To Love and Cherish (12 page)

By the time Evan finished saddling the horse and led her out of the barn, Emma had returned indoors. He walked the horse to the house, tied her to a thick branch of the uprooted tree, and proceeded up the front steps.

“Bring yarself on in here,” Emma called. “I'm just about done.”

Evan stepped to the door and hesitated until he saw that Emma was still wearing her muddy boots. A tarp had been laid like a rug from the door to the kitchen. Obviously this made it easier for Emma to work and not have to discard her boots or worry about the floor. Evan crossed the threshold and watched as Emma placed two thick sandwiches in a pail.

“Haven't had time to do me any baking since all this mess with the storm, but I put ya a couple of apples in there and a jug of milk.” She swiped her hands down her apron. “Garrison thought the milk cows would be slow giving milk, but they been doing jest fine. Those old cows are like me—takes more than a storm to get 'em out of sorts.” She tipped her head back and laughed.

Evan had to admire the woman. Most would be ready to pack their bags and leave, but not Emma O'Sullivan. There wasn't much she didn't seem to take in her stride—except maybe her husband's occasional bad humor. “Thank you, Emma. Harland and I sure do appreciate the fact that you've taken to feeding us since all of this happened.”

“There's enough men's work that needs to be done without the two of you having to cook your own meals. I'm happy to do it.” She lifted the pail and handed it to him. “Speakin' of Harland, where's he at this fine day? Working so hard he can't stop for a bite to eat?”

Evan didn't want to say he was resting. Emma would tease and tell him he was getting old, and Harland didn't need to hear that kind of talk right now. “He's over at the hunting lodge, but he plans to join me later.”

“Well, I'll be here, and that's a fact.” She followed Evan outside and watched as he mounted his horse.

As if to prove mightier than the storm, the sun's rays beat down with an unrelenting intensity. The sweltering heat mingled with the damp vegetation and produced a stench of musty decay that filled his nostrils and permeated his clothes.

When he got to Bridal Fair, Evan moved tree branches that had been ripped from the live oaks. They would provide good fuel once they'd dried. He chopped at the pieces only when necessary to cut them down to a size he could handle; otherwise it was the kind of work that could wait.

Debris had blown across the porch, gouging holes here and there, but nothing that couldn't be repaired. Evan inspected the windows and found all but one had survived without damage. He measured the dimensions and wrote down what was needed to replace the glass. Next he would inspect the attic to see if the storm had put any holes in the roof.

Evan thought the odor would disappear once he began his work inside Bridal Fair, but it had remained. A nagging reminder of the storm and its devastation. Upstairs the roof appeared solid, much to his relief. There was already plenty of work to be done, and he was glad to see that little of it would be required for Bridal Fair.

For the rest of the day, Evan worked at Bridal Fair seeing to the minor issues. No doubt Mr. Morley would be pleased to see the old house had survived. Evan was confident that once transportation was available, Mr. Morley himself would come to check on the situation. He had always been a man of detail and would not leave the island's condition to a mere letter. Most of the other investors' cottages had suffered the loss of gutters, shingles, and windows, as well as some rain damage. In a few places the problems were much greater—especially at the clubhouse. Morley would see to it that order was restored at any cost.

Evan made a mental checklist of all that needed to be replaced or repaired on the island. In addition to the clubhouse and the cottages, the wharf would need a great deal of repair; the windmill would need to be resurrected; new bathhouses as well as fishermen's houses would need to be constructed to replace the ones that had washed away. The orchards planted by the landscaping crew were now gone, and the exterior grounds at all of the cottages were in dire need of cleanup and replanting. All day he expected Harland to appear, but when the older man hadn't shown up by late afternoon, Evan gave up on the idea of receiving any help and departed for the O'Sullivans'.

The oppressive humidity seeped through his clothing, and his shirt stuck to his body like a second skin. He'd be glad for a bath and a change of clothes. He spotted Harland and Garrison coming from the barn as he approached. His mount, sensing she'd arrived home and eager for something to eat, headed straight for the barn without prompting. As the horse drew closer to the men, Evan called out to Harland, “Thought you were going to come over to Bridal Fair and lend a hand.”

Harland chuckled and shook his head.

“Sure and he planned to, but I needed him more than you, boyo. I found that lost cow, but she was bogged in mud. Needed help gettin' her out.” Garrison pointed his thumb toward the barn. “She's safe and sound inside. Once ya take care of Molly, come on in and sit down for yer supper.”

Seeing to the needs of the horse came first, but Evan's stomach protested while he cared for the animal. Once he'd finished, he gave the horse a pat on the rump and headed for the cottage. He tried his best to avoid stepping in deep mud as he picked his way toward the house, but it proved impossible. When he reached the porch, he noticed the tarp that had previously protected Emma's floor was now hanging over the rail. Evan dropped to the front step, removed his boots, and placed them alongside the other pairs of shoes outside the door. He entered the house and, after one look at everyone's sock-clad feet, laughed out loud. To his way of thinking, this was one sight to behold. He glanced heavenward. “Thank you, Lord. I needed a good laugh.”

Old Sam arrived on schedule a couple of days later. With a detailed list in his pocket, Evan boarded the fishing boat with Harland close on his heels. The previous night Harland had added several items to Evan's list after they'd returned home from the O'Sullivans', but he'd praised Evan's efforts.

As they grew closer to Biscayne, Evan's chest tightened. The strong winds had pushed several large vessels ashore in the Biscayne harbor as well as a pilot boat that had come to rest in a perpendicular fashion that defied gravity. Sam pointed to the docks, which had all suffered lifting to some degree. “The water pounded them from underneath while the wind beat them about from overhead. Only a few that won't need repairs.”

