Getting home was rough going and agonizingly slow. The horses plodded through the water when they could, and swam when they had to. Paul and Grandpa stopped once to let them blow. Then they pressed on, man and creature eager for Home.
Almost there, Paul saw the higher ground of Pony Ranch with the buildings still standing brave and whole—the cottage, its green roof darkened by the rain, the made-over chicken coop and the hay house and the smokehouse—but they looked littler than before, and somehow frightened, with the sea creeping up on them.
At the gate Grandpa made his decision. "Ride down to the smokehouse, Paul," he said. "Pick us out a big ham. If we got to go, we ain't showin' up over on the main empty handed. I'll dry off Billy Blaze and see about Misty."
Skipper swam out to meet Paul, then paddled alongside all the way to the smokehouse. Round as a silo and perched on the highest spot of the ranch, the smokehouse was a landmark for ships in the channel. Inside, it was a friendly place, with its exciting smells, sweet and smoky. In the little while it took Paul to select the biggest ham and to cut a piece of rind for Skipper, the rain turned to icy sleet.
Grandpa was throwing an old red blanket over Misty when Paul looked in. "Grandpa!" he cried. "Misty's standing in water!"
"So'm I!"
"But you're not going to have a colt!"
"Wisht I was. Then maybe I'd get a bit o' coddlin'."
"But, Grandpa! What are we going to do with her?"
"The only thing left to do."
"What's that?"
"Take her smack into the kitchen."
"IntoGrandma's kitchen?"
"The very one. And that's where she's goin' to stay 'til tide ebbs."
"Whew! How're you going to ask her?"
"I ain't askin'. I'll jes' put her halter on and lead her up the steps and onto the porch and in through the door."
"No, I mean how you going to ask Grandma."
"O-h. I ain't askin' her, neither. I'll jes' tell her, quiet-like."
But Grandpa didn't tell her quietly. He led up to it like a growing storm. "Idy! Maureen!" he thundered as he and Paul stomped in. "Yer menfolk are home."
"Praised be the Lord!" Grandma exclaimed. "I been so worried I couldn't do a lick o' work. Just sat by the window praying double-quick time."
"Tell it now," Paul whispered to Grandpa.
"Now ain't the time."
"But Misty's feet are wet."
"Won't hurt her none. Salt water's good for feet, man or beast." He turned now to Grandma. "Idy, dear, don't set the table. We'll jes' stand up and eat beans and sop up the 'lasses with some of yer good bread. Then we got some packin' to do, Idy dear."
Grandma mimicked. "Don't you 'Idy-dear' me, Clarence Beebe! What you up to? Yer face is red as a gobbler's wattle."
Paul giggled nervously. Often he had thought their tom turkeys and Grandpa looked alike, but he had never dared say it. He couldn't stop giggling. And soon Maureen was laughing along with him.
Grandma began to chuckle without knowing why. "I declare to goodness! Hearing people laugh is like sunshine flooding the house."
"It's floodin' I want to talk to ye about, Idy."
The laughter stopped.
Grandpa's voice was stern. "All morning heelyacopters been carryin' off the sick. Now they're comin' for folks as is well."
"Not me, they ain't!" Grandma flared up. "They can jes' count me out! I'm too old to start riding acrost the sky in an eggbeater."
"All righty! Mebbe ye prefers stayin' here and havin' sharks and crabs slinkin' into yer house and grabbin' ye." He winked at the children. "Recomember the day when that crab pinched yer Grandma when she was bendin' over, gatherin' oysters? Why, she went off like one o' them big rockets from Wallops Beach."
Grandma turned her back and began slicing bread with a vengeance.
"But what'll happen to Misty?" Maureen asked in alarm.
"I'llstay with Misty," Grandma announced without turning around. "Much as I dislikes treating ponies like folks, I admit to a kinship when she's having a baby."
Grandpa cut open the can of beans with his knife. "Paul," he growled, "mebbeyecan explain things to yer Grandma."
"It's true, Grandma," Paul said, helping himself to the heel of bread. "Tide's coming back four foot higher, and the island's going to be contamin—going to be spoilt rotten with dead chickens and stinky fish and snakes and mushrats and maybe even dead horses." He looked at Grandpa, wishing he hadn't said that. Then he went on quickly. "Health officials want everybody to clear out. They say there could be a fierce epidemic."
No one spoke. Grandma sat down at the table and stared vacantly. She brushed imaginary crumbs into her hand.
