September Sky (American Journey Book 1)

by John A. Heldt

  "'Cinderella,'" Emily said. "You read 'Cinderella.'"

  "Indeed, I did. I read it as often as I could because I knew it made you happy."

  Emily tilted her head.

  "What does that have to do with following my dreams?"

  "It has everything to do with it," Max said. "Whenever I asked you why you liked 'Cinderella,' you gave the same answer. You said you liked the story because Cinderella followed her dreams. She followed her dreams and got the prince."

  Emily and Isabella laughed.

  "She got more than that," Emily said.

  Max laughed, too, and then sighed.

  "My point, Emily, is that I encouraged you then to follow your dreams and find your prince. I am encouraging you now to do the same. If you really love this man, then make a life with him. I will be happy just knowing that you are happy."

  Emily looked at him with incredulous eyes.

  "You're serious."

  "I've never been more serious in my life," Max said.

  "Mama?"

  "Follow your dreams, dear."

  Emily took a breath and then looked away to hide tears that seemed to come from nowhere. She had waited years to hear her distant father and overprotective mother speak this way. Now that they had, she knew she could never leave their side. She got out of her chair, slipped onto the bed, and gave her parents a warm embrace.

  "I love you both."

  "We love you too," Max and Isabella said in near unison.

  Emily pulled back and took a moment to admire two special people.

  "Thank you for opening my eyes."

  "Does that mean you will follow Justin?" Isabella asked.

  "No, Mama. It means just the opposite. Even if I could leave the two of you, I could never leave Anna. No man is worth that," Emily said with a laugh. "I am staying right here."

  Isabella smiled.

  "You've done us proud."

  Emily leaned forward for another round of hugs but stopped when she heard a thumping sound against the side of the house. When she heard glass break, she jumped off the bed.

  "I should check that out," Emily said.

  "Don't go," Max said. "There is nothing to be gained."

  "There is always something to be gained. I won't be long."

  Emily kissed her father on the cheek, smiled at her mother, and then walked to the dresser. She grabbed the candelabra, exited the bedroom, and proceeded nervously down a dark hallway to an even darker stairway. As she neared the first floor, she could see that Justin's prediction had come true. At seven thirty, the water level had more than doubled.

  Deciding that there was nothing she could investigate in six feet of water, Emily turned around and slowly headed up the stairs. She did so with renewed confidence.

  Though she worried about the debris that hammered the house with frightening frequency, she had faith that the structure would not fail. She knew if one residence on Nineteenth Street could survive this storm, it would be the one with a solid foundation and a brick base.

  Emily's confidence in the house that Isaac Emerson built did not last. The instant she stepped back onto the second floor, she heard a structural groan that sent her stomach into a free fall.

  Within seconds, walls that seemed sturdy shifted and came apart. The floor buckled and glass broke. A massive tidal surge lifted the house off of its foundation and sent Emily tumbling down the stairs and into water that was black, murky, and surprisingly cold.

  When Emily heard her mother scream, she discarded her extinguished candles, scrambled up the steps, and felt her way down a dark hallway. She moved her hands along the west wall until she found Charlotte's bedroom and went from there to the room she had left.

  Emily pushed open the door and looked for her parents but saw nothing but a dark mass in the middle of the dimly lit room. Unable to walk without support, she let go of the wall, dropped to the floor, and started to crawl.

  "Mama!" Emily said. "Where are you?"

  "I'm in the bed," Isabella said. "Please hurry!"

  Emily scrambled toward the sound of the frantic voice. She picked up the pace when flying debris crashed into the house and Isabella screamed again. When she reached the side of the bed, she stood up, extended her arms, and moved forward until she found her trembling mother.

  "I'm here, Mama. I'm here."

  Emily embraced Isabella.

  "Don't go, child. Please don't go," Isabella said.

  "I won't," Emily shouted over a howling wind. "I promise I won't."

  Emily moved a hand across the bed. She felt nothing except a ruffled spread.

