Part 1: Moonrise Summer
"Summer afternoon-summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language"-Henry James
Chapter 1: Fort Lebanon
A bearded bespectacled man stands on the shoreline with a wall of sand dunes to his back.
"This is the Island of Saint Jack Wood: 9 miles long and 7 miles at its widest; it is covered with both pine and maple forest as well as many fields dotted with farms; it is populated with 5,198 souls, most of which reside in the township that gives the island its name."
The man, who serves as the community's librarian and historian is now standing in front of the entrance to a wooden compound, a tall and skinny scout named Dwight Joseph 'DJ' Leffingwell stands on a parapet along a wall, raises his bugle to his lips and lets forth a brassy melody.
"The year is 1969 and I am standing in front of Fort Lebanon, the regional headquarters of the Khaki Scouts of North America, which is currently filling up with many troops from around the region. They have come to take part in the annual Hullabaloo which is taking place earlier than normal to coincide with the Apollo 11 Moon landing of the 20th of July…in three days' time."
Inspection:
Fort Lebanon, 17 July 1969-
The boys of Khaki Scouts of North America Troop 55 were gathered together with several dozen other KSNA troops at Fort Lebanon for this year's annual Hullabaloo which, based on the momentous event that was currently unfolding during this Moonrise Summer, was being held in mid-July instead of the usual early September as in years past.
The eight boys of Troop 55 were quartered in Hut 11, a small hut with roll-up sides. They had just finished unpacking their ruck sacks and stowing their field gear and were now filing out of the hut at the beck and call of the bugler's tune. Like rats being led by the Pied Piper, they filed out and formed up in front of their temporary home.
At the same time a tall man in his middle 40s walked out of a hut that housed four scoutmasters. The scoutmaster, a math teacher, walked up to the assembled scouts, pausing to put out his cigarette on his shoe and deposit it in a trashcan. At once the smallest of the scouts trotted up to his side, pencil and pad in hand, to assist him in his inspection.
Scoutmaster Randall Ward stopped in front of the first scout, an athletic boy with All-American good looks.
"Good morning sir," cam the chipper voice of the boy.
"Good morning Tucker," replied Ward, "What is the First Scout Law?"
"Sir, Every Scout is your brother, regardless of who he is, you will be unwavering and straight forward in solidarity which must bind together all members of the same troop."
"Correct."
Ward moved onto the next scout, a tall and skinny lad with intelligent eyes and dark hair.
"Doc, what are the three types of bleeding?"
"Arterial, venous, and capillary Sir."
"Excellent."
"Good morning Archer,"
The short boy with a steely gaze nicknamed Archer sported the highest-level badge for archery. It was said that he could take out a running squirrel at 50 paces.
"Good morning Sir!"
Ward looked the boy up and down and asked, "What is the Second Scout Law?"
"A Scout is good and upright at all times Sir!"
"Good," he replied and moved on to Archer's twin.
"How are you today Trigger?"
"Excellent as always Sir," responded Archer's non-identical and three minutes younger twin. Trigger earned his moniker for his accuracy with an air rifle. His thick glasses were no deterrent for his aim. Additionally he was regarded as the best Pathfinder around.
Ward moved down the line.
"How's the arm doing Tripp?" he asked a glum-looking boy whose left arm was in a sling.
"Horrible."
"Doc, make sure Tripp keeps his arm stable.
"Will do Sir!"
Ward now came to a short, brown haired boy who wore a pair of binoculars around his neck.
"What bear species is native to this area Bishop?"
Bishop replied matter-of-factly, Ursus Americanus, the American Black Bear Sir."
"Very good."
Ward reached the end of the line and looked at the last scout. This scout was professional looking in that his uniform was without flaw however there was something about the boy that was off. He peered closely and studied the boy's eyes. The brown pupils told him nothing but still there was something about this boy that eluded him.
"How are you today Sullivan?"
"Good Sir," came a flat, emotionless reply.
