Confederate Gold and Silver by Peter F. Warren Read Free Book Online Page A

phone, Paul realized he would be meeting many people, folks like Chubby, who spoke with that distinctive Southern drawl he found so hard to understand at times. “I’m going to have to train these Northern ears to a whole new way of listening.” It was a challenge he had waited for years to do.
    Chubby was waiting outside by the marina’s main office when Paul pulled into the parking lot. It was not a paved lot, but one which was a combination of dirt, beach sand, and broken oyster shells that car and truck tires had ground up into small pieces over the years. Pulling into the lot, Paul could hear the shells crunching even more under his tires.
    Even before they introduced themselves to each other, Chubby started ragging on Paul. “The old man told me about the help you gave him yesterday when he got the flat tire. Got to admit that was a right neighborly thing for y’all to do, especially for you, you know being a Yankee and all.”
    Paul just smiled as he shook Chubby’s hand.
    “Hey, partner, I’m just having some fun with y’all. But that was a right fine thing you did for Steve. He’s a good man. I’ll tell ya, he will never forget what you did for him. He’s like that, just remembers everything.”
    As they started walking down the wooden walkway to the marina’s main set of docks, Paul now saw he had pictured Chubby pretty well. It was easy to see how he had been christened with his nickname. Chubby was a friendly enough man of about thirty-five years of age and was someone who likely carried close to three hundred pounds on his six foot plus frame. He was a bear of a man in size. His denim blue bib overalls, with one strap unbuttoned, were covered with both work and food stains in several spots. They likely had been worn for several days since they were last washed Paul thought as he followed him down the walkway. With a nickname of Chubby, and with the clothes he was wearing, he was just as Paul had pictured him. He took an immediate liking to him.
    Chubby led Paul to a section of the marina where several small white-colored wooden rowboats bobbed in the Inlet’s gentle tide. They were tied up along one of the dock’s wooden walkways. From the looks of the rowboats, they were obviously ones used by boat owners when they needed to ferry supplies out to their larger boats, ones moored off the marina’s main docks. Nearby, behind one of the outbuildings the marina owned, various supplies were piled up. They were supplies needed to keep a busy marina in operation.
    Stopping for a moment as they reached the end of the first wooden walkway, Paul saw the walkway was one of many that had been firmly secured with long cables to several large concrete blocks that sat at the edge of the parking lot. He knew this had been done so they did not float away during the severe storms which occasionally hit the South Carolina coast. He then followed Chubby as they walked down another walkway which was connected to a series of several smaller wooden docks. Each of these docks and walkways had been bolted to one another in a way so they could each rise and fall with the passing tide. The docks and walkways floated on large pieces of Styrofoam and on large blue plastic barrels. The gentle low tide made it easy for them to walk on the docks without having to use the handrails.
    Looking back over his left shoulder, Paul could see they had walked almost two hundred feet out from shore. From where he was on the dock, he saw the adjoining set of docks held the marina’s gas pumps. Over the top of the pumps was a faded red and blue wooden sign which read ‘Alcott’s Marina, Murrells Inlet, South Carolina’ . The lettering had been neatly stenciled some time in the past as the large white lettering was now starting to fade. Paul smiled when he saw his new friend’s last name displayed on the sign.
    “Well, there she is. Not much to look at, but she still has some life in her. What do ya think?”
    Paul turned to see Chubby