Into the Wind
by Christina Flogeras

The sunlight streamed through the white curtains, across the floor and onto the bed where Peter Betts lay asleep. A cool breeze came through the half-opened window, the kind felt near the river's edge. It ruffled the thin wool sheet he used as a blanket; it was all he needed during the summer months. Outside, the robins were chirping cheerfully, and the sound woke him up.

He opened his eyes slowly, and then remember what day it was, he jumped out of bed to stand by the window. Tomorrow, he thought. The boat race is tomorrow.

Peter looked outside at the quiet Kennebecasis River. In the soft light of early morning he could just barely make out the Kingston Peninsula. The small waves made a pleasant whoosh as they hit the shore. He took a deep breath and smelt the green plants that lived near the water's edge. Peter could see his father's boat, the Beatrice, floating quietly on the river. It was mornings like these that made Peter love living by the river.

"So you're up, I see," came a deep voice from the doorway. Peter turned and saw his dad's smiling face. Daniel Betts was usually a happy man; he loved all things to do with nature, especially birds. Sometimes Peter would hear him whistling to the birds in the early twilight. Other times he would catch his father staring into the distance, with a sad look on his face, probably thinking about his wife. Mr. Betts was tall, with dark brown hair and eyes to match. He was also very strong from a lifetime of boating, and could easily life up his fifteen-year-old son. Mr. Betts worked for a fishing boat builder and was often gone from morning to late afternoon. He wasn't working today because it was Saturday.

"Yes. Do you want me to fix breakfast?" asked Peter as he pulled on his grey pants. There reall was no reason to ask; Peter always made breakfast. This is, ever since his mother died.

"Sure, I'll meet you at the table in five minutes," Mr. Betts smiled gently, and walked off to the outhouse.

When Mr. Betts returned he found Peter placing some sausages on two plates on the table. Their aroma was delicious, even though that was all the could afford for breakfast. Father and son sat down and began eating.

"Are you excited about the boat race, Peter?" asked Mr. Betts after he had swallowed a bite.

"Yes, I sure am. I can't wait for tomorrow to come. We should do a last check of the boat, just in case. We don't want any surprises on the water," replied Peter, his hazel eyes shining with anticipation. He had waited for months for the first ever Father-Son Boat Race, and his chance to prove to himself that he could sail.

"You're right. We'll go over every inch of Beatrice, from bow to stern. Oh, and by the way, I happened to see James when I was out and about. I think he was looking for you."

It figures, thought Peter as he finished his breakfast. He's probably just as excited as I am! Well, tomorrow will come soon enough.

James Cochran lived three houses down the road. He was sixteen years old but looked like nineteen. James had blond hair and blue eyes, a legacy from his European mother. The pimples of adolescence were numerous on his face. He was of medium build and had a slight southern accent, from his father, who was from South Carolina. James had a carefree personality, and was a nice fellow. As kids they played outside near the water, skipping rocks and watching the dinghies sail on the river.

"Thanks, I'll go see him now," Peter said. "I'll see you a little later, father."

"Okay. Just don't get lost. I need you for tomorrow, remember?" Mr. Betts grinned at him.

"As if I'd miss the race!" Peter called as he stepped through the screen door.

The air was a bit chilly but Peter took no note. He walked slowly around the back of the small, brown house and down the short green path that led to James' house.

"There you are Peter! I was looking for you!" exclaimed a tenor voice. The voice seemed to come from the branches of a large maple tree.

Craning his neck to look, Peter answered "Yes, my dad told me. For goodness sake's what are you doing up there, James?"

"I'm looking at all the boats that are going to be in the race tomorrow," replied James. Peter could see his blond hair in between the broad green leaves. "I figure there's near twenty boats lined up on the wharf."

"Who else do we know are entering the race?" asked Peter, his eyes surveying the boats.

"Well there's William Pratchet and his father, Jacob Smith. All the other's must come from over the rive." James dropped from the tree branch he had been sitting on and landed clumsily on his feet. He was clad in a white shirt and brown suspenders. "My father and I are going to look over our boat today. I bet you'll be doing the same?"

"Yes, you can never be too prepared," replied Peter with a friendly smile.

"Oh, and one more thing. No matter who wins tomorrow, we'll still be friends, right?" asked James.

"Yes, of course, James. You're my best friend. We'll have to wait and see who wins, though. Even if I don't beat you, there are twenty other boats," laughed Peter good-naturedly. In his head he thought Twenty other boats to beat. I'll do my best. "Anyway, I got to get going. My mother's making oatmeal," called James as he turned to walk back to his house. "I'll see you later, Peter."

