CHAPTER THIRTEEN   A DREAM COMES TRUE

On Monday morning Mrs. Evans called Kitty to know if she could go over to Bayport, as they were short of workers for special Canteen duty.

“Sure. I’ll be delighted,” she said promptly. “What time shall I report?”

“Eleven o’clock.”

“I’ll be on the spot. I’m scheduled for dish-washing down at the Snack Bar tonight. Do you think I should be back from Bayport in time for that?”

“Oh, sure. It won’t take long for the job over there.”

Not until Kitty put down the phone did she remember that it was Monday, her busiest day at home. While Jane did the weekly washing she always looked after the lunch and household work. Instantly she decided to switch days on the housework, for she had made up her mind never to refuse a Canteen call if she could possibly serve. So at ten minutes of eleven she walked into the Bayport Canteen. She found that Vera Parsons had already come over from the island.

“Ah, on the dot,” said Miss Pearson. “It’s grand to have a few girls we can depend on to put aside personal interests for short-order calls.”

“What’s cooking?” Kitty wanted to know.

“Troop train coming through in half an hour, though we’re never quite sure of the time,” explained Miss Pearson. “The boys will appreciate some sandwiches and smokes and a little talk with you girls.”

Kitty had met troop trains only a couple of times, but she loved it. The boys were always so full of fun and so appreciative of any little attention. They didn’t have many troop trains through as Bayport was not on a main line. It was really only a small coast town that had spread out like a mushroom since war began. The small railroad station hadn’t had time to catch up with the amazing growth of the rest of the place. The trains rolled along open tracks beside an inadequate ticket office and waiting rooms.

When the girls packed into the station wagon to drive over to the station, Kitty found herself sitting beside Mrs. Janice, who had lived in the oyster cannery district before the fire.

“Hope you found another house,” Kitty remarked to her.

“Indeed I have, honey, in a better section of town, too.”

“I’m so glad. I’m sure the new houses they build around the cannery will be much better than the old ones.”

“They ain’t making no plans to rebuild the cannery till after the war’s over. But my boy, Jim, got a job in the Bayshore Bakery. We’re living near there.”

“Oh, Bayshore Bakery,” repeated Kitty without realizing that there was a sort of question mark in her tone.

“Yeah, I know all them rumors ’bout the bakery—just because they found some of their bread wrappers on that captured sub. And how could the bakery help that, I ask you?”

“No fault of theirs,” put in Beth Gilcrist, one of the town girls. “When they sell bread they can’t be responsible for where it goes.”

“Of course not. My Jim thinks they’re fine people at the bakery, fair and square and considerate of their employees. I can’t see where it’s any fault of theirs that the Germans were eating their bread. There’s a thousand ways they could have got it.”

As they rode toward the station Kitty didn’t doubt that she was right. There were a thousand ways the Germans might have got that bread, while she and Brad had been optimistic enough to hope they could discover the one way it had been done.

The girls were scarcely out of the station wagon with their sandwich trays slung over their shoulders, when they saw the smoke of the troop train far down the track. As if by magic people suddenly appeared from all directions to see the troops go through.

The Canteen workers had to do considerable elbowing to keep close enough to the track to serve the men. They tried to spread out so their wares would be available to all the coaches. However Kit and Beth found themselves side by side as they tried to keep the curious crowd from pushing them onto the track.

Suddenly Beth leaned close and whispered to Kitty, “Look to your left in a moment—that man’s been down here to see almost every troop train since I’ve been in Canteen work.”

Kitty glanced at the hard-featured man whom Beth indicated. In his broad-brimmed hat and knee boots he looked like a western cowhand, while his face was like some granite rock rising out of the mesa. Then in the push she lost sight of him. She and Beth separated as the train pulled into the station.

The boys already had their windows up, and were leaning out, waving at the crowd, calling greetings to the Canteen girls. Many of them had letters they wanted mailed. Eager hands reached down for the sandwiches and candy bars Kitty offered. They were not supposed to ask where the boys were going, but there was no law against asking where they had been. Kitty put that question to a sun-tanned chap, who thanked her so profusely for the sandwich and cigarettes.

“South Pacific,” he replied. “Carolina’s home. It sure looks good to me.”

“Wish you happy landing for a long furlough,” she said with a smile as she moved on down the line.

Several handed her letters, which she put on the tray where the sandwiches had been. Suddenly through the din she heard someone call out, “Anybody round here ever heard of Terrapin Island?”

Kitty glanced in amazement toward the end of the coach to see a sunburned soldier looking over the crowd as he asked the question.

“Sure!” one man said. Another replied, “About twenty miles down the coast.”

Most of them were low country people who were familiar with the name of Terrapin Island, even though few had been there.

Kitty pushed her way closer to the window from which the questioner leaned.

