Authors: Tracy Richardson
“Oh, that’ll be fun, Marce. You’ve always wanted to compete in the races!” says her mom. Her dad is looking a little warily at Kyle and Conner, probably thinking the same thing as Marcie had at the sand bar—that they are too old for her, but he says, “The Regatta Champions, huh? Looks like the Boat Company team will have some competition this year, Eric.” He nudges Eric in the ribs.
Eric’s surprise is immediately evident on his face. His mouth hangs slightly open and his eyes are wide, but he quickly regains his composure. Raising one eyebrow and tilting his head to one side, he says, “I wouldn’t be too confident about winning. There are a lot of good teams competing.” He pauses and adds, “Anyway, we’re ready… Bring it on!”
Mr. Swyndall says, “So, Eric, you’re on the Boat Company team? I heard there was a bit of a rivalry with the Yacht Club. That’ll be a great way to break in the new E scow. A little healthy competition!” He thumps Kyle on the back.
“Yeah, we’re up for it.” Kyle nods in Eric’s direction acknowledging the challenge. Turning to Marcie, Kaitlyn,
and Conner he says, “How do Tuesday and Thursday look for us to practice? Are you guys free? About 10 a.m. should be a good time for the wind.” They all agree to meet at the Swyndalls’ on Tuesday. Then, in addition to avoiding Mr. Swyndall, Marcie also avoids Eric for the rest of the evening. That doesn’t stop him from glowering at her from across the room, though.
I
N THE VAN
on the way back to Mamaw and Poppy’s, they barely pull out of the driveway before Marcie blurts out, “Al was right! Mr. Swyndall is planning to build a gated community in James Woods! I overheard him talking to someone on the phone about acting to everyone like they were going to develop the land into a public park, but they are really planning to make it into private estates! What are we going to do? He can’t do that to James Woods. It’s our special place.” It all comes out in a rush and when she pauses for breath, her dad says, “Whoa! Slow down a minute. Now what exactly did you hear?”
She tells them about overhearing the conversation and what was said and adds, “We have to stop him!”
“Oh, that’s terrible,” says Mamaw. “Those woods are some of the only undeveloped land left on the lake. Sometimes
when I walk there, I almost feel like I’m in a sacred place.”
“It is his land, Marce. He said he already has all the permits, too,” says Poppy resignedly. “I’m not sure there is much we can do.”
“Your mother and I are in a difficult position, honey,” says her dad, sighing. “First of all, we’re going home tonight, and your mom is heading to Utah in the morning, so we won’t even be around, and secondly, Mr. Swyndall is technically our boss as president of the university. We have to be careful about how we handle this.”
Marcie can’t believe what she’s hearing. “You’re not all going to give up without trying are you?” she cries. “This is our lake too, and we should fight for it. He’s a Laker and all the people who buy the houses will be Lakers. They don’t care about the lake the same way we do. They won’t even live here full time. It’s just an investment for them. We have to do something!”
They are all quiet for a moment, lost in their thoughts, and then Marcie’s mom says, “Perhaps there’s something about the land that would prevent them from developing it. It is pretty marshy in the bay, maybe it’s wetlands or something.”
“Or a wildlife sanctuary!” says Eric excitedly.
They arrive at the cottage, and her dad turns off the engine. For a moment they all just sit in the van. Then her
dad says, “Well, kids, your mom and I have to hit the road now if we’re going to get home at a decent hour.” He turns around to face Marcie. “It doesn’t look like we’re going to be in a position to offer much help on this, but there may be some things that you can do. Al might want to be involved.” He opens the door of the van and gets out. “Jill, I’ll bring our bags out and load up the car.” They are taking Mamaw and Poppy’s car and leaving the van for them to use.
“Thanks. Here, kids, give me a hug goodbye,” her mom says. “I won’t see you for a couple weeks. Not until the Fourth.” They all get out of the van and say goodbye. Their dad loads up the car and they drive away. The kids stand on the driveway, waving until the car turns the corner out of sight. Drew and her grandparents start to go into the house, but Eric says to Marcie, “Let’s go find Al and tell him what you heard. He may be able to help.”
“We’re going over to Al’s house for a while,” Eric calls to Mamaw and Poppy.
