Galveston (23 page)

“The lull before the storm,” said Charles. “I've got till the first of the year to recuperate from the summer.”

“Actually, it's the campaign that I wanted to speak to you about,” he began. “You remember that item in the
News
not so long ago, mentioning my name as having been in attendance at your speech in Oleander Park?”

Charles nodded.

“Well … it appears I've caught the notice of Bishop Palmer. Although he's in Houston, he follows the Galveston
News
as faithfully as he did when he lived here on the island. Anyway, to make a long story short, he came to see me this morning. You might say he was adamant about the situation—my appearing at a political rally. I've had my hands slapped verbally. First time since I entered the priesthood.”

Charles leaned forward in his chair. “You mean he was angry just because you went to hear my speech?”

“Priests are expected to be nonpartisan souls.”

“But did you explain you were only among the audience? I mean, it's not as though you were up on the stand with me, or had spoken publicly in my favor, from the pulpit of St. Christopher's. What could possibly be wrong with—?”

“A great deal, apparently, although after hearing him out I'm still not sure exactly what. Bishop Palmer is very conservative. Perhaps anyone else would not have seen the situation in the same light as he.”

“But that's outrageous! I thought priests were supposed to be free citizens.”

Rubin put up a hand. “Now, don't take the man too seriously. It's only that I'd planned on lending your campaign a good deal of support come the first of the year, and I wanted to explain that I would be able to take no further part in it … on express orders from the bishop.”

“Can't you protest?” I said. “Can't you go to someone higher up than him? Is he so almighty?”

“No, I wouldn't have him do that,” Charles said. “I've already been the cause of some expense on Rubin's behalf, and I won't be any more. It isn't worth it.”

“Of course, there is nothing to keep me from going to the polls in March to cast my vote. It's only that I wanted to do something more for my best friend, that's all.”

There was an awkward moment following the remark, in which I could see Charles was deeply touched. Rubin seldom labeled anything; that was why it took Charles so by surprise. “You've already done more for me than any best friend could ever be expected to,” he told him.

Rubin looked away. “Well, I must be going. We're getting rid of some things to make room for the baby, and I promised Janet I'd haul off a wagonload today.”

“How is Janet?” Charles asked.

“She has her good and bad days, I'm afraid. The doctor told us she's in delicate health. He's seeing her more frequently than usual. You know, she has never been a strong person. But so far, everything is fine.”

He rose from his chair, and I put my knitting aside. “No, don't bother seeing me out,” he said.

When he was gone Charles said, “Poor Rubin. All he has done for me and now I am to be the cause of trouble for him.”

“Really, I can't see why this bishop's attitude should be so much of a problem. Surely nothing further can come from it.”

“No,” said Charles. “No, I should hope not, though you never know.”

It was an easygoing, lackadaisical fall season during which, except for a few brief meetings between Pete and Charles with Lucien attending from time to time, there seemed almost no sign a campaign was in progress. Charles got busy again with his work of drawing contracts and handling lawsuits, appearing in court and reading briefs and the
Southern Law Review
. The rest from the hectic pace was doing him good—I could see the healthy color returning to his cheeks.

My own appearance, regrettably, was not in keeping with his. I'd begun to lose weight again, and no wonder, for my stomach was like a spinning windmill most of the time. I tried to keep my mind off Janet and Rubin, but with the ease-up in the campaign schedule and with Charles busy working, it was impossible. Every time I saw Janet it seemed her body under the loosely draped clothing she'd taken to wearing had changed a little more. She was a long time in showing that child, because she was so tall, and thin as the leaf on a willow tree.

I'd made up my mind to something that fall: if Charles did succeed in becoming mayor of Galveston, I would do everything in my power to persuade him to move from this house and into a bigger and finer one on Broadway. It had to be Broadway, for he would believe my motivation for moving there was strictly one of gaining prestige. Actually, I didn't care about moving there. I only knew that if we did not move, things between Rubin and me were bound to surface again one day and everybody would wind up being hurt.