A fog of pungent air hung over the harbor like an inhospitable guardian of the ruins. In spite of the heat, Evan shivered at the sight.
So much, so much.
The words repeated over and over in his head. He hadn't expected to see such extensive destruction. Even if he had, there was no way his mind could have pictured the sight.

They pulled alongside one of the wharfs that had received minimal damage. Sam pointed toward the town. “Be careful as ya go—it's treacherous walking through these streets with all the flooding. Never know what's underneath that water. Especially down here near the docks, where there's cargo that's been tossed about.”

Evan stepped onto the dock and stood mesmerized for several moments. He needed to take stock of his surroundings before he could move any further. His mind couldn't grasp the horrific spectacle. The shocking details overpowered his brain.

Harland grasped his arm. “Come on, Evan. I know it's a terrible sight, but we won't accomplish anything standing here.”

“When you want to return, Harland?” Old Sam was hunched over, tying off his fishing boat.

“We'll be back by late afternoon—five o'clock. That suit you?”

The fisherman waved and nodded. “I'll be here.”

With bandannas covering their noses and mouths to avoid the stench, men were working feverishly along the wharves. A short distance from where they stood were hundreds of thousands of feet of lumber that had been awaiting shipment. Now, it would likely be washed away. As Harland guided him down the street, Evan stared at the once-brick-fronted buildings that now gaped open like yawning caverns. The bricks that had once provided shelter, the furnishings and merchandise that had provided livelihood—all had been swept away. And along with it, the waters had washed away the work and dreams of so many men.

The two men sloshed through the water until they ascended a hill that led them into another part of the town. “I'm glad Sam loaned us these wading boots, or we'd be looking to purchase shoes before we left.” Harland glanced at Evan. “Down there on the right is where Alfred's family lives. I thought we should stop there first.”

Evan tightened his hands into two fists and felt his stomach clench. How do you tell parents their son has died? Especially someone as young as Alfred. “This is going to be hard.” He wanted to turn and run. Instead, he stopped in the middle of the street. “I don't know if I can do this, Harland.”

The older man pulled him to the side of a ramshackle building. “Let's pray before we go meet with them.” Harland didn't give him a chance to reply. He bowed his head and asked the Lord to give them the proper words of comfort for Alfred's family and to ease the pain of their loss. He prayed for some other things, but Evan didn't hear the words—he was worrying about the reaction they would receive. Harland raised his head and tugged on Evan's arm. “Putting it off will only make it harder.”

Harland raised his hand to knock, but before he struck the wood with his knuckles, the door opened and a bulbous-nosed, broad-shouldered man filled the doorway. He leaned forward, his eyes menacing. “Who are ya, and whadd'ya want?” His foul breath hung in the air, and Evan took a backward step.

“I'm Evan Tarlow and this is Harland Fields.” He hesitated a moment. “From over at Bridal Veil. We've come about Alfred.”

“What's he done now?” The man's complexion flared to a reddish-purple hue. “He better not of gotten himself fired, or I'll whip the tar outta him. We need that money to pay the rent.” His dark stringy hair fell across his forehead. “Where is he anyway?” He looked out at the street.

When it was evident the man wasn't going to invite them inside or inquire about his son's welfare, Harland took the lead. “Is your wife at home, Mr. Toomie?”

“She's busy feedin' the young'uns—what little we got to give 'em. You tell Alfred he better get over here with his pay and not to be holdin' none of it back neither.”

Evan could stand no more of the man's comments. “Mr. Toomie, Alfred won't be bringing any more money to you. We've come to tell you that he died in the hurricane. We're very sorry to bring you this news, but we wanted to personally deliver it to you in case you had any questions.”

At first the man stared at Evan as though he'd spoken in a foreign language, but as the realization sunk in, he raked his fingers through the strands of greasy hair. “What are we supposed to do for help with our rent? I need Alfred's wages to pay the bills.”

Anger welled in Evan's chest. He wasn't a violent man, but he wanted to punch Mr. Toomie in the nose. How could he be so callous about his son's death? He hadn't even asked for any particulars—he didn't care about anything except Alfred's wages. No wonder the boy had chosen to live on Bridal Veil rather than return home at night.

Harland reached into his pocket. “I brought the wages still due Alfred.” Mr. Toomie ripped the money from Harland's hand and shoved it into his pocket. “If you're concerned about the rent and money for food, Mr. Toomie, we're in need of workers to help with the cleanup over on Bridal Veil. I'd be willing to give you a try and see if you're up to the work.”

The man sputtered and glared at Harland as though he'd spoken an obscenity. “You think I should come over there and clean up muck and mire from the storm?” He snorted. “That ain't nothing a man like me is willing to do, but I got me another boy. He's younger than Alfred, but I'd be willing to hire him out to ya.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Bobby!”

“No, Mr. Toomie, don't bother to call the boy. We need men to help with this work. It would be far too dangerous for a young lad, but if you change your mind, we'll be in town until five o'clock hiring workers.”

A scrawny young boy no more than eight years old poked his head around the doorframe. “Who're they, Pa?”

“Get back inside, Bobby.” Mr. Toomie gestured toward the lad. “He'd be some help to ya—could wiggle into places where men won't fit, if need be.”

Harland shook his head. “I wouldn't want to take the risk. Please tell your wife that we're sorry for her loss.” He hesitated. “And yours, as well.”

“Alfred was a kind young man.” Evan choked out the words.

“Bah! He was a worthless boy. Never could seem to figure out his head from his toes, and now he's done. Well, I say it was bound to happen what with such a waste of a human bein'.”