Stillwater

by Mary Jo Hazard

  On the other hand, my father would break the bread into big pieces and throw them fast—like he was in a hurry. And Denny was another story. He never threw the bread to the ducks. He’d stuff it in his mouth and almost choke to death before we could get it away from him.

  My father never waited very long before he’d say in his “I’m so sorry” voice, “Grace, I’m going to go check on Old Man Whitman—see what he’s up to. You’re a big girl; you’ll be all right here. Just don’t let Denny get out of the stroller and into the river. You’re responsible. When you’re done feeding the duckies, bring Denny up to the bar. I’ll be waiting.”

  I never said anything back, but my stomach did flip-flops. I’d bite my lips until I tasted blood instead of crying. I’d watch my father walk all the way back up the long driveway, climb the wooden steps, and disappear into the bar without even once looking back. The first time it happened, I was five years old. How could I have kept Denny in the stroller if he’d tried to climb out and run into the river? If he’d drowned, it would have been my fault.

  The bar looked like it was a million miles away. Usually there were some people fishing; others were sitting around the picnic tables drinking beer, but I didn’t know any of them, and if I needed help…

  Nothing ever happened. Denny stayed in the stroller, and when our bread ran out, I’d push him up the dirt driveway to the bar, avoiding the deep ruts as best I could.

  There was a picture window in the bar that overlooked the water, and when I got close to the building, I would check for my dad’s face. When he saw me, he’d smile and wave and point for me to sit down on the wooden porch steps. If Denny cried, I’d take him out of the stroller and chase him around the porch, which went all the way around the building. Eventually my dad would come out holding a Saf-T-Pop for Denny in one hand and a 3 Musketeers bar in the other hand for me.

  He’d be happy again, and he’d cup my face in his hands and sing. “Lavender blue, Gracie Gracie, lavender green. If I was king, Gracie Gracie, you’d be my queen.” Then he’d lower his voice and go on. “Grace, don’t tell your mother I went into Old Man Whitman’s. She’ll be mad I got you a candy bar. Our secret, right?”

  I would nod, fingering the unwrapped candy bar in my pocket. I would share my 3 Musketeers bars with my best friends Louanne and Maggie. I’d feel sad though, and I wouldn’t know why. Thinking back, I knew why now, and it made me even sadder.

  We weren’t supposed to go to the old marina because Doc and my mother said you never knew who might be there, and if something happened, no one would know. Of course, that made the place more attractive to us, especially in the summertime. Bert the bum was usually there. He slept behind the boathouse and was nice. In the mornings, he collected night crawlers and sold them to the fishermen so he could buy beer and food.

  Denny and Jimmy used to sneak up to the marina too. They’d bring Bert the bum cookies, and he’d give them night crawlers and help them bait their hooks—if they had gotten out of the house with their fishing poles.

  We peddled up Hudson Avenue to the marina. It was getting darker—the streetlights turned on. When we turned into the marina’s long driveway, everything was a dark, hazy blur.

  “Check the docks first,” Maggie said, speeding up. “I bet that’s where they are. Watch out for the holes.”

  Louanne followed Maggie, and I followed Louanne. The wind picked up; we were riding into it. The ruts in the driveway were deep, close together, and almost impossible to maneuver around. Old Man Whitman used to fill them with crushed stones every spring, but he’d been dead so long that the holes had become craters.

  “Their bikes are here,” Louanne shouted over her shoulder. “Right by the dock. Jimmy, Denny, where are you guys?”

  “Jimmy!” Maggie yelled into the wind. “Hurry up; it’s going to rain. Mom and Dad are going to be really mad.”

  We dropped our bikes and walked down to the edge of the river. The wind had churned the water into whitecaps that crashed impressively on the shore and slid back into the dark Hudson.

  “Shhh,” Louanne said, slowly turning her head from side to side. “Did you hear that?”

  “It’s nothing,” I said, cocking my head and listening. “Just the wind.”

  “I don’t know; maybe Old Man Whitman is coming to take back his property or”—Lou’s voice changed to a deep, raspy tone—“to get revenge and savagely murder the three of us.”

  “Louanne! That’s not even remotely funny,” Maggie said, sounding anxious. “You’re not helping.”