"Wa-al, Idy," Grandpa said, "ye can have yer druthers. Do ye want to stay and take a chance on losin' Paul and Maureen to the typhoid? Or do ye want to light out now, afore the tide pushes us out?"
For the first time Grandma began to waver. "Why, I had no idea 'twas that bad, Clarence."
"Wal, 'tis! Way to look at it is: peoplegotto go. Why, up to the north end of the island there was one big fat lady, weighed nigh two hundred pound, and this lady and her teenage girl and her girl's beau was a-sittin' in their house just talkin' away, and all to once a big whoosh o' the sea come spang into their sittin' room, and they was scramblin' atop tables and chairs, and they would've clumb into the attic if they'd a had one. But they didn't. An' that young boy, he had to saw a hole in their ceilin', mind ye, and he clumb up into the teensy air space there under the roof, and with him a-pullin' and the girl a-pushin' they squeezed the mother up through the hole." Grandpa stopped for breath.
"What happened to them?" Maureen asked. "Were they there all night?"
"Yup, and 'long 'bout daybreak the boy sawed a hole in the roof and they all clumb out, and later one o' them whirlybirds come down and rescues the three o' them from the rooftop, all shivery and wet and hungry.
"Now, Idy, how'd ye like it if we had to cut a hole in our purty green roof, and I'd have to haul ye up like a sack o' potatoes?"
Paul nudged Grandpa. "Tell her now."
"So ye see, Idy, we could be next. Already flood waters is seepin' into Misty's stable. She's comin' into yer kitchen," he announced, "and that's where she's going to stay 'til the tide's out."
"Good heavings!" Grandma looked beaten.
"Now then," Grandpa went on heartily, "ye better start packing. We'll want a blanket apiece and we're takin' a beautiful ham to surprise the mainlanders. And speakin' o' eatin', these beans is Paul's treat."
At last Grandma accepted the truth. She began to scurry about, talking to herself. "We got to take some soap for sure, and we'll have to have a comb and...."
Grandpa and the children left her to her bustling. There was much to be done before the helicopter came. Misty had to be brought into the kitchen and, before that, the marsh ponies in the hay house had to be made comfortable.
"Let's lift down the top bales," Grandpa directed when they reached the long shed. "We'll pile 'em two deep over the hull floor. That way even their feet'll be dry."
"And if we don't break open the bales," Paul said, "it'll take them just that much longer to eat the hay."
"They could live for a week in here," Maureen said.
"'Zackly!" Grandpa nodded. "No need to worry 'bout them."
Then it was Misty's turn. Paul had expected to lead her out of her stall quietly and that she would foot her way along carefully, as any broodmare should. But the moment he put on her halter, she began quivering as if the wind and waves called up the wildness in her. Her head went up, her tail went up, her ears pricked sharply. And even in the bitter cold she broke out in sweat.
"Whoa there, girl, whoa," Paul soothed. He slid his hand through her halter as he opened her door. But with one leap she was in the water, lifting him off his feet. She didn't want to be led. She wanted to splash and play like any Chincoteague pony.
Grandpa grabbed her from the other side. "Maureen!" he yelled, "you hop on and ride her to the steps. Me and Paul'll guide her from behind."
Maureen climbed aboard. Through her legs she could feel Misty's heart pounding. The water was up to Misty's knees. Then a swirl of it hit her belly. She tried to jump over it.
Maureen grabbed a handful of mane. "Yahoo!" she cried in startled surprise.
Misty tried one more leap, then settled down and went steadily forward. She reached the steps well ahead of Paul and Grandpa, who came wading up, out of breath.
"Now here's the touchy part," Grandpa panted. "Steps're mighty slippy and we don't want her fallin' and hurtin' herself."
But Misty had been up these steps before. She clomped up happily, lifting each foot high. On the top step she paused, mesmerized. A little brown rabbit sat stock-still on the porch rail, not a whisker twitching. It seemed more statue than real. The two creatures stared at each other, the big soft brown eyes and the small beady ones. Misty snorted as if to say, "What you doing here? Go on back to your briar patch!" But the rabbit never budged, not even when Misty stretched out her neck and breathed right in its face.
Grandpa guffawed. Even then the cheeky little thing stood its ground, more afraid of the rising water than of people or ponies.
"He's sassing Misty," Paul laughed. "'Don't eye me, ma'am,' he's saying, 'I been flooded out. Same as you.'"
