Devil Storm

by Theresa Nelson

  “Put your trust in the Lord, Tom,” he told him. “If it’s His will that they be found, I’ll find them.”

  Haltingly, only half-remembering how to do it, Tom prayed to Jesus. If he had to trust a white man, he reckoned he best pray to the white man’s God.…

  Campbell returned a month later.

  Tom ran to meet him on the road, his heart nigh to bursting in his chest.

  “I’m sorry, Tom.” Campbell shook his head. “They’re gone.”

  “Gone,” Tom repeated softly. “Gone …” The word felt dead as it left his mouth.

  “They were bought by a man from Texas, name of Hopkins. He and his family had just started growing sea island cotton on the Bolivar Peninsula, just across from Galveston. Seems there was a yellow fever epidemic over there in forty-four.” Campbell’s voice trailed off. Tom didn’t say anything. Campbell cleared his throat, continued. “Looks like it got ’em all, Tom. Hopkins and his family too. I’m sorry.”

  Sorry. He was sorry. It didn’t change anything. It didn’t bring them back.

  Tom stopped walking. He had made it to Rollover. The Gulf was still to his right but even closer now, lapping at his feet almost. The bay was scarcely more than a stone’s throw to his left. The waters would meet in no time at all, dance their deadly dance, and that would be that.

  One last time Tom turned, looked behind him through the curtain of rain. There was no one in sight. Those children and their mother—they must still be back at that house of theirs, just sitting there like white dummies, waiting for the old demon Gulf to come and sweep them away. Tom had warned them, but they hadn’t listened, and now they would die, now they would be dead—dead as hammers, dead as nails, dead as Alnetta and Louis and Evalina.…

  Well, what’s it matter? Tom asked himself. Ever’body got to die sooner or later. Might just as well be sooner—save ’em all a lot of trouble.

  Still … he wished he had never talked to them, never eaten their food, never watched the little girl’s eyes get big when he told stories, that boy all the time trying to act like such a man.… Tom had never paid any mind to children before, not really, not since his own—except maybe to say boo and scare them off when they ran after him, hollering, throwing sticks. But these had been different.… He had seen them even before they saw him, and they had made him smile, some way—playing together in the moonlight, chasing each other like puppies, giggling fit to kill … Louis and Evalina used to giggle like that. But they were just babies, of course, not much older than that little white sister. Never had a chance to get any older.…

  Tom was tired of thinking. It made his head ache. He ought to get going again, get himself to High Island while there was still time. He was just an old man, after all. What did he think he could do, anyway—fight the devil like God almighty? He had tried that when he was a lot younger and stronger, and the devil had beat him every time. What kind of chance would he have now?

  He ought to go on, that was all there was to it. Go on, you old fool, he told himself. Go on.

  Richard had long since given up trying to sit still. He paced up one side of the waiting room and down the other, pausing every now and again to look out the window and shake his head, or to pull his watch out of his pocket, look at it, and snap it closed. It was nearly noon, and still the storm showed no sign of abating; water was knee-deep around the train station and rising fast, while the wind was growing stronger all the time, ripping pieces of slate from the roofs of buildings and hurling them at anything or anybody that happened to be in the way. The room was crowded now with people seeking shelter. In one corner a mother tried to hush a crying baby; in another two little girls sat wide-eyed, holding a gilded bird cage between them. A small yellow bird hopped about inside it. Everywhere there were excited voices talking about the storm.

  “… said he was down at Avenue O and Tenth—water so deep he had to swim …”

  “… saw a doghouse floating with the dog on top …”

  “… that woman was blown right off her porch, I’ll swear …”

  “… just glad I’m not in one of those houses close to the beach right now …”

  The white-haired gentleman—Milam, the man said his name was—saw Richard flinch when he heard that. “Now, don’t you worry, Mr. Carroll; I’m sure your family’s just fine.…”

  But Richard could stand it no longer. He put on his coat. “I hope you’re right, Mr. Milam, but I’ve got to see if there’s any way I can get back to them—any way atall.”

  “You be careful, young man. You’re more good to your family alive than dead!” Mr. Milam called after him. But Richard was already out the door, wading through the rising water.

