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Copyright 2011 H. Hamilton Comings

Published on http://houseboatstrangersandfriends.blogspot.com/


All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews or in works treating subjects to which such brief quotations would be pertinent.

The author may be contacted at:

comingsus@yahoo.com

H. Hamilton Comings
8 MacGregor Street
Cortland, NY 13045

Chapter One - Ice Cream In September

As far as anyone can remember, no one ever applied for a license to operate an ice cream cart in Indian Run, Pennsylvania, prior to the completion of the Marina. Even now there is no way the city officials would allow any such thing inside any of Indian Run’s public playgrounds. Nevertheless, on a chilly Friday afternoon in September, two men set up just such an ice cream wagon in Seneca Park between Aspen Street and Wood Street on “The Flat.”

A few blocks away, inside a sprawling brick building with large windows, the harsh cacophony of several bells rang all together to signal the end of another week of school. Outside, lined up on the semi-circular driveway in front of the main entrance of the Indian Run Elementary School, nearly a dozen yellow buses swung their doors open as a boisterous rush of children cascaded down the front steps and spilled over the sidewalk in all directions.  

Laughing and talking, running and walking, tall sixth graders, short first graders and all shapes and sizes in between, made their escape under the watchful eyes of an occasional adult as eager as they to get on with the weekend. The town kids who lived close enough to walk home strolled off with an air of privilege. The rest jostled each other toward the buses.

Waiting in line beside bus twenty-seven, sandy-haired Alexander MacLeigh bantered about hoops, homework and hiking with a sixth-grade classmate.

“You goinna call so we can check our math answers?”he wondered.

“How about seven?” toe-headed Frank Wainwright suggested.

“That works. Got any other homework?”

Frank shrugged. “Nothin' else. Got the rest done already." He smiled and shook his head. "Ol' lady Stieler must be going easy or something. Ogleby’s already got her kids swamped.” When Alexander made no reply, he added. “I think I like Stieler. Her homework makes sense.”

Alexander nodded. “Dad said she was like that when he had her. And…well… have you noticed?”

“Noticed what?”

“I think she likes you.”

Frank studied the sidewalk, then looked into the crowd of students. “Yeah. I’ve noticed. Kinda weird.” He paused. "So, has your dad said anything more about when he's goinna let us go to that farm?”

Alexander looked off into the crowd, too. “Dad and Mr. Olsen say we’re almost ready. I think they've got something planned. I know for sure they think October’s one of the best times to get started.”

Frank grinned. “Well, it better be pretty soon. We’ve got the woods in back of your place pretty well figured out.

“Right,” Alexander agreed. “But I promise you, they’re kindergarten compared to what you’ll see at the Fitzgibbon place.”

Frank sighed. “I wish I could come over every weekend. We’d learn this outdoor stuff a lot faster.”

Alexander nodded. “Me, too. Still no chance your mom'll change her mind?"


"Nope. She keeps saying, 'Don't wear out your welcome.'" 


Alexander shook his head. "I'm sorry she feels that way."


"But, anyway," Frank added. "Your dad's right. I'm glad he wants to be sure we can be trusted to know how to get around and not get lost or trapped or something.” 


Speaking more softly, Alexander said, “And then maybe I can come over to your place?

Frank shrugged, “Not goinna happen. The Skids is a dump, our apartment's a dump, and no way am I goinna let my best friend ride this rat trap bus."

Alexander stared at the sidewalk in silence. They had talked about this too many times already. He would not go through it again.

"Settled?" Frank insisted as he stepped up into the bus.

Alexander moved back away from the line of students. He nodded. "Settled." 

When Frank plopped into a seat next to a window they exchanged a salute. Then Alexander began his walk home.

From an upstairs classroom Mrs. Eglentine Ogleby watched the vanishing pool of students. With a huff, she shrugged her broad shoulders and said, “Well – maybe there’s hope.”

Miss Eolian Stieler, sitting behind her desk, looked over the glasses on the end of her nose. “Hope?”

“That Wainwright kid's taking the bus today instead of walking home with the MacLeigh boy.”

“I believe he only goes home with Alexander every other weekend,” Miss Stieler explained.

Mrs. Ogleby sniffed. “Well I certainly hope their friendship will cool off. They certainly have been thicker than…”

“Darlene MacLeigh is helping Franklin’s mother get her feet on the ground,” Miss Stieler interrupted.

Mrs. Ogleby turned away from the window. “It’s just not right for an unwed mother who works in a place like The Totem Diner..."

"She WAS married," Miss Stieler.

"It's just not right," Mrs. Ogleby repeated firmly. "For her to pawn her brat off onto a nice family like the MacLeighs.” She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve, sniffed, daubed one eye and sighed, “Mark my words, it’s already having a bad effect. You know why the MacLeigh boy didn't go out for the basketball team."


"Not for sure..." Miss Stieler started to say.


"And now the MacLeigh's don't come to Sunday School anymore," Mrs. Ogleby continued.

"I wouldn't know," Miss Stieler shrugged.

"Well I would," Mrs. Ogleby snapped. "When that child's at the MacLeighs' he comes to church with them. But when Mr. Flemming made it very clear that the Wainwright boy was not a good fit in his class, they totally missed the point. Instead of shipping him home Saturday night, they just come to the worship service.”

Miss Stieler slapped her pencil down on the desk.

Mrs. Ogleby strode over to the desk and stood with her hands on her hips. “Sometimes I’m tempted to go to our church leadership and tell them to do something about parents who don’t have any more sense than that.”

Miss Stieler leaned back and folded her hands on her desk. “You know, Franklin is doing very well in my class and he seems to FIT quite well." 


"You know very well there's a difference between sixth grade and Sunday school," Mrs. Ogleby sneered.


Miss Stieler rested her chin on the tips of her fingers. "Does Mr. Flemming let his own boy into his Sunday school class?"


"Yes, he does," Mrs. Ogleby sniffed. "Which is all the more reason the Wainwright child should not be there. Cyrus is working hard to get through to his boy."


Miss Stieler drew herself up close to the desk and picked up her pencil.

Mrs. Ogleby stepped back. “You’re just like them, ” she huffed. “Soft-hearted and naïve. But, what good does your niceness do? He’s a nuisance on the playground. Just ask the monitors. When you or the MacLeigh boy aren't there he's a different boy and he pulls young Malcolm Flemming and the others right along with him.”

Without looking up, Miss Stieler replied, “Since he doesn't cause trouble when I'm there, it might be an idea to ask them what they do different than I do." She looked up and grinned. “Who knows, maybe I’m doing something right.”

With a “Harumph,” Mrs. Ogleby walked toward the door. “Of course he’ll be good for you. He’s no fool…

“I’m glad to hear you say that,” Miss Stieler chuckled.

Mrs. Ogleby spun around. “I MEANT, he knows a good thing when he sees it. Get some teacher like you in his pocket and he can treat everybody else like dirt.” Then, shaking her finger, she added, “But I’m warning you, devil-boys like that…that no-good don’t ever change.”

“Yes,” Miss Stieler agreed. “I’ve had a few like that." A wistful look came over her face. But…it’s funny.”

“What’s funny?”

"I've had some who did. Aren't the folks at your church supposed to think God can change a leopard's spots? 

Mrs. Ogleby’s nostrils flared. After three heavy breaths, she snarled, "Funny to hear YOU talking about God and trying to quote the bible." Then she left the room.

Outside, just past the main building, beyond some tennis courts, Alexander saw Mark Phillips shooting hoops with high school hoop-master, Bill Mosier and some of the sixth grade and middle-school basketball recruits. The Mosier boy saw him and waved. Mark saw him, too, but he turned away. 

Alexander sighed. Ever since Kindergarten he and Mark had walked to and from school. Almost all of that time they had dreamed of the day they would have a chance to become basketball heroes like Bill Mosier would notice them and mentor them to be the next winning basketball team of Indian Run High.

With a shrug, he readjusted the shoulder strap of his book bag and kept walking down the sidewalk – alone. He knew he had done the right thing in not accepting the invitation to join the Junior Varsity team. But he missed Mark – a lot.

