| Romance Fiction posted October 17, 2025 | Chapters: |
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Reading the truth
A chapter in the book Yesterday's Dreams
The Lighthouse Chap 11
by Begin Again
"Trudy Lansbury with the Gazette," she said, showing her press badge. "Word in town is there was activity here last night. Lights in the tower, visitors coming and going. I figured I'd check the facts before folks make up their own."
David kept one hand on the door. "If it's about the boat rescues, see Gideon--the harbor master. He'll have the details. If it's something else, we have nothing for print today. It's family business."
Trudy tilted her head, curious but not rude. "Family business at the old lighthouse usually turns into town history. Sometimes the public deserves to know."
"Sometimes the public can wait," David said, starting to close the door.
Lucy stepped forward, laying her hand on the edge of the door. "It's all right."
"Lucy--" David warned.
She opened the door fully and faced the reporter. Her hair was still damp, but her voice was steady. "My name is Pamela Lucile Wheaton Crandon. I'm a reporter for the Chronicle, and I'm afraid you're too late for the scoop. It's my story--and I'll be the one to tell it."
Trudy blinked, caught off guard. "Pamela Lucile Wheaton — Crandon," she repeated, writing it down. "And the story?"
"A family one," Lucy said. "About things the town half remembered and half guessed. We'll make sure it's told right."
"So there is something to tell."
"There's always something to tell," Lucy said, "but not from anyone outside this house."
Trudy's expression softened. "You've got a backbone. If you decide to give a statement — or when your article runs — send me a note." She offered a card. "I'd rather quote the truth than the gossip."
Lucy accepted the card. "I'll remember that."
Trudy glanced past her toward the dim hall. "How's Mrs. Crandon?"
"Resting," Claire said.
The reporter nodded. "Then I'll leave you to it." She took one step down, then looked back. "When it prints, I hope it brings you peace."
"That's the plan," Lucy said.
Trudy lifted her chin in a small salute and walked to her car. The tires hissed on the wet gravel until the sound faded.
David closed the door gently. "You handled that better than I could've."
"She just wanted the truth," Lucy said. "So do I."
Ruth's eyes were watching her. "Say your name again, dear."
Lucy turned toward her and smiled. "Let me introduce all of you to Pamela Lucile Wheaton Crandon, but you can keep calling me Lucy."
Ruth nodded. "That's the girl I raised. The rest is just the past."
David smiled faintly, touching the ledger on the table. "Written words make things official."
"They do," Lucy agreed. She rested her hand on the diary, then on Ruth's. "From here on out, we tell it as it is."
Outside, gulls cut through the clearing sky, and the sea kept its rhythm--steady and sure.
"Claire, do you remember the rose soup urn with the broken handle?" Ruth asked.
"Of course. Dad complained every time he wanted soup. He wanted a new one, but you wouldn't let him toss the old one. It's on the top shelf of the closet."
"Can you get it down for me, please?"
"Sure—but you aren't planning on making soup, are you?"
Ruth chuckled. "No. One more thing to share while we're getting things out in the open."
David moved toward the closet. "I'll get it. Can't have you dropping things on your head."
Claire stepped aside. "It's the big pot with the roses on the very top shelf."
David lifted it down and groaned. "You sure this doesn't still have soup in it?
"
Claire peeked inside. "It has something in it, but it's not soup."
Claire peeked inside. "It has something in it, but it's not soup."
Ruth looked from Lucy to the urn. "It's another kind of journal."
"Lily's?" Lucy asked, voice rising.
"No. Mine." Ruth lifted a small packet tied with a blue ribbon and set it in front of her.
She loosened the ribbon, and the stack breathed — a finger-painted angel with a bent halo, a church program with a star next to "Lucy—Our Angel," a paper race number—12—edges curled, a ticket stub, a tiny envelope labeled "tooth," a bundle of clippings tied with thread. She smiled as she set each one on the table.
"Your first Christmas play," she said, tapping the program. "You forgot your one line and waved at me instead."
