Summer at Forsaken Lake (8 page)

They got into position, watching the approaching waves over their shoulders and digging their toes into the sand in preparation. When the first one hit,
Goblin
floated up off the bottom while Nicholas and Charlie heaved with all their collective might, and as the second wave struck,
Goblin
, finally free of the sandbar, slid sideways—and started to sail away from a very surprised Nicholas and Charlie!

“H-hey!” they both yelled, swimming after the runaway boat. “Wait for us!”

Pistol, who had fallen fast asleep on his seat in the cockpit, raised his head, bewildered for a moment by all the commotion. Satisfied that
he
was in no danger, he put his head back down and closed his eyes.

Goblin
wouldn’t go far; eventually, an unmanned sailboat will always head directly into the wind, coming to a stop. After that, she will drift slowly in the direction of the wind. And since the wind on this day was not strong, they would have been able to catch up to her.

But Nicholas and Charlie didn’t know that, so they swam frantically after her, certain that she would sail herself right up onto the beach. Just as
Goblin
started her slow turn into the wind, they managed to get hold of the starboard jib sheet, which was dangling over the side, and while both sails flapped in the breeze, Nicholas pulled himself onto the warm deck and then helped Charlie aboard.

For a full minute, they just lay on their backs, recovering from those few seconds of terror and breathing hard from the burst of activity and the rush of adrenaline. And then they busted out laughing.

“You should have seen the look on your face!” Charlie said. “You looked
exactly
like you did when I threw that curveball at you.”

“I was trying to figure out how we were going to explain it,” Nicholas said. “I had this image of us standing out there in the middle of the lake—no boat in sight.”

“Maybe we don’t tell your uncle about this.” Charlie
looked in the direction of Uncle Nick’s house, but it was too far away to make out any details. “I don’t think anybody saw us—except maybe the guys in that fishing boat. And Pistol,” she added, patting his head. “Thanks for all your help, boy.”

Nicholas, agreeing that this was no time for full disclosure, took the tiller in his hands and pointed
Goblin
back out to the center of the lake.

* * *

But someone
had
seen them. Despite his apparent nonchalance as they left the mooring, Uncle Nick watched their progress across the lake through binoculars. As they approached the sandbar, he cringed, remembering that he hadn’t pointed it out. He crossed his fingers, hoping they would just miss it, and groaned when he saw that they had stopped.

“Here, take a look at this,” he said, handing the binoculars to Hayley.

She stared through them at
Goblin
for some time. “Why aren’t they moving?”

“Remember
We Didn’t Mean to Go to Sea
? After they lost the anchor and started sailing away, what were the kids most worried about?”

“The promise they made to their mom not to go to sea?”

“And what else?”

“The shoals?”

“That’s right. Well, Nicholas and Charlie found a little shoal all their own.”

Hayley’s eyes grew wide. “Are they gonna sink?”

“No—the only damage will be to their pride,” Uncle Nick said. “If they start the engine, they should be able to back her right off. Here, let me see.” He looked through the binoculars again, shaking his head and smiling. “No, no, Nicholas. Stay aboard the boat.”

“What’s happening?” asked Hetty.

Uncle Nick narrated the rest of the action across the lake, roaring with laughter at the climactic moment when
Goblin
slid herself off the sandbar, leaving Nicholas and Charlie standing helplessly while Pistol and
Goblin
sailed away. He was never really concerned for their safety, because they could just stand there on the sandbar until he came to rescue them, and with the wind blowing down the lake as it was, he knew
Goblin
could drift slowly along for a long time before running into anything.

He handed the binoculars to Hetty. “Everyone’s back aboard, and they’re sailing. They’re both looking this way—probably want to see if we’re watching.”

“It’s a good thing we were,” said Hayley.

“Are they in trouble?” Hetty asked. “I think they should be. Specially Nicholas.”

“Why him especially?” Uncle Nick asked. “I’d have to say they’re both equally involved. Nobody’s in trouble—accidents happen, and this one was my fault as much as anyone’s. Ladies, we’re not going to say a word about this—right?”

