Grandpa soon came back, rubbing his hands. "Water seeped into only one bedroom," he announced. "But the rooms is colder'n a tomb, and they stink like old fish. Beats all how nice it is here. Somethin' companionable in the smell of a hoss."
Misty, as if in appreciation, offered to shake hands.
"Sorry, gal. No time for tricks 'n treats today. Now then, Paul, come along. We can't keep the DUKW man waiting forever, and I got to see 'bout my herd up to Deep Hole."
Tom Reed was getting into his boat when the DUKW reached his place on the north end of the island. "Figured ye'd come along about now," he called. "Get out of that new-fangled contraption, Beebe, and climb aboard my old scow."
"How come she didn't get blowed away, same as mine?" Grandpa asked as he and Paul waded over. "And how come you and the missus didn't evacuate?"
"I tied her up to the rafters of my barn, that's why."
Paul grinned. "Is she still hanging there?"
Tom chuckled at the idea. "No, son, 'twas the boat. Truth is, Marjie just flat refused to go."
The driver of the DUKW was turning around, ready to leave. "Hey, Mr. Beebe," he shouted, "how soon should I come back?"
Tom answered for him. "No telling, captain. Could be all day. Ye'll just have to keep checking."
As Paul climbed into the boat, he noticed a bundle of sticks and a cellophane bag stuffed with pieces of cloth. "What they for, Tom?" he asked.
"They're rags from my wife's scrap bag. They're to make flags to mark where the dead animals are. Can't expect the 'copters to find 'em if they don't know where they be."
Although the air was bitter cold, the wind had lessened and holes of blue sky showed through the clouds. But the water about them was muddy-brown and full of drift. Grandpa reached for an oar.
"Wait a minute!" Tom said. "I got strict instructions from Marjie to give you coffee afore we set out. Wait a minute."
Grandpa guffawed. "We got a cat by that name 'cause she never does."
Paul broke in excitedly. "And she just had four kittens—Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John."
"Well, I'll be a chipmunk's tail," Grandpa chortled in surprise. "No worse'n namin' people for saints who they don't resemble a-tall."
"Easy to remember, too," Tom said, "and no hurt feelings if you call one by t'other." He was pouring thick black coffee into the lid of his thermos. "Its extry stout," he said, offering it first to Paul, "to fortify us for what's ahead."
Paul tasted it, trying not to make a face. Then he gulped it down, feeling it burn all the way.
Grandpa sipped his, meditating. "Over to Assateague," he thought aloud, "over in those dunes there's plenty hollows to ketch nice clean rain. Whatever ponies is left, there's places for 'em to drink. But here...." All at once he dumped the rest of his coffee overboard. "We got to rescue the live onesright now, or they'll bloat on this brackish water. Let's go!" he bellowed.
With Tom directing, they each took an oar and poled off into the morass. It was heavy going. The sludgy water was choked with boards from smashed chicken houses, and with briar and bramble and weedy vines so thickly interlaced it was like trying to break through a stout wire fence. Silently the three in the boat threaded their way along, stopping time and again to push rubbish aside and to scrape the seaweed from their oars.
Suddenly there came a thud and a jolt. The three oars lifted as one. All movement ceased. The men stared down in horror.
"Oh God!" Grandpa whispered. "It's my Black Warrior!"
No one spoke. Tom Reed reached down and took one colored square out of the bag and tied it to a stick. He drove the marker into the mud next to the stallion's body. "'Twas a piece of Marjie's petticoat," he said nervously, just to say something. "I allus liked it with all the bright pink flowers."
Grandpa's eyes looked far off. "I was proud of the Warrior," he said quietly. "He used to help on Pony Penning Days to drive the really wild 'uns to the carnival grounds, and his tail was so long it sweeped the street, and his coat a-glistenin' like black sunshine. Recomember, Paul?" He wiped his arm across his eyes. Then his voice changed. "Move on!" he commanded. "We got to find the livin'."
The grim search went on. A quiet hung over the bog, except for the sloshing of oars and twigs snapping as the scow moved heavily along. Then a raucous, rasping sound sliced into the quiet of the morning.
"Look!" Paul cried. "Crows!"
The men poled faster until they came to a cloud of bold black birds flapping over a huddle of dead ponies.
Grandpa's face twisted in pain. "The Warrior's mares and colts," he said in utter desolation.
It was almost as if they were alive. Some were half-standing in the water, propped up by debris. They looked as if they were old and asleep.
"Guess they just died from exposure and cold." Tom's voice quavered, but his words were matter of fact. "One flag can do for all."