  “Just kidding,” Louanne said. “But I did hear somebody yelling.”

  Across the river, lightning flashed, and a minute later we heard the distant rumble of thunder. The trees bent back and forth in the wind. It started to sprinkle.

  “We need to get away from the river,” I said, looking at the sky. “We could be struck by lightning. There are so many trees.”

  Another bolt of lightning lit up the area, and Maggie yelled and pointed at her feet. “Look! Somebody wrote ‘STOP GET OU’ on the dock.”

  “That’s how Uncle Tony writes,” Louanne said.

  “Shhh,” I said. “Now I hear something.”

  “It could be the boys,” Louanne said.

  “Yeah,” Maggie agreed. “It could be.”

  I cupped my hands around my mouth and yelled over the wind. “We’re over here.”

  Nobody answered.

  “Maybe it was the wind,” I said. “Or Bert the bum.”

  “He couldn’t be back here already,” Maggie said, shaking her head. “He doesn’t walk that fast.”

  A white curtain of rain was moving toward us over the water. Flashes of lightning lit up the marina, followed by deafening cracks of thunder. The skies opened up and let loose the rain. No sign of Denny and Jimmy.

  I shouldn’t have let them play marbles on the sidewalk. I shouldn’t have taken my eyes off them. Hail Mary full of grace…

  “Run to the bar,” Louanne shouted, grabbing my arm. “Seriously, we have to get out of here. Don’t touch the bikes; they’re metal.”

  “But they have rubber tires,” Maggie yelled.

  “Forget the bikes,” Louanne shouted. “Hurry.”

  Maggie and I followed her up the driveway.

  “There,” Louanne shouted, pointing to the heavy door on the bar, which was swinging back and forth in the wind. “The boys must’ve gone in and left the door open.”

  “Hurry up,” I said. “It’s getting worse.”

  The wind blew the rain straight into our faces, and it was so dark we couldn’t see three feet ahead. Branches from a tall oak tree broke off and crashed to the ground as we rushed past. A lightning bolt struck the tin roof on the boathouse, and sparks flew everywhere.

  “It’s so scary,” Lou cried. “Maybe Old Man Whitman does haunt this place.”

  “Don’t think about it,” I said, wiping the rain out of my eyes. “Worry about us making it to the bar in this storm.”

  “Someone is behind us,” Louanne screamed. “I’m not kidding—run, run.”

  “Denny?” I called out over the noise of the storm. “Is that you?

  Nobody answered.

  We dashed up the steps, out of the rain. Lightning lit up the night, and bursts of thunder rumbled so loud that the wooden porch trembled under our feet. The boathouse roof blew off and clattered down the driveway toward the beach. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and prickles shot up and down my spine. I had my hand on the doorknob when Maggie shouted.

  “Danger! Danger!”

  The sky lit up as lightning struck the tallest oak about fifty feet away from the porch. The tree exploded, split in two, and crashed to the ground. The pungent smell of ozone filled the air, and sparks danced in the sky where the tree was a minute ago.

  “Oh my God,” Louanne said, grabbing me. “That was like an atom bomb. We just ran under that tree—we could’ve been killed.” She ran her fingers through her wet hair. “Maggie, how did
you know that was gonna happen?”

  “I didn’t know,” Maggie said, hugging herself. “What do you mean?”

  “You yelled ‘Danger! Danger!’ right before the tree exploded.”

  “Because,” Maggie said, pointing to the bar door. “‘Danger! Danger!’ is written on the door!”

  “It’s your uncle’s writing, Louanne,” I said, peering at it. “Like the writing on the dock—and his bedroom door.”

  “But why?” Louanne said. “Why would he write ‘danger’?”

  “I can’t make sense of crazy,” Maggie said impatiently. “Maybe your uncle hangs out here, and he wants to scare everyone else away.”

  “Even if it says ‘danger,’” I said, “we have to go in. Denny and Jimmy are in there.”

  “Would your uncle hurt them, Louanne?” Maggie said, grabbing her shoulder. “Maybe we should go get help.”

  “Leave me alone,” Louanne answered, pulling away. “He wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

  This was worse than my worst nightmare. I wished I could go back to the start of this whole mess and make Denny stay with me.

