Nathaniel Hawthorne’s incomplete History of America
by Tom O'Malley
Chapter One: My Name
You don’t know me but you think you do. My name is Nathaniel Hawthorne. Ok. Go ahead and say it. It's not like I've never heard how that name sounds familiar. Everyone says something like "Nathaniel Whothorne"?
"Didn't he die about one hundred years ago?"
If it's an adult they say something like: "Where's your Scarlet Letter?"
So go ahead. I've heard all the jokes. That's what you get when your parents are both English teachers. Everything has some kind of literary connection. I also have a goldfish named Geoffrey Chaucer and a cat named Dante. Grandpa says he meows in Italian. Grandpa also claims to be the original Nathaniel Hawthorne and that his Great Grandfather was a judge at the Salem Witch trials. Course Grandpa also says that there's more than a little witchcraft in our family. Now that's one thing I really can't argue about. At least not after the things that have happened in the last few months.
Names can tell you something about the person who wears it. In spite of my name, I’m used to it. People expect me to be smart like the other Nathaniel Hawthorne. Even if I do something stupid, everyone assumes that it is really a smart thing to do.
Chapter 2: Canoes
Last Summer started out to be the dullest Summer I have ever had. The weather was hot, so hot that we didn't feel like doing anything. Oh we had our usual Tuesday afternoon baseball games, but what fun is it getting hammered by the Bedford Blues. Our team wouldn't be bad if you only had someone who could pitch. No. Make that someone, anyone who can actually get the ball over the plate. Things got so bad that my sister Amy was our starting pitcher. She was a little wild, but at least the Bedford team never got out of Concord without a bruise or two. Amy owned the inside of the plate.
Grandpa tried to coach us on off days. He was patient but that Summer my heart just wasn't in it. Aside from the weekly baseball beating we had our canoe. Amy and I spent many mornings drifting down the Concord river. There's something about the early morning air and being on the water. I like the mist and the warm sun filtering through. The river is like a curtain rising before a new play. Life is like a dream. Like I said it was a dull Summer, but somehow riding in the canoe was good medicine for all that boredom.
A lot of people come to Concord and never know which way the water flows. Amy and I would set out early and carry the canoe to Millpond and set it in just above the bridge by Route 2. A few dips of the paddle and we'd be on our way. There wasn't much to talk about as we glided silently through the morning mist. Unless Grandpa came along. Then it was non- stop talk. He made us be quiet so as not to disturb the fish. Then he'd proceed to go on about the days on the river when he was a boy, back during the Depression. We knew the whole tale by heart: How the boys made their own canoes, Indian style: first you find a dead tree. Next you hack away at the insides with your axe ( one you made in the basement cause of course there never was money to buy things in the store). Finally you waterproof the shell with a special formula handed down by word of mouth through ten generations. It's a family secret so I won't say a word here. "Those canoes were tough to handle, but they were faster and lighter than these new fangled plastic ones you kids are using."
To be honest I didn't always listen to everything that came out of Grandpa's mouth on those mornings. I'd just let the river take me along with the current, nod my head from time to time, and occasionally add a : "Really", or a "Wow!" or a "Come on!" just to keep him honest.
But occasionally a word or two would break through my daydream and sink in. In fact, if it wasn't for Grandpa, I never would have started my detective career and I never would have met Owen Brown and I never would have...No. I'm getting ahead of myself.
Chapter 3: The watch
That morning, Grandpa was going on about the Great Depression again when suddenly he jumped straight up in. Not a good move if you're in a canoe. All three of us almost ended up in the river. "My watch. Did I give you my watch, Nathaniel?"
I steadied the rocking boat and answered: "Your pocket watch?"
"My priceless pocket watch."
"No."
"Check your pockets, check your hat. Amy. Do you have it? "
"No."
"Check your purse. Maybe it's in the bottom of your purse."
"I don't carry a purse, Grandpa!" said Amy. "I'm not that kind of girl."
Did I mention that my sister considers herself a boy? Any mention of femininity concerning her is usually taken as an insult."
Now Grandpa was in a fever. "Check to boat. Check the river. Check your shoes." We checked every corner of the canoe, our clothes ( twice ) and I even jumped in the water a few times when Grandpa though he saw something gold glistening near the bottom. No sign of the watch - anywhere. Poor Grandpa. He went from a mad man pointing his finger here, there and everywhere there might be a sign of the watch - to a poor beaten man. Quiet. Face buried in his hands. Sad. We did our best to console him on the way home.
"The watch belonged to my grandfather. He worked the Fitchburg railroad when the trains ran into Boston five times a day. "
"Don't give up. Let's use a little logic." I was grasping at straws. Logic sounded good. "Assume the watch isn't on the bottom of the river."
"Why should we assume that"? asked Amy. She's what I call a skeptic. Never believes anything.
"Because we would have heard the splash."
Grandpa cheered a little. "Yes. And I don't think that I looked a the time after we set out."
Good. At least he was cheering up. Good old logic. "Ok. Let's work backwards. Where were you before we put the boat in the water."
"I took my morning walk. Had the watch with me because I set it with the bells from the First Church. They ring every morning at seven."
Grandpa's an early riser, even in the summer! "And then?
"Stopped at the Willow pond for coffee. Same as every morning."
"And then."
"I paid for my coffee. Had a whole lot of change. And I took the watch out of my pocket and set it on the counter. I must have walked away and left it setting there." And when he said that you could see the lights flashing and the bells whistling. Grandpa started to run. "My goodness. You're a regular Sherlock Holmes, Nathaniel. There's a reward in this for you if I find it." We were off and running - actually walking at a fast pace - all the way to the Willow pond. Grandpa did break away from us just before we got there and when Amy and I walked in there he was holding his watch and beaming. "Sit down kids, the ice cream's on me. All you can eat!"
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