Introduction

The townspeople of the tiny upper New England town, now called Cape Elizabeth, never gave much thought to the beautiful woman who would appear at the onset of winter each year. In quiet wonder, she would smile at the renovations and new products on the shelves. And folks would just tip their heads in a friendly nod and keep to their business-as good New Englanders do.

Most knew that Lizzie was preparing for her captain's return. Without a word, she'd collect her supplies and walk the five miles of rough road to the old lighthouse that had been closed to the public for over one hundred years. No payment was necessary, for her debt had already been paid the fateful night that Captain Stephen Hatchinson and his new bride lost their lives near the lighthouse in the fierce New England winter storm known as "Keeper Hanna", the winter of 1885.

Elizabeth rubbed the palms of her hands against her cheeks to generate some warmth. She checked the oil in the lamp to be certain the wick was sufficient. There needed to be enough to last through the long night ahead, especially if the storm came onshore. As she stared at the flickering yellow flame, she could see the faces of the townsfolk in her mind. By their questioning, startled looks, perhaps they thought her to be a lunatic, taking on the lone proprietorship of the desolate lighthouse. It stood like a sentinel, miles from the village, on the farthest point of shore. Beyond, the great Atlantic swallowed the horizon.

There was a chill in the air, indicative of a brewing storm. Elizabeth closed the beveled window and bent down to warm her hands near the kerosene lamp she'd found at Wally's Discount Mercantile. She wondered if the change in the weather affected others as strongly. Her skin seemed alive to the bitter cold, her very soul rekindled with the first cold snap. She'd sensed the change in the temperature as she walked home that morning, noticing how the pink tinged clouds beribboned the early sky.

Red sky at morning; sailors take warning. The warmth of the winter's sun on her face pacified her restlessness, yet in her heart, she knew the sunshine wouldn't last.

Most times, she simply ignored the dubious, sometimes pitying looks of the townspeople. Although resigned to their wariness, she couldn't escape the unusual feeling of curiosity in their gaze.

She wasn't one to bring undue attention and each time she went to town it was the same. As was part of her daily chore, supplies needed to be gathered, food, bottled water, and staples she knew she would need when the November gales pushed in the snow unexpectedly. All she had was a small wooden wagon left behind by a previous light keeper's child, so that was what she used.

Elizabeth conceded that she likely did seem a strange apparition to some. More like a waif on the street than a woman caring for her home as she awaited her husband's return from the sea. She never tired of the lonely trek to the lighthouse she called home, nor the crisp, salty sea air beckoning the winter's arrival. Its knife-edged clarity was her salvation.

With a quick glance out the window to the churning sea below, Elizabeth turned and, carefully holding the railing, descended the steep wooden staircase leading to the living quarters below. Being keeper of the lighthouse wasn't the life many would choose, but she handled it with great skill and more courage than she thought possible. Then again, it was her husband's confidence that provide the strength to perform her duties. She often wondered of those who had been the keepers before her, how they managed. Were they alone, or did they have the warmth of a true love to keep their hearts alive?

She warmed a pan of soup, filled her tin mug and snuggled under the heavy wedding ring design quilt given to her by her mother. Then she picked up her favorite book of poetry, always close to hand to help her when she couldn't fall asleep at night.

Now and again, the mournful wail of the wind outside would grab her attention, taking her for a few moments from her reading. But as always, the gentle hum of blowing gales lulled her senses like a sweet bedtime song and her eyes drifted shut.

Elizabeth awoke startled from her sleep, instantly aware of the increased ferocity of the wind outside. She glanced to the floor where her book had fallen and wondered how long she'd been napping. Her thoughts groggy from her slumber, she retrieved the book. As she straightened, a thud sounded in the floors below.

Cautious, yet curious, she picked up the oil lamp she'd been reading by and the first thing she could find to serve as a weapon-a half-eaten pan of potato soup. Her breath constricted in her throat. She took the steps carefully, one at a time down the winding stairwell, staying as quiet as she could so as not to alert a possible intruder. On occasion, she'd come upon two young lovers looking for privacy, or young boys seeking to ransack the lighthouse, but before she could speak, they always managed to get away.

Elizabeth held the lamp ahead of her to navigate the stairs, its glow casting eerie shadows on the wall.

"Elizabeth!"

She stopped short at the sound of her name. From below, near the front entrance, the wind whistled loud and the waves crashing against the shore made a deafening roar. Perhaps it was her imagination. All the looks, she'd received today from the people in town had made her skittish. She let out a sigh that quelled her fears. Of course, it was just the ferocious wind and the sea.

Stepping to the cold slate floor of the foyer, she held the lamp high and peered through the darkness.

"Elizabeth! For God's sake, woman, I'll be freezing out here! Open up!"

