Summer at Forsaken Lake

by Michael D. Beil

  For a full minute, they just lay on their backs, recovering from those few seconds of terror and breathing hard from the burst of activity and the rush of adrenaline. And then they busted out laughing.

  “You should have seen the look on your face!” Charlie said. “You looked exactly like you did when I threw that curveball at you.”

  “I was trying to figure out how we were going to explain it,” Nicholas said. “I had this image of us standing out there in the middle of the lake—no boat in sight.”

  “Maybe we don’t tell your uncle about this.” Charlie looked in the direction of Uncle Nick’s house, but it was too far away to make out any details. “I don’t think anybody saw us—except maybe the guys in that fishing boat. And Pistol,” she added, patting his head. “Thanks for all your help, boy.”

  Nicholas, agreeing that this was no time for full disclosure, took the tiller in his hands and pointed Goblin back out to the center of the lake.

  * * *

  But someone had seen them. Despite his apparent nonchalance as they left the mooring, Uncle Nick watched their progress across the lake through binoculars. As they approached the sandbar, he cringed, remembering that he hadn’t pointed it out. He crossed his fingers, hoping they would just miss it, and groaned when he saw that they had stopped.

  “Here, take a look at this,” he said, handing the binoculars to Hayley.

  She stared through them at Goblin for some time. “Why aren’t they moving?”

  “Remember We Didn’t Mean to Go to Sea? After they lost the anchor and started sailing away, what were the kids most worried about?”

  “The promise they made to their mom not to go to sea?”

  “And what else?”

  “The shoals?”

  “That’s right. Well, Nicholas and Charlie found a little shoal all their own.”

  Hayley’s eyes grew wide. “Are they gonna sink?”

  “No—the only damage will be to their pride,” Uncle Nick said. “If they start the engine, they should be able to back her right off. Here, let me see.” He looked through the binoculars again, shaking his head and smiling. “No, no, Nicholas. Stay aboard the boat.”

  “What’s happening?” asked Hetty.

  Uncle Nick narrated the rest of the action across the lake, roaring with laughter at the climactic moment when Goblin slid herself off the sandbar, leaving Nicholas and Charlie standing helplessly while Pistol and Goblin sailed away. He was never really concerned for their safety, because they could just stand there on the sandbar until he came to rescue them, and with the wind blowing down the lake as it was, he knew Goblin could drift slowly along for a long time before running into anything.

  He handed the binoculars to Hetty. “Everyone’s back aboard, and they’re sailing. They’re both looking this way—probably want to see if we’re watching.”

  “It’s a good thing we were,” said Hayley.

  “Are they in trouble?” Hetty asked. “I think they should be. Specially Nicholas.”

  “Why him especially?” Uncle Nick asked. “I’d have to say they’re both equally involved. Nobody’s in trouble—accidents happen, and this one was my fault as much as anyone’s. Ladies, we’re not going to say a word about this—right?”

  Hayley pouted for a few seconds, disappointed at losing a good opportunity to make her big brother a little bit miserable. “What if they say something first?”

  “Well, now—that’s a whole different pail o’ worms,” answered Uncle Nick.

  * * *

  Two hours later, after an uneventful sail to the far south end of the lake, Goblin approached her mooring with Charlie at the tiller and Nicholas standing on the bow with the boat hook, ready to pick up the float at the end of the mooring line. The wind had freshened a bit, but Charlie did her job perfectly, releasing the jib sheet and turning directly into the wind at the last moment, slowing the boat dramatically and giving Nicholas the opportunity to snag the line and snap it onto the bow. Charlie met him on the foredeck and high-fived him. They had done it: they had lived to tell the tale of their first adventure (without Uncle Nick) on the high seas. When they finished folding and stowing and tidying, Nicholas stood for a moment in the cockpit, imagining that Goblin was his own and he had just returned from a long ocean voyage from some exotic port.

  Someday.

  * * *

  July 9

  Dear Dad,

  Best summer E-VER.

  Me and Charlie sailing Goblin, Nick onshore. No big deal—we rocked it.

