Neal Robson’s house was some twenty feet lower down the ridge than the Donnellys’, on the bay side, which meant that it was actually somewhat sheltered from any winds blowing out of the Atlantic. Babs and Melba had been down earlier to make sure it was adequately stocked with candles and batteries, and the bathtub filled with water in case they could not pump any up from the cistern. In fact, with Neal’s new shutters on the windows, the house looked as well protected and prepared as it could possibly be, but Meg still sat huddled on the settee, starting up with a moan every time there was a gust of wind. “I wish we were home,” she wailed. “Oh, God, why can’t we be home?”
Big Mike looked at Neal, who looked back and shrugged. “She really is scared. I wish to God we could have gotten her off the island.”
“Well, we tried, goddamn it,” Mike said. “Look, if it’s getting you down, you can always move up the hill with us. We have lots of room, and I guess it could get a little scary here on your own.”
“Oh, Neal…” Meg began, and then checked herself as her husband shot her a glance.
“We’ll stay with our house,” Neal said with dignity.
“Okay,” Mike said. “But remember we’re just up the road. I reckon we can talk to each other on the CB even with our aerials down; we’re only a few hundred yards apart, for Christ’s sake. Now Babs is expecting you for lunch, remember? See you.”
He walked back up the beaten earth path — marked on the map as a road — between the casuarinas on his left and the rocks and ocean on his right, looking up at the sky, picking out the little streaks of white alto cirrus, the forerunners of real wind. He’d done that at sea, as a young yachtsman, when expecting a gale. Sure, he had a few butterflies in his stomach, but that was to the good. It was like waiting to drive off from the first tee on the morning of the club tournament, if you weren’t keyed up you’d shoot a hundred.
So come on, you bastard, he thought. Come on and do your damnedest.
Park Avenue — 3.00 pm
Jo waited in all morning for the phone call from Eleuthera. When at lunch it hadn’t come she called herself, and waited for even more than the usual hour while her ears were deafened by clicks and thumps. “I’m sorry,” the American operator said at last. “It is quite impossible to get through to either Nassau or Eleuthera. The lines are absolutely jammed.”
She felt as if she had been kicked in the stomach. Perhaps they had got out already. But if they had got out, and reached Miami or Fort Lauderdale, surely they would have called from there. Desperate for reassurance, she called Richard.
“I’m afraid it doesn’t look too good,” he told her. “Faith has just about laid Haiti flat. She was then packing winds of 110 miles an hour, and let’s face it, a lot of Haiti is shantytown: almost any strong winds knock those huts down. But first reports of the damage are horrifying. Now she’s moving straight up the eastern Bahamas.”
“Is she maintaining these wind strengths?” Jo asked.
There was a moment’s silence. Then she heard him give a kind of gulp. “She could be strengthening.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mark called me an hour ago; he’d just got back from flying into the eye, and he reports sustained winds of 130 miles an hour. That is moving into Category Three country. We’re talking now about a major storm. And I mean, major.”
Jo felt herself breaking out into a sweat all over. But she kept her voice even with an effort. “Tell me.”
“Well, it’ll be a strong enough wind to lift a car off the road, and that sort of thing. But Jo, from your father-in-law’s point of view, I guess as long as he’s securely shuttered and has good roof, the house’ll be in no danger. Especially as, if the storm maintains its present course, he’ll be in the western semi-circle. That’s far and away the least dangerous place.
“But what about tidal surge?”
“Sure there’ll be a tidal surge. You could expect nine to twelve feet above normal. On top of the waves, of course.”
“Which will be how high?”
“Well… is there deep water right up to the point?”
“On the Atlantic side, yes.”
“Then you could be talking about thirty-, forty-feet waves. But you told me your father-in-law’s house is on a ridge…”
“Yes,” she said. “Maybe twenty-five feet above normal sea level.”
“Oh. How close to the sea itself?”
“Maybe a hundred feet.”
“And there’s no reef offshore? You’re certain?”
