Promise of Tomorrow

by Moore, S. Dionne

  Dr. Matthews checked his head again and tore a strip from a shirt left to dry overnight. “Think you can help us get everyone out?”

  Jack started to nod, but the gesture sent pain into his head. “Sure.”

  Together, the men organized a way to get people to safety and toiled the rest of the morning lowering those he’d spent the night with through the window and out onto a pile of debris. From there another man took over guiding them from one stack of debris to another, closer to the mountains and safety.

  By the time Jack had helped the last person through, his head throbbed and he felt too sick to notice the rumble of hunger his stomach sent out. He sank to the floor of the building and leaned his head on the windowsill.

  “Let’s get you out of here.”

  He gulped against the rising bile. “I can make it fine.”

  “You’re in worse shape than most of those you helped,” Dr. Matthews insisted. “There’s a place over on Prospect that’s rumored to have food.”

  Jack felt pressure on the back of his head as the doctor removed the bandage and probed the wound. “We need to get this cleaned out. Hopefully some medical supplies are on the way.”

  “What about you? Don’t have to be a doctor to know you’re hurt, too.”

  “I think I bruised a couple of ribs.” Dr. Matthews winced. “It only hurts to breathe.”

  Jack allowed himself a small smile at the man’s attempt at levity.

  The doctor pulled Jack to his feet. “Come on.”

  They picked their way across the piles of wood two and three stories tall and places where water still stood.

  “You have family here?” Matthews asked.

  “My parents have been dead a long time, but I was engaged.” He winced at the choice of words. “Her name’s Alaina Morrison. She and her mother lived above Heiser’s store.”

  The doctor shook his head. “It’s all gone, Jack. Most of Washington Street just. . .washed away.”

  Jack inhaled the sordid, heavy air, feeling the unfairness of his life amongst so much destruction. If he stopped, if he allowed himself to think long and hard, he would break down. He had to find out about Charlotte. If she’d had warning, maybe she, too, had floated away, alive somewhere on one of the hills surrounding Johnstown. If so, he needed to find her. To learn about Missy and Sam. And Frank.

  The only bright spot was his knowledge that Alaina had been spared. Now if only he could have another chance to make things right and love her as she deserved to be loved. He slipped his eyes closed and pressed his fingers against the lids as a crushing pain stabbed behind the sockets.

  “Jack?”

  Dr. Matthews’s grip tightened his hold across Jack’s shoulders. Jack felt his arm lifted and Dr. Matthews’s shoulder wedged beneath his armpit as the stabbing pain receded and he fell into unconsciousness.

  ❧

  Alaina allowed the man to cover her with a blanket.

  “You’ll be warmer now, Miss Morrison.”

  She nibbled at the piece of bread she held and shivered as much from shock as from the chill in the air. Still, God had provided her traveling companions in the form of two gentlemen, journalists determined to get to Johnstown by foot, just as she was.

  Through the night, on their four-mile trek across the mountain, they peppered her with questions on the layout of Johnstown and its surrounding towns. When they arrived on the hillside in the early morning hours, and she had first laid eyes on the destruction, the chills began, sending her protectors on a mission to build a fire and find a blanket.

  Her friend crouched beside her. “News is starting to trickle in, but Clarence and I will check on you when we can.”

  She couldn’t respond, her mind unable to grasp anything more than the frightful knowledge that she might have lost everyone. Jack. Momma. Frank. Missy. Sam. Her head ached, and her throat burned with a fire unquenched by her tears.

  Lord God. . .Jack. . .Please, God. . .Momma, Missy. . .so many. . .

  She tried to touch the thought of life without Jack, of her mother caught somewhere in one of the few buildings left standing or, worse, in the acres of debris at the bridge that burned and burned and burned. When she finally broke through the shock, she had wandered along the edges of the great puddle that was now Johnstown, to help with those who’d been rescued.

