Chapter Six The Large Expanse of Water

Peter crossed the back lawn with his head down in a book. He dragged a medium sized two-shelved wooden bookcase with four compartments that once resided in the great room of the plantation house.

The great room was called great not only because of it’s great size but also because of the great commotion that usually broke out there at least once a day. It was more of a family room with two worn couches overburdened with pillows. The church ladies needlepoint society loved making pillows and they all usually ended up on top of these two poor couches.

Several wooden chairs sat around a simple pine table littered with paper, crayons and magazines. The one and only television set, circa 1968, was usually always on. There were also two bookcases including the one that Peter now dragged.

The bookcase formerly contained a collection of children books, misplaced toys, and an overly large, heavily framed picture of Miss Ida. The picture sent chills down every girl‘s spine. The ones with courage enough usually turned the picture around to face the wall. It had also become an initiation ritual for new residents. Missy Hyde had the chore of turning the picture back around at least fifteen times a day in case Miss Ida came over to admire it. Miss Ida would stand in front of the picture, placing it in one direction, then another until it was perfectly placed. It was the only time the girls ever saw her smile. That smile sent a million wrinkles in every direction.

The bookcase also held a variety of unusual knickknacks. The church ladies pottery society loved making knickknacks and they usually ended up on this poor bookcase.

Peter dragged the bookcase over to where the girls stood under an ancient oak tree by the creek. Kay sorted clothes, Olivia dropped M&Ms one by one into four awaiting backpacks occasionally popping one into her mouth, and Mary opened four large black umbrellas and set them on the lawn beside her. Carol was on all fours as she stared into the creek. The skeleton from the attic closet casually leaned against the tree sporting a collection of pots and pans stacked on top of each other. In it’s right hand was a looped rope attached to a thick stick.

Peter stopped, plopped the bookcase on the ground, turned and headed back in the direction he had come without lifting his head from the book. The girls nodded in acknowledgement then returned to their projects.

After a very long time, they all simultaneously looked back in the direction that Peter had gone, looked at each other, and shook their heads.

“No, no, no,” said Olivia.

“That couldn’t be Peter,” said Kay.

“He’s in the belly of a dragon,” said Mary.

Carol swatted at a fish in the creek sending a splash of water into her face.

They were in complete denial.

Satisfied in their minds that Peter was even now being digested by the dragon, they returned to their chores. Mary fastened the umbrellas together by the handles with a long strand of yarn. One of many that were stuffed in her short pockets. Kay sorted the clothes into separate piles. Olivia continued to drop M&Ms managing to drop more into her mouth than into the bags. Carol continued to stare into the creek with one hand that covered her face like a shield and the other held up as it waited for the next fish to swim by. The skeleton continued to look casual.

When Mary had finished tying the umbrellas together, she anchored them to one end of the bookcase. She pushed the bookcase with it’s unusual load partially into the creek. It looked like an odd looking boat with an even odder looking sail. Olivia zipped up the bags and plopped them in - each in it‘s own compartment. Kay carefully placed the skeleton at the front of the boat.

“I don’t get the bit about Herman,” Olivia said.

They decided to give the skeleton a name. To make him more personal. To make him more likable. To make him less scary. They chose Herman because that was the name of one of the neighborhood boys. He lived five miles down the road in a small house down a very long driveway. He was so skinny that the girls often wondered how he managed to walk down the road without being carried off by the wind.

He usually walked the five miles to visit Peter or to attend church. He and Peter would sit in the back row of the chapel listening to Miss Ida’s constant shushing. Shushing here, shushing there, shushing everywhere. It was part of every sermon. The Vicar had learned exactly when to pause for one of Miss Ida’s shushes.

Olivia was particularly fond of Herman until she realized that the skeleton probably was Herman. He should never have gone into the attic.

“It’s a documented fact that dragons like to chomp on bones,” answered Mary.

“Comp on Herman!” Olivia almost started to tear up. Her little lips quivered.

“It’s a peace offering. It will let the dragon know that we have good intentions,” replied Mary.

“What good intentions?” asked Kay.

“That we’re not going to kill it,” explained Mary.

“Yeah, we’re only going to cage it, exploit it, dress it up in frills and make it’s life miserable,” Kay responded.

“It doesn’t have to know that,” Mary said.

After they were finished, they each approached their stack of clothes and started to pile on layer after layer of t-shirts and shorts with pots on their heads to complete the ensemble. Carol stood there with a cast iron skillet on her head. This armor was entirely Kay’s idea and made the girls look like oversized marshmallows.

