Krista was feeling a little restless on a nice sunny morning. She had a few hours to kill before Maggie would call her in to do her schoolwork. Because of being homeschooled, the farmhouse, the yard, and the Rappahannock River in the Great Beyond, as she liked to call it, were all she knew of the world she roamed on days like this one.
Krista had been eyeing the pile of wood behind the barn all morning. Her imagination running wild, she started thinking of all the things she could build with it. There was a good bit there. She could build a fort or a treehouse. But she had hiding places throughout all the land that were already forts, and Gilmer had made her a treehouse a few years ago. It was still there because anything he made was built to last.
The more she thought about it, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer started invading every thought. When Tom, Huck, and Joe find a raft on the bank, they take it down the river. Krista smiled as she thought of making her own raft and seeing how many journeys she could go on with it.
She jumped up and brushed the dirt off her jeans. If it was going to be a raft, then it needed rope. Lots of it. She started across the yard and went into the barn, where the air was warm and smelled of metal and oil. She walked all around the huge barn, confused that she didn’t find rope by the door. Finally, in the corner, she spotted a bundle that looked like it had been sitting there since before she was born. It was rough and stiff, and the ends had frayed out like horse tails, but it was rope all the same.
Dragging the line behind her, Krista got to work like a shipbuilder who had been doing this for years. She picked up one plank, then another, laying them side by side in the grass. The boards weren’t the same length, and one of them bowed upward in the middle, but she figured a raft didn’t need to be perfect. All it needed to do was float.
She tugged at the rope, trying to unknot it, and soon strands of hay dust clung to her shirt and hair. Finally, it came loose, and she stretched it across the first two boards. Her fingers fumbled a bit, but she managed to lash them together, tying knots the way she had once watched Gilmer secure a load in the back of the truck.
Krista worked hard, sweat pouring from her forehead as the afternoon sun leaned lower in the sky. One by one, she added more boards, her knots tightening into something that actually looked sturdy. She knelt back in the grass and tilted her head, examining her work. The raft was crooked, no doubt about it, but it held together. That was all that mattered.
A smile crept across her face. It wasn’t just a jumble of wood anymore. It was a raft. Her raft. She could already imagine it rocking gently on the Rappahannock River, carrying her further down than she had ever gone before. Krista brushed her hands off on her jeans and stood proudly over her work.
When she tried to lift it, her raft was heavier than she thought. For a moment, she wondered if she had built something she couldn’t move. What good would it be if she couldn’t get it down to the water? She took in a deep breath, planted her boots in the dirt, and lifted one side. She walked it up until it was standing sideways. Then, she started scooting it in a line, picking it up every now and then.
Bit by bit, Krista made her way across the yard. She stopped every few feet to catch her breath, then leaned into it again, the boards creaking together as if they were just as tired as she was. When she reached the far edge of the yard where the grass gave way to the field, she stopped and looked back at the barn. Her progress was a good bit at this point. What started out as a pile of junk had turned into her very own boat, and now she was dragging it to the Great Beyond.
The field stretched wide, as grasshoppers sang and dragonflies buzzed. The sun painted the tall grass in streaks of gold, and Krista felt like an explorer crossing untamed land. Her raft carved a flat path behind her, knocking stalks aside, the wood catching now and then on rocks hidden in the soil. She refused to give up. Sweat dampened her shirt, but her smile came back the closer she got to the river.
At last, she reached the dirt road. Krista looked both ways, as if expecting a parade of cars to pass, though it was empty and quiet like always. She tugged her raft across, leaving a faint trail of dust in her wake. On the other side, the ground dipped gently toward the trees, and she felt a burst of energy knowing the river was near.
When she broke through the last line of trees, the Rappahannock spread out in front of her. The late afternoon light shimmered on the surface. Rocks jutted up from the water, each one capped with moss that looked like tiny green islands. The current moved steady and smooth, inviting her to get in and go somewhere.
Krista pulled the raft down the bank until the boards slid into the shallows. She climbed on carefully, crouching low to keep her balance. For a moment, it rocked under her weight, the rope groaning. She held her breath. Then it steadied. She sat cross-legged and gave a little push with her boot, sending herself into the flow.
