The Adventures of the Submariner’S Son

By Tom Swicegood

As a beautiful, young, well-to-do young woman sits upon her familys beach on the shore of a secluded island in the Florida Keys, a man clad in little more than the ancient ocean salt emerges from the waves. Gnther Prien is a young German officer stationed on a cruise ship, and Eola Pinder is little more than putty in his hands. Their encounter leads to the birth of a son, Thomas Luther, who is destined for a life of adventure as he desperately seeks the love of a father throughout some of the worst events Key West and the world have ever seen.

Toms life shapes up to be one adventure after another. He experiences an unlikely rescue as his room goes up in flames around his cribflames that may have been started by the man Tom believes is his father. Hes held hostage during a bank robbery and is nearly swept overboard from the deck of a freighter off Cape Hattaras during a major hurricane. Finally, in the midst of World War II, he finds himself carried away in a German submarinein the hands of the enemyby a man who turns out to be his father.

In this rich historical novel, an unlikely cast of characters struggles to find the strength to survive not only some of the most horrible tragedies in Floridas history, but some of the most difficult lessons individuals can learn in a lifetime.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jul 20, 2012
• ISBN: 9781475934991

Tom Swicegood

Tom Swicegood graduated from Admiral Farragut Academy and the University of Florida. He served on a US Coast Guard icebreaker in Alaska and on a Voice of America ship in the Mediterranean. He is the author of several books and has written and directed movies in Hollywood. He currently lives in Edgewater, Florida.

Book preview

THE ADVENTURES OF THE

SUBMARINER’S SON

nazi.jpg

TOM SWICEGOOD

IUNIVERSE, INC.

BLOOMINGTON

The Adventures of the Submariner’s Son

Copyright © 2012 by Thomas L. P. Swicegood

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the written permission of the author or publisher. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to non-historical characters is purely coincidental. Cover photos are property of the author.

Certain characters in this work are historical figures, and certain events portrayed did take place. However, this is a work of fiction. All of the other characters, names, and events as well as all places, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

iUniverse books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

iUniverse

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.iuniverse.com

1-800-Authors (1-800-288-4677)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

ISBN: 978-1-4759-3498-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-3500-4 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-3499-1 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012912080

iUniverse rev. date: 07/17/2012

CONTENTS

Also by Tom Swicegood

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Epilogue

Also by Tom Swicegood

Toes of Apollo

The Intoxicated Taxi

Profiles in Gay and Lesbian Courage

Don’t be Afraid Anymore (with Rev. Troy Perry)

Tambien es Nuestro Dios

Our God Too!

Other Side of the Wind

The Undertaker and his Pals (motion picture)

Escape from Hell Island (motion picture)

Path of Angels (The Blue Angels)

All That Glitters (U. S. Marshal)

Sound of Silence (Sea Hunt)

DEDICATED TO

Ronald, Raymond, Jan, Toni, Jack, & Jimmy

Prologue

Years ago . . .

Eola’s bedroom window looked out on South Beach. The Athletic Club, a big wood building, obscured part of the view, but there was still a visible expanse of sand that Eola knew was white as snow and hotter than hell in the daytime. Often there were people out there having fun, sleeping, and drinking. Sometimes they were furtively making love and making erotic sounds that could easily be heard. Now there was only darkness with palm trees silhouetted against moonlit water.

It was after midnight in Key West.

The island town had almost gone to sleep. A half moon seemed to hang near the horizon. Its silvery light sparkled across the Atlantic. Overhead, brilliant stars were like millions of diamonds sprinkled on a black velvet sky.

The air was warm. Even so late at night it was hard to sleep. Eola was reading Boccaccio’s classic, The Decameron, taking guilty pleasure dipping into bawdy tales the local school for girls had forbidden. Eola finished one of the book’s adventures. In the brief story a well-endowed gardener who services a dozen horny young women in a nunnery is put on a schedule by their abbess—to protect the man’s endurance.

