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Array-ne Hey Everyone, I know I havent posted in a while. I knew today I was going to take part in an event that has been carried on for almost 300 years. In fact, I knew exactly how little my vote really mattered. But, I thought it was great that I lived in a country where my voice was heard and my vote was counted, no matter how small or insignificant it may be. I remember standing in line thinking this is true democrasy in action right here. I thought Thats odd, I registered almost 2 months ago, that was plenty of time. At this point I still wasnt mad, I knew people made mistakes and figured it just got lost in the mail or something. I must have asked for one, 2 or 3 times and the answer remained “Im sorry but the board of elections told me not to grant you a provisional ballet. On my way home I was thinking how could my right to vote be taken away just like that? If they could just take away one of my rights like that, whats stoping them from taking my property, weapons, or freedom of speech? I knew a while earlyer Bush had arrogently declaired victory, but i knew there was still a chance it could go either way. I think Nic (student in my shop) said it best when he said, When I heard Kerry had resigned, I felt the same way I did on 9/11. Now before you stop reading this (as I know 51% of you will right here) please, think about this. For those of you who dont know, my dad is an electrical contractor (an electrician with an electrical license). Theres nothing like climbing 35 feet in the air with the wind whippin your ladder around, really lets you know your alive…
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What really sucks is that one girl that I think likes me is really creepy cuz she was all following me and looking at me strange. Well I know that holds as much water as planes crash because of pickles but her friend was looking at me and pointing at me like WTF? Although the creepy girl did ask me for my cell phone # and I thanked God at that moment that I didn’t have a cell phone. It seems the creepy girl and 2 of her friends have some type of attraction to me because they have all made comments about me in which they say I’m so cool or something to that effect. It seems to me that they have somehow looked in few places for happiness and are in the process of looking inward at their own pain and exploring the depths of that for happiness. I told him that God uses us most when ever we try and expand our comfort zones and that the more we seek after God, the more he will shape us and mold us.
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-ne

The Canadian Mist
Chapter 1

Fred Simmons stood feet wide apart on the aft deck of the converted World War I sub chaser as it sped west across Muscongus Bay in the moonlight.

After the War to end all wars, the United States Navy, unlike European powers abandoned the fastest ships in their fleet. Sold them for a song, or hauled them out to dry rot near the yards that built them. Fred and Jim Eldrige found No. 49 hauled out at a ship yard in Rockland, Maine. They bought her for a song and within three days she was floating and her engines running.

Times were hard. Money was hard to earn, but Jim and Fred knew they had a gold mine in the boat they called the Canadian Mist. On a morning high tide they headed east for their Yarmouth home.

One way Fred knew that he was a good mechanic was to feel the vibrations that the powerful twin liberty engines passed up through the boat’s ash timbers to the plywood deck through his flat feet. He could feel every miss fire; any drop off in RPM’s in either of the engines. Tonight the engines were vibrating in perfect synchronization. Fred knew well that no Coast Guard craft could match the speed he could muster if they gave chase. So Fred relaxed, leaned back against the canopy, while his engines hummed contentedly and the boat planed across the flat sea kicking up a fluorescent rooster tail of sea spray into unseasonably hot humid air of the Maine summer night.

It had been a routine run down from the Saint John, New Brunswick railhead dock where they picked up their cargo. They had raced down the Bay of Fundy to the Maine coast where they began dropping loads at small fishing villages. Their last drop of the night was just up ahead. Fred began to think of his Nova Scotia Bed, but tonight he would sleep under the stars.

Tiny Muscongus Bay with it’s many Islands and rocks was more than a challenge for most sailors, but Jim Eldrige had made the run countless times now and new these Maine waters so well he felt he could run the Islands without the moon. Tonight the moon was full, the sky was clear, and the breakers off Otter Island could clearly be seen as Jim cut the engines to three quarter speed in preparation of the run through the narrow cut called Minister’s gut between two islands. Down to half speed, the trees and ledges on Cranberry Island on the left and Friendship Long Island on the right loomed black, large, and very close. Even at half speed the land seemed to whiz past the dark gray boat. Once past the inner shoals, Jim opened her up and rounded Ned’s Point on the fly heading north to the Long Island lobster pond.

Fred and Jim’s son Dicky were already rolling the sole remaining fifty gallon barrel of blended Canadian whiskey to the port gunwale.
****************

In 1928, Route 97 from was not a pleasant road to drive under the best of conditions. At night, it was an adventure, especially for 17 year old Paul Lender who had been recruited for the pick-up run. The three-quarter-ton Dodge Bros. panel truck lumbered along, its huge spoke wheels seemed to take no head of the ruts and pot holes along the poorly graded road. Paul was scared a bit, and he was beginning to get sick from the jouncing the truck wheels were passing on to his stomach.

After about an half hour of wrestling with the truck’s huge steering wheel, Mace Starratt attempted to steer with one hand and his right knee as he reached behind the seat back for his coat and tried to locate the cigar in the inner pocket. It was soon apparent that this would not work, and that the truck would likely end up in the ditch, so Mace resumed control of the wheel and said, Steer her for a while Paul whilst I get my cee-gar.

Paul turned white and gulped dry air, but reached over to hold the lurching wheel. Mace, perhaps on purpose, turned full around to look for his jacket causing his foot to press the accelerator to the floor. At 40 mph the trucks front wheels seemed to have a mind of their own, and Paul struggled frantically to hold them on the road; until Mace’s foot relaxed its pressure and the speed dropped back to 25 MPH.

Smiling broadly, Mace retrieved a large black cigar from his coat pocket, bit off the end and spit it by Paul’s nose. It stuck to the dash for a moment, and then dropped to the floor board.

Gosh Im sorry, didnt mean to speed her up like that, Mace said.

Paul still had uneasy control of the steering wheel, but relaxed a bit as the truck slowed and seemed content to stay in the road. At 25 mph the front wheels resumed their passion for finding every rut and pothole. The moisture on his face from the spray of Mace’s spittle was beginning to itch and Paul wished that Mace would hurry and take back the wheel, but Mace did not seem to be in a hurry.

Rough road, aint it? Steers hard dont she?” Mace struck a kitchen match on the dash and drew hard on the black cigar. The fire end glowed orange-red. Let me have that wheel now.

Free from steering, Paul relaxed for a moment. While steering, he had forgotten that he had felt sick. As he fell back against the brown leather seat back, the smell of the black cigar hit his nostrils and when the foul odor hit his brain it started an internal pounding the likes of which the young boy had never experience. At the same moment that Pauls head began to pound, the sickness in his stomach returned. Without further warning the Boy could not hold back and with great violence a stream of vomit left the boys mouth, flew to cover the dash where the cigar end had once stuck and slowly dribbled down to the floorboard.

First, the vomit covered the chunk of cigar on the floor, then, with the trucks motion, the tobacco floated and sloshed back and forth among foul fluid on the trucks floorboard.

God damn mother fucking. . . Mace struggled to stop the truck, standing on the iron brake pedal, while shifting down to second gear. What t’hell’s wrong wit’ya? Mace was so irritated that he lifted his arm and was about to strike the teenage boy, but the whiteness in the boys face halted the mans blow.

Actually Paul would likely have welcomed the blow as a distraction to the internal pain racking his body. Paul tried to place his head between his knees. As he did, the lights from a passing empty bait truck filled the truck cab illuminating on the floor board where the cigar tip floated in bilious vomit. He closed his eyes to the sight but it would not go away. Just then the faint aroma of rotting red fish bait from the passing trucks empty barrels filled his nostril. These things, all these things, circled round and round in his head, all competed in his brain for attention, whilst the pounding pain too demanded attention as it rose and fell in intensity.

Paul did not get the door fully open, nor was the truck completely stopped, when a second spasm of vomiting hit. Fortunately, the interior of the truck was spared. As the truck lurched to a halt, and Paul fell from the high cab onto the gravel roadside, but not before his head squarely hit the oak running board mercifully knocked the boy cold out.

“Ya aint dead I guess. Mace said as he wiped the little trickle of blood running down the boy’s forehead.

Mace felt the boys cheek, wet with sweet, but now cool in the hot night air. Since the boy seemed to be breathing regular, Mace thought him well enough for a time, and returned to the rank smelling truck cab, put the transmission in reverse and backed up to a small cow pond by the side of the road. He pulled off the road and scrambled over the wooden cases of glass bottles in the truck back to find a bucket and rope.