At the far end of the Seneca Children's Park a small pack of fifth and sixth graders, led my Malcolm Flemming and Mitchell Fairbanks, ambled through the Wood Street gateway and stopped short. Puzzled, they studied the ice cream cart and its two proprietors on the far side of the playground by the Aspen Street gate.

Beyond the gate and up the street, a pale blue Astro mini-van pulled up along the curb near the intersection of Aspen and Skyler. Inside, a man with a brown fedora peered into the side-view mirror, studying the hedge that lined the play area all the way to the entrance. He pulled on a pair of gloves, picked up a partially unfolded road map from the seat beside him and drew a handkerchief from his pants pocket. From the glove compartment he took a small bottle. Then he looked at his watch, smiled, leaned back, looked down the road and waited for the sound of playing children on the other side of the park's hedge. He had planned carefully for this afternoon.

Chapter Two - Loose Change

The warm afternoon sun worked its magic. Thoughts of Frank and their dreams of a woodland adventure made for a more chipper Alexander MacLeigh as he ambled past the familiar houses on his way home. The lawns, with their first thin carpet of leaves, made every house seem as though a friend lived there.  He hummed to himself and, once in awhile, he chuckled.

Just last spring the only thoughts he held toward Frank Wainwright had been unpleasant resentment of the intruder who had been shipped to their school because of problems in another one. Out of a list of derogatory names, he latched onto “creep” and “jerk” as the ones to use freely among his friends. Since he did not hang around Malcolm Flemming’s crowd he was not really tempted to use their darker words. “Creep” and “jerk” were satisfactory and that was the way it was and that was the way it would have continued had not two significant people taken an interest in the troublesome newcomer and his mother.

Alexander’s smile broadened. Even though his parents' interest in Yvonne and Frank Wainwright had puzzled him at first, he eventually became pleased to know they were the kind of people who made a big deal about people others ignored or rejected. However, there was something more involved in his change of heart, something mystifying.

He stopped at the curb, looked both ways and crossed from Aldrich to Skyler. As happened so often on his walks home, his mind drifted to memories he could share with no one – memories of another world, a world he entered quite by accident, a world which enchanted him with the unexpected hunger to be an important player in Frank Wainwright’s life.

Deep in thought he rounded the corner from Skyler to Aspen. The sound of voices coming from inside the playground farther down the block made no impression on his ears. His face reflected a seriousness in his thoughts as memories of a boy in that enchanted world played on the stage of his mind. It was the sound of a scuffed footstep behind him which finally caught his attention.  He whirled around. 

A man approached. In one gloved hand was a map. In the other was a handkerchief. He approached with long strides as he said,  “I wonder if you could help me find where I am?"

Alexander’s heart pounded. He blurted out, “There’s a gas station a few blocks down the street.” Then turned to run.

The man lunged, seized his collar and held it long enough to throw him off balance so he could lock an arm around his neck. Before Alexander could react, the man clapped the handkerchief across his face. It felt damp. He tried to yell. His arms felt heavy - too heavy to move. Numbness spread over his face. Everything spun out of control.

In the distance a handful of change tinkled onto the sidewalk from inside the playground. A young voice yelled, “What’d you do that for, you old fool!?” Then Malcolm Flemming, Mitchell Fairbanks and a couple other boys burst into view, stumbling over each other in hot pursuit of the rolling coins. As they reached the curb, Flemming stopped and stared toward the far end of the sidewalk. The others looked to see what caught his attention and froze in place. Flemming's eyes narrowed. “Hey!" he yelled. "What’s going on?”

The man, hauling Alexander's limp body, struggled awkwardly backward toward the van. “It’s my kid,” he snapped. “He’s passed out. He has spells…”

Flemming squinted and took a step toward him. At that moment Shirley Osterhout stepped out onto the sidewalk, took one look and screamed, “HE'S GOT ALEX!”

“Get back in there,” the man barked, nodding toward the park. “Mind your own business.”

Flemming lurched, hesitated and then charged. “HELP!” he yelled. “KIDNAPPER! SOMEBODY CALL THE COPS!”

Fairbanks and the others yelled, too, and broke into a run. Other children emerged from the playground in time to see them catch up with the man as he reached to open the side door of his van. A passing car stopped in the middle of the street. Two men leaped out, not bothering to close the doors. On a nearby porch a woman burst through the front door, looked and began punching buttons on a phone.

Recklessly, the children leaped onto the man. His hat rolled under the van. Swearing and swinging his arms, he thrust Flemming and Fairbanks away, but they refused to be beaten. Instantly on their feet, they jumped at him as the other boys joined them. Right behind them came the two men from the car. In the distance a siren cut through the air.

Still cursing, the man released Alexander and clambered into the vehicle. The boys clawed at him from all sides. Alexander’s body slumped to the sidewalk. Shirley Osterhout and Cindy Mosier, screaming, ran over to him. One of the two men reached across the boys, seized the kidnapper's collar and hauled him backward. He clutched at the man's hand, trying to break his grip. Flemming caught his legs. He tumbled headlong. Fairbanks jumped onto his head. The other man jumped on his back. The woman left the porch and hurried to where Alexander lay. Another woman arrived from up the street. Two police cars wheeled around the corner beyond the park's entrance.

Sergeant Victor Boise sprang from the first cruiser before Officer Carter brought it to a complete stop. With his hand on the handle of his gun, he strode toward the confused spectacle - the Astro van, the man beside it pinned down beneath the weight of two men and two boys, the gaggle wide-eyed boys poised to do whatever they could if the man got up. A little beyond all of this he saw a body stretched out amid a hovering knot of youngsters being superintended by two grown women.  
 

Flemming stood and walked over to meet the Sergeant who demanded to know, "What's this all about?"

Flemming pointed back, "He's a kidnapper."

Hustling toward the van, the Sergeant held up his hand to silence the riot of explanations coming from all directions. Officer Carter jogged from the police car, summoned the two policemen from the second cruiser and, with them, worked cautiously to get the men and boys safely off the kidnapper so he could be handcuffed. 

Firing question after question, Sergeant Boise pieced together the details of the last few minutes. An investigation of the van produced the bottle with the drug the man had poured onto the handkerchief. As the seriousness of the scene intensified, the Sergeant looked at Flemming. “Mighty good piece of luck you all showed up when you did.”

“It was that stupid ice cream man,” Flemming muttered. “Instead of giving me my change, the old fool tossed it out onto the sidewalk.”

Officer Carter looked puzzled. "Tossed your change on the sidewalk?"


Sergeant Boise eyed Flemming narrowly. “What ice cream man?”

“Over there.” Flemming pointed toward the play area entrance. “Just gave me this stupid grin and heaved it.”

Sergeant Boise motioned to the other officers. “Check it out."

As they hurried off toward the gate, he added, "Write ‘em up. They have no business being there.”

He was about to say something more when Shirley gasped, “He’s waking up!”

*  *  *

The last Alexander remembered a calm weirdness overtook him and everything softly floated away. Now this traveled in reverse, bringing everything toward him in an incoherent mayhem of voices. He floated on cold darkness so thick he could feel it. He fought in vain to open his eyes. He knew he should remember something. The fact he could not remember it scared him.  Then, consciousness exploded in his brain, his eyes snapped open and every muscle went into action. His arms flailed. His legs kicked.

“Steady, steady!”  a woman urged gently as she held his wrists while another woman cradled his head.

His eyes darted wildly. He thrashed about, trying to speak but saying nothing intelligible. Shirley stepped into his line of vision. With worried face and trembling voice, she knelt and said, “It’s okay, Alex. It’s okay. You’re safe. God sent help.”

From somewhere came the will to struggle a little less and, then, to take a deep breath and relax. His lower lip trembled and tears trickled down the sides of his face. He fixed his eyes on Shirley and whispered, “What happened?”

By the time he could sit, his mother arrived. By the time he could stand he could respond to the questions Sergeant Boise and officer Carter had to ask.

“No, Sir…I don’t know the man? …No, Sir, I don’t remember…I heard a noise behind me… there wasn’t time… he grabbed me…I guess I fainted.”

“No, son,” officer Carter explained, tousling his hair. “You didn’t faint. You were drugged.”

“Why?” Alexander wondered. “Why’d he do that?”

