“I’m going down for breakfast,” he calls over his shoulder as he descends the stairs. “See you at the finish line!”
Eric’s comment about the bracelet starts her thinking. She retrieves it from under the bed and puts it on her upper arm. The sleeve of her t-shirt comes down to her elbow and covers the bracelet. Maybe I will wear it for luck, she thinks. She quickly puts on her shoes and follows Eric down the stairs.
When Marcie joins Kaitlyn, Kyle, and Conner at the dock, there is an air of quiet anticipation among the group that draws Marcie in. They are too excited and perhaps a little too anxious for small talk, so they work silently on the task of getting the boat ready for the race, lost in their own thoughts. The mainsail and the jib are ready to hoist, and the ropes are coiled on the deck. “Marcie—check the spinnaker and then we should be ready to go,” Kyle instructs her.
The spinnaker is stowed in a bag at the front of the boat. Marcie climbs onto the foredeck and checks that everything is in order. “All set,” she calls out as she scrambles back to her spot in the cockpit.
“Okay. Let’s paddle out from the dock,” Kyle says, as Kaitlyn unties the ropes. Conner and Marcie paddle the boat out into the bay. Marcie feels a shiver of excitement run through her when they hoist the sails and they fill with wind.
For the start of the race the boats don’t simply line up and start sailing from a standstill. The starter will sound a ten-minute warning, and all the crews will maneuver their boats in an attempt to sail across the starting line just as the starting gun goes off—but without crossing the line too soon. If you cross the line early, you have to take a penalty—circle back and start again. You want to cross the line in full sail to get the best start to the race. It’s tricky to time it exactly right, especially as there are 20 other boats all trying to do the same thing.
Kyle is busy giving instructions. “Marcie, since we won’t be using the spinnaker until the second leg of the race, you can watch for boats and call out the right of way.” Marcie will need to be very alert. There are some fairly complicated right-of-way rules involving leeward and windward positioning and starboard and port tack. Hitting another boat when you don’t have the right of way is a foul that results in a penalty.
Conner checks his watch. “There’s still plenty of time to get to the starting line. Let’s warm up for the race and get a feel for the wind conditions.”
Marcie says, “Eric was acting pretty cocky this morning, talking trash about beating us. I’d love to beat him and rub his face in it.”
“Yeah, I saw some of them at Smokey’s Landing the other day, and they were gloating about how this year’s win will make five in a row. As though it was already a done deal,” Kyle says as he steers the boat out of the bay.
“Those Townies are too confident for their own good. We’ll see what they have to say when we beat them,” Conner says. He adjusts the mainsail to catch the wind.
They practice a few turns in the bay and then begin sailing toward the starting line, an imaginary line between the starter’s boat and a marker buoy. They are still a good distance away from the start when the ten-minute warning horn sounds.
“We’re in perfect position,” says Kyle. “Outside the pack with a little more distance to cover, but not as much boat traffic.” He takes his sunglasses off and lets them hang from the lanyard around his neck. “We need to sail toward the line and time it for the starting horn.” They take a port tack with the wind blowing over the left side of the boat.
Marcie notices that the Boat Company crew seems to have the same idea and is slightly behind them on the side closer to the starter’s boat. The race is beginning before they even reach the starting line, as the two boats jockey for position.
Conner is timing their approach to the start and adjusting their speed with the mainsail. “Two minutes to go,” he calls out. Marcie’s heart is pounding and her mouth is dry. She looks over at Kaitlyn manning the jib sail and catches her eye. Kaitlyn’s expression of intense concentration turns into a broad smile, and she gives Marcie a thumbs up with her free hand.
“One minute.” Conner starts calling out ten-second intervals as they are fast approaching the marker buoy. Almost at the same instant that the starter’s horn sounds… they cross the starting line. They’ve timed it perfectly. They let out a collective cheer. It seems to Marcie as if she’d been holding her breath for ages.
“Full out!” shouts Kyle, and they’re off. They got a jump on the whole field, including the Boat Company, and they want to capitalize on the lead to stay in front.
