Dark Water Rising (5 page)

Over the next few days, more neighbors came with friendly welcomes. There were Mrs. Peek and Mrs. Vedder, who lived behind us on Avenue S; Mrs. Munn from Avenue S ½; and from still nearer the beach, Captain Lucian Minor, who seemed a tad lonely, with his whole family in Virginia for the summer. The Collums, a middle-aged couple with a house full of pets, came, too, talking a steady stream about their cats and parrots, which seemed an unlikely combination to me.

I’d already seen the three young Masons from next
door and most of the six Peek children playing ball in the streets. I’d seen two of the Vedder kids, too, crawling all over their daddy’s retired hearse and a gray donkey they called Whiskers. But most of the time it was impossible to pick out who belonged where. There seemed to be plenty of room here for kids, chickens, livestock, and truck gardens, most of which everyone had in abundance. And according to Mrs. Florence Vedder, there was even a bathhouse just six blocks away on the beach.

“We have lots of bathing parties and watermelon feasts for the children there,” she told Mama. “We have poker games for the parents, too. Or hugo and whist. And sometimes we do a little moonlight dancing and have refreshments on the bathhouse roof garden.” She pointed to the houses around us. “All these families are friends, and we’ve had many good times together. I’m sure you’ll like it here, Eliza.”

Mama’s smile was even wider that evening when she told Papa about Mrs. Vedder’s visit. She sat at the table, teaching Kate how to make paper flowers, and all the while she chattered on and on about what she’d learned.

She seemed to be settling in fast here and not at all upset that she had to start over in a new place. For me it was somewhat different. I didn’t miss my friends all that much—they’d quit school long ago to work—but
I was finding it odd eating my meals at a rented table and seeing strange children and strange animals playing up and down the block. Even more peculiar was lying in a bed that wasn’t my own, listening to the creaks and sighs of an unfamiliar house at night.

All three of us boys slept in one room with a chiffonier for our clothes and three narrow bunks. I didn’t mind the small beds as long as I didn’t have to share one with Matt or Lucas, but the bedsprings squeaked differently when I rolled over. And unlike my old bedroom, the curtains were plagued by salt-damp breezes and rarely fell silent. During the first night, I lingered at the open windows while the boys slept, listening to the faint crash of surf against the not-so-distant beach, filling my head with the enormity and sheer power of what lay just out of sight. It made me feel like an ant in a house of sand, with the overfull bowl of the sea lapping at my door.

True to her word, Mama packed a lunch Monday morning, and we met Uncle Nate and his family in town to picnic in the park and watch the afternoon parade. Matt, who was never without his baseball and bat, started a game and quickly pulled in enough players for two teams. When it came time to quit, we almost had to drag him from the park.

The parade turned out to be a splendid sight, with
band music and big floats of every kind. We saw decorated buggies and bicycles, and even dogs and pigs decked out with ribbons as though they were going to the fair.

When it was over, Peightal and Booth, contracting tinners, received first prize for their float, which was in the shape of a star with a huge eagle perched on top—all in tinwork. I heard a reporter from the
Daily News
say, “There seemed to be more good humor, snap, and ginger in this parade than any turnout for the past several years.”

We said good-bye to Uncle Nate, Aunt Julia, and the kids, and headed home. Papa bought saltwater taffy for us to eat on the long walk and teased Mama about having been so leery of making this move.

She laughed, her eyes still shiny from the excitement of the parade. “The Good Lord has a reason for everything, Thomas, and I suppose there’s a reason for this move as well.”

I’d heard Mama say that sort of thing many times before, but I wasn’t sure I believed it. Papa didn’t reply, but I could tell he thought he already knew why he was here. He wanted to build a new business for himself and send his sons to college. I watched him peel the paper from another piece of taffy and pop it into Mama’s mouth—I think just to hear her laugh again.

I liked seeing them happy, but I liked even better
that I’d have a chance to prove myself to Papa. If God truly had a reason for everything that happened to us, then making Papa see things my way had to be the reason I got that carpenter job.

That night, I wound the clock and set the alarm for six. The walk to my new job site in the morning would be a long one, and I had no intention of being late for my first day of work.

But sleep didn’t come easy. I lay wide awake for hours, staring at the ceiling while parade cheers and band music played in my head. After a while, I caught the sweet scent of jasmine drifting through the windows from the Masons’ trellis next door. It made this strange place feel a bit more like home, and finally I closed my eyes.

5

A loud clap of thunder woke me before daylight Tuesday morning. Bedsprings squeaked as Matt and Lucas rolled over and settled into sleep again. I lay there, waiting, and when lightning lit the room, I glanced at the clock. It was almost five.

Thunder rolled again, already sounding farther away. I turned off the alarm and went to the windows. The storm had swept in from the southeast, and as I watched, another blue-white lightning strike turned rooftops and trees into a landscape of winter white and shadow. I groaned. Rain would ruin everything.

But apparently I’d slept through the worst of it. By five thirty, the storm had blown over, and my first day of work lay ahead of me, damp but promising.