  “Your uncle wrote ‘danger’ on the door for a reason, Lou,” Maggie said, raising her voice.

  “My uncle wouldn’t hurt them,” Louanne repeated.

  The heavy door swung back and forth on its old hinges—creaking every time.

  “Shhh,” I said as a beam of light lit up the dark bar. “Duck.”

  “What if Uncle Tony caught the boys?” Maggie whispered, catching the door with her hand. “What if he—”

  “Maggie,” I whispered back. “Don’t.”

  Thunder rumbled overhead. The rain kept pouring down.

  “We don’t have a choice. We have to find them,” I said, slipping past Maggie into the bar.

  Hail Mary full of grace. Make Denny and Jimmy be in here safe, and I’ll never sin again. I’ll even give up potato chips.

  It was dark inside the bar. I took a few tentative steps to the right. Louanne and Maggie were behind me. If I remembered correctly, the shuffleboard table was flush against the wall. When my dad brought Denny and me to the marina and it was too cold outside to let us feed the ducks, he’d bring us into the bar and let me slide the pucks back and forth on the shuffleboard table. I swept my hand back and forth in front of me until I touched the table. Running my hand along the side of it, I moved forward one small step at a time.

  The rain pounded down on the bar’s tin roof like bullets. Lightning lit up the room, followed by a barrage of thunder that sounded like a fireworks finale on the Fourth of July. The door slammed shut behind us. I took another small step, and a hand closed around my right ankle.

  I shrieked and jumped back.

  “SHHH,” Jimmy said in a stage whisper. “Shhh. Quick, under the table.”

  “Jimmy, you gave me a heart attack,” I said, slithering under the table. “Thank God you’re okay. Where’s Denny?”

  “SHHH!” Louanne joined us. “Someone’s coming.”

  “Jimmy,” Maggie whispered, moving in beside us, “are you—”

  A door opened, and I turned my head in the direction of the sound—the kitchen door. A flashlight beam was slowly moving back and forth across the room, heading right our way. All the person had to do was shine it lower, and he’d see us. We were trapped.

  “Goddamn little fools,” a deep voice shouted in a voice I couldn’t place. “I know you’re in here. You ain’t gonna get out alive.”

  Jimmy gasped. Maggie stuck her hand over his mouth and shook her head.

  The man walked down the aisle past the shuffleboard table, his footsteps crunching on the dirty floor just inches away from where we were huddled together. It was so dark I couldn’t see his face. He locked the main door and dragged chairs and tables over in front of it, stacking them up on top of each other so we couldn’t escape.

  We pressed ourselves against the wall as his footsteps pounded by us on his way back to the kitchen. My heart was thumping and bumping faster than it ever had before.

  Jimmy whimpered, “Louanne, don’t let your uncle hurt us.”

  Louanne didn’t say anything.

  “Where’s Denny?” I whispered in Jimmy’s ear. “Where is he?”

  “Uncle Tony grabbed him,” Jimmy said with a sob. “I ran and hid, but he got Denny.”

  Time stood still. I was paralyzed—unable to speak or move. We had to get out of the bar and go for help, but I didn’t know how. The door closest to us had furniture piled in front of it. But then I remembered that the kitchen and the storeroom were behind the bar.

  “We have to get to the storeroom,” I said in a low voice. “There’s another door in there.”

  “That’s a bad idea,” Jimmy said. “I’m not going.”

  “Stay with me,” Maggie hissed. “You’ll be okay.”

  “No,” Jimmy cried. “I’m scared, I don’t want to.”

  “You have to,” Maggie said.

  “No I don’t. I’m not going.”

  “Shut up,” Maggie said. “Come on.”

  In the end, only three of us went. Jimmy was adamant; no matter how much we pleaded, he wouldn’t come.

  “We’ll get help and come back for you,” Maggie said. “Just stay back against the wall, and don’t make a sound.”

  I slithered out from under the table on my stomach and went straight back to the inside wall; then I crawled left along the baseboard until I felt the storeroom door and opened it.

  “Where are we?” Louanne whispered, standing up. “I’ve got slivers in my knees.”

