Megan's Island by Willo Davis Roberts Page A

about keeping supplies out at their cave.
    â€œYou going fishing again this afternoon, Grandpa?” Sandy asked with his mouth full and a milky mustache that Mom would have objected to.
    â€œNope, thought I’d gather a little firewood. Evenings are still chilly enough so the fireplace is welcome. You kids want to help me, or have you got something else planned?”
    â€œWell, if you aren’t using the boat, I thought maybe we’d go back to the island. We’re fixing up a cave. Would it be okay if we took some stuff to eat, and maybe a couple of blankets?”
    Laugh wrinkles formed around Grandpa’s eyes. “A cave, eh? I’d have liked to do that myself when I was your age. Sure, take some fruit, and there’s some crackers and peanut butter if you want ’em. I don’t know about blankets—I’m not sure we’ve got any spares—but there’s a couple of old sleeping bags in that back closet. Help yourselves.”
    The rowboat had more room to carry things, even a lantern Grandpa said they wouldn’t need at the house unless the electricity went off, which it never had done since he’d been here. He showed them how to use it safely, and even gave them a little box of waterproof matches.
    The boat didn’t glide over the water as easily as the canoe, but it was less likely to dump them into the lake. Rowing continued to be awkward. They thought they were getting a little better at it, though their arms and shoulders still ached by the time they’d crossed to the island.
    They forgot that as soon as they arrived. It was fun, arranging their furnishings in the cave. They left the sleeping bags rolled up to lean against, and arranged the other supplies on an inner ledge that might have been made for the purpose.
    It was so nice when they were finished that they hated to go home to the cottage for supper.
    Grandpa had not only put in a supply of firewood, he’d made spaghetti. Tonight Sandy set the table while Megan sliced vegetables for a salad. Even that was a reminder that made her uneasy once more. It had all begun—at least as far as Megan was concerned—when Mom dropped the salad bowl and broke it. That bowl had been a treasured possession, yet Mom had scarcely noticed what she’d done.
    She’d been upset, but not about breaking the bowl. And not about cutting her feet a little bit, either, Megan thought. Sandy said she’d been watching TV—the news, maybe—and she’d been startled and dropped the bowl. Only why? What could have been on the news that had anything to do with them?
    Was she crazy, to think that was what had happened? Megan resolved to stay inside tonight and listen to the news with Grandpa.
    Only there was nothing on the radio except things that were happening in distant places, to people she’d never heard of. She joined Sandy and Grandpa in a game of Monopoly they didn’t have time to finish before they had to go to bed, but her mind kept wrestling with the riddle. What could Mom have heard on the TV news that would have frightened her so badly, when it apparently hadn’t frightened anyone else?
    The following morning, when Grandpa announced that he needed a few things from town, he took it for granted that they wanted to stay behind and ferry more supplies to the island. He’d come up with an old ice chest—though he said if they took cans of pop they could set them in the water and refrigerate them without needing any ice—and a little grate they could put across a couple of rocks to form a cooking surface. Sandy was full of plans for a weenie roast, and Grandpa said he’d bring back marshmallows, too.
    It was too early to expect a reply from Annie, so Megan didn’t ask if they could go with Grandpa into Lakewood. The island had worked a spell on her yesterday. She’d managed to forget how frightened she was, at least most of the time. So she couldn’t wait