He stood up and began to pace around his cell. He was stiff from sitting still so long. He was eighty-two years old, but his muscles might have belonged to a strong man half his age; they were that lean and hard. It was only sitting still that made him tired.
They had given him a cot for sleeping, but he never slept on it; it would have caused him no end of grief to spend the night trying not to roll off its narrow limits. Now he stood precariously on it instead and looked out the one tiny window. The moon struggled out from behind the clouds and stared, then hid again. Tom pointed at it. “That’s right—you best stay away from here,” he said aloud, “if you got any sense.…”
A sudden gust of wind snaked in over his head and fluttered the leaves of the illustrated Bible Mrs. Leola Sparks had left open on the three-legged table beside the cot. It had once been a four-legged table, but it got by on three these days.… Tom put his head to one side and listened. Wind’s changin’. New sound in it now, kinda whinin’, cryin’ like cats. No other sound just the same.… Flood tide be startin’ ’fore mornin’.…
He climbed down from the cot and looked at the picture the wind had turned up in the Bible. An old man with a long white beard was riding through the sky in a funny-looking wagon all afire. That wasn’t so bad by itself, but the poor horses pulling the wagon looked like they were burning up too. Some mighty unusual things in that book.…
Mrs. Sparks had taken it upon herself to reform him. She visited twice a week to read aloud out of the Bible, then lecture him at length about the error of his ways. And she generally felt called upon to finish up with a hymn. Tom didn’t mind her talk so much; he could pretty well fix his head so the words just flowed in one ear and out the other without doing much damage. Her singing, now—that was something else again. As close as he could make out, it took from Friday till Tuesday for his head to stop ringing. But the lady had a good heart, which Tom appreciated. She also baked a mean peach pie, which he appreciated even more.
The sheriff’s wife was a pretty fair cook herself; for the first time in years Tom was threatening to get some meat on his bones. It was only being cooped up he minded—cooped up just like one of those old chickens he had set free three weeks back. They hadn’t liked being cooped up either; Tom had seen that about them right off and had eaten them purely as an act of kindness.
The wind whistled in again through the window. He lifted his head and sniffed it. Don’t smell right, he told himself. It’s comin’. I know it’s comin’.…
But he was comparatively safe here on High Island. It wasn’t really an island at all, just so called because the salt dome it sat on lifted the settlement up so high above the surrounding country that in bad storms it looked like an island rising from the flooded plains. It was the people in Galveston and down on the rest of the peninsula who ought to be worrying. Them chirren that b’long to that melon farm and that little brown dog—they in plenty trouble. Missy and that boy—Walter, he say his name was. Course maybe they folks got sense ’nough to get outa there in time.…
There was a sudden rattling, clicking noise, and Tom looked up through the bars of his cell to see the front door of the jailhouse swinging open. Lester Barrett walked inside. Either he or Sheriff Elliott looked in on Tom last thing every night to make sure High Island’s one and only prisoner was locked up safe and sound.
“Hey, Tom, what you know good?”
“Not a whole lot. Had that Christian lady come ’round here again today—that’s ’bout all. She say look like I’s goin’ to hell slicker’n a greased goose.”
Lester chuckled. He was a mite red about the eyes. Tom judged he’d raised a glass or two this evening. “Miz Sparks is one heck of a Christian, that’s for sure. But if she’s been botherin’ you, Tom, you ought to’ve told us. The sheriff could’ve asked her not to come anymore.”
“Naw, she ain’t botherin’ me none. She can talk ’bout Jesus all she want, long as she keep bringin’ them pies.” Tom raised his eyebrows. “But I’d sure be grateful if you could figger some way to keep her from singin’.”
Lester laughed out loud. Tom always made him laugh. “There’s folks at church been tryin’ to figger how to do that for twenty years or more, Tom. Might just as well tell the wind not to blow.”
“Couldn’t do that tonight,” Tom muttered, glancing behind him at the window.
“What say?” asked Lester, pulling up a chair just outside Tom’s cell and making himself comfortable. He often liked to stay and visit a little. There was never any telling what Tom would say—might make for a good story later on.…
“Talkin’ ’bout the wind, that’s all,” said Tom. “Smell like a storm comin’.”
