Hearts Aglow

by Tracie Peterson

  A great many people stood in the roadway near the boardinghouse, so Deborah turned the carriage down one of the side streets. She figured she could bring the horses around past the church and park alongside the doctor’s office, avoiding the crowd. Doing even this, however, took some creative thought. Tree limbs littered the road, and she couldn’t imagine why folks hadn’t cleared them away. Studying the area around her, it seemed that no one had even bothered to begin their cleanup.

  “You don’t suppose the train jumped the tracks, do you?” Euphanel asked.

  Deborah looked at her mother and shrugged. “Anything’s possible. It’s certainly notorious for that kind of thing, and the bulk of the people seemed to be standing near the depot office at the commissary. Still, I thought all of the trains were driven north yesterday.”

  Her mother nodded as Deborah maneuvered the horses onto Main Street. She gasped at the sight of flames that rose up from where the sawmill was positioned. “Oh no!” She pointed in the direction of the fire. “The mill!”

  Her mother stared in disbelief. “It can’t be.”

  Deborah hurried to park the carriage in front of the doctor’s house. She climbed down from the wagon, then reached up to help Mother do the same. Many of the town’s women and children were gathered by the commissary. The gathering spilled out, blocking First Street.

  The two women hurried to join the others and learn what had happened. Deborah saw several women gathered around Rachel Perkins and moved that direction, with Mother on her heels.

  “Rachel,” her mother called.

  Mrs. Perkins looked up. Her face was smudged from the ash in the air and streaked with tears. “Oh, Euphanel,” she sobbed. “It’s so awful.”

  “What happened?”

  The women who had been standing with Mrs. Perkins moved away a bit to make room for Deborah and her mother. Rachel fell into Euphanel’s arms. Deborah looked to Mrs. Greeley, who stood just to their left.

  “We figure it must have been lightning,” Mrs. Greeley whispered. “Fire started sometime during the storm. They’ve been trying to fight it all night – even in the fiercest winds.”

  “That must have been difficult,” Deborah murmured.

  Her mother pulled away from Rachel and lifted her friend’s face. “Tell me, has anyone been hurt?”

  “I don’t know. The men have been gone for most of the night. Zed and my boys are all over there fighting the fire with the others. They are desperate to keep it from spreading. The women and children did what they could to water down the buildings nearby, as well as the stacks of lumber.”

  Deborah moved to get a little closer to the front of the crowd. To her surprise, Mother and Mrs. Perkins followed. She fixed her gaze on the front of the mill but could see very little through the smoke billowing out the open doors. Flames licked the already charred walls on the north side, however. Given the amount of smoke that clouded the sky, it was obvious that the fire had burned out a good portion of the roof.

  Others in the crowd were crying. The children seemed uncommonly quiet and still. Perhaps, Deborah thought, they were thinking of what might be happening to their fathers and brothers. She felt sickened by the thought that some of the men might lose their lives fighting the flames. She wondered if she should volunteer to open the doctor’s office, but realized Margaret Foster had probably already done so.

  “I do wish Zed would come here and tell me what’s happening,” Mrs. Perkins said, taking the handkerchief that Mother offered her.

  “No doubt he’s much too busy, Rachel. Don’t fret. I’m sure that with all the men helping, the fire will soon be out. Is there anything we can do to aid them?”

  “No. Like I said, we were putting water on everything we could, but the heat got so intense, the men told us to wait over here. Zed got the bucket brigade going just after the pump was in position. The men are drawing water from the millpond. The pump can’t put out a great deal, but it’s better than nothing.”

  Mother nodded and looked at Deborah. “Why don’t you go ahead and see about sending your telegram. The wires run along the other side of the tracks and shouldn’t be burned.”

  Deborah hadn’t even considered that possibility. She left her mother and the others and hurried to the depot office, hoping someone might be there to help her. Old Mr. Parsons sat at his post, ever faithful. She watched him as he wrote down a message to the clicking of the telegraph. He didn’t so much as glance her way until the final words were given. Only then did he put down his pencil. Shaking his head, he looked up.