James didn't notice the look on Peter's face. "Goodbye, James," Peter said distractedly. He was thinking about the oatmeal his mother used to make…

As Peter tiredly crawled into bed that night he thought about all the work he and his father had done that day: they had checked the mainsail, the wooden beams for rot, and all the ropes and pulleys. Beatrice couldn't have been in better shape. Then they had sailed the boat to the official starting point of the race. Everything was ready. I'm ready, thought Peter.

"Rise an' shine, Peter! Time to get up!"

Peter, suddenly wide-awake, jumped out of bed and rushed to get dressed.

"I know! I'm coming, I'm coming!" Peter yelled to his dad, who had walked back to the kitchen. Today's the day, thought Peter. He had slept very little last night; the race was all the could think about.

Peter finished dressing and walked quickly to the kitchen. To his surprise he found two plates of sausages already sitting on the table.

"It's your big day, so I thought I'd make breakfast," Mr. Betts said uncomfortably. Peter thought he saw a sad look come into his eyes, but it was gone the next second. Perhaps he's thinking about Mother, thought Peter, a bit sadly himself.

There was a pause, then: "That's great, father," Peter said, without looking his father in the eye. Mr. Betts hesitated, then sat down at the table. Peter followed.

"The race starts at 10:00 this morning, son. That leaves us with three hours to get ready. Why don't we walk on over to the race and meet with the other people in the competition?"

"That sounds great, father. I'll be ready to go in a few minutes."

They walked (since they could not afford an automobile) from their home to the starting point of the race, a few miles to the south. Along the way they met others who were also on their way to the new event. James, and his father Mr. Zachary Cochran, whom they met in front of their house, was pleasant company as they walked. Mr. Cochran was a bit plump around the waist, which some say appeared after nightly visits to the local alehouse. He was a southern man, through and through, as was evident from his accent. His wife, Mrs. Cochran, walked on his other side, a very talkative woman. Peter thought that she must be excited for her son, James.

When the group of friends arrived at the event, the sight took the breath out of Peter. Everywhere he looked there were people: some sitting in the stands, while others stood near the water's edge. In particular he noticed a group of six men; they seemed to be arguing about something. One of the men kept pointing at the horizon, where Peter noticed a long line of tall clouds. He knew that the clouds would bring unruly wind, which would be terrible for the race.

Peter tore his eyes from the cloud accumulation and looked out over the water. He counted twenty boats that sported the orange flag on top of its mast. The water was rippled and murky; Peter wouldn't see the bottom. The wind came from the north; he estimated at about ten knots. It was a perfect day for the Father-Son boat race, but Peter felt a bit uneasy.

A few fours later, after the contestants had meticulously gone over their boats, the spokesperson for the Renforth Boat Club gave a speech about fair play and the rules.

"…But most of all, this race is about the bond between father and son. Each team has to work together and trust one another. In my opinion, this is the true meaning of the 1936 Father-Son Race."

The crowd exploded with cheers and Peter grinned at his father. Mr. Betts grinned right back at him. No matter what happens, I'll always remember this day, thought Peter happily.

Over the next thirty minutes, the participants were rowed out to their boats. The Cochran's boat, the Rosebud, was anchored beside the Betts' boat, the Beatrice. As Peter and his father weighed the anchor, James and his father were doing the same. Every once in a while Peter would look up, and catching James' eyes, smiled excitedly.

The race consisted of an approximately twenty-kilometre course around Long Island and back to the starting point. Looking out over the water, Peter could see orange buoys marking the course. In some places outside the course boats waited patiently in the water; they were there in case of an emergency. Peter hoped that the boats would not have to move from their current positions.

In the distance, the dark clouds continued to advance.

"All right, son. You're going to have to swing the sail around when we tack. The wind is coming out of the north. Are you ready to win this race?" asked Mr. Betts with a determined look in his eyes.

"You bet, father. I've been waiting for so long to do this with you," replied Peter, the same look entering in his eyes.

"I know you have. Today, you're going to make your mother proud." Peter didn't hear the last part of what his father said; it had been carried away by the wind. Mr. Betts turned abruptly and took his position at the tiller. Peter automatically went to his place at the mast of the boat.

Unexpectedly from the shore three pistol shots were heard. This meant the race was about to begin. Suddenly all the boats grew silent. The only thing Peter heard was the sound of the water hitting the sides of the ship. Even the crowd on the shore was silent. His mind began to race: What if I'm not ready? What if…

Suddenly the starter pistol boomed and the Father-Son Boat Race began.