“You can be sure it wasn’t for any good reason,” Sergeant Boise replied. He was about to say something more when the other pair of officers returned with confused expressions. One of them caught his attention and signaled with a jerk of the head. He stepped to the side and talked with them in low whispers. 

By now more children joined the scene, creating a melee of questions and comments. Flemming and Fairbanks enjoyed their new status as heroes. Cindy and Shirley were quite pleased to have been with Alexander when he woke up. Mrs. MacLeigh appreciated the details she received from the two neighbor women. As for Alexander, his eyes darted from one to the other, trying to make sense of everything.

By the time Flemming and Fairbanks broke away from their admirers and walked over to where Alexander stood, he was able to look up at them and say, “They told me what you did.”

“We coulda finished the guy off without any help,” Flemming laughed. “He was a pansy.”

               

“Well, he felt more like boa constrictor to me,” Alexander managed to quip.

               

“Good thing the old guy back there was a jerk,” Fairbanks sneered.

               

“Old guy?” Alexander wondered.

               

Before anyone could answer, Officer Carter stepped up to them. Putting his hand on Flemming’s shoulder, he said, “You did one fantastic piece of work, young man. The two men who took him down said if it hadn’t been for you and your friends it would have been a tough fight.” He paused. “He’s wanted in three states. Tough customer… but, this time he got careless and… you got lucky.”

Sergeant Boise returned with the other two policemen right behind him. All eyes turned toward him. He cleared his throat, looked at several of the children, focused on Flemming and asked, “What did the men at the ice cream wagon look like?”

Flemming’s face twisted. He looked at his friends and back at Sergeant Boise. “Why ask me that? You’re guys just talked with ‘em, right?”

“The wagon’s there, sure enough,” One of the officers replied. “But there’s no sign of the men.

Again, Flemming looked at the others. Then he said. "One was about your height. I didn’t get a good look at him. He had this cap and the brim hung pretty far down over his face.”

“The other one was shorter,” one of the other children volunteered. “Face full of whiskers – bushy, white ones.”

“Yeah,” Fairbanks grunted. “He's the idiot who tossed the money.”

Sergeant Boise started to say, "Well, he may be an idiot, but if he hadn't tossed it..."

Flemming’s eyes widened. “Hey! I didn’t get my ice cream.”

               

“Speaking of the money,” the other officer interjected, extending his hand toward Flemming, “We didn’t find any change, but we found four bucks on the ground by the wagon.”

               

“That’s what you gave him,” Cindy remembered.

               

Eyes darted from person to person. Before someone could ask the question on everyone’s mind, Mrs. MacLeigh’s voice interrupted them all. “Honey!” she exclaimed. “What’s wrong?”

Alexander’s eyes, dark in comparison to his pallid face, stared up at her. He took a deep breath. “Can…we…go home?”

Immediately Sergeant Boise apologized for being thoughtless, made sure he had their address and phone number, and then sent them on their way. One of the ladies volunteered to drive them.

“No, no,” Alexander objected. “I need to walk.”

Shirley volunteered to walk with them a little way. Both Alexander and his mother accepted the offer gratefully. Flemming did not bother to ask, he simply joined them and stayed close enough to Alexander to steady him when his legs did not cooperate.

               

At the entrance to the playground Alexander stopped. “Can I look at the ice cream wagon?”

               

When he assured them he would be okay, everyone escorted him to the entry and then stopped to watch as he and Flemming approached the cart.

               

“Whatchya lookin’ for?” Flemming asked as Alexander stooped here and probed there all around the wagon.

               

“Nothing, I guess. Just curious ….no …wait…”

               

His eyes narrowed. He stooped and peered at the side of the cart behind one of the wheels. With his finger he brushed some dirt away from a small, brass plate. The thing moved. He slid it.

               

“What’s that?” Shirley asked.

               

Flemming stepped up beside him and looked over his shoulder.

Slowly, Alexander straightened. Not taking his eyes from the cart, a nervous grin crossed his face. “The initials of the guy who made it, I guess,” he said, shaking his head as he turned away.

His mother studied his face.

“What?” he asked.

“Honey, was that important?”

He looked back at the cart and then at her. “Remember the stories Dad told me last spring?”

“Stories he…” she started to think out loud. Then, “Oh, those. Yes. Why?”

“Let’s go home,” he urged. “I bet he’s been thinking about telling some more.”

Chapter Three - Mystifying Letters

Unaware that wildebeests struggled across a swollen river and scrambled onto the nearest bank, Alexander’s baby brother, Carl, slept snugly in his crib in Mom’s and Dad’s bedroom. While his little sister, Gretchen, lay fast asleep in her upstairs bed, a lioness pursued an antelope supper for her cubs. Lying on the floor, riveted to the action, Alexander, himself, watched a weird bird dance its frenzied boogie in front of a bored female, while Mom sat in her favorite rocking chair peering over the top of a magazine and Dad rested his eyes in his recliner. Eventually the scene settled into a panorama of an African veldt as the credits for the video crawled up the screen.

He rolled over, hoisted himself onto his elbow and looked at his mother. "Thanks for renting that."

She set the magazine on her lap and smiled. "We thought it would be good tonight."

"Did you know I have a report to do on something about Africa?"

She said nothing for a moment. Then she nodded. "Yes. Actually, we didn’t rent it. Miss Stieler brought it over while you and Frank were talking. She thought it might be a good way to end a rough day."

His eyes squinted as he studied her face. "Miss Stieler brought it over?"

His father chuckled. "She's always been like that." Then, lifting a large book from the nearby stand, he added, "Speaking of Frank, I was amazed at how concerned he was."

Alexander looked over his shoulder. A large smile broke across his face, "He's so cool."

"Cool," his mother mumbled softly.

“I’m really glad he came over,” Alexander added, glancing at her and then looking toward his father again. “It was almost funny seeing how worried he was. Did you hear him scold me?"

Mr. MacLeigh nodded. “Sometimes scolding is a way of saying, ‘I care.’”

A thoughtful look crossed Alexander’s face. "He said his mom had some kind of an idea she wanted to talk with you about and hoped it would work out."

Mr. MacLeigh nodded. "She did and it does."

"What is it?"

"Well, since Mark's stopped walking home with you," Mr. MacLeigh began.

Mrs. MacLeigh cleared her throat. "Which someone about your size forgot to tell us."

“Ahem,” Mr. MacLeigh continued. “Since Mark’s not walking home with you anymore, we've worked out a strategy.”

Alexander scowled. "Strategy?"

"Frank will walk home with you after school.”

Alexander’s eyes sprang wide open. "Frank will? When?"

"Every afternoon.”

Alexander shifted into a sitting position. "Every afternoon!!"

Mr. MacLeigh clarified. "His mother will swing up here later in the evening to take him home."

Snapping his head back and forth from Dad to Mom, Alexander gasped, "I can't believe it! This is so...so..." He paused, his eyes studying Mom's face. He grinned. "Cool."

She shook her head, lifted up her magazine, rolled her eyes and smiled ever so slightly.

"As for now," Mr. MacLeigh said, settling back in his chair. "I'm thinking…”

“Please, Dad,” Alexander interrupted somberly. “The video was great and all that but… do I have to go to bed just yet. I mean… it is Friday and…”

“Is something wrong?” his mother wondered.

He studied the carpet for a moment. “It’s just that… that whole thing this afternoon was so … you know … and I … well … do you think I’ll have bad dreams?”

“Like I was saying,” Mr. MacLeigh continued. “Before I was interrupted…”

“Sorry Dad, it’s just that…

“Like I was saying,” Mr. MacLeigh continued. “Before I was interrupted…again…”

Alexander looked up at him and caught the hint of a smile.

“I’ve been wondering if our little boy might like to take a trip along the coast of Africa."

Alexander’s forehead wrinkled. “Our little boy?” Then his eyebrows rose and he scrambled onto all fours. “The boy with the boat?!”

Mr. MacLeigh nodded. “I can’t think of any other little boy who would be ready to sail to Africa, can you?”

Alexander swung toward his mother.. "I TOLD YOU HE WAS THINKING ABOUT THAT STORY!"

A concern formed in her eyes as she looked toward his father. Alexander hitched back around to look in his direction and watched a puzzled expression cross his face.