Grandpa got out of the boat and he grabbed the flag from Tom's hands. He stabbed it hard and fierce into the mud. Then he took a good look, and he began to name them all, saying a little piece of praise over each: "This one's a true Palomino. She had extry big ears, but gentle as the day, even though she'd never been rode. And this great big old tall mare was blind of one eye, but she had a colt ever' spring, reg'lar as dandylions. And this mare, she's got some pretty good age to her. She's somewhere in her twenty."
The crows came circling back, cawing at Grandpa. Angrily he whipped them away with his hat. "Likely she's had twelve, fifteen head in her day, and expectin' again." He sighed heavily. "That Black Warrior was a good stallion. He died tryin' to move his family to safety, but ..." his voice broke "... they just couldn't move."
The heart-breaking work went on. They came upon snakes floating, and rabbits and rats. And they found more stallions dead, with their mares and colts nearby. And they found lone stragglers caught and tethered fast by twining vines. As the morning dragged into noon, and noon into cold afternoon, the pile of flags in the boat dwindled.
Sometimes an hour went by before they came on anything, alive or dead. Then Tom would chatter cheerfully, trying to lighten the burden. "Not ever'thing drowns," he said. "Early this morning I found me a snapper turtle under a patch of ice. He'd gone to sleep. Y'know, Paul, they snooze all winter, like bear."
Tom waited for an answer, but none came. "Funny thing about that little snapper," he went on, "he was a baby, no bigger'n a fifty-cent piece, and he was froze sure-enough. 'Tom,' I said to myself, 'he's dead.' But something tells me to put him in my inside pocket. And walking along I guess the heat of my body warmed him up, and guess what!"
"Grandpa!" Paul screamed. "I see somethingalive! In the woods!"
They turned the boat quickly and went poling through the soggy mass of kinksbush and myrtle. And there, caught among broken branches was a forlorn bunch of ponies, heads hanging low, their sides scarcely moving.
Grandpa slid overboard, trying not to make a splash, trying not to panic them. Softly he called each one by name. "Nancy. Lucy. Polly. Gray Belle. Princess. Susy ..."
The low, husky voice was like a lifeline thrown to drowning creatures. They lifted their heavy heads and one tried a whinny, but it was no more than a breath blowing. They were held fast, rooted in the boggy earth.
Tom and Paul were beside Grandpa in an instant. Without any signals between them, they knew what had to be done. They must drive the ponies to higher land near Tom's house, or they would die. Grim and determined, they maneuvered their way behind the ponies. Then grabbing pine boughs for clubs, they brandished them, whacking at the water, yelling like madmen, stirring the almost-dead things to life.
A pinto mare struggled free and led off in one desperate leap. The others stumbled after, trying to keep ahead of the wild thunder behind them. Scrabbling, crashing through up-rooted trees, squeezing through bramble and thicket, they slogged forward inch by inch. And suddenly a mud-crusted stallion leaped out of the woods to join them.
"It's Wings!" Paul shrieked.
Men and ponies both were nearing exhaustion. But still they drove on. Theyhadto. Shoving the boat, the men nosed it into the laggards, frightening them ever forward.
And at last they were in Tom's yard. Safe! As one, the ponies headed for the water barrel. Single-handed Grandpa overturned it, spilling out the dirty water tainted by the sea. He tried the spigot above it. "Pressure's good!" he exulted. "They got to blow first, then they can drink."
He and Tom and Paul were blowing too. But it was a healthy blow.Somethingat last had gone right.
In the helicopter on the way back to Wallops Station, Grandpa and Paul talked things over. They would try to seal off today's grief. No need to speak of it tonight, with folks listening in. It would be like unbandaging a wound for everyone to see. They would talk of the kittens instead. And so, when the plane landed, their faces were set in a mask.
Maureen and Grandma, bundled in coats and scarves, were there to meet them. Maureen rushed up, bursting with curiosity. Before she could ask her question, Paul said, "You'd never,everguess."
"All right, Mr. Smarty. Then I just won't try."
"There's more than one!"
"Twins?" she gasped. "Oh, Paul, isn't that wonderful! One for you and one for me!"
"Nope. It's quadruplets—it's four of them."
"Can't be!" Grandma broke in as they walked toward the mess hall. "I may be a sea-captain's daughter, but I know 'nough about ponies to know they don't have four to once. Speak up, Clarence."
Grandpa took off his hat and let the wind pick up the wisps of his hair. "Yup, Idy," he nodded, "yer kitchen's a nursery now with four little ones...."
