by Robb White
"Yes," Candy said, and swallowed hard. "My boat was on your greenhouse."
His shoulders began to jerk. "And you left terrible scars on my grass. Is that what you came to see me about?"
"No, sir. I came to see you about Tony."
"Tony who? Who's Tony?"
"He's the blind boy who was with me."
"I remember. Well, what about him?"
All the way across in the boat Candy had practiced what she was going to say. She was going to tell him first how nice Tony was. Then she was going to tell him how Tony loved
flowers. Then how well he could grow them. Finally she was going to make Mr. Jenkins feel so sorry for Tony that he would give him a job.
But now she couldn't remember any of the things she had planned to say. She was so scared that her throat was tight, and there seemed to be a thick, sticky fog inside her head.
"I want you to give him a job/' she blurted.
"Job. Job. What can he do?"
''He can grow flowers, Mr. Jenkins. He grows beautiful flowers even if he is bhnd.''
''Most absurd thing I ever heard of. Do you realize what you're asking, miss? You're asking me to let a blind person come on my place—a person who can't see where he's going. Why, why, he would ruin in one day what it's taken me years to cultivate. Think what his feet would do. My word!"
"You could have things to guide him. Like strings, or boards," Candy said.
"No, no, no, no! The thing is unthinkable. I want to hear no more about it whatsoever."
"But he needs a job, Mr. Jenkins. He has to live in a rickety old shed on a can of soup every now and then. He has to beg in the streets. He's only eleven years old."
Mr. Jenkins reached over beside the fireplace and yanked two or three times on a wide, thick ribbon made out of velvet. "That's all, Miss Pritchard. The very thought of having a blind person stumbling about among my flowers makes me feel sick."
"Then you won't help Tony?" Candy asked, her voice low.
"Certainly not!"
Candy heard someone come up behind her, and she guessed that it was the big man who had let her in. She didn't take her eyes off Mr. Jenkins though, because something strange was happening inside her. Slowly all the scared feeling was going away. And she began to feel a lot taller than he was. She felt as though she were looking down on the dried-up little
man. She felt as though she could reach out, take him by the front of the shirt, and bounce him up and down on the floor.
''Mr. Jenkins/' Candy said, "you're about the meanest man I ever saw."
"Jasper," he said, "show Miss Pritchard out. And she will not be welcome in my house again."
Candy turned around without saying anything else and walked out. Her face felt stiff and her eyes hot, but she knew she wasn't going to cry.
The big door shut with a clap behind her and she turned for a moment and looked at it. Aloud, but in a low voice, she said, "You mean little old dried-up scooter you."
As she walked past the greenhouse she wished she had a big rock.
In her boat she sat for a moment, sails slatting softly in the night wind. She didn't want to go home. She didn't w^ant to go back to the beach and talk with Dotty T. or anybody. She didn't even want to see Tony.
She felt the wind with her face and tightened the sheets. She set a course for open water, took off her shoes and stockings, untied the ribbon holding her hair, and unbuttoned the high collar of her dress. She sat up on the gunwale steering with her bare foot, and thought of all the things she w^ould like to do to Mr. Jenkins.
Her anger slowly died and a sadness took its place that she couldn't get rid of. Somehow she had convinced herself that Mr. Jenkins would give Tony a job. She had been so sure of it that she had even made plans about what she could do after he got a little money. She could find him a better place to sleep, and he could get more food, and a better stove, and a mattress.
Now it was all gone, and it made her feel helpless and sad.
The wind was soft and warm, and she could feel the heaviness of rain in it. Slowly, to the southwest, the stars were dis-
appearing. Candy reluctantly came about and began to sail back into the Bay.
It was late at night when she woke up. Rain was falling heavily on the roof and she could hear it pattering on the floor. She got out of bed and closed the south windows of her room. Then, instead of going back to sleep, she stood looking out the window at the rain.
It was funny about rain, Candy thought. Sometimes it was wonderful—for instance, after a long, hot, dry spell a big thunderstorm was grand and exciting. Then, sometimes, especially in the winter, the thin, gray, persistent rain was a terrible nuisance. And this rain was—what? she thought.
There was only one word for the rain tonight. Lonely. The sound of it was lonely. The way it fell from the black sky was lonely. Everything about it was lonely.
Suddenly Candy thought of Dr. Daniels out on his island. The rain would be falling there, too. But there wouldn't be any blanket of light for it to fall into. The darkness would be down right on top of the island and on the sea. The rain would be wet and cold where he was. The land crabs would crawl up the trunks of the palm trees and the slimy purple lizards would be trying to find a dry place.
She wished that he hadn't gone out there. She washed that she didn't know that he was out there. She wished that she could find out how he was getting along.
Candy suddenly decided that first thing in the morning she would go out to the island. She didn't care if he had told her never to come back. She was going anyway. She made excuses for herself. Maybe he was very sick and needed help. Maybe he had hurt himself. Maybe he was starving, or his water changer wasn't working and he was dying of thirst.
Candy made up her mind. She was going out there whether he liked it or not.
The rain stopped before dawn, and when Candy woke up
it was broad daylight with the sun shining hot and clear, and a nice wind blowing.
