Despite the oversized men’s shirt and pants, the figure underneath the cotton and wool was slender and delicate. The woman’s face was angular, but somehow still soft. Joana Maria Pascoal might have passed for a young lad in his late teens, but not a full grown man.

  Jo tipped her cap back, revealing more of her features than Lizzy had been privy to before. She set her mouth in a hard line. “Oh. You again.”

  Lizzy smiled meekly, almost guiltily. She held her basket in front of her skirt like a shield. “Hello.”

  Jo returned the greeting, but her tone was low and dull: “Hello.”

  Lizzy gestured toward the propped up dory. “What are you doing?”

  Jo waved the paintbrush she held in her right hand. “What does it look like?”

  Lizzy refused to let the woman’s dour attitude rattle her. “Are those eyes?”

  Jo looked back to her handiwork. In addition to giving the dory a fresh coat of paint, she’d also done more detailed work to either side of the vessel’s freeboard. “They are. It’s an old Portuguese tradition,” she explained. “You paint eyes on the dories so they can find their way back, even at night or in a storm.”

  Lizzy hummed. She was interested in history and traditions, but she had other things on her mind. “Where’s Mr. Howe?”

  Jo set her paintbrush on the rim of the pail she’d been using. “Why? Have you come to tell on me?”

  Lizzy frowned and shook her head. “No. I promised I wouldn’t.”

  “But you don’t even know me,” Jo pragmatically pointed out. “Why wouldn’t you?”

  “It’s not my secret to tell.”

  “And I’m just to trust you?” Jo challenged.

  Lizzy shrugged. “Do you have a choice?”

  Jo raised a defiant chin and straightened her back. “There’s always a choice. I could tell Mr. Howe before you got the chance. Perhaps he’d take pity on my situation and let me stay on.”

  “Is that what you really think will happen?” Lizzy asked.

  The girl’s stubbornness flickered out. Jo dropped her chin to her chest. She’d known she wouldn’t be able to keep up the ruse forever, but she had hoped it might last a little longer. “No.”

  Lizzy felt around in the basket she’d brought from the mainland. “I’ve brought a peace offering.”

  She pulled an old tin container from the basket. It had once served as a sardine tin, but she had repurposed it for her own means.

  “You might be able to trick Mr. Howe; his eyes aren’t as sharp as they once were,” she wryly noted. “But if you’re planning on galavanting around town, that disguise isn’t going to fool anyone.”

  Lizzy pressed the tin into Joana’s hands. “I combined some lamp-black with a bit of my mother’s cold cream. You can use it to darken and widen your eyebrows. Rub a little on your throat and face, too. That baby face is a dead giveaway.”

  Jo opened the tin and looked interested but perplexed at its contents. When she didn’t immediately dip her fingers into the homemade concoction, Lizzy sighed.

  “Here. I’ll show you.”

  Lizzy confiscated the small, flat container and popped open its metal lid. She dipped the tips of her fingers into the greasy, black mixture. She bent at the waist and took purchase of Joana’s square jaw. The other woman released a small, surprised sound when Lizzy’s fingers tightened at her chin.

  “Your eyebrows are too thin. It’s a dead giveaway,” Lizzy proclaimed.

  Lizzy swabbed her soot covered fingers across the other woman’s eyebrows, broadening their width and creating the illusion that they were closer together.

  “Sideburns,” she stated. She gathered more of the blackened cream at the ends of her fingers and swiped them in the empty space in front of Jo’s ears.

  Jo remained still while Lizzy fashioned crude, two-dimensional sideburns near her temples.

  Jo swallowed once and then spoke: “Were you the one who put sweets in last week’s basket?”

  Lizzy straightened and pulled away. “What?”

  Jo leveled her gaze on Lizzy. “Mr. Howe said there was candy last week, and that we don’t normally get sweets in our shipment.”

  “My mother packs the basket,” Lizzy smoothly lied. “I’m only the messenger.”

  She knew full well that it had been she who’d added the unscheduled treat. She’d snuck the penny candy into the basket, intending to thank the new lighthouse keeper for chasing off the threatening stranger. When she’d discovered Jo’s true identity, however, she’d been too startled and embarrassed to remember the stowed-away candies.