Mrs. MacLeigh shrugged. "Something he saw on that ice cream wagon made him think you were going to tell some more about the boy and his boat."

"What did you see?" he wondered.

Alexander blushed. He looked down at the floor briefly. "Just...some letters. I…I think you must have mentioned them sometime in the story. You know, back when the old man and I…er… the boy first visited the boat."

"Old man? Letters?"

After a deep breath, Alexander asked, "Didn’t you have an old man show me… I mean, the boy the boat?”

Mr. MacLeigh thought back. “I had a man meet the boy at the pier and take him to the boat. I don’t remember saying much about it.” Then, thinking for a moment, he asked, “What letters?”

“Uh…,” Alexander hesitated. “GEM2."

Mr. MacLeigh sucked in a gulp of air and sat back in his chair. His eyes moved to a picture on the far wall: a black-and-white photo of two barefoot boys, beaming as they dangled a large trout between them. "When did I mention that?" he wondered out loud.

"Uh..." Alexander stalled, fearful that saying too much might reveal his secret. Finally, with no choice but to tell the truth, he explained, “It was something about a plaque on one of the walls of the boat, you know, something about the person who built the boat."

Mr. MacLeigh looked at him carefully. "It’s a special code my friend and I made up when we told each other stories. We never told anyone.”

"The one in the picture?” Alexander asked. “Eric?"

"Yes.” Mr. MacLeigh shook his head. “I can’t believe I forgot and put that in the story. It was supposed to be just between the two of us.” He looked at his wife. "For the life of me I can't remember saying anything about it."

"It's been a pretty long story," she smiled. "You can't expect to remember everything." Then, she winked. "Especially at your age."

He snorted. "Don't make me forty yet."

She chuckled and returned to her reading.

Then looking at Alexander, he asked, “Were those letters on that cart?”

Alexander glanced at the picture. “It was so weird.” Then he looked at his father.

Mr. MacLeigh continued to study the picture. For a moment a far away expression came over his face. Finally, he shook himself back to the present and said, as he set the large book on the floor in front of Alexander, "Anyway, let's talk about this trip."

The book, a large atlas, was open to a pair of pages which, when looked at with the right hand page close to you, gave a clear view of England, Europe, the Mediterranean and Africa.

Mr. MacLeigh put a finger on the southwest coast of England. “Let’s see. We left our little fellow here.”

“Can we start with him and Marty in the boat?” Alexander asked, remembering his last evening there and the incredible ride with his doubting friend from London.

“I would say we have to,” Mr. MacLeigh agreed. “Wouldn’t be right to just jump in somewhere else. After all, if I remember, they’d gone to bed.”

“Right,” Alexander nodded.

Mr. MacLeigh chuckled. “It would be much too scary to wake up in a whole different place.”

Alexander stared off to one side at nothing in particular.

“Something wrong?” his father asked.

“I think the little boy was still standing on the deck when the story ended.”

His father smiled. “You really do put a lot of detail into this story don’t you?”

“Kind of, I guess,” Alexander agreed. “You make me think of things.”

Mr. MacLeigh shrugged and darted a look at his wife. “Wish I knew how I do that?”

That gave Alexander a jolt. He had already guessed that his father did not do whatever it was that would put him magically into the story. He also knew that he himself did not understand how it happened. Now, with it having been so long since the last story in the spring, was it possible the magic had worn off.

Not wanting his father to ask any more questions, he put his finger on the coast of Liberia and said, “Did you say Africa?”

Still puzzled, Mr. MacLeigh kept one eyebrow up as he said, “Yes…Africa. I would say after all those adventures in England he would be ready to set sail again and I think Africa might be on his mind.”

“Why’s that?” Alexander wondered.

“Well, that might take a little time to explain. Maybe it would be better if we tried to figure it out as the story goes along.

Alexander moved his finger up toward his father’s finger. “Cool.”

“Cool,” Mr. MacLeigh repeated.

Alexander missed the chuckle in his father’s voice. His heart pounded in his ears. Try as he might he could not concentrate on what he was saying. “Will his father mind if he goes there?” he thought to ask.

When Mr. MacLeigh did not reply, Alexander looked up. Mr. MacLeigh smiled. “Let’s say, his Dad planned the trip.”

Alexander blushed. With a weak grin, he simply said, “Cool.”

“Yes… cool,” Mr. MacLeigh agreed as he sat back in his chair. Then, closing his eyes, he said, “So, the little boy stayed on the deck instead of going below where his friend, Marty, was sleeping.”

Struggling not to tremble, Alexander stretched out on his back. The pounding of his heart made his father’s voice seem far away. The worry in his head kept him from focusing on his father’s words. Trying to calm himself, he put his hands behind his head, closed his eyes and struggled not to think about what he could not help thinking about.

Mr. MacLeigh continued, “At first he thought he was too excited to go to sleep. But before long he did drift off.”

Alexander took a deep breath and made himself remember the chairs on the deck. They were the kind that could be unfolded into a short cot. He remembered lying in them on sunny days. But that’s all they were, memories. Nothing happened. There was no magic.

“After a few minutes,” Mr. MacLeigh continued. “The little boy was sound asleep.”

Alexander took a mental trip around the boat. He conjured up memories of the helm, the decks and the cabins. About then he had a vague sensation that he was tired. His heart no longer pounded. He struggled to walk his memory to the aft deck.

“Because the harbor was so quiet,” Mr. MacLeigh’s voice said from far away. “There was nothing to disturb him.”

Disappointed, Alexander was about to suggest maybe it would be better to tell this story when he was more awake. A shiver distracted him. His face felt warm. “Oh great!” he thought to himself. “I’m getting a cold.”

The eyes of his memory looked to the wall beside the aft door to the passenger cabin. As though whispering in the distance he heard his father say, “Of course, it would be chilly in the early morning.” At that same moment Darrin saw the familiar little plaque. The cover had been slid back. He could see the letters.

Faster than you can snap your fingers, his eyes popped wide open and stared into bright sunlight and a clear blue sky. Breathing hard, he gripped the sides of the deck chair on which he lay, and waited for his wild thoughts to settle. When he finally did look around he discovered he was on the upper deck of his houseboat. The air around him was a bit nippy, but the morning sun, shining directly into his face, was warm.

He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and allowed himself to take in the newness of the experience. In an alarmed sort of way if felt wonderful to be back.

Chapter Four - Old Friends

Gentle waves splashed against the hull, rocking the boat ever so slightly. Darrin closed his eyes and drank in the salty smell of the sea harbor. His ears soaked up the cackle of gulls and the distant chattering and thumpings of people bustling about on nearby boats. Then he opened his eyes, squinted and concentrated.

A distant murmuring intruded itself into the peaceful dissonance. The murmuring grew into the growl of a motor and became steadily more obnoxious. With a shrug, he closed his eyes but for only a moment.

A child’s voice called out, “THERE IT IS!”

“I SEE IT! I SEE IT!” a boy cheered. “DAD! DAD! OVER THERE!”

The sound of the engine became overbearing. Darrin sat up and put his bare feet on the warm deck. Groggily, he rubbed his eyes. Unsteadily, he stood and stepped up to the starboard railing. He blinked to clear away the lingering blurriness.

“It’s HIM!” the child’s voice squealed.

The roar of the engine stopped abruptly.

Darrin's eyes jerked to the direction of the voice and locked on a yacht gliding silently toward him. On the fore deck stood a red-headed girl, about his age. Beside her a teenage boy with red hair leaned on the railing. An attractive woman with brown hair hovered behind them. The girl waved vigorously and called out, “Darrin! Darrin! DAAAAAARIN!”

He squinted. He gasped. He waved and shouted, “HEY!” Then he dashed toward the cabin.

Plunging through the doorway, Darrin collided with a dark-haired youngster. The startled fellow staggered back, caught his balance and laughed. “Whoa! Whaler! What’s the ruckus?”

Darrin steadied himself, stared, broke into a broad smile and urged him to follow as he staggered past and pitched toward a set of stairs. “It’s the Charleses!” he called back.

“The Charleses?” the boy wondered. Then he snapped his fingers. “OH! The Charleses!”

On the next level, Darrin lunged through the passenger cabin toward the aft deck.

