Wake up, wake up.
But when she opened her eyes, there were no bedroom walls around her, no middle-of-the-night darkness, only murkiness, a weak light coming through a thick fog, a burning in her eyes. She was underwater, taken.
Instinct had told her not to breathe.
In Etta’s memory, no one lifted her from the water. Gasping for air and coughing and choking, she had groped her way to her feet on her own. Etta recalled only that she was responsible for her own rescue. And even more alarming was that surrounding her, as she made her way out of the rushing water to safety, were the people who were supposed to take care of her, namely her mother and aunt, both of whom had done nothing. They were rushing toward her now, but it was too late. Their cries and questions were hollow and after the fact.
Etta looked at them hard as she shivered, held herself, and lifted her feet out of the wet, heavy sand. She let them wrap her in a shawl and console her, but for the first time she saw those adults for what they really were. Why, they were nothing but larger versions of children, no more able to control the world around them, and in no way able to keep her safe in the world. She decided in that moment that she would never again let down her guard.
Etta remembered little else about Galveston beyond that incident on the beach. Perhaps the terror, no matter how momentary, had caused her to forget the rest of the visit, and therefore she arrived on the island again after ten years with an open mind and few preconceived notions.
During that first carriage ride in Galveston with Grace, the city streamed before her with new sounds, smells, and sights. After Grace had taken her for a walk on the pier, they took a quick tour of the city.
The beach side of the island was all sand and sweltering salt breezes. Wealthy people strolled down the sand, and children frolicked in the shallow waves. Tourists made sand castles, searched for shells, and wandered in and out of souvenir shops. People came there for pleasure.
The bay side, however, was a place of work. The port was a chaotic scene of fishermen, oystermen, buyers, and sellers milling about. Fresh fish in lines, docks stacked with bales of cotton ready for export, and the sounds of clinking knives against oyster shells were everywhere. The red-faced sailors and wrinkled, squinty-eyed pirate look-alikes were even more weathered than the lifelong farmers Etta had known, and their wives bore the scars of waiting, the skin of their faces cut sharply with lines.
Before they pulled up to the house for the second time that day, Grace asked her, “What do you think so far?”
“It feels dangerous.”
Grace put a hand on Etta’s arm. “I promise it’s not. Please don’t be—”
“You misunderstand. I’m not frightened. I like that it feels dangerous.”
Grace looked puzzled.
“In the middle of Texas, it’s just land and farms. Some brown rivers that occasionally overflow their banks. We hear of twisters, but I’ve never seen one. Being out here on an island surrounded by water, well . . . it’s akin to taking chances, don’t you think?”
“I’ve never thought of it that way.”
“Because you’re accustomed to it.”
“It’s my home,” Grace said, giving her a smile that appeared to be utterly genuine. “And I’m so enjoying viewing it again through a newcomer’s eyes.”
“Thank you for your most gracious welcome. I fear I’ve been too outspoken. I probably shouldn’t have blurted out . . .”
“Have no fear, Cousin. Your secret is safe with me.”
If Etta had thought her cousin’s welcome was gracious, she was soon overcome by the house, her living quarters, the servants, and meals. She hadn’t expected her stay to be totally unpleasant. On the contrary, the photographs of her aunt Bernadette she’d found among her grandmother’s things revealed a most striking and elegant woman, who despite her stateliness had a warmth to the way she held her mouth and the way her hands were folded in a loose knot on her lap.
Nothing, however, could have prepared Etta for the different world into which she walked that day in June of 1903. Her mother had said nothing, had not readied her at all for the Hilliard household. Etta’s only clue had come from her grandmother, dead two years by then, but who, upon her last visit to Nacogdoches, had dropped little occasional comments to indicate that the youngest of her three daughters, Bernadette, had done well for herself. The middle sister, Memphis, had succumbed to infection and fluid in the lungs when she was but seventeen years old, and Etta’s grandmother reserved comment about how Junie, Etta’s mother, had done; she held herself in check around Etta.
So until then Etta hadn’t known that such disparity existed between her mother and her aunt. Her mother and father had a comfortable life in a modest house, no better or worse than many others surrounding them in Nacogdoches, but her aunt turned out to live at a highly elevated place as one of the wealthiest people on what turned out to be a very wealthy island.
The following day, when her aunt Bernadette had recovered from her heatstroke, they dined in the formal dining room on fresh fish and beef, vegetables in sauces, select fruits, and just-baked bread. Her aunt tasted everything first to ensure the food was excellent and then passed on her compliments to the kitchen. Her only suggestion, given with a smile, was for more salt in one of the sauces.
Before retiring for the night, Etta was told that she could ask the servants for her breakfast to be served in her room if she preferred. Never having been doted upon in such a way before, she now had assistance in dressing, bathing, hairstyling, and even lacing her shoes. During the day, Grace took her for carriage rides to show her more of the city.
Etta soon learned that her new territory ran between Twelfth and Nineteenth Streets on the north side of Broadway and several blocks to the north; this was where the most prominent islanders lived and played, in mansions that spoke of the dividends of the island’s commerce. Everywhere surrounding Etta in those first whirlwind days were wealthy people who lived in huge houses and held influential positions. In fact, within the circle she had entered, except for the servants there were no ordinary people.
