by Akart, Bobby
The scene unfolded as if he were watching a disaster film presented as found footage, a method of cinematography in which the movie was presented as if it were later-discovered video recordings. Because, as he watched, he couldn’t imagine anyone living through the ordeal.
The cameraman gave it his best effort. He tried to keep up with his son as he raced down one pier, battled through pedestrians, and raced up the next one. Chapman’s fall and brutal slide into the statue allowed the cameraman to catch up, albeit momentarily. Then they were off again, the cameraman somehow keeping the camera rolling throughout.
This was when Squire swelled with pride. Chapman was always in command during a crisis. He was courageous in the face of danger and aggressively pursued solutions when lives were at risk. Today was no different. Despite the protestations of the Ferris wheel’s operators, and the grumblings of the frightened tourists, he saved lives by taking charge.
Then Squire’s sense of pride was displaced by a parent’s fear over the loss of a child. As Chapman emptied out the last of the gondolas, the cameraman panned toward the water and the massive waterspout that was churning its way toward them. He pointed the camera upward to show the gondolas, which at first blew sideways toward the city. But then, as the waterspout neared, they reversed direction and sucked back toward the massive twister.
Squire immediately prayed for his son’s safety. Calling upon God to set aside all other prayer requests and grant him this one. He clenched his eyes shut and begged. When he opened them, the waterspout had disappeared, and the footage had shifted to the inside of the operator’s compartment, where Chapman was shown sitting with his face buried in his hands.
Squire released the death grip he had on the two devices and allowed them to fall to the hundred-year-old pine floors with a thump. The noise must’ve grabbed Sarah’s attention because she immediately came rushing into the room.
“Honey? Is everything all right?” asked the thinning Sarah. She’d lost nearly forty pounds in the last two years, and not due to exercise. She’d simply stopped eating. Then she noticed the live feed from Seattle. “Hey, is that our Chapman?”
Squire fought himself out of his trance. “Um, yeah. I was talking to Kristi and she mentioned he was broadcasting live. I thought I’d have a look ’cause he rarely gets to Seattle.”
“Seattle? What could possibly be goin’ on there?”
Squire emitted a sham chuckle. “Rain. Imagine that?”
Sarah removed her apron, which was covered with flour from making the first-of-the-season apple pie. She approached the television and studied the images. “Squire, that looks like a whole lot more than rain. What happened, a tidal wave or somethin’?”
He fumbled on the floor in search of the remote. It had rolled under his chair, so he stretched his arm to locate it. Before he could turn off the television, Sarah turned to him, placing her body between him and the screen. She planted her hands on her hips and gave him the death stare.
“Squire Boone, look at me,” she demanded. “Don’t you lie to me. I’m not so dang fragile that you can’t tell me the truth.”
Squire swallowed and fell back into his chair. He reached for his wife’s hand. She hesitated at first and then succumbed. He pulled her closer and tugged her onto his lap. Her eyes began to well up in tears.
“I love you, Mrs. Boone.”
“I love you, too. Please tell me what happened.”
“First off, Chapman is fine. Our boy has nine lives and an intuition that I’ve never seen before in anyone.”
“Okay, what happened?”
Squire relayed the events, starting with Kristi’s phone call through the moment that Sarah saw her son standing in rainy Seattle. He didn’t embellish the story to make Chapman look any more daring or heroic than he already was. The family had already established that fact. He simply told the truth, as she had asked. Mostly.
Sarah sighed and adjusted herself in his lap. The two rarely took the time to hold one another like this. It was a welcome respite to days filled with work and nights filled with worry.
“Do you think he’ll ever give up this storm-chasing thing?” she asked.
Squire inhaled. “You know, I’m not really sure that’s why he was in Seattle in the first place. I came in late to the, you know, well, his broadcast. It just seemed to me that this happened all of a sudden-like.”
She turned to the television. “He’s been offered desk jobs, even the weekend anchor position. His mother would be just as proud of him for doing that as I am watching him risk his life to help others.”
