Dark Water Rising Page 8

  I walked on, my growing numbness a small but welcome barrier to the horror around us, and after a while, someone behind me said, “I wonder how the Edwardses came through.” Another said, “And the Wrens; they had five little ones, you know.”

  No one answered.

  “Do you think Captain Minor could’ve gotten out in time?” Mrs. Collum asked. “He lived so close to the beach, and he was all alone, with his family in Virginia for the summer.” And then, as if she already knew the answer, she added, “He felt so safe inside that concrete wall he built around his place.”

  Mrs. Vedder, far ahead, waded into a hole and stepped onto a barrel half-concealed by muddy water. She sank up to her chin, floundered, and grasped at something floating nearby. The body of a small colored boy rolled under her arm, and the steadfast strength she’d shown throughout the storm gave way.

  We hauled her sobbing from the murky water, and she collapsed at our feet, crying, “Charles, oh please, please pull him out.”

  Mr. Vedder, his hands still bandaged, reached for the boy and managed to drag him from the hole before any of us could help.

  Jacob backed away, a whole new look of despair on his face. “It’s Toby,” he whispered.

  Allen nodded. “It’s him all right.”

  I looked closer at the young boy, remembering the way his face had shone when Matt let him throw the fly ball back to Jacob. Had that really been only four days ago?

  We stood there, staring. There was no light in Toby’s eyes now.

  My hand went to the bulge inside my pocket. I hesitated, running my thumb over the stitching, thinking of Matt, but only for a moment. I pulled out the baseball and kneeled beside Toby.

  Understanding flickered in Jacob’s and Allen’s faces, but Josiah’s eyes were full of questions. I pushed the ball into the boy’s stiff fingers and stepped back. When I glanced again at Josiah, I saw tears.

  No one said a word. One by one, they stumbled on, and Josiah and I followed.

  I kept a close watch on the ridge of debris off to our left, wondering where Thirty-fifth Street was. It had to be nearby; we’d been walking for hours. Josiah and I took a guess at the location, and, rather than traveling on to look for an easier path, we said our good-byes.

  We thanked the Vedders, but I couldn’t muster enough words to express my true feelings. A nod, a wish for a loved one’s safety, was all I could manage. I stood for a moment, hesitant to leave the people who had become a lifeline to us, but it was they who finally turned and headed farther down the beach.

  Josiah and I put the gulf behind us and pushed north toward the mountain that lay between us and our families. The closer we got, the larger it loomed, till we stood at the base of a ridge that rose near twenty feet high.

  With the wind at our backs, we reached out, groping our way across the twisted wreckage. My feet rested on broken telephone poles and wagon wheels; my hands fell on clothing and veranda railings; and I wondered with each foot we climbed what might lay beneath this rubble. How many souls?

  Josiah, with his long limbs, moved ahead and disappeared over the top. When I caught up with him, he was standing on the corner of a piano wedged tight in the debris. I stood beside him and tried to get my bearings.

  The two-story-high ridge was at least a hundred feet across at the base and appeared to wrap around the entire heart of the city. The houses and buildings left standing on this side tilted crazily, and many lay tumbled topsy-turvy, kicked over like toy blocks. Farther north, close to the bay, ships sat askew on land and in water, as if they’d been tossed into the air and left to fall. I looked toward Thirty-fifth Street, which I figured lay just west of us, but couldn’t make out much. I couldn’t tell if Uncle Nate’s house still stood or not.

  “We needs to go,” Josiah said.

  I turned for a last glance at the beach. From my twenty-foot perch I could see for miles, but I couldn’t fathom a guess at how many blocks had been swept clean away. There appeared to be nothing standing south of Avenue N. And beneath my feet, twisted into an endless ridge, lay everything—thousands of homes, including the four we’d been working on, the Midway, the giant bathhouses, even trolleys.

  Turning my back on the impossible sight, I contemplated a path down, past the sharp slate and splintered wood. Wind whipped at the torn clothing around my feet and whistled around my ears, then I heard something else. My heart thumped. A voice?

