Dark Water Rising (15 page)

Kate’s funeral flowers. I’d stuffed them into my pocket yesterday at the rental, along with the baseball.

I stared at them. Only two nights ago the sweet smell of jasmine had lulled me to sleep.

I blew out the putrid stench that pervaded every breath, cupped the shriveled brown petals in my hands, and brought them to my nose. A faint scent still clung to them, and I breathed in the fragile sweetness.

It smelled like life.

I pulled open Ben’s clean pocket and carefully poured the brown petals inside.

18

When I woke Monday morning, Papa was already up. I left the boys sleeping on their pallets, eased down the stairs, and found him in the kitchen with Ezra and Josiah, sitting around a breakfast of soda crackers and water.

“It’ll be daybreak soon,” Papa said. “Better eat something.”

He slid the tin of crackers to me, and I nodded. “I’ll be ready to go when you are.”

“Yessir. Me too, sir,” Josiah said.

“Do you have a plan?” I asked.

“Ezra will stay,” Papa said. “He’ll rebuild the outhouse and help the boys gather all the lumber, slate, and nails they can to repair the roof and veranda. With the wagon bridge gone and the three railroad bridges wiped out, it’ll be a while before new supplies can be shipped in.”

“What about us?” I asked.

“We’ll travel each road between home and Nate’s lumberyard, then check the hospitals and morgues.”

“Do you think there’s still a chance we can find them alive?”

Papa looked up at me, then closed his eyes to my question. “I heard talk last night about a call for burial at sea,” he said. “The temporary morgues filled quickly yesterday. Identifying and burying all the bodies seems nigh impossible now.”

I nodded, thinking of Aunt Julia and Ella Rose, about how they’d feel if the worst should come to pass. There’d be no flowers, no good-byes, no final resting place for their loved ones.

“Then we’ll have to find them soon,” I said. “What about food and water for the island?”

“The water mains are down and the outdoor cisterns are salty, so there’s not much to be had. The provisions left in markets and warehouses will be rationed. A few men left yesterday on a twenty-foot launch for the mainland, trying to get help.” He glanced up at Josiah. “Did Ezra talk to you about being watchful?”

Josiah nodded. “Yessir.”

“Watchful of what?” I asked.

“There’s been some looting. A few colored men were shot yesterday.”

“Shot?” I glanced at Josiah, and he quickly looked away. “What’d they steal that was worth killing them over?”

“Rings. They were cutting fingers off dead bodies to get to the rings.”

I stared at Papa, my skin crawling at the thought. “You think Josiah might be in danger?”

“Not if he’s careful about the way he checks the dead. You, too, Seth. Just be mindful, both of you.”

I nodded, but remembering all the bodies we came across yesterday, it seemed impossible that anyone could suffer something as repulsive as cutting off a swollen finger.

Papa slid his chair back and stood up. “We’d best be going.”

I nodded and followed him down the stairs into the already steamy dawn. Once on the littered ground, Josiah glanced back at his grandfather and waved. Even in the half-light I could see the hesitancy in Ezra’s farewell, the uncertainty about his grandson’s safety. I stole a quick look at Papa, and though I saw many things, fear for his son was not one of them.

We headed east, picking our way over every conceivable sort of wreckage. The brutal stench grew, rising with the sun, till we felt forced to tie our handkerchiefs across our noses and mouths. It gave little relief other than to let us feel as if we’d done something,
no matter how small, to put a barrier between ourselves and the putrid odors.

For hours we combed the streets that lay between the lumberyard and home, searching for Ben and Uncle Nate, but without success.

We saw a man on horseback—Major Fayling, Josiah said—issuing orders to a group of ragged artillerymen and local militia. He told them to press into service every able-bodied man they could find to help haul away the corpses. We ducked behind an overturned house, determined to stick to our mission, but I could see the guilt in Papa’s face. He would’ve helped them right then if he could’ve.

When the men were gone, we continued on, asking questions of everyone we could, checking bodies as we went. My stomach reeled to the brink of upheaval every time I gazed into another swollen, distorted face, making me wonder if we could possibly recognize our own people should we happen upon them.

As the morning disappeared, I began to think we had no chance of finding them, especially when we saw what was left of the lumberyard. It was gone, wiped clean, as if the store and all the stacked lumber had never existed.

Papa stared at the empty space till I took his arm and led him away. “We need to get on to the hospitals and morgues,” I said.

He nodded, and we made our way farther east.

I tried to keep my thoughts centered on the job ahead of us and avoided looking at the twenty-foot ridge of debris looming to the south. I didn’t want to see the bright flash of sunlight from the shard of mirror. I didn’t want to feel the pain that brought me to my knees yesterday. Instead I concentrated on the path ahead and on bringing Aunt Julia news that she could live with.

Everywhere we looked, we saw men and wagons crawling through the fly-infested city, picking up bodies. We managed to skirt the dead gangs and were happy to find that the hospitals had weathered the storm well enough. We hurried through wards, searching rows of wounded, asking questions of nurses and attendants, but there was no sign of Ben and Uncle Nate. Papa looked drained and miserable. John Sealy Hospital had been our last real hope of finding them alive.

Back outside, we headed west again, toward one of the temporary morgues set up north of the Strand. It soon became clear that passage through the business district would be almost impossible. Fallen telephone poles, tangled wires, and dead horses crowded the streets. Piles of bricks, wrecked wagons, and tons of rotting vegetables lay everywhere.