Eola shut the book and rested her head on pillows. An oscillating electric fan was working but its breeze wasn’t doing much good. A film of perspiration caused a sheer nightgown to cling to Eola’s damp breasts and buttocks. In all her nineteen years she had lived with summer heat but would never get used to it. Out on the beach, closer to the water, Eola knew the air had to be cooler. She had gone there at night before, down the two-story residence’s back steps, across a concrete tennis court and a hundred yards of sand, to wade ankle deep in water close to the shore, stopping short of a dock at the south end of Duval Street. Nobody had complained or said anything because nobody had ever seen her and nobody knew.

This time might be different. She had observed a man walking alone on the beach. For a while he quietly sat in the dark beside the tennis court. Eola turned out her bed lamp to better watch him. Not much could be seen. All she could tell was that he moved like a man who might be close to her age or a little older, and he could be well-built, although that might be wishful thinking brought on by the merciless temperature and passion inspired by a forbidden book.

When Eola reached the bottom of her home’s wood steps, it seemed the man on the beach was gone. She looked around, becoming temporarily self-conscious, thinking that perhaps she should have at least put on a bathing suit under her gown. Mildly aroused, however, and with the possibility of a secret adventure she would never reveal to anyone, Eola encouraged herself to proceed. She made her way to the water and enjoyed walking barefoot in wet sand.

The night, besides being serenely beautiful, was unremarkable. There was a very slight breeze and no unusual sounds. If there had been street traffic earlier it was gone. Civilization and the city seemed far away. Eola admitted to herself that all the night lacked was the stranger on the beach, somebody very masculine, powerful, and available. Although she didn’t see that someone now, Eola was not ready to return home where her father and mother were certainly sleeping.

She told herself she had come outside to sit on the sand alone, to enjoy a balmy breeze, to be amazed by the night sky, to listen to the music of rustling palms and even occasionally hear the distant crowing of an overly eager rooster. She could have stayed in her bedroom with its ocean view but secretly wanted more. Again and again Eola thought about the unidentifiable stranger and wondered how and where he might have disappeared.

There were shadows beneath the Athletic Club, shadows around the trunks of coconut trees, so many dark places that a person who wasn’t wanting to be seen would not easily be found. The night became an increasing challenge. Its stillness suggested passion while offering danger. It was exciting to know there wasn’t anyone to report what she did, if anything. At the same time she knew that occasionally there were dangerous people on the beach. If she called for help nobody would hear.

It wasn’t a dream.

Eola pulled her nightgown around her. She was lovely, sitting quietly on the sand with one leg tucked under the other, watching little waves gently rippling toward the shore, each sinking into the sand and disappearing. Light from the moon and stars accentuated the girl’s beauty. Behind her a trio of unlighted residences were mute.

Expecting the beach to remain empty, Günther Prien was taken by surprise when Eola made her appearance. It was not that he minded seeing a scantily clad young woman sitting alone near the surf but, as he quit swimming and began wading toward land, he assumed she had no idea anyone would be in the water so late. Most Key Westers had respect for the ocean at all times, but more so at night.

The warm water was waist deep about a hundred feet offshore. Günther smiled without making a sound. As the water became shallower he seemed be rising from the waves. His hard muscles glistened in the moonlight.

Eola caught her first renewed sight of him and gasped in surprise. Where there had seemed to be no one there was suddenly Günther, a living form in the dark water, one that she both feared and wanted. As he came closer, Günther paused momentarily with the tops of waves breaking about his knees, then he walked out of the water not wearing any garment, no swimming apparatus or body ornament.

Günther Prien was obviously male.

Günther could see that all Eola wore was a nightgown of thin material, probably pink and white, snug around the waist, and gracefully accentuating her breasts. At the neck a light ruff fluttered in puffs of a faint sea breeze. Nothing else. She looked like a mythical virgin come to life, but was in reality an inexperienced girl with grownup fantasies who should have been safe in her bed at home. Nevertheless, getting to safety could be easy. If the immodest stranger ran fast after her, Eola could run fast also. Yet, the young woman arose and stood her ground, fascinated and curious.

