Her Name Will Be Faith

by Christopher Nicole

  He opened the door and stepped outside. He was actually enjoying the weather, having experienced such a storm before and survived without injury — although that had been in an hotel, with lots of expert help around, and the responsibility of survival someone else’s. But he liked to feel the wind and sea spray swirling through the trees even when it wasn’t raining. It went with his mood, his sudden surges of euphoria; he had had to live with debts and financial threats for so long it was almost unbelievable that the end was finally in sight.

  Dolphin Point, North Eleuthera, Bahamas — 10.30 pm

  Lawson returned, dripping water.

  “What’s it like out there?” Dale looked up from his book.

  “Wild, man, real wild. But beautiful, too.”

  “Guess I’ll go take a look. I could do with some fresh air.”

  “For Christ’s sake be careful,” Big Mike warned. “We don’t want to be sending out a rescue party.”

  “Forget it, Dad; I’m not a kid,” Dale protested.

  “You don’t think?” For a moment there was a smile on Big Mike’s face as he watched his son go. He loved all of his children. He had enjoyed his business career, often at the cost of time that could have been spent with his family. Now he was easing back, letting Michael junior take over — at his own pace — leaving himself more time with Babs and the kids. Not that they were really kids any more. Not even Dale, the baby of the family, the crazy, leggy youngster who had just walked off his campus one day because he’d been bored, who didn’t seem able to stick at any job, who sometimes came home with that vague, staring look caused by marijuana — at least, Mike hoped it was only marijuana — yet who had so much love and caring to offer. He would find his way, given time — and understanding.

  Just as Marcia had found hers. Marcia had never been an easy girl to understand, especially during the period when she had dyed her hair purple and worn it in those hideous spikes, with zany clothes to match. God, he had felt so embarrassed when she had arrived home one evening during a dinner party he and Babs had given for the new candidate for Governor of Connecticut. They’d had the eight people they most wanted to impress round that table when Marcia strode into the dining room and said, “Hi, folks!” He could remember the expressions on the guests’ faces, ranging from astonishment to horror. He had wanted to get up and paddle her backside, but before he could get his breath back Babs had reacted, wonderfully, he agreed, looking back. She had risen and put an arm round the girl, immediately. “Hi, sweetheart, how lovely of you to look in on us. Let me introduce you.” And she had led the monstrosity round the table, proudly introducing the ‘artist of the family’. The effect had been miraculous, both on the guests and on Marcia, when everyone had understood she was not a creature from outer space and could actually speak intelligently, they seemed to warm to her and made complimentary remarks about her after she’d left. While as for Marcia herself, mysteriously the hideous hairstyle had vanished soon after and her gorgeous natural blonde color was restored. Yes, Babs had handled that quite brilliantly, and now Marcia had her Benny and even a house of her own. And maybe kids, some day. It hurt Big Mike that only his Protestant English daughter-in-law had so far given him grandchildren.

  He did not suppose Belle and Lawson ever would now, with their expensive lifestyle and their precarious realty business down in Nassau. Belle and Lawson worked and played too hard ever to consider kids, although they had a big house and lots of space, and a beach front — ideal for bringing up a family. It was a really lovely house, yet Mike and Babs never felt quite comfortable staying there, despite the invariable warmth of their welcome. It was too clean, too perfectly arranged, no untidy piles of books thrown on a chair; no sewing, no dog or cat. And they never had ordinary meals, or warm overs. Belle would speed home from downtown Nassau in her Lotus at 6.30 with four vacuum-packed New York strips and a brown store bag filled with exotic fruits, vegetables, and salad-makings, and bottles of French wine and, wearing a pretty apron to protect her silk dress, would set the table and prepare her purchases for dinner within fifteen minutes, in time to greet Lawson’s return and join her guests for drinks on the patio.

