Indian Summer

by Tracy Richardson

  “Let’s place another marker.”

  “How did you know this was here?”

  “When I stepped out of Brad’s boat I was right on top of it.”

  Their excitement builds as a circular shape begins to emerge. Marcie feels her hope growing that it could actually be real, that all of it really happened. When they complete the circle and are back at the first buoy, they turn and look at the buoys they’ve placed.

  “It is definitely a circle,” Marcie’s mother says. “Like a circular mound of earth …”

  “Yes, that’s right—a circular mound!” Marcie can hardly believe that there really is a mound under the water. She realizes that all the strange occurrences over the past two weeks were gently guiding her to this moment, this discovery.

  “I’d almost say it was man-made,” her mom continues. “It’s too precise to be just a regular sandbar. It reminds me of a Native American mound. It’s the right shape and size, but in the bay?”

  “I think it is an ancient mound,” Marcie says. “It sounds a little crazy, but when I stepped onto the mound from Brad’s boat, I could see it in the present and the past at the same time. In the past, it wasn’t covered with water.” She hesitates and then rushes on. “I’ve been having these visions all week about Indians.” Now that she’s started, the story comes pouring out and she tells her mom everything from the flying dream to taking the bracelet and seeing the girl wearing it. She lifts up her sleeve to reveal the bracelet. “See, here it is.” She hands it to her mom. “Do you believe me?”

  “Of course I believe you.” She takes the bracelet and enfolds Marcie in a soggy hug. “What I can’t believe is that you kept all this to yourself. You’ve had quite an interesting two weeks.” Releasing her, she says, “Sometimes when I’m at a dig site, I get a sense that the spirits of the people who inhabited the place and used the artifacts are somehow present. I’ve never actually seen them, but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen.” Mrs. Horton looks closely at the bracelet. “This certainly looks like something the native tribe members would have worn. The Adena people are called the ‘mound builders’ because of the ceremonial mounds they built.”

  “I read about them in the library when I found the bracelet. I think it’s an Adena mound.”

  “It could be. So, in your vision, the mound wasn’t covered with water?”

  Marcie nods.

  “We do know that the shore of Lake Pappakeechee has changed over time. It’s possible that the shore was further out in James Bay when the Adena lived here.” Mrs. Horton turns the bracelet over in her hands and runs her fingertips over the design etched into its surface. Slowly, she turns her gaze to Marcie. “This could be a really important discovery. Most of the Adena mounds have been destroyed or damaged by farming or artifact hunters.” She continues with a tremor of excitement in her voice. “It could also have an impact on the development of James Woods.”

  “Because it’s a cultural resource?”

  “Yes. An archaeological site becomes the property of the state and is protected.”

  A smile gradually unfolds on Marcie’s face. “You mean Mr. Swyndall wouldn’t be able to build on the land?”

  “I can’t really be sure. The mound is in the water, not the woods. But it definitely opens up that possibility. It’s really an extraordinary find. I can’t wait to get back and contact some of my colleagues about this.”

  “You won’t tell anyone about the visions, will you? It’s a little too … unusual to share.”

  “I’ll keep it to myself.” They stand together on the mound for a few moments looking at the markers and letting the realization sink in. The family of ducks swims gracefully between the buoys on the smooth surface of the water, making V-shaped ripples that expand and overlap behind them to form an intricate design. Below them, undisturbed for thousands of years and hidden beneath the sparkling water, lies what might be an ancient ceremonial site where people worshipped and celebrated, lived and died. A sudden gust of air sends the leaves of the trees rustling, and makes the hair on the back of Marcie’s neck stand up.

  “Did you hear that?” asks her mom, breaking the spell that surrounded them. “The trees were whispering to us.” She shivers and then shakes herself. “Let’s get back home and see if there’s any news about Al. And I have a few phone calls to make.”

  Twenty-Three

  WHEN THEY ARRIVE at the Swyndalls’ that night, the party is already in full swing. All the competitors from the regatta and their families have been invited to watch the July 4th fireworks, and there is a crowd of people on the patio. It is starting to get dark, and torches are lit at intervals around the edge of the patio to illuminate the area. Christmas lights are draped across the arbor that covers part of the patio. Marcie’s parents stop to talk to some people they know, and Eric goes looking for his friends.