  Josiah must’ve heard it, too, because he stopped and turned to look at me.

  The weak cry came again, but this time I made out the words. “Can you hear me?” it asked.

  A girl’s voice. I looked beneath my feet, and the horror of what might be swelled inside me like another storm.

  “She be under us,” Josiah whispered, dropping to his knees.

  I kneeled beside him. “Where are you?” I called, then closed my eyes and listened closely.

  “Here,” she said weakly. “I can see . . . your leg.”

  Her breathy voice sounded parched and raspy. I searched the jagged dark openings around me, frantic for a glimpse of her, but couldn’t see far enough inside. I began tugging, jerking, ripping at twisted lumber, pulling out dead kittens and broken mirrors, tree limbs and table legs, sending it all tumbling down the ridge. Josiah worked beside me, adding his strength to mine, but large timbers lay twined so tight, finally nothing would budge. It would take dozens of saws to get through it. And time. Perhaps more time than she had.

  I fell back, and Josiah did, too, his face streaked with tears and sweat. I hung my head, and for a moment, my whole body shook with sobs.

  When I caught my breath, I felt the weight of Josiah’s hand on my shoulder. He put a finger to his lips. “Listen,” he whispered.

  “Please, mister . . . don’t cry,” the girl pleaded. “I just want . . . to give you . . . my name.”

  I leaned over the narrow crack, searching the dark for a movement, just one glimpse of her face. “We’ll get help,” I called.

  “I don’t want to die . . . without someone . . . knowing my name.”

  I shoved my hand into the crack, pushing, straining, desperate to touch her. “We’ll find saws; we’ll get you out.”

  “Please, mister . . . I’m Sarah . . . Sarah Louise Ellison.”

  Her fragile voice ripped at my heart and tangled my breath. I didn’t want to just remember her name. I wanted her out.

  “Tell her,” Josiah begged, his face twisted and tormented. “You has to tell her.”

  Tears dripped onto my pants in perfect dark circles while I fought for breath enough to speak. “We’ll remember, Sarah Louise Ellison,” I said finally, sobs choking my words. “Both of us. We’ll remember.”

  Josiah stood and reached for my arm, but I jerked away. My head fell onto my knees. I couldn’t leave her yet.

  He let me be for a moment, and when he reached out again, I let him pull me to my feet. He placed a jagged piece of mirror above her prison so we could find her again and started down the ridge.

  “We’ll remember, Sarah Louise Ellison!” I shouted, picking my way down. “And we’ll be back!”

  Chapter

  15

  Climbing down from the ridge seemed more difficult than going up. One blunder and we’d end up sliding across the broken slate and glass that stuck out everywhere. It was slow going, and before we were even halfway down, I heard another faint call, a man’s voice this time. I stopped and listened.

  Josiah tugged at my arm. “We can’t hep ’im, Mister Seth. We needs saws, lots of ’em.”

  I jerked free of his hand, angry at our mounting helplessness, then glared at him. “My name is not Mr. Seth. It’s just plain ol’ Seth.”

  He stared at me, eyes weary, brimming with misery. “Not for me, it ain’t,” he said and continued down the ridge.

  His words sucked the air right out of me, leaving me almost too weak to move, but I recognized the truth in them. The very people who went out of their way to make sure I made something of myself,
like Papa, Uncle Nate, even Mr. Farrell, were the same ones who kept Josiah right where he was.

  What I’d asked of him was impossible.

  I heard another weak call from deep in the debris, and it propelled me down. I searched the wreckage ahead for help, and not far from us, I saw a half dozen men loading bodies onto wagons.

  “We need help!” I called, long before they could hear us well.

  An older man with a gray beard turned to watch while we struggled across the muddy ruins toward him.

  “People are trapped back there. We need saws!”

  They continued to stare but never offered a word.

  “I said,” yelling louder, “there are people back there, trapped, still alive!” I pointed behind me, breathing hard. “I heard them calling for help.”

