by M. D. Lee
“Fisher Shoemaker,” Jo says with the seriousness of a Sunday preacher. “Don’t go messin’ with the dead. There’s something spooky about this island, and if you start poking at old graves, it sure as sin ain’t gonna to do us any good.”
I throw my legs over the stone wall anyway. “I just want a closer look. It’s not like I’m going to dig up their graves.” She just shakes her head.
Kneeling down at the closest flat stone, I carefully brush off some of the dirt and dried grass. It’s hard to tell, but it looks like there might have been some engravings in the stone. Some letters and numbers are clearer than others, but I can’t make out enough of them to know what it says. Sara and Jo stay where they are, not saying anything, just watching.
Slowly standing up I have a look around. I see a stone more in the middle of the graveyard that looks like it might be in better shape. Being as careful as I can, I move over toward it while trying not to step on anything that might be a grave. Those stupid late-night black and white movies are still racing through my brain. But this time it’s the ones where a boney hand suddenly reaches out of a mound of dirt grabbing the victim’s legs. I realize my heart is racing even though I’m moving slowly and cautiously between stones.
At the stone in the middle, I reach down and brush it off too. On this stone, there seems to be something other than letters engraved into it. I brush around it a little more carefully and realize it’s a face carved into the stone. Not a creepy face like I’d seen in the window, but just a simple face with eyes, ears, some hair, his chin, and a large nose. A nose!
“I think I found something.” I look back at the girls.
“Well. What is it?” Jo calls back.
“A nose—as in, Under the old man’s nose.”
“What do you mean you found a nose?” Sara calls from the side of the small stone wall.
“It’s a carving of a face, and on it there’s, well, a nose that seems to be sticking out. Or at least at one time there was a nose. It’s worn a bit.”
“And you think Blarney Bart hid the money in the grave?” Sara asks. “Pirates would do some pretty bad things, but I don’t know if they’d hide anything in a grave.”
Jo runs a hand through her red hair. “If I were a pirate that’s exactly where I’d hide the treasure. In a grave. Who’s going to have the guts to dig that up?”
“I have to agree with Jo,” I say looking back at the flat headstone. “If I were hiding treasure, this is where I’d bury it. Right in some boney skeleton’s arms.”
I take a deep breath and let out a sigh. “So what do we do now?” The girls just stare at me kneeling by the short stone wall.
Sara breaks the silence. “I think we should just leave it, and sail home. This was a fun sailing trip, but we don’t have the right to dig up someone’s grave.”
Jo turns to Sara like she’s ready to fight. “That’s a truckload of money to just walk away from, missy.”
“Fine,” Sara says almost shouting. “If you want it so bad, you dig it up. But you’re the one who’s terrified of ghost pirates. I saw the look on your face when that schooner appeared out of the fog. Tough-as-nails Jo was shaking in her boots. Go ahead; march in there and dig it up.”
Jo crosses her arms tightly and squints hard at Sara. “I outta—”
“GIRLS!” They both snap their heads toward me with a glare. “Let’s talk this through. Maybe it’s not even a grave. Maybe it’s supposed to look like a grave so no one thinks there’s treasure here. It doesn’t actually have to be a grave, it just needs to look like a grave. Right?”
Jo’s arms uncross. “Fisher could be right. Maybe it’s just supposed to look like a grave so no one finds it.”
“So if that’s the case,” Sara says. “who’s going to be the one to dig and find out if that theory’s right or wrong?”
I stand up. “I guess I could. I’ve the most experience with skeletons and dead bodies. I don’t want to, but I’m not willing to leave treasure behind. I’ll do it.”
Jo says, “What do you mean you’ve got experience with dead bodies and skeletons?”
“He saw the police chief shoving a body into a car,” Sara says a matter-of -factly.
“And there was the plane wreck with two pilots’ skeletons still in their seats,” I add.
Jo nearly falls backwards. “What goes on up here in Maine? Does everyone bump into dead bodies?”
“No. Just Fisher,” Sara says.
