The captain chuckled. “Why, I suppose it is.”
He gazed at the light fixtures as Katherine asked, “Those lights on the wall. Aren’t they old gas lights?”
“Yes, they are. You know yer lighting, Missie. And I suppose you can tell me just what kind of oil lamps we have?”
Katherine looked them over for a moment, then answered, “Are they Aladdin lamps?”
The captain seemed impressed. “Ah, but I’ll wager you don’t know what kind of lamp that is on top of my desk in the office.”
Katherine looked at the captain, her eyes alight as she took his challenge and went into the office. She examined the lamp carefully, then turned to the captain with a half-smile and a humble shrug. “Nope. You’ve got me stumped.”
The captain smiled, pleased that Katherine had admitted her defeat graciously. “Well, now, I don’t suppose you’ve run across one like it before. It’s a French pigeon lamp. It burned gasoline, but since that’s not very safe, my father had it wired for electricity. It was originally billed as a ‘non-exploding’ lamp, which I suppose means that there had been a problem with some gasoline lamps exploding.”
Katherine inspected the lamp more closely. “I never knew there was such a thing as a gasoline lamp. How fascinating!”
“The gas lights in the shop were put in during the time of the brick construction. They were the latest thing, you see. The Braddocks of the time, let me see… Edward, it was. Edward Braddock and his wife Helen. Well, they were an odd pair. He wanted everything new and fashionable, and she wanted it all to stay the same. She was great friends with her mother-in-law, you see, who of course was quite old by then.
"Helen wanted to honor her husband’s parents by keeping things the same, and he wanted to honor them by demolishing it all and rebuilding bigger and better, from the ground up, a towering legacy in Victorian brick.
"Well, the Braddock siblings—I think there were three after Edward—they all got together with Helen and decided on a plan. They would keep the shop the same and build the brick around it. They had an architect draw up the plans and everything. But Edward was a stubborn fellow and wouldn’t go along with it. The Harborside was his, he said, and he would do as he saw fit. But then, his wife grew ill—gravely so, and Edward promised to keep the original building, for she made it her dying wish.
"It was said that the gas lights were some she had picked out for her sitting room in the home he had built for her up on the cliffs, and that he installed them, saying then it was like a part of her lived on in the Harborside. Personally, I agree with the siblings’ account of it, which was that he just wanted the place brought up-to-date, and used Helen’s having picked the lamps out as a sneaky excuse to put them in.”
“And did Helen never see them?”
“No. She died the day before the work was to begin.”
“How sad.”
“Yes, Helen was a great favorite of all who knew her. She was the only one who could have saved the Harborside, and it took her dyin’ to do it.” The captain stood, gazing at the lamps, lost in thought. Katherine finally broke the silence with another question.
“And when were the lamps converted to electricity?” The captain smiled.
“That was a ruckus of a different kind. Edward, you see, never had any children, and when he died, the shop was left to his nephew Albert. Well, Albert had a wife, stylish, they say, and wanted everything fancy. When she heard her husband had inherited the shop, she was all in favor of selling it off and buying something grand with the proceeds.
"Now, Albert never had been one to put his foot down when it came to his wife, but the rest of the clan kicked up a fuss. He’d all sorts of Braddocks to deal with by now: one sister and her grown children, a younger brother and his children, also grown, and several of Albert’s own grown children and grandchildren and great-nieces and nephews who all had been brought up at the Harborside, so to speak. It was really a family business, with everyone in and out all the time—except that Albert only came rarely and his wife Lucy had never been here at all.
"Somehow, he convinced her to at least see the place. One of the youngsters later wrote in a diary about her visit. He said they drove up to the door, and he handed her out of the motorcar (which was itself quite new and fashionable at the time). She was dressed in all sorts of finery, with a big hat on her head and as much sparkle as she could find space for on her fingers and around her neck. She was quite a sight. She stepped into the shop, held her skirts to her and sneered at everyone and everything she saw. She took a particular dislike to the gas globes, saying they were dreadfully old-fashioned and outdated. She went on and on about how gas fittings were soon to be a thing of the past and how electricity was the new mode of lighting for “civilized” people.
"Albert eventually scraped together enough of a spine to stand up to his wife. He told her that he would not sell the Harborside, and that was that. Apparently she could tell this was one battle she wasn’t going to win, but by way of a parting shot, promised to say no more about it if only he would do something about those ‘horrid gas lights.’ So, he did. But much to his wife’s chagrin, what he did about them was have them converted to electricity.
"She pouted about that for some time, for not only had she not succeeded in getting rid of what by now had become a symbol of Helen Braddock and her love for the Harborside, she had actually succeeded in bringing the Harborside more up to date than her own house, for Albert didn’t have electricity installed there for a good ten years after.”
“I wonder whatever could have made her so horrid.” Pondered Katherine, gazing dreamily off into the darkness beyond the windows. Then she looked up at the captain, her curiosity freshly kindled by a new thought. “Were her children just as awful when it came time for them to inherit the Harborside?” The captain grinned and shook his head.
“No, if they’d all been as bad as her, there wouldn’t be a Harborside anymore, now would there?” Then, with a glance at the clock, he assumed a veneer of his old gruffness, saying, “But that’s enough yarnin’ for now. It’s time I was locking up and you was gettin’ home for yer supper. I won’t have that stubborn Englishwoman accusin’ me of keepin’ you past yer hours.”
Katherine smiled and took off her apron, sad to be leaving, but glad at the prospect of more Harborside generations to explore another day.
13 The Captain's Idea
The next day, Katherine bustled into the Harborside to collect Miss Harriet’s order.
It must have been a slow day, Katherine thought to herself as the Captain hurried in from the other room.
“Oh, it’s you... Hello, Katherine. I thought a customer had come in.” Katherine, not a bit offended at this odd statement, bantered back cheerfully,
“That’s because today I am a customer. At least, I represent one. Here’s Miss Harriet’s order.” And with that she handed one of the papers in her hand to the Captain, who looked it over with a grunt, before turning to walk towards the large sea chest. He began almost mechanically taking boxes out and placing them into a bag which Katherine had fetched from behind the counter. He didn’t seem to be quite as open or friendly as he had the day before, but Katherine figured he must have something on his mind. She decided to try to snap him out of it.
“Captain,” she asked as he put the last box in the bag and stood creakily up from the floor where he’d been kneeling.
“Yes’m?”
“Did you hear that Miss Harriet is throwing a party?”
“No. Whyever would I have heard that?”
“Because you’re invited! The whole town is. It’s to celebrate Guy Fawkes day.” She put on her brightest smile and handed the captain a flyer.
“The whole town, indeed!” muttered the captain, with a dismissive glance at the paper. “And isn’t Guy Fawkes the man who tried to blow up the government over there in England? Why is she throwing him a party?”
Katherine tried to face the captain’s bluster undaunted. “She isn’t throwing him a party at all. Guy Fawkes day is the day they celebrate the fact that he was caught and didn’t get to blow up parliament.” The captain grunted again and shook his head.
“Won’t you please come! It sounds like it’ll be so much fun, and there will be good food, and everyone will be there.” Katherine stopped, judging by the set of the captain’s jaw that she had been as unsuccessful as Mr. Fawkes.
“I thank you, but I’ve my own good food and company to enjoy. I don’t need to be goin’ off to that woman’s shop for a party, ‘specially if the whole town’s gonna be there. And aren’t American holidays good enough for her? After all, she does live here now. I’ll bet she won’t be throwing the town a Thanksgiving feast, now will she?”
