by Linda Ellen
Mrs. Geldhaus’ eyes had grown large and for once, she was rendered totally speechless. For the first time, she was forced to glimpse her attitude and actions through the eyes of someone else – and they were not a pretty sight. The other women turned to stare at her also; their opinion of her dropping even lower than it had been before. Mortified, she grasped hold of the arms of her children and exited the room without another word, as the kids fussed that they wanted to hear more ‘flood’ stories.
Vic shut his eyes for a minute, lowering and shaking his head in disgust. What a self-centered woman… Visions of John’s funeral – and the agonizing grief of his wife and children – floated through his mind’s eye.
“Will you tell us more about the flood, Mr. Vic?” requested little Sally with a shy smile, shifting her baby doll to her other hip. Vic opened his eyes and glanced down into her large, baby blue gaze and smiled. Taking in a breath, he gave her a wink.
“Well, we saw stuff I’ll never forget as long as I live…” he murmured, recalling movie houses, the waterline nearly up to the once glittering, but now dark and silent, marquees, reminding him of a ghost town. He related how the boats could just barely make it underneath the wooden railroad bridge that crossed Main Street; the water level was so high. “You had to duck down, or you’d hit your head for sure.”
“Golly!” one of the boys gushed, wishing he was grown and could have been out having ‘fun’ like Mr. Vic and his crew. Indeed, all of the boys were riveted to Vic’s side, trying to imagine the scenes he was describing. Mr. Dobbins sat back in his chair and lit a pipe, enjoying the stories himself. The older man had, for the most part – been out of the ‘loop’ delivering daily supplies, and had not experienced much of the actual flooding.
After a few bites of food, Vic paused to sort through the occurrences of the past ten days. He related to the group the frightening sight of seeing tanker train cars bobbing like corks in the deep water, even floating over to the high power lines and bumping into their poles. His audience gasped in wonder. “We were all thankin’ God that the power was off, or this whole city woulda’ gone up like the Fourth of July,” he mused. He went on, trying to convey to them the absolute terror he had felt the night the Louisville Paint & Varnish Company caught fire and burned to the ground. Everyone in the room had heard the news about the huge fire in Cincinnati. “I wouldn’t have given a plug nickel for any of our lives then. The Cincinnati fire was started by oil and gas on the water from overturned storage tanks, and it burned for 48 hours.” Shaking his head, he added, “I don’t mind tellin’ ya…we were all afraid that what wasn’t under water here in Louisville, would end up burned to a cinder.”
Louise smiled in quiet fascination and hugged her arms across her chest as she watched him; his eyes were sparkling as he vividly recounted his adventures. She mused that if she hadn’t been totally smitten before, this would have cemented the feeling, for sure.
Vic continued, regaling them with details about the already famous ‘pontoon bridge’, how it seemed to stretch on and on; so long that one couldn’t see one end of it from the other. “That’ll be one for the record books, I’ll tell ya. Thousands of people rode anything that floated over to the foot of the bridge. That thing was bobbin’, swayin’, and shimmyin’ as the people made their way down it, haulin’ everything they could carry.” He paused for a minute recalling the images he had seen as he went by in his boat. “Seventy-five thousand people walked out of the city on that pontoon bridge in three days,” he shook his head, still awed by the sheer number. “I saw people carryin’ bird cages, armloads of pots and pans, suitcases, pillow cases packed with stuff – all while wearin’ layers and layers of clothes and two coats, three hats, trying to transport as much as they could and not leave it for the looters.”
“Looters?” one woman asked, suddenly worried. “But what about the Police? The National Guard…the Coast Guard?”
“They’re patrolin’ all the time, Ma’am,” Vic acknowledged. “The Coast Guard sent hundreds of their guys to the city. Navy from the Great Lakes and North Carolina came and they patrol, too. But when people are up to no good, they seem ta find a way,” he added with a shake of his head. However, seeing the worry that had replaced the mirth on their faces, he hastened to add, “But to be honest, the authorities catch most of ‘em before they have a chance to do harm.”
