"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_-lot _me_,
_O_-ver _life's_ tem-pest-uous _sea_;
_Un_-known _waves_ be-fore me _roll_,
_Hi_-ding _rock_ and treach-erous _shoal_;
_Chart_ and _com_-pass _come_ from _Thee_;
_Je_-sus, _Sav_-iour, pi-lot _me_."
"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_-lot _me_,
_O_-ver _life's_ tem-pest-uous _sea_."
_Chapter 10_