by Joan Sargent
Evelyn, who faced the door, was the first to discover Donna. She gave a squeal of delight. "Here's our wanderer home. Come in, pet, and pull up a chair. Unless you'd like to take my hand. I probably can't make my bid."
Donna laughed. "You'll have to crawl out of the hole you've dug for yourself by yourself. I've got to get back to school. Seems part of the school nurse's duty is to stay on duty with refugees when there are storms." She had already decided that she wasn't likely to get any sleep in the apartment and she might as well go on back to school.
Kathy appeared from the kitchen, a fork in one hand and a half-eaten cookie in the other. "How mean. We're going to have a real ball here. It's too bad for you to miss it. You know Stu Jensen and Cliff Warrender?" She gestured with the fork toward the two men behind her. "Cliff's Nell's boss and Stu lives down the hall and doesn't know many people in Miami."
Donna smiled impartially at both men. "I've met Mr. Warrender. Hello, Mr. Jensen."
She had indeed met Cliff Warrender. He was a lawyer, not the sort of lawyer she wanted to know. "A mouthpiece" they called his sort in gangster novels. Nell was proud that he had got Genio (the Ox) Alcotti off from a bookie charge just after Donna had moved into the apartment. Three times he had asked Donna to go out with him, and three times she had refused.
But he was very gallant as he slid from his stool and offered it to her. "Unless you are as skillful a cook as Kathy. In that case, we'll sit and admire as if we were sitting in a medical theater watching a doctor operate." His smile was something to see. Donna found it hard not to smile back.
Kathy broke in before Donna could think of anything to say. "Not when I'm cooking, she doesn't. When I cook, I want all the blame. And all the credit, too. But sit down and chat with us if you want to, Donna."
Donna didn't want to sit around kibitzing the card game, or watching Kathy play chef. Particularly, she didn't want to be friendly with Cliff Warrender. She tried on a rather stiff smile and shook her head at the offer of the kitchen stool. "I'm a working girl. I've got to get back to school," she said.
Kathy was horrified. "But nobody, positively nobody, works during a hurricane. Everybody goes home and huddles."
Cliff grinned. "There are those who don't. Weathermen. People on newspapers and radio and television. Firemen. Doctors and nurses. You're probably Red Cross auxiliary," he suggested to Donna.
"Yes, of course," she agreed. "But I'm in the employ of the School Board first and I've been asked to help with the refugee center there. Who comes? Do you know? I didn't think about asking."
Cliff seemed to have the answer to most questions. "Flamingo's neighborhood isn't the most exclusive in town. There are a lot of shacks out there. The land's low and many of the houses are built low to the ground. The place is always under water when there is a lot of rain and wind. The water rose five feet in some of those houses during the forty-seven storm. Anybody who remembers will be coming to the schoolhouse. And they'll tell the rest."
He spoke with such authority that Donna asked him a personal question before she thought. "You've lived her a long time, Mr. Warrender?"
Again, his warm, unexpected smile brought an answering smile to her lips.
"I'm one of those rare animals who was born here," he told her. "Jackson Memorial Hospital, twenty-seven years ago. I even attended Flamingo Elementary. I lived in that neighborhood, and it isn't a new school, you know."
Donna nodded, checking his elegantly cut suit, his immaculate linen, his shoes which had the look of having been custom-made. He was the best-groomed man she knew. The best of everything, she thought scornfully, noting, but not admitting, that there was nothing garish about him. He wore no jewelry. His clothes were conservative. He simply didn't fit in with what she knew of the neighborhood of Flamingo Elementary.
His smile had a wry, perhaps even bitter, tinge now. "It's been a long time," he said, as if he had read her mind.
"Have fun, all of you," she offered with a gaiety that was only skin deep. "I'll pack my bag and be on my way."
Cliff hadn't sat back down on his stool and now he pushed it under the breakfast bar and cleared his throat. "My car's in the garage across the street, Miss Ledbury. I'll drive you out."