  Lizzy tossed the tin onto Jo’s lap like the metal had heated up and scalded her. “Dirty up your face more,” she gruffly instructed. “You still look like a girl.”

  Jo’s fingers closed around the flat tin. “I appreciate the kindness. I really do. But I don’t think anyone’s going to be looking at me that closely.”

  Lizzy bit her tongue. She had looked that closely, but maybe Jo was right. The eyebrows were an improvement, but nothing else she had done had hardened Joana’s sharp, but feminine features. The black soot had only managed to make a mess.

  “I should be getting back,” Lizzy abruptly announced. “No one knows I’m here.”

  Jo clutched the tin close to her chest. “Thank you for this. And for keeping my secret.” A corner of her mouth lifted. “Until we meet again, Lizzy Darby.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Lizzy Darby stood before the open door of the lighthouse. When she had first knocked on the central door, she hadn’t expected anyone to come and she certainly hadn’t expected the door to swing open so quickly. It was almost as if the person on the other side of the heavy barrier had been waiting for her arrival.

  “Where’s Mr. Howe?” she questioned.

  Joana shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her oversized trousers. She wore an equally oversized button-up shirt tucked into the pants. Suspenders worked hard to keep the pants aloft her hips.

  “Sleeping.”

  “He sleeps?” Lizzy asked.

  The thought had never occurred to her. For as far back as she could remember, Mr. Howe had always been awake—had always been the one to greet her. Her family had been his lifeline for as long as he’d been master at the end of the earth, first at Long Point Lighthouse and then at Wood End.

  “That he does,” Jo replied with a small smile. “Snores like a gale wind, too.”

  Lizzy transferred the weight of the supply basket from one hand to the other. She hadn’t seen the assistant lighthouse keeper since her unscheduled trip to Wood End, days ago, when she’d promised she would keep Jo’s secret. She was still mildly embarrassed about the soot and face cream mixture she’d believed would help make Jo’s features appear more masculine. She hoped Joana would make no mention of it. Her face that day was clean, with no signs of the foolish concoction.

  “I’ve come with your supplies,” Lizzy announced.

  Jo took a step forward. She didn’t immediately relieve Lizzy of her wicker basket burden. She seemed to pull up on tiptoe as if to peer into the basket. “Did you bring me something sweet?”

  Lizzy knew Jo only spoke of candy, but the question and Jo’s new proximity had her blushing. “N-not this time.”

  Lizzy couldn’t control the shaking of her voice. Rationally, she knew that Joana was female like herself. But visually, with the clothing she wore and the cut of her hair and the space she took up, Jo presented herself as male. Lizzy was rarely at ease around men her own age.

  “Have you ever been up to the lantern?” Jo asked.

  Lizzy shook her head. For as many years as her family had been tasked with providing supplies to Mr. Howe, she’d never actually been inside of the lighthouse, neither the first iteration at Long Point nor the more recent addition at Wood End.

  “Would you like to?” Jo pressed.

  “My father waits,” Lizzy said out of routine.

  “It won’t take long,” Jo promised.

  Her father didn’t wait, however. After her last scheduled visit to Wood End wherein she had successfully navigated the family dory herself, her parents had decided that she was grown enough to continue making the deliveries by herself. It would free up her father to do other things, they’d reasoned.

  Lizzy was privately pleased her parents trusted her with the errand and how it would grant her a modicum of freedom, if only once a week. But as much as she cherished her parents’ confidence, she was also mildly annoyed that her father had surrendered the noisome task so easily.

  Freed him to do what things? she’d wanted to ask, but hadn’t dared do so.

  Lizzy shook herself, realizing how her thoughts had strayed.

  Jo hadn’t explicitly invited her inside, but Lizzy interpreted the question as such. She stepped inside the doorway and let the towering structure envelope her.

  “Oh!” She nearly gasped as she walked inside. “It’s hollow in the middle.”

  She hadn’t known what to expect, but for reasons unknown she’d assumed the lighthouse’s interior would mimic one of the multi-storied homes in town. Instead, the first floor was barren and the center of the building was empty.

