Boxed Set: Deep in the Heart of Texas: Hurricane, Mismatched in Texas, Christmas at the Crossroads

by Janice Thompson

  ***

  Sunday, September 9th, 12:01 a.m. The Murphy Villa

  “Where do you suppose Mr. Murphy is, Miz Gillian?” Pearl’s voice pulled Gillian from a tremulous sleep.

  “His train was due in so long ago.” She stifled a yawn. “I don’t know if they ever made it to the island.” Her heart lifted as she thought about Douglas. Please Lord, let him be alive.

  “Maybe they didn’t leave Houston at all.” Pearl spoke in a reassuring voice. “Maybe they had good enough sense to just stay put till the storm blew over.”

  Gillian suddenly felt a sense of relief – some assurance that her prayer would be answered. “Oh, I hope you’re right, Pearl. I do hope you’re right.” She stirred slightly and realized her legs had gone to sleep. Gillian tried valiantly to shake them awake, but to no avail. She eased back into the most comfortable position possible, and paused to listen to the wind.

  Could Douglas hear it too? Did he know she was here, tucked away in a closet, aching for him? He was the love of her life, even if they didn’t always see eye to eye on things. Truth be told, she had often had her eye on the finer things. He had his eye on work. Always.

  Still, they were a fine pair – the perfect couple, really. When they walked up The Strand arm in arm, people turned their heads to watch. Their fine clothes and upturned noses garnered plenty of attention, no doubt.

  Now Gillian couldn’t help but wonder—would they ever walk hand in hand again? Did The Strand even exist? Her lips moved silently as a prayer ushered forth – straight from her heart. She felt an assurance, but it was soon replaced with fear as the house creaked noisily below.

  The two women sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity as the groaning and swaying kept them preoccupied. From out of the darkness, Pearl began to sing – gently at first, then increasing in intensity. Her hymn of praise echoed throughout the tiny room and wrapped Gillian like a blanket. The whole place grew painfully silent around her – except the song, which rang out against the insanity of the night.

  ***

  Sunday, September 9th, 12:05 a.m. Galveston Island

  Henrietta stared in desperation at the dark skies. For hours they had been perched here, atop this miraculous house. She and Lilly Mae. They were as one.

  “Now I lay me down to sleep...” Henrietta whispered the words softly. “If I should die…” The revelation of those words now left her speechless.

  Occasionally, she did drift off to sleep, but oh, what miserable sleep! She would awaken, shaking with fright and cold.

  Through the haze, a dizzying array of things floated by. She saw them only as flashes of lightning danced across the sky and gave her moments of clear vision—people on makeshift rafts, bits of masonry from houses, clothing, pots and pans. A horse, eyes wide in terror, jutted by. Their eyes met briefly before he was swept downstream. A frantic older man, arms wrapped around a piece of timber tried valiantly to reach for the roof. His cries for help nearly ripped her heart out, but she could not let go of the youngster long enough to offer any assistance. He miraculously caught hold of the roof’s edge, but lost his grip almost immediately. Henri cried out as the current pulled him under and out of sight.

  She shuddered, trying to still her mind, but it would not be stilled. Like the water, it raced forward. The orphanage, the sisters, the children, her family – they were all pieces in this soggy, horrifying puzzle.

  She stared silently out into the night and tried to make sense of something, anything. Clearly, the water had begun to recede now. The rain slacked off. In her rather catatonic state of mind, it all seemed to make sense – was all a part of the show.

  “Now I lay me down to sleep...”

  The words continually tripped across her tongue. She shivered against the night.

  “If I should die before I wake....”

  Henrietta gave herself over to the exhaustion.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sunday, September 9th, 12:07 a.m. John Sealy Hospital

  “Sir, are you all right?”

  Brent looked up through clouded vision to face the young nurse. Pretty. Really pretty. Even without his glasses he could tell that. Her dark hair shimmered against the lamplight, but he couldn’t seem to make out the color of her eyes. Green, maybe. He nodded as he spoke, “Yes. I, uh... I’m fine.”

