“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?”