Voyage of the Dreadnaught: Four Stella Madison Capers

by Lilly Maytree

  Ten minutes and many charades later, Cole was headed to the workshop area beside the engine room to rummage through a shelf of books and manuals for one called, Backyard Boats Book. And considering the last time he did this had resulted in building the waterwheel, they were fairly certain their captain was trying to direct them in the most practical way to make necessary repairs to the Dreadnaught. Which was only partly right.

  He wanted them to build another boat, entirely.

  It was a small, squat-looking thing that resembled more of a tugboat than a motor-cruiser. However, the plans (included in the Backyard Boats Book) were amazingly simple. Something about being built from the “chine” method, which required no complicated bending of the wood. Anywhere. In fact, Mason calculated they could actually have such a project completed—and ready to launch—before Christmas.

  In spite of its looks, it would be well-balanced and seaworthy. The one drawback was that all working systems would have to be scavenged from the Dreadnaught, making it fairly probable that the old ship would never get off the rocks, again. At least, not without investing much more than she was worth to make it happen. A thought that sent a wave of remorse through the family, since it had been their only home for so many months, now.

  That, and the fact the new boat would only be large enough for three.

  3

  Of course, there was no question about who would go. The two who needed medical attention, and the only able-bodied seaman among them who could handle a boat in the rough coastal waters of winter. The rest would have to stay with the Dreadnaught. At least long enough for their “forward group” to get whatever medical help they needed, then locate the abandoned lodge they had been headed for in the first place. Who knew if it was even livable enough to move into? It was a mission that could take anywhere from a week, to a month, or even longer. Depending on where the group landed.

  It was a dangerous undertaking, no matter how Stella looked at it, but no one was talking about that part. Although she was certain everyone was thinking about it. Even more since Lou Edna had declared her intentions to take the Senator (the name she had given her son, so he would have some advantage in life) along with them. The young woman's reasoning being that she trusted Cole enough to paddle them to safety on a surfboard, if he had to. So, that was that. It was a point the others might have argued against, and prevailed. Except those left behind might even be worse off, should there be some reason they were never rescued, at all.

  A fact which rested heavier on Millie, each day, as she watched the Mah-Bo II taking shape, right before her eyes. Once they had set up another covered work area (so large it blocked out their former view of the waterfall from the galley porthole), the men had been working feverishly on the new project, every day. Almost as if they knew something the women didn't. At least, that's what Stella was thinking, as she and Millie were having a cup of tea, while they were on fire-watch, some five weeks after construction began.

  “Funny we're almost through October, and it doesn't seem half as cold as when we first got here.” Stella stirred a squirt of lemon juice into her tea, along with a spoon of brown sugar. “You think we're getting used to the weather? Or it's maybe just another sign of global warming.”

  “Definitely global warming.” Millie held her cup between her hands and blew gently on it before taking a sip. “Wouldn't surprise me if the whole northwest didn't feel the same as California in the next ten years. If they don't blow up the planet before then.”

  “I thought you said only part of it would get blown up. Otherwise what's the point of collecting so much food for? You've got enough in your famine chest to last ten years, already. What with the way you've been packing away fish and canning berries.”

  “Depends on how many people you end up having to share with. Seems I collect people the same way furniture collects dust.”

  Stella laughed at that, because it was so true. Especially since she had to admit she was one of those “dust people,” herself. She and Millie had gone over many end-of-the-world scenarios on this trip. It was one of the subjects she could always count on to get a good conversation going when one was desperately needed. Like now. Except just when she would have been perfectly content to let Millie sail into her favorite subject, and out of the swamps of despair that had been coming on, Stella was suddenly struck with a most brilliant idea. She gasped, set her cup down on the wood stump between their two deck chairs, and jumped to her feet.

  “What!” Millie sprung to her feet, too, and began fumbling out of her leather work gloves to unzip her jacket and get at her gun. “Oh, dear God—is it a bear?”

  “No, of course not. I haven't seen one this close since you fired off that first shot and we started keeping the signal fire. “It's just that—”

  “Stel, you almost gave me another heart attack!”

  “Well, it caught me off guard.”

  “What did.”

  “The Dreadnaught. Sitting there like some big hulking elephant with a broken leg.”

  “But it's looked like that for ages, now.” Millie sighed and sat down in her chair, again. “It's one of the things that's so depressing about all this. Even shored up to level, again, it looks like some ramshackle tenement building in downtown L.A. I've never had to live so low in my life—I never have. I'm not cut out for it. Every improvement Mason adds onto it—for our comfort, he says—makes it look worse and worse.” She picked up her tea, again. “He used to do beautiful work back at the Villa Nofre. He's just in too big a hurry, here. Never takes time to finish anything.”

  “That's the idea I had this very minute, Millie. Why don't you and I finish it?”

  “Me? I couldn't hammer a nail straight if you paid me.”

  “Not the carpentry part. The painting part. Let's paint the whole thing from top to bottom. Just think how much better it will make everyone feel.”