“Boat approaching on the starboard side. Between us and the Boat Company,” Marcie alerts the team. Another boat, with a red stripe along its hull, is not far behind them, between their own boat and the Boat Company. Looking under the sail, Marcie can see Eric manning the jib sail of his craft and the rest of his crew balanced on the port side to counteract the force of the wind. Marcie has moved over next to Kaitlyn and Conner to do the same thing, but she’s still keeping a careful eye out for other boats.
“We’ll continue on a port tack,” Kyle yells over the wind.
Marcie is watching the tell-tails, and she calls out, “We’re losing wind speed. Turn more to port.” Kyle and Conner adjust the direction with the main sail and the tiller. The key now is to keep ahead of the pack and stay on the windward side of the other boats to keep the wind in their sails.
They will travel in a zig-zag pattern down the course. They want to come at the buoy from a close starboard tack so they can swing around the buoy and not lose time by making too wide a turn. Timing will be critical.
“Ready to come about—on my mark,” Kyle calls out. “Three … two … one—now!” Kyle steers them left with the tiller, Conner and Kaitlyn pull the lines of the sails to the opposite side of the boat, and everyone moves to switch sides. Marcie ducks as the boom swings across.
“Crap! Our timing was off on that one,” exclaims Conner. “We lost our momentum and didn’t catch the wind right away.”
“We don’t want to give those other two boats any opportunity to catch up,” says Kaitlyn.
“The red stripe boat is upwind of us now,” Kyle says. “They could block some of our wind if they move ahead.”
Red stripe and the Boat Company also come about to switch directions. The Swyndalls’ boat is just barely in the lead, but that could change at any time. A couple of other boats further down the line aren’t far behind either.
Now that they are facing the other direction, Marcie can see all the spectators in speed boats anchored far outside the race course. For a quick instant she looks for her family, but can’t place them in the crowd. She looks behind her and sees that the Boat Company has caught up with them. From just a few yards across the choppy water, Eric is looking right at her with a wide grin on his face, as if to say ‘it’s not over yet.’
“The Boat Company has right of way for the next turn,” she calls out. “Keep it tight or we could have a problem clearing them.”
To get maximum speed, they are all leaning out over the side with their feet under the toe-lines to counteract the force of the wind in the sail and balance the boat. Water is splashing up over the sides as the boat slices through the waves. They complete the next turn successfully, but the red stripe boat has edged ahead into the lead. After two more turns, they are approaching the halfway buoy and have a slight lead over the Boat Company team.
“Get the spinnaker ready,” Kyle shouts to Marcie over the sound of the wind and waves. She is already climbing onto the foredeck to attach the spinnaker to the mast. On the unprotected foredeck she has to deal with the rocking movement of the boat and the water coming up over the deck as it dips into the oncoming waves. She will need to raise the spinnaker after they swing around the buoy. “Prepare to come about!” calls Kyle. “Marcie, on my mark.”
She sees the official race boat anchored out from the marker buoy to monitor the competitors as they pass.
As they are approaching the b
uoy, Marcie hears a dog barking. But she doesn’t see any dogs.
It must be on one of the spectators’ boats. Then she realizes that she knows that bark—it’s Pansy barking. A loud, insistent bark—coming from the direction of James Bay. How can that be? She looks for Al’s boat among the spectators, but doesn’t see it. Somehow, Marcie knows that something is terribly wrong and Pansy is barking for help. Her bark is like an alarm sounding in Marcie’s brain, communicating the need for action. She has to get to Al… now.
Without thinking about what she’s doing, Marcie dives off the sailboat and starts swimming. A Department of Natural Resources boat is anchored next to the official’s boat. Marcie recognizes the DNR man on the boat; she thinks his name is Brad. She’s met him before out on the lake fishing with Al. She is in open water and swimming rapidly towards the DNR boat. Because the Swyndalls’ boat is in the lead and coming around the buoy on the outside, there are no other sailboats between her and the boat. Kaitlyn, Kyle, and Conner are yelling at her, but Marcie doesn’t hear them. All she can hear is Pansy’s insistent barking. She is only concerned about getting to Al. All thoughts of the race have flown from her head.
