“Y’all lookin’ fer somebody?”
“Oh, no,” said Brad. “We just came out here on a little boat ride and
for a picnic supper.”
The old man took off his battered felt and scratched his woolly head.
“Reckon y’all bettah go some’ers else to eat yo’ suppah. Massa don’
like nobody in the pine grove. Reckon you see dem sign he stick up.”
They had noticed “No trespassing” signs, but Kitty had thought that
applied to hunting and fishing.
“We aren’t doing a bit of harm,” Kitty told the old man. “The trees are
so beautiful. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t enjoy them.”
“Yas’m, dat so, but jus’ de same boss don’t like nobody meddlin’ round
the pine thicket. Might set foire an’ bu’n it up.”
“We aren’t going to cook anything. We brought a cold lunch. And if we
did make a fire we’d put out every spark.”
“Yas’m, dat whut I tell him too. I been libin’ all mah life in dat
shack yonder.” The old man indicated a log cabin in a clearing a little
farther south. “I ain’t neber sot foire to de woods. But he can’t be
satisfy when he lease de place las’ year till I come to lib in dat new
house behind his.”
“Oh, he only rented the island last year?” asked Brad.
“Yessuh! An’ I has to be powerful keerful ’bout whut I does since he
been here. I wouldn’t be down here fishin’ me mah ole fish place, ’cept
he gone to town fer de day.”
“So you’re enjoying yourself while he’s gone,” said Kitty kindly.
“Yas’m. I sho’ gits lonesome fer de ole times an’ de easy ways, ’fore
dis island was a hog lot.”
“Oh, so your boss is the man who gets the refuse from the hospital?”
asked Brad.
“Yassuh. I ain’ neber see so much slop since I been born. In de ole
days my Massa wouldn’t ov tetched he hand to sich wuk, but not Mr.
Beeson. He go fer dat stuff all de time hisself.”
Kitty thought the old man looked to be eighty or ninety. His bloodshot
eyes were deeply sunken in his wrinkled dusty brown face, while his
once-large frame had little padding left on the bones.
“It was nice of Mr. Beeson to let you continue to live here after he
rented the island,” Kitty remarked, hoping to draw him out further.
“Yassum, but he can’t he’p hisse’f. Massa’s son, up nawth, whut own de
island all dese years, say he won’t rent to nobody, lessen I kin stay
here de res’ o’ mah days an’ lib in peace.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: _“I Sho’ Gits Lonesome,” the Old Negro Said_]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
“I suppose the former owner wouldn’t like it, if he knew you had been
moved from your old home,” said Kitty.
“No’m, he sho’ wouldn’t. But dey tells me young Massa done been sent
crost de big water to fight dem Japs, an’ I ain’t had nobody to write
him.”
“I’d be glad to write for you,” Kitty offered.
She was strangely drawn to this old man, not only because of the hints
he had let slip to throw more light on the mystery they were trying to
solve, but because she knew he represented the best of a forgotten era
in the south.
“Dat moighty kind o’ you, li’l Missie, but I don’t know where to send
de letter nohow.”
“Is he in the Army or Navy?”
“De Navy, fer sho’. Us fambly always been people ov de sea.”
“Brad, do you have a pencil and a bit of paper?”
“Sure,” said Brad, producing what she desired.
“You give me his full name, uncle—”
“Uncle Mose all de chillun in de fambly calls me.”
“Give me your sailor’s full name and I’ll try to find out where he is.”
“Oh, Missie, if you do dat de Lawd’ll bless you de res’ o’ yo’ days. He
name Charles Whitlaw Tradd. De bes’ blood in all de low country flows
in he veins.”
Kitty wrote down the name and said, “It may take some time, but I’ll
come back to see you if I can find out where he is.”
“Lawdy, Missie, hit good to talk to real quality folk like y’all once
more. You sho’ put me in mind o’ ole Massa’s bride when he brung her
home to de island. You’s as much like her as two peas in a pod.”
“Thank you,” said Kitty, and curtsied as she knew the old-fashioned
girls used to do. “We must be going now, but we’re glad we met you.”
“It do a lonely old man good to talk to folks like you,” he said with a
respectful bow. “I ain’t got nothin’ but memories to live wid now.”
When he was out of hearing Brad whistled softly, “Kit, I’ll have to
hand it to you for learning a lot from him. You worked your way right
into his heart and found out plenty.”
“Oh, really, Brad, I didn’t purposely treat him nice just to pick him.
I warmed to him the minute I saw him. He’s the real thing.”
“You bet!”
