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

by Janice Thompson

  “The doctor is coming,” Henri entered the room, breathless. She had gone off to fetch someone. Anyone.

  Dr. Weston entered with a look of exasperation on his face. “What happened?” He tossed Brent an undeniable look of distrust.

  “One minute she was standing, the next...”

  “She fainted,” Henri explained. “She just hit the floor.”

  “No doubt. She’s been on her feet for days. We all have.”

  He pulled a bottle of smelling salts from his coat, waving them under her nose. Emma stirred, face contorted.

  “What... I...?” Her face contorted as she came to. “What... what happened?”

  “You fainted,” Brent said.

  “I did?” she responded. “I... I don’t remember anything.”

  “What you need is a good night’s sleep.” Dr. Weston leaned down to lift her.

  “No. Let me.” Brent scooped her up into his arms, feeling her heartbeat through the damp clothes.

  “I...” she tried to argue, but fell silent against his argument. In a matter of moments, her eyes were closed again. Brent carried her up to the ward, placing her in the bed with Sadie. She needed sleep, and lots of it. He would make sure she got it.

  ***

  Sunday, September 9th, 11:46 p.m. The Courier

  Everett fought with machinery on every side in the pressroom of The Courier. Everywhere he turned he met water, mud or debris of some sort. This is maddening. “Any chance we’ll get her up and running?” He pointed nervously to the printing press.

  “Should be dried out in a few hours,” Nathan said. “I’ve got Joe and Bill working on it. Don’t worry, Everett. You just go home to your family. We’ll get a paper out tomorrow, I promise. I just hope we beat The Daily to print, that’s all.”

  “Still got that competitive edge,” Everett said, shaking his head. “After all that’s happened…”

  “Nothing wrong with that, right?” Nathan looked at him curiously.

  Suddenly Everett wasn’t so sure anymore. To be honest, he wasn’t sure about anything any more. Another familiar voice startled him. He turned, gazing into Brent Murphy’s wide eyes. “Murphy? What, in the name of all that’s holy, are you doing back here? You’ve got a family waiting for you.”

  “So have you, Everett.” Brent gave him a knowing look. “Besides, I’ve got a story for tomorrow morning’s paper.”

  “We’ve already laid down the story. Several, in fact. We’re about to go to print.”

  Brent’s eyes lit up with an undeniable excitement. “Can we add another?”

  Everett sighed and shook his head. “Oh no.”

  “Please?”

  Something in the young reporter’s expression caused Everett to hesitate for just a moment. He would listen to Brent’s story.

  Chapter Twenty

  Monday, September 10th, 3:55 a.m. The Courier

  Brent gripped the ink pen and wrote frantically. My story is long and complicated. Would one article be enough? His mind reeled as he gripped the pen even tighter. There was so much to say and he had to get it right. He scribbled a few words, knowing all the paper in the world wouldn’t hold the emotion of this story. Perhaps Everett could be talked into a series.

  He returned to his scribblings:

  When I turned eighteen, they gave me the news – “Everything we’ve ever told you about yourself was a lie.” I became a stranger, not only to myself, but to my family, as well. The parents I had always called my own turned out to be parents in name only. Good Samaritans. They had taken this homeless waif of a child and given him a home eighteen years prior. The St. Mary’s Orphan’s Asylum, it turns out, had been my first home. To this day, I have no memory of it, though I’ve stood at its doors time and time again trying to remember.

  But I can stand there no longer.

  St. Mary’s, along with most of its children, vanished into the night, a victim of the storm. Her departed charges will never know the love of a mother or father – never feel a tender goodnight kiss pressed against their brow. They will never again skip along the shore to pick up shells. Their voices will no longer be heard echoing across this island.

  They are no more. But their memory lingers still. They touched our lives, and as one of them, I feel compelled to share their story…

  Here Brent paused. He reached up to wipe the tears that flowed down his cheeks. He couldn’t seem to stop them. Taking a break from the writing, he lay his head on the desk, letting the tumultuous emotions wash over him like salty ocean waves.

