Chapter 3
A BODY WITH A PURPOSE
Right after school Paul and Maureen rushed into Misty's stall, almost in panic. Things should be happening, and they weren't. Grandpa Beebe joined them. "You two hold her head," he ordered. He put his stubbly cheek and his ear against Misty's belly.
"Feel anything? Hear anything?" Paul whispered.
"Not jes' now. Likely the little feller's asleep." He bent down and felt of Misty's teats. Gently he tried to milk them. "Some mares is ticklish," he explained, "and they kick at their colt when it tries to nurse. I aim to get her used to the idee."
"You getting any milk?" Maureen asked.
Grandpa shook his head. "Reckon Misty ain't quite ready to have her young'un. But no use to worry. Now then, I'd like for ye two to do me a favor."
"What is it, Grandpa?"
"I want ye to climb aboard Watch Eyes and Billy Blaze, 'cause today noon it 'peared to me Billy was going gimpy. You children try him out and see which leg's causin' the trouble."
Paul and Maureen were glad of something to do. The way Grandpa talked made them feel like expert horsemen. Quickly they bridled the ponies, swung up bareback, and took off. Paul stayed a few lengths behind on Watch Eyes, calling commands to Maureen on Billy Blaze.
"Walk him!"
Ears swinging, head nodding, Billy stepped out big and bold. Almost bouncy.
"Trot him!"
Again he went sound, square on all four corners.
"Whoa! Turn! Come this way."
Maureen pulled up, laughing. "Except for his being so shaggy," she said, "he could be a horse in a show, his gaits are so smooth. Grandpa knew it all the time."
"Of course. He just wanted us to stop fussing over Misty. I'll race you, Maureen."
It was fun racing bareback across the marsh. The rising wind excited the horses, made them go faster, as if they wanted to be part of it. And it was fun to round up the mares and drive them down the spit of land, stopping just short of the sea. It was even fun arguing.
"Maureen, you got to do the pumping tonight."
"I don't either. I got to gather the eggs."
"All right, Miss Smarty, then you can just mend that chicken fence, too."
It ended by both of them repairing the fence and both taking turns pumping water. Afterward, they charged into the house, glowing and hungry.
Grandma promised an early supper of oyster pie. "And then," she said, "if you can trust me to keep watch on Misty, you can drive with yer Grandpa over to Deep Hole to the Reeds' house. Mrs. Reed's got a pattern I want to copy for our apron sale."
"I'll take ye up on yer offer, Idy," Grandpa agreed quickly. "It'll give me a chance to see how my herd's doin' up there on winter pasture."
But about that time odd things began to happen. A lone marsh hen came bustling across the open field toward the house. Paul saw her first. He was at the table in the sitting room, painting a duck decoy.
"Look! Come quick!" he shouted to the household. "A marsh hen's coming to pay us a call!"
Maureen hurried into the room to see. Grandpa and Grandma almost collided, trying to get through the door at the same time.
"Jumpin' mullets!" Grandpa whistled. "In all my born days I never see a marsh hen walkin' on dry ground."
"Can't say I have either," Grandma agreed. "They're timid folk, ain't they?"
"Yup, only feel safe in a marsh, like a rabbit in a briar patch."
"I saw one, one day," Paul said, "walk right across the causeway."
"Pshaw!" Grandpa whittled him down to size. "Everyone's seen 'em do that. They're just makin' a quick trip acrost, from one marsh to another. But this little hen has made a journey. For her it's like travelin' to the moon."
Grandma nodded. "To my notion, she's a body with a purpose. She's tryin' to find a hidey-hole. Wonder what's frighted her?"
They all watched as the hen made her way to the high ground near the smokehouse and settled down on the doorstep as though she'd found a safe harbor.
Everybody went back to work except Grandpa. He crossed the room to the window that faced the channel. "Great guns!" he exclaimed. "Look at how our lone pine tree is bent! Why, the wind's switched clean around from sou'west to nor'east! And look at the sky—it's black as the inside of a cow." Suddenly he sucked in his breath. "The tide," he gasped, "it's almost up to our field!"
"Only nacherel," Grandma called from the kitchen. "We're in the time of the new moon, and a new moon allus means a fuller tide."
But Grandpa wasn't listening. He began pacing from one room to the other. "Any storm warnings on the radio today, Idy?" he asked.
"No," Grandma said thoughtfully, "except the Coast Guard gave out small-craft warnings this morning. But three outen five days in March, they hoist that red flag."
"Even so," Grandpa said, "me and Paul better light out and put the ponies in the hay house for safety."
