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    Storm Summer
    Storm Summer
    Storm Summer
    Ebook116 pages1 hour

    Storm Summer

    By C.B. Calsing

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Eileen Babineaux wants nothing more than to attend pool parties and dances during the summer of 1942. Instead, she has to spend it on her grandfather's oyster boat while her mother works and her father is shipped out to war in the Pacific. What's worse? A hurricane threatening the small town of Port Pomme d'or! Eileen's grandfather needs to get his boat to safety before the storm strikes, but can he do it on his own? Should Eileen help or flee to safety with her friend?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCCE Publishing
    Release dateDec 29, 2015
    ISBN9781311938978
    Storm Summer
    Author

    C.B. Calsing

    C.B. Calsing was born and grew up in the small Central Coast town of San Luis Obispo, California. As a child, she spent long hours composing stories and plays. Half-way through her junior year in high school, she left to attend Cuesta Community College, where, after a few years of study, she received her associate of arts degree with honors. Following that, she transferred to Cal Poly, San Luis Obispo. There, she completed her bachelor of arts in English. She took a year off, traveled to Indonesia and Ireland, and then decided to return to school to become a certified English teacher.In 2002, fresh out of her studies, Mrs. Calsing and her future husband moved to New Orleans. Mrs. Calsing has worked in the field of education throughout the Greater New Orleans Area for the last eight years. In 2004, she married. Following her evacuation from Hurricane Katrina, Mrs. Calsing returned to New Orleans and began her master of fine arts degree in creative writing, fiction, at the University of New Orleans. She completed that in 2009. Now, she teaches gifted students and writes when there is time.“To Wade Alone,” a story from her collection All Along the Pacific, took second place in the On the Premises “First” contest in June 2009. Her work has appeared in college literary journals, guerrilla zines, and on Web sites. Her work also appeared in anthologies such as An Honest Lie Volume One and Things We Are Not, a collection of queer science fiction.Her two favorite genres to write are historic and science fiction, probably because both allow her to visit worlds different from her own.

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      Book preview

      Storm Summer - C.B. Calsing

      Storm Summer

      Published by C.B. Calsing at Smashwords

      Copyright 2015 C.B. Calsing

      Cover art copyright 2015 by Diana Bittleston

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Table of Contents

      Prologue

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Epilogue

      Glossary

      Afterword

      About the Author

      Other Titles by C.B. Calsing

      Connect with C.B. Calsing

      Connect with Artist Diana Bittleston

      Prologue

      Somewhere over an oyster lease

      off the coast of Louisiana, in the Gulf of Mexico, 1942

      Dida’s oyster boat — known as a lugger — had never been named; he didn’t see a reason to. He wasn’t superstitious, he said, and he was too old to have a sweetheart to impress. He’d had the lugger since 1916.His previous boat fell apart after the Great Hurricane of 1915.

      This long, wide boat possessed an inboard motor and a wheelhouse, toward the back. He’d replaced the engine once in the 1920s, when the jazz age hipsters out of New Orleans had driven up the price of oysters and he could afford it. He took good care of that engine, spent more time babying it than most people did on their own children.

      The wheelhouse could double as a bunk if needed. You just needed to string up a hammock, for which large, brass hooks were mounted in the sides. The deck of the ship was wide and open, with plenty of room to store piles of oysters or other gear. A bimini covered the entire length of the long bow in front of the wheelhouse. The boat had a pointed bow, to break through the minor swells of the gulf, but a shallow, fairly smooth bottom to glide over the mudflats and shallows of the bayous and bays. It wasn’t suited to deep seas or heavy waves. Dida, in the offseason, had painted the hull above the water line a bright turquoise. Below the waterline, a dark brownish red which masked the weeds and barnacles that grew there. Almost the color of dried blood.

      Dida spent every day of his life on the boat — except Sundays, Easter, and Christmas — either working to improve it or working on his oyster lease: seeding, turning, harvesting...

      This summer Eileen Babineaux, his sixteen-year-old granddaughter, went with him.

      The boat shifted lazily beneath Eileen. She could hear her grandfather working at the bow. She sat against the front of the small wheelhouse, big sunglasses protecting her eyes from the glaring sun that bothered her despite the shade of the bimini. She opened the letter she had brought with her and started reading.

