“Okay, but what makes you so sure he has the movie camera?” Charlie asked.
“Because the second I remembered his name, his face flashed in front of me—and it was at the marina. It was after I came to, and I was lying on the ground looking up at Will. And Mikey was right behind him—like he always was—and he was holding the camera. It was all so clear in my mind that I’m sure it’s real, not something I’m imagining. He was there.”
Charlie frowned. “What makes you think he still has the camera?”
“I never said that. I think he took it. Whether he still has it—that’s for you two to find out. I need to talk to your father tomorrow anyway, Charlie. He’ll remember Mikey’s last name and where he lived.” She gazed out at the lake and took a long, deep breath of the cool air. “This was fun. We should do this more often. The lake is so beautiful at night.”
“Mom, what has gotten into you?” Charlie asked. “I wake up to find you in my room, talking to yourself, and then when I make a crazy suggestion to come over here to tell Nicholas about this Mikey guy, you go along with it, and now you’re all … like, weird about the lake. Have you flipped or something?”
Franny turned to her and smiled. “Maybe.”
* * *
Mikey Bishop still lived with his mother in a cottage at the northernmost corner of the lake, a good ten- or twelve-mile bike ride for Charlie and Nicholas. The Bishops’ cottage was one of five, all constructed of cement blocks and clustered around an overgrown flagstone patio and a crumbling brick barbecue. Mrs. Bishop, who owned the cottages, barely made a living renting them to fishermen by the week during the summer and to the occasional group of hunters the rest of the year. If word spread that the ice fishing was good, she might have a few busy weekends in January and February, but most years it was pretty quiet until the ice broke up and the walleye started biting.
Mrs. Bishop answered the door and smiled warmly. They introduced themselves and she pushed open the screen door to invite them in.
“Mommy!” cried a man’s voice from behind her. “Who is it?”
“Why don’t you come out and see for yourself,” she answered, winking at Charlie. “That’s my son, Mikey. Now, what can I do you for? How about a drink of water? You look like you could use it.”
Mrs. Bishop poured ice water from a pitcher into two glass canning jars and handed them to her visitors.
“Thanks,” they said together.
Charlie gulped down her water and held her glass out for a refill. “Actually, it’s Mikey we’d like to talk to.”
“Mikey? Why, in heaven’s name? Do you know him?”
“No, but a long time ago, when they were all kids, he used to hang out with my dad and her mom,” said Nicholas. “We were hoping we could ask him about something that happened back then.”
Mikey, wearing a crisp yellow button-down shirt tucked into perfectly pressed blue jeans, clomped into the room in pristine sneakers and stood behind his mother. He smiled shyly and said, “Hello! My name is Mikey Bishop.” He moved closer to Charlie—a little too close, actually—and asked, “What’s your name?”
She leaned back a few inches and held out her hand. “Hi, Mikey. My name is Charlie.”
“Hi, Charlie,” he said, shaking her hand vigorously, and not letting go. “My name is Mikey.”
“Yes, I know,” Charlie said.
Nicholas reached over to shake Mikey’s hand, and when Mikey looked at him, something in his memory seemed to click.
“I’m Nicholas. Nicholas Mettleson. You used to know my dad. Do you remember him? His name is Will Mettleson.”
Mikey’s eyes grew wide and he ran out of the room without a word.
Mrs. Bishop made the sign of the cross. “Glory be.”
“What’s wrong?” Charlie asked.
Before Mrs. Bishop could answer, Mikey was back, holding a small cardboard box.
“From the time he was fifteen years old—every morning, mind you—you know what the first words out of Mikey’s mouth are? He comes out here, sits down with his Cheerios and his glass of Tang, and asks me the same question: ‘Is Will coming today?’ ”
Nicholas and Charlie sat there, mouths hanging open, for several seconds before regaining the ability to speak.
Finally, Nicholas stammered, “Y-you’ve been waiting … for my dad? All these years?” He couldn’t take his eyes off the box in Mikey’s hands.
Mikey nodded vigorously. “He told me to take care of his camera. He said he would come and get it.”
