by John Jakes
The boy snuggled in his father’s arms, frightened but trying to smile. “Fine catch, Papa.”
The father was a stout man with a pasty complexion. Though short of breath, he managed to say to Leo, “Rasmussen’s the name, Daniel Rasmussen. You saved our lives. There are no windows in that attic. How can I possibly express—”
He was interrupted by a heavy clanging sound. It reverberated across the wreckage and the great expanse of dammed flood water stretching from hillside to hillside. Rasmussen’s wife, a small, plain-faced woman, looked upward with a stricken expression. When the mournful bell rang a second time, she burst into tears.
“That’s our church. The Lutheran church. It’s still standing. Why couldn’t the church have gone and Mama’s house been spared? Why, Daniel?”
“Loretta, you don’t know that your mother’s house is gone.”
“She’s dead. I know she’s dead. I should have insisted she move in with us but I didn’t and now she’s dead. That’s why the bell’s ringing—”
Clang! Echoes of the third note rolled across the valley of the Conemaugh. There was something jarring about a church bell striking the hour in the midst of such carnage. It rang five o’clock quite as if life in Johnstown was proceeding normally. The bell should have been tolling for the dead. How many so far? Eleanor wondered. Hundreds? Thousands, more likely.
She noticed Leo watching her, and understood his look of concern. Rasmussen’s wife was close to hysteria, and Leo wanted Eleanor to help if she could. She moved toward the small woman.
“I know how you must feel, Mrs. Rasmussen. But perhaps your mother is all right, and—”
The woman flung off the arm placed around her shoulders. “Don’t touch me. Mama’s dead.”
“Even if that’s true, it isn’t your fault. It’s no one’s faul—”
“Yes, it is! It’s Daniel’s. I pleaded with him to find a job with another railroad, so we could leave Johnstown and take Mama with us. I begged him. He wouldn’t do it. He was wedded to the Pennsylvania, and to this town. For years people have been saying the dam was weak. Now Mama’s dead and it’s his fault.”
Loose hair hanging in her eyes, she glared at her husband. Eleanor was eerily reminded of Margaret Kent. Bewildered and frightened, the Rasmussen children watched their mother lurch to the other end of the car where she stood with her back to them, crying.
ii
Eleanor knew she’d better leave the woman alone for a little while. She was walking back to Leo, when her expression suddenly brightened.
“Look over toward the bank, Leo. That way.” She pointed in a direction she thought was east. “The debris is almost solid from here to the shore. There are some people crossing it right now.”
His eyes followed her outstretched hand as it pointed upstream about a quarter of a mile. There, two men and a woman were gingerly stepping from one piece of floating wreckage to the next. Sometimes a plank or part of a building sank six or eight inches beneath them. They were forced to proceed with great caution. But while the Goldmans watched, the three people traveled another hundred feet and one by one jumped to solid ground. Outstretched hands helped them up the hillside in the dusk.
Leo turned to Rasmussen. “See how they did that? I think we should try it.”
Rasmussen’s nod was emphatic. “I agree. I don’t want to stay out here when it’s dark. Not if we can possibly reach the bank—” For a moment he’d managed a touch of enthusiasm. It vanished as his gaze returned to his wife. She was still standing motionless, head down, at the other end of the car. “I’m not sure Loretta can make it, though.”
Leo nodded. “We’ll wait a little. Perhaps she’ll calm down.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Rasmussen said. He put his young son down next to Eleanor and walked toward his wife.
The level of the water dammed by the wreckage was falling, Eleanor noticed. Falling very slowly, but definitely falling. Upstream, another building toppled with a grinding crash. The noise was becoming familiar; every few minutes, something collapsed. The human cries and groans remained almost constant.
Rasmussen’s younger son watched his mother and father, tears shining in his eyes. Eleanor stepped in front of the boy to hide the sight of his parents. Then she slipped her arm around the boy’s shoulder and drew him to her side. The child huddled against her, grateful for the gentle fingers patting him to soothe away the horror of this day.
