2007 Writing Winners

I remember the day my life changed. It was a stormy day with wild waves on Lake Ontario. I was hoping Pa would be all right, when I was unexpectedly shaken out of my thinking by a sharp voice saying, “Avery! Stop day dreaming and finish milking Mary before she has a fit!” That was my loving Gramma. She was standing outside our house on the porch waving her wooden spoon at me. She had been worried sick over Pa the whole day.

“She’s like this every day,” my Granpa said jokingly. He’s Gramma’s husband, and my Pa’s Father. Pa, William Spoonsworth, is a fisherman for the ship Destin. Granpa, Mark Spoonsworth, is a retired fisherman. Gramma, ah dear loving Gramma-she is quick tempered but not mean. She can’t stand work just sitting there waiting to be done. Ma is the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen. She’s hard working and good natured. My younger sister, Heather, is 16. She spends most of her time reading her Bible and praying. Gramma doesn’t even get angry at her, for Gramma says she is a good girl and that we should never interrupt her bible reading and praying. To be honest, I don’t really care that she doesn’t help with the work. But my youngest sister, Christine (who is 9) isn’t too happy about it. I’m Avery Spoonsworth and I’m 18 years old. So that is my family.

As soon as I finished milking Mary, the storm arrived. When the first boom of thunder came, all the animals went crazy. I hurriedly got them in the shed and ran inside myself. It rained and thundered all day. Pa usually gets home around 5:30 or so. But today it was well after dark, and he still hadn’t come home. My sisters and I went to bed with troubled thoughts. But slowly I drifted off to sleep.

Something woke me up. I quickly snapped my eyes open and saw the shape of Ma in front of me and my Gramma’s sobering figure. It was morning; the storm had passed. I looked questioningly at Ma.

“Your Pa is dead. His ship was wrecked during the storm.” Ma said in a rough, grief-stricken voice.

Christine sobbed in her bed all day, refusing to get out. Heather spent most of her time in teary prayer. Gramma kept a handkerchief near to her. Granpa went to the pub early in the day, and didn’t come back ‘till night fall. Ma went about her day, doing the work that was needed. But I could tell she was suffering.

The next day Ma came running to me and said in an excited voice, “Mrs. Underworth just came by – you remember her, don’t you? Anyway, she said that there are some papers in Mr. Parker’s Grocer Store that is about job openings! Why don’t you go look down there and see if there are any jobs that will interest you?” I needed to find a job to provide for my family.

“All right Ma, I’ll head out there as soon as I get a bite to eat,” I said. Once I was there, none of them caught my eye until I saw one that said: “Job Opening for a young man age 20-30 years for the Oswego Life Saving Station located at the foot of the Bluff, just West of Fort Ontario.” I looked again at the words “Life Saving Station.” Right at that moment, I knew that I wanted to be someone who would save innocent lives (like my Pa’s) at sea.

“Well here goes nothing,” I started to walk forward toward the Station. Then a hand grabs me from behind.

“I am here to apply for that job at the Station,” I said while turning around to face the man.

“Ya’ mean you’re gonna take Stewart Manley’s job? Poor man. Died at sea a month ago.”

“I suppose I am going to “take” Mister Manley’s job. Rest his soul.” I said, trying to sound respectful.

“Well, come on in, and I’ll take you to the Captain.” The captain was sitting at a desk, smoking a cigar.

“Well, uh, you see sir, uh, I need a job and I, uh, saw your flyer at the Grocer Store saying you needed a young man, and, um, sir, uh, I kinda, am a young man, so I thought maybe, I mean if you were willing to . . . maybe give me the job?”

“Well, we do need a young man to replace Manley. Why don’t you give me some information about yourself?”

“My Pa died at sea just a couple of days ago. I need a job to provide for my family,” I said humbly.

I got the job! I was shown all around the building. In the garage I was shown all of the coats and the other protective gear. They showed me the lookout platform and the boats. I was also introduced to all of the men – Walt Quaker, James Porter, Matthew Washington, Rodney Carter (the man who introduced me to the Captain), Hugo Smith, and the Captain, Mr. Denzel.

A couple of months later I finished training and was ready to enter the real life saving business. I was happy, and my family was happy. Yes, everything was good.

One stormy evening in September the waves were tossing around pretty fiercely. We expected there would be work today.

“Avery! We’re going out, come on!” said Mr. Denzel. My first Life Saving mission.

“God, protect me and the men of the life saving station,” I prayed silently. I hurried out into the boat with the other men. The night went by slowly and treacherously. We came by many ships in distress. While we were helping one ship, I heard a cry. I looked around and saw a small girl fighting to stay above the waves. I dove in as fast as I could. As soon as I was in the water I swam to the girl.

