The Girl in the Torch (6 page)

O
N HER FIFTH DAY ON THE ISLAND
, Sarah woke to a strange pinging sound in the crown room. The sky was gray and a light rain was falling. Anxiety gripped her. Would any tourists come? If not, where would she hide? How would she eat?

Luckily, even in the rain, people visited the island—not as many, but still enough to provide cover. Sarah found an abandoned umbrella that someone had left on a bench and was able to lose herself in the crowd. Scavenging for food proved to be more difficult as no one was picnicking. The entire day went by without her finding a scrap of food or a single penny.

Even so, Sarah was grateful when the last boat was boarded and she could hide in her tree. The moist branches were slippery, and she had to move carefully so that her hands and feet wouldn't slide off the bark as she shimmied her way up.

The rain fell harder as the night watchman emerged from the guardhouse and made his way up to the statue. He moved more slowly than usual and swayed and halted a bit, as if he had
already started drinking before his shift. Sarah wondered if he would walk out on the torch's platform even on such a miserable night. She hoped he'd skip that part of his ritual so that she could return to her nest in the crown room. But sure enough, he climbed up the Lady and emerged onto the torch just as he had every other night.

As the cold rain soaked her to the skin, the minutes felt like hours. She wished he would hurry up and finish his ritual so she could get out of the cold. Yet he seemed to stay out there even longer than usual, sipping from his bottle and staring into the rainy darkness.

At last, he turned and made his way back inside.
Thank goodness.
Sarah was soaked to the bone. She also had to go to the bathroom. She waited impatiently for the gray-haired giant to reappear, but he didn't. Ten minutes passed, then twenty, then forty, then an hour, until her gut ached with the effort to hold it in. Finally she couldn't wait anymore.

She lowered herself from the tree, ducked behind the trunk, and lifted her skirt. Warm relief spread through her body. But as soon as she was finished, the cold overtook her again. The rain fell still harder, and Sarah wondered if the watchman was waiting out the storm inside the statue.

She sat herself under the tree and continued to wait. Another hour passed and the rain tapered off and stopped, but still the watchman didn't appear. Could he have already left the statue? How could she have missed that?

The temperature dropped even more, and Sarah felt frost forming on the outside of her clothes, stiffening her hair like frozen blades of grass on a winter morning. An icy rain began to fall again, this time even harder than before. She had to get inside.

R
AIN AND WIND THRASHED
the Lady as Sarah slowly climbed up the stairs in the darkness. She paused every few steps to listen for any sign of the watchman, but every time she did, she heard only the pinging of the rain and the shrill whistle of the wind rushing in and around the statue's metal skin.

She rose higher and higher until she came to the landing that led to the ladder up to the torch. Sarah paused to catch her breath before continuing to her makeshift bedroom.

She had taken one step into the darkness toward the stairs when her foot struck something soft and solid.

“Ugh.”

She jumped back.

The giant!

Every impulse in her body told her to turn around and run back down the stairs. But then she heard a soft moan. She tentatively extended her foot once more. When her foot touched him, he groaned again, and she quickly pulled it back.

She knelt down beside his body and ran her hand slowly along the ground until it hit something warm and sticky. She shuddered fora moment at the memory of her father's blood on the night he died. She reached out her hand and found the watchman's arm. He didn't react, so she boldly ran her hand up his arm to his face. Halfway up his forehead, a deep gash was forming along the hairline. Suddenly his hand shot up out of the darkness and grabbed her wrist tightly. She tried to pull her arm back, but he held her firm.

“Help,” he rasped.

Finally he released her. Adrenaline roared through her body as she grasped the guardrail and pulled herself down the staircase. She was halfway back down when she stopped and listened. Silence. He wasn't following her. She stood in the darkness a long moment, weighing the risks, as she listened to her own breathing and thought of the man's labored gasps.

What if he dies up there and I could have done something to save him?

She felt Ivan in her pocket and recalled a memory of her father.

