"Don't be so cynical. He cares about my welfare, too."
"But you weren't exactly liking that investments job. Remember all the times you ranted to me about it, and—"
"What else right now will give me the income I need to live in this city?"
"That's one reason you've gotta split. For you especially, Beantown's unlivable. Look, I know you. Haven't you read your Kerouac and your Edward Abbey? You need something different, man."
The bartender approached, pad in hand.
"I'll go for a bowl of lobster bisque," Jim said. "And a half-dozen Pemaquids and a half-dozen Wellfleets."
"There you go!" Duff said.
"Anything to drink?" the bartender said.
"A Sam. Boston Lager, please."
Bryce shook his head, laughing. "Good having you back, James. So how's the first day back at the old job?"
"Oh, not too shabby." Jim sighed, folded his arms, and rested his elbows on the bartop. He blankly stared down at its smooth wood.
"You don't look so well," Bryce said. "Is it just Maureen? The job? You miss the boats?"
"Is it that you miss your family?" Duff said. "Hometown?"
A long moment of silence ensued. Jim finally turned, and his friends were waiting for his answer.
"More and more by the day," Jim said. The spent sound in his own voice surprised him.
In the eyes of his friends he noted a tinge of worry, a certain disappointment. He must show his appreciation.
"But… I am really happy to see you all. And this weekend, I'll be on the open seas."
Jim felt better that the truth was out. The bartender handed him the frosty pint. Jim mumbled a thank you, brought it to his lips, and drank deep.
So he had voiced it. Up until now he had kept it within, submerged. What he could not disclose to them was that fear he felt building in the last few days for the coming expedition. Time and grit and experience had lessened, but not quelled, his anxiety over the water.
But there could be no room for bowing out. The fear ignited and spread within him. Jim paused, and with ferocity, drank another long gulp of the lager.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
At nine on Friday morning the two club wagons pulled into the Hyannis harbor parking lot. Tanya Ward drove the van carrying her husband, Jim, and the Mount Zion boys. Sarah Murphy drove the other van, with her husband, Jack Spaulding, and the St. Brendan boys as passengers.
Walter Henretty stood on the dock, beaming a broad, toothy smile. "Mornin' to you guys," he said as the vehicles emptied.
The boys sprinted toward him, some of them gleefully leaping like grasshoppers.
They all looked at the schooner, anchored out in the harbor. All about Jim were sighs and expressions of wonder.
The hum of a boat motor sounded across the water. The dinghy zipped toward them, and a familiar figure manned the motor. His long light blond hair and flinty face brought to mind a Viking set upon a morning raid.
"Ladies and gentlemen, Bill is coming. My best and most experienced worker and sailor from my boat shop, to ensure the trip goes smoothly. And on board is one other worker from my shop, Chief. He volunteered to serve as donkeyman, or the one who mans the engine room and the generators. Chief knows more about boat engines than anyone. So tell me," Walter said, "are you young sailors ready for the ultimate expedition?"
"Yeah! Yeah!" the boys cheered.
"Yes, Commodore Henretty!" Jack Spaulding said with gusto, saluting the old man, who cackled with delight.
"Clown," Walter said with a crooked smile.
"Aye aye, skipper," Jim joined in, walking up to Walter. He felt in better spirits. He loved that Maureen arrived that morning at his apartment on her way to work to see him off. It seemed like a throwback to the Maureen of the first days, scarcely six months ago. Perhaps things would turn around. And it could start with this weekend when he would indulge in his favorite aspect of New England life, the close bond with the sea.
"At the ready, Cap'n!" Tim Murphy shouted, giving a salute. Reverend Ward stood beside Tim, smiling.
"We'll have a blast, gents," Walter said. "I'm grateful for your help, Tanya and Sarah, in dropping everyone off safely and on time. I'll make sure to return 'em to you in the same manner."
The wives thanked him and, having set the boys' gear on the ground nearby, stayed to observe.
"Now Reverend Ward, Jim, Jack, Tim, please see to it that all gear's put into the dinghy bit by bit. Bill and Jim will take trips to the boat and get the gear up on deck. Then Bill will take the crew out there, two at a time."
