaps it was the fact that Mrs. Sinclair tried to shove every eligible man within a hundred miles at her. Mother was desperate to marry her off; afraid she’d become an old maid. But Ava thwarted her attempts every possible chance.
When she’d talked to Martin about it, he’d chuckled and said not to worry. Mother would grow weary and lose interest…someday.
“There’s the community ice cream social this Saturday evening. Why not invite him?” Mother suggested as she stirred the pot on the stove.
Had Mother seen through her evasion and determined he was eligible? Well, it didn’t matter to her mother if he was twenty, forty or sixty as long as he could provide for her daughter.
Ava carried the bowl of snapped beans to the sink and rinsed them. “I don’t think…”
“And why not?” Mother asked. “Let’s show this gentleman what a friendly community we have. If he’s far from home, I’m sure he’d enjoy an evening of ice cream and socializing.”
Ava rolled her eyes and sighed as she looked out the kitchen window above the sink. She loved Mother dearly, but sometimes she could be rather irritating.
A vehicle pulled into the yard by the backdoor and Ava glanced out to see Martin’s patrol car. A moment later her older brother strolled in and hung his fedora on a hook by the door.
“Well, there are two of my favorite women in the world.” He dropped a kiss on his mother’s cheek and wrapping an arm around Ava’s shoulder, gave her a squeeze. “What are you two chatting about?”
Ava gently elbowed him in the ribs. “And how’s your absolute favorite woman in the world? I haven’t seen Shelby in a few days.”
“Oh, she had to drive her mom up to Nags Head to visit her sister. They’ll be back tomorrow.” He dropped onto a kitchen chair. “What’s for lunch?”
“Potato soup and homemade bread. Just baked it this morning,” replied Mrs. Sinclair, pulling the bread pan from the warming oven.
“Mmmm, smells amazing,” Martin said taking a whiff of the pan as his mother walked past.
When they were all seated and grace had been said, Mrs. Sinclair commented, “Ava said there’s a stranger in town. Have you seen him? Heard anything about him?”
Ava could feel Martin’s gaze on her, but she kept her own eyes on her bowl of soup. She did not want to start this conversation…again.
“No, can’t say that I have,” Martin reached for a second slice of warm bread. “But if he’s around, I’m sure I’ll run into him sometime. Anything you can add, Sis? How’d you find out he’s here?”
Ava gave a brief overview of the morning visit to the Jennettes, left out Mike Kelly’s name and description and left it at that.
“Unless he’s doing something he shouldn’t, I don’t see any reason to check him out, Mom. He has a right to visit our fair little town and fish if he likes.”
“Yes, well, I suspect your sister isn’t telling all,” Mother chuckled. “Ava hasn’t described him or said anything specific about him. And that’s a tell-tale reason to believe there’s more to this story.”
~
“Mr. Kelly,” came Mrs. Bergman’s sing-song voice. “Oh, Mr. Kelly.”
Mike halted on the way upstairs and waited for the proprietress of the boarding house to appear at the foot of the staircase.
The short, stocky, elderly woman rounded the corner huffing softly, hand over her heart. Apparently she’d rushed from the back of the house when she’d heard him come in. “Oh, there you are, Mr. Kelly. I just wanted to let you know that a messenger boy from the wireless station left a message for you.”
She held out a slip of paper and Mike skipped down the steps to accept it.
“Thank you, Mrs. Bergman.” Mike turned to head up the stairs.
“Mr. Kelly,” the lady’s voice stopped him.
“Yes, ma’am.” Mike turned back to her.
“You’ve been here for a few weeks. How is it that a young man can go off and take such a long time away from work? Unless you are working.” She placed a finger over her lips and added in a whisper, “Don’t worry. I won’t tell.”
Mike felt a stab of apprehension in his gut. Had she somehow figured out what he was doing here? “What do you mean, ma’am?”
“You never told us what you do for a living. Are you a writer? Are you working on the next Great American Novel? Will you be another Hemmingway, perhaps? I just read his first novel, The Sun Also Rises. Mrs. Simpson down the street says he’s a terrible writer, but I’m sure he’ll go far. I have a feeling about these things, Mr. Kelly, and I have a feeling about you too. I’m sure you’ll go far, young man.”
Relief eased Mike’s apprehension. He placed a finger over his lips. “You just never know, Mrs. Bergman.” And with a wink he hurried upstairs. The lady’s soft tittering laugh followed him. He didn’t like deceiving people, but he couldn’t allow them to know why he was here. He dropped his fishing gear in his room and hurried back downstairs and out the door.
