by Hale, Marian
Josiah nodded. “Yessir.”
“Watchful of what?” I asked.
“There’s been some looting. A few colored men were shot yesterday.”
“Shot?” I glanced at Josiah, and he quickly looked away. “What’d they steal that was worth killing them over?”
“Rings. They were cutting fingers off dead bodies to get to the rings.”
I stared at Papa, my skin crawling at the thought. “You think Josiah might be in danger?”
“Not if he’s careful about the way he checks the dead. You, too, Seth. Just be mindful, both of you.”
I nodded, but remembering all the bodies we came across yesterday, it seemed impossible that anyone could suffer something as repulsive as cutting off a swollen finger.
Papa slid his chair back and stood up. “We’d best be going.”
I nodded and followed him down the stairs into the already steamy dawn. Once on the littered ground, Josiah glanced back at his grandfather and waved. Even in the half-light I could see the hesitancy in Ezra’s farewell, the uncertainty about his grandson’s safety. I stole a quick look at Papa, and though I saw many things, fear for his son was not one of them.
We headed east, picking our way over every conceivable sort of wreckage. The brutal stench grew, rising with the sun, till we felt forced to tie our handkerchiefs across our noses and mouths. It gave little relief other than to let us feel as if we’d done something, no matter how small, to put a barrier between ourselves and the putrid odors.
For hours we combed the streets that lay between the lumberyard and home, searching for Ben and Uncle Nate, but without success.
We saw a man on horseback—Major Fayling, Josiah said—issuing orders to a group of ragged artillerymen and local militia. He told them to press into service every able-bodied man they could find to help haul away the corpses. We ducked behind an overturned house, determined to stick to our mission, but I could see the guilt in Papa’s face. He would’ve helped them right then if he could’ve.
When the men were gone, we continued on, asking questions of everyone we could, checking bodies as we went. My stomach reeled to the brink of upheaval every time I gazed into another swollen, distorted face, making me wonder if we could possibly recognize our own people should we happen upon them.
As the morning disappeared, I began to think we had no chance of finding them, especially when we saw what was left of the lumberyard. It was gone, wiped clean, as if the store and all the stacked lumber had never existed.
Papa stared at the empty space till I took his arm and led him away. “We need to get on to the hospitals and morgues,” I said.
He nodded, and we made our way farther east.
I tried to keep my thoughts centered on the job ahead of us and avoided looking at the twenty-foot ridge of debris looming to the south. I didn’t want to see the bright flash of sunlight from the shard of mirror. I didn’t want to feel the pain that brought me to my knees yesterday. Instead I concentrated on the path ahead and on bringing Aunt Julia news that she could live with.
Everywhere we looked, we saw men and wagons crawling through the fly-infested city, picking up bodies. We managed to skirt the dead gangs and were happy to find that the hospitals had weathered the storm well enough. We hurried through wards, searching rows of wounded, asking questions of nurses and attendants, but there was no sign of Ben and Uncle Nate. Papa looked drained and miserable. John Sealy Hospital had been our last real hope of finding them alive.
Back outside, we headed west again, toward one of the temporary morgues set up north of the Strand. It soon became clear that passage through the business district would be almost impossible. Fallen telephone poles, tangled wires, and dead horses crowded the streets. Piles of bricks, wrecked wagons, and tons of rotting vegetables lay everywhere.
We spent precious time picking our way past it all, but once there, I got my first close and staggering glimpse of the rail yards and harbor. I saw hundreds of boxcars tumbled this way and that, their valuable loads of flour, grain, and cotton ruined. And from one end of the wharf to the other, sailboats and tugs lay sunk or in jumbled confusion. But it was the sight of all those bodies bobbing in the water that left me breathless and sick. Men with long hooks pulled them into boats, as they must’ve done all day long, and I couldn’t help but wonder how many hundreds more must be scattered across Galveston Bay. We turned our backs on the battered harbor, and Papa led us to the makeshift morgue set up near the docks.
