Dark Water Rising (21 page)

Right after supper Saturday evening, Ezra spotted a brown hen roosting in the magnolia tree. He hollered for help, and soon every one of us was laughing and chasing that chicken all over the moonlit yard. Before long, Ezra had the thing in a small makeshift pen, and we stood there staring at it, wondering if we should keep it for eggs or Sunday dinner.

Lucas frowned. “I bet we upset her egg-laying something terrible.”

I had to agree. Chickens didn’t take kindly to being chased after bedtime by a dozen wild humans, but I could tell Lucas didn’t like the alternative. He could set a cat’s broken leg and doctor bloody gashes, but he never could bear watching something die, even chickens.

“Yeah, it’s gonna be a long time before
that
hen lays,” Matt said.

Andy and Will glanced at each other. “Chicken and dumplings?” they asked in unison.

We all laughed, but eagerness shone in every smile. With another meal of canned salmon staring us in the face, sentimentality didn’t stand a chance.

“Well,” Mama said, “one hen won’t go far, but if Ezra will get it ready for the pot tomorrow, I guess we’ll have chicken and dumplings for our Sunday dinner.”

“Yes-s-s-s, ma’am,” Ezra said, and everyone cheered.

That night Ezra and Josiah moved their things into the new house. Of course, there wasn’t much to move, but Aunt Julia made sure they had bedding and a change of clothes. She gave them a cast-iron skillet and a stew pot as well.

“But I insist that you take your meals with us,” she said, “right here around this table until things get better.”

Ella Rose, her face dark and tight, stood on the stairs, watching Josiah and Ezra say their good-byes. I couldn’t figure her out. She truly looked angry.

I didn’t like the idea of her turning that look on me, but I had to know what’d been bothering her. I pulled her out to the dimly lit veranda and sat across from her in a wicker chair. “Ella Rose, it’s clear something is wrong.” I leaned toward her, my forearms on my knees. “Are you mad at Josiah and Ezra about something?”

Starlight glinted in her eyes. “Why would you think that?”

I shrugged. “Then maybe it’s me. Have I done something to offend you?”

She shook her head slowly. “Nothing.”

She’d barely whispered the word, but I flinched. I’d felt the sharp edges and knew there’d be more.

“Nothing except have a mother and father, an aunt and cousins, a home and a bed.” She tossed me a bitter look. When it slid away, I saw shock, then regret. She blinked and covered her face with her hands, smothering a flood of sobs.

I didn’t know what to do. Then I realized that there wasn’t much I
could
do. I couldn’t bring her family back, her home, her friends. I had nothing to give her.

Except me.

I pulled her to her feet and wrapped my arms around her. “You already have what I have, Ella Rose. Right now, this minute. My father and mother—all my family—they love you like their own.”

She wiped away her tears and looked up at me. “And you, Seth?”

I nodded. “And me, too.”

She pulled in a deep breath and let it out slow. “Thank you,” she whispered, and turned to go inside.

Sunday morning Henry and Spencer surprised us with a visit, and for the first time since the storm, we took a day off from work. Papa disappeared into Uncle Nate’s
study, Mama put the hen to stewing, and the boys climbed into their tree fort.

More and more, Aunt Julia had been looking after the little ones, and she did so again, urging Ella Rose to sit with me and Henry on the veranda. She insisted we do something fun. “Like you used to,” she said, pushing a Parcheesi game into my hands. We gathered outside around a small table and opened up the box, but little Spence didn’t want to leave his brother.

“He’s been like this since we lost Mama, Papa, and the girls,” Henry said. “He just doesn’t like to let me out of his sight.”

Aunt Julia nodded. “Of course he doesn’t.” She disappeared inside for a moment, then came back with paper and glue. “We’ll sit right here on the floor by the door so he can see you, and we’ll make paper chains to decorate the dining room for our big dinner.”

Kate clapped her hands, and with a little encouragement, Spence was soon smiling at Henry through the screen door.

I hadn’t seen Ella Rose this happy since before the storm, and I was finding it difficult to keep from staring at her. I thought about how we’d looked forward to swimming that weekend of the storm, how I’d hoped to take her dancing at the Garten Verein one day, and I wondered if she ever thought of me like that. After last night, I was afraid she might be thinking of me as the
brother she never had. If so, I wasn’t sure a notion like that could be changed.

But even that grim worry couldn’t mar the day for long. We talked and laughed and played Parcheesi while the aroma of stewing chicken drifted from the kitchen. The veranda soon became my own private ship, and for a while, the three of us sailed away, far from the never-ending fires, the splintered homes, and the aching loss, till all I could see was the deep blue of Ella Rose’s eyes.

