From Raines in the Day
Besides the boy and his grandparents a ghost lived in that old house on the edge of the pine and saw palmetto scrub. It was true the boy had never seen the ghost. He only heard his grandmother—never his grandfather—talking to it. This usually happened late at night, often right before dawn was about to break. John Raines did not see the ghost either, and judging by his groggy comments those nights when the ghost came calling, didn’t believe it to be any such thing.
Thomas Morgan hadn’t thought about that ghost in a long time. Close to fifty years he figured one night on his back porch overlooking the river. The poor fishing of that day, the realization that had struck him as he was heading back to the slip, of how nothing was as it once had been. The third whiskey before dinner—these things perhaps, were what had brought back that time when he lived with his grandparents on the edge of the scrub. Brought back the very first time the ghost came calling to his grandmother.
“Wake up Sadie, dammit,” he’d faintly heard his grandfather one night when everyone in the house should have been asleep. “It’s adream for God’s sake.”
Tom had been there on his grandparents’ ranch for perhaps a month, no more than two. Spring in Florida was gone, the days—and the nights—hot and humid. Now, when instead of his grandfather he heard his grandmother calling out in the night, “Please, son, don’t go,” he came awake fully, hot and sweating, on top of the sheets and not sure of where he was.
“Please son,” Sadie Raines said again, this time much louder and carrying easily from the other side of the bathroom connecting the house’s two bedrooms. “Stay with me.”
“Now that’s enough, hon,” John Raines voice was firm, yet strangely gentle, too, it seemed to the boy. “You’ve got to wake up, now.”
And then the boy’s grandmother was sobbing. Painful racking sounds, the same as the boy had heard from his mother that day her husband was leaving. When the boy, sitting on the floor by the kitchen table, watched as she held onto his father’s legs with both arms, begging him not to go.
“Oh god, John,” Sadie Raines cried out through her sobs. “I wasn’t sleeping, I swear. He was here. Hilton. Right here, I’m telling you.”
“Our boy’s gone, Sadie.” And then a little harsher, “Dead and gone and you know it. Now stop this foolishness. It’s killing you, hon. Killing me.”
“I know, John, I know. I’m sorry, so sorry.” Though she had stopped crying she still sounded weak and strained. “But he washere. It was no dream.”
“Okay, Sadie, its okay now. Just go back to sleep. Please. I’ve got a long day tomorrow and need my sleep, too.”
But what scared the boy right then—more than the thought that a ghost had been in the house? Just on the other side of the bathroom?—was that his grandfather, always so strong and in charge, sounded like the one begging now. Then it was quiet in the other room, quiet all through the house except for the calling of a whippoorwill, somewhere out in the pines, coming in the open window of the boy’s room Until suddenly it was morning, the day’s light flooding in through that open window, so that despite himself the boy must have fallen asleep.
Over breakfast in the morning the only allusion to the disturbance of the night before was a sheepish apology from his grandmother.
“I hope you didn’t hear me last night, Tom That I didn’t wake you up?”
The boy was surprised by the shy look in his grandmother’s eyes, the haggard appearance of her face. Her green eyes usually flashed with a certain determination when she spoke. Sometimes that determination, when she was amused by the behavior of her husband or the boy, was replaced by a different light—one that lifted the boy’s spirits when it shone on him Now, and still unsure of his place in this new life his mother had dropped him into, the boy said nothing.
“He’s a boy, Sadie,” John Raines snorted behind his newspaper at the other end of the table. “They can sleep through a Damn hurricane.”
“Is that true, Tom?” Sadie asked again. “I wasn’t a bother last night?”
“No ma’am,” the boy lied. He didn’t like being untruthful, but by the worried look on her face he figured it to be best he did. “Not a bit.”
All the rest of that summer the ghost stayed away. When he returned though—in the fall and the night before Tom was to start the fourth grade at his new school—the ghost came back. This time with a vengeance.
As Raines looked to see what his daughter was yelling about, behind the boat, perhaps a hundred yards out, a sailfish cleared the water, jumping above the swells and shaking its head, back arched, fin up, water droplets from its body shining for just a moment in the light of the afternoon sun before it crashed back down into the sea and was gone, the only evidence it existed being the bucking of the rod in Marilyn’s hands as she braced herself against the stern gunwales.
“Jesus, Pop.” Hilton stood in the open hatch wiping sleep from his eyes. “What’s going on?”
“Sailfish, son, a big one at that. Quick, go help your sister before he drags her overboard!” And then to Tom Ryan, “Tom, see if you can find that harness for Marilyn. She’s going to need it once we get her into the fighting chair. I’ve got to get the engine up and running.”
