Kitty saw her father reading the evening paper as Brad brought her home about nine o’clock.
“Won’t you come in?” she asked, though she knew her voice betrayed her weariness.
“Not tonight. You’ve had a full day and better get some rest.”
“I am tired,” she admitted, but she felt a glow of happiness that he was so understanding.
“Guess your dad is sort of lonesome. He’ll want to hear all about what you’ve been doing. He wouldn’t like it, Kit, if he knew what chances you’ve been taking.”
“No, I suppose not,” she admitted. “I’d better be careful what I say, or he may try to stop my Sherlock Holmes business.”
When she went into the living room her father glanced over the top of his paper. “Enjoy your trip to the beach?” he asked, still somewhat preoccupied.
“It was wonderful. Almost like old times.” She sat on a footstool near him, and took off the kerchief that had bound up her hair. All the girls had worn slacks and kerchiefs for the picnic instead of their Canteen uniforms.
“A boat’s been sunk offshore. The beach was full of wreckage.”
“Yes. One went down not far from here yesterday.”
“I had no idea so many were still being sunk.”
“Far more than get into the papers.”
“One of the boys told us about them capturing a sub that had fresh bread on it from Bayshore Bakery. That seems incredible!”
Her father let his paper slide to his lap and reached for his pipe. “Oh, they’re getting supplies all the time—food, gasoline, and many other things, no doubt.”
“Can’t they put a stop to it?”
“Not as long as weak human beings can be bribed by the glint of gold.”
“And for other reasons, too. Do you suppose any men are in our Army and Navy who are agents of the Nazis and Japs?”
“Certainly not, Kit,” her father answered, then added a bit dubiously. “Well, I suppose it could happen. In an organization as large and as rapidly built as this, one might slip through. But you may be sure they would not stay long, for with our intelligence service, their activities would soon be brought to light.”
“But sometimes even high officials are new men, haven’t been in long—like the doctors they recruit.” Kitty was thinking definitely of Lieutenant Cary, but didn’t mention his name.
“Yes, of course. They have to give a man of that caliber a commission.”
“And right away they’re put into positions of authority where they can help the enemy, if they’ve a mind to.”
“Yes, of course. But, as I said, they soon show their colors.”
Her father paused, his match halfway to his pipe as he looked at her searchingly. “But why all this interest in such things, Kitten? You’ve become a walking question-box.”
“Oh, the talk you pick up makes you wonder about lots of things,” she replied evasively. “After I asked you this morning about the disposal of the waste I got to wondering what they do with all the food scraps.”
Her father looked surprised at such a question and repeated, “Food scraps?”
“I often see the ward boys dumping food left by the patients into big buckets.”
“Oh, that. It’s contracted for by a cattleman. Beeson, I believe his name is. He lives on Terrapin Island, and uses the waste to feed his hogs.”
Next morning Brad came by to go to church with Kitty. As they were walking home together she asked, “Brad, do you know where Terrapin Island is?”
“No, but I can find out. Up at the hospital they have some very fine, detailed maps of every island and inlet along this coast.”
“Soundings, too, and water depths?”
“I should think so. I never studied them closely. They were done by some boys over at the Marine Base—fellows who used to work for the Coast Geodetic Survey.”
“Wish I could have a look at them.”
“Might stir up some comment, Kit. No use to lay ourselves open to questioning.”
“No, of course not.”
“What did you want to look up specially?”
“I was wondering yesterday when I went exploring if that inlet flowing around the south end of that island is deep enough to float a sub.”
Brad laughed. “You can put that worry out of your mind, Kit. Any inlet along this coast that’s deep enough to float a sub is thoroughly guarded and protected by netting at the sea entrance—under water of course.”
“But that’s no assurance that small rubber boats can’t come in for supplies.”
“Oh, no, nor that traitors from our shores can’t slip out to waiting subs. And, of course, we know that’s being done all the time.”
“Brad, wouldn’t it be wonderful if you and I could do something to nip that sort of thing in the bud?”
“Kit, don’t be too sure we can do anything about it. We’re dealing with clever crooks, with devilishly keen minds.”
A few minutes later when Brad paused at Kitty’s door she said, “Can’t you come in and have dinner with us? Jane always fixes something a little extra because Dad eats dinner with us at noon on Sundays.”
“You’re a peach, Kit! It really would feel good to stick my feet under a home table once more.”
Mr. Carter made Brad welcome while Kitty went back to have Jane set an extra place at the table.
They were half through dinner when Billy said, “Dad, let’s go boat riding. You promised to take me some time.”
