Over the next few days, I gradually adapted to the rhythm of life in 1925. No mobile phone, no internet, no microwave—everything had returned to its most basic state. The initial discomfort was quickly replaced by a strange calmness—life here was simpler, yet more focused.
Jack allowed me to stay in the lighthouse, saying it was the safest place. 'In town, you would attract too much attention,' he explained, 'Here, at least you can avoid most curious eyes.'
That evening, I followed Jack to the top of the lighthouse to observe him carrying out his daily duties. The heart of the lighthouse was a massive Fresnel lens system, composed of hundreds of precisely arranged glass pieces capable of focusing light into a powerful beam. Jack carefully checked each component, his movements skilled and precise.
'A lighthouse is not just a building,' he explained while adjusting the lamp, 'It's a responsibility. Every night, countless ships rely on this beam to avoid dangerous reefs and shoals. One moment of negligence could result in the loss of dozens of lives.'
There was a seriousness and pride in his voice that I hadn't noticed before, making me realise this wasn't just a job but a mission.
'Has your family always been lighthouse keepers?' I asked, helping him polish a lens.
'For five generations,' Jack nodded, 'Starting with my great-great-grandfather. He became the first keeper in 1825, and it was during his tenure that the first temporal anomalies were recorded.'
'1825?' I asked in surprise, 'That's a hundred years ago.'
A flash of appreciation crossed Jack's eyes, clearly pleased that I had quickly grasped this connection. 'Exactly. The time fractures seem to follow a cycle of about a hundred years. As the cycle approaches its peak, the anomalies become more frequent and intense.'
He walked to a locked cabinet, opened it with a key he carried, and took out a notebook that looked even older than his journal. 'This is the diary of my great-grandfather, Arthur Howard. It records all the anomalies he observed between 1825 and 1827.'
I carefully took this precious historical document, gently opening the yellowed pages. Arthur's handwriting was elegant and neat, detailing multiple strange incidents: clocks stopping, objects disappearing and reappearing, unidentified light sources on the sea surface, and what he called 'time cracks'—strange distortions in the air.
'On 21st September 1826,' Jack pointed to a particularly detailed entry, 'Arthur described the lighthouse being struck by a "blue lightning," after which he witnessed a stranger in odd clothing briefly appear and disappear. That night, his pocket watch—the one you're now wearing—suddenly began displaying the date.'
I touched the pocket watch on my chest, feeling its faint pulse. 'So this watch originally came from your family?'
'Yes, but it's obviously no longer an ordinary pocket watch,' Jack explained, 'It has been "marked" by the time fracture, becoming a medium connecting different times. I suspect it was because of this watch that Emily—your grandmother—was able to return to her time.'
This information gave me both hope and unease. If the watch truly was the key to crossing over, then at least I had a possibility of returning home; but at the same time, I realised I knew nothing about how it worked.
'Do you know how to control it?' I asked, with a hint of tension in my voice.
Jack shook his head: 'Not entirely. But based on my observations, the watch seems to respond to specific environmental conditions—particularly those anomalous points I call "moments of stillness."'
He walked to the edge of the lighthouse and looked out at the gradually darkening sea. The sunset had dyed the water golden-red, and distant clouds suggested the weather might change.
'There might be a storm at sea tonight,' he frowned, 'I need to ensure the light is in optimal condition.'
For the next hour, I watched Jack check the fuel supply, adjust the wick, and clean the lens, each movement precise and practised. As night fell, he lit the main lamp, and the huge beam penetrated the gradually gathering fog, guiding distant ships.
Just as everything seemed prepared, a sudden strong gust of wind struck the lighthouse, causing the entire building to shake slightly. Jack immediately became alert, rushing to the window to check.
'Something's not right,' he said quietly, 'The wind changed direction too quickly.'
I followed him to the window and saw dark clouds gathering at an unnatural speed in the distant sky, while the waves on the sea surface had become unusually turbulent.
'This isn't an ordinary storm,' I said, my scientific instinct telling me something was wrong, 'Look at how those clouds are moving, it completely defies conventional meteorological patterns.'
