Authors: Tracy Richardson
Marcie doesn’t reply. Sirens blare in the distance. She hugs Pansy and strokes her fur. Somehow Pansy got the message to her. She smoothes Al’s hair across his brow. His eyes open briefly.
“Hey, kiddo,” he says hoarsely, before his eyelids flutter closed again.
T
HE PARAMEDICS ARRIVE
and take over. Marcie hears the sound of a speed boat approaching and looks up to see her family arriving in the bay. Her mom and dad swim to shore, leaving her grandparents and Drew in the boat.
“We saw you jump off the sail boat. What happened?”
“Pansy called me,” Marcie says to her mom. “I heard her barking, and I just knew something was wrong.” Her mom puts her arm around Marcie’s shoulders.
The paramedics have Al on a stretcher and are loading him into the ambulance. “Can I ride with him to the hospital?” Marcie’s dad asks the paramedics. They wave him into the ambulance as they hook Al up to various monitors. “I’ll call you when I know anything,” her father says to Marcie and her mom as he climbs in. The paramedics close the door and take off with the sirens blaring, lights flashing, and tires churning up the sandy soil.
Mrs. Horton turns to Brad. “Thanks for your help.”
“No problem. I just hope he’s okay.” He takes off his hat and wipes his brow. “Hey, what happened in the race? It’s probably over by now.”
The race!
“They must be furious with me. I probably cost them the trophy.” She pauses. “Mom—I’m really scared. Al looked so awful.”
“I’m worried, too, honey.”
Mamaw and Poppy take the speed boat back so that Marcie and her mom can drive Al’s fishing boat home. They are standing next to the boat, ready to push it into the water and climb aboard with Pansy, when Marcie says, “Mom, I need to show you something. Something in the water.”
“What is it?”
“It’s on the bottom of the bay. Swim out with me and I’ll show you.”
As they wade into the water, Marcie grabs some of the small buoys from Al’s boat that fishermen use to mark the location of good fishing sites. Once the water is over their heads, they start swimming. “I think it’s over here.” Marcie swims to the general area where Brad’s boat was anchored, and her mom follows. Marcie treads water, reaching down with her feet past the clinging seaweed for the bottom. The top three feet or so of water is warm from the sun, but below where its rays can penetrate, the water is considerably cooler. It’s an odd sensation to have the top half of her body in warm, almost balmy water, and the bottom half gradually getting cooler and cooler until her feet and toes groping for the bottom are in decidedly chilly
water. When her feet finally do touch, she calls to her mom. “I found it. Here, where you can stand.”
“Is it a sandbar?”
“No, I think it’s something else. Like a raised shape or mound on the bottom of the lake.” Marcie isn’t ready to tell her mom more until she’s certain that something really is below the water. Maybe she imagined it all. In some ways that’s easier to believe.
“A raised shape?”
“Yes. Will you help me figure out what it is?”
“Okay,” Mrs. Horton says, puzzled. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”
“Let’s start walking along the rise. If we place these buoys as we go, we can get an idea of the shape.” She drops a buoy with its weighted rope where they are standing. They start tentatively walking in what seems to be the right direction. It takes a few tries, feeling the bottom with their feet, but they eventually figure it out. It is quiet in the bay. A slight breeze ruffles the cattails and reeds near the shore, and nearby a pair of ducks and five ducklings dive for food, their heads under the water searching for tender plants and their tails sticking up in the air. The only sounds are the birds calling in the trees and the splashing of Marcie and Mrs. Horton in the water. They work together companionably in the peaceful scene, thoroughly engrossed in the task; sometimes taking exploratory steps
and probing with their feet and sometimes diving down beneath the murky water to explore the muddy contours of the lake floor with their hands. It is slow going. Their clothes are heavy with water. Marcie is wearing her suit under her clothes, but she doesn’t want to stop to remove her shirt and shorts.
“This is really interesting,” says Mrs. Horton after they’ve gone about 50 feet. “It’s like a narrow sandbar and it isn’t really a straight line, more like a curve or an arc. I think it’s starting to turn back here.”
“Let’s place another marker.”
“How did you know this was here?”
“When I stepped out of Brad’s boat I was right on top of it.”
Their excitement builds as a circular shape begins to emerge. Marcie feels her hope growing that it could actually be real, that all of it really happened. When they complete the circle and are back at the first buoy, they turn and look at the buoys they’ve placed.
