Dark Water Rising Page 5

  I shrugged, smiling at the effortless way she’d set me at ease.

  She glanced over at the academy and sighed. “I have to go.”

  “See you tomorrow?” I asked.

  She nodded, waved, and headed for school.

  I tucked the handkerchief into my pocket and went on to work. Since I’d started out early, I was at the site long before anyone else. I climbed to the newly finished gallery on the last house, then up to the roof where Frank and Charlie had begun shingling yesterday evening.

  I could see the whole city from up there, and recognized a lot of the buildings that Uncle Nate had pointed out on our trip from the train station. St. Patrick’s Catholic Church, with its spires still under construction, and Bath Avenue School. The Levy Building on Market and the Tremont Hotel. The twin towers of St. Mary’s Cathedral and, of course, the thousands of gray slate roofs.

  I turned and looked east, following the curve of the beach toward Bolivar Roads, the great deepwater channel at the end of the island. A large freighter had just emerged from Galveston Bay, making its way through the Roads. The north wind blew great plumes of steam over her bow, and I watched till she became a dark spot on the horizon, all but lost in the wide green gulf. Then I heard voices.

  The men were here, and it was time to go to work.

  Chapter

  8

  The north wind had swept clouds into thin wisps across the sky like fine white silk, and other than being hotter than usual, the day was turning out well. Like before, Mr. Farrell put me to work with Josiah and Zach, and again the three of us fell into that indefinable rhythm. Hammers rang, saws rasped, and the hours slipped away.

  By evening, I heard a girl’s voice and looked over the balcony railing. My heart gave a wild thump and jumped into my throat. The girl was Ella Rose.

  She stood below, talking to Henry and Mr. Farrell, but her face looked clouded and serious. Zach and Josiah walked down with me to see what was going on, and Frank and Charlie followed.

  “The storm flag went up this morning,” Ella Rose said when she saw me. “I wasn’t sure if any of you had heard.”

  Her hair billowed in the strengthening breeze, and bright tendrils caught on her lashes and in the corner of her mouth.

  “Are you planning to work tomorrow, boss?” Henry asked.

  Mr. Farrell nodded. “If it rains, we’ll work inside.”

  I glanced at the clouds tumbling in from the northeast. It was a good thing Frank and Charlie had finished the shingling today.

  Mr. Farrell squinted toward the sun and checked his watch. “I guess we’ll call it a day, boys, and hope for the best tomorrow.”

  “Are you walking?” I asked Ella Rose.

  She nodded. “And you?”

  “Every day,” I said. “If you don’t mind waiting while I put away the tools, I would be happy to keep you company. Josiah goes that way, too.”

  A startled look swept across Josiah’s face. He helped put everything away, then took off north with Zach and his brothers.

  “Where are you going?” I called after him, but he either didn’t hear or didn’t want to hear. I turned to Ella Rose and shrugged. “Want to follow the beach for a few blocks?”

  She nodded, and I took her books.

  We walked past the Midway and the giant bathhouses where only a few souls braved the waves this evening, riding huge swells that seemed to almost touch the lamps suspended over the surf. There surely wouldn’t be any nude bathing beyond the lights tonight. Then it hit me. With a storm coming, there probably wouldn’t be any bathing tomorrow, either, of any kind. I glanced at Ella Rose, wondering if she’d already thought of that. Of course, we hadn’t made a real date, but even so, it would be a dark disappointment if a whole week passed before I had a chance to see her again.

  “The waves look strange, don’t they?” she asked.

  A strong wind pushed against my back as I looked out over the rough surf. I tried to see what was different, but I hadn’t been here long enough to know what was strange and what wasn’t.

  “Usually, a north wind pushes the tide out, leaving hardly a ripple on the water. Mr. Farrell told me this evening that the whole gulf should be looking so shallow you’d think you could walk all the way to Cuba if you wanted.” She shook her head. “That’s not happening this time.”

  I squinted out over the waves, wondering why this north wind was different. “But storms happen here all the time, so they can’t be all that bad, can they?”

  She shrugged. “About fifteen years ago, a little town not far from here called Indianola was completely washed away, scattered all across the prairie. But everyone says it couldn’t happen again, and certainly not here in Galveston. We get storms and overflows all the time, and they never last long or do much damage. It’s kind of exciting, really, watching the waves and seeing the water rise up in the streets and yards.”

  I looked at the way her eyes shone and realized that there was nothing I’d like better than to experience my first island storm with Ella Rose.