Light glistening on the little waves behind Günther made his approach seem unreal. At first he was nothing more than a man against a backdrop of sparkling water, unhurriedly picking his way over a few rocks close to the shore. When Eola realized that he was not an ordinary swimmer, approaching as he did without bathing trunks, she quickly considered what a more experienced woman would do in her place. The possibility of screaming entered her mind and was rejected.

The naked stranger kept advancing. In response she continued to watch as if in a trance, fascinated by the fluid movement of his limbs and the sight of male body parts she had never seen.

It was like observing an apparition rising out of the ocean. She had seen a few blurred photos of naked Greek and Roman statues in musty old books, but this man was three-dimensional and viable. His increasing closeness prompted unwanted thoughts of caution. It was impossible not to think of running.

Günther stopped when the two were only inches apart. They studied each other. She examined his handsome features. He was a little taller than Eola and four or five years older, perhaps twenty-four or twenty-five. He was the most physically desirable man she had ever seen. And he was mysterious, too.

Eola could feel her heart pounding.

Günther felt the same powerful attraction. His breathing rate increased and muscles in his loins tightened. She was beautiful. She was available. And Günther was accustomed to having what he desired.

The stranger was not self-conscious. In return, neither was Eola, although nothing had prepared either for such an unlikely meeting. He grinned and moved forward, eliminating the space between them, inhaling her delicate aroma and bath perfume. It was a powerful mixture of a woman’s innocence, saltwater, and naked lust. When they touched, feeling the warm softness of her skin against his, he knew she wanted him although she would never say as much. Words didn’t seem necessary.

Eola smiled nervously.

The setting was perfect, tropical, with fronds of coconut palm trees occasionally rustling in the night. It was one of the rare, unplanned moments when no introduction is necessary or wanted. The overhead dome of night defined their domain. The stars and the moon gave enough light. The sand and the sea were waiting beds. It was the mad passion of The Decameron coming to life. Excitement raced through the willing girl’s body. No wonder sisters at the convent didn’t want her to read the old book.

Günther lowered his head and kissed Eola. It was fast, almost as if it hadn’t happened. There was a sensual spark when their lips touched. An emotional rush enveloped them both. The glow continued as Günther kneeled and kissed her repeatedly.

No one was present to say, yes, Eola, do this, or no, Eola, don’t do that! She was tired of teasing the boys from Key West High, the recently graduated schoolboy studs who drank too much at afternoon swimming parties on Sand Key and flaunted unpadded bulges in their bathing suits. She wanted the genuine experience that had everybody concerned. Better yet, this stranger kissed her where no one had ever kissed her before, and it felt very good. Here on the beach was a real man who, like a naked mythical god, had literally walked out of the ocean.

An inner voice continually told Eola she should say no, or run, or call for help, but that wasn’t what she wanted. The girl was thinking like a woman now. Why not do what pleased her? She knew strangers can do whatever they desire, without fear or explanation, without ever having to apologize—especially if they never expect to see each other again.

My name is Günther Prien, he said in halting English. "I’m new officer on the San Francisco, German passenger ship. See her lights over there. She is anchored out from Fort Taylor? Two miles."

Eola looked past Prien, into the darkness beyond the Southernmost House. You swam all the way?

No, I landed in a small boat at other end of island. Didn’t go through customs. Don’t have visa.

You walked here? Alone?

"Ja."

You’re German?

"Ja."

Where are your clothes?

Under the dock over there.

The police will put you in jail for swimming naked.

You will tell on me? Or not?

Eola laughed. Or not, she said.

Günther could not repress a grin. I didn’t expect to come out in open on your beach like this, he said, slipping his arm around Eola’s waist, but after I saw you I wanted to stay naked, he added, gently pressing his fingers against the small of her back.

You’re crazy, she responded but offered no resistance, enjoying the breathtaking discovery of a bold man’s maleness pressing against her.

