After returning home from church, all of the Beebes hurried into old
clothes and went to work in a kind of happy frenzy. Everything needed
doing at once.
Paul crushed oats in Grandma's coffee grinder and mixed them with bran
and linseed, all ready for the hot water when Misty came home. He
filled the manger with good-smelling hay. He washed the salt block.
"Wouldn't surprise me none if ye licked it clean with yer own tongue,"
Grandpa laughed as he went by with Nanny's kid tugging at his pants leg.
In the kitchen Maureen was sewing strips of tape on an old blanket.
Every now and then she ran to try it on Grandma to see if the ties were
in the right place. "If it fits you, Grandma, it'll fit Misty."
Grandma made a wry face. "Reckon I should be complimented," she
snorted, "'stead of laying my ears back. Beats me!" she added as she
wrapped jelly sandwiches in waxed paper. "There's barely a speck o'
meal in the house for biscuits or bread, and scarce a dry thing to
cover folks with, but there's allus oats and bran a-plenty, and a royal
blanket for Miss Misty."
"Missus Misty!" Maureen corrected.
Grandma disappeared into her bedroom for a moment and came back with
a shy smile. "Here's my contribution," she said. "Likely I'll have no
more use for this soft baby blanket. With a couple of safety pins to
fasten it under her belly, it'll be just the right size for Misty's
young'un. That long ride home will be kind o' drafty for a newborn."
By half-past noon Grandpa and Paul and Maureen were waving good-bye to
Grandma and were on their way to Pocomoke City. To their amazement,
the causeway to the mainland was jammed with a long procession of cars
coming from Maryland, Delaware, and even Washington, D.C.
"Why in tarnation they coming to Chincoteague today?" Paul asked,
opening up the lunch box.
"I'll tune ye if I catch ye sayin' 'tarnation' again," Grandpa scolded.
Then he cackled in laughter. "'Tain't fittin' except fer an old feller
like me."
"But why _are_ they?" Maureen wanted to know.
"Folks is funny," Grandpa mused. "Some jes' nacherly likes to waller
in woe like pigs in a pen. Sure as shootin' they're comin' to gawp at
the wreckage and to take pitchers o' the boats in the streets, and the
soggy beddin' and things dryin' in the sun. Curiosity folks, I calls
'em."
A station wagon with a Maryland license flagged them down. Brakes
screeched for a mile as cars behind honked in a mad chorus. A young man
with a shock of red hair called out, "How do we get to the Beebe Ranch?
We want to see Misty's colt."
Grandpa stopped the truck and guffawed. "News out already?" he asked in
amazement.
"Yes, sir! Network had it on the radio, and my kids gave me no peace--"
"Wal, what do ye know! Sorry, young feller, but you passed plumb by
her. She's over to Pocomoke City, to Doc Finney's house." Grandpa drove
on, chuckling.
"See!" Maureen said. "Not everybody comes to look at trouble."
"Ye're right, honey. Lucky thing yer Grandma stayed to home. She
would've flew into the air, hearin' me talk like that."
* * * * *
When they reached Dr. Finney's place, the doctor, who had been
watching from the house, came to meet them. With a welcoming smile he
unlocked the gate and motioned Grandpa to drive in and park alongside
the corral. Then without a word he led the way. In absolute silence
the three Beebes walked one after the other Indian file behind him.
They moved across the paddock as if it were hallowed ground. Still in
silence they eased up to the barn. And then, after almost a year of
waiting, the moment had come!
Unconsciously Grandpa took off his hat and tucked it under his arm.
Paul and Maureen stood on tiptoe, peering in without breathing. They
were utterly still, not wanting the scene to change. There, at the far
end of the stall, stood Misty. She eyed them dispassionately as if
they belonged to another world and another time. Like a bird brooding
a chick she was hovering over a wise little, fuzzy little, scraggly
little foal. For a moment the tiny thing took fright and leaned
quivering against her mother, who made soft whuffing sounds. Then,
comforted, she nosed her way to Misty's teats and began nursing.
"Wa-al, I never!" Grandpa sighed in deep contentment. "Them
sucky-smacky sounds is purtier 'n a hull flock o' meadow larks!"