Grandma wailed. "Oh, my beautiful new table all bit up, and my linoleum ruint."
"Pshaw! The little ones ain't bigger'n nothing," Grandpa said, flashing a wink at Paul.
At the door of the mess hall Maureen stopped in her tracks and began jumping up and down as if she had the answer to a riddle. "It's Wait-a-Minute!" she shouted. "She's had kittens again!"
Paul smiled. "Yep, Grandma's kitchen is a mew-seum now."
The children and even Grandma and Grandpa laughed in relief, not because they thought the joke so funny, but because it was good to be together again.
The refugee room had been transformed—cots lined up against the wall, neat as teeth in a comb, and new tables and chairs, and a television set with a half-circle of giggling children.
The Beebes went directly to their corner. Maureen and Grandma were still full of questions. But the answers were short.
"Yup, Misty's okay."
"No, no sign of Skipper anywheres."
"Rabbit's gone, too."
"Yup, our house is dry, 'cept for a tiny bit of wetting in one o' the bedrooms." Here Grandpa pinched his nose, remembering. "But it's got a odor to it that'll hold you."
In her dismay over her house, Grandma had forgotten all about Grandpa's ponies. Now as she helped him pull off his sweater, she asked, "What about your ninety head, Clarence? Are they...."
Paul kept very still, and Grandpa's old leathery face did not change expression. He looked dead ahead. "There was losses," was all he said. He turned to Maureen, and his voice was tight and toneless. "Me and Paul have done a lot of yelling today, and we're both wore out. We just don't feel talky, do we, Paul?"
"No, Grandpa."
"Suppose you and Grandma be like Red Cross angels and tote our suppers over here. We'd ruther not eat up to the big table with ever'body."
As Maureen and Grandma heaped the trays and carried them back, Maureen's lip quivered. "Oh, Grandma, Paul didn't even ask what I did today. He doesn't even know I was at Doctor Finney's, riding a famous trotter. Oh, Grandma, why was I born a girl?"
"It's God's plan, Maureen. Oops! Take care. Ye're spilling the soup."
Friday. The fourth day of the storm. Gray skies over Chincoteague. Rain off and on. Temperature rising. Wind and tide slowly subsiding. The causeway in use again—red ambulances carrying off the sick, yellow school buses the well, dump trucks removing the dead chickens.
Misty in the kitchen at Pony Ranch is growing restless. Her hay is gone. The water in the sink is gone. She is bored with the squeaky, squirmy kittens, and tired of looking out the window. Nothing seems to happen. No ponies frisking. No dog teasing her to come out and play. No birds flying. No friendly human creatures.
The room is getting too warm. Her winter coat itches. Even the bony part of her tail itches. She looks for something to scratch against. The handle of the refrigerator! She backs up to it. To her surprise the door kicks right back at her! She wheels around, barely missing the mewing kittens. She pokes her head in the box, sniffing and nosing. She tries to fit her tongue into a pitcher of molasses. Crash! A dark dribble spills down on the kittens, on Wait-a-Minute too.
At last Misty has something to do. Good sweet molasses to clean up. She licks Wait-a-Minute, and Wait-a-Minute licks her kittens. The steady strokes bring on rumbly purring sounds. Misty grows drowsy. She turns to lie down, but the kittens are in her way. At last she sleeps, standing over them.
Afternoon came, and with it strange happenings. Paul and Grandpa arrived at Pony Ranch. This time their concern over Misty was desperate.
"A day or two at most," Grandpa said gravely.
"You been saying that!" Paul replied accusingly.
"I know." Grandpa looked crestfallen as if he'd failed in his duty. He made up his mind on the spot. "We're carryin' her over to Doc Finney's today,to once!"
They led Misty out of the house and into the old truck. They stowed a bundle of hay in its accustomed place, just as if she were going off to a school or a library story hour.
"You wait, Misty, we'll be right back," Grandpa said. "Paul and me got to give the kitchen a quick lick."
"Oh, do wehaveto?" Paul was all impatience.
"Yes, son. Some way I got a hunch yer Grandma's coming home right soon."
Back in the kitchen Paul and Grandpa mucked out the old straw, and gave the floor a hasty cleaning.
"Gives you a new regard for wimmenfolk, don't it, Paul?" Grandpa asked, dipping the broom into a pail of suds.
"Why?"
"Well, how'dyoulike to get down on yer knees and scrub suds and dirt together and try to get a slick surface?"
"I'd ruther muck out stalls."
"That's what I mean. Misty is what I'd call a tidy pony. She uses one corner and keeps ever'thing mounded up real neat. But even so—!"
