September Sky (American Journey Book 1) (44 page)

"Would you like me to light another candle?" Emily asked.

Max and Isabella both nodded.

Emily put the bottle on the floor and got out of her chair. She walked around the bed to Rose's dresser and looked at two items she had carefully monitored for hours.

The first was a small clock that inched ever closer to a time the storm would take a turn for the worse. When Justin had revealed his knowledge of the hurricane, he had said that the level of the water sweeping over the city would double in an instant around seven thirty. It was then, he said, that the storm would pose the greatest threat to the residents of Galveston.

Emily noted the time of seven twenty and then turned her attention to the second item on the dresser, a porcelain candelabra that held one lighted candle. She pulled the sole remaining candle out of a drawer, lowered it into an empty tube, and lighted it.

"Is that better?" Emily asked.

"That's much better," Isabella said. "Thank you."

Emily walked to a window that overlooked Nineteenth Street. She could see from the soft lights in nearby houses that others were coping with the storm in similar ways. She could only hope that this part of the city would fare better than the Midway and the neighborhoods along the beach, which had already succumbed to the elements.

Emily returned to her chair and handed the bottle to her mother, who seemed all too eager to receive it. She wasn't sure what to make of the parents she had seen on this taxing day, but she knew she liked them. They were kinder, gentler, and far more approachable.

"How was Anna when last you saw her?" Isabella asked.

"She was upset and disappointed. She was very disappointed," Emily said. She felt her stomach drop as another gust rocked the house. "She wanted to come with me."

"I'm glad she didn't. She's safe now. She's in good hands."

Isabella sighed, leaned against the headboard, and stared at the flickering candles on the dresser. A few minutes later, she returned her attention to Emily.

"How is your young man?" Isabella asked.

Emily heard her mother's voice but paid no attention to her words. She was too busy staring at an open locket in her hands. Recent photographs of Justin and Emily filled the two halves.

"Emily?"

"Yes, Mama?"

"I asked you a question. How is Justin?"

"I don't know," Emily said. "I haven't heard from him since last night."

Isabella, glassy-eyed, took another pull on the bottle.

"You love him, don't you?"

Emily lifted the silver chain that held the locket and clasped it around her neck.

"You know I do."

"Then go with him," Isabella said. "Even if he wants to take you far from home, go with him. Don't let us stand in your way."

Emily looked at her mother.

"What if I never saw you again? What if marrying Justin meant that I would never see you or Papa or Anna again? Would you say I should 'go with him' then?"

"Yes," Isabella said. "I would."

Emily couldn't believe what she was hearing. She glanced at her father.

"Papa?"

"I agree with your mother," Max said. "I would miss you, Emily. I would miss you now more than ever, but I would support your decision. You must follow your dreams, daughter, just as I once followed mine."

Emily stared at Max.

"Do I know you?"

"What do you mean?" Max asked.

"I mean you have
never
encouraged me to follow my dreams."

Max chuckled.

"That may seem true, but it's not."

"Really?" Emily asked.

"Really."

"Would you care to explain?"

"I'd be happy to," Max said. He smiled sadly. "Long ago, when you were a young girl and I cared more about your interests than my own, I would read to you at bedtime. I would read the stories of the Brothers Grimm. It didn't matter whether I read 'Rapunzel,' 'Hansel and Gretel,' or 'Rumpelstiltskin.' You loved them all."

Emily beamed.

"I remember that! I remember that like it was yesterday."

"Then you remember there was one story you loved above the rest," Max said. "It was a story I read at least once a week."

"'Cinderella,'" Emily said. "You read 'Cinderella.'"

"Indeed, I did. I read it as often as I could because I knew it made you happy."

Emily tilted her head.

"What does that have to do with following my dreams?"

"It has everything to do with it," Max said. "Whenever I asked you
why
you liked 'Cinderella,' you gave the same answer. You said you liked the story because Cinderella followed her dreams. She followed her dreams and got the prince."

