NOVEMBER 17, 1885.
THE SOUTH SHORE OF LAKE SUPERIOR,
NEAR THE ROCKY OUTER BANKS OF THE APOSTLE ISLANDS.
A brutal storm pursued the tiny fishing vessel along the southern shore of Lake Superior, the fury of its waves punishing the boat. The squall raged—with fierce sleeting rain hitting the fishermen, obscuring a view of the islands, and perhaps—a safe harbor.
A jagged scar of lightning arched above their heads, its acrid scent hanging in the air. However, the violent howling winds were not loud enough to drown out the terrified cries of Captain Andreichenko’s men, as a lethal wave crashed over the open craft, tossing the crew into the icy depths of the lake.
The aging seaman gently grasped the silver necklace in his trembling hands. The locket was delicately engraved with morning glories—wild flowers of his Ukrainian homeland, and the name of his late wife—Larisa.
As he gazed at the darkened sky one last time, the sailor tasted the salt of his own tears. With raw emotion clogging his throat, Viktor Andreichenko hoarsely whispered “Larisa … Larisa …..” for the last time—as Lake Superior claimed another soul.
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