Cherry Ames 21 Island Nurse (11 page)

She was at the foot of the hill when she saw the top of a man’s head appear just above the crest. He was

THE MAN ON THE HILL

99

walking up the other side and appeared bit by bit—

head, shoulders, arms, body—as though he were a seed shown sprouting by delayed photography. As soon as he reached the summit of the hill, he looked about on all sides. Cherry, standing behind a scrubby black oak, escaped his attention.

Evidently satisfi ed that he was not observed, the man took something from his coat pocket and a second later Cherry saw a bright fl ash. He repeated the fl ash several times, turning in his hand what she decided was a mirror, to refl ect the sun.

All the while he fl ashed his mirror, the man was gazing intently at something beyond the cliffs, not too far from shore.

For ten or more minutes, she watched him signaling with his mirror the dots and dashes of the Morse Code. It seemed to her a curious thing for the man to be doing. She wished she could have read the message he was sending with his short and long fl ashes. Then, even as she was watching, the man vanished. She saw him bending over among the bushes one moment, and the next, he was gone.

Cherry started running up the hill, fully expecting to see the man reappear at any instant. She reached the summit, however, without any sign of him. A quick glance down the opposite side revealed that he had not gone in that direction. The hillsides were empty of movement, except for the scurry of a rabbit or other small animal among the rocks and bushes. Cherry leaned against the big rock, which was at the very peak of the hill in the stiff grass and bushes, to catch her breath.

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CHERRY

AMES,

ISLAND

NURSE

It came to her after a while where she had seen the man before. He was the short, muscular man, in the sharply tailored dark clothes, who had jostled her the day she and the Barclays had come over on the
Sandy Fergus
. She had had a good look at him on the boat. With the sun shining on him up there on the hill, she had seen him clearly.

Wondering to whom the man had been signaling, she scrambled up on the rock for a better view of the sea. She felt the rock tilt as if it were loose in its socket of earth. It was an odd sort of rock—gray and peculiarly rough and pitted, rather like foam.

Getting her balance, Cherry stood up on the rock and peered eagerly beyond the cliffs. She observed a fi shing schooner a little way out from shore and a large rowboat coming toward the island. It was headed, so she thought, in the direction of the Barclays’ private beach.

The boat was coming on and she saw that there were half a dozen or more men in it, four of whom were straining at the oars evidently in an effort to increase its speed. As they drew closer, Cherry perceived that they were maneuvering the boat to head it into the pass between the rocks at the entrance to the little bay at Rogues’ Cave.

“The tide!” Cherry cried aloud. “When the tide is in . . .” It dawned on her then what Meg had meant about sailing the ketch when she and Lloyd were kids.

They had had to wait for the tide, in order to get in and out of the bay.

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Now Cherry knew why the man had been signaling.

He was letting the men in the fi shing schooner know when it was safe to come in with the rowboat. That was it, Cherry decided.

The men guided the boat through the pass between the rocks and were lost to view under the brow of the cliff above Rogues’ Cave.

She continued to watch, and presently the rowboat reappeared. It was loaded with some sort of cargo in sacks, which must have been heavy, for the boat was low in the water and the men were rowing with great effort. Upon reaching the fi shing schooner, the sacks of whatever it was they contained, were put aboard, the men followed, then the rowboat was hauled up and stowed on deck. The fi shing schooner sailed away to the south toward St. John’s.

Cherry started back down the hill, her mind busy with what she had just seen.

Within a short distance of the house, someone sang out gaily, “Hi, beautiful! How about a lift?” And there was Lloyd, driving along the road in one of the company’s “Bugs,” as he called the little two-seater cars that were used by the various department heads of the mines to get about on the island.

Cherry walked over to the car. “Hello, Lloyd. I’d be glad of a lift. I’ve been up and down that big hill,” she said, getting in.

“What were you doing, training for the next expedition to the top of Mount Everest?” he teased, reaching over and tugging a curl. “You look to be in fi ne condition 102
CHERRY

AMES,

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NURSE

for it, Miss Ames. Your cheeks are rosy red and your hair is fair glorious.”

“Now, none of your fl attery, Mr. Barclay,” Cherry said. “I want you to be serious. I’ve something important to tell you.”

