“Jumping beans!” said Edie softly as she came nearer and could see clearer. “It’s a man with a gun.”
Not only that, but he had on a uniform like a soldier. It was a soldier. She went on so that she could really inspect him, and hearing the crunching on the shell road, the soldier raised his head and began to inspect her. Right away he stepped into the middle of the bridge and shifted his gun to the ready.
“You can’t cross here,” he said.
“Why not?” said Edie.
“Regulations,” said the soldier.
“Is there a war?” said Edie, trying to be funny.
“Are you kidding?” said the soldier.
“No, I just wanted to know.”
“Look,” said the soldier, “you run along home.” He made a sort of stabbing movement with his gun. “I’m guarding this bridge, see.”
“It’s our bridge,” said Edie. “I live here.”
“I don’t care about that,” said the soldier. “Right now this bridge w is under the protection of the United States Militia, so make yourself scarce, sister.”
“Then there is a war?” said Edie seriously. She was beginning to think there must be.
“Can I just look over the bridge?”
“You can’t do nothing but go back where you come from,” said the soldier and put his gun out to keep her from making a step forward.
Edie hated to turn back because she had been ordered to by a fresh soldier, she hated it so much that she lifted one of her feet to—
“Oh no you don’t,” said the soldier, and Edie found herself sitting on the shell road not quite sure how she got there. It was so uncomfortable she got up at once.
“All right for you,” she said, but she didn’t know what she meant by it. She was sure she would never be able to get Theodore or Hubert to get into a fight over her, especially not with a man who had a gun, and more especially not with the United States Army. Who could the army be fighting? Well, just to get the better of him for that rude trick, she would get a look down the railroad in spite of him. And she knew a way through the sweet pea garden at the back of Aunt Louise’s little woods. She had never thought of it before, but Aunt Louise’s house and all the houses in a line with it were on a sort of island, one side bordered by the tracks that went down for miles to the very end of the beach and the other side bordered by the harbor. It might be that everybody on this side was being protected in some way from the enemy.
Edie went through the woods, opened the gate to the garden, and was out on the slope above the tracks in a very few minutes. Crickets! There was another soldier below her, and still another beyond him. She moved quickly back into the trees, but her soldier had seen her and began shouting, and the one on the tracks shouted as well. It made such a commotion that she was embarrassed and decided to make herself scarce as she had been told to do. Anyway, if she couldn’t go that way, she could still go by the shore to see if she could find somebody. Was it another Civil War, she asked herself? And how did it begin so quickly? It might be a good thing to be guarded, but why did they have to make you feel as if you were the enemy yourself?
“Come on, Widge,” she said. “Let’s go down to the shore.”
Widgy was only too glad to go anywhere. He followed right at her heels with his face almost on her sneakers and his tongue hanging out.
She took the path down the ravine by the boathouse across which she had had to swim yesterday. It was rather a mess because the water had tangled the bushes and mixed in some sticks and a whole lot of seaweed and sand, but she resolutely pushed her way through, particularly the last part where the blueberry bushes met across the path. As she stumbled headlong out, she almost fell into the lap of a soldier who was taking it easy on a crate that the tide had washed up. He jumped to his feet and held his gun across her just like the first one.
“Can’t come down here today, sister,” he said.
“Will you please tell me why not,” said Edie. “This is our beach. At least it’s our aunt’s.”
“Regulations,” said the soldier.
“Where can I go?”
“If I was you,” said the soldier, “I’d go home.”
“There’s nobody there.”
“Are you lost, sister?”
“I said,” said Edie speaking louder, “there—is—nobody —in—my—house. I’m trying to find them.”
“Sounds kind of suspicious to me,” said the soldier. “Where they gone?”
In all her life, Edie thought, she had never met so many stupid, nutty men at one time. And here she was, left all alone to be guarded by them in time of war. Had everybody run away? Or had they been captured? Or what? She gathered her muscles together to be as polite and clear as she possibly could.
“I wouldn’t be looking for them if I knew where they were,” she said as gently and calmly as she could make her voice sound. Then she gathered herself in still more. “Could you please, if you don’t mind, sir, tell me—are we having a war?”
“Why sure,” said the soldier, dropping the butt of his gun to the sand and grinning. “I thought you knew, lady.”
He waited for Edie to go back through the blueberry bushes, but she still stood there. She had so many questions she wanted to ask, she could only think of one.
“Where’s my family? That’s what I’d like to know.”
“Maybe they’re arrested,” said the soldier casually.
“What for?”
“Darned if I know. Say, you better get along. I’m supposed to be patrolling this beach not answering kid questions all day long.”
“Just let me walk down the shore to the path,” she said. “The bushes are too thick right there.”
“Cheese it, then,” said the soldier, “and don’t forget I have my eye on you neither.”