“Yes sir, Johnny,” and then Ryan was searching in the locker beneath the bridge while Raines started the engine up and the chase was on.
At first Raines thought to sweep out and around the fish, which despite Marilyn’s efforts was still taking line as it ran to the south. Realizing there was a better way to keep pressure on the fish, with the throttle in low he swung the bow back to the north. He just had to be careful with the boat. Not put too much pressure on the fish. Not to force a breakoff.
Hilton slid into the mate’s seat on the bridge. The wind from the south had blown his hair down over his forehead into his eyes. Pushing it back with one hand he said, “Tom’ found the harness, Pop. Got Mari buckled up and in the fighting chair.”
“Good,” John Raines said. “She’ll need them, the belt and the chair.”
“Anything I can get you, Pop? A beer or maybe a soda?”
“Thanks, son, but I’m good right now.”
“That’s a big fish, isn’t it?” Hilton’s face was split into a wide grin that sparkled beneath his dark eyes. “You think Mari can land it?”
“Yes, on the first count, and on the second, well, we’ll have to see.”
“She can, Pop. Mari’s a strong little cuss. Comes from me and the guys letting her play football and baseball with us all summer. You should see her smack the ball. When we choose sides for the games she’s always picked first! After me, of course. For a little sister she can be a pain in the ass. She’s just knows when it’s best not to be.”
“Maybe that’s the inherent lawyer in her?”
“Could be. Heck, if a gal can become a lawyer and Mari wants to and sets her mind to it, she’ll do it all right.”
“Right now let’s hope she sets her mind to landing that sailfish.”
“I’ll go back and give her a pep talk, Pop.”
“You do that, son. You do that.”
It could be a long fight. With Hilton gone Raines was alone on the bridge, the others with Marilyn while she struggled with the sailfish. He hadn’t known Marilyn played sports with her brother and his friends. Regretted he hadn’t been able to take time away from work to watch them at it. That was just life, though. But Hilton was right. For an eleven year old girl she was plenty strong. In body and in spirit. That last would come in handy over the next half hour, or however long it took to bring the fish to the boat. She had her brother and Tom to help her, too. And him at the wheel. The boat could be a big help, if he played it right. At the end of it, though, she would be plenty sore. And worn out. Hopefully it would be a good soreness. A good worn out feeling.
Just then a gust of wind blew the big straw hat Marilyn’s mother insisted she wear on the boat, into the water. Raines watched as his daughter tried to catch the hat with one hand and because of the rod bucking in her other hand, thought better of it. Seeing her father over her shoulder at the bridge she laughed, before turning back to the rod, the fish out behind the boat, and the business at hand. Not before Raines’ heart—at the look of pure joy on his daughter’s face—turned over inside his chest.
The second event concerned a new sound—that of a small plane coming in off the ocean. Something sounded wrong, though. As Raines strained to hear more clearly he realized that instead of the healthy, steady vibrations of a motor in good working condition, this one sputtered and broke up, the sound of it rising and falling in the quiet hanging over the prairie. He turned in his saddle just as the plane came into view, a dot way above the horizon growing bigger and bigger before disappearing into a fluffy cloud bank above the ocean, only to reappear after another long second, the silvery fusillade obscured by dark smoke blowing out from the engine cowling drifting up to be lost in the cloud bank the plane dropped out of.
“Pop!” The boy, turned in the saddle like Raines was, pointed at the plane coming closer and closer.
“I see it, son.”
“That plane’s in trouble!”
“It most certainly is.”
Easy enough for him to say, from the safety of being on the ground, perhaps. But it was undeniable, and unlike the courtrooms and judges and juries Raines had practiced his craft before reasonable doubt would play no part in the plane’s fate. The airstrip, and a safe landing, were too far away—that much was obvious. Worse, Raines could think of no suitable alternative where the pilot might put down. It was all pine and palmetto and broken field everywhere he looked, none of it clear enough for a plane to land.
“We’d better hold up here for a bit, Tom,” Raines said, keeping the reins tight on the little horse, which had gone skittish with the sudden uncertainty around him “We’ll see where he puts down. When he does, he’ll need our help.”
The wind had shifted a little to the northeast, enough maybe, to hold the thunderstorm at bay. For a little while, at any rate. With a little luck that pilot might land the plane in one piece and they would all get home high and dry. When the excitement of it all had died down, maybe even share a joke or two over a strong drink about the seriousness of their recent experience.
But when the plane came in overhead the straining engine blew. Not so much in a violent, ear-shattering explosion, Raines was surprised to find, but just a gentle popping sound, followed by flames and thick clouds of dark smoke billowing out behind it. The next thing he knew the plane simply turned nose down and dove straight into the ground. What did they say? In books and the movies? It all happened so fast? Exactly, was Raines last thought, before the plane crashed in a fireball of flame rising up from the open field.