“I’m all ears,” he replied, grinning at her. Then, frowning exaggeratedly, he said, “Speak, fair lady.”

“Oh, do be serious,” Cherry said, smiling in spite of herself. “A very strange thing happened on the hill this afternoon. I met . . .”

“Ah, poor lass,” interrupted Lloyd, shaking his head sadly. “Ye must have run into Rorie Gill. He’s often on the hill.”

“I wish you had told me,” said Cherry tartly.

As though he had not heard her, Lloyd went on dolefully, with more head shaking, “Rorie Gill. I waudna have thought it. Usually you see him in the fall when the Hunter’s Moon is rising over the Balfour hills and crags.” His voice began to roll dramatically, as Lloyd continued, “Rorie rides by moonlight on his dark horse and mounts to the crest of the hill. There he sits, peering out to sea until he sights a rich-laden ship approach-ing Balfour Harbor. Then Rorie rides down again, and, with the hollow laughing cry of the loon, summons his merrymen around him.”

Cherry laughed. “Lloyd Barclay, you are a much worse tease than my brother Charlie,” she accused him. “Please be serious for a moment.”

“Na, na, Cherry lass, I’m no in the mood now,” he told her. “It’s not Uncle Ian or ye waudna be on the hill. So . . .” He shrugged.

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“Well, what makes you so playful this afternoon?” demanded Cherry. “And why are you coming home from the mines so early and as lightheaded and merry as a chipmunk?”

“I’ll not tell you until you’ve had your say,” Lloyd replied with a self-righteous air. “You’re bursting to talk, so out with it.”

They had reached the house and Lloyd drove up in front and stopped. “Let’s just sit here in the Bug,” he said.

Cherry poured out everything in a rush, keeping back only the part about Jock Cameron. When she fi nished, Lloyd laughed heartily at her and said, “Cherry, this island is a great place to stimulate the imagi nation. You go ahead and be as fanciful as you like. But the facts are that there are good fi shing grounds just beyond the rocks at Rogues’ Cave. In the old days, the Barclays reserved them for themselves. The fi shermen have always respected the rights, I suppose you’d call them.

And off-islanders have left Balfour waters to the Balfourians for the most part. But times have changed.

“That fi shing schooner you saw,” Lloyd went on to explain, “may belong to some off-islander. Those sacks could have been fi lled with sand to be used for ballast in the schooner. Might even have been rocks. They’re both used for ballast. Of course I don’t want fi shermen using our bay and beach and making a nuisance of themselves.” He paused, thought a moment, then asked, “Would you describe the man again that you saw on the hill?” Cherry repeated the description she had given him of the short, muscular man. “I saw him once before,” 104
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AMES,

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NURSE

she told Lloyd. “He was on the
Sandy Fergus
the day we came to Balfour.”

“You know, Cherry, that must be Joseph Tweed,

‘Little Joe’ as he is called,” Lloyd said, his expression becoming stern. “He was hanging around outside the Mine Offi ce last week. Someone pointed him out to me and said that Little Joe had been seen a number of times, talking to miners from Number 2 mine. I think you probably saw Little Joe again today. I can’t think why he’s hanging around the Island. Five or six years ago, Little Joe worked as a foreman in Number 2 mine.

Then it was discovered that he was doing business as a loan shark on the side. If a miner had to borrow twenty-fi ve or thirty dollars in a hurry, he would go to Little Joe and get it at once without any bankers’ formalities. Of course Little Joe charged about fi fty cents interest on every dollar borrowed, and he wanted his money and interest back in a week or two. When Uncle Ian found this out, he fi red Little Joe. He could have had the man arrested, but Uncle Ian let him off with a warning. Little Joe went to St. John’s and from all reports has done extremely well—owns property, a boat or two, has an interest in several businesses. He’s what is known in the States as a very smart operator and his reputation is none too good.”

“What do you suppose he
is
doing on the island?” asked Cherry.

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Lloyd replied. “I’m glad you told me all this, Cherry. Now I’ll be on the lookout. See if Little Joe is up to something.”

THE MAN ON THE HILL

105

“I think I’d better go in,” Cherry said. “It’s getting late.”

Lloyd opened the car door and she got out.