“It’s helped, though, hadn’t it, that the downtown was evacuated?” Jeb spoke up. “I heard there ain’t a soul left from Fifteenth to the river.”
Vic nodded. “I’m sure it has. Though there are folks left, in second-floor apartments or above stores or businesses.”
“But where did all of those people go?” Mrs. Haddaway asked, thinking of her brother and his family, who lived in a two-story house on Eighteenth.
“Well Ma’am, I heard tell that the churches across the city opened their doors, people in the higher sections of town, and like Jeb here said earlier – store fronts, even theaters and schools – anywhere that had space.” He went on to share how grocery stores and produce markets willingly donated all of their wares to help those in need, and milk companies had given free milk and dairy products to needy mothers with small children. “Sometimes the river herself contributed…me and my guys fished a barrel of pickled beets outta the water one day,” he snickered. “’Course, that came from a warehouse that was all but washed away by the current…”
Waxing pensive, he glanced around at the ladies, reflecting on the sobering realization of the damage the city had sustained, especially in The Point. Vic made the prediction that the city might just declare that entire end of town condemned, no longer allowing any of the buildings to be occupied again. “It’s the dangdest thing I ever saw…looked like some kinda strange lake…acres of water dotted with rooftops and the top branches of trees…maybe a telephone pole here and there. It’s mighty sad down there…those folks lost everything…”
The people in the warm dry kitchen of the luxurious country club, so far away from the crisis, lapsed into silence. Even the children sympathized with the unfortunate ‘West Enders’.
Suddenly… hearing the details didn’t seem so amusing anymore. One by one, the ladies began to drift away from the table. Each felt a jumble of emotions, all the way from gratitude to sympathy; drawing from the information Vic had shared.
“Well son…I think it’s time we be mosyin’ along, ‘fore we outstay our welcome,” Jeb intoned, pushing his chair back as he stood to his feet.
Vic nodded with a murmured, “I think you’re right.” He wiped his mouth on a napkin and stood as the ladies went on about their business.
Louise followed him to the door as he began to make his exit, Mr. Dobbins already half way to the truck.
“Well, I…” Vic began.
“I…um…” Louise started. Both fell silent, not knowing what to say. He toyed with the idea of asking her out.
“Do…do you guys know when you’ll be comin’ back to town?” Vic asked, raising his hands to replace his cap and adjust it on his head.
The air was cold outside the steamy kitchen, so Louise crossed her sweater-covered arms over her chest with a slight shiver. “No…they don’t tell us anything…”
He nodded, his eyes roaming down her body, noticing the tiny waist and the soft swell of her curves in the oversized dress.
“Shut the door, Mary Louise!” her mother’s voice called from inside. Louise quickly stepped out and pulled the door closed behind her.
Raising her eyes to his face, she noticed the direction of his gaze and wrapped her sweater tighter around her middle, feeling extremely self-conscious. “I hate this dress…”
At his look of confusion, she added, “The church ladies brought us some clothes the second day we were here…but this was all I could grab.” She looked down at it with a shrug. “Be glad to have my dress back. Heck, I’ll be glad to be away from here and back home. We call this place the ‘Golden Prison’,” she added as she glanced around. Br
inging her eyes back to his, she found them just watching her, his expression thoughtful.
Louise smiled shyly at him, casting around for something else to say and wishing she could keep him there indefinitely.
His smile widened, deepening his dimples, as he stepped a bit closer to her, placing one hand on the doorframe.
Startled at this bold move, she held her breath, her heart jumping in her chest as she gazed up into his face. Oh my gosh…is he gonna kiss me? The winter sunlight was bright behind his head as he effectively backed her into the corner next to the door. Blindly reaching behind, she felt the rough surface of the unyielding brick against her fingers and back.
Slowly, his hand rose to touch her cheek, as he murmured, “So…your name’s Mary Louise…” She gave a faint nod. He went on softly, “Reminds me of my boat…her name was the Mary Lou. Anybody ever call you that?”
