Dark Water Rising (10 page)

Kate’s funeral flowers.

I picked up the brown blossoms, stuffed them in
one pocket, and poked the ball in the other. Then I noticed that my pants were torn and my leg oozed blood. I looked at Josiah, at all his scrapes and cuts. We’d had a rough time of it, but we’d made it.

“So they’s with Mister Braeden?” he asked.

“I hope so,” I said, staring at the note.

“So we needs to get to the Vedders’.”

I shook my head. “Aunt Julia said the Peeks have a real sturdy house. Might be better there.”

Josiah cocked his head and looked at me. “My bones is sayin’ Vedders.”

I gave him a surprised look, and he laughed at me, easylike, his eyes full of something warm I’d only sensed before. I felt it sifting through me, easing my aches and worry. “Okay,” I said finally, grinning at him. “The Vedders it is, then.”

We turned, headed for the door, when the window exploded. I ducked, covering my head while glass shot past Josiah, clear across the house. He caught a piece in his forehead, and blood streamed down his face and into his eyes. I pulled the three-inch sliver from his skin, ripped a kitchen towel lengthwise, and tied it around his head.

Wind whipped through the open window, pummeling the walls and ceilings till cracks raced around the plaster.

“Let’s get out of here before the roof goes!” I shouted.

He nodded, and we scrambled down the stairs, back into the water and howling wind.

We must’ve looked like drowned rats when the Vedders opened their door to us, but they were a sight, too, dressed in woolen bathing suits. Mrs. Vedder insisted we have some warm broth, and I gratefully accepted, collapsing into a ladder-back chair at the kitchen table. Josiah hesitated, his hands poked deep inside his wet pockets till Mr. Vedder pulled out a chair for him, too.

“Sit down, Josiah. At times like these we can’t stand on ceremony.”

Josiah nodded and mumbled, “Yessir. Thank you, sir.”

The house shuddered in the wind, and while we downed our bowls of broth, Mr. Vedder talked to us about the storm.

“This house isn’t as well-built as the Richard Peek house,” he said. “I figure if it starts to break up, we’ll make a human chain, and you boys can follow us down the fence line to the Peeks’.”

I nodded and glanced at Josiah, wondering if his bones had anything to say about that.

Five-year-old Katherine tugged at my shirt sleeve. “Where’s Kate?” she asked. “Didn’t she come with you?”

I shook my head. “She’s with her mama and papa.”

“Are they at home?”

“No, they’re all safe and sound at my uncle’s house,” I said, praying it was so.

“Well, I sure wish she was here. No one will play with me. Not Jacob or Allen, not even Lola. They all say I’m too little.”

She wandered off, and I turned my attention back to the storm.

The Vedder house had been tightly shuttered, but through a broken slat, I could see all the way to the swollen gulf. It was a staggering sight—home after home looking like tiny islands surrounded by angry sea, like they’d been built in the middle of an ocean. The ones closest to the gulf were gone, splintered and swept away or slammed against others, waiting for the next wave.

Farther out, a big gray wall of water, like an army of elephants, moved slow and sure toward the island. It was held somewhat at bay by the northeast wind, but I couldn’t help but wonder what it would mean to all of us if the wind shifted to the south.

I blinked the sick thought away and kept an eye on the water in the yard. It soon swamped the four-foot fence, and I knew it was just a matter of time before waves broke up the closest row of houses and sent them slamming into us.

The house began to fill with people, some whose
homes had already come apart and some who feared theirs would soon follow. Mr. and Mrs. Mason came with their children, along with a number of soldiers from Fort Crockett, till there must’ve been fifty of us gathered in the front hall. Josiah and one of the soldiers, Private Orville Billings, helped Mr. Vedder remove closet doors, then we all helped nail them crossways to reinforce the windows and front entry.

The storm roared and buffeted the house. The women sat on the stairs, taking care not to show their fear to the children. Katherine, content at last to have playmates, sat under the staircase, sharing her new gray kitten with Francesca and Kearny, Jr.

Josiah and I had just settled on the floor near the kids when I felt a movement. My vision blurred, and a wave of queasiness hit me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a small table slide a few feet across the floor. I stared at it, confused for a moment, then felt the whole house rise and rock like a ship at sea. Shocked cries sounded all around me. We were afloat!

Timbers groaned and cracked as the house washed off its six-foot foundation. Seconds later, we hit the ground with a jaw-shattering jolt. My ears popped, and water gushed into the house so fast I didn’t have time to get to my feet. I kicked and groped my way to the surface, grabbing for Josiah to make sure he would make it, too, but he was already up, fishing Kearny, Jr.,
from the murky water. I grappled for Francesca and handed her, dripping, to her panicky mother, who had been forced to flee farther up the stairs. Lola and Allen popped up, then Jacob, his bathing suit nearly ripped off him. Private Billings pulled Katherine out, sputtering and crying, “Papa! Papa!” Mr. Vedder took her on his back, but the water quickly rose again. I pulled her from him and set her on the stairs, only to hear her cry once more—this time for her kitten.

Mr. Vedder pulled the soaked and clawing fur ball from the water and tossed it on the stairs. Mrs. Mason, caught unawares, jumped, shrieking, “Rat!” and slung it back. There must’ve been a dozen of us men, all up to our necks in cold dark water, scrambling to save that shivering gray kitten once again.

Dark closed over us, and still the house shook with each violent burst of wind. Waves crashed through broken windows. Huge beams from the newly constructed barracks at Fort Crockett thudded against the walls. We helped Mr. Vedder renail the closet doors, loosened by the settling of the house, then stood with arms stretched through the cracks where the front door had once been, pushing away beams and timbers during each lull. Others stood near windows, doing the same, fighting to keep the house from being battered into kindling.

