Clarendon.
ROBBIE
Nonsense, what are you talking about?
36
DAVEY
There's blood everywhere. And her eye's out. It's . . . it's on her cheek.
DAVEY begins to weep. Other people are gathering now, looking at the man and the boy. Slowly, ROBBIE releases DAVEY. Something is going on here, something that may be serious, and if so, there's only one man to check it out. We see this realization dawning on ROBBIE'S face.
He looks around at a middle-aged woman with a sweater hastily pulled around her shoulders and a bowl of cake batter still in one hand.
ROBBIE
Mrs. Kingsbury. Look after him. Get him a hot tea . . .
(reconsiders) No, give him a little whiskey, if you've got some.
MRS. KINGSBURY Are you going to call Mike Anderson?
ROBBIE looks sour. There's no love lost between him and MIKE.
ROBBIE
Not until I take a look for myself.
DAVEY
Be careful, Mr. Beals. She's dead . . . but there's someone in the house, I think . . .
ROBBIE looks at him impatiently. The boy is clearly hysterical. An old man with a craggy New England face steps forward.
GEORGE KIRBY
You want help, Robbie Beals?
ROBBIE Not necessary, George. I'll be fine.
He gets back into his car. It's too big to U-turn in the street, so he uses a neighboring driveway.
DAVEY He shouldn't go up there alone.
37
The group in the street (which is still growing) watches ROBBIE drive up to MRS. CLARENDON'S
with troubled eyes.
MRS. KINGSBURY
Come on inside, Davey. I'm not giving whiskey to a child, but I can put the teapot on.
She puts an arm around him and leads him toward the house.
46 EXTERIOR: MARTHA CLARENDON'S HOUSE.
ROBBIE'S Lincoln pulls up in front. He gets out. Surveys the path, the overturned walker, the open door. His face suggests that this might be a little more serious than he at first thought. But he starts up the path, anyway. Leave it to that know-all MIKE ANDERSON? Not likely!
47 EXTERIOR: LITTLE TALL ISLAND TOWN HALL DAY.
This is a white wooden building, stark in the New England style, and the center of the town's public life. In front of it is a little cupola with a largish bell inside a bell the size of an apple basket, say. The Island Services four-wheel drive pulls up in front, using a slot marked RESERVED FOR
TOWN BUSINESS.
48 INTERIOR: THE ISLAND SERVICES VEHICLE, WITH MIKE AND HATCH.
HATCH has got a pamphlet called Storm Preparedness: State of Maine Guidelines. He's deep in it.
MIKE You want to come in?
HATCH
(doesn't look up) Nope. I'm fine.
As MIKE opens the door, HATCH does look up ... and gives MIKE a sweet, open smile.
HATCH
Thanks for seeing after my little girl, boss.
38
MIKE
(smiles back) My pleasure.
49 EXTERIOR: ANGLE ON THE ISLAND SERVICES FOUR-WHEEL DRIVE.
MIKE gets out, once more settling his hat so it won't blow off. As he does this, he takes another small measuring glance at the sky.
50 EXTERIOR: MIKE, ON THE WALK.
He stops at the cupola. Now that we're closer, we can read the plaque in front. There is a list of war dead on it: ten from the Civil War, one from
the Spanish-American, a couple each from I, II, and Korea, and six from Vietnam, the po' folks'
war. Among the names we see lots of BEALSES, GODSOES, HATCHERS, AND ROBICHAUXES. Above the list, in big letters, is this: WHEN WE RING FOR THE LIVING, WE HONOR OUR DEAD.
MIKE brushes the bell's clapper with a gloved forefinger. It rings faintly. Then he goes on inside.
51 INTERIOR: THE LITTLE TALL ISLAND TOWN OFFICE.
It's your usual cluttered secretarial bullpen, dominated by an aerial photo of the island on one wall. A single woman is running the whole show plump and pretty URSULA GODSOE (she has a plaque with her name on it beside the in/out basket on her desk). Behind her, through a number of glass windows along the main corridor, we see the actual town meeting hall. This consists of many straight-backed benches, like Puritan pews, and a bare wood lectern with a microphone. Looks more like church than government. Nobody's out there right now.
Prominent on the wall of URSULA'S office is the same sign we saw on the door of the market: STORM EMERGENCY POSSIBLE NEXT 3 DAYS! 'TAKE SHELTER' SIGNAL is 2 SHORTS, 1 LONG. MIKE
strolls over and looks at this, waiting for URSULA. She is on the phone, speaking to someone in tones of forced patience.
URSULA
No, Betty, I haven't heard any more than you have . . . we're all dealing with the same forecast .
. . No, not the memorial bell, not with the winds we're expecting . . . It'll be the siren, comes to that. Two shorts and one long, that's right . . . Mike Anderson, of course . . . those are decisions we pay him to make, aren't they, dear?
URSULA winks broadly at MIKE and gives him a one-moment gesture. MIKE raises his own hand and claps his fingers against his thumb several times, miming a talking mouth. URSULA grins and nods.
39
URSULA
Yes . . . I'll be praying, too ... of course we all will. Thanks for calling, Betty.
She hangs up and closes her eyes for a moment.
MIKE
Tough day?
URSULA
Betty Soames seems to think we have access to some secret forecast.
MIKE Kind of a Jeane Dixon forecast? Psychic weather?
URSULA
I guess.
MIKE taps the STORM EMERGENCY placard.
MIKE
Most people in town have seen this?
URSULA
If they're not blind, they've seen it. You need to relax, Mike Anderson. How's little Pippa Hatcher?
MIKE
Whoa, that was fast.
URSULA Ayuh. No secrets on the island.
MIKE
She's fine. Got her head stuck in the stairs. Her dad's out in the car, doing his homework for the Big Blow of '89.
40
URSULA