“Wait a minute. I can explain.” I don’t like her tone. I take a step back and suddenly the dirt under my foot gives way. Before I realize it a huge hole is opening up and I’m falling through it with dirt cascading around me. I’m falling into a grave!
Chapter 14
Exploring The Island
I land on my back with a solid thud. The wind is knocked out of me and I can hardly breathe. The dirt around the opening has stopped falling in and I’m about four feet below. For a split second it’s quiet except for the booming of my heartbeat exploding in my head. It’s dark down here and the daylight seems to be swallowed up by the black dirt. Terror grips me at the thought of being in a grave. I could be lying on top of a body. Suddenly both Sara and Jo’s heads appear above me and they outstretch their hands.
“Grab on!” Jo shouts down to me. Grabbing both their hands they yank me hard while my feet try and scramble up the loose dirt. In a second I’m back in daylight lying on my side next to the hole covered head to toe in black dirt.
Gasping between heavy breaths, I ask, “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” Jo says. “One minute you’re there, the next you were gone.”
Sara peers down into the hole. “For some reason it must have been just a hollow hole. It’s actually not very big. But when you stepped on it, your weight broke through.”
Jo looks at me up and down then sniffs the air. “Ugh! What’s that smell? You stink like pee.” She then picks at my arm, but I don’t see what it is. “And you have these little hairs all over you.”
She’s right. In addition to being covered in black dirt, I’ve got all these little hairs stuck to me. From behind us there’s suddenly a sound like chattering teeth and the three of us quickly turn around to see poking out from behind the stone wall a small angry head covered in fur.
Jo points and yells, “It’s a ground hog. You fell in a ground hog hole. It must’ve been his den.” She starts laughing hysterically. “Boy, oh boy, he’s mad at you.”
“It wasn’t that funny. But why would a ground hog dig his home in an old grave?” I ask as I brush dirt off me.
Sara says, “I read somewhere that ground hogs are considered lazy, so they’ll dig their dens wherever it’s easiest, like farm fields that were just turned. That’s why farmers hate them so much.”
“I’m with the farmers on that one,” I add.
Sara continues, “The dirt around the old grave must have been loose enough it was a good place for him to dig his den.
Sara looks at the flat headstone then starts to brush it with her hand then she gets down on her hands and knees and gives it a hard blow. “There’s no money buried here, just a ground hog hole,” she says sitting up.
“How can you be so sure?” I ask.
She points to the headstone. “Because. The date on this stone is 1803. According to our logbook the tax money was taken from the French in 1716. This grave was put here more than one hundred years after.”
“Are you sure?” I lean in next to Sara to have a look. She’s right. Below the carved face there’s a date of 1803.
“That solves the problem of who’s going to dig up the grave,” I say with a weak smile. Jo is already standing outside of the stone wall waiting for us.
Once we’re standing a ways from the little graveyard we look in several directions of the island trying to decide what our next move will be. At the moment, we’re almost at the very south end.
“This island is really narrow,” I say. “Maybe only two or three hundred
yards. Why don’t we split up? That way we can cover more ground a little faster. I’ll take the far shore.” I point to the eastern edge of the island on the other side of the cove. “Jo, why don’t you go straight up the middle. And Sara can take the west shore.”
“And we’ll meet at the narrow part of the island,” Sara adds. “At about the middle of the island it’s almost split into two islands, but not quite.”
“Okay. See you there.” I head off toward the east shore.
Sara calls from a ways off, “Remember. Under the old man’s nose.” I touch my nose in response. How could I possibly forget “under the old man’s nose” after falling into a hole that I thought was the old man’s nose?
There’s not too much to this island. It’s all just a lot of rocks with some grassy areas. It’s still kind of weird there are no trees anywhere. The tide seems to be halfway out, so I walk just below the tide-line across wet rocks. Off to my left I can just barely see Jo working her way up the middle of the island.