  Marcie doesn’t want to be here at all. She’s had to endure Eric’s gloating all afternoon. The Boat Company won the Regatta, and he’s been needling her about it the whole day. The red-striped boat came in second, and the Swyndalls’ boat came in a disappointing fifth place. Without Marcie to man the spinnaker, they lost the lead at the halfway buoy and were never able to catch up. Marcie isn’t sure she can face Kaitlyn, Kyle, and Conner.

  Hopefully she can avoid them—especially Kaitlyn—by sticking close to her grandparents and not mingling too much. She looks around and spots Kaitlyn over by the dessert table. “Let’s get something to drink first,” she says to her grandparents, and they walk toward the bar, which is on the other side of the patio from the desserts. Marcie gets a soda from the bartender, turns away from the bar, and who is standing right in front of her but Mr. Swyndall—the other person she wants to avoid tonight.

  “Hello there, young lady. You’re the talk of the party,” he says, not unkindly. “In all my years of sailing, I’ve never seen anyone jump off a boat in the middle of a race. Why don’t you tell me what happened.” He is a big man, tall as well as wide, but not fat. Just big. She has to look up to talk to him. It’s intimidating.

  Marcie takes a sip of her drink to steady her nerves. She can feel perspiration beading on her forehead. Because she’s been working at cross purposes to Mr. Swyndall all summer, she feels uncomfortable and a little afraid of him.

  When she speaks, her voice comes out as a croak, and she needs to clear her throat several times. “Our neighbor, Al, had a stroke, and he was all alone in James Bay. He needed help, so I had to go to him.”

  “How did you know something was wrong?” he asks, puzzled. His eyebrows come together to form a V in his forehead.

  “I just,” she stops, looks down at her glass, and then meets his gaze directly, “knew.”

  Mr. Swyndall is silent. Finally, he says, “I believe you really did ‘know.’ I have to act on hunches all the time in my position, and I’ve learned to trust my instincts. The most important question is—how is Al?”

  “He’s doing well now. The paramedics treated him in the ambulance, which really helped. He’s still in intensive care, but they think he can be moved in the morning.” Marcie is surprised to find herself begin to feel at ease with Mr. Swyndall. She realizes that this is the first time she has really talked to him.

  “That is terrific news. I think Kaitlyn needs to hear this. They’re pretty angry with a certain someone at the moment.” Before Marcie can say anything, he has propelled her over to where Kaitlyn and Kyle are standing. “Look who I found,” he says. Kaitlyn gives her a withering look, and Kyle glares at her. “I’ve just learned the reason for Marcie’s big dive from the boat, and I think you need to hear it.” He looks at Marcie as if expecting her to tell the tale, but takes pity on her obvious discomfort. “It seems that her friend, Al, had a stroke during the race and was all alone in James Bay. Marcie and the DNR man got there just in time to call the paramedics. They saved his life.”

  “Really?” Kaitlyn’s eyes are wide and unfriendly. “So you didn’t just abandon us for spite or somet
hing? I honestly thought that maybe you wanted the Boat Company to win all along, and when you didn’t call this afternoon to explain, that just confirmed it.” A breeze lifts her hair and blows it across her face. She brushes it away.

  “That was quite a trick you pulled on us today. We were in the lead and ready to take it all the way! That is, until you abandoned ship,” says Kyle.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call. I know I let you all down, and I wasn’t looking forward to talking to you.” The coolness of the glass in her hand helps to calm her. She realizes that she doesn’t really care if they’re still mad at her. Being Kaitlyn’s friend is nice, but not as important as helping Al.

  “We were pretty mad at you. But I guess it is only a race,” admits Kaitlyn grudgingly, her anger apparently dissipating.

  “Yeah,” adds Kyle, “maybe we can race in some of the regular Sunday Regattas and show them what we can do.”

