“To be honest, usually off at some tea party or something,” he said with a laugh.
For a moment, Emma thought the older woman might become angry, but was relieved to hear her chuckle the awaited response, “You’re so right. Well, I’m making up for it now.”
“Yes, you are.” He slipped his arm around her waist. “And we’re all grateful. Aren’t we, Emma?”
“Oh yes, very,” she said, embarrassed at how childish she suddenly sounded.
“Well, come with me then, child.” Mrs. Murphy took her by the hand and headed up the stairs. “Let’s get you into a warm bath. I’ve got some wonderful bath salts, imported from Italy. I’m sure they will help relax you.”
They made their way down the long, dark hallway with birch paneling and stenciled plaster.
Moments later, with Sadie sleeping soundly in the large four-poster bed, Emma practically melted into the yellow-tiled tub. She did all she could to put the events of the last few days behind her. Her eyes drifted shut as the memories ran over her like a flood. They were mixed with the scent of burning flesh and honeysuckle, an eerie combination. She drifted down into the warm water, letting it wash over her. The honeysuckle scent grew stronger, and the fires from outside all but washed away as she began to fade into the mist of a wonderful dream.
“I’m so proud of you, Emma!”
“Mama!” Her eyes flew open instinctively. “Mama?” She looked around anxiously. Nothing.
“Honey, are you all right?” Mrs. Murphy’s voice over the gentle tapping on the door convinced Emma she had only been dreaming.
“I… I’m fine,” she whispered, then dissolved into an ocean of tears.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Thursday, September 13th, 9:15 a.m. The Murphy Villa
Brent awoke to the inviting smell of food cooking downstairs. He turned over in his bed, amazed to find the sun had risen. “What time is it?” He reached for his pocket watch on the bedside table. He squinted, finding it hard to see past the streams of sunlight pouring in through the large bay window.
9:15! I’ve been sleeping for nearly eleven hours. That’s unheard of. It’s…
It was completely wonderful. He rolled back over in the bed and stretched. His mother had been kind enough to let him get some much-needed rest. Not that he had anything pressing to get out of bed for.
Emma.
Brent sat up suddenly, remembering. Emma is here. She had slept in the room just across the hall. How could I have forgotten?
He staggered out of the bed, stopping to look at himself in the mirror. His hair stood up all over his head. He did his best to comb it down, but it was hopeless. Slipping into a pair of slacks, he headed downstairs. Familiar voices rose and fell from the breakfast table.
Glancing into the kitchen, he could hardly believe his eyes. Emma stood at the kitchen sink next to his mother, peeling potatoes.
“How long have you lived on the island, Mrs. Murphy?” she asked.
“Oh, honey. I’ve lived here all my life,” his mother responded with a laugh. “I’ve got sand in my blood, I dare say. And my husband has the railroad in his. We had this house built when Brent was just a boy – not much older than Sadie.”
“It’s a lovely home,” Emma said, looking about. “Very stately. And so beautiful. I just love homes fashioned with that lovely new gingerbread trim. The large gallery out front is my favorite part. Our home has… had no porch at all. It was just a simple wood framed home built by my father’s parents years ago.”
Brent listened from a distance, drinking in her words. She liked it here.
“What about you?” Gillian asked. “How long have you lived here?”
Emma reached up to wipe her brow with the back of her hand. “My father brought us here when I was just about three or so.”
“Really? What sort of work does your father do?” Mrs. Murphy asked. Just as quickly as the words were spoken, she clamped her hand over her mouth, ashamed. “Oh, I’m so sorry, honey. Really, I am. I meant to say, ‘What sort of work did he do?”
Brent cleared his throat loudly, deliberately interrupting their conversation. He couldn’t help but notice the tears in Emma’s eyes as she glanced his way.
“Good morning, sleepy-head,” his mother said with a grin. “I was beginning to think you were going to sleep all day.”
“Oh you did, did you?” He reached across her to pick up a piece of raw potato, then popped it into his mouth.
“Don’t do that.” She swatted his hand away.
“Why not?”
“It’s not good for you! They’re not cooked!”
“I thought it tasted a little funny,” he joked. “But something sure smells good. What’s cooking down here?”
“I’ve got biscuits and gravy left over from this morning.” His mother reached to open the oven door. “They’ve been sitting awhile waiting on you. Might be a bit stiff.”
“That won’t be a problem, I assure you,” he said, barely taking his eyes off of Emma to look at the food. “I’m famished.”
“What about coffee?” Emma asked. “Would you like a cup?”
“Oh, Brent’s not much of a coffee drinker,” his mother began.
“I’d love a cup,” he interrupted, looking intently at Emma. There’s something different about her this morning. What is it?
“You drink it black or with a little sugar?” she asked, as she filled the cup. Their eyes met in an extended gaze – so extended that the cup overflowed. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” She reached to wipe the table.
“No problem.” He smiled in her direction, unsure of the emotions now gripping him. He barely knew this woman, and yet…
There was undeniably something there. Suddenly everything began to make perfect sense to him. He hadn’t just come back to Galveston Island to face his father.