She lifted the race number. "Boat day with Andrew. I was sure it would sink. With you as captain, it came in second."
From the tiny envelope, she slid a white chip into her palm. "First tooth. You left it in a jam jar because you wanted to see the fairy's light."
Ruth smoothed the top card. "Okay," she said, finding her place in the pages. "Now the dates."
Her fingers untied the bow the rest of the way. The pages were mismatched—cards and torn paper. She didn't pass them off. She read, low enough that the room had to lean closer.
December 24, 1989. Lucy hung her handprint on the tree. Red paint, five crooked fingers. She asked where angels sleep. 'Anywhere they're needed,' I said, and thought of you."
She turned the next page and, with a slight smile, fanned two drawings--a lopsided cupcake and a dog with guilty eyes. "Evidence," she said, then read on.
"May 11, 1997. She investigated the missing cupcakes and wrote her first story, complete with a drawing of the dog as the culprit. We laughed until we cried, and then we laughed again."
Lucy's hand rose to her mouth, then fell. The room felt warmer by a degree — grief and joy learning to stand together.
Ruth continued.
"October 10, 2007. School essay contest--'Truth Is a Lighthouse.' Of all the metaphors, she chose the tower that saved her. I tucked the ribbon beside your name in my Bible."
Lucy's laugh broke in the middle. "I remember that ribbon. You told me it meant I tried twice."
"It meant more than that," Ruth said, and she set the blue ribbon beside the program. "It was our connection to Lily."
"June 2, 2016. Days at the café, nights at the library. Weekends, she chases little stories, and somehow they matter once she writes them down. She signs them 'Lucy Crandon.' I keep every clipping."
Ruth touched the thread-tied bundle of clippings. "Ink on my thumbs for weeks," she said. "I didn't mind."
Lucy looked down, a blush that wasn't shame. "You kept them."
"All of them," Ruth said. "I kept you for Lily, too."
The last page was dated this year; the ink held a slight tremor that wasn't the pen.
"March 8. Doctor says, 'rest.' I say 'not yet.' I dreamed of the lantern turning, light circling back to where it began. If Lucy ever finds these pages, tell her I loved her enough to hide her and enough, finally, to let the truth in."
Ruth lowered the page and met their eyes. "That was the day I fainted," she said. "Heart's been acting its age. My doctor says it's not an emergency if I behave myself, and I intend to--starting now."
Claire's hand was already on her shoulder. "You will."
Ruth nodded. "I wanted it written down in case I kept putting things off. That's all."
Lucy pushed her chair back a half inch, making room to breathe. She looked at Claire, at the ledger, at the blue ribbon, at Ruth. "It was love," she said. "All of it. It got messy in places, but love did what it could."
Ruth exhaled like someone putting down a sandbag. She smiled through wet eyes. "That it was. From your first breath—no, from the moment Lily conceived you—it was all about love."
Claire rewrapped the ledger. Lucy kissed the top edge of the bundle and set both on the tea towel.
"I need a minute," she said. "Air that isn't full of history."
Ruth caught her hand. "Don't go far."
"I won't," Lucy said, and to Claire, "Thank you."
Lucy put on her jacket and stepped outside. The path to the cliffs was damp and steady under her shoes. The storm was moving off; waves hit the rocks and rolled back. She stopped at the rise near the tower. The wind was sharp. She folded her arms and stood there a moment, getting her breath.
"I'm Lucy," she said to the air, letting the name hang, then added, "Wheaton." After a beat, she felt it settle in her bones: "Crandon."
The sea answered with one firm slap against the reef.
"It's time for the truth to be written," she told the water and the gull that wheeled once and moved on. "Not for the Chronicle. For me. For her. For everyone—for the mother and father I never knew, and for the woman who raised me with love." She exhaled; the air came back salty. "I am not a scandal. I am a story of love and survival."