“Everything is going to be all right,” I said. The little girl clung to me as tight as she could. I swam with her back to the boat and we headed for the Station. When we arrived at the Station, I was still holding on to the little girl. A woman ran up to me while crying, “My Baby! Oh Amanda! Oh darling, are you all right?” She pulled the little girl from my hands. When I saw the mother with the little girl, I felt so happy, so real, so . . . right. I decided right at that moment, that this was what I was meant to do with my life, this was what made me happy. This was what made me Avery Spoonsworth – rescuer at the Oswego Saving Station!

The cold wind swept into the harbor and hit the old tugboat with force. It was one of the usual Tuesdays in March at the Oswego Harbor. Everyone hunkered down in their houses or their office buildings and spent the least amount of time outside. It was one of those days when the slushy snow, the whipping winds, and the gloomy gray skies mixed together forming the perfect day to stay inside where it was warm. The only people that you saw on the concrete pier were the brave workers of the small museum rushing out of their cars with their coats zipped up and a cup of coffee in their hands.

On this particular day, there was one man who didn’t notice the weather at all. This man was at least in his eighties. His wispy, white hair hardly covered his head, but his beard was long enough to cover two heads. Thick eyeglasses covered his eyes, and the remainder of his face had more wrinkles then anyone could count. His huge wrinkled hands gripped a thin, sturdy cane that balanced him. His thick black coat blocked the wind easily and looked like it had witnessed much harsher winds than the small, chilled gusts. This man didn’t have a reason for being there that cold, gloomy day except to watch the old tugboat move with the water. He found something he had lost a long time ago.

He remembered when he was a boy in his early teens sitting at the dinner table. His mother had cooked his father’s favorite meal of spaghetti and meatballs, and his father was in a happy mood. It was near the end of dinner, and his younger brother was complaining about some trivial thing.

As his mother carried the little boy out of the room, the man’s father put down his fork and said in a very thick Italian voice, “You don’t speak, my son. What is bothering you?”

“I don’t know,” he said also putting down his fork. “I was thinking and wanted some peace and quiet,” he said as he glared into the kitchen where he could hear his brother’s voice still complaining.

“Ah, peace!” exclaimed his father. From the tone in his voice, the young man could tell he was about to get a lecture. “Peace is something you should never lose, my boy,” the man’s father said picking back up his fork. He pointed the fork at him and continued, “Never lose it, because it could take years to find. It’s not something you find around every corner. Peace is…, you may never find it. So don’t lose it!” The man hadn’t remembered what had happened after that, but he did remember thinking what his father had said was rubbish. How could someone lose peace? It was less than a decade later when the man realized what his father had said was true.

“Hey, Ernie, what’re the orders?” shouted the man to his fellow Army Transportation Corps mate. The old man remembered being on the LT-5 tugboat off the coast of Normandy, France. It was a humid day in early June in 1944. Orders had just come from the general over the radio, and as usual he wanted to be the first informed. Ernie leaned over the railing on the upper deck and called back.

“We’re going to stay here for the present.” The man sighed. The tug had docked the day before on a sunken LST which was part of a Gooseberry. After days of towing the artificial break walls or Phoenixes, the man felt idle waiting for orders to move someplace else. Being on a tugboat, it was normal to be worried about weather hazards from the rough seas, dangerous cross-winds, and fierce summer gales. Additionally, he was always on alert for mines in the water and air attacks from the enemy. When he was not busy, he could not help but think about what was occurring on the beaches only a few miles away. He could not ignore the constant gun shots, explosions, and air attacks coming from the fierce battle. His mind was filled with the thoughts of the thousands of men bravely storming the beaches attempting to break the German stranglehold on the continent.

He was preparing to go below deck, when the noise of airplanes came from overhead. Planes might mean that they or another ship were being attacked. The man quickly swerved his head to see the worst. German planes had turned around and were coming back this time shooting machine guns. Ducking into the stairwell, the man avoided the bullets then darted to another shelter. He could hear men shouting to each other. The gunmen were already at the machineguns shooting the enemy planes. He ducked as he heard the planes return and begin shelling the boat again.

Much after that was a blur in the old man’s mind. He remembered that he ended up standing behind one of the gunners and watching a FW crash into the waves of the English Channel. However, the clearest thing to him that day happened when the first bullet shot out of that plane towards them. The thing that had been dangerously slipping away had finally flown. The one thing his father had told him not to lose, he had lost in an instant.

For years, the man had experienced many joys in his life. Even though he might have been the happiest man in the room, there was a small piece of him that was missing. The truth was he never felt real peace for those years after the war. He had lost it, and his father had been right in saying that in didn’t come around every corner.

He had heard about the tugboat in the Oswego Harbor and decided that one last time he will bid his war memories goodbye. So on that cold day in late March, the old man that you would have thought was crazy to have been standing on that pier was thinking of all the bad memories and saying good bye to every single one.