At last Misty grew bored and ambled across the porch, through the back hall, and right into the kitchen. When they were all crowded inside, Grandpa took off his hat in a sweeping bow. "Meet Idy, my wife," he said.
Grandma winced. "We met before," she said drily. Then her heart melted. "Take off yer purty red shawl, Misty," she said, entering into the game, "and make yerself to home." She went to the refrigerator while Misty followed after, snatching a streamer of her apron.
Grandma jumped in fright, almost stumbling over her apron on the floor. "Why, that ungrateful rascal! I've a good notion to put these carrots back in the box." But she didn't. She held them out and let Misty lip them. "Feels tickly, her lips and whiskers, don't they?"
Paul and Maureen exchanged glances.
Grandma stiffened. "You're all dripping pools of water on my clean floor." She sighed. "But no matter now, I guess. How soon will the heelyacopter come for us?" she asked.
"Right soon," Grandpa replied. "Come on, son, we better hurry and haul in plenty of straw for Misty."
After they had made a deep rustly bed for her in the kitchen, there was nothing left to do. Four blankets and the ham were ready and waiting, and Misty was already at home, contentedly munching wisps of hay while Maureen combed her mane.
As the minutes dragged on, Grandma grew pale and fidgety. She busied herself pouring an extra bowl of milk for Wait-a-Minute. Then she began watering her sweet potato vine and her fern.
"That's my girl," Grandpa came over and patted her shoulder. "That's my girl." Then he broke into a sudden howl as he caught her wetting down a plant of artificial violets.
Even Grandma laughed at herself and her color came back. "Believe now I'll just sit down and play us a hymn," she said. "I hate waiting for anything, 'specially heelyacopters."
She opened up the organ and began playing and singing. Her voice quavered at first, then grew stronger as if she wanted to reach God in his heaven, direct.
"Je-sus,Sav-iour,pi-lotme,O-verlife'stem-pest-uoussea;Un-knownwavesbe-fore meroll,Hi-dingrockand treach-erousshoal;Chartandcom-passcomefromThee;Je-sus,Sav-iour, pi-lotme."
"Je-sus,Sav-iour,pi-lotme,O-verlife'stem-pest-uoussea;Un-knownwavesbe-fore meroll,Hi-dingrockand treach-erousshoal;Chartandcom-passcomefromThee;Je-sus,Sav-iour, pi-lotme."
"Je-sus,Sav-iour,pi-lotme,
O-verlife'stem-pest-uoussea;
Un-knownwavesbe-fore meroll,
Hi-dingrockand treach-erousshoal;
Chartandcom-passcomefromThee;
Je-sus,Sav-iour, pi-lotme."
"That's great, Idy. Misty's ears is keeping time, turning ever' which way."
Then Grandpa saw the helicopter breaking through the dun-colored sky. "Play it once more," he urged. "Just once more!" No use worrying her too soon, he thought.
Again Grandma's trembly voice filled the little house.
"Je-sus,Sav-iour,pi-lotme,O-verlife'stem-pest-uoussea."
"Je-sus,Sav-iour,pi-lotme,O-verlife'stem-pest-uoussea."
"Je-sus,Sav-iour,pi-lotme,
O-verlife'stem-pest-uoussea."
The helicopter was chewing into the wind, coming closer and closer to Pony Ranch. Almost over the house it stopped in midair, engine roaring. It silenced even Grandma's music.
Everyone flew to the window, including Misty. They watched as the noisy machine hung over their heads.
"He's trying to decide!" Paul yelled.
"Who is? What?" Maureen wanted to know.
"The pilot, silly. He's figuring out where to land."
Grandpa was spellbound. "Ain't that beautiful? It's hangin' in the air jes' like a hummer-bird."
"Oh, mercy me!" Grandma cried as the helicopter tilted drunkenly, and began a steep vertical descent. "Oh ... oh! It's going to set right in my daffydil bed!"
Like a bird aiming for its nest, the helicopter hovered over the mounded-up flower bed, then squatted down on the tiny patch.
Grandma watched in dismay as its rotors spit sand and water in every direction. She hid her face in her hands. "Oh, Clarence! Oh, Clarence!" she sobbed. "I can't go. I can't!"
"And why can't ye?" Grandpa demanded.
"Because, because...." She groped for a reason. "Misty'll ruin my linoleum and...." Here the sobbing became a wail, "... she'll chew on my nice new table with the let-down leaves."
"No, she won't!" Paul was on the defensive. "I'll stay and watch her."
