Thunder from the Sea (14 page)

They walked down the hill to the frozen harbor. Tom could see that the mainland across the bay wasn't that far, really. They'd be fine.

Margaret helped Fiona into the slide, tucked a blanket around her, and tied the nunny-bag to the side of the sled. She hugged Fiona for a long moment. “Be strong, my girl. God bless you and your wee one.”

Tom ran onto the harbor. “Come on, Thunder.” He made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Let's go to Chance-Along!”

Thunder tugged hard at the sled. As it slid over the ice, he picked up speed and followed Tom, who trotted ahead.

They moved silently across the bay. In many places the gusty wind had blown the snow away, leaving slippery surfaces. Tom kept looking back to be sure that the slide didn't slip and tip over. Yet Thunder, with his harness taut and Dr. Sullivan's canvas mitts on his paws, kept moving ahead, smoothly and steadily.

After a while Tom paused to look up at the sky. Clouds had gathered, and he could feel spatters of snow against his face. Thunder stopped, waiting to see what Tom would do.

“I can't see the mainland,” Fiona called. “It's snowing hard over there.”

Tom peered to where he figured the shoreline should be, but it had disappeared!

“We'll keep going,” he said, taking the compass from his pocket. The wavering arrow pointed behind him … to the north. This was correct. He needed to head south, and a little to the east. The wind blew in his face. “The storm's coming from
the southeast,” he told Fiona. “We're right on course.” He clicked his tongue again. “Come on, Thunder.”

The wind slapped the thickening snow onto their faces and clothing. This was no ordinary snowstorm. This was a blizzard!

Tom lowered his head as he headed into the gusts. Fiona had pulled her scarf around her face.
Just keep moving
, Tom thought.
Into the wind
.

The snow swirled around them in a ghostly dance. It was hard to see anything. Tom searched for the shoreline. Surely it couldn't be too far away now. If he could just see the flicker of a light—any light—just to show a sign of human life. But there was nothing in any direction except snow and a shrieking wind.

“Tom! I can't see anything but snow.” Fiona's scarf muffled her voice.

“Are
you
all right?” Tom asked.

When she didn't answer, Tom moved closer to the slide. Fiona had her hand over her mouth and her eyes were closed. “Are you all right?” he repeated.

She nodded. “Keep going, Tom.”

He paused to brush the thick snow from Fiona's blanket and then from Thunder's fur. “Come on, boy.” Thunder, head down, plodded on, but he was panting, and his pace was slow as he pushed against the wind.

They started off again. The blinding snow froze on Tom's eyelashes. It seemed over an hour since they had left Back o' the Moon, yet the opposite shore was still out of sight. At times Tom could hardly see the sled. It was as if the world had disappeared and they were trapped in a snowy dream, racing to nowhere.

How much farther?
Tom wondered. He, too, was tiring. Then he had a frightening thought. He'd been using the wind for direction, but what if the wind had shifted? They could be going in circles. He reached for the compass to take another look. It wasn't in his pocket. He tried the other pocket, then all the pockets on his jacket and pants. The compass was gone! It must have dropped out somewhere! He stopped, his heart racing, his breath panting.

“Why have you stopped?” Fiona called. “We've got to get across soon!”

Tom just couldn't tell Fiona the compass was gone. She'd think he was a stupid gommel! Thunder had stopped and was licking at a front paw. Tom lifted the paw—the mitt had fallen off somewhere, and now there was blood on the pads of the dog's foot.

Tom reached for the nunny-bag tied to the side of the sled. “I need somethin' for Thunder's paw. It's bleedin',” he told Fiona.

“Here, tear off a snig from my cloud.” She handed her scarf to him. “It's soft.”

Tom ripped off one end of the scarf and tied it to Thunder's paw. He gave the scarf back to Fiona, then pulled some cookies out of the nunny-bag for Thunder, who devoured them instantly. “Good boy,” he said. “Good dog.” Turning to Fiona he asked, “Would tea warm you up?”

“Tea? No, Tom. We can't stop now.”

“Come on, boy. Come on, Thunder.” Tom clicked his tongue and headed into the wind.

They trudged on, slower than before. Suddenly Thunder swerved, and Fiona shrieked as the sled tilted, then righted itself.