“So you did, Dad, as soon as the weather was mild enough. It couldn’t be a more perfect day to get out.”
Mr. Carter glanced at Brad and said, “They forget a war’s on, and we have to use gasoline sparingly.”
“What’s wrong with a bit of rowing?” suggested Brad. “A little exercise like that would do me good.”
“Wouldn’t do me any harm either,” agreed Mr. Carter. “I sit in my office so much my muscles are getting flabby.”
“How about asking Hazel?” Kitty suggested. “She’s been wanting to explore these marshes a long time.”
“A brilliant idea, Kitten!” Her father showed real interest now. “We can catch the rising tide up into the marshes and come back when it turns.”
Brad laughed. “That method will certainly be much easier on the muscles.”
Hazel had the day off and was delighted at the prospect of spending the afternoon out in the sunshine.
“Tell her I’ll call for her at two-thirty,” Mr. Carter told Kitty as she phoned.
“That’ll give me half an hour to run up to the hospital,” said Brad. “There is something I must attend to up there before I leave.”
“Then I’ll have time to pack some sandwiches and cookies, so we can eat our supper outdoors.”
“Another brilliant idea,” said her father. “We’ll make an afternoon of it.”
“That will give Jane the whole afternoon off. She needs a rest,” said Kitty, as she hurried out to the kitchen to see what she could prepare on such short notice.
There was a long loaf of Bayshore Bakery bread that hadn’t been opened. While she made chicken sandwiches from dinner left-overs she thought how strange it seemed to be eating bread from the same bakery as that eaten by the Nazis off shore. As she worked she wondered also what had taken Brad back to the hospital.
Her father had already left in his car to bring Hazel from the hospital when Brad came back and bolted on into the pantry.
“I made a little sketch from that big map,” he told Kitty.
“So that’s what you went for?”
“Thought we might have a chance to look up Terrapin Island while we’re out,” he said. “Come, let me show you.”
He spread a hasty sketch on the dining-room table.
“I’ve been wondering if Terrapin Island is near the place where they burn the hospital waste.”
“It’s the very next island, see!” Brad traced with his finger the inlet that swung southwest around Palmetto Island, and farther south separated Terrapin Island from its neighbor, which they discovered was called Mangrove Island.
Two hours later the picnickers came ashore on an island covered with virgin pines. By subtle suggestions Kitty and Brad had succeeded in heading their expedition toward the goal they had in mind. Mr. Carter and Hazel had no particular purpose but to enjoy the sunshine and bracing air, and so were amenable to suggestions. Kitty and Hazel insisted on doing their share of the rowing, so the trip was easy for all.
Billy was hilarious when they climbed up the bank to a deep carpet of pine needles under the towering trees.
“Oh, Daddy, let’s stay here a long time and play!” he exclaimed.
“We can stay two whole hours before we start back. That’s a very long time.”
“I never saw such magnificent trees,” said Hazel. Her eyes turned here and there as if she could not take in enough of the beauty.
“And smell the fragrance of the sun on the pine needles,” said Kitty.
“A wise old Hindu told me once that man can gain renewed vitality in a pine grove quicker than anywhere else,” Mr. Carter told them.
“Then anybody ought to live forever here,” said Brad.
None of them had ever seen such a virgin forest. There was very little underbrush, just the towering pines rising from their thick carpet of brown needles, their green tops nodding against a blue sky, with a sweet sighing in the gentle breeze.
“This carpet of brown needles doesn’t look as though a human foot had been set here for half a century,” remarked Kitty.
“They’re protected from the sea winds by that island to the east,” said Mr. Carter. As he glanced that way his expression changed. “I do believe we’ve landed behind the island where they burn the hospital refuse.”
Brad glanced at Kitty, but neither admitted that this was where they wanted to land. Billy picked up a branch for a gun and began to play Indian.
“Do you think this is really Terrapin Island?” Kitty asked in a low tone when she and Brad strolled off toward the eastern shore.
He took out his little map, and they studied it.
“Can’t be any other,” he said. “There’re smoke smudges yonder. Must be the dump heap. We’re directly west of it.”
“But there’s no sign of a hog range here.”
“The map indicates it’s a rather large island compared with many others round here. The hogs may be at the other end. These islands are often broken up by low lands that fill at high tide.”
“Brad, do you suppose this Beeson could be helping get stuff to the German subs, too?”
“It all looks very suspicious to me, Kit. Here he is living right next to where the dump is. We have every reason to doubt Punaro’s loyalty. He’s obliged to have dealings with this hog raiser when he comes to get the stuff from the galley. You can’t help judging people by those they’re closely associated with.”
