When I got home from our emergency BSC meeting, Dad and Sharon were gone. They were at the community center.
What was I going to do with myself for the rest of the day, I wondered? I was beginning to feel guilty about not searching. Just then, the phone rang.
News! I thought. (That was what I’d thought every time the phone had rung since last night.)
I raced for the phone. “Hello?” I said breathlessly.
“Mary Anne?”
Logan?! Nah, it couldn’t be.
“This is Logan,” said Logan.
I was speechless. Logan and I hadn’t talked to each other since our fight. I’d been too chicken to call him, and I was certain he was too angry to call me.
“Are you there?” asked Logan.
“Oh. Oh, yeah,” I said brightly.
“Look, I just wanted to say that I’m really sorry about the boating, um, the boating …”
It was funny, but nobody really knew what to call the tragedy, since we didn’t know what had happened. The boating disappearance? The Case of the Missing Boaters?
“Thanks,” I replied. Was Logan making up with me? Or was he just being polite and concerned? After all, he’s a member of the BSC, and he knows Claud and Dawn pretty well. He sees them at school every day.
“Any news?” he asked.
“No.” My voice wobbled.
“Are you going to help search?”
“I don’t think so. You know I’m no good in … I don’t know.” I didn’t feel like telling Logan that Dawn and I hadn’t been speaking to each other, either. Then I made up a huge lie. “I thought,” I said, “that I’d stick around in case anyone needed me. The Braddocks and the other families are torn to pieces over this.” (Well, that much was the truth.) “Someone might need a sitter…. Logan?”
“Yeah?”
“Does this mean our fight is over?”
“Does what mean our fight is over?”
“This phone call,” I said. “You’re speaking to me.”
There was a long pause. “No. It doesn’t.”
I felt a rock forming in my stomach. I hate having people mad at me. “Why not?” I knew I sounded pathetic.
“Because I still can’t believe that you thought I’d stood you up. I would never do that. And if you don’t know that, then you don’t know me very well.”
Uh-oh. What had I walked into? “I’m sorry,” I said.
“Me, too,” answered Logan.
And then he hung up.
I had already cried so much about Dawn and Claudia that I didn’t have any tears left in me. And under ordinary circumstances, Logan’s hanging up on me would have been a terrific opportunity for a good cry. But I couldn’t do it.
I stared into space for awhile.
I found Tigger, pulled him into my lap, and patted him for awhile.
I tried calling Mr. Schafer again, but couldn’t reach him (again).
I considered cleaning the house, but decided I wasn’t quite that desperate. So I went back to staring into space.
That had been going on for fifteen minutes or so when Dr. Johanssen called me. “Are you sure you want to baby-sit this afternoon?” she asked.
“Positive,” I replied. “I need something to do.” Something other than staring.
“I’ll warn you. This isn’t going to be an easy job. Charlotte is very upset about Becca. We tried to convince her to come on Mr. Johanssen’s company picnic with us, but she looked at us as if we were crazy.”
“Well, she and Becca are pretty close,” I said. “Anyway, don’t worry. Charlotte and I will be fine.”
“All right,” said Dr. Johanssen uncertainly.
An hour later I was ringing the Johanssens’ bell.
Charlotte answered the door, looking as listless as an old rag.
“Hiya,” I said.
“Any news?” was Charlotte’s reply.
I shook my head. “I’m sorry.” Dad and Sharon hadn’t even called by the time I’d left the house. (I’d placed a gigantic note in the kitchen where they couldn’t miss it. The note said I was sitting for Charlotte. I didn’t want them to think that I was missing, too.)
“Come on inside,” said Mr. Johanssen from behind Charlotte.
And for some reason, those words caused Charlotte to burst into tears.
“Oh, sweetie,” said her father. He gave her a hug as I edged into the house. “I bet they’ll find Becca today. I bet they’ll find everyone.”
“She’s my best friend,” wailed Charlotte.
“I know she is. And I know you’re worried. Everyone is searching.”
