longer see that distant island. A fog had come up, and it was growing as dark as evening, although it was only ten in the morning. He didn’t know which way he was pointing.
“Drop your anchor. Stay put,” Ned Wishnell said, and signed off.
Ned found the kid. It took him several hours, but he found Jimmy. He had notified the other fishermen, and they’d all been looking for Jimmy. Even some fishermen from Fort Niles went out to look for Jim Burden. It was terrible weather. On a normal day, everyone would have headed in because of the weather, but they all stayed out, looking for young Jimmy. Even Angus Addams went out looking for Jim Burden. It was the right thing to do. The kid was only nineteen, and he was lost.
But it was Ned Wishnell who found him. How, nobody knew. But the guy was a Wishnell—a gifted fisherman, a hero on the water—so nobody was surprised that he found a small boat in the fog in the big ocean without the faintest clue about where to look. Everyone was accustomed to nautical miracles from Wishnells.
By the time Ned got to the Mighty J, the weather was really rough, and Jim Burden had been pulled—despite his little anchor—far away from where he’d sent his call for help. Not that Jim knew where he’d been in the first place. He heard Ned Wishnell’s boat before he could see it. He heard the motor through the fog.
“Help!” he shouted. “Mayday!”
Ned circled him and emerged out of the fog in that huge, gleaming boat of his, with that handsome, manly face of his. Ned was angry. He was angry and silent. His day of fishing had been ruined. Jim Burden could see the anger immediately, and it shrank his guts. Ned Wishnell pulled his boat up right beside the Mighty J. It had begun to rain. It was warm for Maine in November, which meant that it was miserable and freezing and wet. The wind blew the rain sideways. In his gloves, Jim’s hands were chapped and scarlet, but Ned Wishnell wasn’t wearing gloves. He wasn’t wearing a hat. Seeing this, Jim quickly took off his hat and dropped it at his feet. He immediately regretted this decision as the freezing rain pinged his scalp.
“Hi,” he said, lamely.
Ned tossed a line over to Jim and said, “Latch on.” His voice was tight with irritation.
Jim tied the boats together—his small, cheap boat up against that Wishnell beauty. The Mighty J bounced, silent and useless, as Ned’s boat chugged and chugged in a competent idle.
“You sure it’s the gas run out?” Ned asked.
“Pretty sure.”
“Pretty sure?” Disgusted.
Jim did not reply.
“It’s not another kind of engine trouble?”
“I don’t think so,” Jim said. But his voice had no authority. He knew he’d lost any right to sound knowledgeable.
Ned looked grim. “You don’t know if your boat has run out of gas.”
“I’m—I’m not sure.”
“I’ll take a look,” Ned said.
He leaned over his rail to pull the Mighty J closer, to get it side by side with his boat. He used his fishing gaff to yank Jim’s boat, and he did it with a jerky motion. He was really annoyed. He was usually gorgeously smooth with boats. Jim also leaned over to pull the boats closer. The boats bounced and bounced in the rough sea. They separated and smashed together. Ned put one booted foot on his rail and made a move to swing himself over to the Mighty J. It was a stupid move. It was a very stupid move for a high-line sailor like Ned Wishnell. But Ned was annoyed and was being careless. And something happened. The wind blew, a wave rose, a foot slipped, a hand lost its grip. Something happened.
Ned Wishnell was in the water.
Jim stared down at the man, and his first reaction was almost amusement. Ned Wishnell was in the water! It was the damnedest thing. Like seeing a nun naked. Would you look at that? Ned was soaked from the drop, and when he popped out of the water, he gasped, and his mouth made an unimpressive, weak little circle. Ned looked up at Jim Burden with panic, an expression wholly incongruous on a Wishnell. Ned Wishnell looked desperate, stricken. And this gave Jim Burden a moment to enjoy a second reaction, which was pride. Ned Wishnell needed Jim Burden’s help. Now wasn’t that a hell of a note?
Would you look at that?
Jim’s reactions were fleeting, but they prevented him