Part 4

Everyone was talking at once. Everyone but Paul. He felt a hard lump in his stomach. He would refuse to go ... unless they took Misty, too. The storekeeper rapped on the counter for silence. "Fellers, let's hear Mr. Beebe out."

Grandpa took a moment before he went on. "Tide's supposed to come up higher," he announced. "Four feet higher."

"_Four feet!_ Why, that'll flood the whole island. Every house, every store. Even the Fire House and the churches!"

"But that's only half the reason. Government says there could be an epidemic of the typhoid, 'cause of all the dead chickens and fish a-rottin' and mebbe"--Grandpa avoided Paul's eyes--"mebbe dead ponies."

The talk ceased. There was a sudden exodus. Men sloshing heavy-footed out of the store, getting into their boats, going home to their families, figuring out how to break the news.

"Come, Paul," Grandpa beckoned.

Paul followed along. "I bought us two cans of beans," he offered, not knowing what to say.

"Ain't goin' to need 'em," Grandpa said gruffly; then he turned to look at Paul. "They might taste real good, though, come to think of it."

_Chapter 9_

WAITING FOR THE WHIRLYBIRD

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?"

Paul nudged Grandpa. "Tell her now."

"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_

BACKYARD LANDING

The helicopter was chewing into the wind, coming closer and closer to Pony Ranch. Almost over the house it stopped in midair, engine roaring. It silenced even Grandma's music.

Everyone flew to the window, including Misty. They watched as the noisy machine hung over their heads.

"He's trying to decide!" Paul yelled.

"Who is? What?" Maureen wanted to know.

"The pilot, silly. He's figuring out where to land."

Grandpa was spellbound. "Ain't that beautiful? It's hangin' in the air jes' like a hummer-bird."

"Oh, mercy me!" Grandma cried as the helicopter tilted drunkenly, and began a steep vertical descent. "Oh ... oh! It's going to set right in my daffydil bed!"

Like a bird aiming for its nest, the helicopter hovered over the mounded-up flower bed, then squatted down on the tiny patch.

Grandma watched in dismay as its rotors spit sand and water in every direction. She hid her face in her hands. "Oh, Clarence! Oh, Clarence!" she sobbed. "I can't go. I can't!"

"And why can't ye?" Grandpa demanded.

"Because, because...." She groped for a reason. "Misty'll ruin my linoleum and...." Here the sobbing became a wail, "... she'll chew on my nice new table with the let-down leaves."

"No, she won't!" Paul was on the defensive. "I'll stay and watch her."

"You listen to me, Paul Beebe," Grandpa exploded. "Anybody stayin' behind'll be me, head o' the household. Quick now! Everybody grab a blanket. I'll go out and explain things to that pilot." He started for the door.

Grandma reached it first and made a barricade of herself. Her crying was done. "If'n you stay behind, Clarence, we all do. Either we go as a fambly or we stay as a fambly."

Grandpa sighed, half amused, half annoyed. "Then everything's settled. Throw yer mind outa gear, Idy, and get yer duds on."

While Grandma was struggling into her overboots, Grandpa and the children were doing last-minute chores: opening a window from the top, just a crack, taking vegetables from the refrigerator and scattering them in amongst Misty's hay. Last of all, Grandpa put the stopper in the sink and turned on the cold water. "Makes a neat water trough, eh?" he chuckled, avoiding Grandma's eyes.

"You think she can manage without us?" Maureen asked.

"We got to think that, honey. And even if the tide seeps in, I made this straw bed so thick the little colt won't even get his hinder wet."

"Sure," Paul added. "And see how Wait-a-Minute is cozying up to Misty. They'll keep each other company. And see how calm she is, watching that 'copter. She's saying, 'I've seen big birds flapping their wings before.'"

"Oh, Paul, I wish I could read critters' minds the way you do."

"That's easy, Maureen. You just got to be smart as them."

Mr. Birch, the Coast Guard man, welcomed the Beebes at the foot of the stairs. Standing there in the water he looked like a preacher, ready to baptise his flock. "Wisht everybody was prompt, like you folks," he said as he herded them toward the helicopter, "and willing to cooperate without arguin'."

"We did all that afore you came," Maureen said.

Mr. Birch laughed. "Leave it to the young'uns to come out with the truth!" He helped Grandma up the steps and into the shuddering plane. "See, Mrs. Beebe, it's easier than boarding a train."

Maureen started to follow but suddenly turned to Paul, and almost in unison they let out one cry. "Skipper! Skipper!" They both called frantically. "_S-k-i-p-p-e-r!_"

Mr. Birch was shaking his head. "Sorry, children. We just have room for folks on this trip. All dogs stay behind."

"Put him in the kitchen, too," Grandma offered.

"Skipper! Here, Skipper!" The children whistled and screamed. But there was no sign of him. Only the water swirling, and the trees bending with the wind.

"All aboard!" the pilot called out. "We got another pickup to make before dark. All aboard!"