The red-and-white harbor markers, pointing
the way around the shoals, were frozen in the ice directly in front of them!

“Fiona! It's the markers!” Tom yelled. “We're almost there!”

“Oh, thanks be to God!”

Tom began to run. “Come on, Thunder!”

Thunder followed after him, then stopped and began to bark. “Oh, what's wrong?” Tom asked impatiently. “Come on, boy. Just a little way and we'll be there.” He tried to urge Thunder on, but the dog refused to budge.

In a sudden gust of wind, the snow cleared. Just ahead of them Tom could see a stream of open water!

“
t
orn!” Fiona shrieked. “There's only water ahead!”

“There's a strong current here. It's taken the ice out,” Tom said, remembering Enoch's warning when they had crossed earlier in the winter.
In the spring, the currents shift beneath the ice and could leave you stranded, or you could fall through and drown.

“What'll we do?” Fiona cried. “We could be carried out to sea if we're on an ice pan.”

“We're not. We're on the stable side,” Tom insisted. “You saw the markers. They're right where they're supposed to be, and anchored to the bottom.” If only the storm would stop, maybe someone would see the slide and rescue them.

“Perhaps we could follow the water,” suggested
“It may end somewhere, and then we could cross.”

Tom nodded. “Which way, though? The stream heads from west to east, heading out to sea.”

“Head west. That's safer. Let me see the compass.”

Tom didn't answer. Instead he said, “We'll turn to our right—that's west—and follow the stream of water for a while.”

“Check the compass, Tom,” Fiona said.

“I can't,” Tom finally admitted. “I lost it somewhere.”

Fiona was silent. Tom wouldn't have blamed her if she had yelled and screamed at him. He promised Enoch he'd take care of her and the baby, and here they were, stranded on the ice!

“Well, Tom, no sense in troublin' ourselves about the compass,” Fiona finally said. “If it's gone, it's gone. We'll just have to get along without it. Thunder has good instincts. He'll find a way to cross. We've got to trust him and move on.”

They followed the stream of open water in what seemed to be a westerly direction. There
had
to be a place to cross.

They were only walking now. Thunder was too tired to run. “If we keep heading this way, we might come to the causeway between the mainland and the island,” Fiona said. “Even though the bridge is out, we'd be closer to shore.”

“That's right,” Tom agreed. But he wondered if the ice was gone there, too.

Fiona suddenly let out a cry of pain. Tom stopped. “It's all right, Tom,” she said quickly. “Just keep goin'.”

Tom was praying with every breath.
Help us find our way to the doctor! Help us! Help us!

It was hard to tell just how long they'd been on the westerly course when Tom saw the open water narrowing, then closing. Could they cross now? Was it an ice pan over there that might take them out to sea? They stopped. The ice was black—unsafe. Thunder stopped and sniffed at the ice, then backed away, whining.

“We can't cross here,” Tom said. “It may be stronger farther down.”

They finally found a section of white ice that seemed safe. Tom walked out on it and jumped several times. It sounded hollow like a drum, and
he wasn't sure. He examined the ice carefully. It looked strong. But still …

“What'll we do?” But when he looked up, Thunder had already gone ahead with the slide and was heading off to the south again. Or was it the south?

Thunder knows it's safe,
Tom thought.
And he knows where we're goin.
Tom ran to catch up. “Thunder! Wait for me!”

Then, through the blustering snow, Tom finally saw a faint light in the distance. The shore of the mainland!

“There's land ahead!” Fiona had seen it too.

The light became brighter, and now they could see houses. Flankers sparked out of chimneys, then faded.

“We must not have gone too far west, because there's Dr. Sullivan's,” Tom called. Thunder barked and began to trot again. “Thunder knew just where to go!”

O
nce they reached the mainland, Tom helped Thunder pull the slide onto the shore. “I'll get help,” Tom told Fiona. He raced to Dr. Sullivan's and banged on the door.

The doctor came out to help Fiona into the house. Breathlessly Tom explained why they were there.

“Unbelievable!” the doctor exclaimed, after hearing Tom's hurried story. “Take a rest, Tom. And try not to worry about Fiona. I'll do the best I can to help her and the baby.” He went quickly into another room where Fiona was already waiting.

