WAITING FOR LILLIAN

This began with some photos my partner took quite a while ago.  I began to poke around and discovered quite a few ship wrecks had occured in the region due to a  horrendous storm in 1913. I researched several of the wrecks' histories and picked the one most mysterious.  This has been a fun project.  It took longer than I anticipated to get everything mashed together, but here she is; please enjoy 

Waiting for Lillian

They stood at the cliff; him so strong and brave, her frail and small. The wind and waves roared, attempting to distract them from their last few moments together. He reached for her and stroked her hair tenderly as he sucked from his pipe and thought about the journey she could not take with him. They had not been apart for a long time.

“Please don’t go.” Lucy clung to him, relishing the smell of salt and the scratch of his wool jacket against her cheek

“Lucy, you’re being silly. Summer’s gone and I must get the harvest to Midland. You will stay with Ms. Boyd and the rest. Learn a lot. Do your best.” His voice was tough and clipped but inside he felt the heavy tug of sadness at having to leave his daughter for this trip. They had no choice if they wanted to survive the winter months.

“-But Papa…” her voice was small and although he wasn’t looking, he could feel her tears warmly soaking his trousers.

He winced as she hugged him tightly and shook with the sobs of a frightened little girl. With her momma, Alice, gone, he had to rely on the kindness of Ms. Boyd, the school teacher at the old lighthouse to take care of his precious cargo while he boarded the SS James Carruthers and headed down Lake Superior through the Soo to Georgian Bay. John Thompson had done a good job of raising young Lucy al one after Alice had passed. Childbirth was just too much for the beautiful, gentle woman that he had persuaded to be his wife. He was permitted one angel at a time and Lucy was it. She was a wonderful gift though he still missed his wife. He sat at night watching Lucy sleep or sew, recognizing Alice’s features and manners flutter through her daughter like a butterfly through a meadow. It always caused that hollowness, heaviness of empty arms. Even now, he ached for his lovely Alice. He sighed and draped his arm around his daughter’s shoulder, rocking softly with the swell of the water below. Somehow it soothed them. The mist flecked their faces as if it knew how hard this would be and was crying with them.

“I’ll be home before you know it.” he dragged sullenly.

“Promise?” she sniffed, wiping her nose along her shawl; inhaling deeply the scent of his tobacco.

“Like to bet on it little Miss?” he grinned around his pipe at the tiniest note of hope in her voice.

“Yes SIR! A picture show?” her teeth gleamed in a sweet smile at the prospect.

“Pricey request, my Dear but I could be talked out of a nickel for your wonderful smile and the sound of your laugh.”

“Mothering Heart with Lillian Gish! OHHH Papa!” the little girl’s trouble seemed to melt away and the excitement in her tiny hands could have lifted him off the ground. He laughed and swirled her around.

“Lillian Gish it is” and in her hand he placed a nickel. “Now don’t lose this or we can’t go.” He teased.

“Oh thank you Papa! It will be the bee’s knees!”

The water approved with roaring waves of applause. He kissed her hair and hugged her tight enough to last the whole voyage and John Thompson walked along the path heading for his ship. She watched him haul his gear, feeling proud of him. He was stronger than any papa there ever was and he knew more about these lakes than anyone. Wiping the last tears away, tucking in her mind the wonderful moving picture she would see in just a short while and the joy of holding his rough hand as he guided her into the bijou to see Lillian Gish. LILLIAN GISH!!! Seven year old Lucy waved and shouted “I love you!” to his back. She remained at the rocks watching her father’s ship push toward the locks. Today was the sixth of November. Soon he’d be home.

Ms. Boyd rang the clunky bell and the straggling children sauntered in for lessons. They were immersed in the lighthouse where their days would be filled with studies and chores. If Lucy wasn’t carrying wood for cooking and baths, she could help in the kitchen with meals and preserves or her favorite; sewing in the upper landing where she could watch for her father’s ship; waiting. As her nimble fingers graced needle and thread, she clutched the nickel her papa had given as a reminder that it was only for a while. An afternoon with her papa and the moving picture show were close at hand. It filled her with warmth.

The weather began to look grey and menacing. By Saturday the eighth, things looked very bad. Lucy hoped that Papa had made it through the locks and was well on his way to port as the wind began to howl and sway the lighthouse. The window sashes rattled as the storm gathered anger and shoved through the Soo toward Huron. Lucy sat in the rocking chair mending and stared out at the raising swells. The surges of water seemed to swallow the huge jagged rocks below and the wind growled around the skinny schoolhouse. Rain smacked their home so hard they could barely see across the water and the night was so mean it seemed to the children that it wanted nothing more than to gobble them right up. Lucy kept sewing and rocking. Lillian Gish was waiting.

She continued when Evelyn’s paw came home on the Midland Prince after the skies had cleared. Albert squealed like a stuck pig when the JH Sheadle docked. There was always so much to celebrate when the men came home; especially since “The Great White Hurricane” had turned torn through the region. So many had to be accounted for; both men and cargo. Everyone feared the price that had been paid.

But the days dragged on and there was no word about the Carruthers. Albert’s dad had said he’d seen it just ahead of them on the St. Mary’s river. He’d waved as it stopped for coal and headed for Duck Island. Still, no one had seen her and Lucy sat alone in the tower.

At last the bodies began to appear as did the smashed and broken wreckage of Canada’s largest steamer of the day; her once sturdy steel hull now appearing flimsy and frail, twisted and sick. Most of the news was coming from Point Clark, almost seventy miles south of their final destination. They sent word that Captain Wright was discovered as were most of the other crew members dressed in their heavy coats and life jackets. They had all known fear and doom. They had no choice but to let it wash over them.

Lucy was inconsolable. Her sorrow compared to the storm’s ten to twelve foot waves; heavy and crashing through her small frame. Her eyes rained like the torrent that stole her father from her and the sobs were deep and filled with fear. Ms. Boyd held her and rocked back and forth. Through Lucy’s quivering lips came three confusing stuttered words: “Way-haaayyting….ffffor Li-lil LILLIAN!” and the painful tempest would surge again. Sleep came reluctantly in the tower in her chair. The teacher stroked the newly orphaned child’s hair and felt her body tremble with sadness even when there should have been peace.

Lucy floated through her days, silent and wispy like the ghost her father had become. Ms. Boyd kept her rather than turn her to the state orphan home. Lucy didn’t want to leave the lighthouse or her perch on the landing where she sewed, daydreaming of her father’s calloused hand and the bijou. When the time came, it made sense that the lighthouse become Lucy’s and took over as headmistress. The children loved her. She was tough and fair, expecting nothing less than their best. “Learn a lot. Do your best.” She would say clanking the heavy bell to summon her “brood” of students.

After harvest, when she had the most children with her and their papas were all on the water, Lucy would take them up the seventy-two steps to the landing where they would read and finish lessons. She would rock and sew, searching the dark unforgiving water for her father, a nickel pinched tightly in her last two fingers of her left hand.

It has been a labor of love. Thank you for stopping by to share it with me. I'm glad you came.




Research via
Taless of the Sea: Great Lakes Storm
Guillermao Shaer, Buenos AIres, Argentina
Google:
Wikipedia: films in 1913
ImDB: most popular films of 1913
Filmsite.org