The children and even Grandma and Grandpa laughed in relief, not
because they thought the joke so funny, but because it was good to be
together again.
The refugee room had been transformed--cots lined up against the wall,
neat as teeth in a comb, and new tables and chairs, and a television
set with a half-circle of giggling children.
The Beebes went directly to their corner. Maureen and Grandma were
still full of questions. But the answers were short.
"Yup, Misty's okay."
"No, no sign of Skipper anywheres."
"Rabbit's gone, too."
"Yup, our house is dry, 'cept for a tiny bit of wetting in one o' the
bedrooms." Here Grandpa pinched his nose, remembering. "But it's got a
odor to it that'll hold you."
In her dismay over her house, Grandma had forgotten all about Grandpa's
ponies. Now as she helped him pull off his sweater, she asked, "What
about your ninety head, Clarence? Are they...."
Paul kept very still, and Grandpa's old leathery face did not change
expression. He looked dead ahead. "There was losses," was all he said.
He turned to Maureen, and his voice was tight and toneless. "Me and
Paul have done a lot of yelling today, and we're both wore out. We just
don't feel talky, do we, Paul?"
"No, Grandpa."
"Suppose you and Grandma be like Red Cross angels and tote our suppers
over here. We'd ruther not eat up to the big table with ever'body."
As Maureen and Grandma heaped the trays and carried them back,
Maureen's lip quivered. "Oh, Grandma, Paul didn't even ask what I did
today. He doesn't even know I was at Doctor Finney's, riding a famous
trotter. Oh, Grandma, why was I born a girl?"
"It's God's plan, Maureen. Oops! Take care. Ye're spilling the soup."
* * * * *
Friday. The fourth day of the storm. Gray skies over Chincoteague. Rain
off and on. Temperature rising. Wind and tide slowly subsiding. The
causeway in use again--red ambulances carrying off the sick, yellow
school buses the well, dump trucks removing the dead chickens.
Misty in the kitchen at Pony Ranch is growing restless. Her hay is
gone. The water in the sink is gone. She is bored with the squeaky,
squirmy kittens, and tired of looking out the window. Nothing seems to
happen. No ponies frisking. No dog teasing her to come out and play. No
birds flying. No friendly human creatures.
The room is getting too warm. Her winter coat itches. Even the bony
part of her tail itches. She looks for something to scratch against.
The handle of the refrigerator! She backs up to it. To her surprise the
door kicks right back at her! She wheels around, barely missing the
mewing kittens. She pokes her head in the box, sniffing and nosing.
She tries to fit her tongue into a pitcher of molasses. Crash! A dark
dribble spills down on the kittens, on Wait-a-Minute too.
At last Misty has something to do. Good sweet molasses to clean up.
She licks Wait-a-Minute, and Wait-a-Minute licks her kittens. The
steady strokes bring on rumbly purring sounds. Misty grows drowsy. She
turns to lie down, but the kittens are in her way. At last she sleeps,
standing over them.
* * * * *
Afternoon came, and with it strange happenings. Paul and Grandpa
arrived at Pony Ranch. This time their concern over Misty was desperate.
"A day or two at most," Grandpa said gravely.
"_You been saying that!_" Paul replied accusingly.
"I know." Grandpa looked crestfallen as if he'd failed in his duty. He
made up his mind on the spot. "We're carryin' her over to Doc Finney's
today, _to once_!"
They led Misty out of the house and into the old truck. They stowed a
bundle of hay in its accustomed place, just as if she were going off to
a school or a library story hour.
"You wait, Misty, we'll be right back," Grandpa said. "Paul and me got
to give the kitchen a quick lick."
"Oh, do we _have_ to?" Paul was all impatience.
"Yes, son. Some way I got a hunch yer Grandma's coming home right soon."
Back in the kitchen Paul and Grandpa mucked out the old straw, and gave
the floor a hasty cleaning.
"Gives you a new regard for wimmenfolk, don't it, Paul?" Grandpa asked,
dipping the broom into a pail of suds.
"Why?"
"Well, how'd _you_ like to get down on yer knees and scrub suds and
dirt together and try to get a slick surface?"
"I'd ruther muck out stalls."
"That's what I mean. Misty is what I'd call a tidy pony. She uses one
corner and keeps ever'thing mounded up real neat. But even so--!"
When they had done the best they could, they turned to inspect their
handiwork. The room looked better, they admitted, with the kittens in
the laundry basket and the straw swept out and the molasses fairly well
cleaned up, but somehow the pattern of the linoleum was gone.
"Oh, well," Grandpa sighed, "yer Grandma'll say, 'Clarence Beebe, this
floor looks like a hurrah's nest.' And then she'll get right down
with her brush and pail, and she'll begin purrin' and hummin' like
Wait-a-Minute with her kittens. So let's leave it to her and get on
with Misty."
Driving the truck through town to the causeway took an hour instead
of minutes. The streets were filled with men and machines. Huge
bulldozers were pushing sand back into the bay and rubble into piles
for burning.
Every time the truck had to stop, Misty was recognized and men shouted
questions.
"Where ye taking Misty?"
"To Doctor Finney's!"
"Clear to Pocomoke City?"
"But why now, when the weather's fairin' off?"
"'Cause she needs a doctor, that's why," Grandpa answered. "She's way
past her time."
"Shucks, you never done this with your other ponies."
"But they're used to wild ways," Paul broke in. "Misty's more like
folks."
"My grandchildren set a mighty store by her," Grandpa said. "We just
can't chance it."
In front of his house the Mayor came out and flagged them down.
"Beebe," he said, looking heavy-eyed and discouraged, "we're having a
time getting those carcasses airlifted."
"How come?"
"The government has approved sending 'copters to take fresh water to
the ponies still alive on Assateague, but they have no orders yet to
take out the dead ones."
Grandpa exploded. "Mayor! The live ones has _got_ water. There's allus
water in the high-up pools in the White Hills. Them ponies know it."
"You and I know it too, Clarence. But sometimes outside people get
sentimental in the wrong places. They mean well enough," he added with
a tired smile. "It's the same old story about the evacuation. Even
though the drinking water is piped to Chincoteague from the mainland,
the Health Department still says no women or children can return yet."
Grandpa's face went red. "Mayor, I guess you don't need me to tell you
the wimmenfolk is madder'n fire and sputterin' like wrens. Less'n they
get home soon and tote their soggy mattresses and chairs out in the
air, ever'thing'll be spoilt."
"Yes, I know. I know. I'm doing the best I can to get things cleared
up. Right now I have a call in for our Senator in Washington. Perhaps
he can get some action for us."
"But how about all the folk who didn't evacuate?"
"We can't force them to leave their homes, Clarence. But those that
are at Wallops Station just can't come back until all the dead animals
are removed. And Clarence," he called as Grandpa shifted into gear,
"when the order does come through, we'll want you to help with the
airlifting."
On the long trip to Pocomoke, Grandpa kept grumbling and muttering to
himself.
Paul couldn't keep his eyes open. With Misty close by him, where he
could reach back and touch her, he suddenly felt easy and relaxed,
easier than he had since the storm began. He tried to stay awake. He
tried to listen to Grandpa. He tried to watch the scenery. But his
eyelids drooped. Finally he crawled in with Misty and slept on the
floor beside her.
When at last they turned into Dr. Finney's place, Grandpa had to shake
him awake.
_Chapter 15_