Watching her, I wonder about her dad’s sport-fish charter business. I’m not too sure what exactly that is. I mean, I’ve seen it on TV on Sundays watching ABC’s American Sportsman where they usually take some famous football player out on a big boat, strap him down to the fighting chair, and then give him a fishing pole. Within minutes, the football player’s hooked a big sailfish as it leaps out of the water into the sunny Florida sunshine. I wonder if that’s what Jo does. That could be kinda cool.
Sara never told me she had family in North Carolina. I guess there might be a lot I still don’t know about Sara. Most times I still can’t figure out what she really wants, and there are plenty of times I know I’ve done something wrong, but I just don’t know what exactly. Like, I’ve always heard girls always love getting little gifts, so a few months ago I saved up some money and got her the new Clash album, London Calling. What girl doesn’t like The Clash? She acted like I gave her a bag of steaming manure. I know she doesn’t have a turntable at her house, but I told her she could keep it at my house and we could listen to it whenever she wanted. Her loss; I’ve listened to it plenty and love it. I just don’t get it, though. I wish she came with a set of instructions so I could figure out what’s going on.
I’ve been walking the shore for about a half hour now, and I still haven’t come across anywhere where a pirate might hide their loot. And certainly nothing that makes any sense about under an old man’s nose. It’s too bad it’s not like the cartoons where there’s a big X that marks the spot. The shoreline where I’m walking is starting to curve in toward the middle where the island is ‘pinched’ together. Jo’s also a little closer now that the island’s curving inward.
Putting my hands to my mouth, I call, “Any luck?”
“Does it look like it?” Jo says sticking her tongue out at me.
Why does she have to be like that? Jo can just keep marching right up the middle of the island until she falls in, for all I care.
There are some larger boulders up ahead, so I climb over them and sit down on the edge. This looks like a good place to take a little break. The day has warmed up nicely, and there’s just a little surf rolling in sending white water into the air. With the tide half out, there’s a strong salty smell to the air so I take a deep breath filling my lungs. Aah.
Jo sits down next to me, but doesn’t say anything. Crap. I thought she would have kept going. Facing out to the water we silently watch the waves crashing on nearby rocks.
Turning to look at me, Jo runs a hand through her red hair. “I’ll ask it again; why don’t you like me?”
“What?” Why does she have to ask that again? Why can’t she just sit here and watch the surf. I shake my head, “I don’t—”
Suddenly she places both her hands on my face, and before I even know what’s going on, she’s kissing me! She’s kissing me? My mind suddenly goes into overdrive as I feel her soft lips against mine.
My brain feels like it’s short circuiting with emotions. I quickly pull away and jump up. “What are you doing?” With a sly grin across her face, she doesn’t say anything and just raises an eyebrow.
“Sara’s my girlfriend! You can’t do that!”
“I just did, Fisher. Would you relax? It’s just a stupid kiss.”
“You’re crazy,” I shout. I quickly lower my voice because I know Sara must be close. “This whole time you’ve been busting my chops about everything. Then you go and do this?”
She stands up facing me. “I thought it’d be funny to see how you react. And I’m right; it is funny. Besides, it’s no big deal; in a few weeks I’ll be back in North Carolina and we’ll probably never see each other again.” This time she grabs both my hands and pulls me in for a second kiss.
This isn’t right. I know I shouldn’t be doing this and I should pull away, but for some reason I don’t. When I open my eyes, I can’t believe what I’m seeing right in front of me. Geez!
Chapter 15
Under the Nose
I pull away from Jo and make sure I’m standing far enough away from her she can’t grab me again. “Would you stop doing that!”
“The way you were kissing me back it sure didn’t seem like you minded,” she says with a smirk.
“Just stop it and look.” I point past her at a large boulder. “What do you see?”
Jo looks to where I’m pointing, and says in a slow southern drawl, “A big ol’ rock.”
“Look at it again. What do you really see?”
She puts her hands to her hips. “Well, sweet lightning.” She gasps as she looks even harder at the boulder. “It’s the Old Man. The way the rock is formed it looks like an old man.”
