Walking On Water

By Nancy Williams

Following the vote, which took yet another opportunity away from the township to save some of the natural landscape they were responsible for, Jed Meyers asked the new speaker a question.

"Do you have any other copies of this?" he asked pointing to the water model plans on the post board.

"Ah, I can get you one, sure," the speaker said. In fact I think I have an extra copy here. Does anyone else want one?" he asked, turning to the rest of the supervisors at the makeshift row of tables they used as a dais.

Bernie Hall leaned to one side and raised his hand "O.K. yes I'll have one," he quipped, seeming to not to want to be outdone by Meyers.

The map showed all the pipes in Milltown in colors to signify each width of pipe. An overlay of roads and building markers made the town look like a tiny metropolis with a subway running through it.

"I think this is really interesting, thank you," said Meyers leaning over the table to take a folded copy of the plans. "You've done a really good job here."

But the news that came with the water model wasn't nearly so wonderful. Linsey Martin stared at the paper on the board to try to see what he was so thrilled about. It showed that the township had only one tenth of the line pressure needed to fulfill their obligation to bring water hydrants to the new development above Milltown.

Martin continued to write in her note book without looking down, and watched the faces of the supervisors to try to see where they were going next. It was a skill that she had acquired over the last few months covering the local township meetings that served her well. Sometimes her writing was hard to read later, but she usually remembered what everyone said anyway.

Chairman Ron Stack, in his authoritative way, cleared his throat, "All right, if that's all."

"Well, there's nothing we can do now," said Meyers.

"No. There's no motion. We'll have to think about this," he said looking again at the speaker looking out over the small group assembled on chairs, and the rows of empty seats.

The speaker opened his mouth as if there was more to say. Looking back at the drawing he made one more pitch, "With a pump system and a tank placed here you do realize we could bring enough pressure on line to..."

'Yes but the lines are too small through here and there," interupted Meyers. How much would you say the whole job would cost?"

"We estimate about two hundred and fifty thousand, for all the pipes to be refit and the tanks." He looked down almost shamefully and began to gather up his materials. It had become clear that the township had no resources to embark on such a costly project.

After a silence Lindsey Martin raised her hand slowly.

"Yes," the chairman pointed with his chin. "Go Ahead"

"Lindsey Martin, Sunrise Daily," she said with a small hint of a question mark. "What would you do if there's a fire in Milltown now?"

"We have what you call dry hydrants. Ponds and tanker trucks that can carry the water to any location in the township," said Chief Bower, rising to the moment to provide some hard facts that he knew. "And there are many volunteer fire companies in the area with agreements to come to fires throughout the township. It's the way we've always done it, and it's worked so far.'

"Have you ever had a major fire?" Lindsey asked hoping that she wasn't pushing the issue too much.

"Well no, I don't think so," hummed the Chairman, "but that's really not important because we know we can provide enough pressure to put out any fire."

"We aren't talking about fires in buildings that are close together are we?" asked Meyers, Because I know you need to have enough pressure to stop fires from jumping from one building to the next."

Now the discussion was getting out of control, and Lindsey could see it brewing on the faces of two of the supervisors that hadn't said a word for a while. She knew the facts. Milltown never intended to have fire protection of this kind. It was a small town built along a creek more than two hundred years ago. It had a few large stone houses, a tavern and the grain house, and some other smaller frame houses and barns, all settled too near the road for today's standards.

All the eyes around the table seemed to nod in agreement that the discussion was over. "Public comments," said the chairman, "Anyone?"

Lucy Bower looked up from her knitting and down again. A few older men in the back row shifted in their seats.

"On the development issue," Lindsey eased in, "what was the amount of the money that the developer was going to give the township to take care of the open space?"

"It was about... let see, it was twenty two thousand five hundred," began Supervisor Hall with a look that meant he was about to give a lecture. "You don't understand, the township has no plan to take care of lands like a park council. It would be too much to do that. We're simply not able to do that."

He finshed off speaking quickly because he realized that he had already won this battle. The issue had been settled. He had pushed through his decision and he knew it was right.

Jed Meyers leaned away from the table, not willing to be drawn back into that debate again either.

"OK, do we have a motion to adjourn?"

"Motion." said Hall and Smith together, playing a little game they like to play to get the motion.

"All in favor?"

"Aye," came the response from the line of men at the table."

"Motion carries. Good night everyone." said the chairman letting the gavel down with a smooth two cracks.