Hayley pouted for a few seconds, disappointed at losing a good opportunity to make her big brother a little bit miserable. “What if
they
say something first?”

“Well, now—that’s a whole different pail o’ worms,” answered Uncle Nick.

* * *

Two hours later, after an uneventful sail to the far south end of the lake,
Goblin
approached her mooring with Charlie at the tiller and Nicholas standing on the bow with the boat hook, ready to pick up the float at the end of the mooring line. The wind had freshened a bit, but Charlie did her job perfectly, releasing the jib sheet and turning directly into the wind at the last moment, slowing the boat dramatically and giving Nicholas the opportunity to snag the line and snap it onto the bow. Charlie met him on the foredeck and high-fived him. They had done it: they had lived to tell the tale of their first adventure (without Uncle Nick) on the high seas. When they finished folding and stowing and tidying, Nicholas stood for a moment in the cockpit, imagining that
Goblin
was his
own and he had just returned from a long ocean voyage from some exotic port.

Someday
.

* * *

* * *

Set well back from Nick’s house was an old barn, its red paint now faded to a soft patina, the slate roof missing a tile here and there, but still standing as straight and tall as it had for more than a hundred and fifty years. Once upon a time, it held a herd of registered Holsteins, but it had been many years since any livestock called it home. Now it was a workshop. Where once there had been box stalls, Uncle Nick built
Goblin;
the braces that held the hull in place during construction still leaned against the walls. Earlier in the summer, just a few days after arriving, Nicholas had noticed a neatly painted
white rectangle on one outside wall, and asked Nick about it.

“Strike zone,” he answered. “For your average Little Leaguer. This is where I taught Charlie how to pitch. Do you want me to teach you?”

“Actually, I’m more interested in learning how to
hit
a curveball. Can you show me
that
?”

“Happy to. The only problem is, with my shoulder acting up the way it is, I can’t put any mustard on the ball anymore. Best thing would be to have Charlie pitch to you.”

“Oh, great.”

Nick chuckled. “Don’t sweat it, Nicholas. You’re not the first boy to be struck out by a girl. And you won’t be the last—especially if Charlie Brennan has anything to do with it. At one of her games this year, she struck out nine in a row. But if I can teach her to throw it, I can teach you to hit it.”

* * *

But it was the hayloft inside the barn that held the real surprise for Nicholas and Charlie, who climbed the ladder one hot, windless afternoon a few days after that first sail without Nick. Back in the farthest corner, a heavy canvas tarp with several years’ accumulation of dust and pigeon droppings covered an object about twelve feet long and five feet wide.

Despite the kids’ fear of disturbing whatever critters might be lurking beneath it, curiosity got the best of them, and they slowly pulled a few feet of the tarp back.

“It’s a sailboat,” said Nicholas, running his hand over the unfinished wood deck.

“Wonder what it’s doing up here,” said Charlie. “Let’s uncover it all the way.”

Still wary of the dust—and things that creep, crawl, or slither—they slowly removed the tarp and began their full investigation of the mysterious, not-quite-completed vessel that clearly had been hidden away for a long, long time. They were immediately awed by its graceful curves and the expanses of wood on the deck and in the cockpit.

“Omigosh. It’s beautiful,” said Charlie. “What’s it doing up here?”

“It looks like somebody was building it, and they just gave up. It’s, like, ninety-five percent done, I think.”

“I think you’re right,” Charlie said. “Looks to me like it just needs some paint and varnish. And some of the rigging stuff—the cleats and the rest of the hardware.”

“And a mast. And a boom. And sails,” added Nicholas, continuing to poke his head into every corner of the hull. “All right, so maybe it’s ninety percent done.”

“Do you think Nick built it?” asked Charlie. “Maybe he started building
Goblin
and just never got back to this one.”

Nicholas pointed to a small brass plaque screwed into
the wood on the side of the centerboard trunk. “Well,
that
answers a few questions.”