“Not on the Atlantic side. For God’s sake, Dolphin Point is part of the reef. Oh, Richard, I’m so frightened…”
“Take it easy, darling. Take it easy. That’s the worst prognostication. For the dangerous semi-circle. On the western side of the storm the seas will be much lower. The wind strength, too. Look, I have to go now, to prepare the next forecast. There’s a mass of information coming in. But I could get round later. Would you like me to do that?”
“Oh, yes, please,” she said. “I want you here.”
Dolphin Point, North Eleuthera, Bahamas, 6.00 pm
Having disconnected his aerial, and laid it flat beside the house, Big Mike was unable to use the television, but he invited the Robsons over again that evening to listen to the news on the portable radio. There was a great deal of static, but they were able to gather that Faith was now packing winds of over 110 mph round her center, which made her by some way the biggest storm to threaten the Bahamas since the 1930s, but that the center was still well over 100 miles away and some 70 miles out to sea. He switched off the radio, and looked around the tense faces. Already the house was trembling to occasional gale force gusts, and there was a good deal of distant thunder, while every so often rainsqualls swept across the headland.
“Okay, you guys, relax,” he announced. “We’re in the safe semi-circle. Sailors call it the navigable semi-circle. So by God, if a ship can be navigated we can sure as hell sit it out. Now, I reckon we should break open that case of champagne. Just to put ourselves in the mood.”
“Good idea,” Lawson agreed. “I’ll do it.”
“I’ve been thinking,” Meg said. She was obviously full of Panadol and had been quite calm during the broadcast. Now her eyes were bright. “Wouldn’t it make sense for us all to go into Whaletown, and put up at the hotel there?”
“I think she has a point,” Neal said, determined not to show his own fear, but clearly nearly as terrified as his wife. “We can’t do anything more to protect the houses, and no one is going to come along and break in while there’s a storm raging. And in Whaletown…”
“You’d be one hell of a lot worse off,” Big Mike pointed out. “What makes you think any house down there is safer than ours here? Most of them are built of wood. And it’s virtually at sea level, too, more likely to be flooded.”
“But there’d be other people…” Meg groaned.
“You don’t call us people? The more people you accumulate in one place the more likely it is that someone’s gonna get hurt.”
Meg looked at her husband with beseeching eyes, begging for guidance.
Lawson came back from the kitchen with a tray of full champagne glasses, and Neal drank his at a gulp. “I guess Mike is right,” he pronounced. “Of course we’re safer here.”
“Anyway,” Lawson put in. “You’d never get across Big Leap, now. Those seas’ll come way over it.”
Meg gave another moan of sheer terror.
“The word is safe,” Mike pronounced. “Here you are safe. Take my word for it. Any place else…” he shrugged. “I wouldn’t like to say.”
“This is French champagne,” Babs remarked.
“So I lashed out. Actually, I forgot to tell you with all this going on; Michael has won his class in the Bermuda Race.”
“Hey,” Belle cried. “Ain’t that something? Oh, I’ll drink to Michael. I bet he’s so happy he raced instead of coming down here.”
“Even if Jo isn’t,” Dale said quietl
y.
“Well…” Belle flushed. “Racing, or doing something dramatic, is Michael’s life. It always has been.”
“I hope he gets home before this storm reaches Bermuda,” Babs said. She wanted to change the subject, to avoid splitting the family into taking sides — remembering the telephone conversation at the hospital, she had a terrible feeling that such a situation was going to arise anyway, in the not too distant future.
“My God! What’s that?” Meg Robson screamed as there was a heavier than usual squall, accompanied by a crash from outside.
“A branch from a tree,” Mike told her. “If we didn’t need them for shade, I’d cut the whole damned lot down. It’s impossible to tell which branches are getting ready to fall and which are good and strong. Anyway, none of them are going to do us any damage. Now, you folks staying to supper?”
“I think we’ll get on back while we can,” Neal decided. “Thanks anyway.”
“But you’ll remember we’re here if you need us,” Babs reminded him.
