A Yacht Called Erewhon (14 page)

S
am put his pipe down on the bench as I ducked through the barn door, and sucked through his teeth. ‘What time of day is this?’ he asked.

I looked at my watch. ‘Around seven-thirty,’ I replied with a grin.

‘It’s seven thirty-two, to be exact. You’re late! The fact that your old man is paying our wages is no excuse to be tardy,’ he snapped, as he handed me the broom. ‘Lesson one: we don’t work in a pigsty.’

While I cleaned up, Sam got on the phone and organised a kit of tools for me. Les Denard, a long-time friend of Sam’s, ran a small boatbuilders’ supply business, and a few minutes’ chat turned into a visit from him before lunch. He brought with him an array of tools that he and Sam thought I might need to get started. Sam gave his grunt of approval to all but the fancy toolbox. ‘He doesn’t need that bloody thing,’ he snapped. ‘He’ll make his own!’

Les handed me a bundle of builder’s pencils. ‘These are for you, lad,’ he said. ‘And these are for you, you grumpy old bastard!’ He handed another bundle to Sam.

After lunch, Sam went over to the pile of broken planking he’d taken from
Erewhon
and extracted some of the shorter lengths. He handed them to me, and I asked if I was to put them on the rubbish pile.

‘Kauri doesn’t go in the rubbish, lad,’ he cautioned. ‘That’s
for your toolbox. There’s more than enough to build one like mine—if you are careful.’

‘But…’ I said, as I looked at the scruffy pieces in my arms.

‘No buts, lad, it’s your first task. I don’t want to see these expensive tools lying around the bench, so get started. Take the measurements off my box. It’ll take you about a day, if you’re any good.’

He flicked off the barn lights, except the one over the bench where I was working, and left. I carried on. Matt stopped in to see what I was up to, and a little later Mic came down with a plate of sandwiches and a mug of coffee. As she left she suggested I knock off for the night, but I wasn’t ready to give up.

Around midnight the box was finished, apart from the inlay on the lid and the coats of varnish to seal the timber. I found a tin of varnish, left over from when Dad and I had refitted the old rowing skiff, and applied the first coat. As I brushed it on, the grain danced from the surface, glistening in the yellow light. I sat back when I’d finished and admired my efforts, wishing I’d had a piece of pohutukawa for the inlay.

As the varnish dried and soaked into the timber, the grain receded, and I knew I’d need many more coats to get the desired finish. I decided to wait and see if the first coat would dry enough under the lights for me to apply a second, so I lay back on an old canvas cover to rest.

I woke to someone shaking my foot and the strong aroma of pipe tobacco. ‘I know I told you to be on time, lad, but you didn’t need to sleep over.’

I shook my head and tried to focus. I ached in every joint, and my head was pounding.

‘I like your work on the box, lad, but where did you find the pohutukawa for the inlay?’

What was he talking about? What inlay? I got to my feet and staggered over to the bench to see an inlay neatly inserted into the lid. An image of
Erewhon.

‘How did you know about Jack’s mark?’ Sam asked.

I was confused. Jack’s mark? I asked what Sam was referring to.

He pointed to a small white dot on the inlay. ‘That mark, son.’

I focused my eyes on the dot and could make out what looked like a cross.

‘That’s Jack’s mark: a Maltese cross. He put it on every boat he completed—his signature, you might say.
Erewhon
’s got one in the same spot as where you put it. Look, I’ll show you.’

Sam picked up a scraper and climbed up a stepladder onto the upturned hull. He scraped at the paint just ahead of the keel stub on the starboard side and, with a few deft swipes, revealed a small Maltese cross inserted into the kauri plank. He climbed back down and tossed the scraper on the bench. ‘How did you know, lad?’ he asked.

I turned and shot out of the barn door before Sam had time to ask any more questions. ‘I’ll be back in a minute!’ I yelled.

Mic and Mum were talking in the kitchen, with their toast and coffee, when I burst through the door.

‘Ben, you look terrible! Where have you been?’ Mum asked.

‘Who did the inlay?’ I asked, looking straight into Mic’s beautiful brown eyes.

She smiled. ‘You were so tired last night, Jack couldn’t resist giving you a hand.’

‘Jack who?’

‘Jack Mickeljohn, of course. He’s thrilled to know you’re doing an apprenticeship with Sam and he came around to wish you all the best.’

‘Are you trying to tell me you can talk to dead people?’ I asked.

‘I’m not that good, but I spoke to Nana and she relayed the message.’

