Dear Gram. I’d have to give up the dress.
I slid it off the hanger, feeling tears on my cheeks. Ripped into long pieces, it would make fine bandages.
I shook myself. I had to hurry. I couldn’t carry everything back. I’d have to make another trip, at least one, maybe more.
All right, what then?
Enough food for a few days, especially the oats.
I couldn’t forget the mussels at my house, a knife to open them. A cup, two bowls.
The dress.
We had to have something warm. I’d wear Matt’s coat and his dad’s over that. I’d put food in my suitcase and carry the blanket and my dress around my shoulders like a cape.
But that was all. Even that much would slow me down for the miles I’d have to walk without being seen.
As I left the village, Willie bounded back and forth, waiting for me to catch up.
When we turned to climb the rocks at last, dragging the blanket, I felt drops on my head. Rain? Maybe snow. But it was something in between. Sleet!
Matt was propped up against the wall, his shoes wet. “The radio?” he asked.
I shook my head, then dropped the blanket and opened the suitcase to show him the food. “Under the floorboards,” I said.
He spoke slowly, thinking it through. “Pop said we had food. I thought it was the sugar and the flour I’d seen that first night.”
I shrugged out of his dad’s coat, and then his.
He nodded, and for once, smiled. “Thanks. Hungry.”
“Yes, me too.”
I sank down next to him. “We’ll have our own Thanksgiving dinner,” I told him. But even as I said it, I was afraid. Soldiers were almost on top of us. How long could we stay here?
Matt looked up at the rocky ceiling, frowning. “I think Thanksgiving must be past.” He smiled again.
I smiled back: a moment of peace between the two of us. But then I sat there, tearing the dress I’d loved into bandages, trying not to cry. I wrapped the pieces around his leg and his elbow.
“Pink?” he said, not sounding happy.
I couldn’t believe it! I stamped back to the fountain and filled the cup. We’d have to share.
Back at the blanket, I opened mussels on the cave floor.
He opened his mouth to say something, but I glared at him. “Open your mouth, and I’ll leave here.”
We ate without speaking, Willie nosing into my arm. I gave him one of the slippery pieces. Why not? We had enough to last us for a while.
Matt was moving around now, trying to stand. “I can’t stay in here forever!” he burst out.
I sighed. Impossible as he was, I had to feel sorry for him. “Give it a few days. A few weeks.”
“And what will I do in the meantime?”
“Listen to me. I’ll read an old legend about a girl who married the moon.”
He sighed. “I guess.”
And so I began. “Each girl wanted the moon to choose her. But the moon would marry only the patient one. He grabbed them by the hair and rushed them high up toward the place where he lived…”
I thought about patience. Matt didn’t have any.
But did I?
Slow down, Mrs. Dane always said.
Never mind. I’d spend a little time writing about birds flying overhead, about the clouds scudding across the sky. I’d try not to think about what I’d be doing at home.
IZZY was gone again the next night, bringing back more of Pop’s food.
She mixed oats with water, and we sat eating. Afterward, I asked her to take off my shoes. I hated to do it, but they were wet and stiff and were almost as bad as the pain in my knee.
She worked at the knots in the laces while I tried to stay still.
For the first time, I understood why she was always tapping her hands and feet.
I thought she’d never get them off. But she did, finally, and peeled my socks off too.
Not a great job for her.
“Thanks,” I said.
She waved her hand but didn’t answer.
I leaned against the wall, thinking I had to heal. I had to be able to walk soon. Not only were the soldiers a worry. But there was something just as fearful. Sand drifted from the cave ceiling all the time.
It was a strange morning. I didn’t hear the hiss-boom of the surf far below. And the light was odd, much darker than usual.
“Look.” Izzy stood at the mouth of the cave. “It’s snowing!”
Thick flakes were coming down, and in moments we couldn’t see the ocean, or even the rocks. Snow drifted in and piled up inside, several inches deep.
She grinned at me. “It’s blocking the wind. It’s warmer now.”
“We won’t have to worry about soldiers today,” I said slowly. “No one will be moving. Not even Willie.”
But next to me was a tiny pile of fine gray sand, and as I looked up it seemed as if one of the rocks had shifted. Please hold, I thought. At least another few days. Weeks?
The next morning the snow tapered off. And later, a blinding sun pierced its way into the cave.
We peered outside. The path was hidden under inches of snow; the snowy rocks, just soft pillows now, glinted in the light.
“We have food,” Izzy said. “We have the legends book, and Mom’s bird book to look at. We’ll be all right, Matt.”
I wasn’t so sure. I tried not to listen to the faint stinging sound of the sand against the rocks as Izzy began to read aloud: “The moon dropped one of the girls through the sky because she had lost patience. The other, his new wife, was fascinated with one-eyed people. ‘Stars,’ he told her.”
Izzy tapped the book. Not surprising. She was always tapping something. “Imagine,” she said, “thinking that stars were people.”