He had been walking her to a friend's birthday party when they came upon a man on the village road whose cart had overturned. Her father stopped to help him. Sarah had grown frustrated because she knew they would be late for the party.

“But we don't even know this man, Papa,” she whispered. “Can't we let him wait for someone he knows to help him? Surely someone will come along.”

“If everyone thought that way, he might be waiting forever, Sarah,” her father said. “We have an obligation to do God's work.
Even if it makes us late for a party.”

Sarah stood another moment and then climbed back up the stairs until she reached the landing. She stood above the groaning watchman's body, trying to figure out what to do. He rolled over and Sarah took a quick step back. He slowly raised his arm.

“Help me up,” he said.

She grabbed his hands and tugged, trying to hoist him to his feet. He was more than three times her weight, and it took all of her effort to help him regain his footing. When she finally got him to stand up, he swayed and toppled over. Sarah threw herself against his side to prop him up and buckled under his weight, but she managed to keep both of them from falling. Carefully balancing him on his unsteady feet, she threw her arm around his back and rested some of his bulk on her shoulder. She knew that she could never make it all the way back down with him. Her only option was to try to get him up the final set of stairs to the crown room, where at least there would be some small amount of light.

Sarah maneuvered the giant to the stairs, placed his hands on the railing, and pushed him from behind. Ever so slowly, she shoved him up, pausing every few steps so they could catch their breath and steady themselves. By the time they reached the top, they were both panting and sweaty.

The giant emerged into the crown room first and immediately collapsed onto all fours, struggling to catch his breath. He rolled over onto his back. His eyes flickered shut and his head rolled to the side.

Because of the rain, the room was much darker than usual, but some moonlight was breaking through the clouds, and in the faint light she was able to make out more of his face: his thick gray hair, his large nose, his strange eyes, and the deep gash that ran along the side of his head. A silver badge glinted on his chest. It read
MARYK
.

Sarah's mother had taught her some basic first aid. She took her gray scarf and bound it tightly around the man's head to stanch the flow of blood. As she folded her coat into a pillow and placed it behind his head, she could smell the whiskey and tobacco on his breath.

Once she had him settled, she sat against the back wall to catch her breath. She heard the rain slowly subside and stop. She needed a place to think about what to do next, away from the giant, so she retreated from the crown room and climbed up into the torch.

She had never been on the torch at night. As she came out onto the platform, a huge gust of wind blew back her hair and made her grab the railing. Once she had steadied herself, a thrill ran through her body. The thick clouds had parted just enough for her to see a yellow half-moon in the far distance, casting the whole sky in dramatic purple shadows. It felt dangerous to be in the open air at such a great height in the dark. Sarah finally understood why the watchman might have been coming up here every night.

But what would she do now? Should she leave and hope someone would find him in the morning? Where would she hide for the night? Her only choice was to stay with him and hope that
he'd sleep long enough to give her time to sneak out in the morning the way she normally did.

Sarah took one last deep breath of night air and then went inside and climbed to the crown room, where she found Maryk snoring just where she'd left him. She sat herself in a corner with her back against the wall and her knees pulled to her chest and waited.

S
ARAH COULD FEEL THE
sun warming her face and brightening her closed eyelids. Still half asleep, she heard the muted
clang
of footsteps in the distance.

The tourists!

Her eyes shot open, and she recoiled at the sight of Maryk's prone body sleeping in the center of the room. In the light of the cramped crown room, he seemed even larger than he had before. She couldn't believe that she had been able to get him up the stairs the night before. He shifted in his sleep, snoring. The voices of the tourists grew nearer.

Sarah jumped to her feet, gathered her few articles of clothing, and dashed out of the room. Running down the top section of stairs, she reached the platform that led to the ladder up to the torch just before the first few visitors passed by on their way to the crown.

Seconds later she heard a woman scream and then a man say, “My God! What's happened here?”

“Someone get help!” another voice chimed in.

Sounds of people scurrying up and down the stairs and talking about the unconscious watchman filled the Lady's interior. There was so much commotion that no one noticed the girl descending the torch ladder.

