Chapter 6: First Tme With the Watch

I wound the watch. I was careful to count the clicks of the stem winder. I quit at ten.

“Wendy! Did you wind the watch?”

Hmm ... Mom was in a panic. That was unusual.

“Yes! I wound the watch. What do I? ... Gawd, mom ... they’re awful close.”

“Something’s not right. The other boat is still there heading right...”

The other boat, looking like a Coast Guard Cutter, plowed right through our boat ... or not. We were pretty confused. There should have been an enormous impact. That didn’t happen. My boat was intact ... the Cutter powering on. They made a big high speed circle to the left, ‘Port, left is Port.’ ‘Yes, Mother. Not now, Mother!’ They slowed down, crossing and recrossing out last position. We could see them drive through us. Pretty soon, they stopped We were in them but not.

“They were right here, Tony. You saw them.” That was from the guy steering the ‘Cutter’. He didn’t look like any of the Guardsmen we met.

Tony, a well set up guy with cold eyes, said, “If they were here, why isn’t there wreckage. Bodies ... something, anything.” The way he was talking ... it was the other guys fault.

“What was so all fired important about that boat?” the driver asked.

“Don’t ask.” Tony had that ‘gangster’ look. The one that says, ‘don’t ask ... you don’t need to know’.

“Yeah. Boss? Maybe ... nah ... can’t be.” ‘He’s right, I DON’T want to know’.

“Maybe can’t be what?”

“Mirage?”

“It’s an idea. Anything on radar?”

“Yeah, it’s faint but it’s about 15 miles and closer in.”

“Well? Get on with it.”

Rumbling motors changed pitch. The cutter made one last circle through our boat, and headed north, edging towards the Michigan coast. 40 knots easy ... that boat was fast.

“Mom?”

She looked at me. I could tell she was very confused. Then she brightened.

“You know what’s 15 miles and close to shore?” She started grinning.

“No!”

“Yes! The wreck of the Novadoc. There’s a post piling driven in the wreck. Parts of the boiler and engine have 2 or 3 feet of water over them. It’s windy but not a lot of waves. Maybe they won’t see it until it’s too late.”

“Surely, the captain of that boat knows about the wreck. He’s Coast Guard.” That, as they say, gave me furiously to think. “Oops.” The boat fit ... right shape, right color, wrong people.

“Maybe, maybe not. Want to follow them?” she asked.

“Mother!” I said. ‘As if!’ I thought.

“Me neither. Got any idea what just happened?”

“Were you expecting it?” I asked.

“No ... when they plowed right through us I was shocked. I thought the watch didn’t work.”

“I was surprised that we could still see and hear them. I wonder what’s so all fired important about this boat?”

“I expect we’ll find out tomorrow. How far did you wind the watch?”

“Ten Clicks counter clockwise. Was that enough?”

“Evidently, that was plenty.” Mom got a inquisitive look. “Did you say counter clockwise?”

“Yeah.”

“It clicked?”

“Yeah. Something?”

“The watch winds clockwise. It’s never wound counter before. Pinch me.”

“Huh?”

“Pinch me ... hard.”

“MOM!”

“Ok ... I’ll pinch you.”

“OW! MOM!!.”

Well. It hurt.

Mom said, “We’re here, roll up the sails. I’ll start the diesel.”

“Roll up the sails?”

“Red button.” She pointed. “Green button is up.”

“Ok. Red button is down.” I pushed it, the sails did their thing. “I’d better get to journaling ... this is too much to remember.”

“Now you see the reason for the journal?”

“Yup. Should I log our little incident?”

“Good Heavens, No!”

“Why not?”

“If it isn’t written down...” She made that continuing motion with her hand.

“It didn’t happen.” I finished.

“You’re so smart.”

I grinned.

“And you listen ... that’s better than smart.”

We motored up the lake angling off to the ‘starboard’, ... yes mother, right is starboard ... We found the loom of the breakwater light about 4AM. It was a full fledged lighthouse with a Fresnel lamp and a fog horn. The light was working.

“It’s before 1940.” Mother said.

“The light house got replaced?” I asked.

“Yes. You’ve seen the little metal tower with the podunk light.”

We motored past the light. There was a huge sign ... so big you could read it by starlight. NO WAKE

Half way down the channel there was a small boat basin cut into the pier. Behind the basin was a boathouse and sleeping quarters for the Guard. There was a row boat ... but really big ... in a wheeled cradle on the ramp. There were a couple of Coast Guardsmen standing watch. They stared as we motored by.

Mom said, “The Coast Guard Lifeboat is here, Charles said it was gone before your dad was born. Wave at the Coasties, darling.”

I waved, they waved back. “This is so cool. I’m not so sure progress is a good thing. Are Al and Jean married yet?”

“I’m not sure ... this side of the family is fuzzy. Blow for the bridge, there’s a dear.”

The bridge was donated to the town by the railroad. It had been a regular iron trestle over some stream in Canada combined with a turntable mechanism for a roundhouse near Ludington.

