Bea's lips parted as if she would argue the point, then she clamped her mouth shut and bent over the page, her pen driving furiously across the paper.
Smiling, Birdie rubbed her sister's shoulder, then padded back to bed. She had no idea if the invitation would result in anything, but wasn't Christmas supposed to be a time of miracles?
C
ome on, kids.” Salt thumped two cereal bowls to the kitchen table, then stood in silent disbelief. Neither Bobby nor Brittany moved; they both sat as immobile as statues before the TV. Some silly cartoon about mutant aliens blared from that noise box, but the kids acted as though it were the most fascinating thing on earth.
“Bob, Brittany.” He tried the direct approach. “Come on and eat before your cereal gets soggy.”
Still no response. Bobby sat hunched and cross-legged, his hands limp in his lap, while Brittany lay on her stomach, her legs bent at the knee and her feet in the air. Every once in a while her legs swung lazily down and up again, but either she hadn't heard his call or she was ignoring him.
Salt lifted a brow. Could they be ignoring him?
He walked around the table and stood between them, then bent to switch off the TV.
“Hey!” Bobby said, a note of resentment in his voice.
Salt pressed the power button, then crossed his arms. “To the table with both of you.” He lowered his voice to the no-nonsense tone that had always motivated his sailors. “I won't tolerate back talk, so get up there and eat.”
The growl seemed to work. The children rose and went to the table, though they spooned cereal into their mouths with a great deal less enthusiasm than they had exhibited a few mornings before.
“What is wrong with you two?” Salt asked, coming closer. “The other day you loved Froot Loops.”
“I want a doughnut.” Brittany propped her head on her hand. “Miss Birdie makes the best doughnuts I ever ate.”
“Miss Birdie's not here, and neither are her doughnuts.” Salt tried to keep his voice calm and steady. He couldn't lose his temper, especially after yesterday. The kids had been in a pink stink for the rest of the day, and a good night's sleep apparently had done little to improve their mood.
Maybe they needed some encouragement. He glanced around the house, aware of how little he had to offer in the way of entertainment. When they'd first arrived, they'd been thrilled to play on the beach or walk with him up the spiral staircase to the lantern room and watch him clean the windows and polish the lens. They'd listened intently to his stories about seafaring and life as a longliner, but lately his work didn't appear to interest them at all.
But if it was pastry they wanted . . . He gestured to the bakery bags Birdie had brought. “There's food,” he said, his desire to please them overriding Birdie's opinion that children shouldn't eat cookies for breakfast.
Bobby shook his head. “No doughnuts.”
“I tell you what.” He moved toward the counter and the nearly empty box of Froot Loops. “I have to go into town this morning to pick up a few things. While I'm there, I'll pop over to the bakery and see if Birdie's got any fresh doughnuts or fritters. Maybe she'll even have some Christmas cookies.”
Brittany's nose crinkled. “I don't think I'd want to eat a cookie with Christmas on it.”
“Why”âSalt bent to her eye levelâ“Christmas isn't on the cookies. It'sâwell, have you never had a Christmas cookie?”
Brittany looked at Bobby, who shook his head. Her suspicions apparently confirmed, she shook her head, too.
Salt straightened, a sad realization beginning to bloom in his chest. Birdie had been right about a lot of things, and she'd been right about Christmas. These kids had never had a proper one, and if they stayed hidden away up here, they wouldn't have one this year, either. He'd made no plans for the holiday other than thinking he'd pick up a toy for each child when he next visited Ogunquit.
“Then we shall have to remedy that oversight.” Salt moved toward the door, where his coat and hat and scarf hung from pegs in the wall. “Bob, don't forget to latch the door after I go. Brittany, be a good girl and put your bowls in the sink. Both of you stay in the house until I get back. Then we'll see what sort of goodies Birdie is baking today, okay?”
They watched wordlessly as Salt dressed for the weather, and neither said a word as he went out the door. He waited on the stoop, uncertain, then nodded as he heard the click of the door latch.
Despite their recent moodiness, they were good children. And everything would be fine once he returned with something good to tickle their tummies and restore their faith in him.