When was the last time I’d seen stars? In the Sound? Or maybe from my bedroom window in Connecticut. I tried to bend my knee. If only I could get into my kayak, away from here.
But then what about Izzy? There was room for only one in the boat.
I’d have to figure all that out. Somehow. I knew, though, we had to be ready to leave soon.
I looked out; a few fine flakes were coming down again.
It almost seemed as if we might be buried here.
FOR the next week or so, I kept looking out at the snow, thinking of Christmas in Connecticut. It had to be close to that time.
Mom would attach pieces of bread to the wash line with clothespins for the winter birds. And Gram would be fixing a feast in the kitchen, feeding me bits of sugary apples for the pie, telling me about her favorite of Dad’s books. I wished I could think of the title, but all I remembered were the presents piled under the tree in the living room.
Mom and Dad not here! No Gram! And everything we ate was cold. I pictured the turkey! Mashed potatoes! Leftovers! Was I ready to cry again?
The weeks passed. I tried to keep track of the time. But everything was the same: snow coming down, the wind hurling sleet into the mouth of the cave; our food supply, which had been huge, was beginning to dwindle.
I kept myself busy writing in Mom’s book: birds like arrows darting across the pewter sky, snow spattering on the curl of waves. And early mornings, I’d sit at the edge of the cave for light, waiting for Matt to wake. I’d finished the book on legends and begun The Call of the Wild.
That was us, Matt and me, in the wild with Willie.
“How long do you think we’ve been here?” I asked Matt early one morning.
His voice was bitter. “Forever.”
“If only we had hamburgers and French fries,” I said.
Matt stared at me.
For a moment, I thought he looked sad.
“With onions,” I said.
He hobbled toward the back of the cave. “I hate onions,” he said, and then, under his breath, “I have to get out of here. I can’t stand it anymore.”
He was stronger now. I could see that he was almost ready to leave.
But we couldn’t leave.
At last, the snow tapered off. Could it be February? March? Mrs. Dane always had us write the date carefully on every piece of work we did for her.
The sleet turned to a steady rain. Birds I’d never seen, or hadn’t spotted since last fall, were flying toward the island.
I watched sandpipers, those speckled birds with long beaks that Mom loved. Hundreds ran along the shoreline on legs like pipestems with tiny clawed feet.
One afternoon, when a pale sun like a lemon drop appeared, Matt said, “Just a few more days, then I’m going to get the kayak.” He hesitated. “There’s only room for one.”
I raised my hand in the air, an I-don’t-care wave. “Go ahead,” I said, swallowing hard.
I was dreaming of Dad, taking pictures of things he loved. Gram was in the dream too. “You’re my best girl,” she said. “And your mother…”
Matt shook me awake. If he had just waited another minute I’d have had more of that dream. “It’s morning. I’m leaving. Now. You’d better get out too.”
What was he talking about?
He almost pulled me toward the back of the cave. “We can’t come back, Izzy. Look up.”
For the first time, I saw it. A thin stream of sand or tiny pieces of rock was spilling onto the floor of the cave.
I stood there, trembling a little. “Do you think the cave will collapse?”
He shrugged. “I told you. We have to get out, get away from the cave, away from soldiers.”
Dad’s cave! I’d looked for it all this time, and now it would be gone. It was just too much.
“Aren’t you sick of it here anyway?” he asked.
I nodded. Still, I was crying as we gathered everything that was left: the blanket, the food, clothes. I put the velvet buttons in my pocket. Maybe someday Gram would make me another dress and sew on those beautiful buttons.
“I’ll try for my kayak,” he said, shrugging into his coat.
He’d take the kayak, and I…
What would I do?
Don’t think about it now!
Holding on to the rocks, we navigated the packed snow as quickly as we could. We watched, though, both of us. It would be hard to hear the sound of soldiers’ boots above the crash of the waves.
I watched Willie too. Maybe he’d bark if he saw soldiers.
Hours later, tired, we reached the path that led to the sea. Matt went ahead of me and turned off.
It was easy to see he didn’t think I was going with him. After all these weeks! Months! He would just leave me here, alone.
“Hey!” I called. “What about this stuff? Don’t you want some of the food?”
“Leave it all there,” he answered. “I’m just going out for a while to see what the sea is like. I’ll be back.”
Before he could see how relieved I was, I turned away, watching Willie, who was chasing clumps of snow. I held my head up, as if I didn’t care what Matt did or where he went.
I wondered if the four soldiers were still in the village, or if they’d gone to join the others in the south.
I was too tired to walk one more inch, so I sank down on a rock, with Willie next to me. I looked back, still searching for soldiers.
Over my head, a bird swooped down and grabbed something. A smaller bird maybe, poor thing. How fast that bird moved! Another bird I could say I’d seen. It was a peregrine falcon. I recognized his trim brown body, his tremendous speed, from Mom’s book.
I looked down toward the sea. Matt was there. He raised his arms, then lowered them.
“Matt?”
He didn’t hear me. Of course not. He was only a few feet from the surf.
I walked toward him. “Matt,” I said again as I went closer.