"Lily--Mom," she said, the word not strange in her mouth. She set a hand to her chest, feeling the rhythm there. "I feel your pain and sadness, but more importantly, I feel your love."
She let the wind press her jacket tighter and leaned into it, like a friend taking some of the weight. "Ruth—Mom," she added, because love is only itself when it's honest. "I feel more than I can put into words. I was placed in your arms, and you loved me from that moment on."
A door inside the house creaked and settled--someone checking, then letting her be. Lucy looked at her hands and flexed them, testing that they still knew how to hold a pen.
"I'm going to tell my story," she said to the edge of the world. She lifted her chin. "Like it or not, it's time the town knew the truth--not a cover-up."
A few sun rays broke through the clouds, lighting the footpath back to the kitchen.
"Okay," she said to wind and wave and to the little girl who always liked answers. "We start."
She turned toward the lighthouse.
The old light, stubborn and faithful, seemed to lean with her.
 Recognized |
Cast of Characters
Claire Crandon ó A writer and historian returning to her hometown after her father's death. Determined to restore the lighthouse and uncover the truth behind the secrets her father left behind.
David Reed ó Contractor overseeing the lighthouse restoration. Grandson of Douglas Reed, a man whose lost love and unanswered letter lie at the heart of the mystery. Steady, grounded, and quietly protective.
Lucy Crandon ó Claire's cousin, raised by Ruth. Outspoken and loyal, but shaken when she learns the truth about her birth and the secrets that bound her family for decades.
Ruth Crandon ó Claire's aunt and Lucy's adoptive mother. Fiercely protective, burdened by the promise she made long ago to keep a secret that has cost her nearly everything.
Andrew Crandon ó Claire's late father. The former lighthouse keeper who pieced together fragments of a long-buried truth and left a trail for his daughter to follow.
Lily Wheaton ó A young woman from the past whose forbidden love with Douglas Reed and tragic fate shaped the lives of everyone on the point.
Douglas Reed ó David's grandfather and Lily's lost love. A man of quiet honor who never knew the truth about the child he left behind.
Gideon Pike ó The harbor master. Rugged, loyal to the sea, and always first to answer a distress call.
Harper Benton ó Owner of the general store. A practical man with a good heart and a hand in every town effort.
Dr. Avery ó The retired town physician who once delivered a baby at the lighthouse on a storm-tossed night forty years ago.
Trudy Lansbury ó A persistent reporter from The Gazette, digging into local history and stirring up truths some would rather stay buried.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Claire Crandon ó A writer and historian returning to her hometown after her father's death. Determined to restore the lighthouse and uncover the truth behind the secrets her father left behind.
David Reed ó Contractor overseeing the lighthouse restoration. Grandson of Douglas Reed, a man whose lost love and unanswered letter lie at the heart of the mystery. Steady, grounded, and quietly protective.
Lucy Crandon ó Claire's cousin, raised by Ruth. Outspoken and loyal, but shaken when she learns the truth about her birth and the secrets that bound her family for decades.
Ruth Crandon ó Claire's aunt and Lucy's adoptive mother. Fiercely protective, burdened by the promise she made long ago to keep a secret that has cost her nearly everything.
Andrew Crandon ó Claire's late father. The former lighthouse keeper who pieced together fragments of a long-buried truth and left a trail for his daughter to follow.
Lily Wheaton ó A young woman from the past whose forbidden love with Douglas Reed and tragic fate shaped the lives of everyone on the point.
Douglas Reed ó David's grandfather and Lily's lost love. A man of quiet honor who never knew the truth about the child he left behind.
Gideon Pike ó The harbor master. Rugged, loyal to the sea, and always first to answer a distress call.
Harper Benton ó Owner of the general store. A practical man with a good heart and a hand in every town effort.
Dr. Avery ó The retired town physician who once delivered a baby at the lighthouse on a storm-tossed night forty years ago.
Trudy Lansbury ó A persistent reporter from The Gazette, digging into local history and stirring up truths some would rather stay buried.
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