ADVENTURE ON OCRACOKE ISLAND; CHAPTER 5: THE PONEY LEADS THE WAY

Delia was awakened by pale, gray light streaming through the curtains. The wind still whistled outside, and a cold draft came through the window.

When she looked around, she remembered she was in Aunt Hetty's room, but Aunt Hetty wasn't there. It looked as if she had not come back to bed at all.

Delia saw the cracked window panes and remembered the terrifying night.

She got out of bed and went to her own room to wash up and get dressed. The room was like an icebox, and the shuttered window made everything dark. The glass was gone from the floor.

Delia slipped into her blouse and jumper. Then she hurried downstairs, toward the smell of biscuits baking.

A man's voice that she didn't recognize was coming from the kitchen. "I tell you, Hetty, we're in real danger here," he said. "And now there's talk of spies."

"Spies! Oh dear!" Aunt Hetty lowered her voice. "I waited up, Alex. Were there any survivors?"

He was a young man about Aunt Hetty's age, tall and handsome and serious-looking. He stood by the kitchen table, holding a cup of tea. Aunt Hetty stood across from him, gripping the edge of a chair with one hand. Her knuckles were white. In the other hand she held part of a china plate.

Delia noticed that she had dark circles under her eyes. On the table before her were several broken plates and cups. One of the cupboard doors hung open.

"Good morning, Delia," Aunt Hetty said. "I want you to meet someone. This is Alex Caldwell. He's with the Coast Guard. Alex, this is Delia."

Alex Caldwell put his cup down and extended his hand. Delia took it.

"Hello, Delia," he said. "Pleased to meet you." He cleared his throat. "My condolences about your mother," he added.

"Thank you," Delia replied. She noticed his strained expression and bloodshot eyes. He looked as if he had been up all night.

"Is is the war here?" she asked. It was a strange question but she didn't know how else to ask.

Alex glanced at Aunt Hetty before he spoke. "Well, yes and no," he said cautiously. "There is some danger to ships right now. A lot of danger, actually. But as far as we can tell, the islanders are safe. You should stay close to home, though, just in case."

Aunt Hetty changed the subject. "Alex, will you join us for breakfast?" She opened the oven and took out a pan of biscuits.

"Thanks, but I'd better be going," Alex said. "I just stopped in to make sure you all were safe." He took Aunt Hetty's hand and kissed it. "Don't worry. You know where to find me." He stepped to the back door. "Goodbye, Delia."

Delia nodded.

"Well," Aunt Hetty said, as soon as Alex was gone. She was blushing.

"Is he your sweetheart?" Delia asked.

She smoothed her hair. "Well, yes, you could say that," she replied.

"Did Grandpa come back?" Delia asked.

"Not yet," sighed Aunt Hetty. She set a plate of biscuits and gravy in front of Delia. "Eat now, honey. It's started to snow and you need to stay healthy."

Delia finished her breakfast and cleared her dishes. "Would you mind if I took a walk?" she asked.

Aunt Hetty turned from the sink, where she was pumping water into a big pot for boiling. She was getting ready to wash the dishes, and the only way to heat the water was on the stove.

She glanced at the clock. "Yes, I suppose so," she said. "But don't go far. And be back in time for church." Her hand trembled at her collar. "And, please, don't go to the beach."

Delia nodded. She had forgotten that it was Sunday.

"And Delia," said Aunt Hetty, frowning at Delia's thin jumper. "Wear something warmer than that. A cold wind blew in last night. You'll have to learn how to dress for the weather here."

Delia raced back upstairs and chanted into warm pants and wool sweater and socks. Then she pulled on her hat, gloves and jacket and stepped outside. An icy blast of wind carried small snowflakes up to the door.

She stood in the yard and looked up at the house. It was a big, white, ordinary-looking house that had been built in the 1830s. Like all the other houses on the island, it was made of wood. Everything here was made of wood, not brick like her house in Virginia.

She walked around the side of the house, past the big, round cistern full of rain water, past the fig tree, and stood by the old cedar that had scratched her window. It was haggard-looking, gnarled from many years in the wind. She looked at her window with its shutters drawn tight.

As she turned around, she stopped. There was a pony in the yard, looking at her.

He was caramel-colored with a white blaze on his forehead, and he stood there as calm as a cat.

"Hello," Delia whispered, and put out her hand. He looked at her for a moment, then turned and walked down Howard Street.

Delia followed him.

The pony broke into a trot, its hoofs making a thudding sound in the sand. Delia trotted along, too. The soft sand made it hard to run.

They ran down the street under the bower of trees, the yaupon and cedar and live oaks making a long, high tunnel. They passed houses with chickens in the yards. Some of the fences were draped with nets. They ran past the tiny cemeteries that were right next to people's houses. Delia ran faster to get past them.

It felt good to run. The cold, salty air filled her lungs. She laughed when the pony turned around to look at her, as if to make sure she was still there.

They came to the end of Howard Street, where the church and the school stood. The pony turned the other way and kept running.

Delia ran too, straight into the chilly wind. They ran all the way to the lighthouse, and past it to a little cove. The pony ran right up to the cold water and stepped in.

Looking around, Delia wasn't quite sure where she was. It was a peaceful cove on the sound side, protected by scrubby cedars from the bitter north wind. The snow still fell lightly, and dropped silently into the waves that lapped the shore.

Then Delia remembered what Capt. Haskell has told her. This was Teach's Hole. The deep stretch of water haunted by Blackbeard's ghost.

Suddenly, a gust of wind snatched Delia's hat and threw it high into the air.

She heard a twig snap in the trees behind her. The pony looked up.

Someone -- or something -- was coming.

NEXT WEEK: Chapter 6: A New Friend