Jack nodded gravely: 'The time fracture is affecting the meteorological system. This abnormal weather usually indicates increased fracture activity.'
Suddenly, the lighthouse lamp flickered, then went out completely. The room fell into darkness, with only occasional lightning from outside providing brief illumination.
'The fuel pipe may have been affected by wind pressure,' Jack quickly assessed, 'I need to go to the bottom level to fix it.'
'I'll come with you,' I said firmly, for some reason not wanting to be separated from him at such a moment.
Jack hesitated, then nodded in agreement. We grabbed several lanterns and carefully descended the spiral staircase. As we went down, the swaying of the lighthouse became more pronounced, and the sound of the wind grew louder, like some giant beast roaring.
Reaching the equipment room at the bottom level, Jack immediately examined the fuel system. 'Here,' he pointed to a valve, 'Excessive pressure has triggered the safety lock. We need to reset the system and manually adjust the fuel flow.'
'Tell me what to do,' I said, already rolling up my sleeves.
Jack briefly explained the steps, and then we split up. He was responsible for resetting the main valve, while I adjusted the pressure in the auxiliary pipes according to his instructions. Although the system was completely unfamiliar to me, the basic engineering principles were universal, and I quickly understood how it worked.
Just as we were about to finish, a loud crash shook the entire lighthouse. A piece of broken stone fell from the ceiling, heading straight for me.
'Look out!' Jack shouted, almost instinctively rushing over to pull me aside. The stone crashed down where I had been standing, sending up a cloud of dust.
We stood very close, close enough that I could feel his breath and see the concern in his eyes. At that moment, time seemed to stand still; despite the roaring storm outside, there was a strange calmness between us.
'Thank you,' I said softly, aware that his hand was still on my shoulder.
Jack seemed to realise our posture as well, and withdrew his hand somewhat awkwardly. 'We need to fix the light as soon as possible,' he said, his voice a bit unsteady, 'The ships outside need guidance.'
We quickly completed the remaining work and restarted the fuel system. Soon after, the lighthouse beam once again pierced the darkness of the storm, providing direction for seafarers.
By the time we returned to the top level to confirm everything was normal, the storm had begun to subside. The waves on the sea gradually calmed, and the clouds started to disperse, revealing points of starlight.
'You did well,' Jack said, looking at me with an appreciative gaze, 'Few people can remain calm when facing this kind of situation for the first time.'
'I guess meteorology researchers and lighthouse keepers have some similarities,' I responded, 'Both need to face the unpredictability of nature.'
Jack smiled slightly, the most relaxed expression I had seen from him. 'Indeed. Perhaps that's why...' he suddenly stopped, as if realising he was about to say something he shouldn't.
'Why what?' I asked curiously.
Jack shook his head, 'Nothing. Just... I'm glad you're here, Ella. Dealing with this storm would have been much more difficult otherwise.'
I felt an inexplicable warmth, though reason told me I shouldn't feel particularly special about such words. After all, any helper would be welcome in a moment of crisis.
'Jack,' I hesitated, then asked the question that had been troubling me, 'Do you really believe we can find a way for me to go back?'
He was silent for a moment, his gaze turning to the distant sea, then back to me, his eyes determined. 'I believe so. But sometimes, Ella, the process of seeking answers is more important than the answers themselves.' He lightly touched my pocket watch, 'Perhaps you came here not just to find a way back, but to discover other things as well.'
'What other things?'
'I think,' his voice gentle yet profound, 'that's an answer you need to find for yourself.'
The night deepened, and the storm completely subsided. Under the light of the lighthouse, we stood side by side, gazing at the calm sea. Despite being in a different time, I felt a strange sense of belonging. Perhaps Jack was right, perhaps my coming here wasn't just an accident, but to search for something I had yet to understand.
In this quiet moment, I allowed myself to think for the first time—what if I couldn't find a way back, what if I had to stay in this era? This thought should have terrified me, but at this moment, standing in this lighthouse that had become familiar in just a few short days, standing beside Jack, that fear didn't seem as intense anymore.