Indian Summer

by Tracy Richardson

  “Exactly, but there isn’t any evidence of Native American sites around Pappakeechee,” he shrugs.

  Al turns toward the door and gestures to Eric with his cane. “I guess you should get to work on your petition. That seems like the best place to start. We’ll just have to see what develops from the other possibilities. Thanks for your help, Bob.”

  “Good luck. You know I’m on your side.”

  As they walk down the stairs in front of the building, Marcie says, “I wish Mom were here. She’d know more about Cultural Resources. I don’t think we can reach her very easily in the middle of the desert.” I wish I could talk to her about these strange things that are happening, too, she thinks. “Sara’s dad is some sort of environmental attorney. Maybe he can help us stop the development.”

  “That’s a great idea!” says Eric. “He probably knows some pretty high-powered people. People with a different agenda than Mr. Swyndall.”

  “I’ll call Sara tonight and see if I can talk to her Dad. I don’t think she leaves for tennis camp until Wednesday.” They slam the car doors and Al carefully edges out of the parking lot.

  SARA’S MOM ANSWERS the phone in her sing-song accent, and Marcie can hear the jingling of her silver bracelets in the background. She waited until evening to call so there would be a better chance of Sara’s dad being home. “Hello, Mrs. Clements, it’s Marcie. Is Sara home?”

  “Oh, hello, Marcie. I hope you are enjoying the lake with your grandparents. Sara is upstairs packing for camp. I will get her for you.”

  “Thank you,” replies Marcie. Sara’s mom speaks a bit formally, and it makes Marcie want to be polite in return. As she waits for Sara to come on the line, she pictures the Clements’ home in her mind. It is a very large house with gleaming hardwood floors and polished woodwork, but it is primarily a family home and it feels comfortable and lived in. She knows that Sara’s family is wealthy, but Marcie realizes that she doesn’t think much about it. They don’t put a lot of emphasis on it somehow.

  “Marcie!” Sara exclaims when she gets on the phone. “Boy, has it been dead around here. I’m even looking forward to camp. How’re things at the cottage?”

  “Good. The water’s warm and we’ve already been swimming and sailing, and of course, fishing. There’s actually a really bad thing happening, though. Do you remember James Bay and James Woods from when you were up here? The area where we usually go to water ski?”

  “I think so—with all the trees and cattails down by the water?”

  “Right. Well, the woods are on Kaitlyn Swyndall’s family property, and I overheard Mr. Swyndall saying he is going to develop it into a gated community of estate houses.”

  “No way! That’s a really cool place.”

  “I thought maybe your dad might be able to help or have some suggestions for what we could do.”

  “So you really didn’t want to talk to me at all,” Sara exclaims with mock indignation. “Seriously, I’m sure he’ll talk with you. I think he’s in his office downstairs. Hang on a sec.”

  After a few moments, Sara’s dad gets on the phone. “Hello, Marcie. Sara gave me some details, but why don’t you fill me in on what is going on, and I’ll see what I can do to help.”

  Marcie knows Sara’s dad from seeing him over at their house, but she hasn’t spent a lot of time in conversation with him. He seems disconcertingly professional now, on the phone, so she is a little nervous as she explains about James Woods, the secretive development plans of Mr. Swyndall, and their visit to the Zoning Commission that afternoon. “We hoped that you might have some suggestions for how we can stop the development. My brother, Eric, is starting a petition and we wondered if maybe the property could be declared a wetlands or wildlife habitat,” she finishes a bit hesitantly.

  “So you think there are about 10 acres of land and it is privately owned by Don Swyndall?”

  “Yes.”

  “Has the property ever been developed before?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Well, it is possible that it could be identified as wet-lands, but the fellow at the zoning commission was right when he told you about there being ways around that. You can agree to move the wetlands to another location or minimize the impact of the development on the area. And unless there is an endangered species living in James Woods, as a private land owner, Mr. Swyndall doesn’t need to be concerned about wildlife. Since it’s his private property, he doesn’t have to make it a wildlife refuge unless he wants to.” He pauses for a moment, and Marcie can feel disappointment descending on her shoulders like a blanket. “The petition idea is a good one if people really feel strongly and are willing to be vocal about it. Does that seem to be the case?”