  “Well... it would definitely give me something else to do besides knitting one sock over and over to settle my nerves.” She pursed her lips together for a moment and thought about it. “There's plenty of paint, too. Did you notice how many cans Stuart had to drag out of the pantry just to get all our food in?”

  “I certainly did.”

  “That's all that was in there was paint. Most of it in those big five-gallon cans, too.”

  “Paint, paint, and more paint.”

  “Let's do it.”

  A resolve that lost a bit of enthusiasm, later on, when they realized there were only three colors in all those cans. Black, white, and a rather rusty red color that had something of a metallic smell to it. However, their spirits rose, again, when they realized how much better things would look with a fresh coat of anything on the outside cabin areas (which hadn't been painted in so long they were grease-stained and gray), and over the new wooden additions Mason had enclosed several of the decks with. Living in a rainforest had made it necessary to add more covered areas.

  Since nearly a third of the outside decks on the starboard side of the ship had now been turned into a greenhouse (something that went a long way toward making Gerald's cabin look less like a jungle, and actually brought him out into the sun more often), and the entire stern deck had been screened in with netting to keep out mosquitoes, their comfort levels had risen considerably. Not to mention the addition to the wheelhouse on the upper deck, that nearly tripled the space where Stuart lived, since he moved out of the chief engineer's cabin, next to the engine room. Now, he had large windows on three sides, and could see for miles all around. Right from his comfortable leather chair behind the wheel. He even had a door to the outside decks. Comforts, indeed!

  Something that made Stella wonder if the captain had any idea how much better he had things, out in this wilderness, than if he were jammed into some rehab center with hundreds of other people. Not that Gerald wasn't right about him needing therapy—he had a temper like a hornet, and about as much patience as a wet cat. But it seemed to her that he was steadily improving as the days went
by. Even more so since he had been using the walking stick. Why, he hadn't had a major blow-up in weeks. Which is why it came as such a surprise when he discovered what she and Millie had been doing with his paint. If he could have got only one word out that was understandable... she was sure it would have been a swear word.

  Their only salvation was that they could outrun him.

  4

  It was Cole who finally settled things, when he explained that the rust-colored “bottom paint” was mixed with copper to ward off sea-growth (and other living things) from attaching to the wood. It was extremely expensive. In fact, it was actually one of the reasons their hull had begun to rot in the first place. The Captain had not painted the Dreadnaught's bottom in nearly five years. He was on a fixed income since he retired, and it had taken that long just to collect enough of the stuff to cover such a large area. That, and to save up for the expense of hauling a vessel that size (eighty feet long) out of the water and into a commercial yard, to do it.

  None of which had happened before they embarked on their long voyage.

  In the end, the women apologized (even though Stuart should have been the one to apologize for chasing them with a walking stick) and reluctantly agreed to use only the black, or white. And, of course, the fifteen gallons of “taupe” they had concocted by mixing all three colors together. And while Stuart only agreed on that point because it was ruined for bottom paint after diluting so much, anyway, he still grumbled every time they brought it out to paint the trim.

  “Oh, he'll get over it,” Millie reasoned, “when he sees how much better it looks after we're done. I just wish we could work faster. A grouch in the crowd is like having a rotten potato in the bin. It only takes one to make the whole place smell.”

  That's when Stella came up with the idea of using a mop, instead of brushes and rollers, for the larger areas. Something that proved way too exhausting because of the weight (even with the strings cut short), until Lou Edna pitched into the project and took over that part. Leaving the other two to the more artistic job of painting on trim in places where there wasn't any. Which is how it came to be that such things as shutters and a bit of Victorian Era “gingerbread” began to appear in various spots, making the vessel look more like a floating hotel, instead of a boat.

  A transformation that so appealed to the ladies, they even painted a fancy sign to hang off the stern rail (where Stuart couldn't see it, but anyone who might come into their inlet would) with the words “The Last Resort” painted on. Then, in smaller letters underneath, “Visitors Welcome.” By the time they were finished, and had even decorated with potted ferns gathered from the woods (some hanging, and some set out on the decks) it actually began to take on the atmosphere of a wonderfully unique vacation spot rather than a shipwreck.

  Something that not only went a long way toward lifting Millie's spirits, but everyone else's, besides. Including Captain Stuart's. Whose new favorite place turned out to be a little covered area outside the wheelhouse (decorated with deck furniture and potted ferns), where he could supervise the construction of the Mah-Bo II from all angles, without having to so much as leave his chair.

  The new boat was set up on skids that would allow it to slide right down into the water when it was ready to launch. An event that happened at sunrise, sometime around the middle of November, on a particularly clear, still, day before the first snow. The crew of three (and a half) did not want to run into heavy seas before they got away from the rocks, and out into the middle of the strait. A place they at least hoped the weather channels would start coming in again on the radio, and they would be able to take some proper bearings.

