Adrift
Chapter 1

Copyright© 2013 by Old Man with a Pen

"You're not wet?" I asked.

"No ... What happened?" June, the girl with All the answers asked back.

"I dunno." I replied, "Seems like you did something to the watch."

"I know that. What happened?"

"If you're not going to the beach, I have chores," Mom said.

"Yes ma'am." We started footing it over to the pier.

Our house used to be the lake house for the boat shed at the foot of the yard ... there are legends ... and that might be why Mom got it cheap when Daddy died on the Fitzgerald. No one rolled ashore during the days that followed that awful November 10th storm. Daddy didn't ... and since there wasn't a body, Mom got half the insurance. After seven years she got the other half and the double indemnity part for accidental.

It's sorta odd, knowing you're swimming in the water your father died in ... and he's still in it. Eww.

Bridge street is where the bridge to the south shore used to be ... we're not old enough to remember that but the lake freighter that took it out is the foundation of Billy's house. It sunk ... mostly ... Billy's Dad said right there and he was pointing at the concrete block part of their house.

"Yessir ... right under our feet," he would start the Halloween ghost story that way every time. He'd stamp and his wife down in the block part of the house would hit this big piece of steel with a hammer. Naturally ... we didn't know she was down there.

Billy's Dad ... Stepdad actually. That's why Billy was a Johansen and his 'Dad' was a Jorgensen. Billy and I had two things in common ... twin sisters and a father that didn't come back from the Fitz.

He'd stomp and Mrs. Jorgensen would smack that sheet of steel and Mr. Jorgensen would stop..."Hear that? I'll bet that's old Andropolis trying to get out..."

The story was Nick the Greek was sleeping it off in his little motor shack on the side of the bridge ... it wasn't until I was much older... 15 ... before I knew what the 'it' he was sleeping off was. I'd wished ... for days ... that I still didn't know what 'it' was.

Anyway Nick was asleep when that old Lake boat hit the bridge end on and stabbed the steel rails under the tarmac right through the bow. Jorgensen would troop us kids out of the house and down to the yard and shine a really bright light down on the water ... the murky silhouette of a bridge and a bit of the bow of the freighter stuck out from under their house. And we believed every word ... every year ... until the Pentwater Historical Society published what really happened.

Never let it be said that anyone in the town cared ... or even changed their perception of what happened.

Nick the Greek was the bridge operator ... he was never seen again after the bridge was gone and there really a was a sunk lake freighter under the Jorgensen's house. That Nick the Greek was never seen again after 1928 and the bridge was removed in 1955 were conveniently ignored facts that spoiled a good story.

To get to Bridge Street from the front door is a simple matter of two left turns and one right. To get to Bridge through the backdoor meant walking down to the pilings at our little seawall and turning right, threading your way through the cedar hedge while crawling on your belly and taking a moment to climb the rock, then you had to jump from rock to rock alongside Bridge Street until you came to the galvanized ladder and climbed up on the pier.

Which way did we take? You already know that!!

Halfway west on the pier, there used to be a Coast Guard Lifeboat Station ... they got REALLY mad if you trespassed ... really mad. But the station was abandoned when the Guard started widespread usage of helicopters. The lifeboat crews were transferred to other stations.

In 1965 the station was torn down, the boat bay filled in and the pier extended past the open spot. We could walk the pier from end to end and not have to either get wet by swimming past the No Trespassing signs or cutting through the Jeffersons back yard. You have to understand ... WE ... my sister and I never had to swim or go around. Mom used to tell us stories about when she was a girl.

Mom said, the Jeffersons were ok until their boy graduated from bicycles to cars. They lost their sense of humor after that. She did have to admit the Coasties put in a pier ladder on both sides on their property so you could swim past the boat bay. That was very nice.

The three houses on the west side of the Coast Guard cut out were abandoned due to ferocious termites. So if you hiked instead of swum (honest to god real word.) you didn't have to worry about the west side neighbors ... before the cut was filled in. After the cut ... no worries.

It's actually closer to the beach to go out the front door turn left on Green, right at Bridge and left at Lowell ... where's the fun in that? In two more years ... at 15 ... after I found out what sleeping off 'it' meant ... I couldn't get June to go anywhere exciting. The wench even sold her bicycle!!

We walked out to the pier ... it was crowded ... the perch were running ... so ... we went north past where

Old Baldy and the frog pond used to be and is all trailer campsites now and into the woods. We hiked up to the base of the old firetower and sat on the concrete pilings. It's at least a half mile in any direction before you run into nosy neighbors.

From the base of the old tower you can see the iron pipe monstrosity that replaced the lighthouse on the south pier.

"What do you think, Jimmy?"

"I don't know June ... if this watch does control time ... I don't think we should sit on the pilings."

"Ah ... right." We moved.