“DUDE!” the boy protested urgently from the foot of the stairs. “We’re still in our jams!”

Darrin collided with the cabin door. Rubbing his shoulder, he faced the fellow with a blank look and then grasped his meaning. 

“AAARGH!” he groaned and dove back to the stairs.

Together, the two of them nearly fell over each other as they hurled themselves down into the hold.

“I didn’t think they would get here this early,” Marty Weller gasped as he pulled on a pair of kaki trousers.

“You are really going to like ‘em,” Darrin assured him. Then, he paused. “Well, like I’ve told you, some of them can be a little strange.”

Marty laughed. “Dude, YOU'RE strange! I just hope it isn't catching.”

Darrin sniffed. “Thanks, Mr. Hyperactive.”

Marty leaped onto a chair, wriggled into a green polo shirt, exclaimed, “Ta daaaaaaa!” and jumped back onto the floor where, with a flourish, he slid his feet into a pair of sandals.

“Nice,” Darrin grinned. Then, decked out in a T-shirt, cargo shorts and sandals, he stumbled back up to the passenger cabin with Marty at his heels. When they sprang out onto the aft deck they found the yacht drifting close to the starboard side. Instantly self conscious, they tried to appear poised. Just at that moment the yacht bumped the houseboat with a gentle tunk just forceful enough to make them totter awkwardly.

“Darrin! Darrin!” the girl called. “You’re really okay!”

“Hey!” he hollered back. “Of course I’m okay. You’re the ones who got banged up.”

“It was just awful!” she said and would have said more had not the teenage boy interrupted playfully with, “More of that later,” as he and the woman hoisted a pvc ladder into view. “We’ve gotta test this thing out.”

Darrin jumped up onto a spool box beneath the starboard railing. “Cool! A new ladder!”

“This one’s lighter,” the teenager announced as they lowered it over the side into Darrin’s waiting hands. “Dad accused me of dropping the other one on purpose.”

“Works for me,” Darrin laughed as Marty jumped up beside him. "That way I didn't have to lose my boat."

The boy smiled but said nothing. The woman, on the other hand, called down, “Who’s your friend?”

“Right!” Darrin replied, stepping back and pulling Marty toward him. “I think some of you have talked to Marty Weller on the phone.”

“Is THIS Marty Weller?” all three of them exclaimed.

“None other,” Marty replied with an elegant bow. “And would you be Mrs. Charles?”

“I would,” she assured him. “And that’s my husband back there.” She pointed in the direction of the helm.

The girl giggled. “I was right. I guessed you’d have black hair.”

“And be good looking, too, no doubt,” Marty winked.

“Well, fifty percent isn’t bad,” Darrin quipped. Then, standing beside the ladder he motioned for everyone to come down.

As Mrs. Charles stepped onto the ladder the boy called out, “I’m Bruce. I’ll be back in a flash. I gotta help Dad anchor this tub.” Then he darted away.

“He’s so cool,” Darrin whispered. “He’s thirteen but he acts a lot older.”

"Do you think we act eleven?" Marty wondered.

Darrin thought a moment. "Don't know. I guess somebody else would have to say."

As soon as Mrs. Charles set foot on the box she snagged Darrin and hugged him tightly. Marty backed away and stepped down onto the deck, but to no avail. The moment she released Darrin she descended from the box, seized his arm and yanked him into a firm embrace. As she did, Darrin reached up and offered the girl his hand. She took it and hopped onto the spool box.Then, together, they stepped onto the deck.

The memory of their first meeting off the Virginia coast flashed across Darrin's mind. He blushed. He still had not figured out exactly how to let go politely. In this case, however, Marty helped. Immediately after he broke away from Mrs. Charles, he moved beside them and got their attention with a soft, “Ahem.”

Darrin and the girl looked in time to see him raise an eyebrow. Instantly they backed away from each other.

“Uh, Marty,” Darrin said awkwardly. “This is Valerie Charles.”

He grinned, nodded, said, “I kinda guessed,” and held out his hand.

Valerie took it and said, politely, “Thank you for calling so many times.”

Now Marty blushed. He looked at Darrin, smiled weakly, and released Valerie’s hand.

“Called so many times?” Darrin wondered.

“Hey,” Marty laughed, giving him a punch on the shoulder. “They were worried. And, anyway, I can’t help it if you were sleeping when the telly was available.” Then, turning to Valerie, he added, “Whaler insists that you and he aren’t dating or anything like that.”

Darrin jumped in. “I’m really glad my friend Martin Matthew Alexander Zachary Weller was so thoughtful to keep you posted." Marty grinned and looked off into the harbor. Darrin continued. "I tried to explain to him about how we talked about being friends but not dating..." He shot a look at Marty and added, "or anything like THAT.”

Valerie glanced at Marty who still looked away at nothing in particular. Then, puzzled, she met Darrin’s eyes and said, “Whaler?”

Now Marty turned and rested his arm on Darrin’s shoulder. “You are absolutely NOT going to believe this.”

“Believe what?” a voice asked behind them.

Bruce and his father, also a red head, descended the ladder. As Bruce stepped onto the deck Darrin stared with gaping mouth. The teenager grinned bashfully, waved his hand beside his face and said, “Don’t worry about all this. They’ll heal.”

“He's got more bruises and stitches all over his back,” Valerie wanted everyone to know.

Bruce shrugged. “Had a fight with a gang of plates.

“They were attacking ME,” she explained.

With a huff, Mrs. Charles added, "Rebecca didn’t secure the cupboard door.”

Marty leaned against Darrin and whispered, “Rebecca?”

“Becky,” Darrin whispered back. “Their big sister.”

“Oh," Marty remembered. "The one who blabbed about the whale.”

Darrin would have said more, but Valerie's voice pulled him back into the other conversation as she said, “…and Bruce came running through to get something just when the cupboard door swung open behind me.”

Bruce shook his head. “Everything came out at once!”

“He pushed me down,” Valerie continued. She shivered at the memory. “He knocked me right onto the floor and laid on top of me until nothing was left in the cupboards.”

Now Marty stared with open mouth.

“Bruce is like that,” Darrin explained so all could hear. “He jumped on top of both of us once when a plane went over the boat.”

An awkward silence followed until Mrs. Charles broke the spell with, “Yes, well, when you’re young you don’t think things through as well as you should. They could’ve both been hurt pretty badly. But, in the long run, I suppose it was better that Bruce got hurt than Valerie. Scars won’t means so much for him. The boy thing you know. And…

“…breakfast must be getting cold,” Valerie interjected solemnly.

Abruptly aghast, Mrs. Charles, apologized for being so forgetful and motioned for everyone to climb the ladder and head for the kitchen. Then she led the way with Mr. Charles right behind her.

Less enthusiastically everyone else followed with Valerie in the lead. Behind her, Darrin turned to Bruce.

Bruce looked up at him and sighed. “Yeah, I guess it wasn’t too brilliant a thing to do after all.”

“I call it awesome,” Darrin objected.“You show me what courage is like.”

“Do you think?” he sniffed. "You should have heard Mom scold me in the hospital."

From behind him, Marty added, “Now I know why Whaler’s always talking you up."

Bruce turned toward Marty and then looked at Darrin. Darrin smiled and nodded. “All the time.”

Nothing more needed to be said as they made their way to the kitchen where, amid the confusion, Mrs. Charles and Valerie put cereal and milk and juice on the table, and Valerie tried in vain to get Darrin to explain what happened on the houseboat during the storm that separated them five days earlier. “How did you ever do it?” she begged to know.

Darrin looked at Marty for help. Marty laughed. “We haven’t been able to get anything out of him. All we know is he said he went to sleep after the storm and woke up here in Hamiltonport.”

“Why won’t you talk about it?” she urged impatiently as they all gathered around the table.

Darrin looked around at everyone and then, although not really interested, he asked, “Where’s Becky?"

All conversation stopped. Valerie and Bruce stiffened. Darrin should have remembered. Marty suspected nothing. Like an explosion Mrs. Charles yelled, “REBECCA ALVIRA CHARLES!”

Both Darrin and Marty jumped and bumped into each other.

“Sorry,” Darrin whispered as the woman charged down the hallway. “I forgot.”