  Lizzy set down the supply basket and craned her neck to stare toward the ceiling that towered several stories above. The staircase of the lighthouse hugged the rounded walls and spiraled upward like a snail in its shell.

  A thick piece of rope dangled from the building’s center. Jo tugged on the end of the heavy rope. “This is in case we need to get something up to the lantern,” she explained. “The pulley lets us haul equipment to the top instead of having to carry it up the stairs.”

  “It’s a marvel,” Lizzy breathed.

  Jo smiled at an unspoken amusement. “Think you can handle all these steps, or do I need to hoist you up?”

  Lizzy lifted a defiant chin. “I’m quite capable of climbing a few stairs, thank you.”

  Jo’s grin widened. “Up you go then.”

  Lizzy puffed out her cheeks as she carried herself up the first level of the spiral staircase. She didn’t want to appear weak or incapable in front of the lighthouse keeper who seemed to bound up the steps with unbridled energy. Lizzy had to remind herself that the other woman was more accustomed to the environment.

  Jo also benefited from wearing men’s pants and flat shoes instead of the cumbersome layers of a chemise, drawers, stockings, corset, petticoat, and dress along with stiff leather boots. The hard heel of Lizzy’s boots dug into the bottom of her foot with each elevated step, but she was too stubborn and too proud to admit any hardship.

  “Mind the banisters!” Jo’s voice floated down the spiral stairwell from above. “The Lighthouse Service is very serious about us keeping them spotless. I probably spend most of my day polishing and re-polishing them.”

  “What’s the point of banisters if you can’t actually use them?” Lizzy complained after the other woman.

  Lizzy was tempted to smudge the shiny, brass banister, if only to be a nuisance, but she kept her hands at her sides instead.

  “Every level serves a separate function,” Jo explained as they steadily mounted the stairs. “Storage space, kitchen, living room, bedroom, and service room.”

  Lizzy stared up at Jo, still several steps ahead of her. “You share a bedroom with Mr. Howe?” She tried to keep the horror out of her tone.

  “At another lighthouse, perhaps,” Jo confirmed, “but Wood End has the separate residence outside. I sleep there while he takes the bunk in here. He claims he’s just used to lighthouse living, but I think he secretly doesn’t trust me alone with the lantern.”

  Lizzy dropped her voice, as if worried to wake up the longtime keeper. “He’s sleeping now?”

  “Don’t worry about Mr. Howe,” Jo proclaimed as they continued to climb. “He’s a heavy sleeper. Either he’s going deaf or it’s an occupational hazard of living on the ocean. Nothing but shrieking birds and howling winds; a body could go mad from the sound alone.”

  Lizzy tried to control her breathing to not appear too obviously winded when they finally reached the top level. Jo’s features revealed little affect from the exercise, but her olive-tinted cheeks did appear more rosy than usual; an attractive blush alighted the apples of her cheeks without the use of rouge.

  “This,” Jo announced proudly, “is the service room. Next to the actual lantern room, this is the most important place in the lighthouse.”

  Lizzy scanned the sparsely decorated room. The furniture was spartan—a wooden desk and chair and a small shelf filled with hardcover books.

  “Mr. Howe lights the lamp just before sunset,” Jo explained. “He spends the rest of the night here in the service room until I spell him at midnight. I watch over the light until dawn, and then it’s my responsibility to get the lamp ready for the next night.”

  “How did Mr. Howe get on for so many years all by himself?” Lizzy wondered aloud.

  “He slept from dawn to dusk,” Jo noted. “But Long Point fell into disrepair without a second man to divide the upkeep. The lantern needs winding every four hours, the stairwells need sweeping, the brass needs polishing, and the windows need cleaning.”

  “How did you learn how to do all of this?” Lizzy asked.

  “This isn’t my first lantern. I had a post in Providence before this. I wasn’t officially a wickie then, but I showed up every day until I wore the old keeper down.” Jo chuckled at the memory. Her light laugh echoed within the lighthouse’s interior. “When Mãe told me we were following my brother Antonio to Provincetown, Mr. Keyes wrote me a letter vouching for my hard work.”

