Dark Water Rising (9 page)

My heart pounded as hard as the rain while, blocks away, the Pagoda’s twin buildings broke apart. Waves flung huge chunks of splintered wood into the air and dashed them into the homes overlooking the gulf.

The staggering truth of what was happening twisted so tight inside me I could hardly breathe. This was far more than the simple storm with overflows that everyone had expected. I stared toward the flooded beach and wondered if there were some who still watched, paralyzed, unable to tear themselves from the horror of seeing their great bathhouses ripped apart by the sea.

Josiah nudged my arm. “We needs to go.”

He blinked in the stinging rain, and I nodded, thankful to leave the shattered Pagoda behind. All I wanted now was to get to Uncle Nate’s, where I hoped to find Mama, Papa, and the kids, safe and dry.

Over the wind and rain, I heard shouting and dogs
barking. Cows bawled, and chickens squawked with fear as they flapped off to higher roosts. People hurried with us and past us, trying to get home from work or errands, while children still splashed in the rising water, unmindful of the violence that had taken place just blocks away. Horses continued to pull their loads, skirting fallen limbs and no doubt eager for dry barns and fresh hay.

By the time we reached the alley behind Thirty-fifth Street, the wind had shifted slightly to the east. Water swirled around our knees, and thousands of creosoted, wooden pavers swept along Broadway like toy boats. I followed Josiah down the alley to his grandfather’s house, and when we found it empty, we checked Uncle Nate’s.

Ezra met us at the kitchen door, eyes soft with relief, and though he never said a word to Josiah, it wasn’t difficult to sense the great affection that passed between him and his grandson.

“Come in, Mr. Seth,” he said. “I’ll get towels. You boys is soaked to the bone.”

“Is that Seth?” Aunt Julia called from the parlor.

“Yes’m. He be here with Josiah, safe and sound.”

“Thank goodness,” she said, stepping into the kitchen. “Now if Thomas and Eliza would just get here, too . . . I haven’t had an easy breath since all this started. Have
you heard?” She looked up at me, eyes full of disbelief. “The bathhouses are gone.”

I nodded. “I thought Mama and Papa would be here by now. Didn’t they telephone?”

“I haven’t heard a word from them, but it’s impossible to get a call through now.”

I took the towel Ezra held out to me and sat at the table. “They must’ve decided to stay in the rental.”

“Or with one of the neighbors,” Aunt Julia added. “The Peeks have a nice sturdy house. Maybe they’re there.”

“Where’re the boys?”

“I gave them a plate of fudge and sent them to their rooms to play.”

“And Uncle Nate?”

“He telephoned earlier. He and Ben are trying to save what they can at the lumberyard, and then they’ll head home.”

I nodded, not wanting to tell her how bad the streets were already. They wouldn’t have an easy time of it. I left the towel and walked through to the veranda. Palms and oleanders leaned under the northerly assault, weighted down with water. Rain-darkened slate roofs stretched in every direction as far as I could see, but I figured I could still make it home if I hurried. I glanced down the street toward Ella Rose’s house. A light shone from the parlor window.

I told Aunt Julia I’d be right back and ran to check on the Covingtons. I knocked only once. The door opened quickly, and Ella Rose pulled me inside.

“I was watching out the window and saw you coming,” she said. “Daddy’s still not home, and I can’t get through to him on the telephone.”

“You’re here alone?”

She nodded, eyes dark with worry.

“No sense in waiting here all by yourself. You’d better come back with me.”

She scribbled a note for the foyer table and grabbed a hooded cape.

“Ready?” I asked.

With a nod, she slipped her hand in mine, and we splashed back through the knee-deep water to Uncle Nate’s.

Aunt Julia stood just inside the door, waiting with towels.

“Her father’s not home yet,” I said. “I brought her back to wait for him here.”

She saw the worry in Ella Rose’s face and led her to a chair. “Ben and Mr. Braeden are on their way home, too,” she said. “And do remember that Seth and Josiah came through the storm just fine, so we needn’t worry too much about those great big men of ours. Now let me get some dry things for you all.”

She turned, but I stopped her and held her hand in mine. “I have to go on home, Aunt Julia.”

She shook her head hard. “Your mama and papa would never forgive me if I let you go back out in that storm.”

“I have to know they’re okay,” I argued. “They might need me.”

She glanced toward the windows, then back at me. “Please, just wait until your Uncle Nate gets here. He’ll help you decide what’s best.”

“I’m sorry, Aunt Julia. I have to go now before the storm gets worse.” I handed her the damp towel and saw Josiah standing in the kitchen doorway.

“I’ll go with ’im, Miz Braeden,” he said.

An ache washed across Ezra’s face but quickly disappeared. “See here, Miz Braeden,” he soothed. “Don’t you worry none. Josiah’ll hep look after him.”

“I don’t know, Ezra.” Her fingers twisted in the tail of her apron. “I just don’t know.”

“Why, these here strapping boys’ll do jus’ fine. You’ll see.”

I gave Ezra a grateful glance, kissed Aunt Julia on the cheek, and turned to Ella Rose. “You’ll be okay here till your father gets in,” I reassured her.

A slight smile lifted the corners of her mouth, and until that moment, I hadn’t realized how much I needed to see it.

She reached for my hand. “Please be careful.”

I nodded, my heart a jumble of mixed longings. I let my hand slip from hers and followed Josiah to the door. “You’ll take good care of them, won’t you, Ezra?”

“Yessir,” he said. “I surely will.”

I turned to Aunt Julia. “I’ll see you all tomorrow, and that’s a promise.”