"You listen to me, Paul Beebe," Grandpa exploded. "Anybody stayin' behind'll be me, head o' the household. Quick now! Everybody grab a blanket. I'll go out and explain things to that pilot." He started for the door.
Grandma reached it first and made a barricade of herself. Her crying was done. "If'n you stay behind, Clarence, we all do. Either we go as a fambly or we stay as a fambly."
Grandpa sighed, half amused, half annoyed. "Then everything's settled. Throw yer mind outa gear, Idy, and get yer duds on."
While Grandma was struggling into her overboots, Grandpa and the children were doing last-minute chores: opening a window from the top, just a crack, taking vegetables from the refrigerator and scattering them in amongst Misty's hay. Last of all, Grandpa put the stopper in the sink and turned on the cold water. "Makes a neat water trough, eh?" he chuckled, avoiding Grandma's eyes.
"You think she can manage without us?" Maureen asked.
"We got to think that, honey. And even if the tide seeps in, I made this straw bed so thick the little colt won't even get his hinder wet."
"Sure," Paul added. "And see how Wait-a-Minute is cozying up to Misty. They'll keep each other company. And see how calm she is, watching that 'copter. She's saying, 'I've seen big birds flapping their wings before.'"
"Oh, Paul, I wish I could read critters' minds the way you do."
"That's easy, Maureen. You just got to be smart as them."
Mr. Birch, the Coast Guard man, welcomed the Beebes at the foot of the stairs. Standing there in the water he looked like a preacher, ready to baptise his flock. "Wisht everybody was prompt, like you folks," he said as he herded them toward the helicopter, "and willing to cooperate without arguin'."
"We did all that afore you came," Maureen said.
Mr. Birch laughed. "Leave it to the young'uns to come out with the truth!" He helped Grandma up the steps and into the shuddering plane. "See, Mrs. Beebe, it's easier than boarding a train."
Maureen started to follow but suddenly turned to Paul, and almost in unison they let out one cry. "Skipper! Skipper!" They both called frantically. "S-k-i-p-p-e-r!"
Mr. Birch was shaking his head. "Sorry, children. We just have room for folks on this trip. All dogs stay behind."
"Put him in the kitchen, too," Grandma offered.
"Skipper! Here, Skipper!" The children whistled and screamed. But there was no sign of him. Only the water swirling, and the trees bending with the wind.
"All aboard!" the pilot called out. "We got another pickup to make before dark. All aboard!"
Likely Skipper's drowned, Paul thought but didn't say aloud. He got into the helicopter and took a seat where he could look out at the house. But he refused to look.
"Fasten your seat belts!" the pilot ordered.
"Now, ain't this excitin'?" Grandpa yelled, as the blades overhead began whirring madly and the helicopter rose slowly off the earth and climbed straight up and up. "It's just like bein' in a elevator."
Grandma shook her head. She leaned toward the earth, taking a long last look at Pony Ranch, saying good-bye to it. Grandpa squeezed her hand comfortingly, and he looked down, too, down at the little house growing smaller and smaller.
"Such a racket!" Maureen cried. "Sounds faster than we're going."
Grandma held her hands over her ears. "Feels as if a thousand dentists are drilling inside my head."
"On your store teeth?" Paul grinned.
"Oh, Paul, stop teasing. I wish ... I wish you and Maureen was littler. If only I had a baby to hold, I'd feel braver."
Grandma soon got her wish. At the next stop they picked up the Hoopers and the Twilleys and young Mrs. Whealton with her squalling baby. Just as the father of the baby was about to board, the pilot poked his head out the window. "Sorry, sir. We're full. You'll have to wait for the next one."
Quickly the young man tried to hand in a pile of diapers, but a gust of wind tore most of them away and they went flying off like kites.
Mrs. Whealton, clutching her baby, started to get out.
"Stay put, lady. Everybody! Stay put!"
"I'll be along soon," Mr. Whealton called. And before the door closed, he thrust in the remaining diapers and the baby's bottle.
As the helicopter took off, Mrs. Whealton began sobbing louder than her baby. The passengers looked at one another, helpless and embarrassed. All except Grandma. She opened wide her arms.
"You just hand that little tyke acrost to me," she smiled, "and wipe yer eyes. You kin busy yerself foldin' the few diapers you got left."
Willingly Mrs. Whealton passed the baby across the aisle and into experienced hands. The crying stopped at once.
The northeast wind shook the helicopter, but it obeyed the pilot's stick. "We take no back talk from the elements," Mr. Birch said to reassure his passengers.