The old man gripped his cane and watched the tugboat as a small smile came across his wrinkled face. The LT-5 was the same as it had been many years ago when it had pulled artificial break walls near the shores of Normandy. The tug didn’t just symbolize the WWII boat that it was. It symbolized what was left of every tug that had been scrapped, destroyed, or sunken from the invasion of Normandy. Like the tug, he survived the battle when so many others had not. To see the tug peacefully docked was enough for the old man. After a long hard search, the man had finally found what he had lost.

“You’re not nearly as impressive as your swagger, Amos,” spoke Helen Peck defiantly. Her tawny eyes narrowed at the sight of me, the infamous slave hunter, Amos Bibb. I paused in the threshold of the entrance, leaning against the doorway. My eyes darted around the Peck woman’s kitchen for the ninth time. I had visited and searched this place nine times! I’d been here nine times now, and the eight previous times had been fruitless. Where are they? I know they’re here, I know it. Where are the cursed fugitives? I’ve got to get this woman, before she gets to me!

“Of course,” replied Helen coldly. “And I assume your cohorts accompany your strut,” she spat. I nodded with a grand smirk that would have wooed Helen if she fought with me in this constant battle.

“Boys, come on in!” I drawled, my head turning over my stooped shoulder. A clatter clambered up the wooden steps outside the woman’s home. Jubal Nash and Micah Growe joined me in Helen’s wooden kitchen.

“I wouldn’t say no to a swig ‘a whiskey,” announced the staggering Nash, slurring his drawl.

“It seems you’ve had enough already, Nash,” retorted Helen. Nash didn’t argue, instead, he began butchering a tune similar to a dying hawk’s crow.

“Yet you have enough to quench the throats of slaves. Let’s get going, Growe,” I ordered, ignoring Helen’s protests to my comment.

“This is the biggest house in Oswego, Amos,” said Growe, “Even if Nash could stand on his drunken feet we’d be here all night! And there ain’t even any light!” He raised his beefy hand and pointed at the sinking sun. I glared at my associate with remarkable prowess. My looks could kill, and Growe was nearly walking to his tomb after the glower I sent at him.

“We ain’t gonna be here long,” I assured. “Now scoot, knock on the staircase, and check for anything hollow!” Growe regretfully shuffled out of the kitchen, leaving only Helen, the nearly forgotten Nash and I.

“Well, Amos, best start searching! You never know what you’ll find in my house.” Helen’s look was coy. She was smart for a woman. Heck, she was smarter than most men! But she had slowly gripped me, and her very presence practically vacuumed my patience. I hated that woman… I knew she was hiding slaves.

I slowly walked towards her, my boots pushing down on the coarse floorboards. We faced opposite ways, but my mouth was in her pale ear. “This is my ninth visit, Helen,” I said, so very quietly.

“Thank you, Amos, I’d lost count,” she replied tauntingly. But I could tell she was afraid of me, the way her voice had croaked in her response.

“Cats die after their nine lives are up!” I jeered, threatening the blasted woman.

“Yes, they do don’t they, Amos?” said Helen. She blinked heavily and then traveled away. I stood motionless for a moment, gloating that I had finally scared Helen. At last, I unhurriedly strolled away for a report from Growe and to begin my own search.

Manic thoughts had been swimming in my brain for weeks now, plotting a plan to thwart Helen Peck’s business of thieving slaves from their masters. My mind had not found any solace in the notion of her death… So I had revisited the original plot, to find the slaves.

Between the ferocious, unspeakable crimes I had conceived in my mind, my thoughts had wandered to something even more frightening… Was my career focused on impeding the slaves’ exodus, or stopping Helen Peck?

My brain was brought about from the reflections of my last few weeks by Growe’s squeaky voice. “Sir there’s nothing in the stairs!”

“Alright,” I whispered, my wits still absent from the room. “Alright,” I repeated, “Let’s see what we find in the bedroom.”

“Should we have Ms. Peck accompany us, sir? So she doesn’t warn the slaves,” asked Growe. As I look back, that was the most sensible thing spoken that evening. But as I’ve said, my wits were elsewhere.

“Nash won’t let her go,” I replied, my eyes wandering around, aimed nowhere. “Don’t doubt me Growe,” I ordered passively. The two of us entered Helen’s bedroom. A candle flickered on a dresser as the drapes billowed in the breeze. Using the scarce illumination, I searched the bedroom for the ninth time. Here I found nothing, there I found nothing! I felt myself going mad! My straying hands ripped out the dresser drawers, their contents spilling on to the floor. A hammer beat against my chest, but it was not a hammer, just the beastly flailing of my own heart.

“What in the world are you doing?” cried a voice. Bony hands clasped over my sweating upper lip and clawed at my skin. I pried the hands off and pushed Helen Peck to the floor.

“WHERE ARE THEY?” I barked at her, “WHERE ARE YOU KEEPING THEM?” And then… she cried. I let go of her shoulders and glared into the woman’s eyes ferociously. She thought I was evil… I was not evil; I was simply a man with little self-control. In a way I envied Helen Peck, she had not sold her ethics; she had done what was moral. This sudden realization further enraged me and I continued my interrogation, “WHERE ARE THEY?”

