Before second helpings the storm struck in full fury. It came whipping
down the open sea like some angry, flailing giant. It shook the house,
rattled the shutters, clawed at the shingles.
The kitchen, so snug and secure a moment ago, suddenly seemed fragile
as an eggshell.
Grandpa and the children rushed to the sitting-room window. They could
not see beyond the windowpane itself. Only wind-driven rain, streams
of rain, slithering down the glass, bubbling at its edges. Every few
moments one ghostly beam from the lighthouse over on Assateague sliced
through the downpour--then all was blackness again.
Maureen tugged at Grandpa's sleeve. "Grandpa! What if Misty's baby is
being born? Right now? Will it die?"