As if that could be done. As if those who had survived could ever forget the experience. Again her mind showed her the moment in which Homer Hack’s severed head went sailing past, spouting blood—
Tears came to her eyes. She rubbed them away. Drove the memory from her mind. She mustn’t break down. Mustn’t feel sorry for herself. She and Leo had survived. Just as important, they were in the open. Scores of others were still trapped in sunken houses and buildings, crying for help that might never come.
Though cold and frightened, she struggled to keep a positive frame of mind. If they could reach shore, there’d be plenty of work to be done. She must be part of it. Only work, movement, activity—the effort to help others—would stave off the hysteria lurking at the edge of her mind. She felt no contempt for Loretta Rasmussen. She understood exactly how she felt.
Mrs. Rasmussen’s overwrought state proved a formidable obstacle to their plan to set out across the dam of wreckage. Her husband spent almost half an hour trying to calm her with words and clumsy caresses. Each time he touched her, she recoiled and demanded that he leave her alone.
Over and over, she accused him, “We should have moved, Daniel. We should have moved years ago. My mother died because of you.”
Defeated, the man finally trudged back to Leo, who was sitting on the roof, resting.
“No use,” Rasmussen said. “She won’t listen, and she won’t go.”
“Then we’d better force her.”
“Force—?”
Leo’s mouth had a hard look as he nodded. “What other choice do we have? It’s almost dark. Before long we won’t be able to see our way to—”
There was a sudden boom. A geyser of flame shot from the water a hundred yards west of the car. The Rasmussen boy burrowed against Eleanor as the pillar of fire rose skyward, then spread laterally. The flame reached a floating tank car, ate through the wooden exterior, heated the steel inner shell—and the car exploded like a hundred cannons fired together.
All of them were spattered by drops of scalding water thrown by the explosion; they felt the fire’s intense heat, too. Eleanor’s mind could hardly accept this latest shock.
“It isn’t possible for fire to ignite in water—”
“I’m afraid it is, under certain circumstances,” Rasmussen said. “The Pennsylvania carries a good many shipments of lime, and lime’s combustible when it’s slaked with water. That must have been the first explosion. I think the tank car contained crude oil.”
Flames shimmered in Leo’s dark eyes. “Well, I don’t give a damn about the cause. I don’t propose to stay here and be roasted. Get your wife.”
“Let me get her,” Eleanor said, hurrying down the length of the car. Behind her, she heard the fire roaring as it spread to floating debris. She glanced back and saw the upper floor of a house being consumed. Within the cherrycolored flames, black stick figures ran to and fro, screaming as they were incinerated.
Eleanor took Mrs. Rasmussen’s arm. “We’re leaving. You must come with us.”
“No!” The sobbing woman clawed Eleanor’s wrist and jerked away. The violent motion nearly toppled her into the water. But Eleanor caught her. She slapped the woman’s face twice, as hard as she could.
“Your husband won’t leave without you—and we’re not going to allow three children to die because of you. You’re alive. Be grateful and come along!”
She gave the woman a sharp tug. Together with the slaps, that seemed to jolt her into a semblance of self-control. She didn’t resist when Eleanor pushed her toward the others.
Leo was showing Rasmussen a possible route to shore. It took them away from the spreading fire, and with luck would bring them to the hillside after they worked their way between two housetops and across a sizable area of lumber and steel cable. By ones and twos, people were carefully crossing that mass of floating material.
“I’ll go first to test the footing,” Leo said. “Each of you take charge of one of the children. Whatever happens, don’t let go of them.”
Eleanor wanted to fling her arms around her husband’s neck and kiss him. Fearful as he surely was about the water they were about to traverse, and despite the injury to his leg, he was yet willing to take the lead. And because he was a superb actor, none of the Rasmussens knew how he felt. In fact he seemed to exude confidence—a deliberate attempt to bolster theirs, she was sure.
Leo pushed hair out of his eyes and threw her a swift look. The others saw the affection in it; she saw the anxiety. She closed her eyes a moment to tell him she loved him and understood his fear.