  “That’s good. Listen, I really need you to stay here awhile.” Her voice, laced with concern, pierced through him.

  “I shouldn’t.” He attempted to stand. “I need to get back out there and…”

  “And what?” She reached to place her hands on his arm, in an attempt to stop him.

  “And help.”

  “Your help is needed here,” she said, taking hold of his hand. “That’s what I was trying to tell you. You’ve just become our first blood donor.” She spoke matter-of-factly.

  “Oh no.” He pulled his hand from hers. Brent had always hated needles—ever since childhood. “I’ve heard about this before and it’s not for me, I can assure you.”

  “No, it’s not for you; it’s for her.” She pointed to Sadie.

  “I don’t think so. I need my blood.” He pulled away.

  “You’re not scared, are you? Not after all you’ve been through tonight.”

  “Scared isn’t the right word,” he said. “It’s just that I...”

  “I, nothing...” she said, rolling up his shirtsleeve. “This is my sister lying here, and she needs your help.”

  “Sadie? She’s your sister?”

  “Yes.” She prepared the needle, flicking it with the tip of her finger.

  “I’ll do whatever you say,” He pulled his sleeve up as quickly as he could. “Just say the word.”

  ***

  Sunday, September 9th, 12:15 a.m. John Sealy Hospital

  Emma worked quickly to get the necessary blood flow started. The young man smiled and made light conversation, but she didn’t take in a word. She couldn’t afford to. Emma knew that it would clot within minutes of storage in a container, and she would have to work fast to transfer it to Sadie’s weak body once his released it. She must remain focused at all costs.

  The deep red liquid flowed eagerly into the waiting glass jar and she breathed a sigh of relief. Whoever this young man was, he had probably saved her sister’s life. She would thank him properly later. Right now, more urgent business called. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of the young doctor, who looked as exhausted as she felt.

  “Dr. Weston!”

  He turned to face her. “Yes?”

  Her hands trembled violently as she pulled the needle from the young man’s arm. “Can you help me?” She held up the glass jar which held the liquid that would save her sister’s life.

  His expression left her little doubt of his exasperation or his exhaustion. “I told you, Emma. I’ve got work to do. Can’t you…?”

  “Rupert.” Her anger exploded. “This is my sister!”

  His disposition softened immediately. “Sadie? The one you’re always talking about?”

  “Yes,” Emma said defiantly. “And you’re going to help me save her life.” She swallowed hard and tears began. “Please.”

  “Yes ma’am!” He saluted her, coming to immediate attention. “Let’s get busy.”

  ***

  Sunday, September 9th, 12:42 a.m. Galveston Island

  Henrietta dozed off several times, but found herself awakening every few moments to fend off insects and free-flying debris. She shivered until her body felt it might give way under the pressure of the movement. Many times she thought they would slip from their precarious perch, but she and Lilly Mae held on for dear life. Rather, she held on and Lilly Mae lay in silence in her arms. The youngster had not spoken or moved in some time and Henri feared the worst.

  Her thoughts shifted to her little sister back in Virginia as she gazed up at the soggy skies and wondered if it was raining at home tonight.

  Lilly Mae cried out suddenly and Henri tightened her grip. She
ran her fingers through the child’s matted, wet hair. The youngster quieted immediately and drifted back into her silent retreat.

  Tears washed over Henrietta – tears born of fear, born of relief. Tears for the unknown. Would she ever find her feet on dry land again? If so, how would she ever get Lilly Mae to the hospital? Visions of St. Mary’s Infirmary entered her mind and she cringed. Perhaps the Infirmary no longer existed. Maybe it, along with the dormitory, had melted away. No, she would not let herself think like that. The sun would rise and things would go back to normal on the island. Not that life had ever felt normal for Henrietta Mullins on Galveston Island.

  Would anything ever feel normal again?

  She cried out in horror as a snake slithered alongside her. He slipped off into the darkness and she relaxed a little, though she kept a wary eye out for creeping things. Eventually she fell into a fitful sleep. As she dozed, her dreams swept her away...

