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.