As soon as Peter heard that sound he angled the sails to catch the increasingly strong wind. Mr. Betts turned the tiller to the right and the Beatrice took off through the murky water. The other boats were quickly catching up to them. Peter could see the Cochran's boat, the Rosebud, a few feet away. James was pulling on the rope which raised the sail. Turning Peter focused his thoughts on their own progress.

A handful of boats began passing them, and soon the Beatrice was roughly in the middle of the group. The people on the shore began to cheer wildly at the leading boat.

"Alright, Peter. Begin tacking into the wind!" yelled Mr. Betts. "We're nearing the tip of the island."

Peter immediately began to haul on the ropes that moved the sail along the boom. The boat slowed for an instant, but under Mr. Betts' steady hand they found the wind again. The Beatrice completed the turn hazardously; the boat in front of them was slower. As soon as they gained the straightaway, the Beatrice leapt forward eagerly, as if it knew of their desire to win.

Unbeknownst to the boaters, the dark clouds had moved in and completely covered the sky. The wind was now at thirty-five knots. The water was becoming choppy and their boat began to lurch. Peter could see the other boats experiencing the same problem.

The leading ship was approaching the opposite tip of the island. The wind made tacking hard, but the first craft made it past unscathed. One after the other the other boats tacked away from the wind. It was now the boat in front of the Beatrice's turn.

As it began to tack, a strong gust of wind caught the sail. Peter watched in horror as the craft's hull rolled toward to the right and into the water. The mast came down with a loud splash. When the boat had completely fallen into the water, he stared in horror at the craft's name: Rosebud.

"Father! The Cochran's boat rolled over!" shouted Peter over his shoulder. "The rescue boat won't reach them in time." For indeed the rescue boat had begun to move unto the course.

"Oh my Lord! We've got to help them!" Peter and his father exchanged a look between them; both knew that they would lose the race.

"Draw the sail, Peter! We don't want to go past them!" shouted Mr. Betts.

"Yes, father!"

The boat slowed and finally stopped at the Rosebud. The other contestants sailed past them without a second glance. Peter scanned the water for a sign of James and his father in the rough waves. He didn't see either of the two.

Then a great floundering thing broke the surface. It was James! Peter cried our with relief. Mr. Betts threw the life preserver to him and James caught it on the second try.

"My father! Did you find him?" sputtered a shaky James.

"There he is!" cried Mr. Betts. The rescue boat had pulled up and was hauling a trembling Mr. Cochran from the black water.

From the shore came a pistol shot; the race was over. Peter looked over at his father and thought It was worth losing the race. The Beatrice, followed by the rescue ship, carefully came around the tip and a rowing party took Peter, James, and their fathers to the shore.

A group of people rushed up to help to Cochrans. In the front of the crowd ran Mrs. Cochran. "Are you all right, James, Zachary? You gave me a dreadful scare!" exclaimed Mrs. Cochran. She hugged them each in turn, talking all the while. Mr. Cochran couldn't get a word in edgewise.

Police Chief O'Leary came up to the Cochrans and placed a blanket around their shoulders. "Do you two need to see a doctor, Zachary?"

"No, we're just a bit cold and shaken up," replied Mr. Cochran, his teeth beginning to chatter. "We'll just sit down for a while." He and James proceeded to the brown benches that were inside the Boat Club. Peter followed James, and Mr. Betts followed Peter.

After they had settled down as comfortably as possible, Mr. Cochran turned to Peter and his father and said "That was a mighty kind thing you did for us. We would have probably died if you hadn't stopped. Thank you." He paused, then said to Peter, "I'm sorry you lost your race, son."

"That's not important. What's important is that you and James are alright," replied Peter, feeling quite like a hero.

"It was nothing. We were glad to help," added Mr. Betts.

"Come on, James. I think we need some good, hot food," said Mr. Cochran as he got up to leave.

"Coming, dad. I'll see you around, Peter, Mr. Betts," called James as he walked with his father to the Club's cafeteria.

Mr. Betts watched them go, then turned to Peter and said "Son, you did a grand thing today. You're mother would be proud."

"Yes, I know she would be," said Peter. He was off in his own thoughts about his mother…

Beatrice Betts had been a lovely woman, with hazel eyes and brownish-blond hair. She had been a short woman, but the loving authority she had made her seem much taller to Peter, even when he was a child. Beatrice had died when he was nine years old; Peter could just barely remember her. She had died in a carriage accident on the Hampton Roadway. Mr. Betts had never been quite the same after her death. Sometimes Peter dreamed about their last day together; she had watched him help his father work the ropes of the mast. She had smiled and said to him "When you're older, Peter, you're going to be a great captain, just like your father." Peter had kept that memory with him and ever since, and after today, he knew he had lived up to her memory.