Since the Summer Solstice is only a few days away, the days are long and there is still plenty of daylight left as they walk over the lawn and along the sea wall towards Al’s house, which sits closer to the water than their cottage. They are silent until they reach the water, and then Eric says, “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about the Regatta.
What’re you thinking of, crewing for a Laker team? They’re just using you to win, you know.”
“Well, I want to win too,” Marcie replies indignantly. “And who says it’s not me who’s using them? I can’t crew for the Boat Company team, and there aren’t any other teams asking me. And, it’s really none of your business.”
“Well, just watch yourself. You know as well as I do that Kaitlyn hangs out with the popular crowd. They can be fickle friends. One day you’re ‘in’ and the next day you’re ‘out.’ Who needs friends like that?”
“Have a little faith in me, why don’t you? It’s not like I’m trying to be part of that crowd—it’s just a sailboat race. Anyway, Kaitlyn’s not like all the rest of them. She’s genuinely nice.” Even as she says this, though, Marcie knows it’s not entirely true, judging by some of Kaitlyn’s behavior that day.
“I guess I’m just surprised you were taken in so easily by the Swyndalls and all their stuff. They’re not really our type.”
Marcie heaves an exasperated sigh, but doesn’t say any more. They’ve reached Al’s back porch, and she can see him sitting on the swing with Pansy at his feet.
“Hey there, you two! I could use some company. Come for some candy?”
“No, I mean, yes, we’d love some candy, but we really came to tell you that you were right about Mr. Swyndall.
He is planning to develop James Woods into houses. I heard him talking to someone on the phone about it at their house,” Marcie says, as she and Eric sit down in the rocking chairs across from Al.
“I see,” he says grimly. “What exactly did you hear?”
For the second time, Marcie recounts the conversation she overheard. Al closes his eyes and listens, absently stroking Pansy’s head, his head nodding slightly as if in confirmation.
“I thought as much. A friend at the zoning commission said they were developing the land into a park area, but he implied that there was more to it than that, without actually telling me anything.”
“We’ve got to try to stop it, Al,” says Eric. “What can we do? Poppy thinks that we can’t do anything if Swyndall already has the permits in place, and Mom and Dad are hesitant to help because Mr. Swyndall is president of the university.”
“Yes, I can see how that would be tricky for them. Hmm … I’m not sure what we can do—yet. Let’s make a visit to the Zoning Commission tomorrow. I believe those permits are a matter of public record. Perhaps my friend over there can tell us our options now that we know what’s really going on.”
“Mom suggested that it might be considered wetlands. Aren’t those protected? Also, since Mr. Swyndall’s trying
to hide what they’re really doing, he must think people won’t like it. We could get a petition going!”
“Those are good ideas. Why don’t you two come by first thing tomorrow morning? Now, I need to get these old bones inside.” Twilight has fallen since they arrived, and a pearly grey light bathes the cove. A light breeze causes the flags hanging on nearly every pier to clang gently against the flag poles. Al rises slowly from the swing using his cane for support and Pansy jumps down beside him. “Don’t come by before 9 a.m., though. They don’t open till then, and I don’t want to get up any earlier. See you in the morning.” He walks stiffly to the screen door and lets it bang shut behind him.
M
AMAW AND
M
ARCIE
are getting out of the van at the farmer’s market when one of those army-type sports utility vehicles pulls into the spot next to them. The front of the truck is as tall as Marcie’s shoulder, and the engine roars slightly before the driver turns it off. Startled, Speck starts barking wildly, so Mamaw picks him up and says, “They scare me too! Don’t worry—I won’t let the Monster truck get you.”
The two of them were up early, so they decided to make a visit to Yoder’s Market while the selection is still good. The market is run by a Mennonite family and is very popular with the Lakers, so the produce goes fast. In fact, it’s rather busy already and it’s only 8:30 in the morning.
“Why do people buy those trucks? They can’t be very comfortable, and Mom and Dad say they’re gas guzzlers,” Marcie says while selecting strawberries from the bins set up in rows under the big yellow market tent and then collecting them in cardboard pint containers.
“My theory is that people are always striving for bigger and better things, thinking that it will make them happy or feel more important. It may work at first, but then the feeling wears off and they have to get something else—like
the biggest truck they can buy. It’s a never-ending cycle because there’s always something else bigger and better.” She surveys the pints they have filled. “Is this enough?”
