Bertha's Resolve: Love's Journey in Sugarcreek, Book 4

by Serena B. Miller

  “I’ve arranged seats for you on the last commercial flight out.” Anthony sounded weary. “It leaves in three hours. Go pack, dear.”

  Charlotte had tears in her eyes as she left the room. She barely glanced at Bertha.

  “Can I help you with something?” Anthony asked Bertha.

  “For Charlotte.” She handed him the bag. “Winesap apples. She’ll be pleased. They are from our orchard back home. Lydia packed a small barrel of them. They actually made it through customs to me. They will make a nice snack for the boys while they are on the plane.”

  “I’m certain she will appreciate them.” He glanced at the bedroom where Charlotte had disappeared.

  “Is it that bad?” She asked. “I’ve been listening to our little radio, and I’ve heard hardly anything.”

  “Of course you’ve heard nothing,” Anthony said. “The Haitian Red Cross has prohibited radio broadcasts about the hurricane.”

  “Why on earth would they do that?”

  “For fear of panic among the citizens,” Anthony said, with disgust. “Of course there’s going to be panic, but the people deserve a chance to get ready the best they can. The decision should not be taken from them.”

  “But it might not come?” she asked.

  “Barring a miracle, it’s going to come, and soon,” he said. “We’ve been working on the hospital for the past two days, trying to get it ready. I was planning to head over in a few minutes to check on you and the children. I’ve hired a couple of men to start nailing what lumber and plywood we can find over the windows and doors at the compound. If you want to jump in the jeep, I’ll run you back.”

  “May I talk to Charlotte first?”

  He glanced at his watch. “No more than five minutes. She needs every second to get packed.”

  She had never seen him so worried. “Okay.”

  The door was open, so she hurried into their bedroom. Charlotte was folding clothing and placing it into a suitcase haphazardly. Tears were coursing down her cheeks.

  “Are you okay?” Bertha asked.

  “Of course I’m not okay,” Charlotte said. “He’s sending me away.”

  “For you and your children’s safety.”

  “You don’t understand,” Charlotte said. “When the hurricane hits, assuming he survives and doesn’t get killed running out into the storm trying to rescue someone, there will be no stopping him. He is not like other men. He’ll work night and day trying to patch people up and save lives. He won’t even notice whether or not he’s eaten. The only reason he doesn’t collapse now some weeks when there is much illness is because I know how to watch after him. I monitor him. I watch for the signs of exhaustion, of dehydration, and I make him rest and eat. He will listen to me, but if he sends me away, who is going to watch after him? I’m afraid I’ll have no home or husband left when I bring the boys back.”

  “Maybe the hurricane won’t come,” Bertha pointed out. “Like you were just saying. Perhaps it will miss Haiti.”

  “Oh, it’s not going to miss,” Charlotte said. “I’ve heard the reports and seen the maps.”

  “Where?”

  “One of the men at the hospital has a short wave radio. He’s been keeping us informed. Those who live near the beach have been seeing six-foot swells. That’s always a solid indicator.”

  She stopped in her packing and glanced up at Bertha. “You have your own children to protect. Go back and get ready. This is going to be a dangerous time for Haiti.”

  “How do I get ready?”

  “Anthony will make certain the outside is tightly buttoned up, but many of your buildings aren’t all that substantial. Except for the kitchen. They built it with concrete blocks, bless them. The food is already there. As soon as you get back, start moving the children’s bedrolls and some toys into the kitchen. This is where you will want to run as soon as the rain starts up. There will be torrents of rain and strong winds. Expect the winds to howl. The sound will frighten the children and you. When it is over, if you survive, you begin to rebuild.”

  Charlotte opened her arms, and Bertha stepped into them. The two friends hugged one another tight. As they did so, Charlotte whispered in Bertha’s ear, “Take care of him, Bertha. If you can, keep my husband safe for me.”

  As they parted, Bertha saw that Charlotte had grown pale, and had begun to rub her temples with her fingers—an indication that another migraine was coming.

  She stepped outside the bedroom and saw Dr. Lawrence pacing the floor.

  “Your wife is getting ill,” Bertha said. “You need to see to her. I’ll walk back to the compound.”

  “All right.” He abruptly strode toward the bedroom, but not before she saw a look of annoyance cross his face.

  Chapter 58

  Upon arriving back at the children’s home, she began working non-stop. Fortunately, they had recently gotten in a shipment of food, which was already stored and locked away in the building that housed the kitchen and dining room. They were not on low ground, where the rush of water might drown them, but they would undoubtedly be susceptible to the punishment high winds could inflict.

  Mimose led the younger children in their classes, while three of the oldest children helped fill every available container with water from the well that Mennonite volunteers had built.

  Once the physical needs for food and water were taken care of, Bertha and Widelene began carrying bedding and clothing into the kitchen/dining house along with all the various medicines Bertha usually kept locked away in her room.

  With what scrap lumber they had—which wasn’t much—she and the two Haitian men whom Dr. Lawrence had hired, nailed what protection they could against the wind.