“Oh, by the way,” he said, “the entrance to the old mine shaft is on the top of the hill. Last time I was up there years ago, the opening was covered with boards and all grown over with vines and bushes. I don’t suppose you noticed it.”

“No, I didn’t,” answered Cherry. “There’s a big rock sitting right on top of the hill.”

“And I expect it was just a-sittin’ still, like the one in the verse that begins ‘I wish I was a little rock,’ ” Lloyd said with a big grin.

“And ends ‘Doin’ nothin’ all day long, but just a-sittin’ still,’ ” Cherry quoted at random, returning his grin.

She started to go, then stopped. “By the way, you were going to tell me what put you in such a happy, carefree mood today, Mr. Barclay.”

“Tell you and Meg both at dinner,” he said.

At dinner that evening Lloyd reported to Cherry and Meg that the work in the new mine was going by leaps and bounds under McGuire’s supervision. The ore was very high assay, a much greater yield of iron than had been anticipated. Things were not going badly, either, at old Number 2, under Jock Cameron.

“I believe Balfour Mines may even make a profi t this year if we can only keep it up,” Lloyd declared.

“I hope so. Oh, I hope so,” said Meg earnestly.

“Under the eagle eye of Mining Engineer Lloyd Barclay, I say they will,” Cherry declared grandly.

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c h a p t e r x

A Meeting in St. John’s

sir ian had continued to feel better and respond well to the diet of bland foods that Dr. Mac had prescribed. Under Cherry’s direction, Tess, the cook, carefully prepared the small, frequent meals and took great pride in doing so.

“But he’ll no get well entirely with all the proper food in the world,” Tess predicted. “He’s sore troubled in his mind. Sir Ian has to put up with the wild spending of his brother and sister in England. And the mines, too, na weel for so long. His fi ne, helpful brother, who was Master Lloyd’s father, died, and left Sir Ian to carry the whole burden of the Barclays. ’Tis muckle burden for one man.”

Yet, in spite of his big burden, Sir Ian was recovering little by little under Cherry’s capable nursing care. No small part was due to Lloyd, who was slowly making his uncle realize that here was someone who was a true 107

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AMES,

ISLAND

NURSE

Barclay, worthy to take over the Balfour Mines some-day. Bit by bit, Sir Ian’s mind was being relieved about the operation of the mines.

It was during the fi fth week that Cherry had been at Barclay House that Sir Ian began to walk about in the garden. He expressed a longing to take a ride in the car. Dr. Mac thought it a good idea. So on the following Sunday afternoon, Lloyd suggested that his uncle and Cherry go for a drive with him since it was the chauffeur’s Sunday off. Meg was going to the hospital with the doctor to help him catch up with some more paperwork in the offi ce.

“Da, we need a good hospital and proper professional assistance,” Meg said. “Douglas is working himself to the bone with all he has to do. And I don’t want to marry a bag of bones.”

“I’d give him his hospital now if there was the money for it,” her father said.

“Oh, Da dear, you talk like a feudal baron or something, making a gift to his retainers,” Meg told him.

“The community has a
right
to an adequate hospital with adequate medical staff. This isn’t the Middle Ages, Da, you old darling.” She gave him a resounding kiss on the top of his head as he sat in the hall downstairs, waiting for Lloyd to bring the car around.

Meg had started outside when Sir Ian called after her, “What’s this about marrying that sandy-haired pill pusher? Has he asked ye yet?”

“No, but he will,” Meg answered merrily. “Only a matter of time now.” She paused, then added, “Oh,

A MEETING IN ST. JOHN’S

109

dear, I do hope Bess Cowan doesn’t make any of those dreary remarks of hers about the ‘turrible responsibil-ities of the wedded state’ before Douglas. I do wish someone cheerier were on duty today at the hospital.” Meg darted out the door, looking like a butterfl y in her yellow dress, and into her car.

A few minutes later Lloyd brought his car and Sir Ian settled himself comfortably in the back seat, while Cherry sat in front beside Lloyd.

There was a good paved road that followed the shore almost all the way around the island. Lloyd drove through the village with its little frame cottages, scattered along the narrow streets winding up the hillsides or curving along the waterfront.