The builders of the Coatesville line placed those stones a long time ago. They laid tracks, they raised a bridge, and poor Apple Creek had to amble along underneath it while freight trains thundered across day and night. Then came a war. The railroad and its bridge were stripped, their steel skeletons carried off to cities to be made into guns or tanks or bombs, and all that was left were those two towers—and ’course Apple Creek, same now as it was then or would ever be.
The creek took them in, those lonely heaps of stone, and now herons nest on top of the stacks and fish collect around their bases in thick, silvery clouds—minnows and smallmouth bass and largemouth bass and trout.
Or, as we call them, suckers, which is how this place came by the name the Sucker Hole.
The piling this side of Apple Creek is charred black in places from a brush fire long ago. The moss grew back extra thick and soft, but you can still fit your fingers in between the rough stone blocks. That’s extra helpful for the climb, near thirty feet straight to the top.
And that’s where Frankie has to make his jump.
Pete pulls off his shirt as he steps out onto the creek bank. “Water looks good today,” he says, tossing his shirt onto a fallen tree.
“Looks the same as it does every day,” says Will as he kicks off his shoes. He balls up his socks and stuffs them in before unbuttoning his shirt.
Looking at the glassy smooth water, I decide that Pete’s right: the water looks extra smooth. Perfect, even. I strip down right quick and lay my clothes next to his on the log.
My brothers and me always swim naked because there’s never anybody else around to see us. But once I’ve stripped down, I turn around and see Frankie with his mouth hanging open, a horrified kind of look on his face.
“What are you doing?”
“What’s it look like? Swimming!” I ain’t yet, but I will be soon.
“Naked?”
“’Course I’m naked. We always swim naked.”
Frankie stares.
“What on earth for?”
Behind us, Pete and Will run into the creek for their traditional race to the far bank. In two seconds, that peaceful green water is roiling with their kicks and splashes.
“Because, Frankie, that’s how we do it.” I sigh. Hot sand begins burning my feet. “Ain’t nobody out here but us, so don’t be so bashful. Strip on down and get in!”
Frankie shakes his head.
“But, Frankie! You got to! You can’t swim with your clothes on.”
The sand is really burning my feet now. I begin to hop from one foot to the other.
“Look, I’ll even turn around while you undress, okay?” I say. “Just leave your clothes on the log next to ours and come on in when you’re done.”
Pete and Will are racing back to our bank by the time I run into the water. Pete wins. Pete always wins. He comes up from the shallows and shakes the water from his shaggy head, throwing drops every which way. Will comes up coughing, his chest heaving. He’s barely caught his breath when Pete scoops a handful of mud and throws it at him, splattering him along his neck.
Before I know it, the three of us are flinging mud fast and hard as we can. I take a stinging slap in the chest. Pete hits Will across the back. I beam Pete upside the head. When it’s over we dive under and let the easy current wash us clean. I stay a little longer under the surface, just to feel the smooth silt under my toes and the easy pull of the water. When I come up, I wipe the water from my eyes and look to the bank to see if Frankie’s gotten undressed yet.
The bank is bare. Frankie is nowhere in sight.
My heart flips.
Did he leave?
Quickly, I run my eyes along the path along the creek. No sign of him.
Frankie’s quit.
I’m just about to swim for shore to see if I can’t catch up to him when there’s a sputtering sound to my right. Turning, I see Frankie, coming up for air.
“It’s cold,” he says through chattering teeth.
Will glides over. “So, city boys can swim after all!”
Pete joins him, and now my brothers are circling us like sharks.
“Did you tell him about the eels, Jack?” Pete asks. “Should have seen the one we found last week, Frankie. About this big around.” He touches the thumbs and index fingers of both hands together in a wide circle. “Must have been ten feet long!”
I splash at him. “Don’t pay him no mind, Frankie. Ain’t no eels in Apple Creek.”
“Plenty of snakes, though!” Will pipes up. “Water moccasins and copperheads.”