  We turned back toward Avenue N, passed Ursuline and the Garten Verein, then headed up Thirty-fifth Street. I saw Andy and Will playing on the veranda at Uncle Nate’s. I waved, then glanced down the side of the house to the alley, curious to see if Josiah had made it home. He’d stirred something uneasy in me, leaving quick the way he had. I caught a glimpse of him helping Ezra in the garden as we passed by. He’d walked straight home after all. Just not with us.

  I said good-bye to Ella Rose at the foot of her stairs, but she insisted that I come up to meet her father. My stomach rolled like one of those giant swells rushing toward the beach. I glanced at my dirty fingernails and scuffed shoes and shook my head. “Another time, maybe, when I haven’t been working.”

  She laughed. “You don’t know Daddy. He’d much rather see you grimy from working hard than all spiffy and clean.”

  I pulled in a deep breath, smoothed my windblown hair, and followed her up the stairs.

  She took her books from me, set them on a side table in the foyer, and dragged me into the parlor. I tossed a quick glance at the piano in the corner, the artwork on the walls, and the family portrait of Ella Rose and her parents sitting on the mantel in a gilded frame.

  “Daddy?”

  Mr. Covington looked up from his newspaper.

  “I’d like you to meet Seth Braeden. He’s new to Galveston and already has a fine job working for Mr. Farrell. You remember Mr. Farrell, don’t you, Daddy? Henry works for him, too.”

  Mr. Covington nodded. “So you’re a builder, are you, Seth?”

  “Yessir,” I said, rubbing my sweaty palm against my pants. “At least I’d like to be.” I held out my hand, hoping like everything that it was clean enough to shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” His warm grasp eased my mind somewhat.

  Ella Rose gave her father a shiny smile. “I stopped by to see if Henry and the others knew about the storm warning, and Seth was kind enough to see me home.”

  “Ah, yes. Isaac Cline raised the flag above the Levy Building this morning.” He shook his head. “But you know how those weathermen are. Always making a big to-do over every little blow.”

  I nodded, the last of my concern about the storm finally gone. Even Mr. Covington wasn’t worried.

  For the next few minutes, he asked the kind of questions I suppose all newcomers are asked, and I answered the best I could, acutely aware that his impression of me would determine whether I saw his daughter again or not. When we finally said our good-byes, I blew out a relieved breath and headed home. With a storm coming, I might not see Ella Rose again till next weekend. But if her father didn’t like me, I might not see her ever again.

  When I got home, it appeared that the Vedder children had become the envy of the neighborhood. Their daddy’s ragged hearse bumped along behind old gray Whiskers, and a solemn procession of mourners followed, heads bent, hands full of jasmine and oleander blossoms.

  I laughed. “Hey, who died?”


  Up popped Kate, grinning from behind the hearse’s ragged velvet drapery and waving a bunch of jasmine vines at me. “Look at me, Seth!”

  I waved back and headed for the stairs. Matt sat sulking on the bottom step beside Lucas, his baseball in his lap.

  “They’re playing funeral,” Lucas grumbled.

  Matt huffed his irritation. “Ain’t that just about the dumbest thing you ever saw?”

  I looked again. They’d pulled Kate from the hearse and laid her in the grass. She lay deathly still while they covered her with flowers.

  Something cold and sick squirmed inside me, and I found myself wanting to chase the brats home, grab Kate up, and bring her into the house with me. But I turned my back on the scene instead, and squeezed around Matt and Lucas. “Yeah, pretty dumb, all right,” I muttered, and headed upstairs to find my cold supper.

  That night I pulled Ella Rose’s handkerchief from my pocket. The scent of lilac water still clung to it, making me wonder if her skin smelled as sweet. I folded it, set it on my night table, and turned my thoughts to the storm.

  Mr. Covington hadn’t been worried at all, but in the dark, the house seemed to creak and sigh more than usual. And when I was very still, I could feel the deep thudding of gulf swells falling upon the beach just blocks away. The shock waves vibrated up the walls, through the floor, and right into my bones.

  Chapter

  9

  I took Broadway to work Saturday morning. The north wind remained brisk, and the dawn sky took on a mother-of-pearl iridescence unlike anything I’d ever seen before. I stumbled more than a few times, foolishly staring at the sky instead of watching where I was going.

  I turned south toward the construction site and soon found tidewater over the tops of my shoes. Startled, I searched the faces around me but didn’t see a flicker of concern. A light rain swept in, and still people walked to work, trolleys ran, and horses pulled loaded delivery wagons same as always, splashing through the shallow overflow. I glanced down the street to the gulf where great waves broke on the beach, sending showers of white spray into the air. Storms and overflows might be a normal occurrence around here, but I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to it. It made me feel like the whole island was sinking into the sea.

