Jenny's Choice (Apple Creek Dreams #3)

by Patrick E. Craig

  “For all the years I wasn’t a very good mother because…of my drinking.”

  Jonathan looked at her with surprise. She had always been so good at denying her problem and blaming others, especially his dad, so the admission was startling. “Mom, you don’t have to—”

  She put her fingers to his lips. “Yes, Jonathan, I do. I hurt you terribly. I know that. And I blamed your father, I blamed his work, his affairs—I blamed everyone, even you. But I never was willing to admit that it was me. I was the one with the problem. So I kept drinking. When your father got sick, he had to stop traveling, and he gave up his girlfriends in his other ‘ports of call,’ so to speak. I think he was really sorry for all the years he was unfaithful, and when he changed, I realized I didn’t have an excuse to stay drunk. I started going to AA and got some help. When they talked about turning my life over to a higher power, that wasn’t enough for me. I wanted to put a name and a face to it. And I saw how you turned your life around with your new faith, so I started looking. I found a pastor who helped me see the truth about who God really is and what His Son did for me and I…well, Johnny, I’m a Christian now.”

  Jonathan looked at his mother in complete shock, and then the reality of what she had just told him sunk in. He reached over and took his mom into an embrace and held her tight.

  “Mom, that’s wonderful. That’s amazing!”

  They stayed like that for a long moment, and then she pulled back and reached for a hanky in her jacket pocket.

  “What does Dad think?”

  “Well, he’s glad that I’ve found something that works for me, as he puts it, but he’s never gone further than that—until the last few weeks,” she said as she dabbed her eyes. “I think he’s staring his own mortality in the face. He knows the cancer is going to kill him in a few months, so he’s been asking me to pray for him. There’s so much between us that it’s hard for me to broach the subject to him, so I was hoping you could talk to him.”

  Jonathan looked at her and then silently thanked the Lord. You are the One who answers prayer!

  Down in the engine compartment, Jack and Terry listened to the number two engine.

  “Does she sound rough to you?” Jack asked.

  “Yeah, but it could just be that the new shaft needs to seat itself,” Terry said.

  “Well, keep an eye on it. I don’t want anything to spoil this trip.”

  The two men turned out the light and climbed out of the hold.

  Deep in the heart of engine number two, the new crankshaft continued to rotate with the plunging of the pistons. The tiny crack on the shaft, unnoticed at installation, began to open a millimeter at a time, distorting the shaft and throwing the assembly slightly out of balance. As it did, the minor vibration became more noticeable.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Lost

  THE GREY-GREEN SEA ROLLED IN long smooth swells beneath the Mistral as the boat powered out around Montauk Point and headed south toward Cape Hatteras. They passed Gardiner’s Island well before dawn and now, three hours later, a gloomy, dark morning had arrived. A slight drizzle drifted in off the North Atlantic. The chill of a winter not yet dead bit Jonathan’s face as he stood on the foredeck watching the gulls circle behind the boat as it raced through the waves. Their plaintive cries whirled away on the wind, and the sea looked ominous and dead.

  How did I end up on a yacht headed for the Outer Banks of North Carolina? This wasn’t in the plan. I was supposed to spend a week in Sag Harbor and then go home.

  Suddenly a great longing to see Jenny and Rachel swept over him like one of the swells rolling endlessly by. Lost in his thoughts, Jonathan didn’t hear anything until he felt a hand touch him on the shoulder. He turned to see Gerald waiting solicitously.

  “We have some breakfast ready, Mister Jonathan,” he said. “Eggs, bacon, and pancakes, orange juice, and coffee.”

  Jonathan hadn’t thought he would be able to eat much when he first came aboard, given the constant motion of the boat, but the fresh air and the biting sea breeze had done their work.

  “That actually sounds good, Gerald,” Jonathan said. “Tell my mother I’ll be right in.”

  As Gerald headed back to the galley, Jonathan once more pondered his circumstances. He thought of his long, strange, wonderful journey since leaving Long Island eleven years before—the season in San Francisco trying to find himself, the unfulfilled dreams of success in the music industry, the death of Shub Jackson in that seedy motel in Pacifica, California, and the flight across country from the drug dealers that led him to Ohio. And then I met Jenny in Apple Creek, we found her grandfather, and I became Amish!