  “I’d like that,” says Marcie. Maybe I don’t have to choose between my family and the Swyndalls, she thinks. I just need to choose what’s right for me.

  “I’ll call you,” says Kaitlyn, as she and Kyle turn and walk away, leaving her alone with Mr. Swyndall.

  Marcie sees her mom approaching them, and she groans inwardly. There had been a lot of debate at the Horton household about whether or not to confront Don Swyndall with the news about the mound in James Bay. Since it was the Fourth of July, Mrs. Horton didn’t have much luck contacting her colleagues, but she was able to track down the Archaeology Department Chair on his cell phone at a holiday party. Far from being annoyed at the interruption, he was thrilled to hear of the possible site and said he would order preliminary surveys right away. Marcie’s dad was of the opinion that they should wait until after the party to confront Mr. Swyndall, since he is sure to be resistant to changing his development plans. Mrs. Horton let it be known that if she encountered him at the party, she would not hesitate to tell him about the mounds. She seemed more concerned about stopping any construction preparation that might begin on Monday than avoiding a scene at the party.

  Seeing her mom now and the look of determination on her face, Marcie knows that they won’t be waiting to spring the news on Mr. Swyndall.

  “Jill, I’ve just heard the story of your daughter’s heroics this afternoon.” He places a hand on Marcie’s shoulder. “I’m glad to hear Al is doing okay.”

  “Yes, fortunately, it looks that way, thanks to Marcie and the paramedics.” She lifts her head up to look at him directly. “There is something else I want to talk with you about. I understand that you are planning to develop James Woods.”

  “Thanks to your children that is now common knowledge,” he says with a laugh.

  “We made a discovery in the bay that may change your mind. Actually you have Marcie to thank for this as well.”

  “What sort of discovery?”

  Mrs. Horton turns to her daughter. “Marcie, it’s your discovery. Why don’t you tell him?”

  “Well,” Marcie says hesitantly. Then, taking a deep breath, she continues more confidently. “There may be an Adena Indian mound located in the bay right off the shoreline of James Woods. I found it this afternoon when we were helping Al. We mapped it out with fishing buoys.”

  “Yes, Marcie literally stumbled upon it in the water. You should know, I’ve contacted the Archaeology Department Chair, and he wants to do some surveys right away.”

  “Hold on a minute. You found a Native American archaeological site in the bay?”

  “We can’t be sure yet, of course, but we know the shoreline of the lake has changed over the last two millennia. There are certain things about the site that lead me to believe it could be an Adena mound.” Mrs. Horton likes to talk with her hands, and the plate of cake and glass of tea she is holding have been hindering her, so she places them on a nearby table. “You see, it isn’t technically on your land, and the water is the property of the Indiana Department of Natural Resources, but any development of the land would certainly have an impact on the site.” Marcie is watching Mr. Swyndall carefully to judge his reaction to the news. She can’t read his expression to tell what he’s thinking.

  “So the site is in the water, not on my land?” Oh no, thinks Marcie, he’s going to fight it. “This certainly does change things.” He pauses, momentarily lost in thought. The conversation of the other partygoers flows all around them. Overhead, the strings of lights sparkle in the night sky. “A find of this magnitude could do a lot for the university. I’m no expert on archaeology. If you say it’s an important find, I have to take your word on this.”

  Marcie realizes that she is staring with her mouth hanging open, and shuts it immediately. She had expected Mr. Swyndall to completely oppose doing anything with the site. Mrs. Horton is absentmindedly twisting her napkin in her hands. She says, “It could be a very significant find, if it’s undisturbed. Think of what it could mean for the Archaeology Department and the university.” She uses the napkin to blot perspiration on her neck. Seeing the opportunity to drive their point home, Marcie says, “You may want to delay construction until we find out more.”

  Mr. Swyndall takes a long swallow from his drink. The music playing in the background is tuned to the radio station that will synchronize its music with the fireworks. They’ve been playing patriotic songs all evening. Right now the station is playing a marching band song with cymbals crashing and drums beating. It’s almost like a drum roll is accompanying Mr. Swyndall as he contemplates his decision. Finally, he says, “We probably should wait until the site can be investigated.” He gives Marcie a pat on the back. “It looks like you might get your wish after all, young lady.”