The Grand Trunk was systematically replacing old bridges on their mainline. Most of the bridges were scrapped but an executive had bought cheap land on the south side of the piers. There wasn’t any access so he finagled the bridge and turnstile ... had the channel blocked on both ends after commercial fishing season, pumped out the water and had the turnstile anchored to pilings driven deep into the center of the channel. They set the bridge on the turnstile and geared it to a single cylinder gas motor. The land increased in value by 20 times. He made a killing.

“Oh My ... so that’s what it looks like.”

“Yup, hasn’t been knocked down yet”

I blew for the bridge. The lights came on in the little shack on the side of the bridge. At the road a crossing guard arm came down, then one did the same on the south side. The sound of a single cylinder ‘make break’ motor cleared the bridge of gulls. The bridge began to turn.

Mom was looking in her purse ... she pulled out a dollar, checked the date, and smiled.

“I like this watch. The money is all the correct date.”

“Correct date?”

“Your dad and I had to buy old money to spend while we were back in time ... Mostly we used gold.”

She stuck the buck in a washer and tossed it to the little Greek guy who ran the bridge.

“The state pays his wages, but a little grease helps.”

He waved, we waved. He pulled the dollar out of the washer. He lifted his hand to his lips and threw us a kiss.

“Oh.” My first kiss. “Momma. I like this time.”

“People usually toss him a dime, the buck is for goodwill.”

We motored across the lake trying to find a place to park... ‘Berth, baby. Boats park at a berth.’ ‘Yes, momma’ ... The Yacht Club was full up. We motored south. Where the lake headed east, right on the bend, there was a big sawmill.

“Keep going straight ... towards that darker spot in the bank of trees.”

We ghosted in to a pretty big cove. There were little streamers of mist rising from the water, trees arching from the bank and over the water.

“I’ve got the conn.”

“What?”

“Step away from the wheel. I’ll steer. In the stern locker...” she pointed, “there’s an anchor. Get it out. when I say, ‘let go aft,’ drop it in the water. There are several places where the rode, the anchor chain, has thread wrapped around it. Count them and stop the rode at five bumps, then tie it off to that cleat, looks like the greek letter Pi but short legs. Yes that’s it.”

She shifted the motor into neutral and coasted.

The bow anchor is on a little bowsprit looking thing. She pushed a button and the bow anchor dropped to the cove bottom. The boat slowed way down. The stern started to swing sideways. The stern was almost in the trees. She engaged the prop and moved the boat 15 feet. Neutral again.

“Let go aft.”

I dropped it and started to count the bumps...

“One ... two ... three ... four...”

“Tie it off.”

I did.

“Five,” I said.

She was using the bow anchor to gage our progress. Since the stern anchor had paid out, the bow anchor tightened up by using the anchor motor, ‘windlass. The anchor motor is a windlass.’ ‘Yes mother.’

We stopped. “Finished with engines.” She said, and shut down the motor. We were perfectly still. The quiet slipped in like a thief in the night. We were both silent.

“Tired?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“We’re only going to get a couple of hours.”

“What happens then?”

“The sawmill starts at 7AM. The 6:30 whistle is unbelievable. I guarantee you’ll wake up.” She yawned. “You can hear the whistle half way to Ludington. Lake boats set their clocks by it.”

“Why 6:30 if the mill starts at seven?”

“If you’re late you’re fired.”

“Oh.”

“Every sawmill on the Michigan side of the big lake shuts down in 1942. Every mill hand under the age of 40 gets drafted. The work is deemed unsuitable for women, and not essential for the war effort. Pentwater wives and girls move across the water to Manitowoc and work in the shipyard. By the end of the war Pentwater is almost a ghost town.”

Mom ... history nut.

About the sawmill whistle? She was right. I swear my scream rivaled the whistle!

Mom said, “We’re up ... breakfast. What are you cooking?”

“Bacon ... bacon gravy. You’re making biscuits.” I grinned. Mom makes fluffy flakey biscuits. Mmmm. “How about bacon, eggs, biscuits and gravy,” I opened the fridge, “And orange juice.”

Mom made coffee. She poured me a cup. Welcome to the world of the living!

We ate. It was GOOD! I did up the dishes, mom wiped down the galley and we ware still looking at the damage done by the Alphabet Soup when, about 8 something, a little putt putt of a boat pulled into the cove. I stepped out of the main cabin ‘salon’... ‘yes, mother.’

“Hello, the boat. There’s a berth open at the club. Need a hand?”

“Hello. I don’t know. Mom is sticking the tank to see if we need fuel. Oh. Here she is. Mom, this kind gentleman says there’s a berth at the club. Do we need a hand?”

He removed his little cap, “I’m Harvey Fromm, Ma’am.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Fromm,” mom gave a little tootle with her hand.

He said, “I run the Club. My son Al, was out on his paper route and saw you come in. Smart to come over here. You’ve been to ‘the Water’ before?”