We moved up hill to the very top of the dune. It is taller than the top of the tower ... if the tower was still there. This tower was for watching the South shore all the way to the Silver Lake Dunes. Back then there weren't any roads past the end of South Bridge Road ... about a mile on the Big lake side.

Up top there's a big clear spot where the grass and trees never grow because of the fierce winter lake winds.

"Cross your fingers and get ready to push in the stem."

"Huh?"

June said... "It might be too far back ... too far back is Lions, Tigers and Bears."

"Oh."..."My."

We experimented. One click wasn't even noticeable. But it only took five tries to realize we had to push in the stem after each experiment. Clicks added up. One click ... nothing ... two clicks was actually three clicks ... and three clicks on top of that was six ... four more made ten and there was a crew building the tower. The pier was made of wood and there was a wood lighthouse.

Five clicks on top of the ten made 15 and there were only sailing ships on the lake, no pier and no lighthouse. Somewhere between 1700 and 1850.

The tower was built by the sawmill in the early single digits of the twentieth century. Its position was on the side of a sand dune and it was soon discovered that sand is very unstable. The tower was never really finished. A platform was built but living quarters were unfinished. It completely collapsed after 1959, but all the kids in town knew where it was. Some enterprising young vandal cut it up and sold the angle iron for scrap.

"Well ... we've got it ... what can we do with it?"

"Get rich!"

"How?"

"Stock Market."

"You have to have money to play the stock market."

"Buried treasure?"

"How do you know where it's going to be buried?"

"Gold mine?"

"In Michigan?"

"Sure ... gold has been found over by Hart."

"Tell you what ... see if you can order a gold pan from Gustafson's."

"Don't have to ... they've got some."

"Well?"

"I have a dollar. They don't even know they have them. Maybe I can get a deal."

Gustafson's is the town's Department Store ... all three stories above ground and a very messy basement. The place has been leased a dozen times in as many years and no one knows what is or isn't in stock The back door has been inoperable for years ... unless you know the secret ... I do.

First I made sure of my target ... yup ... a clear dozen rusty steel pans ... sloped sides and flat bottom.

"Hi Mr. Mack." His name is McKinnon but we all call him Mr. Mack.

"Jimmy. How's your Mom?"

My Mom, for all she's a widow and the mother of 13 year old twins, is one of the main attractions of the town. Most of the girls and unmarried women constitute a real set of coon dogs. Pentwater is UGLY city as far as the fair sex goes ... except Mom ... and ... gag ... June. More than one unmarried man ... and several married Chicago millionaires have thought Mom would make a nice addition to their stable ... No Dice ... Mom does use a lot of batteries though. I've seen them in the trash. Not that I know what she puts them in. She seems happy though.

"She's fine, Mr. Mack."

When it comes to the subject of my Mom, the men in town mumble a lot. My ears are pretty good.

"That she is Jimmy ... that she is."

"Sir?"

"Oh, nothing ... can I help you?"

"I'm looking for a flat bottomed round pan..." I held up my hands to about the size. "And about this deep."

"I don't think ... but you're welcome to look."

"Thanks, Mr. Mack."

Just so he wouldn't think I knew before I asked, I started at the top floor and worked my way down to the basement. Many's the time I've been fingering the guns and some summerfolk has come in looking for just 'That' thing and I was able to say, "Sure, we've got it ... I know where it is." And fetch it ... correct size and color ... because I've been through the shelves before. I've even been known to hit it a lick with the price gun ... for twice what the tag I scraped off said. It's a tourist town ... people expect it.

So, when I came up the stairs I had an even dozen of what I wanted ... with the rusty ones on top and bottom and a price tag from 1910 for ten cents each ... Mr. Mack was amazed.

"It's not exactly what I wanted but ... can't be choosy ... it's close enough."

"God, Jimmy ... that's a bunch of crap ... they're all rusty."

DING

"I think I can clean 'em up. Why don't you wait on her before we dicker."

Pretty quick, I'd be saying, "Yes ma'am ... what color?" as Mr. Mack was telling her Sorry.

"Jimmy, how old are you?"

"Same as last time, Mr. Mack. 13.

"Grow older quicker and I'll hire you just for knowing what I have here. Take them pans with you when you go. They're all rusty and I'd have to throw 'em away."

"I can't do that ... I've got a dollar ... take it."

"I recognize that dollar ... you got it for your birthday."

"Yes Sir ... when I turned 11. I almost cried."

"Ok ... say ... who is that?"

I watched him in the mirror as he slid a Five in-between the pans.

"Never saw her before ... no ... wait ... she's staying at the park." I thought a minute. "Space 16."

He rang up my buck ... gave me forty cents change and a Coke from the nickel machine.

"Mr. Mack..."