Unfortunately, there were no phones on Hatteras Island. Not even electricity. But fortunately for him there was a wireless station. Well, more like a room, actually. He’d been there a couple of times and sworn the telegrapher to silence as to his mission. The messenger boy simply brought a message indicating that one had arrived for him. Nothing more.
As he strolled down the sandy road, hands in his pockets, he didn’t want anyone to think he was in a hurry to get somewhere. He had to play the part of a man on vacation. He still wore the fishing vest and cap so that should help. A small rough-hewn wooden building stood amongst a stand of red juniper, wax myrtle and yaupon holly. A sign above the tiny porch read United Wireless Telegraph Company. Behind the building and pointing skyward stood a metal tower antenna standing a couple hundred feet at least.
Mike opened the door and greeted Pete Wiley, the young man sitting at the desk behind a makeshift board counter. “Hi, Pete. How’s it going?”
“Hello, Mr. Kelly. Good. I see you got my message.” He hurried to the front door and locked it, then pulled the roller shade down over the glass window. Mike watched as he returned to the desk, and instead of reaching into the cubby holes on the wall for a message, he pulled a key from his pants pocket. He unlocked a bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a wooden box. Setting it on the desk, he opened the box and extracted a folded piece of paper, handing it to Mike.
“You can never be too careful, Mr. Kelly. I’m fearful one of those men may show up one day.”
Mike admired the young man’s dedication to his job and to Mike’s mission. “I need you to take your precaution a step further, Pete. From now on, when you tear my messages from your notepad tear the next three sheets off with it and place them with my message. When you write the message, the pressure of your pen imprints on the next page and possibly the next one.”
Pete’s eyes widened as Mike’s words sank in. He returned to his desk and grabbed his notepad. Examining the pad, he noticed the imprinted words on the paper.
“I see what you mean. Yours was the last message that came in this morning. Boy, am I glad no one else received anything. Your message would’ve gone out with theirs.”
Mike nodded wryly. “I should’ve mentioned it to you before, Pete. Don’t blame yourself.”
“I’ll be sure and take care of it from now on, Mr. Kelly,” Pete said as he tore off the next three sheets and handed them to Mike.
“Thanks,” Mike took them and handed Pete some coins. “Thanks for helping me out. This is very important.”
Pete looked at the coins in his hands then back at Mike. “This is more than the price of the telegram, Mr. Kelly.”
“I know.” Mike ripped open the telegram and read.
~
The telegram was from his boss, Mr. Page, in Washington, D.C. Perhaps he had new information that would help in the case. His boss had telegrammed twice since he’d been here.
“Intel suggests rum-runner is Jasper Palermo, Rudy Trapani or Big To. Stop.” The message stopped. Big To…. Who? Why did the message stop?
“Pete, this message is incomplete. Do you know why it would be like that?”
“No sir. I even asked the other end if there was more. They said that was all.”
Mike let out a frustrated sigh.
“Alright. Let’s send a reply and find out what happened to the rest of the message.”
~
As he climbed back upstairs to his room, Mike thought about the telegram. Jasper Palermo, Rudy Trapani or Big To…. He wasn’t familiar with the second one and he certainly hoped it wasn’t the first. He was bad news. He didn’t have enough of a name for the third to place it. He’d have to wait for Mr. Page to reply to his telegram. For now? He’d exchange his fishing clothes for a lightweight summer suit and see if he could locate the sheriff.
~
Onboard The Satisfaction, glass bottles rattled as crates were hoisted from the ship’s cargo hold to the deck. As it was lowered to the wooden deck a wave caused the ship to lurch and the deckhand controlling the hoist lost his grip. The crate slipped, dropping heavily to the deck. Glass crashed together but fortunately remained intact. The deckhand couldn’t breathe as sweat dripped profusely down his face. The boss swung around glaring at him, his dark eyes bulging from his puffy face. His thick lips held an angry sneer while his nostrils flared. If looks could kill the deckhand knew his life was forfeit.
“Get him out of here,” the boss shouted, tossing his thumb over his shoulder. The deckhand spotted the wink of the diamond on his pinky that matched his trademark diamond tie pin. The boss was dressed as usual in his immaculately pressed pinstriped suit and his spit-shined shoes.
“I don’t ever want to see him on this ship again. He put my merchandise at risk and that’s more than unacceptable. Find him another job. And if he fails at that, then you know what to do.”
The deckhand swallowed hard, sweating harder. He relinquished the hoist controls to another crewman and was led away. One slip up caused by an ocean wave. Not even his fault and he was out of here. He glanced back to find the boss watching him, a gleam in his eye and a sneer on his lips. A sick feeling hit him in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t sure he was going to see that second job.

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