  THE NIGHT IS dark now, and the fireworks will be starting soon. Marcie is standing along the shore at the edge of the Swyndalls’ property, where she can see James Bay and the deeper darkness of James Woods. The water laps gently at her bare feet, and she feels a profound sense of peace. She likes the feeling of being alone with the party going on distantly behind her. Lights from houses on the shore of the lake shine in the darkness like a string of luminescent pearls, but no lights shine through the trees of James Woods. Now, there may never be any houses built there. Nothing has been decided yet, but Marcie feels in her soul that the woods will be protected. She hugs herself to ward off the chill of the night air, and her hand touches the bracelet on her arm. She will have to return it to the library, but tonight she wanted to wear it one more time. The memory of the girl who once wore it long ago is in the air, but that’s all it is—a memory. The woods are quiet now.

  The symphonic music on the radio starts to build in intensity, and Marcie hears the shrill whistle of the first of the fireworks whizzing into the sky. The rocket explodes at the same time the music reaches its crescendo and its red, white, and blue light illuminates the sky and the bay and woods below. For a few moments, the trees and the water glow in the patriotic colors and then darkness returns. Marcie turns and walks over to join her family on their blanket spread on the lawn. She squeezes in between her dad and Drew. The next rocket explodes brightly white above them. She looks over at the faces of her family, lit up by the display. Each one of them looks the same as always to Marcie, but she feels different, somehow better. She finally feels comfortable just being herself. She lies back on the blanket to watch the rest of the fireworks, with her family close by her side.

  Twenty-Four

  THE THICK CARPET of red and gold leaves crunches under their feet as Marcie and Al make their way along the path. Pansy, released from her leash, bounds ahead in pursuit of a squirrel or a rabbit, leaping past the shafts of sunlight that stream through the vibrantly colored leaves on the trees.

  “What a great day,” Marcie says. “I don’t even need this jacket.” She shrugs her shoulders out of her jeans jacket.

  “Yes, it’s Indian Summer—warm weather in the fall after the first frost. I’ll take this over the cold rain we’ve been having any day,” says Al.

  Marcie glances over at hi
m. He is walking with a cane now, but his gait is steady. He isn’t completely back to his old self after the stroke, but she can definitely see improvement from when she saw him last at the end of the summer.

  “So, what’s the surprise?” she asks now. Her family is visiting the cottage for the weekend, and Al asked her to join him on a walk to James Woods.

  “You’ll find out soon enough. Young people have no patience nowadays,” he says grumpily, but Marcie knows he’s just teasing her.

  Their progress is slow, but they gradually make their way toward the clearing along the shore of the bay where Marcie found Al slumped over in his boat. Marcie has an idea of what Al’s surprise is, but she is still unprepared for the sight that awaits her when they round a curve in the path and the shore is laid out before them. Instead of 30 feet of sandy beach and marshy shallows, the shore stretches out before them for more than 100 yards to a curving stone wall that arcs from one side of the shore to the other to hold back the water in the bay. In the center of the arc is a low circular mound of earth.

  Marcie comes to a standstill, and her breath catches in her throat. “Wow, it’s really here,” she whispers.

  “Pretty impressive, isn’t it? They just finished the wall this week.”

  But Marcie isn’t thinking about the mound itself, she’s remembering everything that led up to its discovery. In the months that passed since then, going back to school and seeing her friends, it became harder for her to believe that any of it really happened. Looking at the mound now, however, she vividly remembers seeing the Adena girl with her triumphant smile standing on the mound that day last summer.

  “It’s amazing. Can we walk out to it?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  They carefully make their way along the path laid out across the still-soggy ground and stop at the metal fence surrounding the mound. Standing here on this beautiful autumn day, Marcie can imagine the ancient people who worshiped in the same spot thousands of years ago. She has a sense of something sacred. It could be the familiar prickling feeling on the back of her neck, or the wind whispering in the dry leaves of the woods. Whatever it is, she knows that the Adena girl is still here too.