  ***

  Monday, September 10th, 6:27 a.m. John Sealy Hospital

  “Sadie, can you hear me?” Emma spoke the words gently, almost afraid to move. She had slept soundly with her younger sister at her side. But daylight called. Work summoned.

  “Hmmm?” her younger sister mumbled.

  “Are you awake, sweet girl?”

  “I am now.” She grumbled and rolled back over. “I want to go back to sleep.”

  “You’ve been sleeping a long, long time,” Emma slipped off the edge of the bed.

  “What do you mean?” Sadie tried to sit up, but toppled back over. “Oh, my head.”

  “You’ve had a bad time of it,” Emma said, reaching over to embrace her. “But you’re going to be fine.” She spoke the words as firmly and confidently as she could.

  “The storm...” Sadie’s face suddenly conveyed the memory of what had happened.

  Emma held her close. “Try not to think about it now, dear. You just get better, and everything will be alright.”

  “Is mother here?” Sadie asked, her eyes filling with tears. “I need mother.”

  “She’s… she’s not here.” Emma felt a lump grow in her throat.

  “Where is she? Where is Papa?”

  “I don’t know, Sadie. But I’m going to find out. I promise you that. I’m going to find out.”

  ***

  Monday, September 10th, 8:14 a.m. John Sealy Hospital

  Henrietta glanced up as Emma entered the chapel, satisfied at the improvement in the young nurse’s countenance. “You look much better this morning,” she said.

  “I feel better,” Emma said hurriedly. “But I need something, and I was hoping you could help.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I need to find out about my family. I made it as far as our street yesterday, but everything is gone, washed away.” Emma’s eyes filled with tears.

  Henrietta instinctively reached to embrace her. “What can I do?”

  “I’ve heard that many from our neighborhood have gone to the Academy for refuge. Maybe my parents are there.”

  Henri knew the Academy well. It occupied four city blocks on the Island, Avenues N to O and Rosenberg Avenue to 27th Street. She was relieved to hear it had survived the storm, though that news didn’t surprise her. The grounds were surrounded by a massive, ten foot brick wall. The place was a fortress.

  “I’ll be glad to go,” Henri said, “But I’ll need clothes and a shawl, if you can muster one up.”

  “I think we can manage that.”

  Henri asked a lot of questions as she dressed. She would need to know something of Emma’s parents—what they looked like, their names, and so on. With those issues addressed, and finding herself in a modest blue dress and shawl, Henrietta set out.

  “Where in the world…?” She stood still for a moment and tried to figure out which way to go. Nothing seemed to make much sense. With all this rubble, I can’t tell north from south. Henrietta turned to gaze at the sun. Could she gauge her whereabouts from its position in the sky? “Ah, I think I’ve got it now.” She turned to the right.

  She made her way slowly and carefully, fighting both the debris and the stench of swollen corpses. She fought against her churning stomach and hoped she could avoid getting sick.

  About two blocks east of the hospital, Henrietta stumbled across a group of men who worked to pull bodies from the piles of rubble. Dozens of corpses, already discovered, littered
the side of the road. She covered her nose and forced herself to the other side of the street.

  Lord, I need you. Show me the way, Father. Help me to know what to do, and how to go about doing it. Help me, Lord!

  “Sister! Sister!” A familiar voice called out to her. Henrietta pressed her eyes open, afraid of what she might find. A wave of relief swept over her as she laid eyes on Big John. He was certainly a sight for sore eyes.

  “Big John!” She reached out to embrace him. The rancor of sweat greeted her, but presented no barrier.

  “How’s that little angel I done carried over to the hospital fer ya?” He reached up to wipe the sweat from his brow.

  Henri felt a lump in her throat immediately. A lone tear dribbled down her cheek.

  “Oh, Miss Henri, I’s so sorry. I sure am.”