She sobbed for a moment more, before grasping her breath. “I- they’re in the attic, in the far corner.” My lips turned into a victorious sneer. Immediately following her confession, Helen’s body failed her. She thrashed on the floor, covering her face, tearing hysterically.

I beckoned for Growe to follow me, leaving Helen to toss in her guilt. I took the steps I had taken eight times before towards the entrance to the attic. I held the ladder for the clumsy Growe, and then I followed in his wake. I heard slight shuffles below, but ignored them, regarding them as Helen Peck’s own writhing.

If I had had wings, I would have flown to the far corner of the attic, but alas I did not. I continued to the far corner. The shuffles below persisted, and suddenly the thought struck me: I’d searched the attic eight times before, each time unsuccessful. There was no place for a hole for a cat, let alone a human.

What was that noise? The shuffles came again in quick repetition. “Growe, come on!” I commanded, stomping down the ladder and on to the ground floor. My fury had once again clasped on to my soul, and it refused to liberate me. I stormed out of the kitchen and into the torrid summer heat. I ripped off my shirt and sprung a book of spare matches from my pocket. I lit a match and dropped it on to my shirt which I flung into Helen Pecks’ kitchen. The dry wood soon caught the flame and Helen’s entire home was charred as it sat there ablaze like my conscience wavering in the wind…

The tree branches swayed overhead. Small pools of light dappled the mossy, leaf-covered forest floor. Samuel stepped cautiously from behind the cover of the oak tree where he had been hiding.

“I think we’re here, Ma,” he said in a voice so low it could have been the wind sighing over the vast expanse of farm land that stretched before them.

“We’ll wait until we have the cover of night fall,” his mother replied, her eyes never moving from the faded, ripped quilt hanging on the distant farmhouse’s clothesline.

Samuel followed her steady gaze with his own eyes; he didn’t care what that quilt looked like. It meant that this was a safe house and their last stop in a long string of stops on the Underground Railroad. Yes, this was the last stop until they reached their goal of a life free from the harsh demands of an owner and overseer. At last the freedom of the border was close at hand. The sun’s light was starting to sink behind the hills as if it were trying to rest, too, but Samuel knew he couldn’t rest – not yet anyway.

He felt Mary’s small dirt-streaked hand tugging at his arm. “Is it time yet?” she asked in a much-too-loud, excited whisper.

He gave her a stern look, thinking at the same time how that is exactly what his father would have done had he been there. His father had made an earlier attempt at freedom, and they hoped to meet him in the north. Guilt washed over him as he admitted to himself that he was about to ask the same question of his mother that Mary just did. The minutes stretched on into what seemed like hours. Somewhere a dog barked and he felt his mother stiffen beside him. Then his stomach lurched again as a door creaked open and shut and a lantern bobbed out onto the cool, dark grass. A man grumbled as he hung the light on a post and went back inside. Slowly the three crept out of their forest refuge and approached the steps of the white farmhouse. Cautiously Ma took the well-worn, tarnished brass knocker in hand and tapped out a pattern, a code, on the door. We held our breaths as the curtain next to the door was pushed aside a crack. It was all Samuel could do not to run from the piercing blue eyes that met with his deep, brown ones.

The door swung open and a gruff voice commanded, “Come in.” Ma’s skirts swayed as Mary clung to them as we entered the cramped, dimly lit hallway.

The man told us to wait while he called, “Ellie. Ellie Winston, we have guests!”

A white, teen-aged girl bounded down the stairs as they creaked and groaned in protest the whole way. “I’ll grab you a bite to eat and my m-MOTHER,” she called, will show you to the hidey hole. After being comfortably full Samuel settled down on the well-worn mattress to wait for sleep to drift over him. Time passed. Bright afternoon sunlight crept through the cracks in the floor. He stood, stretched, then sank back down to wait for night to creep over the land, and give them their needed cover of darkness. After what seemed like an endless amount of time the sun’s light faded and, because the lamps and candles were not yet lit in the room where Ma, Mary and Samuel waited, they were slowly submerged in shadows and darkness.

Ellie came in to give them their cloaks and a bundle of food wrapped in a cloth. She told them it was time to go. With a brief thank you, the small family left the warm, welcoming house and stepped onto the dark, dewy grass. Samuel’s stomach was an acrobat flipping and his heart was a runner racing on the track – the track to freedom. Samuel walked, occasionally glancing at the stars keeping the big dipper straight ahead. His feet and fingers were soon numb from the cold, but his thoughts were warm. Soon they would be free. FREE! Samuel liked that word.

Suddenly he stopped and, in a voice hoarse from disuse, said, “Free. Freedom.”

They had crossed the Mason-Dixon Line and were indeed free. They had the gift of freedom. They had earned the gift of being free.