When she reaches the DNR boat, Brad has the ladder down for her to climb aboard.
“What’s going on?” he asks, obviously surprised to see her jump ship in the middle of the race and swim for his boat.
“It’s Al, Al Depena. Something’s wrong. He might be hurt. He’s in James Bay,” she says, gasping for breath. The urgency in her voice and the certainty of her tone must convince Brad that something is indeed wrong, and he is galvanized to action.
He starts the engine. “Pull up the anchor.” He reverses away from the race and then speeds off in the direction of James Bay. “There’s a towel under the bench seat in front,” he calls out over the noise of the splashing water and the roar of the engine.
Marcie gets a towel and wraps it around herself. She sits in the front of the boat, watching for James Bay to come into view. They round the point and there is Al’s boat at the far end of the bay, in the shallow area by the shore.
“There he is!”
“I see him,” says Brad. “Hey—how did you know something was wrong? Did he call you on his cell phone?”
“No, I heard his dog barking, and I knew something was wrong.” As she says it, Marcie realizes how improbable it is. How could she have heard Pansy barking from so far away? But she had heard it; she still hears it, the insistent barking sounds like ‘Help! Help! Help!’ to her ears. “Don’t you hear it now?”
“Are you kidding? I can hardly hear anything over the engine noise.” He looks at her quizzically, but doesn’t say any more.
They approach the boat and Marcie can see Al slumped over in the stern. Pansy is standing next to him protectively and wags her tail as they come alongside the boat. Brad kills the engine, and now they can both clearly hear Pansy barking.
“Throw the anchor out. I’m going aboard,” he says as he climbs over the side of the speed boat and into Al’s fishing boat. Carefully, he checks Al’s pulse and breathing. “He’s alive, but his pulse is very weak. Hand me the handset from the dashboard and dial 911. I’m calling for an ambulance.” Marcie quickly grabs the handset and dials the number. “Is he going to be okay?” She’s frightened by the grayish tint of Al’s skin.
“I’m going to pull his boat up to the shore so the paramedics don’t have to wade into the water.” He pulls in Al’s anchor, then jumps into the water, which is over his head, and slowly pulls the boat to the shore.
Marcie wants to be near Al and Pansy, so she lowers the ladder and climbs down, intending to swim to shore. She is surprised when her foot touches the sandy bottom and the water is barely up to her waist. As her other foot sinks into the sand, the scene around her starts to blur. She rubs her eyes, but instead of clearing up, the edges of everything become more indistinct, as if she is wearing someone else’s glasses. Slowly, a second image begins to come into focus. Like two negatives on the same piece of film, she can see the boats and Brad on the shore with Al and at the same time she can see another image emerging, superimposed over the first. It’s almost as if she’s in two places at once. Perhaps she is in two times at once. Both images are of James Bay, but in one she sees a mound curving around to form a circle of raised earth. It is empty of people except for one—the girl with the copper bracelet is standing a few yards away, her arms spread wide.
The scene with the girl is becoming more solid, and the image of Al and Brad appears now only transparently over it. Marcie looks down and sees that she is standing on the mound in the past and in the present it is covered with water glimmering under her gaze. She realizes that the ancient mound is actually located in the lake in the present time. That’s why no one has ever found it! It’s been covered by the shallow water of James Bay. Marcie brings her eyes back up to look at the girl and smiles broadly. Could this be what the girl has been trying to tell her? Perhaps there is a sacred site in James Woods, but the shore of the lake wasn’t always in the same place.
Marcie and the Native American girl gaze at each other for a moment. Then, Marcie pushes up the sleeve of her shirt to show that she is wearing the bracelet. The girl smiles at her, and then her image begins to waiver and become fainter. The past slowly fades away. Marcie doesn’t have time to consider what her discovery means. The reality of the present hits her as she half-wades, half-swims to the shore to help Al. Brad has Al reclining in the boat, but hasn’t moved him otherwise.
“His pulse is still very weak. He’s lucky you knew something was wrong. It could have been some time before anyone noticed him back here in the shallows.”