"Nickel each, Jimmy. I'd have to throw 'em away."

He started to bag 'em up..."Mr. Mack ... that bag cost you a penny ... I'll take 'em just like I got 'em."

When I got home, June was talking to some guy with a fifty-one Merc. "She's 13," I whispered in his ear as I walked by.

June and I started a nice little fire in the pit in the back yard. I put the pans in one at a time ... grabbed the Five and walked ... no ... ran ... back to the store.

"Mr. Mack ... Mr. Mack! I found this five in the pans ... it's not mine ... it came from your store." I dropped it on the counter and made to rush off.

"Jesus Jimmy ... thanks ... here a buck for a reward." My buck ... the one I've had in my wallet for two years.

"I don't know ... only if you take back the forty cents."

While we dickered a little, I sold six double rolls of wallpaper at antique prices ... well they were ... antiques. Classic sprig muslin pattern ... hadn't been made in 40 years. Thirty two dollars a roll and I threw in the border rolls. Sold her paste, brush and lessons on how to match the pattern plus the paper all for two hundred and fifty dollars ... Mr. Mack just shook his head as he rang it up.

"Jimmy ... that was trash paper."

"No sir ... I was in the library just last week ... in the stacks ... there were display books of paper...

that was in it. A shop in New York would have asked and got two hundred a roll ... and she knew it. You're more than happy ... she's ecstatic ... what more could you ask for?"

"Two hundred a roll? Really?"

"You have some hand painted Japanese paper on Three that's worth five thousand a roll ... to a dealer. We'll talk next time I'm in." DING The ding is me leaving ... by the front door this time.

The reason I put the pans in the fire was to change the color. They don't turn exactly black ... but it's a better color than what they were. And ... the rust pops off when they turn red from the heat.

I'm smarter than my sister but she's more organized ... and I tend to blither when I'm around her ... people think she's smarter ... Just saying.

"Jimmy? How do you intend to do this?"

"I'm gonna ride my bike up river til I come to the gravel and start panning on the bends. The sand and gravel tend to slow down on the bends. When water slows down the heavy stuff sinks."

"How do you know this stuff, Jimmy?"

"Library, June ... library."

It helps a bunch when your Mom is the librarian. While June was playing with dolls, I was helping Mom catalog books. I think I knew the Dewey Decimal System before I knew how to talk. When the Carnegie Endowment people come to check on their libraries I'm usually there shelving books.

Pentwater wouldn't have a library if it wasn't for the Carnegie folks. They built the building, bought the books, hired and paid the Librarian and had a monthly book purchase budget. Mom doesn't DO anything else but the library ... she's not on any committees, doesn't do charity work, no parties ... just raises kids in the way she thinks we should go and librarians.

The Carnegie inspectors show up four or five times a year ... during posted hours and it's usually me and Mom. Lately it's just me on Saturdays ... Mom is in the basement telling stories to the K-4 kids. So the last time the inspector came to see how and what ... it was a Saturday.

"Hi." I was sitting behind the big desk doing the very tiresome task of fitting brown paper covers to the new books. This was Mom's idea. She has a layout and I label the book paper with the number on the spine and the title on the spine back. My printing is getting pretty. I had my tongue gripped between my teeth the way I do when I concentrate. This is a pretty exact dohicky I'm working on here. "If you need to know how to use the files I can help. If it's fiction I can mostly tell you if we have it."

"Where's Mrs. Moon?"

"She's down stairs for story hour." I'm still folding and sniping, Mom wants these covers just so and it takes a lot of eyeballing to get a proper fit.

"Who are you?"

"Jimmy Moon. Who are you?" There ... got it ... a little tape and it's a shelver. I can look up now.

"Carnegie inspector."

"Well ... if I can't help you, you'll have to wait ... nobody interrupts Story Hour. I'd offer you something to drink but we don't have anything in the Library ... and no food either. Since I'm the only one here..." I shrugged.

"Do you work for us?"

"Not really. Mom volunteered me to watch the place during the stories. She says it's important that kids get a love for words in books."

"You're a little young..."

"Nah ... Been doing this since before I could walk."

So ... now you know ... I read ... it's no big deal to pan gold. Every speck of gold in Michigan came in on the glaciers. There's no Lode ... mother of otherwise. It's all placer and lots of Michigan rivers have some. I'm not doing this to get rich off the gold ... I want to use the gold for buying stock.

The Pentwater river is a whole ten miles long so it's going to happen or it's not.

IT HAPPENED! There's gold in them thar dunes ... Most of western Michigan is loess. Wind blown topsoil that dumps when the glacier recedes. While the creeks are the paths of least resistence, loess looks for places to settle. Loess blows off but gold is heavy, while loess blew away, the gold settled in the gravel ... glaciers grind up gravel.