Donna's face flushed scarlet. "It really isn't necessary, Mr. Warrender. I'm accustomed to the bus and don't mind it. I counted it in my schedule."
His words were firm, like a good teacher's when she means to brook no nonsense. "I'm going that way, Miss Ledbury. I'll drive you."
Her voice was faint as she said, "Thank you," and went toward her room.
Behind her, she heard the new man—Stu Jensen—speak in a puzzled sort of voice. "What's with you two? You're polite enough for a divorced couple meeting for the first time in public."
Cliff's deep, courtroom voice answered. She couldn't hear his words and she shut her door rather more noisily than was necessary to shut out the sound of his voice.
They drove along in silence for a while, Cliff's eyes fixed on the street before him. It was full of cars homeward bound, of people scurrying about on foot, like leaves in a fall wind. He did not turn his glance toward her when he finally spoke. "I'm a very determined man, Miss Ledbury. Miss Donna Ledbury."
The quick flush that always embarrassed her when she felt she failed to have the situation entirely in hand ran up from throat to hairline and she clenched her hands in her lap. There must be something to say on an occasion like this, but she couldn't think of it.
He went on, sounding amused: "It can't be that you don't like men. You're too young and pretty, and I always thought redheaded girls were friendlier than others. And there's that handsome young man who is your boss. You go out with him. So I have to conclude that you think I'm just not your type."
A sudden fury made her stammer. "If you are implying that red-haired girls are man-crazy—" The words sounded as if they had been choked from her. "I didn't ask you to drive me out here and if you are doing it to give yourself an opportunity to scold me because I didn't fall on your neck the minute we were introduced—"
He brought his car, expensive and conservative like his clothes, and of a vintage of five years before, to a halt against the curb. If he had heard her outburst, he gave no sign of it. "You are supposed to bring enough food for your stay. Bring food, leave pets at home, it says in the paper. We'll go in here and get what we need."
"W-we?" she echoed, feeling more helpless than she ever had in her life. What did one do with a man like this one?
He nodded. "I'm a volunteer with the Red Cross, too. I'm always on duty at one of the schools. Only, I told them that this storm I was going to be busy and came home with Nell. Now I find that my conscience hurts me because I'm not doing my part, and I plan to help out at my old elementary school. Want to come in with me, or will you trust me to pick out things you'd like?"
"I—I guess I'll come in," she decided. She felt breathless and hoped that it was the weather and not Cliff Warrender.
The grocery store was a small one and the odor of spices and cheeses and mysterious things which Donna had no name for hung in the air. Braids of red onions hung in garlands above the vegetable bins. Fruit announced its presence redolently. Customers pushed and argued good-humoredly in several languages, then, realizing that somebody new had come in, turned and stared at Donna and Cliff. They began with one voice to cry Cliff's name, to move toward where he stood just inside the front door, and shake his hand.
A fat, mustachioed old man came on splayed feet to throw his arms about the young lawyer, to touch first one cheek and then the other with his own not recently shaved one, to pound the younger man's broad shoulder with his gnarled hand. "Cliff, boy, is good to see you. You forget the old man. Weeks, I do not see you."
"I've been busy, Uncle Joe. There's always work."
The two men were standing a little apart from each other now, beaming. The old Cuban nodded. "I hear. You take the case of that girl of Mattie Stamey's. You will get her off, eh, boy?"
Donna was watching the two men interestedly. She didn't like Cliff Warrender, but she had to admit he was no snob. He had spoken casually of living in the neighborhood of Flamingo Elementary. Now he embraced a shabby old foreigner with every evidence of affection.
"Today comes a letter from Julio," the old man was continuing. "He is now a corporal and he says that I am to tell you. He is taking out a German girl, a good girl, he says. He talks of bringing her home to his mama."
"Julio? I'm glad. You write him that I always knew he had it in him," Cliff commanded in his deep voice.