“That’s right,” I told Charlotte. “And not just the Coast Guard. The Kishis and the Braddocks and the Newtons and my friends. They’re all looking. The Pikes and Kristy even went out on a big boat.”
Charlotte’s tears subsided.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come on the picnic with us?” asked Mr. Johanssen. “It would take your mind off of —”
“No,” interrupted Charlotte, “and I don’t know how you can go, either.”
Whoa. If I’d said that to Dad … major trouble. But the Johanssens just said good-bye to us and left. Charlotte and I were still standing by the front door. She looked at me with huge eyes.
“Hey, Char,” I said, inspired, “would you feel better if you could see the search that’s going on?”
Charlotte shrugged. “I’ve seen it on TV.”
I’d seen the broadcasts, too. We were making news. The local networks were covering only the search, and little old Stoneybrook even made spots on national news. The local channels called the tragedy the Connecticut Disaster. They placed round-the-clock newscasters at the center, on the beach, and even on the Coast Guard boats. They interviewed everyone and kept asking them how they felt. One of them had made the mistake of asking Sharon how she felt, now that two of her children were missing. Guess what she replied. She snapped, “How do you think I feel?”
I had not seen her on the Connecticut Disaster coverage yet.
“Look,” I said to Charlotte, “I’ve seen the search on TV, too, but somehow I have a feeling that’s not the same thing. Let’s look at it up close. Do you feel like riding your bike to the community center?”
“It’s a long ride,” said Charlotte slowly, but I could tell she was warming up to the idea.
“Come on. Get your bike. I rode mine over here.”
“Well … okay!” Charlotte looked like she wanted to be excited about our adventure, but didn’t think she ought to be. Was she afraid of having fun while her best friend was missing? Probably.
We rode to the community center, taking the fastest route I knew. On the way, we passed a WATL van.
“Ooh,” said Charlotte. “There are the newspeople.”
When we neared the center, we saw that it was so crowded with searchers and families and “newspeople” that we had to chain our bikes to a lamppost two blocks away and walk to all the excitement.
“Wow! Look up there!” exclaimed Charlotte just as we reached the center.
I looked up — and saw two small planes taking off.
“See?” I said. “They really are doing everything they can to find Becca and the others.”
Charlotte nodded, awed.
“There’s my dad,” I said to Charlotte as we opened the doors.
Dad looked up as we entered the crowded room, but he couldn’t talk to me. He was busy on the phone. He waved to me, though. I think he was glad I’d come.
“Let’s go out to the docks,” I suggested.
And just then a microphone was thrust in front of Charlotte and me. “Are you friends of the missing?” asked a deep voice. It belonged to a WATL newscaster.
Charlotte and I looked at each other. “Yes,” I answered in a small voice.
“And how do you feel right now?” he went on.
I drew myself up. “How do you think we feel?” I replied.
The man backed off and Charlotte had to bite her li
ps to keep from laughing.
As soon as we were outside on the docks I said to Charlotte, “I just blew our shot at being on television. I hope you don’t mind.”
Charlotte shook her head. “You were great!” she cried.
I was glad to have done one great thing that day.
Charlotte and I stayed on the dock until about a half an hour before her parents were due back. We saw planes flying low overhead. We saw Coast Guard boats and volunteer search boats. We even saw the Pikes and Kristy. They docked late in the afternoon. Everyone got off the boat looking discouraged. Mallory was crying.
“We didn’t see anything. Not a thing,” she said. Her mother gave her a quick hug.
“Well,” I said quickly, “I think that’s a good sign. Don’t you, Kristy? At least you didn’t find any wreckage.”
“Yeah,” agreed Kristy. “No news is good news.”
“Right.” I squeezed Charlotte’s hand. “Come on. We better get going.”
Charlotte and I rode home silently, each thinking our own thoughts. I know we were impressed by the search efforts. But we were disappointed and worried by the lack of news.
By the end of Sunday, everyone was flagging. The kids had been in high spirits earlier, but now their spirits had dropped right down into the dumps. They were tired of fishing and exploring and swimming and building huts. They were even tired of candy bars, which I took as a very bad sign.