Jim gazed out at the three proud masts and all one hundred and six feet of her. She was truly a sight to behold. He never felt such a thrill standing before a boat, not an ocean liner or even the U.S.S. Constitution in Charlestown.
A hand slapped his shoulder. Bill laughed as giddily as one of the boys. "Good to see ya again, bud."
"Same here, Bill!" Jim said. "Let's get this boring part over with and set sail."
After thirty minutes, with all duffel bags stowed below deck and crew accounted for, everyone stood on deck wearing a life preserver. Walter made one last run-through, checking all of the equipment and provisions. Several boaters amassed on shore, chatting and observing what some probably recognized was an authentic Herreshoff schooner.
Walter returned to the bow. He ordered Jack and Bill to untie the dinghy, and told Jim and the Reverend to winch it up from the water.
"Lieutenants Scoresby, Murphy, Spaulding!" Walter said some minutes later. "Take these positions. Scoresby to the aft, Murphy to the mizzenmast, Spaulding to the foremast. Lieutenant Ward, stand by on the aft deck with Jim. Bill—I mean Lieutenant McGreevey—will see to it the anchor's aweigh and he'll float around and help where it's needed."
Jim sneaked a look back. Clad in his nautical gear, Walter stood with his hands fixed at his hips. Though his face reddened as he barked out the orders, he mouthed the words through a smiling face. The old man clearly loved it.
"Now, Lieutenant McGreevey, raise anchor!"
The anchor loosened from the harbor floor and rose upwards toward the bow.
"Now men, at my command, unfasten halyard knots! And raise sails and tie down. Now, get ready, set… go!"
The men pulled the halyards down with all their might. The sails rose bit by bit to the tops of the masts. In moments, the wind billowed the sails.
Walter stationed himself in the cockpit and turned the wheel a few degrees. The great ship veered even farther away from the shore. In a few minutes, Walter spun the wheel hard. The ship turned until it moved directly south.
The men and boys glanced shoreward. A great cry of jubilation arose from the onlookers, about twenty of them now. Perhaps they picked up on the semi-military decorum of the ship's departure. Walter had not acted so in all the days of their training. Perhaps the old captain aimed to ham it up for the crowds and, in turn, he wanted the boys to feel like they were part of an authentic, bold expedition.
Soon the harbor and Hyannis itself were barely discernable in the distance. The quasi-military atmosphere vanished. Four of the lieutenants—Bill, Reverend Ward, Jack, and Tim—congregated on the foredeck, along with the boys. Everyone clutched the rails and stared past the bow. The boys pointed at circling gulls and at what looked like a porpoise moving far off in the water.
In the cockpit, Jim grasped the wheel. The old man stood beside him, puffing his pipe contentedly, watching the ship slice windward through the waves. Neither man spoke for several minutes as the ship progressed on its southerly route.
After they ventured farther south, away from the shore toward Nantucket, and away from Uncle Robert's Cove just to their port side, he must turn the wheel until they headed due east. Once they reached a few miles east of Chatham, he would turn the ship directly north, pass the Cape's tip at Provincetown, and then head north-northwest toward Boston. If they did not make good enough time on this route, Walter had decided, they would dock in Plymouth harbor and ca
ll Tanya and Sarah to meet them.
"So, I know you puff a cigar every once in a while," Walter said. "But pipes are an enjoyment in themselves. I almost like pipes enough to introduce you to them, but that's a habit ya don't need, son."
"I bought one in a smoke shop in Portsmouth. A cheap Grabow, that's all. I puff it sometimes, but Maureen detests it. Hey, you really do look quite the captain with one. Both Admirals Halsey and Nimitz smoked pipes at sea."
"Correct you are. Ya see this pipe here, son?" He held it up to Jim's face. "A little scuttlebutt for ya. This belonged to my father, a navy captain in his own right. A 1922 Dunhill, bent style, with a rusticated bowl. Dad bought this to celebrate crossing the Panama Canal into the Gulf of Mexico. He was on his way back to Boston. When they docked for the weekend in Mobile, Dad spotted this in a shop. Early Dunhills, made by Alfred Dunhill, they're considered by many to be the very best pipes in the world. After 1915, they started putting this single white dot on the vulcanite stem, see? It's their trademark. This dot's made of ivory but eventually they started using plastic. After 1955, you know, Dunhill bowls weren't made from the same kind of briarroot. Though they still tasted great, they weren't quite the same."