  It felt like so little compared against the strength of the monster storm predicted, but as she worked, she prayed that the storm would stay far away from their poor island. Barring that, she prayed that the preparations they were making would be enough.

  On Thursday, October 3, 1963, after all the frantic activity, after all the hopes and prayers that it would veer off its path and turn back out to sea, Hurricane Flora hit Haiti with a vengeance.

  At first, it was just a few drops of rain pattering on the tin roofs. It was such a normal pitter-patter, Bertha found it difficult to believe the sound was ominous. Perhaps they were just going to have an ordinary rainstorm.

  Then a breeze picked up. On the horizon, white cirrus clouds from the outer band of the storm appeared. The skies became overcast.

  Bertha heeded Charlotte’s advice to get the children to shelter as soon as she heard the first drops. Older children carried younger ones, and toddlers dragged worn blankets behind them. All made their way into the one truly solid building in the compound.

  As the last child made it into the kitchen along with Mimose, Widelene, and one of the cooks who chose to shelter with them, Bertha stopped to look out over the hills. Clouds, thick and close, were bringing intense bands of rain toward them. It was a fascinating and unnerving sight, and it was hard to pull her attention away. By the time she closed the door, gale-force winds were pushing against her, forcing her to use more strength than she expected.

  After the door was closed and locked, she pressed her back to it and was greeted with a roomful of wide and worried eyes watching her.

  “We will be all right,” she reassured them with as much faith as she possessed. “Everything will be fine. God is watching over us, and we have worked hard to prepare.”

  Exhausted, she slid down the wall onto the floor. A toddler crawled onto Bertha’s lap, needing a cuddle. She drew the little girl to her, wanting the contact as much as the child.

  “What can we do now?” one of the older girls asked.

  “What do we do?” Bertha said. “We pray, and we wait.”

  The wind escalated.

  Something hit the door with a thump. Everyone jumped, including Bertha.

  “What was that?” Mimose asked. “It sounded heavy. Should we go see?”

  The wind be
gan to howl as it raced around the corners of the building.

  “No, we can’t afford to go look.” Bertha raised her voice so she could be heard over the wind. Another small child crept into her lap, and she held the two children close. These innocent, trusting, babies were everything to her. She had to keep them safe. “If I open that door to look outside now, I’m not sure I can shut it again.”

  Massive torrents of rain beat down upon the corrugated tin roof, the rain thrummed so hard, it made communication impossible, their voices were drowned out. The hard concrete floor, the concrete walls, and the tin roof created a sort of large box of sound, frightening the children, and making Bertha feel as though they were caught inside a giant drum.

  One of the children in her lap began to cry. Bertha held her closer and began to rock back and forth. Back and forth. It was all she could do not to burst into tears, herself.

  Although it seemed impossible, the wind grew even louder, turning into a wilder, more menacing sound. Instead of howling, it screamed. To Bertha’s ears, it was like a living thing, a prowling predator determined to tear through the wood, concrete, and tin that protected them. Her greatest fear was that the roof would be torn off, utterly exposing them to the elements. If that happened, she did not know what to do. There was no place to run, no place to hide.

  She found herself envious of Charlotte and her built-in knowledge of living near an ocean. Bertha did not have that sort of wisdom about hurricanes. Back home in Ohio, they only had to deal with the occasional tornado, during which one went into the root cellar, waited for it to pass, hoped, and prayed that the house and barn would be standing when it was over.

  This was a different experience entirely. For one thing, the children’s home did not have a cellar, and even if they did, one might conceivably drown in it with rain this heavy.

  After many interminable hours, the rain and howling wind died down.

  “Do you suppose it is over?” Bertha wondered aloud. “I thought hurricanes lasted longer.”

  “It is the eye of the storm,” Widelene said. “I have seen it before. It will come again.”

  “Is it safe to open the door?” Bertha asked.

  “For a short time.”

  The two children on her lap had fallen asleep. She carefully eased them down on the floor beside her, then went to open the door.

  The change was astonishing. The sky was blue, the sun was shining, the wind was calm, there was no rain, but no matter where she looked, there was destruction. Debris was strewn everywhere. Some of the buildings around her were standing but badly damaged. Three of their precious trees were uprooted.

  “Can we see?” Several of the older children crowded around the opening, blinking from having spent so much time in the darkened building. They wanted to go outside.

  Bertha did not trust the eerie calm, but she allowed everyone to come outside, stretch their legs for a few minutes, and marvel at the changes. The toilet was close by, and she had the children line up to use it before the hurricane closed in again. The children, sensing the strangeness of the moment, did not attempt to run or play. After using the toilet, they crowded around the four adult women and gazed out over the devastation. Bertha found herself wishing she had been born a boy. Had she been an Amish boy, she would have carpentry skills. She would know how to rebuild and repair damaged buildings.

  She glanced at her watch. The eye of the storm had lasted just under seventy minutes so far.

  A droplet of water hit her, and then another.

  “It is coming again,” Widelene said.

  “Get back inside, children,” Bertha said. “Hurry!”