The breeze cooled off the island in early October, but real winter didn't set in until well into November. One Friday night there was a particularly strong gale blowing from the northeast. The wind was all we knew about when we went to bed that night. By Saturday morning, though, the greater part of Galveston's most heavily populated business-residential district had been laid to ruin.

We had been up late, playing whist with Janet and Rubin because Janet was confined to the house by this time and wanted company. We left their house at midnight, both of us bone tired and me with an aching head from the sheer tension of being with them for such a long time. I hadn't wanted to go but Charles insisted, so what could I say?

We had left one window up about halfway in the bedroom because we both like to sleep under mounds of cover and feel the coolness of the wind across our faces. Shortly after falling asleep we opened our eyes simultaneously. The fire alarm was loud and shrill enough to bring the devil up from hell. The stiff breeze had blown the curtains aside, and one panel had swept up and caught on the rod.

We ran to the window. “Damn it, you can't see a thing from this room. I'm going down,” said Charles. He grabbed his robe and I grabbed mine. I had no idea what time it was, but from the color of the small patch of sky visible from our bedroom window, I assumed it was nearing dawn. We hurried down the stairs, and I glanced at the clock. The time was one thirty-five. How ridiculous, I thought, the clock must have stopped in the night. Yet as we stepped outside I realized I was mistaken.

It was my first impression the fire was much closer than it actually turned out to be. The sky was an amber haze and even from the yard I could see the tips of the roaring flames. Charles ran to the stable, the tail of his robe flying like a flag behind him, and brought open the doors. I could hear Gypsy inside, whinnying and shuffling in fear of the unremitting sound of the bell.

In a few moments Charles came out with his stepladder. “We can't do anything until we find out where it's coming from. My God, it looks like it's consuming the whole island,” he said.

He put the ladder against the house and instructed me to stay down, but of course I was one step behind him as he reached the rooftop. The strong gale plastered my hair to my head and I had to squint to see anything. The flames were east of us, quite a distance away.

“I've got to get down there,” Charles cried. “It's the Strand, looks like, about Sixteenth or Seventeenth.”

By now Rubin had come out and was standing below. “I'll go with you,” he told Charles. “Claire, will you stay with Janet? She's frightened and I fear for her in her delicate condition.”

It was a voice of desperation and there was no time to think of disobeying it. As I walked across to their yard Charles and Rubin hurried out front on foot. There was no question of taking the rig. Gypsy would probably have taken off running in the opposite direction and ended up drowning them all in the Gulf.

Serena was standing out on the porch in her gown, barefooted. The child was scared to death, probably from all the commotion as much as the sight of the flames themselves. She was shouting through tears to Rubin, begging him to take her with him. I whisked her up and tried to comfort her as best I could. “Come on in, dear, we've got to stay with your mommy. Daddy will be back soon.”

“Oh, Caire, are we going to burn up?”

“No, child, the fire is quite far away and the men from the fire department are putting it out right now. Can't you hear the alarm?”

I only wished I could feel as confident as I tried to sound. After all, the fire department's efficiency was one thing. The water supply—still the unsolved “crisis” as Charles termed it in his speech—was quite another. From the size of the fire I doubted every cistern combined on the island plus what other water supply existed would be adequate to control the flames.

I carried Serena inside and up the stairs, and went into Janet's room. She was sitting up in bed, looking wide-eyed as the first time I had ever seen her. “Have they gone down there?”

“Yes, though I don't know what help they'll be able to give.”

“Come here, Serena,” she said gently. “Naughty girl. You shouldn't run outside like that. Get into bed with Mommy.” Serena went to her mother's arms and Janet rocked her gently until her weeping stopped.

“I'll make tea,” I said. “Best way to calm one's nerves and while away the time.”

“Yes, but, please, don't be long. I feel safer with you near.”