All the darkness and loneliness were gone, and things seemed different.
Candy changed her plans. After all, she reasoned, she had promised Dr. Daniels that she wouldn't go back to his island. She couldn't very well break a promise. But she hadn't promised him she wouldn't go out to some of the other islands, so he couldn't object if she went to Pebble.
Candy borrowed her father's big nav)- binoculars and went down to the Bay. She expected to find Tony waiting for her, but he wasn't there. She looked for him along Front Street but, not finding him, went back to the boat and began getting it ready.
She didn't notice the piece of paper until she lifted the rudder and started to hang it.
It took her a long time to make out what the big, sprawling letters spelled. They wandered on the paper, some were written almost on top of others, and at first she thought it was just a piece of trash that had blown into her boat. Finally, though, she thought one word spelled ''can't." And the other one was ''come." "Can't come." And there was a big 'T" at the bottom of the paper.
Candy wondered what was the matter. Why couldn't he come? Was something wrong with him? Was he sick?
She waded ashore and walked directly to his shed. He wasn't there.
Puzzled, she went back to the boat. Then she thought, maybe he's heard about a job or something. That made her feel better as she raised sail and started the long trip out to the islands.
Candy purposely steered a course to the northeast, which would put Pebble Island between her and Dr. Daniels's island, for she didn't want him to see her or the boat.
Sailing into a little calm bay on the west shore of Pebble
she anchored and, \ith the binoculars, waded ashore. Being careful to keep out of sight, she climbed to the top of the island and stopped behind some gray rocks.
His island wasn't very far away and looked green and pretty in the sunlight. With the binoculars it seemed very close. She could see even the grains of sand on the beach.
She found his tent set up on a grassy
place among some trees. He had built a good fireplace out of coral and there was a stack of wood piled neatly beside it. From one of the trees he had hung a small square platform, and she guessed that that was how he kept ants and things out of his food.
Down beside the beach she saw the plastic thing which made fresh water and there was a row of bright metal cans beside it.
Ever}'thing looked very shipshape, she decided. But where was he? She couldn't see inside the tent because its shadow was too dark and, after searching the whole island, she could find no trace of him.
Candy lowered the binoculars and frowned. She would wait, she decided, for one hour. Then, if he didn't show up, she was going over there because he must be sick or something.
She looked at her watch and then back at his island.
The reason she hadn't seen him was because he was out in the water and she had looked only at the land.
He had on nothing but a pair of faded khaki shorts and a straw hat. He was standing in water up to his knees fishing.
Candy raised the binoculars and looked at him closely. His skin was sunburned a dark brown and she could see where it had peeled in patches and then burned again. He still looked lean, but there wasn't anything sick-looking about him.
Maybe, she thought, it's just the sunburn. Maybe he's really very weak and tired.
But then he hooked a big fish and Candy could see the muscles in his arms and back. There wasn't anything weak or
tired about them as he played the fish, wading slowly backward toward the beach. And when he turned a little she could see that he was grinning.
She waited, watching him, until he dragged the fish up on the beach. Carrying it, he went back under the trees and sat down on a log and began scaling the fish.
Candy went back down the west slope and waded out to her boat. She felt wonderful as she climbed aboard and got the sails up.
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86
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CHAPTER
10
Candy began to sing when she was sure she was out of earshot of the island. She had a sweet voice with a soft huskiness in it.
As she sang, she set the sails on the starboard tack and kept adjusting the jib and mainsheets until finally she could take her hand completely off the tiller. The Faraway sailed straight on, balanced against the \ind.
Candy was proud of that. She got up out of the cockpit and went up on the foredeck and sat down, leaning back against the mast.
The sky above was clean blue with flaky, wind-driven clouds around the horizon. The sea was a deep, soft blue, the water drinking up the sunshine pouring down on it. The wind had some weight, but it was steady, so that the Faraway, close hauled, skimmed along making her easting, as the islands slid past her, one by one.
Candy kept sighting at the point on Horseshoe Island. She wanted to clear it on this tack for, if she did, she knew that she could go on east until she could turn and, on the port tack, get back into the Bay with one long shot.
The sea, shoved by the wind, was rough, but she didn't mind that, for the spray was warm and crisp, the water spar-
Wing in the sunlight. Tlie Faraway pounded in the bow, as all Snipes do, and was a wet boat in short waves, so that Candy was soaked to the skin within half an hour. She kept licking salt off her lips and knew that her hair, so carefully washed the night before, was getting caked up with salt again. But she didn't care. She leaned her head back against the mast, which quivered as though alive under the wind's driving, and sang louder. She would duck a little when a really big wave curled over the prow, but she let most of the water come ahead, drenching her and, occasionally, stopping her song while she spat.
She could see the white rock now which marked the northernmost end of Horseshoe Island and, by sighting on the jib stay, she was sure that she was going to clear it—but not by far, she decided. She might need to pinch the Faraway a little, so she moved back to the cockpit and took the tiller. Sitting out on the gunwale, she began to work up wind as far as she could. She was counting on the current helping her when she got in closer, for the tide was going out and there would be a strong surge of water between Horseshoe and Crab.