Donna's eyes had grown accustomed to the dim light now, and she studied Cliff in a way it had not occurred to her to do before. He was a big man, but not more than average tall. His weight was of frame and muscle. His black hair was carefully and recently cut, but it was unruly, with a life of its own. She noted the heavy black brows and wondered if the eyes beneath them were gray or blue. She suspected that his nose had been broken. His mouth, laughing now, and generous in size, hinted that it could be stern. His chin was square and stubborn. By her standards—perhaps by anyone's standards—he was a far from handsome man, but he looked forceful, a strength that would have to be reckoned with.
The old grocer had given over his long greeting and was peering at Donna with a curiosity that he made no effort to conceal. "This is the young lady you have told me of, boy? Your young lady?"
Donna opened her mouth to protest, but Cliff spoke before she could say a word. She thought that, for the first time since she had known him, he looked a little discomfited. "Miss Ledbury, this is my old friend Jose Cassius. I used to steal bananas from him when I was a young scoundrel in this neighborhood. I think sometimes he turned his back to let me get one."
"No, never," the old man protested, blowing out his big mustache in his desire to prove that he was not softhearted. "But my son Julio, he got into a little trouble with the law and Cliff here got him off with a promise to go into the Army, where he would have gone soon anyhow. My boy finishes his high school there and has already a promotion. This is a good boy, Cliff. You are proud of him, no?"
Cliff's moment of embarrassment had disappeared into his more familiar amusement. "You don't understand, Uncle Joe. This is my girl, just as I told you. But she hasn't caught on to it, yet. I knew you had a pretty fair opinion of me and I thought that might help me convince her."
The old man was suddenly very serious. "He is a good boy, a friend to all people in trouble, whether they can pay or not. He has the kind heart, the wise heart. And he is very determined, this one."
Much to her surprise, Donna laughed. "He was just saying that himself."
The grocer nodded with the solemnity of a Buddha. "This boy does what he sets out to do. You will know one day that you are his girl. You will see."
Again, the telltale crimson stained Donna's face and she dropped her eyes to the floor. Mr. Cassius could be tactful as well as plainspoken. He turned to Cliff.
"I have prepared all that you suggested when you phoned me. Flashlights, the little cans of heat, the food. Do you think of anything more?"
Cliff turned to Donna. "Have you thought of anything you would like to add to Uncle Joe's hurricane necessities?"
She gave the old man her brightest smile. "This is my first hurricane. I'm sure you know a lot more about what we'll need than I. Thank you for getting it together for us."
There were two great boxes of supplies, and the men packed them in the back of the car, the grocer standing beaming on the sidewalk until they had driven away. The other customers gathered behind him, in spite of the excited sound of their Spanish, seeming to have all the time in the world to wave Donna and Cliff on their way.
Donna stole a glance at the far-from-classic profile of her escort. There was no sign of his flashing smile as he concentrated on his driving. The streets were not so full of traffic as they had been, but there were still cars enough—more than usual at this time of day.
Her thoughts were in a turmoil. In spite of herself, her instinct warmed to Cliff. It was one of her mother's maxims that when the humble trusted and really liked a person, that person could be depended on for the right things. It was something she had accepted as truth. When Cliff Warrender smiled at her, every prejudice she had built up against his undeniable charm melted. She thought of the young Cuban whom he had saved for a useful life in the service of his adopted country, the others Jose Cassius had mentioned so casually, as if they were the everyday warp of Cliff's life. Perhaps she had judged him wrong. Perhaps Nell's near-hero worship was closer to the truth than her own quick judgment.
"The Stamey girl Mr. Cassius mentioned," she began after a long silence. "What is she charged with?"
His light eyes—she still hadn't decided exactly what shade they were—were on her face for a brief second before they returned to the street. "She's a shoplifter. Why?"
"You think she's guilty, then?" she asked, frowning a little at the thought.
"I know she's guilty. She admitted it to me."