Nervous, she unconsciously moistened her lips and shook her head.
His eyes and the edges of his hair seemed to sparkle. “They oughtta. It suits ya,” he murmured, his voice soft and low.
She swallowed, managing a whispered, “It does?” as her eyes darted back and forth between his, so close…
Vic nodded slowly, irresistibly drawn to the sparkling hazel lights in her eyes. He glanced from them down to her mouth, and then up again. What would she do if I tried to kiss her? Would she let me?
Then from the corner of his eye he saw movement inside the kitchen – her mother, glancing toward the door with furrowed brow – and he knew he had to make tracks. Vic backed up half a step and in a low voice, he murmured, “Be seein’ ya…Mary Lou.”
Speechless, Louise watched him give her a wink as he turned on his heel, disappearing around the corner of the building.
‡
CHAPTER 11
Going Home to the Unknown
Nine people rode along in a black ‘33 Studebaker hearse, three on the front seat, and the rest on makeshift seats in the back. The car was packed to the rims with household items, some of which was even strapped to the roof. Each person in the back strained to get a peek at the landscape slowly rolling by. They had been on the road for about thirty minutes before they approached the first telltale signs of how high the water had risen.
“We truly appreciate the lift back to Louisville, Mr. Grant,” Willis intoned. He nodded with a smile to the little girl sitting next to her father as she turned her head and flashed him a grin.
“Aww, it’s no trouble,” Frank Grant replied as he negotiated around an obstruction in the road. “Glad we could help out.”
“Daddy says your mom’s a real good cook, Mr. Grant,” Billy piped up. The little girl in the front seat shifted her gaze in his direction. Across the vehicle, Louise pressed her lips together to stifle a smile as she watched her brother quickly turn his head and look away from little Bernice Grant’s shy grin.
Meanwhile, Edna snickered as she watched Lilly give their father The Eye. Willis cleared his throat and shot a look of good-natured aggravation at his youngest, before crooning, “Second only to you, my dear.” His wife pursed her lips and nodded, “Mmm hmm.” The tiniest curve of a grin, however, was enough to put the lie to her ‘angry’ look.
“Although I missed being able to enjoy meals with the family, I must say, the ladies of the church took good care of us men during our lonely hours of enforced bachelorhood,” Willis complimented.
“Yeah, Mom’s always loved cookin’,” Frank agreed. “And she was in her element being in charge of the food brigade. You shoulda seen her figurin’ and refigurin’ ingredients, issuin’ orders, and tastin’ all the dishes before she allowed ‘em to be served to you men.” Willis laughed softly, having witnessed the elder Mrs. Grant in action; she had run the operation with the precision that would have befitted a general in the army. “But her house is kind of small,” Frank added, “and after havin’ all of us under foot for eleven days, plus cookin’ for the men housed at the church, I think she was glad to see us go back home.”
“Do you know why the men couldn’t take their meals with us?” Lilly inquired, the subject of the family’s forced separation still a sore one.
The man pursed his lips and shook his head with a bewildered shrug. “Just orders from the Red Cross, from what I understand. When they arranged for the church and the club to provide lodgings for flood refugees from Louisville, they stressed that the men, for propriety’s sake, had to be boarded separate. Didn’t make sense to us, though, why you men couldn’t eat with your families – at least lunch or dinner – but we didn’t make the rules. And them Presbyterian ladies, they’re sticklers for followin’ the rules,” he added with a soft chuckle.
Slowing down to maneuver through a deep patch of mud in the road, and seeing more and more evidence of the high water that had occupied the area mere days before, Frank shook his head with a sigh. “Don’t mind telling you, I’m dreading seeing our place, though a family friend told us it didn’t fare as bad as others…”
“That’s good to know,” Willis acknowledged, glancing at his wife. “I’m concerned about what we will face, as well.”
“I always try to see the good in every situation,” Mrs. Grant murmured from the front seat, turning her head and meeting Lilly’s eyes. “But I confess, I’m having a hard time with this…” Lilly nodded as the two women, strangers in reality, shared common ground.