She was half a mile away when she saw a man climbing across the rocks. She stared at him, surprised, for few people ever visited Horseshoe. Then she began to look for the man's boat. There was no sign of one on the lee side and no place to anchor to windward.
As she came in closer the man's figure looked a little familiar, but she still couldn't tell who it was. And there was no sign of a boat anywhere.
The man kept climbing over the rocks until at last he was out on the last one. He stood up then and began to wave his arms.
He looked very familiar, but Candy still didn't recognize him, and she wasn't sure yet why he was doing all the waving.
Then she heard his voice, very faint. She leaned forward listening, and he yelled again. It sounded to her like ''Help!"
Candy eased the boat off the wind and sailed in closer.
''Help!" the man yelled. ''Help!" He began to wave frantically.
Candy could add fairly well. One and one made two. There was no boat anchored at the island; there was a man calling for help.
She eased her sheets and sailed in under the lee of the island. Wlien the man saw her coming, he began climbing back along the rocks toward her.
There was something about his jerky way of moving and his little body which made Candy sure that she knew him, but she didn't recognize him until he reached a little beach and began to run along the sand.
Tlien she knew, all right. Her first impulse was to set her sheets and sail on out of there, leaving him where he was. But then, she thought, that would be a pretty mean thing to do. Mr. Jenkins was evidently in trouble and it might be days—even weeks—before anyone else came out by the island.
She dropped the sails and let the boat drift in toward the shallow water. "What's the trouble?" she called.
"I'm stranded."
She wondered how he had gotten out there without a boat but then decided that a shrimper had brought him perhaps.
Suddenly she felt strongly that she didn't want him in her boat. She didn't like him at all. And it wasn't her fault if he was stranded. She called across to him, "I'll tell somebody to come get you when I get back."
"No. No," he shouted. "I want to go now. Fve got to get off of here right now."
Candy debated with herself for a moment. Three hours of Mr. Jenkins wouldn't be any fun at all. He would spoil her whole sail back to the Bay. On the other hand, it would be after dark before anyone could get out here if she waited until she got back to ask a shrimper. That was a long time.
Resigned, she called over, ''All right. Wade out and Fll pick you up."
''Certainly not!'' he shouted. "You come here."
That made her mad. Did he think she was going to grind the bottom of her boat on that coral just so he wouldn't get his feet wet? She decided that he was the rudest little man she'd ever heard of. She was so mad that she called back, "Certainly not yourself. I'm not going to ruin my boat."
She could see him fuming, but at last he rolled up his pants* legs and started wading out.
Candy did not know that the beach shelved off so fast, and was surprised when Mr. Jenkins suddenly disappeared under the water. He came up, swimming dog paddle, and she could hear him snorting and spitting.
When he got alongside, Candy reached down and caught him under both arms. Heaving up with all her strength, she dragged him over the gunwale. He rolled down into the cockpit and landed on his stomach.
As he squirmed around to sit up, his soggy hat brim flopped down over his eyes. He pushed it out of the way and looked at her.
For a long time they looked at each other—eye to eye.
"Oh," he said, at last, "it's you."
She nodded.
"You couldVe come in closer, young lady. The water was sufficiently deep."
"I didn't know it was so deep."
"Very
well," he said; "let's go."
Candy got out the oar and paddled the boat until she was out from under the lee of the island.
"How did you get out here, Mr. Jenkins?" she asked, settling dovm at the tiller.
"In a boat, naturally."
Candy wondered why he was always so rude. "Is it coming back for you?"
He made a snorting noise. "It's out here somewhere. That eloth-headed man I've got couldn't get the motor started and he let the thing drift away, leaving me absolutely marooned."
''We ought to find your boat," Candy declared.
"I hope he drifts for a week. Teaeh him a lesson. Can't this thing go any faster?"
''We're still under the lee. We'll go faster in a minute," Candv told him as she watched the distinct line in the water cvhere the big waves were rolling.
The Faraway was clipping right along when it hit the first of the waves. She shook in ever' timber and her bow went down under the next one, scooping up solid water and throwing it aft, drowning Mr. Jenkins.
''Blast!" he yelled, wiping water out of his face and spitting. Glaring at her, he said, "Don't do that again, young lady."
"It's going to have to do that until we can sail free, Mr. Jenkins."
"Seems totally unnecessary to me."
Candy sailed on in silence. After a w^hile Mr. Jenkins said, "Why don't we go toward land? I've got to get home. I'm wet and getting wetter."
"I can't help it, Mr. Jenkins. We've got to go out on this tack or we won't be able to get into the Bay at all."
Candy tried her best to keep the Faraway from shipping water. Although she lost ground doing it, she eased her away from the big waves and let some nice puffs of wind slide by without taking much out of them. Still, it was rough, wet sailing.
"What was your name?" Mr. Jenkins broke the silence.
"It's Catherine Pritchard."
"Yes," he said. "That's right."
Candy looked over at him. And when she looked back, she saw the grandfather of all waves rolling down on top of her. She didn't have time to ease the sheets and turn off the wind both, so she just hauled the tiller up and braced herself.