“It is definitely a circle,” Marcie’s mother says. “Like a circular mound of earth …”
“Yes, that’s right—a circular mound!” Marcie can hardly believe that there really is a mound under the water. She realizes that all the strange occurrences over the past two weeks were gently guiding her to this moment, this discovery.
“I’d almost say it was man-made,” her mom continues. “It’s too precise to be just a regular sandbar. It reminds me of a Native American mound. It’s the right shape and size, but in the bay?”
“I think it is an ancient mound,” Marcie says. “It sounds a little crazy, but when I stepped onto the mound from Brad’s boat, I could see it in the present and the past at the same time. In the past, it wasn’t covered with water.” She hesitates and then rushes on. “I’ve been having these visions all week about Indians.” Now that she’s started, the story comes pouring out and she tells her mom everything from the flying dream to taking the bracelet and seeing the girl wearing it. She lifts up her sleeve to reveal the bracelet. “See, here it is.” She hands it to her mom. “Do you believe me?”
“Of course I believe you.” She takes the bracelet and enfolds Marcie in a soggy hug. “What I can’t believe is that you kept all this to yourself. You’ve had quite an interesting two weeks.” Releasing her, she says, “Sometimes when I’m at a dig site, I get a sense that the spirits of the people who inhabited the place and used the artifacts are somehow present. I’ve never actually seen them, but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen.” Mrs. Horton looks closely at the bracelet. “This certainly looks like something the native tribe members would have worn. The Adena
people are called the ‘mound builders’ because of the ceremonial mounds they built.”
“I read about them in the library when I found the bracelet. I think it’s an Adena mound.”
“It could be. So, in your vision, the mound wasn’t covered with water?”
Marcie nods.
“We do know that the shore of Lake Pappakeechee has changed over time. It’s possible that the shore was further out in James Bay when the Adena lived here.” Mrs. Horton turns the bracelet over in her hands and runs her fingertips over the design etched into its surface. Slowly, she turns her gaze to Marcie. “This could be a really important discovery. Most of the Adena mounds have been destroyed or damaged by farming or artifact hunters.” She continues with a tremor of excitement in her voice. “It could also have an impact on the development of James Woods.”
“Because it’s a cultural resource?”
“Yes. An archaeological site becomes the property of the state and is protected.”
A smile gradually unfolds on Marcie’s face. “You mean Mr. Swyndall wouldn’t be able to build on the land?”
“I can’t really be sure. The mound is in the water, not the woods. But it definitely opens up that possibility. It’s
really an extraordinary find. I can’t wait to get back and contact some of my colleagues about this.”
“You won’t tell anyone about the visions, will you? It’s a little too … unusual to share.”
“I’ll keep it to myself.” They stand together on the mound for a few moments looking at the markers and letting the realization sink in. The family of ducks swims gracefully between the buoys on the smooth surface of the water, making V-shaped ripples that expand and overlap behind them to form an intricate design. Below them, undisturbed for thousands of years and hidden beneath the sparkling water, lies what might be an ancient ceremonial site where people worshipped and celebrated, lived and died. A sudden gust of air sends the leaves of the trees rustling, and makes the hair on the back of Marcie’s neck stand up.
“Did you hear that?” asks her mom, breaking the spell that surrounded them. “The trees were whispering to us.” She shivers and then shakes herself. “Let’s get back home and see if there’s any news about Al. And I have a few phone calls to make.”
W
HEN THEY ARRIVE
at the Swyndalls’ that night, the party is already in full swing. All the competitors from the regatta and their families have been invited to watch the July 4th fireworks, and there is a crowd of people on the patio. It is starting to get dark, and torches are lit at intervals around the edge of the patio to illuminate the area. Christmas lights are draped across the arbor that covers part of the patio. Marcie’s parents stop to talk to some people they know, and Eric goes looking for his friends.
Marcie doesn’t want to be here at all. She’s had to endure Eric’s gloating all afternoon. The Boat Company won the Regatta, and he’s been needling her about it the whole day. The red-striped boat came in second, and the Swyndalls’ boat came in a disappointing fifth place. Without Marcie to man the spinnaker, they lost the lead at the halfway buoy and were never able to catch up. Marcie isn’t sure she can face Kaitlyn, Kyle, and Conner.