“Tell you what,” Mike said. “Your generator running?”
“I was going to put it on when I got back,” Neal said.
“You do that. Then give me a shout on your CB, so we can make sure we hear each other.”
Neal nodded, and as it was not actually raining at the moment, escorted Meg outside.
Mike closed and bolted the door. “They’re scared as shit.”
“So are we all,” Babs pointed out. “115 miles an hour. That sounds one hell of a lot of wind.”
“We’ll ride it, Babs,” Lawson said reassuringly, and rumpled Tamsin’s hair; the little girl had been strangely silent all evening. “Won’t we, Tammy?”
“I wish Mommy were here. And Daddy,” she added as an afterthought.
“Think of all the exciting things you’ll have to tell them,” Belle said. “Now, let’s get supper.” She looked at the door. “What’s that roaring noise?”
“That’s the sea getting up,” Lawson told her. “The surf pounding on the rocks. It’s going to be a wild night, folks.”
The CB was spluttering. “Can you hear me, Mike?” Neal was asking. Mike thumbed the handset. “Sure. Loud and clear. Well, maybe not all that loud or clear, but I sure can hear you. Keep in touch.”
Park Avenue — 7.30 pm
“Well, hi,” Jo said, opening the door. “I didn’t expect you so early.”
“I came as soon as I could get away,” Richard explained.
“And I’m glad to see you.” Jo stepped back, and shrugged. “Owen Michael,” she said. “This is a friend of… of your father’s and mine, Richard Connors. You must have seen him on TV.”
“Say, are you really the guy on TV?” Owen Michael shook hands, impressed. “Will you write in my autograph book?”
“Any time,” Richard agreed.
“I’ll get it.” He ran for his bedroom,
Richard stared at Jo.
“It’s okay,” she said. “It doesn’t really matter now.”
“I wasn’t thinking of that.”
She frowned, suddenly realizing that he looked as if he’d seen a ghost. “Richard? What’s the matter?”
“I came over to tell you…” he hesitated.
“What?” she almost screamed at him.
“Faith’s done a dirty on us,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, she maintained her course until she was past the southern tip of Eleuthera… Eleuthera is damn near a hundred miles long, you know.”
“I know,” she said. “I holiday there, remember? It’s just a glorified sandbank, hardly a couple of miles wide anywhere. So where’s the storm gone?”
He swallowed. “She’s turned due west.”
“Due west? But… oh, my God!”
“Yes,” he said miserably. “Her new track will take her right over central Eleuthera. That means North Eleuthera will be in the dangerous semi-circle. The most dangerous quadrant, in fact. And Jo… she’s increased in strength again; winds at the center are blowing over 200 miles an hour.”
“Oh, God,” Jo said. “Oh, God.” Her knees gave way and she sat down. “Do you think they know?”
“Well, surely they’ll be listening to the radio for an update every hour,” he said. “And they’ll be taking every precaution.”
“But there’s nothing any of us can do,” she moaned.
He sat beside her, put his arm round her shoulders, ignoring the boy who stood in the doorway. “Not a thing. Except pray.”
Dolphin Point, North Eleuthera, Bahamas — 9.00 pm
“Why do hurricanes always come at night?” Tamsin asked.
“Well, honey…” Belle, engaged in tucking her in, looked at her husband for an explanation.
“They don’t,” Lawson said. “They just seem more scary at night. Anyway, we don’t even know this one is going actually to reach here tonight. These are just the first squalls.”
“But maybe it will, and by the time you wake up tomorrow, it’ll be all over,” Babs said reassuringly.
Tamsin buried her face in her pillow. “I wish the thunder would stop.”
“Thunder can’t harm you, sweetheart. Now try to get some sleep.”
Big Mike stood looking out through one of the sliding glass doors; there was a board for this too, but they had left it off until they knew the storm was close, to give them some light and occasional air. “First squalls, huh?” he remarked, and Lawson joined him. “What do you reckon it’s blowing out there?”
