“Cool,” said Hayley.
“Ewww,” said Hetty. “I hate seaweed.”
“Before you knew it,” Uncle Nick continued, “people were talking about some mysterious Seaweed Strangler and blaming him for the whole shebang. Which was bad enough, but then old Mrs. Lindeman swore up and down that she was sitting on her porch one night and saw the boat—the one that disappeared—sail right past her house. Said she recognized it from the pictures. When she went down to the shore to get another look, it was gone. Perfectly clear night, she said. And she was just the first. After hers, there were lots more sightings—including one by your aunt Lillie. They all happened just before three o’clock in the morning—2:53, to be exact—or so people said. Problem was, the stories just got crazier and crazier, and whenever anybody sat up late trying to see it, they never saw anything.”
“I guess that explains that painting of Aunt Lillie’s up in my room,” Nicholas said. “The one called 2:53 A.M.”
“I’d forgotten about that,” Uncle Nick said, smiling at the memory it evoked. “Lillie was going to give that one to your dad, but I think she ended up liking it too much to give it away. It was one of her favorites.”
“Did she believe in the Seaweed Strangler?” Hetty asked.
“She believed that she saw a boat one night, and that’s about it. Nobody with half a brain believes in some creature running around the lake strangling folks with seaweed. The boat sank. Those two dingbats drowned. End of story.”
* * *
At seven-thirty the next morning, the four of them—plus Nick’s usual sailing partner, a life-jacket-wearing Pistol—sat in the cramped cockpit of Goblin, eating ham and eggs cooked by Nick on the tiny stove in the cabin below. He served it to them on translucent red plates (“Just like the ones in the book!” Hetty exclaimed) and started the day’s sailing lesson by pointing out, and then quizzing them on, the different sailing terms and parts of the boat: port and starboard, mast, boom, tiller, rudder, mainsail, mainsheet, winches, cleats, halyards, and so on, until Hayley declared that her memory was full.
“Sorry, Uncle Nick, but I just can’t remember another single thing. Can we please just go sailing?”
And off they went.
It was a perfect day to learn to sail. With the twins tucked safely out of the way in the cockpit, Nick showed Nicholas how to raise the mainsail with the boat pointing straight into the gentle wind, coiling the halyards neatly when he finished. Then, on the “go” signal, Nicholas unhooked the mooring line from the bow, Nick hauled in the slack in the mainsheet and pushed the tiller to starboard, and they were sailing.
No one said a word for several minutes as Goblin silently sliced through the ripples known to sailors as “cat’s paws.” Hayley was the first to break the spell, whispering to Hetty, “It’s so quiet.”
“It’s not always this quiet,” Nick said. “When you get a stiff north wind and some whitecaps, she’ll make some noise. Okay, Het, one more question for you: Are we on port or starboard tack?”
Hetty screwed up her face, looking left and then right. “Starboard?”
“That’s right! The wind is coming over the starboard side of the boat. And I think we’re ready for the jib. Nicholas! You think you can handle that? I’ll head into the wind a little bit to make it easier for you. Just get it up there and snug it up good and tight.”
Nicholas was a fast learner; he stood at the mast and pulled the halyard, raising the jib. When it was all the way up, he wrapped the line around the cleat just the way Nick had shown him.
“Good boy! Okay, Hayley, now, you see that line right there? That’s the jib sheet, and I want you to pull it in until that sail stops luffing, er, flapping. Good, good … perfect!”
With both sails drawing, Goblin picked up speed, her blue topsides digging in a bit deeper.
“How fast are we going?” Hetty asked, leaning over the rail to watch the water slip by.
“Twenty-five miles per hour,” Hayley guessed.
Nick had a good laugh at that. “Maybe four knots. Sailors use nautical miles, and one knot—or one nautical mile per hour—is a little more than a regular mile per hour.”
“No way, Uncle Nick,” said an incredulous Hayley. “We’re going faster than four miles per hour!”
“I’m afraid not,” he said. “Goblin is many things, but fast is not one of them. How are you girls coming with We Didn’t Mean to Go to Sea?”