He had come to meet Emma.
***
Thursday, September 13th, 11:46 a.m. The Courier
“So, they’re coming, are they?” Everett said, pacing around his office. He had just received the news. Press members from all over the country were descending on Galveston Island. Many had already arrived, but there was one team in particular that drew his interest.
It would draw Brent Murphy’s too.
Journalists from Pulitzer’s paper, The New York World, were set to arrive in the next few days. They would be sharing headquarters with the Red Cross just up The Strand at 25th Street. Everett couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy as he thought about those big-city reporters and their take on Galveston’s disaster. They were sure to take advantage of the situation, sure to…
They were sure to do exactly what he had done – reach for the best, the most tantalizing headline possible. That was their business, after all.
They would certainly have their hands full, sharing space with the American Red Cross. The infamous Clara Barton was due to arrive on the island at any moment. From what Everett had heard, she would arrive with plans to start a new orphanage. Now that would be newsworthy. Many of the island’s surviving children were still at the Academy, awaiting food and necessary supplies, but most, sadly, had perished in the floodwaters, their tiny bodies unable to fight off the sting of death.
Traffic from the mainland had been steady and strong as boats made their way across the bay. Supplies had started coming in, though not in abundance. Local merchants, moved by the situation, had already begun to offer goods at manufacturer’s costs, but their lack was overwhelming. Would Galveston Island ever crawl back up out of the mire and stand to her feet again?
Everett gazed out of his window one last time before heading down to the pressroom. There’s only so much one editor can do about that. Right now, it was just a matter of piecing things back together – one life at a time.
***
Thursday, September 13th, 3:38 p.m. The Academy
“Missy Henri, what’s you gonna do?” Big John asked, looking at her intently. “You can’t leave the island. No ma’am.�
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“What do you mean?”
“There’s little ‘uns everywhere who be lookin fer a place to stay now,” he argued. “They done lost everything, most of ‘em. They ain’t got no ma or pa, and no place to go. They cain’t stay here forever.” He waved his arm toward the Academy, still near-full to bursting with refugees. “The sooner they get out of here, the better.”
“What am I supposed to do about that?” Henrietta asked nervously. “I’m just one person. Besides, my family needs me back in Virginia.”
“But these little ones be needin’ ya more,” John argued. “And you know it. You’s got to listen to the Lord now, Missy Henri! He be tellin’ you what to do now.”
Her heart raced. It wasn’t that they needed her, she suddenly realized. She needed them. “John, I really don’t think we need to be talking about this right now.”
No sooner were the words spoken than a youngster attached herself to Henrietta’s skirt-tails. “Missy Henri!” the little one spoke, “We get food today, real food!”
“Yes, Amelia,” she spoke in response. “They’re bringing in food from the mainland today. But it will still be awhile, so why don’t you go and play with the other children.”
“I don’t want to, Missy Henri,” Amelia tugged tighter at her skirt. “I want to stay with you.”
Henrietta reached down to scoop the six-year old waif into her arms. The storm had been cruel to this little one. It had taken every family member from her – mother, father and older sisters. She was all that was left of what had once been a well-to-do family on the island’s east end.
“Do you believe in heaven, Missy Henri?” The youngster’s blue eyes gazed into hers.
“Of course I do.” She reached down instinctively to wrap her arms around the child.
“My Mommy’s there now,” Amelia said with a sigh. “And Poppy. He’s looking down at me right now.” She began to wave her arms frantically toward the sky.
“Stop it, Amelia,” Henrietta scolded. “Don’t do that.”
“Why not?” A tear ran down the youngster’s freckled cheek.
“Yes,” John echoed. “Why not, Missy Henri?”
“It’s just so foolish to wave to the sky like that.” Henri felt the inevitable lump rise up in her throat. Somewhere up there Lilly Mae was probably waving back, just as frantically. No, I won’t let myself think about it. “We must try to be brave and not worry. Everything will work out. I know it will.” She smiled at Amelia.
The little girl ran off with a new-found smile on her face.
“See there, Missy Henri,” John said with a grin. “You has a way with the chilluns. They be a’ needin’ ya.”
“Tell me, then. Tell me what I’m supposed to do.”
“Only the Lord can tell ya that.” He broke into a long resounding laugh. “But I’s got a sneakin’ suspicion it’s got somethin’ to do with that orphanage you came from.”
“St. Mary’s? St. Mary’s is gone. Washed out to sea.”
“So she is,” he said, suddenly looking serious. “Which is exactly why someone has to stick around for some rebuilding.”
***
Thursday, September 13th, 6:59 p.m. The Murphy Villa
Emma made her way through the maze of people out onto the front porch of the Murphy’s large Victorian home. She leaned against the railing, deep in thought.
What do I do now, Lord?
It was more than a simple prayer. If she didn’t receive an answer quickly, no telling where she and Sadie might end up. And yet, God had already provided a place, at least for the time being. Not just a place, but a home on Broadway. Emma had envied the people in the large Victorian homes since childhood. Now she stood alongside people of every race and social status in one of the Island’s finest homes. It was ironic, tragic.
