The Forgotten Daughter

by Lauri Robinson

  The boat slid down the sandy slope into the water next to the dock. After closing the double doors, he jogged along the sand and jumped onto the wooden planks of the dock, catching the boat as it floated close. “Go ahead and climb in,” he told Josie, holding the boat steady with a rope.

  She did so without mishap, and sat down on the farthest of the three plank seats that stretched from side to side. “Don’t you want one of the boats with motors?” she asked.

  Nightingale’s had several boats with motors that they rented out to guests, and he’d purposely chosen ones with only paddles. “No,” he said, stepping down into the boat.

  “Why?”

  Settled on the center seat, he held out a hand for her to pass him the equipment. “Because of these. Fire and gas don’t mix.”

  She nodded and looked away.

  After stuffing the fuses and punks in his pocket again, he grasped both oar handles.

  Dac waved from his boat nearby. “All set?”

  “All set,” Scooter answered. Dusk hung on for hours during the summer. It would be some time before it was dark enough to set off the fireworks, but getting them all set up would take time.

  Josie was facing him, and as if that bothered her, she kicked up her feet and, without standing up, she spun around to face the other way. The beads on her green headdress clicked together. He laughed. “You can take that silly thing off your head.”

  One hand rose and she patted her head, then the other one rose and she pulled the headdress off. Setting it on the bench beside her, she fluffed up her hair with both hands. “This is all fireworks?” she asked, referring to the cargo filling the bow in front of her.

  Her hair was the color of sunshine and bobbed near her shoulders. Why she’d wanted to cover it up with those pond-green beads was beyond Scooter. Then again, why she did most things was beyond him. “Yes,” he answered. “It’s all fireworks.”

  “What’s in Dac’s boat?”

  “More of the same.”

  She turned to look at him over her shoulder. “Isn’t that a lot?”

  “It’s what you ordered.”

  Nodding, she turned back around. “Twyla wanted it to be a day no one will forget.”

  “Twyla wants every day to be one no one will forget,” he said.

  She twirled back around, her knees folded so her feet didn’t skim the bench as she spun. The action caused a bit of her thigh to show and Scooter averted his gaze. Momentarily. A strong force had his eyes going right back.

  Josie was facing him now, so he focused on keeping his eyes on her face. Which was almost as disturbing. She was so pretty. Always had been. Every part of her was eye-catching and more than a bit appealing.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Say what?” He honestly didn’t know. Another glimpse of her shapely thigh had burned a hole in his brain.

  “That Twyla wants every day to be one no one will forget,” she said. “What’s wrong with that? It is her wedding day.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he said. “And it will end with a bang.”

  Crossing her arms, Josie lifted her chin. “You could have said no.”

  Momentarily confused, he asked, “To what?”

  “Setting off the fireworks,” she said. “I could have found someone else.”

  That galled Scooter. She could have asked someone else, and they’d readily have agreed. Saying no to her ranked up there with saying no to her father. Very few men did that, and those who did faced the penalty. Just ask Jeb Smith, who was rotting in the hoosegow and would be for years. Although Jeb had had it coming. He’d attempted to double-cross Roger. Smitty, as Jeb was known, had run shine for years for Roger, until he’d decided to start skimming bottles off the top and reselling them himself. He’d boasted about refusing to tell Roger who he was selling the “extras” to when Scooter had filled his tank one night, mere hours before he got arrested in St. Paul.

  “I could have, you know,” Josie said. “You’re not the only one who knows how to light fireworks.”

  “I know,” Scooter answered. He also knew the consequences of not being on the up-and-up when it came to her father. Roger took pride knowing what was going on in all aspects of his business, and Scooter imagined that when it came to someone claiming his actions had put one of his daughters in danger, Roger would be furious. “But you didn’t,” he said, almost with remorse. He should have told Roger what he’d discovered right after talking to that trucker, whether the man would have wanted to hear it or not. Now, after this length of time, Roger could claim that Scooter withholding the information was just as bad as attempting to double-cross him.