On the nearly dark walkway outside the building that served as both police station and town hall Lindsey paced, debating whether to try to get more out of Meyers on the development story. She could see him through the small glass window on the door, leaning his large figure over the map of the water model he had open on the table. What was it he saw in that drawing? The lines were smooth and clean, like a neat little village no one lives in. It was nothing like the reality that it was; just a run down old town that was in the wrong century.

She decided to miss deadline and wait for him. There was something in the air tonight she thought, something she didn't think she should miss. So she paced some more, growing more nervous as she waited, not knowing how she would be received when he emerged.

[This message was edited by Nanzar on 01 July 2003 at 11:46 AM.]

Walking On Water
By Nancy Williams
Chapter 2

The freelance job at the Daily had been a real blessing to Lindsey who returned to her home state without much to call her own. A long drawn out divorce and a business that went bust had been the catalyst for her new beginning.

With all that behind her she went back to her first love. Writing. She walked into the office of the local edition with really no reason to think that they would give her a job. She had no experience, she didn't major in journalism in college, and she wasn't exactly the type of young hire that most organizations are looking for.

She planned to rely on her guts and life experience to get through the interview. And it seemed to work because the editor got all the personnel paperwork in order quickly. She was on her first assignment in a matter of days.

Years back she had done a small amount of freelance work for a small local paper. It was all human interest stories though, mostly promotions for private and public companies, but she remembered, and learned the most from her very first article. Especially the night she really "got it" about how to write for the reader.

The story was about an archeological dig which she joined thinking it would make a good article. But it wound up reading more like a term paper than news. After reading it, her editor sat in the office and talked about weaving the story together like a fabric of beautiful colors. "Every graph builds on the next one, what happened who it happened to, how it happened. Let the story unfold, but don't ever forget where you are going, or where you started."

"Most of all." she said you have to have a good beginning. Use verbs to say something about the story that sums it up right in the beginning."

That first lede that finally came to Lindsey was, "Lyle Rosenburger roams about the site." After that, everything just flowed. She quoted the teacher talking about the Leaky's in Africa, and explained historical archeology, and showed how to dig and mark a site.

Now in her little apartment Lindsey sat down at her own computer, something she didn't even have back then, and wrote quickly and carefully about the news she had decided was worthy from the meeting last night:

"The Springfield Township board of supervisors voted in favor of a preliminary plan for a major subdivision of a ten lots on Apple Rd off of Old York Pike Tuesday with some new conditions for their dedicated parcel of open space."

The lede fell easy. Then, to show how one of supervisors had manipulated the vote to fall his way she used his own words.

"According to Supervisor Bernie Hall, who is also on the planning commission, the developer was willing either to dedicate about 8 acres and give a sum of about $21,000 to the township for the care and maintenance of the land, or to deed the land to a homeowner's association to be kept as open space and maintained at their expense.

The new terms of the land disbursal were decided when Albert Corry, the applicant for the Penn Grant subdivision met with the township planning commission last week to finalize the preliminary plan.

Supervisor Jed Meyers asked Hall about the land dedication. " I don't see why we can't take the 8 acres. At a time when we, here and around the county, are paying for open space, why would we want to give this up? It's 8 acres of free land," he asked.

"We're not in a position to support that land, " he said. " We, I mean the planning commission felt that it was important for them to take it."

At this point in the story she knew she had it. It was just a matter of refining what she had heard last night at the meeting and learned about from her new 'contact' Supervisor Meyers.

But some of what he had to say was disturbing, and she had not really had time to digest it all. Was there really a conspiracy to take the water resources from the township by some larger governing body? Or was he just another weirdo with his own agenda.

The meeting between them seemed like a strange dream. As he leaned on his beat up old truck with his hair in it's usual tussle he spoke in a whisper, although there was no one left parked in the gravel lot but them.

"You don't know what's been going on here," he said leaning in. "I've been watching it and I can hardly believe it myself."

Lindsey knew some of the history. The takeover of the water authority was a story she had already filed. It was a bad deal, but it was hardly a conspiracy.

"Look it's very simple," he said, pointing his smoking cigarette at the building behind them. "I'm only gonna be here another two years. I know I'll never get elected again. But I want to do some good for this area. He paused, "Think about it Ms. Martin, why do you think they called this place Springfield? Do you think we have a water shortage here?"

She shook here head. "No we don't," he continued. "So why is every one trying to make it seem like we do?"

He was wobbling on his feet now, and to Lindsey it looked like he might have been a little drunk. It was strange how it had not been noticeable before. She wanted to leave but couldn't because she felt like he was about to tell her something she could really use in a story.

"I'll tell you what," he finally said, "You go there and look at it yourself. I'll meet you and show you. Those springs they have shut down are not contaminated."

