The Doldrums

EXPLORERS VANISH IN ARCTIC WATERS

The renowned explorers Ralph and Rachel Helmsley embarked on an expedition to Antarctica with the intention of documenting the relational habits of penguins. During their voyage south, Ralph spotted an iceberg hosting two separate colonies of penguin.

“We must get closer,” he said. “I’m getting on that iceberg.”

The captain directed the ship as close as was safe and the deck crew lowered a dinghy into the water. Ralph and Rachel steered the dinghy toward that mighty chunk of ice and climbed on top.

During their investigation atop the iceberg, the skies clouded overhead and snow began falling. Ralph Helmsley said they would return to the ship in one hour, but after two, there was still no sign of them.

The captain watched a quiet haze descend over the iceberg. He blew the horn a number of times, hoping to guide them back, but the Helmsleys did not return. The captain sounded the alarm.

As quickly as was possible, crew members assembled into a search party. They attached a security line to the ship and lowered a second dinghy into the water.

Their search was long. The iceberg was massive. They did not find Helmsleys. All they found was a penguin and Ralph Helmsley’s cap.

After returning to the ship, the captain cut the engines.

“All eyes on deck,” he shouted.

The crew stood at the railing and scanned the hazy silhouette of the iceberg in silence, hoping to see or hear something, but all they heard were the waves below.

The weather worsened. The iceberg vanished. The crew gave up.

Out of options, the captain started the engines and the Helmsleys were left stranded. While there is no proof to suggest they are dead, it doesn’t look good.

—Aubrey Glub

Editor-in-Chief

Archer stood in quiet disbelief, barefoot on the doorstep.

Did penguins eat my grandparents? He wondered. Is that even possible?

He slammed the door and ran to the kitchen.

“Grandma and Grandpa are stuck on an iceberg!” he shouted.

Mr. Helmsley sipped his coffee. Mrs. Helmsley poked her egg.

“An iceberg!” he repeated.

Mr. and Mrs. Helmsley already knew what had happened. The day before, a letter had been delivered to Helmsley & Durbish:

Richard Helmsley,

I regret to inform you that Ralph and Rachel have vanished at sea atop an iceberg—an event that has shaken almost everyone at the Society. We hope for the best and will keep you informed of any developments.

Sad Regards,

Herbert P. Birthwhistle

Ralph B. Helmsley

The Society President

But they had mentioned nothing of this to Archer.

Within the hour of the newspaper’s hitting the doorstep, reporters swooped in from all directions to that tall, skinny house on Willow Street. They held cameras and notepads and shouted questions at Mr. and Mrs. Helmsley, who stood in the doorway. Archer watched the chaos from the roof.

It was the worst birthday Archer could remember. He stared blankly at his vanilla cake (which bore an unfortunate resemblance to an iceberg) while listening to his parents argue in the hallway.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know who he takes after,” his mother said.

“You’re overreacting,” his father replied.

“It’s for his own good.”

Archer didn’t know what that was about, but he would find out soon enough. All at once, the secret trips with his father came to an abrupt end, he received no more packages tied with red string, and things only got worse from there. There was no further news on Ralph and Rachel Helmsley. With time, the reporters lost interest in the story and a quiet haze settled over Archer’s tall, skinny house on crooked, narrow Willow Street.

CHAPTER (#ulink_613457ed-9ee9-5f0f-9f64-598382b3d310)

TWO (#ulink_613457ed-9ee9-5f0f-9f64-598382b3d310)

♦ MIND YOUR TONGUE (#ulink_613457ed-9ee9-5f0f-9f64-598382b3d310) ♦

Two years had passed since the iceberg incident, and Archer was now eleven years old. Mr. Helmsley spent most of his time in his study and at the office, and Mrs. Helmsley busied herself about the house. It was a Saturday. But Archer wasn’t outside. Aside from school, he never was. This was his mother’s decision.

“What happened to your grandparents?” she asked on a regular basis.

“An iceberg,” mumbled Archer.

“You must speak up,” she replied. “Enunciate.”

“An iceberg,” said Archer. “They floated out to sea atop an iceberg.”

“That’s right. They floated out to sea atop an iceberg. And do you want to float out to sea atop an iceberg?”

This was not the sort of question that could go either way. This question had a right answer and a wrong answer.

“But there are no icebergs in Rosewood,” said Archer.

That didn’t matter. If it wasn’t an iceberg, it would be something else. After eleven years, Mrs. Helmsley was well aware of Archer’s tendencies, as she so often put it. Archer was like his grandparents. And that wouldn’t do. Mrs. Helmsley had no desire to see Archer drift out to sea atop an iceberg.

“And I don’t want to read another newspaper article aimed at embarrassing us.”

So when Archer wasn’t at school, he spent most of his time assisting his mother with tedious tasks around the house such as dusting the animals (which he still spoke to when she wasn’t around), polishing the wood floors, and today, licking a mountain of envelopes and stamps for a neighborhood mailer.

WILLOW STREET FLOWER FESTIVAL