  Josie fidgeted, but kept her arms crossed. “Only because Twyla suggested I ask you.”

  “Back to Twyla again, are we?” That was fine with Scooter. It was a safer subject than the one rolling around in his head. “The life of the party. The center of attention. That’s Twyla.” Leaning closer, while still rowing with both arms, he continued, “While you, Miss Josie Nightingale, love being the mouse in the corner. You don’t want anyone to see you, but you certainly don’t want to miss anything, either.”

  “I do not.” Shaking her head, she insisted, “I don’t care what I miss, and I do not hide in the corner.”

  “Yes, you do,” he said. “You hide and you listen. Your only saving grace is that you rarely repeat what you’ve heard.”

  Her lips pinched together as she glared at him.

  He chuckled. “Cat got your tongue?”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “Did you know the British proclaimed the Germans had cats and dogs spying on them during the war?” he asked.

  She unfolded her arms and fluffed out her skirt around her knees. “You’re making that up.”

  Scooter had no idea why that bit of trivia had entered his mind, but figured it was because he was desperately trying to sidetrack his other thoughts. “I’m not making it up. Ask your uncle Dave.”

  “I will,” she said snootily. “And next time we need fireworks, I’ll ask someone else to organize them.”

  “That’ll be fine by me,” he said.

  “Me, too.”

  Scooter’s fists tightened around the oar handles as he rowed with more vigor. “Call me nuts for saying yes this time,” he muttered.

  “That’s not a very nice thing to say.”

  “Just the truth,” he said. “A man has to be nuts to get tangled up with any of you girls.”

  “Ducky, Scooter,” she sneered.

  “It’s the truth,” he snapped. “Ginger hiding under Brock’s tarp, Twyla and her kissing booth—” He snapped his lips closed. Those were nothing compared to Josie’s escapade. But the way her lips were puckered made him think of kissing her. If Josie had a kissing booth, he’d pay more than a dime. He would have even years ago, when he couldn’t have afforded it. That inner confession didn’t settle well, and he turned his focus back to rowing the boat.

  They were nearing the raft he and Dac had anchored in the center of the lake earlier. Two other boats were already there. Dac’s on one side, and Brock and Ginger’s on the opposite side.

  Josie flashed him a playful smile, before she spun around. “Hey, Brock,” she shouted, “do you know Scooter thinks you’re nuts?”

  “Yep,” Brock shouted in return. “He’s told me that more than once.”

  Scooter leaned forward again. “Satisfied?” he asked, although he was a bit surprised she’d said that to Brock. Josie normally kept her mouth shut. Normally they would have a hard time getting something out of her.

  His brain, which for whatever reason wasn’t functioning as smartly as usual, kicked back into gear. She was mad at him. Had been all day. His attempts to put a stop to her shenanigans must have her seeing red. She’d been trying to start a fight with him, probably so she could finagle a way to make her getaway.

  Glad to once again be thinking straight, Scooter said, “I’m not letting you out of my sight. So get over it.”

 
She didn’t comment, but did stand up and grasp the edge of the raft, to keep the boat stable as it glided to a stop. Brock and Dac had tied the fronts and backs of their boats to the corner posts, keeping the rowboats flush with the floating platform. Scooter did the same to his and Josie’s boat.

  “Applesauce,” Ginger squealed as she climbed onto the raft with Brock’s help. “You have enough fireworks for the entire state, Scooter.”

  “I was just following Josie’s orders,” he said, stepping onto the boards before turning around to offer Josie a hand.

  She took hold of his hand, but once on the floating platform, let go. The raft had been plenty large enough when he and Dac had built it, but now, with all five of them standing on the boards, it seemed to have shrunk.

  “So, what can we do to help?” Ginger asked.

  “You,” Brock said, flicking the end of her nose, “and Josie can sit down on the edge by our boat and stay out of the way while Scooter, Dac and I unload the boats.”

  “All right,” she said, stretching onto her toes to kiss Brock’s chin.

