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Authors: Theodore Taylor
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hours.
She was also having bad dreams. Ben was now sleeping in his mother's room which wasn't too pleasant at best. Rachel sometimes snored with a sound that resembled a file being drawn through an empty gourd. Then every night or so Tee would awaken them by screaming. They'd rush in and she'd be sitting up in bed, shivering. It would take a spell to get her quieted down.
By this time, Ben had decided she was definitely hopeless and began to wish that the British consul would take her off their hands. He did not mention that to his mother, though.
But aside from the bad dreams, she was well enough to do some things. Rachel had her helping in the kitchen although she wasn't of much use. She could dry dishes but she dried them as if she was in a dream. Her hands moved. That was about all. But Ben thought she was fattening up a bit though she ate no more than a thrush.
It snowed lightly on Tuesday, while they were parching coffee beans. Snow was a seldom thing on the Banks and it never lasted too long. The Gulf Stream winds and the sun melted it. But Tee watched it for several hours. The flakes were big and feathery.
Ben asked, "You think it snows in England?"
Rachel replied, "I would think so."
"It's a wonder it doesn't remind her."
"Mebbe it does."
Maybe eels could walk, too, Ben thought.
Â
On Thursday, Rachel said, "Ben, I want you to take her out. Go somewhere with her. Get her out into the fresh air. I'll bundle her up."
"Go where?"
"Anywhere. Jus' don't take her near Heron Shoal or talk about the
Malta Empress
."
That was a jest, Ben thought. He could have talked about the devil and she wouldn't have known. He argued but ended up hitching Fid to the sand cart and helped her in. She seemed to go docilely wherever he led her. No different than Boo Dog, he thought.
There was a board seat on the cart and then a canvas bag beneath it, behind Fid's tail, to drop feet in. It was mostly there for his mother, Ben assumed. Women were so finicky about their shoes.
With Boo Dog trotting on ahead, Ben got the pony going and headed for the beach. He thought he'd show her some wrecks and whatever else was around Dead whale or bottle-nosed dolphin washed up. Maybe go on to Hatteras and show her the lighthouse. She'd never get a better view of shoals, with water crossing like herringbones, than up those steps.
Had it been a stormy day she could see waves fighting each other on the shoals. They'd crash together and throw spray fifty feet up. It was the tallest lighthouse in America. Two hundred seven feet high. Ben climbed it when there wasn't anything better to do.
He began to get a good feeling even though he was sitting by a mummy. It was the first time he'd ever done this. First time to squire a girl out this way. "Goin' gallin'." Except usually the gal had something to say, he would think.
The sand cart rode smoothly, almost silently. The rims were wide on the two big wheels and unless the sand was deep and dry the tadrie had no problem. And Fid was hardly overworked. Rachel used him to go to Chicky for groceries or on Sundays. Ben forgot about him most of the time.
They cut across toward the sea over the low dunes and clumps of juniper roots that had tumbled in on storm tides and were now half covered. The gold dog was running out in front; Fid's mane was bouncing and quivering in the breeze, shaggy coat ruffling. It didn't take much to stir the sand and start it blowing about an inch off the surface. It streamed out behind them.
Ben glanced over at Teetoncey. She seemed to be coming alive a little. Her pale cheeks were turning red; her hair was whipping. The sharp nose was pointed into the wind. The large blue eyes were beginning to look around.
They broke to the beach at about the
Hettie Carmichael
wreck. She'd been a three-masted schooner out of Baltimore, grounded in the winter of '96. Keel long broken, and up on the sand, she was rotting out. The mast and rigging had been cut off. She was good for firewood
She was also having bad dreams. Ben was now sleeping in his mother's room which wasn't too pleasant at best. Rachel sometimes snored with a sound that resembled a file being drawn through an empty gourd. Then every night or so Tee would awaken them by screaming. They'd rush in and she'd be sitting up in bed, shivering. It would take a spell to get her quieted down.
By this time, Ben had decided she was definitely hopeless and began to wish that the British consul would take her off their hands. He did not mention that to his mother, though.
But aside from the bad dreams, she was well enough to do some things. Rachel had her helping in the kitchen although she wasn't of much use. She could dry dishes but she dried them as if she was in a dream. Her hands moved. That was about all. But Ben thought she was fattening up a bit though she ate no more than a thrush.
It snowed lightly on Tuesday, while they were parching coffee beans. Snow was a seldom thing on the Banks and it never lasted too long. The Gulf Stream winds and the sun melted it. But Tee watched it for several hours. The flakes were big and feathery.
Ben asked, "You think it snows in England?"
Rachel replied, "I would think so."
"It's a wonder it doesn't remind her."
"Mebbe it does."
Maybe eels could walk, too, Ben thought.
Â
On Thursday, Rachel said, "Ben, I want you to take her out. Go somewhere with her. Get her out into the fresh air. I'll bundle her up."
"Go where?"
"Anywhere. Jus' don't take her near Heron Shoal or talk about the
Malta Empress
."
That was a jest, Ben thought. He could have talked about the devil and she wouldn't have known. He argued but ended up hitching Fid to the sand cart and helped her in. She seemed to go docilely wherever he led her. No different than Boo Dog, he thought.
There was a board seat on the cart and then a canvas bag beneath it, behind Fid's tail, to drop feet in. It was mostly there for his mother, Ben assumed. Women were so finicky about their shoes.
With Boo Dog trotting on ahead, Ben got the pony going and headed for the beach. He thought he'd show her some wrecks and whatever else was around Dead whale or bottle-nosed dolphin washed up. Maybe go on to Hatteras and show her the lighthouse. She'd never get a better view of shoals, with water crossing like herringbones, than up those steps.
Had it been a stormy day she could see waves fighting each other on the shoals. They'd crash together and throw spray fifty feet up. It was the tallest lighthouse in America. Two hundred seven feet high. Ben climbed it when there wasn't anything better to do.
He began to get a good feeling even though he was sitting by a mummy. It was the first time he'd ever done this. First time to squire a girl out this way. "Goin' gallin'." Except usually the gal had something to say, he would think.
The sand cart rode smoothly, almost silently. The rims were wide on the two big wheels and unless the sand was deep and dry the tadrie had no problem. And Fid was hardly overworked. Rachel used him to go to Chicky for groceries or on Sundays. Ben forgot about him most of the time.
They cut across toward the sea over the low dunes and clumps of juniper roots that had tumbled in on storm tides and were now half covered. The gold dog was running out in front; Fid's mane was bouncing and quivering in the breeze, shaggy coat ruffling. It didn't take much to stir the sand and start it blowing about an inch off the surface. It streamed out behind them.
Ben glanced over at Teetoncey. She seemed to be coming alive a little. Her pale cheeks were turning red; her hair was whipping. The sharp nose was pointed into the wind. The large blue eyes were beginning to look around.
They broke to the beach at about the
Hettie Carmichael
wreck. She'd been a three-masted schooner out of Baltimore, grounded in the winter of '96. Keel long broken, and up on the sand, she was rotting out. The mast and rigging had been cut off. She was good for firewood
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