Billy trailed after them as they picked their way along the eastern shore to the island. On this side there was a low bluff. Kitty glanced back to note that her father and Hazel were sitting under a pine in sight of their boat. She and Brad continued tramping down the eastern shore. When they had gone about a half mile they saw an old negro fishing from the bluff. On stiff-jointed knees he got to his feet as they approached.
“Howdy,” he said, with the genuine courtesy of the old southern negro. “Y’all lookin’ fer somebody?”
“Oh, no,” said Brad. “We just came out here on a little boat ride and for a picnic supper.”
The old man took off his battered felt and scratched his woolly head. “Reckon y’all bettah go some’ers else to eat yo’ suppah. Massa don’ like nobody in the pine grove. Reckon you see dem sign he stick up.”
They had noticed “No trespassing” signs, but Kitty had thought that applied to hunting and fishing.
“We aren’t doing a bit of harm,” Kitty told the old man. “The trees are so beautiful. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t enjoy them.”
“Yas’m, dat so, but jus’ de same boss don’t like nobody meddlin’ round the pine thicket. Might set foire an’ bu’n it up.”
“We aren’t going to cook anything. We brought a cold lunch. And if we did make a fire we’d put out every spark.”
“Yas’m, dat whut I tell him too. I been libin’ all mah life in dat shack yonder.” The old man indicated a log cabin in a clearing a little farther south. “I ain’t neber sot foire to de woods. But he can’t be satisfy when he lease de place las’ year till I come to lib in dat new house behind his.”
“Oh, he only rented the island last year?” asked Brad.
“Yessuh! An’ I has to be powerful keerful ’bout whut I does since he been here. I wouldn’t be down here fishin’ me mah ole fish place, ’cept he gone to town fer de day.”
“So you’re enjoying yourself while he’s gone,” said Kitty kindly.
“Yas’m. I sho’ gits lonesome fer de ole times an’ de easy ways, ’fore dis island was a hog lot.”
“Oh, so your boss is the man who gets the refuse from the hospital?” asked Brad.
“Yassuh. I ain’ neber see so much slop since I been born. In de ole days my Massa wouldn’t ov tetched he hand to sich wuk, but not Mr. Beeson. He go fer dat stuff all de time hisself.”
Kitty thought the old man looked to be eighty or ninety. His bloodshot eyes were deeply sunken in his wrinkled dusty brown face, while his once-large frame had little padding left on the bones.
“It was nice of Mr. Beeson to let you continue to live here after he rented the island,” Kitty remarked, hoping to draw him out further.
“Yassum, but he can’t he’p hisse’f. Massa’s son, up nawth, whut own de island all dese years, say he won’t rent to nobody, lessen I kin stay here de res’ o’ mah days an’ lib in peace.”
“I Sho’ Gits Lonesome,” the Old Negro Said
“I suppose the former owner wouldn’t like it, if he knew you had been moved from your old home,” said Kitty.
“No’m, he sho’ wouldn’t. But dey tells me young Massa done been sent crost de big water to fight dem Japs, an’ I ain’t had nobody to write him.”
“I’d be glad to write for you,” Kitty offered.
She was strangely drawn to this old man, not only because of the hints he had let slip to throw more light on the mystery they were trying to solve, but because she knew he represented the best of a forgotten era in the south.
“Dat moighty kind o’ you, li’l Missie, but I don’t know where to send de letter nohow.”
“Is he in the Army or Navy?”
“De Navy, fer sho’. Us fambly always been people ov de sea.”
“Brad, do you have a pencil and a bit of paper?”
“Sure,” said Brad, producing what she desired.
“You give me his full name, uncle—”
“Uncle Mose all de chillun in de fambly calls me.”
“Give me your sailor’s full name and I’ll try to find out where he is.”
“Oh, Missie, if you do dat de Lawd’ll bless you de res’ o’ yo’ days. He name Charles Whitlaw Tradd. De bes’ blood in all de low country flows in he veins.”
Kitty wrote down the name and said, “It may take some time, but I’ll come back to see you if I can find out where he is.”
“Lawdy, Missie, hit good to talk to real quality folk like y’all once more. You sho’ put me in mind o’ ole Massa’s bride when he brung her home to de island. You’s as much like her as two peas in a pod.”
“Thank you,” said Kitty, and curtsied as she knew the old-fashioned girls used to do. “We must be going now, but we’re glad we met you.”
“It do a lonely old man good to talk to folks like you,” he said with a respectful bow. “I ain’t got nothin’ but memories to live wid now.”
When he was out of hearing Brad whistled softly, “Kit, I’ll have to hand it to you for learning a lot from him. You worked your way right into his heart and found out plenty.”