“Naw, Tom—I saw the News today. May be a shower tonight, that’s all; they’re lookin’ for blue skies tomorrow.”
Tom snorted. “They can look all they want—they ain’t gonna find ’em. Devil storm comin’ sure as I’s sittin’ here. Folks got any sense, they be long gone ’fore tomorrow.”
Lester frowned. “Aw, c’mon, Tom, you’re givin’ me the creepin’ willies. Seems to me you ought to be in a good mood tonight. I got a surprise for you.”
Tom looked suspicious. “What kinda surprise?”
Lester winked. “I’ve just come from supper over’t the sheriff’s house. He thinks you’ve learned your lesson—says we can turn you loose first thing in the mornin’.”
Tom sat up straight. “That right?”
“That’s right—under one condition. Sheriff says you got to promise to move on right away. He doesn’t want Rupert Bland or anybody else gettin’ riled up all over again. You show your face on this peninsula, you gonna find yourself in serious trouble. There’s people in Galveston can see to it you’re locked up for good, you hear me?” Lester looked serious now.
“I hear you.”
“You understand this is the sheriff talkin’, don’t you, Tom? Personally, I got nothin’ against you.…”
“I understand.”
“Well, that’s fine, then.…” Lester got to his feet. He was suddenly feeling ill at ease. There was something in Tom’s steady gaze that he had never seen before—something hard, unyielding. This wasn’t the Tom that always made him laugh.… “I’ll, uh, I guess I’ll say good night, now.…”
“’Scuse me, uh, deputy—”
Lester was already halfway out the door. He turned around. “What is it, Tom?”
“I was just thinkin’—If it’s all the same to you, you s’pose they’s any way you could turn me loose tonight?”
“Tonight? Don’t seem like that’d make much sense, Tom—turnin’ you out in the dark. Never heard of such a thing. You best get a good night’s sleep while you can. I doubt you’ll have a bed comfortable as this tomorrow.”
Tom eyed the narrow cot. “Not likely …”
Lester turned to go again.
“Uh, deputy—”
Lester paused. “Yes?”
“Seem like I cain’t breathe so good, cooped up.”
Lester shook his head. “You know I cain’t let you go on my own, Tom. Sheriff’d have my hide.”
Tom didn’t say anything. He only looked at Lester with a look that Walter knew, and Alice knew, and Crockett understood.…
A minute passed. Two minutes. Lester rubbed his jaw and shifted uncomfortably. He had had too much of Mrs. D. L. Elliott’s best blackberry wine at supper. His head was beginning to ache. “Well,” he said at last, “guess it wouldn’t hurt—long as you promise to stay out of trouble.…”
“I ain’t goin’ near it.”
“Well, all right, then … s’pose I ought to have my head examined, but it don’t really seem like a few hours could make much difference, one way or t’other.”
Minutes later the two of them were standing outside the jail. Lester handed Tom his old shovel and the gunnysack. “I b’lieve these are yours.”
“B’lieve so.”
Lightning flashed somewhere far out at sea. Tom counted all the fingers on
one hand and two on the other. There was the sound of distant thunder.
“Looks like you might be right ’bout that storm, after all,” said Lester. His head was splitting now. “But ten to one it’ll blow over ’fore sunrise.”
“Don’t you count on it,” said Tom. “You just stick up here on high ground—that’s your best bet ’gainst the devil.”
Lester laughed nervously. “I’ll remember that, Tom. You take it easy now.”
“You too, Mr. Deputy.”
He walked off into the darkness.
Chapter 14
“Walter—wake up, Walter! Look outside!”
Walter groaned and turned over on his back. Alice’s face hung over him like a small, pale moon. Her brown eyes looked black in the gray morning light, shiny as polished buttons.
“What is it, Sister?” He was so tired. It had taken him such a long time to fall asleep in the heat, and then he had slept fitfully, drifting in and out of dreams that had no shape or sense.…
“Just look out there, Walter. I never seen such big waves, did you?”