It was not hard to see, for the moon was high and bright. By the moonlight he dipped water from the pond, opened both truck doors and sloshed out the cab. The task was not all that difficult since there were so many holes in the floorboard. With the truck pretty much clean he dipped one more full bucket.

Paul awoke about two seconds before the water hit his face. The initial shock was one of fear, but as the sensation of cold wetness covered his body, Paul realized that in the warm night it was the best he had felt in several hours.

Mace found a woolen blanket in the back, and offered it to Paul, Think youll make it boy”?

“Not sure.”

With the blanket wrapped around him, Paul climbed back into the cab. Once more the two men were off into the warm night air. After about a mile, Mace turned off the road onto a drive that consisted of two lanes covered with clamshells. Tall grass was growing between the two lanes that lead into the wooded darkness. After fifteen long minuets on the drive an opening in the trees revealed the moon glistening on the water. A lobster boat gently rocked on its mooring line a few hundred feet from shore, and high on a ledge to the left, was a well lit house and connecting barn.

Mace maneuvered the truck over the ledges and began to back it toward the barn. A huge man appeared at the house screen door, opened it, came out and went to the barn to slide open the massive doors. Mace backed directly into the barn, stopped the truck and turned the engine off.

The big man did not speak but his small dark, deep set eyes followed Paul intently as he stepped down from the cab. There was dried blood on his forehead, and his clothes were rumpled and still damp, but Paul was amazed at how much better he felt as he folded the blanket an placed it behind the truck seat.

As Mace swung open the huge panel truck back door, he nodded toward Paul and said, “Got sick on the way down. Thought I was going thavet leave him by the side of the road. Seems O.K now though.”

Paul tried to smile at the Large man as he and Mace began unloading the empty soda bottles and stacking them on the barn floor.

“Where are they, Dwight?”, said Mace when the truck was empty.

With a single snap of the wrist Dwight pulled a canvas tarp off another stack of soda pop bottles; each one was full and capped. Mace reached to pull a bottle from a case and held it to the kerosene lamp causing the light amber contents to glow. He smiled, “Pretty stuff aint it?

The bottle was labeled Kelseys Amber Cream Soda, Smoothest Soda in all the World”. The same brand name and slogan was branded into the wooden cases and it was painted in red on the side of the black Dodge panel truck.

*********************

Dicky and Fred towed the barely floating whisky barrel behind the skiff-tender as they opened and rowed through the lobster pound gate. Inside the pond they found the buoy for the special “lobster Car”. They pulled the car, maneuvered the barrel into the wooden weighted crate, sank the car again and then rowed back to the big boat.

With all their cargo delivered, Jim opened the engines up and headed north along the Islands West shore, then turned east through the cut between Long Island and Garrison Island and headed home.

High above the harbor a ten year old boy, unable to sleep in the unseasonable summer heat sat outside watching the moon lit waters. He heard the powerful engines first when the boat rounded Ministers Gut. Now he saw the speeding silhouette in the moonlight and puzzled over the reason a boat was racing through the harbor at midnight. Never had he seen a boat move as fast as the “Canadian Mist”

Times Long Ago, Long ago and Lost
Chapter 2

Dwight woke up horny as hell, as usual. Thoughts of sex fed thoughts of sex in his mind, and he felt his penis begin to rise. With a hand reddened by the sun and roughened by the salt of the sea and calloused by hauling creosoted ropes, he reached for the thigh of Mabel who softly snored beside him. Slowly he slid his hand up, seeking moisture. Now, neither asleep nor awake, his wife acquiesced, spread her legs apart. The gnarled fingers spread the vaginal lips apart, still seeking moistness, seeking arousal, hoping for a moving response inside the woman.

Mabel now was use to such an awakening, accepted now what she had for so long resisted. “In and out and gone”, she thought. She arched ever so slightly against his hand, allowed her clitoris to naturally enlarge a bit. She became moist to his touch.

Dwight was now fully hard and he lifted his bulk above her, entered her and once inside her, became so overwhelmed with pleasure, he came in a few thrusts. His great weight collapsed on the woman for what seemed to her an eternity. Finally, after only a few seconds, he rolled off, swung his feet to the floor and stood. As Dwight tried to collect his thoughts he became moved by still another natural urge, found his underwear, pulled them on, stepped into his heavy rubber boots, and headed down stairs and out into the cool summer fog toward the outhouse.

Mabel lay still and flat on the bed, neither she nor her husband had spoken. “In and out and gone”, she thought. She let her right hand stray across her breast, linger there then down to her vagina. She pressed her hand against the now soaked mound for a moment. Mabel at once thought better of it, got up and began to brush her long black hair streaked with silver. She made long slow curving strokes from the top of her head down her neck, across her breasts to her waist where she held its ends. Knowing that she had little time for this luxury, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and left the room.

Going t’town today, she yelled while banging on Sallys door as she hurried to the stairs and down to the kitchen.

In the kitchen she opened the wood cook stove pulled out the ash pan and took it out the back door and pitched the ashes on the pile and glanced through the fog at the outline of the out house.

“It will be a while yet”, she thought and she smiled as her thoughts rambled, “Takes longer to shit than to fuck.”

Soon the fire was going the coffee pot steaming and the bacon frying. Biscuits from the day before were warming in the oven. Dwight appeared at the door and shivered.

“Damp out there”, he said as he moved his huge ass near the cook stove.

“Get upstairs and put your clothes on. You look ridiculous, besides, Sally will be down in a minute”, Mabel hid her face from Dwight, trying not to laugh at the sight of her fat spouse standing on tip toes inside rubber boots, trying to raise his ass above the stove. As he leaned forward his fat stomach fell over his under shorts, but not so far as to conceal his penis, well shrunken in the cool damp air peeking out of the fly.

“Jesus Mabel”, Dwights face reddened a bit, as he tromped off toward the stairs.

As his back turned Mabel allowed a smile and then a grin at the sight of him walking away. His legs looked small and frail disappearing into those boots. Seeing him in this light caused her to stand straight and smile again, not at him, but at herself, for her self. She went about the business of making breakfast.

After Breakfast, Dwight walked past his boat house down to the river shore. He pulled the dory to shore from its off mooring, and then stepped in while shoving off with one foot. As the small boat rocked with the incoming tide as he cast off the mooring line, set the oars and began to row toward his lobster boat that rocked gently on its deep water anchorage, still well beyond sight in the morning fog. Gulls swooped low over the dory, looking for bait buckets, but there were none. They cried loudly in protest.

Dwight loved to row. He especially loved to row in the fog. He took short, choppy strokes standing in the center of the boat facing forward, his right foot slightly forward. The “Sally J” appeared just where she should be, first as a gray ghost like image in the growing morning light, then whiter, her yellow and red trim glimmering through the mist.

Dwight was proud of the converted model T engine that he had installed in the boat. Usually he took joy in carefully setting the spark and advance, and pulling the crank. In the damp air, however, he soon was cussing the poor engines failure to do more than sputter. Out of breath, he fell back against the gunwale to collect energy and thought. After staring at the controls for a moment, he decided to make an adjustment, advancing the throttle and pushing the choke in a hair. Another crank resulted in a steady putter that in turn brought a grin to the lobstermans face.

Dwight tied the dory off to the mooring line and cast off. The fog was still as thick as clam chowder as he nosed the boat at slow throttle into the river channel, then south south east steering toward the harbor. He steered with his nose, his ears, his mind and heart. All knew the way, since his eyes be of little use.

Mabel and Sally bounced on the leather seats of the model A sedan as they headed for the Village store.

“Mom, the steamer should be in, can we go to the harbor and see it? Please?” Sally hid a shy smile from her mother looking away out the cars side window.

Watching the steamer and all the gay people on board traveling to places she had never been had always been a pleasant division for Mabel. Often, on trips to town, she had taken Sally to the Harbor dock to see the big boats arrive and depart. But as Sally had gotten older, she grew bored with the diversion. The sudden interest puzzled the older woman.

O.K., sure the mother responded, but she glanced over at the back of the girls head with a smiling frown. She was trying to remember their last trip to the dock, what had happened?

They parked the sedan on the hill overlooking the harbor and its islands- the fog had long ago burnt off and the day turned warm and pretty. The two women blended in with the passengers walking down the hill to the dock where the passenger boat was tied up. At the edge of the dock a crew member was turning passengers away.

Engineer’s welding a timing shaft. We’ll be a couple hours late leaving, he said. Mabel and Sally brushed past the sailor to get a closer view of the little steamship. Sallys eyes seemed to be conducting a diligent search.