I had to meet you, he said.

Is that so?

Yes, it is kismet.

Eola laughed at the extravagant lie. She knew she couldn’t have been seen very well from where he was out in the water, and she replied with a smile and a lie to match his. Well then, that’s why I’m here also. It’s kismet for both of us, Mister Prien. I’ve been waiting for you.

"Leutnant Prien, if you please."

Lieutenant.

And you don’t mind me being undressed?

The girl laughed again, moved back, and critically looked Prien down and up. It’s a little too late to ask. Besides, I like you this way, she whispered and stepped forward to kiss him. My parents would die if they knew, but nobody has to tell.

He responded with a longer kiss, brushed his cheek against her breasts, then looked into Eola’s eyes. I want you to swim with me, he said.

No, I’m afraid. Big fish come close to shore at night.

Günther shook his head. I won’t let anything hurt you, he insisted, reaching for Eola’s hand. When she hesitated, he added, We’ll stay near the beach where you can keep your head above water. You’ll be safe tonight. If anything bites you it will be me. Don’t say no. I’ll be gone tomorrow.

Eola took a quick breath, suppressing a fleeting stab of fear. She didn’t want to think of terrible things that could happen being alone with an unknown man. She knew only that since she first set eyes upon his advancing form the air felt warmer than ever. Even her breath was coming in gasps. Deciding to do something she had been taught all her life not to do, she responded to Günther’s suggestion.

Her first steps were into the ocean shallows. There were only a few rocks and Eola allowed Günther to lead her further, to where the bottom was sandy and the saltwater was not over her head but deep enough for swimming. Still wearing her light nightgown, nearly translucent now, Eola enjoyed her own madness being with the naked man and finding comfort staying close to him.

Immersed in the warm water of the Atlantic, they touched each other gently at first. Eventually, with increasing passion, Günther brushed aside the clinging fabric of Eola’s negligible nightgown.

This is naughty, she said, carelessly, knowing he would not let her change her mind or turn back—even if she wanted. Both were prisoners of desire. There was no thought of shame—only delight bordering on exhilaration.

Entry was easy for Günther as they tumbled against each other, explored and played beneath the water’s surface. Soon the two were thrusting flesh against flesh with growing determination. Günther bit Eola’s neck and there was blood in the ocean from scratches on his back. There was other blood, too, unseen evidence of lost virginity when Günther’s passion drove him to constantly push harder and deeper into Eola as she became increasingly receptive.

Phosphorescent waves flashed around the two. It was like bottled lightning. Savoring their pleasure the German couldn’t help thinking, Oh, sweet fräulein, now you know what sex is like with an electric eel! And, indeed, Eola did. It seemed as though electricity had uncoiled like a giant serpent from within his body and excited every part of her being.

Eola gasped at her first orgasm.

Simultaneously, Günther let out a roar of pleasure, startling a large pelican on the dock not too far away. As the German impregnated the willing American, a sting-ray half buried in the sandy bottom a few feet away never knew what was happening, not even when Günther did it all over again.

There was little conversation when the two returned to land. Günther retrieved his clothes from under the dock and methodically put on his shirt and pants, then shoes. Eola watched, her arms crossed over the clinging nightgown.

You will always be beautiful, Günther awkwardly managed to say. He kissed Eola for what both expected would be the last time. Her eyes lingered on his face after their lips parted. "The San Francisco’s sailing early, Günther said. I have first watch going out."

Eola nodded, realizing suddenly that she was saddened to have him leave.

Auf wiedersehen, he whispered.

"Bon voyage," she replied. Then, forcing a small smile and holding back a sigh she turned away. In the morning the sun was well up before Eola opened her bedroom window to look for Günther’s ship. It was no longer there.

PART ONE

THE HURRICANE

Chapter 1

Seven months later . . .