Could it be Stephen? The authoritative male voice requesting help pushed her quickly to the front door. Without hesitation, Elizabeth yanked open the heavy wood door and wind mixed with sleet pelted her face. She shielded her eyes as the gusts blew her hair like a tangled web around her.

"Give me that, Lizzie."

A giant hand reached out and snatched the lantern from her. Blinded by the wind, she released it willingly.

"Woman, you're liable to set yourself afire with all that hair."

His male presence brought her senses alive. She could smell his skin and the wet wool of his overcoat as he stepped in from the wicked weather.

"It's a terrible one out there tonight, Lizzie."

"Stephen?" Elizabeth coughed out his name as she pulled the damp strands of hair from her face. Brushing her fingers across her wet lashes, she blinked, focusing on the formidable man that stood before her. "It is you." Her heart stilled seeing the sexy grin on his handsome face.

"Were you expecting someone else, my dear wife?"

His hand stroked her cheek with the tenderness she craved, the gentleness that she missed. Elizabeth closed her eyes, leaning against his palm.

"I knew you wouldn't leave me here alone, Stephen. They think I'm crazy, you know."

"Aye, my love, I understand."

He hung his coat on the peg of the sagging wood rack and turned, holding out his arms to her.

Being in his embrace was heaven. Everything would be right now that he was home.

"I'm here now my love, like I said I would be." He squeezed her tight and kissed the top of her head. "Is that soup I smell?"

She laughed and pulled the pan into view. "Potato soup, from a can."

"A can? What will they come up with next, Lizzie? I'm famished. Let's go heat this up."

He curled a sturdy arm around her waist, bending to offer a frozen kiss, a sampling of what lie ahead. With a swift hug, he gently nudged her ahead of him up the stairs.

* * *

The fierce sub-zero winds moaned well into the long, dark night. Elizabeth clung passionately to her husband in the wee hours before dawn, free to love him for this moment. She dreaded that with the awakening of another day, he would have to leave her again, to sail once more the fateful trip that brought him safely back to her arms each night.

Murky and muddied, her subconscious washed her memories ashore. In her dreams, she could feel the fierce wind and water sluicing over her exposed skin. She saw the alarm on Stephens face only inches from hers.

"You have to go now, Lizzie. She'll break up soon. I've got to make sure the rest of the crew gets off safely," he screamed over the din of the storm.

The roar of the sea and the frigid air stung her ears. She shook her head, clutching his wool coat with her fists. "I don't want to leave you, Stephen. I'm afraid."

He gave her a fleeting kiss, indicative of the urgency of the situation. "Go now, Lizzie. We're close to shore. I want you to go with Master Crenshaw. He'll see you to safety. Now go."

Stephen wrapped his arms around her in a fierce hug and picked her up bodily, lifting her over the side of the ship to the rope ladder blowing along its side.

Over her shoulder, Elizabeth could see the torment of the storm in the swirling water below. Crenshaw clutched the boats side holding the lantern as best he could with the pitching of the ocean's wrath. She looked once more into the face of her new husband, wondering if and when she might see him again. She stretched her hand to his, gripping his frozen fingers in fear.

"I'll be there soon, Lizzie. I won't ever leave you, I promise. Wait for me. Godspeed. I love you, Lizzie."

He let go of her hand, and she dropped into the boat with Mr. Crenshaw.

"I will wait," she shouted. "Come back to me!" She was never sure if her voice carried over the ocean's roar.

Holding his promise close to her heart, she alone made it to the shore that night. Rescued by the keepers of the lighthouse, they tended to her, though she wasted away day after day, tormented with sorrow. Then, like a miracle, there was no more pain and her body possessed new life.

The lighthouse keeper and his family moved soon after that and never returned. She was hurt at first that they hadn't stayed, but she adapted well to keeping up the decaying old lighthouse as best she could. And though not one townsperson ever spoke to her, she knew they saw her by the haunted look in their eyes.

Elizabeth snuggled close to Stephen, memorizing his scent, remembering the taste of his mouth, the texture of his skin against hers. She didn't want to forget a moment of their lovemaking, fearful that one day, he might not return to her as he promised. With each of her senses satisfied, her mind drifted in peace, floating somewhere between dreams and death.

Turning to her side, she felt the first warm rays of the morning sun play across her face and she touched her hand to where the bed was still warm from his presence. She burrowed deep in the hollowed spot of the feather mattress, a satisfied wife of her captain and lover.

Indeed, he would be home just as his kiss promised. And she would wait for him always.

***

What remained the legend of Cape Elizabeth lighthouse for some, was real for the folks of the tiny New England port. They knew that with the onset of winter, the beautiful woman, preserved in time, would appear, setting to the task of preparing for her husband's return. And Lizzie's story is still told, a legend passed down from the man who rescued her through generations of townspeople. To this day, she is looked upon as the personification of undying love.