  “Mama, I cain’t see nothin’ but water now!” Alice hollered from her post at the window. “Water all around us!”

  Mama was stirring her custard at the stove. “You’d better get away from that window, Sister. Everybody’s nervous enough as it is.”

  “Aw, Mama, you should see it! If you just squinch up your eyes a little you’d swear we’re on a big old boat!”

  “You heard me, Alice.”

  “Yes’m,” Alice said, moving away reluctantly. She sat on the floor beside Walter. He was piling up Emily’s wooden blocks in stacks for her to knock down. She must have toppled fifty stacks so far, but Walter just kept piling them back up, trying not to think, trying to concentrate only on the little cubes of red and blue and yellow, the ABCs printed neatly on the sides with pictures to match—A for apple, B for bird, C for cat—or catastrophe, thought Walter.… Please, God, please, make this storm stop soon.…

  “Walter, maybe you’d better make sure the animals are all right,” Mama said. She was stirring harder than she needed to. “But come right back, you hear me? Dinner’s nearly ready. I don’t want you out there more than ten minutes.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Walter jumped up, glad to move; he was beginning to feel as if he might explode if he sat still a moment longer.

  “Wait, son—put something over your head first!” his mother called to him, but he was already outside.

  He wasn’t prepared for the force of the wind. It had grown so much stronger in the last few hours that it nearly blew him off his feet as he came out the door. He grabbed the stair railing to steady himself, then started down more cautiously. The two bottom steps were covered with water. Walter stepped off them and was up to his knees in brine. The big waves were still breaking to his right—off just in front of where the sand hills used to be—but their spillover was everywhere, stretching as far as the eye could see. Alice was right; the house did look like a boat. Walter remembered a time when that idea used to please him, but now it made him shiver like a dog.

  He sloshed his way to the barn. Jane Long and Dowling were standing inside just where he had left them, up to their knees in salt water, too. They stared at him in mute distress. “Poor old things,” he murmured, stroking their necks. “You’re scared too, aren’t you?”

  Crockett, who had curled up on top of a bale of hay and actually managed to go to sleep, looked up and smiled a dog smile at Walter. His tail thumped in greeting.

  “Hey, boy,” said Walter, lifting him down, “maybe we can get Mama to let you in the house just this once.” Crockett licked his face. “Come on, let’s go see if the chickens are all right.”

  He braced himself for the wind before he stepped outside this time, then walked around the barn to the henhouse.

  “Oh, no!” he cried, when he saw what had happened. The henhouse had blown over and broken to pieces. Most of the hens were dead, drowned—floating in pitiful heaps here and there; but a few of them, along with old Sam, were perched on top of the wreckage, looking altogether soggy and bewildered. “Oh, no,” Walter repeated. He put Crockett down; the dog’s head was just above water. “Sorry, boy,” he apologized. “It’s only for a minute—” Walter carried the survivors to the barn, two at a time—even Sam Houston was too dazed to make a fuss—and put them on Crockett’s bale of hay. �
��You all try not to worry, now; it’s bound to be over soon,” he told the animals. Then he gave Jane Long and Dowling a parting pat apiece and carried Crockett with him back to the house.

  “Dog!” Emily cried joyfully, when the two of them came in, dripping salt water everywhere.

  “Walter Carroll, you know that old dog isn’t allowed in the house!”

  “It’s just for this once, Mama—he’ll drown out there! The water’s practically up to his eyeballs.”

  “Please let him stay, Mama!” Alice threw her arms around the wet animal.

  Their mother sniffed. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, the way you all carry on over that dog.… Well, I suppose he can stay this once. But as soon as this storm’s over I want him right back outside, do you hear? Mercy, I believe I feel a flea already!”

  It was comforting, having Crockett there. He was good as gold—never once tried to climb up on the furniture or get into any mischief. He just sat there patiently, as if he knew his life depended on it, letting the baby pull his ears and poke her finger in his eye.