Excerpts from Raines in the Day © Gene Lee 2021
Thomas Morgan hadn’t thought about that ghost in a long time. Close to fifty years he figured one night on his back porch overlooking the river. The poor fishing of that day, the realization that had struck him as he was heading back to the slip, of how nothing was as it once had been. The third whiskey before dinner—these things perhaps, were what had brought back that time when he lived with his grandparents on the edge of the scrub. Brought back the very first time the ghost came calling to his grandmother.
“Wake up Sadie, dammit,” he’d faintly heard his grandfather one night when everyone in the house should have been asleep. “It’s adream for God’s sake.”
Tom had been there on his grandparents’ ranch for perhaps a month, no more than two. Spring in Florida was gone, the days—and the nights—hot and humid. Now, when instead of his grandfather he heard his grandmother calling out in the night, “Please, son, don’t go,” he came awake fully, hot and sweating, on top of the sheets and not sure of where he was.
“Please son,” Sadie Raines said again, this time much louder and carrying easily from the other side of the bathroom connecting the house’s two bedrooms. “Stay with me.”
“Now that’s enough, hon,” John Raines voice was firm, yet strangely gentle, too, it seemed to the boy. “You’ve got to wake up, now.”
And then the boy’s grandmother was sobbing. Painful racking sounds, the same as the boy had heard from his mother that day her husband was leaving. When the boy, sitting on the floor by the kitchen table, watched as she held onto his father’s legs with both arms, begging him not to go.
“Oh god, John,” Sadie Raines cried out through her sobs. “I wasn’t sleeping, I swear. He was here. Hilton. Right here, I’m telling you.”
“Our boy’s gone, Sadie.” And then a little harsher, “Dead and gone and you know it. Now stop this foolishness. It’s killing you, hon. Killing me.”
“I know, John, I know. I’m sorry, so sorry.” Though she had stopped crying she still sounded weak and strained. “But he washere. It was no dream.”
“Okay, Sadie, its okay now. Just go back to sleep. Please. I’ve got a long day tomorrow and need my sleep, too.”
But what scared the boy right then—more than the thought that a ghost had been in the house? Just on the other side of the bathroom?—was that his grandfather, always so strong and in charge, sounded like the one begging now. Then it was quiet in the other room, quiet all through the house except for the calling of a whippoorwill, somewhere out in the pines, coming in the open window of the boy’s room Until suddenly it was morning, the day’s light flooding in through that open window, so that despite himself the boy must have fallen asleep.
Over breakfast in the morning the only allusion to the disturbance of the night before was a sheepish apology from his grandmother.
“I hope you didn’t hear me last night, Tom That I didn’t wake you up?”
The boy was surprised by the shy look in his grandmother’s eyes, the haggard appearance of her face. Her green eyes usually flashed with a certain determination when she spoke. Sometimes that determination, when she was amused by the behavior of her husband or the boy, was replaced by a different light—one that lifted the boy’s spirits when it shone on him Now, and still unsure of his place in this new life his mother had dropped him into, the boy said nothing.
“He’s a boy, Sadie,” John Raines snorted behind his newspaper at the other end of the table. “They can sleep through a Damn hurricane.”
“Is that true, Tom?” Sadie asked again. “I wasn’t a bother last night?”
“No ma’am,” the boy lied. He didn’t like being untruthful, but by the worried look on her face he figured it to be best he did. “Not a bit.”
All the rest of that summer the ghost stayed away. When he returned though—in the fall and the night before Tom was to start the fourth grade at his new school—the ghost came back. This time with a vengeance.
***
As Raines looked to see what his daughter was yelling about, behind the boat, perhaps a hundred yards out, a sailfish cleared the water, jumping above the swells and shaking its head, back arched, fin up, water droplets from its body shining for just a moment in the light of the afternoon sun before it crashed back down into the sea and was gone, the only evidence it existed being the bucking of the rod in Marilyn’s hands as she braced herself against the stern gunwales.
“Jesus, Pop.” Hilton stood in the open hatch wiping sleep from his eyes. “What’s going on?”
“Sailfish, son, a big one at that. Quick, go help your sister before he drags her overboard!” And then to Tom Ryan, “Tom, see if you can find that harness for Marilyn. She’s going to need it once we get her into the fighting chair. I’ve got to get the engine up and running.”
“Yes sir, Johnny,” and then Ryan was searching in the locker beneath the bridge while Raines started the engine up and the chase was on.
