“I know.” She looked up into his eyes and smiled.
“I can’t imagine living one minute without you. I hope I never have to.” He looked into her eyes for the answer he prayed would come. His lips softly brushed against her hair as she buried her head in his chest and wept. When the tears gave way to joy, she lifted her head once again and their lips met in a kiss that sent his heart soaring heavenward.
He didn’t care if it ever touched earth again.
EPILOGUE
September 7, 1901, 8:23 a.m. Along the Shore
Galveston Island has returned, in all of her glorious brilliance. She remains a garden of oleanders, wispy as they dance along evening breezes. The gulf, teeming with life, continues to roll in and out, completely undisturbed. The people are much the same, though some have moved on to Houston, where they seek a life with less risk. The competition between the two cities grows daily, though I fear our sister city may soon have the upper hand.
I don’t mind, really. Whatever happens in other places is fine and good. I am truly home. Galveston, the island of my youth, has drawn me back, and I will forever remain her friend and inhabitant. My whole future lies before me. I remain a dreamer, though reality has certainly reared it head more than a few times in my life. I have little trouble reconciling the two.
Brent laid down his pen as he gazed out at the gulf waters, calm and tranquil. They seemed to symbolize his life. All of his memories rose and fell with the tide, but only the good remained.
***
September 7, 1901, 11:30 a.m. The New Orphanage
Everett stood in front of the new orphanage, a smile working its way across his face.
“It’s lovely, Everett,” his wife, Maggie, said. “I’m so very proud of you.”
“Don’t be proud of me, honey. He wrapped his arms around her. “It’s just proof of what we can accomplish when we all work together. If Clara hadn’t come, I’m not sure we would have made it this far.” He pointed across the lawn to Sister Henrietta, who had a child wrapped around each leg. Bishop Gallagher stood nearby, sipping from a glass of lemonade and talking to her. Off in the distance, the Murphy family stood, arm in arm. Everett smiled in Brent’s direction.
He turned his attention back to his wife. “You know, honey,” he said, “I’ve been giving a lot of thought to retiring.”
“Really?” Her voice had a hopeful edge that could not be ignored.
“Really. In fact, I think I have just the man in mind to take my position at The Courier.” He tipped his head in Brent’s direction.
“Everett, I think that’s a wonderful idea.” She embraced him tightly. “When are you going to tell him?”
“There will be plenty of time for that later. Right now I just want to make sure you won’t mind having me around the house. I can be a real pain in the neck when I’m bored. You know that.”
She smiled up at him. “Well, you won’t have the opportunity to be bored for long.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” she said with a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose, “I’ve been thinking it’s time the two of us took a trip.”
“A trip? Where?”
“Oh, someplace completely different. Someplace where there’s lots of excitement. Maybe Europe, or Africa, or someplace like that. Heaven knows nothing exciting ever happens on this Island.”
“Are you teasing?”
“Perhaps. But I would love to take the train up to Houston for a few days of adventure. How does that sound?”
“Anywhere with you sounds wonderful.” Everett swept her into his arms. “You are my life.”
***
September 7, 1901, 11:45 a.m. The New Orphanage
Henrietta looked up at the beautiful orphanage and whispered a prayer of thanks. No longer St. Mary’s, this new facility would be known as the Wharton Davenport Estates. Her precious orphans, all ninety of them, would soon be permanently moved from the infirmary, where they had stayed for the past year, into their new home. This large frame house had proven to be the perfect choice, and she was happy to join the other eight Sisters of Charity as they took their new place here.
“Henri?” She looked up into Abigail’s merry face. “We made it. We really made it. Can you believe it?”
“We weathered the storm,” Henrietta agreed, deep in reflection. “I hope we never have to go through anything like that again, but even if we do, I’m ready for it. I’m a completely different person today, Abigail. I really am.”
“I think I am too,” her friend said, taking her hand and squeezing it tightly. “But I never would have made it through this without you, Henri. I mean that.”
“You would have,” Henrietta scolded. “The Lord would have seen you through.”
Lord, You are my refuge and strength, my very present helping time of trouble! Why the words came back to her now, she was not sure. Suddenly the picture of Lilly Mae’s face was in front of her – a bright, shiny face, full of hope and excitement. Her song, as clear as the day it was first sung, seemed to fill the air, riding the winds. Henrietta looked up to the skies, her heart swelling with joy.
“This is for you, little one,” she said, then glanced back to the orphanage where the children played happily on the lawn. “This is for you.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Henrietta saw Brent Murphy approaching with his new bride, Emma. They were such a lovely couple. God, in His great goodness and wisdom, had brought them together under the worst of circumstance. Now here they stood, under the best of circumstance – as man and wife.
“Would you mind if I asked you a couple of questions?”
Henrietta turned as she heard Brent’s voice. “Of course not.”
“I’m going to be doing an article on the orphanage, and wanted to get your opinion of how it turned out. Are you happy with the new building?”
Happy? “Oh my, yes,” she exclaimed. “In fact, I don’t know when I’ve ever been happier.”