A blazing afternoon sun beat down on the crumpled metal roof, turning the vast shed into an oven. Blue-bottle flies droned, and the smell almost buckled my knees.
I couldn’t move.
Rows and rows of dead stretched into the recesses of the great building. Hundreds of men, women, and children lay in the heat, some covered, some exposed. White and colored, Chinese and Mexicans—every nationality you might imagine.
Survivors of the storm moved silently between the rows, their faces furrowed in a bewildered mix of hope and fear and horror. They lifted coverings, searching for something familiar in the swollen faces, and occasionally I’d hear the dreadful, choking sobs of recognition.
I braced myself for the task ahead, but as Papa had feared, the decision to dispose of the bodies at sea must’ve already been made that morning. A troop of men, white and colored alike, were driven into the shed by bayonet to assist in the work of loading the dead on barges tied up near the morgue.
We’d almost arrived too late.
While we hurriedly searched for anything recognizable among the bodies, the men began their grisly work. I worried that we might be forced at gunpoint to join them, but the guards stood firm in their immediate job and never looked our way. They carried kegs of whiskey and freely passed tin cups to workers, but even with that strong fortification, I saw man after man stand aside to steady their stomachs. My heart went out to them, as well as my thanks to God that I didn’t have to face their terrible assignment.
We managed to stay ahead of the workers in our search, but in the end, we had to leave empty-handed. I was almost glad. The thought of Ben and Uncle Nate lying there amidst so much putrefaction was unbearable.
Gratefully, I hurried out with Josiah and found Papa clasping the hand of a big man wearing clothes far too small for him.
“I’m ready for the next flood,” he said, pointing to his legs.
Papa smiled at the absurdity of seeing this huge man in pants that struck midcalf, then turned to more serious topics.
His friend confirmed that the decision to load the dead on barges for burial at sea had indeed been made that morning, and already the first barge was almost full. There would be no need to check the other morgues.
“They’re saying that if the bodies aren’t moved by sundown, they’ll have to take them out in pieces tomorrow. So they’re barging them eighteen miles out, weighting them down with scrap metal, and giving them to the sea.”
Papa nodded, but the same shadow of guilt I’d seen earlier darkened his face again.
“I’m on my way to the rail yard,” the man said. “A whole trainload of supplies was just turned back ’cause the bridge is out. Can you imagine that? All those supplies just sittin’ there, and we can’t get to ’em. I figure the quicker we get that bridge rebuilt, the quicker I’ll get out of these blasted pants and get some real food in me.”
Papa smiled, but something had shifted in his face. He discussed the project a bit more while I listened and waited, but I’d already suspected what was coming.
“Can you two make it home without getting into trouble?” he asked.
“Yessir,” I said, “but—”
“Good.”
Determination glinted in his eyes, just like the day he’d decided to move us all to Galveston. There’d be no talking him out of this.
He squinted against the sun and pointed toward the washed-out railroad bridge. “I’ll probably be sleeping in one of those wrecked train cars. I’ll need food and water and a chang
e of clothes.” He kicked a broken bottle with the toe of his shoe, thinking, then looked back at me. “Matt can do it. He can sleep in the train car with me nights, be home first thing every morning, and get back here again before nightfall with my meals each day. You help him find me this evening, but give yourself enough time to get home before dark.”
I nodded, my thoughts skittering from Mama and Aunt Julia to all that needed done at home. I guess he saw the questions in my face because he rested a hand on my shoulder and said, “I have to do this, Seth. You understand, don’t you?”
I nodded again, but I didn’t understand at all. Mama and Aunt Julia needed him. I needed him. Who would tell Aunt Julia that her husband and son hadn’t been found, that their bodies would most likely be cast into the sea without tears, without Scripture, without prayers? Who would make sure the family had food and clean water? Who would rebuild the house?
“Your mother was right,” Papa said. “There’s a reason for everything. Tell her that for me.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Anger flashed lightning-hot through me, and this time, I didn’t bother hiding it. “What are you saying?” I spit at him. “That your reason for being here right now is to work on a bridge? What about your family?”
