They continued to walk until they came to the lighthouse itself. Behind it lay the waters of the North Atlantic, which shimmered blue as the whitecaps rolled toward the shoreline. Painted white from top to bottom with a pair of small, red-roofed structures attached to its side, Highland Light made them pause and soak in its grandeur. The glass enclosure at the top reflected the sun’s blistering midday rays.
They learned that a tour group had just entered the lighthouse, so Dane paid their admission, and soon they were climbing the wrought iron steps that wound their way up to the observation deck.
Dane ran his hand along the lighthouse’s brick-and-mortar interior wall. It didn’t look or feel like a Colonial Era structure. It seemed much newer. A sinking feeling washed over and he ascended the staircase without much enthusiasm, Bones and Jillian following along behind.
The tour guide, a short, stocky man with blue eyes and light brown hair, was well into his presentation when they reached the top of the tower. They hung back, listening politely as the man pointed out local landmarks and shared bits of trivia.
Dane looked out across Truro. The view of the town from this lighthouse atop the bluffs was spectacular, and the view of the ocean equally so. The cool salt breeze bathed his face and he smiled. Nothing was better than the sea.
“Nice, isn’t it?” Jillian whispered.
“I could get used to this,” Bones said. “Growing up in the mountains was cool, but I’ve always wanted to live at the beach. Maybe some day.” His dark eyes took on a faraway look as he gazed out at the dark line of the horizon.
Dane had to agree. It was an odd feeling to discover he had anything in common with the big Indian.
“I noticed you arrive toward the end of the presentation. Do you have any questions about the light?” Dane turned to see the tour guide standing behind them. He had a friendly smile and an easy manner.
“As a matter of fact, I do. This lighthouse seems awfully sturdy to be from Colonial times. How old is it?”
“You’re quite right. There has been a lighthouse at this location since 1797, but this particular lighthouse was constructed in 1857.”
Dane saw his companions’ faces fall along with his heart. His hunch had been wrong.
“So this isn’t the original lighthouse?” Bones asked.
“No. The first building was wooden. Obviously, it wasn’t built to last. It was replaced in 1831 with a stone structure, and then this lighthouse was built a little over a quarter century later.”
“Does this lighthouse sit on top of the old one?” Bones asked hopefully.
The guide shook his head. “The original was somewhere close by, but no one knows exactly where. Besides, it wasn’t like it had a basement or a foundation to be built upon.” He paused. “This lighthouse will soon be moved. Originally, we had five hundred feet between the light and the cliff, but erosion is threatening the building.” He pointed to the north. “Over there, we lost forty feet in 1990 alone.”
“So the spot of the original lighthouse might have already washed away.” Bones grimaced and looked down as if the structure on which they now stood had given offense.
Dane felt like he was going to be sick. He had led them on a wild goose chase. And he had been so certain.
“About the original lighthouse,” Dane began, “what sort of lights did they use? Were they typical oil lanterns?”
“It’s not out of the question that some smaller lighthouses might have hung a few lanterns in a pinch, but the spider lamp was the standard of the day.” He saw Dane’s questioning expression and went on. “The spider lamp consisted of what amounted to a bowl of oil with several wicks, hence the nickname spider. Highland Light was a bit higher tech than most of its contemporaries. In an attempt to distinguish it from the Boston lighthouse, it was given a revolving reflector.”
“So there’s no way Highland Light used an old-school lantern?” Bones asked.
The guide shrugged. “As I said, maybe in a pinch. Perhaps if the keeper accidentally let the fire burn out and needed to hang a light while he went to get more oil, but it’s not likely.”
“I don’t suppose there are any remnants or artifacts from the original lighthouse anywhere, are there?” Jillian asked.
“You might try the museum. They have a lot of Colonial Era items in the collection, some that belonged to previous keepers.”
They thanked him for his help and descended the stairs in a funk.
“Do we try the museum?” Bones asked. His voice held no disappointment or accusation. “Might be worth a look.”
“Might as well as long as we’re here.” Dane tried to keep his tone upbeat, but he failed. “I just hope I haven’t wasted our time.”
The Highland House Museum, operated by the Truro Historical Society, sat located a stone’s throw from the lighthouse. A woman with iron gray hair and a stern manner greeted them politely, if without warmth, as they entered. Her name tag read “Anne Revere.”
“Any relation to Paul?” Bones asked.
“As a matter of fact, I am a direct descendent.” She smiled for the first time. “And proud of it. Didn’t even take my first husband’s name when we married. Drove him crazy. Of course, it also upset him that I insisted on referring to him as my first husband from the day of our wedding.”
“That’s cold.” The twinkle in Bones’ eyes contradicted his words.
“I just had a feeling. Now, what brings you to the Museum?”
“We were wondering if you have any items in your collection associated with the original lighthouse,” Jillian said. “I’m doing some research.”
Revere furrowed her brow for the briefest of instants, but then her features smoothed. The reaction had been so brief, Dane wondered if the others had even noticed.
“There are a few items in the collection that are associated with the keepers of the early nineteenth century, but they are scattered about, and not all are labeled as such. Ours is not so much a lighthouse museum as a general one. Our collection can be broken down into several categories: Farming and Industry, Fishing and Whaling, Shipwrecks, Tourism, Artists, and Native American.”
Dane noticed Bones’ reaction when she mentioned shipwrecks. For a moment, he feared Bones wouldn’t hold his tongue, but his worries were unnecessary. Bones didn’t spill the beans.
“Thanks. We’ll look around.”
“Let me know if I can answer any questions.” Revere gave them a perfunctory smile and retreated through a door behind the counter into a small office. The nameplate on the door named her Museum Director.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Bones asked softly.
Dane nodded. “Somerset.”
They were disappointed. There were no artifacts from Somerset, only a small display that included a model of the ship, a few paintings, a placard giving a brief summary of the wreck, and an old newspaper clipping about the opening of this particular display.
“Kind of hard up for news, aren’t they?” Jillian sounded bitter.
“We might as well check the rest of the Museum.” Dane didn’t know why they were wasting their time. He despised failure, and the thought of it turned his stomach.
The others agreed to continue the search but, thirty minutes later, they were ready to give up. There were a few Colonial era lanterns, but none bearing Revere’s mark.”
“I was so sure too.” Dane stood, arms folded across his chest, staring at the Somerset display.
“Don’t worry about it, dude.” Bones gave his shoulder a friendly squeeze. “We all make mistakes sometimes, even the mighty Dane Maddock.”
Dane smiled, but not at the jibe. Something had caught his eye.
“You’re right. I do make mistakes, but today is not the day.” Heart pounding he moved back to the display and tapped the newspaper clipping. “Look at this photograph carefully. What do you see?”