“That’s his camera—in the box?” Charlie asked. “And you’ve taken care of it for all these years. That is amazing!”
“Will asked me,” Mikey stated, unimpressed with his own persistence. “He’s my friend.”
“Well, I’d say that you’re about the best friend anybody ever had,” said Charlie. “Can we see it?”
Mikey set the box on the table. Nicholas stood up and lifted out the camera, handling it as if it were a relic from King Tut’s tomb, turning it over and over in his hands. Charlie leaned in close to him, unable to wipe the smile from her face.
“This is unbelievable,” she said. “Thank you, Mom.”
“The film is still in it,” Nicholas whispered.
Mikey went to the door and looked out into the yard. “Is Will coming, too? He told me not to give the camera to anybody but him.”
Nicholas’s eyes met Charlie’s. What if, after all they’d been through, Mikey refused to give them the camera? They had to have it, no two ways about it, but he didn’t want to lie to the poor guy, either.
“Um … no, my dad’s not coming today,” Nicholas said, returning the camera to the box. “He’s very far away—in Africa—helping people. He’s a doctor. But I was kind of hoping I could surprise him with this when he gets back.”
Mikey was unmoved. “Will said, ‘Mikey, take care of my camera. Don’t let anybody have it.’ A man with a beard came here looking for it, but I told him that it was Will’s and I can only give it to him.”
“A man with a beard? When?” Charlie asked.
“Right after Mikey brought the camera home,” said Mrs. Bishop. “Just a few days later, I think.”
“I wonder who that was,” Nicholas said.
Mrs. Bishop shook her head. “Never seen him before or since. Now, Mikey, this is very different. You can trust these two young people. This is your friend Will’s son. And Franny’s daughter. Will would want you to give them the camera.”
“But Will said—”
“Yes, I know what he said,” Mrs. Bishop interrupted. “But, sometimes, you can do the right thing without doing exactly what you were asked to do.”
“My dad will be here later in the summer,” Nicholas said. “I’m sure he’ll want to see you, and thank you for taking such good care of his camera.”
“Do you promise?” asked Mikey.
“I promise,” said Nicholas.
“I think you can trust him, Mikey,” said Mrs. Bishop.
Mikey handed the box to a relieved Nicholas, who shook his hand again and mouthed a silent thank-you to Mrs. Bishop.
Back outside, as Nicholas mounted his bike, he said, “Wow, this is just great, Mikey. My dad is going to be very excited. And when he gets back, we’ll come see you again.”
“Or you could come over,” Charlie said. “We could take you and your mom sailing. Do you like boats?”
Mikey smiled broadly. “Yes. Will used to take me sailing sometimes. With Franny.”
“Maybe,” said Charlie with a wink in Nicholas’s direction, “you three can go sailing again.”
They rode away from the cottage without speaking, but when they were out of hearing range, Charlie pulled her bike off to the side of the dirt road.
“What’s wrong?” Nicholas asked.
Charlie tilted her head toward the bright blue sky and screamed while Nicholas watched, fascinated.
“I don’t even know why I’m so happy,” Charlie said. “I mean, after all this tim
e, the film is probably no good. But just finding it is so …”
“I know. It’s crazy. Boy, was your mom right, or what? And what about the other guy who came looking for it? Who was that?”
“A guy with a beard, he said. Can’t be too hard to find out who it was. Of course, for a while there, I didn’t think Mikey was going to give it to us, either. Thank God his mom believed who we are.”
“I wasn’t too worried,” said Nicholas with a sly smile. “I had the situation under control.” He reached into the front pocket of his shorts and held out a black Super 8 film cartridge.
“What? H-how did you …? Wh-when?” Charlie stammered.
“I only had a few seconds. Mikey was looking out the door to see if my dad was out there, and Mrs. Bishop was filling the water pitcher. I just popped it open and slid the film out. Just in case.”
“Very sneaky, Mr. Mettleson. I’m totally impressed.”
“Well, I’m glad he gave us the camera, because I would have felt guilty about taking the film like that. But once I knew it was in there, there was no way I was leaving without it.”
