Blown Away! Page 10

  “Tell me about your dad.”

  “Daddy was tall and handsome and a very kind man. He worked long hours in the mines, so we didn’t have much time together. But the little time we had was special, full of love and fun. We’d take walks together, and he’d sing with me. We were real close. Like your family.”

  We walked silently for a while, and then Mara stopped. “Jake, I have a scary feeling that something is about to happen.”

  “Well, of course you do, with all the talk about the storm.”

  “It’s not the storm that scares me.”

  “What is it, then?”

  “It’s hard to explain. Remember when I told you about the culm banks after a snowstorm? When I was coasting over them in the cold, fresh air, I forgot the blackness underneath.”

  “But that was good, wasn’t it?”

  “It was wonderful. Staying here is like that. I feel happy and free and … it’s as if I’ve been given a gift, a space in time to be in this beautiful place with the flowers and the sea, and especially to be with your family, with little Star, with Aunt Edith, and Sharkey …”

  “And Jewel and Rudy,” I added.

  “Yes, even Jewel and Rudy.” She chuckled and then became serious again. “I needed all of you.”

  “We need you, too,” I told her. “Mom said you’re like another daughter to her. But being here isn’t like sledding on the culm banks,” I said. “This is real. The sunshine, the sea, the flowers … everything. There’s no black coal underneath it all.”

  Mara went on. “For me it feels as if the snow is melting, and soon everything will be gone. It’s too good to last, Jake.”

  “Why? You can stay here forever.”

  “There is no forever—not for me, or for anyone.” She touched my arm. “Last night I stayed up really late and wrote a little verse about being here. Want to hear it?”

  “Sure I do.”

  “Don’t try to figure it out. Just listen.” She cleared her throat. “I hope I can remember it all. I call it ‘Borrowed Cottage.’”

  Will I return to this place someday

  To watch the sunset on the bay?

  Will the sea be as green another year?

  Night skies as still and deep and clear?

  Mara watched my face. “Are you listening?”

  “Yes, I am. There’s more, right?”

  Mara took a deep breath and went on.

  Many waiting rainbows yet will span

  The puffy clouds above the sand,

  And where my gulls soar in the sky,

  Other wings must beat and fly.

  This place on earth we only borrow.

  So soon the night, so soon tomorrow.

  “Wow, Mara. That’s really beautiful,” I said. “It’s kind of sad, though.” I didn’t understand why she should feel gloomy when she loved being here on the Keys. “You’re still depressed about losing your dad, aren’t you?”

  “I’ve come to accept it, Jake. Life is like that borrowed cottage in my poem.”

  We started walking again, hand in hand, not saying anything for a while. Then Mara whispered, “Thanks, Jake, for being such a good friend to me.”

  “I always will be your friend. We’ll have lots of good times together yet,” I said in a husky voice. “Neither of us will be blown away in the storm, you know.”

  “I sure hope not!”

  “You write deep poems, Mara.”

  “It’s a good way to get feelings out. You should try it sometime.”

  “Aw, I’m not eloquent like you are.”

  “Eloquent!” She giggled. “That’s a great word, Jake. I’ll bet you could write poetry if you tried.”

  I grinned. Usually words like “eloquent” didn’t come easily to me. It made me feel good.

  Down on the road a group of laughing veterans passed us in a pickup truck. “They don’t seem a bit concerned about the storm,” Mara said. “They’re probably counting on the government to send a train for them.”

  “Dad said the train should come for them before the storm hits. Their huts are made of light wood, and some just have canvas roofs. They’ll never stand up in high winds,” I told her. I had to talk louder, as the wind was now gusting.

  “Your dad said to be aware of rising water. Can the sea come in this far?”

  “I suppose it could with a storm surge.” I flashed the beam of my flashlight down over the embankment to the road. “See how much higher we are on this bed of train tracks than the ground on either side? Perhaps this mound would act as a dam, trapping the water.”

  “If it did, seawater on the east side could build up, couldn’t it?” she asked. “We’re on the east side.”

  “Yes, that’s why Dad told you to watch out for rising water.”

  “If the government sends a train, perhaps they’d take us, too, and we could all get off the Keys.”

  “We’ll know more in the morning. I sure wish we could get Star to a doctor,” I said.

  We had reached Miss Edith’s house. The shutters were down, and everything looked dark.