The plane was heading into the wind, flying low over the channel and over the long rib of sand that was Assateague. Everyone scanned the hills and woods for wild ponies.
"I see a bunch!" Paul cried.
"I knowed it! I knowed it!" Grandpa exulted. "They're atop the White Hills."
The pilot tried to hold the plane steady, but the gale buffeted it mercilessly. Twice he circled the herd, then climbed and headed due west. The island of Assateague seemed to be sailing backward, and now they were over Chincoteague again.
"Mr. Birch!" Maureen shouted. "Look at the people on that raft. They're waving a white flag."
"I see it," Mr. Birch answered, "but it's a housetop, not a raft, and they're waving a bedsheet. They don't know we got a full load."
From the cockpit the pilot called back, "We'll get 'em on the next trip. No, we won't!" he contradicted. "I see another chopper heading this way. They'll beat us to it."
Mr. Hooper, a quiet little man, said his first words of the trip. "Sky's so full o' whirlybirds we're goin' to need a traffic cop up here."
In spite of all the tragedy, the passengers couldn't help smiling at Mr. Hooper's joke.
"Yup," Grandpa agreed. "I can eenamost see a policeman mounted on a cloud like a parson in a pulpit."
But the make-believe fun didn't last. Now they were over the big bay of water, and now they could see the wavy shore of the mainland. Slowly the helicopter came down from the sky onto a landing field at Wallops Station. A thin fog was closing in and the night lights were already on as the Beebes and Hoopers and Twilleys and Mrs. Whealton tumbled out of the plane like seeds from a pod. A gust of wind swept them into a little huddle.
Suddenly the adventure and excitement were over. Standing there in the rain, Paul felt what he was, a refugee, homeless and cold and hungry. And half his mind was far away in a hay-strewn kitchen.
Wallops Station is on the mainland of Virginia, just across the bay from Chincoteague Island. Once it had been a Naval Air Station, teeming with activity—planes roaring off and gliding in; signal crews waving orders; officers and men, pilots and engineers, radio technicians and clerks all criss-crossing from building to building. Then the government closed the base, and for three years the buildings stood empty, like a forest of dead trees.
But when the helicopter landed that stormy March evening, lights were blazing in every window. The whole place had come to life. Fire trucks were racing to meet helicopters, rushing sick refugees to the emergency hospital and others to the barracks and even the administration building.
The storm was now twenty-four hours old. Wind still blowing strong. Rain gusty. Clouds low. No moon, no stars.
At the edge of the landing strip the little clump of passengers stood huddled, clutching their blankets, staring at the yellow headlights coming toward them.
"Which building?" a fireman called out as he drove the truck within earshot.
Grandpa Beebe shouted back, "Don't know. Be there a fire?"
The driver replied with a boom of laughter, "There's no fire, Old Timer. I simply got to ask each family if they want to go where their friends are. Climb in, folks."
"Hey, Chief," Grandpa addressed the driver, "we don't any of us know one building from t'other. But if it's all the same to you, it'd be best to see to little Mis' Whealton first. In that shawl she's got the teensiest baby you 'most ever see."
The driver nodded. "Good idea," he said, backing and turning and roaring away. He dropped Mrs. Whealton and her baby at the hospital, left the Hoopers and the Twilleys at one of the barracks, and took the Beebe family to the mess hall. "There's more children here," he explained.
Wet and weary, Grandpa and Grandma, Paul and Maureen climbed the flight of stairs to the second floor, clutching their blankets. Paul still had the ham, now slung over his shoulder. An arrow on the wall pointed to an open door down the hall. Light streamed out and voices buzzed.
The room, half filled with refugees, was large and bright, and it smelled of wet wool and rubber boots, and fear and despair.
"Make yourself to home," an earlier arrival greeted them. "Just find a little spot to call your own. Lucky thing you have blankets. These floors are mighty hard for sleeping."
For a moment the Beebes stood looking around, trying to accustom their eyes to the light. Benches were lined up against the walls and scattered throughout the room. Most of the people were strangers to them, refugees from Nag's Head probably, or other islands nearby. They sat paralyzed, like animals caught in a trap, not struggling any more, just numbed. Only their eyes moved toward the entrance as each new family trudged in.
"They all look sad and full of aches," Grandma said, searching for a place to sit down.
"I see an empty bench," Maureen called, and led the way in and out among suitcases and camp chairs and children.
