Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
Between every two pine trees, there is a door leading to a new way of life.
—John Muir, conservationist
The crowd in front of Hulls Cove Visitor Center was bigger than Tim Rivers had expected.
Press conferences weren’t exactly his idea of a thrilling way to spend the day, but this one had drawn reporters from Portland to Bangor.
Tim crossed his arms, his ranger hat tipped just enough to shield his face from the afternoon sun.
Up at the podium, Superintendent Doreen Campbell was doing what she did best: talking. She had the smooth delivery of someone who enjoyed cameras and headlines, but she couldn’t make bureaucratic language sound exciting.
He glanced around and spotted familiar faces on the far side of the patio.
Maisie was waving at him like a shipwrecked sailor desperate for rescue until he lifted a hand in response.
Thea didn’t even notice him. She was scanning the crowd with the intensity of someone on a mission.
And Becky—lovely, mature Rebecca—caught his eye and winked. Tim, without thinking, winked back.
Imagine that. He looked away, stuffing his hands in his pockets as a warmth spread through him. When was the last time he’d winked at anyone?
Lunch at Stewman’s had flown by, conversation tumbling so easily between them that an hour had felt like minutes. They’d decided to meet again for dinner, and this time, she insisted—it was her treat. He was counting the hours until he could spend time with Becky again.
Tim’s mind was miles away from Doreen’s verbosity.
Maisie’s face lingered in his thoughts—he knew she was hurt by how Frankie kept brushing her off for that blue-haired girl.
She didn’t deserve that. Bit by bit, little by little, Maisie was coming into her own.
Tim had watched her grow, seen her quiet shifts as she matured, and it bothered him that someone as oblivious as Frankie couldn’t appreciate just how special she was.
He glanced over to where Becky was standing.
Later today, he would tell Maisie how Becky had been his best friend’s little sister, always underfoot, always annoying in that way younger siblings are.
Never gave her any thought until that summer he came back from college.
And there she was—no braces, all filled out, looking like she’d stepped right out of the dreams he didn’t know he’d had.
He could almost hear Maisie’s voice now, asking why he didn’t ask Becky out. He’d wanted to, once he saw her that way. But she had a boyfriend that summer, and Tim had figured there’d be time later. But there wasn’t.
Life had a way of slipping right through your fingers if you weren’t careful. And sometimes, by the time you figured it out, it was already too late.
Not this time. Tim wasn’t going to let Becky slip away. He cast a glance to his left. He didn’t mind so much if Frankie slipped away.
He tried to pull back his thoughts and pay attention to Doreen as she went on and on and on about the significance of the shipwreck, the hidden gold, and the meticulous investigation that had brought them to this point. His mind started wandering again . . .
Thirty minutes earlier, in his office, the superintendent had met with him and Scout. The memory of that meeting made Tim shift uncomfortably where he stood.
The superintendent had wanted them to know, prior to the press conference, that the legal department had concluded the gold belonged to Acadia National Park, as the ship had come to rest within park boundaries.
A hefty finder’s fee would go to Ranger Scout Johnson for first discovering the clues that led to the shipwreck’s discovery.
Tim had watched Doreen put pressure on Scout, all while keeping her tone light and professional. “Just a thought. Turning your finder’s fee over to the park would show real dedication to Acadia. You like it here, don’t you?”
Tim had caught Scout’s stiff nod, her lips pressed tight, and he’d felt a pang of sympathy.
Scout was a hardworking, dedicated ranger.
It was a career that didn’t pay much and often asked for more than it gave back.
As the saying went, rangers were paid in sunsets, not salaries.
And now she was being pressured to forfeit a nice windfall.
The superintendent’s voice snapped Tim out of his thoughts. “And now, it’s my pleasure to invite Ranger Scout Johnson to join me. If it weren’t for this ranger, one of the NPS’s best, the gold might never have been found.”
The crowd broke into polite applause as Scout walked to the front, steady and composed.
Only for a split second did she falter—right as she passed her parents.
Tim spotted her father and assumed the poised woman beside him was her mother.
Put her in a ranger uniform, and she and Scout could pass for sisters.
Though, watching her, she sure didn’t seem like the type who’d wear one.
Frankie cupped his mouth like a megaphone. “Way to go, Scout!”
Tim elbowed him and reminded him to be quiet, but Frankie had never been good at quiet.