Edie started down the sand. She meant to be as honorable and obedient as the United States Militia required, since they were here for her protection, but she had not gone two steps before she saw a figure down the sand that she could tell was Theodore because he had on Father’s yachting cap that Father had told him not to wear. She did not mean to, but the sight simply made her run, and she seemed to know while she was doing it that it was much easier in sneakers than in boots and with a gun.
“Hey, Ted,” she called, stopping, so that her voice would have all its strength. “Hey, wait!” And then she ran on.
Edie was never sure whether the soldier fired off his gun and scared her or whether she just tripped over a stone. Anyway there seemed to be a terrible noise and she fell flat. Widgy bounded about her head, licking wherever he could find a place. “I can still move,” she thought, “so I’m not dead.” And she would have started on again, but she ran into a pair of legs.
Oh my goodness, a thousand jumping beans! It was just another soldier. What she had thought was Father’s yachting cap was an officer’s hat. Well, she hadn’t done anything but run, and they couldn’t make her say she had. There wasn’t any law against running, she was pretty sure.
But apparently in wartime there was. The officer took her arm. “Little girl,” he said, “you’re not allowed here today. Go home.”
“Let go of my arm first.”
The officer still held on.
“I can kick.”
“Kick away.”
If she hadn’t known what men thought about people for crying, she could have cried with rage. An officer ought to have some sense.
“Well,” she said, “I am going home. See that path there? But let go of my arm.”
The officer let her arm drop and stepped back. Edie skinned past him up the path that led to the piazza steps. When she was out of reach, she stopped and turned round.
“I haven’t done a thing,” she said. “I’m merely looking for my family. And,” she added a little out of breath, “you might tell a person what you’re doing on their aunt’s property.”
“We’re protecting your aunt’s property,” the officer called back and turned away.
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Edie went up the rest of the path slowly. So there was a war and this strip of land was being patrolled on both sides. She supposed she ought to be grateful, but she thought she had never in all her born days met such irritating people as there were in the United States Militia.
When she got back to the house, it was just as she had left it, just as empty and silent and full of dirt and green slime, and the breakfast table still had some pieces of cold bacon and cold toast. She finished them up, giving Widgy half of each very fairly, while she listened to the silence and tried to think. Maybe she better start making some barricades. It was what people usually did in a war. But she saw right away that that was silly. Anybody could get into Aunt Louise’s anywhere. That was something she had always liked about it, and it was no use pretending she could take care of all the doors and windows all alone. What then? Certainly if the others had all somehow gotten themselves captured and only she was left, she ought to be doing something to help out the army whether they wanted her or not. Susan would be sure to say that any Southerner could have done it.
By the time she and Widgy had finished the toast and had almost finished chewing, she had thought of the very thing. She would go up to the passage that led to the cupola —“I mean where the cupola used to be,” she said to herself —and lock herself in. Then she could open the trap door and take up a station there to watch what was going on. She would be able to see a great deal better than any of the soldiers; she would be able to see everything all up and down the beach. When the enemy approached, she would be able to see them and she could either give a terrific shriek from the roof or dash down and warn that officer in time. It was a perfect idea, she thought, and she only hoped those dumb militias would have the sense to pay attention. It was such a good idea that she would get started on it right now.
In spite of Edie’s enthusiasm she was relieved when the screen door slammed just as she was going upstairs from the second landing with Widgy lolloping softly after her. A million times hooray, she thought. She never would have expected to be so glad to see Theodore and Hubert, and even Jane. And maybe Mr. Parker had come back with Hood and the children. She leaned over the rail to see—and froze. It wasn’t any of them. It wasn’t a soldier either, at least he didn’t have a uniform, but it was another man with a gun, a short one, a pistol, held out in front of him as if he would be ready to shoot any minute. Edie pulled back her head. It was the enemy! There was no doubt about that. He looked like the enemy, no matter what Susan Stoningham said about their being handsome, and he had walked right in as if he knew there was nobody at home, or didn’t care. How could the Civil War possibly have begun again? Even Mr. Parker who read the newspapers hadn’t said a word about it, but she could hear china rattling and breaking as if he was in a fury because there was no food, just the way the enemy was supposed to. Next he would becoming upstairs. She flitted softly up to the third floor and looked over. Yup, he was coming, but he stopped to investigate the rooms on the second floor. In the boys’ room he made a kind of rumpus and talked to himself.
“Nothing but runts!” she heard him say.
It was true that Ted was a lot smaller than he was. He probably wanted to change clothes and look like some other man. But the United States, she thought, getting more frightened, must be fighting somebody perfectly terrible this time because in all the books she had read the men in gray had been full of old-fashioned courtesy, taking what they had to take and saluting the lady of the house as they rode away. This guy had smashed Aunt Louise’s china and called the family names. Edie suddenly became quite sure that it was time to get out of his way altogether.