  Jonathan smiled. It was definitely the stuff novels were made of—certainly not real life. There were just so many coincidences! But then he remembered something Jerusha had once told him: Coincidence is just God choosing to remain anonymous.

  “So true,” Jonathan said as he made his way amidships.

  Terry listened to the number two engine. It was definitely running a little rough. He thought about shutting her down but decided against it. It would add a couple of hours to the trip, and he wanted to get into port as quickly as possible. The last he heard on the radio, the weather front was turning again and heading toward New Jersey. That was not welcome news. The Mistral was seaworthy, but he didn’t want to be out in a gale. And the vibration from number two bothered him. The new crankshaft probably just hasn’t seated right. I’ll check it again in an hour, he thought as he climbed the ladder out of the hold and turned off the light.

  Inside the engine, the microscopic crack opened another millimeter, throwing the shaft slightly further out of balance. The distortion caused the ramps on the shaft to rub against the valve lifters unevenly, and after a while, a tiny red spot developed in the metal as the shaft heated up.

  Jonathan sat with his father at the table. They had eaten quietly with little small talk, and now they drank their coffee. Jonathan’s father stared out the curved window at the sea. Jonathan was about to say something to break the silence when his father spoke.

  “Has your mother talked to you about her…conversion?”

  “Yes she has, Dad,” Jonathan replied. “I think it’s great.”

  “Well, it seems to have made a difference, that’s for sure,” his father continued. “For one thing, she doesn’t drink anymore. But the thing that amazes me is that she found it in her heart to forgive all my indiscretions. That’s what I can’t figure out. She should hate me after what I put her through. Maybe you didn’t know, but I—”

  “I knew all about it, Dad,” Jonathan said quietly. “It was pretty obvious. I think it was the main reason why you and I didn’t really have a relationship. I saw what it was doing to Mom, and I guess I hated you for it. You were gone, enjoying yourself, and I had to stay home with a mother who got drunk and fell asleep in the middle of the kitchen floor with the food burning on the stove.”

  “I know, son,” his father said, tears forming at the edges of his eyes. “And I want you to know how sorry I am. I hope you can forgive me. When you’re staring death in the face, your past has a way of slapping you around.”

  “Dad, I forgave you a long time ago,” Jonathan said. He hesitated and then went on, watching the look on his father’s face. “When I became a Christian, I learned that forgiveness and grace are the most important qualities a man can have in his life. I found it out when I discovered how much I needed to be forgiven.”

  “What did you need to be forgiven for? You were always a pretty good kid.”

  “The Bible tells us all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God,” Jonathan said. “All you need to do is look at the Ten Commandments, and you’ll understand.”

  “What do you mean, son?”

  “Well, for instance, I would be willing to bet that everyone I know would confess to stealing something.”

  “Sure,” his father said. “I know I have.”

  “If you have, what does that make you?”
/>   “A thief, I guess.”

  “Have you ever told a lie?”

  “Yeah, well, I had to tell a lot of lies when I was cheating on your mother.”

  “And speaking of that, have you ever committed adultery?”

  His father’s face flushed, and he looked away. “You know the answer to that.”

  “So, Dad, by your own admission, you are a thief, a liar, and an adulterer. You’ve broken at least three of God’s laws and deserve to be punished. Now if God is a just God, which He is, He can’t let you off the hook until the penalty is paid. So that means you’ll be kept out of His heaven until your debt is paid off.”

  “That’s what bothers me about this, son. With all my faults, it seems like there’s no way to get out from under it.”

  “That’s the amazing thing, Dad.” Jonathan was warming to his task. “God loved you so much He became a man and died in your place. When Jesus went to the cross, He carried every sin ever committed to the cross with Him. And if you believe He died for your sins, that He rose from the grave because He had no sin and death couldn’t hold Him, and if you believe He is alive today, you can be forgiven. It’s that easy, and the truth is, it’s your only hope.”