As the superintendent announced the monetary value of the gold—and that the park would be receiving it, and that Ranger Scout Johnson would be given a finder’s fee—Frankie let out a whoop that made half the heads in the crowd turn. “That’s AWESOME! I already put a down payment on a kayak.”
Tim shot him a look of pure disgust.
Scout turned to face the crowd and stepped up to the microphone.
She started with the usual thanks, her voice steady and polite, but Tim could hear the effort in her tone.
Then she paused, just long enough for Tim to lean forward slightly.
“I sincerely appreciate this finder’s fee,” she said, her voice clear and deliberate, “but the gold on that ship was originally intended for the Penobscot Nation by the US government. So, in that spirit, I am givin’ my finder’s fee to the Penobscot Nation. ”
The crowd went utterly silent, as if someone had hit the mute button. Tim watched the superintendent’s face freeze into a practiced smile, her jaw tightening just slightly.
“Aww, man,” Frankie groaned, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Tim jabbed him again with his elbow. “Don’t miss the bigger picture, kiddo.”
Scout stepped back from the microphone, her face calm but determined. As she walked back to where she’d been standing, Tim caught her eye and mouthed a silent “bravo.” He knew that decision had cost her, but it had also earned her something far greater. To him, Ranger Scout Johnson was a hero.
Maisie leaned against the counter in Pops’s cramped living quarters, watching as couples paired up and left.
First went Pops and Rebecca, heading off to Stewman’s, Rebecca promising they’d bring back dessert.
Then Frankie’s dad invited her mom out to dinner, which Maisie tried very hard not to think about. Too weird.
Frankie’s dad, who was a very nice guy considering he was a big shot in the NPS, hesitated in the doorway. “You sure you two don’t wanna come with us?”
“Nah, you go,” Frankie said, leaning back against the counter like he had nowhere in the world to be. “Maisie and I can grab something.” He held out his palm expectantly.
His dad sighed but dropped a couple of twenties into it before pointing a finger at him. “I want change from that.”
“No promises,” Frankie said with a grin. “Let’s go, kid.”
“I’m not a kid,” Maisie said, under her breath. Why bother saying it louder? Frankie wasn’t listening.
If Pops’s story about Rebecca Woodbine had taught her anything, it was that Frankie wasn’t going to really see her until the time was right. “‘To all things there is a season,’” Pops had said. “‘A time for everything.’”
She hoped he was right.
They ended up at a tiny diner near the docks, the kind of place where everything smelled faintly of fried food and the napkin dispensers were always half empty. It wasn’t exactly the romantic dinner Maisie had once dreamed of, but it wasn’t terrible.
Frankie ordered fried clams for himself and a hot dog for her and fries to share. She was actually kind of pleased that he’d remembered she is allergic to shellfish. And, for once, while they waited for their food, Frankie wasn’t scrolling on his phone, ignoring her.
“So,” Maisie said, “pretty slick move by Scout today, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Frankie said, glancing up at the waitress as she set down their food between them. “Kinda bummed about my kayak, though. But I talked my dad into letting me take scuba diving lessons. Gonna get certified in time for the big dive.”
Maisie tried a couple of french fries. “What’s the big dive?”
In the middle of thumping the bottom of a ketchup bottle, Frankie shot her a look like she’d just asked what a car was. “The USS North Atlantic. Dr. Johnson’s got an exploration planned. Guess he does this kind of thing all the time. Pretty cool for an old geezer.”
Maisie froze mid-chew, caught between a rush of envy that she wasn’t included and a sense of relief to be excluded.
Diving around a shipwreck sounded really .
. . creepy. “Since they’ve got the gold, why would they want to go exploring?
I thought people only did that if they were after buried treasure. ”
“Nah, it’s not just about the gold,” he said.
“Sure, treasure hunters want treasure. But Dr. Johnson isn’t that kind of dude.
The USS North Atlantic’s, like, a piece of history.
Been sitting there, buried under the ocean for—what—almost a hundred and seventy years?
He said the dive is mostly so he can examine how ships were made back then.
It’s like time froze. There’s stuff down there nobody’s seen in ages. ”
“Sure hope you don’t come across any human remains.”
“Aww, man. I hope for sure we will.”
Gag. She’d been kidding. The greasy french fries sat heavy in her stomach.