Hopefully she can avoid them—especially Kaitlyn—by sticking close to her grandparents and not mingling too much. She looks around and spots Kaitlyn over by the dessert table. “Let’s get something to drink first,” she says to her grandparents, and they walk toward the bar, which
is on the other side of the patio from the desserts. Marcie gets a soda from the bartender, turns away from the bar, and who is standing right in front of her but Mr. Swyndall—the other person she wants to avoid tonight.
“Hello there, young lady. You’re the talk of the party,” he says, not unkindly. “In all my years of sailing, I’ve never seen anyone jump off a boat in the middle of a race. Why don’t you tell me what happened.” He is a big man, tall as well as wide, but not fat. Just big. She has to look up to talk to him. It’s intimidating.
Marcie takes a sip of her drink to steady her nerves. She can feel perspiration beading on her forehead. Because she’s been working at cross purposes to Mr. Swyndall all summer, she feels uncomfortable and a little afraid of him.
When she speaks, her voice comes out as a croak, and she needs to clear her throat several times. “Our neighbor, Al, had a stroke, and he was all alone in James Bay. He needed help, so I had to go to him.”
“How did you know something was wrong?” he asks, puzzled. His eyebrows come together to form a V in his forehead.
“I just,” she stops, looks down at her glass, and then meets his gaze directly, “knew.”
Mr. Swyndall is silent. Finally, he says, “I believe you really did ‘know.’ I have to act on hunches all the time in
my position, and I’ve learned to trust my instincts. The most important question is—how is Al?”
“He’s doing well now. The paramedics treated him in the ambulance, which really helped. He’s still in intensive care, but they think he can be moved in the morning.” Marcie is surprised to find herself begin to feel at ease with Mr. Swyndall. She realizes that this is the first time she has really talked to him.
“That is terrific news. I think Kaitlyn needs to hear this. They’re pretty angry with a certain someone at the moment.” Before Marcie can say anything, he has propelled her over to where Kaitlyn and Kyle are standing. “Look who I found,” he says. Kaitlyn gives her a withering look, and Kyle glares at her. “I’ve just learned the reason for Marcie’s big dive from the boat, and I think you need to hear it.” He looks at Marcie as if expecting her to tell the tale, but takes pity on her obvious discomfort. “It seems that her friend, Al, had a stroke during the race and was all alone in James Bay. Marcie and the DNR man got there just in time to call the paramedics. They saved his life.”
“Really?” Kaitlyn’s eyes are wide and unfriendly. “So you didn’t just abandon us for spite or something? I honestly thought that maybe you wanted the Boat Company to win all along, and when you didn’t call this afternoon to explain, that just confirmed it.” A breeze lifts her hair and blows it across her face. She brushes it away.
“That was quite a trick you pulled on us today. We were in the lead and ready to take it all the way! That is, until you abandoned ship,” says Kyle.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call. I know I let you all down, and I wasn’t looking forward to talking to you.” The coolness of the glass in her hand helps to calm her. She realizes that she doesn’t really care if they’re still mad at her. Being Kaitlyn’s friend is nice, but not as important as helping Al.
“We were pretty mad at you. But I guess it is only a race,” admits Kaitlyn grudgingly, her anger apparently dissipating.
“Yeah,” adds Kyle, “maybe we can race in some of the regular Sunday Regattas and show them what we can do.”
“I’d like that,” says Marcie.
Maybe I don’t have to choose between my family and the Swyndalls
, she thinks.
I just need to choose what’s right for me
.
“I’ll call you,” says Kaitlyn, as she and Kyle turn and walk away, leaving her alone with Mr. Swyndall.
Marcie sees her mom approaching them, and she groans inwardly. There had been a lot of debate at the Horton household about whether or not to confront Don Swyndall with the news about the mound in James Bay. Since it was the Fourth of July, Mrs. Horton didn’t have much luck contacting her colleagues, but she was able to track down the Archaeology Department Chair on his cell phone at a holiday party. Far from being annoyed at the
interruption, he was thrilled to hear of the possible site and said he would order preliminary surveys right away. Marcie’s dad was of the opinion that they should wait until after the party to confront Mr. Swyndall, since he is sure to be resistant to changing his development plans. Mrs. Horton let it be known that if she encountered him at the party, she would not hesitate to tell him about the mounds. She seemed more concerned about stopping any construction preparation that might begin on Monday than avoiding a scene at the party.