The Seasons of the EmmaLee: One grand ship. Two love affairs, decades apart. An idyllic summer resort town torn apart by betrayal, murder and shattered dreams. (The Charlevoix Summer Series Book 1)

by Michael Lindley

  George Hansen spoke up, “Why did the past owners leave her abandoned for so long?”

  “I’m told they ran into financial difficulties. The ship needed quite a bit of work at the time and they couldn’t find a buyer willing to take her off their hands and pay for the extensive repairs that were needed. She really should have been scuttled long ago, but fortunately no one wanted to spend the money to dispose of her.”

  Alex continued to lead the tour throughout the ship, pointing out the special work that had been done in many areas. They finished back at the side rail about an hour later. Large crowds were still milling about the docks admiring the ship.

  “The EmmaLee will be open for tours tomorrow leading up to the boat parade,” Alex said as they reached the gangplank. “I hope you can all return for our reception at four this afternoon. George helped me put an invitation list together of about 100 people.”

  “We wouldn’t miss it,” George said.

  “And Ms. Thomason…?”

  “It’s Sally.”

  “Sally, will you be able to make it? Is there any other family who would like to come?”

  “No, they’re all gone now,” she said.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I have some wonderful old photo albums you might want to see with a lot of pictures of the EmmaLee and my family. They’re really too heavy to bring over to the boat. We’ll have to plan a time when you and Megan can come up to the house. How long are you planning to be in town?” Sally asked.

  “We’ll be here in Charlevoix for a week,” Alex said, “so I’m sure we can find some time. I would really enjoy seeing those pictures.”

  Everyone said their thanks and goodbyes. As the welcome party left the ship, Megan asked her father, “Will Sally have pictures of Emily when she was a little girl?”

  “I believe she will,” he said, picking her up to take her down below. “Let’s go get our clothes changed and take a little walk around town. What do you say?”

  He turned to watch Sally Thomason walking away through the crowds. He remembered the chill he had felt when they had been introduced. Since he had first seen the pictures of the EmmaLee that George Hansen had sent along, he had begun to feel a bond with the old Compton family who had first sailed this ship on these waters. He remembered one picture in particular. It was a picture of young Emily Compton on the deck of the EmmaLee, laughing at whoever was behind the camera. The eyes of the young girl were hauntingly beautiful. He felt as if he had just looked into them again this afternoon over half a century later.

  Chapter Two

  Our small town rests on a strip of land between the lakes now known as Michigan and Charlevoix. The lakes are connected by a narrow channel, running only about a mile, which has carved a natural access through this land for thousands of years. This cut in the land became known as the Pine River when the white men began arriving in the 1700’s. Tall pines high on the sand bluffs at the mouth of the channel on Lake Michigan were a beacon to traders and missionaries and the many Indians who first made this land their home.

  In the middle of the channel, halfway between the lakes, the Pine River swelled into a small inland harbor and it became known as Round Lake. The water here was protected and deep enough to allow safe harbor for traveling vessels. It also became the center of commerce around which the first settlement of Charlevoix began.

  The town grew slowly at first, fueled by the determination of the early founders to battle the harsh and cold terrain. Fishing and logging brought more opportunity to the area. Small companies grew from these industries and jobs attracted more men and families to move to the North Country.

  In the late 1800’s, the true promise of the area was discovered by a few wealthy families and religious leaders from the cities to the south. The summers in Northern Michigan were wonderfully mild and appealing compared to the heat and hustle of activity in cities like Detroit and Chicago. The beauty of the land and the water was breathtaking. Summer homes were built along the waterfronts and families moved north to spend time relaxing on the water and to socialize with others from their class. Resident associations were formed to bring a sense of elite membership and status.

  Resort towns like Charlevoix, Petoskey and Harbor Springs flourished with the wealth that poured in each summer. Railroads were built and cruise lines formed to make travel more convenient from the south. Businesses were established to serve the summer residents and jobs were created to make their lives easier. Great hotels were built to house their guests and other visitors.

  And now, the EmmaLee is coming home. She brings with her an incredible history. As she cruised into the channel today, it was like stepping back in time for many of us. Her early days in Charlevoix saw our little town at perhaps its finest hour and, at times, its worst. The memories of those days linger for those of us old enough to remember, or those who have heard the stories. Many of our families and friends were here during those years before and after the Second World War and lived through the turbulent and often unfortunate circumstances of those times. The EmmaLee shared an important place in that saga, as did the many people who loved her.

  I often think back to the summers of my youth in this little town of Charlevoix. My name is George Hansen. It was the summer of 1941, when my friend Jonathan McKendry first met Emily Compton.

  He walked along the old gray docks at the edge of the water. The leather of his worn boot soles echoed among the sounds of the waterfront coming to life. The first waking light of early morning tried to force its way through the heavy fog that had settled-in the night before. A damp mist closed in around him and he could feel the dewy moisture hang on his face. The boats loomed above him in soft focus and the smell of fish and diesel fumes lay heavy on each breath.

  He made his way with purpose. Men in their boats took notice of him and a few greeted him as he passed. They knew the boy and his father well. It was a family that drew respect from working men.

