Miracle Water

By Norman Nokleby

Daniel Mann is single, his own boss, and financially independent. He discovers a supply of water with amazing properties which challenges what he knows. He also meets a woman whose spirit and life challenge what he believes. A man bent on revenge challenges the peace and tranquility of the town where he lives.

Events move towards a point where Daniel will have to make a life-changing decision on what is false and what is true; what is wrong and what is right; what is for the moment and what is forever. He will have to decide whether or not he believes in miracles. Perhaps, you will, too.

Includes Study and Discussion Guide as well as Author’s Commentary on the Guide.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Norman Nokleby
• Release date: May 27, 2014
• ISBN: 9780988515321

Book preview

P R O L O G U E

1949

THE TWO SHARP BLASTS OF a steam whistle got everyone’s attention. Thom Johnson quickly looked up from the chart table at his boss, Rick Weatherby, who was already rising from his desk, not 20 feet away. You’d better come along, the older man said to Thom.

Grabbing his field pack and jacket, Thom hurried to the door through which Weatherby had already disappeared. Thom stopped just long enough to finish putting on his jacket. The top graduate from the Colorado School of Mines, Class of ’49, still had a lot to learn about iron ore strip mining. But he had learned not to go outside in northern Minnesota in November in just his shirt sleeves.

Weatherby already had the company pickup truck started and backed out of its parking place. He didn’t even wait for Thom to close the door before jamming his foot down on the accelerator pedal. Thom knew that two blasts from the steam shovel’s whistle meant that the mine superintendent was needed. What he didn’t know was why these particular whistle blasts caused his boss to be in such a hurry. As if reading his thoughts, Weatherby said, I’m way behind schedule in getting this shipment on its way. I don’t know what the problem is, but I want you along just in case.

Thom looked to his right at the long string of hopper cars on the rail siding. All except the two cars just ahead of the red caboose were brimming with black and reddish-brown chunks of rock that, when smelted down, would be the primary ingredient of steel. He began to mentally calculate how much steel that train load of ore would produce. However, his thoughts and the pickup truck were brought to a sudden halt as Weatherby applied the brakes with the same force he had used on the accelerator. Weatherby didn’t even bother closing the door after he exited the vehicle. While Thom wasted no time in getting out, he closed the truck door out of habit. The metal tools in his pack clanked together as the 5-foot, 6-inch geologist ran to catch up with his 6-foot, 4-inch boss.

What’s up, Hans? Weatherby inquired.

Hans Lundgren, the steam shovel operator who initiated the whistle blasts, knew it was best to come directly to the point. The teeth on the shovel bucket are having difficulty breaking through the surface material in this area. I know you need the material in this section to finish this shipment.

Thom, can you take a look. Weatherby’s tone clearly indicated it was a directive rather than a question.

Sure, boss.

Thom took out his tools, went over to where the steam shovel’s bucket was resting, and began examining the surface material. Weatherby spoke to the shovel operator. You’re right, Hans. I need this ore to finish that load. It will take the better part of a day to relocate the shovel to the next part of the mine we’re going to work. I can’t afford that delay. We’ve got to find a way . . . He left the sentence unfinished.

Give Thom a chance. He’s a bright boy, Hans replied.

The two men stood in silence until Thom returned a few minutes later. Look at this, he said, holding up a piece of material he had chipped off the surface with his rock hammer. What does that look like to you?

Both men looked at the piece of rock. They both shook their heads and shrugged their shoulders in ignorance.

This is not hematite, it’s breccia. Sensing their question, Thom continued. Breccia is a rock that contains sharp fragments in a very fine-grained matrix. See these? Thom used the pointed end of his rock hammer to indicate several glass-like shards imbedded in the rock.

What’s it doing here? Hans wondered.

It was Thom’s turn to shrug his shoulders. I’m not sure. But . . . well, this is just a guess. It could be a volcanic breccia or . . . maybe even impact debris.

Debris from what impact? Weatherby looked puzzled.

A meteorite.

Meteorite? Here?

No, not here. Somewhere near . . .

Say, Hans interrupted. I remember reading that this area once had a name given by the Indians that used to live here. I’ve forgotten the Indian words, but the translation was something like ‘Place of Fire from the Sky’. I’ve always thought that meant a place where lightning struck. But maybe it was a meteorite.

I don’t know what the Indians were referring to. Thom replied, These rocks were in the ground long before the Indians were here and my saying that this material is debris from the impact of a meteorite is just a guess. What we know about meteorites, geologically-speaking wouldn’t fill a . . .