When they had done the best they could, they turned to inspect their handiwork. The room looked better, they admitted, with the kittens in the laundry basket and the straw swept out and the molasses fairly well cleaned up, but somehow the pattern of the linoleum was gone.
"Oh, well," Grandpa sighed, "yer Grandma'll say, 'Clarence Beebe, this floor looks like a hurrah's nest.' And then she'll get right down with her brush and pail, and she'll begin purrin' and hummin' like Wait-a-Minute with her kittens. So let's leave it to her and get on with Misty."
Driving the truck through town to the causeway took an hour instead of minutes. The streets were filled with men and machines. Huge bulldozers were pushing sand back into the bay and rubble into piles for burning.
Every time the truck had to stop, Misty was recognized and men shouted questions.
"Where ye taking Misty?"
"To Doctor Finney's!"
"Clear to Pocomoke City?"
"But why now, when the weather's fairin' off?"
"'Cause she needs a doctor, that's why," Grandpa answered. "She's way past her time."
"Shucks, you never done this with your other ponies."
"But they're used to wild ways," Paul broke in. "Misty's more like folks."
"My grandchildren set a mighty store by her," Grandpa said. "We just can't chance it."
In front of his house the Mayor came out and flagged them down. "Beebe," he said, looking heavy-eyed and discouraged, "we're having a time getting those carcasses airlifted."
"How come?"
"The government has approved sending 'copters to take fresh water to the ponies still alive on Assateague, but they have no orders yet to take out the dead ones."
Grandpa exploded. "Mayor! The live ones hasgotwater. There's allus water in the high-up pools in the White Hills. Them ponies know it."
"You and I know it too, Clarence. But sometimes outside people get sentimental in the wrong places. They mean well enough," he added with a tired smile. "It's the same old story about the evacuation. Even though the drinking water is piped to Chincoteague from the mainland, the Health Department still says no women or children can return yet."
Grandpa's face went red. "Mayor, I guess you don't need me to tell you the wimmenfolk is madder'n fire and sputterin' like wrens. Less'n they get home soon and tote their soggy mattresses and chairs out in the air, ever'thing'll be spoilt."
"Yes, I know. I know. I'm doing the best I can to get things cleared up. Right now I have a call in for our Senator in Washington. Perhaps he can get some action for us."
"But how about all the folk who didn't evacuate?"
"We can't force them to leave their homes, Clarence. But those that are at Wallops Station just can't come back until all the dead animals are removed. And Clarence," he called as Grandpa shifted into gear, "when the order does come through, we'll want you to help with the airlifting."
On the long trip to Pocomoke, Grandpa kept grumbling and muttering to himself.
Paul couldn't keep his eyes open. With Misty close by him, where he could reach back and touch her, he suddenly felt easy and relaxed, easier than he had since the storm began. He tried to stay awake. He tried to listen to Grandpa. He tried to watch the scenery. But his eyelids drooped. Finally he crawled in with Misty and slept on the floor beside her.
When at last they turned into Dr. Finney's place, Grandpa had to shake him awake.
Dr. Finney was a big man, outwardly calm, but his face looked as if it knew patience and pain.
"What do you think, sir?" Paul asked as they stood with Misty in the paddock.
"Well, to be frank, she's a little too heavy, Paul. That is, for one so fine-boned. And that's never good at a time like this. But we'll pull her through."
Misty shouldered her way into the center of the group, ears listening and questing, as if she were part of the conference instead of the cause.
The doctor put a gentle hand on Paul's shoulder. "Misty won't be lonesome here," he said. "In the next stall she can neighbor with Trineda, a well-bred trotter. And my boy David can comfort her and take your place—for the time being," he added quickly.
Just then Dr. Finney's son came racing out of the house. Paul almost hated the boy on sight, for Misty trotted right up to him, sniffing curiously.
"Doctor Finney," Paul said urgently, "couldn't I stay here? Please?"
Grandpa answered before the doctor had finished clearing his throat. "If ye could be of help, me and Doc'd both say yes. But ye're needed over to Chincoteague. Lots o' moppin' up to be done, and ye volunteered as an able-bodiedman. Recomember?"
Still Paul could not bring himself to go. He slid his hand under Misty's mane, scruffing his fingers along. "Doctor Finney," he asked, "would it be a good idea for us to get a nanny goat just in case...?"
The doctor was about to say it wouldn't be necessary. Then he saw the troubled look on the boy's face. Better, he thought, to keep him busy instead of worrying. "It wouldn't hurt at all, Paul. Many breeding stables keep a goat for that very purpose. By the way," he turned now to Grandpa, "you must know Buck Jackson from Chincoteague."