  He was a boy of just 17 years of age. His name was Jonathan McKendry. He was tall for his age and strongly built from work on his father’s boats. He kept his long brown hair tucked under a gray and faded canvas cap. His clothes were simple and made for work and his face showed more age than time would suggest. His past years in the sun and extreme weather had begun to take their toll on his skin like sanded varnish on a weathered hull.

  He continued along the docks, a small paper sack in his arms. A soft breath of wind chilled his face and he looked up to see the foggy clouds moving in different directions, breaking apart. Overhead, gulls squawked at each other as they hovered and searched for their next meal. Deck hands conversed in loud, rough voices, shouting orders and exchanging stories. Occasionally, a foghorn would blow as boats made their way in through the channel from Lake Michigan. Riggings from the boats clanged and slapped, setting a steady rhythm for the work to be done.

  The town was awakening to another day of labor. Fisherman prepared their nets and boats and shopkeepers up on the hill along Bridge Street swept in front of their stores and prepared for the day’s trade. Traffic along the narrow street was sparse. Only a few cars were making their way through town. Several trucks were parked along the main road delivering supplies and a few people made their way on bicycles. Along the waterfront the boatyards were coming to life to prepare the boats for the summer people.

  Jonathan was on his way back to his father’s boatyard on the south side of Round Lake. He had made his morning trip to the grocery store up on Bridge Street to get fresh bread and fruit for his family’s breakfast. McKendry’s Boatworks had been founded by his grandfather many years before. He lived there in a small apartment behind the main storage building with his mother, father and older brother.

  He was approaching the pier that was the summer dock for the cruising yacht, EmmaLee. It was the most beautiful boat on the water in Jonathan’s eye and he always stopped to admire it when he passed. It was a magnificent private yacht owned by the Stewart Compton family. At more than 180 fee
t in length, its hull and upper cabins were painted a gleaming white. Shining and richly stained teak wood accented the ship’s lines. The stern was all teak with EmmaLee painted in black and gold in an elegant script.

  Jonathan had been told the ship had a full-time crew of eight men including a chef, and that she had been built out east in Newport. The Compton family had the EmmaLee brought up from Palm Beach, Florida each summer. They had a home up on the hill above the lake. Mrs. Compton and her children spent each summer in Charlevoix. Mr. Compton would come up on the train from Detroit on weekends. It was said he was in the automobile business.

  Jonathan had seen the family out on the deck of the EmmaLee as she made her way out of the small harbor of Round Lake, out through the channel to Lake Michigan to the west or to Lake Charlevoix to the east. The family would be dressed all in white, servants and crew scurrying around them. Emily Compton, for whom the ship had been named, was the only daughter in the family and the youngest of three children. The two boys, Ernest and James Jr., were in their later teens. Jonathan thought Emily looked to be near his age. He had seen her only from a distance on the ship and had been struck by her looks, even from afar. He found himself thinking about her more than he would ever admit. Even under a large brimmed sunhat he had been able to see a remarkably beautiful face framed by wavy long brown hair. She seemed quite tall, even next to her older brothers and she held herself confidently on the ship’s deck, clearly enjoying her time on the big ship.

  As Jonathan approached the EmmaLee on this quiet morning, there was no crew in sight. He had never seen the family out on the boat at such an early hour either. He came alongside the immense hull and stopped to look her over again for the countless time. He knew boats well. His father and grandfather had worked on boats on this lake for many years and he had been helping them since he was a small boy. They had never worked on a ship of this magnitude, but mostly on small commercial boats for the fishing fleet and smaller runabouts for the summer people. The McKendry’s Boatworks was a fixture on the Round Lake waterfront.

  Jonathan reached out and ran his hand along the smooth painted surface of the boat. He could smell the paint and stain and feel her power, even at rest. He moved back a few steps to look up over the rail to the upper cabin. There were no lights on, but he could see into the captain’s bridge sitting above the main cabin. He saw the large wheel in the bridge and some of the controls. The inner walls were darkly stained wood.

  He imagined himself at the helm of the EmmaLee, his hands firmly holding the big wheel, steering her out through the channel. He saw Emily Compton at his side, holding his arm and laughing with the joy of the trip. He had dreamed of someday designing and building such a boat, but he was also a practical boy and tried to not let his dreams and imaginings overwhelm him. As he patted the hull with affection and began walking away, he was startled by a voice from up on the ship that carried a heavy accent.

  “Hey, boy! Keep your bloody hands away from the ship, lad. We don’t want you falling in and cracking your head and gettin’ blood all over our EmmaLee now.”

  Jonathan looked up to see it was one of the deckhands.

  The crewman had a white sailor’s uniform and cap. He held a bucket and before Jonathan realized what was happening, the man threw the water from the bucket out over the rail. He couldn’t move fast enough to avoid the drenching. It knocked his cap off and left him drenched in the early morning chill.

  As he reached down to get his cap he heard another crew member join in the laughter at his fate. He glared up at them and felt a burning anger well-up within him. He looked at the stairs up to the deck of the ship. The two crew members continued to heckle him. He dropped his sack of groceries on the dock and ran to the stairs. By the time he reached the rail the two men were there to confront him.