On the aft deck was a young cabin boy stripped down to white pants. His hair was coal black and in two short braids. Water glistened on his brown skin that in the bright sun seemed to have just a hint of redness. Sallys clear green eyes came to rest on the boy and she could not contain a smile. His black eyes caught the suns sparkle as he looked up, met her eyes and quickly looked down at his bare feet.

“Hey boy, Injun boy, yourn if you can get it.” From the dock a tall man in a tall hat threw a silver dollar in the air, over the water. In the air the silver flickered in the sun and for a moment in the water it seemed to shine. Before the shine was gone the boy dove in the water. Sally held her breath for what seemed an eternity until the boy surfaced, the coin in his outstretched hand.

Mabel and Sally watched the boy dive for quarters, nickels, dimes, even pennies, never failing to return with the coins. After a while, Mabel began to watch Sally watch the boy. She smiled and thought of a time long ago, a time long ago and lost. She reached over to her daughter cupping her head, her shinny brown hair, in her hand and said, “Its time to go buy groceries”.

Sallys face fell, but she turned, glanced over her shoulder at the boy, passed among the crowd, across the dock and up the hill to the car.

As the diver sat on the deck counting his coins, he thought to look up seek again those clear green eyes, but finding them gone, he jumped to his feet, jumped to the dock and raced up the hill to see the black sedan pull away the face of the girl looking back, green eyes looking back at him. He turned and ran back to the boat.

“He is handsome, that Indian lad”, Mabel said. I know now why you wanted to go to the landing.

Sallys face grew red. She said nothing, only looked back down the dirt road toward the harbor.

The two women did not speak again until they reached the village market.

The morning sun had burnt away the fog as Dwight and his boat reached the mouth of the river near Garrison Island. So, the fisherman opened up the throttle a bit, adjusted the spark and advance and the engine seemed to almost hum. He rounded the Island and headed into the harbor. As he entered the harbor he noticed that there was a crowd of people at the steamship dock. He could hear yelling and applause. He could in no way imagine what was going on, but he had work to do, so he continued his southeast course along the edge of Long Island toward thee Lobster pound.

At the pound he nudged his small craft through the gate and to the special buoy. It took all the big mans strength to raise the car, retrieve the whiskey barrel, and get it on board his boat. Once there it looked like an ordinary bait barrel. Dwight edged out of the pound, and headed home. There would be bottling to do before next weeks pick up of The Smoothest Soda in All The World

The women left the market each with a box of groceries. They placed the boxes in the back seat of the sedan. When Sally opened the front door her mouth dropped open and her eyes grew wide. On the seat was a calabash dipper filled with shells, pink shells, soft sandy shells, shinny brown shells with white spots, and more. As she lifted the shells from the gourd, a glint of silver caught her eye. At the bottom, under all the shells she found a silver dollar.

Mabel smiled again at her daughter, smiled as their eyes met, and the older woman thought of times long ago, long ago and lost.

DWIGHT
Chapter3

Dwight had the throttle wide open and the small boat cut the water cleanly sending white foam from its bow and sides. Its wake sent rolling waves to either side of the river bank. The sun was high a bit behind Dwight and over his left shoulder. For a moment he thought he heard the sound of a second engine. Dwight stood erect and squinted over the water behind him, but saw nothing. With his elbows on the wheel, he pulled out his pipe and can of Prince Albert tobacco from his shirt pocket and proceeded to fill the pipes bowl, tapping the tobacco down with his forefinger.

Just as he gripped the stem between his teeth a tremendous noise and rush of wind caused him to loose his balance. The Prince Albert can flew high in the air and landed well overboard. The “Sally J” took a hard turn to the right, for Dwight had caught the wheel to steady him self and still had nearly fell. As he regained his composure and control of his boat he caught a glimpse of the old Curtis seaplane, scarcely 20 feet above the water, now well up river.

“Son a bitch, Spear, he muttered, Aint got no sense, no sense atall.

Kendall Spear continued to laugh as he pulled back on the stick and gave her full throttle. The sluggish plane gained altitude rising well above the river cove. He circled left over the dark spruce. Off in the distance he could see the Medomack River sparkling in the afternoon sunlight. Kendall leveled off at about 5000 feet and made his circle wide over the harbor. Off to the east black smoke billowed from the old ferry steamer as it stood well off Pemequid point, about to round and head up the Damriscotta.

The high sun sent blinding flashes of reflected light from the long flooded old quarry pits on Long Island. The little plane angled across the island and again headed up the Meduncook. Spear dropped to 1500 feet and dropped air speed to well above stall and again followed the river until Dwight’s craft was again in sight, just about to head into the back river channel. This time Kendall first banked softly right then circled to his left until he was at the head of the back river cove and headed south-east down the length of the cove and into the wind. He pushed the stick forward and the aircraft bounced twice and then settled on the smooth water of back cove. As the craft’s speed dropped, Kendall pushed the stick hard right and throttled up a bit to turn toward Dwight’s mooring he cut back the engine and the plane settled in the water as it glided to the mooring where Dwight’s dory was tied. Kendall cut the engine and climbed out on the seaplane’s float and knelt to snare the dory gunwale as the as the seaplane’s drift brought it on a collision course. The pilot worked hand over hand down the dory’s side and at the stern tied off. He stood and stretched his arms above the head and took notice to the silence.

After the steady droan of the plane’s engine, the soft sounds of lapping water and gull cries seemed almost intoxicating. He took a deep breath as he stretched. Then, working his way along the float toward the tail of the plane and the cargo compartment door, he opened the door and pulled out a bottle of home brewed beer. Holding the beer in his left hand and holding on with his right he walked back to the cockpit and climbed back in the seat to wait on his friend. The beer was not exactly cold, and the sun was quite warm and soon Kendall had dozed off.

Dwight was still fuming as he rounded the point to see the yellow aircraft tied to his mooring. He took note that his dory was still there. Kendall, he thought, was no doubt asleep again and drooling beer down his chin. Dwight knew that he could not return the joke in as dramatic fashion as a buzzing, but he would get even.

Dwight cut the old engine long before he reached the moored aircraft, and the “Sally J silently glided in. Dwight lay prone on the foredeck and deftly caught the tail of the airplane as the boat, with nearly all its forward momentum gone, floated gently to the mooring. Silently working the boat along the aircraft’s length, then that of the dory to the mooring line, Dwight first loosened the dory and aircraft, tied them off, and then fastened the Sally J to her resting place.

With practiced silence, Dwight stepped into the dory and began to row, towing the bright seaplane across the river where an old spruce tree that grew over the water. There he tied the plane nose in to the tree and with oar strokes that seemed as effortless as they were silent; Dwight rowed to the other bank.

Back at the house Dwight went straight to his shotgun, grabbed a box of buck shot and returned to riverbank to the gray shingled shack where he spent winter days knitting nets and repairing his traps for spring. The east window offered a great view of the anchorage. Resting the old double barrel 12 gauge on the open window sill, he let loose with both barrels one after the other. Although the buck shot would surely reach the water and raise a splash, the sound of the gun would reverberate up and down the both river banks. Kendall would wake up.

Kendall woke with every muscle in his body aching, and there was a throbbing in his head that he could only lay on the hot beer. For a while he had no idea what day it was or even where he was. He was not certain of anything, but he forced his memory to recover. One thing became instantly apparent. He was not where he was supposed to be.

Back at the shack, Dwight pulled down the binoculars from the nail above the window. A chuckle, the first of many to come began working its way from his chest to his throat, then over his tongue and out his mouth.

Kendall knew that he would have to get wet; knew that cussing Dwight would do no good; knew that he was being watched. He glanced up at the shack, but he made no motion toward his old friend, he just wadded knee deep into the shallow water.

He looked straight at the shack and shouted at the top of his lungs, Sorry son of a bitch! He shook his fist wildly in the air, then suddenly a powerful urge came over him, he lowered his fly and taking penis in hand he aimed a golden yellow arc in the direction of the shack.

He waded ashore, and untied the airplane, pushed it out past the eddy, turned it around, and gave it a shove into the open stream, as he flopped up on the float. Fortunately, Dwight had not lifted the paddle from the planes open storage door. With great effort, Kendall began paddling across the rivers current.

Need any help

Kendall was so intent on paddling that he had not noticed Dwight, who had grown weary of laughing, approaching in the dory.