  “Mornin’, Miss Vandermark. Surely is a sad day.”

  She nodded. “It is indeed, Mr. Parsons. Mother and I just arrived and could scarcely believe that the mill was a-fire.”

  The smoke wasn’t too bad, but the August heat warmed the room, making it quite stuffy. Deborah could see that the windows had been shut to keep out the ash and fumes. It was a wonder the old man could endure it.

  “Ain’t just the mill, neither,” he replied. “Bad news comin’ in from the storm. Seems it were a mighty strong hurricane. I’ve had word about damage in Houston.”

  She immediately thought of her brother. “How bad was it?”

  “Well, it caused some destruction, but ain’t near as bad as down the coast to the south. There’s reports of towns bein’ all torn up.”

  Deborah swallowed hard. “Can we send telegrams south?”

  “Only for a ways. Some of the lines are still workin’ and some ain’t. Couldn’t get word through to Victoria. Mrs. Greeley wanted me to send a wire to her ma to see if she was all right, but the lines are down. Seems the storm came right up the coast from that area. Galveston got through for a time. My daughter’s family is down that way. I heard from the operator that the town took damage, but he didn’t say how bad. Told me word came in that a lot of the towns on the Gulf are just gone – underwater. Wires are down and even the mail has stopped.”

  Deborah felt her stomach churn. Indianola was only about thirty miles from Victoria. If they had seen destruction that far inland, Indianola was bound to have met with a worse fate. It sat right on the water and rivaled Galveston for the busiest port in Texas.

  “Have you heard . . . has there been word . . . ” She stammered and looked to the older man for some kind of hope. “I wondered if there was word on Indianola?”

  He shook his head. “Ain’t heard a thing. I reckon once things settle down, the wires will get back in place and then we’ll hear it all.’Course, the newspaper folks down Houston and Galveston way will probably be gettin’ any information they can, but it will most likely be weeks before we know for sure what’s happened.”

  She couldn’t help but detect the hopelessness in his words. Deborah fought back tears. “Thank you, Mr. Parsons.” She started to leave, but remembered her brother. “I need to send a wire to my brother Rob.”

  “He’s in Houston, ain’t he? Gone off to be a preacher.” The old man picked up his pencil. “We’ll give her a go and see if it goes through. Never can tell.”

  Deborah arranged for Mr. Parsons to send a wire to Rob inquiring if he was all right and if he needed anything. The old man also promised to try and get a message through to Christopher, but he didn’t hold out much hope. Deborah felt pretty deprived of it herself. Surely if Christopher were alive and well, he would have let her know. Wouldn’t he? Of course, as Mr. Parsons told her, lines were down and the mail wasn’t even getting through. How could he possibly hope to send word?

  She rejoined her mother and was surprised to find a large gathering of black women crossing the tracks to join them.

  Mother looked up to see them and smiled. Miriam, the wife of a one-time Vandermark Logging employee, came forward and Mother reached out to greet her. She took hold of her hand and squeezed it briefly. “It’s good to see you.”

  “We comed to pray. Our men are over there fightin’, too.”

  Deborah saw her mother nod and turn to Mrs. Perkins. “It seems,” Mother said, “that
the storm has done what we couldn’t. Our men are all working together – side by side – no one caring what the color of the other man’s skin might be.”

  Mrs. Perkins looked at Miriam and gave a weak smile. “You are very welcome to pray with us.”

  Hours later, the fire was finally out and the destruction evident. The mill was nearly consumed. Patches here and there were unharmed – stacks of lumber watered down enough that the sparks didn’t catch it on fire. But little was untouched.

  The men staggered back, blackened from head to toe with soot and ash. Their eyes were red-rimmed and watery from the acrid smoke, and most were gasping and coughing. Mr. Perkins and his sons came to join them. The Perkins boys looked for their wives in the gathering and quickly found them, while the elder Mr. Perkins pushed blackened red hair back from his face and fixed his gaze on Mrs. Perkins. They said nothing, but Deborah could see the unspoken relief between them.