  Walter opened his mouth to tell what had happened to the chickens, but then he shut it again. No sense getting everybody more upset than they already were. Alice loved those old chickens; it was she who fed them and collected their eggs and cooed over the new chicks. Lord, she practically cries every time we have fried chicken for Sunday dinner. No, this wasn’t the time to tell her. She was still remarkably cheerful, never doubting for a moment that Papa would be back soon and that everything was going to be just fine.…

  Mama was doing her best to appear calm, to ignore the awful clamor of the storm and carry on as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. But Walter saw her start every time a fresh blast of wind rocked the house; he heard the tightness in her voice when she spoke, smelled her fear as surely as he smelled the biscuits burning when he sat down to eat. For the first time that Walter could remember, dinner was a dismal failure. Besides the burnt biscuits, there was dry ham, gummy rice, and inedible custard. “Oh, my!” Mama cried when she tasted it. “I must’ve put in salt for sugar. Now, how on earth could I have done a thing like that!”

  “It don’t matter, Mama,” Alice tried to comfort her. “We’re all plenty full, anyhow.”

  For once Mama didn’t bother to correct her grammar. She merely shook her head and began to clear away the dishes.

  Just then Crockett’s ears cocked up. He rose from his place under Emily’s high chair and ran to the door, whining, scratching at it.…

  Alice noticed him first. “It’s Papa!” she cried, jumping up and running after the dog.

  Mama’s head jerked around. “Well, it’s about time,” she said tartly, but Walter could see relief in her face just as plain as day.

  Alice was already at the door. She threw it open and flung herself into her father’s arms.…

  “Whoa, Missy!”

  Lillie screamed.

  Alice jumped back.

  It wasn’t Papa at all.

  Chapter 16

  Walter stood up. “It’s all right, Mama,” he said. “It’s just Tom. He wouldn’t hurt us.”

  But his mother had already recovered enough to place herself protectingly between her children and the old man. She crossed her arms and faced him squarely. “What is it you want?” she shouted; with the door open she had to shout to make herself heard over the wind.

  “I come to get y’all outa here!” Tom shouted back. “How come you ain’t gone yet? Didn’t your boy tell you what I said?”

  Mama looked at Walter in confusion. “What’s he talking about?”

  Walter flushed guiltily. “I didn’t want to scare you, Mama. He was here this mornin’ when I was out doin’ the milkin’—said we ought to get to higher ground. He thinks the house won’t stand the storm. He’s just tryin’ to help us, Mama—he doesn’t mean any harm.…”

  “Help us, my eye,” she muttered. “He’s probably been watching the house—knows your father is away, that’s all. Plannin’ to rob us blind, most likely.”

  “No, ma’am, he ain’t like that atall!”

  Alice was tugging on her mother’s sleeve. “Ain’t you gonna let him in, Mama? Look how wet he is. He’s awful old—he might die.”

  “He doesn’t mean us any harm, Mama,” Walter said again.

  Tom was still standing on the doorstep, being battered by the wind and rain. In spite of her fear and suspicion, their mother wavered. Tom didn’t look all that dangerous at the moment; he just looked very old and wet. Mrs. Carroll hesitated, then motioned to him. “You may come inside and close the door,” she shouted.

  He obeyed.

  “That’s far enough,” she said nervously. “Alice, go get some towels—he’s dripping all over the place.”

  Tom shook his head. “Don’t worry ’bout towels, Missy. They ain’t gonna do us no good today.” He looked at her mother. “Ain’t no time to lose. Y’all got to get outa here fast.”

  Mama appeared not to have heard. “I suppose you’re hungry. We can fix you something to eat, let you stay in our barn till this wind and rain let up. But you’ll have to go right after that. My husband won’t like your being here—he’s due back any minute.” She said it like a warning.

  Tom waved his hand impatiently. “Didn’t you hear what I said? Ain’t no time for food—no time to talk ’bout barns. Shoulda gone to High Island, but they ain’t no time for that now, neither. If we leave right now, we might can make it to the lighthouse.”

  Mama stared. “The lighthouse? But that’s miles from here!”

  “Don’t matter. I reckon it’s the onliest place ’round here might still be standin’ tomorrow.”