They each chose a compartment of the bookcase - now a proud sailing ship - by playing a round of musical chairs and climbed into their makeshift boat for their journey across the great expanse of water.

In actual fact, the great expanse of water was instead a shallow creek only fifteen feet wide. It passed in back of the plantation house as it wound it’s way through the county and some say all the way to Alaska.

Twenty feet downstream the creek was crossed by an old country bridge painted white, well kept, with beautiful yellow climbing roses on one side. It looked so quaint and so pretty that it could have been featured in a picture book. It fact, it was featured in a picture book. In many picture books. On postcards. On milk cartons. It was even on a postage stamp.

The thought of using the bridge hadn’t crossed their minds.

The girls sat in the boat waiting for something to happen, unaware that the boat was still anchored to the shore. They finally came to their senses, climbed out of the boat and pushed it out to sea. In a mad dash, they ran to climb in before it sailed off to parts unknown. The boat continued to sit there for a great long while.

Mary thought and thought and thought, then…“We need a rudder.”

“A rudder?” asked Carol in an inquiring voice.

“Something to control the boat with,” Mary answered.

They all looked at Carol who turned and looked behind her hoping that someone was there. Reluctantly, she climbed out of the boat, sloshed through the water and started to push. Her nose was pressed up against an umbrella. Her feet splashed through the creek as they stuck on the muddy bottom a short distance below. She would rather have been thrown into the dragon’s den, but then that was still to come.

As they made their way down the creek, a small flock of ducklings crossed in front of them in a line like soldiers marching off to war. They quacked to each other as they turned to look at the boat and it’s passengers.

“They’re laughing at us,” replied Kay.

The ducks floated past and crossed to the shore. Each climbed out of the creek, wiggled their behinds to shake off the water and waddled away toward the plantation house.

The girls floated or were rather pushed a long distance. They passed the Vicar who was seated on the shore with a fishing pole in his hand. The fishing line was attached to a small red and white ball that bobbed up and down in the water. The Vicar stared at the ball. His eyes followed it’s path up and down.

Carol brought the boat to a sudden halt. They each in turn stopped and:

“Vicar,” said Mary.

“Vicar,” said Olivia.

“Vicar,” said Kay.

“Vicar,” giggled Carol.

Without looking up, his eyes intent on the ball, “Good afternoon, girls.”

They continued on their way winding down the creek.

From behind the boat, Carol sang:

“Oh, ho, ho and a bottle of Kool-Aid,

Off to bag a dragon, if it doesn’t have us slayed,

Picking up kid bits is not a lot of fun,

If you happen to ask me, I think we ought to run…”

“Carol,” Mary bellowed.

“What?”

“Shut it,” Mary insisted.

Kay noticed a flat rectangular object just below her at the bottom of the boat. She picked it up and turned it around. There was Miss Ida staring at her with a stern you’re-in-trouble-now look on her face. Kay screamed! The picture went flying into the air and landed on the water.

“Kay, do you want to kill all of the fish between here and Alaska,” said Mary.

“No,” said Kay meekly.

“Did you know that’s a hundred and fifty seven years bad luck?” said Olivia.

“No,” Kay said again.

“Missy Hyde is gonna be mad,” said Carol.

Kay cringed.

After a short distance, the girls came to a fork in the creek as it curved in two different directions around a small portion of land full of tall trees.

“Which way do I go?” asked Carol.

“Go? We don’t have to go. We’re here,” said Mary in an excited voice.

“We’re where?” asked Carol.

“The Island. Dragon’s always live on Islands. It’s a documented fact,” replied Mary. “Maybe we’ll find gold. Dragons always hoard gold. It‘s a documented fact.”

“Gold,” the other said in unison. Their faces lit up.

“Are you sure this is the dragon’s island?” asked Olivia.

“Are you sure it isn’t Devil’s Island,” said Carol.

“Devil’s Island!” screamed Kay and with that she leapt out of the boat and sloshed to shore screaming.

“Hmm,” said Olivia. “I always wondered where the devil lived. I always wondered what Hell looked like.”

“Hell!” Kay screamed from the distance. “Hell!” as Kay raced back through the woods stripping off layers of t-shirts and abandoning her pot which flew onto the top of a short pine tree. She ran in what she thought was the direction of the plantation house.

“It‘s not so bad. Not bad at all,” said Olivia.

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