Someday I’ll teach you how to tie that off to a mooring proper. So’s that thing can’t wander off with ya, Dwight laughter was upon him again.

The planes line was soon fast to the dory and both men were in the row boat. Kendall sat in the stern glum and shivering in the setting sun. Dwight looked past his friend at the plane in tow, its bright yellow softening to an orange in the light of the setting sun, and beyond the plane, at the old spruce, still hanging to a bit of bank not yet washed away by the river and tide. Just now its green brows of the spruce seemed to appear greener, but just for a moment, for the color dimmed, the green became black in the lengthening shadows of the western bank.

Dwight smiled at his friend, and stopped rowing. While standing one foot ahead of the other at the dorys center, he balanced both oars with one hand and arm and with his left hand reached to his hip pocket and pulled out an amber colored bottle. Thought you might need this, he tossed him a bottle that rose high enough to catch the setting sunlight. The bottles label read “Kelsey’s Amber Cream Soda, Smoothest Soda in all the World”.

Kendall smiled, poped the bottle cap off on the dorys gunwale, lay back against the stern board, and took a slow sip.

I’ll get ya,

EMMA
Chapter 4
The truck seemed to ride a bit better under load, and the exercise of loading the quart bottle cases had cleared Pauls head a bit. Perhaps, he thought, perhaps he would live. He noticed that Mace had snuck a bottle of the “Cream Soda” into the cab and now without pretence began taking long drags from the bottle.

He held up the bottle for Paul to clearly see. “This”, he said, “is breakage”. Want a snort?”

Now, although Paul felt better, he was not that well. He refused, “Not tonight I dont guess, dont knows Im up to it”.

Well, don’t like ‘tobbca’; don’t like booze; D’ya like women? Mace grinned a wet grin in the faint light of the cab. Grinning at Paul, distracted his mind from the road, and the truck began to wander toward the ditch.

Jez, Mace watch her, well crack up”, Paul shouted.

“I bet ya never had a woman did ya?” Mace glanced at Paul, but seemed to be looking for something down the road. He slowed the truck a bit and kept watching the right side of the road. “Should be just ahead. We got plenty of time, besides got tmake a delivery anyway. Just think kid, tnight just may be your night.”

Paul had a good idea just what Mace was talking about; and despite what Mace said, Paul was not all that innocent when it came to women. At least Paul thought himself quite experienced, having lived much of his young life on town streets. When anyone mentioned women, his thoughts went straight to Polly Weed. By damn the girl had nearly raped him. Raped him that is until he figured out what was going on and began to take an active part in the matter.

It all began at school- teasing one another. Sitting behind her in class he had pulled her hair, and she had chased him on the school yard, caught him and kissed him on the cheek, just to embarrass him in front of his friends. Later on one Friday evening they met on a dare by the exit door behind the Strand Theater, thinking to sneak in if someone left early.

But it seemed no one was going to leave, the ally was dark, so Paul reached for Pollys hand. That was all it took, for with her other hand she grabbed at his groin and soon had traced over rough denim the outline of his manhood. After several frenzied, inaccurate kisses he too found the soft cotton of her panties. It was then that the exit door to the theater opened.

Mace stood on the rattling dodges brakes. “Damn, nearly missed it, know this road like the back of my hand, I do.”

Mace pulled up a short gravel drive that led through a grove of cedars concealing a two story house. Although the buildings outline loomed dark, every window was lit, and it seemed to radiate a welcoming glow. At once Paul smelled the sweet sent of cedar and when Mace shut off the trucks sputtering engine, the soft hush of the evening breeze through the cedar brows overwhelmed the boy giving him a sense of security. This was a good place he thought.

“Gointkill two birds with one stone”, Mace grinned at the boy, “Come on”.

From the back of the truck, Mace and Paul unloaded two case of the thinly disguised Canadian whisky. Mace slipped an additional bottle under his arm and motioned for Paul to do the same. While holding the single bottle under his arm, Mace took his case and headed for the house. Paul set his case and bottle on the ground while he shut the truck doors. Then he gathered up the whisky and followed Mace to the house. As he neared the house, Paul thought he could hear music coming from the building. Soon he became sure, it was an Irish fiddle and a piano rising above loud voices and often there was laughter.

Mace passed the front door and followed a well worn path around to the back. The tall grass on either side of the path was already heavy with night moisture, and Pauls pant legs were getting wet. For a moment he looked down trying to see his way in the center of the path. When he noticed a brightening light on the path, he looked up to see a woman standing on back stoop smoking a cigarette.

Paul could not see the womans face, for the light behind her highlighted only her hair causing stray strands about the fringe of her head glow auburn bright as she turned in the yellow light. Had Paul been able to see the womans face, he might have taken no notice, for his attention was quickly focused elsewhere. For the back light easily went through the womans thin garment and Paul saw a magnificent moving silhouette of long slender legs, rounded hips, a narrow waist and swaying breasts with large upturned nipples. Pauls eyes darted over the womans frame that never seemed to stop moving. Her movements were graceful and smooth and seemed somewhat out of time with the spirited music in the background. He could even see hints of her pubic hairs projected by the light on the negligees surface. His mouth dropped open, and he found he could but stare. She was no Polly he thought.

Running a bit late t’night, ain’t ya Mace?, Emma Bradford took no notice of the boy as she produced from some mysterious place a roll of bills and tucked them into Maces shirt pocket as he turned sideways to squeeze past her on the small stoop and through the door into the pantry where he stowed the bootlegged liquor on a shelf next to a near full case of empties.

“Got any breakage tnight? she said, as only the slightest smile seemed to begin in right the corner of her mouth, then faded away.

Mace’s eyes seemed to grow large and he placed the single bottle that he had tucked under his arm on the shelf next to the others. Paul entered the room, catching his breath as he caught the perfumed sent of the woman he brushed brush past on the stoop. He followed suit placing his case and extra bottle on the shelf next to Mace’s.

Emma laughed approvingly, Come on in then. She moved past them through the narrow pantry into the kitchen, this time allowing her thinly covered breasts to barely touch the boy’s chest. Whos this with ya?”

“Just learning the route. Magine some day hell be coming by here by himself”, Mace winked at Paul whose mouth was still agape. The men followed the woman into the kitchen where Mace made himself at home, got a glass and poured himself a drink from an open bottle on the shelf by the sink.

“Guess wed better treat him right then, Emma smiled and took Paul’s hand, “T’night you get the best. She opened a door leading off the kitchen revealing a steep stairway and led the dumbfounded boy up into darkness.

Mace stood almost motionless grinning and watched them disappear. The music which had stopped began again. With a start Mace turned, took a sip from his glass and went into the noisy parlor.

The top of the back stairs opened directly into a bedroom softly lit by a small bedside lamp in front of an open window where curtains as sheer and transparent as the gown Emma wore fluttered inward riding on the cedar scented summer evening breeze. The music from the room below not only rode in on the night wind, but also came softly muted up through the old parlor ceiling and garret floors.

At the top of the stairs Emma left her grip on Pauls hand and he, still speechless, perhaps embarrassed, took his eyes from her to gaze through the window into the black night and beyond. For a moment he became mesmerized by the slow flutter of the curtains and the filtered sounds of violin music. Not only was he utterly unprepared for what was happening to him, he was not even sure what was happening and if what was happening was real. Perhaps it was all a dream, perhaps he was still asleep in the old truck bumping along on the old road.

He turned to find Emma standing by the bed, her scant gown now fully open. She smiled, and without words slid the garment from her shoulder allowing him only a glimpse of her bare breasts as she turned her back to him. Carefully, deliberately she folded the gown and draped it over the headboard.

Her back below where the sun had struck was a creamy white softened even more in the pale yellow artificial light, but higher, where the sun had often struck a thousand, thousand freckles had exploded on her skin. Each one seemed to absorb the limited rays of light in the room.