  The colonel said a prayer of blessing over them all, and—after a few brief hugs—the Mah-Bo II chugged out of the inlet under the power of the Dreadnaught's cleaned-up engine, fitted out with new hoses, filters, and anything else they could replace from what they had spares for. The little craft looked stout and nautical. Especially with its black hull, white cabin top, and two coats of that expensive bottom paint below the waterline (which couldn't be seen, but it was a comfort just knowing it was there). And even though they all agreed it was better not to drag out such times...

  It was a sad parting.

  Gerald smoothed down his mustache and then jammed his hands into his coat pockets. “Well, I better go check the temperature in my greenhouse... or, something.”

  “Let's set on another pot of coffee.” Mason put a comforting arm around Millie, who had rivers of silent tears streaming down her face, as she watched half her family slip out of sight.

  “Stella and I brought ours in the thermos,” said the colonel. “Thought it might be good to start the signal fire early, today.”

  Which is how it happened that everyone drifted off into different places in order to get over those first few hours of almost unbearable emptiness that comes from loved ones having to depart under questionable circumstances. Even Stella and the colonel—who never lacked for subjects to talk about—found it difficult to make light conversation. Instead, she sat in one of the deck chairs under the three-sided fireside shelter, and watched him build and light the fire. In no particular hurry.

  To tell the truth, it was all she could do to keep from thinking about that toddler, as happy and bouncy as he always was, looking more adorable than ever in his yellow slicker, rain hat, and rubber boots. A miniature version of the foul-weather gear fisherman wore. Oh, she missed him, already!

  “Well, dearest,” the colonel finally sat down in the chair next to her as the fire began to crackle and roar, “I have a confession to make.”

  “I can't imagine what it would be, Oliver. You're about the most perfect person I've ever known.”

  Which gave him a small chuckle and he reached across to take hold of her hand. “Love is blind, as the saying goes.”

  “Rather a nice handicap, if you ask me.”

  “Never-the-less, I think it only fair to apologize for making decisions which could possibly lead us to having to spend the rest of our lives here.”

  “Seems I remember we all had a vote in that,” she reminded him, “and it was unanimous, too. But, dear, you don't—” Stella felt a sudden catch in her throat, and had to wait a few seconds before she could even speak the words. “You're not saying you think they won't make it, are you? Because I couldn't bear that. Oh, why did we even let them—”

  “Not in the least, not in the least.” He gave her hand a squeeze for emphasis. “On the contrary, I'm more impressed with that boat than I ever thought I could be. Turned out surprisingly well.”

  “What then. The weather?”

  “I think even if they do hit bad weather, it'll bear up fine enough to allow them to run into a cove somewhere and wait it out. No...” He sighed a heavy sigh. “It's nothing to do with the boat, or their capabilities. It's—”

  A piece of kindling burned through and sent a larger stick of wood tumbling from the pile. The colonel paused long enough to get up and pick up another one to push it back into the flames, again. “No, it's the possibility we might have set them up with the opportunity to...” He returned to his seat. “Abscond with everything we've got and, um... never tell a living soul we're out here.”

  Stella gasped. They had all turned over debit cards and lists for things they needed to be brought back (what with the holidays, and all). “But Oliver—dear! It was you who suggested it. You even handed yours over, first. Now you're having second thoughts?”

  “No, not second thoughts. I knew right off it would be a difficult temptation for Lou. At the same time, I also knew she needed to feel the depth of our belief in the changes she's made. Trusting her, it seemed to me, would have the biggest impact. Anyway, I saw the chance and took it. Which I shouldn't have done—I only just now realized—without consulting you. And everyone else, as well.”

  There was a long silence (she couldn't help it, she was shocked).

  “That said, I should probably also tell you this isn't the first time I've made suc
h hasty, ill-thought -out decisions. I've made them all my life. It's one of the reasons my first wife divorced me and married someone else.” He sighed, again. “There. Better to have all that out in the open, than to go on letting you think I'm so perfect. I really don't know why everyone in this family believes I have the answers to everything. I never did. And I'm not some prophet with a personal line to God's ear, either. Nobody is.”

  Stella thought for a few moments, breathed in the fragrant woodsmoke, and then looked out across the meadow, to where the sunlight was just beginning to touch the tops of the far-off forest. It occurred to her just then that she actually loved it here. “You know something, Oliver?”

  “Whatever you think, I won't blame you. No doubt about that.”

  “What I think is... this might be just the right time to tell you why my driver's license says I'm eighty-two, instead of sixty-three.”

  “Whatever the reason, I can't still blame you,” the colonel insisted. “Not now. Not knowing the way you are, and loving you so much for it.”

  A statement that went a long way in giving Stella the courage to tell. “Well, it's a story that goes back a long time. So, I guess I should start at the beginning.”

  “Always best to start at the beginning,” he agreed. “Always.”

  “All right, then.” Now, it was her turn to take a deep breath, and she took one before plunging in.

  5

  “I was raised in the most wonderful, fun-loving family, Oliver,” she began. “I really was. My parents were both teachers, and they loved each other immensely. They married late in life, and I was their only child.”

  “I knew that delightful optimism had to come from somewhere,” he replied. “Go on.”