  "Papa? Papa? Where are you?"

  "I'm over here – on the floor."

  "I'll be right back," Emily said to Isabella.

  Emily released her mother and slid off the bed. Using the edge of the mattress as a guide, she walked around the bed to the window side of the room, looked down, and found her fifty-five-year-old father sprawled on the floor.

  "Are you all right, Papa?"

  "What?"

  Emily raised her voice.

  "Are you all right?"

  "I think so," Max said. "Help me get to the bed."

  Emily lowered herself, put her arms around Max, and helped him to his knees and then to his feet. When she was confident she could move him across the shaking, ruptured floor without falling, she stepped forward. When she felt the side of the bed, she eased Max onto the mattress.

  "You old fool. I told you not to get out of bed," Isabella said. She wrapped Max in her arms and placed two pillows between his back and the headboard. "Now stay put. "

  Max muttered something unintelligible.

  "She's right, Papa," Emily said. "You need to stay in bed."

  Emily straightened the covers on the bed and then returned to a window that had incredibly remained intact. When she looked out at the street beyond, she saw damage and despair. She saw crumpled houses on their sides, debris in the air, and people in the water. Wind and waves continued to shake the home on Nineteenth Street and Avenue L.

  Even so, Emily Beck felt a sense of peace. She and her parents and the tough-as-nails house that protected them had taken a serious shot and survived. For the first time since she tumbled down the stairs, she began to think they would make it through the night.

  "How is it out there?" Max asked.

  Emily turned away from the window.

  "It's bad, Papa. It's really bad, but I think we've seen the worst of it," Emily said. She walked back to the side of the bed, sighed, and put a hand on her father's shoulder. "I think we're going to be all right. I think …"

  Emily threw her hands in the air as the floor beneath her began to drop and separate.

  "Papa!"

  Max reached for Emily as she lost her balance and started to fall backward. He grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the bed, but he couldn't maintain his hold. She fell back again. When Max went for Emily a second time, he succeeded only in ripping the chain off of her neck.

  Emily reached for her father and then the bed and finally a beam that supported the part of the floor that had remained intact. She grabbed the beam with both hands and held onto it long enough to see the entire front side of the tough-as-nails house slide into the water.

  She screamed as the elements she had kept at bay for several hours hit her like a freight train. The wind caught her dress and lifted her into a nearly horizontal position, while the relentless, burning rain made it difficult to see or get a firm grip on the beam. When she could hold on no longer, she let go of the beam and fell into the surging sea.

  Emily sliced through the eight-foot-deep water and hit Charlotte Emerson's submerged front yard with a thud that was both shocking and painful. She fought the urge to panic when she swallowed some brine and found herself trapped by a submerged strip of wrought-iron fence.

  Emily shoved aside the debris, extended her legs, and pushed her way toward the surface but found her path blocked by something hard, wide, and uneven. She pulled hers
elf along the bottom of the obstacle until she reached the edge.

  When she finally poked her head out of the water and looked at the house, she saw that the storm had removed most of its exterior. The front of the structure looked like the exposed side of a dollhouse – a dollhouse with living occupants.

  Emily used some of her dwindling strength to pull herself on top of the obstacle, a raft-like slab of wood that was once part of a roof. She moved to the middle of the raft, shielded her eyes from the rain, and focused on the open sore that was once Rose O'Malley's bedroom. Barely visible in the middle of the room were Max and Isabella Beck.

  "Papa! Mama! Stay right there!" Emily cried.

  Emily feared that the wind and the water would push the raft away from the house, but they did something else. They spun the slab like a slow-moving merry-go-round and more or less held it in place in the middle of the flooded street.

  When Emily saw her parents step closer to the ledge in an apparent effort to see her, she decided to act. She jumped off the raft and paddled toward a tree that stood in front of the house.

  Emily didn't get far. The same elements that held the raft in place prevented her from advancing more than a few feet. When Emily felt her arms and legs turn to jelly, she retreated to the slab and pulled herself to safety.