“Oh, really, Brad, I didn’t purposely treat him nice just to pick him. I warmed to him the minute I saw him. He’s the real thing.”
“You bet!”
Suddenly Kitty stopped short, and exclaimed, alarm in her tone, “Brad, where’s Billy?”
“Why, I’d forgotten about him!”
“I did too. I haven’t seen him since long before we met the old man.” Kitty ran ahead into the pine grove calling, “Billy! Billy, where are you?”
Kitty had never felt so conscience-stricken in her life as when she found Billy was lost.
“Maybe he went back and joined your father and Miss Dawson,” Brad suggested.
“I don’t think so. We’d come too far. He trailed us all the way, pretending to be shooting at us from behind trees. Oh, Brad, do you suppose he fell from that bluff into the water?”
“But he can swim like a fish.”
“You go along the bluff and I’ll go through the thicket,” she directed.
She ran from him, darting here and there, calling frantically. If anything had happened to Billy she would never forgive herself for being so preoccupied with this strange jig-saw puzzle she and Brad were trying to work out.
Suddenly she stopped short under the towering pines, tears streaming down her eyes. “Oh, Billy darling, where are you?” she wailed. “Kitty will die if anything has happened to you.”
Suddenly she caught the queer little noise he made in his throat when pretending to fire a machine gun at her. She glanced around, startled. He was nowhere in sight. That must have been something she heard, because she so wanted to hear it.
“Billy,—where are you?” she called almost desperately.
Again there came the playful sound, and this time Kitty thought it was overhead. She must be having hallucinations surely. Hopefully she moved in the direction from which she thought the sound had come. Suddenly a cone fell almost at her feet. Then there was a burst of childish laughter from the nearest treetop. She looked up to see a mischievous face peering down at her from the high branches. Her overwhelming relief was only momentary, for it was followed by terror lest Billy break his neck.
“Why, Billy Carter, how in the world did you climb that tall pine?”
“It was easy. Come up, Kit. You can see clear across the world.”
“I’m not coming up, and you’re coming down this very instant,” she said firmly.
“It’s fun up here! Let me stay,” pleaded Billy.
Kitty saw Brad running toward them, attracted by their voices.
“Oh, look at him! In the top of that pine,” she told Brad. “How will he ever get down?”
“I can get down,” stated Billy, unexpectedly willing to show them the wonderful feat.
With the agility of a little monkey he swung through the wide-spreading branches that crowned the towering column of rusty brown. Kitty’s hands were clenched agonizingly as he reached the smooth trunk, which had no supporting branches.
“Oh, dear God, bring him down safely,” she prayed. Seeing Brad take a step toward the tree, she whispered, “Don’t speak to him or make him nervous.”
Then they saw an amazing thing. Billy’s feet were seeking small niches cut in the trunk, and his hands holding to something that hugged the bark.
“I do believe there is wire wrapped all the way up that trunk,” whispered Brad, noting that she had seen it too.
“Put there so somebody could climb up and down that tree easily,” added Kitty. But at the moment she did not stop to realize how significant it might be. She was too grateful to know it was there to make Billy’s descent less dangerous.
Thirty feet above the ground the sturdy limbs of a young oak spread around the pine trunk. Billy stepped lightly to those limbs and a few minutes later had scrambled safely to the ground.
Kitty caught him to her, moaning, “Oh, Billy darling, you might have broken your neck! Never do such a thing again.”
“Huh!” he grunted, resenting being made a baby. “It was fun—like climbing our old magnolia back in N’ Orleans. Aunt Nina let me play up there any time.”
“I’m afraid Aunt Nina spoiled you terribly.”
Billy stepped back and surveyed the tree with a proud air. “I never went so high before. You can see the ocean off yonder.” He swung his arm seaward with a grandiose air. “The hospital, too. There was even a seat to sit on.”
“A seat!” exclaimed Brad. “You mean boards nailed across the limbs to make a seat?”
Billy nodded. “I sat on it. The wind swings the top. It was fun. I was a bird up there!”
“Kitty, I’m going up!” Brad said, with sudden decision. “Somebody has a lookout here.”
“Oh!” The very idea seemed to take Kitty’s breath away.
A moment later Brad was scaling the tree by the route Billy had taken.
“He can climb ’most as good as me,” boasted Billy. “I’m going up, too.”
“Indeed, you’re not! You’re never going to climb such a high tree again.”