Suddenly Kitty stopped short, and exclaimed, alarm in her tone, “Brad,
where’s Billy?”
“Why, I’d forgotten about him!”
“I did too. I haven’t seen him since long before we met the old man.”
Kitty ran ahead into the pine grove calling, “Billy! Billy, where are
you?”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE LOOKOUT
Kitty had never felt so conscience-stricken in her life as when she
found Billy was lost.
“Maybe he went back and joined your father and Miss Dawson,” Brad
suggested.
“I don’t think so. We’d come too far. He trailed us all the way,
pretending to be shooting at us from behind trees. Oh, Brad, do you
suppose he fell from that bluff into the water?”
“But he can swim like a fish.”
“You go along the bluff and I’ll go through the thicket,” she directed.
She ran from him, darting here and there, calling frantically. If
anything had happened to Billy she would never forgive herself for
being so preoccupied with this strange jig-saw puzzle she and Brad were
trying to work out.
Suddenly she stopped short under the towering pines, tears streaming
down her eyes. “Oh, Billy darling, where are you?” she wailed. “Kitty
will die if anything has happened to you.”
Suddenly she caught the queer little noise he made in his throat when
pretending to fire a machine gun at her. She glanced around, startled.
He was nowhere in sight. That must have been something she heard,
because she so wanted to hear it.
“Billy,—where are you?” she called almost desperately.
Again there came the playful sound, and this time Kitty thought it was
overhead. She must be having hallucinations surely. Hopefully she moved
in the direction from which she thought the sound had come. Suddenly a
cone fell almost at her feet. Then there was a burst of childish
laughter from the nearest treetop. She looked up to see a mischievous
face peering down at her from the high branches. Her overwhelming
relief was only momentary, for it was followed by terror lest Billy
break his neck.
“Why, Billy Carter, how in the world did you climb that tall pine?”
“It was easy. Come up, Kit. You can see clear across the world.”
“I’m not coming up, and you’re coming down this very instant,” she said
firmly.
“It’s fun up here! Let me stay,” pleaded Billy.
Kitty saw Brad running toward them, attracted by their voices.
“Oh, look at him! In the top of that pine,” she told Brad. “How will he
ever get down?”
“I can get down,” stated Billy, unexpectedly willing to show them the
wonderful feat.
With the agility of a little monkey he swung through the wide-spreading
branches that crowned the towering column of rusty brown. Kitty’s hands
were clenched agonizingly as he reached the smooth trunk, which had no
supporting branches.
“Oh, dear God, bring him down safely,” she prayed. Seeing Brad take a
step toward the tree, she whispered, “Don’t speak to him or make him
nervous.”
Then they saw an amazing thing. Billy’s feet were seeking small niches
cut in the trunk, and his hands holding to something that hugged the
bark.
“I do believe there is wire wrapped all the way up that trunk,”
whispered Brad, noting that she had seen it too.
“Put there so somebody could climb up and down that tree easily,” added
Kitty. But at the moment she did not stop to realize how significant it
might be. She was too grateful to know it was there to make Billy’s
descent less dangerous.
Thirty feet above the ground the sturdy limbs of a young oak spread
around the pine trunk. Billy stepped lightly to those limbs and a few
minutes later had scrambled safely to the ground.
Kitty caught him to her, moaning, “Oh, Billy darling, you might have
broken your neck! Never do such a thing again.”
“Huh!” he grunted, resenting being made a baby. “It was fun—like
climbing our old magnolia back in N’ Orleans. Aunt Nina let me play up
there any time.”
“I’m afraid Aunt Nina spoiled you terribly.”
Billy stepped back and surveyed the tree with a proud air. “I never
went so high before. You can see the ocean off yonder.” He swung his
arm seaward with a grandiose air. “The hospital, too. There was even a
seat to sit on.”
“A seat!” exclaimed Brad. “You mean boards nailed across the limbs to
make a seat?”
Billy nodded. “I sat on it. The wind swings the top. It was fun. I was
a bird up there!”
“Kitty, I’m going up!” Brad said, with sudden decision. “Somebody has a
lookout here.”
“Oh!” The very idea seemed to take Kitty’s breath away.
A moment later Brad was scaling the tree by the route Billy had taken.
“He can climb ’most as good as me,” boasted Billy. “I’m going up, too.”
“Indeed, you’re not! You’re never going to climb such a high tree
again.”