“Honey, you know I’ve talked to him about it, and we both agreed I wouldn’t push. But he’s a Boone and a Chapman. It’s in his blood to explore, wander, and discover. He’d die of boredom if he didn’t.”
“And what about a wife? He’s a handsome young man, not unlike his father,” she added as she rubbed her husband’s razor-stubbled cheek. “What nice girl wants to marry a guy who throws himself in the middle of hurricanes and tornados and such?”
Squire laughed. “Oh, I suppose there’s a female equivalent to our son somewhere out there in the world. They’ll cross paths at some point.”
The carved-wood front door flung open and a set of heavy boots kicked off the dust on the porch.
“What’s goin’ on with you two lovebirds?”
Chapter 18
Riverfront Farms
Southeast Indiana
Levi Boone’s stout frame filled the entry, obscuring the late afternoon sunlight of another cloudless day. Before he could enter, he was passed on both sides by two screaming banshees.
“Grandma!” yelled one.
“Grandpa!” shouted the other.
“Oh no, Squire, we gotta hide. They’re comin’ for us!”
Sarah buried her head in Squire’s chest and he wrapped his arms around her. Eight-year-old Jesse and his seven-year-old sister, Rachel, surrounded their grandparents, eyes wide with excitement.
“Daddy got him a wild pig!” exclaimed Rachel.
Jesse expanded on the drama. “Yeah, he was coming after Mama, and Daddy put him smack on the ground with a shovel and then stuck him with his Bowie.” Levi always kept a Bowie knife strapped to his leg when he left the house. The nine-inch fixed blade had been made famous by Jim Bowie, a nineteenth-century pioneer from Kentucky who died at the Battle of the Alamo.
“He did, did he?” asked Squire as Sarah pushed off his lap and stood to hug her grandchildren. Then Squire asked, “Wait, the hog was coming after Carly?”
“Yeah, Dad,” replied Levi, who pushed the door closed behind him as a breeze of hot air blew some dirt into the front entry. The dryness was taking over the farm and its buildings. “It’s the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen. When we hunt wild pigs, every once in a while we come on an awnry mama protectin’ her young. But this one was different. It came chargin’ out of the brush near the chicken coops right after Carly. I’ve never seen a hog attack like that.”
“You hit it with a shovel?” asked Squire. “I’m surprised that—”
Levi laughed. “It didn’t. The wood handle on the shovel snapped right in two. But it did distract the big boy long enough for me to stick him in the neck just behind his ear. Then I hit him again underneath, near the heart. He didn’t go down easy, or quickly.”
“It was groooosome, Grandpa,” said young Jesse. “You shoulda seen it!”
“I can imagine,” Squire said as he pulled the young boy over the armrest of the chair onto his lap.
“Is Carly okay?” asked Sarah. “Where is she?”
Levi laughed. “Well, you know Carly. She’s practically a pioneer woman, just like the rest of the Boone women. After the excitement wore off, we field-dressed the pig, and now she’s working on preserving the meat. She wanted me to ask y’all if you wanna eat some ’que for the next few days.”
“You don’t have to twist my arm,” Squire quickly responded before he pulled Rachel onto the chair with them. The old leath
er La-Z-Boy recliner groaned under the weight.
“Absolutely,” added Sarah. “I’ll start the sauce while your father tells you about Chapman’s wild adventure today. He told me some of what happened, but I’m sure there’s more.”
Rachel put her nose to the air. “Grandma, is that an apple pie?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, missy, it is. If you and your brother will help me with the barbecue sauce and promise not to tell your mama, I’ll fix you up a slice with homemade whipped cream. How’s that sound?”
“Deal!” they shouted in unison. They pushed off their grandpa’s belly and bolted out of the room. The homeschooled children began to recite the Apple Pie ABC rhyme their mother had used to teach them the alphabet.
“A was an apple pie. B bit it. C cut it. D dealt it. E eat it. F fought it. G got it.” The sound of their voices trailed off as they found their way into the kitchen.