  She sat quietly by one man whose leg was obviously broken and tried to keep him warm. A parade of men and women passed her as she held vigil. Searching. Everyone seemed to be searching for someone. Sobs and pitiful wailing became a constant drone in Alaina’s ears.

  Into the evening she sat with the man, until a wagon came down to take those who were wounded to higher ground.

  “There’s a camp up a ways,” said the farmer who stopped in front of her. “I’ll take him up there.”

  In the fading light of early evening, Alaina saw the deep sadness carved into the lines around the farmer’s eyes. “Will you take me, too?”

  He nodded and waved to a man nearby. “Help me load him up.”

  She learned in the short trip up the hill that the farmer, Mr. Fry, lived on the crest and had seen the wave slam into Johnstown.

  “Woodvale is gone. Heard say that South Fork was mostly spared, being most of the town is on the hill.” She felt his stare. “You looking for your folks?”

  She exhaled and pulled a tress of hair back from her face. “My mother and—” Jack. The name came to her tongue, but she couldn’t say it out loud. Her throat closed painfully.

  “You’ll find them soon. No sense in thinking the worst yet. It’ll freeze you up inside. These ladies up here, they might know someone, or your people might even be there.”

  After stepping out of the wagon, Alaina realized the short trip had caused her limbs to stiffen. She moved slowly, giving herself time to process the women.

  The shrouded shapes lay in rows a few feet away from those who sipped from tins of milk or chewed on crusts of bread. One woman, a bloody, torn bandage on her head, sobbed uncontrollably. There were so many who needed help or comfort. Most needed both.

  Alaina thanked the farmer and left him to unload his passenger. As she drew nearer, she scanned faces for those of her mother or Jack. She crossed her arms and rubbed along flesh pimpled from the chill air.

  One of the women saw her and met her halfway. “We have some food if you’re hungry.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I—I came to help.” She swallowed. “And to find my mother, my. . .friends.”

  The woman’s eyes went soft. “I’m Liza. We welcome the help.” She motioned toward the shrouded forms. “Would you like me to come with you?”

  Alaina curled into a ball and rested her head on her knees. She felt the stress of the day in every part of her body and wanted only to blink and have Johnstown return to its previous splendor. To have her mother safely beside her, piecing patterns together and basting material for a fitting. She wanted to see Mary and hear her chatter about the big city and to run in the fields with Missy and Sam.

  The men were bringing another body up the hill.

  Alaina swiped at the myriad of tendrils clinging to her neck and face and rose to help unload supplies from the back of Mr. Fry’s wagon.

  One of the women squinted up at the old farmer standing in the back of his wagon. “We can never thank you enough, Mr. Fry.”

  The man gave a nod. His eyes strayed out toward Johnstown, then back. “It is the very least I can do, Miss Mandy. The people of Brownstown are opening up their homes. Send them our way for the night. We’ll feed ’em and make sure they have dry places to sleep and blankets against the cold. Got more of that milk there, too. And ham. Got some bread. Our women are baking up more.” As he talked, he bent his back to the work of unloading the goods he’d brought down.

  When the wagon was empty, they began to sort the provisions.

  The farmer rolled off, promising to return.

  The same woman who’d thanked the farmer worked alongside Alaina.
“You find your family?”

  Alaina pressed her lips together. “No.” She blinked and a single tear streamed down her cheek.

  “I’m sorry. I tend to speak without thinking. I came down from the farm up there this morning. Seen a lot in my life, but never so much as this.”

  “My mother is all I have. I was to be married, but I—”

  The woman placed a gentle hand on Alaina’s shoulder. “Please don’t explain. Rest a bit while we finish here.”

  She shook her head. “It’s best for me to keep moving.”

  “Suit yourself. I surely welcome the help. Looks like more people are heading this way. Word is getting out that we have food.”

  Alaina’s sorrow overflowed as she stared out at Johnstown. “We realize how very little we truly need to survive at times like this.”

