“Documenting?” She kept her distance from the equipment, knowing how particular photographers could be about their setups.
“The lighthouse.” Melissa adjusted something on her camera. “Architectural details. The way the light hits certain modifications in the structure. There are additions and changes that aren’t in the original blueprints. At least not the ones available at the historical society.”
Another person interested in the lighthouse’s history.
“What kind of changes?” The art historian in her couldn’t help asking.
“Windows that don’t match. Modifications to the gallery deck. A door on the north side that’s been there longer than it should be based on the construction date.” Melissa finally looked up. “I’ve done this for a while. You develop an eye for what doesn’t fit.”
“You taking these photos for a project?”
Melissa straightened and stretched her back. “No, just for the record. So many of these places get torn down, renovated beyond recognition, or they just deteriorate until the story they could tell disappears. I document them before that happens.”
She understood that impulse and the need to preserve something before it vanished. She’d felt it when completing Franklin’s final works, though that preservation had cost her everything.
“I could hold something for you.” The offer came before Emily could think better of it. “If you need an extra hand.”
Melissa considered her for a moment. Not suspicious exactly. Just careful. “I want to move closer and get the sea oats next to the base of the lighthouse. If you could stand and hold that panel steady while I get this angle, that would help.”
They moved closer to the lighthouse, and she stood where Melissa indicated. The panel was lighter than it looked. She held it at the angle Melissa demonstrated.
“There.” Melissa took several shots. “Can you tilt it a bit more toward the water?”
She adjusted it, and they worked in comfortable silence. The beach was completely empty except for them. Even the gulls were quiet this early. There was just the sound of the waves and the occasional click of Melissa’s camera.
“You paint it.” Melissa didn’t phrase it as a question. “The lighthouse.”
“I’ve tried a few times. It’s harder than it looks to capture.”
“Everything worth capturing is.” Melissa moved her tripod slightly. “Hold that angle for just a minute more.”
She held still.
“Got it. Thanks. That made a real difference.”
“What will you do with the photographs?” Emily handed back the reflector panel.
Melissa began packing her equipment. “Keep them. Create an archive. Maybe eventually a book about Gulf Coast architecture. Structures that tell stories about the communities that built them.”
“The lighthouse definitely tells a story.” She thought about Winnie’s journal and the hints about hidden purposes. “More than one, probably.”
“Most old buildings do. People think architecture is just about function. Keeping the rain out. But it’s really about intention. Every change was a choice. Shows you what mattered to them.”
She understood that concept. She’d studied enough art history to know that context mattered. That the story behind a work could be as important as the work itself. “You approach it like a historian.”
“Photography taught me to look deeper. To see what’s actually there instead of what I expect to be there. Though I haven’t been very good at that lately.”
“I haven’t been very good at painting lately.” She surprised herself by responding with equal honesty. “Or I hadn’t been until I came here.”
Melissa looked up at the lighthouse. “It helps. The lighthouse helps. There’s something about it and the way it just stands there, being exactly what it is. No apologies. No explanations. Just doing its job century after century.”
“Winnie says it attracts people who need that.” She glanced back toward the keeper’s cottage. “People who need to figure things out.”
“She told you that?”
“In slightly more poetic terms.” She smiled despite herself. “But yes.”
Melissa finished packing. She shouldered her equipment bag and picked up the tripod. “I should get this back before the sun gets too high. The light will be wrong for what I’m doing.”