The Underground Railroad influenced me because I didn’t know how many people helped the slaves escape and hid them from their slave owners even though their lives were at stake. I also didn’t know that a lot of the Underground Railroad was in Oswego County, which I think is pretty cool, considering that we have a lot of boats and they hid the slaves in some of the empty compartments to help get free.

I like the fact that Harriet Tubman a female led a lot of slaves to freedom and she came back many of times to help more and more slaves get free. I know that if I was part of the Underground Railroad I would help the slaves because I am African American and I think that it was wrong how the slaves were treated as property and not as a man or woman and didn’t have any rights what so ever.

I would have also taught the slaves to learn and write because most of them didn’t know how and I think that was wrong that the slave owners didn’t want the slaves to think for themselves.

I feel really grateful that slavery ended and that people cared enough to help the slaves because if they didn’t help the slaves or didn’t care then slavery would probably still be going on today. I feel that if Europeans weren’t lazy then there wouldn’t have been any slavery because the Europeans brought the African Americans over here on a boat just so they could be slaves. With the way the world is today with it’s problems I don’t think we need any more.

My name is Mary Stone, and I have never done anything extraordinary except survive. I grew up in a large family, not well off but we always managed to pull through life’s many difficulties. My father used to say that “No one could beat a Stone on stubbornness.”

Our family was a running joke in our community. Everyone was constantly surprised by our hardiness and will to survive. Instead of saying “as hard as rock” people who knew us said “as hard as Stone.” My father juggled many jobs at once, my mother took in wash from other people’s houses and sold almost everything we managed to produce, from rag rugs to our famous raspberry jelly.

Although one would imagine that since I came from such a family I would be naturally stubborn and hardy, I was really one of the more picky and easily frightened of our family. I remember refusing to pull out the guts of a chicken, with tears streaming down my face. My mother had no sympathy for my weakness. “There are a lot of things that are harder in life than pulling out a little chicken gut.” She told me this often, substituting “pulling out chicken gut” for whatever other task I found difficult at the time.

Some people would resent my mother and her harshness, but instead I learned to outgrow or out-smart the problems that faced me. There were to be many problems in my life. My mother helped prepare me for them, not letting me have weakness, which would have been my downfall.

When I was old enough I began taking jobs of my own. I learned to never turn down a job, and saved almost every penny I earned so I could support my family and get an education. My policy did not change when I got a job as a cook aboard a tugboat known as the Tornado. This seemed like the ideal job for me, until I realized that I had never been on a boat before.

Needless to say, it was no regular job. First of all, I was to cook on a metal tugboat. Secondly, the crew I was to cook for was five men, the biggest eaters east of the Mississippi. There was the Captain William Manwarring, Captain George Ferris, Mr. Moses Ackerson, Mr. Patrick Clark, and lastly a Mr. Zebulon Stone, who was not related to yours truly.

When I met them, they were all polite and helpful, especially when it came to loading on the heavier items. Moses Ackerson, the Engineer, seemed to have detected my wariness of the tugboat. He smiled and kind of swaggered over to me and said in a low voice, “You’ll be safe on this tug, little missy. This here boat has the soundest engine I ever did see, a monkey could manage this thing. You won’t even notice that you’re on water.”

I tried to smile, tried to seem reassured, but I really wasn’t. I would never trust something that was made of metal and floated. I could understand that wood floated. But I had no idea of how that tugboat managed to stay afloat.

I made a meal for them after they loaded up the ship at the suggestion of Captain Ferris, and we ate at about ten at night. They ate and ate, you would have thought they didn’t have dinner. After that all the men went off to their posts and left me to clean up and go to bed, although I swore to myself that I would not lay me head down until we set off.

We finally set off at one o’clock in the morning. Mr. Ackerson was not correct in that I did notice I was on water, but the boat did run smoothly. I went to my cot sleepily, but once I laid down I could not fall asleep. Eventually the tugboat stopped, about a mile or so off shore. I just lay there, looking out the small porthole at the sky. It seemed like hours had passed, though I knew that only about an hour had gone by. I finally drifted off to sleep.

BOOM! I was jolted out of my cot and fell to the floor. I looked wildly about me, trying to figure out what had happened. I tried to stand up but found the floor had tilted almost vertical. I saw water swarming up and filling my quarters. I shrieked for the first time in my life, and let anyone who was alive know of my terror. Everything seemed out of joint, but I climbed up the floor to the door and sprang out, not onto the deck but into water. I looked crazily about me and saw pieces of the ship floating upward, I grabbed a large piece of wood and kicked my feet until I broke the surface.

When I finally reached the surface I gasped and choked on the water that had managed to plunge up my nostrils. I started sobbing, but sucked in my lips until I stopped. I lay there for a moment, until I managed to control myself.