  “In the storeroom,” I said, trying my best to see. “Close the door behind you; I’m going to find the back door so we can get out.”

  The walls were lined with shelves, and I slid my fingers along them, making my way to the back. Something soft crunched under my shoe, an animal howled in pain, and I screamed bloody murder. The thing scrambled up the shelves, knocking everything over trying to get away.

  “Grace,” Maggie said. “Are you okay?”

  “I stepped on something—maybe a rat,” I said, trying to calm myself down. “It scared the heck out of me.”

  “Rats don’t make that kind of noise, but cats do,” Louanne said.

  I felt my way along the back wall to the outside door. The door on the left that went into the kitchen was closed and locked from the other side. “Oh no. Don’t tell me…”

  “What?” Maggie said. “Is it a rat?”

  “There’s a bookcase blocking the back door,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “We’ve got a bigger problem than a rat.”

  CHAPTER 30

  The storm had passed; everything was quiet except for a faint splashing sound out in the bar.

  “What’s that noise?” Maggie whispered. “It sounds funny.”

  Someone was stomping around the bar throwing liquid on the walls and floor. I sniffed—the undeniable smell of gasoline seeped into the room.

  “Oh my God, Louanne,” Maggie hissed. “That splashing sound is gas—your uncle is going to burn us alive.”

  “We need to move the bookcase,” Louanne said. “We’ve got to get out.”

  “It won’t budge,” I said, pulling one side of it with all my might.

  Maggie pulled the other side. “It’s so heavy; I think it’s filled with bottles.”

  “Get the boxes off it. Hurry,” I said.

  There was a loud whooshing sound in the bar—the building was on fire.

  “We’re going to burn up,” Louanne said. “We’re going to die!”

  “Don’t, Lou,” Maggie said, breathing hard. “Keep working.”

  “There’s so many of these stupid things, and they’re heavy,” Louanne cried, grabbing another box.

  “Hurry!” Maggie said. “We’ve got to get out.”

  “Fire!” Louanne screamed. “Hear that? Fire!”

  Smoke seeped in under the doors, immediately heating up the room.

  “The fire’s moving so fast,” Maggie said, th
rowing the boxes off the shelves as fast as she could.

  “Take off your shirts, and jam them under the doors,” I said, peeling my shirt off. “That will stop the smoke from getting in.”

  “My blouse?”

  “Louanne,” I said, stuffing my shirt in the crack. “Do it. It’s easier to breathe by the floor.” I grabbed my chest. “But we’ve got to move the bookcase.”

  We lifted the last few boxes off of the shelves and tried to move the bookcase.

  “Maggie, grab this side with me, and pull,” I said.

  “There’s nothing to grip,” Maggie said. “My hands keep sliding.”

  “I know, but we’ve gotta try.”

  We pulled as hard as we could, and after a while the heavy bookcase moved a little.

  “It’s giving,” I said. “Come on; it’s coming.”

  Maggie coughed and slumped down on the floor. Louanne took her place, and after tugging as hard as we could, there was room for me to wedge myself between the bookcase and the door. I held my breath to make myself smaller and squeezed in. I tried to open the door, but it opened into the room—the only way out was to break the window, but I had nothing to hit it with. The fire crackled louder, my eyes stung from the smoke, and it hurt to breathe.

  I smelled Old Spice, felt my father’s presence, and punched my fist through the glass as hard as I could over and over. The rat screeched again, leaped past my head, and hurtled out the window. Everything went black; I couldn’t catch my breath, and I fell back against the bookcase.

  When I came to, I was outside on the grass with Denny, Maggie, and Louanne. Blood seeped out of the cuts on my right arm; I cradled it with my left hand, trying to stop the pain. Maggie was crying hysterically, and Louanne was attempting to comfort her.

  It sounded like every emergency vehicle in the county was coming. O’Malley, the fire truck, and the ambulance roared into the marina, one after the other. Mr. Nunnalley and his assistant jumped out of the ambulance and hurried over to where we were sitting. Firemen raced around the building assessing the situation. Captain Steele dashed inside Whitman’s carrying a long-handled axe—where had that been when we needed it? Mr. Howe and another fireman threw a ladder against the burning building and climbed up on the roof.