Pauls eyes flowed down her back from where the freckles were myriad to where there were none. There, his attention was drawn not to color of skin but to the graceful curves of her waist and hips as she turned to face him

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-ne This is another great miracle i encountered, i was coming back to Lagos from Akure in my friend’s car and we got to Ibadan at 7pm and meet a serious stand still traffic jam at Iwo road. We all started praying for God to send angels to clear the road, at around 8:30pm we had only moved about 40 metres, a siren with some escorts were passing, we decided to follow them, the registration number of our car was for Lagos State Government, so we put on our hazards lights and our driver did a good job not to lose the convoy, but it was tough, but we scaled through as the police men clear the road for us to pass.
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Array-ne Hey Everyone, I know I havent posted in a while. I knew today I was going to take part in an event that has been carried on for almost 300 years. In fact, I knew exactly how little my vote really mattered. But, I thought it was great that I lived in a country where my voice was heard and my vote was counted, no matter how small or insignificant it may be. I remember standing in line thinking this is true democrasy in action right here. I thought Thats odd, I registered almost 2 months ago, that was plenty of time. At this point I still wasnt mad, I knew people made mistakes and figured it just got lost in the mail or something. I must have asked for one, 2 or 3 times and the answer remained “Im sorry but the board of elections told me not to grant you a provisional ballet. On my way home I was thinking how could my right to vote be taken away just like that? If they could just take away one of my rights like that, whats stoping them from taking my property, weapons, or freedom of speech? I knew a while earlyer Bush had arrogently declaired victory, but i knew there was still a chance it could go either way. I think Nic (student in my shop) said it best when he said, When I heard Kerry had resigned, I felt the same way I did on 9/11. Now before you stop reading this (as I know 51% of you will right here) please, think about this. For those of you who dont know, my dad is an electrical contractor (an electrician with an electrical license). Theres nothing like climbing 35 feet in the air with the wind whippin your ladder around, really lets you know your alive…
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What really sucks is that one girl that I think likes me is really creepy cuz she was all following me and looking at me strange. Well I know that holds as much water as planes crash because of pickles but her friend was looking at me and pointing at me like WTF? Although the creepy girl did ask me for my cell phone # and I thanked God at that moment that I didn’t have a cell phone. It seems the creepy girl and 2 of her friends have some type of attraction to me because they have all made comments about me in which they say I’m so cool or something to that effect. It seems to me that they have somehow looked in few places for happiness and are in the process of looking inward at their own pain and exploring the depths of that for happiness. I told him that God uses us most when ever we try and expand our comfort zones and that the more we seek after God, the more he will shape us and mold us.
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-ne

The Canadian Mist
Chapter 1

Fred Simmons stood feet wide apart on the aft deck of the converted World War I sub chaser as it sped west across Muscongus Bay in the moonlight.

After the War to end all wars, the United States Navy, unlike European powers abandoned the fastest ships in their fleet. Sold them for a song, or hauled them out to dry rot near the yards that built them. Fred and Jim Eldrige found No. 49 hauled out at a ship yard in Rockland, Maine. They bought her for a song and within three days she was floating and her engines running.

Times were hard. Money was hard to earn, but Jim and Fred knew they had a gold mine in the boat they called the Canadian Mist. On a morning high tide they headed east for their Yarmouth home.

One way Fred knew that he was a good mechanic was to feel the vibrations that the powerful twin liberty engines passed up through the boat’s ash timbers to the plywood deck through his flat feet. He could feel every miss fire; any drop off in RPM’s in either of the engines. Tonight the engines were vibrating in perfect synchronization. Fred knew well that no Coast Guard craft could match the speed he could muster if they gave chase. So Fred relaxed, leaned back against the canopy, while his engines hummed contentedly and the boat planed across the flat sea kicking up a fluorescent rooster tail of sea spray into unseasonably hot humid air of the Maine summer night.

It had been a routine run down from the Saint John, New Brunswick railhead dock where they picked up their cargo. They had raced down the Bay of Fundy to the Maine coast where they began dropping loads at small fishing villages. Their last drop of the night was just up ahead. Fred began to think of his Nova Scotia Bed, but tonight he would sleep under the stars.

Tiny Muscongus Bay with it’s many Islands and rocks was more than a challenge for most sailors, but Jim Eldrige had made the run countless times now and new these Maine waters so well he felt he could run the Islands without the moon. Tonight the moon was full, the sky was clear, and the breakers off Otter Island could clearly be seen as Jim cut the engines to three quarter speed in preparation of the run through the narrow cut called Minister’s gut between two islands. Down to half speed, the trees and ledges on Cranberry Island on the left and Friendship Long Island on the right loomed black, large, and very close. Even at half speed the land seemed to whiz past the dark gray boat. Once past the inner shoals, Jim opened her up and rounded Ned’s Point on the fly heading north to the Long Island lobster pond.

Fred and Jim’s son Dicky were already rolling the sole remaining fifty gallon barrel of blended Canadian whiskey to the port gunwale.
****************

In 1928, Route 97 from was not a pleasant road to drive under the best of conditions. At night, it was an adventure, especially for 17 year old Paul Lender who had been recruited for the pick-up run. The three-quarter-ton Dodge Bros. panel truck lumbered along, its huge spoke wheels seemed to take no head of the ruts and pot holes along the poorly graded road. Paul was scared a bit, and he was beginning to get sick from the jouncing the truck wheels were passing on to his stomach.

After about an half hour of wrestling with the truck’s huge steering wheel, Mace Starratt attempted to steer with one hand and his right knee as he reached behind the seat back for his coat and tried to locate the cigar in the inner pocket. It was soon apparent that this would not work, and that the truck would likely end up in the ditch, so Mace resumed control of the wheel and said, Steer her for a while Paul whilst I get my cee-gar.

Paul turned white and gulped dry air, but reached over to hold the lurching wheel. Mace, perhaps on purpose, turned full around to look for his jacket causing his foot to press the accelerator to the floor. At 40 mph the trucks front wheels seemed to have a mind of their own, and Paul struggled frantically to hold them on the road; until Mace’s foot relaxed its pressure and the speed dropped back to 25 MPH.

Smiling broadly, Mace retrieved a large black cigar from his coat pocket, bit off the end and spit it by Paul’s nose. It stuck to the dash for a moment, and then dropped to the floor board.

Gosh Im sorry, didnt mean to speed her up like that, Mace said.

Paul still had uneasy control of the steering wheel, but relaxed a bit as the truck slowed and seemed content to stay in the road. At 25 mph the front wheels resumed their passion for finding every rut and pothole. The moisture on his face from the spray of Mace’s spittle was beginning to itch and Paul wished that Mace would hurry and take back the wheel, but Mace did not seem to be in a hurry.

Rough road, aint it? Steers hard dont she?” Mace struck a kitchen match on the dash and drew hard on the black cigar. The fire end glowed orange-red. Let me have that wheel now.

Free from steering, Paul relaxed for a moment. While steering, he had forgotten that he had felt sick. As he fell back against the brown leather seat back, the smell of the black cigar hit his nostrils and when the foul odor hit his brain it started an internal pounding the likes of which the young boy had never experience. At the same moment that Pauls head began to pound, the sickness in his stomach returned. Without further warning the Boy could not hold back and with great violence a stream of vomit left the boys mouth, flew to cover the dash where the cigar end had once stuck and slowly dribbled down to the floorboard.

First, the vomit covered the chunk of cigar on the floor, then, with the trucks motion, the tobacco floated and sloshed back and forth among foul fluid on the trucks floorboard.

God damn mother fucking. . . Mace struggled to stop the truck, standing on the iron brake pedal, while shifting down to second gear. What t’hell’s wrong wit’ya? Mace was so irritated that he lifted his arm and was about to strike the teenage boy, but the whiteness in the boys face halted the mans blow.

Actually Paul would likely have welcomed the blow as a distraction to the internal pain racking his body. Paul tried to place his head between his knees. As he did, the lights from a passing empty bait truck filled the truck cab illuminating on the floor board where the cigar tip floated in bilious vomit. He closed his eyes to the sight but it would not go away. Just then the faint aroma of rotting red fish bait from the passing trucks empty barrels filled his nostril. These things, all these things, circled round and round in his head, all competed in his brain for attention, whilst the pounding pain too demanded attention as it rose and fell in intensity.

Paul did not get the door fully open, nor was the truck completely stopped, when a second spasm of vomiting hit. Fortunately, the interior of the truck was spared. As the truck lurched to a halt, and Paul fell from the high cab onto the gravel roadside, but not before his head squarely hit the oak running board mercifully knocked the boy cold out.

“Ya aint dead I guess. Mace said as he wiped the little trickle of blood running down the boy’s forehead.

Mace felt the boys cheek, wet with sweet, but now cool in the hot night air. Since the boy seemed to be breathing regular, Mace thought him well enough for a time, and returned to the rank smelling truck cab, put the transmission in reverse and backed up to a small cow pond by the side of the road. He pulled off the road and scrambled over the wooden cases of glass bottles in the truck back to find a bucket and rope.