I realized that the engine must have exploded. What else could make such a load noise? I looked for the other crewmen, but I could not see anything in the dark night air. Did anyone survive beside me? I called out, hoping desperately that someone would answer. Captain Ferris answered back from somewhere in the darkness. I knew him by his refined, almost genteel manner of speaking, even in an emergency. I asked who else survived, and he said that only he and Mr. Clark had survived.

The hours passed and I several times almost fell asleep. I was cold, cramped, floating in water but I somehow found the driftwood a hundred times more inviting than my cot had been. I knew I had to stay awake though, and strained my tired eyes and tried to think about anything that would keep me alert.

The sun was finally starting to rise was when the boat came. I don’t remember much after that, except I fell asleep for the short ride home and was taken to a warm bed when we reached shore. I had never felt more tired in my life.

When they found Zebulon Stone’s life vest, I wept. I felt numb during the whole time after the rescue to that point, but when I was told I started crying. Why did I live, and the other crewmen die? When I asked my mother, she just looked at me and said very slowly, “Mary, no man deserves to die while another lives. But it happens all the time, whether anybody likes it or not. Life has given you a good turn for once. Take advantage of it.”

I will always remember those words, for those words helped me move beyond the explosion of the Tornado. My mother is right, that we should not hang on to and worry about the past, but we should learn and take a step forward. I am Mary Stone, survivor and lover of life.

When I looked out the window and saw the British flag waving ever so slightly, I knew what had just happened. The Fort was captured. Now I was sure they would move in, and then they would surely find the hawser.

“Benjamin,” Ma said, “I need you to take this note to your Aunt and Uncle. Then you can play.”

“Yes ma’am.” I said as I went out the door. I could hear Pa and the other men talking. I could only make out the words, “hawser…moved….work…” I had two things on my mind – one, Ma doesn’t usually let me stay at Uncle Ted’s and Aunt Lucy’s house, especially since the war, and two, I wondered what Pa and the men were talking about.

I arrived at Aunt Lucy’s and Uncle Ted’s place about four o’clock. “Benjamin!” Aunt Lucy exclaimed as she came out of the house.

“Hello Aunt Lucy,” I said as I handed her the note. “My Ma told me to give you this.” She read the note and I tried to read her expressions, but I couldn’t.

“Ma said I could stay, if that’s all right with you. May I ride Blackie?” I said quickly.

“Well…. all right. You can ride Blackie.” she replied. I ran off to the barn and took off her saddle. I fed and watered her and brushed her down, and then I went home. Dinner was ready when I arrived home. I went to bed right after dinner. It didn’t take long to fall asleep.

“You’ll see. Now get on your shoes, while I go wake up your brother.” Pa answered.

I got on my shoes and waited for my brother and Pa. Pa led us quietly to the school. “What are we doing here?” my brother asked.

“You’ll see. Pa hissed. When I came in there was the BIGGEST rope I had ever seen. It was the hawser!”

Quickly and quietly everyone picked up a piece of the hawser. Pa and my brother and I picked up our part and silently walked out of the school.

We trekked many miles before we stopped in front of Aunt Lucy’s and Uncle Ted’s house.

“This is where we’re hiding the hawser.” Pa replied. “Now help move the rope into the root cellar.”

After much struggling we were able to get it in the root cellar. “Come on sons, we got to get home.” Pa said to me and my brother.

“All right,” I said sleepily. We got home about 5 in the morning, just before dawn. I went straight to bed and fell asleep almost at once.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” said Ma. She opened the door and in came men with guns. They wore red coats – British soldiers! They started moving furniture as though they were looking for something. They left a few minutes later, as quickly as they came.

I came downstairs and saw Ma’s panic stricken face. She was worriedly writing a note. She then grabbed a loaf of bread and shoved both the note and the bread into my hands. “Quickly, Benjamin, take the loaf to your Aunt and Uncle. Give it to them and drop the note outside their door and don’t hesitate.” Ma said.

I ran out the door as quickly as I could. By the time I got to Aunt Lucy’s and Uncle Ted’s I was exhausted. Breathing heavily, I dropped the note and went up the stairs of the porch. I knocked on the door and Uncle Ted answered.

“Stay and rest a little bit.” Uncle Ted replied. I went inside. Not even two minutes later, British soldiers came running inside the house. They started looking for “something” just as they did at my house. One started to move the rug that hid the root cellar door!

He almost saw the door handle when the other soldier yelled, “Come here! I found something.” The first soldier ran over and examined the note that had been found. “Let’s go!”

After they left, Aunt Lucy cried with relief. Uncle Ted was overjoyed. I was still very tired but eager to return home. I was utterly exhausted and wanted to go to bed, but first I asked Ma, “What did the note say? Why did you have me drop it outside?”

