As a beautiful, young, well-to-do young woman sits upon her family's beach on the shore of a secluded island in the Florida Keys, a man clad in little more than the ancient ocean salt emerges from the waves. Günther Prien is a young German officer stat

The Adventures of the Submariner's Son

By Tom Swicegood

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2012 Thomas L. P. Swicegood
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4759-3498-4

Chapter One

Seven months later ...

Daisy McDonald was fifteen, tall, thin, black as coal, and pregnant. Wearing a very clean, one-piece cotton dress that had been scrubbed many times in her family's backyard tub, Daisy suppressed a mild nervousness. She stepped over the low concrete wall in front of Luther Pinder's two-story residence and, in the shade of coconut palms, walked to the side door.

Pinder's home, with its wide veranda-like porch surrounded by lush multi-colored hibiscus, backed up to the white sand of South Beach. The home was spacious enough to hold several houses the size of a wood-planked shanty in another part of Key West where Daisy lived with her mother, brother, and sisters.

Mrs. Pinder was busy in the kitchen. Hazel was not a large woman, but stately, forty-one years of age, with hazel eyes for which she was named, and henna hair carefully pulled back and fastened. She had a stern schoolteacher set to her jaw. Her straightforward gaze through gold-rimmed eyeglasses was inquisitive yet not unfriendly. She opened the screen door at the knock of the young girl who stood twisting one of her carefully braided pigtails.

"You must be Daisy McDonald," said Mrs. Pinder. "Mrs. Thompson told me I should talk to you. Your mother works for Mrs. Hemingway, I think? Your mother is Pauline's maid?"

"No, ma'am, that's my sister who works for Miss Pauline, ma'am. Olive cooks. Her specialty is arroz con pollo. Miss Pauline told Olive I should come here if I want a job."

"You like housework?"

"Yes'm. I can do dishes, sweep floors, dust, make beds. I'm not lazy. I'm a hard worker. I'm honest. I don't take nothing what's not given to me. I can cook good as my sister. I can cook arroz con pollo, too, and picadillo, black beans, plantains, crawfish, grunts, yellowtail and grits. I sure would like to be hired here, Mrs. Pinder. I need the work and I need to make some money. I'd be proud to be part of this fine big house. No colored folks could talk me down."

"Would they do that?"

"Yes, ma'am, given a chance."

"Well, tell me, Daisy, how are you with little ones?"

"I love babies."

"My daughter Eola's boy was born day before yesterday."

"I know, Mrs. Pinder, but born today, born day before yesterday, last week—don't make no difference. I taken care of all kinds of babies since the minute they was born. You can tell Miss Eola I ain't no stranger to babies."

Hazel smiled, opened her screen door wider, motioning Daisy inside the kitchen. "I can see you're not a stranger to making babies," the older woman said, not unkindly. "You're going to have one of your own—in four or five months?"

"Gonna be twins mama says."

"And McDonald is your husband's name?"

"No, ma'am, it's my momma's. I'm not married. I'm too young to get married."

"Oh?"

"But I don't run around. I got a special boyfriend."

Hazel tried not to smile. "Of course. Marriage at your age would be against the law."

"Yes'm."

"After you have your baby—what then? Can you keep working here? Or will your own baby be too much?"

"Mrs. Pinder, one baby, two, three, never too many babies," Daisy replied, proudly smoothing her hand over her stomach. "You know, this ain't my first? I got a boy already. He's nearly eight months."

The lady of the house brushed a loose strand of her own hair back into place. The red in it was accentuated by golden rays of morning sunlight streaming through a stained glass window. "Oh, my Lord! Mrs. Thompson certainly didn't tell me everything. Or Mrs. Hemingway didn't tell her," Hazel declared, struggling to make a decision. "Pauline being married to a writer—you'd think she'd pass along more information."

"Please, Mrs. Pinder, that ain't my fault," Daisy pleaded, "I'm a hard worker."

Hazel erased a frown. "Daisy," she said, bypassing her fleeting worries and smiling, "we'll see how you work out. Eola needs somebody, and so do I. Let's see what you can do with the laundry and then you can get to the dishes. The baby's sleeping now. We'll go upstairs later."

"Yes, ma'am."

"It'll be three dollars a week salary and all your meals the days you're here. You can take home leftovers."

Daisy nodded.

"When will the baby wake up?" she asked.

Mrs. Pinder glanced at a clock on the otherwise undecorated kitchen wall, sighed, and shaking her head, answered, "Soon enough. You'll hear him!"

Chapter Two

Ceilings in the beach house were ten feet high. Its walls were nearly eight inches thick with smooth, unpainted plaster over dry, very combustible wood lath. The building was designed to remain naturally cool even during the dog days of summer.

When Captain Pinder came home for lunch or dinner after tuning the engine of one of his charter fishing boats; or from repairing plumbing in a muddy crawlspace under his frame hotel a block away on Duval Street; or from an endless variety of other work, he often had oil and dirt on his hands. Luther's habit was to enter his home through the kitchen and head directly for soap and water in the sink.

"Hazel, I'm home!" he bellowed as he burst through the inevitably unlocked screen door.

Daisy, who was alone and nearly finished washing dishes, jumped in response to the unexpected invasion. Totally startled, she felt a soapy breakfast plate slip from her fingers. The slick china seemed to squirt forward, smashing on the floor between Captain Pinder and herself. Broken pieces flew in all directions.

"Oh, you scared me!" exclaimed Daisy, doubly alarmed, fearing her employment would end before it barely began.

"For Christ's sake," instantly replied the stocky, over six-foot entrepreneur and seafaring man, but seeing the resulting distress on the girl's face, quickly softened his voice. "Well, that's a lesson for you, girl," he said, adding, "Whoever you are—whatever your name is?"

"I'm Daisy."

"Okay, Daisy, you just learned something. Drop anything on this kitchen tile and you can kiss it goodbye."

"Yes, sir, but you could give a person warning."

Captain Pinder turned and squinted directly into the girl's eyes. "Are you sassing me?" he asked.

"No, sir, not yet—I ain't been here long enough to do that. I'd have to know you better."

The captain laughed. "That's right," he said, beginning to smile. "But you do know who I am?"

"Yes, sir, you Cap'nT. Luther Pinder. Everybody know who you are. Some say you the richest man in town. Some say you the meanest."

"Neither of which is true," replied the captain, placing a newspaper-wrapped parcel on the kitchen table as Hazel, who had been busy in a front room, quietly entered. He gave her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek and then turned back a fold of newspaper to reveal fresh turtle steaks. "I was on the dock when Stan's boat came in," he said. "They spent the night off Dry Tortugas. Fishing was good."

Hazel nodded. "We'll have the turtle for dinner," she said, picking it up and turning toward the refrigerator. Everything seemed under control until an unbelievably loud, ear-piercing wail shattered their peace. The noise came from the grandbaby upstairs.

Luther unhappily glanced toward the high ceiling, sighed, brought his eyes down, and stared at his wife. There was no tolerance in his expression. Any joy concerning his daughter Eola's new arrival had vanished the previous evening. The infant's continuous crying had totally eroded his patience and he was...