  Up. Down. Over. Under. No, not that! Not again!

  ***

  Sunday, September 9th, 1:04 a.m. The Courier

  Everett awoke to a piercing pain in his belly. He jumped up instinctively, realizing his cigar had dropped out of his mouth and onto his shirt. Burning embers made their way into his cold flesh. He slapped them away with a vengeance until the red glow disappeared into the night. Could have burned the whole place to the ground. I’ve got to stay awake. Got to stay awake…

  The pain in his leg resurfaced and caused him to double over. He tugged at the crude cloth wrap and attempted to put pressure on the jagged cut to keep it from bleeding further. If they don’t get here quickly, I may very well bleed to death.

  Who ‘they’ were didn’t seem terribly important right now. He lit a candle and stood, determined to check on the others. In the room next to him a mother slept fitfully with a muddy terrier pup in her lap. He could barely make out her silhouette in the candlelight. Her husband rested against the wall, though his eyes remained opened and glassy.

  “Are you alright, Mr. Sonnier?” Everett spoke softly, doing all he could not to startled the poor fellow. The man looked up and nodded briefly, then returned to his former position, eyes locked on the wall ahead. Clearly he anguished over his lost son, though he voiced no words. His wife cried out and terrier awoke with a start, giving a little yelp. Mr. Sonnier stood silently and wrapped his arms around them both as his wife began to grieve openly.

  Everett closed the door and moved to the next room, where an entire family of immigrant children sat huddled in the darkness. The storm had separated them from their parents about a half mile up The Strand, or so they had managed to tell him in broken English when they arrived earlier in the evening. The oldest, a girl of about nine, wrapped her arms around the other three – clearly their protector and defender. As he looked into her eyes, she stared back with a frantic look. “Mi mama? Papa?”

  “No, little one.” He shook his head. “I don’t know where they are.”

  Her defiant chin jutted forward and she pulled his younger siblings a little closer. Everett looked across the room at the others – a man in a soggy, torn suit, a young woman with a serious gash on her right cheek, a tiny baby in her arms. They all sat in silence, waiting.

  Waiting for what, he had no idea.

  ***

  Sunday, September 9th, 1:27 a.m. The Murphy Villa

  Gillian awoke to near silence. “Pearl,” she whispered. “Pearl, are you awake?”

  “Yes’m,” a groggy Pearl answered.

  “It sounds like the worst has passed.”

  “Heaven be blessed!”

  “Yes, well... We should probably go out now,” Gillian said. She didn’t want to. Truth be told, Gillian was scared to leave the safety of the little closet. Despite her earlier prayers, she still worried about what had become of her lovely home. “Do you have the lantern?”

  “Yes’m.” Pearl reached for a match. Strange, how her dark face appeared almost angelic against the soft glow of the lantern. “Let there be light,” she said with a grin.

  Somehow it comforted Gillian to know Pearl had maintained her sense of humor. The two inched their way out of the closet, carefully examining the room. The window glass lay shattered on the floor, and lamps were overturned. Otherwise, things looked remarkably good.

  They made their way from room to room, surveying the damage. A couple of windows had broken and a tree branch had forced its way through the ceiling in the guest bedroom, but little more. Gillian breathed a huge sigh of relief. “Let’s go downstairs.”

  About halfway down, she faced the inevitable. The first floor of her beautiful home stood in at least three feet of water. Her prized stained-glass window, a jewel in her social crown, had disappeared from the spot above the front door. A gaping hole with bits of tree limb hanging precariously from it now replaced the prized etched glass in her front door. Dark, jagged spaces remained where larger pane-glass windows once stood.

  An original oil painting, one of her personal favorites, floated in the waters, shredded – yet still bound by gilded frame. “What a waste. What a terrible, terrible waste.” She shook her head in disbelief. “So many things lost. So many things…”

  “Lord, help us,” Pearl whispered. “Do you see that, Miss Gillian?”

