Margaret's Ark by Daniel G Keohane Page A

last of them, the forty-eight foot panel buckled under the concentrated weight, bowing until it touched the grass. It didn't happen all at once, as the half-inch beaming along the sides added some tensile strength to the structure. When it did touch bottom, Margaret felt a rush of excitement. The bottom hull was now curved front to back, a prelude to the finished shape.
    By the time the decision was made to stop for the day, one of the sides had been constructed in much the same manner as the base. Forty-eight feet long, eight feet high, with seam tape and glue all around. This side was raised while Al and Marty climbed over the sagging floor, and fastened the side of the hull using nails through the half-inch support beams. More glue along these seams. Ben took his turn with the hand saw and cut the side corners away, as close to the curved hull as he dared.
    The town common smelled of sawdust and glue. Margaret felt like both crying and laughing. She decided on neither, knowing that some of these men, though obviously having fun working on the project, already assumed she was insane.
    At this rate, the ship would be done in a couple of weeks. It would look clunky and un-seaworthy, but it would be finished, and it would float. Such was God's promise.
    Everyone gathered a few paces back from the construction to admire their handiwork. The men commented on their progress as if they'd been working on nothing more significant than a house deck.
    It looked like a cross-section of an incomplete ship, with only one side up, but it did look like a boat.
    Adrian Edgecomb pulled alongside the curb and slowly got out of his car. With an “Uh, oh,” Marty broke from the ranks and moved to intercept the selectman. The other firemen exchanged nervous glances as Marty and Edgecomb fell into loud debate. Why were town employees making “doll houses” on duty, and “what was that monstrosity doing” on his town square. Marty spoke in a lower voice, now and then looking towards Margaret and the girls who hovered close to their mother.
    Ben and the two of the other firemen quietly debated the logic of hanging around and made noises about heading back. In contrast, Al busied himself laying out the planks for the starboard side, as if nothing untoward was happening. He'd said very little to Margaret the entire day, but she felt less intimidated by him. She stayed her ground, trying to catch snippets of the conversation at the roadside.
    “I know what it is,” Edgecomb was saying. “They're starting to crop up everywhere. Are you.... she's one of those nuts, too? “
    Low murmurs from Marty, and more derisive curses from the man who was, in every sense of the word, his employer.
    Finally, the selectman got back into his car with a slam of the driver's door and pulled from the curb with a flair he usually reserved for the monthly selectmen's meeting. Visibly humbled, Marty walked slowly back to the waiting group.
    “We're in Dutch, boss,” Ben said, “right?”
    Marty looked at him blankly for a second, then, “Oh, are we in trouble, you mean? Kind of. He's off our backs for now, but he's not too keen on....” he stopped and gave Margaret a sheepish grin.
    She finished for him, “On catering to the delusions of a madwoman?”
    “Not exactly his words,” Marty said, “but that's the gist of it, yes.”
    Ben slapped his palms together. “Well, I guess that's it then. Come on, guys, shift's over in a few hours anyway, and we still have to wash twenty-one.”
    Marty raised his hand. “Hold on. We're not leaving Margaret with this thing half-done.”
    Ben sneered. The young man's expression had darkened considerably since first arriving that morning. “Half done? What are you talking about? You heard the man; we're not supposed to be helping her. Besides, we're not anywhere close to half done.”
    “We can at least get the other side up. “
    “No way,” Ben said. “Listen, you may be the boss, Marty, but that guy's your