While Billy picked up his imaginary gun once more and played at
shooting them, Kitty’s mind was in turmoil. Finding this tree lookout
was certainly a sequel to what Uncle Mose had told them. It seemed
quite obvious that the man who had leased Terrapin Island wanted to be
sure that this end of the estate was kept entirely private, even to the
extent of moving an ignorant old negro from his life-long home.
“Can you see very far?” she asked, when Brad reached the top.
“Plenty. The highest lookout that could be found in the entire marshes.”
Kitty felt sure he must be right, for the ancient pine looked to be the
father of all the pines in the entire thicket.
When Brad again stood beside her on the cushiony brown carpet of
needles he said, “Kitty, that wire has been strung up there recently.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s still loose, and not embedded in the trunk anywhere.”
“You must be right. Even wisteria vines growing around pine trunks soon
press tightly into them.”
“Kitty, I’m sure glad we headed for this spot.”
“You’re telling me! The minute Dad told me Beeson came over to the
hospital to haul stuff off for his swine I thought he might be mixed up
in the dirty business.”
“Evidence is piling up bit by bit.”
“Looks as though we ought to be able to bring ’em to justice sometime
soon.”
“But when you come to think of it, Kit, we haven’t got a single thing
that would really convict anybody of anything.”
She looked puzzled and distressed. “That’s true,” she had to admit.
“Just because some Bayshore Bakery bread was found on that sub, and
because we saw a nailed-up box on a trash barge doesn’t prove anything
about ‘who dunnit.’”
“And just because there’s an easy way to climb this pine that has a
seat at the top doesn’t prove that anybody on this island is a spy.”
“Of course boys have been building seats in trees for hundreds of
years. Maybe it was old Uncle Mose’s young ‘Massa’ when he was last
here.”
“Not very likely. That seat was put up there so recently that the nails
aren’t even rusty—and you know that doesn’t take long in this salty
air. And what’s more, there’s a boarded up shield on the side toward
the Marine Base. It’s so cleverly camouflaged you’d hardly know it from
the ground—see.”
Only after Brad pointed it out did Kitty see the brown painted wood in
the thick upper branches.
“If they are using light signals for subs out at sea the Coast Guard
would surely see them from the beach,” said Kitty.
“They probably don’t use lights, but some other signal code.”
They walked slowly toward their landing place and Kitty let Billy run
ahead to join her father and Hazel.
“He can hardly wait to tell them about climbing the pine,” Brad said.
“We can’t keep him from telling that,” said Kitty, “but let’s not
mention how significant that pine seems. I—I’m afraid Dad may forbid
my nosing about. I think he already has an idea I’m up to something.”
“Maybe it would be better if he did forbid your nosing about, Kitty,”
said Brad unexpectedly. “No sense in your taking chances of coming out
here to the marshes alone as you did yesterday.”
“Oh, I won’t do that again,” she promised. “Now that I know there’s
real danger. But to be perfectly frank with you, Brad, I have an awful
feeling that somehow Dad’s good name may be at stake in the dirty
business that’s going on.”
“You’re not alone in wondering about that.”
“You know Hazel Dawson let it slip out the other day that Dad asked for
this appointment, and she practically admitted that she asked to be
sent here, too. I know now that Dad and Hazel are old friends, and are
pulling together with one purpose.”
“To clear Chief Pharmacist’s Mate Dawson.”
“Exactly,” said Kitty. “And if the same complications still exist my
own dear dad may get in bad.”
They were too near the others now for further discussion. As they
joined the older couple Mr. Carter said, “You must have taken a long
walk.”
“We really did,” Kitty told him.
“Billy has been telling us about his tree climbing.”
“He almost scared the life out of me,” Kitty reported. “Dad, you’ll
really have to scold him again about this tree climbing.” However, she
wanted to change the subject as quickly as possible and said, “Let’s
eat! I’m starved.”
She had brought a luncheon cloth which they spread on the clean pine
needles. Brad poured the iced tea from their thermos jug while she set
out the sandwiches, cold ham, rolls, pickles and cookies. Food had
never tasted quite so good to Kitty. As they ate, the pines made soft
music in the gentle breeze, while the lowering sun painted long shadows
on the woodland carpet. It seemed hard to believe that any evil deed
could be done in so beautiful a spot, and that beyond these peaceful
tide-washed shores a world was in chaos because of such intrigue
everywhere.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A DREAM COMES TRUE
On Monday morning Mrs. Evans called Kitty to know if she could go over
to Bayport, as they were short of workers for special Canteen duty.
“Sure. I’ll be delighted,” she said promptly. “What time shall I
report?”
“Eleven o’clock.”