While Billy picked up his imaginary gun once more and played at shooting them, Kitty’s mind was in turmoil. Finding this tree lookout was certainly a sequel to what Uncle Mose had told them. It seemed quite obvious that the man who had leased Terrapin Island wanted to be sure that this end of the estate was kept entirely private, even to the extent of moving an ignorant old negro from his life-long home.
“Can you see very far?” she asked, when Brad reached the top.
“Plenty. The highest lookout that could be found in the entire marshes.”
Kitty felt sure he must be right, for the ancient pine looked to be the father of all the pines in the entire thicket.
When Brad again stood beside her on the cushiony brown carpet of needles he said, “Kitty, that wire has been strung up there recently.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s still loose, and not embedded in the trunk anywhere.”
“You must be right. Even wisteria vines growing around pine trunks soon press tightly into them.”
“Kitty, I’m sure glad we headed for this spot.”
“You’re telling me! The minute Dad told me Beeson came over to the hospital to haul stuff off for his swine I thought he might be mixed up in the dirty business.”
“Evidence is piling up bit by bit.”
“Looks as though we ought to be able to bring ’em to justice sometime soon.”
“But when you come to think of it, Kit, we haven’t got a single thing that would really convict anybody of anything.”
She looked puzzled and distressed. “That’s true,” she had to admit. “Just because some Bayshore Bakery bread was found on that sub, and because we saw a nailed-up box on a trash barge doesn’t prove anything about ‘who dunnit.’”
“And just because there’s an easy way to climb this pine that has a seat at the top doesn’t prove that anybody on this island is a spy.”
“Of course boys have been building seats in trees for hundreds of years. Maybe it was old Uncle Mose’s young ‘Massa’ when he was last here.”
“Not very likely. That seat was put up there so recently that the nails aren’t even rusty—and you know that doesn’t take long in this salty air. And what’s more, there’s a boarded up shield on the side toward the Marine Base. It’s so cleverly camouflaged you’d hardly know it from the ground—see.”
Only after Brad pointed it out did Kitty see the brown painted wood in the thick upper branches.
“If they are using light signals for subs out at sea the Coast Guard would surely see them from the beach,” said Kitty.
“They probably don’t use lights, but some other signal code.”
They walked slowly toward their landing place and Kitty let Billy run ahead to join her father and Hazel.
“He can hardly wait to tell them about climbing the pine,” Brad said.
“We can’t keep him from telling that,” said Kitty, “but let’s not mention how significant that pine seems. I—I’m afraid Dad may forbid my nosing about. I think he already has an idea I’m up to something.”
“Maybe it would be better if he did forbid your nosing about, Kitty,” said Brad unexpectedly. “No sense in your taking chances of coming out here to the marshes alone as you did yesterday.”
“Oh, I won’t do that again,” she promised. “Now that I know there’s real danger. But to be perfectly frank with you, Brad, I have an awful feeling that somehow Dad’s good name may be at stake in the dirty business that’s going on.”
“You’re not alone in wondering about that.”
“You know Hazel Dawson let it slip out the other day that Dad asked for this appointment, and she practically admitted that she asked to be sent here, too. I know now that Dad and Hazel are old friends, and are pulling together with one purpose.”
“To clear Chief Pharmacist’s Mate Dawson.”
“Exactly,” said Kitty. “And if the same complications still exist my own dear dad may get in bad.”
They were too near the others now for further discussion. As they joined the older couple Mr. Carter said, “You must have taken a long walk.”
“We really did,” Kitty told him.
“Billy has been telling us about his tree climbing.”
“He almost scared the life out of me,” Kitty reported. “Dad, you’ll really have to scold him again about this tree climbing.” However, she wanted to change the subject as quickly as possible and said, “Let’s eat! I’m starved.”
She had brought a luncheon cloth which they spread on the clean pine needles. Brad poured the iced tea from their thermos jug while she set out the sandwiches, cold ham, rolls, pickles and cookies. Food had never tasted quite so good to Kitty. As they ate, the pines made soft music in the gentle breeze, while the lowering sun painted long shadows on the woodland carpet. It seemed hard to believe that any evil deed could be done in so beautiful a spot, and that beyond these peaceful tide-washed shores a world was in chaos because of such intrigue everywhere.
On Monday morning Mrs. Evans called Kitty to know if she could go over to Bayport, as they were short of workers for special Canteen duty.
“Sure. I’ll be delighted,” she said promptly. “What time shall I report?”
“Eleven o’clock.”
“I’ll be on the spot. I’m scheduled for dish-washing down at the Snack Bar tonight. Do you think I should be back from Bayport in time for that?”
“Oh, sure. It won’t take long for the job over there.”
