The Lighthouse Keeper’s Secret
By Shelley Banks
The wind howled along the rocky shoreline as Anna stepped out of her dusty ute, the scent of salt spray and wildflowers greeting her. The lighthouse stood at the edge of the world—white-washed, weather-beaten, and as familiar as childhood. She’d last visited five years ago, before she’d moved overseas, but now, after inheriting the property from her late Aunt Margaret, she was back and felt the weight of responsibility pressing down on her shoulders.
The call from the solicitor had come on an ordinary Tuesday afternoon, and when she’d attended his office for the reading of the will, Anna had been stunned. What was she meant to do with a lighthouse? Yet here she was, key in hand, peering up at the tower that had watched over one hundred and fifty years of passing ships.
Inside, the air smelled of eucalyptus oil, old paper, and Margaret’s favourite rose soap—the one she bought from the local chemist in town. Dust covered the surfaces, all the more noticeable in the morning sun that streamed through the thick glass windows. Anna wandered through the rooms, memories of visiting her aunt flooding through her mind.
On her first night, as the sun began its descent, she climbed to where the lantern had once provided a beacon for ships and stared out at the ocean until darkness hid the view. So, Anna climbed back down and began exploring the storeroom. Stowed behind a stack of nautical charts and faded raincoats was a battered wooden trunk. Inside, beneath layers of old rope and faded towels, she found a bundle of diaries, tied with fraying red ribbon.
The cover of the first diary was embossed with gold: “Margaret, 1962.” Intrigued, she opened it, the entries unfolding a long-held secret, at least to Anna.
As she read, a love story emerged from the pages. Margaret had fallen for a local fisherman. Their romance was tender but complicated by the disapproval of Margaret’s family, who thought she deserved an easier life than the one they’d had, one not reliant on the tides and one not so lonely.
Margaret described moonlit meetings on the footpath below the lantern, whispered promises, and notes exchanged in the hollow of a gum tree. Anna was moved by the passion in her aunt’s words. But eventually, the disapproval proved too much and her love moved away.
Margaret had never married, always holding on to her fisherman, even though he had been hounded away. Instead, she focused on the lighthouse, tending its beacon until there was no longer a call for its guidance.
Inspired by her aunt’s story, Anna resolved to honour Margaret’s memory, by restoring the lighthouse and opening its doors to visitors. She imagined a gathering place for locals and travellers alike. She pictured school groups learning about maritime history, artists sketching the rugged coastline, and families picnicking among the wildflowers.
Bringing life back to the old lighthouse felt like a way to reconnect with her roots and give Margaret’s legacy the recognition it deserved.
As Anna settled into her new life, she felt Margaret’s presence in every sunrise and the sound of the waves. The lighthouse had always been a place of guidance and now it was Anna’s turn to be led by its light.
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If you like my short stories I’ve published ten books.
September Sprouts 