The river welcomed her. Trees lined the banks, their branches dipping low as if to greet her on her voyage. A squirrel scrambled up one of the trunks, its claws scratching the bark before it leapt to another branch. A snake slithered from the water onto the bank, its scales glistening in the sunlight before disappearing into the grass. Farther along, a deer lifted its head and watched her drift by, ears twitching, eyes wide with curiosity.
The raft drifted lazily, carried by the flow of the river until Krista noticed something unusual on the far bank. A group of men lounged in the grass beneath a tall oak tree. They had old clothes, but they were stylish in an interesting way. One was wearing a bandana, while another had a huge hat sitting like a triangle on his head. The third wore a headband over his long brown hair as he looked back and studied Krista, who was slowly making her way toward him.
“What do we have here?” he called out, lifting his hand in a subtle salute. “A fine day indeed for a nice sail.”
Krista looked around. “Do you have a boat?”
The pirates chuckled and looked around at each other, “That we do, but our vessel is in the shop. It needs a tune-up, you see. Can’t chase the horizon with a squeaky mast or sails that tear in the wind.”
Krista laughed, “Ships don’t go to shops.”
“Oh, they do, when you’ve been as many places as we have,” said the one with the black hat and skull on it. His voice was soft and whimsical, as if every word belonged in a poem. “We have seen mountains taller than the clouds and deserts that sing when the wind passes through. We have hidden our treasure beneath sands so white they blinded our eyes and in caves where the stars shone through holes in the stone.”
Krista leaned closer, her raft rocking beneath her, “Why do you hide your treasure in so many places?”
The one with the headband spread his hands, “Because, young one, the world is wide, and secrets are safest where only the clever dare to look.”
They beckoned her to come nearer, so she pulled up and dragged the raft to dry land. She immediately felt herself drawn into their circle when one announced, “I’m Captain Teye Ba, and these are my mates, First Mate Johnson and Bruce.”
“Bruce?” Krista questioned, an odd name in the company of Captain Teye Ba and First Mate Johnson.
“Ma’am,” Bruce replied as he adjusted his bandana and eyed the little girl, expecting to hear a question.
“Your name. It’s interesting, is all,” Krista replied.
“Thank you,” he responded.
“Captain Teye Ba?” Krista muttered. “It seems I’ve heard that name before. I think I read about you once.”
“That’s a possibility,” he answered. “I have been the subject of a few stories. I might have been part of the crew that captured a British ship many moons ago. They say it sank up north, but we were full of our little tricks.”
“Wait a minute,” Krista recalled, “I watched a show about the Whydah Gally.”
“That’s the one,” Teye answered.
“So, you’re saying they didn’t find it?” Krista smiled.
Teye looked at her with a smirk and a side eye, “I’m not not saying that.”
“Mm hmm,” Krista muttered to herself.
Bruce offered, “Now, when you find for yourself some treasure, you’ll need a spot to put it so that you can find it again when you go back that way.”
“Where do I find treasure?” Krista asked.
“Oh, you’ll build it up over the years,” Johnson chimed in.
“Anything you find valuable, that’s your treasure,” Bruce added.
“Right,” Teye took over. “And when you have treasure that you want to hide, the best place to put it is far away from your normal places. Look over all the land and find a place only you know about. Then, make a map and draw the landmarks around it. Put an X on the spot and hide your map in your safe map place, the place where all your maps will go.”
“My safe map place?” Krista asked.
“Well, yeah,” Bruce answered. “You’ll find more treasure, and you’ll need to bury it too. We have treasures all around the world.”
Krista listened, enchanted. She wanted to ask a hundred questions, but just then a voice drifted from across the field. It was Maggie, calling her name. The sound carried on the breeze, warm and familiar, reminding her that it was time for school.
The pirates rose to their feet, brushing the grass from their clothes. “It has been a fine meeting,” said Teye. “May the river carry you far to the greatest treasures you’ll ever know.”
“And perhaps, one day,” added Johnson, “Our paths just might cross again.”
Krista gave them a little wave, “I hope so.”