Ma answered, “The note said that the hawser was hidden in the warehouse and would be moved at 8 o’clock this morning. I had you drop it outside because I was afraid that the soldiers would find the hawser at Aunt Lucy’s place. That’s why I had you send them on a wild goose chase. Hopefully they won’t search Aunt Lucy’s house again, at least not until we can move the hawser to Sackett’s Harbor where it is needed.”

Looking out, sand colored bluffs outline the shore, a frame to such a beautiful picture.

The natural music of nature entered my ears. A breeze of summer tossed my long black hair. Animals run about the forests and fish swim in the lake with grace. Warm sun rays hug my body as I sit next to the water. I dangled my feet in the water relaxing in the summer atmosphere.

I began to wonder about things. Of our Indian Gods, the white men, and freedom. Since the white men have arrived here, they have taken capture of many of our people. They have shown no mercy. Other men of our tribe trade with them, I don’t see why they do that. They are so cruel killing the innocent children, mothers and fathers. Chief Wild Bear said he had made an agreement with the white men so we would not be harmed, but I do not believe the traitorous men. I want to run away.

Memories of the past, before the white men arrived, arranged themselves in my head. They were both good and bad. Yet, the one that stuck out most was the one of our Indian God Aqua. My father named me Aquaria after him. Being his daughter, he told me many stories of Aqua. He was the God of Water, the one that made fishing seasons go well if he was pleased. He was part fish, from the waist down. I envied the freedom he must have. I wanted to be like him.

I splashed the still lake water, it destroyed my reflection for only a second. Slowly my face came back to me, my long black hair, brown eyes, and dark skin. It was all covered with the fear of death. I didn’t want to die, not by the hands of white men. They look so different from the men of our tribe. They behave different, and so are their customs. They do not respect nature like we do. They tear down our forests, and disrespect our land. They will be punished for that. Our Gods will take care of them, and they will take good care of us.

I looked back into the water of the lake. The fish swam around in colorful bunches. It was beautiful. I turned my head to look at the sky. There were birds flying overhead, chirping songs of the wild. I looked towards the forest that surrounded the lake. Little animals ran around looking for food. Then, all noise stopped. The crows flew away screeching. The animals left to hide as well as the fish. I heard noises, the noises of the white men and their guns. I then heard screaming, yelling and crying coming from the direction of my tribal village. It was a massacre.

Frightened, I jumped to my feet looking for a place to run. They were coming closer. I looked to the water one last time. I was startled not to see my own reflection, but of a face of a man. I recognized the face, the long green hair and god-like appearance. He looked just how I had imagined him. It was Aqua, the God of Water.

He held out his hand from the water below. Without hesitation, I took it and went under with him. I was under for a while with him so the white men could not find me hiding. I was so scared, my heart skipped a beat when they came by. One man came close to observe the lake, so close that I thought he saw me. He didn’t move until another one of his kind had him go elsewhere. I wondered what he was staring at, then I realized that it was me.

I had a long colorful fish body from the waist down and gills with sea weed-like hair. I looked to Aqua for a response. He said, “I had to turn you into a fish creature or else the white men would have killed you, like they did to the others.” Another glimpse at myself and another moment of thinking, I was okay. Then I wondered about my family. As if he was reading my thoughts he spoke, “Your tribe is gone. You cannot go back, you cannot go on land ever again, Aquaria.” Sorrow took over me. I swam away from him into the lake, farther away from him.

If my tears were able to be distinguished from the water around me, they would be endless. If my cries could be heard, they would be like a song of heart break. I continued to swim without stopping. I didn’t care where I was going, or where I was. I just wanted to get away from it all, or at least for the moment. Knowing my family was dead, knowing I couldn’t do anything about it, knowing I was the only survivor and couldn’t go back on land is killing me. My world was torn from my hands. My happiness and my comfort was gone just like my current normality. Life isn’t how it is supposed to be, not anymore.

I swam until I hit something hard. I recoiled from the bump and recovered myself. It was a large ship. Not one of our canoes, but a white mans’ ship. Things where floating down from the surface, unusual things. I swam to get a better look. There were a plethora of hooks protruding from above. The curiosity calmed my tears down. Cautiously, I observed the hooks, then touched them. They were hard, as if made of stone. I backed up into a significantly larger one. It started to rise to the surface slowly, but I got closer. Then it sped up right into my chest. Blood spat out of the wound and from my mouth. The speed of the hook caused it to drag me higher above the water, there I choked on the air. Without water, I cannot live.

Men are taking my corpse aboard the ship and saying things I can’t understand. A pool of crimson blood lied under my dead body. Then they hauled me onto the front of the ship, mounting it like a trophy for all to see. It was crucified to the boards of the ship. It took me a moment to realize what had just happened. I died, but Aqua was with me. I looked at him and he said, “You are now my Goddess. You where god-blessed when you were born, so you would eventually become a true god. You just had to lose the human body.” I was shocked and in denial but I accepted my reality and moved on.