After fastening the latch, Bobby turned to the steel staircase, took a deep breath, and began to climb.
“Bobby!” Britt called, looking up at him from the kitchen table. “You know you're not allowed to go up there alone!”
“I'm being careful,” Bobby said, climbing higher. “I only want to look out the window. When I see him pass the dunes, I'll know the coast is clear.”
Up and up he went, both hands clinging to the chilly iron railing, his eyes focused on the rising metal stairs before him. Halfway to the lantern room, at the point where the air began to feel warm and still, he came to the small window that overlooked the island. Lunging from the safety of the railing to the solidity of the wall, he pressed his hands to the window sill, stood on tiptoe, and looked down to see the grandfather walking toward town.
Bobby felt his mouth twitch. The grandfather walked with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched forward. The wind pushed at him, flapping his coat, and Bobby felt sad as he watched. The grandfather wasn't mean, exactly, even if he was a kidnapper. But he wasn't their daddy, so they had to go home. Daddy needed them. The grandfather didn't.
Leaning against the window sill, his breath misting the glass, Bobby watched the grandfather pass the dunes, then saw him approach the brick building for the fire truck and jail. “If you're bad, they'll put you in the jail,” Georgie had told them as they painted puffin pictures on the sidewalk. “I've never been inside, but once I saw a drunk man they locked up. He was from away, and he broke a lot of bottles in Miss Vernie's store before Mr. Floyd and my daddy got a hold of him.”
Bobby lowered his chin to his hands. The grandfather had said something about their daddy coming to get them one day, but if their daddy came here, they'd put him in the jail 'cause he was drunk almost all the time. They'd put the grandfather in the jail, too, if they knew he was a kidnapper. That had to be why he and Brittany were supposed to be a secret.
Once the lanky figure had moved a bit farther down the road, Bobby turned and began to make his way down the stairs. “It's okay,” he called, carefully minding the steps. Going down seemed scarier than going up, because he could see how far away the floor was. “Get dressed, Britt. Wear your snowsuit . . . and you'd better take Miranda. We won't be coming back.”
Brittany's mouth twisted in a knot. “Are you sure we can get home?”
Bobby nodded and raised his voice to be heard above the metallic thunk-thunk of his steps on the stairs. “When we get to shore, we'll go straight to the cops. We'll probably be home in time for supper.”
Stepping off the staircase, he moved to the kitchen. The white bag of bakery goodies sat on the table, and he opened it to peer inside. There were still several gingerbread men, half a loaf of rye bread, and several sweet brioches.
“We'd better eat all of this before we go,” he told his sister. “We may not get lunch.”
So he and Britt stuffed themselves until they couldn't hold another bite, then they dressed in their snowsuits. Bobby helped Brittany put on her mittens, then tied the string under her jacket hood. She helped him, too, then picked up her doll and held Miranda tight in the crook of her elbow.
“Okay.” Bobby grabbed his encyclopedia from where he'd hidden it in his bedroll, tucked it under his arm, then took a final look around the lighthouse. The grandfather was probably tired of taking care of them, so it was time they went home. Daddy would be worried; he might even be angry they'd stayed gone so long. But a whipping, Bobby figured, wasn't as bad as being kidnapped and hidden away for the rest of their lives.
Lifting the latch on the door, he drew a deep breath and said, “Let's go.”
A half-hour later, Bobby sat on the rocks near the boat, his chin propped on his fist. His careful plan had failed, and he didn't know what to do next. After watching Gabe lift the old dory with one hand, he'd figured he could lift the boat, too. But he couldn't. He and Britt had tried lifting it from the right side, the left side, the back, and the front, and nothing worked. They could rock it from side to side, but not even repeated rocking could flip the boat over.
Not only were they kidnapped, they were stuck.
“Hey, guys!” Georgie Graham's voice rang out, startling Bobby. Georgie ran forward, his white tennis shoes shining beneath a pair of bright red sweatpants. He carried his backpack again, and for a minute Bobby wondered if he'd packed some sort of tool that could flip a boat.
“We're not a-sposed to play with you anymore,” Brittany announced, grinning at Georgie from beneath her hood. “But I still want to marry you.”