Even more interesting were all the young men who appeared to be unattached among the well-to-do islanders. Now Etta understood why her mother had been so determined to end her tryst with the circus man. She could almost hear her mother sending silent messages she would never spell out in words: See what might have happened to me if I’d made wiser choices. So whenever her aunt or cousin suggested an activity, Etta did it. She watched her cousin and followed her lead in manners and speech, but never let anyone notice that she was carefully studying every step along the way.
One evening, after her first week had come to an end, the three ladies of Hilliard House were sharing a late dinner in the small dining room used only by family when Aunt Bernadette asked, “How are you enjoying our city, Etta?”
“It’s charming,” Etta could answer honestly, but she didn’t want to reveal everything, especially how different it was for her.
“Is it what you’d hoped?” continued her aunt.
Etta lifted her napkin and touched it to her lips just slightly, the way she had learned by observing her aunt’s and cousin’s every move. “I’m finding everything so very interesting. Such a change from the countryside.”
“I hope both of you will live it up this summer.” Bernadette sighed and sipped her chilled vermouth, which she had proclaimed the perfect drink for a hot day. After glancing first at Grace and then at Etta, she asked, “Do you have specific plans?”
Grace answered, “We’re planning on spontaneity.”
Bernadette’s mouth tilted downward at its corners. “Spontaneity could be an excuse for laziness, my dear.”
“Not in the least,” said Grace.
“Mark my words,” Bernadette retorted, “time is a fleeting thing. Youth is a fleeting thing. You are allowed to do as you please, but I advise going for greatness.”
“What does that mean?” asked Grace, while Etta observed this strange
interaction between mother and daughter.
“It means that you live your life like a body of water. You cover everything you can. You make a beautiful surface life and also a deeper one that lies underneath and feeds the surface. You are in constant movement and change.”
Grace stared at her mother as if baffled and a bit dazed at her words, but Etta said, “I couldn’t agree more.”
Aunt Bernadette seemed pleased and leaned back a notch in her chair. “Please let us know if there is anything we can do to make your stay more pleasant, Etta.”
“But I’ve never been so pampered in my life.” Etta let a little smile curl her lips. “Promise not to spoil me.”
Bernadette laughed and passed a hand through the air. “I’ll promise no such thing.” She turned to the servant standing behind her and said, “Dessert, please.”
Etta knew for certain then that she had gained her aunt’s favor, that she had passed some mysterious and unspoken first test.
Within a week, Galveston’s grid of streets, its mixture of multistory mansions and beachside shacks, busy docks and quiet gardens, raised houses and sagging tenements, had worked their way into Etta’s heart. Many of the buildings and houses were built on stilts like matchsticks. Some were rebuilt, optimistically, upon the sandy soil. Warehouses, schools, and churches were scattered everywhere, and many small businesses were run out of homes. The look of the city suited Etta. Things weren’t completely settled here yet. There was still room for her.
She no longer cared that she represented her mother’s chance at redemption via her daughter. Etta’s older sister, Rachel, had married a farmer, leaving Etta as her mother’s last great hope, and the ploy to dispatch her here had worked. She had been sent here to learn something; so what? It was a valuable lesson. So far, however, she had encountered her aunt and cousin’s social circle only in small doses. Introductions had been made when Grace or Bernadette ran into acquaintances while the three women were shopping or luncheoning, but Etta had not yet been presented to this new society. Her aunt had planned a party in Etta’s honor for that, and Etta was counting the days.
In between accompanying her aunt and cousin for various short soirees, she was idle. Hours of letting the days drift by piled up, and often she found herself pacing the front portico, holding a glass of iced sweet tea that dripped with condensation.
On her second Saturday in the city, she was watching the trolleys go by and trying to convince herself to write a letter to her mother when a fine carriage pulled up and a young man stepped out. Ah yes. Grace’s fiancé was expected today. Jonathan had recently completed his annuals at Yale for the year and had returned to the island for the summer, but she had yet to meet him.
She watched as a tall man with dark hair glazed away from his face came forward. He was lean but built well and appeared strong and energetic.
“You must be Miss Rahn,” he said with a warm smile, his blue eyes piercing. His nose was as straight as a drawn line and connected thick eyebrows to the smoothly shaven skin of his upper lip, which was almost crimson in color. “I’m Mr. Ellis.”
As he climbed the front steps to the portico, Etta extended her hand and then regretted it. Jonathan’s face showed confusion. It was too casual a greeting for a first meeting. She wasn’t even wearing gloves.
But to her surprise he took her hand in his and lightly touched her fingers with his lips. As he straightened he said, “But please call me Jonathan.”
“Only if you agree to call me Etta.”
He smiled. “Etta it is, then.”
They exchanged pleasantries; then he looked toward the door and asked, “Is Grace at home?”
“Yes,” answered Etta. “I believe she’s resting. It’s the heat, of course.”
“Of course.”
He gestured at the settees and chairs strung along the portico. “Shall we sit together and wait for her?”