At about five o’clock (Jeff Schafer time) we headed back to the cave. We’d been running to and from it all day — getting food, escaping from rain, keeping the fire going — but I knew that this would be our final trip there for the day. The kids and Claudia looked exhausted. I’m sure I did, too.
“I think we’re going to have a nice sunset,” said Jeff, trying to sound cheerful.
I looked at the sky. It had been cloudy, then just hazy, then cloudy, then hazy all afternoon. And we’d had one tremendous thunderstorm about twenty minutes after Jeff had pointed out the dark clouds that morning. But now the sky was clear. And the sun was sinking. We probably would have a nice sunset.
“You know what?” said Haley, who was lagging behind us.
“What?” I asked, turning around.
“I think it’s weird that we haven’t been rescued yet. Why hasn’t anyone found us?”
“Because they just haven’t,” answered Claudia before I could say anything.
“Then something is wrong. How far from Greenpoint do you think we are?”
“I honestly don’t know,” said Claud.
“Hey, where’s our boat?” asked Jamie crossly. He had said he was too tired to walk, so Jeff was giving him a piggyback ride.
Claudia and I exchanged a nervous glance.
“It’s sort of gone,” I replied.
“What do you mean?” asked Becca, narrowing her eyes at me. “How could it be sort of gone?”
“Okay, it’s completely gone,” I told the kids. “It washed away during the night. We should have dragged it further up the —”
And right then and there, quiet, sensible, mature Haley threw a temper tantrum. She’d been standing near the cave entrance when suddenly she dropped to her knees and began pounding the sand with her fists. “Get the boat back! Get the boat back!” she screeched.
“Haley —” began Claudia.
Jamie finished her sentence for her. “Go to your room,” he commanded, but his voice sounded weak. And he looked only mildly interested in Haley.
The rest of us trooped into the cave, leaving Haley and her temper outside to cool off.
Becca was still giving Claudia and me cross looks, so I said to her, “We couldn’t have used the boat anyway. Six of us can’t fit in it, and besides, we wouldn’t know what direction to take if we sailed away. We’d just have gotten lost. At least we’ve got shelter on the island…. Did you hear that, Haley?” I shouted.
“Yes,” she replied, stepping guiltily into the cave.
“Boy, is he warm,” said Jeff, letting Jamie slip off his back and to the ground. “He’s like a hot water bottle.”
Claudia and I turned away from Haley and Becca and looked at Jamie. His face was flushed, his eyes were bright, and he seemed awfully tired.
In an instant, Claud and I had both put our hands on Jamie’s forehead.
“He’s got a fever,” said Claud.
“A high one,” I added. “How high do you think it is?”
“A hundred and three?” guessed Claudia.
I nodded.
“Oh, brother,” said Jeff.
“Jamie? Do you feel okay?” I asked him carefully. I didn’t want to put any ideas in his head.
“Not really,” he replied.
“What’s wrong?” asked Claud.
“I hurt. I hurt all over. Especially my head. And my throat is sore. And my ear aches.”
Claud and I glanced at each other over the top of Jamie’s head.
“What do you think he has?” I wondered.
“The flu?” suggested Claudia.
“Maybe. Do you get an earache with the flu? I hope it isn’t an ear infection.”
Claudia sighed. “Okay, she said. “Jamie, you’re going to have a special bed tonight. Over here, away from the others. Dawn and I will stay with you.”
“Thank you,” said Jamie politely, and as soon as a “bed” had been prepared for him, he sank onto it and fell asleep.
“What’s for dinner?” asked Becca a little while later.
“Fish!” said Jeff.
“Candy bars,” said Claudia.
The kids looked sort of green at both possibilities.
“Hey,” said Claud, “come on. There are three candy bars left. We can divide them up…. Mmm. Mounds bars. Yummy.”
But the thought of more candy was too much for the kids. And the thought of fish still grossed them out, even after Jeff had cooked some up for himself and for me.
