The Voyage of Lucy P. Simmons Read Online Free PDF

Grandfather’s homestead in Australia! There!” She jabbed her finger at the quadrant labeled J-3. “The spot he’d X’ed. It’s all the proof we need.”
    Walter grinned. “Now all we have to do is . . .”
    Marni interrupted him. “It does appear we’ve located the grave. And it will involve a bit of clever-ness in order to unearth what we’re looking for. But still . . .”
    â€œStill what?” I asked.
    â€œIt feels too easy.”
    Pru and I exchanged a glance. Every other step in this quest had been riddled with complications. Was it possible our luck was changing?
    No sooner did the thought occur to me than a wall of thicker fog pressed in, carrying with it a cold chill.
    â€œThere’ll be a lot to plan,” Marni said. “We can’t very well just march over here with a shovel.”
    â€œNo,” Pru said. “We’ll need to come at night. Wait until the moon has waned. A starless night. One of us as a lookout.”
    â€œThere’re supplies we’ll need,” Walter added. “Shovels. A cart. Rope for hoisting.”
    Despite our good fortune I suddenly felt weary. Anxious. The fog pressed in.
    â€œLet’s go back,” I said, and to cover my anxiety, I added, “and make a plan.”
    â€œGood idea,” Pru said. “This fog gets much thicker and it’ll be hard to find our way.”
    I glanced out to sea and pushed back a wave of panic. Nothing at all was visible. It was like peering into a cloud. Again I was reminded of the day Mother and Father had been lost at sea—to me, the fog was a dire enemy.
    We managed to find the dirt road, and painstakingly began to retrace our steps. It took all my concentration, eyes glued to my feet, to make certain I wouldn’t trip and fall.
    Suddenly I felt utterly alone—I had no sense of Walter beside me, or of Marni and Pru behind. “Marni? Aunt Pru? Where are you? Walter?” My voice bounced back and dissipated in the fog. An eerie silence enveloped us. My hands groped before me. Walter, I silently cried. Aunt Pru? Marni? A distant voice answered, pleading from some unreachable place . Plant your feet firmly, darling. Don’t move a muscle! Resist! You must!
    I knew that voice. Mother? My knees felt suddenly weak. Then, a sudden pressure on my arm.
    There now, that’s my girl. Steady! Steady! Inch your way back.
    Father . . . Somehow, their voices empowered me to reinhabit myself, or at least regain some level of control.
    Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! As always, the warning bell of the Lucy P. Simmons roused me, and, with great difficulty, I riveted myself to the spot on which I stood. Slowly, slowly I edged my feet back. As I did, a warm breeze curlicued through the fog, and floating on the welcome stream of air was the faintest hint of colorful glittering mist—the same that had transformed my home back in Maine and had swirled about the ship when the situation was most dire. As it wafted about me I felt the life force surge once again inside my veins, and at the same time the oppressive fog and acrid smoky vapor began to lift.
    Exhausted, I sat down and closed my eyes. I was roused by a snuffling sound and a tugging at my sleeve.
    â€œPugsley!”
    I gasped. My little dog was desperately trying to pull me back from the edge of a precipice where I was sprawled, just inches from where the cliff dropped into the sea. Not daring to get up, I scootched myself from the rim of the bluff on my backside, until I was far enough away to safely stand.
    â€œPugsley,” I cried, “I don’t see Walter, or Pru. Marni.” Deeply shaken, my eyes scanned the cresting whitecaps, terrified that I might spy a rag doll of a body being cast about. Pugsley tipped his head, sniffed into the wind, and took off. Squinting, I followed him with my eyes and spied three rumpled forms farther up along the headland. I ran until they