The Cat Who Came To Breakfast

"Lori's nice. I like her ... Want some coffee?"

"I'll take a cup, if you'll have one with me."

Harriet sent her helper home, saying she'd finish the cleanup herself. Then she brought two cups of coffee and sat down, having removed her soiled apron and limp headgear. Her straight, colorless hair had been cut in the kitchen, Qwilleran guessed, with poultry shears and a mixing bowl. "I know you like it strong," she said. "This is island coffee. We don't make it like this for customers."

He could understand why; he winced at the first sip. "What brought you back to the island?"

"There's something about the island—always makes you want to come back. I always wanted to run my own restaurant and do all the cooking. Then Mr. Exbridge told me about this and told me how to go about it— borrow the money, buy secondhand kitchen equipment, and all that. He's a nice man. I s'pose you know him. What are you doing here? Writing for the paper?"

"If I can find anything to write about. Perhaps you could tell me something about island life."

-You bet I could!"

He placed his recorder on the table. "I'd like to tape our conversation. Don't pay any attention to it. Just talk."

"What about?"

"Breakfast Island when you were growing up."

"It was hard. No electricity. No bathrooms. No clocks. No phones. No money. We don't call it Breakfast Island over here. It's Providence Island."

"Who gave it that name?"

"The first settlers. A divine providence cast "em up on the beach after their ship was wrecked."

"You say you had no money. How did you live?"

"On fish. Wild rabbit. Goat's milk." She said it proudly.

"What about necessities like shoes and flour and ammunition for hunting rabbits?"

"They used traps, back then. Other things they needed, they got by trading on the mainland. They traded fish, mostly, and stuff that washed up on the beach. My pa built a boat with wood that washed up."

"Is he still living?" Qwilleran asked, thinking he might be one of the unsociable cab drivers.

"He drowned, trying to haul his nets before a storm." She said it without emotion.

"And your mother?"

"Ma's still here. Still using oil lamps. Never left the island—not even for a day. She'd just as soon go to the moon."

"But surely electricity is now available to islanders.

The resort has it. The summer estates have had it a long rime."

"Ay-uh, but a lot of people here can't afford it. A lot of "em still make their own medicines from wild plants. My ma remembers when there was no school. Now we have a one-room schoolhouse. I went through eight grades there—everybody in one room with one teacher." She said it boastfully.

"How did you arrange to go to high school?" "Stayed with a family on the mainland." "Did you have any trouble adapting to a different kind of school?"

"Ay-uh. Sure did. It was hard. I was ahead of the mainland kids in some things, the teachers said, but islanders were supposed to be dumb, and we got called all kinds of names."

"How did you feel about that?" Qwilleran asked sympathetically.

"Made me mad! Had to beat up on "em a coupla times." Harriet clenched a capable fist

He regarded this Amazon with astonishment and grudging admiration. "You must be very strong." "Gotta be strong to live here." "Where do the islanders live? I don't see any houses." "In Providence Village, back in the woods." "Is that what the mainlanders call Piratetown?" "Ay-uh. Makes me mad!" The clenched fist hit the ta-bletop and made the dishes dance. "How do your people feel about the new resort?" "They're afraid. They think they'll be chased off the island, like they were chased off the west beach when the rich folks came."

"What do they think about the tourists?"

"They don't like "em. Some of the tourists are cocky . . . rowdy ... half-naked. Last coupla weekends, a bunch of "em camped near the lighthouse and flew kites big enough to ride in."

"Hang gliders," Qwilleran said, nodding. "Was that considered objectionable?"

"Well... they sat around with no clothes on, drinking beer and playing the radio loud."

"How do you know?"

"Some rabbit hunters saw "em ... Want more coffee?"

For the first time in his life Qwilleran declined a second cup; he could feel drums beating in his head. "What's your personal opinion of the Pear Island Hotel?" he asked her.

"Too much stuff about pirates. Makes me mad!"

"Are you saying that there were no pirates in the history of the island? Maybe they were here before your ancestors came."

Harriet looked fierce and banged the table. "It's all lies! Made-up lies!"

He thought it a good idea to change the subject. "There's a plaque at the lighthouse, honoring three light-keepers. Do you know what happened to them?"

"Nobody knows," she said mysteriously. "I could tell you the story if you want to hear it."

The drums stopped beating in Qwilleran's head, and he snapped to attention. "I'd like to hear it, but you've had a long hard day. You probably want to go home."

"I don't go home. I have a bed upstairs."

"Then let me take you to lunch on your day off. We'll eat in the Corsair Room."

"I don't take a day off. I work seven days a week. Wait'll I get another cup of coffee. Sure you don't want some?"

Qwilleran had a feeling that he had just found buried treasure. The lighthouse mystery had never been mentioned by Homer Tibbitt.

Harriet returned. "My grampa told this story over and over again, so I practically know it by heart. My great-grampa was mixed up in it."

"Is that so? Was he a lightkeeper himself?"

"No, the guv'ment never hired islanders. That made "em mad! It was like saying they were too dumb, or couldn't be trusted. The guv'ment hired three men from the mainland to live on the rock and keep the light burning. It was an oil lamp in those days, you know. Every so often a guv'ment boat delivered oil for the beacon and food for the keepers, and it was all hauled up the cliff by rope. There were some zigzag steps chiseled in the side of the cliff—you can see "em from the lake—but they were slippery and dangerous. Still are! When the guv'ment boat brought a relief man, he was hauled up like the groceries, by rope."

"How did your great-grandfather become involved, Harriet?"

"Well, he was kind of a leader, because he could read and write."

"Was that unusual?"

"Ay-uh. They didn't have a school. The settlers were kind of a forgotten colony—not only forgotten but looked down on."

"Where did your great-grandfather get his learning, then?"

"His pa taught him. His pa was kind of a preacher, but that's another whole story."

Qwilleran said impatiently, "Don't keep me in suspense, Harriet. What happened?"

"Well, one dark night my great-grampa woke up suddenly and didn't know why. It was like a message from the Lord. Wake up! Wake up! He got out of bed and looked around outside, and he saw that the beacon wasn't burning. That was bad! He put on his boots and took a lantern and went to the lighthouse, to see what was wrong. It was about a mile off. When he got there, there weren't any men around, and then he shouted—no answers! The fence gate was locked, so he climbed over. The door on the keepers" cottage was standing open, but there was nobody there. He thought of trying to light the beacon himself, but the door to the tower was locked. He didn't know what to do."

"There was no wireless at that time?" Qwilleran asked.

"No wireless—no radio—no telephone. That was a long time ago, Mr. Q. So ... my great-grampa went home. Passing ships must've reported the beacon being out, because . . . pretty soon the island was swarming with constables and soldiers, arresting people, searching houses, and even digging up backyard graves. They didn't have regular cemeteries then."