Lightning. Volcano. Meteorite. Who cares? What I want to know is how we can get this ore out of the ground. Today! Weatherby folded his arms for emphasis.

Let me take another look, Thom offered.

In less than 10 minutes, he returned. Hans, I think if you back up your shovel 30 yards or so, you will be away from most of the breccia.

The two men waited while Hans backed the shovel up. The teeth on the steam shovel bucket broke through the surface material with a satisfying crunch. Hans looked out from the cab with a smile and a thumbs-up sign.

Weatherby turned to Thom. Thanks. You did good. I won’t forget this.

You’re welcome. Can we go back now and warm up?

You betcha.

* * * * *

It was late in the afternoon when Thom heard a single steam whistle. This one was from the train engine that was going to pull the hopper cars. Weatherby came in the door and stamped a few flakes of snow from his boots as he took off his jacket. Well, that’s it. The load’s on its way.

Where’s it headed? Thom inquired.

Weatherby looked at a shipping document on his desk. To a steel mill in Gary, Indiana. And I happen to know that facility is working under a contract with a Ford plant that makes fire trucks.

Really?

Yeah. I have a cousin who works there.

I find that very ironic.

Why?

The material on that train will go through an industrial fire in a steel mill to create a product that will be used to put out fires.

Using fire to fight fire, mused Weatherby.

Yeah, Thom agreed. And the ore loaded in those last two hopper cars has a further irony.

What’s that? Weatherby responded as he picked up a pencil and began to write.

That part of the shipment contains material that was possibly a part of fire from heaven, a meteorite. His boss had become absorbed in some paperwork and did not reply. Thom looked out the window as the light on the train’s caboose disappeared into the darkening twilight. Maybe, just maybe, there goes a future fire truck from heaven.

P A R T O N E

Chapter 1

1956

TO THE CASUAL OBSERVER, IT might seem like the land in the northwest portion of South Carolina resembled the random folds of a starched green table cloth that had been carelessly tossed to the floor. However, a more thorough examination would reveal a general southwest-northeast trending of the significant ridges that were a part of the Blue Ridge Mountains. There were exceptions, of course; Paris Mountain, north of the small city of Greenville, being the most notable. Geologists called it a monadnock. A state park and a few well-to-do folks called it home.

Like Paris Mountain, the town of River View was north of Greenville, although too far north to be considered a suburb. Except for an airport and county courthouse, the closest of which were in Greenville, River View had to stand, or fall, on its own merits.

To the west of town was US 25, which took a traveler south to Greenville or north across the state line to Asheville, NC. SC 289 doubled as the main thoroughfare through River View, going from US 25 east to Spartanburg, Greenville’s smaller sibling, about 40 miles to the southeast.

The main part of River View was bounded on the east by the Laurel River, which leisurely strolled from the Saluda Reservoir to the north around the east side of Greenville County before meandering back to the west and terminating its short but pleasant journey in Lake Greenwood, about 30 miles south of Greenville. The river got its name from the abundant patches of mountain laurel which grew along its banks in the northern half of its path. During the first half of May, deep pink buds opened to reveal delicate pinkish-white blossoms. Days later, when the blooms fell off, they resembled a very localized late-spring snowfall on the ground. But if there was a breeze in the right direction, it would appear that hundreds of tiny white rafts were headed down river in a race that none would either win or finish.

The southeast part of River View bordered a small seven-acre lake. In 1910, Jeb Cooper built a dam to provide power to his grist mill. While the dam survived, neither the entrepreneur nor the reason for its existence did. The wooden mill burned to the ground in 1916. Jeb died broke a few years later. Cooper Lake was his legacy to the town. Each July Fourth, a fireworks celebration was held on the lake’s west bank.

The Manns lived in a one-story brick house on a low hill to the west of Cooper Lake. During the winter, when the leaves were off the trees, the lake could be seen from their front yard. But nobody was outside looking at the lake on this winter’s day. For it was Christmas; and it was off to a chilly start. The sun had just silently crept over the horizon when Danny Mann tiptoed into the living room. Although he was only in the second grade and suspected that Santa Claus wasn’t real, he still anticipated there would be something under the tree from him. He wasn’t disappointed.

Underneath the still fragrant balsam fir was a red Tonka fire engine. Oh, boy! This is just what I wanted! he said as he ran towards it. He dropped down to his knees and slid the last few feet on the polished oak floor. His mom didn’t like this particular activity because it wore out the knees of his pajamas. But Danny thought it was fun. Besides, it was Christmas and he wasn’t thinking about rules.