Daisy McDonald was fifteen, tall, thin, black as coal, and pregnant. Wearing a very clean, one-piece cotton dress that had been scrubbed many times in her family’s backyard tub, Daisy suppressed a mild nervousness. She stepped over the low concrete wall in front of Luther Pinder’s two-story residence and, in the shade of coconut palms, walked to the side door.

Pinder’s home, with its wide veranda-like porch surrounded by lush multi-colored hibiscus, backed up to the white sand of South Beach. The home was spacious enough to hold several houses the size of a wood-planked shanty in another part of Key West where Daisy lived with her mother, brother, and sisters.

Mrs. Pinder was busy in the kitchen. Hazel was not a large woman, but stately, forty-one years of age, with hazel eyes for which she was named, and henna hair carefully pulled back and fastened. She had a stern schoolteacher set to her jaw. Her straightforward gaze through gold-rimmed eyeglasses was inquisitive yet not unfriendly. She opened the screen door at the knock of the young girl who stood twisting one of her carefully braided pigtails.

You must be Daisy McDonald, said Mrs. Pinder. Mrs. Thompson told me I should talk to you. Your mother works for Mrs. Hemingway, I think? Your mother is Pauline’s maid?

"No, ma’am, that’s my sister who works for Miss Pauline, ma’am. Olive cooks. Her specialty is arroz con pollo. Miss Pauline told Olive I should come here if I want a job."

You like housework?

"Yes’m. I can do dishes, sweep floors, dust, make beds. I’m not lazy. I’m a hard worker. I’m honest. I don’t take nothing what’s not given to me. I can cook good as my sister. I can cook arroz con pollo, too, and picadillo, black beans, plantains, crawfish, grunts, yellowtail and grits. I sure would like to be hired here, Mrs. Pinder. I need the work and I need to make some money. I’d be proud to be part of this fine big house. No colored folks could talk me down."

Would they do that?

Yes, ma’am, given a chance.

Well, tell me, Daisy, how are you with little ones?

I love babies.

My daughter Eola’s boy was born day before yesterday.

I know, Mrs. Pinder, but born today, born day before yesterday, last week—don’t make no difference. I taken care of all kinds of babies since the minute they was born. You can tell Miss Eola I ain’t no stranger to babies.

Hazel smiled, opened her screen door wider, motioning Daisy inside the kitchen. "I can see you’re not a stranger to making babies, the older woman said, not unkindly. You’re going to have one of your own—in four or five months?"

Gonna be twins mama says.

And McDonald is your husband’s name?

No, ma’am, it’s my momma’s. I’m not married. I’m too young to get married.

Oh?

But I don’t run around. I got a special boyfriend.

Hazel tried not to smile. Of course. Marriage at your age would be against the law.

Yes’m.

After you have your baby—what then? Can you keep working here? Or will your own baby be too much?

Mrs. Pinder, one baby, two, three, never too many babies, Daisy replied, proudly smoothing her hand over her stomach. You know, this ain’t my first? I got a boy already. He’s nearly eight months.

The lady of the house brushed a loose strand of her own hair back into place. The red in it was accentuated by golden rays of morning sunlight streaming through a stained glass window. Oh, my Lord! Mrs. Thompson certainly didn’t tell me everything. Or Mrs. Hemingway didn’t tell her, Hazel declared, struggling to make a decision. Pauline being married to a writer—you’d think she’d pass along more information.

Please, Mrs. Pinder, that ain’t my fault, Daisy pleaded, I’m a hard worker.

Hazel erased a frown. Daisy, she said, bypassing her fleeting worries and smiling, we’ll see how you work out. Eola needs somebody, and so do I. Let’s see what you can do with the laundry and then you can get to the dishes. The baby’s sleeping now. We’ll go upstairs later.

Yes, ma’am.

It’ll be three dollars a week salary and all your meals the days you’re here. You can take home leftovers.

Daisy nodded.

When will the baby wake up? she asked.

Mrs. Pinder glanced at a clock on the otherwise undecorated kitchen wall, sighed, and shaking her head, answered, Soon enough. You’ll hear him!