Sarah exited onto ground level just as two guards ran up to tend to the injured man. She backed away slowly and hid herself among a group of tourists to watch. Eventually another group of men ran up from the dock carrying a stretcher. A half hour later the men came down from the statue, struggling under the weight of the giant. The watchman appeared to be conscious but in a great deal of pain. It took four men to carry him down to the dock, one holding each arm of the stretcher. The giant winced and grunted with each step they took.

Sarah ducked behind a crowd of gawkers, not wanting to be seen. She wondered if the giant would be able to recognize her or if he even remembered anything from the night at all.
Do drunk people remember things?
The four men carefully loaded him onto a ferry that steamed off toward Manhattan. She exhaled with relief. At least for now, her biggest threat of being caught would be off the island.

Over the next two days, Sarah was able to return to her routine of scavenging by day and sneaking into the Lady to sleep at night. A new night watchman took over. Short, with thick glasses, he had a pinched scowl that made him look constantly angry. Unlike the gray-haired giant, the new watchman didn't drink or climb
to the top of the torch and stare out to sea. He simply walked the grounds once with his kerosene lamp and then returned to the guardhouse by the dock.

Sarah wondered about the giant. Had he died? And if not, when would he recover and come back? Whatever his fate, she hoped he wouldn't return to work soon; her life was much easier with the new watchman. She could enter the Lady as soon as the sun went down and not have to be worried about being disturbed during the night.

On the afternoon of the third day since the giant's accident, Sarah retrieved a paper sack containing a large piece of roast beef, some potato salad, and a pickle from one of the trash bins. Compared to the scraps of snack food like peanuts and popcorn that she had been eating, it was a feast. Later, she scavenged a half-full jar of lemonade. All afternoon she dreamed of the wonderful meal she would have that night in the crown room.

Part of her routine was to climb up to the roof of the pedestal and scan the island to see if anyone was throwing away anything down below. Although she had already scavenged more than usual that day, her heart rose up as she spied a man standing near the dock carelessly throwing a half-eaten apple into a trash bin.

The perfect dessert for her feast.

She dashed off down the stairs of the base, hoping to get to her prize before the trash bin was emptied. Reaching ground level, she wove through the tourists toward the dock. The trash bin came
into view and she could see the apple perched right on top, ready for the picking.

Sarah was just a few yards away when she accidentally bumped into someone coming up from the dock. She looked up and to her horror stared into the face of the giant. His strange eyes stared down at her.

T
HE GIANT HAD A LARGE BANDAGE
wrapped around his head, and two of the fingers on his left hand were taped together.

Sarah froze. Did he recognize her?

“Watch where you're goin',” he grunted.

“I am sorry,” she mumbled.

He paused a moment and stared at her impatiently but then moved past.

Sarah immediately turned from the trash bin and walked in a different direction, breathing a sigh of relief. She spent the rest of the afternoon staying as far away from the watchman as possible. When the sun finally went down, she retreated to her tree to wait and watch.

As usual, the giant emerged from the guardhouse and slowly moved toward the statue. He didn't appear to sway or wobble, and Sarah assumed that he had not been drinking.

Just like every other night, he entered the statue and climbed up to the torch to stare out to sea. Yet this time, he didn't drink
from a bottle of Irish whiskey or anything else. He just stood and stared, breathing in the ocean air. After a little while, he turned and scanned the whole island, and the girl instinctively drew back into the leaves. Finally, the watchman went back inside, descended the Lady, and returned to the guardhouse.

Sarah's stomach growled, yet she waited another long stretch, staring at the dim yellow light that glowed from inside the guardhouse by the ferry dock just to make sure he had settled in for the night. Finally she lowered herself down from the tree and sneaked inside the statue.

Once in the crown room, Sarah spread out her shawl and unpacked her feast. The moon glowed brightly, and she could clearly see each item: the pickle, potato salad, roast beef, and lemonade. She set Ivan beside the food.