  “That was kind of him,” Lizzy observed.

  “It’s a brotherhood—being a wickie, that is. Not that I’m either a brother or a full fledged wickie yet,” she was quick to clarify.

  “How does Mr. Howe treat you? Is he a kind employer?” Lizzy asked.

  “I’ve no complaints.” Jo paused. “Although I do wish he’d let me keep watch for the entire night. But Mr. Howe is, uh, a little stuck in his ways.”

  Lizzy turned in a circle, scanning the service room. With the exception of a little private library and a few scrimshaw she was sure had been fashioned by Mr. Howe, the room was relatively dull and without charm.

  “What is it that you do while on watch?” she asked. “Make sure the lantern doesn’t go out? Keep on the lookout for shipwrecks?”

  “Somewhat.” Jo gestured to the solitary desk that was positioned against one wall. “We also have to maintain a logbook. We make notes about the weather and any work we did on the equipment. We also keep track of bird migration and ocean wildlife.”

  Lizzy nodded as she listened, but her attention strayed to the navigational maps affixed to the wall above the desk. Lizzy loved maps. She loved to see the careful shapes cartographers had recorded. She remembered being enthralled the first time she’d seen Provincetown on a map—curled fingers on a fist, surrounded by nothing but the ocean’s blue. It had made her feel small.

  Jo noticed to where Lizzy’s attention had drifted. She left the shop girl’s side to stand before a map of the Atlantic. She pressed her forefinger to Provincetown’s location. “This is us,” she said. She moved her finger to the east. “And this is where I’m from.”

  Lizzy took a few steps forward to gain a better view. “So far away?” She felt like whispering.

  “My family is from São Miguel Island,” Jo said, still closely inspecting the map. “I’d thought it was the biggest, grandest island when we lived there, but it’s only forty miles from end to end.”

  “How did you learn English?” Lizzy blushed the moment the question came out. She felt foolish and not a little rude and naïve.

  “School. Necessity,” Jo listed. “My younger brother, Lazaro, is much better at it than any of us. He’s the baby of the family. And the reason I’m here in this country.”

  “Oh?”

  Jo’s features became pensive. “Military service is required of all men in Portugal. My older brother was the first to avoid it. He signed up on an American whaling ship. Sperm whales. Their feeding ground is the Azores.”

  Lizzy nodded. She knew the archipelago that made up the Azores had become a stopping point for New England whaling ships. The island chain was the ideal place to replenish supplies as well as crew members before heading home.

  “Antonio came home after his first voyage with money in his pockets and stories about this new country and its unlimited land and opportunities,” Jo continued. “The original plan had been for him to work and send money home. But Mãe didn’t want her youngest to go to war either. So we all came to America.”

  “What about your father?” Lizzy asked.

  Jo shoved her hands into her oversized pockets. “He died. At sea.”

  Lizzy bit her lower lip. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Jo dismissed. “It happened a long time ago.”

  “I-I was betrothed once,” Lizzy revealed in a quiet voice. “His ship was lost.”

  Jo tugged off her wool cap, revealing the dark curls that had been hidden underneath. “I’m sorry.”

  Lizzy had the strangest urge to run her fingers through the chaotic mess. She tried to smile, but her mouth wouldn’t cooperate.

  Jo cleared her throat. “Do you want to see the light?”

  “Is that allowed?”

  “I won’t tell if you don’t,” Jo shrugged.

  The secrets between them seemed to be piling up. But curiosity to see the lantern up close overruled any other feeling.

  Unlike the spiral staircase that led to the service room, the only way to the lantern and viewing deck was by ladder. Lizzy warily eyeballed the wooden rungs that extended well above her height.

  “I promise it’s safe,” Jo assured her, sensing her hesitation. “Mr. Howe and I are up and down this ladder several times a day.”

  Lizzy nodded once. It would have to do.

  “I’d let you go first,” Jo revealed, “but I assume you’d like some privacy.”

  “Privacy?” Lizzy echoed, not understanding.

  Jo seemed to flush. “Because I’m in pants and, uh, you’re ... not.”