  She lay motionless on the raft for more than a minute and tried to gather her strength. When she was finally able to lift her head, she saw her parents stand near the edge of the open-faced bedroom and frantically wave their arms.

  Emily forced herself into a sitting position and stared at Max and Isabella as they tried to summon her attention. Deciding that she had no choice but to try again for the house, she slid carefully to the side of the raft and began to lower herself into the churning water.

  She stopped, however, when she heard the sickening sounds of a structure under stress. Even over the roar of the wind she could hear walls collapse, beams snap, and glass break.

  Emily returned to the center of the raft, shielded her eyes, and got her first glimpse of a new nightmare in progress. The wind and the water had pushed a mountain of debris against the house and begun using the debris as a lever to tip the residence onto its open side.

  She watched helplessly as the house lurched forward and chairs, tables, and dressers spilled one by one out of the two bedrooms. When Rose's bed slid across the floor of her room, struck Max and Isabella from behind, and pushed them into the brine, Emily screamed.

  Emily scanned the front of the house and searched for signs of life. She saw furniture, framed paintings, and other small debris but not the people who had raised her. She slid to the side of the raft and braced herself for another plunge when she saw two heads pop out of the water.

  "Papa! Mama! I'm over here!"

  Max and Isabella turned their heads, waved their arms, and shouted. They appeared shaken and frightened but physically sound. They had survived the fall.

  Emily grabbed a board out of the water and started paddling. She was going to save them. If it took every last ounce of her strength, she was going to paddle to the house, pull her parents onto her seaworthy raft, and get them out of harm's way.

  The dream of a family reunion didn't last long. Less than a minute after Max and Isabella had emerged from the water, another surge from the sea slammed into the house, lifted it from its foundation, and began to slowly roll it forward. This time nature didn't let up.

  Emily shouted, waved her arms, and pointed at the house in a desperate attempt to warn her parents of the new danger but apparently succeeded only in confusing them. She watched in horror as they moved toward the doomed residence rather than away from it.

  The end, mercifully, came quickly. Seconds after Max and Isabella reached what they no doubt believed was the most stable structure around, the stable structure turned on them. The two-story residence, once the pride and joy of a young naval officer and his blushing bride, completed its slow but unstoppable forward roll, crushing the Becks instantly.

  Emily lifted her head and her arms and screamed at the sky. She could not believe that fate could be so incredibly cruel. Just minutes after she had found her parents in a most wonderful way, she had lost them again and lost them for good.

  She fell to the raft and started to sob as the cold, hard truth began to take hold. Life as she knew it was about to change. At the age of twenty, Emily Beck was an orphan.

  CHAPTER 78: JUSTIN

  Justin watched the nun leap out of the second-floor window and reminded himself that she wasn't Sally Field. She wasn't a stuntwoman or an immortal or a sorority-pledging college girl with nine lives either. She was an incredibly courageous woman who threw herself into a hurricane so that others might live to see another day.

  "How long has she been doing that?" Justin asked.

  "She's been at it for more than an hour," a fiftyish woman said.

  Like the much younger woman standing beside her at the window, she wore a black tunic, a white coif, and a cross around her neck. Like the other woman, she held a knotted rope that was tied to a cast-iron radiator on one end and the Flying Nun on the other.

  "How many people has she saved?" Justin asked.

  "She's pulled out six on my watch."

  "Can I do anything to help?"

  The older nun started to speak but stopped when a teenage girl bolted through a door at the far end of a gas-lighted corridor. The youth waved her arms as she approached.

  "Sister Margaret! Sister Margaret! We need you in the infirmary."

  "What is it, Belle?"

  "We have another mother," the girl said. She put her hands on her hips and paused to catch her breath. "This one floated here in a trunk."

  "Is she in labor?" Sister Margaret asked.

  "Yes, ma'am."

  Sister Margaret turned to face Justin.