  “I think people would be opposed to it, but not enough to actively do anything about it. My parents don’t like the idea of developing the woods, but because Mr. Swyndall is president of the university, they feel like they can’t really do anything. Even my grandparents seem resigned to it, but I don’t think he should be able to spoil our lake just because he has more money. Isn’t there anything we can do?” A hint of desperation creeps into her voice.

  “Now, don’t lose hope,” he says kindly. “We’ve beaten tougher situations than this before. The problem for my organization is that the land is privately owned and a relatively small parcel. Here’s our strategy for now—I’ll get our people to look into the wetlands issue. Tell Eric to keep working on the petition, and you should also alert the local newspaper about what is going on. Although they might see the development in a positive light, at least it will bring it to the public’s attention. The Cultural Resources angle would really be our best strategy, but since nothing has been found there up to now, it doesn’t seem likely. Why don’t you get back to me …” she hears the rustle of pages turning, “early next week. I’ll be out of town until then, and that will give us time to see if these strategies are working.”

  “Okay,” Marcie says faintly.

  “Hang in there. It’s not over yet. If something comes up between now and then, call Sara’s mom and she’ll know how to get in touch with me.”

  “Thank you. I really appreciate your help.”

  “No guarantees, but we’ll see what we can do.”

  Marcie replaces the receiver on the phone and looks out the window above the kitchen sink at the darkening sky over the cove. Even though Mr. Clements didn’t offer her any new ideas, she still feels hopeful. Maybe there is a way to stop the development, she thinks, there has to be a way.

  Fourteen

  MARCIE PARKS HER bike in front of Kaitlyn’s house, takes off her backpack and drops it to the ground. This morning when she woke up, she almost wished that it was raining so they wouldn’t have sailing practice. She feels a little awkward about being at the Swyndalls’ house now that they are trying to stop the development of James Woods. At least no one knows anything about what she and Eric and Al are doing, but they will after Eric gets the petition going and contacts the newspaper that morning.

  Sighing, she stretches her arms over her head. The ride over on her bike is only about two miles along the road in front of the lake cottages. It passes James Woods, and Marcie was a little relieved when she didn’t feel anything unusual as she pedaled past the cool dimness of the shade beneath the trees. She grasps the loop handle on the top of her backpack and walks up the front porch stairs. Reaching for the brass knocker on the front door, she raps a few times. Almost immediately, the door swings open and she is greeted by Kaitlyn wearing a bright pink sports bikini.

  “Great! I was waiting for you,” Kaitlyn says. Marcie had called before she left to make sure sailing practice was still on. “Kyle and Conner are out on the boat. We’ve got a cooler of soft drinks and some snacks.” They pass through the entryway and into the kitchen. “Do you need to change?” Kaitlyn says, eyeing Marcie’s shorts and t-shirt. “You can use the back bathroom.”

  “These are swimming shorts and I can just take off my t-shirt and stuff it i
n my backpack,” Marcie says as she peels her shirt over her head to reveal her tank-style suit. There is no way she is going to run around on the boat with her rear end hanging out of her bathing suit.

  “Suit yourself—get it? I just crack myself up sometimes. Let’s go. Bring your stuff on the boat. Maybe we can stop at the Yacht Club for lunch and swim in the pool if Kyle and Conner want to go.”

  On the dock, Mrs. Swyndall is sunbathing in one of the lounge chairs.

  “Ready for sailing? I’m so glad this is working out for you two. It’ll be fun to race in the Regatta!” Mrs. Swyndall has a wide-brimmed hat on to shade her face, and several magazines on the table next to her. “Kait, your dad called earlier to say that he has to stay at the office the rest of the week. At least he can come back this weekend.” She gets up to adjust her lounge chair. “Have fun.” So, she won’t have to see Mr. Swyndall again until this weekend, thinks Marcie. Not realizing that she had been holding her breath, she lets out a little sigh of relief.

  They walk down to the end of the pier where Kyle and Conner are checking the lines, sails, and equipment to get the boat ready to sail. They’re both wearing swim trunks and t-shirts. Kyle’s sunglasses are fastened to a strap that loops behind his head to keep them from getting lost if they fall off while he’s out on the water. They look up as the girls approach.