A sound loud as a freight train roared over our heads.
I heard a great cracking and splintering, and when it stopped, the house listed to the north and rain poured down the stairs. Mrs. Vedder checked and reported back.

“The roof over the two east bedrooms is gone,” she said with surprising calm.

She moved the women and children farther up the flooded stairs and finally into the bathroom. I stayed behind with Josiah, helping Mr. Vedder ward off the battering rams till the water rose so high we had to give up. Our arms were torn, full of splinters and glass, but none were hurt as bad as poor Mr. Vedder. We took him to the bathroom, where maybe fifteen people had gathered, mostly women and children.

Faces turned to us, and candlelight flickered in eyes that were empty of everything but fear. The smaller children lay in the big white tub, bundled in bedspreads, urged to sleep. Jacob, his ripped bathing suit discarded on the floor, didn’t look too happy about having to wear Lola’s petticoat.

I shut the door, leaving Mrs. Vedder to wrap her husband’s arms and hands with what was left of the clean toweling, and sat in the dark hall with Josiah and the rest of the men.

No one spoke. We shivered from the cold and rocked with each explosive blast of wind and water, but it was the eerie lulls that finally made me cover my ears.

In brief, crystal seconds, I heard the crunching of houses breaking apart, the terrified bawling of animals, the faraway cries of people praying and pleading for help. I thought of Mama, Papa, and the kids, which quickly brought me back to the woman I’d seen just hours ago, whisked down the flooded alley, clinging to her child.

A choking ache washed over me, filling my eyes and knotting in my throat.

Oh, heaven, please help them—and me as well. For in my selfishness, I continued to pray that the woman and child hadn’t been Mama and Kate.

12

Floating furniture thudded against the first-floor ceiling right below me, and still the water rose. It sloshed around me while I sat in the dark hall, elbows propped on my knees, arms wrapped around my ears. I speculated, considering my position near the east bedrooms, what I would do if I heard that final great crack, that signal to all of us that the house was breaking apart. I’d likely be crushed under its weight, or maybe thrown right through the missing roof, immersed in muddy, pitch-black water, and tangled in debris to drown. There seemed to be no real hope for any of us.

Like the cold, fear crawled along my skin and soaked right through to my bones. I shivered so hard my teeth rattled. Josiah moved closer and I leaned into him, grateful to share his small portion of warmth.

I think I might’ve dozed some then, but if so, it was a brief and fretful escape with the wind howling and
the house rocking so. Then voices—close voices—cut through my weariness and brought me to my feet.

“It’s coming from the west side,” Mr. Mason said.

Josiah and I hurried after him into the windy west bedroom, crawling through water and across an overturned bureau and spilled drawers. A light shone through a broken window, and I stared at the pale glow, unable to fathom its meaning at first. A full moon stared back at me, a lantern suspended in a black sky, and the sweet realization sunk in. Even though the wind still howled like wolves, its teeth, exposed by moonlight, didn’t look quite as sharp as they had.

Waves crashed against the wall and in through the second-story window, drenching us badly but bringing the voices even closer.

“How many?” I asked, blinking from the salt spray.

Mr. Mason leaned across the sill. “Four, I think.” He stretched out his arm. “Here! Quick, give me your hand!” he shouted.

He pulled Mr. and Mrs. Collum from an upturned roof and dragged them through the window. Then Mrs. Longineau shoved her six-week-old son into my arms while she and her husband scrambled from their wind-tossed raft just in time. It scraped against the house and was swept away.

“Was there anyone else?” Mr. Mason asked.

Mr. Longineau shook his head and pulled the back of his wife’s skirt up over her bare shoulders. Wind and debris had shredded much of their clothing and the poor woman shivered from the cold.

Sobs poured from Mrs. Collum as she told us how their house had broken apart and their cherished pets had to be abandoned.

“The parrots kept calling, ‘Mama, Mama,’ and we couldn’t do a thing to save them.”

Mr. Mason tried to comfort her, but it was the baby that troubled me most. He was soaked through and lay limp in my arms. I wrapped his cold hands in mine, shook him a bit, and studied him in the pale moonlight. He didn’t stir. Hugging him close, I led the way back down the hall to the bathroom.

Mrs. Vedder must’ve recognized the voices, for she stood in the doorway, waiting, faint candlelight sputtering behind her, arms held wide in welcome.

Full of dread, I handed the baby back to his mother. She checked him tenderly, then hugged him close while tears rolled down her face.

“Oh, Florence,” she whispered to Mrs. Vedder, “he’s gone.” She slowly rocked back and forth. “My sweet little Tom is gone.”

Mrs. Vedder grabbed a shaving mirror and held it close to the baby’s nose. We watched and waited.

A tiny moist circle formed on the glass, and I heard
Mrs. Longineau suck in a surprised breath. Grateful tears flooded her cheeks.

“He’s going to be fine, darlin’, you’ll see.” Mrs. Vedder patted her shoulder. “We just need something warm to wrap him in.”

She squeezed past the crowd that had gathered around the door, dropped to her knees, and crawled into the battered west bedroom. She returned shortly, her hair blown askew, and in her hand she gripped a cracked bottle of cordial. Under her arm, she’d tucked a knitted woolen petticoat taken from the overturned bureau. She quickly stripped the baby of his wet clothing, wrapped him in the dry petticoat, and placed Katherine’s purring kitten beside him for added warmth. Then she handed the baby back to Mrs. Longineau and promptly poured the cordial into an empty shaving mug.