“Certainly,” Etta said. “I’ll call for some refreshments.”
Jonathan shook his head. “Don’t bother on my account. I see you already have a beverage.” They took seats next to each other a respectable distance apart. “I dislike asking the servants to attend to my every need, especially at this, the hottest time of day. They need some rest, too, don’t you think? Or perhaps they’re already making preparations for dinner. I’m always amazed by what they manage to do.”
Etta’s family had been able to afford only a half-day maid, but Etta said, “I agree.” Jonathan’s demeanor put Etta at ease. He carried himself with such effortlessness and lack of awareness of his social superiority that, had it not been for his aristocratic looks and attire—a fine black lightweight suit—she would not have been able to gauge his background.
Bernadette had already informed Etta that Grace had captivated quite the catch. Jonathan’s father, Mr. Parker Ellis, owned the Galveston Building and Loan Company and also served on the Deep Water Committee, responsible for dredging and constructing jetties. His mother was one of the founders of the Wednesday Club. Together his parents had driven the first automobile onto the island, a 1902 Oldsmobile.
“Have you been away?” asked Etta.
“Yes, I had only been home from Yale for two days before my mother whisked me away to New Orleans for fittings at a tailor she favors. It seems I must have a most elegant and stylish summer wardrobe, since it is the summer of my engagement.”
“So I’ve heard. My best wishes to you and my dear cousin. Please don’t allow my presence here to interfere with any plans the two of you have made.”
“No need to worry about that. Grace and I will pass most of our evenings together. As for the days, my father has required that I spend time at the seawall this summer.”
“Oh my. For what purpose?”
He plopped his chin down onto his chest and managed to appear absurdly stoic, then said in a baritone, obviously imitating his father, “To learn, my dear.”
Etta smiled. “Learn what, pray tell? I’ve been told you’re studying science.”
He sucked in a deep breath and then lifted his eyebrows, which arched nicely and appeared to have been combed. “He tells me that the wall will be an engineering miracle and that I shouldn’t miss the opportunity to observe and learn about modern construction marvels. He wants me to be familiar with just about everything. But the truth is, he simply wants to keep me occupied and out of trouble.”
He then slumped back with his legs stretched out on the painted planks in front of him. To her surprise, Etta saw that Grace’s betrothed was a bit of a rogue. A dutiful son who did not mind mocking his father behind his back. Still, his small acts of rebellion were not without their charms.
She said, “At least you’ll be outdoors in the fresh air down by the sea.”
“It is still blasted hot,” he said, running a finger around his collar, releasing its hold on his neck. “And truth be told, I know little of construction. For the most part, I’m just in the way.”
Etta said, “I’m sorry you’re feeling in the way.”
“Don’t be. I try to avoid watching the actual work as much as possible. Instead, I spend most of my time in talk, protecting those who are doing the real work from those who have come down to ogle the spectacle.”
“Are you tripping over yourselves?”
“Every day someone new comes to reassure themselves that all is going well, that Galveston has a secure future. I show them around the wall, and they leave feeling better. Have no fear,” he said. “After the wall and grade-raising are completed, the city will never be ravaged by a hurricane again.”
So far Etta had managed to put storm risks out of her mind. It was the beginning of hurricane season, but the street on which the Hilliards lived ran along the high point of the island, about nine feet above sea level, so many who lived on the street, along with their servants, had survived the 1900 Storm.
Etta cocked her head and said, “Can you give me a guarantee?”
He laughed, and she caught herself batting her eyelash
es, then stopped.
“Sorry. No guarantees from me. But I will say that the wall is an impressive structure.” He gazed out at the front lawn and its gardens, but Etta caught him stealing a halting glance her way. It was a look of thinly veiled reexamination, as if she was not what he had expected either. Grace had likely not spoken well of Etta before her arrival, but how could her cousin have known how much ten years would change a person?
Etta gazed away from Jonathan, but not before noticing him reach up and touch the pox scar on his left cheek, the only imperfection on his velvety skin.
Out in the garden, the air was heady with pollen, and flowers were listing from the day’s heat. Jonathan sat up and removed his suit coat. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said.
“Of course not.”
As he folded his coat and laid it over the armrest, he stole another one of those inquisitive little glances at Etta. “What are your plans for your time here?”
She sighed. “To do what my aunt asks of me.”
“Oh dear. Why, that sounds so . . . obedient.”
Etta laughed. “If so, then it’s the first time in my life that I’ve been obedient.”
His eyes sparkled. “That sounds as if it would make for some interesting stories.”
Looking down at her lap, she smiled wryly. “Perhaps.”
He grinned. “But a gentleman would never ask you to elaborate.”
Etta kept her eyes averted. She couldn’t trust herself not to flirt with such a handsome and charismatic young man. But she replied pleasantly, “No, he would not.”
He leaned closer. “I suppose I’ll have to be obedient myself, then.”
Despite her best efforts, Etta could feel her face flush and hoped that Jonathan would not notice. “I’ll mind myself at all times. I mustn’t shame my mother.”
“Of course not.”
She thought of home and, inevitably, of her circus man. “You have no idea.”
The Uncertain Season Page 3