  “What do you think of our new racing scow? We have a cabin cruiser from when we lived back east for the ocean, but the Yacht Club here races scows,” says Kaitlyn.

  “It’s really nice,” says Marcie. She knows from hanging around Eric and the Boat Company crowd that it is a top-of-the-line, high-performance racer. Scows are dinghy-style sailboats, like her sunfish, without a cabin and much longer, with more sails and rigging. Racing scows are built for speed.

  “Why don’t we start by sorting out crew responsibilities. I’ll be helmsman and handle the tiller,” says Kyle, asserting himself as the captain right away. “Conner, you want to handle the main sail?”

  “Sounds good,” replies Conner. He adjusts the rim of his faded, blue baseball cap to better shield his eyes from the sun.

  “Kaitlyn, you can manage the jib sheet and the center-board.” Glancing at Marcie, he tilts his head to the side and says, “I hear you’re a pretty good sailor—can you handle the spinnaker and watch the telltales?”

  “No problem,” says Marcie, thankful that it’s true. Her grandparents’ schooner isn’t the right type of boat to compete in the Regatta, but it has a jib and a spinnaker, and Marcie has spent many happy hours every summer sailing it with her family. She’s very comfortable around most sailboats. Now she is content to follow Kyle’s lead.

  “Great. Now I know this goes without saying, but I just want to be clear since this is our first time sailing as a team.” Kyle counts off each item on his fingers. “Each crew member needs to watch for boat traffic and wind direction.” They all nod. “Also, we all need to be aware of weight balancing on the boat and change position as needed.” More nods from Kaitlyn, Marcie, and Conner. “This is basic stuff, but I don’t want anyone feeling like they have to wait to be told. We all know what to do, so Just Do It!” he concludes with a laugh.

  “Yeah!” says Conner.

  “We’re ready!” says Kaitlyn. As she and Marcie climb aboard to take their positions on the boat, it rocks gently beneath them. They are all wearing flat, rubber-soled deck shoes so they can keep their footing on the slippery, moving boat. Marcie moves to the front of the cockpit to be near the spinnaker and stows her backpack under the foredeck with the cooler. On race day they won’t bring any additional stuff with them, as it might get in the way. Kaitlyn sits across from her to handle the jib with Conner beside her. Kyle is next to Marcie with the tiller in hand.

  “Everyone ready?” Getting agreement all around, he says, “Hoist the sails!”

  Conner starts hauling on the main line, or halyard, pulling hand over hand, and the main sheet rises up the mast. Kaitlyn raises the jib, which is the sail in the front of the boat attached at the prow by a line that connects to the top of the mast. There is a mild to moderate wind today and both sails begin to fill with wind. Marcie doesn’t raise the spinnaker, as it is only used when sailing downwind—the same direction as the wind is blowing—to catch additional wind. Kyle steers the boat with the tiller, and they move out past the buoys and into James Bay.

  A sailboat sails most efficiently when upright, and the wind is constantly pushing against the sails and tilting the boat sideways. The centerboard projects below the hull and counteracts the push of the wind against the sails. Kaitlyn will move the centerboard up and down as needed to adjust for the wind. Balancing the weight of the crew in the boat in relation to the push of the wind is a very important part of sailing, and you will often see crew members leaning way out over the side of the boat with their feet under the toe lines in the cockpit to counter balance the force of the wind.

  They pass a Mennonite family fishing on a pontoon boat as they exit the bay. Conner says, “I didn’t think Amish people were allowed to use motors. They are so weird. Beards and goofy hats and the women in their bonnets, like pioneers! No TV, computers, cell phones—like the stone age!” He’s leaning back laconically against the side of the boat.

  “No shopping at the mall, either,” says Kaitlyn. “You wouldn’t catch me dead in one of those outfits.”

  “I’m sure none of them would be caught dead in one of these outfits,” says Conner, referring to Kaitlyn’s bathing suit.

  “I’m sure you’re right,” Kaitlyn laughs and tosses her loose hair over her shoulder flirtatiously.