“I’ll be on the spot. I’m scheduled for dish-washing down at the Snack
Bar tonight. Do you think I should be back from Bayport in time for
that?”
“Oh, sure. It won’t take long for the job over there.”
Not until Kitty put down the phone did she remember that it was Monday,
her busiest day at home. While Jane did the weekly washing she always
looked after the lunch and household work. Instantly she decided to
switch days on the housework, for she had made up her mind never to
refuse a Canteen call if she could possibly serve. So at ten minutes of
eleven she walked into the Bayport Canteen. She found that Vera Parsons
had already come over from the island.
“Ah, on the dot,” said Miss Pearson. “It’s grand to have a few girls we
can depend on to put aside personal interests for short-order calls.”
“What’s cooking?” Kitty wanted to know.
“Troop train coming through in half an hour, though we’re never quite
sure of the time,” explained Miss Pearson. “The boys will appreciate
some sandwiches and smokes and a little talk with you girls.”
Kitty had met troop trains only a couple of times, but she loved it.
The boys were always so full of fun and so appreciative of any little
attention. They didn’t have many troop trains through as Bayport was
not on a main line. It was really only a small coast town that had
spread out like a mushroom since war began. The small railroad station
hadn’t had time to catch up with the amazing growth of the rest of the
place. The trains rolled along open tracks beside an inadequate ticket
office and waiting rooms.
When the girls packed into the station wagon to drive over to the
station, Kitty found herself sitting beside Mrs. Janice, who had lived
in the oyster cannery district before the fire.
“Hope you found another house,” Kitty remarked to her.
“Indeed I have, honey, in a better section of town, too.”
“I’m so glad. I’m sure the new houses they build around the cannery
will be much better than the old ones.”
“They ain’t making no plans to rebuild the cannery till after the war’s
over. But my boy, Jim, got a job in the Bayshore Bakery. We’re living
near there.”
“Oh, Bayshore Bakery,” repeated Kitty without realizing that there was
a sort of question mark in her tone.
“Yeah, I know all them rumors ’bout the bakery—just because they found
some of their bread wrappers on that captured sub. And how could the
bakery help that, I ask you?”
“No fault of theirs,” put in Beth Gilcrist, one of the town girls.
“When they sell bread they can’t be responsible for where it goes.”
“Of course not. My Jim thinks they’re fine people at the bakery, fair
and square and considerate of their employees. I can’t see where it’s
any fault of theirs that the Germans were eating their bread. There’s a
thousand ways they could have got it.”
As they rode toward the station Kitty didn’t doubt that she was right.
There were a thousand ways the Germans might have got that bread, while
she and Brad had been optimistic enough to hope they could discover the
one way it had been done.
The girls were scarcely out of the station wagon with their sandwich
trays slung over their shoulders, when they saw the smoke of the troop
train far down the track. As if by magic people suddenly appeared from
all directions to see the troops go through.
The Canteen workers had to do considerable elbowing to keep close
enough to the track to serve the men. They tried to spread out so their
wares would be available to all the coaches. However Kit and Beth found
themselves side by side as they tried to keep the curious crowd from
pushing them onto the track.
Suddenly Beth leaned close and whispered to Kitty, “Look to your left
in a moment—that man’s been down here to see almost every troop train
since I’ve been in Canteen work.”
Kitty glanced at the hard-featured man whom Beth indicated. In his
broad-brimmed hat and knee boots he looked like a western cowhand,
while his face was like some granite rock rising out of the mesa. Then
in the push she lost sight of him. She and Beth separated as the train
pulled into the station.
The boys already had their windows up, and were leaning out, waving at
the crowd, calling greetings to the Canteen girls. Many of them had
letters they wanted mailed. Eager hands reached down for the sandwiches
and candy bars Kitty offered. They were not supposed to ask where the
boys were going, but there was no law against asking where they had
been. Kitty put that question to a sun-tanned chap, who thanked her so
profusely for the sandwich and cigarettes.
“South Pacific,” he replied. “Carolina’s home. It sure looks good to
me.”
“Wish you happy landing for a long furlough,” she said with a smile as
she moved on down the line.
Several handed her letters, which she put on the tray where the
sandwiches had been. Suddenly through the din she heard someone call
out, “Anybody round here ever heard of Terrapin Island?”
Kitty glanced in amazement toward the end of the coach to see a
sunburned soldier looking over the crowd as he asked the question.
“Sure!” one man said. Another replied, “About twenty miles down the
coast.”
Most of them were low country people who were familiar with the name of
Terrapin Island, even though few had been there.