  “But don’t I have to join a church like you did and become a holy Joe?”

  “The Amish church doesn’t save me, Dad. No church can do that. I’m saved by faith in Jesus Christ alone, not by any works. I love the Amish faith because the Ordnung, the rules, give me reference points by which to steer my life, like stars in the night sky for a sailor. I love the simplicity, the separation from what’s becoming a truly wicked world. But it doesn’t save me. Only Jesus can do that.”

  “That makes sense,” Jonathan’s father said. “A lot of sense.”

  In the wheelhouse, Jack and Terry watched as the storm clouds began to bear down on the Mistral.

  “I knew that front wasn’t going to keep going south,” Terry said with a scowl. “In about fifteen minutes we’re going to be in the middle of it.”

  Even as he spoke the first heavy drops of rain splashed on the windshield. The pennants on the running gear flapped and twisted in the stiff wind that had sprung up. Jack looked to the west. The Jersey shore was just visible on the horizon.

  “We need to get in closer to shore.”

  “Yeah, but it shoals up as we head down to the Banks,” Terry replied. “We’ll get into a bad chop when the waves start piling up in front of this wind.”

  “I know, but I don’t want to be too far out if we need to get into a harbor. Stay up here and let’s both keep our eyes peeled for shallow water.”

  Terry pulled out the navigation maps as Jack turned the boat west and headed in toward the mouth of the Chesapeake. Every other concern was forgotten, including engine number two.

  Down in the hold, a strange glow illuminated the darkness. A small spot glowed red on the side of engine number two where metal rubbed on metal inside the crankcase. The engine whined as the distorted crank wore against the restrainers that held it in place. The temperature of the hot spot climbed above 200 degrees centigrade, and the lubricating oil splashed on this hot spot and vaporized. The oil vapor circulated to a cooler part of the crankcase, where it condensed into a white oil mist. The oil droplets in the mist were very small and very explosive. As the Mistral labored through the growing seas, the temperature inside the engine climbed steadily higher.

  Topside, the boat moved up and down with the surging of the swells that now pounded through in front of the coming storm. Spray flew up as the bow lifted on the crest of each wave and then splashed down into the following trough. The wind picked up and the rain poured down. White foam formed on the tops of the swells as the wind and the waves collided. Inside the galley, Gerald quickly picked up the remaining breakfast dishes as the boat’s motion caused them to start sliding about on the tabletop.

  Mr. Hershberger looked up from his newspaper at Jonathan. “Looks like we’ve been caught by a bit of weather. Well, we needn’t worry. Jack and Terry are seasoned hands, and they’ll get us through.”

  Despite his father’s calming words, a deep sense of uneasiness filled Jonathan. For some reason a verse from Jude came to his mind: “…raging waves of the sea, foaming out their own shame; wandering stars, to whom is reserved the blackness of darkness for ever.”

  Jonathan felt a sudden quickening of his heartbeat. Something’s going to happen. What is it, Lord?

  Jonathan went to the door of the dining area and stepped out onto the mid-deck. The rain poured down and the wind howled. He watched as the boat plunged through the surging seas. She was seaworthy and making good headway.

  Get us through this, Lord! I need to see Jenny again.

  Jack and Terry steered the boat toward the Jersey shore. Jack looked over at Terry, who called out navigation points.

  “The storm is getting stronger. We have to take her in. What’s the closest harbor?”

  Terry looked at the map. “Longport.”

  “Okay. Set a course for Longport. And get on the horn and call the Coast Guard. Let them know we’re well north of where we expected to be and coming in.”

  Terry picked up the radio and switched it to the Coast Guard band.

  “Hello, U.S. Coast Guard, this is the yacht Mistral out of Sag Harbor, New York. We are—”

  Just then, the weakened crankshaft finally gave way and broke inside the crankcase with a grinding thump. The Mistral gave a lurch and swung to the right. In the wheelhouse, Terry looked over at Jack.

  “What was that?”

  “I think we just lost number two,” Jack said. “We’re in for it now.”