Levi patted his father on the shoulder and took up a seat on the sofa. He pointed toward the television. “It’s not like you to be watching TV in the middle of the afternoon. What’s up?”
“Well, your sister called and said I needed to watch Chapman’s reporting. It seems they had a couple of those water tornados in Seattle. Kinda rare, I take it. Anyway, they tore up the place, and your brother was right in the middle of the destruction.”
“He gets to have all the fun,” quipped Levi.
Squire turned off the television and addressed Levi. “You’ve got some fun of your own coming up. Everything still a go?”
“Yeah, I think so. You know, as long as it’s still okay with you. I’ll only be gone a week, but if—”
“Not another word. I’m glad you can take the time. Normally, moose-hunting season in Canada starts in September, which is the peak of our harvest time. When they moved it up to late August, I’m the one who told you about it, remember?”
“Yeah, Dad, I know, but still.” Levi was trying to give his father every opportunity to say no. Times had been difficult at Riverfront Farms, and fulfilling his dream of a moose-hunting trip to Canada might not have been the best idea.
Squire held his hand up to stop Levi from continuing. “Son, not another word. Your mother and I are both very thankful for the hard work you do around here. You deserve this trip, and it’ll give us a chance to have Carly and the kids all to ourselves. We already have plans for them to stay here at the house while you’re gone. You know, do the whole slumber-party thing.”
Levi laughed and stood. His dad joined him and the two men exchanged a hug. “Not another word, I promise. Listen, let me get back to Carly and let her know about the hog meat. She’ll be excited to work with Mom in the kitchen. I really do wish our houses were closer to each other.”
“I know, son. It just made more sense for you to occupy the old Brett place. It was in our family a long time ago.”
“Yup. Now it’s back with the Boones where it belongs.”
Chapter 19
Riverfront Farms
Southeast Indiana
Squire was up at dawn the next morning, not unlike any of the other days of the year. He didn’t carry a watch except when they went to church on Sundays. His great-great-grandfather had purchased a South Bend pocket watch in the late 1800s. It had been passed down through the generations, designated to be willed to the member of the Boone family who managed the operations of the farm. Squire carried it on Sundays, and one day, Levi would be honored with that duty.
Both Kristi and Chapman had made it known early on that they would find their way elsewhere. Some kids were cut out for farm living; others were not. In a way, though, they went to college to pursue degrees that were related to the operation of Riverfront Farms—veterinary medicine and meteorology.
On a few occasions, Kristi had helped her dad and Levi birth a calf. In recent years, Chapman tried to advise his family about the change in weather patterns affecting the Midwest. The signs of a prolonged drought had actually begun to show themselves years prior, and Chapman used the science to caution Squire against acquiring the Brett farm at a somewhat high price tag.
He took in Chapman’s advice but proceeded with his plans anyway. Squire wanted to reclaim the Boone family properties from years of losses during the Great Depression. He didn’t think he could buy them all back in his lifetime, but he’d set the stage for Levi to do so if he chose.
Now, almost five years later, the drought that Chapman had warned him about had come to fruition. It was so devastating that it was referred to in the media as Dust Bowl II.
Squire walked alone through the cornfields that were barely producing. The harvest of field corn was still a month away, but Squire could tell this year was gonna be a bust and worse than the prior year.
Two years ago, he’d given up on planting sweet corn, opting instead to grow field corn to be sold to livestock, poultry, and dairy farmers in Harrison County. Riverfront Farms didn’t raise livestock and kept about fifty chickens for their own use. Eggs were a staple in the family’s diet.
Squire knelt down in the middle of a corn row and reached for a handful of dirt. His hands were worn and wrinkled from years of working the farm. His face had a permanent tan with wrinkles created by squinting in the sun. Now they were supplemented with worry lines.
When he was feeling forlorn about the financial difficulties he faced, he made up an excuse to be alone. He didn’t have a particular reason to walk the cornfields on this day other than the need to think. His mind was consumed by the hefty note payment he was facing come November when the harvest of soybean, corn, and apples had been completed and sold.