26

October swept in, bringing more change and, occasionally, cooler days. Trees stood bare, salt still encrusted every inch of earth, but big loaves of Mama’s yeasty bread finally graced the table at every meal.

Though fires continued to burn, the sound of hammers and saws, axes and crowbars, could be heard everywhere, eating away at the twisted wreckage, exposing usable lumber, sinks, commodes, and always, more dead souls. Wagons and buggies now rumbled along many streets without hindrance, and trains puffed into the city daily with carloads of supplies and workers.

Besides the endless dead list, the
Daily News
now advertised brooms, shovels, nails, and coffeepots. Want ads asked for carpenters, tinners, bricklayers, and cooks. Lost-item ads listed a missing three-story chicken coop made of iron spokes and wood, and a dairy herd of 150 cows and calves, all swept away in the storm. And then there were personal ads, like the one that stated simply,
“Fred Heidenreich, if alive, come to Twenty-fourth and Church. Your brother is there.”

Aunt Julia searched each paper, read every word, then folded it and placed it in a box with the others.

We spent the first half of October plastering walls and painting, then turned to helping the work gangs remove the debris all around us. I think it did Aunt Julia’s heart good to see the wreckage finally cleared away, but my long days of working were fast coming to an end. Public schools would open soon, thanks to donations and volunteer workers.

The
Daily News
announced that high-school students needed to report on October 22 to the campus known as K School on Avenue K till repairs to Ball High School could be finished. Central High, Josiah’s school, had been wrecked, too, but he’d left last year with no plans to return. After the death of his mother this past winter, his wages had been needed to help support himself and Ezra.

It seemed odd to think about school again after all we’d been through, and for a short while, I let myself daydream about the possibility of not returning at all. Debris-filled lots were being cleared all over town, making way for the thousands of new homes and businesses that were needed, so I knew I could get work. Papa had done so easily. Josiah had, too, and I could tell that, like me, he’d discovered a satisfaction in his
labor not every man finds. But I decided not to speak of these things to Papa just yet. Long before our lives changed, I’d made him a promise to finish school, and I would stand by my word.

Just days before school started, Ella Rose stated firmly that, although her father had left her an adequate inheritance, she would not be returning to Ursuline Academy. She looked at me and smiled. “I’ll be attending public school.”

I saw Papa open his mouth, no doubt wanting to remind her that she should consider what her father had wanted, but he didn’t speak.

It surprised me.

Aunt Julia’s face puckered with concern. She’d come to depend upon Ella Rose for much more than help with Elliott. “You’ll still remain here with us, won’t you?” she asked.

Ella Rose nodded. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

Aunt Julia’s fear faded, and she smiled.

I smiled, too, but not just for her happiness. I saw my last year of school unfolding in front of me, full of morning and evening walks with Ella Rose, and the sting of returning to school disappeared.

27

Starting any new school would’ve been difficult, but it was especially so in Galveston. Back home in Lampasas, halls had always rung with shouts and laughter the first day. Students crowded around bulletin boards to see what room they’d been assigned, to exchange gossip, and to talk about what the new year would bring, but I heard no laughter in the halls of K School. Only questions.

“Where’s Sylvia Langdon?” someone asked.

“Have you seen Jess Bulloch?”

“Where are the Sutter kids?”

But even worse were the quiet replies.

“Sorry, no one’s seen her.”

“Jess’s family died in the storm, so he went to live with an uncle on the mainland.”

“Sutters? They drowned. All of them.”

Clothing had been scarce since the storm. Many
students were barefoot, wearing whatever had been donated or salvaged from debris and the hundreds of mud-soaked trunks scattered throughout the city.

Desks sat empty in every room, but it wasn’t till later that day that we heard how many. Better than 25 percent of the city’s student body was missing. Seems the storm had been hardest on the young.

I got through those first hours like everyone else, and when the day was finally over, I walked home with Ella Rose. She looked pale, almost sick, and I knew it was because she’d discovered more friends missing. I wondered how many but didn’t ask. Instead I rambled on about teachers and books and reading assignments, when all I could think about was how much I wanted to see her smile again.

Over the next few weeks, school days leveled out, and I finally heard laughter in the halls. Dwelling on history and literature instead of loss might’ve had something to do with it, but I figured cleaner air probably had a hand in it, too. The searing smoke rarely darkened the sky during the day anymore, nor did it block the millions of stars at night. In its place I finally smelled new lumber, horses and hay, and clean gulf breezes. Shipments of fresh food replenished the markets, too, and Mama splurged on eggs and bacon, squash and greens, apples and pears.