Not until Kitty put down the phone did she remember that it was Monday, her busiest day at home. While Jane did the weekly washing she always looked after the lunch and household work. Instantly she decided to switch days on the housework, for she had made up her mind never to refuse a Canteen call if she could possibly serve. So at ten minutes of eleven she walked into the Bayport Canteen. She found that Vera Parsons had already come over from the island.
“Ah, on the dot,” said Miss Pearson. “It’s grand to have a few girls we can depend on to put aside personal interests for short-order calls.”
“What’s cooking?” Kitty wanted to know.
“Troop train coming through in half an hour, though we’re never quite sure of the time,” explained Miss Pearson. “The boys will appreciate some sandwiches and smokes and a little talk with you girls.”
Kitty had met troop trains only a couple of times, but she loved it. The boys were always so full of fun and so appreciative of any little attention. They didn’t have many troop trains through as Bayport was not on a main line. It was really only a small coast town that had spread out like a mushroom since war began. The small railroad station hadn’t had time to catch up with the amazing growth of the rest of the place. The trains rolled along open tracks beside an inadequate ticket office and waiting rooms.
When the girls packed into the station wagon to drive over to the station, Kitty found herself sitting beside Mrs. Janice, who had lived in the oyster cannery district before the fire.
“Hope you found another house,” Kitty remarked to her.
“Indeed I have, honey, in a better section of town, too.”
“I’m so glad. I’m sure the new houses they build around the cannery will be much better than the old ones.”
“They ain’t making no plans to rebuild the cannery till after the war’s over. But my boy, Jim, got a job in the Bayshore Bakery. We’re living near there.”
“Oh, Bayshore Bakery,” repeated Kitty without realizing that there was a sort of question mark in her tone.
“Yeah, I know all them rumors ’bout the bakery—just because they found some of their bread wrappers on that captured sub. And how could the bakery help that, I ask you?”
“No fault of theirs,” put in Beth Gilcrist, one of the town girls. “When they sell bread they can’t be responsible for where it goes.”
“Of course not. My Jim thinks they’re fine people at the bakery, fair and square and considerate of their employees. I can’t see where it’s any fault of theirs that the Germans were eating their bread. There’s a thousand ways they could have got it.”
As they rode toward the station Kitty didn’t doubt that she was right. There were a thousand ways the Germans might have got that bread, while she and Brad had been optimistic enough to hope they could discover the one way it had been done.
The girls were scarcely out of the station wagon with their sandwich trays slung over their shoulders, when they saw the smoke of the troop train far down the track. As if by magic people suddenly appeared from all directions to see the troops go through.
The Canteen workers had to do considerable elbowing to keep close enough to the track to serve the men. They tried to spread out so their wares would be available to all the coaches. However Kit and Beth found themselves side by side as they tried to keep the curious crowd from pushing them onto the track.
Suddenly Beth leaned close and whispered to Kitty, “Look to your left in a moment—that man’s been down here to see almost every troop train since I’ve been in Canteen work.”
Kitty glanced at the hard-featured man whom Beth indicated. In his broad-brimmed hat and knee boots he looked like a western cowhand, while his face was like some granite rock rising out of the mesa. Then in the push she lost sight of him. She and Beth separated as the train pulled into the station.
The boys already had their windows up, and were leaning out, waving at the crowd, calling greetings to the Canteen girls. Many of them had letters they wanted mailed. Eager hands reached down for the sandwiches and candy bars Kitty offered. They were not supposed to ask where the boys were going, but there was no law against asking where they had been. Kitty put that question to a sun-tanned chap, who thanked her so profusely for the sandwich and cigarettes.
“South Pacific,” he replied. “Carolina’s home. It sure looks good to me.”
“Wish you happy landing for a long furlough,” she said with a smile as she moved on down the line.
Several handed her letters, which she put on the tray where the sandwiches had been. Suddenly through the din she heard someone call out, “Anybody round here ever heard of Terrapin Island?”
Kitty glanced in amazement toward the end of the coach to see a sunburned soldier looking over the crowd as he asked the question.
“Sure!” one man said. Another replied, “About twenty miles down the coast.”
Most of them were low country people who were familiar with the name of Terrapin Island, even though few had been there.
Kitty pushed her way closer to the window from which the questioner leaned.
“Anybody know old Uncle Mose, a colored man who’s been living there all his life?” the soldier asked.
Kitty could scarcely credit her hearing when he asked that. Was it possible he was the Tradd boy just returned from the Pacific? She was right under his window now. As she thrust her last sandwich into his hand she asked, “Are you—are you Charles Whitlaw Tradd?”