"That's intriguing," Jim said. He stared at the white dot. "I knew vaguely of those pipes. My Granddaddy Scoresby smoked one during his decades with the Tennessee Valley Authority. He built dams and bridges and roads as a civil engineer. All across Tennessee, Georgia, Alabama, South Carolina, Mississippi. I've seen Granddaddy puffing the pipe in pictures, but somehow it was misplaced."
"I have another Dunhill below deck, Jimmy. It's a '51. I bought it in San Francisco on my way out to Korea. But I want you to have this one. Have a real pipe. After I finish this last bowl, of course."
"But what about Davie? I bet he'll want to—"
"He would have none of it. He makes fun of me, says it makes me look more like a geezer. I've got other things to give him anyway. He won't appreciate this like you would."
"Thanks, Walter. I really, really like it."
"That's why it'll be yours. So how ya like steering this baby? I can't offer you the ship, ya know."
"I understand that! Well, yes, I really like handling the wheel," Jim said. "Sailing seems to me a lot like golf, or fishing. Or smoking a pipe. It's a meditative thing, for an introspective person. Something not suitable for someone impatient or wound up too tightly."
"That's pretty insightful," Walter said as he nodded. "Hey, handle that wheel for a few. I'll be back shortly. I'm checking on the men up front. It won't be too long 'til we swing this old gal due east."
"Aye aye, Cap."
"That's my boy." Walter slapped him hard on the back, then strutted out of the cockpit, across the deck toward the bow.
"Are we having fun, or what?!" the old man yelled, raising his fists high above his head in jubilation and pumping his arms in excitement. "This beats anything else we could've done, gents! You're all sea-ready New Englanders now, even the crazy Cajun manning the wheel back there. Look at him!" The old man pointed at the cockpit.
The kids cheered and laughed.
"Come join us, Jim!" one of the St. Brendan boys screamed.
"Yeah, just leave that wheel and come and hang out here," one of the Mount Zion boys shouted.
Jim shook his head and motioned "no" with his hand. He smiled, looking out at the waves that no longer seemed to scare him, and recalled Walter's spontaneous gift of the Dunhill.
His thoughts drifted toward the Boston brokerage. It would be tougher going this time around. He was not built for such work and, if he were honest with himself, he was even starting to dislike it. But he once rose to be the top broker at Henretty & Henretty. He could do it again. It could bring Maureen and him a great living.
But when would he write? Trading drained him of time and energy. And he always remained on standby with his cell phone. A good night's sleep and three meals a day were so rare, they were sacred.
He studied the wheel in his hands, its polished wooden handles pointing outward from the circular center like rays of the sun. What a truly meditative pursuit sailing is, he thought. It lacks the sheer adrenaline surge found in powerboat racing, or even power boating. But sailing suits those of my ilk.
Walter left the group at the bow and walked toward him. He pointed at Jim and winked, then veered across the deck and disappeared down the hatch. He reappeared several minutes later, emerging from the stairwell on Jim's side, with something in his hand.
"Here, Jimmy boy," Walter said, handing him his father's Dunhill. "Told you it was yours. I just cleaned it. Treat it well. Give it to your son one day. I've got mine here, the '51."
"My, thanks again. Now that's a gift." Jim took the pipe and placed in it a side pocket of his cargo shorts and buttoned it in.
Walter held another pipe in his hand. He sat down on one of the benches next to the wheel and withdrew a small plastic bag from his pocket. After pinching some tobacco from the bag, he packed the bowl. He returned the tobacco to his pocket and placed the pipe in his mouth. With one hand he cupped the bowl, with the other, despite the wind, he lit the tobacco.
"That was the hardest thing to learn, would ya believe it?" Walter said, raising his eyebrows. "Lighting one of those babies on deck."
"I can imagine," Jim said.
"I checked on Chief. He's fine-tuning something on the engine. And I visited with the kiddoes. They're just elated. They've never ventured this far out. They've all swam before, but no trips in rivers or lakes or the ocean. They're proud of ya at that wheel. They can't wait for their turns. I might make a Navy man out of one of 'em yet."