There was nowhere to go but the stairs to the roof, but she remembered her plan and let herself into their darkness quietly, switching the key to the inside and turning it with care. She waited a minute to try to soothe Widgy who was jumping about in her arms. No dog likes to have his mouth held together, naturally, and she didn’t blame him. She could hear the enemy coming up the next flight and almost shook for the time when he would see her door and try to get it open. It came pretty soon, and when he found it locked, he kicked it and swore. Probably he would have liked to get to the roof himself and see what the army was doing. To Edie, it seemed as if he might pull or push the door down any minute, so that with her noiseless sneakers she went noiselessly up the stairs to get the trap door open. Someone had closed it after the storm, of course.
“It’s life or death,” she kept saying, “it’s life or death, so you better do it right.”
The trap door was heavy, much too heavy to lift with one hand. She would have to put Widgy down; there was nothing else to do. “If you’d only keep quiet,” she said to him, “it will only take a sec.” And for a sec he did sit quietly shivering beside her, but when the door was rattled again, it was too much for him and he threw himself down the stairs in a craziness of barking. Now, she knew, she had to get onto that roof quick. She put her shoulders under the trap door and lifted with all her might. It moved up and she followed it up a step and then another, and when she could get an arm through, pulled a piece of broken wood from the cupola into the crack to make a wedge. Widgy tore back up the stairs and out the opening and barked wildly from the roof, but Edie could now use her back, and forcing the door upright was not so hard. With all Widgy’s racket she now had no idea what the enemy might be doing. If she shut the door again and sat on it, he could easily toss her off, so that would be a waste of time. Instead she steadied herself and filled her lungs to give the loudest scream that had ever been heard. The Lord only knew whether those foolish militias would do anything about it, but it was life or death.
Just as she opened her mouth, she saw it wasn’t necessary. Widgy had done it instead. “Good Widge,” she said, patting him over and over. She did not like it, but her voice and hand trembled a little. “Good, good, Widge.” The enemy was sneaking along the blueberry bushes toward the ravine and the boathouse, keeping his head below them. She watched him go crouching along, without even time to look back, and then when he got to the boathouse standing upright and disappearing, just as if he knew the narrow path there, into the tangle of bushes at the side of the stable. Now she knew exactly what to do. Not scream and let him know there was a person around as well as a dog, but get down to the shore as fast as she could and tell those dumb soldiers. She skithered to the bottom of the three flights of stairs, hurled herself down the piazza steps, and raced for the beach. She hoped the militias were still there! As she ran, she had a frightful thought for the first time. If one of these enemies had broken through there might be a whole lot more of them. Would the militias be able to take care of them? Well, if she was going to be captured or killed, she wouldn’t be it all alone. It seemed to make a difference, so that she could run faster. When she reached the sand, she stopped, looking wildly to right and left to see which way to go. “Oh blessed day,” she thought, just like Cook; the officer was sitting on the dry end of what was left of the pier swinging his legs and tapping his boots with a short stick. He got up the minute he saw her and began moving the stick up and down. Edie was too blown to run through the loose sand, so she waited, panting.
“I thought I told you—” the officer began.
“They’re here,” said Edie, without much breath. “They’re in my house.”
“Who?” asked the officer sternly.
“The enemy,” said Edie, still panting and then swallowing. “At least one of them is. There might be more by this time. You better get your men together.”
“What enemy?” said the officer, doing nothing at all but look at her. “Little girl, I told you to go home and play dolls, not soldiers.”
It was a hopeless world, grownups were hopeless, men were hopeless, and soldiers were so hopeless that she wondered how America ever won the Revolution. Still, this was so important she would have to try again.
“I went home,” she said, trying to make things simple and clear so that this hopeless militia would understand. “I
went home like you said, but while I was there, one of the enemy got through somehow and he’s changed his clothes—at least he did partly—and he tried to take some food, but there wasn’t any.” She couldn’t keep it up. “My family’s been captured,” she yelled at him. “If there’s a war, aren’t you supposed to FIGHT? Are you just stupid or COWARDS or WHAT?”
In all her life she would never believe in the militias again. Susan Stoningham was right. Although the enemy hadn’t been handsome or polite, at least he knew what to do when there was a war. This officer was still just standing there. The enemy was probably miles away by this time, if he hadn’t just gone back to tell his army it was the right time to attack.
“Well,” she said discouraged, “it’s all over by now.”
“What is?” said the officer, frowning. “I see you’re in a tizzy about something, but I don’t know what you’re talking about. Of course we fight in a war, but what’s that got to do with it? Are you all right in the head?”
“Will you kindly tell me just ONE THING,” said Edie finally, after staring at him. “If you will, I’ll do anything you say.”
“Sure,” said the officer.
“Is—there—a—war?”
“No,” said the officer, “of course not.”
“Then, what—are—you—doing—here?”
“We’re here to stop looting,” said the officer.
“What’s that?”
“Stealing—good heavens! There’s been a hurricane and everything’s wide open. Didn’t you know it?”
Terrible, Horrible Edie Page 13