Janet's kitchen was in its usual state of disorder, with dirty dishes lined up haphazardly along the counter and piled in the sink. I searched the cupboards until I found two clean cups and saucers, then pulled out a glass and found some juice for Serena. I knew I should have gone up while the kettle was coming to a boil, but I sat down instead by the table, and, noticing that crumbs from the last meal eaten there were still upon it, got up to find a cloth and wipe it.

It seemed that a long time passed before the teakettle began to whistle, and in the interim the fire alarm bell ceased its wild clanging. When it stopped the house seemed oddly at peace, as it would be in early morning when the sun is just beginning to rise and one sits at the table for the first cup of coffee of the day. I fixed a tray and took it up.

“Oh, God, do you think they'll put it out before it covers the island?” Janet asked.

“How would I know? Charles says it is down near the Strand. That would be a distance from here, so probably it will never come near to us.”

“Those poor people who live down there. How awful!” She was speaking softly because she had finally managed to croon Serena into sleeping and didn't want to wake her. “Sometimes I wonder how many things can happen in Galveston … sometimes the island itself seems almost doomed.”

That was an odd remark. It seemed to me that since we had lived here not so many terrible things had happened. There had been no outbreak of yellow fever, no influenza epidemic, no great hurricanes. But I supposed the first storm she experienced, mild as it was, still weighed on her mind, and then of course, the Pavilion fire two years before. “Try to keep calm,” I told her in my most dutiful fashion. “Remember, you've got the child inside you to worry about. You could bring on early labor.”

“Yes, yes,” she said. “Claire, you were so kind to come. I suppose I'd better lie back and try to relax.” She took a sip of tea, put the cup on the table beside the bed, and lay back on the pillows. She could be so childlike in her trusting.…

I left the room and went outdoors a couple of times to see if there were any changes in the sky, but as far as I could tell the fire still raged as it had when we had first awakened. The wind was down. Women and children were gathered in the streets, watching. Their men I assumed to be down at the fire, helping. I waved at Agatha Mueller and Florence Middleton, but did not go out and get involved in the conversation, which I knew to be chiefly speculation. I went back upstairs and sat down in the rocker in Janet's room, and that is where I stayed for the balance of the night and into the morning.

I awoke to the sunlight streaming through the window, my back and shoulders aching as though I had plowed a field. Serena and Janet lay bundled together, sleeping, and looking at them I wondered whether Janet's love for her adopted child would wane a bit after she experienced the thrill of giving birth to her own baby.

The bedroom clock showed eight-thirty. I walked outside to see if anyone was around who had been at the fire, or, indeed, whether it was over. It was chilly, even inside the house, and I found a shawl lying over a living room chair and wore it outside.

The sky was still hazy but there were no more flames. How long it had been since the last of it was extinguished we would not know until Charles and Rubin came home, or until I spotted someone else who had been there. But the street was clear of people. I looked down the block and saw no one. By all appearances one might have thought the fire had been a terrible dream. Yet up through the trees, the smoke hung, a truth-teller.

I went back inside Janet's house, and, eager to pass the time, went to washing the dishes and straightening the kitchen. I made coffee and looked around to see if there was anything suitable to fix for breakfast.

It must have been nine-thirty before I heard Rubin and Charles outside, and I ran out on the porch to greet them. They looked like walking death, and were as dirty as two chimney sweeps.

“Janet and Serena are still asleep. Come on in, I've got breakfast ready,” I told them. “If you've any energy left, please spend it to tell me the news.”

“Is Janet all right?” Rubin asked.

“Of course. I told you, she's asleep.”

They washed up and sat down at the table. “There isn't much to tell yet,” Charles said. “To look upon it you would think the whole town has been leveled, but I imagine the damages won't cover more than twenty blocks or so.”

“Do they know what started it?” I asked.

“Not yet. I don't think anyone stopped long enough to investigate. So many people lost their homes. We helped to move some of them out, saving as much as we could, and the city park has become one huge storage area.”