  “She went to be with Jesus yesterday afternoon,” Henrietta said. “But I still want to thank you. If you hadn’t come along just when you did, we never would have made it to the hospital.”

  “Where’s you headed?” John asked. “You shouldn’t be out on the streets like this.”

  “I have to get to the Academy,” Henri said anxiously. “A friend hasn’t been able to locate her parents, and she’s hoping they’re there.”

  “Oh, Miss Henri—so many folks is missing all over the island. I shore hopes you can find ‘em fer her.”

  “I’m going to do my best,” she said. “But tell me—is there a clearing where I can get through?” The street ahead lay covered in debris on every side.

  “We’s been stackin’ timbers and such up and down every side,” John said. “And the bodies…” Here he stopped, an obvious attempt at politeness. “Well, anyways, miss. You don’t want to go around to the right. If’n I’s you, I’d take the way to the left through here.” He pointed off down the left. “But you best be prepared. I hear tell they got a tassel of folks down at the Academy. Sure hopes you know who you’s lookin’ fer.”

  “I think so,” Henri said. “And if they’re not there, I’ll see about staying and helping out a bit.”

  “Oh, they could sure use it, Miss Henri. They sure could.”

  Henrietta worked her way through the rubble on her left and found a clearing just beyond it. The smell of death hung like a thick cloud in the air above. Her head began to grow light, and suddenly she felt faint.

  “Be my ever present help in time of trouble. Be my ever present help in time of trouble!”

  Forcing her eyes open once again, Henrietta made herself look. I owe it to those who have lost their lives here. Their stories were important, though there would be so little time to hear them all now. She ached, thinking of Elizabeth, Grace and Abigail. Were they among the dead? She tried to force such thoughts from her mind. Perhaps there would be news of them at the Academy—good news.

  Though nothing appeared familiar, Henrietta realized she must be approaching the Academy. None of the regular landmarks were in place to guide her. Everything seemed amiss. Even the brick wall, which had surrounded the building, had disappeared. A mob of people stood before her, many weeping and wailing. A large contention of blacks sang a dirge, wailing in a slow, melancholy manner. Their grief, open and apparent, ripped at her heart.

  Children of every ethnic background sat alone, some dressed, others nearly naked. Some wandered among the rubble, looking for trinkets, or even bits of food. Lord, help them. How awful. Henri forced her way through the crowd and into the Academy.

  “There’s no more room in here.” A familiar voice spoke.

  “Sister Abigail.” Never in her life had Henrietta been so overjoyed to see someone she had so despised. “You’re here.”

  “Sister?”

  Henri realized how odd she must look to the older nun in this contemporary dress and shawl. But what did it matter? They were alive. They were together. “Tell me about the others,” she implored. Abigail’s gaze shot down to the ground, a clear sign the news would not be good. Henrietta’s heart began to ache immediately.

  “We’ve had no sign of Grace,” Abigail said softly. “And Elizabeth—”

  What about Elizabeth ? Surely she had found safety in the city where the waters were not as high.

  “Elizabeth ’s body was found early this morning on the west end. She had made it very nearly all the way back to the Asylum. Her wagon was torn to bits.”

  Henri shook back the tears that tried to tumble so freely out of her eyes. She must be strong right now. Abigail needed her to strength. There is no time for mourning now. “Tell me about the Asylum,” she said hoarsely.

  “It’s gone, child,” Abigail said. “Both dormitories washed away. The Infirmary stands, but there’s little way to care for the patients. As soon as I can get back there, I’m going to do what I can to help.”

  “You’ve tried to go back?”

  “Yes. This morning,” Abigail said sadly. “A hopeless situation, I’m afraid. In some places the wall of debris stood nearly two stories high. There were the cries of those who were dying, buried alive.” Tears welled up in the older nun’s eyes. Henri reached out to embrace her as the older woman continued to speak. “Inside the wall were animals and children – some dead, others dying.” She dissolved into tears again. “And pieces of furniture, pots and pans, walls and windows… Too much. Too much to bear.”