“It’s their eyes,” said Becca. “How can you stand to look them in the eye, then fry them up and eat them?”
“Because we’d rather do that than be hungry,” replied Jeff.
But Becca, Haley, and Claudia chose hunger over fish that night. And Jamie, whose stomach was empty, too, just drifted in and out of sleep while the others talked, scared themselves with ghost stories, and played word games.
Claudia and I sat worriedly on either side of the sleeping Jamie.
“What should we do?” asked Claud at one point, her hand on his cheek. “He feels warmer than ever. Boy, what I wouldn’t give for some children’s Tylenol right now. Or better yet, a doctor.”
“Maybe he’s got a virus,” I said. “You know, you’re supposed to be able to flush a virus out of someone with water.”
Claudia looked skeptical. “I don’t know about that,” she said, “but if he’s got a fever, then he should have liquids. That’s one thing we can do for him.”
“You’re right!” I cried. “And we’ve still got all the bottled water. I had a feeling we should be saving that.” I jumped up, got the water and also the remaining juice boxes, and brought them to Jamie’s nest. “I think we should wake him up and make him take a drink. We should probably do that all night.”
“We’ll use up all the water that way,” said Claud.
I paused. “I know,” I said finally, “but it’s the only thing we can do for him.”
So we woke up poor Jamie and made him drink about half a cup of water.
“It’s good for you,” I told him.
Jamie coughed and went back to sleep. About an hour later he woke up. “Dawn?” he said, “I’m freezing,” and he began to shiver violently.
“Great,” said Claud. “Now he’s got a fever and chills…. Hey, you guys,” she called to the others, who were getting ready to go to sleep. “I hate to say this, but we need your blanket over here.”
It’s to their credit that the other kids immediately surrendered the blanket. Then they inched closer to the fire and burrowed under the leaves. It was the best
they could do. Not one of them complained. And Jeff even said, “Call me if you need me,” before he drifted off to sleep.
The longest night of my life had begun.
I sat with Jamie while Claud napped a little. Then I woke Jamie up to give him some more water.
“Oh!” he cried. “Stay away!” I had a feeling he didn’t mean me. Sure enough, the next words out of his mouth were, “It’s a tiger! It’s a tiger!”
I gave him the water anyway. When he had finished drinking, he kicked off the blanket. “I’m so hot,” he murmured, but soon he was shivering again. We needed half a layer of blanket.
“Stop! Snake!” Jamie cried out.
“Claud, wake up,” I whispered.
“Mmm.” She rolled over sleepily.
“I think Jamie’s delirious.”
That woke her up. “What?” she said, sitting up. “Delirious?”
“He’s crying out in his sleep. Stuff about tigers and snakes.”
“Maybe he’s just dreaming.”
“I hope so,” I said. “How can you tell the difference?”
“I don’t know.”
“Claud? What if we catch this from Jamie? What are the others going to do if we both get sick?”
Claudia thought for a moment. She rubbed her eyes. “Do you think Jeff can manage the little kids all by himself? He is pretty responsible.”
“Yeah, I think he could manage them. Uh-oh. What if the kids get sick? All of them? Can we nurse four kids? Or what if —”
“Dawn, stop thinking about the ‘what-ifs.’ You’re making me crazy. Really. And you’re overlooking something important.”
“What?”
“We might get rescued. We could all be home by tomorrow night.”
Home. Where there were doctors and mothers.
“You know what I want more than anything right now?” I whispered.
Claudia shook her head.
“My mom,” I said.
“Me, too.”
But we couldn’t have our moms, so I took a nap. I woke up when Jamie began shrieking about snoring trees. I gave him some water. Then Claudia napped. All night, we took turns napping, keeping the fire going, and caring for Jamie. I didn’t think our patient was getting any better, though.
At six o’clock on Monday morning (I knew it was six because Dawn tiptoed over to her brother and looked at his watch), Dawn said, “I’m beat. Can you stay up for awhile, Claud?”
Baby-Sitters' Island Adventure Page 7