Charlie squeezed in next to Nicholas so she could read it, too. “So, your dad and Nick built it? That is
cool
.”

“Yeah, well, I think there might be more to this story.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s go inside,” Nicholas said. “There’s something you need to see.”

* * *

The creases in Charlie’s forehead grew deeper and deeper as she read the letter from her mom to Nicholas’s dad. When she got to the end, she went right back to the beginning and read it again.

Finally, she looked up at Nicholas. “When you found it, was it still folded?”

“Uh-huh. Like one of those paper footballs. It was kind of in a corner; I missed it the first time, when I found the movie.”

“I can’t believe my
mom
wrote this. It’s so … romantic.
They must have been, what, fourteen or fifteen? But what does she mean in this part where she talks about your dad getting blamed for everything? What happened?”

Nicholas shrugged. “No idea. Dad never told me anything. Neither did my mom, and she usually
likes
to tell me about all the bad stuff he did, especially since they got divorced. Maybe he never told her, either.”

Charlie took one more look at the letter before refolding it and handing it back to Nicholas. “You know, I’ll bet your dad never saw this. Think about it. Mom sneaks in here on Sunday morning while everybody’s at church and puts the letter in their secret hiding place. In the letter, she says your dad’s parents were coming to get him Sunday afternoon, but what if they showed up a little early and he never had the chance to look? You said yourself it was still folded up. Why would he read it, refold it, and put it back? It just doesn’t make sense.”

“I guess it’s possible,” said Nicholas. He wasn’t sure why it mattered one way or the other.

“Nicholas! This letter is … an important piece of history. If your dad never read it, he may not have known how my mom felt about him, and maybe he never wrote to her because he was expecting a letter from her that
never
came. Omigosh, it’s so
tragic
.”

“Hold on,” said Nicholas. “Don’t you think that’s a little dramatic? It was a
long
time ago. And what are we supposed to do about it now? Your mom got married. So did my dad.”

“And divorced.”

“So?” A pause. “Oh no. You’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking. Are you?”

Charlie smiled at him—the very same smile she’d flashed at him after striking him out—and started down the spiral staircase. “Come on, let’s go look at that little boat again. I have an idea.”

* * *

“It can’t hurt to ask,” Charlie said, caressing the smooth deck of the Heron.

“It does seem like kind of a waste, just sitting up here collecting dust,” Nicholas agreed.

“And pigeon poop,” added Charlie.

Hayley, standing on the top step of the ladder, stuck her head up into the hayloft. “Cool. What are you guys doing up here?”

“Hayley! Get down from there before you get hurt,” Nicholas scolded. “Where’s Hetty?”

“Right behind me,” said Hayley. “We’re not babies, you know, Nicholas. We know how to climb a ladder. Come on up, Hetty. Nicholas is just mad because we’re interrupting him and Chaaarlieeee.
Aren’t
you, Nicholas?”

“No,” said Nicholas, glad that the hayloft was dark enough that they wouldn’t see him blush. “For your information, we were just looking at this boat.”

Hayley clambered through the opening in the floor, followed by the slightly more cautious Hetty, and soon both were oohing and aahing over the striking little day sailer perched in the unlikeliest of settings.

Before long, Nick began to wonder where everyone had disappeared to, and stuck his head into the barn. “Nicholas? Girls? You in here?”

Nicholas leaned over the edge of the loft. “Yep, we’re all up here.”

Nick grunted.

“We found a
beautiful
little boat!” Hetty exclaimed.

“I think he probably knows about it,” said Nicholas.

Nick knew this day was inevitable, but he still wasn’t quite prepared for it as he climbed the ladder to the hayloft.

“So you found her,” he said gruffly, pulling himself to his feet with a helping hand from Nicholas.

“You and Dad built this? It’s amazing,” Nicholas said.

“Your dad was being nice, putting my name on that plaque,” Nick said. “He did all the work. I just gave him a little advice now and then. And maybe a little lumber.” He rubbed his hand down the length of the starboard gunwale, reminiscing. “She’s a beaut, no?”