Emily and Isabella laughed.

"She got more than that," Emily said.

Max laughed, too, and then sighed.

"My point, Emily, is that I encouraged you then to follow your dreams and find your prince. I am encouraging you now to do the same. If you really love this man, then make a life with him. I will be happy just knowing that you are happy."

Emily looked at him with incredulous eyes.

"You're serious."

"I've never been more serious in my life," Max said.

"Mama?"

"Follow your dreams, dear."

Emily took a breath and then looked away to hide tears that seemed to come from nowhere. She had waited years to hear her distant father and overprotective mother speak this way. Now that they had, she knew she could never leave their side. She got out of her chair, slipped onto the bed, and gave her parents a warm embrace.

"I love you both."

"We love you too," Max and Isabella said in near unison.

Emily pulled back and took a moment to admire two special people.

"Thank you for opening my eyes."

"Does that mean you will follow Justin?" Isabella asked.

"No, Mama. It means just the opposite. Even if I could leave the two of you, I could never leave Anna. No man is worth that," Emily said with a laugh. "I am staying right here."

Isabella smiled.

"You've done us proud."

Emily leaned forward for another round of hugs but stopped when she heard a thumping sound against the side of the house. When she heard glass break, she jumped off the bed.

"I should check that out," Emily said.

"Don't go," Max said. "There is nothing to be gained."

"There is always something to be gained. I won't be long."

Emily kissed her father on the cheek, smiled at her mother, and then walked to the dresser. She grabbed the candelabra, exited the bedroom, and proceeded nervously down a dark hallway to an even darker stairway. As she neared the first floor, she could see that Justin's prediction had come true. At seven thirty, the water level had more than doubled.

Deciding that there was nothing she could investigate in six feet of water, Emily turned around and slowly headed up the stairs. She did so with renewed confidence.

Though she worried about the debris that hammered the house with frightening frequency, she had faith that the structure would not fail. She knew if one residence on Nineteenth Street could survive this storm, it would be the one with a solid foundation and a brick base.

Emily's confidence in the house that Isaac Emerson built did not last. The instant she stepped back onto the second floor, she heard a structural groan that sent her stomach into a free fall.

Within seconds, walls that seemed sturdy shifted and came apart. The floor buckled and glass broke. A massive tidal surge lifted the house off of its foundation and sent Emily tumbling down the stairs and into water that was black, murky, and surprisingly cold.

When Emily heard her mother scream, she discarded her extinguished candles, scrambled up the steps, and felt her way down a dark hallway. She moved her hands along the west wall until she found Charlotte's bedroom and went from there to the room she had left.

Emily pushed open the door and looked for her parents but saw nothing but a dark mass in the middle of the dimly lit room. Unable to walk without support, she let go of the wall, dropped to the floor, and started to crawl.

"Mama!" Emily said. "Where are you?"

"I'm in the bed," Isabella said. "Please hurry!"

Emily scrambled toward the sound of the frantic voice. She picked up the pace when flying debris crashed into the house and Isabella screamed again. When she reached the side of the bed, she stood up, extended her arms, and moved forward until she found her trembling mother.

"I'm here, Mama. I'm here."

Emily embraced Isabella.

"Don't go, child. Please don't go," Isabella said.

"I won't," Emily shouted over a howling wind. "I promise I won't."

Emily moved a hand across the bed. She felt nothing except a ruffled spread.

"Papa? Papa? Where are you?"

"I'm over here – on the floor."

"I'll be right back," Emily said to Isabella.

Emily released her mother and slid off the bed. Using the edge of the mattress as a guide, she walked around the bed to the window side of the room, looked down, and found her fifty-five-year-old father sprawled on the floor.

"Are you all right, Papa?"

"What?"

Emily raised her voice.

"Are you all right?"

"I think so," Max said. "Help me get to the bed."

