The Seasons of the EmmaLee: One grand ship. Two love affairs, decades apart. An idyllic summer resort town torn apart by betrayal, murder and shattered dreams. (The Charlevoix Summer Series Book 1)

by Michael Lindley

  The Seasons of the

  EmmaLee

  On the waters of Northern Michigan, a great ship changes the course of lives through the generations.

  Michael Lindley

  A Sage River Press Book

  2017

  www.michaellindleynovels.com

  New eBook Edition

  Copyright © 2017 by Michael Lindley

  A Sage River Press Book

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or real incidents, is purely coincidental.

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  Novels by Michael Lindley

  The Seasons of the EmmaLee

  The Summer Town

  (Formerly On Past Horton Creek)

  Grayton Winds

  CONTENTS

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  New Beginnings

  Note from the Author

  Acknowledgements

  As we prepare to bring this book out as a new eBook for broader distribution, it’s interesting to think back to just a few years ago when, largely unprepared for what lay ahead, I started out on a journey that would bring a few frustrations, but also tremendous satisfaction. I have to sincerely thank the many bookstore owners and buyers who took a chance on an unknown writer and an unproven story, the many book groups that welcomed me into their homes and libraries to share the story, and the media outlets and writers that supported the book.

  We are not the same persons this year as last; nor are those we love. It is a happy chance if we, changing, continue to love a changed person.

  - William Somerset Maugham

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my mother, who always encouraged my writing and to my father who taught me how to hit a curveball.

  Prologue

  The old man stumbled in the loose gravel as his white dog ran past on the worn trail. He walked slowly, measuring his pace; the cork handles of two fishing poles familiar and smooth in one hand, a small green tackle box in the other. His grandson walked up ahead, throwing a stick and yelling encouragement when the dog ran after it into the water along the shallows of the bay. They were making their way out to North Point to fish along the quiet inlet off Lake Michigan. The early morning light from the sun coming up through the tall cedars and cottonwoods sent long shadows out over the low flats behind the shore where stagnant water lay calm around the rocks and grasses. The sky was clear and the color of soft shades of blue out across the lake down to the far horizon where a low bank of fog met the water. He could hear the distant crash of waves from the big lake rolling up onshore on the far side of the bay.

  His wife had fussed at him for waking the boy so early to go fishing. She had been up to make them a breakfast to send them on their way. Her buckwheat pancakes and warm maple syrup had become a tradition when their grandson came to visit, but the boy was only half awake through most of the meal.

  Off to his left, the tall dunes rose up from the lake, covered with heavy cedar forest and scrub. Ahead lay the quiet round bay, cut into the land for a thousand years by weather and ice. The green water off across the lake to the north was patterned with rolling white-capped swells and large boulders had been pushed up all along the edges of the bay and the waves washed over them leaving them wet and shining. The fish would hold in along the deep drop-offs by the north shore.

  He called to the boy and pointed to the right where another trail led out to the spot he wanted to fish. The dog heard the call and her ears perked up. She had been out here with the old man for many years and knew where he wanted to go. The boy and the dog came back and ran up the new trail.

  When the old man came out around a stand of low brush he saw the boy and the dog standing by the shore. The dog was sniffing something lying along the water break on the beach. The boy stood back and watched. As the man approached, he squinted to see what the dog was after.

  “Bobby, what’s she got there?”

  The boy didn’t answer and he started backing away. The dog spooked back and started barking, running around whatever it was with the white fur hackles behind its collar sticking straight up.

  As the old man came closer he felt an overwhelming sense of fear rush through him and he yelled to the boy, “Bobby, come back over here!”

  His grandson continued to back away slowly and the old man quickened his pace and rushed by the boy to try to reach his dog. As he came nearer, he could see it was the body of a young woman lying pale against the sand and rocks in the shallow water of the bay. Her clothes were lying scattered nearby and her head was face down in the water, the waves pushing her hair in loose swirls as they swept up onto the shore.

  Chapter One

  It was a warm and clear morning with waves running in slow climbing swells and the wind was quartering gently out of the southwest. The weather radar was clear all the way across Lake Michigan to Wisconsin and the sun, just making its way above the hills onshore, warmed the coming day.

  Alex Clark stood on the bridge of the EmmaLee with his crew captain and twelve-year-old daughter, Megan. They left Mackinaw Island earlier in the morning for the last leg of their journey to Charlevoix, Michigan. Now, just out from the southern point of Little Traverse Bay, they could see the lighthouse on the end of the pier not more than a mile off in the distance.