Lilly pondered the crisis in regard to her penchant for thinking that every bad thing which happened to her was yet another ‘punishment’ heaped upon her shoulders. Clamping her teeth and shutting her eyes momentarily, she fought back tears of hopelessness – her would-be constant companion and resident enemy. Only the love of her husband and family kept that ‘wolf’ at bay.
The occupants of the vehicle passed the next few minutes in silence, reflecting upon Mrs. Grant’s words, as soft music coming from the radio was nearly drowned out by the crunching of debris under the tires. Then, almost as if their conversation had been heard, the mayor took that moment to interrupt the recently resumed airing of music on WHAS with one of his ‘pep’ talks for his beleaguered city.
“My fellow citizens,” he began in his familiar, rich baritone voice. “As the menacing waters of the Ohio have begun to retreat, and our fair city begins its arduous task of recovery, I implore you to be encouraged.” The members of the two families met one another’s eyes as they listened. Frank reached for the knob and turned up the volume. “Good things can be said to have come from the disaster, and there is much to make history in Louisville in those friendships that were built up when the rich and poor labored side-by-side to rescue their fellow men. When executive and truck driver jointly operated a truck in carrying food to the homeless, when Protestant, Catholic and Jew filled sand bags to protect the homes of those they had never before seen…I think we shall all thank God that we live in a city which has shown the resourcefulness to meet the catastrophe, the generosity to take care of the weak and the helpless, and the determination to work together for a greater Louisville.” Heads were nodding in agreement as Willis murmured a word of acknowledgement. “Let us not now cease with this welcome atmosphere, but continue to reach out and help our fellow man as the clean-up begins. Neighbor, reach out and help thy neighbor. Let us all put into practice that old saying, ‘You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours.’ In this way, my fellow citizens, we will, together, beat that ‘Ol’ Man River’, and put him in his place.”
Adding a few community announcements and helpful information, the mayor signed off.
Once again, the soft music resumed as the Hoskins and Grant families murmured affirmations regarding their leader’s words, and mentioned friendships that were made during the crisis.
“Look at that!” Louise suddenly gasped as she pointed to a ghastly sight off to the side of the road. All nine occupants craned their necks to see the spectacle.
“Ewww!” Bernice exclaimed as the others made similar noises, all of them viewing the carcass of a large dog
– suspended in a tree ten feet above the ground. It had apparently gotten caught in the branches and drowned. Its mouth and eyes were open and staring, seemingly frozen in terror.
Lilly gasped at the hideous sight. “Oh my lands! I…I can’t imagine the water being that high!”
“Yes, but from what they said, it got a lot higher than that, downtown…” Mrs. Grant murmured as her eyes darted from debris to debris – everything from small bits of clothing and paper to household goods – nervous in spite of Vic’s assurance that their place was still intact.
“Yes…” Lilly agreed, shaking her head in amazement at the amount of mud and detritus strewn everywhere. Her stomach was in knots, dreadfully afraid of what they would encounter once they reached their home.
Turning onto a side street several minutes later, they saw it was closed, a collapsing of the sewers resulting in a huge hole in the center of the road. From their vantage point, the occupants of the vehicle could see past the barricade to several workers gingerly making their way around the jagged break in the pavement, and looking over the edge into the black unknown. Lilly shuddered in reaction to the gruesome evidence of the power of the flood’s destruction, the frightful sight leaving her with an increased foreboding about what they might find at home. Perhaps they had lost everything?
Frank turned onto another street and they made their way around, eventually turning onto Baxter.
“Well, would ya look at that!” Earl Grant murmured from the back of the vehicle as he shook his head in amazement.
“Jeeze…it’s just like he described…” Louise murmured under her breath as they drove past the infamous pontoon bridge, half of its length now fully visible due to the steadily retreating waters. They could clearly see its structure and quality of workmanship, the crossed boards housing three barrels each, now resting on the mud covered street.