“We’re up from Chicago. A freak wave dislodged our compass. We followed the shoreline ‘til we saw the light. The flashes told us where we were. The charts did the rest.”

Lighthouses have a set series of flashes so sailors can know where they are by the lights. No GPS ... no radio direction finders. Just the lights. Pentwater light is Fl R 4s (Flashing Interrupted Red, four seconds.) If the charts are consulted the light is 49 feet above the water surface and visible 9 miles out.

“I can offer a tow.”

“Thanks. I prefer to motor over.” That was a hint.

He didn’t take it. He watched. I suspect he was waiting for a crew MAN to step out and do the work.

Mom shrugged and muttered about ‘men!’

She said, “It’ll take a minute or so to get underway. Wendolyn, see if you can pull up the stern anchor.” She started the diesel in neutral.

“Yes, Captain.”

Mom laughed. I dislodged the anchor ... it’s a little one so it was pretty easy. Mom let out the bow rode and I pulled us easily until the anchor rode was up and down.

“Up and down.”

‘“Weigh it.”

“Clear.” I hand over handed it and eighted the rode in the locker. (eighted: stow the anchor rode in its locker in a figure eight.)

I tied off the anchor while it was still under water, I could see it was muddy. The trip over to the club would wash the mud off.

Momma bumped the anchor motor... ‘Windlass, Wendy ... windlass.’ ‘Yes, Mom.’ I ran out on deck to the bow. “Up and down, Captain.”

“It’s stuck. Jump up and down.”

I did. Mom timed shifting forward and back with my jumps. I saw the rode come loose.

“Aweigh, Captain.” The windlass ran until the anchor was just visible. “It’s pretty muddy, mom.”

“Jump up and down,” she suggested.

I’m not very big but the boat was so finely balanced that my jumping lifted and settled the bow. The motion washed off the anchor.

“Clean!” The anchor clattered the rest of the way to its seat.

“Thank you, Wendy. You’re learning.”

Mr. Fromm watched our show of seamanship with an open mouth. “I’ve never, in all my born days, seen a crew of two work so well together. Your husband should be congratulated.”

Mom grinned. “David didn’t know a rudder from a mast when I married him. I taught him, now I’m teaching my daughter.” She lied, Mr. Fromm’s son Al, taught them both a long time in the future.

“You two look more like sisters than mother and daughter.”

I blushed at the compliment, mom has heard it before. She looks a young 18.

“Lead on, Mr. Fromm. We’ll be along.”

He putt putted away.

Mom thought to me, ‘It’s going to hard to keep from running him over. I don’t know if we can run that slow.’

‘Let him get a head start,’ I suggested.

A thought struck me, “The fuel? How much to we have?”

“It’s brim full. Now I know for sure the watch works.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll tell you about it later. I need to know what date it is.”

“Steal a paper from Al.”

“Good idea.”

I stepped back to the stern and sloshed the little anchor up and down until it was clean, pulled the rest of the way aboard and stowed it.

“Put out some fenders, Too.”

She saw my look.

“They’re white rubber looking things that you tie to a cleat to keep the boat from rubbing against the dock. In a locker ... on deck ... find it.”

I did. But I didn’t cleat them. I had no idea which side we were going to be docking the boat. We had accommodation for either.

We let Mr. Fromm tie us up. Now if that doesn’t sound kinky nothing ever will. Port side. We wouldn’t have to circle to head out the channel.

We waited on Mr. Fromm in his club lounge. He came in wiping his hands on a towel.

“That’s a nice boat. Illinois registration?”

“Mr. Fromm? How much to join the club and reserve a space for the summer?”

“The summer? Aren’t you going back to Chicago?”

“We bought the boat in Chicago. We live in Saint Johns.”

“New Brunswick?”

“Michigan.”

“Ah, center of the state.”

“Yes. Say, do you have a newspaper?”

“Al delivers.”

“Your son?”

“You are a sharp one. I mentioned him once and you remembered.”

“Mr. Fromm. If we can’t rent a space here, we’ll have to sail up to Ludington.”

“It’s expensive. The Club.”

“How expensive?”

“Dues are ten dollars a month and dockage is three dollars a day.”

“No break for the summer?”

“250 for the summer.”

“Paper delivery included?”

He sighed, “Paper included.”

“I’ll get my purse.” She stood. “Coming, Wendy?”

“Can I have a nap?”

“No.” ‘I want you with me until I’m sure.’

“Ok.” ‘Further Adventures of W1&W2?’

“Mr. Fromm, is that yesterday’s paper?” ‘Cool it brat, don’t make me laugh.’

“Take it. I usually give it to the butcher but he can miss a day. “ Mr. Fromm was resigned ... women always defeated him.

“I’ll take it to him when I’m done.” ‘We need to shop.’

We went aboard, mom collected her purse and checked the date on the paper, May 8, 1928. Second year of Republican Governor Fred Green with Luren Dickinson Lt. Gov. She looked at the top line. Lansing State Journal.