“I reckon it’s gusting about 70 miles an hour. If the forecasts are right, and the storm is out to the east, we shouldn’t get much more than this. Say, there’s a forecast on radio in a few minutes; we’d better listen.”
“Forget it. We’re in the middle of it. I don’t want to listen to some kid in a snug studio telling me what I’m experiencing.”
The thunderstorm was fierce, the flashes of lightning so bright they gleamed through cracks between the shutters and lit up the glass in the door as if someone had switched on the outside lights; the wind whined and the rain squall slashed at the house, but it passed over quickly enough, and it was obvious that the storm had not yet in fact arrived, but Lawson preferred not to argue with his father-in-law who, he could tell, was distinctly nervous.
And it was coming closer, as even after the squall had passed over and the wind dropped somewhat, the thunder continued to growl in the distance. Around the supper table the atmosphere had been one of tense joviality, tempered with apprehension, as they had eaten various leftovers which would go off first. Although, by mutual consensus, the Donnellys had decided against taking Lawson’s advice and had topped the generator up with oil and water to keep it going — Big Mike having calculated there was just enough fuel to last the night and claiming that it was absolutely necessary to keep in touch with the Robsons — they knew that from tomorrow they would be without electricity, and probably for some days.
Big Mike continued to stare through the door. “I guess we should put this final shutter up.”
“Not necessary, yet.” Lawson shook his head. “Faith is still a long way away. Relax.”
Mike glared at him, suddenly irritated by the casual confidence in the younger man’s voice. “How come you know so much about it, eh?”
“I was in Martinique when David struck, oh, must have been more than ten years ago.”
“Was that a big one?”
“He carried 100 miles an hour plus winds just like this one is supposed to do. Come on, Dad, settle down and let’s talk about what we’re going to do with all of that money lying just up the road.”
It was the sort of chaff the entire family indulged in all the time, but Big Mike felt like hitting him. Then he remembered Korea. He could picture all the boys sitting around a tiny fire in the native hut laughing and leg pulling in whispers, no one giving a hint of his inner terror that at any moment a bunch of Commies might burst in on them after silently dispatching the pickets. Fear is exhaust
ing, it saps your strength, and you can’t live with it, only alongside it. To survive, you must constantly deny it, boost your morale and your determination to win — and boost those around you as well.
So he grinned, and said, “Well, let’s see now…”
There was a particularly loud bang, which brought Tamsin upright in her bed, weeping with terror. Mike and Lawson jumped to their feet, ran to open the glass door and peer out. They were between rain squalls, although the air was damp with the spray thrown up by the sea on the outer side of the point, so they ran outside in opposite directions, buffeted by the wind, which was now a sustained 50 miles per hour. Dale followed them, and Belle and Babs stood on the patio, Tamsin between them, wind whipping their hair and clothes, to look over the garden down at the dock. Usually the water was only three feet deep down there, and mirror calm; now four-foot waves crashed over the wooden platform. Built of heavy planking nailed on to stout tree trunks drilled into the seabed, normally it looked sturdy enough to withstand anything… but Belle wondered how long it could take a battering like this — or worse.
The men came back, looking wet and windswept, and mystified. “Can’t imagine what the hell that was.” Dale shrugged. “It can’t have been on the property.”
“Must have been,” Babs said. “The noise seemed to come from right out here.”
“Well, we couldn’t find anything wrong.”
Tamsin had to be tucked in again, but before she could settle a palm frond fell with a crack and a thump. “See, Tammy,” Lawson told her. “Those fronds are only falling now, but when Faith gets closer they’ll fly horizontally. That’s why the windows are boarded up, so they can’t smash through the glass.”
“What would happen if they did?” the little girl asked. “Would the rain get in?”
“Worse than that. The wind would get in, and if it did that, it… would blow everything all over the place.” It could also well lift the roof off, he thought — but he didn’t tell the little girl that; she was scared enough. He looked at his watch. “I’ll just go check the generator.”
Her Name Will Be Faith Page 19