Her eyes traveled up and down Broadway, trying to absorb what she saw. Many of the homes in this area had taken in water, but most were still standing strong and firm.
“…having done all, to stand.”
The scripture raced through her mind, startling her, but where had it come from? Ah yes. Her mother had shared it with her just a few short days ago, when she had struggled with her decision to work at the hospital.
“When you’ve done all you can do,” her mother had said with a smile, “then you have to stand firm. It’s really all you can do.”
But how? Emma struggled with this question more than any other.
And yet, she had learned from the best, hadn’t she? For years her beautiful mother had stood as a testament to the wonders of her faith. How many times she had stood firm! When her husband’s business failed. When her job at the sewing factory had come to an abrupt end. When her own parents had passed away. She had stood like a rock in the midst of it all.
Perhaps it was possible, after all, Emma reasoned. Perhaps one really could go through the flood and not drown, as the scripture said. Perhaps they could be dashed against the rocks and not broken. If her mother could do it, surely she could too.
“…having done all, to stand.”
Emma looked at the houses once again. They were battered and bruised by the storm, as she was – and yet they stood as a testament to the wonder of good construction. They were strong.
She would be too.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Friday, September 14th, 7:38 a.m. The Murphy Villa
Brent made his way out onto the front gallery, a cup of coffee firmly clutched in his right hand. Off in the distance the smoke from the fires rose above the city, but even that couldn’t hold his attention now. A lovely young nurse by the name of Emma stood at the far end of the porch, completely unaware of his presence.
“I thought I might find you out here.” He walked toward her. She turned to face him, her eyes puffy and red—a sure sign she had spent the night in tears. Not that he blamed her; she had lost so much. Brent’s heart skipped a beat as their eyes locked. “This is for you.” He handed her the cup, nearly dropping it in the process.
“Oh, thank you.” She took it willingly. “I need this.”
“I had a feeling. Are you sure you should be out here? The smoke is awful.”
“I know, but I feel like I’m suffocating inside. I have to get out.” She began to cough, using a handkerchief to cover her mouth and nose from the smell. “I won’t stay out long, I promise.”
He gave her a deliberate smile. “I’m just looking out for you.”
“Thanks again. I don’t know what I would have done without you these past few days. I really don’t.”
He smiled again.
A silence stood between them for a moment before Emma spoke. “I was just standing here trying to decide whether or not I should go back in to the hospital this morning.” She glanced off in the distance.
“Are you sure you’re ready for that?” She needs to stay here. She’s not ready to face the madness of the hospital. Not yet, anyway.
“They need me.” Her voice quivered. “That’s why I went into nursing in the first place. I need to be needed.”
He gazed at her tenderly. Have I ever met anyone this miraculous before? “A wonderful motive,” he assured her. “No one can fault you there.”
“I’ve always wanted to help people,” she said with a shrug. “But I never thought it would be like this. Sometimes I’m not sure I’ve done the right thing.”
“How can you say that? If anything, this whole thing should have convinced you that you made the right decision.”
“How do you know what I’m thinking or feeling? How do you know anything about me?” Her words were suddenly curt.
He responded softly. “I’m sorry. I’m the last person to give anyone else advice on what they ought to do with their life.”
“Why is that?”
He shrugged impatiently. “Never mind. We can talk about something else.”
“No, come on.” Her face suddenly lit up. “I’m sorry. Really. I’ll talk if you will.” She coughed again and covered her m
outh and nose with the handkerchief. “But not out here. Could we go back inside?”
“I hoped you might say that.” He gestured toward the door then followed behind her as she made her way inside. I’d follow you anywhere.
“What would you like to talk about?” he asked, as they made their way into the kitchen to sit at the table.
Emma smiled. “I’d like to know what you were doing of in New York, for one thing—when you have such a wonderful family right here.”
“Ouch.” Brent’s heart twisted inside of him as he looked up and saw him mother standing just a few feet away peeling potatoes. That’s a little personal, don’t you think?
“I’m sorry,” Emma’s gaze shifted. “It’s really none of my business.” Her cheeks turned crimson.
“No, it’s all right.”
“It’s just that my family has always meant everything to me.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “I couldn’t imagine ever being away from them. I… I still can’t.”
“I love my family,” Brent argued. “I do.”
“Well then, how could you leave them? I don’t think I could ever… I mean, I don’t think I could have ever…” The tears began to tumble down her cheeks. “None of this matters anymore. There is no family for me anymore. No one but Sadie, I mean.”
“Don’t you have grandparents? Aunts and Uncles?” Brent took her hand and pressed it into his own. His heart felt like it would break for her. Had he really only known this incredible woman a few days? It seemed more like a lifetime.
“My dad’s parents are somewhere in Chicago. My mother’s parents were too – until the fire.”
“I’m so sorry, Emma.” He gripped her hand tightly, not wanting to let go.
“I just don’t know if I’m strong enough to get through all of this by myself,” she whispered, then leaned her head down until her forehead rested on their clutched hands.
“Maybe you won’t have to.” He lifted her chin.
Boxed Set: Deep in the Heart of Texas Page 19