He stared at me, and for a brief moment I saw something raw in his face, like a dozen fears had hit him all at once. I watched him draw a shaky breath, and a flush of satisfaction swept over me. Maybe now he finally understood that he couldn’t possibly leave us, not at a time like this. But then his jaw clenched and his eyes hardened.
“I need to do this,” he said. “We both need to look to what we do best.” With a quick turn, he hurried after his friend, then paused to holler over his shoulder. “Bring blankets when you come tonight.”
He left me standing in the rubble, never once looking back, never once considering anyone but himself. I glared after him, watching till he disappeared behind a fallen roof, too stunned to think about what to do next.
Josiah glanced over his shoulder at all the men carrying their ghastly burdens to the barge. “Best we get on home, now,” he whispered, “ ’fore somethin’ bad happens.”
I glimpsed more bayonets and nodded.
We turned south, headed toward Broadway where there seemed to be less debris, and right away Josiah’s long legs put half a block between us. Just as I was about to holler at him to slow down for me, I heard a loud shout.
In seconds, Josiah was surrounded by three bayonets. I ducked behind an overturned buggy, fear thumping wild in my chest, and peered around a busted wheel. He glanced at me, eyes wide, then quickly turned away so the men wouldn’t find me.
Josiah was led to a larger group of workers, and it was then I realized why he’d drawn attention. He was lean, but his height made him look as old as any of them. Without another glance in my direction, he fell into step, marching back the way we’d come, north toward the barges. I held my breath while they passed just yards away from me and heard one of the newly pressed workers pleading to be let go.
“For heaven’s sake,” he said, “don’t make me do that. I won’t go! You can shoot me if you want to, but I will not and I cannot do what you ask.”
The guardsman stopped and called his men to attention. “Load with ball cartridge,” he ordered. “Take aim!”
The threat was all the poor man needed. He threw up his hands, and when the guns had been lowered, he hung his head and marched off behind Josiah to the barges.
Even after the footsteps faded, I couldn’t move. Flies droned, and overhead, seagulls called and buzzards circled.
I finally slunk away, avoiding the main streets, ducking and hiding all the way home. I could hardly let myself think about what Josiah would be facing. Guilt and horror squirmed inside me, but I knew I couldn’t help him. I had to get home.
I had to do what Papa wouldn’t.
Chapter
19
Mama must’ve seen me walking back alone. She ran to meet me at the foot of the stairs, but before I could reach her, Aunt Julia and the four boys raced down, too. Ella Rose stood on the landing near the screen door with Elliott on her hip, holding Kate’s hand, waiting like everyone else to hear why I was alone. Elliott’s heat-flushed cheek brushed against hers and his chubby fingers tangled in her hair. I stared at her, wishing I didn’t have to say anything to anyone, wishing I could forget what had happened and just go to her.
But I couldn’t. Papa had seen to that.
Everyone gathered around, but I waited till I saw Ezra step from behind the corner of the raised basement before I began.
“What happened?” Mama asked. “Where’s your papa?” Her voice sounded fearful, breathy with impatience.
“He’s okay,” I reassured her. “He was needed to help rebuild the railroad bridge. I’m to show Matt where to take his meals this evening.”
She let out a relieved sigh, but her eyes quickly glazed over as she considered what this would mean to us.
“How long will he be away?”
I shrugged. “He didn’t say. He just said to tell you that you were right about there being a reason for everything.”
I hadn’t bothered to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. I thought for sure Mama would be as mad as I was that Papa had left us at a time like this, but instead, I saw a slow smile curl the corners of her lips. When she kissed me on the cheek, I felt I must’ve missed something, but I didn’t have time to think about it. Aunt Julia had already turned her pale, freckled face to mine, and I couldn’t ignore what had to be said.
“Any news for us?” she asked.