“Anybody know old Uncle Mose, a colored man who’s been living there all his life?” the soldier asked.

Kitty could scarcely credit her hearing when he asked that. Was it possible he was the Tradd boy just returned from the Pacific? She was right under his window now. As she thrust her last sandwich into his hand she asked, “Are you—are you Charles Whitlaw Tradd?”

Kitty Glanced at the Hard-Featured Man

The young man reached down and seized her hand eagerly. “Not Whit himself,” he said eagerly, “but his best buddy.”

“Oh, this is a break!” exclaimed Kitty. “I never dreamed I’d find someone so soon who knows Mr. Tradd.”

“Then you do know Whit and Uncle Mose and Terrapin Island?” The soldier spoke hurriedly, fearing the train might pull out at any moment.

“Uncle Mose and Terrapin Island, but not your Whit,” Kitty replied. “Where’s he—Whit?”

“Still in the South Pacific. I’d be there, too, but for a cracked ankle,” he added ruefully.

Kitty’s face showed her disappointment.

“But he told me if I ever got to Carolina I was to try to find out how Uncle Mose is faring.”

“He’s fine. I saw him yesterday. But he’s awful lonesome and wants to hear from Whit.”

“Say, this is a bit of luck!”

“Give me Whit’s address.” ordered Kitty. “I promised Uncle Mose I’d write a letter for him and send it to his young ‘Massa’ if I could get the address. Imagine meeting you!”

“And imagine meeting you!” The young man took out a card and scribbled an address rapidly on it. As he handed it down to Kitty he also gave her a dollar. “Take that and buy the old man some ‘baccy’ for his pipe. Tell him it’s from Whit.”

The train was beginning to move now, and Kitty trotted along beside it, handing up the last bar of chocolate from her tray. “What’s your name?” she called.

“Kenneth Turner. My name and address are on back of the card, too. Write and let me know what Uncle Mose says. Say, what’s your name?” he yelled as an after-thought, when it was almost too late.

“Kitty Carter,” she laughingly called back.

Then with a final wave he was gone as he drew his head inside the window, leaving Kitty rather dazed as she looked at the card and the dollar in her hand. These were positive proof that the thing had really happened.

On the way back to the Canteen Kitty told the other workers of her experience. “You could never believe such a thing as that would happen. Why, it was only yesterday that I met Uncle Mose for the first time, when we ate our supper over on Terrapin Island. It’s really a small world after all.”

“Yeah, real small,” said Vera sourly, “where everybody knows everybody’s business.”

Kitty looked at her friend, feeling somewhat taken aback, but she didn’t ask what she meant until they were on their way back to Palmetto Island on the bus.

“You seemed to forget that people all around you heard every word you and that chap said,” Vera retorted in a rather severe tone.

“Well, there was nothing secret about it.”

“Maybe not. But there was one hard-boiled listener, who definitely registered the fact that you talked with Uncle Mose on Terrapin Island yesterday.”

Kitty felt the blood rising to her cheeks as she realized that might be significant.

“That island’s posted all over with ‘No trespassing’ signs,” Vera stated. “And the owner was standing right there staring at you, and listening to everything you said.”

“Not Mr. Beeson?”

“Of course.”

“Which was he?”

“The tall hard-faced man in the Stetson and knee boots.”

“That man? Why Beth Gilcrist pointed him out to me and told me he meets all the troop trains.”

“As soon as that fellow yelled out about Terrapin Island I started over to talk to him, and I saw Beeson headed that way, too. Then after you took the floor he didn’t open his trap. Just stood there glaring at you as if he could kill you with a look.”

“Oh, how awful!” But Kitty couldn’t tell Vera just how awful it was.

It was the middle of the afternoon when she reached home to find Jane starting out to take Billy for a walk.

“Yo’ Pah phoned and said he would eat up to de horsepital tonight—got some extra work to do,” explained Jane.

“Then we’ll have a light supper early. I have to be at the Canteen at seven o’clock.”

Billy kept tugging at Jane’s hand, saying crossly, “Come on. I wanner go to walk.”

“Billy, stop nagging Jane till we get through talking,” chided Kitty.

“He been like dat all day, Miss Kit, pesterin’ me ’bout first one t’ing an’ den annuder.”

“Maybe he needs a little outing. You two run along and I’ll see about supper.”

For the first time Kitty was a little late reaching the Canteen, but this had been a day when she found it difficult to keep up with all her obligations. It was her night for dish-washing duty. She had little to do until the dirty dishes began to pile up, so she strolled around the hall, talking to the service men. Suddenly she noticed Hazel Dawson at the chessboard, and to her amazement saw that Chief Krome sat opposite. She strolled over and put her hand caressingly on Hazel’s shoulder.

“How are you progressing?”

