The Lighthouse Steps
Mara had counted the steps of the old lighthouse a hundred times, but tonight she counted them in the dark. The storm had cut the power just after supper, and now the only light came in pale flashes through the narrow windows.
"Stay by the fire," Grandad had said, pulling on his oilskin coat. But Grandad's knees were stiff, the stairs were steep, and the lamp at the top had not been lit. Somewhere out on the black water, the fishing boats would be looking for it.
Halfway up, the wind found a gap in the wall and howled through it like an animal. Mara pressed her back against the cold stone and waited for her heart to slow. Then she gripped the rail and kept climbing.
At the top her fingers were numb, but they remembered what to do. She struck a match, shielded the flame with her hand and touched it to the wick. A moment later, a golden beam swept out across the waves.