  Twenty-seven

  June 2, 1889

  Alaina wiped her eyes, the weariness and smoke causing them to water. Not to mention the stream of grief that she witnessed as loved ones identified the bodies of their mothers, fathers, children. . .and friends. She bit her lip hard and forced away the memory of Mary’s serene expression. The girl’s body had been brought in late afternoon, and the reality of her friend’s death had chipped away at the last bits of strength that kept her functioning. She’d been grateful then for Mandy’s embrace that not only held her upright but also helped take the edge off her grief.

  A new stream of people moved into the campsite, while men worked to build shelters for families who needed them. Still, the long line of those sick and hurt had continued to grow with no end in sight.

  “The men are getting together to see what’s to be done. We can’t function under these circumstances for much longer. I did hear we’ve finally got contact and a train brought in supplies. If we can just. . .” Mandy’s words faded, and Alaina knew her friend saw what she had seen, the new stream of people headed their way.

  She pressed her friend’s hand and forced a smile. “We’ll make it. I know we will.”

  “Oh!” Mandy pressed her hand to her chest.

  Alaina followed her friend’s gaze and saw nothing to incite such a reaction. The line of limping, wet, bedraggled people hadn’t changed.

  “It’s Dr. Matthews. He came to see my sister when she was so sick and”—she clasped her hands together—“I know he’ll be such a help to those who are ill.”

  Alaina, still unsure which man was the doctor, moved to help with the new wave of hurt and hungry.

  Mandy passed her and went toward Dr. Matthews and his companion, one helping the other.

  Alaina’s attention was diverted by the crying of a naked child and the swollen eyes of a mother, dressed in rags and shivering. “Let me take the child,” she admonished the woman. She helped the lady to a spot on the ground, near a fire that a young boy of ten had diligently fed all through the long night. Alaina knelt next to the woman and child, at a loss for helping her other than to offer the meager bread and a tin of milk. “I’ll try to find something to bundle the child in and get you some bread and milk.”

  The woman reached for her baby, then curled her body around the child in a silent offer to share what little body heat she had. If she couldn’t get him covered soon, the child would catch pneumonia.

  Lord, please send us blankets soon.

  Alaina pulled at her skirts as she rose to avoid tripping over the hem and turned to find Mandy behind her.

  “Dr. Matthews is going to do what he can for those here.”

  Alaina glanced behind Mandy and saw the doctor leaning over the man he’d helped in. His shirt was little more than a strip of cloth across his chest. The strip around the man’s head was dirty and caked with blood. Their supply of well water had dwindled to nothing in little time, but Mr. Fry had assured them other wagons were headed their way. As soon as she could, she would tend to the man’s wound.

  That’s when Alaina caught the profile of the doctor’s companion. Her heart beat hard as the man raised his head. The hair. The shape of his nose. His silhouette against the lightness of the sky. . .

  “Jack!”

  His head jerked her way, but he didn’t move.

  She stumbled over the young mother’s foot and almost plunged straight into Mandy, but she kept going. “Jack!”

  Within a few steps of him, she stopped. Her throat closed over a tight wad of tears.

  In one swift motion, he swept to his feet. He blinked, then blinked again. The shine of tears in his eyes. “Alaina?”

  She went into his arms then and felt his strong arms press her to him.

  “Alaina?”

  “I’m here, Jack.”

  He buried his face in her hair, and she felt his chest jerk before the first sob, a harsh, almost animal-like wail, grated against her ear and brought her own tears to the surface.

  ❧

  Robert’s plea for help and his inability to rescue him in time. The gash on his head and the long, terrible night that followed. All of it seemed to fade away as Jack held Alaina close. Her softness took the edge off hard reality and sent a breath of relief through every tension-filled limb.

  Her tears mingled with his as he stroked her hair.

  In the minutes that passed, he absorbed her presence like the starving man he had become since the water had wiped out Johnstown. He pulled back, wanting so much to see her face. Needing to trace the outline of her nose and see the dark eyes he so loved. But her face wouldn’t come into focus.