He visually measured the distance to the next roof. About three and a half feet. In one easy jump he cleared the flame-reddened water. The roof sank a few inches but bobbed up immediately.
Leo turned, widened his stance to brace himself, held out his arms and smiled a dazzling smile. “Send that first youngster over. This’ll be a picnic. We’ll be on dry land in ten minutes.”
In that moment, she loved him more than she ever had. Daniel Rasmussen caught Leo’s spirit and did his best to convey confidence as he swung his daughter across the water into Leo’s strong hands.
iii
The way was treacherous but they made progress in spite of it. Leo’s prediction wasn’t far off the mark. In ten minutes, all that remained between the little band and the hillside was about a hundred feet of lumber and debris entangled with wire, the whole none too firm, Leo warned as he stepped back from testing it. On the far side, four other people were scrambling to shore while a crowd of watchers called encouragement. To the right, a man was working his way across the jam on a path that would intersect theirs.
“Ready?” Leo motioned the others forward.
They’d crossed twenty feet of wreckage when Eleanor caught her breath. The man she’d noticed was just a few feet from them now. Instantly, she recognized his huge head. So did Leo.
The recognition was mutual. “Well, well, look at this. The sheeny.”
The fat man didn’t seem the least intimidated by the people accompanying the Goldmans. Scowling, he took a step toward Leo. His right foot slid off a wet, tilting plank but he recovered and planted himself directly in front of Eleanor’s husband. The left side of the man’s face was cut open; he’d bled all over the front of his suit. He looked less than rational, but that was no wonder, given his temperament and the events of the last few hours.
Leo spoke as if he were dealing with a vexing child. “I’d like to settle with you, Kleinerman, if that’s your name. These people are more important. Move aside and let us pass.”
Something ugly glittered in the protruding eyes. The man spread his feet, steadying himself on the plank. “Not just yet, sheeny. Not until I’m good and ready.”
Leo went rigid. But he was too sensible to involve himself in a fight. With a disgusted shake of his head, he stepped sideways to another board. “Then we’ll go around, you damn fool.”
“Not unless I say so!” Kleinerman fisted his right hand and shot a weak punch at Leo’s stomach. The fat man’s sudden change of position threw him off balance. He toppled forward, knocking Leo into the water with a great splash.
Panicked, Eleanor started forward. The Rasmussens didn’t mean to impede her, but they all seemed to be in her way. And it was impossible to move quickly on the mud-slimed mass of wood and wire.
She heard Leo kicking and sputtering. Saw his head bobbing above the red-lit water. If she could reach him, she could easily pull him out. But her foot missed a board and slid down into a knot of steel cable, just as Kleinerman picked up a length of dripping two-by-four and swung it hard against Leo’s skull.
She cried his name but the cry was lost as another building roared down into ruin. Leo sank from sight.
iv
“Oh my God, help him. Help the poor man!” Rasmussen shouted. Eleanor twisted back and forth, trying to free her leg. The cable’s rough surface ripped her underskirt and raked her calf. Blood ran into her shoes as she extricated herself and struggled to the spot where Leo had gone down.
People on shore were shouting loudly, pointing and waving. Two had even leaped onto the wreckage. Kleinerman turned and attempted to run. He slipped and pitched headfirst into the water, flailing his arms and wailing like a child.
“Jesus Christ, help me! I can’t swim—”
Eleanor’s eyes shone with hate. “Neither can he!”
She flung herself to her knees on a big piece of siding that sank four inches under her weight. A huge bloodstain showed on her petticoat now. She thrust her hands into the water up to the wrists, then to the elbows, crying Leo’s name again and again. Tears began to spill down her face.
It gave her no satisfaction to see Kleinerman’s plight. The harder he kicked, the faster he sank. His eyes bulged as he choked and went down a second time.
Eleanor didn’t care whether the man lived or drowned; she only cared about her husband. Even half conscious from Kleinerman’s blow, he should have floated to the surface by now. Had he gotten trapped down there? Had he become too frightened and somehow entangled himself in the debris? The water gleaming with firelight returned no answers.