Years ago, when he’d bought the adjacent farm, on paper, everything seemed to make sense. Their production was more than sufficient to make the annual principal and interest payments. He set up the loan on a five-year balloon so he wouldn’t be facing a large debt as he approached his seventies.
Squire didn’t often focus on mortality. He was very healthy and received glowing praise from his doctors during his annual checkups. However, he was keenly aware that life included the prospect of death, and he didn’t want to leave Sarah and Levi in a pickle if he were to be taken by a sudden illness.
Then the drought took a turn for the worse eighteen months after he purchased the Brett farm. Indiana farmers didn’t make the same mistakes that were made in 1931 and ’32. They didn’t overwork their fields as the second summer of dry weather hit them. Back in the thirties, the Midwestern and Southern Plain states experienced what was known as black blizzards. Dust from the overplowed and overgrazed farms began to blow. The dust storms began to increase in numbers, and farms began to fail.
The situation became so dire that Congress stepped in to create the Emergency Farm Mortgage Act, allocating $200 million for refinancing mortgages to help farmers facing foreclosure. Now, nearly a hundred years later, history was repeating itself.
Many Indiana farmers were in dire straits. The abrupt climate change they’d experienced over the last several years had taken its toll. As the old farming adage went, a successful corn crop was usually knee high by the Fourth of July. In 2019, Indiana farmers were lucky to get their seed in the ground by then. Rain was so heavy and plentiful that the continuous soaking farms received made for an uncommonly wet planting season.
Now, a decade later, the pendulum had swung widely in the other direction. Extraordinary heat and a lack of rain had dried the soil, and farmers were suffering. Many were going belly-up, including the Brett farm that Squire had purchased.
Had it not been for the extensive irrigation system Squire had invested in decades ago, which drew water from the Ohio River and nearby Indian Creek, his apple orchards would be suffering as well. He didn’t, however, irrigate the cornfields or the former Brett farm. As a result, his cash flow had diminished considerably each of the past two harvests.
The average U.S. farm was in debt $1.3 million, mostly from their cost of operations. Riverfront Farms operated lean and mean, using Squire and Levi to oversee o
perations, which alleviated the need for foremen. The workers, some of whom were seasonal, stayed in small log cabins that dotted the farm. They’d work for two months in the spring to prepare the soil and plant seeds. Then they’d return in mid-August to work through Halloween harvesting their crops.
Squire stood and allowed the dusty soil to sift through his hands. He walked out of the cornfield and made his way toward the river, where a container barge made its way west to the Mississippi.
Just as he exited the cornfields, Sarah showed up on a four-wheeler. “Hey, mister, can I give you a lift?”
“Take me to the river, please, ma’am,” replied Squire as he climbed on the seat behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled her neck. Then he closed his eyes as he thought about how much he loved his wife and family.
It’s gonna be all right.
Chapter 20
Nantucket Sound
Massachusetts
It was a glorious, warm day off the coast of Nantucket Island, thirty miles south of Cape Cod in Massachusetts. Tourism was bustling all along the Cape from Seagull Beach to Hyannis Port. Whale watchers had flocked to the regions, as several finback whales measuring seventy feet long had been spotted in Nantucket Sound and as far west as Vineyard Sound, which separated Martha’s Vineyard from the mainland.
Generally, the best whale watching during the summer months was farther off the coast, out in the Atlantic Ocean around Stellwagen Bank, a national marine sanctuary located at the mouth of Massachusetts Bay to the north of Cape Cod. Lately, however, both finback whales and their slightly smaller counterpart the humpback whale had been seen frequenting the southern coastline of the cape in the waters separating the mainland from Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket.
These two types of whales enjoy feeding off mackerel. The greatest concentration of mackerel was generally found from Cape Cod Bay northward up the coast to Maine and Canada. It was only on rare occasion that the mackerel made their way into the warmer waters of Vineyard and Nantucket Sounds. Also, mackerel were mostly found in forty to seventy feet of water. While parts of Nantucket Sound reached eighty feet, most of the depths were less than forty.