They glanced at Bruce and Valerie in time to see stifled snickers. Everyone looked at Mr. Charles. He simply pulled out his chair and invited the others to join him at the table.

Marty held up a hand and pretended to tremble. “Now I know what a Banshee sounds like.”

Bruce laughed. Then, as his auburn-haired sister came into view just ahead of their mother, he deepened his voice and announced, “Heeeeeere she is! May I present, Her Sullenness.”

“Oh shut up, super hero,” she snarled. Then, noticing Darrin, she rolled her eyes and pulled out a chair.

"Guess I'd rather be a failure as a hero than the one who left the stupid cupboard door unlatched," Bruce retorted.

"ENOUGH!" Mrs. Charles snapped. "A soft answer turneth away wrath."

Becky snorted. "Is there anything that turneth away idiots?"

Mr. Charles opened his mouth to speak when Valerie gasped, “OH MY GOODNESS!!” All heads snapped toward her. “We forgot!” she wailed. Then, seeing blank expressions all around, she looked at her father and moaned, “Sunday! It’s Sunday!”

That announcement brought a mêlée of accusations and excuses. When almost everyone agreed that such negligence could be excused in light of the excitement of having found Darrin, attention turned to the question of how to correct the oversight. Darrin came to the rescue when he remembered a little chapel in town. Mrs. Charles encouraged everyone to take their time as she hustled about the table pulling away bowls and boxes as soon as she thought they were no longer needed. Mr. Charles' suggestion of a cup of coffee encountered an instant veto. All the time plans shifted this way and that until they settled on the decision to take the yacht to the pier and walk to the chapel and then eat lunch somewhere in town.

In the course of the discussion Darrin caught Mrs. Charles scowling at him. When he realized she was looking at his T-Shirt he remembered he had not taken time to check for any message someone might have emblazoned on it. Oh no! Now what? he shuddered as he remembered earlier tricks his father had played when he slipped into these stories.

Trying to appear casual, he pulled out the front of the shirt and deciphered the inverted words, EVERY FRIEND BEGINS AS A STRANGER.

With a wan smile, he nudged Marty and said, “Let’s go.”

“Why?”

“I think we need to wear something a little different?”

Marty glanced at Darrin's shirt. "What's wrong with that?" he protested. "It's true isn't it?"

"Just...trust me," Darrin insisted and headed for the door.

A few minutes later, more appropriately dressed in button-down shirts, dress pants, shoes and socks, the two of them rejoined the group. Mrs. Charles suggested neckties. They managed to bypass the suggestion by pointing out the shortage of time. That having been cared for, Darrin and Marty pulled up the ladder while Bruce and Mr. Charles guided the yacht away from the houseboat and toward the pier.

The walk from the pier to the little chapel, several blocks away, proved to be very entertaining for Darrin and Marty. In Darrin’s world back home it had been weeks since he had been in Hamiltonport; but in the story itself he had walked these streets only a few hours ago. Therefore, both he and Marty were familiar faces to many they met along the way. This resulted in waves and greetings from the moment they arrived at the dock. When they passed the Mushroom Pub, where Darrin and his new found British friends had eaten together, the owner broke away from breakfast duties to hurry out to greet them.

“Master Rinny!” he called out as he approached with open arms.

Darrin did not back away. He knew he would not be hugged. The arms would come down and a hearty handshake would follow.

Behind him a snigger caught his attention. He heard Becky’s voice choke, “Rinny?” Following that, he only half heard the pub owner invite him and everyone with him to dinner. He could not pull his ears away from Becky’s efforts to get someone, anyone to see how “stupid” the name “Rinny” sounded. Only when Bruce and Valerie stepped up close to him, leaving her alone with their mother, did she finally drift into a pouting silence. Mrs. Charles paid no attention. She watched her husband investigate a placard on the door of the establishment. In the meantime, the owner stressed several times that “Master Joshua” insisted any meals for Darrin and any of Darrin’s friends be put on his tab.

“I can’t believe how many people you know!” Valerie marveled as they resumed their walk.

“Sounds like we know where we’ll eat dinner,” Mr. Charles remarked and patted his stomach. “I glanced at the menu. Good stuff.”

“Dear,” Mrs. Charles replied with urgent softness. “We can’t possibly let someone we don’t even know pay for a big meal for us.”

“You don’t have to know him,” Darrin joined in. “Josh is a very good friend to Marty and me.”

“So,” Becky chimed in from the back of the group. “Who is this ‘Master Joshua’ with the big bucks.”

“That would be ‘pounds’ here,” Marty corrected with a smirk.

“Whatever,” she grumped. “Who is he?”

Darrin’s brain raced. The thought of Becky knowing he had a connection with royalty made him panic. Abruptly, he blurted out, “Do you like guys with no hair?”

Marty shot a puzzled look at him.

From behind they heard Becky say, “Yeeeeeech!”

Darrin glanced back in time to see her shake her hands as though getting rid of something dirty. He looked at Marty. Marty grinned. Darrin did not. Then Marty laughed and bounded onto a nearby stone fence where he kept everyone's attention as he led them the rest of the way to the chapel.

Standing at the foot of the chapel steps, Darrin felt as though the quaint building, which looked so charming in the distance, now cast a shadow which insisted on silence. An older couple stepped around them and proceeded up to the large wooden doors. Darrin and the others followed. At the door they took a brochure from an expressionless boy in a long, red robe. Then they stepped into another world.

Chapter Five - What Happened At the Pub

“You really have a way with words,” Mrs. Charles smiled as she shook the hand of the man in the black robe.

“Thank you, Ma’am,” the Vicar smiled back. “You looked very intent."

Following Mr. and Mrs. Charles, each of the others shook the clergyman's hand but thought of nothing creative to say. Only Marty greeted the boy in red standing beside the preacher. "Nice work with the candles," he said and smiled. The boy flashed a quick smile in reply but said nothing.

At the foot of the stone steps Darrin and Valerie heard Mrs. Charles mutter to her husband, “With preaching like that I can certainly understand why there aren’t many people there. It’s disgraceful.”

"You said he had a way with words," Valerie reminded her.

"He does," Mrs. Charles replied. "And it's terrible."

From the back of the group Becky's voice dripped with sarcasm. "I heard what he said to the boy in the funny robe after we got past."

Mrs. Charles looked back. "What did he say?"

Smirking, Becky replied, "He said, 'I'm not sure what she meant by a way with words, but all the time I talked she looked like she swallowed a bad pickle.'"

Mrs. Charles faced forward with a "Humph," and kept walking in silence. At the same time Bruce remarked, “All those carvings and things, it was kinda spooky.”

“Supposed to make us think about Heaven, I guess,” Marty replied as he joined them.

Valerie shivered. "I sure hope they never turn the lights off in Heaven.”

“Why’s that?” Marty asked..

"I’d be scared to death to be in a place like that in the dark.”

“Well,” Bruce figured. “I guess that would be right. God is supposed to be scary, right?”

"Speaking of scary," Becky intruded again. "Did you see how everyone stared at your stitches?"

If someone intended to reply they did not have a chance. Instead, she blurted out, “What’s the matter with you? Why do you keep doing that?"

Darrin shot a glance at her then looked forward and blushed. “Sorry. It’s just a weird feeling I get.”

“Well you did it at least twice before we got here." she complained. "And now you just did it again.”

“Did what?” Bruce demanded.

Becky snorted disdainfully, “He keeps looking around like somebody’s after him or something.”

Darrin and Marty glanced at each other. Marty nodded. “It happened yesterday, too. He gets this feeling somebody’s out there…you know…following him.”

“No wonder about that," she sneered. "We can’t go anywhere around here without somebody waving at him. You’d think he was prince charming or something.”

“Let me know when you feel it again,” Valerie whispered. “I’ll see if I can see something.”

"Me, too," Bruce volunteered.

“Thanks,” Darrin sighed. “I know it’s stupid, but…I dunno. It’s just so odd. I can't shake it.”

A few blocks later, as they approached the pub, Darrin chuckled.

"What's funny?" Valerie wondered.

He shrugged. "There must be something magic in having you promise to watch with me."

"No more feelings?" Marty guessed.

He shook his head emphatically. "Not even once."