He excitedly extracted the red Ford truck from its packaging. It took both of his small hands to hold it as he examined it. From the shiny silver front bumper to the gold T.F.D. on the sides of the hood and No. 5 on the two doors, it was the most real-looking toy he had ever seen. Behind the cab doors, on the right side, was a removable 11-rung silver ladder while two rubber hoses were mounted on the left side. Then from the box, he took out the best part: a fire hydrant to which a garden hose could be hooked up. Real water could come through the small hoses which connected to the hydrant on the opposite side. Danny exclaimed, This isn't a toy. It’s a real fire truck that works!

He put down the fire hydrant and leaned down on his side to look at the truck at eye level on the floor. He was just beginning to give the truck its first test run along the floor when from behind him he heard, Merry Christmas, Danny!

Danny turned around, got up, and went to his mother. Merry Christmas, Mom! Come over here and see what I got. He took her by the hand and led her to his newest possession.

It’s a fire truck! And it’s got a real ladder and real hoses!

I’m glad you like it. Just be careful. Make sure the wheels don’t make black marks on the floor. I need to put something in the oven for breakfast. Then I'll come back and we'll see what's in your Christmas stocking. And she disappeared around the corner.

Danny turned his attention back to the fire truck. With his right hand, he began to roll the truck along the floor while giving his best imitation of a siren. The emergency call started under the coffee table (which was now the fire station) and then went around an upholstered rocking chair (an office building), under the legs of a wooden chair (a railroad trestle) to arrive at a red foil package (a house on fire) under the Christmas tree. He had just taken the ladder off the truck and placed it against the flaming package (house) when his mom re-entered the living room.

Are you ready to see what's in your stocking? his mom asked.

Yes, ma’am! Danny quickly decided it was a small fire and had easily been put out. He scrambled out from under the tree and over to the stocking where his mom spoke.

Danny, put the piece back with your toy.

Yes, ma’am. He retrieved the ladder and put it back on the right side of the fire truck. Then he scurried to the stocking that was hung on the fireplace screen. Shaped like a huge boot, it was made of red cloth with a white cuff at the top on which Danny was stitched in red. Taking it down, Danny sat on the floor next to the chair where his mom was seated. Reaching into the stocking, the first object his hand encountered was narrow and rectangular in shape. Grasping the end, he extracted a red-and-white box of sparklers. The gunpowder smell emanating from the box immediately took Danny’s thoughts back to last Christmas. He remembered that after his mom lit one of the gray rods, he would wave it all around. While the sparkler was burning, it seemed to Danny that he was holding a star in his hand.

Oh, Mom, can we do some sparklers tonight?

Sure. I don't see why not.

Setting the box aside, he reached back in and pulled out a tangerine. Mom, would you like this?

Danny, don't you like tangerines?

I like oranges better.

It was always a tradition in my family to have a tangerine in your Christmas stocking.

Why?

His mom thought for a second. I'm not really sure. I suppose the fact that we were living in Florida had something to do with it. But if you like oranges better, I'll get you one.

Thanks, Mom, he said as he handed the piece of citrus to her.

Danny reached back down into the stocking a third time and pulled out a small jar of Butch Wax, which caused him to run his hand through his hair. He had inherited his mom’s thick black hair. But in contrast to her long tresses, he had a crew cut. His mom had talked him into trying this when he started first grade. The barber that his mom took him to suggested that Danny wear the cut-off top of one of her stockings at night to train his hair. But in spite of trying the stocking, which he hated, the hair on top of his head seemed to have already made up its mind to grow horizontally rather than vertically. Danny’s only option was to use the ever so appropriately named Butch Wax.

Mom, do you think my hair will ever grow so that I don't have to use this stuff?

Well, it does for a lot of men. Your Dad had a crew cut. Why don't you give it a little while longer.

Okay.

From the Christmas stocking he then extracted a comb. A new comb was something he needed since his current one was caked with the pink goo that should have been on his hair. I know I need this, he said half to himself and half to his mom. Back down into the red well, he drew out a handful of walnuts. He knew that this was another tradition with his mom's family. But in contrast to tangerines, he liked walnuts; if they just weren’t so hard to crack. Mom, will you help me crack these?

Sure. We can do that this afternoon.