  Mike gazed at them now, saw the look of affection they exchanged as Lawson, having dried himself, settled on the arm of Belle’s chair, and then he found himself thinking about Belle’s older brother. One couldn’t help wondering if Michael should ever have had a family — he spent so little time with them. The kids seemed bright and happy enough, but the thought of Jo at her job all week, and their father even more preoccupied, made him feel angry and hurt for them. Big Mike didn’t approve of working mothers… yet he couldn’t blame Jo. He remembered her saying all along that she would go back to journalism, and at least she spent every moment of her spare or vacation time with her children — but Michael had never warned anyone that he would devote virtually all of his leisure hours to sailing, before he was married. Sailing! He had finally won the race he wanted more than any other. God, where was he now? Once this storm had passed Eleuthera there was every possibility it would make straight for Bermuda. But Michael would know how to handle it, wherever it was.

  Michael Donnelly junior. Big Mike smiled, recalling how excited he’d been when the boy came home from college to say he’d like to take up the offer of a place in the firm. Michael Donnelly and Son, Stockbrokers. That had been a thrill. And so was the speed with which he had learned; nobody could have cottoned on to a business faster. Made one feel quite confident about handing over more and more clients, giving the boy responsibility. He allowed his eyes to drift to a framed photograph of his son, the blond giant of the family, skimming up the beach on his wind-surfer, strong, bronzed, laughing… and totally confident. Christ, he thought, what would I give to have him here now. He dropped his lids over stinging eyeballs.

  “Mike, what is it? What’s getting at you, lover?” Babs’ hand stroked through his thinning hair.

  “Guess I’m feeling bushwhacked after putting up those shutters. Gotten myself a bit of a headache.”

  “Man, it is blowing out there,” Dale announced as he returned, dripping wet. “Where are the towels, Babs?”

  Dolphin Point, North Eleuthera, Bahamas — 11.30 pm

  They called Neal, and were told everything was all right down there. “But say, have you had a weather update?” he asked.

  “Who wants a weather update?” Mike asked. “We can give those guys one ourselves.”

  “I tried to get one on my portable,” Neal said. “Only heard the end. Something about crossing the coast around midnight. Crossing what coast?”

  “Search me,” Mike said. “Must’ve got their numbers wrong. I’ll give you another shout later.” He replaced the handset and gazed at Lawson. “What coast? There isn’t any land out there before Africa.”

  “Yeah.” Lawson was frowning. “You don’t suppose… hi, Dale, when you were outside just now, where was the wind coming from?”

  “Ah… just north of east, I’d say.”

  “Oh, Christ!”

  “What?” Mike asked.

  “When I went out just after supper, it was still south-east. That means the storm has turned — west! The coast they’re talking about is Eleuthera. It could be coming straight at us.”

  “What do we do?” Babs asked, trying to keep the panic out of her voice.

  “We board up that last door,” Lawson said. “Come on, Dale.”

  They went outside, and Tamsin raised her head. “Granpa? How will they get back inside when they’ve nailed up the door?”

  “Through the garage, my love.” He looked at the women. “Well, there’s damn all we can do now except wait. I suggest we go to bed.”

  “I’m all for that.” Babs disappeared into the garage cloaks and reappeared in a very respectable long cotton nightdress.

  “I’m staying in this,” Belle said; she had worn a glamorous silk kaftan all evening. “Now, whose bed is which?”

  The living area of the house was a large inv
erted L. At the top of the leg was the kitchen, divided from the dining area by an island of counters, and beyond the dining table the heel of the L normally contained a cocktail table and chairs, and a collection of shells arranged on shelf units, whilst the remaining ‘foot’ held the cane settee, chairs, tables and a whole wall of books, a stereo music center and the television set. The rectangle formed by the two inner sides was the garage.

  That morning, with Melba’s help, the television set and settee and armchairs had been pushed together into the cocktail area to make room for the beds; first a small one for Tamsin, then a small double for Babs and Mike — pulling rank, Belle called it. She and Lawson shared a single, while Dale settled himself quite comfortably on the settee.

  “Mike! You haven’t put your pyjamas on,” Babs protested as he made to crawl across her legs.

  “You’re damned right I haven’t,” Mike retorted. “Nobody is going to part me from my pants tonight. Lord knows what I might have to get up and do in the middle of the night.”

