A Light on Her Majesty

As the top, circular steps to the top of the lighthouse became visible in the blinking moonlight, Chelsea headed hesitatingly toward the stairway.
She had heard reports that the place was haunted. Yet, as a reporter for the new Great Lakes Newsletter, her curiosity regarding the lighthouses and ships on the Great Lakes pushed her forward.
It was nearing 11 p.m., and she heard the small ferry. It beeped its tiny horn at length and far away, and announced its entry into the channel.
But, as she began to climb up the steps and reach the top, she heard a deeper, louder blast which did not fit this time period.
She gazed out the top window of the lighthouse. Off in the distance, on the on-and-off visible horizon, was a Great Lakes Ship she’d thought was non-operational, moored in the west end of the harbor.
But there the ship was; there she wasn’t; there she was…not, and there she was again, surrounded by night fog. The ship proceeded forward in majesty: the Queen of the Great Lakes, able to handle high waves, crossed slowly and deliberately toward the shoreline, cut slowly but surely through the choppy waves.
Lights shone through the windows; big band music came from the bar and dance hall, laughter from the dancing pairs. People peered out from the decks; children climbed up the stairs to higher levels to observe the channel and their entry into the channel, lit by small pilot boats and curiosity cabin cruisers that were there to greet and to follow. Families, after resting, spilled out of the berths with their baggage. The women all wore dresses, hair neatly coiffed and sprayed, shoes heeled, while the men wore hats and suits. All encased themselves in coats and jackets to keep out the chilly air of Lake Michigan.
Chelsea gazed from the lighthouse. The noise died down once again.
The ship faded in the fog. Once again, Chelsea heard the deep, loud blast, only this time, from the moored ship behind her. The ship was a shell of its former self, but she announced, “hello” to the little ferry boat entering the port for the first time, from the great ship’s original home in Milwaukee.
The old ship, who’d made many trips from the same Wisconsin Port, handed over the Lake to the smaller, faster ferry boat with its tiny horn, as it made its higher, softer, lengthy be-e-e-p.
As you surrender Your Majesty, Oh Queen, Chelsea thought, we will never forget your many voyages and the memories of those whom you carried across the Lake and Channel to the port in Michigan.
In our hearts, at least, and with gratitude, long lives the Queen.