"Oh I don't know," she answered quickly, "Maybe. Give me your number and I'll call you. Sometime."

When they finally did part he did something nice. He waited in his truck for her to start her car and begin to drive off. It was not something you always saw men do, and she liked it that he thought of her safety enough to give her that consideration. She decided to do some more research and if it was story she could write, she would meet him and hear him out. Hopefully he would be as forthcoming as he was tonight, unlike most of these officials who freeze at the thought of talking to a reporter.

"A reporter," she thought as she drove off. "I'm a reporter. At least, I think I just became one tonight."

[This message was edited by Nanzar on 02 July 2003 at 03:50 PM.]

Walking On Water
Chapter 3

The bird squawking in the tree was probably only protecting it's young, but is was an irritating sound to wake up to. Especially when the night's sleep had been a fitful one for Lindsey, a normal occurrence on nights when she filed a story for deadline.

All through the night the choice of words had haunted her thoughts. And the idea that she might have chosen the wrong subject, worked its way into her dreams, where everything written down became a testimony against her.

In the light of day, the choice to expose some of the moves made by Hall seemed like the right one. But she wouldn't feel sure until she read it in the paper herself.

With a cup of coffee and her usual cinnamon bun for breakfast she logged onto the internet web page for her paper and looked for the story. She had learned to expect and accept changes by the night editors. She was even grateful for the process and was much less possessive of her words since becoming a freelancer.

Seeing there, in her own words, the lede she had chosen, was a relief. The rest of the story, with only a few minor changes, went as she had written it.

There wasn't any need to check the other news papers, she remembered, because she had been the only reporter in the meeting.

A story from that meeting was still left untold. Something about Jed Meyers' comments started her thinking and planning. First, to get out the map of the township and figure out where the wells and the springs were located, second to call the township secretary and ask her a few questions about the water model for background, and third she had decided to take a trip out there herself, just to get the feel of the area under question.

Driving into the township she remembered the words of Chief Bower. "This Township has one hundred and one miles of roads and 90 percent of the accidents occur on 10 percent of the roads."

He was referring to the 10 miles of roads that intersected the main artery that ran through the northern portion of the triangular shaped township. She knew that corridor was developing faster than the county or the township could provide for safe roads, but the plans were in the works to make improvements.

A long time ago this drive would have been a complete bore. On a school bus or in her parents car she would have daydreamed about getting out of this farming wasteland and finding something exciting to do. She had since traveled- across America and to Europe and lived in many different kinds of places- now she looked at her home in a new way, with a new idea forming, that maybe it's value was not as easy to discern.

Hardly a car passed in the early cool spring morning. Farms rolled by, some with horses and some with newly turned furrows. This spring, if it continued the way it began, promised to be one the farmers couldn't complain about. She knew they would keep their thoughts to themselves about last year's drought, not wanting to break the luck of the new season with negativity. Farmers lived precariously, like she was doing, from one good harvest to another. It was an odd thought that she had anything in common with farmers, and she had a little chuckle about it as she turned into the dinner in the center of Milltown.

At the door, standing very still was Supervisor Hall. He looked into the sun as she came toward him and grimaced. To his fellow retirees and anyone who could hear he said, "It's the press boys and girls! Better watch what you say!"

It didn't matter much to Lindsey that Bernie Hall was uptight around her. There were plenty of people on her beat that enjoyed talking with her, and they knew that she always tried to get all the facts before writing.

"Don't mind me," she said as she pass by, "I'm not staying."

She went to the cold drink case and pulled out a juice and paid for it at the counter. "I'm going up to have a look at the springs," she said to Hall on her way out.

"You're going there? What for? There's nothing to see there," he retorted.

"Maybe not. I just want to see for myself. Want to come?" she asked.

Hall just shook his head and went inside. Lindsey thought as she drove away that it wasn't good to be on his bad side, but it wasn't anything she could do anything about right now. Instead she turned to her task of finding a spot to park her car in the valley below the main road that wouldn't upset anyone.

[This message was edited by Nanzar on 02 July 2003 at 09:28 PM.]

[This message was edited by Nanzar on 24 July 2003 at 09:58 PM.]

Reading this, I just thought I would tell you- Nice title. It makes me wonder how it plays into the story. The characters are in a growing stage, and from this, I can see a planned emergence of the novel. I'll be waiting for chapter 4.

Interesting read,
stranger.

Stranger-
I'm glad to have a response by you. I think you will enjoy the meaning behind the title when it becomes clear. I left off with this work for a while but I think I'm ready to return. I would appreciate comments- any problems you see, I'm still editing this.