  That raised some laughter from the others, but the tension was back and increased now they realized that they were not going to escape the full force of the storm, after all. The noise was tremendous. Certainly the wind was maintaining a good 60 miles an hour, with a lot more in the squalls, while the thunder rumbled constantly and the sound of the waves hitting the rocks was like a pride of lions growling outside the door, and the rain slashed against the shutters like machine gun bullets; there was hardly any let up in the squalls now. And there remained the awful feeling that the worst was yet to come.

  Then the entire house seemed to shake with a sudden increase in wind. “Oh, my God!” Babs said, and sat up. But they were all sitting up, save for Tamsin, who had mercifully fallen asleep.

  “I’m going to put the kettle on,” Belle announced. “It’s nonsense to pretend we’re going to sleep. How about some coffee?”

  “Brilliant idea,” Babs agreed, also getting up.

  “I’ll settle for whisky,” Mike said, heading for the drinks cupboard.

  “Pour one for me too, Dad,” Lawson said, watching his wife as she moved around the kitchen, his body responding as it always had, ever since the day he had first seen her. In the privacy of their own room he would stand behind her, running his hands over the thin silk of that kaftan, feeling the smooth contours of her breasts, arousing her nipples into hard points. He would help her shed the garment, shed his own, and stand hard against her, holding her and kissing her before… instinctively he crossed his legs and glanced around at the others, wondering if his reaction had been noticed. He sighed. No chance tonight, even if there was a hurricane.

  Belle made coffee, Mike poured whisky. Everyone was trying to act as normally as possible, but now the house was shaking regularly, making them wonder just how strong it would prove, and every so often there came a crash from outside, as of something being torn loose.

  “Whatever kind of whisky is this, Dad?” Dale asked. “I never tasted anything like it before.”

  “Neither have I.” Mike forced a laugh. “But it’s half the price of the Haig down on Palm Island.”

  “Well, I guess it’s good enough to get drunk on,” Lawson said. “But what the hell it’s going to do to our guts I wouldn’t like to say.” They tried to settle down again; this time Mike switched off all the lights save for the one in the kitchen; the CB continued to crackle, and the fan to whirr, but he was really very pleased with the way the generator was standing up to all its extra work. So maybe it would burn out by morning; he’d cheerfully buy a new one just to get through tonight.

  The house seemed to jump into the air. At the same time the entire room filled with brilliant light despite the shutters, and the accompanying peal of thunder was so loud it left them all dazed. Babs inhaled the scent of scorching wood. “My God!” she shouted. “We’re on fire!”

  Tamsin screamed.

  “We’ve been hit, that’s all,” Dale snapped.

  Mike was switching on the lights. “Well, they’re still working.” He stared at the television set, which was cracked and blackened. “Jees! The bolt must have struck the aerial, even lying down.”

  “Big Mike, Big Mike,” said the CB. “You guys all right?”

  “Sure we are,” Mike told him. “You get hit?”

  “No, but it sounded awful close.”

  “Yeah. We had it come to call. How’s Meggie taking it?”

  “I’ve put her to bed, with Panadol and whisky.”

  “Best thing. Keep in touch.”

  Babs had her arms round Tamsin, crooning reassuringly, but she looked at her husband, eyes wide with terror.

  Big Mike looked back, and then twisted his head. “What the shit is that?” he demanded.

  They all turned to look at the door, listening to a different sound to any they had ever heard before — except for Lawson.

  “Sounds like an express train,” Dale muttered.

  “Christ,” Lawson said. For all his studied insouciance, and his previous experience, his face was pale. “That’s the hurricane wind.” He attempted a smile. “I guess Faith has arrived, folks.”

  WEDNESDAY 26 JULY

  Dolphin Point, North Eleuthera, Bahamas — Half Past Midnight

  “Christ!” Big Mike mopped his face with a towel. The noise was continuous, whip-like cracks of lightning striking the rocks, the pounding of the rain on the shutters and the roof, the roaring of the seas, and above all the banshee-like howl of the wind, all merging into a mind-numbing cacophony. “How long does this last?”

  “Maybe a couple of hours, until the eye passes through,” Lawson told him.