We spent precious time picking our way past it all, but once there, I got my first close and staggering glimpse of the rail yards and harbor. I saw hundreds of boxcars tumbled this way and that, their valuable loads of flour, grain, and cotton ruined. And from one end of the wharf to the other, sailboats and tugs lay sunk or in jumbled confusion. But it was the sight of all those bodies bobbing in the water that left me breathless and sick. Men with long hooks pulled them into boats, as they must’ve done all day long, and I couldn’t help but wonder how many hundreds more must be scattered across Galveston Bay. We turned our backs on the battered harbor, and Papa led us to the makeshift morgue set up near the docks.

A blazing afternoon sun beat down on the crumpled metal roof, turning the vast shed into an oven. Blue-bottle flies droned, and the smell almost buckled my knees.

I couldn’t move.

Rows and rows of dead stretched into the recesses of the great building. Hundreds of men, women, and children lay in the heat, some covered, some exposed. White and colored, Chinese and Mexicans—every nationality you might imagine.

Survivors of the storm moved silently between the rows, their faces furrowed in a bewildered mix of hope
and fear and horror. They lifted coverings, searching for something familiar in the swollen faces, and occasionally I’d hear the dreadful, choking sobs of recognition.

I braced myself for the task ahead, but as Papa had feared, the decision to dispose of the bodies at sea must’ve already been made that morning. A troop of men, white and colored alike, were driven into the shed by bayonet to assist in the work of loading the dead on barges tied up near the morgue.

We’d almost arrived too late.

While we hurriedly searched for anything recognizable among the bodies, the men began their grisly work. I worried that we might be forced at gunpoint to join them, but the guards stood firm in their immediate job and never looked our way. They carried kegs of whiskey and freely passed tin cups to workers, but even with that strong fortification, I saw man after man stand aside to steady their stomachs. My heart went out to them, as well as my thanks to God that I didn’t have to face their terrible assignment.

We managed to stay ahead of the workers in our search, but in the end, we had to leave empty-handed. I was almost glad. The thought of Ben and Uncle Nate lying there amidst so much putrefaction was unbearable.

Gratefully, I hurried out with Josiah and found Papa clasping the hand of a big man wearing clothes far too small for him.

“I’m ready for the next flood,” he said, pointing to his legs.

Papa smiled at the absurdity of seeing this huge man in pants that struck midcalf, then turned to more serious topics.

His friend confirmed that the decision to load the dead on barges for burial at sea had indeed been made that morning, and already the first barge was almost full. There would be no need to check the other morgues.

“They’re saying that if the bodies aren’t moved by sundown, they’ll have to take them out in pieces tomorrow. So they’re barging them eighteen miles out, weighting them down with scrap metal, and giving them to the sea.”

Papa nodded, but the same shadow of guilt I’d seen earlier darkened his face again.

“I’m on my way to the rail yard,” the man said. “A whole trainload of supplies was just turned back ’cause the bridge is out. Can you imagine that? All those supplies just sittin’ there, and we can’t get to ’em. I figure the quicker we get that bridge rebuilt, the quicker I’ll get out of these blasted pants and get some real food in me.”

Papa smiled, but something had shifted in his face. He discussed the project a bit more while I listened and waited, but I’d already suspected what was coming.

“Can you two make it home without getting into trouble?” he asked.

“Yessir,” I said, “but—”

“Good.”

Determination glinted in his eyes, just like the day he’d decided to move us all to Galveston. There’d be no talking him out of this.

He squinted against the sun and pointed toward the washed-out railroad bridge. “I’ll probably be sleeping in one of those wrecked train cars. I’ll need food and water and a change of clothes.” He kicked a broken bottle with the toe of his shoe, thinking, then looked back at me. “Matt can do it. He can sleep in the train car with me nights, be home first thing every morning, and get back here again before nightfall with my meals each day. You help him find me this evening, but give yourself enough time to get home before dark.”

I nodded, my thoughts skittering from Mama and Aunt Julia to all that needed done at home. I guess he saw the questions in my face because he rested a hand on my shoulder and said, “I have to do this, Seth. You understand, don’t you?”

I nodded again, but I didn’t understand at all. Mama and Aunt Julia needed him.
I
needed him. Who would tell Aunt Julia that her husband and son hadn’t been found, that their bodies would most likely be cast into the sea without tears, without Scripture, without prayers? Who would make sure the family had food and clean water? Who would rebuild the house?

“Your mother was right,” Papa said. “There’s a reason for everything. Tell her that for me.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Anger flashed lightning-hot through me, and this time, I didn’t bother hiding it. “What are you saying?” I spit at him. “That your reason for being here right now is to work on a bridge? What about your family?”

He stared at me, and for a brief moment I saw something raw in his face, like a dozen fears had hit him all at once. I watched him draw a shaky breath, and a flush of satisfaction swept over me. Maybe now he finally understood that he couldn’t possibly leave us, not at a time like this. But then his jaw clenched and his eyes hardened.

“I need to do this,” he said. “We both need to look to what we do best.” With a quick turn, he hurried after his friend, then paused to holler over his shoulder. “Bring blankets when you come tonight.”

He left me standing in the rubble, never once looking back, never once considering anyone but himself. I glared after him, watching till he disappeared behind a fallen roof, too stunned to think about what to do next.