Kitty Glanced at the Hard-Featured Man
The young man reached down and seized her hand eagerly. “Not Whit himself,” he said eagerly, “but his best buddy.”
“Oh, this is a break!” exclaimed Kitty. “I never dreamed I’d find someone so soon who knows Mr. Tradd.”
“Then you do know Whit and Uncle Mose and Terrapin Island?” The soldier spoke hurriedly, fearing the train might pull out at any moment.
“Uncle Mose and Terrapin Island, but not your Whit,” Kitty replied. “Where’s he—Whit?”
“Still in the South Pacific. I’d be there, too, but for a cracked ankle,” he added ruefully.
Kitty’s face showed her disappointment.
“But he told me if I ever got to Carolina I was to try to find out how Uncle Mose is faring.”
“He’s fine. I saw him yesterday. But he’s awful lonesome and wants to hear from Whit.”
“Say, this is a bit of luck!”
“Give me Whit’s address.” ordered Kitty. “I promised Uncle Mose I’d write a letter for him and send it to his young ‘Massa’ if I could get the address. Imagine meeting you!”
“And imagine meeting you!” The young man took out a card and scribbled an address rapidly on it. As he handed it down to Kitty he also gave her a dollar. “Take that and buy the old man some ‘baccy’ for his pipe. Tell him it’s from Whit.”
The train was beginning to move now, and Kitty trotted along beside it, handing up the last bar of chocolate from her tray. “What’s your name?” she called.
“Kenneth Turner. My name and address are on back of the card, too. Write and let me know what Uncle Mose says. Say, what’s your name?” he yelled as an after-thought, when it was almost too late.
“Kitty Carter,” she laughingly called back.
Then with a final wave he was gone as he drew his head inside the window, leaving Kitty rather dazed as she looked at the card and the dollar in her hand. These were positive proof that the thing had really happened.
On the way back to the Canteen Kitty told the other workers of her experience. “You could never believe such a thing as that would happen. Why, it was only yesterday that I met Uncle Mose for the first time, when we ate our supper over on Terrapin Island. It’s really a small world after all.”
“Yeah, real small,” said Vera sourly, “where everybody knows everybody’s business.”
Kitty looked at her friend, feeling somewhat taken aback, but she didn’t ask what she meant until they were on their way back to Palmetto Island on the bus.
“You seemed to forget that people all around you heard every word you and that chap said,” Vera retorted in a rather severe tone.
“Well, there was nothing secret about it.”
“Maybe not. But there was one hard-boiled listener, who definitely registered the fact that you talked with Uncle Mose on Terrapin Island yesterday.”
Kitty felt the blood rising to her cheeks as she realized that might be significant.
“That island’s posted all over with ‘No trespassing’ signs,” Vera stated. “And the owner was standing right there staring at you, and listening to everything you said.”
“Not Mr. Beeson?”
“Of course.”
“Which was he?”
“The tall hard-faced man in the Stetson and knee boots.”
“That man? Why Beth Gilcrist pointed him out to me and told me he meets all the troop trains.”
“As soon as that fellow yelled out about Terrapin Island I started over to talk to him, and I saw Beeson headed that way, too. Then after you took the floor he didn’t open his trap. Just stood there glaring at you as if he could kill you with a look.”
“Oh, how awful!” But Kitty couldn’t tell Vera just how awful it was.
It was the middle of the afternoon when she reached home to find Jane starting out to take Billy for a walk.
“Yo’ Pah phoned and said he would eat up to de horsepital tonight—got some extra work to do,” explained Jane.
“Then we’ll have a light supper early. I have to be at the Canteen at seven o’clock.”
Billy kept tugging at Jane’s hand, saying crossly, “Come on. I wanner go to walk.”
“Billy, stop nagging Jane till we get through talking,” chided Kitty.
“He been like dat all day, Miss Kit, pesterin’ me ’bout first one t’ing an’ den annuder.”
“Maybe he needs a little outing. You two run along and I’ll see about supper.”
For the first time Kitty was a little late reaching the Canteen, but this had been a day when she found it difficult to keep up with all her obligations. It was her night for dish-washing duty. She had little to do until the dirty dishes began to pile up, so she strolled around the hall, talking to the service men. Suddenly she noticed Hazel Dawson at the chessboard, and to her amazement saw that Chief Krome sat opposite. She strolled over and put her hand caressingly on Hazel’s shoulder.
“How are you progressing?”
“Slow going, I fear. I never tried to learn such a complicated game.”
“She’s doing fine—really she is,” stated Krome. He glanced up and recognized Kitty. “Oh, it’s you? Did the boys enjoy that shrimp creole the other night?”