  The bearded man nodded slowly. “We heard you, son.”

  “We ain’t got no saws,” another man said, pulling a dirty rag from his back pocket.

  I felt an angry heat building inside me, and my glare bounced from one set of hollow eyes to another. “So we’ll find some,” I hissed.

  Pain swept across the bearded man’s face. He hung his head, pulled in a breath, and when he looked up again, the grief I’d glimpsed only a moment ago had been veiled. “Don’t worry, son,” he said. “Go on home. We’ll take care of those people.”

  “No, sir.” I shook my head hard. “I made a promise.”

  The man with the dirty rag mopped sweat from his neck. “We already told you boys,” he said quietly, “we ain’t got no saws.”

  The rest of the men shifted uneasylike, avoiding my eyes.

  “We’re doing all we can, son,” the bearded man said.

  I stared past them to the wagon, to the pile of bodies, the muddied arms and legs, already stiff under the hot sun, and just stood there till Josiah backed away, his head bobbing.

  “Thank you, sir,” he said to them. “Mister Seth here sure do ’preciates all you is doing.”

  They nodded, and Josiah pulled me away.

  “The man be right,” he whispered. “We needs to get home.”

  “I can’t, Josiah. I promised her.”

  “Yessir, I knows that, but the girl, she already sees how things really is.”

  I stood there while the hot sun beat down on us, breathing in the terrible odor of mud and death, and squinted up at him.

  “My mama tole me right ’fore she died last winter that angels whispered to her and showed her heaven’s own gate. She knew she be crossing over real soon.”

  I peered toward the ridge, trying to make sense of what he was saying. It was true the girl hadn’t asked for help. She’d asked only that we remember her name.

  The shard of mirror caught the sun, and I flinched from the glare.

  “So she knew?” I whispered.

  Josiah nodded, and the heavy truth of it slowed my heart till I thought I might die right there with her.

  Josiah waited, but I knew I couldn’t go home. Not yet.

  “I can’t leave her,” I said.

  Sweat trickled down his forehead, and he wiped it away with the back of his sleeve. “I knows,” he said, squinting against the sun.

  I headed back to the ridge, and without a word, Josiah followed. We began the slow climb, but this time I heard no voices. Not one. I reached the broken mirror and kneeled over the opening. “Sarah Louise!” I shouted. “We’re back, like we promised.”

  Josiah kneeled beside me, listening.

  “Sarah,” I called again. “Sarah Louise Ellison!”

  Wind whistled over the ridge.

  I glanced at Josiah, afraid to even breathe, and he hung his head.

  Leaning close over the opening, I called again.

  And again.

  Chapter

  16

  I sat on the ground, staring up at the broken mirror, not remembering the climb down at all. Josiah let me be for a short while, then pulled me to my feet and led me stumbling toward home. Hot wind gusted around my ears, billowed scattered clothing, blew muddied photographs and bits of paper rattling past my feet, but I hardly noticed. My head was still full of the sound of Sarah Louise’s name. I didn’t know what color her hair was, if her eyes were blue, or brown, or green, but I knew I’d carry her voice with me the rest of my days.

  Debris-filled pools dotted streets, even though the gulf had retreated, and a thick layer of foul-smelling slime coated everything. Horses and cattle strayed into yards and wandered up to everyone they encountered, eager to find their owners. I didn’t see a blade of grass for them, but I was soon searching for it, just as they must have, longing for a glimpse of green, just one wisp of something fresh in the air.

  We passed two dead boys in an alley, twins about five years old, still holding on to each other. I stared at their small bodies, not willing to leave them, hoping my own family wasn’t lying like this somewhere, too. Josiah found a busted shovel nearby and offered to help me bury them.

  It was what I wanted, and what I would’ve wanted someone to do for those I loved as well, but I shook my head. “How will their mother ever know what happened if we bury them?”

  Josiah started digging. “She ain’t alive or she woulda already been ’round.”

  I blinked and stood aside.