Marcie doesn’t reply. Sirens blare in the distance. She hugs Pansy and strokes her fur. Somehow Pansy got the message to her. She smoothes Al’s hair across his brow. His eyes open briefly.
“Hey, kiddo,” he says hoarsely, before his eyelids flutter closed again.
Twenty-Two
THE PARAMEDICS ARRIVE and take over. Marcie hears the sound of a speed boat approaching and looks up to see her family arriving in the bay. Her mom and dad swim to shore, leaving her grandparents and Drew in the boat.
“We saw you jump off the sail boat. What happened?”
“Pansy called me,” Marcie says to her mom. “I heard her barking, and I just knew something was wrong.” Her mom puts her arm around Marcie’s shoulders.
The paramedics have Al on a stretcher and are loading him into the ambulance. “Can I ride with him to the hospital?” Marcie’s dad asks the paramedics. They wave him into the ambulance as they hook Al up to various monitors. “I’ll call you when I know anything,” her father says to Marcie and her mom as he climbs in. The paramedics close the door and take off with the sirens blaring, lights flashing, and tires churning up the sandy soil.
Mrs. Horton turns to Brad. “Thanks for your help.”
“No problem. I just hope he’s okay.” He takes off his hat and wipes his brow. “Hey, what happened in the race? It’s probably over by now.”
The race! “They must be furious with me. I probably cost them the trophy.” She pauses. “Mom—I’m really scared. Al looked so awful.”
“I’m worried, too, honey.”
Mamaw and Poppy take the speed boat back so that Marcie and her mom can drive Al’s fishing boat home. They are standing next to the boat, ready to push it into the water and climb aboard with Pansy, when Marcie says, “Mom, I need to show you something. Something in the water.”
“What is it?”
“It’s on the bottom of the bay. Swim out with me and I’ll show you.”
As they wade into the water, Marcie grabs some of the small buoys from Al’s boat that fishermen use to mark the location of good fishing sites. Once the water is over their heads, they start swimming. “I think it’s over here.” Marcie swims to the general area where Brad’s boat was anchored, and her mom follows. Marcie treads water, reaching down with her feet past the clinging seaweed for the bo
ttom. The top three feet or so of water is warm from the sun, but below where its rays can penetrate, the water is considerably cooler. It’s an odd sensation to have the top half of her body in warm, almost balmy water, and the bottom half gradually getting cooler and cooler until her feet and toes groping for the bottom are in decidedly chilly water. When her feet finally do touch, she calls to her mom. “I found it. Here, where you can stand.”
“Is it a sandbar?”
“No, I think it’s something else. Like a raised shape or mound on the bottom of the lake.” Marcie isn’t ready to tell her mom more until she’s certain that something really is below the water. Maybe she imagined it all. In some ways that’s easier to believe.
“A raised shape?”
“Yes. Will you help me figure out what it is?”
“Okay,” Mrs. Horton says, puzzled. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”
“Let’s start walking along the rise. If we place these buoys as we go, we can get an idea of the shape.” She drops a buoy with its weighted rope where they are standing. They start tentatively walking in what seems to be the right direction. It takes a few tries, feeling the bottom with their feet, but they eventually figure it out. It is quiet in the bay. A slight breeze ruffles the cattails and reeds near the shore, and nearby a pair of ducks and five ducklings dive for food, their heads under the water searching for tender plants and their tails sticking up in the air. The only sounds are the birds calling in the trees and the splashing of Marcie and Mrs. Horton in the water. They work together companionably in the peaceful scene, thoroughly engrossed in the task; sometimes taking exploratory steps and probing with their feet and sometimes diving down beneath the murky water to explore the muddy contours of the lake floor with their hands. It is slow going. Their clothes are heavy with water. Marcie is wearing her suit under her clothes, but she doesn’t want to stop to remove her shirt and shorts.
“This is really interesting,” says Mrs. Horton after they’ve gone about 50 feet. “It’s like a narrow sandbar and it isn’t really a straight line, more like a curve or an arc. I think it’s starting to turn back here.”
Indian Summer Page 12