I was now the daughter of Chief Wild One, but the goddess of rain. I dwell in the water and let my sorrow befall the people surrounding me. My life is much happier with the creatures of the water. I help the tribes surrounding my domain by letting the seasons be good enough for their crops, but I create storms for any white men that come their way, protecting them from harm. I am the Goddess of Rain, I have been god-blessed.

“Ahhh!” I said. I tripped over my dog’s toy. To catch my fall I leaned my hands on the raspberry jam in the pantry. My yell from falling quickly turned to a yell in astonishment.
Wow!” I soon said. “What are you doing?” my mom said from the other room. “Nothing!” I said. I didn’t want her to know what I had just discovered.

When I pushed on the raspberry jam, the whole pantry shelf pushed back like a door to reveal a very small sort of room. It looked very, very old because it was dusty and dirty and cobwebs were all over the place. It was very dark too! All I could see was a little opening. When I looked closer, I figured out that it was a ladder. I climbed in the small, cramped room, shut the pantry wall/door, and very slowly, climbed down the ladder.

When I got to the end of the ladder, there was room. It wasn’t very big. Just a little bigger than the top of the ladder. The room looked kind of scary. I could just make out writing on the wall. This is what it said. “You are on your way to…” There was dust on the last word. When I started wiping it off, there was a huge flash, and then…I wasn’t in Oswego, New York anymore! I was in the bushes. When I looked out, there was a man and his wife with two children. I ran up to them to ask them where we were. “We’re just outside of New York,” the man said. “We are pretty close to Canada!” “But I need to get to my home in Oswego, New York!” I yelled. “Aren’t you going to freedom in Canada?” one of the children asked. “Freedom of what?” I was confused. The family stepped aside and I could tell him all about our secrets!” “Or maybe she is lost and needs to find her way home!” Soon they came back. “Ok,” said the man. “We will take you back to your home. We need to go by there anyway.”

Father once told me that the life on a ship is not for a woman. But I don’t care, I always dreamed of life on a ship even when I was a little girl. The cold, windy, moist air that sets into your skin and reshapes your soul. Some people call ship men insane for living the way they do, and especially me who took a job aboard a ship disguised as a young man. The reasoning behind my madness is the sensation of the whipping winds and the rhythmic soothing sounds of waves crashing at the keel of the ship. Even though the work is harsh and unforgiving it is worth every second of being out on the water. I accept the reality that if I am caught I will be sent back to rot on the farm as a housewife.

At first it took some getting used to this work, but now it comes naturally, like my body just takes over and does what it was meant to do. Even to my surprise these duties I am able to do just as well as the men even though I never got the training because all I ever did at home was cook and clean. Some of the duties on the ship I can even do much better at than the men because I am more flexible and lighter. I have even become quite popular among the crew.

Every day is like an adventure unfolding itself to me. I love the feeling you get when walking on deck, it’s like dancing on uneven ground with the wind at your back. The feeling that the floor beneath you is at constant war with the raging waters. Also, when a large wave hits it shows the cruel undying love between sailor and the great water beneath them. I love the feeling of being strong enough to bear these sometimes harsh conditions.

Next week we are coming ashore at the small docking town where I grew up. I do not plan to come ashore with the rest of the crew because I know that I would be found out.

During the week leading up to the docking at town I couldn’t help remembering all of the times I spent in the town many years ago. I remember how I first got interested in being out on the water when my father took me with him to another town farther down the river. I remember how happy I was for the first time in my life to be doing the thing that I always wanted to do. I also remember trying out my brother’s duties at night and even borrowing his clothing. But I also remembered what led me to run away. When my father took his ship out to fish I snuck along for enjoyment but I was found out and my father forbade me from getting on any ship ever again. I on the other hand was not an obedient dog and would not follow this order because I would not let my life be rotted away on a boring farm. In the weeks following this incident I cut off my hair and took my brothers sailing clothes so I could become a sailor and follow my dream. I remember the first few weeks when I was getting used to the ship and all its complicated rigging.

When we got to the docks there weren’t any ships there. We sent one of the crewmen ashore to see why the docks were empty and found out that a fishing ship had wrecked itself and all of its crew were lost to the water. This made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. The only fishing ship in the area belonged to my father and brother. Then came the wrenching sight of the crashed ship on the craggy rocks and I knew that they were gone.

Now what should I do? I can’t go into town and yet I don’t want to just leave without doing anything. I decided on throwing on my black outfit and go to the funeral of the sailors who had been lost to the unforgiving waters. Up in the front I recognized my mother. I decided then and there that now I wouldn’t come back. I’m sure that she doesn’t need me after all this time and it would be too hard to just come back, but then I saw him. The man standing next to my mother. She must have left father long ago and gotten married. So now there was nothing holding me back. I could roam the water as much as I wanted and I wouldn’t have anything to call me back to the cold earth. Finally I could get aboard the ship and never come back. I could continue to live out my dream of wandering the water and not being judged by my gender.