He sat up and looked out the window. “Hell’s bells,” he murmured, his heart in his mouth.
The beach had all but disappeared. Almost all the way to the railroad tracks there were huge, gray waves, leaping up high as mountains, crashing into each other like battling elephants.
“Did you ever see the water come so far in, Walter? I know I never did!” Alice sounded more excited than scared.
Walter shook his head. He couldn’t speak; it felt as if his tongue were glued to the roof of his mouth. He had never actually seen a bad Gulf overflow himself, but he had heard stories—terrible stories. The whole town of Indianola, washed clean away back in ’86 … houses blown to kingdom come … men, women, children, sucked right up, never to be seen again. Walter stared out at the angry water and thought again of that night on the beach—his sudden fear that the Gulf was a dark animal, waiting to pounce.…
Alice snuggled up next to him. “You think it could come in as far as our house?”
Walter shook his head again. Surely the water couldn’t come in that far, he told himself. It’s never come that far before.…
“I guess not,” Alice agreed. She sounded disappointed. “But I’m glad Papa built our house up so high, just in case.”
Emily opened her eyes and smiled. She stood up in her crib and held out her hands to Alice.
“Hey there, baby girl,” Alice said, lifting her out and bringing her over to Walter’s bed. “You want to see some big old waves?”
“Bye-bye,” said Emily, waving her chubby hand at the water.
“No, Emily,” Alice laughed, “not wave bye-bye—waves. Water waves—see?”
“See,” said Emily, beaming happily. “See, bye-bye!”
“No, no—oh, Emily …” Alice fell down laughing. Emily climbed into Walter’s lap.
“For cryin’ out loud, Alice, she’s soppin’ wet!” he cried, finding his voice at last. “Get her off me, will you?”
“Well, all right. You don’t have to get so mad.”
“I’m not mad,” said Walter, but he was. He was mad because he was scared. How come he couldn’t be like his sisters and not know enough to be scared?
“Doesn’t seem like the wind’s blowin’ all that hard, does it?” said Alice, as she pinned fresh diapers on the baby. “Funny sound to it, though—can you hear it?”
Walter could hear it, all right. It sounded like nothing he had ever heard before—keening, dismal, as if everyone who had ever died had waited till now to complain about it. “It’s awful,” he murmured.
“Well, least it’s not hot anymore,” Alice said cheerfully. “Fact, it’s goin’ on cold, I’d say.”
“I thought I heard voices—you all up?” Mama stood in the doorway, wrapped in the quilt from her bed. She looked agitated.
“Yes’m, we’re up,” said Alice. “Did you see them giant waves, Mama?”
“Those waves,” Lillie corrected her automatically, absently, as if her heart weren’t really in it. “Yes, I saw them, all right. Looks like we’re in for a storm,” she went on, pulling the quilt closer about her. “You’d better tend to the milking right away, Walter, before the rain gets started. Alice, you mind the baby while I get these windows closed.”
In his worry Walter had forgotten all about Jane Long, but now he jumped from bed, glad to have something to do.
Crockett came running as soon as he stepped out the front door. He looked alert, frisky as a puppy. He put his front paws on Walter’s chest and licked his chin.
“Hey, boy, you’re in a good mood this mornin’. Come on, now, get down. I got work to do. You like storms, too—that it? You crazy like Alice?”
Crockett barked happily and bounded about, wagging his tail.
“I guess that’s it, all right,” said Walter, scratching him behind the ears. “Dumb dog.” He shook his head disapprovingly, but a part of him understood. Out here, with the wind whipping his hair in his eyes and the surf thundering in his ears, he felt a kind of fearful exhilaration himself, as if he might sprout wings and fly any second, borne on the wind as lightly as a hen feather.… Well, it’s only a storm, after all—nothing to get all worked up over. So what if they did have a little overflow? Papa had built the house up plenty high, just like Alice said. Best-built house on the whole peninsula—strong and safe as Papa’s own arms. There was no need to worry. None at all. Walter took a deep breath of the salty air and squared his shoulders. He was all right now.