  “Is there anything we can do, Zed?” Mother asked.

  He shook his head. “We kept it from burnin’ down the town, at least. Saved some of the equipment, but not much. Some was just too big to get moved in time.”

  “What will we do?” Mrs. Perkins asked.

  “I don’t guess I have an answer for that just now,” Mr. Perkins replied. “If you don’t mind, I just wanna bath.”

  She put her arm around his waist and nodded. “Come on. I’ll see that you have what you need.”

  In similar fashion, other men appeared and rejoined their families. Very little was said as the couples moved off and headed home. Deborah watched as the crowd thinned until only she and Mother remained.

  “This is surely a great tragedy,” Mother said.

  “It’s only the start,” Deborah replied. “Mr. Parsons said there are rumors of destruction all along the coast – some towns are underwater. He tried to send a wire to Victoria, but the lines are down. Galveston and Houston have both suffered damage.”

  “Houston?” her mother asked, her tone taking on an anxious edge.

  Deborah squeezed her hands. “I sent a wire to Rob asking if he was all right and whether he needed anything. The wire went through, so hopefully we’ll get a reply.”

  Mother’s eyes filled with tears as she looked about. “Oh, this is such a nightmare. How could anything good come from it?”

  Staring past her mother to the still smoldering remains of the mill, she shook her head. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.”

  That night the Vandermarks gathered around the dining room table and prayed. Word had come during the day that the turpentine harvesting area had been greatly damaged. Numerous trees had fallen in the wind, and Arjan figured they would be out restoring the area for some time. He would need for the women to keep an ample supply of food readied for them.

  G.W. had seen to cleaning up the debris in the immediate yard, while Sissy and Lizzie had tried to right the damage to the garden. Everything had taken such a beating, it was unclear as to whether any of the vegetables would revive.

  “We thank you Lord that we are alive and safe – that no loss of life was had in the fire,” Mother prayed. “Guide us now and teach us what to do.”

  When she said nothing more, G.W. began to speak. “Father, we are troubled by what’s happened. Ain’t hardly words to explain.”

  He went on to ask God’s mercy, but Deborah couldn’t focus on his prayer. Instead she silently pleaded with God to bring her word from Christopher, to bring him home safely. She knew it was a selfish prayer, given all of the people who had been devastated by the storm. Word had come that the storm hadn’t played out until it’d nearly reached the northern counties. It would, no doubt, go down in history as the worst Texas had seen.

  Even that solemn thought didn’t sway Deborah from her desperate longing to know of Christopher’s safety. The entire state could lie in shambles, and she would still only have thought of the man she loved. And she did love him – loved him more than life itself. Nothing had made it more evident to her than the last twenty-four hours.

  God, my heart is overwhelmed, she prayed. I want so much to know that Christopher is alive and well. Rob, too, Father, she added, remembering her brother. Please, Lord, don’t leave us without word. I can’t bear the thought that I might never know. I can’t bear that Christopher might be hurt and need me.

  She wiped away tears that spilled from her closed eyes. It was all she could do to keep from crying aloud. Lizzie seemed to understand her misery and reached over to squeeze her hand. Her touch was like a lifeline to Deborah – the only thread of support she could feel at the moment. Mother was worried about the men, about Rob. The others had, no doubt, forgotten all about Christopher.

  Lizzie leaned close and whispered, “I’ve prayed for him, too, Deborah. God will surely hear our prayers.”

  She opened her eyes and met Lizzie’s gaze. Nodding, Deborah tried to find strength in her sister-in-law’s statement. Only God could intervene on Christopher’s behalf.

  CHAPTER 26

  Weeks slipped by without much news. September brought relief to the heat, but not to Deborah’s heart. She had tried unsuccessfully to get a wire to Christopher, and the rumors were more and more troublesome in regard to the damage done by the hurricane. Houston papers suggested that much of the coast between Galveston and Corpus Christi had been devastated by high winds and tidal waves. She couldn’t bear the thought that Christopher might never have had a chance to escape. He wouldn’t have left his brother, and since Calvin was jailed, she doubted he could have gotten away from the storm, either. Would they have moved prisoners inland? Had there been any warning? The questions tormented her.