It was not hard to see, for the moon was high and bright. By the moonlight he dipped water from the pond, opened both truck doors and sloshed out the cab. The task was not all that difficult since there were so many holes in the floorboard. With the truck pretty much clean he dipped one more full bucket.

Paul awoke about two seconds before the water hit his face. The initial shock was one of fear, but as the sensation of cold wetness covered his body, Paul realized that in the warm night it was the best he had felt in several hours.

Mace found a woolen blanket in the back, and offered it to Paul, Think youll make it boy”?

“Not sure.”

With the blanket wrapped around him, Paul climbed back into the cab. Once more the two men were off into the warm night air. After about a mile, Mace turned off the road onto a drive that consisted of two lanes covered with clamshells. Tall grass was growing between the two lanes that lead into the wooded darkness. After fifteen long minuets on the drive an opening in the trees revealed the moon glistening on the water. A lobster boat gently rocked on its mooring line a few hundred feet from shore, and high on a ledge to the left, was a well lit house and connecting barn.

Mace maneuvered the truck over the ledges and began to back it toward the barn. A huge man appeared at the house screen door, opened it, came out and went to the barn to slide open the massive doors. Mace backed directly into the barn, stopped the truck and turned the engine off.

The big man did not speak but his small dark, deep set eyes followed Paul intently as he stepped down from the cab. There was dried blood on his forehead, and his clothes were rumpled and still damp, but Paul was amazed at how much better he felt as he folded the blanket an placed it behind the truck seat.

As Mace swung open the huge panel truck back door, he nodded toward Paul and said, “Got sick on the way down. Thought I was going thavet leave him by the side of the road. Seems O.K now though.”

Paul tried to smile at the Large man as he and Mace began unloading the empty soda bottles and stacking them on the barn floor.

“Where are they, Dwight?”, said Mace when the truck was empty.

With a single snap of the wrist Dwight pulled a canvas tarp off another stack of soda pop bottles; each one was full and capped. Mace reached to pull a bottle from a case and held it to the kerosene lamp causing the light amber contents to glow. He smiled, “Pretty stuff aint it?

The bottle was labeled Kelseys Amber Cream Soda, Smoothest Soda in all the World”. The same brand name and slogan was branded into the wooden cases and it was painted in red on the side of the black Dodge panel truck.

*********************

Dicky and Fred towed the barely floating whisky barrel behind the skiff-tender as they opened and rowed through the lobster pound gate. Inside the pond they found the buoy for the special “lobster Car”. They pulled the car, maneuvered the barrel into the wooden weighted crate, sank the car again and then rowed back to the big boat.

With all their cargo delivered, Jim opened the engines up and headed north along the Islands West shore, then turned east through the cut between Long Island and Garrison Island and headed home.

High above the harbor a ten year old boy, unable to sleep in the unseasonable summer heat sat outside watching the moon lit waters. He heard the powerful engines first when the boat rounded Ministers Gut. Now he saw the speeding silhouette in the moonlight and puzzled over the reason a boat was racing through the harbor at midnight. Never had he seen a boat move as fast as the “Canadian Mist”

Times Long Ago, Long ago and Lost
Chapter 2

Dwight woke up horny as hell, as usual. Thoughts of sex fed thoughts of sex in his mind, and he felt his penis begin to rise. With a hand reddened by the sun and roughened by the salt of the sea and calloused by hauling creosoted ropes, he reached for the thigh of Mabel who softly snored beside him. Slowly he slid his hand up, seeking moisture. Now, neither asleep nor awake, his wife acquiesced, spread her legs apart. The gnarled fingers spread the vaginal lips apart, still seeking moistness, seeking arousal, hoping for a moving response inside the woman.

Mabel now was use to such an awakening, accepted now what she had for so long resisted. “In and out and gone”, she thought. She arched ever so slightly against his hand, allowed her clitoris to naturally enlarge a bit. She became moist to his touch.

Dwight was now fully hard and he lifted his bulk above her, entered her and once inside her, became so overwhelmed with pleasure, he came in a few thrusts. His great weight collapsed on the woman for what seemed to her an eternity. Finally, after only a few seconds, he rolled off, swung his feet to the floor and stood. As Dwight tried to collect his thoughts he became moved by still another natural urge, found his underwear, pulled them on, stepped into his heavy rubber boots, and headed down stairs and out into the cool summer fog toward the outhouse.

Mabel lay still and flat on the bed, neither she nor her husband had spoken. “In and out and gone”, she thought. She let her right hand stray across her breast, linger there then down to her vagina. She pressed her hand against the now soaked mound for a moment. Mabel at once thought better of it, got up and began to brush her long black hair streaked with silver. She made long slow curving strokes from the top of her head down her neck, across her breasts to her waist where she held its ends. Knowing that she had little time for this luxury, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and left the room.

Going t’town today, she yelled while banging on Sallys door as she hurried to the stairs and down to the kitchen.

In the kitchen she opened the wood cook stove pulled out the ash pan and took it out the back door and pitched the ashes on the pile and glanced through the fog at the outline of the out house.

“It will be a while yet”, she thought and she smiled as her thoughts rambled, “Takes longer to shit than to fuck.”

Soon the fire was going the coffee pot steaming and the bacon frying. Biscuits from the day before were warming in the oven. Dwight appeared at the door and shivered.

“Damp out there”, he said as he moved his huge ass near the cook stove.

“Get upstairs and put your clothes on. You look ridiculous, besides, Sally will be down in a minute”, Mabel hid her face from Dwight, trying not to laugh at the sight of her fat spouse standing on tip toes inside rubber boots, trying to raise his ass above the stove. As he leaned forward his fat stomach fell over his under shorts, but not so far as to conceal his penis, well shrunken in the cool damp air peeking out of the fly.

“Jesus Mabel”, Dwights face reddened a bit, as he tromped off toward the stairs.

As his back turned Mabel allowed a smile and then a grin at the sight of him walking away. His legs looked small and frail disappearing into those boots. Seeing him in this light caused her to stand straight and smile again, not at him, but at herself, for her self. She went about the business of making breakfast.

After Breakfast, Dwight walked past his boat house down to the river shore. He pulled the dory to shore from its off mooring, and then stepped in while shoving off with one foot. As the small boat rocked with the incoming tide as he cast off the mooring line, set the oars and began to row toward his lobster boat that rocked gently on its deep water anchorage, still well beyond sight in the morning fog. Gulls swooped low over the dory, looking for bait buckets, but there were none. They cried loudly in protest.

Dwight loved to row. He especially loved to row in the fog. He took short, choppy strokes standing in the center of the boat facing forward, his right foot slightly forward. The “Sally J” appeared just where she should be, first as a gray ghost like image in the growing morning light, then whiter, her yellow and red trim glimmering through the mist.

Dwight was proud of the converted model T engine that he had installed in the boat. Usually he took joy in carefully setting the spark and advance, and pulling the crank. In the damp air, however, he soon was cussing the poor engines failure to do more than sputter. Out of breath, he fell back against the gunwale to collect energy and thought. After staring at the controls for a moment, he decided to make an adjustment, advancing the throttle and pushing the choke in a hair. Another crank resulted in a steady putter that in turn brought a grin to the lobstermans face.

Dwight tied the dory off to the mooring line and cast off. The fog was still as thick as clam chowder as he nosed the boat at slow throttle into the river channel, then south south east steering toward the harbor. He steered with his nose, his ears, his mind and heart. All knew the way, since his eyes be of little use.

Mabel and Sally bounced on the leather seats of the model A sedan as they headed for the Village store.

“Mom, the steamer should be in, can we go to the harbor and see it? Please?” Sally hid a shy smile from her mother looking away out the cars side window.

Watching the steamer and all the gay people on board traveling to places she had never been had always been a pleasant division for Mabel. Often, on trips to town, she had taken Sally to the Harbor dock to see the big boats arrive and depart. But as Sally had gotten older, she grew bored with the diversion. The sudden interest puzzled the older woman.

O.K., sure the mother responded, but she glanced over at the back of the girls head with a smiling frown. She was trying to remember their last trip to the dock, what had happened?

They parked the sedan on the hill overlooking the harbor and its islands- the fog had long ago burnt off and the day turned warm and pretty. The two women blended in with the passengers walking down the hill to the dock where the passenger boat was tied up. At the edge of the dock a crew member was turning passengers away.

Engineer’s welding a timing shaft. We’ll be a couple hours late leaving, he said. Mabel and Sally brushed past the sailor to get a closer view of the little steamship. Sallys eyes seemed to be conducting a diligent search.

