Dark Water Rising Read online

  “Out back,” I said, fully aware of what was coming next.

  “Good.” She pushed the step stool at me. “Then you can take your sister for me. I’ve got to get dressed and help with breakfast.”

  “Mom, I can’t. I have to go.”

  “Well, Seth, you’re going anyway.”

  I stared at her for a moment, all rumpled in her tired blue robe. I was tempted to walk down the stairs and leave her standing there, and one day I might. But not today.

  Outside, a fiery glow barely flickered on the horizon, and already the sticky-damp heat clung to my skin and sat heavy in my chest. We walked to the backyard, past the small magnolia tree near the side stairs, and swung the outhouse door open. Spiders and cockroaches scrambled for safety while Kate hid her face in my nightshirt.

  “Are they gone, yet?” she whispered.

  I clenched my teeth, hearing Mama’s voice plain as day in my head, saying, “She thinks you’re the only one who can get the bugs to go home to their babies.”

  “Yeah, they’re gone.” I dropped the stool and kicked it close to the seat. “You can go in now.”

  “Thank you, Seth,” she said, stepping onto the stool.

  I closed the door and waited. “I’m through,” she called after a few moments.

  I let her out, shooed her toward the house, and pushed the stool aside. “Dang-it-all,” I whispered to the walls. “How long can a man be expected to take his baby sister to the toilet?” I stepped back out, and the door slammed shut behind me. I cringed at the sound, but it quickly disappeared on the salt-damp breeze to disturb the neighbors up the street.

  Before I headed back, a movement around the small frame house near the alley caught my eye. Ezra was in his garden, cutting okra from tall stalks. A dented pan lay at his feet, already half full of the prickly harvest.

  I’d heard Uncle Nate say that he let the colored man live rent-free in the two-room house in exchange for help with horses and chores. He appeared quite handy with a hammer and saw, too. The clapboard siding was bare of paint, but the windows were neatly shuttered and the gables embellished with spindled woodwork, all of which looked in good repair. So were the fences around the garden and chicken pen. While I stood there wondering if he had a wife inside waiting to cook his breakfast, his hands dropped to his sides as if he knew he was being watched. He picked up the pan at his feet, slowly turned, and looked my way.

  I waved, feeling a bit embarrassed about my staring, but even more so about the stool dangling from my hand. Ezra hesitated, but only for a moment, then he gave me a wide grin and waved back.

  We finished off a breakfast of ham, eggs, and grits, then packed up the few things we’d needed for the night and loaded them back into the buggy. Ezra had already left in the dray, headed for the rental.

  Uncle Nate turned Archer west, down Avenue R, taking us past Woollam’s Lake. He said there were only about thirty houses in the Denver Resurvey, so Mama was pleased to find we had so many neighbors close by.

  “The Masons live next door to your rental,” Uncle Nate said, “and Captain Munn, the Vedders, and the Peek family live behind you toward the beach. Richard Peek is our city engineer.”

  He’d already told us about Fort Crockett, with its brand-new artillery emplacements, which lay just south of us, close to the shoreline. And about Saint Mary’s Orphanage, too, which housed ten sisters and almost a hundred children. The two large dormitories sat about ten blocks farther down the island, in the dunes right next to the beach. I couldn’t imagine what it was like to lose both your parents, but I figured that if it had to be so, then living in a place where you could go swimming and fishing every day was where I’d want to be.

  We pulled up to a small, two-story house facing north, its back turned to the gulf. Like most of the homes in Galveston, it was built atop a raised basement. It had electric lights and a porch, or “gallery” as they called it here, that ran across the main floor and wrapped around the east side to catch the gulf breezes.

  Mama looked excited. The house was nicer than anything we’d had in Lampasas. She and Kate climbed the steps to look it over, and Matt and Lucas ran after them. I grabbed one of the few crates left in the dray to carry up with me, but Uncle Nate put his hand on my shoulder.

  “Ezra will do that, son.”

  I stood there, gripping Mama’s china while Papa and Uncle Nate continued their talk. I’d always been expected to help before and didn’t see why this time should be any different. Besides, Ezra was old, and he’d already made countless trips up those stairs.

  “No need a-worryin’,” Ezra said, easing the crate from my hands. “I’ll take right good care of it, Mr. Seth.”

  The old man snuggled the china close to his chest and headed up the stairs, mindful of each step to the main floor. Two more trips and the dray sat empty. Uncle Nate said his good-byes and left Ezra to take Papa into town for groceries.

  While they were gone, a woman named Virginia Mason came to welcome us with fresh baked bread and a bundle of jasmine cut from the trellis in her yard. The sweet-smelling blossoms reminded me of the honeysuckle that had grown outside my bedroom window in Lampasas. While I put the vines in water for Mama, I heard Mrs. Mason say that she and her husband lived next door with their three children and a servant. “And if we can be of any service in helping you get settled,” she said, “please do not hesitate to call upon us.”

  The fact that so many here had colored servants seemed a curious thing to me. In Lampasas, most had been Mexicans or immigrants who spoke little English. I never had any firsthand experience with them, though. Mama and Papa had always considered hired help to be an extravagance when they had three strapping boys to help with the heavy work. I grew up scrubbing floors, tending horses, washing clothes—whatever was needed—and it appeared that nothing would change much with this move.

  All day Saturday, Mama had us doing things that would’ve made any man my age balk, dangling the chance to see the Labor Day parade in front of us like it was Christmas morning. While we helped clean the outhouse and unpack dishes, put away our clothes and make our beds, Matt and Lucas talked of nothing but Monday’s festivities. But it was Tuesday that pulled hard at my thoughts, the day I’d finally get to do the kind of work a man could be proud of.

  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 mu
ch—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.

  Chapter

  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 nod
ded 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.

  Chapter

  6

  Once Henry stopped talking and started working, I could see why Mr. Farrell put up with his thoughtless remarks. He was a good carpenter. We finished the outside stairs and the balustrade that ran up and around the gallery, then Mr. Farrell put us to trimming windows. When the sun finally sank behind the trees, we packed up our tools and started for home.