“This is a meal fit for a queen,” she said. “Isn't it, boy?”

She reached for the pickle and took an enormous bite, savoring the sour, briny crunch. She pretended to give Ivan some too and smiled to herself as she took another big bite. Suddenly she heard a loud creak.

She held her jaw still, afraid the crunch of the pickle would keep her from hearing more. Silence. She waited a moment longer, then resumed chewing. But as she swallowed, she heard another creak from deep within the body of the Lady and then the unmistakable sound of footsteps, rising up the stairs.

The giant was coming.

Sarah shoved Ivan back into her pocket, rolled up her picnic
dinner in the shawl, and stuffed it into a corner of the room. But where would she hide herself? She glanced down into the stairwell and saw a dim light approaching from below.
Clang, clomp, clang, clomp, clang, clomp.

Her only choice was to hide herself right there in the crown room. Quickly, Sarah unrolled the picnic and covered herself in the shawl, curling into a tight ball in the most shadowy corner of the room, beneath the windows of the crown. She sat under the thick fabric and tried to control her breathing as the footsteps drew closer up the winding staircase. Sitting directly on top of the remnants of her feast, she tried to ignore the strong aroma of the roast beef.

Through the fabric, Sarah saw the room brighten as the watchman's lamp entered the crown. She clamped her eyes shut and held her breath, trying to hold herself as still as possible. Sweat formed on her forehead and dripped down her face, causing her nose and eyes to itch. Breathing heavily, the giant stepped inside and swung his lamp around the room. Sarah counted his long, wheezing breaths.

One, two, three, four, five . . .

She felt a sneeze rising up inside her and clenched all of her face muscles to suppress it. The giant finally turned and moved to exit. Just as he reached the stairs, he coughed. The noise startled Sarah and triggered her own sneeze. She clamped her fingers over her nose to stifle the noise, but a small, high-pitched squeak came out of the back of her throat.

The giant paused. Sarah opened her eyes and saw the fabric over her face brightening as he moved nearer, stopping directly in front of her. He stood over her a moment and then pulled off the shawl, leaving her exposed in the kerosene light. He swung the lamp in her direction and the yellow light flashed brightly in her eyes.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

Sarah blinked to clear her vision and looked up into the giant's broad, angry face. His ruddy complexion starkly contrasted with his gray helmet of hair. A small patch of dried blood stained the front of the white bandage. He glared and she drew back as though she could somehow hide from him.

“I said, who are you? And what are you doing here?”

Sarah was so frozen by fear that she couldn't respond.

“Why are you up here?”

She stared back silently.

“Stand up and come over here!” he said. “Are you deaf or something?”

Still she didn't budge.

“Can you hear me?”

Her mind had cleared enough for her to nod.
Yes.

“Can you speak?”

She nodded again.

“Well, who are you?”

Sarah was afraid to answer, certain that as soon as her identity was revealed, she'd be put back on a boat bound for her country and her dreaded uncle or an orphanage. She decided to pretend
she didn't understand his language to buy herself time.

“English, just a little,” she said.

The giant gruffly motioned for her to come out from the corner.

“Come on.”

She reluctantly uncurled herself. As she stood, the roast beef and pickle dropped onto the floor from the back of her skirt. He took in the food with surprise.

“What the . . . ? Do people always sit on their meals in your country?”

He kicked at the precious roast beef with his boot and she looked down at her feet in shame. Her eyes welled up. She was sure that he would know she was a thief and that she would be in even more trouble. She cursed herself for not having shoved the food into her mouth at the first sign of danger.

“Hungry,” she said. “I . . . am hungry.”

He stared down at the piece of roast beef and the pickle, which were now covered in a layer of dust.

“Come on,” he said. “Get out of there. Let's go.”

He gestured for her to move to the stairs. She hesitated and looked at the food.

“Leave it,” he said.

She remained frozen, so he reached out and poked her shoulder to prod her along.

“I said leave it. Now go on.”

Sarah's hands shook as she grabbed the railing to begin her descent.