“So now what? You up for a ride into Deming? I say we take the film to the drugstore right now. Mr. Leffingwell has been there forever. He’ll know where to send it to get it developed.”
“And then we hope,” said Nicholas.
* * *
Mr. Leffingwell whistled when he saw the Super 8 film cartridge. “Haven’t seen one of these for a while,” he said, and then disappeared into the back room for nearly ten minutes.
“Okay,” he said upon his return. “Good news and bad news. The good news is that they still process this type of film. But I have to warn you. This film was exposed a long time ago and there’s no guarantee that anything is going to show up. The woman on the phone said it all depends on the camera, how it was stored, and so on, and said not to get your hopes up. So, fair warning. No refunds if it’s all blank. You okay with that?”
Charlie and Nicholas nodded.
“Now the bad news: it’s going to be a couple of weeks. Maybe ten days, the woman told me—if you’re lucky. I’ll write Please Rush on the envelope. Sometimes that helps.”
“Two weeks!” Charlie exclaimed on the way out of the store. “I’ll never make it. I’m going to explode.”
“Oh, it won’t be that bad,” said Nicholas. “We have a lot of work to do on Imp—that’s going to take the next few days at least. And then maybe we should get started with the movie. Your mom has a video camera we can use, right?”
“Don’t you need to finish the script first?”
“Yeah, but I just thought of a great idea—a way to use the scenes my dad shot, to combine them with what we’re going to do.”
“Are you going to share this idea with me?”
“I’ll explain it later—after I work out some more of the details. But first we need to get the Heron done.”
* * *
Dear Dad,
Found an old book at the library, by that kid who sailed around the world. It’s called Dove. It has one of those old cards inside where you sign your name if you’re checking the book out, and YOUR name was on it. Remember?
Uncle Nick has been teaching me how to throw a curve like Charlie’s. If I can’t hit it, at least I’ll know how to throw it—ha-ha. I can make it curve, but I have ZERO control!
Maybe the infield is the right place for me.
Nicholas
PS The twins want to take Goblin out by themselves, but Uncle Nick says they can’t do it until they can raise the mainsail by themselves. So now they’re making poor Pistol play tug-of-war every day so they’ll get stronger.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Three days later, with the fifth coat of varnish on Imp’s deck dry at last, it was time for the final step—attaching the hardware to the deck and mast. The day before, they had all piled into Betty for their weekly trip to the library, where Nick found a diagram and some pictures of fully rigged Herons. With those, Nicholas made a list of everything they needed from the marine hardware store in Ashtabula. The next morning was windy and rainy, so Nick and Pistol made the drive together while all the kids spent a few hours at Franny’s, baking and eating chocolate chip cookies.
The skies cleared a little after lunchtime, so, with Nick and Pistol back, and hardware in hand, they set Imp on the grass in the front yard and got right to work. While Nicholas and Charlie were busy with screwdrivers and wrenches, the twins watched impatiently from the porch, waiting for their big moment—stenciling the name on the Heron’s transom, the final step before the launch. With the help of the librarian, who knew them well enough to be able to tell them apart, Hayley and Hetty had created the stencil on a computer. They found the perfect font and printed out “Imp” on heavy paper, then the librarian cut out the letters with a razor blade.
“Is it time yet?” Hayley asked, her face pressed against the screen.
“This is the last piece of hardware,” said Charlie, holding up a small bronze cleat. “Get ready!”
“Yay! Finally,” Hetty said.
They ran out the door and handed the stencil to Nick, who taped it to the transom, to the right of the rudder. He took a few steps back to make sure it was perfectly straight, made a slight adjustment, and gave Hayley and Hetty the go-ahead. They practiced using the can of spray paint on a scrap of plywood, taking turns until Nick was sure they were ready for the real thing.
“Okay, girls, you’re ready,” he said. “Nice and easy, just like you were doing … Good … Not too thick now—you don’t want it to run. Perfect.” He peeled the stencil away and stood back. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you … Imp!”
Everyone clapped and cheered, and even Pistol barked his approval.