“They just lost the anchor, and now they’re out at sea,” said Hayley. “It’s kind of scary.”
“Ah, but they’re in a sturdy little boat—just like this one.”
“Is this Goblin exactly like the one in the book?” Nicholas asked.
“Not exactly, but she’s pretty darn close—the closest thing I could find when I was looking for a design to build. They’re the same size, same basic hull shape, same sail plan. I always liked the look of the cutter rig. We’ll put up the stays’l later. Remember, that’s the sail on the little boom in front of the mast. Then maybe we can get her all the way up to five knots. All right, Nicholas, come back here so I can teach you how to steer.”
With a huge grin on his face, Nicholas sat on the cockpit seat opposite his uncle and took the tiller in his hand.
Nick showed him how to find a spot on the land to aim for, always watching the angle that the forestay made to the horizon, and how to make gentle corrections when he got off course. The twins watched his wake carefully, pointing out every little wiggle with a tsk-tsk.
“You’re a natural,” said Nick. “I can tell already that you’re going to be a good sailor—people either have a feel for it or they don’t. Now, you see that dark spot on the water ahead? That’s what we call a ‘puff,’ a place where the wind is stronger and, lots of times, where the direction of the wind changes a little, too. A good helmsman is always scanning the water ahead, looking for puffs, so he can prepare. This time, I want you to just do what you’ve been doing; pretend you didn’t see it, so you’ll feel it in the tiller.”
Nicholas bit his lip in anticipation, not sure what was going to happen when Goblin hit the darker water. He was on a steady course, aimed at a flagpole on the shore, when suddenly the boat heeled over several more degrees and started to turn to the right on its own. He pulled harder against the tiller, finding it difficult to stay on course for the flagpole, and glanced nervously at his uncle.
“You’re doing fine—doing fine. Now feel the difference when I do this.” As he let the mainsheet out a few inches, Goblin stood up noticeably. “Feel that in the tiller? Less pressure, right? Mainsheet’s kind of like the gas pedal. When you start to heel too much, take your foot off the gas a little.”
Nicholas nodded, getting back on his original course with no trouble.
“Let’s do it again,” said Hayley.
“Let’s not,” a more nervous Hetty replied.
“I’m sure we’ll have more opportunities,” said Nick. “But there’s lots more to do. Time to put you two to work.”
For the next three hours, Goblin made her way up and down the lake, never straying too far from home, and by lunchtime, the three Mettleson children, Nick declared, were no longer landlubbers. They were officially sailors. At noon, they anchored in the cove where their father had filmed the first scene in The Seaweed Strangler and feasted on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, carrot sticks, and warmish cans of soda.
The twins, eager to try out the minuscule sink, volunteered to clean the dishes while Nicholas and Nick scrubbed the decks. When the girls finished, they lay down on the cushions in the cozy little cabin and began to formulate a plan of their own.
“Can we sleep here tonight?” Hayley shouted up at her uncle. “It would be just like in the book!”
“Well, I hope not exactly,” he said. “I’d rather not have Goblin drifting out to sea in a heavy fog. But I don’t see why not, as long as I can have one of the long berths. I’m too tall—and too old—to sleep in the forepeak.”
“Jim
Brading slept on the floor,” Hetty reminded him.
“I’m definitely too old for that,” said Nick with a laugh. “It should be a nice night, and you kids can use your sleeping bags, I suppose.”
“Yay!” shouted the twins.
“Everybody ready for lesson number two?” Nick asked. “Come on, Nicholas. I’ll pull up the anchor, and you take us out of this cove.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” said Nicholas, saluting.
“We’re going to head for a buoy about three miles south of here; should take us an hour or so to get there. It’s going to be upwind, so we’ll have to tack back and forth a few times, and then we’ll have a nice reach back to the mooring.”
* * *
As the afternoon temperature rose to nearly ninety degrees, the wind died, until Goblin was barely ghosting along with Hetty at the tiller for the last mile or so. Nick was stretched out in the cockpit with his hat pulled down over his eyes while Nicholas and Hayley sat on the foredeck with their feet dangling over the side, daydreaming.