      Dear Leenie,

      We are in Hawaii now. We had a long trip over out of San Diego.That is why you went so long without a letter.

      Eileen had gotten a stack of letters — one for every day he had been at sea — just yesterday. She had read them one by one, all the way through, even though he did not have much to say. Nothing seemed to change while on a ship at sea. He had told some funny stories about what the other sailors had come up with to stave off boredom, like putting on skits dressed as what they thought the hula girls in Hawaii would look like.

      You would probably love this place. The weather is sort of like fall at home. A sea breeze, warm temperatures. I get to eat all kinds of things you’ve probably never even read about.I will bring home what I can. We’ve got poi, kind of like mashed potatoes. We have been taught that the natives eat it with their fingers. Lots of fish here too, which are great but some of them seem way too beautiful to eat. Your grandfather would love it too.

      There is still some damage here from the Japanese attack last year. They work around the clock to fix things. I’ve taken a boat out to look at the wrecks. It’s really sad. So many lives lost, but we’ll get back at them, Leenie. I promise.

      Eileen didn’t like to think of her father getting back at anyone. He had a hard time stomping on palmetto bugs that mistakenly made it into the house. How would he be able to look another man in the face and… and… Eileen stared out at the sea for a moment to stop herself from thinking about what the war would possibly make her father do. She’d heard stories about people that came back from wars different. Would he still be the father who listened to The Lone Ranger with her? Who always stole the well-done ends from the Sunday roast before she could get them?

      She forced herself back to the letter.

      Our commanders are shipping us out any day now. I am not exactly sure where we are going, and I donot think the censor would let me tell you anyway.

      Eileen stopped reading and looked at all the stamps and clearances on the envelope. One read Passed Naval Censor in a ring. She went back to reading.

      I hope you are being good for your grandpa. And donot forget to write your momma at her job too. I know she misses having you around the house, but I am sure this is for the best. I hope to see you soon.

      Love,

      Dad.

      Some days, Eileen wondered if she’d ever see her father again. What if forever now, she only got letters? Or what if, even worse, he...he…

      Eileen folded the letter and tucked it in her pocket. She sighed and slipped her sunglasses back on.

      Around her, gulls cried, and she could hear Dida raking the floor of his oyster lease. She lifted her head and looked at him. Eileen loved him, sure, but she would much prefer being in New Orleans, taking care of her mother. She wondered how many hours a day her mom worked at the Higgins plant, building boats for the war. Double shifts? Was she eating right with her rations and everything? Down here, they had plenty of seafood, some produce they bartered for, but Eileen knew things were probably harder in the city. She shook her head. She should be home cooking for her momma, taking care of the house… It was not fair her parents sent her down here for her grandpa to take care of her. He seemed like such an old man. He certainly didn’t know anything about being a sixteen-year-old girl in this day and age.

      Eileen turned to watch Dida. He pulled up a rake full of oysters, just to have a look. He examined a few critically and then dumped them back in.

      Can I help? Eileen asked. She asked every day, but for some reason he did not seem to think the work suitable for her. Still, he made her come. She was okay with not working. the work appeared messy, and Dida had calluses on his hands. She didn’t want that.

      Nah, I got it. Dida spoke with a strange accent. Momma said it was because, even though he grew up in South Louisiana, he had lived around so many immigrants from Croatia, and they only spoke Croatian in the home; he had picked up their accent. Eileen knew some of Dad’s relatives that sounded like they came from France, so she figured it was about the same thing.

      Dad is shipping out in a few days, he says, Eileen said, hoping Dida would at least have a conversation with her while he worked.

      He only grunted and kept working the rake and separating oysters.

      Eileen sighed. If I can’t do anything while we are out here, why do I even need to come?

      Dida set down his giant rake and looked at her. He took a bright blue bandana out of his pocket and wiped his brow. Even though everything else about him was rugged and worn, his bandanas were always bright and pressed, at least at the beginning of the day. By the end, though, they were covered in saltwater, sweat, snot, and engine oil. Eileen drew a

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