  Your son (the expert sailor), Nicholas

  * * *

  Set well back from Nick’s house was an old barn, its red paint now faded to a soft patina, the slate roof missing a tile here and there, but still standing as straight and tall as it had for more than a hundred and fifty years. Once upon a time, it held a herd of registered Holsteins, but it had been many years since any livestock called it home. Now it was a workshop. Where once there had been box stalls, Uncle Nick built Goblin; the braces that held the hull in place during construction still leaned against the walls. Earlier in the summer, just a few days after arriving, Nicholas had noticed a neatly painted white rectangle on one outside wall, and asked Nick about it.

  “Strike zone,” he answered. “For your average Little Leaguer. This is where I taught Charlie how to pitch. Do you want me to teach you?”

  “Actually, I’m more interested in learning how to hit a curveball. Can you show me that?”

  “Happy to. The only problem is, with my shoulder acting up the way it is, I can’t put any mustard on the ball anymore. Best thing would be to have Charlie pitch to you.”

  “Oh, great.”

  Nick chuckled. “Don’t sweat it, Nicholas. You’re not the first boy to be struck out by a girl. And you won’t be the last—especially if Charlie Brennan has anything to do with it. At one of her games this year, she struck out nine in a row. But if I can teach her to throw it, I can teach you to hit it.”

  * * *

  But it was the hayloft inside the barn that held the real surprise for Nicholas and Charlie, who climbed the ladder one hot, windless afternoon a few days after that first sail without Nick. Back in the farthest corner, a heavy canvas tarp with several years’ accumulation of dust and pigeon droppings covered an object about twelve feet long and five feet wide.

  Despite the kids’ fear of disturbing whatever critters might be lurking beneath it, curiosity got the best of them, and they slowly pulled a few feet of the tarp back.

  “It’s a sailboat,” said Nicholas, running his hand over the unfinished wood deck.

  “Wonder what it’s doing up here,” said Charlie. “Let’s uncover it all the way.”

  Still wary of the dust—and things that creep, crawl, or slither—they slowly removed the tarp and began their full investigation of the mysterious, not-quite-completed vessel that clearly had been hidden away for a long, long time. They were immediately awed by its graceful curves and the expanses of wood on the deck and in the cockpit.

  “Omigosh. It’s beautiful,” said Charlie. “What’s it doing up here?”

  “It looks like somebody was building it, and they just gave up. It’s, like, ninety-five percent done, I think.”

  “I think you’re right,” Charlie said. “Looks to me like it just needs some paint and varnish. And some of the rigging stuff—the cleats and the rest of the hardware.”

  “And a mast. And a boom. And sails,” added Nicholas, continuing to poke his head into every corner of the hull. “All right, so maybe it’s ninety percent done.”

  “Do you think Nick built it?” asked Charlie. “Maybe he started building Goblin and just never got back to this one.”

  Nicholas pointed to a small brass plaque screwed into the wood on the side of the centerboard trunk. “Well, that answers a few questions.”

  Heron Class Dinghy

  Designed by Jack Holt

  Built by

  Nick and Will Mettleson

  Charlie
squeezed in next to Nicholas so she could read it, too. “So, your dad and Nick built it? That is cool.”

  “Yeah, well, I think there might be more to this story.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Let’s go inside,” Nicholas said. “There’s something you need to see.”

  * * *

  The creases in Charlie’s forehead grew deeper and deeper as she read the letter from her mom to Nicholas’s dad. When she got to the end, she went right back to the beginning and read it again.

  Finally, she looked up at Nicholas. “When you found it, was it still folded?”

  “Uh-huh. Like one of those paper footballs. It was kind of in a corner; I missed it the first time, when I found the movie.”

  “I can’t believe my mom wrote this. It’s so … romantic. They must have been, what, fourteen or fifteen? But what does she mean in this part where she talks about your dad getting blamed for everything? What happened?”

  Nicholas shrugged. “No idea. Dad never told me anything. Neither did my mom, and she usually likes to tell me about all the bad stuff he did, especially since they got divorced. Maybe he never told her, either.”