As they approached the mooring, Nick sat up. Hetty immediately tried to hand the tiller off to him, but they were moving so slowly that he waved her off. “You brought her this far. Just point it right at the mooring and Nicholas will do the rest.”
“Are you sure? Nicholas has never done this, either,” said Hetty from her seat in the cockpit.
“Positive,” said Nick. “Steady as she goes, Hetty. Hey, I think that’s going to be your new name: Steady Hetty.”
Hetty beamed as she gripped the tiller with both hands, guiding Goblin past a fishing boat and toward the mooring.
Nicholas reached over the bow to grab the stern of the waiting dinghy, which he then tied to Goblin’s stern. After double-checking that the mooring line was properly attached to the bow, he and Nick furled sails and tidied things up on deck while the twins prepared the cabin and chattered about the sleeping-aboard plan. Finally, they were ready to board the dinghy for the shore.
At the last moment, however, Nicholas decided to swim rather than ride. He stripped off his shirt and threw it and his shoes to Hetty in the dinghy. Then he dived off Goblin’s stern, splashing both twins in the process.
“Nicholas!” they squealed.
“It’s just water,” he said. “You should come in. It feels good.”
Nick, who already had one foot in the dinghy, suddenly changed his mind, too. He climbed back aboard Goblin and, to everyone’s complete surprise, leaped into the air and did a cannonball just inches from the dinghy, soaking the twins and sending them into a tizzy.
“Uncle Nick!”
“Nice cannonball!” shouted Nicholas, high-fiving his uncle, who then untied the dinghy, setting the twins adrift.
“Hey, you can’t do that,” Hayley cried.
Hetty stood with hands on hips. “What are we supposed to do now?”
“The first thing you should do is sit down,” Nicholas scolded. “And then, if I were you, I’d start rowing. You’ll make it to shore eventually. Unless the Seaweed Strangler gets you … or I capsize you!” He grabbed the gunwale of the dinghy and rocked it violently.
While Hetty screamed, Hayley chose a more practical solution. She picked up an oar and went right for Nicholas’s knuckles. Her second swing was too close for comfort, so he let go, laughing.
“Come on, Nicholas,” said Uncle Nick. “Race you to the dock!” He put his head down, his one arm and legs churning up the green-algae-tinted water. Even though his uncle had a five-yard head start, Nicholas took up the challenge. He dug in with each stroke and kicked with everything he had. The seventy-five yards between the mooring and the end of the dock was just enough for him to catch and, in his final strokes, pass his uncle. He reached up for the steel frame that supported the dock and hung from it, breathing hard.
“That was … farther … than I … thought,” Nicholas gasped.
Nick, only slightly winded, nodded. “How are the girls doing out there?”
“Not so good,” Nicholas answered, his breathing returning to normal. “They dropped one of the oars in the water and now they’re going in circles trying to get it back.”
“Think we should rescue them?”
“Nah. Let ’em figure it out. Hayley almost broke my fingers with that oar. She’s crazy.” With that, Nicholas hauled himself out of the water and up onto the dock. As he stood up, he was surprised to see someone walking down the dock toward him. He shook the water out of his hair and then blinked away the blurriness caused by the lake until he finally got a clear look at who it was. He almost fell off the dock when he realized that it was the girl from town—Charlie, the pitcher who struck him out on four pitches. Correction: the really cute pitcher who struck him out.
What is she doing here?
For a second—maybe two—confusion was the overwhelming emotion racing through his preteen brain. And then the real horror hit him.
Where is my shirt?
For Nicholas Mettleson, a little shy, a little short for his age, and a lot scrawny, standing shirtless in front of a girl—especially a pretty girl like Charlie Brennan—was a thousand times worse than being struck out by one. Ten thousand times, maybe.
His shirt, of course, was in the dinghy with Hayley and Hetty, who were still trying to retrieve the second oar.
“Hey, I know you,” Charlie said, smiling broadly. “You’re the kid I struck out yesterday. What are you doing here?”
Nicholas looked around in vain for a towel that he could throw over his shoulders at least. “Umm, my, uh, uh, my uncle lives here.”