On the aft deck was a young cabin boy stripped down to white pants. His hair was coal black and in two short braids. Water glistened on his brown skin that in the bright sun seemed to have just a hint of redness. Sallys clear green eyes came to rest on the boy and she could not contain a smile. His black eyes caught the suns sparkle as he looked up, met her eyes and quickly looked down at his bare feet.

“Hey boy, Injun boy, yourn if you can get it.” From the dock a tall man in a tall hat threw a silver dollar in the air, over the water. In the air the silver flickered in the sun and for a moment in the water it seemed to shine. Before the shine was gone the boy dove in the water. Sally held her breath for what seemed an eternity until the boy surfaced, the coin in his outstretched hand.

Mabel and Sally watched the boy dive for quarters, nickels, dimes, even pennies, never failing to return with the coins. After a while, Mabel began to watch Sally watch the boy. She smiled and thought of a time long ago, a time long ago and lost. She reached over to her daughter cupping her head, her shinny brown hair, in her hand and said, “Its time to go buy groceries”.

Sallys face fell, but she turned, glanced over her shoulder at the boy, passed among the crowd, across the dock and up the hill to the car.

As the diver sat on the deck counting his coins, he thought to look up seek again those clear green eyes, but finding them gone, he jumped to his feet, jumped to the dock and raced up the hill to see the black sedan pull away the face of the girl looking back, green eyes looking back at him. He turned and ran back to the boat.

“He is handsome, that Indian lad”, Mabel said. I know now why you wanted to go to the landing.

Sallys face grew red. She said nothing, only looked back down the dirt road toward the harbor.

The two women did not speak again until they reached the village market.

The morning sun had burnt away the fog as Dwight and his boat reached the mouth of the river near Garrison Island. So, the fisherman opened up the throttle a bit, adjusted the spark and advance and the engine seemed to almost hum. He rounded the Island and headed into the harbor. As he entered the harbor he noticed that there was a crowd of people at the steamship dock. He could hear yelling and applause. He could in no way imagine what was going on, but he had work to do, so he continued his southeast course along the edge of Long Island toward thee Lobster pound.

At the pound he nudged his small craft through the gate and to the special buoy. It took all the big mans strength to raise the car, retrieve the whiskey barrel, and get it on board his boat. Once there it looked like an ordinary bait barrel. Dwight edged out of the pound, and headed home. There would be bottling to do before next weeks pick up of The Smoothest Soda in All The World

The women left the market each with a box of groceries. They placed the boxes in the back seat of the sedan. When Sally opened the front door her mouth dropped open and her eyes grew wide. On the seat was a calabash dipper filled with shells, pink shells, soft sandy shells, shinny brown shells with white spots, and more. As she lifted the shells from the gourd, a glint of silver caught her eye. At the bottom, under all the shells she found a silver dollar.

Mabel smiled again at her daughter, smiled as their eyes met, and the older woman thought of times long ago, long ago and lost.

DWIGHT
Chapter3

Dwight had the throttle wide open and the small boat cut the water cleanly sending white foam from its bow and sides. Its wake sent rolling waves to either side of the river bank. The sun was high a bit behind Dwight and over his left shoulder. For a moment he thought he heard the sound of a second engine. Dwight stood erect and squinted over the water behind him, but saw nothing. With his elbows on the wheel, he pulled out his pipe and can of Prince Albert tobacco from his shirt pocket and proceeded to fill the pipes bowl, tapping the tobacco down with his forefinger.

Just as he gripped the stem between his teeth a tremendous noise and rush of wind caused him to loose his balance. The Prince Albert can flew high in the air and landed well overboard. The “Sally J” took a hard turn to the right, for Dwight had caught the wheel to steady him self and still had nearly fell. As he regained his composure and control of his boat he caught a glimpse of the old Curtis seaplane, scarcely 20 feet above the water, now well up river.

“Son a bitch, Spear, he muttered, Aint got no sense, no sense atall.

Kendall Spear continued to laugh as he pulled back on the stick and gave her full throttle. The sluggish plane gained altitude rising well above the river cove. He circled left over the dark spruce. Off in the distance he could see the Medomack River sparkling in the afternoon sunlight. Kendall leveled off at about 5000 feet and made his circle wide over the harbor. Off to the east black smoke billowed from the old ferry steamer as it stood well off Pemequid point, about to round and head up the Damriscotta.

The high sun sent blinding flashes of reflected light from the long flooded old quarry pits on Long Island. The little plane angled across the island and again headed up the Meduncook. Spear dropped to 1500 feet and dropped air speed to well above stall and again followed the river until Dwight’s craft was again in sight, just about to head into the back river channel. This time Kendall first banked softly right then circled to his left until he was at the head of the back river cove and headed south-east down the length of the cove and into the wind. He pushed the stick forward and the aircraft bounced twice and then settled on the smooth water of back cove. As the craft’s speed dropped, Kendall pushed the stick hard right and throttled up a bit to turn toward Dwight’s mooring he cut back the engine and the plane settled in the water as it glided to the mooring where Dwight’s dory was tied. Kendall cut the engine and climbed out on the seaplane’s float and knelt to snare the dory gunwale as the as the seaplane’s drift brought it on a collision course. The pilot worked hand over hand down the dory’s side and at the stern tied off. He stood and stretched his arms above the head and took notice to the silence.

After the steady droan of the plane’s engine, the soft sounds of lapping water and gull cries seemed almost intoxicating. He took a deep breath as he stretched. Then, working his way along the float toward the tail of the plane and the cargo compartment door, he opened the door and pulled out a bottle of home brewed beer. Holding the beer in his left hand and holding on with his right he walked back to the cockpit and climbed back in the seat to wait on his friend. The beer was not exactly cold, and the sun was quite warm and soon Kendall had dozed off.

Dwight was still fuming as he rounded the point to see the yellow aircraft tied to his mooring. He took note that his dory was still there. Kendall, he thought, was no doubt asleep again and drooling beer down his chin. Dwight knew that he could not return the joke in as dramatic fashion as a buzzing, but he would get even.

Dwight cut the old engine long before he reached the moored aircraft, and the “Sally J silently glided in. Dwight lay prone on the foredeck and deftly caught the tail of the airplane as the boat, with nearly all its forward momentum gone, floated gently to the mooring. Silently working the boat along the aircraft’s length, then that of the dory to the mooring line, Dwight first loosened the dory and aircraft, tied them off, and then fastened the Sally J to her resting place.

With practiced silence, Dwight stepped into the dory and began to row, towing the bright seaplane across the river where an old spruce tree that grew over the water. There he tied the plane nose in to the tree and with oar strokes that seemed as effortless as they were silent; Dwight rowed to the other bank.

Back at the house Dwight went straight to his shotgun, grabbed a box of buck shot and returned to riverbank to the gray shingled shack where he spent winter days knitting nets and repairing his traps for spring. The east window offered a great view of the anchorage. Resting the old double barrel 12 gauge on the open window sill, he let loose with both barrels one after the other. Although the buck shot would surely reach the water and raise a splash, the sound of the gun would reverberate up and down the both river banks. Kendall would wake up.

Kendall woke with every muscle in his body aching, and there was a throbbing in his head that he could only lay on the hot beer. For a while he had no idea what day it was or even where he was. He was not certain of anything, but he forced his memory to recover. One thing became instantly apparent. He was not where he was supposed to be.

Back at the shack, Dwight pulled down the binoculars from the nail above the window. A chuckle, the first of many to come began working its way from his chest to his throat, then over his tongue and out his mouth.

Kendall knew that he would have to get wet; knew that cussing Dwight would do no good; knew that he was being watched. He glanced up at the shack, but he made no motion toward his old friend, he just wadded knee deep into the shallow water.

He looked straight at the shack and shouted at the top of his lungs, Sorry son of a bitch! He shook his fist wildly in the air, then suddenly a powerful urge came over him, he lowered his fly and taking penis in hand he aimed a golden yellow arc in the direction of the shack.

He waded ashore, and untied the airplane, pushed it out past the eddy, turned it around, and gave it a shove into the open stream, as he flopped up on the float. Fortunately, Dwight had not lifted the paddle from the planes open storage door. With great effort, Kendall began paddling across the rivers current.

Need any help

Kendall was so intent on paddling that he had not noticed Dwight, who had grown weary of laughing, approaching in the dory.