  Charlie took one more look at the letter before refolding it and handing it back to Nicholas. “You know, I’ll bet your dad never saw this. Think about it. Mom sneaks in here on Sunday morning while everybody’s at church and puts the letter in their secret hiding place. In the letter, she says your dad’s parents were coming to get him Sunday afternoon, but what if they showed up a little early and he never had the chance to look? You said yourself it was still folded up. Why would he read it, refold it, and put it back? It just doesn’t make sense.”

  “I guess it’s possible,” said Nicholas. He wasn’t sure why it mattered one way or the other.

  “Nicholas! This letter is … an important piece of history. If your dad never read it, he may not have known how my mom felt about him, and maybe he never wrote to her because he was expecting a letter from her that never came. Omigosh, it’s so tragic.”

  “Hold on,” said Nicholas. “Don’t you think that’s a little dramatic? It was a long time ago. And what are we supposed to do about it now? Your mom got married. So did my dad.”

  “And divorced.”

  “So?” A pause. “Oh no. You’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking. Are you?”

  Charlie smiled at him—the very same smile she’d flashed at him after striking him out—and started down the spiral staircase. “Come on, let’s go look at that little boat again. I have an idea.”

  * * *

  “It can’t hurt to ask,” Charlie said, caressing the smooth deck of the Heron.

  “It does seem like kind of a waste, just sitting up here collecting dust,” Nicholas agreed.

  “And pigeon poop,” added Charlie.

  Hayley, standing on the top step of the ladder, stuck her head up into the hayloft. “Cool. What are you guys doing up here?”

  “Hayley! Get down from there before you get hurt,” Nicholas scolded. “Where’s Hetty?”

  “Right behind me,” said Hayley. “We’re not babies, you know, Nicholas. We know how to climb a ladder. Come on up, Hetty. Nicholas is just mad because we’re interrupting him and Chaaarlieeee. Aren’t you, Nicholas?”

  “No,” said Nicholas, glad that the hayloft was dark enough that they wouldn’t see him blush. “For your information, we were just looking at this boat.”

  Hayley clambered through the opening in the floor, followed by the slightly more cautious Hetty, and soon both were oohing and aahing over the striking little day sailer perched in the unlikeliest of settings.

  Before long, Nick began to wonder where everyone had disappeared to, and stuck his head into the barn. “Nicholas? Girls? You in here?”

  Nicholas leaned over the edge of the loft. “Yep, we’re all up here.”

  Nick grunted.

  “We found a beautiful little boat!” Hetty exclaimed.

  “I think he probably knows about it,” said Nicholas.

  Nick knew this day was inevitable, but he still wasn’t quite prepared for it as he climbed the ladder to the hayloft.

  “So you found her,” he said gruffly, pulling himself to his feet with a helping hand from Nicholas.

  “You and Dad built this? It’s amazing,” Nicholas said.

  “Your dad was being nice, putting my name on that plaque,” Nick said. “He did all the work. I just gave him a little advice now and then. And maybe a little lumber.” He rubbed his hand down the length of the starboard gunwale, reminiscing. “She’s a beaut, no?”

  “Is it fast?” Charlie asked.

  “Oh, I’m sure she’d scoot right along in a little breeze. These little boats are very popular in England, partly because they’re so stable. Hard to capsize. Thousands of them, most homebuilt like this one. Your dad saw a picture of one in a magazine and sent away for the plans. Spent most of two summers working on it. Shame he didn’t—”

  “Can you take us out on it?” Hayley interrupted. “It’s so cute.”

  “Adorable, really,” added Hetty.

  Nick scrunched up his face, scratching his chin and squinting at Nicholas and the twins. “Well, it may not be my place to say, but after all these years, I don’t think your dad would object to somebody finally finishing her up. It’s kind of a shame, her sittin’ up here like this. But I have to warn you, she still needs a good bit of work before she’ll be ready to sail. Think you’d be up for that?”

  Charlie and Nicholas nodded enthusiastically.

  Nick sighed. “Well, I suppose she’s been imprisoned long enough.”

  “Why is it up here, anyway?” Hayley asked. “Why didn’t Daddy finish it?”

  “Long story,” Nick answered, not offering to tell it.

  “Does it have a motor?” Hetty asked.