Grandpa flinched. "Yup, I know him. Sells goat's milk."
"Well, he's delivering a flock of goats to Girdletree today, and I'm to give them a health certificate. If you'd like to buy a nanny, I'll ask Buck if he can spare one. But you'd have to keep her at Pony Ranch, because I'm short of space."
Grandpa shrugged helplessly. "Allus it's me against the world," he said, half joking, half in earnest. Then he stared down the highway in amazement.
A shining white truck was barreling along toward them. Now it was slowing, and in big black letters on its side Grandpa made out the words:
Buck Jackson Delivery—Goat's Milk.
With a screeching of tires the truck turned into the driveway and came to a stop. A big-shouldered man jumped down from the cab and opened the tailgate. "Hi, Paul and David," he called. "Hi, Doc. Hi, Mr. Beebe. Hi, Misty. Heavens-to-Betsy, I didn't expect a welcoming committee!"
Misty and Paul and David were first to peer inside. The two boys were suddenly friends, buyers, judging an odd assortment of goats.
Grandpa stuck his nose into the truck and sniffed noisily. "I jes' don't like 'em," he insisted. "They smell from here to Kingdom Come. To me, a polecat smells purtier."
But Paul was ecstatic. "They can't help it, Grandpa. And besides, Misty needs someone to play with, now that Skipper's gone."
"She'll have her colt," Grandpa reminded.
Paul was not listening. "I like that brown nanny with the little white kid."
"So do I," David agreed. "And if I was your Grandpa, I'd let you have the whole truckload," he offered generously.
"Who says I want to sell any?" Buck Jackson asked.
That did it. Grandpa was a born trader. "Buck," he said, "there's lots o' goats over to Chincoteague. Some nicer'n yours. Cy Eustace has a hull flock, and Ben Sykes has...."
"Not any more they don't. They're drowned."
Grandpa ignored the interruption. "But since my grandson has took a fancy to that brown one and her kid, what'll ye take for the pair?"
Buck winked at Dr. Finney. "I'll take Misty and her unborn."
Now Grandpa's blood was up. "Quit yer jokin'!"
"Who says I'm jokin'?"
In the waiting silence Misty poked her head inside the truck and the brown goat gave her a friendly butt. Misty came right back, asking for more.
"I give up!" Grandpa sighed. He pulled out his ancient leather purse and began fumbling inside, transferring bits of string and wire to a pocket. At last he held out a much-folded five-dollar bill. "This may seem mighty little to ye, but hoss-keepin' ain't what ye'd call profitable. Here, take it."
Buck Jackson chewed on a toothpick, thinking. "If I didn't say yes," he said at last, "even Misty here'd hate me. It's a deal, Clarence, and I'll throw in a bale of hay besides."
The transaction was quickly completed. But even with the nanny and her kid in the pickup, Paul didn't find it easier to say good-bye to Misty. "Don't ride her," he cautioned David. "She's going to have a colt."
"I know she is," David replied in disgust. "Everybodyknows that."
Dr. Finney held onto Misty's halter. "Don't you worry, Paul. I'll sleep in the stall next to her, and I'll stay within sight and sound during her foaling period."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
It was almost dark when Grandpa and Paul crossed the state line back into Virginia.
"Tradin' whets my appetite," Grandpa confided to Paul. "What d'ye say we stop by Wallops Station and have some nice hot Red Cross food with Grandma and Maureen?"
"What about our goats? Shouldn't we hurry home and put them in the hay house with Billy Blaze and Watch Eyes? They got to get used to being with horses."
Grandpa wasn't listening. A flicker of a smile crossed his face. "Don't interrupt me, son. My mind's turnin' over important thoughts."
The refugee room looked much the same, except for more cots and more people. And it still smelled of old rubber and leather and steamy woolen socks.
As the family sat down at the long table, Paul whispered to Maureen, "I like the smell of goats better'n people, and we got two—a nanny and a kid."
"Oh, Paul, how beautiful!"
"They're not beautiful; they're really kind of funny-looking with their eyes so different from horses'."
"I know. They're bluey-yellow, and they look glassy, like marbles."
Paul and Maureen could hardly eat for all they had to say to each other.
"Misty's at Doctor Finney's, Maureen. She can't keep on postponing forever and she can't go on living in Grandma's kitchen. Ain't healthy and airy for her. And besides...."
"Besides what?"
"I overheard the doctor say there could be complications."