  Terry took two steps toward the door. Just at that moment, the temperature inside the engine climbed to over 900 degrees centigrade, and the oil mist ignited and exploded. When it did, a flame front traveled down the crankcase with a pressure wave in front of it. The turbulence caused by the moving engine components churned and mixed the vapors, increasing the speed of the flame front and its area, which blew the crankcase doors off the engine.

  Topside, the explosion threw Jonathan to the deck. As he lay there, stunned, he saw his mother come out of her stateroom and try to make her way forward.

  At the same time, the initial explosion vented through the engine’s relief valves and the blown-off crankcase doors and sent a large amount of oil mist into the engine room, where it was ignited by a hot exhaust manifold. The explosion of oil mist inside the closed space blew a huge hole in Mistral’s side. Immediately she heeled starboard and started taking on water.

  The explosion and the sudden listing of the boat threw Jonathan off the deck and into the churning waves. Burning diesel fuel filled the surface of the water between him and the boat. Jonathan saw his father lurch out onto the deck.

  “Dad! Dad!”

  From twenty feet away his father looked straight into his eyes and reached his hand toward Jonathan and cried out. Jonathan couldn’t hear him over the wind, but he saw his father’s mouth forming words. “Son, I believe!”

  In the wheelhouse, Terry grabbed the radio as Jack struggled with the boat. Mistral was listing badly as water poured into the hold.

  “Mayday, Mayday,” he shouted. “Yacht Mistral just experienced engine explosion and taking on water. Position is—”

  At that instant the flames from the burning diesel below deck ignited the propane tank, and the Mistral exploded with a huge roar. Jonathan struggled in the water. He felt burning oil on his face. He looked up as the broken radar mast came flying toward him. He cried out Jenny’s name just before the mast crashed down on top of him and he sank into blackness.

  The grey-green waves rolled over the wreck as Mistral sank. Within seconds there was nothing left except some floating pieces of wreckage driving west before the howling wind.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  News

  JENNY WAS UP AT FIRST LIGHT, making her morning coffee after another troubled night. She still hadn’t heard from Jonathan. Before he lef
t he promised he would call the General Store and leave a message for her to let her know when he would be arriving home, but when Lem had checked there was no message.

  Jenny sat at the kitchen table sipping her coffee and reading her Bible when she heard a car pull in the long driveway. She went to the living room to look out the window. Fear clutched at her when she saw the boxy white car with the red light on top and the state police lettering on the side. The car came to a stop in front of the house, and two uniformed troopers climbed out. Jenny watched as they came across the lawn and up on the porch. There was a knock on the door.

  No! I’m not going to answer it! I’ll stay inside, and they’ll go away and everything will be fine. Jonathan’s just fine.

  Even as the terrible thoughts crowded in on her, she walked to the door and opened it.

  “Mrs. Hershberger?” one of the officers asked.

  “Yes…”

  “Are you the wife of Jonathan Hershberger?”

  “Yes. What’s this about?”

  “Was Mr. Hershberger recently in Sag Harbor, Long Island?”

  “Yes, he was,” Jenny said. “Officer, please—”

  “Wait just a minute, ma’am,” the other officer said. “We just have to confirm that we’re talking to the right person before we can give you any details.”

  “What details? Has something happened?”

  “We’re not sure, ma’am,” the first officer said. “It seems that Ronald and Francis Hershberger left Sag Harbor early Tuesday morning headed for North Carolina on their boat, the Mistral. They were supposed to check in with their housekeeper Tuesday night to let her know they had arrived, but they never called. The Coast Guard station in Beach Haven, New Jersey, picked up a distress call from the yacht Mistral out of Sag Harbor around three p.m. Tuesday afternoon. It seems there had been an engine explosion, but before Mistral could state her position, the radio went dead.”

  The second officer continued. “The Coast Guard checked with the harbormaster in Sag Harbor. Jack Clarkson, the captain of the Mistral, filed a cruise plan, and their destination was Ocracoke Island in North Carolina. It seems the Hershbergers had a vacation place down there. The Mistral was a fast boat and could cruise at thirty-five knots, so the Coast Guard plotted a course and they have planes and boats out looking in the area where they should have been.”