“Sure did, thanks to the recipe.”
Someone was playing a Brahms Waltz on the piano and Kitty hummed it softly.
“Sing it, Kitty dear. Those were lovely words set to the music that you sang for me the other night,” Hazel said, glancing up from her board.
“Do please, Kitty,” urged Jimmy Barnes, who stood near. “You’ve been promising to sing for us a long time.”
“Come ahead,” said Brad, catching her hand and leading her toward the piano.
“All right, if you insist,” said Kitty graciously.
No sooner had her rich mezzo-soprano voice swelled with the piano accompaniment than the entire hall fell silent. Everyone turned toward her to look and listen entranced. For a moment after the last notes faded softly there was a breathless hush, then a storm of applause.
“More,” someone called out.
“Give us another,” a marine demanded.
Kitty leaned over and whispered to Sergeant Bradshaw at the piano. Laughing, he began the Australian folk song that was such a rage, Waltzing Matilda. Kitty sang the first verse, glancing around the room with her flashing smile as the words raced from her lips. Then at the chorus she lifted her hands with an impelling movement and said, “Everybody sing.” Instantly the room rocked with nonsense and rhythm.
After the storm subsided Kitty sang Tipperary. While they clapped at the conclusion she ran off to the Canteen kitchen. Ned Miller was sent in to drag her out. She thrust her head through the doorway to call, “It’s my night to wash dishes.”
“We’ll wash the dishes,” came a chorus in retort.
“Against the rules. I’ll sing another night.”
She was flushed and buoyantly happy when she closed the door and turned back toward the sink.
“Gosh, you oughtn’t to be washing dishes!” exclaimed Sally. “Anybody with a voice like that!”
“Fiddlesticks!” exclaimed Kitty. “They’re badly in need of dish washers, and they obviously don’t need singers.”
“Don’t they?” burst forth Judy. “Why Kitty, they ought to send you overseas to sing to the boys behind the fighting lines.”
“Don’t make fun of me, Judy.”
Judy had really voiced a wish that lay in the deepest recesses of Kitty’s heart. To such a career as that her daydreaming had constantly taken her since war began. But its fulfillment seemed beyond her wildest dreams. The practical side of her nature had tried to still those high ambitions as she planned to go first into the WAVES, and later into Canteen work.
“You have a way with the boys that makes them laugh and cry, cheer and clap,” continued Sally.
“She sure has. That’s the sort of entertainer they ought to be thrilled to find,” added Judy.
Kitty didn’t tell them that a thousand times in her daydreaming she had visioned herself doing what she had just done. It had given her the greatest thrill she had ever known.
When she finished the dishes she had a free interval until another pile accumulated, so she went outside to find Brad. She was eager to know what he would think of her experience at the troop train.
“Say, Kit, they’re all crazy about your singing,” said Brad when she joined him.
“Thanks, Brad.”
“Captain Crawford heard you, and said you surely ought to be with the entertainers.”
“Oh, Brad, I’m not half good enough for that!”
“Of course you are! You’ll be surprised at what he went on to say.”
Her eyes were shining as she waited expectantly.
“Said he was going to write a friend of his—an official talent scout. He said he must hear about you.”
“I can’t believe it!”
As they talked they crossed the long hall, and finally went out to their quiet corner in the court.
“I’ve something to tell you,” Kitty said as they sat down. Then quickly she gave him an account of her experience at the troop train.
“I’m not surprised,” Brad said. “I’ve felt rather sure Beeson must be the middleman in this business, after what we picked up Sunday. That tough old customer will be on the alert for you, if you ever go to the island again.”
“I certainly intend to go.”
“Not without me. I’ve been wanting to go back again for another look around.”
“I’ve got to carry Uncle Mose his dollar’s worth of smoking tobacco, and write that letter for him.”
“Meeting that fellow from the Pacific does sort of put you under obligations.”
“Guess I’d better get back to my dishes,” said Kitty, rising. “Judy will be calling me a shirker if I don’t. She doesn’t enjoy this dish-washing part of the job any more than I do.”
A few minutes later she was wielding the dish mop when Mrs. Evans came in to say, “Kitty, someone wants you on the phone.”
She hurriedly crossed the hall to the near-by office, wondering if it was her father. She received quite a shock when she heard Jane’s voice: “Miss Kit, reckon you bettah come home.”
“Why? What’s wrong, Jane?”
“It’s Billy. Reckon he sick. He skin feel hot as fire to mah han’, and he cough like he gwine choke to deaf.”
“I’ll be right home!” stated Kitty, and put down the phone with a bang.