One cubic inch of gold weighs one ounce. I filled a six inch test tube with five inches of flakes in one afternoon. I'm pretty sure it was the watch doing it because I found the gold the first place I looked. Tomorrow I'll try farther up stream. Heavier stuff settles out first.

My sister was pretty amazed.

Watching her play with that test tube of flakes, I knew I'd unleashed a monster.

"GOLD! Jimmy ... gold! Muahahahaha!" It was like her eyes grew gold flecks. And then it began...

"Can I go, Jimmy?" Not once ... not twice ... but more like, "Can I go, Jimmy?Can I go?Can I go, Jimmy?" But a lot more.

She's cute when she does the tendril of hair wrapping around her finger thing ... she forgets ... I'm her brother and 'womanly wiles' don't work with brothers ... usually. It wasn't until she bent over in front of me and I could see all ... the ... way ... to ... her ... navel ... and the interesting things in-between navel and shoulders, that I sprung a woody and began to look at her 'in a different way.'

Hmmm.

In the morning, we took the boat ... it's just a twelve foot wood boat with an old ELTO twin.

Mom didn't buy the boat ... we didn't have money for that. No, the boat was in the boathouse hanging from the rafters ... the motor was in the crawl space under the house and nosy Jimmy nearly got myself killed finding the boat.

Daddy got killed in 1975 when we were five ... two years later Mom shook herself awake and bought the house at slum prices. The first thing she did was remove the diving board. We were Seven. Removing the diving board was a good idea for Mom ... a bad idea for us.


Whoops ... digression here. Although we are twins, June was born June 30th 1970 at 11:45 PM. I, on the other hand, was born on the first of July at 12:05. So we're twins ... born a month apart. For 20 minutes every June, June was a year older and she never let me forget it. Explain that to your teacher.


I found the ELTO twin first ... crawling about under the foundation ... like kids do. I didn't tell Mom ... I told June. I crawled back under the house and tied a rope to the part with the propeller ... Now I know it's the skeg ... but I didn't then ... it slipped off when we pulled on the rope. I crawled back under and tied the rope to the propeller. We tugged ... and sat down ... tugged and sat down ... and kept it up until the motor slithered out from under the house. THEN we told Mom.

"That's nice, dear."

Mom was reading the book list for the month. The very best time to tell her something you knew she wouldn't want to deal with was when she was sitting in the comfy chair reading. Later, when all was revealed, I had a witness that I'd told her.

My sister turned Eight ... a day later I did too.

The boat was different. I didn't know the boat was at the other end of the rope by the door. It was a rope and I couldn't find the one we used for the motor. I pulled a little slack and undid the double clove hitch on the bitt next to the door. Then I was on the rafters ... then I was on the ground and my arm didn't work.

My sister was on the roof of the boathouse practicing ... her and her girlfriends. Practicing ... who knows? ... girl things. It got a little hectic. My sister walked me to the Fromm's. Jean was a registered nurse.

I got to ride in the back of the police car all the way to the hospital in Hart. There I was pushed to the very limits of my endurance ... we were back in Pentwater before Mom got home. The cast was a bit of a surprise.

That was the end of my summer ... the rest of the time ... the WHOLE DAMN SUMMER ... I spent in the Library shelving ONE book at a time. It wasn't a total disaster though. I found the ELTO mechanics manual.

Now, my sister and I are in the boat ... on the way to the river at the east end of the lake. I am in 'baggies, ' "You'll grow into them, Dear." June is wearing a swimsuit I know Mom knew nothing about. Swimsuit? Not on your life ... if that bit of dental floss and gun cleaning patches got wet... ?

Under the new bridge ... new to the town anyway ... people were still getting used to the idea that the south shore had access ... again.

We putted. We putted past the place I found the gold. I pointed it out ... she looked longingly at it. We putted all the way to the spring that started the river ... ten miles. A sloping bed of gravel disclosed nuggets ... lots of them ... and BIG flakes. We panned til dark.

Instead of trying to motor home in the dark, we used the watch and slipped back a thousand years and slept in the boat. In the morning ... there were a lot more nuggets ... big enough to pick up with fingers. Every pan produced half an ounce or more flakes and several big nuggets.

My sister had gold fever ... she didn't want to leave.

"C'mon June ... we've got enough ... let's go home."

She was tossing nuggets in a baggie and chanting, "Gold ... Gold ... Never enough Gold." Finally I sapped her with a bag of flakes and muscled her in the boat. We shot out of the mouth of the river right into a bunch of birchbark canoes with Indians gathering wild rice. I momentarily forgot about the watch stem until the arrow stuck in the wood next to my darling June's head. Depressed the stem and we were back at the spring and it was dark.

"Fuck this!" I motored home.

The arrow was still stuck in the wood by June's head. My darling June? Did I really think that?

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