Valerie beamed proudly as they clustered together and  followed Mr. and Mrs. Charles up the steps into the pub. Darrin returned her smile. Then, he frowned.and stood still. "Uh oh."

"What?" Valerie asked.

He looked down the street and scowled. "There it was."

Bruce stood close beside him. "The feeling?"

"Yeah...really strong."

Instantly, everyone looked.

“There’s an old couple on the corner,” Bruce observed.

“And the kid in the hood sitting beside the hardware store,” Valerie added.

“And the two women with their trams at the lorry stop,” Marty pointed out.

Bruce pointed. “And the cop, over there."

Together, Darrin and Marty said, "bobby."

"Right," Bruce replied. "Sorry. I forgot."

Valerie shook her head. “We walked by all of them. There’s nobody else.”

"Yeah," Darrin agreed with a shrug. Then all worried thoughts vanished as they stepped inside the crowded pub.

At once, the owner turned from his short conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Charles in order to greet Darrin and make it clear that he was the reason everyone else was welcome. Very properly, he introduced him to the two waiters whose job would be to make the meal memorable. The waiters bantered cheerfully with Darrin as they guided him and the others to a slightly more secluded table at the far end of the room. As they wove among the tables, guests looked up, watched closely and then leaned toward each other to whisper. When each found a chair they ordered their beverage and prepared to occupy the next few minutes with questions and answers.

Most of the questions demanded little thought. “What did you like best about London?” “Do you think there are any different churches around?” "Was there a lot of rain?" When Becky wanted to know if he had seen any royalty, Darrin turned to Valerie and asked, "What did you see in Ireland?"

She did not respond. Instead, she looked beyond him as though in a trance. He waved his hand in front of her face. "What are you looking at?"

She pointed behind him. "Her."

He turned.

“The old lady with that ridiculous hat?” Marty asked.

Valerie nodded. “It’s awful.”

He laughed. “You’ll see a lot of strange hats in England.”

After a few stifled snickers, everyone fell silent. Instantly, Darrin felt his heart beat faster. His brain scrambled in search for another question, but he was too slow.

"I think," Mrs. Charles said firmly. "It's time for you to tell us about what happened to you during the storm and how you got here. I may be wrong but you don't seem too interested in telling us. It may be difficult to talk about, but you need to get these things out so you can put them behind you."

In vain, Darrin glanced over his shoulder to see if the waiter might be on his way to take their order. His hands felt clammy. He looked from Marty to Valerie to Bruce. Then, trying to sound calm, he talked about the rising waves and the screaming wind and the terrible loneliness of the first minutes of the ordeal. When Valerie pressed the question, “What did you DO?” he knew the time had come to tell the rest of the story.

He rested his arms on the table the table. Marty, Valerie and Bruce leaned toward him. Mrs. Charles sat back with arms crossed. Mr. Charles, elbows on the table, stared at the coffee mug in his hands. Becky ran her fingers around the edge of her water glass.

“Everything was happening so fast,” he continued. “Then it happened.”

“What happened?” Valerie urged.

He took a deep breath. “It felt like I hit a rock. I looked over the edge of the boat and I could see it. It was huge.”

“A rock in the ocean!” Mrs. Charles challenged.

Darrin ignored her. “I went below to see if the hull had been damaged. On the way the boat hit another rock. It was awful.”

He paused. Bruce, with wide eyes asked, “How much damage?”

“Honey,” Mrs. Charles objected, reaching over to pat Bruce's hand. “It couldn’t have been a rock.”

Following another deep breath, Darrin continued. “No damage.”

“No damage?” Valerie and Bruce exclaimed at once.

Marty studied his face carefully but said nothing.

“That’s when I realized I hadn’t hit rocks after all,” Darrin replied.

Mrs. Charles smiled and nodded. “I told you.”

“What had you hit?” Bruce insisted.

Darrin sighed, looked at Marty and looked at the table. “This is what you aren’t going to believe.”

“We have no trouble believing the truth,” Mrs. Charles insisted.

He looked at her then at Mr. Charles. “You remember I told you about those whales?”

“Oh good grief,” Becky groaned.

“Yes,” Mr. Charles replied cautiously and then took a sip of coffee.

“Well…” Darrin hesitated. “There they were.”

Mrs. Charles leaned up to the table. “There they were!? What's that supposed to mean?”

With one hand on the other to keep from trembling, Darrin continued. “The mother whale was against the port side, helping my boat climb the wave. The young whale,” he looked at Marty. “Mitch. He was on the starboard, keeping my boat from falling down the other side of the wave after it went over the top.”

“Mitch?” Valerie asked.

Marty glanced at her. “That’s what I called him."

Mr. Charles' eyes narrowed. He studied Marty. “You’ve seen this whale?”

“Yes, Sir,” Marty nodded emphatically. “Last night.”

Bruce sat back. “Last night?”

Marty and Darrin looked at each other. Then Marty explained, “He showed up…and… we rode on him.”

Before anyone could respond, a chipper voice broke in. "Are you ready to order?"

When no one replied the waiter noticed their sombre expressions and asked, more formally, "Would you like me to come back?"

Darrin, as host of the table, looked at each person. "No," he said. "I think we're ready.

One by one, without enthusiasm, they told the waiter what he needed to know. By the time Darrin concluded the process with his own order the waiter thanked them awkwardly, told them the food would be out shortly and left. Confused, he glanced back once and, in doing so, collided with another customer's chair. This resulted in an awkward apology and a hasty departure to the kitchen.

"We spooked him," Marty observed to no one in particular. Mr. Charles cleared his throat. “I really think…” 

Mrs. Charles plopped her napkin on the table. “…that is the most absurd thing I have ever heard.”

“It is hardly likely…” he said.

“…anything so foolish could have happened…” she continued.

“…and I guess…” he added.

“…you must take us for fools,” she snapped. “For thinking we’d believe such nonsense.”

"Not a surprise," Becky remarked, not taking her eyes off her glass. "Master Rinny's just trying to get even because I ratted on him about his stupid whale story in the first place."

Mr. Charles looked at Marty. “It’s really disappointing…”

“…that you’d try to get us to believe his lies…” Mrs. Charles added.

“…by telling…” he said.

“…totally absurd lies yourself,” she concluded.

By the time the two of them finished, Darrin stared disconsolate at the table. Marty, his lips pursed tightly, glared out the window. His eyes snapped. Valerie looked toward her lap and blushed. Bruce, confused, stared at his father's cup. Becky, smirking, continued to run her fingers around the edge of her water glass.

Nothing improved when the food arrived. Mr. Charles led in a very short, crisp prayer of thanks. Then, with jibes like, “The VERY idea,” and “You certainly have shown a serious lack of character,” and “God is very displeased with liars,” Mrs. Charles managed to keep everyone in a state of subdued shame through the meal.

To make matters far more bleak, the untimely arrival of a man from London descended like a harbinger of doom. Darrin fought back tears. He did not see the hint of a smile as Marty stood and said, "May I present my father, Mr. Riggs Weller. He's come to take me home."

Darrin wished he could think of a way of leaving with Marty. What, he wondered, would he endure once these people had him alone?

"Mr. Weller," Mrs. Charles gushed as she and her husband stood. "We have been ... "

"...enjoying getting to know Marty...' Mr. Charles inserted.

"... even though," Mrs. Charles continued. "We're concerned about the effect our friend Darrin may have had..."

"Ahem," Marty interrupted. He shoved his chair back and stepped beside his father. Wretchedly, Darrin's eyes begged him not to leave. Marty glanced at him, winked, looked at his father and said, "They were very much wanting us to tell them what fun we had with the whale last night."

A stunned expression crossed Mr. Charles' face. Darrin betrayed his surprise with a barely audible gasp. As for everyone else, they gave Marty a dumfounded look and then focused on Mr. Weller who, by now, broke into a broad smile. "Oh my! Let me tell you, getting to know Master Rinny has been an adventure."

"Yes, I can well imagine," Mrs. Charles agreed cautiously. She darted a displeased look at Marty. "Do I take it you're already aware of the tall story these two..."

Mr. Weller paid no attention.. "Between giving Marty a whale ride and rescuing a kid being attacked by a tornado, we feel like we've entertained a real celebrity...or...maybe one of those angels unaware the Bible talks about."