  "Can you pull a rope, sir?"

  "I can pull two if I have to," Justin said.

  "You just may on a night like this," Sister Margaret said. She handed the rope to Justin. "Sister Teresa will tell you what to do. Thank you."

  Justin watched Sister Margaret and the teen walk quickly down the corridor, stop to help another nun pull a drowning man through an open window, and continue toward the door. When they disappeared from sight, he turned his attention to Sister Teresa.

  "Is she going to do what I think she's going to do?"

  Sister Teresa nodded.

  "She's already delivered three babies tonight. This will make four."

  Justin shook his head and smiled.

  "You people are amazing."

  "We're not amazing, Mister …"

  "Townsend. My name is Justin Townsend."

  "We're not amazing, Mr. Townsend. The Lord is amazing," Sister Teresa said. "We merely do the Lord's work."

  Justin appreciated her modesty but thought she was selling the outfit short. The sisters were doing more than saving lives. They were saving a community.

  "OK," Justin said. "What does the Lord want me to do?"

  Sister Teresa smiled when something or someone tugged on the rope twice.

  "Right now He wants you to reel in Sister Ruth and whoever she has in her arms."

  Justin tightened his hold on the rope.

  "You've got it," Justin said. "If you need to do something else, I can probably manage."

  "No. I'll help," Sister Teresa said. "This is my station."

  "Fair enough. Can we trade places though? I can do more from the window."

  Sister Teresa nodded.

  Justin waited for Sister Teresa to step out of his way. When she assumed a position in the rope line behind him, he walked to the window and got his first good look at the outside world since seven thirty, when a surge had flooded the main floor and sent dozens scrambling up the stairs. Even from his limited vantage point, he could see that the storm had worsened.

  No matter where he looked, he saw people in the water. Many waved their arms in a desperate attempt to stay afloat. Some clung to furniture, bar
rels, and parts of houses. A few did nothing at all. They drifted past the window with their backs to the sky. Like so many others on this dreadful day, they were silent testaments to the hurricane's deadly toll.

  Justin also saw debris zip through the air like it had been shot out of a cannon. Bricks and metal now flew as freely as boards, glass, and shingles, creating a "one and done" situation for anyone lifting his head at the wrong time.

  Flying debris threatened not only people floating in the water but also those standing near the open windows of stable buildings. Justin learned this firsthand when he stuck his head out the window to check Sister Ruth's position and nearly took a shingle to the noggin. The slate tile whizzed past his ear, smashed into the side of the window, and exploded into a hundred pieces.

  Justin reacted to the near miss by letting go of the rope and quickly moving out of harm's way. As he stepped back from the window, he tripped over his own feet and fell to the floor.

  Sister Teresa let go of the rope and dropped to her knees.

  "Are you all right?"

  Justin sat up.

  "I'm fine. At least I think I'm fine," Justin said. He sighed, shook his head, and laughed. "That was too close for comfort. I think someone's watching over me today."

  Sister Teresa stood up and extended a hand.

  "That's how it works," the nun said with a smile. "Let me help you up."

  Justin took Sister Teresa's hand and slowly rose to his feet. He brushed the dust from his pants and returned his attention to the window. He felt his stomach lurch when he saw an unattended rope slide back and forth across the windowsill.

  "Oh, crap!" Justin said. "We forgot about Ruth."

  Justin returned to his station, grabbed the rope, and pulled as hard as he could. When he felt the rope go slack, he stuck his head out the window and saw that Sister Ruth had drifted toward the building. Even in the darkness, he could see that she held a young woman in her arms.

  "Can you see her?" Sister Teresa asked.

  Justin looked over his shoulder and nodded.

  "She's right outside the window. She's got someone too. Keep pulling."

  Justin pulled the rope hand over hand until he heard something thump against the side of the building. When he looked back at Sister Teresa and saw that she had a firm grip on the rope, he let go of the rope, stuck his head out the window, and looked down.