Georgie shrugged at the news. “Yeah, I know. I got in trouble, too. I showed your pictures to my mom and she started crying.”
“It's because we're kidnapped.” Bobby spread his hands. “We were going to escape, but we can't lift the boat.”
“Not even both of us,” Britt added. “We tried rocking it.”
Turning, Georgie dropped his backpack on the sand next to Bobby's encyclopedia. “Aw, that's nothin'. I'll bet I could lift that boat.” He placed his hands on his hips. “I'm strong. My mom says so.”
“Really?” Brittany ran to his side. “Can I watch?”
Bobby stood, and the three of them walked to the side of the boat. Spreading his legs, Georgie rubbed his mittens together, then squatted with his rear only an inch from the wet sand.
He grunted. “I saw them do this on the Olympics,” he explained, putting his hands beneath the edge of the boat. “One, two, three, lift!”
Britt started clapping as the boat began to move, but not even Georgie could get it to flip over. He kept holding it, though, grunting as he shifted his feet into different positions. “Is it moving?”
“Not anymore.” Brittany's voice sounded empty.
Bobby stepped forward. “Let me help.”
“No! I can do it!”
“You're not doing it, so let me help,” Bobby insisted.
“I can help, too!” Britt grabbed the boat, and the three of them grunted and strained and lifted, but the boat didn't budge.
“Maybe we should all do it like the Olympic people,” Bobby suggested.
“Good idea,” Georgie said. “Because my arms are getting tired.”
They lowered the boat, then Bobby stepped back while Georgie flexed his arms.
Bobby shifted his gaze to the sea. “Going to be a good day for the trip.”
Georgie stopped flexing. “Where you going?”
“Home.” Brittany stepped into his field of vision and pointed to her doll, safely seated on a rock. “I'm taking Miranda.”
Georgie crinkled his nose. “Where's home?”
Pointing across the water, Bobby said, “Right over there. The grandfather brought us over in this boat, so we know how to get back. We're going home to our daddy so we won't be kidnapped anymore.”
Georgie whistled softly. “Cool.”
“It's a secret,” Britt added. “We're ex-scaping.”
“I can help,” Georgie said. “I can go with you and help row the boat.”
Bobby shook his head. “You have to stay here. We're not even supposed to be talking to you.”
“But I'm strong!” Georgie flexed again, but Bobby couldn't see anything under the boy's bulky jacket.
“You can't go.” He squatted next to the boat. “Are you ready? Let's try together.”
“But I want to go!”
“If we don't get this thing turned over, none of us is going anywhere.”
Reluctantly, Georgie squatted and gripped the boat. Brittany ducked down next to him, then gave his arm an affectionate squeeze.
Bobby placed his hands on the rim. “Pull after three,” he called. “One, two, three, go!”
They did, each of them standing as they lifted, and this time the old boat didn't even protest. It flipped over as easily as a turtle, rolling onto the sand and rocking into place.
Georgie grinned. “Cool!”
Bobby picked up the oars that had been stored under the boat and dropped them into the bow. “Now we push,” he said, his hands falling to his hips. “Should slide pretty easy, I think.”
His prediction proved true. With all three children pushing, the boat moved across the damp sand as easily as if she rode on water. When the stern splashed into the waves, Bobby called a halt, then nodded to his sister. “Onto the bench thwart with you,” he said, repeating the words the grandfather had said that afternoon so many weeks ago. “We'll keep you dry as we shove off.”
Like a pampered princess, Britt climbed in and moved toward the bench at the back, holding Miranda tightly in her arms. Carefully she brushed sand from the seat, then perched on the edge and flashed Georgie a bright smile. “Ready!”
Bobby turned to Georgie. “Thanks. I think I can take it from here.”
Georgie crossed his arms. “I want to go. I can help.”
“No, you can't.” Bobby spoke in the firm tone the grandfather had used when he made them turn off the television.
A mischievous light lit Georgie's eyes. “If you don't let me go, I'll run down the road and tell everybody you're gone. And then they'll send other boats out after you, and you'll be in the worst trouble ever.”