“Right,” I say as I scramble over closer to it. I place my hand on the lower part of the large rock. “And right here is his beard.” Then I put my hand on a large part sticking out. “And this is—”
Jo interrupts, “His nose. We’re gonna be rich. Wha-who!”
“YEAH!” I pump a fist into the air. Suddenly my head is spinning at the thought of all the treasure we’re going to find, and I start to jump around and do a little dance. Jo also starts doing a funny little dance with me. Without thinking I grab her and give her a big hug. She hugs me back.
“Hey, guys. What’s going on?” Sara says as she climbs over a boulder. “I heard you shouting, so…”
Sara! My mind races fast, and I grab her too and all three of us are in a big hug. That was too close. Sara looks surprised and smiles. I think she bought it.
“We found it! We’re going to be rich!” I sing.
“Found what?” Sara questions.
I point to the boulder. “The Old Man. It’s right under his nose.” Sara turns around and stares at the boulder. “Oh my gosh, you’re right.”
Now that I have a closer look, I can see the way the Old Man boulder is resting on other larger rocks, there’s a big opening beneath it. It’s sort of like a cave, but not really because it’s actually just a large gap between boulders. The three of us, on hands and knees, crowd around the opening looking in. From out here it looks like it might go a long ways back, but it’s too dark in there to really tell.
“It’s as dark as the bottom of a molasses barrel,” Jo says. “Treasure or no treasure, I’m sure as heck not going in there without a flashlight.”
“She’s right,” Sara says peering into the dark. “It doesn’t pay to go in there until we have some light.”
“I’m just going to see if I can see anything.” Slowly I crawl in hoping my eyes will adjust to the inky darkness. About ten feet in, BANG, I crack my head into a low part of the rock. “Ow.” I groan. There’s no sense in banging my head any worse, so I back out.
“What did you see?” Sara asks helping me to my feet.
Rubbing the sore spot on my head, I say, “I didn’t see the rock in front of my head. We better head back to the boat and get some flashlights.”
*
It’s taken us almost an hour and a half to return to the leaky ding
y, row out, find the flashlights, then hike all the way back here. While we are walking back toward the Old Man, just like it usually does this time of year, a heavy fog begins to creep in. At least now we’re not out on the water trying to find our way between splashing surf that’s trying to crash the boat. But the gray covers the island like a damp blanket making it almost impossible to tell the difference between land and sky; it’s all just gray. Somewhere off on the mainland the sound of a fog horn carries all the way out here. Noises seem to be amplified by the heavy air; bell-buoys that are miles away on the water sound like they’re just around the next corner.
Now with flashlights in hand, our excitement has eased from when we first found The Nose. We’re no longer talking nonstop about all the things we’re going to do with the money. We’ve calmed down a bit each in our own thoughts.
My mind, of course, keeps drifting back to Jo’s kiss. I know it’s not right; I’m going out with Sara. I don’t want to mess that up. But Jo’s kiss was—a smile breaks across my face. Then a thought occurs to me, and it suddenly becomes crystal clear. I clench my fist so tight my knuckles hurt.
It’s just another way she’s messing with my head. And it’s working perfectly. Is she that brilliant at messing with guys’ heads? Jo. I don’t understand that chic. She says one thing then does something else. I better watch my step around her. The more I think about it the less I’m starting to like her. Even less than when she first stepped aboard the boat. I had only known her a minute before she was giving me a hard time.
Sara grabs my elbow snapping me out of my thoughts. “It’s a good thing this island is narrow because in this fog it’d take us a week to find our way back to The Old Man.”
In this heavy murk, as we hike along the path, rocks and boulders materialize out of the colorless gray like ghosts. My heart skips a beat when a low shrub ahead of us, appears from nowhere, its branches, at first glance, looked like arms reaching out for us. I chuckle pointing at the shrub. “Look, Sara, it’s Blarney Bart. I’m going to slice you to pieces, Sara Banks,” I say in my best pirate’s voice.
