destiny

“What’s your name?” the lighthouse official asked.

Michael stared at the floor. “Conneal. Michael Conneal.”

“What did you do aboard the ‘Destiny’?”

“I was her captain.”

“Our records show that Stanley McKenzie was captain of the ‘Destiny.'”

“He was, but he died at sea.”

“He left the ship to you?”

“Yes. He’d promised my father he would.”

“Tell me, Captain Conneal, how many were there aboard the ‘Destiny’?”

“Thirteen.”

“Come again?”

“Thirteen.”

The official said gravely, “No sailor in his right mind would put to sea with only thirteen on board. It’s unlucky.”

“We were originally fourteen. Captain McKenzie died at sea.”

“Captain Conneal, how well do you remember the storm last night?”

Too well, Michel thought. He could remember in perfect detail the wind and rain, the thunder mingled with the cries of the sailors; and his argument with Keziah.

“Captain Conneal?” The official’s voice brought him back to the present. “Do you remember the storm at all?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell us anything about the wreck?”

“The storm had blown us off course. I didn’t realize we were so close to the rocks.”

“Didn’t you know about the lighthouse?”

“I thought we’d passed it.”

“But the light, captain, didn’t you see the light?”

Michael lifted his eyes to the business-like official.

“Did you see the light?” the official repeated.

Yes, no, I don’t know, maybe, I didn’t want to see it, I pretended it wasn’t there… none of the answers were satisfactory.

“Captain Conneal,” the official said deliberately, “did you see the lighthouse light?”

“Not until it was too late.” That, at least, was the truth.

The official shut the notebook he’d been writing in and stood up. “Thank you, captain, you’ve been a great help. You may join your crew now. Our men are still searching for the rest; only seven have been brought in, counting yourself.”

Michael stood. “Have you found the girl?”

“What girl?” The official turned back, startled.

“Captain McKenzie’s daughter, Keziah, was one of us.”

The official frowned. “Follow me please.”

He led him down a pristine hall and opened a door at the other end, gesturing Michael in.

It was a small white room, empty save for a long table, and on the table was a body wrapped in a white sheet. The official pulled back the shroud, and Michael looked down on the drowned body of his life long friend.

“Keziah,” he whispered. She was gone then.

“Can you positively identify this as the body of Keziah McKenzie, daughter of Stanley McKenzie, late captain of the ‘Destiny’?”

Michael only nodded, the lump in his throat too big to allow him to speak. The official was standing by the door waiting for him. Michael swallowed hard and found his voice.

“May I – can I be alone for a minute?”

The official frowned in puzzlement. “Here?”

“Yes, please.”

“Were you related?”

“Her father was my father’s best friend. We were very close.”

The official shrugged and left the room. Michael stood a long time just looking at the body, the mortal remains of what had been a beautiful girl as lovely and pure as a daisy.

Michael’s mother had died when he was a child and his father had made Mr. McKenzie promise to take care of him if anything happened. Mr. Conneal had seemed to know his end was coming. When Michael was twelve he had sent him to live with the McKenzie’s.

“Be good,” he had said. “Be nice to Keziah. Mr. McKenzie can make your future, lad. I can do nothing.”

It was the last time Michael saw him alive. Six weeks later he died in an accident at the shipyards.

Mrs. McKenzie took kindly to Michael and he grew up as a brother to Keziah. They learned together, her father taking them both on his shorter voyages. Then, when Mrs. McKenzie died, he took them everywhere. Therefore, when he took suddenly ill that year, there was no question of Michael inheriting the ‘Destiny.' Girls could not be a ship’s captain.

Michael sighed, remembering. It was then that he and Keziah grew apart. They argued a lot over how the ship should be run and who was the best navigator. That was how the argument had come up.

The storm had blown them far off-course, and for three days Michael had not seen the sky. He was therefore clueless as to their whereabouts when they were caught in the gale last night.

“Michael!” Keziah came up from out of the hold, pulling her oilskins about her. Michael only glanced at her, his attention fully engaged by holding the wheel steady.

