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."
"Into _Grandma'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'll_ stay 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,
"mebbe _ye_ can 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: people _got_ to 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?"