Chapter 2

Ceilings in the beach house were ten feet high. Its walls were nearly eight inches thick with smooth, unpainted plaster over dry, very combustible wood lath. The building was designed to remain naturally cool even during the dog days of summer.

When Captain Pinder came home for lunch or dinner after tuning the engine of one of his charter fishing boats; or from repairing plumbing in a muddy crawlspace under his frame hotel a block away on Duval Street; or from an endless variety of other work, he often had oil and dirt on his hands. Luther’s habit was to enter his home through the kitchen and head directly for soap and water in the sink.

Hazel, I’m home! he bellowed as he burst through the inevitably unlocked screen door.

Daisy, who was alone and nearly finished washing dishes, jumped in response to the unexpected invasion. Totally startled, she felt a soapy breakfast plate slip from her fingers. The slick china seemed to squirt forward, smashing on the floor between Captain Pinder and herself. Broken pieces flew in all directions.

Oh, you scared me! exclaimed Daisy, doubly alarmed, fearing her employment would end before it barely began.

For Christ’s sake, instantly replied the stocky, over six-foot entrepreneur and seafaring man, but seeing the resulting distress on the girl’s face, quickly softened his voice. Well, that’s a lesson for you, girl, he said, adding, Whoever you are—whatever your name is?

I’m Daisy.

Okay, Daisy, you just learned something. Drop anything on this kitchen tile and you can kiss it goodbye.

Yes, sir, but you could give a person warning.

Captain Pinder turned and squinted directly into the girl’s eyes. Are you sassing me? he asked.

No, sir, not yet—I ain’t been here long enough to do that. I’d have to know you better.

The captain laughed. That’s right, he said, beginning to smile. But you do know who I am?

Yes, sir, you Cap’n T. Luther Pinder. Everybody know who you are. Some say you the richest man in town. Some say you the meanest.

Neither of which is true, replied the captain, placing a newspaper-wrapped parcel on the kitchen table as Hazel, who had been busy in a front room, quietly entered. He gave her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek and then turned back a fold of newspaper to reveal fresh turtle steaks. I was on the dock when Stan’s boat came in, he said. They spent the night off Dry Tortugas. Fishing was good.

Hazel nodded. We’ll have the turtle for dinner, she said, picking it up and turning toward the refrigerator. Everything seemed under control until an unbelievably loud, ear-piercing wail shattered their peace. The noise came from the grandbaby upstairs.

Luther unhappily glanced toward the high ceiling, sighed, brought his eyes down, and stared at his wife. There was no tolerance in his expression. Any joy concerning his daughter Eola’s new arrival had vanished the previous evening. The infant’s continuous crying had totally eroded his patience and he was seriously determined not to endure a similar night.

What they were having for dinner, or whether or not dishes were broken, no longer seemed to matter. Jesus Kee-ryst! exploded Pinder, knowing that his powerful voice bounced off walls throughout the house. That’s the loudest baby I ever heard. Somebody take care of the racket or I’ll be moving out!

I’m sorry, sir, said Daisy, frightened.

Not you, dammit, snapped Captain Pinder, turning his stare on her, Not you! It’s that goddamned perpetual noise machine. Do we need that goddamned crying again all night?

Luther, the wife said, don’t yell at Daisy, and don’t cuss in the house.

The captain was not intimidated. If I can pay for this place I can damn well cuss in it. And I ought to have some peace here, too! he shouted.

"Well, the boy takes after you. He is your grandson, after all! That’s why he’s named Thomas Luther."

Thank you very much for the information, Hazel! came her irritated husband’s response.

Mrs. Pinder shrugged and walked toward Daisy at the sink counter. She took the last dish from Daisy’s hands, fearing it could end on the floor with the previous china. Hazel stacked the plate safely on a corrugated drain board. Let’s go upstairs, she said, taking Daisy by the elbow and escorting the new family member out of the kitchen.