  “What is it, lad?” the man who had thrown the water said. “It looks like you have a problem.”

  The other man laughed.

  “My problem is about to get his ass kicked,” said Jonathan in a low and steady voice.

  From behind the crew members, a voice yelled out, “What have we got here?”

  Jonathan looked beyond the men at an older bearded man in what appeared to be an officer’s uniform.

  “Nothing we can’t handle, Captain,” the crewman said. “Just a young pup looking for trouble.”

  The captain stepped between Jonathan and the two men. “Would you care to explain yourself, young man?” he asked.

  “I just need a few minutes alone with your fellows here,” Jonathan said. “We had a little disagreement we need to work out.”

  The captain turned to his men. “You both go below. I’ll be down to deal with you in a moment.” They both left without protest. “Son, it looks like you’ve been tossed in the lake once already this morning. I’d say that should be enough. Now, I suggest you get off this ship immediately, or I will personally toss you back in again and feel damned pleased with myself with the chance to do so.”

  Jonathan’s anger was settling with the departure of the two crewmen and he certainly had no fight with this man, particularly since he was the captain of the EmmaLee. Common sense told him to back away and not make any more fuss. He saw little to be gained now from a scuffle, other than the wrath of the summer people who supported the town and his family.

  “Just be on your way and I advise you to keep away from my men and this ship,” the captain said. “I’ll be giving them the same advice about you.”

  As Jonathan walked down the stairs he saw another face looking out at him from a window along the main cabin. Even in the dim light he could see it was her. When he made eye contact with Emily Compton, she quickly pulled a curtain closed. Well, that wasn’t the kind of introduction I had hoped for, he thought.

  The family’s boatyard was another several hundred paces down the docks. He turned up toward the large main building where boats were built, stored and repaired. There was a large double-door that was pulled open to each side. Above the door was a slightly faded sign that was painted with “McKendry’s Boatworks”. He walked through the boathouse to the rear. There was no one working yet and several boats sat in the silence on weathered wood cradles. He walked through a door into the large yard that stored other boats. Up a short hill sat another smaller building that held an office, a storage area for equipment and tools and the family’s apartment.

  He walked inside and kicked off his wet boots. He placed his cap on a hook next to the door and made his way back along a dark hall towards the kitchen. The small house smelled stale and hung on him like a shirt worn too many days.

  His mother was working at the sink. He could smell coffee brewing and bacon cooking on the stove. He placed the wet bag of fruit and bread on the counter and started off to his room to change his wet clothes. His mother stopped him when she noticed he was dripping wet.

  “Did you fall in the lake, son?” she asked softly. He turned to face her as his father walked in from the back.

  “What in God’s name happened to you, Johnny?” he asked.

  He considered making up a tale of some sort to avoid retelling his earlier encounter, but thought better of it. He had been raised to be forthright and honest in all dealings. He spoke slowly, “I had a bit of a run-in with the crew of the EmmaLee. They thought it would be good fun to dump their swab bucket on me.”

  His father sat at the kitchen table and pulled out another chair for him to join him. “You need to stay away from that boat and those people. Those are summer people and we need to give them their way up here.”

  “They’re just damned boat crew”

  “Don’t speak that way in front of your mother and keep away from those people,” his father said, sternly. “We’ll paint their boats and take their money and put up with them for a few months each year, but they’re different and we can’t be mixing with them. Do you understand me?” His father took a cup of coffee from his wife.

  Jonathan nodded with his head down.

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p; “And I don’t want you and your boys out looking for those men in town either. That will lead to nothin’ but trouble. Is that clear?” he said with emphasis.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now get changed and get back here for some food so we can get to work,” his father said. “And roust your brother out of bed. I’ll not have him sleeping any more of the morning away.”

  Jonathan walked back to the small bedroom he shared with his brother, Luke. He was snoring loudly and tangled in his sheets and blanket.

  He saw his brother’s shriveled left leg sticking out from the covers.

  He had been born with the deformity and walked with a noticeable limp.

  Jonathan also saw a half-empty pint bottle of whiskey sitting on the nightstand with the top off. He found the top and placed it back on the bottle, then slid it under his brother’s bed. He didn’t want his father finding it. There was enough trouble between those two.

  He sat down on his own bed and scratched his wet hair. He thought of the eyes of Emily Compton looking down at him from the boat’s cabin. He looked out the window of his bedroom at the coming light of morning. The fog was breaking up and he could see patches of blue sky starting to break through the gray clouds. He unbuttoned his wet shirt and threw it in a pile in the corner.

  Chapter Three

  Sally Thomason sat out on the rear porch of her house in a wicker chair with large soft cushions. She looked out over the expanse of green lawn and the vista of Lake Michigan beyond and the clear blue sky reflected down onto the lake leaving it a brilliant blue and green. White-capped waves continued onshore with a crashing rhythm. It was mid-afternoon and the sun was just falling below the porch roof. She could feel the warmth coming through the windows. The summer flowers around her porch waved gently in the breeze and a hummingbird made its rounds, darting away quickly at the slightest threat.