  “I see it—” she whispered back. There was so much to see, one could scarcely take it all in. Had they wanted to take it all in.

  “No, Miss Gillian. Over there.” Through the glow of the lamplight, Gillian’s eyes followed Pearl’s extended finger. There, in the middle of her living room, perched atop her cherry dining table, a group of people sat, staring at them with wide eyes.

  “Please, Miss,” one of the men spoke out. “Please don’t be angry. We’s just lookin’ for a place to stay alive, that’s all.” His frantic voice was laced with fear.

  “Please, Miss.” A little boy’s voice rang out, followed by anxious tears.

  Gillian’s heart raced. Who did these people think they were, coming in her house at a time like this? Were they vagrants, with no place else to go? Or worse still, were they vandals, here to rob her of what little she had left? “Pearl,” she whispered gruffly. “Go upstairs to the bureau and get Mr. Murphy’s gun.”

  “But Miz Gillian, they...”

  “Pearl, do as I say.”

  As the older woman moved up the stairway, the light disappeared with her. Gillian stood clutching the stair railing, hoping against hope no one moved toward her. Just as Pearl approached with gun in hand, Gillian heard it... the sound of an infant crying.

  ***

  Sunday, September 9th, 2:30 a.m. John Sealy Hospital

  Brent yawned and stretched. His body ached all over. He longed for sleep, but didn’t dare. There were plenty of reasons to keep them open, at any rate. One very beautiful reason stood before him. He looked into the eyes of the young nurse. She had worked diligently to save her younger sister’s life. “You look like you could use some sleep,” he said.

  “I can’t look any worse than you.”

  “Gee thanks.”

  Brent gazed at her closely. Even through the exhaustion, one thing was obvious. She was a beauty. That was clear enough, blurred vision or not.

  “So,” Brent said carefully, “what’s the story with that doctor friend of yours? His bedside manner leaves something to be desired.”

  “He’s young. Besides, he’s just an intern,” she explained.

  “Uh huh.”

  She shrugged. “And he’s been on his feet for almost twenty-four hours straight.”

  “So,” Brent said, working up a little journalistic courage, “There’s no story...”

  “Story?” the nurse asked. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean...” he stammered. “Are you two...”

  “What? I should say not!”

  “Ah ha.” That was all the answer he needed.

  ***

  Sunday, September 9th, 2:35 a.m. John Sealy Hospital

  Emma, completely exhausted, pressed herself in
to the hospital bed next to younger sister. She had gone far too long without sleep. Guilt hadn’t allowed it until now. How could she sleep when so many others were suffering; when others needed her so desperately?

  But now other nurses had drifted in to help. Some had trudged through water chest deep, but they had arrived to help – to do what they could. Finally Emma could get a little rest. She pulled herself close to her baby sister and whispered in her ear. “Sadie, can you hear me?”

  “Mmmm...” The youngster stirred then cried out in pain.

  “Shh,” Emma whispered. “You’re going to be all right, sweet girl. I’m going to make sure of it.”

  “I want Mother.” Sadie’s weak words were clear enough to shake Emma to the core. Thankfully, she drifted back off to sleep, unable to wait for a response.

  Emma didn’t have one to give, anyway. She closed her eyes, and visions of her mother and father swam before her. Where were they? Had they survived the storm? She began to play out several scenarios in her mind. In each, her parents were triumphant – victors over the storm. They were taking refuge in their upstairs bedroom and the Sanders’ house had been spared. They were safely tucked away in the nearby home of a lucky neighbor, awaiting word from Emma. They were in this very hospital on another floor – being cared for by someone like herself. They were… She couldn’t seem to think of any more possibilities.

  They were victims of the storm. They had not survived.

  This final option caused tears to flow immediately. Giant sobs overtook Emma. She wept in silence and forced herself not to wake her younger sister or any of the others nearby. The exhaustion forced the tears away after only moments. She clutched the hand of her sister, drifting off to sleep. At least Sadie was safe. That, for now, would have to be enough. The angels had brought Sadie here. On a wing and a prayer, they had brought her.