“What do you need?” he shouted back, trying to make himself heard over the howling wind.

“Michael, we need to head East!”

“Are you kidding? That’s sailing into the storm.”

“I’m serious.” She came up beside him trying to hold a chart steady. “Michael, if you don’t turn we’re going to hit the rocks.”

“How do you know?”

“Look.” She bit her lip in concern as she tried to hold the chart against the railing.

Michael leaned over her shoulder trying to hold the wheel at the same time.

“Keziah, how can you possibly know where we are when we’ve been in this storm for so long?”

“I’ve been watching the compass and I can guess at our speed. It’s not accurate, Michael, but it's close enough.” Her finger traced a line from their last known reading nearly due west. “If you don’t turn this ship,” she said, “we’ll end up on the rocks, here.” Her finger stopped at one of the most dangerous parts of the coastline. Michael anxiously scanned the horizon. Nothing could be seen besides the distant flashes of lightning and that was quite enough for him.

“You’re mistaken!” he shouted. “There’s a lighthouse there. We must have passed that point yesterday.”

“We didn’t pass it,” Keziah said. “It’s up ahead somewhere, and if we don’t see it until too late we’ll be dashed to pieces.”

“Keziah, there’s no lighthouse out there. Look for yourself.”

“It’s not the lighthouse I’m worried about. It’s the rocks.”

“Don’t worry about it. Go back down in the hold where it’s safe.”

“Lighthouse or no lighthouse, there are rocks ahead and if you don’t turn this ship we’ll crash on them and die!”

“We’re not going to die. We passed those rocks yesterday, I’m sure of it. I’m the captain of this ship, Keziah. I know what I’m doing.”

She clutched her map and stared at him in horror. “You fool!” she cried, “You stupid fool!”

Then she turned and ran into the hold.

Michael held his course steady as before, letting it run before the wind until they should come out of the storm. He didn’t notice the sea growing rougher and the dark shapes disclosed by the lightning. He thought he was running to the open sea up until the moment the breakers lifted the ‘Destiny’ like a toy and tossed her on the rocks. The wheel was torn out of his hand and he heard the smashing of the wooden hull as the ship gave a sickening lurch to starboard. Too late, Michael looked up and saw the blinking light that warned him away.

We’re not going to die. Michael repeated the words in the empty room. I’m not going to die, he thought, but you did. Why didn’t I listen to you, Keziah? You’d had the time to do the calculations. It was a question of life and death. Why wouldn’t my stupid pride let me see that?

“You stupid fool!” He repeated the words aloud through clenched teeth. He had lost his ship, his cargo, and half his crew. More than that, he had lost Keziah. He could build a new ship, hire a new crew, and carry a new cargo. But nothing, not money, not determination, not humility, not regret, nothing could bring back Keziah.

Heartbroken, he went back to his crew. Of the thirteen only five of them were alive. He ate and went wearily to the bed the lighthouse provided him, angry with himself, blaming his stupidity, and in his remorse he cursed the day he was born. Despairingly he wondered if there would ever be anything good in life for him again.

That night he dreamt of Keziah. He dreamt they were on the ‘Destiny’ again, sailing before a fair wind on a distant ocean. It was a beautiful day, and as the sun set, he spoke his regret that it must end.

“There will be another day,” Keziah said, taking his hand. “Fairer even than this. There will always be another day to do new things and forget the old. Everyone can make mistakes, but when the sun rises again, you know you have learned. You will not do it again, Michael.”

She was radiantly beautiful, like an angel. She reached out to stroke his cheek and he awoke. Lem, his first mate, was standing beside him.

“You were crying,” he said, drawing his hand back. Michael looked away, ashamed.

“You’re young,” Lem said. “We can build again. You can let Keziah go—it was God’s will what happened; you will not make such a mistake again. Today is a new day, Captain Conneal.”

Michael sat up then, and drew a shaky breath. “Today is a new day,” he repeated. “Let’s build again.”