September Sky (American Journey Book 1) (42 page)

"I don't."

"Will you let me know if you hear anything?" Justin asked.

"I will if I get the time."

"Thank you."

"You best settle into your cell, son," the jailer said. "It's going to be a long day."

CHAPTER 73: CHUCK

Houston, Texas

"What do you mean the last train has already left?" Chuck asked.

"I mean, sir, that the last train has already left," the stationmaster said. "It left an hour ago and is currently en route to Galveston. When it gets there is anyone's guess."

"Why can't you send another one?"

"I don't
have
another one."

"Are any freight trains or emergency trains headed to the island?" Chuck asked.

"Not that I am aware of."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

Chuck sighed, looked at the staring people around him, and concluded that it was time to shut up. He knew that arguing would accomplish nothing now or maybe even later. He could no more force the stationmaster to send a train to Galveston than he could force God to stop the hurricane.

"Thank you," Chuck said.

"You're welcome, sir."

Chuck exited the station and walked toward two oak-and-iron benches that faced each other on the large covered platform. Charlotte and Anna sat in one, Wyatt in the other. When Chuck reached the bench with the unoccupied seat, he sat next to Wyatt and looked at his wife.

"Were you able to reach Emily's parents or the police?" Chuck asked.

"No," Charlotte said. "The lines are still down. I'm afraid they might be down for quite a while too. If this storm is as bad as you say it will be, we may not be able to call for days."

Chuck closed his eyes. It was bad enough that Justin had not called the house or boarded one of the morning trains. Now Emily had rushed to the island to save her parents. Two young people who had seen the storm coming for days were now directly in its path.

"We have to do something. We can't just sit here," Chuck said. He turned to Wyatt. "Do you have a ship nearby that can take us to Galveston?"

Wyatt shook his head.

"I've sent all of my vessels to distant ports."

"What about renting a smaller boat? Can you hire someone to help us?"

"I can't in this weather," Wyatt said. He put a hand on Chuck's knee. "I made some calls while you were gone. People I know with boats have put them away. They have taken steps to protect their property. You convinced me to do that long ago. I'm afraid I'm of no use now."

Chuck got off the bench, walked to the edge of the platform, and stared at the southern horizon as the elements struck his face and body. The wind and the rain had gone from barely noticeable to annoying to troubling in just the past two hours.

When Chuck looked at the distant sky, he noticed that it, too, had changed and changed dramatically. Ugly black clouds had all but squeezed the life out of a bright summer morning. The great hurricane of 1900, a storm days in the making, had finally come to the Texas coast.

Chuck looked over his shoulder and glanced at his wife as she tried to calm a crying child. He felt bad for Anna and also for Charlotte – who had been suddenly thrust into an impossible role – but he was comforted by the knowledge that both would survive the storm.

He found nothing comforting about the scene fifty miles to the south. In the next twelve to eighteen hours, the wind and water moving in from the Gulf of Mexico would do more than annoy a city of thirty-eight thousand. They would batter, bury, and drown it. They would take the lives of many who had ignored the warnings and the lives of some who had not.

As Chuck stared at the storm in the distance, however, he refused to look at it as a historical event or something he could view dispassionately from the sidelines. He couldn't.

The hurricane was more than a piece of living history or a meteorological spectacle like the northern lights. It was a threat – a very personal threat. It was a beast that threatened to steal his only child and render his once empty and meaningless life empty and meaningless again.

CHAPTER 74: EMILY

Galveston, Texas

When Emily Beck stepped off the last train to Galveston, she stepped into two feet of water and more trouble than she could have possibly imagined – or at least imagined before she had made the impulsive and incredibly foolish decision to rush into harm's way.

She knew she had made a bad call even before she had reached Galveston Bay, where frothy eight-foot waves rocked a fragile trestle. She had seen and felt the intensity of the wind and the rain, which had shaken her train like a toy and seemed to grow with each passing minute.

Emily scolded herself for exercising poor judgment and then turned her attention to the business at hand. She had places to go and people to save. She would have all the time in the world to reexamine her stupidity if and when she managed to leave the island alive.

She walked away from the station, looked for options, and found one in the form of a horse-drawn wagon parked near the intersection of Twenty-Sixth and Mechanic. She knew from the wagon's advertising that its driver, an independent businessman named William Skinner, ferried train passengers to the major hotels several times a day. She waded across the street.

"Where are you going, Mr. Skinner?" Emily asked.

"I'm headed to the Tremont."

Emily glanced at the open carriage. Two young couples and their small children huddled in their seats in a pathetic attempt to stay dry.

"Where are you going after that?"

"I'm coming back here," Skinner said.

Emily reached into her purse and pulled out a bill.

"I have ten dollars that says you're going to Tenth and M."

"I'm not going near the beach, ma'am. The water is just too high."

Emily reached into her purse and retrieved another bill.

"I have ten more that says you'll reconsider."

The portly driver gazed at the swirling gray heavens, as if seeking divine guidance, and then returned his eyes to the lady with the loot. With a furrowed brow and a frown, he looked like a man who weighed his personal safety against feeding his family for a month.

"Get in," Skinner said.

Emily climbed onto the wagon, sat next to the driver, and gave the man his due. When he yanked the reins and pulled away from the curb, she settled into her seat, covered her rain-soaked head and shoulders with a flimsy shawl, and did her best to keep the elements at bay.

As the carriage moved slowly down Mechanic Street, Emily turned her attention to people and matters she had not considered since leaving Houston. She had much to think about.

Emily thought about Anna, of course. She wondered how her sister was holding up in her absence and worried how she would react if her family did not return intact. Emily had not even considered that possibility when she had hopped on the train but was now more or less consumed by it. The thought of an eight-year-old going it alone in the world left her cold.