And finally, he took out a quarter from the toe of the stocking. Danny eyed the presents under the tree wondering what surprises were hiding behind the ribbon and paper. Mom, do we have to wait until after breakfast to open presents?

That’s what we’ve always done, Danny. And besides, I don’t think you’ll mind.

It was just at that moment that Danny’s nose caught that wonderful scent. Cinnamon! He liked the smell almost as much as he liked the taste, with a little sugar, of course. On occasion, his mom would make him cinnamon toast: slices of bread covered with butter and then liberally sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar before being heated under the broiler in the oven. He asked, Are we having cinnamon toast?

Something even better than that. I made cinnamon rolls and they should be ready in a few minutes. Why don't you take your quarter and put it in your piggy bank so you don't lose it. Then, wash your hands and come to the kitchen.

Oh, boy! he exclaimed as he got up and headed towards his bedroom.

Upon returning to the kitchen, his mom asked, Hands clean?

Yes, ma'am.

Then pour yourself a glass of milk and a glass of orange juice and then sit at the table.

While Danny was doing this, Sara Mann finished putting the white glaze on top of the hot rolls and then placed the aluminum bakeware on a pot holder on the kitchen table. She poured herself a cup of coffee from the steaming percolator on the counter and then sat down on her son’s right. With a spatula, she transferred a roll to Danny’s plate and then one to hers.

Picking it up, Danny took a bite with eager anticipation. His taste buds were not disappointed. After a swallow of cold milk, he asked, Do you have to go to work tomorrow, Mom?

Yes, I do. But I’ve talked to Mrs. Whelan and you can go over there tomorrow while I’m at the hospital. Mrs. Roper is visiting some relatives in North Carolina.

Danny liked that idea. Mrs. Roper, who lived several streets away, was an older lady who kept Danny after school when his mom was working at the hospital. She was nice enough. But no other boys his age lived close to Mrs. Roper. Danny usually wound up playing by himself. On the other hand, Danny looked forward to spending time at the Whelan's, who lived just a couple of doors up the street. They had moved in summer before last. Danny had quickly developed a friendship with Andy Whelan, who was also in the second grade.

Danny took another bite of cinnamon roll, looking at his mom who was also enjoying her breakfast. Although he had no interest in girls yet, Danny thought his mom was pretty, with her long black hair and her dark eyes. Although it was the middle of winter, her smooth skin was not as pale as that of most people he knew. The only distracting feature of her face was her nose which was a little too big. Danny wondered if his dad had thought she was beautiful. Mom, do you miss Dad?

Sara Mann’s hand paused as it was lifting a half-consumed cinnamon roll to her mouth. What made you ask that? she wondered out loud, as she lowered the bun back to her plate.

I dunno. Just wonderin’.

His mom wiped her mouth with her paper napkin and drew and expelled a breath. Yes, I do. She paused. Do you miss him?

Yes, ma’am. It was Danny’s turn to pause. I was kind of young when he died, wasn’t I?

You were about four.

He was in a car wreck?

Yes.

Did anybody else die?

No. Your dad’s car was the only one involved. He was coming home late one night after his rounds at the hospital. His car hit an icy spot on the road; I think they called it black ice. Being from Florida, he . . . She did not finish the sentence.

Why did he have to die so young?

At this, his mom lowered her head and put her left hand up to her eyes. I don’t know, Danny.

He got up from his chair and went around to her. I didn’t mean to make you cry, Mom.

She lowered her left hand to put it around him, using her other hand to wipe her eyes. I know you didn’t. She smiled, although somewhat weakly. Why don’t we go into the living room and open our presents?

* * * * *

Danny surveyed the patchwork of discarded paper and ribbon around him as his mom finished opening the present that Danny had given her. She reached down and lifted out a bottle of Jergen’s hand lotion. Oh, Danny, thank you! The bottle that I have is just about empty, so I can really use this! She leaned over and hugged him. When did you get this?

A couple of weeks ago. Mr. Whelan took Andy and me shopping one Saturday morning when I was at their house. I had been going around thinking about what I could get you for Christmas. I saw that bottle on the kitchen counter and knew you use it a lot. So when I lifted it up, I could tell it was getting close to empty.

Well, that was very smart! OK. Now open your last present from me.

Her son reached under the tree to retrieve a large package. Oh, it’s heavy.

Here, let me help you. She helped bring the package closer to him.

Will you help me with the ribbon? His mom reached over with a pair of scissors and severed it in two places. Then he hurriedly stripped the wrapping paper.

"Oh, Mom! An erector set. I can build stuff with