At first Raines thought to sweep out and around the fish, which despite Marilyn’s efforts was still taking line as it ran to the south. Realizing there was a better way to keep pressure on the fish, with the throttle in low he swung the bow back to the north. He just had to be careful with the boat. Not put too much pressure on the fish. Not to force a breakoff.
Hilton slid into the mate’s seat on the bridge. The wind from the south had blown his hair down over his forehead into his eyes. Pushing it back with one hand he said, “Tom’ found the harness, Pop. Got Mari buckled up and in the fighting chair.”
“Good,” John Raines said. “She’ll need them, the belt and the chair.”
“Anything I can get you, Pop? A beer or maybe a soda?”
“Thanks, son, but I’m good right now.”
“That’s a big fish, isn’t it?” Hilton’s face was split into a wide grin that sparkled beneath his dark eyes. “You think Mari can land it?”
“Yes, on the first count, and on the second, well, we’ll have to see.”
“She can, Pop. Mari’s a strong little cuss. Comes from me and the guys letting her play football and baseball with us all summer. You should see her smack the ball. When we choose sides for the games she’s always picked first! After me, of course. For a little sister she can be a pain in the ass. She’s just knows when it’s best not to be.”
“Maybe that’s the inherent lawyer in her?”
“Could be. Heck, if a gal can become a lawyer and Mari wants to and sets her mind to it, she’ll do it all right.”
“Right now let’s hope she sets her mind to landing that sailfish.”
“I’ll go back and give her a pep talk, Pop.”
“You do that, son. You do that.”
It could be a long fight. With Hilton gone Raines was alone on the bridge, the others with Marilyn while she struggled with the sailfish. He hadn’t known Marilyn played sports with her brother and his friends. Regretted he hadn’t been able to take time away from work to watch them at it. That was just life, though. But Hilton was right. For an eleven year old girl she was plenty strong. In body and in spirit. That last would come in handy over the next half hour, or however long it took to bring the fish to the boat. She had her brother and Tom to help her, too. And him at the wheel. The boat could be a big help, if he played it right. At the end of it, though, she would be plenty sore. And worn out. Hopefully it would be a good soreness. A good worn out feeling.
Just then a gust of wind blew the big straw hat Marilyn’s mother insisted she wear on the boat, into the water. Raines watched as his daughter tried to catch the hat with one hand and because of the rod bucking in her other hand, thought better of it. Seeing her father over her shoulder at the bridge she laughed, before turning back to the rod, the fish out behind the boat, and the business at hand. Not before Raines’ heart—at the look of pure joy on his daughter’s face—turned over inside his chest.
***
The second event concerned a new sound—that of a small plane coming in off the ocean. Something sounded wrong, though. As Raines strained to hear more clearly he realized that instead of the healthy, steady vibrations of a motor in good working condition, this one sputtered and broke up, the sound of it rising and falling in the quiet hanging over the prairie. He turned in his saddle just as the plane came into view, a dot way above the horizon growing bigger and bigger before disappearing into a fluffy cloud bank above the ocean, only to reappear after another long second, the silvery fusillade obscured by dark smoke blowing out from the engine cowling drifting up to be lost in the cloud bank the plane dropped out of.
“Pop!” The boy, turned in the saddle like Raines was, pointed at the plane coming closer and closer.
“I see it, son.”
“That plane’s in trouble!”
“It most certainly is.”
Easy enough for him to say, from the safety of being on the ground, perhaps. But it was undeniable, and unlike the courtrooms and judges and juries Raines had practiced his craft before reasonable doubt would play no part in the plane’s fate. The airstrip, and a safe landing, were too far away—that much was obvious. Worse, Raines could think of no suitable alternative where the pilot might put down. It was all pine and palmetto and broken field everywhere he looked, none of it clear enough for a plane to land.
“We’d better hold up here for a bit, Tom,” Raines said, keeping the reins tight on the little horse, which had gone skittish with the sudden uncertainty around him “We’ll see where he puts down. When he does, he’ll need our help.”
The wind had shifted a little to the northeast, enough maybe, to hold the thunderstorm at bay. For a little while, at any rate. With a little luck that pilot might land the plane in one piece and they would all get home high and dry. When the excitement of it all had died down, maybe even share a joke or two over a strong drink about the seriousness of their recent experience.
But when the plane came in overhead the straining engine blew. Not so much in a violent, ear-shattering explosion, Raines was surprised to find, but just a gentle popping sound, followed by flames and thick clouds of dark smoke billowing out behind it. The next thing he knew the plane simply turned nose down and dove straight into the ground. What did they say? In books and the movies? It all happened so fast? Exactly, was Raines last thought, before the plane crashed in a fireball of flame rising up from the open field.
Excerpts from Raines in the Day © Gene Lee 2021