Neptune's Fingers Page 13

  “Well, I’ll be….” said Jack. “So that’s what Albert Madigan was looking for in the rain that night. Fancy him caring about that.” He picked them up and examined them. “I’ll never throw these out even when they’re falling to bits,” he promised himself. In a small way the shoes kept his connection with The Kestrel and his grandfather very much alive.

  All the untidy ends of the past week or so were now in order. All were where they should be; shipshape and Bristol fashion.

  “Yes,” thought Jack. “All the men are there now. Albert Madigan, with one foot in this time and one in the other, and Edward McPhail, too, are with their shipmates again. And all who belong here and now are where they should be, safe, thank heaven.”

  The thought of Albert Madigan striding towards the spit, not stopping, but wading into the water and disappearing beneath the waves, did not send a shiver down his spine as it might have done. Albert was at peace, his job complete. He had shown Jack his grandfather as he really was. Jack realized his eyes were moist. It would be good to be a Madigan, but Jack knew he would forever be proud to be Jack Lambeth, grandson of the brave Edward McPhail. With a warm feeling inside, shoes slung over his shoulder he made his way back to the lighthouse.