Emily lowered herself, put her arms around Max, and helped him to his knees and then to his feet. When she was confident she could move him across the shaking, ruptured floor without falling, she stepped forward. When she felt the side of the bed, she eased Max onto the mattress.

"You old fool. I told you not to get out of bed," Isabella said. She wrapped Max in her arms and placed two pillows between his back and the headboard. "Now stay put. "

Max muttered something unintelligible.

"She's right, Papa," Emily said. "You need to stay in bed."

Emily straightened the covers on the bed and then returned to a window that had incredibly remained intact. When she looked out at the street beyond, she saw damage and despair. She saw crumpled houses on their sides, debris in the air, and people in the water. Wind and waves continued to shake the home on Nineteenth Street and Avenue L.

Even so, Emily Beck felt a sense of peace. She and her parents and the tough-as-nails house that protected them had taken a serious shot and survived. For the first time since she tumbled down the stairs, she began to think they would make it through the night.

"How is it out there?" Max asked.

Emily turned away from the window.

"It's bad, Papa. It's really bad, but I think we've seen the worst of it," Emily said. She walked back to the side of the bed, sighed, and put a hand on her father's shoulder. "I think we're going to be all right. I think …"

Emily threw her hands in the air as the floor beneath her began to drop and separate.

"Papa!"

Max reached for Emily as she lost her balance and started to fall backward. He grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the bed, but he couldn't maintain his hold. She fell back again. When Max went for Emily a second time, he succeeded only in ripping the chain off of her neck.

Emily reached for her father and then the bed and finally a beam that supported the part of the floor that had remained intact. She grabbed the beam with both hands and held onto it long enough to see the entire front side of the tough-as-nails house slide into the water.

She screamed as the elements she had kept at bay for several hours hit her like a freight train. The wind caught her dress and lifted her into a nearly horizontal position, while the relentless, burning rain made it difficult to see or get a firm grip on the beam. When she could hold on no longer, she let go of the beam and fell into the surging sea.

Emily sliced through the eight-foot-deep water and hit Charlotte Emerson's submerged front yard with a thud that was both shocking and painful. She fought the urge to panic when she swallowed some brine and found herself trapped by a submerged strip of wrought-iron fence.

Emily shoved aside the debris, extended her legs, and pushed her way toward the surface but found her path blocked by something hard, wide, and uneven. She pulled herself along the bottom of the obstacle until she reached the edge.

When she finally poked her head out of the water and looked at the house, she saw that the storm had removed most of its exterior. The front of the structure looked like the exposed side of a dollhouse – a dollhouse with living occupants.

Emily used some of her dwindling strength to pull herself on top of the obstacle, a raft-like slab of wood that was once part of a roof. She moved to the middle of the raft, shielded her eyes from the rain, and focused on the open sore that was once Rose O'Malley's bedroom. Barely visible in the middle of the room were Max and Isabella Beck.

"Papa! Mama! Stay right there!" Emily cried.

Emily feared that the wind and the water would push the raft away from the house, but they did something else. They spun the slab like a slow-moving merry-go-round and more or less held it in place in the middle of the flooded street.

When Emily saw her parents step closer to the ledge in an apparent effort to see her, she decided to act. She jumped off the raft and paddled toward a tree that stood in front of the house.

Emily didn't get far. The same elements that held the raft in place prevented her from advancing more than a few feet. When Emily felt her arms and legs turn to jelly, she retreated to the slab and pulled herself to safety.

She lay motionless on the raft for more than a minute and tried to gather her strength. When she was finally able to lift her head, she saw her parents stand near the edge of the open-faced bedroom and frantically wave their arms.

Emily forced herself into a sitting position and stared at Max and Isabella as they tried to summon her attention. Deciding that she had no choice but to try again for the house, she slid carefully to the side of the raft and began to lower herself into the churning water.

She stopped, however, when she heard the sickening sounds of a structure under stress. Even over the roar of the wind she could hear walls collapse, beams snap, and glass break.