“So you’ll be staying here on the Island, then?” Brent looked at her carefully. “I seem to recall a young nun who couldn’t wait to leave Galveston. Have you changed your mind?”
Henrietta smiled, knowing in her heart the decision had not been her own. She reached down to scoop a precocious youngster into her arms. “I’m content to be exactly who I am,” she spoke confidently, “and to minister right here – where God has planted me.”
***
September 7, 1901, 11:55 a.m. The New Orphanage
Gillian walked through the dorm rooms of the new orphanage, relishing every moment. “It’s just perfect.” She clutched Douglas’s hand tightly in hers. “Thank you so much for letting me be a part of this.”
“For letting you be a part of it?” he teased. “Wild horses couldn’t have stopped you.”
He spoke the truth, but she knew his words were spoken in love. So much had transpired over the last year. So very much. The homes along Broadway had returned to their original splendor, though attitudes within the homes had changed immensely. Douglas’s love for the railroad had not diminished, but his love for family had far surpassed it. And now, with the unexpected flow of oil from Spindletop in nearby Beaumont, the future nearly teemed with unexpected possibilities for the Murphy family.
Not everything had been good, however. Pearl has gone to be with her Savior just two short months ago. Heart failure – or so the doctors had said. Gillian had made sure she received the best care possible. In the end, Pearl had gone willingly – with a familiar broad smile on her face. “I’m gonna sees my Lord, Miz Gillian.” They had been her final words.
Gillian smiled, remembering. The pain of losing her dear friend was coupled with the joy of all they had shared together during Pearl’s final months. What a precious time it had been. Her husband reached to gently touch her face and she looked up at him, trying to focus – trying to put the past behind her.
“I want to tell you something, Gillian.”
She gazed at him curiously. “Dougla
s?”
“I want to tell you how proud I am of you.”
“Proud? Of me? Whatever for?” Douglas drew her so close that she could feel his heart beating.
“I’m proud to call you my wife, Gillian Murphy,” he whispered in her ear. “You are a loving, giving woman. You would give your last dime to someone who needed it.”
“But…”
“No, let me finish,” he said, putting his finger over her lips. “I wasted so many years not telling you how much I loved you, how much I appreciated you. I want to make up for it. I’ll do anything it takes to make up for it.”
Gillian buried her face in her husband’s chest.
Thank You, Lord. You’ve brought my husband back from the dead. You’ve resurrected our marriage. Are You really so good that You would bless me with even more?
She turned her face up toward her husband, the man she loved with every fiber of her being. “You’ve just given me all I could ever want,” she whispered. “How could I ever ask for more?”
***
September 7, 1901, Noon The New Orphanage
“Mrs. Murphy?”
Emma looked up as Everett Maxwell approached. Just two short months into married life, she still hadn’t quite gotten used to being called Mrs. Murphy. “Yes?”
“I hate to intrude, but I have a bit of news for your husband.”
“Should I go?” she asked as she pulled her arm from Brent’s.
“No, please.” The older man reached to take her hand, placing it back in her husband’s. “This news is for both of you.”
Emma began to tremble, fearing the worst. Would Everett want Brent to leave the Island in search of a story? She had dreaded this possibility for some time now.
“What is it, Everett?” Brent asked.
“I’ve been thinking about retiring,” the older man said with a sly grin.
“Retiring?” Emma and Brent spoke in unison.
“That’s right,” Maggie appeared behind him. “I’m getting him all to myself.”
Emma smiled in Maggie’s direction, knowing how much this meant to the woman who had become such a dear friend. “How wonderful.”
“Anyway, I was thinking perhaps you might like the job,” Everett smiled in Brent’s direction.
“Me? An editor?” Brent sounded stunned.
Emma’s heart began to swell with pride. She looked up at her husband to gauge his response. He grinned madly. “Oh, honey!” she said breathlessly. “You’d do such a wonderful job. And best of all, it would keep you close to home, especially now that the seawall is going up. You’ll never have to search far for stories. The island is full of them.”
“True.” He pulled her close. “And there’s no place I’d rather be.”
“Say yes,” Emma whispered in his ear. “Please!”
Brent extended his hand in Everett’s direction. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Mr. Maxwell. And I couldn’t be happier.”
Everett and Maggie turned back toward the orphanage, and Emma threw her arms around her husband’s neck, giving him a tight squeeze. “I’m so happy, Brent.”
“I can tell. You’re about to choke me.”
She put on her best pouting face and loosened her grip only slightly. “There’s just one thing that might make me happier.”
“What’s that?”
Emma’s eyes raced to and fro across the lawn, seeking out the one thing that had held her attention all morning. There, near the porch, Sadie played with a little girl, a toddler. The youngster had thick black curls and rich brown eyes. Sadie had placed a pink ribbon in her hair to keep the unruly curls from tumbling into the child’s eyes as she danced about. “There,” Emma said, pointing. “That would make me happy.”
“What?” Brent’s eyes searched the place over until they fell on the child. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” he asked.
“There are so many who need a home, Brent. We can’t take them all. But we could start with this child. Her name is Teresa. She’ll be three in a couple of months and she’s simply precious. Sadie is just mad about her, and I am too. I want to adopt her, honey.”