  She found no comfort in her routine chores. While helping her mother gather plums, Deborah prayed and prayed, but peace seemed far out of reach. How could there be no word? Surely Christopher would have known her worry, and even if he didn’t plan to return to her, he would have let her know of his safety. Wouldn’t he?

  “I know you’re fretting over the doctor,” Mother said, pouring a basket of plums into a larger crate. “Your worry won’t bring him back.”

  “It could be nothing will bring him back.” She didn’t want to believe that, but as the weeks passed, Deborah found hope a fleeting comfort. “But I can’t help believing he’d at least let us know if he was all right. He knows folks here care about him.”

  “That’s true enough. Still, he may not yet be able to get word out. If the devastation is as bad as some say, he may have no recourse.”

  “He also might be injured,” Deborah said, unable to consider the extent to which this might be true.

  “Who could that be?” Mother questioned, putting her hand up to shield her eyes.

  Deborah heard the unmistakable sound of a horse approaching and ran to the edge of the road. She prayed it was Christopher but was further disappointed when the rider proved to be Zed Perkins.

  “What brings you out our way?” Mother joined Deborah by the road.

  Zed dismounted and walked with his horse to where the women stood. “I needed to talk with you and Arjan.”

  “He’s still out working the fallen trees. Why don’t you come on up to the house and have a cup a coffee? G.W.’s in the office and he can join us. Oh, we had word from Rob. He’s safe and the damage was minimal in his area.”

  He nodded and they started up the road, toward the south side of the house. “That’s mighty good news. I know Miz Greeley’s news wasn’t near as good. Seems Victoria bore a heavy blow from the storm.” He turned and tipped his hat. “Miss Deborah – it’s good to see you. You haven’t been in town of late.”

  “Hasn’t been much reason,” she replied. “Margaret Foster made it clear she didn’t want my help with the sick.”

  “Have you heard anything from the doc?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “I had hoped maybe you had.”

  “No, there’s been no word. ’Course, if Victoria was damaged, then Indianola must have been, too. Could be the doc is b
usy helping the hurt folks there.”

  Deborah could only hope that he was doing that, instead of being tended himself. She said nothing more, choosing instead to focus on the ground as they walked. There was nothing there of interest, but she didn’t want her mother or Mr. Perkins to see her face and know how hard this was on her.

  “I heard that a good number of people were packing up and leaving Perkinsville,” Mother said. “Sissy was speaking to some friends of hers, and it seems this was the talk going around.”

  “Well, I reckon, what with the mill shut down, there are a lot of folks movin’ on to other places. I’m offerin’ what help I can, but there’s very little I can do. All of my money was in the mill and the stores.”

  “What about the mill?” Mother asked. “Can it not be rebuilt? A good portion of lumber was saved, as I understand.”

  “It was and has now been sold. I’ve ordered some parts to start up small again, but I’m not sure where it’s gonna take us. That’s why I came out here today.”

  Mother waited for him to tether his horse before they headed together to the house. Deborah followed after. “I’ll fetch G.W.,” she told her mother and hurried to the office.

  She found her brother deep in thought, ledger before him and a stack of papers beside him. “Mr. Perkins is here. He says he needs to speak to us about the business.”

  G.W. looked up. “I kind of figured he’d come callin’ soon.” G.W.closed the ledger and got up. The exercises Christopher had given him had done wonders to strengthen his leg. He still walked with a limp, but he was much faster now and had more endurance than even a few months back.

  Deborah and G.W. joined Mother and Mr. Perkins in the front room while Sissy brought coffee and cookies. Deborah wanted neither and took a seat across from Mr. Perkins while he accepted a cup of black coffee.

  “How’s it going for your family, Mr. Perkins?” G.W. asked.

  “It’s been hard. I’ve got to say, there isn’t a lot of happiness at my house these days. None of us is sure what to do. The boys all counted on the mill for their livelihood. They have families to feed and clothe so they’ll need to do something – and soon.”