  Scooter couldn’t say he was jealous. Envious would be a better word. Josie would never take kindly to being told to stay out of the way. She’d never, ever, readily agree to it, either.

  Ginger took a hold of Josie’s arm, pulling her toward the side where Brock’s boat was tied. “Let’s sit over here. We can’t lift those heavy crates.”

  Josie’s glare told Scooter how unimpressed she was with her little sister’s immediate compliance. He grinned and lifted a brow.

  She squinted and spun around.

  Before she’d taken more than a step, it dawned on him that she could easily jump in the other boat and start paddling away. He wouldn’t put it past her. Wouldn’t put anything past her. Stepping forward, he grasped her shoulder.

  Stiff as a board, she spun around.

  “Hold these again, would you?” he asked, pulling the fuses and punks from his back pocket. “I don’t want them to get wet.”

  * * *

  Scooter pulled off his suit coat, glad to finally be rid of the thing. The heat of Josie riding behind him on his cycle had somehow become trapped inside his coat, making all sorts of crazy ideas dance in his head. He tossed the coat into his boat before he started directing Dac and Scooter as to which crates to unload first and where to stack them. He kept one eye on the sisters sitting on the edge of the raft, with their feet resting on the bench seats of Brock’s boat. They were doing a lot of whispering, and he wanted to know what they were saying. He’d bet his last gallon of gas Ginger didn’t know anything about Josie’s Duluth trips, but he could be wrong. He had been before when it came to Josie.

  “Those two barrels need to be on this edge,” he told Brock and Dac. “They have the big mortars in them. The ones we’ll use for the grand finale.” Setting down the crate he’d hoisted out of his boat, he further explained, “We’ll start with these crates. They’re full of Roman candles. I built a metal stand so we can launch four at once. That’ll give the crowd a good show. Then we’ll shoot off some sky rockets and torpedoes. I have stands for them, too.”

  “You put a lot of thought into this,” Brock said.

  “As always,” Dac agreed. “Which is why Josie asked him.”

  Josie turned around at the sound of her name, and her eyes went directly to Scooter. He figured the sun must have been warmer than he’d noticed today because all of a sudden his cheeks felt sunburned.

  “You actually had to build stands for the fireworks?” she asked. “Besides this raft?”

  “Yes,” Dac said. “He’s been working on them every spare minute. Up until midnight last night.”

  Scooter wanted to tell Dac to shut up. His cheeks were growing warmer due to the way Josie’s expression had softened. “They’re called fireworks because they involve fire. You can never be too careful when it comes to that.” Looking around, trying to focus on something besides the blue eyes gazing up at him, he muttered, “This thing seemed bigger when we built it.”

  “The raft?” Dac asked.

  “Yes, the raft,” Scooter answered. “Once I set up the stands, there won’t be room for us.”

  “Where are the stands?” Brock asked.

  “In these two crates,” Scooter said. “Along with the tools and hardware I need to assemble them.” Scratching his chin, for the space was awfully small, even with Josie and Ginger sitting off to the side, he added, “Let’s get them put together and we’ll figure out what to do from there.”

  It didn’t take long to bolt the metal pipes he’d cut in varying lengths onto the frames he’d welded. The stands were then bolted to wide square metal bases to keep them from tipping over. The plan was to drop the mortars into the pipe. The bottom of the pipe had several holes for him to light the fuses through. The other pipes, for the sky rockets and candles, held the fireworks upright so they’d shoot skyward when the fuses were lit.

  When it came to fire of any kind, he always took extra precautions. It had been a lesson his father had taught him while he was growing up.

  Once assembled, the stands took up a good amount of space. Scooter was considering all the options, when Josie said, “I have an idea.”

  Chapter Five

  Scooter checked her hands to make sure she wasn’t holding both paddles, preparing to leave, before he asked, “What’s that?”

  “You could set up one stand on each side of the raft,” she said. “Then, you, Dac and Brock could all stand in your boats. You could each light a different kind of firework.”

