how to honor her by keeping her as a part of their lives. They went to the Old Burial Ground every week to put new flowers by the grave, tell stories, laugh and cry. This week, goldenrod. Sadie and Addy cut the fuzzy yellow stems out at Rodman’s Hollow, gathering them in mason jars in the kitchen. They lugged boxes full of flowers out of the mud-splattered Jeep, up the hill to the small gravestone. Sadie knelt, snipped grass, lifted and placed the 10 jars from their boxes. After everything looked right, they stood, talking quietly, Addy’s arm around Sadie’s shoulder. Something moved in Sadie’s peripheral vision. Iris, looking exactly the same as she had at the lighthouse, stood beside another grave. Her eyes locked on Addy. “Grandma, that is her, the girl at the lighthouse.” Sadie pointed a shaking finger. Addy mopped her forehead with an old bandana, her crystal eyes surveying the girl. “Do you want to see our flowers?” Sadie asked. Iris shook her sad head no. “Your parents have a summer place here?” Addy asked. A tinkling sound, like a wind chime, distracted Addy and Sadie, and when their minds came back to the cemetery, Iris had disappeared. Addy pushed the lighthouse door back with a bang. Sadie trailed behind her grandmother. They found Iris slouched, gazing out the window. “Can I touch you?” Addy asked. “You can try,” Iris said. Addy took the girl’s hand and held it. Iris smiled. “You’re so warm.” Addy pulled out a trove of pictures from her pack — articles about the wreck, bits and pieces she had collected from her attic and the historical society. “Very few of you survived. Your mother, Vera, was not among them, or, I’m afraid, you.” Addy studied the girl. “What do you remember?” Iris told them how they stood on the deck, clinging to one another, how the water rose up. Then it was cold, so cold, and she found herself here, at the lighthouse, all alone. No one saw her for very long. She kept quiet, watching for her mother, until Sadie. “I couldn’t hear my mother’s voice again until I accepted she was gone,” Sadie said. Iris seemed to consider this, eyebrows raised. “Let’s go out, put you to rest. You’ve waited here long enough.” Addy moved hastily into the light. Outside, they circled bits of seaglass and shells around Iris, who stood looking small and scared and especially dark clothed and pale skinned out in the late day sun. Iris held her arms out wide, looked up at the sky. The wind whipped her stringy hair. Her dark clothes fluttered. Then, she vanished. Addy and Sadie stood facing each other on the beach, their own clothes flapping around them, their eyes locked together, dumbstruck. They trudged through the sand, leaving the circle of seaglass and shells behind them, knowing it would all be gone in a few hours, picked up by the tide, pulled back out to sea. 29
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