“Isn’t there usually some kind of ceremony when you launch a ship?” Charlie asked.
“Absolutely,” said Nick. “Every boat needs a proper christening. Usually they have somebody like the Queen, or the First Lady, break a bottle of champagne on the bow right before they launch a boat for the first time.”
Nicholas’s eyes grew wide as his hand glided over Imp’s glassy varnished deck. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” he said. “Even if it is tradition.”
“Don’t worry, we won’t be breaking anything on little Imp here. I think that some ginger ale—poured over the bow—will suffice,” Nick said. “And since the twins named her, I think they should have the honor of doing the pouring. Now let’s get this thing in the water and see what she’ll do. Perfect breeze for a maiden voyage.”
They pushed the boat and trailer to the lake’s edge, where the five of them lifted Imp and gently set her in the sand, with her stern just touching the water. As Nicholas and Charlie fitted the mainsail into the boom and attached the jib hanks to the forestay, Hayley and Hetty ran into the house to find the ginger ale.
“We got it!” Hayley yelled from the porch.
“Everything else ready?” Nick asked. “Rudder and tiller? All the safety equipment? Anchor? Life jackets?”
Nicholas responded “Check” to each item on Nick’s list.
Hetty swung the bottle of ginger ale around and around. “Is it time?”
Nick whispered something in her ear, which she passed on to Hayley.
“Okay, now we’re ready. Take it away, girls,” said Nick.
Hetty held the ginger ale over the bow. “Ladies and gentlemen. By the power vested in me by, um …”
“By Sir Nick Mettleson, lord of the manor and captain of the good ship Goblin,” said Hayley.
“Oh, right. By, um, what she said,” added Hetty. “We hereby christen thee …”
“IMP!” they shouted in unison. Hetty unscrewed the top of the bottle, spraying Imp, themselves, and the three spectators with warm ginger ale.
“Speech! Speech!” cried Nick. “Nicholas, I think it’s also customary for the builder to say a few words.”
Nicholas felt himself flush. He hated talking in front of the class at school, and
all of a sudden, this felt like one of those times. “Ummm. Thanks, Uncle Nick. For letting me and Charlie … and for showing us how to sand and paint and everything … and for buying all the stuff, you know, the paint and the hardware. So, anyway, thanks again. Now, can we please go sailing?”
“Bravo!” shouted Nick. “Absolutely! Take her away, you two. You earned the first sail.”
With Imp floating alongside the dock, Charlie climbed aboard and hoisted the sails. Nicholas joined her, attaching the rudder and tiller to the stern and then performing a quick inspection of all the lines and rigging.
“Ready, Captain?” asked Nick.
Nicholas tried to hide his excitement, but a smile broke through. “I think so. Give us a little push, will you?”
“Aye, aye,” said Nick, kneeling on the dock and pushing Imp and her crew out into the lake. “Have fun!”
Nicholas and Charlie sheeted in the sails and they were off, accelerating quickly away from the dock as Hayley and Hetty waved and shouted, “Bon voyage!”
Sailing the twelve-foot, two-hundred-pound Imp was nothing like navigating the twenty-eight-foot, six-thousand-pound Goblin. Nicholas and Charlie were well prepared, and were exceptionally fast learners. In practically no time at all, they were tacking back and forth smoothly up the lake, looking like a well-seasoned team.
“Well, what do you think?” Charlie asked when they returned to the dock. “How does it feel?”
“Great. I’m still getting used to how tippy she is. One little movement and she heels over ten degrees. You can jump up and down on Goblin and nothing happens.”
“Have you sent your dad a postcard about it yet?”
“You mean about Imp? No. How about you? Did you tell your mom?”
Charlie shook her head. “Nope. She still thinks we’re working on that old canoe. Now I’m afraid she’s going to be disappointed; she’s mentioned a couple of times how much she’s looking forward to going canoeing with me. But then I think about that letter she wrote, and the promise your dad made, and something makes me want to make it all come true. It’s dumb trying to keep it secret, because she’s going to find out sooner or later.”
Summer at Forsaken Lake Page 13