She bit her bottom lip and gave me an uncertain nod. With a last glance at Ella Rose, I stepped back into the rain.

Josiah and I headed west as fast as we could travel. We waded through knee-deep water at first, but before we were even halfway home, the overflow had risen to the top of my thighs. The wind bursts felt stronger, and the lulls between them shortened. Still, the streets were filled with people who’d been forced to leave their flooding homes. One man floated a bathtub full of children in front of him, trying to reach higher ground. Horses, belly-deep in the rushing brown water, skittered around snakes and snapping wires, dodging broken telephone poles, porches, and cisterns being swept down the streets.

I glanced at Josiah, grateful for his company but shamed that I’d allowed him to come with me. He no doubt needed to be with his grandfather every bit as much as I needed to be with my family. Still, he came.

At Forty-fourth and Avenue S, we came across a house sitting in the middle of the street, an old colonial with tall columns that’d washed off its foundation.

“Butcher Miller’s,” Josiah shouted over the storm.

A woman carrying a child tried to cross an alley nearby, but the water took them, swirling them away like chips of wood. We watched, hopelessly beyond their reach, while the two just up and disappeared. Josiah squirmed, looking as sick as I felt, but there was nothing we could’ve done to save them.

Rain hit my skin, stinging like needles shot from cannons, but something even worse had begun to happen. Slate shingles lifted from roofs and flew through the air like hatchets. Bricks, picked up by the increasingly wild wind, struck walls, smashed windows, and knocked people into the swiftly moving water to drown.

A man buckled in front of us and Josiah plunged in after him. I helped wrestle them up from the water, but the man’s head leaned at an impossible angle and blood gushed over his shoulder. Josiah stared at me, rain streaming down his face, eyes full of horror. The man’s neck had been nearly severed by flying slate.

I wrenched the dead man from Josiah’s arms, and the brown water snatched him up, swirled him into an eddy, then swept him away.

Still, Josiah couldn’t seem to move. Splintered lumber
swept past us, and I grabbed it up. “Like this!” I shouted at him, showing him how to hold a wide board against the airborne assault. I shoved it into his hands, grabbed another for myself, and we plunged ahead, holding our boards like shields till I stepped into a hole washed out by the swirling current.

I flailed for footing while muddy water swept over my head and rushed into my mouth and nose. Feeling Josiah’s hand, I latched on to him, and he pulled me up, gasping and sputtering.

I gagged and coughed up foul-tasting saltwater, and when the wind gusted again, we had to duck the debris flying through the air and sweeping down the flooded streets. Josiah shoved his board in front of me, protecting my head and shoulders, then grabbed another for himself.

As soon as I caught my breath, we started out again, but by then, I wondered if we’d ever make it. I wondered, too, if I’d ever have a chance to make things right with Papa. I should’ve never been so angry with him. He only wanted me to have what he’d been denied. And Mama. She cooked and cleaned up after us without a single complaint, while I never bothered to hide my resentment over the way she leaned on me.

I remembered Matt, that glimpse I’d gotten of the generous man he was becoming, and the appreciation
I’d seen on Lucas’s face. Even at ten, he already knew what was important in this life.

And Kate.

I closed my eyes against the driving rain. I smelled her sweet watermelon breath, felt her little hands around my neck, heard her baby voice saying, “I waited and waited.”

The memory caught in my throat, and I felt like I’d stepped into another deep hole.

Time seemed suspended, circling our struggle, watching for weakness. I glanced at Josiah, truly sorry I’d gotten him into this. My legs ached from fighting the current, my whole body felt bruised and battered, and I knew it had to be the same for him.

All around us people fell, struck down by flying slate, brick, or shutters. Others drowned, knocked off their feet and carried under by the broken roofs, galleries, or privies that swept down the street faster than a man could run. Water swirled around my hips, leaving me powerless to offer aid and weak with the thought that, at any moment, either one of us could disappear beneath the swift brown river and be gone.

11

Josiah stumbled, and I hooked a drenched arm through his. He grabbed it, and we leaned into each other, pushing hard through the wind and rising water. Slate and shattered lumber hit all around us. Submerged objects struck my legs, sharp and piercing one minute, fleshy and stomach-churning the next. Then, gratefully, I’d feel them slide away, caught up in the current again.

During a short lull, I stopped to get my bearings, squinting through the rain, and at last, hope pounded in my chest. “Look!” I shouted. “There!”

Josiah pulled hard at my arm, dragging me toward the house. We struggled past the fence, across the yard, and took the stairs up and out of the water. My legs felt like tree stumps, and when I closed the door behind us, my ears rang.

“Mama! Papa!” I yelled.

I stumbled from room to room but found no one—
nothing till I saw a note tacked to my bedroom door. I tore it off and read Papa’s hurried scrawl out loud to Josiah.

Seth,

Gone to Nate’s. Hope to find you safe there. If not, trust you will seek sturdier shelter with Peeks or Vedders. God be with you.

Papa

I stared at the note, picturing Mama, Papa, and the kids with slate flying around their heads and debris washing down flooded streets toward them like freight trains.

Had I passed them out there and not realized it?

The woman swept away—I hadn’t seen her face.

The child—was the hair dark? Was it Kate?

I closed my eyes till the sick wave of fear eased. Still shaky, knees weak, I walked back through the house. Dinner sat on the table, uneaten. A cake and a pitcher of boiled custard waited on the stove. Matt’s baseball lay in the seat of a chair, and beside it, a small handful of wilted jasmine.