Heart of the Storm Read Free Page A

sunk so low that stormy waves washed over her bow. The ship’s masts were broken and her torn white sails flapped in the wind like eerie specters.
    Timothy gripped the side of the dory. “Are the wrecks always so close?”
    Ben dug the oars into the water. “No. We’re lucky this time.”
    “Luck.” The boy laughed. “Only a keeper would be talking of luck while rowing out to a wreck in this kind of weather.”
    “Wait until the day you row out a half mile to a ship in weather worse than this.” This past winter had been one of the worst on the outer banks. The nor’easters had fooled many a ship’s captain. There’d been more wrecks than normal and the bodies of dozens of unnamed sailors had washed up on the beaches. He’d be glad to see spring.
    The lighthouse beacon blinked steady and bright as the seas caught the dory and dragged her further out to sea. The riptide would make getting back to shore more difficult than he’d first thought. But there was no worrying about that when there will was a ship to board and search.
    Ben had served as lightkeeper for six months. He’d been hired late last fall as the Winter Man, a temporary replacement to fill the shoes of the old keeper who had died suddenly. After twelve years in the Navy and an unexpected discharge, he’d come home to visit his aunt and cousin.
    Ben had been at loose ends. He’d had offersfrom several shipping companies, but he had lost his taste for sailing the seas.
    The short-term job as winter man had suited him for the time being. Two weeks ago, he’d received a letter from the Life Saving Service. The board had offered him the position full-time. He’d yet to give his answer.
    The service had hired Timothy less than a month ago in the hope that the extra help would entice Ben to stay. Timothy had been raised in a family of fisherman who worked the waters off the outer banks. Though Ben thought the boy talked too much, he understood the ocean and the dangers of the Graveyard’s waters. Whether Ben stayed or left, Timothy would serve well.
    “Why didn’t the ship’s captain heed the flare you fired?” Timothy asked, shouting over the wind.
    “Who’s to say?” Ben dug his oars deeper into the water. He’d fired flares from his Costen gun several times when he’d first spied the ship, but the captain had not altered his course. Ego, pride or most likely the captain had already abandoned the ship. He’d find out soon enough.
    The two lapsed into silence as Ben dug the boat oars into the water and drove them toward the freighter.
    Within minutes the dory skimmed the side ofthe boat just below a burnished sign that read Anna St. Claire. “Take the oars, Timothy. Hold her steady while I go aboard to see if there’s anyone left to save.”
    Relief washed over Timothy’s face as he scooted forward and took the oars. “I don’t mind coming with you, sir.”
    Ben had enough trouble on his hands without the worry of a green lad traipsing about a dying vessel. “Stay put and keep the dory steady.”
    Waves crashed into the side of the rowboat. Cold rain drizzled. Timothy didn’t offer an argument.
    Ben wiped the rain from his face. He grabbed a rope dangling from the side of the ship. He tugged on it to make sure it was secure.
    “Ben, do you really have to board her? The ship looks abandoned. It’s like the ghost tales I’ve heard the seamen tell.”
    Superstition was as much a part of this region and the wind and sea, but Ben had little patience for talk of ghosts and curses. It had been his experience that trouble was caused by the living not the dead. “There’re no ghosts aboard this vessel.”
    Timothy stared up at the shadowy vessel. “Yeah, but what if there are ghosts and they are watching us now? Sends a shiver down my spine.”
    A slight smile tipped the edge of Ben’s mouth. “That’s the icy waters, lad, not ghosts.”
    Ben gripped the rope and, using it as balance, scaled up the side of the ship. He swung his leg