  Henrietta’s heart wrenched. “Oh, Abigail, at least we have each other.” How odd that the two of us – such formidable foes—survived. Is there now to be a friendship?

  “You blessed girl,” Abigail said. Tears flowed down her cheeks. “I’ve always been so hard on you.”

  “Not too hard, Sister,” Henri said. “I needed it. I did.”

  She quickly gathered her wits about her and remembered why she had come. “I’m here to look for the parents of a friend,” she explained. “Mr. and Mrs. Weldon Sanders.”

  “Sanders?” Abigail’s face contorted slightly. “There are so many people here. But that name doesn’t sound familiar. Would you know them if you saw them?”

  “I’m not sure, to be honest,” Henri said. “But I’d like to have a look, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course, child,” a very softened Abigail said. “Come on inside.”

  ***

  Monday, September 10th, 9:20 a.m. The Courier

  Brent yawned and took a final look at the newspaper he held in his hand. He clutched it tightly, feeling the need to embrace it as a friend. The office door swung open, startling him. Everett stood before him, dressed in fresh clothes and looking like a man who had finally slept. He gazed at Brent curiously. “Did you stay here all night?”

  “Yep. Got it out.”

  “Well, let me have a look at it.”

  Brent reluctantly handed the newspaper over to the editor, knowing he had given up a piece of himself in the writing. It had not been an easy story, tracing his roots back to the Asylum, but now the story was out. And Lilly Mae’s life would now serve a greater purpose. Everyone would have a chance to get to know this amazing little girl, to share in her song.

  Everett read it intently. He looked up on only one occasion at Brent. “I had no idea,” he said quietly.

  “No. I don’t suppose you did. Not many people knew.”

  “They will now.” Everett looked at him closely. “Are you all right with that?”

  “I’m all right with that.” Brent spent a few more minutes with Everett before heading home. Once there, he embraced his mother with a fervor. He didn’t know how she would respond to what he had just written, but the story was complete. No turning back now.

  She hugged him tightly. “Brent, you’re here. I’ve been so worried.”

  He stifled a yawn as he looked up into his mother’s worried eyes and fought off the sleep that almost overwhelmed him. “I’m sorry, Mother,” he said sleepily. “I’ve been at The Courier all night putting together a story about the storm.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” she asked. “Can I read it?”

  Brent he
sitated, but only slightly. Surely his mother would understand why he had written the article. She, of all people, would understand. “Sure you can,” he said with a smile. “I brought home four or five copies just for posterity sake.”

  “You look like you haven’t slept in days, son,” Gillian said. “Why don’t you head on up to your room and get some rest?”

  “Great idea.” Brent was completely and totally exhausted. “But what about all of these people?” The house remained full to the brim with children playing, mothers talking and weeping, men-folk working to mend the pieces of the house that had been touched by the storm. A noisy place, it didn’t look like things would be quieting down any time soon.

  “Oh, posh,” his mother said. “You can sleep through this. Why, when you were a boy, you could sleep through anything.”

  “True.” Brent yawned once more. He would sleep. He might never wake up again.

  ***

  Monday, September 10th, Noon, The Murphy Villa

  “Pearl, could you come in here and help me?” Gillian called out from the dining room where a third round of people sat for breakfast. Her arms ached as she lifted an empty platter over her head and placed it on the buffet.

  “Coming, Miss Gillian.” The older woman rounded the corner with a plateful of potato pancakes in hand.

  Gillian lowered her voice. “How’s the food holding out?”

  “Well, we’s got enough for a meal or two tomorrow—thanks to your party goods.”

  Her party. She hadn’t thought about it since Millicent’s visit last night.

  “We’s got a kitchen full of chocolates and taffies,” Pearl said with a grin. “That oughta keep the young’uns happy for awhile, anyhow.”

  “That’s all they need right now.” Gillian glanced about. Already the children were under her feet at every turn. Suddenly she began to feel quite ill and the room began to turn madly.