Emily also thought about Charlotte, her friend and former supervisor. She admired her stoicism in the face of Rose's murder and her bravery in making the leap to the future. She wished the best for Charlotte, her new husband, and their unborn child.

When the wagon passed the police station and the city jail, Emily turned her thoughts to the young man she desperately wanted but knew she could never have. She wondered why he had not contacted her parents Friday night – or anyone Saturday morning. For the first time since Justin had left Houston in a rush, she began to seriously worry about his safety.

Emily set thoughts of Justin aside when the carriage driver pulled in front of the Tremont and let the others off. She didn't have to guess why the two families and dozens of others who approached from all directions seemed so eager to reach the famed hotel. Built like a rock and situated far from the Gulf, the Tremont was the perfect refuge from a storm like this. It might make a perfect refuge for the Becks –
if
they could make it back.

Emily knew that before she could check into one place she had to convince her parents to check out of another. She didn't look forward to that task. She knew her father, in particular, was a stubborn soul – one who would gladly drown before suffering the indignity of having his even more stubborn daughter tell him what to do.

When Emily realized that she might not be able to physically get her father out of the house and into the carriage, she offered Skinner another ten dollars to help her do it. She offered to pay even more if he drove directly to the Tremont and helped her get Max to the door. She sighed when the driver grabbed two bills from her hand and stuffed them in his pocket.

"Thank you for helping me," Emily shouted over the rush of the wind.

"You can thank me when we get back to the hotel."

Emily understood Skinner's pessimism. Both the wind and water had changed for the worse since the carriage had left the station. Rain no longer fell from above but struck from the side. Drops that were once merely annoying were now painful. Each hit her face like shrapnel.

When Emily was able to shield her eyes, she saw sights that ranged from the bizarre to the heartbreaking. To her left, two teenage boys sailed a homemade raft through a sea of floating boxes, barrels, clothes, and toys. To her right, a woman with an infant in her arms struggled to maintain her balance in the churning water. The boys laughed and sang. The woman did not.

Farther in the distance, at the intersection of Nineteenth and K, two nuns led a dozen or so children in a westerly direction. Emily knew they were headed to the Ursuline Academy, a prestigious parochial school she had attended as a girl. She had little doubt that the three-story castle that housed the school would be a welcome port for those fleeing the storm.

When the wagon neared Nineteenth and L, Emily took a long look at a house she knew well. Once the home of two merry librarians, it now sat abandoned – a monument of sorts to happier times that now seemed all too distant. Emily noted its physical condition, which was better than that of neighboring houses, and then turned her attention to the street ahead.

"Are we going to make it?" Emily asked.

"We'll make it," Skinner said. "Getting back will be more difficult. We must be quick when we reach your home. I won't stand for delays."

"I understand."

Emily did too. She understood the risks of procrastination as well as anyone. Had Max and Isabella Beck taken their train to Houston, she wouldn't have had to return to this windy hellhole in the first place.

What she didn't understand, at least until her driver turned onto Avenue M and started toward Tenth, was the reason behind his reluctance to go near the beach. Much of the waterfront, or at least what she could see of it, was gone or under assault. The sea and wind had tipped entire houses onto their sides and scattered the contents of those houses in every direction.

"Please hurry!"

"I'm going as fast as I can," Skinner shouted over a howling wind.

Emily clung tightly to her seat for the next few minutes as the wind picked up and threw light debris, such as cardboard, clothing, and garbage into the air. For the first time since leaving the train station, she feared for her life and wondered whether this trip might be all for naught.

She didn't allow herself to relax until she caught a glimpse of her home and saw that it was still intact. When she and Skinner finally reached the mansion at Tenth and M, Emily jumped out of the wagon into waist-high water and sloshed toward the house a few steps ahead of the driver.

Emily noticed a broken window by the door but didn't give it a second thought. She pushed open the door, called out for her parents, and waited for a reply. When she didn't hear one, she commenced a frantic room-to-room search for two people she hoped were still alive.

"Mama! Papa! Where are you?"

Emily went from the living room to the kitchen to the dining room but found nothing to suggest that her parents had even occupied the house in the past day. She opened the door to her father's study and saw more of the same – a flooded floor, furniture in place, and no people.

As Emily raced back to the entry and started up the stairs, she began to ask some questions. Had her parents taken her advice and left? Had they sought refuge in a safer place? Had she risked her life – and that of a reluctant and gutsy carriage driver – for
nothing
?

Emily didn't know the answer. She knew only that she had to rule out possibilities, pull herself together, and move on. When she reached the second floor, she ran to the master bedroom and found a made bed, jewelry on a dresser, and an open suitcase but no parents. Max and Isabella had not retreated to their quarters. Nor had they taken residence in hers. When she opened the door to her chamber, Emily saw the room as she had left it.

Emily shut her door, dashed down the hallway, and approached the last unchecked room. She didn't know what she would do if she found it empty, but she knew she would do something. If she did nothing else in her mixed-up, unfulfilled life, she would bring her family together.

When she reached Anna's bedroom, she opened the door and saw two interesting sights. The first was William Skinner standing next to an open closet with his arms folded. The second was Max and Isabella Beck
in
the closet with their arms around each other.

The people who had brought Emily into the world had not escaped to Houston or even to the Tremont. They had instead found refuge in each other in the unlikeliest of places.

CHAPTER 75: JUSTIN

Justin knew his luck had changed the moment he heard one jailer talk to another and say "Chief," "burglar," and "free" in the same sentence. He knew that unless he missed the context of the words, he was about to be freed.

The jailer from the morning shift selected one of several skeleton keys attached to a ring and stuck it in the cell door as his colleague watched. When he disengaged the lock and opened the door, he looked at the "innocent" burglar and smiled.