  Nick found an oar leaning against the wall and showed it to her. “Yep. Finest kind. Look, I think this one even has your name carved into the handle. H-E-T-T-Y,” he teased. “There’s a suit of sails somewhere in the house. Will bought them used from a fellow from Cleveland. If I had to guess, I’d say they’re probably in the back of that hall closet.”

  “Is there anything you don’t have in that closet?” Nicholas asked.

  Nick laughed. “You sound just like Lillie.”

  Hayley cleared her throat to interrupt. “Um, don’t we have a little problem here, people? The boat is in a hayloft.”

  “Oh, don’t let that bother you,” Nick said. “I got her up here; I can get her down. There’s a block and tackle around here somewhere we can use to lower her over the edge.”

  Hetty walked all the way around the boat, then stood with her arms crossed. “She doesn’t have a name.”

  “Hetty, the boat isn’t even painted yet,” said Nicholas. “The name won’t go on until last.”

  “IMP!” shouted Hayley and Hetty together. Imp was the name of the dinghy used by Goblin’s owner in the book to go between his mooring and shore.

  “Please, pretty please, Great-uncle Nick—allow us to name her Imp,” said Hetty in the fake British accent she’d started using after reading We Didn’t Mean to Go to Sea. “It’s ever so perfect.”

  Nicholas and Charlie laughed at Hetty’s over-the-top plea.

  “I thought you didn’t like books, Hetty,” said Nicholas.

  “Most books,” she replied, doing her best to sound like a sophisticated English child. “That one is quite special.”

  * * *

  Nicholas was in his room reading over the faded construction plans for the Heron and suddenly feeling a little intimidated by the childhood version of his own dad. A movie. A boat. A girl, even. Who said she loved him.

  Yikes. Not sure I’m ready for that.

  And all at the age of fourteen.

  I have a couple of years to catch up.

  Nick knocked on the staircase and then slowly spiraled his way into the tower room. “Now I remember why I don’t come up here that often
,” he joked as he sat on the edge of Nicholas’s bed and took a few deep breaths. “This room is meant for young people. Ah, I see you’re looking at the plans. Nifty little boat.”

  “Did you have plans like these for Goblin?”

  “Very similar. Building big boats is a lot like building little ones.”

  “I wonder why Dad never told me about this,” said Nicholas.

  Nick nodded. “Yes, about that. Tell me, Nicholas, did your dad ever say anything … well, about what happened the last summer he stayed here with me and Lillie?”

  Nicholas shook his head. “It was something bad, right?”

  “What makes you think that?”

  Nicholas thought about the letter and all that it revealed about his dad, but decided that this wasn’t the time to bring it up. “I don’t know. I just have a feeling. You know, the movie—he didn’t finish that, and now this boat. So close to being done. Something bad must have happened.”

  “Not much gets past you, does it?” Nick said. “For tonight, let’s just leave it at that. It was all a long time ago. For now, I think your dad will be pleased that you’re going to finish up the Heron.”

  “I’m going to keep it a secret from him,” Nicholas said. “I want it to be a surprise when … if he ever comes out here.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Nicholas woke with a start at 2:53 a.m. He had fallen asleep while reading an old National Geographic about Robin Lee Graham, the sixteen-year-old boy who sailed his boat, Dove, around the world, and wondering if he would be ready for a journey like that in four years’ time. He reached up and turned off his reading light, and was surprised that the moonlight pouring into the tower room was still bright enough to read by. Out on the lake, the lunar spotlight fell directly on Goblin, tap-dancing on the rippled surface of the cove.

  He was about to turn away and try to go back to sleep when something far out on the lake caught his eye. He blinked his eyes a couple of times to make sure he wasn’t seeing things, but there was no doubt about it: someone was out sailing! By the time he saw it, the boat was nearly at the edge of his line of vision, and within seconds was out of sight. If Nicholas hadn’t at that moment looked at Aunt Lillie’s painting, mysteriously titled 2:53 A.M., which seemed to capture a moment exactly like the one he had just witnessed, he probably would have crawled back into his bed without another thought. But he did see it, and it was all just too much of a coincidence for him.