An old grizzled seaman in a ragged jacket came over and confronted Grandpa. He swore loud oaths to sea and sky. "Can't believe it could happen here," he said, pounding his fist on his hand. "Why, ye read 'bout it elsewheres...."
"Yeah. Tidal waves slam up in faraway places, but you never dream about it happening here."
At the far end of the room women from the Ladies' Aid were bringing in platters of sandwiches and a huge coffee pot.
"Take our ham over to them, Paul," Grandma said. "Mebbe they'd like to cut it in chunks and bake it with potatoes for tomorrow. I'd feel a heap happier if I could help," she confided to Maureen.
When the table was readied, people began forming in line. And all at once they were no longer trapped animals. They were human beings again, smiling at one another, sharing stories of rescue. Drawn by the smell of food, a long-eared pup shot out of a blanket and ran toward the table, his mistress after him.
Paul and Maureen joined the chase. "How'd you do it? How could you bring your dog?" Paul asked.
"Why, he's all the family I got, and I just rolled him up in his blanket. This afghan is really his," the woman explained, "and he burrowed into it like a turtle in his shell. The pilot didn't even see him. Tonight," she added with a smile, "he's got to share his blanket with me, for a change."
Maureen admired the dog, thinking of Skipper. "We couldn't find our Skipper," she said as she stroked and petted the little pup.
The lady was all sympathy. "Tell me about your dog."
"We had a big collie right up until time to leave," Paul answered.
"And we got a pony in our kitchen back in Chincoteague," Maureen spoke up.
The woman seemed suddenly to recognize Paul. "Why, you're the boy who caught a wild mare over to Assateague and set her free again."
The children nodded.
"And the pony in your kitchen—is it Misty?"
"Yes, ma'am, it's Misty, all right."
The woman was excited. "Why, they been talking about her on the radio. Children who saw her movie are swamping the stations with calls, wanting to know if she drowned."
"She's safe," Paul said. "That is, she...." He stopped. He could feel his heart throbbing in his ears. In a split-second dream he was back on Chincoteague with the ocean rolling and pounding in under the house, and with a horrible hissing sound it was breaking the house apart, and in the same instant Misty was swept out to sea until her mane became one with the spume. Paul shook off the dream as the woman called three young children to her.
"You youngsters," she said, "will be glad to know that Misty's safe in the Beebes' kitchen. And this is Paul and Maureen Beebe."
Wide-eyed, the children pelted them with questions. In the pain of uncertainty Paul answered what he could. Then he turned away, pulling Maureen along back to their bench. Grandma put an arm around each of them. "More folks are coming in," she said, trying to put their world back together. "Now mebbe we'll get some heart'ning news."
In a daze Paul and Maureen listened to the bits and pieces of talk.
"Old Dick Evans died trying to save his fish nets. Got plumb exhausted. His heart give out."
"Whenweflew over, I saw how the waves had chawed big chunks out of the causeway, and six autos were left, half-buried in sand. Even one of the DUKWs was stuck."
"When we flew over, the sea had swallowed up the causeway. Why, Chincoteague is cut off from the main like a boat without an anchor."
"I heerd that a lady over to Chincoteague had a husband and two children that couldn't swim. She swum two blocks in that icy water for help. Nearly died afore one of them DUKWs fished her up and drug her, sobbin' and drippin', to the Fire House. Then they goes back for her husband and kids." The speaker paused. "But guess what?"
"What?" someone asked.
"Why, between whiles a whirlybird airlifted 'em off'n the roof and they thoughtshe'ddrownt and she thoughtthey'ddrownt. And later they all got together at the Fire House."
"See, children," Grandma whispered, "some of the news is right good."
A young reporter carrying his typewriter joined the gathering. "I heard," he said, "that a hundred and fifty wild ponies were washed right off Assateague."
"O-h!" The news was met by a shocked chorus.
"Before I write that for my paper, I'd like you folks to give me your comments." He took out a notebook and pencil.
A strained silence followed. The reporter looked around at the tight faces and put his notebook away.
Then the talk began again.
"I s'pose we oughtn't be thinking about wild ponies when people are bad off," a white-haired woman said.
"But what would it mean to Chincoteague," the reporter asked, "if Pony Penning Day had to be stopped for lack of ponies?"
Grandpa Beebe roused up. "Why, Chincoteague has took her place with the leading towns of the Eastern Shore. And mostly it's the wild pony roundup did it."
"That's what I say," a chorus of voices agreed.