Someday I’ll teach you how to tie that off to a mooring proper. So’s that thing can’t wander off with ya, Dwight laughter was upon him again.

The planes line was soon fast to the dory and both men were in the row boat. Kendall sat in the stern glum and shivering in the setting sun. Dwight looked past his friend at the plane in tow, its bright yellow softening to an orange in the light of the setting sun, and beyond the plane, at the old spruce, still hanging to a bit of bank not yet washed away by the river and tide. Just now its green brows of the spruce seemed to appear greener, but just for a moment, for the color dimmed, the green became black in the lengthening shadows of the western bank.

Dwight smiled at his friend, and stopped rowing. While standing one foot ahead of the other at the dorys center, he balanced both oars with one hand and arm and with his left hand reached to his hip pocket and pulled out an amber colored bottle. Thought you might need this, he tossed him a bottle that rose high enough to catch the setting sunlight. The bottles label read “Kelsey’s Amber Cream Soda, Smoothest Soda in all the World”.

Kendall smiled, poped the bottle cap off on the dorys gunwale, lay back against the stern board, and took a slow sip.

I’ll get ya,

EMMA
Chapter 4
The truck seemed to ride a bit better under load, and the exercise of loading the quart bottle cases had cleared Pauls head a bit. Perhaps, he thought, perhaps he would live. He noticed that Mace had snuck a bottle of the “Cream Soda” into the cab and now without pretence began taking long drags from the bottle.

He held up the bottle for Paul to clearly see. “This”, he said, “is breakage”. Want a snort?”

Now, although Paul felt better, he was not that well. He refused, “Not tonight I dont guess, dont knows Im up to it”.

Well, don’t like ‘tobbca’; don’t like booze; D’ya like women? Mace grinned a wet grin in the faint light of the cab. Grinning at Paul, distracted his mind from the road, and the truck began to wander toward the ditch.

Jez, Mace watch her, well crack up”, Paul shouted.

“I bet ya never had a woman did ya?” Mace glanced at Paul, but seemed to be looking for something down the road. He slowed the truck a bit and kept watching the right side of the road. “Should be just ahead. We got plenty of time, besides got tmake a delivery anyway. Just think kid, tnight just may be your night.”

Paul had a good idea just what Mace was talking about; and despite what Mace said, Paul was not all that innocent when it came to women. At least Paul thought himself quite experienced, having lived much of his young life on town streets. When anyone mentioned women, his thoughts went straight to Polly Weed. By damn the girl had nearly raped him. Raped him that is until he figured out what was going on and began to take an active part in the matter.

It all began at school- teasing one another. Sitting behind her in class he had pulled her hair, and she had chased him on the school yard, caught him and kissed him on the cheek, just to embarrass him in front of his friends. Later on one Friday evening they met on a dare by the exit door behind the Strand Theater, thinking to sneak in if someone left early.

But it seemed no one was going to leave, the ally was dark, so Paul reached for Pollys hand. That was all it took, for with her other hand she grabbed at his groin and soon had traced over rough denim the outline of his manhood. After several frenzied, inaccurate kisses he too found the soft cotton of her panties. It was then that the exit door to the theater opened.

Mace stood on the rattling dodges brakes. “Damn, nearly missed it, know this road like the back of my hand, I do.”

Mace pulled up a short gravel drive that led through a grove of cedars concealing a two story house. Although the buildings outline loomed dark, every window was lit, and it seemed to radiate a welcoming glow. At once Paul smelled the sweet sent of cedar and when Mace shut off the trucks sputtering engine, the soft hush of the evening breeze through the cedar brows overwhelmed the boy giving him a sense of security. This was a good place he thought.

“Gointkill two birds with one stone”, Mace grinned at the boy, “Come on”.

From the back of the truck, Mace and Paul unloaded two case of the thinly disguised Canadian whisky. Mace slipped an additional bottle under his arm and motioned for Paul to do the same. While holding the single bottle under his arm, Mace took his case and headed for the house. Paul set his case and bottle on the ground while he shut the truck doors. Then he gathered up the whisky and followed Mace to the house. As he neared the house, Paul thought he could hear music coming from the building. Soon he became sure, it was an Irish fiddle and a piano rising above loud voices and often there was laughter.

Mace passed the front door and followed a well worn path around to the back. The tall grass on either side of the path was already heavy with night moisture, and Pauls pant legs were getting wet. For a moment he looked down trying to see his way in the center of the path. When he noticed a brightening light on the path, he looked up to see a woman standing on back stoop smoking a cigarette.

Paul could not see the womans face, for the light behind her highlighted only her hair causing stray strands about the fringe of her head glow auburn bright as she turned in the yellow light. Had Paul been able to see the womans face, he might have taken no notice, for his attention was quickly focused elsewhere. For the back light easily went through the womans thin garment and Paul saw a magnificent moving silhouette of long slender legs, rounded hips, a narrow waist and swaying breasts with large upturned nipples. Pauls eyes darted over the womans frame that never seemed to stop moving. Her movements were graceful and smooth and seemed somewhat out of time with the spirited music in the background. He could even see hints of her pubic hairs projected by the light on the negligees surface. His mouth dropped open, and he found he could but stare. She was no Polly he thought.

Running a bit late t’night, ain’t ya Mace?, Emma Bradford took no notice of the boy as she produced from some mysterious place a roll of bills and tucked them into Maces shirt pocket as he turned sideways to squeeze past her on the small stoop and through the door into the pantry where he stowed the bootlegged liquor on a shelf next to a near full case of empties.

“Got any breakage tnight? she said, as only the slightest smile seemed to begin in right the corner of her mouth, then faded away.

Mace’s eyes seemed to grow large and he placed the single bottle that he had tucked under his arm on the shelf next to the others. Paul entered the room, catching his breath as he caught the perfumed sent of the woman he brushed brush past on the stoop. He followed suit placing his case and extra bottle on the shelf next to Mace’s.

Emma laughed approvingly, Come on in then. She moved past them through the narrow pantry into the kitchen, this time allowing her thinly covered breasts to barely touch the boy’s chest. Whos this with ya?”

“Just learning the route. Magine some day hell be coming by here by himself”, Mace winked at Paul whose mouth was still agape. The men followed the woman into the kitchen where Mace made himself at home, got a glass and poured himself a drink from an open bottle on the shelf by the sink.

“Guess wed better treat him right then, Emma smiled and took Paul’s hand, “T’night you get the best. She opened a door leading off the kitchen revealing a steep stairway and led the dumbfounded boy up into darkness.

Mace stood almost motionless grinning and watched them disappear. The music which had stopped began again. With a start Mace turned, took a sip from his glass and went into the noisy parlor.

The top of the back stairs opened directly into a bedroom softly lit by a small bedside lamp in front of an open window where curtains as sheer and transparent as the gown Emma wore fluttered inward riding on the cedar scented summer evening breeze. The music from the room below not only rode in on the night wind, but also came softly muted up through the old parlor ceiling and garret floors.

At the top of the stairs Emma left her grip on Pauls hand and he, still speechless, perhaps embarrassed, took his eyes from her to gaze through the window into the black night and beyond. For a moment he became mesmerized by the slow flutter of the curtains and the filtered sounds of violin music. Not only was he utterly unprepared for what was happening to him, he was not even sure what was happening and if what was happening was real. Perhaps it was all a dream, perhaps he was still asleep in the old truck bumping along on the old road.

He turned to find Emma standing by the bed, her scant gown now fully open. She smiled, and without words slid the garment from her shoulder allowing him only a glimpse of her bare breasts as she turned her back to him. Carefully, deliberately she folded the gown and draped it over the headboard.

Her back below where the sun had struck was a creamy white softened even more in the pale yellow artificial light, but higher, where the sun had often struck a thousand, thousand freckles had exploded on her skin. Each one seemed to absorb the limited rays of light in the room.

Pauls eyes flowed down her back from where the freckles were myriad to where there were none. There, his attention was drawn not to color of skin but to the graceful curves of her waist and hips as she turned to face him

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-ne This is another great miracle i encountered, i was coming back to Lagos from Akure in my friend’s car and we got to Ibadan at 7pm and meet a serious stand still traffic jam at Iwo road. We all started praying for God to send angels to clear the road, at around 8:30pm we had only moved about 40 metres, a siren with some escorts were passing, we decided to follow them, the registration number of our car was for Lagos State Government, so we put on our hazards lights and our driver did a good job not to lose the convoy, but it was tough, but we scaled through as the police men clear the road for us to pass.
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