Dr. Sullivan's housekeeper, Mrs. Jenkins, heated up chicken soup. “Tom, my boy, you and your dog are true heroes, comin' across the bay in
a blizzard!” She set two big bowls of soup in front of Tom and Thunder. “Eat up! And don't be scarified about your ma. She's in good hands and everything's goin' to be all right.”

“Fiona's not my ma,” Tom said. “My name's Tom Campbell. I just live with the Murrays.”

“She's not your ma?” Mrs. Jenkins said in surprise. “I thought sure you were her son. You seem so close—as if you're family.” She sliced bread and put it on the table.

“I wish Fiona really was my ma,” Tom said. Then, feeling his face flush, he began to eat. Thunder had already gulched down his food and was tearing the booties off his paws. Mrs. Jenkins noticed the bloody scarf on his foot and brought out some ointment. “You put this on the dog's paws, my boy,” she said, handing the can to Tom. “He'll be fine in the mornin'.”

Gently Tom patted the salve on Thunder's paw pads. Thunder tried to lap it off. “No, Thunder,” Tom scolded.

Thunder crawled under the table, curled up, and was soon snoring.

Tom sank into an immense lounge chair in
Dr. Sullivan's parlor, his head on a pillow, a quilt over him, and his feet propped up on a leather footstool.

He could hear quiet voices, doors opening and shutting, a cry now and then that he recognized as coming from Fiona.
Lord, please let them be all right.
Slowly Tom slipped into a restless sleep.

Tom awakened when Dr. Sullivan touched his arm. “Come with me,” he said to Tom. Dr. Sullivan's sleeves were rolled up and there were spatters of blood on his white jacket and trousers. His forehead was sweaty and he looked exhausted.

Tom threw aside the quilt and followed the doctor down the hallway. “Is Fiona all right?”

“See for yourself.” Dr. Sullivan gestured to a small room beyond the kitchen. Thunder crept out from under the table and followed Tom. “I don't usually let dogs into the patient's room,” Dr. Sullivan said, “but Thunder isn't just any dog.”

Fiona was in a bed by the window. She turned her head and smiled weakly at Tom and Thunder. “Just look what I have here.”

Tom tiptoed across the room. Tucked next to her was a small bundle. Tom peered closer and Fiona pulled the blanket away to reveal a rosy little face. Long lashes fringed the baby's closed eyes and the tiny lips reminded Tom of pink satin ribbon.

“Would you like to kiss your sister, Tom?” Fiona asked. “I'm right sure she wants to thank her big brother for bein' so brave and gettin' us here safely.”

Tom bent over and kissed the soft golden fuzz on the baby's head. He touched her hand and the baby grasped his finger. Tom exclaimed. “She knows me!”

“'Course she does.” Fiona smiled at Thunder. “Lo and behold you, Thunder! What a clever, good dog you are.” Thunder's tail wagged.

“What's the baby's name?” Tom asked.

“April—even though she was born in March.” Fiona was pale, and dark circles shadowed her eyes.

“Are you sure you're all right?” Tom asked.

“Dr. Sullivan says I'll be fine in a week or two. This baby was some real hard work, let me tell.”

Tom looked out the window. It was dark and the snow had finally stopped. A full moon cast the shadows of trees on the new-fallen snow. “What time is it?”

Fiona pointed to a clock on the wall. “Four o'clock in the morning.” She tucked the blanket around the baby and kissed her cheek. “Tom, please put April over there.” She gestured to a crib in the corner.

“I've never held a baby before,” Tom told Fiona as she placed April in his arms. He took small, cautious steps as he carried the tiny bundle, then gently set her down in the crib. She was asleep and stirred a bit. “She's so beautiful,” said Tom.

“She sure is. Truer words were never spoke. It's been a long day and night. I hope you can get some rest, son.” Fiona closed her eyes and was soon asleep.

Tom tiptoed out of the room with Thunder at his heels. He found Dr. Sullivan at the kitchen table with a mug in his hand. “Have some tea, my boy,” he said.

Tom poured a cup for himself and sat down.
Thunder came over and nuzzled his head under Tom's arm. “You're sure Fiona and the baby are doin' well?”

“Fit as a fiddle, both of them. But it was a hard birth, you see. Between us and all harm, that's a big baby in there!”