Just then, Uncle Nick’s head popped up from underwater. “Hey, Charlie! Meet my nephew, Nicholas. He and his sisters—that’s them out in the dinghy—are spending the summer with me. Nicholas, Charlie here is just about the best pitcher you’ll ever see. Has a curve that can go around corners.”
Oh God. Here it comes, thought Nicholas.
But Charlie threw Nicholas a life ring. “Maybe I can show you sometime,” she said, winking right at him. “Nick taught me how to throw it.”
“Uh-huh,” mumbled Nicholas, not at all sure how to proceed with this strange ponytailed creature.
“Mom sent over a big tray of lasagna for you, Nick,” Charlie said. “It’s in the kitchen. I had it on the back of my bike and almost dropped it.”
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t—would have been a crime. Nicholas, Charlie’s mom makes the best lasagna in town—maybe the whole state—and she’s not even Italian. Hey, I’ve got an idea, Charlie. Why don’t you stay for dinner? Get to know these three—tell ’em that life out here in the country isn’t so bad. I’ve been trying my best, but they’re more likely to believe it coming from someone their own age.”
Charlie grinned. “I’ll have to call Mom, but I’m sure she’ll be okay with it.”
“Tell her to come, too,” Nick said. “If I know her, she made enough for a small army.” He looked out at the twins, who were making slow progress toward the dock. “We’re not quite that many—more of a platoon, I suppose.”
Charlie’s attention turned to the twins. “Are they okay out there? I mean, they don’t seem to know what they’re doing. Maybe I’d better help them.” She pulled her T-shirt over her head and stepped out of her shorts, revealing a peach-colored bathing suit underneath. With no hesitation, she dived off the dock and aimed for the dinghy. She stayed underwater for several long seconds, finally surfacing halfway to her objective. When she reached the girls, she held on to the transom and pushed them toward the dock, kicking noisily all the way.
Once they were safely at the dock, Hayley stuck her tongue out at Nicholas as she ceremoniously dropped his shirt in the lake, and then she and Hetty walked back to the house with their new best friend Charlie, one on each side and peppering her with questions.
* * *
Dear Dad,
First sail on Goblin today—a BLAST. Wondering why you never talked about sailing. Uncle Nick says you loved it when you were a kid—??
> The twins are homesick, especially Hetty. She called Mom and told her she wanted to go home RIGHT NOW. Mom told her it was either here or Aunt Betty’s house on Long Island. Suddenly she wasn’t homesick anymore.
Love,
Nicholas
CHAPTER FOUR
A few hours later, Charlie’s mom pulled in the driveway at Nick’s, and Nick sent Nicholas out to help carry in the huge bowls of Caesar salad and green beans and the two loaves of homemade garlic bread that Charlie and her mom had made to complete the Italian feast that was taking shape.
“Um, can I help?” said Nicholas, approaching the car. “I’m Nicholas.”
As Charlie’s mom was handing him the bowl of green beans, she got her first close look at him and stopped suddenly.
“Oh my,” she said, continuing to stare at Nicholas, who didn’t know what to make of the situation.
Luckily, Charlie rescued him. “Come on, Mom, let’s go inside. You have to meet the twins. They’re hilarious. And besides, I’m starving.”
Nicholas held the screen door open for them, but even when the twins came running down the stairs and into the kitchen, followed by Pistol in all his tail-wagging glory, Charlie’s mom still didn’t seem able to look away from Nicholas.
“Hi, Fran,” said Uncle Nick, kissing her on the cheek. “And hello again, Charlie. Thank you both for the feast—and the company. And I see you’ve met my boarders. These are Will’s kids—Nicholas, Hayley, and Hetty.”
Nicholas’s ears had perked up at Charlie’s mom’s name.
Fran? As in Franny? As in Dad’s old girlfriend?
Nicholas was so busy making connections to the letter he’d found that he hardly noticed her reaction to learning who he was.
One of her hands flew to her mouth as she whispered, “Will,” and she almost dropped the salad bowl, juggling it for a few seconds before getting it back under control. “Omigosh, I’m so sorry. It’s just—for a second there, I thought I had stepped into a time machine.”
Summer at Forsaken Lake Page 4