“Slow going, I fear. I never tried to learn such a complicated game.”

“She’s doing fine—really she is,” stated Krome. He glanced up and recognized Kitty. “Oh, it’s you? Did the boys enjoy that shrimp creole the other night?”

“Sure did, thanks to the recipe.”

Someone was playing a Brahms Waltz on the piano and Kitty hummed it softly.

“Sing it, Kitty dear. Those were lovely words set to the music that you sang for me the other night,” Hazel said, glancing up from her board.

“Do please, Kitty,” urged Jimmy Barnes, who stood near. “You’ve been promising to sing for us a long time.”

“Come ahead,” said Brad, catching her hand and leading her toward the piano.

“All right, if you insist,” said Kitty graciously.

No sooner had her rich mezzo-soprano voice swelled with the piano accompaniment than the entire hall fell silent. Everyone turned toward her to look and listen entranced. For a moment after the last notes faded softly there was a breathless hush, then a storm of applause.

“More,” someone called out.

“Give us another,” a marine demanded.

Kitty leaned over and whispered to Sergeant Bradshaw at the piano. Laughing, he began the Australian folk song that was such a rage, Waltzing Matilda. Kitty sang the first verse, glancing around the room with her flashing smile as the words raced from her lips. Then at the chorus she lifted her hands with an impelling movement and said, “Everybody sing.” Instantly the room rocked with nonsense and rhythm.

After the storm subsided Kitty sang Tipperary. While they clapped at the conclusion she ran off to the Canteen kitchen. Ned Miller was sent in to drag her out. She thrust her head through the doorway to call, “It’s my night to wash dishes.”

“We’ll wash the dishes,” came a chorus in retort.

“Against the rules. I’ll sing another night.”

She was flushed and buoyantly happy when she closed the door and turned back toward the sink.

“Gosh, you oughtn’t to be washing dishes!” exclaimed Sally. “Anybody with a voice like that!”

“Fiddlesticks!” exclaimed Kitty. “They’re badly in need of dish washers, and they obviously don’t need singers.”

“Don’t they?” burst forth Judy. “Why Kitty, they ought to send you overseas to sing to the boys behind the fighting lines.”

“Don’t make fun of me, Judy.”

Judy had really voiced a wish that lay in the deepest recesses of Kitty’s heart. To such a career as that her daydreaming had constantly taken her since war began. But its fulfillment seemed beyond her wildest dreams. The practical side of her nature had tried to still those high ambitions as she planned to go first into the WAVES, and later into Canteen work.

“You have a way with the boys that makes them laugh and cry, cheer and clap,” continued Sally.

“She sure has. That’s the sort of entertainer they ought to be thrilled to find,” added Judy.

Kitty didn’t tell them that a thousand times in her daydreaming she had visioned herself doing what she had just done. It had given her the greatest thrill she had ever known.

When she finished the dishes she had a free interval until another pile accumulated, so she went outside to find Brad. She was eager to know what he would think of her experience at the troop train.

“Say, Kit, they’re all crazy about your singing,” said Brad when she joined him.

“Thanks, Brad.”

“Captain Crawford heard you, and said you surely ought to be with the entertainers.”

“Oh, Brad, I’m not half good enough for that!”

“Of course you are! You’ll be surprised at what he went on to say.”

Her eyes were shining as she waited expectantly.

“Said he was going to write a friend of his—an official talent scout. He said he must hear about you.”

“I can’t believe it!”

As they talked they crossed the long hall, and finally went out to their quiet corner in the court.

“I’ve something to tell you,” Kitty said as they sat down. Then quickly she gave him an account of her experience at the troop train.

“I’m not surprised,” Brad said. “I’ve felt rather sure Beeson must be the middleman in this business, after what we picked up Sunday. That tough old customer will be on the alert for you, if you ever go to the island again.”

“I certainly intend to go.”

“Not without me. I’ve been wanting to go back again for another look around.”

“I’ve got to carry Uncle Mose his dollar’s worth of smoking tobacco, and write that letter for him.”

“Meeting that fellow from the Pacific does sort of put you under obligations.”

“Guess I’d better get back to my dishes,” said Kitty, rising. “Judy will be calling me a shirker if I don’t. She doesn’t enjoy this dish-washing part of the job any more than I do.”

A few minutes later she was wielding the dish mop when Mrs. Evans came in to say, “Kitty, someone wants you on the phone.”

She hurriedly crossed the hall to the near-by office, wondering if it was her father. She received quite a shock when she heard Jane’s voice: “Miss Kit, reckon you bettah come home.”

“Why? What’s wrong, Jane?”

“It’s Billy. Reckon he sick. He skin feel hot as fire to mah han’, and he cough like he gwine choke to deaf.”

“I’ll be right home!” stated Kitty, and put down the phone with a bang.