  She grasped his elbows. “You’re hurt.”

  “But I’m alive.”

  He felt the quiver of her body, and fresh tears were falling. “I was so scared. Momma?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. The entire street was wiped out. Everything. It could be days before we know.”

  She went into his arms again, and he cradled her head against his chest. He wanted to say something comforting, but the words didn’t come. He satisfied himself with the knowledge that Alaina was safe. She was here, and hope filled him anew.

  But eventually, his injury took its toll, and weakness gripped him. He pulled away from her.

  “Jack?”

  He lowered himself to the ground and leaned his arms on bent knees. “Just need to. . .sit.” Bile rose hot in his throat, and he leaned over. He felt the tug on the bandage around his head and heard Alaina’s words, but she seemed to be talking from a great distance. He strained to make sense of everything, but he couldn’t.

  “I’ll take care of you,.” Alaina’s voice reassured.

  Jack gave in to her ministrations, knowing he would be safe now.

  Twenty-eight

  Through the day, Alaina sat beside Jack as much as she could. Though Mandy insisted she stay near him, Alaina knew the women were pushed to their limits offering comfort and the little bit of food they could. Besides, Jack remained unconscious, and rather than worry about the implications of his unresponsiveness, she was determined to keep busy.

  When she had the chance to grab a few minutes to talk to Mandy, the news was better than she’d hoped.

  “The train got through this morning, and people are arriving to help us out.” Mandy ran a hand over her flat hair and swiped at her left cheek, leaving a smudge of dirt.

  “We’ll have help soon. Blankets and water and food.”

  “Yes.” Mandy closed her eyes. “Dr. Matthews and Dr. Lowman are setting up a temporary hospital on Bedford. They’ll want to take the worst cases over at some point.”

  As Jack slept on, Alaina’s worry mounted. Knowing the doctors were pressed for time and that there were far too many to care for between the two of them, she did her best to help prepare the patients to be moved. When she came to a lone woman, her hand clutching a scrap of material, Alaina felt a deep sorrow. Almost forty-eight hours since the flood and the lady’s arrival in the camp and she still could not be coaxed to say a word or take food and drink. She bent close to the woman and held the mug out. “Would you take a drink for me?”

&
nbsp; The only response was a gentle caressing of the fabric.

  Alaina set the tin mug aside and placed a gentle hand on the thin forearm. “Could I see the lovely material?” When those words were out, she cast about for something more to add. “It must mean a great deal to you. My mother was”—she steeled herself against the unconscious use of that word and continued—“is a seamstress and loves material and making dresses.”

  Still nothing.

  Ever so slowly, Alaina reached out and unfolded the tiny corner of the material to see the subtle pattern of small flowers against a dirty azure background. She processed the tattered edge, as if it had been torn. “It’s a beautiful shade of blue. Did you have it made into a dress or do it up yourself?” She realized the color of the lady’s dress, although blue, did not match that of the scrap she held. Her heart clenched in compassion, and she raised a hand to stroke the strands of hair back out of the woman’s dark brown eyes. “One day I’d like to have a dress made of that color. Blue always makes me think of sunshine and birds. I suspect a lot of people enjoy blue.”

  The woman shifted a bit on the hard ground.

  Alaina picked up the tin. “Would you like a drink? Mr. Fry brought it down from his farm. He’s going to try and bring more bread and blankets. If I find one with the color blue in it, I’ll be sure to bring it to you. Would you like that?”

  No response.

  With a sigh, Alaina rose from her spot next to the woman and groped for something more to say to draw out the shattered soul. Alaina turned to check on the next person when she heard the slightest whisper.

  “Bluebirds.”

  She turned and stared down at the woman. Only when she knelt beside her did Alaina see the stream of wetness along the woman’s cheek.

  She released her clutch on the material and raised it to her cheek. “Bluebirds.”

  “What did you say to her?” Mandy’s voice floated over Alaina’s shoulder. She tilted her head to see her friend.