Silver Daughter

Talk had it she was from the island.  There weren’t supposed to be folk living there, apart from the lighthouse men. She was a foundling. Dr Innes had taken her in as a baby and raised her alone after his wife died suddenly in her own childbreech only a week or two thereafter.

She was a pretty child, almost doll-like in feature. And blonde, when all the local folk were dark. And despite the love of the grieving doctor and his housekeeper, she was distant as the island she came from. Always a gulf stretched between your friendly greeting and her stiff curtsey in response.

She begged Dr Innes to take her to Marwolaeth, the island in question, her eyes so deep and earnest. And so, taking a lift from the supply boat out of Porth Meudwy, they sailed. Being a man of science, the Doctor took some jars to collect interesting specimen of both flora and fauna unique to the rocky spit.

They landed under sunny skies to be helped off the boat by the men in their shirt sleeves, smoking last month’s pipe tobacco. The Doctor chatted happily with the keepers as he helped bring the supplies up to the tower. Calling after the girl to be careful as she danced upon the rocks, he carried three loads into the ground floor pantry before leaving the ferryman to enjoy some tea and cards with the island men. He had leave to spend three hours upon his task, and he set to carefully scanning the rocks for lichens and snails to add to the sum of human knowledge.

Lost somewhat in this task, a piercing cry shook him from his reverie to scan the horizon for his charge. When last seen she had been headed towards the Northern bluff. With bile in his throat he shouted her name. Silence. He sprinted, up and towards the cliff edge where, looking down he saw her white form beneath the spume.

“No!” He gasped, looking for a way to safely descend and rescue her.

“Father?” He turned. There she was behind him, holding a daisy in her hand and smiling in a loving manner.  His mouth agape, he turned again, but the foam was fierce and he could no longer see what he had thought was there.

“Father, I fell. But I got up again over there…” She pointed to an improbably sheer cliff of jagged black slate. The doctor held her close, his heart beating fast for nearly losing her. Unlike the sullen girl he had known she squeezed him back.

As they returned across the island the ferryman called them from the jetty. The bruised sky was turning and spray was beginning to fleck from the tops of waves.  They unlashed the mooring ropes and set out again, the girl beaming with happiness as the Doctor stowed his jars with care.

“Who are you waving at, dear one?”

The ferryman cursed as the reef struck.

And the sky began to cry.