By six o'clock the next morning, chores were done and Grandpa and the children were loading up the truck. Grandma and Skipper, Nanny and the kid were clustered about, watching, as Misty walked up the ramp in eager anticipation. She could smell the sweet hay aboard and the juicy slices of a Delicious apple tucked here and there. Little Stormy skittered along after her, with Paul and Maureen on either side, arms spread-eagled to keep her from falling off.
"I feel so left-behind," Grandma said, folding and unfolding her hands in her apron. "Like a ... well, like a colt that's bein' weaned."
Grandpa was about to break into laughter, but when he saw Grandma's woebegone face, he came over to her, his voice full of tenderness. "Tide o' life's flowin' normal again, eh, Idy? The goin' out and the comin' in."
"Sure, Grandma," Maureen said, "and we'll be home afore dark."
"And hungry as bears," added Paul.
Grandma blinked hard. "I reckon the storm's brought us so close I hate to lose sight o' ye, even for a day." Big tears began running down her face.
"Idy!" Grandpa bellowed. "You come with us. Call up them Auxiliary ladies and tell 'em you can't sew on the children's band uniforms today. What if the old ones did float out to sea? Tell the kids to play in their birthday suits! Tell 'em anything. Tell 'em we can't load and unload the ponies without your help."