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Back The Lighthouse Save as PDF
Chapters (50)
  1. PART ONE
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 8
  9. 9
  10. 10
  11. 11
  12. PART TWO
  13. 12
  14. 14
  15. 15
  16. 16
  17. 18
  18. 19
  19. 21
  20. 22
  21. 23
  22. 24
  23. 25
  24. 26
  25. 27
  26. 28
  27. 30
  28. 31
  29. 32
  30. 33
  31. 34
  32. 35
  33. 36
  34. 37
  35. 38
  36. 39
  37. 40
  38. 41
  39. 42
  40. 43
  41. PART THREE
  42. 44
  43. 45
  44. 46
  45. 47
  46. 49
  47. 50
  48. 51
  49. 52
  50. EPILOGUE

“Mm?” Roger glanced down and then went very still. His mouth dropped open. “Oh my God.” He gasped as he grabbed both rocks, inspecting them closely. “Where did you find these?”

“In the attic.”

“I had no idea that he’d kept them all these years. I . . . I can’t believe it.”

“They mean something to you?”

“Oh yes, they mean a great deal—more than you could possibly know.”

His cane fell to the ground and he gave her a second hug, this time with both arms. He couldn’t bring himself to let go. “Thank you so much, my dear girl.”

“That’s all right,” she said. “And remember, the ranch is always open to you. Please come visit us whenever you like. Promise that you will?”

“I will, I promise,” he said, nodding his head, still clutching the rocks tightly in his hands. His eyes were red and watery and his bottom lip was quivering. “Thank you, Amy. Thank you for bringing these to me. And thank you for all that you and your father have done for me. It means so much.” He went to pick up his cane, but Amy bent down and got it for him.

“It’s okay, Mr. Porter. And again, I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you. Thank you for everything.” Glancing at the line of mourners waiting to pay their respects, Roger wiped his nose with his handkerchief and mustered a tired smile. “You head along now. Go be with your dad.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Porter.”

“So long, Amy.”

Amy turned and headed over to Ryan’s grave. There were at least a dozen others there as well, many weeping, many of them with their arms around each other. She stood beside her dad and peered down at the casket, which was nearly completely covered in flowers and cards and dirt. She grabbed a handful of dirt for herself and sprinkled it down, concealing the very last patch of the polished oak.

Bowing her head, Amy closed her eyes and whispered her final goodbye. Then, as a cool breeze drifted through her hair, as birds sang in nearby trees, and as the world turned beneath her feet, she smiled and took hold of her father’s hand.

“Come on, Dad,” she said. “Let’s go home.”

EPILOGUE

EPILOGUE

Spring has always been my favorite time of year on the ranch. The branches of trees stripped bare during the winter months begin camouflaging themselves in new growth, migrating birds return to nest in the woodland and fill the forest with song, and the hillsides experience their own rebirth, their frosty, sun-starved slopes slowly turning from tawny to emerald green. Tiny bulbs sprout everywhere, in the gardens and along the pea-gravel paths—future lilies, suncups, and bright yellow arnicas to name but a few—and sometimes, if I’m lucky, I’ll see deer and their fawns grazing nearby, feeding on the red huckleberries that fall by the forest’s edge.