  He was dressed comfortably in tan slacks with a white golf shirt. The early traces of gray touched at his brown hair and his skin was darkly tanned from the past few weeks on the boat, his eyes a soft green. It was a face that had graced many magazine covers and stories as his business had reached its heights and he continued to be embarrassed by the attention.

  To the east, the coastline was framed with tall sand dunes spilling down into the deep blue and green water of Lake Michigan. The dunes were crested with scattered pines and cottonwoods set off against the sky and the roofs of a few homes could be seen tucked back in the clearings. Looking out to the west, Alex could see the endless series of white-capped waves rolling relentlessly towards them across a hundred
miles of open water.

  Within the past hour a steady procession of boats of all shapes and sizes had come out to greet them and accompany them into Charlevoix. They were surrounded now by dozens of boats to each side and to the stern and they could already see a huge crowd milling about up ahead on the piers on both sides of the channel. A flare pistol was fired from the end of the pier and it startled Megan. She grabbed her father’s hand and gripped it firmly. She wore a navy blue sweat shirt with the name EmmaLee printed on the front n bold white letters. The flare was followed by several minutes of fireworks coming from a barge anchored just offshore from the channel.

  Alex looked down at his daughter and smiled, “I guess we’re in the right place.” He squeezed her hand and was warmed by her smile. He thought of her mother and how he wished she could be with them. Megan had so many traits from her mother. Her eyes and hair held the same color and luster, both a deep brown. His wife had been gone nearly three years now. Cancer had taken her from them. It was a time he could remember now as only dark and full of overwhelming fear and he forced those thoughts back deep within himself as he had to do so often.

  “Megan, let’s go up on the bow.” He led her out through the bridge cabin door and along the deck up to the massive bow of the ship. “This is EmmaLee’s old home, honey. She spent her early days here.”

  “I think she’s very happy to be back, Daddy.”

  They stood at the rail at the point of the bow and watched the huge wake push out from the ship’s hull. The accompanying boats started to blow their horns when they saw Alex and Megan moving forward on the ship’s deck and they both waved back enthusiastically.

  “Will the real Emily be here today to welcome us?” the little girl asked.

  “No dear, Emily Compton died many years ago.”

  “Is she in heaven with Mommy?”

  “Oh, I’m sure she is.”

  At the end of the south pier at the base of the tall red lighthouse, George Hansen stood in front of a huge crowd that stretched all the way back along the pier to the drawbridge at Bridge Street in town. He wore a blue sport coat with a Venetian Festival badge on the breast pocket; wisps of his gray hair blew in the light breeze. Across the channel a similar crowd had gathered on the north break wall. He fired the flare gun out over the lake to signal the start of the welcoming ceremony and the fireworks exploded up from the barge out in the lake. Even in the bright morning light they were spectacular against the deep blue sky. The deafening sound of the bursts above were mixed with boat horns and cheering people.

  George could see the EmmaLee clearly now off to the north of the channel. She was slowing to make her final approach. Even among the many other boats surrounding her, she stood apart not only in size, but also in majesty, he thought. He felt a chill surge within him. What a marvelous day!

  He was joined by family and friends, and thousands of other local residents and visitors who had come out this morning for the special event. There would be parades and other ceremonies and banquets later for the EmmaLee and for the Venetian Festival week, but these first moments of her return were the most anticipated. The ship had last been seen in these waters in the fall of 1952. Now, she was returning over fifty years later, restored to her original splendor. George was anxious to get the ship into the dock in Round Lake and to go aboard and meet her new owner in person. His old memories returned of the ship and the effect it had on so many people he knew and loved.

  Standing at his side was another special guest for the day. He looked at the woman now and saw tears in her eyes. He reached out and took her hand. She turned and smiled at him and whispered, “Thank you.”

  A few minutes later, the captain of the EmmaLee brought her about to the east to guide her into the channel. The many boats alongside her slowly dropped back to follow. As the large white ship first entered the channel, George Hansen saw Alex Clark and his daughter out on the bow and he saluted them in welcome. Onboard they saw him and waved back with broad smiles.

  “She’s more beautiful than I ever remembered,” George said, more to himself than to those around him. The cheering from the crowd continued to grow and everyone was waving in welcome for the return of the EmmaLee. The great ship made her way slowly down the channel towards town. The rest of the ship’s crew stood on the rear deck dressed in uniform and enjoying the morning’s events, waving back to the crowds.

  He motioned to those around him, “Let’s go, we need to get down to the docks.”

  The Captain sounded the EmmaLee ship’s horn to signal the bridge keeper to raise the drawbridge up ahead at the entrance into Round Lake. George saw the massive blue sections of the bridge slowly lift to make way for the ship’s entrance into the harbor. The entire crowd slowly made their way back along the pier trying to keep up with the EmmaLee.