Ward detected something that was off in the boy's voice. He scrutinized the whippet-slim 12 year old and asked, "What is the Third Scout Law?"
"No Scout is an island, he is part of a team; no Scout leaves another behind."
Ward looked at the boy and thought about how the lad's personality had changed in the past few months. He had become quieter and more distant. He had drifted away from the other boys including Gregory Tucker. The two had been close friends, if not best friends, but now the two had a bit of animosity between them. He had talked to Sullivan about it a back in May but the boy hadn't yielded any secrets. It bothered the scoutmaster that he couldn't get to the bottom of it.
The rest of the troop circled around Tucker and left Sullivan as an odd man out. It reminded the scoutmaster of a certain other scout from four years previous. He stopped analyzing Sullivan and continued with his inspection.
"Very good," Ward said and then glanced down at his scribe. "Puddle, what is the Fourth Scout Law?"
"A Scout is a caretaker and steward of nature Sir!"
Ward smiled at the ginger-haired boy and then addressed the entire troop: "Troops, what is the Fifth Scout Law?"
As one they replied, "A Scout is brave and steadfast even in the face of danger!"
"And what is the Khaki Scout motto?"
"Fidelity, fearlessness and friendship!"
All the boys said this in booming voices with the lone exception of Sullivan. His naturally low voice was largely drowned out but it was still audible to Bishop who glanced out of the corner of his eye at the taller boy.
Something is the matter with Sullivan, Bishop thought to himself. A moment later his attention was taken off the taller boy as Ward fell his troop out for lunch chow.
Lunch:
The Mess Hall-
The raucous sounds of a plethora of boys filled the large mess hall as the gathered scouts enjoyed their lunch in comradeship.
"Pass the salt Spud," Tucker said to Puddle with a sly smile.
"It's Puddle, not Spud," replied the newest arrival.
"I know, I know but ya gotta admit, you look like Spud Sperling," Tucker said as he pointed his finger in the direction of another short red-headed scout who sat at the table to the left along with Blackie Muldoon, Chester Boyle, and Tommy "Kitty Kat" Kittenger who were 4 of the 12 members of Troop 56.
"I do not!" Puddle denied loudly even though he knew that the only thing that differentiated him from Spud, other than they're not being related, was Spud's lack of freckles and glasses. Noticing the grins from his tablemates, he withdrew his glasses from his right breast pocket (he disliked wearing them) and put them on his face in an attempt to disguise himself from his doppelganger.
"You know guys?" Doc asked the boys, "Puddle looks nothing like Spud!"
The boys stared and then watched as Doc burst out in laughter which prompted the others to follow suit at the little good-natured jab. Even Puddle broke into a smile and joined in the mirth. Everyone did…except Sullivan.
Sullivan was in no mood to join in on the laughter. He had too much going through his mind for it. He looked down at this lunch; a roast beef sandwich and chips. He wasn't very hungry at all. He sighed and waited for the meal to end.
"Hey Sullivan?" said Bishop.
He looked to his left at the smaller boy and replied, "What?"
"Ain't ya gonna eat?"
"Yeah Sullivan, if you don't eat you'll get so thin that when you look straight ahead no one will be able to see you!" joked Doc Kowalski.
"Nobody bothers with him anyways," added Tucker.
Sullivan glowered at Tucker. He wanted to say something but he thought better of it. He knew that everyone would side with the All-American boy-next-door if he did. Tucker was everything that he wasn't: Tall for his age, taller than Scott by about four inches, and muscular whereas he was scrawny. Tucker had flawless skin, a perfect smile, good looks, and an athleticism that set him above all of the other kids. He was also dating one of the prettiest girls in school. Gregory Tucker was the poster boy for the ideal Khaki Scout.
But none of that was what bothered Sullivan. It was something else.
Ignoring the jibe, he picked up his sandwich and forced himself to eat. Maybe eating would help him get his mind off of things.