They went through a swinging half-door into a large dining room, continued toward the room-size front hall, then up a wide, impressive flight of stairs. The upper hallway opened into bedrooms and baths. It was easy to tell which contained the baby.

The din sounded like an infant being tortured, but inside the new mother’s room the sight was nothing like Daisy expected. All windows were raised and wide open. A faint breeze gently moved chiffon curtains. The southern view, directly behind the house, included the city’s Athletic Club, a big wooden building on stilts; and beyond the club, a post card perfect day at the beach. People were playing tennis on the unfenced city court and some were swimming. The water of the Atlantic was sparkling emerald green close to the shore, becoming a deep royal blue near the horizon.

The bellicose child lay on his back in a wicker crib. With closed eyes he was angrily screaming while clenching and unclenching tiny fists. Thomas’ mother, half a year short of her twenty-first birthday, sat propped against pillows in a bed with an embroidered sheet she pulled up to cover her perspiration-damp midsection.

Mrs. Pinder went to the baby.

The infant, red-faced from bawling, was remarkably small, weighing less than five pounds. If the premature child had been born in a hospital instead of at home, he would have been in an incubator.

Hazel placed the back of her hand on her grandson’s forehead. The volume of his cries increased.

It is a scrawny-preemie thing! observed Daisy, stepping closer. Eyes squinty closed, yellow skin, a trail of hair—don’t look much different from a underfed Chinese baby. I think—

Horrified, both adult women turned to stare at Daisy.

The girl closed her mouth and stood motionless.

It’s just yellow jaundice, Eola defensively explained. There’s nothing wrong with him. His little liver’s overworked. Dr. Galey says it doesn’t last—it’s temporary. It happens to premature babies.

Somebody should have explained to this one that he didn’t have to be born early, added Mrs. Pinder. After seven and a half months we could have waited a few weeks longer. Takes after his grandpa—always in a big hurry to do things.

What about his old man? I mean, his father, Daisy corrected. Does Thomas take after his father?

The grandmother winced. She looked at Eola and the two exchanged an uncomfortable glance. Eola lowered her brow into a neatly pressed pillow and produced a muted wail of frustration. She was determined to occupy herself with concerns other than an absent male, be he saint or devil, and she changed the subject. All the other mothers I know have fat, full-term babies, Eola complained, and I have this jaundiced—premature—yellow all over baby. Following a deep breath, she added emphatically, But I don’t think he looks Chinese!

The girl choked at the intensity of Eola’s response.

No, ma’am, Daisy quickly allowed.

Mrs. Pinder surveyed the scene with both hands on her hips. Eola, she said, your father’s going to kill all of us if darlin’ Thomas Luther yells his way through another night.

The distraught mother looked up. Green-brown eyes set off her short auburn hair and creamy peach skin. I would think he’s about cried out by now, she said, almost in awe and trying to be philosophical. How can so much noise come out of something so small?

Daisy laughed aloud. A lot comes out of babies. You can’t help but wonder where it all comes from, she said, approaching Thomas’ crib. Leaning over its side, the girl reached down to pick up the infant.

Oh, wait, wait! exclaimed Eola.

Daisy hesitated.

The mother’s frantic tone dissipated. Are your hands sterilized? she asked, lowering her voice, the maternal apprehensions moderating.

Miss Eola, I been doing dishes in hot soap an water for near an hour, Daisy answered. If these hands ain’t clean now they is never gonna be clean.

Just don’t drop him, cautioned Hazel.

Daisy took the unhappy baby firmly with both hands and pulled him close to her body, allowing the youngster to feel secure and wriggle into a comfortable position. Daisy’s fingers automatically caressed the soft hair on the back of his head.

Little Thomas, like everyone else, was worn out. He gave a last piercing screech and suddenly began turning his head around one way and then another in an effort to sense more of the world around him. The quiet in Eola’s bedroom was almost alarming. Thomas continued to unsteadily bobble his head and seemed to smile vaguely.

How you doing? You want me to take care of you? asked Daisy softly, following her questions with Conch baby talk