Still he didn’t turn.
I was right behind him, my hand out, when he saw me. “What do you want?” he asked.
He was crying.
“What is it?” I yelled so he could hear me over the boom of the surf.
“Nothing.”
How strange to see his tears, this tough kid.
I shaded my eyes against the light to see. The kayak had drifted away. One moment it was visible on the crest of a wave, the next, it disappeared until the swell rose again.
I reached up and put my hand on his shoulder.
I thought he’d push my hand away, but he didn’t. “The rope was tangled somehow,” he said. “I tried to loosen it, but it slid into the sea, and the kayak…”
I knew the rest. He’d lost the only thing on the island he cared for.
As long as we were there, he’d never get out on the water again.
WHAT would we do now? Where would we go?
“It’s almost dark,” Izzy said. “Let’s sneak back into the village as soon as the light is gone and spend the night at one of the houses. Then tomorrow…” She raised her shoulders in the air. “Who knows?”
And that was what we did. My knee was aching, and I needed to sleep.
We stayed in the house closest to the end of the village: Mrs. Weio’s house, with books and papers stacked on the couch.
This was a good place, I thought. We could rush out the back door and be gone if we saw soldiers coming toward us.
Maybe.
“Take the bed,” I told Izzy.
For once, she nodded. At least I thought she did.
I ate a handful of raisins, standing at the kitchen table, then I lay on the floor and closed my eyes.
I dreamed of the Sound, dreamed of the gentle waves, dreamed of rowing. I saw Mom’s smiling face as she watched me.
In one moment, it seemed, Izzy was leaning over me, shaking my arm.
“Go away,” I said. “It isn’t even morning.”
“It’s just light and I heard a bird, somewhere in the village. Its song is the most beautiful I’ve ever heard. I’m going out to look. Maybe I’ll be able to see what it is.”
She was gone before I could say anything, before I could warn her to be careful.
I thought of going after her, but I had to close my eyes for a second.
And then I slept.
JUST past the end of the village, I caught a glimpse of the bird, mostly brown, not really pretty. But oh, that song.
Then I realized. Starred in Mom’s notebook: a Eurasian skylark.
I stood there, entirely still, listening, as it perched on a bit of grass.
The song stopped and the lark startled up.
Everything around me was still.
Too still.
Then, footsteps?
Willie came bounding up and stood in front of me. Had he heard the steps too?
Someone was coming toward us.
I dropped to the wet ground, grabbed Willie’s collar, and pulled him down with me. Mud covered my cheek, the side of my neck; it oozed up between my fingers.
We lay there forever, it seemed. I was wet and chilled through.
The footsteps were silent now.
Was he listening?
It was as if he could hear Willie’s breath, or my teeth chattering and my heart thrumming up into my throat.
Why hadn’t I been more careful?
If only the fog would roll in, covering us like a blanket, hiding us.
Feet pushed loose branches aside.
He was yards away, then…
I moved my head the slightest bit. I had to see.
A stone’s throw away, he stared down at us.
IZZY was back, leaning against the door, looking even worse than usual.
For a moment she was quiet. “Something happened just now,” she said at last. “Outside the village. I was caught by a soldier.”
I wanted to say, Why weren’t you more careful? But hadn’t I known we’d be caught
sooner or later?
“I heard his footsteps, and there was no place to go,” she went on. “Nowhere to hide. He was right there in front of us, hands on his hips, chewing on his moustache.”
I raised one hand. “He’s coming here, then, coming for us.”
“Just listen, Matt. The soldier reached out and touched Willie’s head. ‘I am being sent south, others will stay for a short time,’ he told me. ‘Within weeks, there will be battles. You must prepare to go, to find a place to hide.’ When he turned to walk away, he said, ‘I hope you found the fish and the mussels.’
“On my doorstep,” Izzy said. “I thought it was you, Matt.” She went on. “At first, I was too shocked to answer. I know I’d begun to cry. But then I called after him. ‘Thank you. I hope you get home safely.’ ”
Izzy and I didn’t speak for a long time. There was too much to think about. The soldier had known we were on the island all this time.
The enemy.
Things aren’t always the way you think they are, Pop had said.
The Americans were coming.
But where could we go?
Where could we hide from their bombs until the battle was over?
IT was just light when Izzy said, “I have an idea, something we could do.”
She leaned forward. “I was thinking about the other kayaks. The ones that belonged to the fishermen.”
“Ruined,” I said. “All of them.”
“We’ll fix—”
I cut her off again. “The frames are smashed. The coverings are torn.”
She frowned. “My old teacher said you can do anything if you set your mind to it.”
I shook my head. “You’ll see.”
“Good, let’s go.”
I sighed, a loud sound, to let her know I thought it was ridiculous to bother.
She sighed right back, rolling her eyes as if I were an idiot.
We circled the village, looking for soldiers, but the path was clear. At the harbor, I pulled open the shed door and closed it behind us, except for a few inches so we could see.
Island War Page 8