With her stick, Krista guided the raft to the bank. She pulled it out of the river and found a place to stash it for her next journey. When she looked back at the oak tree, her new friends were gone.
Krista rushed through her lessons and scarfed down dinner, her thoughts still swirling about pirates and their talk of treasure. She had listened so closely to every word and couldn’t wait to bury her first one. She thought about what it might be. She didn’t have gold coins or jewels, but she had things that mattered to her.
For years, she had picked up coins wherever she found them. Some were shiny and new, others were discolored and worn. It was her collection, and it would make a fine treasure. She fetched the cigar box Gilmer had given her, the one he had said was for keeping special things. She dumped out the crayons and glue, then poured in the coins, listening to them clink together, more than she remembered.
But the coins weren’t enough. Treasure had to hold stories. Krista thought of the drawings she had sketched of animals she had watched and scenes that came alive with just a few lines. She was quite the artist, and she had no idea where she got it. But deep down, she believed those pictures would be worth something someday, and even if they weren’t, they were priceless to her. She added them right on top and closed the lid.
She held the box to her chest, but now came the important part. The pirates had told her that a treasure was only safe if hidden where no one else would ever think to look. Krista slipped out the back door and into her yard, carrying the box under one arm. The evening sun lit the grass in those few moments just before sundown.
Her yard stretched wide, but Krista was looking for a place beyond her usual hideouts and far from her treehouse. She wandered deeper, weaving between tall weeds and brush, until she came to a tree she had never paid much attention to before. It leaned just slightly to the side, its bark rough and knotted, with roots that curled into the earth like it was holding on firmly. It was perfect.
She dropped to her knees and dug into the soil with her hands. The dirt was cool and soft, giving way as she worked. When the hole was deep enough, she lowered the cigar box inside and covered it, patting the earth flat until no trace of it remained. The tree seemed to watch her, standing proud as if it had been sworn to secrecy.
Krista brushed the dirt from her palms and pulled out a notebook she had tucked into her back pocket. On the first blank page, she drew the landmarks. Just off the barn, there was a huge rock stuck in the dirt. From there, walk thirty-four steps to where there is a slight opening in the jungle. Walk the path until there is a tree with a knot in it that looks like Peppa Pig. At the bottom, she marked a giant X where her treasure now rested.
Across town, Chris stood at the easel he had built into his front porch. The railing served as the perfect place for brushes, rags, and the cup of coffee that was never far from his hand. The smell of paint mingled with the rich, earthy roast rising from the cup. Every now and then, he leaned back, took a slow sip, and let the vision run wild in his imagination.
It had come without warning, as if it had been waiting for him all along. He saw the Rappahannock River running calm, its surface glowing in the late afternoon light. A raft floated down the river, a rough patchwork made of boards held by rope. On it was a young girl who appeared determined, her boots planted steady, standing strong against the breeze. She faced the riverbank where three pirates rested beneath the shade of a sprawling oak.
Chris dipped his brush into the color and drew them completely out of his mind. The pirates had old clothes that carried the romance of another age. One wore a red bandana that framed a sly grin. Another balanced a triangular hat with a skull stitched in white. The third had a headband pressed against his long brown hair, his eyes fixed on the girl with curiosity and warmth. None of them were menacing. They seemed instead like storytellers caught in the middle of their tales, sharing them with anyone willing to listen.
The girl leaned forward, her body drawn into their world. The raft beneath her looked ready to drift away, yet she seemed unafraid, steady in their presence. Chris gave the water a soft shimmer, making the water a bit more welcoming.
Now and then, he stopped, rested his brush, and reached for his coffee. He gazed at the canvas, wondering why this painting had settled on him. The girl, the pirates, the river, all of it felt both imagined and inevitable, like a memory he hadn’t lived but somehow remembered.
With each stroke, the picture came alive. The porch around him faded. The field, the woods, even his coffee was forgotten. There was only the raft, the river, and a moment in time he knew nothing about but seemed so real to him.
Krista Ferlin’s adventures are part of the same imaginative spirit that inspired A River in the Ocean, the story about a single father who is separated from his daughter by a near-fatal accident. He didn’t know he was looking. She didn’t know she needed found.