Grandma and Grandpa were deep in conversation, too. Grandpa seemed to have forgotten he was hungry. "Idy," he said, "Pony Ranch is now the owners of a nanny goat and her kid. A billy-kid, at that! It's got whiskers as long as yer sea-captain pa."
"Clarence Beebe! Don't you talk like that. I'll not have ye comparin' my father to a billy goat!"
"Oh, come now, Idy. I'm jes' bein' jokey. Besides, yer father smelled real good—of tobaccy and things. By the way," he asked, trying to appear casual, "you and Maureen had yer arms scratched against the typhoid?"
Grandma nodded.
"Good! I'm turribly glad."
"Why? Is the typhoid raging?"
"No, but I need ye at home, Idy, to perten me up for what I got to do."
"What's that?" Grandma asked in alarm.
"I got to see that all my dead ponies is taken off'n Chincoteague, and the dead ones on Assateague, too."
"Oh ... oh, how dreadful! But they say wimmenfolk can't go home now. Regardless."
"I know theysayso." Grandpa's eyes crinkled with his secret. "ButIsay the Lord helps them as helps theirselves."
Grandma looked at him questioningly.
"Idy, how'd ye like to...?"
"Like to what?"
Grandpa sopped up some tomato gravy with a chunk of bread and ate it slowly, enjoying Grandma's impatience. Then he leaned close to her ear. "How'd ye and Maureen like to be smuggled back home? Right now!"
Grandma beamed. "Be ye serious?"
"Serious as a cow at milkin' time."
"Why, mercy me, I'd feel young and chipper doin' a thing like that."
"Ye would?"
"Yes, I would."
"Even if ye had to hide in the back o' a truck under a bundle o' hay with goats eatin' through to ye?"
"Even if!" Grandma hurriedly left the table, motioning Maureen and Paul to follow. "Don't ask any questions," she said. "Just slip into your jackets and come along, and leave our blankets on the cots."
The people nearby looked up in surprise as the Beebe family put on their wraps.
"My husband has got some goats down in the truck he wants us to see," Grandma explained.
"But it's raining, Mrs. Beebe."
"I know. That's why we're bundling up." Grandma blushed. "Y'see, my husband's like a little boy whenever he's got a new pet to show me."
The night was dark and broody with no moon or stars. Not a glimmer of light anywhere. A curtain of fine rain closed in the deserted parking lot.
With a great heave Grandpa hoisted Grandma up into the back of the truck. "It's easier loading Misty," he panted.
Grandma was too excited to answer. Feeling her way in the dark, she pushed the goats aside, took off her head scarf, and sat down on it. Then she opened a clean handkerchief for Maureen. But Maureen ignored it, lost in delight over the little white kid.
The motor made a roar in the night as the truck pulled out of the lot and headed for the highway. Almost there, Grandpa turned down a gravel lane, dimmed the lights, and parked. He and Paul jumped out and ran to the back of the truck. Hastily they broke open the bale of hay, and began shaking it over the stowaways.
Maureen sneezed.
"Hay's dusty," Paul said.
"Might of knowed it," Grandpa snorted. "No wonder Buck Jackson give it away. Now whichever of ye sneezed, we can't have no more o' that. If yer nose feels tickly, jes' clamp yer finger hard underneath it, and 'twon't happen."
Before Paul and Grandpa got back into the cab, they looked around cautiously. No one was in sight.
"I feel like the smugglers we read about in Berlin," Paul said, "sneakin' refugees to West Germany."
It was only a half-hour's ride to Chincoteague, but with no one singing or laughing, it seemed more like half a day. In silence they rode past Rabbit Gnaw Road and through Horntown and past Swan's Gut Road and across the salt flats that led to the causeway.
Almost at the end of the causeway their headlights showed up a temporary guardhouse. A soldier with a rifle came out and flagged them down. He shone his flashlight into the cab of the truck. "Hi there, Mr. Beebe," he grinned in recognition. "Hi, Paul. How's Misty?"
"She's still all right," Paul replied.
The guard flicked off his flashlight and leaned one arm on the lowered window. He seemed hungry for talk. "Funny thing," he said, "about the telephone calls comin' in from all over the countryside. Mostly they're from children. It's not folks they're worried about. It's the ponies. 'Specially Misty. Yeah," he laughed, "she'stheir prime concern."
"Mine, too!" Paul said.
Unmindful of the drizzle, the guard went on. "By the way, how's everybody over at Wallops?"
Grandpa coughed. "They're all hankerin' fer home."