"And yet you are going to defend her?" The edge was back in her voice. "Will you get her off?"
"Oh, I think so," he answered with easy assurance as he came to a halt at the front of the school. "Suppose you go report. I'll find somebody to help me with these supplies and find a garage where I can park the car. But I'll be back. You can tell Fincher the Red Cross sent me. Or maybe they've already phoned him."
Donna took out her overnight bag. "Thank you for bringing me out," she said in a frosty voice. Probably that boy Julio had done something horrible and would show up in his true colors any day now. Cliff would turn the Stamey girl loose on unsuspecting merchants, too. She had been right about him in the beginning, and now she had let him buy food for her for the duration of the hurricane. She was disgusted with him— almost as disgusted as she was with herself.
Chapter III
Donna thrust her head into Hank's office and told him, quite unnecessarily, that she was back on duty. "Unless there is something else pressing, I thought I would check first-aid supplies to make sure that everything's in its place."
"Fine," he agreed. "The public won't be arriving yet awhile, I guess. The men faculty members are due at three o'clock. I'll get the janitor to set up two registration desks in the hall at the main entrance. The Wards will be here right after lunch. About twelve-thirty."
"The Wards?" she asked.
He nodded. "They're nearly ninety. They've been married more than sixty years. He was a college professor and they live on social security from back when it was a lot less than it is today, but they don't owe anybody a penny. They live in a spotless little shack down by the railroad tracks, and they're always the first to arrive when we are expecting a hurricane. The weather bureau is announcing that the schools will be open until seven-thirty."
She laughed. "I never thought about our having regulars."
"Lots of them," he told her.
Tom Carter, the physical ed teacher, appeared in the doorway behind her. "I'm over at the gym until you need me, Fincher. Three or so, huh?"
The principal nodded. "Three or so. We shouldn't have any troublemakers here before that time. Usually that sort don't arrive until nearly night."
Donna smiled at Hank. "I'll be in the first-aid room if you need me," she varied the physical ed teacher's words to suit her case and went out with him, addressing her next remark to that young man. "What did Hank mean, troublemakers?"
"We have them," he assured her. "A crowd of young squirts who come in to chase girls, or drink the time away. Others looking for something to steal. I hope all the teachers locked everything and put things away."
"I think that's simply horrible," Donna protested. "We offer them shelter and they plunder. That's inexcusable."
He chuckled at her indignation. "You've got to deal with people, Donna. The people who live around Flamingo aren't angels. Maybe you noticed that when you were checking the little dears. Just maybe."
She laughed. "I hav
e—once or twice—suspected as much," she admitted. "Are we sleeping them in the gym?"
It was Tom's time to show indignation. "All those people walking on my newly finished floor? I wouldn't let one of them into the building. Not if it were a matter of life and death. Well, maybe then, but only maybe."
"I never thought of a gym floor as being anything sacred," she teased. "I'm checking supplies in my office, bandages and the like. Goodbye."
She had hardly spread out her list and opened the supply cabinet when Cliff appeared at the door. "Did you see the groceries? I put them on the table over there. I'd started out to garage my car when it occurred to me that you might have need for some medical supplies that you don't usually stock for school use. There's no telling what might happen. Flying glass. A fight. We've had almost every kind of emergency in the schools during hurricanes. I thought if you could give me a list I'd go by a hospital and get supplies. Okay?"
It was funny the way Cliff kept balancing her opinion of him, first one way, then the other. Just a little while ago, she had felt he was little better than a criminal. Now she wondered who else would have thought of taking care of emergencies during the hurricane.
"You probably know somebody at the hospital who'll know a lot more about what we are likely to need than I do. There are so few things a nurse is supposed to do without the directions of a doctor. We have bandages. I think all we'll need. I don't know what else."
"Ben Rogers'll know," he promised her. "He's a doctor I went to school with. He'll give me what I need. You may find yourself performing an appendectomy before it's all over," he threatened, and disappeared as suddenly as he had come.