Through the pub, whispers followed his remark. Darrin watched Mrs. Charles' jaw drop and her eyes widen. Mr. Charles looked at her and at Mr. Weller and at Darrin and then back at Mr. Weller. Becky stared at her finger which now rested motionless on the rim of her water glass. Marty watched her with a satisfied smirk. Valerie and Bruce looked at each other then at Darrin. He darted a look at them, leaned his head back, closed his eyes and mouthed the words, "Thanks, Dad."

Mr. Weller rested his finger tips on the table and recounted how Rinny had endured a lot of grief because "someone" told them he made up stories about whales. Then, with growing enthusiasm, he described Marty's disbelief, the unexpected appearance of the young whale in the harbor and the dramatic show the two boys put on when they actually rode the creature. When he finished, several patrons applauded and indicated they had watched the show. Then, expressing regret about taking Marty away from them, Mr. Weller shook everyone's hand and made sure Marty did the same.

Marty especially enjoyed shaking Becky's hand. With lips tightly pursed, she blushed and said nothing when he said, "It has been so de-LIGHT-ful getting to know you." When he shook Darrin's hand, he smiled and winked. "That should about square things up for you. Thanks for the chance to spend the night."

"Please," Darrin urged. "Let's be sure to get together again."

"Count on in," Marty promised.

"One of those bunks has your name on it," Darrin assured him.

Marty grinned and nodded. "Make sure it's an upper bunk. I like a good jump first thing in the morning."

"You got it," Darrin grinned.

No one said anything as they watched Marty follow his father out of the pub. No one said anything as they looked back at their plates. Darrin marveled at how different this silence felt. He looked at Valerie and Bruce and smiled weakly. They blushed. He did not bother look at Becky. He did not look at Mr. or Mrs. Charles either until Mr. Charles cleared his throat and said, "I guess maybe we spoke before we had all the facts."

Bruce mumbled under his breath, "How about that, maybe there is a God after all."

Before Darrin could respond, Becky reminded everyone, "We still don't know if that stuff about the whales rescuing the boat is true."

Bruce sighed, "Or maybe not."

Understandably, no one felt like dessert. Together they got up and walked slowly toward the door with all of the good cheer of students lined up to get a vaccination shot.

Everyone in the pub watched in silence until, finally, a voice called out, "Young man! Young man!"

Darrin turned to see a father approach with his little daughter in tow. The girl held a newspaper in her hand and stared at Darrin with wide-eyed wonder.

“Please excuse me,” the man said. “But are you Darwin McLee?”

Darrin started to say, “No,” when he noticed the photo on the front page of the paper. He smiled, took the paper, and glanced beneath the picture of the boy jumping a horse over a fence. “I’m Darrin MacLeigh,” he explained. “They got the spelling wrong. But, yes, that’s me.”

The little girl’s face exploded with delight.

“We heard you might show up here in Hamiltonport,” the man beamed, pulling a pen from his pocket. “Would you…could you autograph Jennifer’s paper?”

Darrin set the paper on a nearby table and signed the lower right-hand corner of the photo. The man rambled on about everyone talking about his breakneck ride to rescue some street kid from a violent tornado. “It’s all over England,” he assured him.

Darrin handed him the pen. He gave the paper to the girl. Then he squatted so they looked directly into each other's eyes. “Maybe someday you’ll be able to help somebody in trouble.” He glanced up at Bruce and then back at her. “See that guy,” he said nodding toward him. She did. “Well, he’s kinda like my role model. See all those bruises and stitches?" She nodded energetically. "He got those saving his sister's life. He’s a hero and I hope I can be like him.”

Immediately the girl’s father shook Bruce’s hand and thought it would be good if he signed the photo as well. Bruce blushed, took the pen, signed the paper. Then everyone left the pub.

Once outside, the children, except Becky, began to talk softly among themselves. As for Mr. and Mrs. Charles, they walked side by side without a word. Just once she tried to get him to talk. He shot a look at her. She looked toward a store window and said nothing more.

A couple times, as they neared the dock, Darrin glanced over his shoulder. In each case neither he nor anyone else saw anything unusual. When they reached the yacht Mr. Charles assigned Bruce and Darrin the job of bringing up the ladder, pulling in the mooring lines and hoisting the anchors while he led Mrs. Charles to the helm. There, whenever the children looked in that direction, they saw his mouth moving and, on occasion, his finger jabbing the air.

All the way from the dock to the houseboat, Bruce, Valerie and Darrin stood at the starboard railing watching the water pass beneath them.

“What's all this about horses and tornadoes?” Valerie wondered.

“If it's okay, I’ll tell you later,” Darrin promised. Then he looked at Bruce. “Do you suppose your folks would let you stay with me on the houseboat tonight?”

“Right now,” he grinned. “I think they’d be more than willing.”

As soon as the lines secured the yacht to the houseboat, Mr. and Mrs. Charles retreated to the aft deck and sent a clear signal that the children could do as they pleased. Becky pleased to go to her room. Darrin, Bruce and Valerie relaxed on the upper deck of his boat. At supper time the three of them decided against eating anything more than a few potato chips and some soda. Eventually, Mrs. Charles called Valerie to the yacht. Bruce did not get to ask if he could stay with Darrin. His mother simply bade him good night and walked away. 

Later, as dusk settled into the harbor, the two of them stood at the port railing staring at the pier.

"I'm glad you can be here," Darrin said. "But I'm a little worried."

"Worried?"

"Do they get real mad and quiet like this a lot?

Bruce sighed. "There's a lot I don't like about them. A few things improved after they started going to that church back in Ohio. But some things got worse. They've always been kind of angry and mean if you did something they didn't like. But they'd just yell and get over it. Now they yell and won't let you forget it and make you feel like God thinks you're a moron or something. But this...tonight...this is different."

"How?"

"Not sure. It's like they're mad at themselves instead of us. I don't think I ever remember seeing them mad at themselves."

"Interesting," Darrin nodded.

"Yeah, I guess."

Darrin shook his head. "No...I mean...yes, what you said about your folks is interesting. But...I was just thinking about..." He pointed to the pier. "Them."

"Who?""

"Those two guys on the dock."

Bruce looked. His forehead wrinkled. "They've both got hoods like the kid we saw."

"Yeah," Darrin remembered. "Near the pub. They were there on the dock last night."

"Same ones?" Bruce wondered.

"No way of knowing," Darrin figured. "But one thing for sure."

"What's that?"

"I got a chill when I saw 'em last night, and I'm getting one now."

After a thoughtful moment, Bruce put a hand on his shoulder. "Let's go below and you can tell me some of your stories."

Darrin turned, faced the cabin and leaned back against the railing. "If it's okay, I'd rather not talk about the tornado thing until morning. I might not get to sleep if I think a lot about it right now."

Bruce nodded. "Makes sense."

"BUT," Darrin added. "I could tell you about our whale ride last night. That story would go real good with a cup of tea."

"Ah," Bruce grinned knowingly. "You've gotten hooked on English tea, too."

"Marty's Aunt's an expert. She taught me how to make it right."

In the hold of the houseboat they sipped tea, munched cookies and talked of Mitch and the harbor show he put on.

Bruce listened, spellbound; but, as the minutes passed he became increasingly thoughtful.

"What's wrong?" Darrin asked.

"Do you suppose I could ever have something like that happen?"

"I learned not to make promises I can't keep," Darrin said and then winked. "But, if I ever get the chance I'll put in a good word for you."

Bruce nodded. "Thanks." Then he sat back.

"What?" Darrin asked.

"You told Marty one of the bunks on the boat has his name on it."

"Yeah?"

"Well...Can I have my name on one?"

Darrin beamed. "You sure can! And you can chisel it on to make sure."

Bruce chuckled. "Do you suppose Marty would object if I chiseled his name on one, too."

"I think he would be honored," Darrin nodded. "Make sure it's an upper bunk."

While Darrin put away dishes, Bruce took knife in hand and laid claim to a bunk for himself and a bunk for their friend.  Then the two of them got into their pajamas and crawled beneath the covers. They talked a little more in the darkness and then drifted into a deep, satisfying sleep.


Tunk


Tunk


THUMP