"Hey, Walt, think we may still get rain today?"
"I checked the radio again," Walter said. "And I checked the Net right before we left. Possible drizzle, fifty percent chance, for the evening. Not enough to postpone the trip. If the sky leaks a bit, son, it won't last long. We'll just put the kids below deck, have 'em play cards or something while I steer us along."
"Doesn't sound bad."
"We'll never be too far from shore anyway. And ya know, Jim, it rained a little during the Figawi, Sunday and late Saturday. Some boats dropped out."
"Apparently, you didn't," Jim said.
They both looked at each other and grinned.
"Wonder what Maureen's doin' right now," Jim said.
"Hopefully thinking of you."
"She saw me off today," Jim said. "I think she's emerging from her slump."
After a moment of silence, Walter raised a finger. "Let me see that wheel a second. Never mind, you steer it. Pull us east now, fully parallel with the shore, per that GPS. We're far enough out in the sound."
Jim turned the wheel steadily with both hands.
"Ah, good, son. You've come far. My latest pupil! Tell ya what, Jim. You go up to the bow and visit with the guys. Be my eyes on the ground. Do a little reconnaissance for me. Are they getting along up there? None of 'em better misbehave or mouth off to each other like last time."
Jim strode across the deck, past the booms and under the three great masts, which rose like massive pillars above him. "Hey hey hey, gentlemen!" His words carried an upbeat lilt.
"We saw a whale!" Lance cried.
"It was jumpin' over there in the distance!" Dwayne shouted, pointing starboard into the horizon.
"Wow… seriously?" Jim said.
"Yeah," Scott said. "Then it crashed into the water. It musta died of shock when it saw our big ship."
The laughing LaRon clapped Scott affectionately on the back. On their last trip, the two had not been exactly friendly with each other, nearly coming to blows. Now Scott buckled over with laughter.
"What great fun this is!" Reverend Ward said. "Right, Dwayne?"
"Yeah!" The diminutive boy screamed with delight.
Reverend Ward shot Jim an animated look of amusement and glee.
"This is the life!" Tim Murphy pumped his fists above his head. "And no burning buildings or five-alarm fires out here
."
"You're home free from that." Jack looked back at Jim. A hint of weariness lingered about the eyes.
"How're you likin' this, Mr. Spaulding?" Jim said.
"Can't complain, really," Jack said, forcing a smile. "We've got great sunshine, strong winds. We've got the open seas and a legendary vessel."
Jim studied Jack's face. Natasha was at it again. Jack was finding it harder to conceal. At least Maureen wasn't the only one.
He glanced sternward at the lone figure gripping the wheel. If only he could one day achieve what the old man had. A happy, healthy relationship, success in one's career and hobbies, and nearing retirement with wealth. Where could these be won? On his current path?
The old man stared past Jim into the horizon, his expression hardy as a seawall.
CHAPTER FORTY
An hour had passed since they anchored in Chatham harbor. Reverend Ward, Tim, and Jack had taken the boys below deck for dinner when the rain came. Not an intense rain, but instead little more than a drizzle ensued, enough that the men shut all of the portholes anyway. Only Walter, Bill, Chief, and Jim remained above deck, clad in their raingear and seated under the wooden-roofed cockpit.
"We could've pressed on," Bill said. "We still got some good winds. Conceivably, you and I could've taken turns, Jim. One fella sleeping, the other steering. But it really isn't worth the risk. And sailing alone at night? You got some experience, but not that much. We were too close to Chatham to keep going. There isn't enough light to maneuver around those damned shoals. They can be treacherous."
"Agreed," Jim said.
"We better grab some chow, son," Walter said. "And catch some z's. All night in!"
Below deck, the boys were tucked into bed in their respective cabins. Walter motioned for Jim, Chief, and Bill to follow. He pointed to the galley, where they removed their raingear and piled it into the sink. Walter opened the pantry drawer and removed some bananas, cans of tuna and ziplocked bags of sandwiches. The four men stood in the galley in silence, wolfing down the food and downing bottled water. Sheets of rain pelting the deck overhead were the only sounds.
Water Lessons Page 27