by Gina Day Copyright 2000 (This is an excerpt from my old manuscript, not the current manuscript. )
Chapter 1
A thick fog was rolling in. They could see the fluff a
mile or so away, and it was closing in fast despite the distance. The
temperatures had already started to drop, although the sun wasn't
setting.
It was all so surreal and beautiful at the same time that it
took your breath away. The fog was pouring in from the swamps and dumping
into the river, then flowing toward the couple as if it was a part of the
stream.
Logan and Shealyn were making their way up the slippery banks of
the Mississippi River. Home had always been here in the Mississippi
boonies and they loved growing up here; a nice place to raise kids. The
river was always a place of refuge and challenge. Always something exciting
going on.
They had hiked several miles and back on the banks hand in hand,
deeply involved with some intriguing conversation, and on an occasion, throwing
out a fishing line in hopes to catch an addition to supper. Granny sure
could cook and Shealyn was enjoying learning from her. All she had to do
was imagine what Granny might be cooking and she could actually smell the
aromas and taste the food.
There had been no fish biting this day, just the mosquitoes.
They were content just to have gotten the opportunity to get out of the house
for a while, especially with homework and chores to finish.
They scrambled toward the old beater in hopes to get out ahead
of the annoying fog. A familiar, yet haunting version of a horn echoed across
the once gentle, now splashing, crashing waters. Like-minded as they
were, the deep rattling blasts were sounds that terrified and confused them, so
they both turned to look behind them at the same instant.
The scene produced large goosebumps on Shealyn and later on,
Logan would testify he felt his hair stand on end; his hair was thick and
shoulder length. They stood steadfast and attempted to reckon with what
they saw.
Waves of mist appeared now to be rolling billows of clouds;
piled in layers, one on top of another. The clouds were barreling toward
them. They appeared almost translucent, but not quite, glittering with
what resembled diamonds blazing. And with soft edges of pale pinks, blues, and
purple hues. The sight mesmerized them, so neither made a move to bolt
toward higher ground.
The ship was very different from most ships around these parts,
for they knew just about every one of them and their owners by heart. It
was a safe bet they could describe every ship and boat launched within a
100-mile radius.
The only exceptions being those which tourist brought in and
left back out with on a seasonal basis which you could set your clock by.
Dealers were all familiar and not a new boat or ship came in they had not
reviewed. They loved to visit them in what little spare time they could
come up with in between school, work, and taking care of Granny. This
ship wasn’t anything in their sketches or in stock, either.
She was a beaut. At the least, she was definitely a steamship
from history’s stormy past. The ship had a toughened and disfigured,
ghostly appearance as if she had been through a battle or two of some sort, yet
she still seemed to be an extraordinarily regal and unique steamship no matter
where she came from.
She bore masterful and creative carpentry. There was
awesome scrolling ironwork, and weathered carvings intricately detailed with
depth so cleverly fashioned that you couldn’t take your eyes off the art. Her
flags waved boisterously, each one intact, and seemed to salute them,
distracting them, and refreshing their memory of possible danger and doom. She
was larger than life; inexpressible in size.
She seemed to be racing the fog too; running for dear life, and
dressed for the finish line in all her glory. She was painted in creamy
aged linen, more riveting than faded, and the ironwork was awesome. It
was dressed in the finery of intense reds, golds, purples, and touches of an
assortment of greens and browns where the iron art bore leaves and branches.
Shealyn shoved Logan toward the path and took off running as
fast as her legs could carry her, dropping, throwing all the fishing poles she
had been earlier cautiously carrying as not to damage the newer ones. It
was her best bet, those rods, reels, and cane poles could be replaced. She
couldn’t be and neither could Logan. As far as Granny was concerned,
anyway.
Shealyn could hear his panting as Logan sped noisily past the
full-throttle gallop she was in. He leaped high, and onto the ledge of
grass and trees above the bank, spun around, and reached down to grab her
outreached hands when she was in mid-air. A quick jerk and her slim body
went flying past him in a tangle, rolling several feet before she managed to
stand back up and once again, launch into a gallop.
They sprinted toward the beater, looking over their shoulders on
an occasion or two, and then once again after they jumped in and slammed the
doors. Spitting mud and gravel, off they peeled, bumping and tossing over the
ruts. They were headed out of the inlet, and toward the bridge where the
river access led them back to the highway; their way back to civilization as
they knew it. The ship should have been upon them by then.
Glancing in the rearview and
witnessing the scene from a different view, Logan braked hard. He jumped out
from his seat leaving the beater still in gear and running. Shealyn
slammed the gear into park to keep it from rolling backward as she bailed
out.
His mouth was wide open, eyes bulging, and
with cap in hand, commenced to scratching his thick curls Shealyn adored and he
hated. He was so handsome standing there in amazement. She followed
his gaze and was rendered speechless at the mind-boggling spectacle
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