  Marcie thinks of Rachel and her family at the market. “They must be Mennonites,” she says. “I think Mennonites can use motors and electricity, but I don’t know about TV’s.”

  “I’m with you—too weird for me,” says Kyle. “I can’t even imagine living up here all year round. It’s a great place for the summer, but there is nothing else going on except the lake. What do people do for fun around here, watch the corn grow? I did see a sign for drag racing on Saturday night, but can you imagine the crowd that would go to that? A lot of rednecks, I bet.” They are out in the lake now, having cleared the mouth of the bay. “Why don’t we do a couple of easy runs across the lake and back past the sandbar to get used to crewing together? Then on Thursday we can work on speed.”

  They take a starboard tack upwind towards the sandbar. Marcie watches the telltales on the mainsail for optimal wind position while the others are working the sails. They are sailing easily, getting a feel for each other and the boat. She doesn’t meet anyone else’s eye when she says, “My family likes coming up here during the off season. It’s slower-paced than back home, but that’s what we like about it. The lake is really nice then, too, without the summer crowds.”

  “I did notice there are a lot fewer boats out during the week than on the weekends. Good for sailing, but I would die of boredom living up here all year round,” says Kaitlyn.

  The wind has picked up now that they are out on the main lake, so they concentrate on sailing. Marcie keeps her eyes on the telltales, letting the others know how the wind is flowing over the sails so they can adjust as necessary.

  “See that fishing boat ahead?” says Kyle not waiting for an answer. “We’ll use that as our marker to turn back downwind for the second leg of the ‘race.’ Marcie, you know what to do with the spinnaker.” It is a statement, not a question.

  “All set,” says Marcie. She readies herself for action.

  They approach the fishing boat from the port side and wait for the optimum moment to come about without losing speed. Marcie climbs onto the foredeck and attaches the spinnaker pole to the mast and the sail in readiness for hoisting the sail. Her heart is pounding with excitement. Kyle is in charge now, watching the sails and saying “wait, not yet … just a little farther.” Just as they are about to lose the wind, Kyle yells “Come about!” The others spring into action, quickly switching the direction of th
e sails. As the boom swings across the boat, Conner calls out “Boom!” They all duck. Marcie is poised to act when she gets the signal from Kyle. He steers them around the fishing boat and as they begin to head downwind, he calls out, “Spinnaker!” Marcie raises the sail. It unfurls in a beautiful cloud of robin’s egg blue. Immediately it fills with wind, and they are off in the other direction.

  “Perfect turn!” calls out Kyle. “We’ve got a great chance at beating the rest of the field if we keep working together like that.” They do high fives all around. Marcie is as pumped up as the others about winning the race.

  Sailing downwind always feels strange to Marcie. It’s almost as if there is no wind at all because it’s blowing in the same direction as she is sailing, so she doesn’t feel it moving past her. The boat hardly seems to move at all, even if she is going fairly fast. Not like when she is sailing upwind and she can feel the wind blowing past as she sails through it.

  They do two more practice runs and congratulate themselves on working together so well as a team. Kyle expertly docks the boat at the Yacht Club pier, and they tie off. Many of the other boats docked are racing scows as well.

  “It looks like this will be our major competition for the July 4th Regatta,” says Conner, indicating the other boats. “But I don’t see too many that can compare with our boat, Kyle. We’ve got the crew and the boat to win,” he says with confidence. The two boys are walking ahead of Marcie and Kaitlyn on the dock on their way to the boathouse.

  “I’m pretty sure only the Boat Company will be racing a new high performance scow. And I can’t imagine that the Townies will have anything that can compete with us. We’re in good shape.”

  Marcie cringes inwardly at the word Townie. Even though most of the Yacht Club members are summer people, many of the club employees are locals with summer jobs, and Kyle is definitely saying it in a derogatory way.

  The Yacht Club is part country club and part sailing club. There is a formal dining room where parties are held, an informal dining room, and an outdoor pool. Because they are wearing their bathing suits, they have to eat at the cabana by the pool. Kaitlyn is totally unconcerned about walking around in only her bathing suit, but Marcie is glad to be wearing her shorts.