Paul dropped his paintbrush and started for the door.
"Bring in more wood for the stove," Grandma called after them.
Darkness was coming on quickly and the wind had sharpened, bringing with it a fine whipping rain. The old man and the boy whistled the ponies in from the marsh. They came at a gallop, eager to get out of the weather. It wasn't often they were given all the hay they could eat, and warm shelter too.
Paul grabbed a bundle of hay and ran to Misty's stall. He found her stomping uneasily and biting at herself, but he blamed the little colt inside her, not the weather. The wind fluttered the cobwebs over the window at the back of her stall. He nailed a gunny sack to the frame to keep the cold out. Then, feeling satisfied, he gave Misty a gentle pat on the rump. As he went out, he bolted both the top and the bottom of her door.
He joined Grandpa, who was gathering up four fluffy black mallards, too young to fly, and putting them in a high cage in the hay house. The peacocks and banties were already roosting in the pine trees. Wherever Paul and Grandpa went, Skipper ran ahead, enjoying the wind and the feeling of danger and excitement. At the kitchen door he left them, jumping into his bed in the truck. Habit was stronger than the wind.
Inside the house, all was warmth and comfort—the fire crackling in the stove, the oyster pie sending forth rich fragrances, and from the radio in the sitting room a cowboy's voice was throbbing:
"Oh, give me a home
Where the buffalo roam,
And the deer and the antelope ..."
The word "play" never came. The music stopped as if someone had turned it off. At the same instant the kitchen went black as a foxhole.
A strange, cold terror entered the house. For a long moment everyone stood frozen. Then Grandma spoke in her gayest voice, which somehow didn't sound gay at all. "We'll just eat our supper by candlelight. It'll be like a party."
She found the flashlight on the shelf over the sink, and pointed its beam inside a catch-all drawer. "I got some candles in here somewheres," she said, poking in among old party favors and odds and ends of Christmas wrappings.
Grandpa struck a match and held it ready. "Yer Grandma looks like Skipper diggin' up an old bone. Dag-bite-it!" he exclaimed. "I'm burnin' my fingers." The match sputtered and died of itself.
"I'm 'shamed to say," Grandma finally admitted, "but I recomember now, I gave my old candles to the family that moved in on Gravel Basket Road. They hadn't any electric in the house. What's more, I loaned 'em our lantern."
Grandpa's voice was quick and stern. "Paul! You drive my pickup over to Barrett's Store and get us a gallon of coal oil. Maureen, you crunch up some newspaper to—"
"Clarence!" Grandma was shocked. "Paul's not old enough to drive, and hark to that wind."
"Idy, this here's an emergency. I'm the onliest one knows jes' where in the attic to put my hand on the old ship's lantern off'n the Alberta. Besides, Barrett's is jes' up Rattlesnake Ridge, as fer as a hen can spit."
Paul was out the door in a flash and Grandpa was pulling down the ladder in the hall to the crawl-space in the attic. As he climbed up he muttered loud enough for Grandma to hear, "Wimmenfolk and worry, cups and saucers, wimmenfolk and worry!"
When he came back with the lantern, he handed it to Maureen. "Like I said, honey, you crunch up some newspaper and give this chimney a good cleaning, and then pick the black stuff off'n the wick. Here, ye can use my flashbeam to work by."
Seconds passed, and the minutes wore slowly on. It was past time for Paul to be back. Grandpa peered out the window, trying to pull car lights out of the dark. He wished Grandma would not just sit there, hands folded in prayer. He wished she'd sputter and scold. He wished she'd say something. Anything.
He even wished Maureen would say something. But she was intent on her work. "That's good enough, honey. Better shut the flashbeam off now. We may be needing it for trips to the barn," he added seriously.
When at last Paul burst into the house, he set the can of coal oil on the table without a word. Grandma quickly opened it and poured some in the base of the lantern.
"Wa-al?" Grandpa asked as he struck a match and lighted the wick. He turned it slowly up and watched the flame steady. "Where ye been? Yer Grandma's nigh crazy with worry over ye. What took ye so long?"
"I drove around to see how bad the storm is."
"And how bad is it?"
"Bad. Real bad."
"What you lookin' so ashy about?"
"I got bogged down in the sand on Main Street. The bay water's coming right over the road and lots of cars are stuck. Fire Chief had to push me out."
"Oh...." Grandpa looked concerned. "Ye'd better run my truck up to that high place by the fence, Paul. If this wind keeps up, no tellin' how far she'll shove the tide.”