"Wal, maybe it won't be long now. The Mayor got through to Washington, and they're sending four big 'copters tomorrow to work with you and Tom on liftin' the dead ponies." In a routine manner he went around to the back of the truck and flashed his light inside. "Any stowaways?" he asked jokingly.
Grandpa matched the joking tone. "Yup, we got two."
After an interminable silence the soldier's laughter filled the night. "Wal, I'll be a billy goat's whiskers if ye 'ain't got a nanny and her kid! How's the missus going to like that?"
"I figger she's going to feel mighty close to 'em," Grandpa chuckled.
"Why? How's that?"
Suddenly Grandpa panicked. The sweat came cold on his forehead. He cut off the dashlight so his face would be in the dark. He couldn't speak.
Paul came to the rescue. "We bought them for Misty's colt," he explained. "Sup-pli-ament-ary feeding, you know."
The guard snapped off his light and tweaked Paul's ear. "Ye got a bright boy here, Mr. Beebe. G'night, folks. Ye can move on now."
Home was clammy cold, and it had a stench of fish, and the bedroom rug with the roses was wet as a sponge. But it was Home! And Wait-a-Minute was there with a wild welcome, turning somersaults, then flying round and round like a whirling dervish.
"This floor is like walkin' on mucilage," Grandma said, "but no matter how messy, there's jes' no place like Pony Ranch."
Maureen sighed in agreement. Then she added soberly, "Even without the ponies."
"You forget," Paul corrected, "we still have Watch Eyes and Billy Blaze, and the mares in the hay house."
"And," Grandpa added with a crooked smile, "Wings' herd up to Tom's Place ... and with Misty expectin' ... and two goats and five cats, we got the beginnin's again."
"Grandma!" Maureen cried. "What's happened to the back of your dress?"
Grandma swished her skirt around. Her eyes widened. The whole back from the waist down was gone. "Why, whatever in the world!" she gasped.
Paul and Maureen began to shriek in laughter. "The nanny goat!"
"Like I said," Grandpa roared, "Missus Beebe'll allus feel mighty close to that nanny."
Grandma flounced to the drawer where she kept her aprons. In pretended anger she took out two. "I'll just wear 'em both," she said. "One fore and one aft."
There was much to be done before bedtime—the ponies in the hay house to be grained and watered, the nanny and her kid to be tended to, kindling to be brought in. And late as it was, Grandma got down on her hands and knees and scrubbed the floor with vigor and strong naphtha soap.
When she had almost finished, Maureen, muddy but radiant, sloshed into the back hall. "Guess what, Grandma!"
"Whatnow?" Grandma asked without looking up. Her lips were set in a thin line as she carefully pushed the basket of kittens back under the stove. "Now what you so tickled about?"
"Feel in my pocket!"
"Mice?"
"No, Grandma. Guess again."
"Probably some toady-frog or lizard."
"No! No! Feel!"
Grandma wiped her hands on her apron and poked a cautious fingertip into Maureen's pocket. She touched something smooth and curved. Smiling, she reached in and brought out two tiny brown-flecked eggs.
"And there's two in my other pocket! I found 'em high and dry in Misty's manger."
Grandpa and Paul came stomping into the back hall with armfuls of wood. "What's to eat?" Grandpa shouted. "I could swaller a whale."
Grandma shook her head. "Bread's mouldy. Milk's sour. Only thing we got is four little bitty banty eggs."
"Why, they're good," Maureen said in a hurt tone.
"Course they are, honey." Grandma placed them on the table. "Paul, you still got your boots on. Run out to the smokehouse for some bacon. We'll have a tiny fried egg apiece and plenty o' crispy bacon. I'll put the skillet on and have it spittin' hot."
When Paul had gone out, Grandma turned to Maureen and Grandpa. "Now you two wash up so's I can tell who's who. And for pity's sake, use that naphtha soap. If'n I had any sense at all, I'd go around this house with a clothespin twigged onto my nose."
Grandpa's face broadened into a grin. "Humpf! A sea-captain's daughter complainin' 'bout a little bilge water."
Suddenly Maureen shushed Grandpa and held up a warning finger. "Listen!"
Faint and far off, like something in a dream, came a sound like a dog's barking. Then it faded away and stopped. They all stood still—waiting, listening. For long seconds they heard nothing. Only the clock hammering and the fire crackling in the stove.
But there! It came again. Louder this time. Nearer! A gruff, rusty bark, then three short yaps, familiar, beloved.
In one stride Grandpa was at the door. He flung it wide and a flash of golden fur bulleted into the room, skidding across the wet floor until it reached Maureen.
"Skipper! Skipper!" she cried, hugging him passionately, wildly.