  They barely had time to scramble back in before the hurricane attacked again. Bertha leaned the back of her head against the wall, closed her eyes, and tried to ignore the catastrophic noises outside while she prayed for continued deliverance.

  Chapter 59

  By the time the wind quit howling, and the rain finally stopped, Bertha’s nerves were strung as tight as a drum. The children got hungry. She and her staff managed to feed them despite what sounded like a war outside. The food was a welcome distraction. From time to time, she thought she heard screams, but hoped that was her ears playing tricks on her.

  For hours and hours, it felt like a group of angry giants were trying to tear their way into the building. All she could do was encircle as many frightened children as she could with her arms. Mimose and Widelene and some of the older children did the same. No one sat alone. All needed the comfort of one another. Bertha drew strength and courage from the tiny bodies pressing against her, whom she loved so much.

  Empty buckets were used as latrines. They were difficult for the younger children to manage, but it was all they had. She stored them in a corner and barricaded them with a wooden table turned on its side so that no one would accidentally stumble into them in the dark. The smell grew rank, but there was nothing she could do.

  She dozed while sitting upright, jerking awake every time a particularly loud sound permeated her consciousness. It was almost as though time stopped. It felt like they had been trapped inside this building forever.

  Eventually, the wind and rain died down. Not abruptly, like when the eye of the storm passed over them. Gradually, as the outer edges of the hurricane drifted over and off the island.

  The silence, when it came, felt strange. Bertha’s ears had become so attuned to the carnage that they seemed unwilling to accept the quiet. She tried to crack the door open a few inches, but it had somehow become barricaded with something—she had no idea what.

  Now, she had a new issue. How to get out of the building when she wasn’t strong enough to move whatever was lying against it. With the windows nailed shut and the door barricaded, she wasn’t sure how they were going to get out. After the combined efforts of her, Widelene, Mimose, and the cook couldn’t make the door budge. She didn’t know what to do.

  “Help us!” Bertha shouted, banging on the door. “We’re trapped. Help!”

  Her attempt to get attention frightened some of the children, who began to cry.

  Eventually, she heard men’s voices, a scraping sound outside, and then the door swung open. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the light, but when she did, the most welcome sight awaited her. Anthony and the two Haitian men who had helped nail boards over the windows stood there.

  “You are okay.” Anthony’s voice shook with relief as he took her hand and helped her outside. “I was so afraid we had lost you, but you are okay.”

  She glanced around. The broken body of a cow lay to her right. “Is that what was blocking the door?”

  “Yes,”

  “Is there anything left of the compound at all?”

  “There is much to repair, but I believe some of the buildings can be salvaged.”

  “What about the hospital?” she asked.

  “By God’s grace, it is badly damaged but still in operation.”

  “I’m so glad!”

  It was then that she realized she still clung to his hand, and she dropped it.

  “You have food, water, and shelter,” Dr. Lawrence said, ignoring that small bit of awkwardness between them. “You and the children are better off than most. For now, I will leave one of the men to help you begin the process of salvaging and rebuilding. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Others are trapped and hurt. I must go try to save as many as I can.”

  She watched him confer briefly with one of the men who had helped them prepare for the hurricane. The man nodded, then began prying off the boards covering the windows of the building in which they had sheltered. Behind her, light entered the building that had felt like a cave.

  After talking with the children and making sure they were unharmed, Dr. Lawrence left. As she watched him hurry away, Bertha decided that if she should ever find a man even half as compassionate and talented as Dr. Lawrence, she would marry him on the spot.

  As he left, she turned in a slow circle and took stock. Then she began to roll up
her sleeves. The challenge before her was great.

  Over the next two days, as news filtered in, she discovered that while they were huddled in the kitchen, the hurricane had dumped nearly five feet of rain as it slowly passed over the beleaguered island. Twelve-foot storm surges had bit into the fragile land.

  The great deluge of water triggered landslides so catastrophic that some towns and villages were completely buried in mud and debris. Others were swept away in flash floods, which were also caused by the heavy rainfall.

  In many villages, not only were most of the buildings gone, the few that remained upright had lost their roofs.

  Crops, including banana and coffee, were destroyed by flooding. Flash floods washed out roads and bridges, leaving them unpassable for months.

  The hurricane killed approximately five thousand Haitians. Some drowned, some were covered by avalanches of mud, some were killed by flying debris or by homes collapsing, and some who could not find shelter died from burns caused by being scoured by strong winds gusting up to two-hundred-miles-per-hour.

  No one, no matter how hard they tried, could have prepared for the utter devastation that Hurricane Flora brought upon the already struggling country of Haiti.

  Chapter 60

  The massive loss of life was only one factor in the devastation that surrounded them in the aftermath of Hurricane Flora. Thousands survived but were left wounded and helpless by the storm.

  “I need your help,” Dr. Lawrence said.

  The sound of children’s voices singing filled the air as Mimose held classes in a schoolhouse where half of the roof was torn off.

  “I don’t know how much help I can be.” Bertha blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. She and Widelene had been sorting through debris to see what was salvageable.

  “I’m getting a team together to go into some of the more remote areas. I’d like you to come with us.”

  “Why me?”