Against her back she felt the heat of the spreading flames. But her hands were cold as she groped below the surface. Suddenly she touched something. Human hair, she thought.
Hope lighting her face, she called her husband’s name again.
She closed her hands—
Nothing there.
Kleinerman disappeared, the water bubbling for a moment after it closed over his head. The last bubbles burst. Someone seized her shoulders from behind. It was Rasmussen.
“It’s too late.”
“No.”
“Yes, it is. He’s gone.”
“No.”
“I tell you he’s gone. You must be careful or you’ll drown too.”
She writhed in Rasmussen’s grip, screaming at the water. “Leo. Leo!”
Patterns of reflected firelight shone and shifted at her feet. Suddenly strength drained out of her. Limp, she leaned against Rasmussen. She’d reached a point at which it was impossible to feel more shock or grief, because the load had already become unbearable. The universe no longer contained any rationality; the flood denied all rationality, and so did Leo’s death.
He had died because he was hated.
Was hated because he was a Jew.
Was a Jew by accident of birth—
And he’d died in a country in which accident of birth supposedly made no difference. Her country’s self-proclaimed idealism was a cruel sham, it was a—
It was a—
Her overburdened mind went blank, as swiftly as if a sponge had suddenly been swept across a slate. She didn’t remember being lifted gently, supported, guided toward shore by Rasmussen and his younger son. On shore, people were still yelling encouragement.
She seemed calm as she stepped on solid ground. At Rasmussen’s behest, half a dozen men filed out onto the wreckage to take up the all but hopeless search for the bodies of the drowned men. Eleanor didn’t notice.
Her wet hair gleamed with red highlights, as did her cheeks. The dampness there could have been the rain, not tears. Her face was composed, eerily so.
But memory was coming back.
She stood motionless. Inside, she was in turmoil. Over and over, she heard accusations. Not accusations about responsibility for Leo’s death. Her mind chose something else to hurl at her in silent condemnation.
You never told him why you hurt every time he loved you.
You never had the courage.
He died thinking it was his fault, you bitch, you worthless bitch.
CHAPTER XV
CONFESSION
A TEMPORARY AID STATION had been set up in a large brick house two hundred yards up the hill from the place where Eleanor and the Rasmussens had clambered to shore. Candles burned in all the first floor rooms. The owner’s small supply of blankets had been laid out for shivering survivors of the flood.
The Rasmussens didn’t linger at the house. Mrs. Rasmussen was still not herself; her husband wanted to take her to a friend’s cottage higher in the hills. He said he felt bad about leaving, especially in view of Leo’s death, but Eleanor urged him to go, saying it wasn’t necessary for anyone to keep her company.
“Besides, many people need help far more than I do, Mr. Rasmussen. I want to keep busy here.”
Because if I don’t, I’ll break down.
She didn’t admit that to Rasmussen. After a few more words of condolence, sincerely meant but awkwardly delivered, he shepherded his wife and children into the darkness.
Eleanor went straight to the kitchen. There she helped an elderly black woman prepare and cook a watery vegetable soup. When the soup was done, Eleanor filled crockery bowls, pewter mugs, anything she could find, and served those huddling in blankets throughout the candlelit house.
The survivors were all citizens of Johnstown—young and elderly, individuals and entire families. A good many of them cried inconsolably; now and then one wailed a loved one’s name. The crying helped Eleanor keep her own emotions under control. Although Leo was dead, and rage and guilt and sorrow were battering her mind, she vowed she wouldn’t weep. When she mourned, it would be in private. Meantime, there was work to be done.
The rain fell steadily. Every half hour or so, Eleanor stepped out on the wide front porch for a breath of air. Her face was filthy. She wore an old blouse the gray-haired woman of the house had given her. The blouse was threadbare, but at least it covered her arms and breasts. Her skirt showed three great rips, and bedraggled lace beneath.