The PaPer BoaT

By Josh Kratovil

I was crouched among the crushed limestone and goose muck lining the I&M’s shore when the blood-orange beams of the rising sun crept over my sneakers. A soft breeze rustled the wildflowers on either side of me, stirring the canal to life. Gnats and dragonflies played along the water's surface, casting furtive ripples in every direction while robins flitted between the tree tops.

And for a second—just long enough for my breath to hitch in my throat — I let myself believe all the kooky town legends about the canal’s magic. Kelsey had been missing for months by then, and I was willing to believe in anything that might put things back to normal - even if it meant switching places.

You see, my sister was the quintessential good twin: the pop quiz-acer, the early bird, the Catechism-quoter. I was the defective twin, bumming cigarettes off senior boys and ditching class to drink lukewarm beer with Marcy at the quarry shore.

Even Kelsey’s rich copper hair outshined my dull, red-brick locks. And though my parents never said it, I knew their biggest question wasn’t “Where’s Kelsey?” but “Why not Irma?” Why couldn’t the defective daughter have been the one to vanish after the Turnabout dance? I could see it in the dead-eyed bear hugs Dad insisted on giving me whenever I came home and in my mother’s endless, furtive glances at Kelsey’s chair each night at dinner.

So, yeah. I would have been fine switching places, even if that meant finding myself in a shallow grave just off Bluff Road. At least then, everyone else would be able to move on.

I whispered my wish and put the little boat into the babbling waters. After a gentle nudge from my shaking hands, the lazy current took hold of the craft, turning it so Kelsey gazed at me from the picture I'd paperclipped to the boat's center. I stared back until the boat became a distant dot, indiscernible from the water’s surface, as my sister left my life a second time.

Disgust over my wish wrestled with a black, twisted glee. With no small effort, I pushed the intrusive thoughts aside and turned for home. By then, the sun was no longer a creeping pinprick of light but a shimmering disc looming over the canal. Heat bugs buzzed their droning call from unseen branches overhead, and the wildflowers brushed against my bare arms as a warm summer breeze teased them into motion.

The flowers bent toward a gnarled tree on the path ahead. Beneath its broken shade waited a mangy kitten. There were almost certainly fleas or ticks hiding in its matted fur, and there was a wicked scar across one eye. But when I approached, it did not cower: it stepped cautiously toward me.

As it entered the sunlight, I realized its mud-caked fur, once cleaned, would shine with a rich copper hue and allowed myself to believe in the canal’s magic once more.

Joey walked down the dusty path on Smokey Row, past the gentlemen’s clubs and the brothels that lined the main street of the small quarry town of Lemont. He turned into the alley between Old Petey’s Place and the livery, slipped into the doorway near the end of the alley, and down the spiral stairs to Mr. Corgen’s pharmacy. He tipped his hat at Mrs. Corgen as he approached the bookcase, pulled a wrinkled, leather-bound book, and entered the passage known only to the Order of the Dolomite and, of course, Mrs. Corgen.

Sam nodded at him, Drew, Brewster, and Mia were also in the den.

“Well, what did ye call the meetin’ for?” asked Mia impatiently. “I had to tell me husband I was visitin’ me sister. And if I get caught on Smokey Row, sure as I’ll never be let out of the house again.” asked Sam, looking at Joey.

Joey approached the table where they were already seated and hesitated. “For this,” he replied as he pulled the box from his satchel. He laid the marble crusted vessel on the table. It was adorned with coats of arms from the five founding families. It was etched with a yellowish limestone cover and a keyhole in the center.

The den fell silent, and they all moved closer to inspect the piece. Mia removed the map from the drawer and laid it next to the box. Drew plucked the key from under the planter and added it to the items on the table. Sam walked to the bookshelf and pulled the old journal from the shelf. He opened it to the page that had been scrutinized by all of the descendants of the Order of the Dolomite for the last three generations. He laid it on the table next to the vessel. Drawn in the journal was an exact replica of the piece now sitting on the table, a box that was rumored to hold the Treasures of the Quarry.

“My Uncle Irv left me an old trunk when he died,” replied Joey. “My cousins made sure to check it for anything of value before giving it to me, and it was full of junk and some of my mom’s things from when she was a kid. Last night, I accidentally kicked it into the wall, and the bottom dropped out. I tried to put the bottom back up and noticed that it wasn’t broken. It was just unhinged. I turned the trunk over, slid the bottom off, and there it was.” asked Drew, disappointed. replied Sam.

Silence filled the room as the enormity of what might be in the box fell upon the descendants. Nothing in the journal ever described the contents of the treasure in the box, but rumors had surfaced every so often among the quarry managers and paid off politicians of jewels and priceless scrolls that had traveled with the minister who first settled on village grounds. The minister gifted items to each founding family before he died—a map, a die, a key, a journal, and a vessel. They were to be kept in the town vault until the village had officially been settled, but the box had been lost before the vault was sealed.

The silence snapped as the descendants broke into a discourse on what to do with the box. They decided to uncover the treasure and then determine what to do with it. Drew placed the key that had been left to his family in the hole and turned it. The box was opened to reveal a jewel crusted compass.