Thunder from the Sea by Joan Hiatt Harlow Page A

Don’t worry about gettin’ anything for Fiona and me. We keep Christmas simple—without all the fuss. After all, Jesus was born in a barn to a humble family.”
    Fiona added, “We don’t have much to give this year in the way of gifts. We’ve lost so much with the earthquake and the tidal wave. But we do have each other and that is the best gift of all.”
    On Christmas day Fiona handed Tom a small white box tied with a gold ribbon. Tom was alarmed. They were giving him a gift and he had nothing to give them! “Oh, but you said—”
    Fiona quickly interrupted. “This isn’t really a Christmas present, Tom. We would have given it to you anyway. It belongs to you.”
    Tom opened the box and gasped. “Grandfather’s pocket watch!” The gold watch gleamed. It had been polished to a bright shine and the engraved Celtic knot stood out clearly. Tom popped it open. The broken crystal had been replaced. Even the face and hands looked like new. Tom put the watch to his ear and heard its familiar ticking. His eyes filled with tears.
    â€œWe knew it meant a lot to you, so we took it to the jeweler at Chance-Along the day we went to Dr. Sullivan’s,” Enoch explained.
    â€œKen picked it up one day when he was able to get over to the mainland,” Fiona said.
    Tom threw his arms around Fiona and then Enoch. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you so much.”
    Later, after dinner, they were about to have dessert—hot fig duff, a boiled flour pudding with raisins—when they heard a banging on the door.
    â€œI’ll go,” Tom said, expecting to see one of the Rideouts. Thunder barked and followed him.
    Six strange creatures—one with the head of a horse, another with a crown, and all with ghostly masks—stood on the threshold.

17 The Mummer’s Warning
    t om gaped at the strange sight. What was going on? Muffled laughs came from under the masks. “Any mummers loud in?” they asked.
    â€œWe’re nice mummers. We’re good jannies,” said the horse in a hollow voice. “We’re comin’ in to dance with ya!” The group stomped the snow from their feet, pushed past Tom, and crowded into the house.
    â€œWho are you?” Tom asked.
    â€œDon’t ask,” whispered one of the mummers, who wore a kitchen pot for a hat and red yarn for a beard. “It’s against the rules.”
    Tom recalled that if you guessed who was under the mask, they would have to reveal themselves, and no mummer wanted that.
    They had to be the Rideouts! After all, therewere no other families on the island. But there were only four Rideouts, and none of them was the right size—no jannie here was small like Rowena, nor thin like Ken, nor chubby like Margaret. Who were they? Where did they come from? How did they get here?
    Enoch and Fiona came into the kitchen and looked in astonishment at the six creatures. Two of the mummers began speaking to each other in high-pitched jannie talk.
    â€œNowwho’sdatscraggyladmedear?” one sang out.
    â€œâ€˜E’sdaonedatamoswantstowarnboutdedog,” another mummer answered in a chirping voice.
    â€œWhat are they sayin’?” Tom was bewildered.
    â€œI’ve no idea,” Fiona answered.
    â€œAnd what has this to do with Christmas?”
    â€œNot a thing that I can see,” Enoch whispered.
    The mummer with the golden crown didn’t say a word. But another mummer, who wore a stringy mop as a wig, danced a jig and sang, “We’re here, my dears, to entertain you!” Tom couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman—it wore a patchwork skirt topped with a man’s shirt and a yellow-and-black necktie on backward. Its feetwere huge, and as the creature danced, Tom could see red-striped stockings that went up to its knees. “Let me introduce myself,” the stranger said with a bow. My name is Pickle Herring. And