  While Josiah dug a shallow grave and buried them, I scratched the words, “Twin boys, age 5,” on a board and drove it into the ground with the back of the shovel. I was finally able to turn my back on them, but on the next corner we found another body, a woman this time.

  A man sat near her on the curb with a bottle of whiskey in his hands. I asked if he knew who she was, and he shook his head.

  “I’ve been looking for my wife all day, but that ain’t her.”

  He sipped at the bottle but didn’t appear drunk. I waited to hear more, and just when I figured he’d said all he wanted, he added, “I couldn’t get home last night and now everything is gone, just washed away.”

  I tried to get him to go on, but he refused, saying he wanted to help us lay her away. He used a board to pull back the wet sand Josiah shoveled, all the while mumbling a name—his wife’s, I reckoned.

  When we’d dug the hole large enough, he helped me lay her in the grave with such tenderness, it near made my heart break in two. I found a corrugated washboard to place over her face and refilled the grave. We stood over her a moment, quiet, then the man thanked me and turned south toward the gulf.

  Up ahead, gangs of men loaded bodies onto mule-drawn drays that only yesterday had hauled groceries or grain or beer, and on every street corner we saw people, cut and bruised, clothes in shreds, asking about missing children, husbands, wives.

  We passed a mule impaled on an iron fence, a cow bawling from the top of a shed, and a man dressed in a nun’s habit. He said the sisters at the Ursuline convent had pulled his bruised and naked body through a window, saving his life, and had given him the only clothes they had.

  Another man who had lost his wife and four children claimed he’d been swept into the gulf where he floated all night hanging onto a steamer trunk before being washed miraculously back to shore. And soon after, we came across a lisping boy, no more than eight, who told without a single tear how he’d watched his mother die.

  Stories crowded the streets, and through all these tales and others, I saw not a trace of emotion. Eyes stared, glazed and without light. Hearts appeared numb. The panic and loss that had gripped us all seemed to have been replaced with a bewildered calm.

  Doors swung open to the houses that had withstood the storm, and anyone, rich or poor, white or colored, merchant or servant, was welcomed and fed. A woman who’d been carrying water to the men working in her street offered me a ladle and didn’t hesitate to let Josiah drink, too. We had our fill, gulping greedily, almost emptying the bucket.

  By the time we finally turned onto what was left of Thirty-fifth Street, I figured we must’ve been walking for at least six hours, maybe more.

  Right away I saw that Ella Rose�
�s house had been swept away, as were most homes along that side of the street. Ezra and Josiah’s place was gone, too; only pilings marked what once had been. But most of Uncle Nate’s house still stood. Even the big ash tree sat anchored in the front yard with its stark limbs stretching skyward for leaves long gone.

  As we neared the house, I could see more. The barn out back was gone, and there was no sign of Archer or Deuce, Uncle Nate’s horses. The dray or buggy, either. The neighbor’s house on the south side had been swept up against the wall, leaving a mangled pile of lumber as high as Andy and Will’s bedroom windows. In this case, it may have protected the house. Only a portion of my uncle’s roof and veranda appeared damaged. The front stairs had been swept away, but the north stairs, which led to the kitchen door at the side of the house, had remained intact. Oddly, the screen was still attached.

  Gratitude swelled inside me. The house looked far better than many. Surely everyone was safe inside.

  Josiah grinned when he saw Ezra clearing debris from the kitchen stairs. “My granddaddy look fine,” he said.

  I nodded and smiled back at him. “I bet he’ll be surprised to see you.”

  We moved as fast as we could, helping each other over the splintered roofs and broken furniture that stood between us and Ezra, but there was no sneaking up on the man. He heard us coming, and when he saw Josiah, he dropped his armful of litter and laughed out loud.

  I stood back a moment, watching Ezra and Josiah hug and laugh and hug again, then I bolted up the steps, forgetting all about my aches and pains, lost in one thought, one wish.

  I burst through the screen door and saw Aunt Julia scooping mud from the kitchen floor and scraping it into a bucket. She just stood there for a moment, mouth open, blinking at me.