“Are you sure?” He cupped her chin in his hand. “Because if you’re teasing me, it’s a very cruel thing to do.”
“I’m not teasing,” she said, her eyes traveling to the youngster once again. “We’ll have children of our own soon enough. I know that. But she needs parents right now – a mother and a father who will love her and take care of her.”
“Yes she does…”
“The storm took my parents from me.” Emma struggled to control her emotions. “It was cruel and heartless. But honey, don’t you see? I know just how she feels. I know what she’s been through. I can give her something back. We can give her something back. We can give her a wonderful life—and love. Lots of love.”
“Emma, you’re the most wonderful woman I’ve ever known.” Brent kissed her forehead, then her cheeks, then the tip of her nose.
“She needs us, Brent. And, to be honest, I can’t think of a better father on all of Galveston Island.” Emma wasn’t just saying the words to flatter him. They came from the depth of her soul.
“Do you mean that?” her husband asked, as tears formed in his eyes.
“I do,” she whispered, and melted into his arms.
***
September 7, 1901, 12:07 p.m. The New Orphanage
Brent held his wife close as he listened to her words of wisdom. She was a rare jewel, by far the most amazing thing that had ever happened to him in his twenty-seven years on this earth. His eyes fell on the youngster across the lawn. Pretty little thing. Emma was right. She deserved a chance at life, at happiness.
He would give it to her.
“Would you like to tell her now?” He looked at his wife tenderly. Emma nodded and squeezed him harder than ever. Together they crossed the lawn until they stood at the porch’s edge. His beautiful bride reached down and swept the child up into her arms. Sadie joined the circle with tears tumbling down her rosy cheeks. Brent wrapped his arms around them all, holding them close. Through an upstairs window he caught a glimpse of his mother and father as they stood in a tight embrace. Brent’s eyes met his father’s and unspoken words of love traveled between them.
After years of wandering, Brent Murphy was home at last.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The Galveston Hurricane of 1900 still remains the most catastrophic natural disaster in American history. For Galvestonians, Saturday, September 8th, 1900 might have started out as a day of rest, but quickly catapulted into a battle for life against the rising waters of the Gulf of Mexico. Unfortunately, nearly one-sixth of the Island’s population lost their fight that day. In just a matter of hours, over six thousand men, women and children lost their lives, victims of the rising waters and rushing currents. Their rest became an eternal one. Thousands of others were injured, many left to fend for themselves. Countless numbers were left without a home; many wandering the streets for days in search of loved ones. One storm affected them all. This is their story.
When writing a fictional story within the framework of a very real historical event, it becomes quite easy for fact and fiction to overlap. Such is the case in this story. While most of the characters in this story are fictional, there are references to very real people and places.
Some of those places include:
St. Mary’s Orphan’s Asylum (on the low-lying west end of the island); The Galveston Tribune (whose real editor was replaced with a fictional character in this story); The Galveston News (the only surviving newspaper on the Island); The Academy (a Catholic girl’s school that sheltered 1000 refugees during and after the storm); John Sealy Hospital, (the primary teaching facility for the University of Texas Medical Branch, which opened in October 1891); The Tremont Hotel, (said to have housed presidents and other dignitaries); The Grand Opera House, (one of the finest in the United States); The American Red Cross, (founded by Clara Barton); The New York World, (Joseph Pulitz
er, Publisher); The Strand (an amazing stretch of stores and businesses) and Broadway, (an avenue of fine Victorian Homes).
As for the very real cast and crew –
Isaac Cline was the chief of the U.S. Weather Bureau's Galveston station. He was the Island’s first real “weather man” and people looked to him for an indication of foul weather. He had concluded, much to his later chagrin, that the Island had no need for a seawall. In fact, he believed that no storm could pose a serious threat to the Island. His theory was put to the test on September 8, 1900. Unfortunately, he lost the bet. That wasn’t the only thing he lost that horrible night. Cline’s precious wife, who was expecting their fourth child, was among those killed in the raging floodwaters. Her body was not discovered for nearly a month. Cline’s home, which had been built to withstand the fiercest storm, had crumbled like a deck of cards. Thankfully, his children and brother were among those who were saved.
Clarence Ousley, editor of The Daily News, was a very real newspaperman. He believed Galveston to be "a city of splendid homes and broad clean streets; a city of oleanders and roses and palms; a city of the finest churches, school buildings, and benevolent institutions in the South." However, on Sunday, September 9, 1900, he called that same place "a city of wrecked homes and streets choked with debris and six thousand corpses. It was a city whose very cemeteries had been emptied of their dead as if to receive new tenants.” He was one of the men who captured the heart of the people with the written word. The Tribune rivaled The Daily News for readers. Richard Spillane, editor of The Tribune, became quite famous in his own right. Together, he and Ousley carried the stories of the storm and its victims. For the sake of the story, I have created a third newspaper, The Courier, to capture the spirit of competition that existed amongst all newspapermen of the day. The characters who work at The Courier are as fictional as the paper, itself. In reality, a paper as small as this would never have survived.
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