"And if we had to stop it," Grandpa went on, "Chincoteague and Assateague both would be nothin' but specks on a map."
The reporter scribbled a few notes. Then he looked up. "Any of you hear about the man swept out to sea on a dining-room table while his wife accompanied him on the piano?"
His joke met with grim silence. It was too nearly true to be funny.
Grandma tugged at Grandpa's sleeve. "Clarence," she said, "we been hearing enough trouble. You tell the folks 'bout me and my violet plant."
Grandpa forced himself to smile. For the moment he put the worry aside. "Folks," he said, "my Idy here commenced waterin' her plants afore we took off. She give 'em a right smart nip. And then, split my windpipe if she didn't wet down the artyficial violet the kids give her for Christmas. She even saucered the pot to catch the come-through water, and dumped that in too!"
A young woman laughed nervously. "I can match that story," she offered. "The sea kept coming in under our door and kept pushing up my little rug, and I took my broom and tried to whisk it away, and then I got my dustpan and tried to sweep the water into it! A broom and a pan against the sea!"
A man, looking sheepish, said, "I tried the same stunt in my barn, only I used a shovel and a wheelbarrow!"
The talk petered out. Then a minister got up and prayed for a good night's sleep and for the tide to ebb and the wind to die. Gradually the people went back to their benches. One by one the lights were switched off, except for the night lights over the doors.
As the Beebes settled down in their corner, Grandpa whispered, "Close your eye-winkers, chirren, turn off your worries, and snore away the night." Then he got down on the floor, wrapped himself up like an Indian, and began breathing in deep, rhythmic snores.
"What better lullaby?" Grandma sighed.
And Paul and Maureen caught his calm, and they too slept.
By six o'clock the next morning the men had been outside summing up the weather, and had come in to report: "Wind's slacked up a bit. Still blowin' nor'nor'east. Sky's cloudy, but no rain."
By seven o'clock a new parade of church ladies marched in with big pans of sweet rolls and pots of steaming hot coffee.
At eight o'clock a Coast Guard officer, square-jawed and handsome, strode into the room. He was a big man, and when he pounded for order, the few left-over rolls jumped on their plates. "Folks," he boomed out, "I've good news for you." He waited a moment until his scattered audience finished folding their blankets and quieted down. "You'll be pleased to know," he announced, "that the Red Cross is coming in, bringing canned goods and a steam table so you can have nice hot meals."
One of the church ladies walked out in a huff.
"And they are bringing cots and pillows, so there'll be no more sleeping on the floor."
A shocked silence followed. Who wanted to stay another night? Even on a cot? Everyone wanted to get home.
"Bear in mind, friends," the brisk voice went on, "this is not a one-day evacuation. More refugees will be coming in."
"Where'll we put 'em?" several voices demanded.
The officer ignored the interruption. "By order of the State Department of Health, no women or children can return to Chincoteague until all the dead chickens are removed and the other carcasses, too—goats, dogs, pigs, and of course dead ponies. There could be a plague—typhoid or worse."
Grandpa's arms seemed big enough to take in his whole family. "Don't listen at the man. Ponies got sense. They'll hie theirselves to little hummocky places and wait it out. And Misty, of course, is dry and comfortable."
The officer let the mumblings and grumblings die down. He rapped again for silence. "The Mayor of Chincoteague has asked for volunteers—only able-bodied men—to fly back each day to clean up the island and repair the causeway. Only able-bodied men," he repeated, scrutinizing the group. "Will all who wish to volunteer come to the front of the room."
Grandpa leaped forward as if he'd been shot from a cannon. Paul was a quick shadow behind him.
"Paul Beebe!" Grandma called out. "You come back!"
But Paul seemed not to hear. He locked step with Grandpa and they were almost the first to reach the officer.
Grandma sighed. "Who can stop a Beebe? We can be proud of our menfolk, can't we, Maureen?"
Maureen burst into tears. "Oh, Grandma, being a girl is horrible. Paul always gets to have the most excitement. And he'll be first to see Misty's baby. Oh, oh...." And she buried her head in Grandma's bosom and sobbed.
"There, there, honey. We'll find something real interesting for you to do. You'll see."
A handful of lean, weathered fishermen were now lining up as volunteers. The officer began counting from the tail of the line. As he came to Paul, he stopped, trying to make up his mind if he were man or boy. For the moment he left Paul out and went on with his counting, "... eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen." At fourteen he paused.
"But, sir!" Paul heard his own voice sounding tight and urgent. "The 'copter holds fifteen, and Grandpa needs me. Don't you, Grandpa?"