Maureen brushed away a tear. How could a creature be so young and
breakable-looking, and yet so spunky? "Why, I feel like I'm its
grandma!" she whispered shyly. "And hasn't it got the longest
eye-winkers and the curliest tail you most ever saw?"
Paul whispered too. "Look at the strange marking on her forehead--it's
in the shape of a new sickle moon! I know!" he exulted. "That's 'cause
she was born in the time of the new moon."
Grandpa stared. "She's the onliest colt I ever see with a markin' like
that."
"Yes," Dr. Finney said. "There's nothing like her on the Eastern Shore."
"Likely not in all the world," Paul said.
After the colt had drunk her fill, Misty came to the door and nickered
happily, sniffing Paul and Maureen by turns.
"She's inviting us in," Paul said.
Slowly, quietly, not to startle the little one, the Beebes went into
the stall, and the gentlest of hands lifted her forelock that was
only beginning to be a forelock. "Here's a girl's got a head on her,"
Grandpa approved. "There's enough Arabian into her to make that purty
head. And ain't she marked up nice? Not a reg'lar map on her shoulders
like her mommy, but she's got her four white stockings."
"And her color is sorrel, like Wings," Maureen said.
Dr. Finney looked at his watch, thinking of the calls still to be made.
Grandpa followed his glance. "If'n ye'll excuse us," he said, "we got
to hyper along now. Any last-minute advice, Doc?"
"For now," Dr. Finney said, "avoid bulky food for Misty. Nothing rich
or hard to digest."
"How about ground oats and bran and linseed?" Paul asked hopefully.
"Couldn't be better! And no need to remind you children that daily
mucking-out is a MUST."
Grandpa nodded vigorously, an "I-told-you-so" twinkle in his eye.
"Right now their stall is the cleanest in the whole wide world,"
Maureen said proudly.
With quiet confidence she and Paul tied Misty's blanket in place for
the trip back. Grandpa took the soft baby blanket and laid it on the
little one. Then he crouched down and lifted her up in his arms and
carried her out, with Paul leading Misty alongside.
As she approached the truck, Misty planted her feet and balked. Plain
as day she bellered: "I'm _not_ getting into that thing without my
baby!" But when she found out that her foal was safely stowed in the
cab in front, she hurried up the ramp, poked her head through the
window, and nickered in relief.
Dr. Finney started to wave good-bye, then had a last-minute request.
"Mind driving by David's window?" he asked. "I had to put him to bed
this morning with a case of old-fashioned measles. Poor lad hasn't seen
the colt. He's heartbroken."
Paul felt a prick of shame. "I'm sorry, Dr. Finney, I didn't even miss
him." He reached into a pocket and pulled out a tiny wooden gull. "I
made it to sell to the tourist folk," he explained, "but I want to
give it to David instead. And some day," he added, warming to his own
generosity, "I might make a carving of Misty and her foal. Just for
him."
Grandpa drove home very carefully, avoiding ruts and bumps. He didn't
want to jar the little filly, who lay asleep across Paul's and
Maureen's laps, her soft woolen blanket rising and falling with her
breathing.
Going over the causeway, they slowed to a crawl. One driver spotted
Misty and put on the brakes so suddenly that his two children almost
flew through the windshield. "There she is!" he shouted. "Hey, Mister,
wait!"
Grandpa came to a stop, grinning. He felt good toward the whole world.
"Want a picture?" he asked.
"Do we!" And now other cars were stopping and out popped dozens of
children and dozens of cameras. Traffic stalled while shutters clicked
on all sides.
After a few moments Misty began stomping and whinnying. There was a
curious urging in her mind, a tremendous pull for home.
"Let's go," Paul said. "Misty's getting nervous."
Grandpa stopped the picture-taking and drove on. And at long last
they were going down Beebe Road into Pony Ranch. Once the tailgate
was lowered Misty slow-footed down the ramp like a queen returning to
her kingdom. Skipper, the official greeter, welcomed her in ten-foot
bounds, jumping, rolling, yelping in pure joy. And out on the marsh,
Wings added his voice in a great cry of triumph.