Oh, great
, I thought.
How am I going to explain this to Sam?

‘Can I talk to your Nana?’

‘No, but I can talk to her for you. She told me that Jack’s keen to watch over you while you learn the trade, sort of like a guardian angel.’

I sat down, stunned, and tried to think about how I was going to explain this to Sam. I was deep in thought when I became aware of someone standing in the doorway. I didn’t need to look up to know who it was: I could smell his pipe tobacco.

‘Morning, missus and young lady,’ he said, as he snuffed out his pipe. ‘I just came to see if the young fella’s OK. He was looking a bit green around the gills. You made a lovely job of your box, lad,’ he continued. ‘That inlay is as good as I’ve seen done by any tradesman, mark my word.’

I sat there, unable to speak.

‘Ben, Sam’s talking to you. What’s the matter?’ Mum asked. ‘Sam, come in and sit down. Would you like a cup of coffee?’

‘That would be lovely, my dear,’ he replied.

Mic jumped up, fetched another cup from the cupboard, and filled it from the pot on the stove. Sam added a couple of spoons of sugar and sat down.

‘Sam,’ I said, drawing a deep breath, ‘there’s a couple of things we need to talk about.’

‘You’re darn right, laddy. One of them is why are we sitting here drinking coffee when we should be working?’

‘Jim won’t mind on this occasion,’ Mum chimed in.

‘No, Sam,’ I continued. ‘We need to tell you about Mic.’

‘Sam,’ Mic broke in. ‘Do you remember the party before
Erewhon
was launched?’

‘Do I what! I wake up every morning with a sharp pain in my thigh to remind me. Why?’

‘My Nana was there.’

Sam chuckled. ‘That’s impossible. Miss McAlister was the only lady present that night.’

Mic smiled. ‘Sam,’ she said, ‘Mercedes McAlister was my grandmother.’

Sam chuckled again. ‘You’re pulling my leg!’ he said.

‘She isn’t, Sam,’ I chimed in. ‘She is who she says she is!’

Sam picked up his mug and sipped his coffee. ‘I was on board
Erewhon
the day Miss McAlister drowned. She never had any children, let alone grandchildren.’

‘Not quite, Sam. She was lost overboard, but she didn’t drown.’

Sam stood up. ‘Come on, young fella, we’ve got work to do. Can’t sit around here listening to fairy stories!’

Mum placed her hand on Sam’s shoulder, encouraging him to sit back down. ‘Sam,’ she said, ‘trust me, nobody is joking. Mercedes McAlister was swept into the next bay and rescued by a young man who was fishing.’

Sam rested his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. His mind was in a spin.

Mic got up and kissed him softly on the mouth. ‘Do you remember Nana doing that?’ she asked.

Sam stared at Mic.

‘She told me she did that when she was alone with you in Jack’s office at the boatyard. You were lying on the plan table waiting for the doctor. You were in agony, and she kissed you to take your mind off the pain.’

Sam sat up, his eyes as wide as saucers. He’d never told anyone about that kiss, as his mates would have never believed him. He downed a mouthful of coffee. ‘Better not tell Millie. It’d give her a hell of a fright.’

‘She already knows. I talked to her the other day.’

This was too much for Sam, and he stood up, ‘Come on, lad, we’ve got work to do.’

As I followed him down the path, he lit his pipe but said nothing. We busied ourselves in the barn without saying a word. Every so often, he would stop and look at my new toolbox. Finally, he muttered something I didn’t hear.

‘What was that?’ I quizzed.

‘If she survived, why didn’t she come home?’ he asked, puffing hard on his pipe.

‘She had no recollection of who she was when she came to. The young man who found her was in trouble with the law. She stayed with him, and only remembered her true identity just before she gave birth to Mic’s mother. Then she died in childbirth.’

We carried on working silently for the rest of that day. At about four o’clock Sam tossed his pipe on the bench. ‘You reckon she is who she says she is?’ he asked.

‘If she’s not, she’s a bloody good actress,’ I replied. ‘She knew exactly where we’d find
Erewhon
’s missing keel. She reckoned her Nana told her.’

Sam took his penknife out of his pocket and, without even looking, swooped his pipe off the bench. He scraped away at the sooty contents of the bowl and tapped it into the rubbish bin. He then stuffed a wad of fresh tobacco into the bowl and lit up. ‘This bloody yacht will put me in the nut-house! So how did you know about Jack’s mark then?’