I slipped downstairs, ate a cold breakfast of bread and leftover ham, and packed more of the same for later. Careful not to wake anyone, I carried my hat and shoes
to the front steps and was down the street before the sun had peeked above the horizon.

The thunderstorm had lowered the temperature slightly, making my walk the most pleasant since I’d arrived. The birds must’ve felt it, too. Doves cooed and roosters crowed. Seagulls glided overhead till their beady eyes spotted some discarded scrap. Then dozens would appear from nowhere, thieving from one another and starting a fracas of calls.

Block after block, I heard babies wake and cry for their mothers. Doors squeaked open, pans rattled on stoves, and streams of milk from full cows hit empty buckets. I smelled horses and hay, bacon and biscuits, and, before long, a salty breeze lifted the sweet scent of fresh lumber and carried it right to me.

Just ahead, only two blocks from the beach, lay the houses where I’d be working.

I was the first to arrive, and in the long shadows of early morning, I walked through the unfinished houses, each one at a different stage of completion. They’d all been built from one plan but cleverly changed in some way. A side gable here or a front gable there, a different window or door. Arched porch lintels with cutout railings on one, turned posts with Victorian balustrades on another.

I climbed a ladder left leaning against the third house,
stood on the unfinished gallery, and looked out over the gulf. The sun, still low, shimmered across the waves, a reminder of heat yet to come. Even with the slightly cooler breeze, I felt sweat beading under my shirt and trickling down my back. My first day at work would be a hot one.

“Hey!” a voice called from below.

I stepped closer to the unprotected edge of the gallery and glanced below at a young man who looked to be a few years older than me.

“You shouldn’t be up there,” he said.

“Sorry!” I yelled down, wishing I’d waited on the ground instead of prowling around. “It’s my first day, and I guess I was a bit curious.”

I climbed down while he watched, his blond hair and blue eyes vivid against a sun-browned face.

“You’re the new helper?”

I nodded and held out my hand. “I’m Seth Braeden.”

He peered at me from under the brim of his straw hat. “Henry Covington,” he said, ignoring my hand. “You look young.”

I let my hand fall to my side. “I’m almost seventeen.”

“Yeah, like I said. Young. Got any experience?”

“Some.”

He gave me a skeptical look, which along with the ignored handshake I took as bad signs. I hadn’t been
here five minutes and already someone didn’t like me. While I stared at him, trying to remember where I’d heard his name, another man arrived.

“You two meet?”

Henry turned, and to my surprise, his attitude toward me seemed to turn just as quickly. “Yessir, Mr. Farrell, we have. This is Seth Braeden, your new man, and he looks pretty able if you ask me.”

Mr. Farrell’s grin crinkled the corners of his eyes and showed a gap between his front teeth. “Glad to meet you, Seth. Your uncle tells me you’re a fine carpenter, almost as good as your father.”

“Thank you, Mr. Farrell. I appreciate this opportunity, and I’ll sure do my best for you.”

He nodded. “Fair enough.” He looked past Henry and called out to a young colored man standing barefoot by the raised basement. “Come on over here, boy.”

The man trudged through the sand, his dark limbs willow-limber and just as graceful.

“That’s Josiah,” Mr. Farrell told me. “Now, I allow I wasn’t too excited about working a colored boy, but he appears to be a dang good carpenter and minds what he’s told. If he gives you trouble, Seth, let me know.”

“Yessir,” I said, though I couldn’t imagine what kind of trouble Mr. Farrell might expect. A closer look at Josiah told me he was younger than I first thought,
nearer to my age than Henry’s. It was his height that’d fooled me. He looked to be at least six-foot. I nodded my greeting, and he nodded back, barely meeting my eyes before he dropped his gaze back to the ground.

“Let’s go to work, boys,” Mr. Farrell said.

“But where’s Zach? And Frank and Charlie?” Henry asked. “Are we gonna have to work double time to make up for the Three Musketeers today?”

I saw Mr. Farrell’s jaw tighten. “I gave the Judson boys time off for the funeral, remember?”

“No, sir; I mean, yessir.” Henry’s face flushed red. “I guess I did forget about their daddy dying and all.”

Mr. Farrell shook his head and turned his back on Henry. “We’re working three men short today,” he said to me and pointed to the third house. “Think you can build a staircase?”

“Yessir.”

“Good. Then you and Henry start on that while me and Josiah finish framing up the top floor. If there’s something you’re not sure about, ask
before
you cut lumber, not after.”

“Yessir,” I said again and followed Henry to the third house.

“You weren’t trying to hornswoggle the boss, were you?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Hornswoggle?”

“Yeah, about knowing how to build a staircase.”

I shook my head. “It’s a bit foolish to say you can do something when you can’t.”

“So how many you built before this one?”

“I’ve helped my father with a dozen or so, and I’ve built one by myself.”

“One?” He laughed. “Well, I guess that makes you the helper, doesn’t it?” He pointed to the lumber in the basement. “You bring out the sawhorses and two-by-twelves, and I’ll get the tools.”

I ducked my head and trudged off to the basement, wondering how I could prove anything at all to Papa if I had to work with someone like Henry.

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