  “Well, I think everything’s working like a charm,” Belle declared. “We have electricity, we don’t have any water leaking in, and we’ve only been struck by lightning once. Who’s complaining?”

  “Talking about the genny, it’s damn near twelve hours since it’s had oil or water,” Lawson remarked. “I guess we’d better do it now, before the full force of the storm arrives, then we’re in the clear until well into tomorrow.”

  “You mean, go out in that?” Dale asked.

  “He’s right,” Big Mike said. “I’ll do it.”

  “No way,” Babs declared. “You seem in a hurry to collect your insurance?”

  “If we don’t do it, and she runs out of lubricating oil, or overheats,” Mike said patiently, “she’ll just stop.”

  “So let it,” Babs said, refusing to concede that the generator might be a she. “We have the candles and the lamps.”

  “Look, lover,” Mike said. “I promised Neal we’d keep in touch, didn’t I? How the hell am I to do that without power?”

  “I’ll come with you,” Lawson volunteered.

  “And me,” Dale said. “The three of us can hang on to each other. Form a kind of chain.”

  Babs looked at Belle, who shrugged; she was used to her menfolk being macho.

  “Well, hurry back,” Babs said.

  “You bet.”

  The wind was now blowing full from the northeast, against the garage doors. One of the glass doors on to the patio, facing west and thus sheltered, had however been left with just boards covering the glass itself so as to allow an exit away from the wind if necessary, and the three men cautiously went outside, Belle closing and bolting the wooden-shrouded door behind them.

  “Jesus,” Lawson commented, as they pressed themselves against the wall. The scene in front of them was dramatic in the extreme. It was utterly dark, but yet bright as day every few seconds from the continuous lightning flashes. They looked at the normally calm waters of the sound, in which there were now six-foot waves, topped with foaming whitecaps, tumbling over each other as they raced at the curving beach and pounded the sand, surging onwards into the palmettos and casuarinas that lined the coast. The dock had already disappeared, although whether it had broken up or was just under water was impossible to say. But several trees were down already. And this was the lee.

  Big Mi
ke took a long breath — there was too much noise to say anything — and flicked his flashlight on and off to tell the others he was going round the house. Clinging to the wall, they edged round the lounge and kitchen into the patio area; here they were still protected by the wall that connected the two halves of the house, but from here they had to leave that shelter if they were to reach the generator shed.

  There were two doors leading out of the patio, one at each end of the wall. Mike signaled them to make for the south-facing exit, as the wind was still northeast. This they pulled inwards, and sidled through. Once again it was necessary to take a long breath before turning the corner of the wall, into the wind. Mike was first round, to be seized by a giant hand, it seemed, and flattened against the wall. The surprise, as well as the force being exerted on his body, caused him to let go of the flashlight, which fell to the ground, fortunately without smashing, and was retrieved by Lawson, on his hands and knees, before it actually blew away. Spread-eagled against the wall while still on his feet, hardly able to breathe because of the wind tearing at him, the flailing rain and spray stinging his face and chest, Mike gazed in horror at the garden, the uprooted trees, at the generator shed, still a hundred feet away, and then beyond. Another hundred feet across the unmade road the rocks began, and out there was the Atlantic. He had thought the waves in the sound big. Now he looked at immense walls of water, twenty, even thirty feet high, topped by another six feet of curling crest, smashing themselves into the rocks with a force which seemed to make the entire Point tremble, hurling spray hundreds of feet into the air. And already there was water on the road, flowing towards the drive and the generator shed.

  “Holy shit!” he shouted. But nobody heard him as the words were torn away by the wind. Although the other two were clearly having the same emotions.

  Mike tried to think, but could only understand the imminence of catastrophe. He didn’t know if they could reach the generator at all with such a wind battering at them, but even if they did, how long would the engine continue working once salt water got at it? It was a diesel, and theoretically should run for as long as it had fuel, oil, water and air, but he had never seen one put to the test. And as Lawson had said, the full force of the storm had still not arrived — although obviously the wind was increasing every minute… and the seas were rising every minute, too.