Jane Long was standing patiently by the barn door, waiting for him to let her inside. She had heeded the peculiar sound in the wind, too. Even dumb old Dowling had come in from the pasture. He fixed Walter with a wall-eyed stare, then went back to cropping grass, his ears twitching nervously back and forth while he chewed. Above the yowling of the wind Walter could hear Sam Houston and his wives cackling and fretting in the henhouse.
“What’s everybody so nervous for?” Walter frowned at the animals as he opened the barn door. “Just a storm, that’s all. We’ve had storms before, ain’t we?”
At that moment Crockett gave two short barks and went tearing past Walter’s knees and out into the melon field.
“Well, what’s got into him?” Walter said aloud, and then he saw. There was someone out there—a man, getting closer now—carrying something on his shoulder—a shovel, it looked like.…
Oh, Lord, it cain’t be. It just cain’t be.…
It was. Tom the Tramp, old Tom himself, big as life. Crockett was already at his side, licking his hand.
Walter stood rooted to the spot, watching him come.
“No sense you lookin’ like that,” said Tom. “I ain’t no ghost.”
“I thought … I thought …” Walter stammered.
“You think too much, boy. Get you in trouble ever’ time.”
“But … they put you in jail.”
The old man closed one eye. “Ain’t no jail can hold Tom for long.”
“You broke out?”
He shrugged. “Got no time to stand ’round talkin’. Devil storm already started—cain’t you see? Y’all got to get outa here ’fore it’s too late.”
A shudder ran through Walter’s body. In his mind’s eye, the dark animal tensed its muscles, poised itself to spring.… He shook the thought loose. He had had enough of Tom’s crazy talk to last a lifetime—two lifetimes. He wasn’t going to start listening to it again now. “We ain’t goin’ anyplace. My papa knows all about storms. He built our house plenty strong.”
Tom snorted. “Ain’t no house that strong, boy. I was born in a herrycane, s’posed to die in one someday—guess I know. You let me talk to your papa.”
“You cain’t. He’s in Galveston,” Walter said, and then he flushed. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to say that his father was gone. He drew himself up as tall as he could. “You can talk to me. I’m the one in charge.”
Tom narrowed his eyes. “You chirren here by yourself? Ain
’t your mama home?”
Walter wasn’t about to let Tom frighten his mother. “Mama don’t want to talk to you. You stay away from her, you hear me? Just leave her alone. Leave us all alone—”
“How old are you, boy?” Tom interrupted him.
“Thirteen,” said Walter.
“You want to make fourteen, you best listen.” Tom pointed a gnarled finger at him. “Ain’t nothin’ gonna be alive where we standin’, this time tomorrow. You tell your mama that.”
Walter stuck out his chin. “I told you—I’m the one in charge. You better go on now.”
Tom regarded the boy calmly for a moment. Then he turned around and started to walk away.
Walter watched him go. A whole summerful of warring emotions struggled in his stomach. “Wait!” he cried suddenly; the word tore loose from his throat in a strangulated howl before he could stop it.
Tom turned around. “You talkin’ to me?”
“Why’d you come back here, anyway? If anybody sees you, they just gonna lock you up again.”
To his surprise, Tom grinned. “Ain’t nobody ever told you I’s crazy, boy?” He had to shout it over the wind. “You warned me one time, now I warned you. Go on—milk your cow. She gonna have trouble enough ’fore this day’s over.”
The rain began to fall while Walter was still in the barn. It plunked on the tin roof in heavy drops, sporadic at first—two, three, a scant half-dozen—then suddenly a thousand at once, till Walter was deaf with the sound of them. Water was coming down in cataracts by the time he got back to the house, lugging the pailful of milk.
All during breakfast Alice kept jumping up from the table to run to the window and check on the progress of the waves.
“Ooh, Mama, they’re right up against the railroad tracks now.… I’ll declare, you shoulda seen the size of that one. I bet it was ten times tall as Papa! You reckon the fishes are gettin’ seasick, swirlin’ ’round like that? I know I would be.”
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