  While Scooter contemplated the logistics of that idea, Dac, Brock and Ginger started talking, sharing their thoughts on Josie’s suggestion. They all agreed that it wasn’t a bad idea, and would keep the fireworks far enough away from each other. It would also put Josie back in his boat, where he could keep a closer eye on her. He still didn’t trust her not to try to sneak away while he was lighting fuses.

  “All right,” Scooter agreed, having worked through his thoughts. “Dac, you set up the sky rockets to be set off on your side. Brock, you do the Roman candles. I’ll do the torpedoes, along with a couple of the mortars. We’ll keep rotating until the end, then light the rest of the mortars.”

  “Sounds like a great plan,” Brock said. “Josie, you best climb back in Scooter’s boat before we get everything set up. There won’t be room afterward.”

  Scooter was glad Brock had made the suggestion. Josie wouldn’t question Brock to the extent she would him. Without a word of protest, she climbed onto the raft and walked to his boat. She even took his hand to assist her steps down into the boat.

  “I’ll pass out the fuses and punks once everything is set up,” he told her. “Just hold on to them for now.”

  She agreed with a nod, which was all he expected. Josie had always been the quietest sister. Up until the two of them had started arguing every time they saw each other.

  Night was now falling fast, and all three of the men scurried to get the stands positioned and secured, and move the crates of fireworks near the correct stands. There was no wind to speak of, and Scooter was glad of that. It made their job that much safer.

  A faint buzz soon became a rumble overhead that had them all looking up.

  “It’s Forrest and Twyla!” Ginger squealed.

  The plane swooped lower, flying over the lake and then the resort. A roar of laughter and clapping from the crowd filling the beach echoed over the calm water.

  “That has to be cherries,” Ginger said. “Just cherries.”

  Scooter’s eyes weren’t on the plane or Ginger. They’d settled on the way Josie watched the sky with an intensity he didn’t know how to take. It wasn’t excitement. Josie was too secretive to ever let that show, but there was something there, a wistfulness that went deep.

  When her gaze dropped to his, she said, “They’re coming back this way. I think that’s our signal to get started.”

  “I think you’re right,” he said. “Again.”

&nbs
p; She smiled slightly. “You need these now?”

  “Yep.” He took the punks and fuses. After giving careful instructions to Dac and Brock, Scooter stepped down into his boat.

  Josie was sitting near the back of the boat, giving him room to straddle the center bench. The boat rocked gently, bumping the platform, but the movement wasn’t enough to cause concern. “You ready?” he asked her.

  “Yes. Is there anything you need me to do?” she asked.

  “No, just enjoy the show.”

  “Will it be loud?”

  “No more so than on the beach,” he answered. “Other than some hissing from the fuses. The loud explosions will all happen in the air.”

  “Isn’t this just swell?” Ginger asked.

  She was at the front of Brock’s boat, which almost bumped the back of the one Scooter and Josie were in. The sisters were sitting almost side by side.

  * * *

  Josie pulled her gaze off Scooter to glance at her sister. “Yes, it is,” she answered. Glancing up to the sky that was turning darker as they spoke, she searched for Forrest’s plane. Twyla was up there, newly married and probably having the time of her life. Josie couldn’t say she was resentful, but she wouldn’t mind having what her sister had. What each one of them had. They’d found their freedom, something she might never find. It was funny, because for years, she’d had more freedom than any of them.

  After spending the day in Scooter’s company, she was questioning if what she’d considered freedom had, in truth, been just the opposite. She hadn’t been caged up at the resort like Twyla claimed. Although her sister had crept out more times than the rest of them put together. Attending the Ladies Aid meetings and making the trips to Duluth had been her escape, but that hadn’t been freedom. Even then, she’d always been following orders. Specific directions. She’d never been alone, either. Other than the day she’d got caught speeding. That had only happened because Hester Williams had unexpected company and couldn’t go with her.

  The first hiss startled her, but only because she’d been thinking about other things. Dac had lit the sky rockets. The pop and a flash of light high above them were quickly followed by a second, third and fourth.