Once a Widow by Lee Roberts Read Free Book Online Page A

began to roll.
    Mortimer Watson handed his beer bottle to George Yundt, gripped the wheel with both hands and grunted, “Looks like a real blow.”
    The boat lurched and dipped in a long rolling wave and the bow was buried in foaming water. The propeller sang as it left the water, and then churned water again as the hull resounded with the impact of the waves. George Yundt swayed on his feet and steadied himself against the pitching of the boat. Lewis Sprang called from behind them, “Hold her steady, Captain.”
    “Steady she is,” Watson said cheerfully. “This old tub has weathered more than this little blow.” He opened the throttle and the motor sang a keener song. “Have a sandwich, you fellows. There’s ham and cheese.”
    “I think I’ll wait until we get in,” George Yundt said, glancing nervously out at the storm.
    “Me, too,” the old lawyer said. “Mort, how long do you figure it’ll take us to reach the basin?”
    “Better part of an hour.” Watson was panting a little, fighting the wheel. “Maybe longer, with this wind.” As he spoke, a huge wave struck and the craft shuddered. The freed propeller whined shrilly. “Wow!” Watson cried, lurching sideways as the boat yawed alarmingly.
    “Keep her into the wind,” Lewis Sprang said sharply.
    “Sure, sure. We’ll make it.” There was sweat on Watson’s round red face.
    It was almost dark now, not the darkness of night, but of the storm, and the wind was a high piercing scream. Water lashed at the small boat and sometimes it seemed that it would not emerge from the engulfing waves, but it did, trembling. The three men could feel the trembling, the shuddering, and the sound of the motor was like a frantic heart beat. Water was inside the cabin now, flowing in rivulets on the boards beneath their feet. Mortimer Watson tried to remember if the hatches in the bow were closed, but he could not. He hoped they were closed, because the motor was there, in the bow, and if water got to it, drowning it, they would be helpless.
    Mortimer Watson felt fear. He gulped and gripped the wheel, staring ahead at the driving rain and violently moving water. The boat lurched again and George Yundt staggered backward, jarring against the cabin wall. Lewis Sprang got to his feet and stood unsteadily, holding his beer bottle. George Yundt leaned against the wall, wishing that he did not hold the two beer bottles, but he didn’t know what to do with them. Suddenly he wished he was in his room at the Y.M.C.A., lying on his bed reading a book and listening to the rain on his one window. Pleasant as it had been, this unexpected outing with Mr. Watson and Mr. Sprang, he wished now that he was in his cozy little room at the Y. He took a drink from the bottle in his left hand, his bottle, he remembered. The neck rattled against his teeth and beer dribbled over his chin as the boat lurched sickeningly. He heard Mr. Sprang shout hoarsely, “We can’t make it, Mort! What’ll we do?”
    “Shut up!” Watson shouted. “Please shut the hell up!” He struggled with the wheel and peered ahead through the rain-drenched windshield. He was thoroughly frightened now. Although he had lived along Lake Erie all his life, he was not really a sailor or a strong swimmer. He knew that Erie was the most shallow of the Great Lakes and that when the wind came it could turn with shocking suddenness into a seething maelstrom. For an instant the wind lessened and he caught a glimpse of a dark mass ahead. He slowed the motor, peering through the rain.
    Lewis Sprang saw it, too. “Snake Island, Mort. Put in there.”
    “Yes,” Watson breathed, gripping the wheel. He could see it quite plainly now, the rocky beach, the high bluff and the pine trees bending in the wind. They were approaching the leeward side. He breathed a deep sigh of thankfulness and relief.
    Lewis Sprang stood beside Watson and said tensely, “Can you put her in?”
    “I—I think so, if one of you will handle the