Kitty pushed her way closer to the window from which the questioner
leaned.
“Anybody know old Uncle Mose, a colored man who’s been living there all
his life?” the soldier asked.
Kitty could scarcely credit her hearing when he asked that. Was it
possible he was the Tradd boy just returned from the Pacific? She was
right under his window now. As she thrust her last sandwich into his
hand she asked, “Are you—are you Charles Whitlaw Tradd?”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: _Kitty Glanced at the Hard-Featured Man_]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The young man reached down and seized her hand eagerly. “Not Whit
himself,” he said eagerly, “but his best buddy.”
“Oh, this is a break!” exclaimed Kitty. “I never dreamed I’d find
someone so soon who knows Mr. Tradd.”
“Then you do know Whit and Uncle Mose and Terrapin Island?” The soldier
spoke hurriedly, fearing the train might pull out at any moment.
“Uncle Mose and Terrapin Island, but not your Whit,” Kitty replied.
“Where’s he—Whit?”
“Still in the South Pacific. I’d be there, too, but for a cracked
ankle,” he added ruefully.
Kitty’s face showed her disappointment.
“But he told me if I ever got to Carolina I was to try to find out how
Uncle Mose is faring.”
“He’s fine. I saw him yesterday. But he’s awful lonesome and wants to
hear from Whit.”
“Say, this is a bit of luck!”
“Give me Whit’s address.” ordered Kitty. “I promised Uncle Mose I’d
write a letter for him and send it to his young ‘Massa’ if I could get
the address. Imagine meeting you!”
“And imagine meeting you!” The young man took out a card and scribbled
an address rapidly on it. As he handed it down to Kitty he also gave
her a dollar. “Take that and buy the old man some ‘baccy’ for his pipe.
Tell him it’s from Whit.”
The train was beginning to move now, and Kitty trotted along beside it,
handing up the last bar of chocolate from her tray. “What’s your name?”
she called.
“Kenneth Turner. My name and address are on back of the card, too.
Write and let me know what Uncle Mose says. Say, what’s your name?” he
yelled as an after-thought, when it was almost too late.
“Kitty Carter,” she laughingly called back.
Then with a final wave he was gone as he drew his head inside the
window, leaving Kitty rather dazed as she looked at the card and the
dollar in her hand. These were positive proof that the thing had really
happened.
On the way back to the Canteen Kitty told the other workers of her
experience. “You could never believe such a thing as that would happen.
Why, it was only yesterday that I met Uncle Mose for the first time,
when we ate our supper over on Terrapin Island. It’s really a small
world after all.”
“Yeah, real small,” said Vera sourly, “where everybody knows
everybody’s business.”
Kitty looked at her friend, feeling somewhat taken aback, but she
didn’t ask what she meant until they were on their way back to Palmetto
Island on the bus.
“You seemed to forget that people all around you heard every word you
and that chap said,” Vera retorted in a rather severe tone.
“Well, there was nothing secret about it.”
“Maybe not. But there was one hard-boiled listener, who definitely
registered the fact that you talked with Uncle Mose on Terrapin Island
yesterday.”
Kitty felt the blood rising to her cheeks as she realized that might be
significant.
“That island’s posted all over with ‘No trespassing’ signs,” Vera
stated. “And the owner was standing right there staring at you, and
listening to everything you said.”
“Not Mr. Beeson?”
“Of course.”
“Which was he?”
“The tall hard-faced man in the Stetson and knee boots.”
“That man? Why Beth Gilcrist pointed him out to me and told me he meets
all the troop trains.”
“As soon as that fellow yelled out about Terrapin Island I started over
to talk to him, and I saw Beeson headed that way, too. Then after you
took the floor he didn’t open his trap. Just stood there glaring at you
as if he could kill you with a look.”
“Oh, how awful!” But Kitty couldn’t tell Vera just how awful it was.
It was the middle of the afternoon when she reached home to find Jane
starting out to take Billy for a walk.
“Yo’ Pah phoned and said he would eat up to de horsepital tonight—got
some extra work to do,” explained Jane.
“Then we’ll have a light supper early. I have to be at the Canteen at
seven o’clock.”
Billy kept tugging at Jane’s hand, saying crossly, “Come on. I wanner
go to walk.”
“Billy, stop nagging Jane till we get through talking,” chided Kitty.
“He been like dat all day, Miss Kit, pesterin’ me ’bout first one t’ing
an’ den annuder.”
“Maybe he needs a little outing. You two run along and I’ll see about
supper.”