Her voice sounded small and brittle, stripped of hope, and my heart near broke just hearing it. I wrapped my arms around her, wishing I could find the words to lessen her misery, but all I could say was “I’m sorry, Aunt Julia.”
She hugged me tight, and over her shoulder, I saw Andy and Will hang their heads. “I’ll try again in the morning,” I told her. “First thing.”
She shook her head. “No more searching, Seth. No more.” Then, as if there were more important things to consider, she said, “You must be so tired and thirsty. Let me get you some water.”
Andy piped up, quick to volunteer. “I’ll get it for him, Mama.”
She shook her head, patted him on the shoulder, and headed for the stairs. I was relieved to see Ella Rose follow her inside.
Andy’s eyes welled with tears, and Will swiped at his wet cheeks with the back of his sleeve. Ezra still stood at the corner of the raised basement, waiting. I didn’t know how to tell him about Josiah. It wasn’t fair that he’d been taken and I’d been spared, but I was finally coming to understand that there had been little in Josiah and Ezra’s world that had ever been fair.
He, Mama, and the boys listened quietly while I told about all I’d seen, and when I was through, Mama couldn’t hold back her tears any longer.
“What were they thinking? He’s just sixteen.” She wiped her eyes with the tail of her apron and looked up at Ezra. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “We’ll keep Josiah in our prayers.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said softly. “But he’s a powerful strong boy. I ’spect we be seeing him when the work be done.”
He thanked me, too, and went back to building the outhouse, leaving me to marvel at the way he accepted what he couldn’t change. I hadn’t handled things nearly so well.
“Come on, Andy,” Matt said. “Let’s go pry those nails loose like Ezra asked.”
Lucas nodded. “Yeah, he has a surprise for us when we finish, remember?”
Andy shook his head. “Maybe in a little while.”
Will sat on the shady bottom step, still sniffling. Mama squeezed around him, headed back to the kitchen, but not before she gave him a kiss on the top of his head.
Matt and Lucas glanced at me, not sure what to do. I wasn’t either, but since Papa had abandoned us, I figured it was up to me to do something. And soon.
I heard Ezra hammering on the outhouse and
headed around back. He’d already filled in the old hole, dug a fresh one, and managed to get the new building almost finished, but it was Aunt Julia and the boys I wanted to talk to him about most. I wasn’t sure what Papa would’ve done if he’d been here, or if he even knew how to deal with a loss as great as theirs, but I had to start somewhere.
Ezra saw me coming, pulled a rag from his back pocket, and wiped his face.
“It’s looking real good, Ezra.”
“Yessir,” he said, “it be coming along.”
I nodded. “I was just wondering if you could tell me how my aunt is doing?”
He shook his head. “Grieving. But the missus, she be burying it deeper than that gulf out there.”
I wasn’t sure what I could do about that, but it seemed that she and Ella Rose had been spending more time together. Maybe they’d found a way to share each other’s pain in a way that none of us could. At least I hoped so. “And how about Andy and Will?”
“Aw, they’s good boys, and strong, too. They’s a big comfort to their mama, even if she don’t see it yet.”
I nodded, thankful that Ezra was watching out for them. He showed me the big pile of lumber and slate that he and the boys had gathered this morning, enough to repair the veranda and the roof over Ben’s room. I pointed to a smaller stack of odd-length boards beside it. “What are those for?”
Ezra laughed, making me think of Josiah again.
“Why, that there lumber is gonna hep make a new treehouse for all them boys,” he said.
The storm had ripped the old tree fort from the ash in the front yard and washed it away. Building another must be the surprise Lucas spoke of.
I smiled. “Good idea, Ezra.”
“Busy hands can sometimes hep heal lonesome hearts,” he said.
He turned back to his work, and I found myself staring at my own hands. Everyone would be looking to me now.
Nearby, Matt and Lucas had begun pulling nails, but Andy and Will still hadn’t joined them. I didn’t know what I could say to make things easier for those two boys, but I needed to try. I turned to find them, but they found me first.