“Let’s get a few more. Maybe you could make short-cake again—it was great—and Drew likes them with cereal, too.” She pauses contemplatively, then asks, “Mamaw, what’s so wrong with wanting to have things? You have a nice house, and I like getting new things.”
“Well, I certainly can’t claim to be immune to nice things, but I don’t think it is really the things that cause the problem, it’s more the importance we place on them. After all, it’s just stuff.” They finish selecting their fruits and vegetables and wait in line to pay. A display of homemade preserves, pie fillings, and apple butter is on the counter. Behind the counter, the oldest daughters of the Yoder family are weighing packages and totaling up orders.
They probably made all the preserves themselves last fall
, thinks Marcie. The older boys are helping their father unload the truck at the back of the tent. The Mennonite religion allows them to drive cars and use electricity, unlike Amish families who don’t use either, but like the Amish, they choose to live in a simpler, more old-fashioned way. They wear plain clothing without zippers and usually make a living as farmers or shop owners, or in a trade such as carpentry. A fairly large community of Amish and Mennonite families lives in northern Indiana, and you often see horse-drawn Amish
buggies driven by black-clad bearded men going along the side of the road.
When it is their turn to pay, Rachel Yoder, who’s a few years older than Marcie, checks them out. She is dressed simply in a light blue cotton dress. Her hair is pinned up into a bun and covered by a white cap with the string ties dangling down her back. “How’s your mother, Rachel? I haven’t seen her in a while,” asks Mamaw.
“Very well, thank you,” replies Rachel, smiling. “She’s home today with the youngest since they’re out of school. Hello, Marcie! Are you finished with school, too?” Her grey-blue eyes gaze inquiringly at Marcie, and not for the first time, Marcie is taken by her poise and serenity. Rachel doesn’t seem to have many insecurities. She’s always pleasant and smiling and working hard. Like the rest of her family, she exudes health and contentment. Although Marcie wouldn’t want to live they way they do, given her conversation with Mamaw, she finds herself wondering about whether simpler might be better in some ways.
“Yes, Friday was the last day. My brothers and I are staying with Mamaw and Poppy for a few weeks.”
“Lucky you!” Rachel exclaims without any real envy. “I guess I’ll be seeing you again, then.” She finishes weighing and bagging their purchases, makes change for Mamaw, and turns to the next customer with a friendly smile.
Back in the van, Marcie rolls down her window so Speck can put his head out as they drive. She is still thinking about Rachel and her family, and she can’t help comparing them to Kaitlyn and the Swyndalls. The Swyndalls have so much, but to Marcie, there’s a hollow feeling to it, like trying to fill a bottomless pit. The thing is, she’s not immune to the allure of nice things either, and finds herself both drawn to and repelled by the Swyndalls. The Yoders, although far from poor, make do with much less. Marcie isn’t really sure if the Yoders are happier than the Swyndalls, it just seems like they might be. Maybe she’s romanticizing their way of life. Farming is really hard, never-ending work, and the Amish do everything without modern conveniences like tractors and dishwashers. She is reminded of the conversation with her mom about people not being in touch with the natural world anymore. As farmers, the Yoders must live with the rhythm of nature and the changing seasons. If they don’t take care of the land, it won’t take care of them.
Marcie thinks about James Woods and how much they will all miss its natural setting and the wildlife that lives there and in the shallows of the bay. If it is turned into a gated housing development where wealthy people can build exclusive vacation homes, something special will be lost forever.
T
HE BACK DOOR
to Al’s cottage is closed, which is unusual if he’s at home. Eric checks his watch and says, “It’s 9:15. Maybe he’s not home. He’s always up by now and he told us to come over after nine. Should we knock?”
“Yeah, I think we should,” Marcie replies, and gives the screen door three sharp raps with her knuckles. They hear Al call out faintly, “Just a minute.” They glance at each other, and Marcie gives a little shrug as if to say ‘I don’t know any more that you do.’ When Al finally does open the door, they are surprised to see he’s still wearing his pajamas and bathrobe. Pansy is hugging very close to his side.
“Hi, kids,” he says, running a hand through his sparse hair to smooth it down. “I don’t think I can make our outing just yet. I had a rough night, and I think I’ll just putter around this morning. How about going after lunch?”