Grandpa and Grandma seemed to forget they were grown. They let Skipper come leaping at them, let him put his front feet on their shoulders. Who minded muddy paws? Who minded the icy-cold nose? Who minded the wet tongue-swipes? And the tracked floor? Not even Grandma! Only Wait-a-Minute hissed and spat at him.
Everyone was laughing and crying and talking all at once.
"Where you been, feller?"
"Ithought you'd been caught in a mushrat trap."
"Ithought you'd drowned, for sure."
"Why, ye're strong as a tiger."
"And yer coat's got a nice shine."
Paul came in then, a wide smile spread across his face. "Heshouldbe fat and shiny. He's been in the smokehouse eatin' his way through hams and salt pork."
Grandma wiped her laughter-tears away. "He allus was crazy on smoked meats," she said.
Maureen buried her nose in his ruff. "He's even got a smokehouse smell to him," she said. "Remember, Paul? Last thing you did was to go get a ham before we left on the helicopter."
Grandpa went to the sink and plunged his face into the wash basin, making a sound like a seal. He came up bellowing: "Skipper's a progger!"
"What's that?" Maureen and Paul wanted to know.
Grandpa scruffed his beard, thinking. "It's a old, old Chincoteague word, and it means ... wa-al, it jes' means someone as is smart enough to grab a livin' when things is dire bad." And he cupped his hands around his mouth and boomed, "Welcome home, ye old Progger!"
Saturday. News briefs from around the world were coming over the radio like flak:
"India agrees to a conference with Pakistan.... African leaders at the United Nations are exploring the Common Market.... Russia accuses the United States of war-mongering.... Jordan and Israel again at loggerheads over the River Jordan.... England's Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip return in triumph from Australia and New Zealand."
The newscaster paused and took a breath as if all this were far away and only a prelude to the real news. His tone became neighborly now and concerned.
"And here on the home front, the tiny flooded island of Chincoteague has aroused the sympathy of the whole nation. The islanders, whose livelihood depends on chickens and sea-food and ponies, have suffered a savage blow to all three industries. Their oyster beds are gone; their chickens are gone. And today's report indicates that only a remnant of the wild pony herds on Assateague Island have survived. These are the ponies that made Chincoteague famous for the annual roundup and Pony Penning celebration, and that have brought visitors by the thousands. How seriously this loss will affect the tourist industry can only be estimated.
"Yet the Chincoteaguers are showing indomitable courage. With bulldozers and scoop shovels they are pushing tons of sand off streets, off lawns, out of cellars, and back into the channel. Clean-up crews are making bonfires of rubble and debris.
"Oh ... flash news! Two notes were just handed me. One says Misty, the movie-star pony, has been evacuated from her owner's kitchen to an animal hospital in Pocomoke, Maryland, where her colt is expected momentarily.
"The other says the Second Army at Fort Belvoir is flying in helicopters within the hour to remove the dead ponies from Chincoteague and Assateague...."
At Pony Ranch Grandpa snapped off the radio in mid-sentence. "I got to go now," he said in a tone of finality. "Them's my orders." He kissed his family good-bye as solemnly as if he were going away on a long journey and might never return.
"No, son." He shook his head in answer to Paul's asking look. "No, ye're needed here today to work on Misty's stall. Somebody's got to ready it for her homecoming. Besides, Grandma and Maureen can't lift that wet rug out on the line by theirselves. They need an able-bodied man."
"But who's going to help lift the dead po—"
Grandpa cut off the word with a sharp glance. His eyes said, "Less talk, the better." And his voice said, "Each 'copter has a crew of four stout army men, and there's Tom Reed and Henry Leonard to help me."
Grandma's eyes were bright with unshed tears. Quickly she went to the cupboard and took out a small brown sack. "I was saving these peppermints for Misty's baby. But here, Clarence, you take them. For extry strength," she whispered, "when things is rough."
Paul and Maureen were soon so busy with preparations for Misty's return that they forgot Grandpa. The phone might ring any minute, long distance, with big news from Pocomoke. And if it did, the made-over chicken coop had to be dry and snug and warm, and waiting.
The day was spent in a fever of activity. At first they tackled the heavy, sodden straw with enthusiasm. They were used to cleaning Misty's stall every morning before breakfast. It took only a few minutes—fifteen at most. But now clumps of seaweed made the bedding slithery as soup and heavy as lead. With fork and shovel they pitched and tossed for an hour. Each wheelbarrowful seemed heavier than the last, until finally it took both of them, one at each handle, to push it and dump the muck in the woods.