Likely Skipper's drowned, Paul thought but didn't say aloud. He got into the helicopter and took a seat where he could look out at the house. But he refused to look.

"Fasten your seat belts!" the pilot ordered.

"Now, ain't this excitin'?" Grandpa yelled, as the blades overhead began whirring madly and the helicopter rose slowly off the earth and climbed straight up and up. "It's just like bein' in a elevator."

Grandma shook her head. She leaned toward the earth, taking a long last look at Pony Ranch, saying good-bye to it. Grandpa squeezed her hand comfortingly, and he looked down, too, down at the little house growing smaller and smaller.

"Such a racket!" Maureen cried. "Sounds faster than we're going."

Grandma held her hands over her ears. "Feels as if a thousand dentists are drilling inside my head."

"On your store teeth?" Paul grinned.

"Oh, Paul, stop teasing. I wish ... I wish you and Maureen was littler. If only I had a baby to hold, I'd feel braver."

Grandma soon got her wish. At the next stop they picked up the Hoopers and the Twilleys and young Mrs. Whealton with her squalling baby. Just as the father of the baby was about to board, the pilot poked his head out the window. "Sorry, sir. We're full. You'll have to wait for the next one."

Quickly the young man tried to hand in a pile of diapers, but a gust of wind tore most of them away and they went flying off like kites.

Mrs. Whealton, clutching her baby, started to get out.

"Stay put, lady. Everybody! Stay put!"

"I'll be along soon," Mr. Whealton called. And before the door closed, he thrust in the remaining diapers and the baby's bottle.

As the helicopter took off, Mrs. Whealton began sobbing louder than her baby. The passengers looked at one another, helpless and embarrassed. All except Grandma. She opened wide her arms.

"You just hand that little tyke acrost to me," she smiled, "and wipe yer eyes. You kin busy yerself foldin' the few diapers you got left."

Willingly Mrs. Whealton passed the baby across the aisle and into experienced hands. The crying stopped at once.

The northeast wind shook the helicopter, but it obeyed the pilot's stick. "We take no back talk from the elements," Mr. Birch said to reassure his passengers.

The plane was heading into the wind, flying low over the channel and over the long rib of sand that was Assateague. Everyone scanned the hills and woods for wild ponies.

"I see a bunch!" Paul cried.

"I knowed it! I knowed it!" Grandpa exulted. "They're atop the White Hills."

The pilot tried to hold the plane steady, but the gale buffeted it mercilessly. Twice he circled the herd, then climbed and headed due west. The island of Assateague seemed to be sailing backward, and now they were over Chincoteague again.

"Mr. Birch!" Maureen shouted. "Look at the people on that raft. They're waving a white flag."

"I see it," Mr. Birch answered, "but it's a housetop, not a raft, and they're waving a bedsheet. They don't know we got a full load."

From the cockpit the pilot called back, "We'll get 'em on the next trip. No, we won't!" he contradicted. "I see another chopper heading this way. They'll beat us to it."

Mr. Hooper, a quiet little man, said his first words of the trip. "Sky's so full o' whirlybirds we're goin' to need a traffic cop up here."

In spite of all the tragedy, the passengers couldn't help smiling at Mr. Hooper's joke.

"Yup," Grandpa agreed. "I can eenamost see a policeman mounted on a cloud like a parson in a pulpit."

But the make-believe fun didn't last. Now they were over the big bay of water, and now they could see the wavy shore of the mainland. Slowly the helicopter came down from the sky onto a landing field at Wallops Station. A thin fog was closing in and the night lights were already on as the Beebes and Hoopers and Twilleys and Mrs. Whealton tumbled out of the plane like seeds from a pod. A gust of wind swept them into a little huddle.

Suddenly the adventure and excitement were over. Standing there in the rain, Paul felt what he was, a refugee, homeless and cold and hungry. And half his mind was far away in a hay-strewn kitchen.

_Chapter 11_

REFUGEES

Wallops Station is on the mainland of Virginia, just across the bay from Chincoteague Island. Once it had been a Naval Air Station, teeming with activity--planes roaring off and gliding in; signal crews waving orders; officers and men, pilots and engineers, radio technicians and clerks all criss-crossing from building to building. Then the government closed the base, and for three years the buildings stood empty, like a forest of dead trees.

But when the helicopter landed that stormy March evening, lights were blazing in every window. The whole place had come to life. Fire trucks were racing to meet helicopters, rushing sick refugees to the emergency hospital and others to the barracks and even the administration building.

The storm was now twenty-four hours old. Wind still blowing strong. Rain gusty. Clouds low. No moon, no stars.

At the edge of the landing strip the little clump of passengers stood huddled, clutching their blankets, staring at the yellow headlights coming toward them.

"Which building?" a fireman called out as he drove the truck within earshot.

Grandpa Beebe shouted back, "Don't know. Be there a fire?"

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.