Chapter 7

The next morning as he cast off the mooring lines and turned the boat out of the protected cove, he saw his now extended family standing at the edge of the dock waving. Although the clouds had opened up and showers now poured down upon them, the children stood there smiling and waving furiously as the boat rounded the corner and was out of view. The next few days were bliss for the family. Another family from one of the neighboring lighthouses stopped over on their return from a supply run Visits from fellow light-keepers were always well received, as there were so few people in this world that understood the trials and tribulations of the lifestyle. The details were never made clear to him, but a day before he was set to return the children were out in their customary fashion exploring the island. The two children were climbing in one of their favorite trees near the beach, when there was a thunderous crack as the crown of the tree separated and crashed down amongst the rocks.

Mary heard the crash and instinctively, as only a mother can feel, felt something had gone terribly wrong and dropped the basket of fresh flowers and took off running. The petas of the delicate blooms barely had settled to the ground before she let out a blood curdling scream. There, lying still and lifeless amongst the debris, lied her two precious babies. She lost the ability to function, her legs collapsing out from underneath her, barely able to crawl across the rocks to where Bridgette lay pinned under a massive branch. A shard of which had peeled off and was firmly secured in her abdomen. Hopelessly she splashed some of the incoming sea water on her precious girls face, mindlessly trying to wash away the blood. Sobs violently racked her body and she was unable to fight the urge to vomit. As she lay there weeping into her own bile she hear something. A whisper at first, then a whimper and the soft cry of her son “mama”.

She rushed over to him and grabbed him, hugging him closely as she collapsed about him, rocking back and forth as the tears stung her face.
“Oh my god, thank god.” she stumbled over her words between each sobbing fit. It wasn’t until she felt her sons body go limp that she realized the severity of the situation. There trapped under the trunk of the tree were the mangled remains of her sons leg. Although most of his leg remained unseen, bits of broken bone and flowing blood could be seen above his knee cap. She started screaming “Help” as she removed her bandana and fashioned a crude tourniquet above the wound. Calling upon all of the angels of mercy and all that is good in this world she placed her hands underneath the log and began to lift. That was her flesh and blood under there and she would die before giving up. Just then Jules arrived and she was barely able to grunt out between gritted teeth “Get him”

Jules quickly reached down and scooped the boy up in his arms, being careful to raise his legs higher than his heart. Mary dropped the log with a resounding crash. She walked over to where Bridgette was lying, now blue and cold, and removed the offensive piece of wood. She gingerly lifted her into her arms, her face now numb, and walked past Jules towards the house. Her once pink and white floral dress streaked with crimson. When they arrived at the house she directed Jules to take Billy into the kitchen as she carried her darling girl up to bed. She gently laid her down, nestled the blankets up around her and laid her favorite stuffed rabbit next to her. She stared at her daughters once beautiful alabaster skin and freckled nose, kissed her on the forehead, and tucked her in for her final rest. She knew time was short for her son, and mourning could be saved for later. She walked down the stairs, grabbed her medicine bag and rolled up her sleeves. She stopped outside the kitchen door, took a deep breath and let out a sigh before proceeding. Quickly her brain switched into clinical mode and she no longer saw her son on the table, but just another trauma patient on the operating table. She walked over to the sink and began scrubbing her hands and arms, watching as the suds turned to a foamy pink before washing down the drain. She heard the back door slam shut and figured Jules had lost his nerve, but as she finished scrubbing she turned around to see him carrying a smalle stick, a leather strap and the new ax. He too had realized the severity of the injury. They stared at each other, preparing themselves for what they were about to do. They didn’t notice the boat pulling up to the wharf.

He had found it odd that his family was not waiting for him at the dock. He was a day early, but he had blown the horn three times before he arrived. Surely Billy would have heard it. He tied his boat off and started unloading supplies on the dock. From the last box he removed a brand new porcelain china doll, and as he walked towards the house he was careful to hide it behind his back, lest his daughter caught him unawares. As he approached the house he noticed there was a lot of lights on in the kitchen. He opened the back door and saw Mary’s back holding something on the table, and Jules swinging and ax down hard. Mary felt his presence and turned, and there, just a glimpse, he saw his son laying on the table. He felt a deep pit form in his stomach, the precious doll sliding from his fingers and crashing upon the floor. The tinkling of the individual pieces now filled the deathly silent room. Mary ran to him, her once clinical resolve melting away as she hugged him tightly. Between her whimpers he could hear the words he dreaded ‘she’s dead’. He hugged his wife close and gently pushed her away as he walked towards his son[']s now deformed body. Jules grabbed a piece of cloth and wrapped up the now dismembered leg and placed it beneath the table before dressing the wound. Here his son lay, sticky with sweat, cool to the touch. A stick marked deeply with teeth marks, now lay limply across his mouth. He removed the wood, and wiped his boys face, wiping away the sweat, and wiping away the now free flowing tears.
“My boy, my beautiful boy” he kept repeating over and over as he laid his head upon his sons chest. He could feel that somewhere deep within, his sons heart was beating and there was still hope.