  A special mooring had been reserved for the EmmaLee along the docks where the Coast Guard Cutter Acacia had rested for so many years. A large decorated gangplank stood poised to be lowered to the deck of the ship as it came alongside the dock. Banners hung from each side reading Welcome Home EmmaLee. Lines were thrown to men on the dock and the ship slid gracefully into place along the wooden pier. The lines were secured and the gangplank lowered into place.

  George Hansen and his welcoming party had come down through the dense and cheering crowds. When the boat was finally secured, they walked up the gangplank to greet Alex Clark who was standing at the ship’s rail with his daughter.

  George reached out his hand, “Welcome to Charlevoix, Mr. Clark and welcome to you, young lady. You must be Megan? I’m George Hansen, and I have the privilege of being the chairman of the Venetian Festival.” He shook both their hands. “And welcome home to you, Miss EmmaLee,” he said, looking down the long expanse of the ship’s deck.

  The Charlevoix High School marching band began playing America, the Beautiful, their music heard just above the roar of the crowd.

  Alex Clark returned the handshake, “Thank you, Mr. Hansen. This welcome is overwhelming. I can’t thank you enough for inviting us to bring the EmmaLee back to Charlevoix. Your town is beautiful and all these people, it’s just unbelievable. Come aboard!”

  George came on deck with five other members of the Festival committee who he introduced to the town’s new guests. Then he motioned for one other to join him at the front of the group. A tall woman came up and stood beside him, a striking woman dressed simply in a blue cotton dress cut just above the knees and sleeveless, exposing long arms and firm shoulders. Someone new meeting her would say she looked to be in her mid-forties, but in fact, she was just a bit older. Her blonde hair was gathered in back and a few loose strands fluttered around her face in the wind.

  “Alex Clark and Megan, I would like you to meet Emily Compton’s daughter, Sally Thomason,” George Hansen said in introduction.

  Alex Clark reached out his hand in greeting to the woman. Her grip was firm and he found himself a bit off balance. He hesitated a moment, not anticipating meeting any of the past owners’ family. When he had gathered himself he said, “Sally, it’s nice to meet you. I’m so glad you could come for this homecoming.”

  Sally Thomason released her grip and smiled, “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world, Alex. My mother told me so many stories about this ship and her love for the EmmaLee.”

  “Did you come far for the Festival?” he asked.

  “No,” she said, laughing. “Just a few blocks actually. I live up on the big lake just north of the channel.”

  “Well, I’m sure you would like to see what we’ve done with the ‘Old Lady’. Did you ever have an opportunity to see her before?”

  “No, I wasn’t born when the EmmaLee left Charlevoix. I knew she was being kept out East, but I just didn’t want to see her in that condition. I was thrilled to hear you had purchased her and were working on restoring her. She looks magnificent. My parents and my grandparents would be very pleased at the work you’ve done.”

  She reached down and greeted young M
egan, taking her hand. “My mother would have been about your age when she used to cruise on the EmmaLee.”

  “I’m sorry she’s dead and can’t be here today,” the little girl said with stern sincerity. My daddy says she’s in heaven with my Mommy.”

  Alex was embarrassed and began to say something, but Sally answered quickly, “I’m sorry your mother is gone, too. They both would have loved this day, I’m sure, Megan.”

  Alex smiled at his daughter, then at Sally Thomason. “We have a cocktail reception onboard planned for later this afternoon and I know George has invited all of you to attend, but can I take you on a quick tour right now?”

  George spoke first, “Absolutely!”

  Alex led the group up onto the foredeck, speaking as he walked along the rail. “I happened upon the EmmaLee one day when I was down at the boatyard in Newport for the first time. I had moved my sailboat over from another location and was wandering around to get familiar with the place. The EmmaLee was tied up at an old pier hidden by a dozen old boats up on cradles. I have to say she was in pretty bad shape. Sitting out in the elements for all those years had taken quite a toll on her.”

  He turned to face his guests as they assembled at the front of the ship. Megan stood by his side holding his hand. “I immediately fell in love with her even though she looked like an abandoned shipwreck. In a way, I guess she was. It took a while, but I finally managed to pull all the strings to buy her and arrange for her reconditioning and it was one of the most amazing projects I’ve ever been involved with. We did our best to restore her to her original condition. We saved as much of the wood surfaces and planking as we could, but a lot of dry-rot had to be replaced. The interior was a bit easier. The engines were far beyond hope and we’ve given her a new power plant. You’ll notice the instrumentation is also much more advanced than what she had back in the early days. She’s really rigged now to cruise overseas. I’m planning a cruise to the Mediterranean with her next year.”