The officer turned inquiringly to the old man.
"Fact is," Grandpa said proudly, "when it comes to handlin' livestock he's worth ten men."
"That settles it," the officer smiled. "We've completed our first load."
When the helicopter set down on Chincoteague right beside the Fire House, the Mayor was waiting for them, standing in the cold and the wet, slapping his hands together for warmth. He poked his head inside the cabin, quickly studied the occupants, then clipped out his orders: "Split into three bunches, men. Beebe, you and Paul go up to Deep Hole to check on the dead ponies and mark their location for removal by airlift. Charlie and Jack, you arrange for crews to pile up the dead chickens at convenient loading points. We'll need the rest of you to work on the causeway so's we can truck the chickens across. Thank you, men, for volunteering."
Three DUKWs were parked alongside the helicopter waiting to take each group to its base of operation. The driver of the first one beckoned Grandpa and Paul aboard with a welcoming smile. "You men are lucky," he said, "your house is okay; at least it was last time I was down there."
"Is ... uh...." Paul stopped, embarrassed. The Coast Guardsman had just called him a man, and now he was frightened to ask a question, and more frightened not to ask.
"What you lookin' so scairt about?" Grandpa wanted to know.
"I want to ask him a question," Paul said miserably.
"Go ahead!" the driver encouraged as he steered through the debris-clogged street. "Go ahead."
Holding his breath, Paul blurted, "Is Misty all right? Has she had her colt?"
"Sorry, Paul, we been too busy to look in on her. But Mayor says I can take you there before we go up to Deep Hole."
It was strange, chugging down Main Street. Paul knew he ought to have remembered how it was from yesterday. But yesterday Chincoteaguers were sloshing along in hip boots, or riding horses or DUKWs, and they were trying their best to joke and laugh. Today there were no home-folk faces. Grim soldiers were patrolling the watery streets, rifles held ready.
"What they here for?" Paul asked.
"To prevent looting," the Coast Guardsman replied.
But what's there to loot, Paul wondered, looking at the houses smashed like match boxes, with maybe only a refrigerator showing, or a bathtub filled with drift.
They passed other DUKWs plying up and down, delivering food to the Fire House, to the Baptist Church, to the few houses on higher ground where owners had refused to leave. And they passed heaps of rubble which once were old landmarks—the oyster-shucking house, and the neat white restaurant whose owner boasted he bought his toothpicks by the carload. Now there was not even a toothpick in sight.
As the DUKW headed eastward to the spit of land that was Beebe's Ranch, Paul winced. The pretty sign, "Misty's Meadow," was still standing, but it didn't fit the spot. There was no meadow at all. Only a skim of murky yellow water.
Paul felt a strangling fear. He had waited all night and half the morning to see Misty. Now in sight of the house, he couldn't wait another moment. He started to jump out.
Grandpa put a restraining arm across his chest. "Ye're jerky as a fish on a hot griddle, son. Simmer down. Ponies can't abide fidgety folk."
After what seemed an eternity but was only a minute, the DUKW jolted to a stop and Paul and Grandpa were out and up the steps.
Breathless, Paul opened the door a crack, and all in a split second his worry fell away. Misty was whinkering as if she too had waited overlong for this moment, and she started toward him, but stepping very carefully, lifting her feet high, avoiding something dark and moving in the straw.
"My soul and body!" Grandpa clucked, looking over Paul's shoulder. "Ee-magine that!"
Then he and Paul were on their knees, and Paul was laughing weakly as he stroked Wait-a-Minute and admired her litter of four squirming, coal-black kittens.
"Ee-magine that!" Grandpa repeated. "Misty's postponed hers, but Wait-a-Minute couldn't!"
"A whole mess of kittens in Grandma's kitchen!" Paul said. Disappointed as he was, he couldn't help laughing.
After he had poked and felt of Misty, Grandpa threw up his hands in despair. "Could be a week yet."
Paul groaned, wondering if maybe the foal was dead inside her and that was why it wouldn't come out, wondering if she was really going to have a colt at all.
"Yup," Grandpa said, "mebbe she's goin' to wait till her stall dries out. She's still got plenty hay, so you feed the cat, whilst I take a quick gander about the house."
As Grandpa hurried down the hall, Paul searched the refrigerator. He took out the pitcher of milk and smelled it. "Phew-eee!" he said to himself. "She'll just have to be satisfied with the left-over beans."