‘Mic told me that Jack Mickeljohn likes what we’re doing and has decided to keep an eye on me. He did the inlay while I was asleep.’ Sam’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. ‘Don’t
take it too seriously, Sam,’ I suggested. ‘Just accept that we don’t know everything!’

Sam laughed. ‘You’re right, young fella, dead right. Anyway, just look at the time. That’ll do for the day.’ He placed his apron in his toolbox. ‘Turn the lights out when you leave, lad,’ he called as he stepped through the door.

‘Righto. I’ll just put another lick of varnish on my box.’

As I lightly sanded the beautiful timber, I became aware of someone else in the barn. I turned, but I couldn’t see anyone. I carried on. The barn became eerily quiet, apart from my gentle rubbing, back and forth. The beautiful grain of the timber gradually disappeared under the velvet surface. Mic came to see what I was up to, and as she watched she whispered, ‘Nana says Jack wants you to use your sanding block.’

‘Is he here now?’ I asked.

Mic nodded.

I walked over to the bench, unwrapped my new cork block, wrapped it in a fresh piece of sandpaper, and carried on. Mic headed for the door. ‘Jenny said dinner will be early. She’s going out. Six o’clock!’

I finished sanding and looked around for the varnish and brush. I wasn’t happy with the varnish, but it was all that we had, and I wanted to get the job done. As I dipped the brush into the golden liquid, there was a clatter on the shelf behind me. I turned to find an empty can had fallen to the ground. I picked it up and noticed it had a stocking tucked inside. I pondered for a few seconds, and it then dawned on me that Jack wanted me to strain the old varnish. This was really spooky. I grabbed the stocking, stretched it tight over the tin, and poured the amber fluid through. I waited for another sign, but nothing came, so I turned back to the box and started to apply a coat. The grain in the timber danced to the surface again as the varnish flowed.

By the time I’d finished, it was looking great. I took one last look at my toolbox as I headed for the door. It was already six, and I was starving. I leaned on the barn door, only to find it stuck fast. ‘Bloody thing,’ I muttered, as I gave it a shove with my shoulder. It wouldn’t budge. I stood back, about to give it a kick, when I heard another rattle on the bench.

The tin I’d put the brush in was on its side, and the thinners was dripping down the front of the bench. ‘Jack!’ I called, ‘What have I done wrong now?’ As I mopped up the mess, a bottle on the shelf tipped onto its side. I picked it up and read the label. Brush cleaner. Jack wanted me to clean the brush properly before I left the barn.
Bloody hell
, I thought.
Not only do I have Sam to answer to, but now Jack’s going to be on my case as well.
This time, when I walked over to the door, it swung open.

Dad was home early and was sitting beside the pool with a can of his favourite in his hand. ‘Had a good day?’ he asked.

‘It’s been eventful, if not productive,’ I answered, as I swooped on a spare can on the table and tore off the tab. ‘We filled Sam in on Mic’s identity.’

‘Must be hard for the old fellow to comprehend.’

I nodded. ‘We made progress on the hull, though.’

‘Good!’

The next day, Dad arranged for Chisel Crookshank to bring his portable mill out and slice the old beams into planking. As expected, Chisel was late. Hepi always reckoned Chisel would never cut a finger off: the saw would get tired of waiting for him to put his hand in the way. Sam had known him for years—they were long-time friends—and, like Sam, Chisel smoked a pipe. The two of them stood admiring the beams as they stoked their bowls and lit up.

‘Haven’t seen beams that long for many a day,’ Chisel commented. ‘Where did you find them?’

‘Jim’s Maori mate had them stashed away for a rainy day,’ Sam replied, with a chuckle.

‘It almost seems a sin to cut them up. Are we lopping them in half or thirds?’

‘Not on your nelly,’ Sam replied. ‘I just want you to run them into planking—full length!’

‘What are you building, Noah’s ark?’

‘No, we’ve got something a lot prettier to repair. You’d better come and have a look.’

Like a couple of old tramp steamers, the two men disappeared into the barn in a cloud of smoke.

‘Bloody hell, that’s
Erewhon
! Where did you find her? She was supposed to have sunk somewhere off North Cape.’

‘That’s the legend, but she’s here now, and that’s a fact,’ Sam chuckled.

Chisel circled the hull until he came to the hole. ‘Jeez, Sam, it looks like she should have remained a legend.’

‘We’ve got a little work to do to get her floating again, but if you can run those beams into some decent planking, I reckon we’re in with a chance.’