  When I got to work, Mr. Farrell was already there on the fourth-house gallery, ignoring the rain, looking out over the beach. I climbed up beside him, and he pointed toward the streetcar trestle strung across the surf. Swells crashed against pilings and across rails, hurling plumes of white spray as high as telephone poles. Farther down, spent waves had already reached the Midway. Fingers of foam raced around the ramshackle restaurants and shops as if searching for something to drag back into the sea.

  We watched till everyone arrived, then Mr. Farrell put us to trimming doors and windows inside the first two houses. Concentrating on work wasn’t easy, though. Even Zach had a hard time with such a spectacle going on outside.

  Streets and yards around us filled with rain and tidewater, yet people trickled in from trolleys, buggies, and on foot. Men in suits, dressed for work, and women gripping the hands of children gathered to see a sight as grand as fireworks on the Fourth of July.

  As the morning wore on, the storm increased, and so did the crowds. Streetcars stopped three blocks short of the beach, no longer venturing out over the wild surf, and still people braved the rising water to see the show. Some of them even wore their bathing suits.

  Skies darkened. Wind stripped umbrellas inside out and blew hats tumbling toward the surf. A driving rain soaked sightseers’ backs and peppered the north side of the house where I’d been working, striking like pebbles against windows and siding.

  I heard cries as waves picked up the two-wheeled portable bathhouses and flung them into the row of flimsy buildings that made up the Midway, showering brightly painted pieces of wood over the roofs. Farther down, swells rolled in, one upon the other, exploding against creosoted pilings under the Pagoda and slamming against floor joists with such force, I could feel the gallery railing shudder beneath my hands.

  Mr. Farrell shouted from the house next to us. “Looks like it might get worse before it gets better. You boys best get on home.”

  Zach nodded and waved. We dropped our tools inside the unfinished parlor and headed out into the rain.

  “You live pretty far out, don’t you, Seth?” Zach asked. “You’re welcome to come wait out the storm with us if you want.”

  I shook my head. “Thanks, but I’ll feel better knowing that things are okay at home.”

  “I guess I would, too.” He held up a hand. “Monday morning, then.”

  I nodded. “I’ll be here.”

  We all struck out in almost knee-deep water, headed toward higher ground—Zach with Frank and Charlie, and Henry with Mr. Farrell. Josiah and I trudged behind them but stopped when we heard excited yells behind us. We turned in time to see the Midway buildings lift on the waves and crash to the ground like kindling. Josiah gave me a stunned look as debris washed toward the shocked crowds. Many people turned to leave, but some stayed on, their faces lit with excitement.

  “Let’s go!” I yelled over the sound of the surf. Josiah nodded, and we bent our heads into the rain, wading toward the higher ground on Broadway where I hoped we’d have an easier time of getting home.

  Rising water and high curbs had turned the south streets into rushing brown rivers, but buggies and drays still moved along them as if overflows were a daily occurrence. Kids floated by on homemade rafts or paddled along in washtubs, bumping into broken tree limbs and odd bits of bobbing lumber. They laughed while wet hair whipped around their faces.

  Everywhere I looked I saw tiny green frogs, thousands of them, covering floating debris, sitting on fence posts and porches, and even riding astride a horse’s back.

  We waded out of the water just one block shy of Broadway and made our way west toward Thirty-fifth Street. It wasn’t long before I saw whole families struggling in from the beach roads just like we had, leaving their homes for higher ground. They carried clothing, food, and framed photographs, and ahead of them they pushed muddy kids hugging kittens and puppies to their chests.

  “The bay and the gulf have joined!” one of them yelled, pointing to the street.

  I looked and saw water rushing in from Galveston Bay on one side and from the gulf on the other. The two seas met in the middle of Broadway, swirling over the wooden paving blocks, and I couldn’t help but shudder at the sight. All of Galveston appeared to be under water.

  When we reached Twenty-fourth Street, I looked south toward the gulf, trying to keep an eye on the stalking sea. Wild waves rose up like a great hand and wrenched loose the Pagoda’s long staircase, sending planks tumbling through the air. With horror I watched the end of one twin building sway and dip into the surf.

  I yelled at Josiah, but my words disappeared on the wind. I grabbed his arm, pointed, and we stood together, shoulder to shoulder, mouths gaping, watching the impossible.

  Like a wounded Goliath, the great bathhouse shuddered, folded in on its long legs, and collapsed into the sea.

  Chapter

  10

  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.”