  Mama shuddered involuntarily. Then she got hold of herself. “Listen here, I appreciate your concern, but we’ll be just fine where we are. This is a strong house; my husband built it himself. Now, as I said before, we’ll be glad to feed you something, and you can stay in our barn till this storm blows over—”

  “Woman, ain’t you got any sense atall?” Tom exploded. “This storm ain’t gonna just blow over and be gone like nothin’ ever happened. This storm come straight outa hell—cain’t you hear it? You think it’s blowin’ bad now—why, it ain’t even whistlin’ yet! Come dark, it’s gonna knock this house down easy as spittin’. Y’all better not be inside. Maybe you don’t care nothin’ ’bout yourself, but you got these chirren to think of.”

  Emily started to cry. Mrs. Carroll walked around the table and picked her up. “I’ll thank you to go, now,” she said, looking proud as a queen, taller than her five feet. “You’re welcome to the barn, but I won’t have you in here frightening my children.”

  For a moment no one spoke. The wind shrieked like an unclean spirit. In his mind’s eye Walter could see the dead chickens floating outside the smashed henhouse.…

  “You won’t go?” Tom said at last. “You gonna stay here and get these chirren kilt?”

  “I told you to get out of my house,” Mama said, her chin high. “We’re not going anywhere.”

  Tom shook his head sadly. “Look like the devil done won again,” he said, as if to himself. He stood there for another minute, shaking his head back and forth. Then he turned to go. Crockett whined and licked his hand.

  Something turned over in Walter’s gut. “Wait,” he said, and Tom waited. Walter looked at his mother. “Mama,” he said quietly, “we got to go with him.”

  “You hush, Walter,” she said angrily. “You don’t know what you’re saying!”

  “We got to go, Mama,” he said again. “For all we know, Tom may be right. We cain’t take the chance of stayin’ here.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Walter. You know as well as I do this storm could be over in an hour!”

  “Yes’m, it could—I sure hope so—and if it is, we’ll just get a little wet and come back home, that’s all—no harm done. But if Tom’s right, if it’s just gettin’ started and this house blows to pieces with us in it, we won’t stand a chance.”

 
“Walter Carroll, I won’t listen to another word of this. I already said we’re staying right here. You just hush—do you hear me?”

  “I’m not askin’, Mama. I’m tellin’. We got to go.”

  For a moment Mama was too astonished to speak. Alice looked at her brother wonderingly. Even Emily looked surprised somehow.

  Walter had never talked back to his mother—at least, not since he was five years old and had had his mouth washed out with soap for his trouble. But he wasn’t five years old anymore. For better or worse, with Papa gone, he was the man of the house.

  It wasn’t that he was really any more sure of himself than he had been ten minutes ago; but it had suddenly come to him, as he stood there, torn every which way inside, listening to Tom and Mama, that it didn’t matter if he wasn’t sure, that maybe nobody was ever really sure of anything—not even Lester Barrett, with all his swaggering—not even Papa. They all just had to do the best they could with the sense they had—maybe even believe in somebody else once in a while, the way Walter was suddenly willing to believe in Tom, right now.

  “Son,” said Mama, recovering her voice with an effort, “you’re upset. This awful weather has us all upset—” She didn’t sound angry anymore. She sounded—afraid.

  “We got to go, Mama,” Walter repeated gently but firmly.

  Suddenly Alice threw her arms around her mother’s waist. “Please, Mama,” she pleaded, and her brown eyes were bright with fear for the first time all day, “I don’t want to die like William—”

  Mama flinched as if she had been hit. She put her hand to the black ribbon at her throat. “Nobody’s going to die, Sister.” For a long moment, she looked steadily at Walter, then at Tom. “All right, then,” she said at last, “if we have to go, we’ll go.” She glanced hastily around the room. “Just let me get these dishes cleared up first.…”

  To everyone’s surprise, Tom laughed. That deep, rich laugh of his, which had sounded so out of place that night in the graveyard, seemed even stranger here, now. “Devil don’t care if you done the dishes, ma’am. He’s breathin’ down our necks this minute. Don’t do nothin’—don’t take nothin’ but these chirren. If we’re goin’, let’s go!”