  “Thanks for walking me home, Jake.” To my surprise, Mara gave me a hug. “Good night, Jake. Stay safe.”

  “Stay safe,” I said, hugging her back.

  We both laughed nervously, but as I headed home, I thought about the things she’d said to me—her feeling that things had been too good to last, and the part of her poem that went: This place on earth we only borrow. So soon the night, so soon tomorrow.

  I would remember those words forever.

  20

  THE KILLING MONSTER

  None of us slept well Sunday night. Star was up walking around a couple of times in her delirium, and Mom had spells of crying. Dad kept watch over the barometer regularly. Then he’d make the announcement that it was “dropping fast,” which would make me get up and look for myself. Sure enough the needle had dropped to 28.6 inches, and it had been 29 a short while ago. People living in the Keys, especially fishermen, counted on barometers. We learned how to read them in school, so I knew that normal was around 30 or 31. But neither Dad nor I had ever seen the needle drop like this. The pressure dropping this low meant a storm was coming for sure—and soon!

  Outside, gusts of wind whistled around the windows, and rain splattered on the roof now and then, but still it was nothing alarming.

  When dawn came, we peeked out the front door. The sky was murky, and the clouds seemed to descend just above the trees. The breaking of waves on the beach was loud enough for us to hear from our porch.

  “Come on, Dad. While Mom and Star are sleeping, let’s take a walk to the shore and see what’s going on for ourselves,” I suggested.

  “All right,” Dad agreed. “It might be a good idea to take a look and get an indication of what we might expect.”

  Little spurts of rain splashed in our faces as we headed to the beach. At the church dock we saw large waves rising and falling over the reefs offshore, then rolling toward us to crash on the beach. The clear green waters had turned into frothing bubbles and seaweed. “It’s coming directly at us,” said Dad.

  When we returned home, Star was whimpering and Mom was trying to get her to drink some juice. Dad checked the barometer again. “Now it’s down to 27.8.”

  Milt Barclay and some other veterans stopped by in the old army truck to see if we were open for breakfast. “Not when there’s a hurricane coming,” Dad told them.

  “We’re all off today because of the holiday, not because of the storm,” Harry Webber said. “You could make some money if you were open.”

  “Haven’t you seen the clouds out there? They’re black, and so low you can stick your head right through them,” Dad retorted.

  “We haven’t been evacuated,” Harry said.

  “So we’re enjoying the holiday, despite a few clouds. And we sure could use a cup of java,” said Milt.

  “No coffee today,” Dad told them. “We’ve keeping an eye on our sick little girl as well as the storm. And you
fellows should be preparing. Those huts you live in won’t last five minutes in a gale, never mind a hurricane.”

  “The mess hall is a strong building. We can always go there to get away from the wind,” Harry said. “But we’re not worried. The government will send a train to get us if there’s real danger.”

  “Let’s go back down to camp since we can’t get any coffee here,” Harry said. “They’ll have some ready in the mess hall by now.”

  “Say, Harry, do you suppose you could take Star and her mother to the veterans’ clinic at Snake Creek?” Dad asked.

  “Not possible,” Harry said. “We can’t take passengers in this truck—other than government people. Something to do with insurance.”

  “They’re real strict about that rule. We could lose our jobs,” Milt added. “Wish we could help you out, though, Doug.”

  “If you hear that the rescue train is coming, let us know, please. We’ve got to get Star out to the mainland to a doctor.”

  “Sure, if we know anything about a train, we’ll get word to you.”

  The veterans took off in the army truck. I watched it rumble down the road and out of sight, not realizing then that this would be the last time we’d see Milt Barclay and Harry Webber.

  By noontime the winds were blowing a gale, and Mr. Ashburn came by with Billy and Roy. They showed us a banner they had found that had washed up on the shore. STORM ADVISORY. GET TO PORT was the message.

  “Several boats have come into port with these signs,” Roy told us.

  “They were dropped by the Coast Guard planes,” Billy added excitedly.

  “And now a hurricane flag has been hoisted at the lighthouse out there on Alligator Reef.” Mr. Ashburn shook his head. “The ocean is already creeping onto some of the low-lying roads. This is going to be a bad one, Doug.”

  “Strange thing, though,” Dad said. “The weather bureau still maintains that it’s going south of us—down in the straits near Key West.”

  “Don’t count on the weather bureau. They’re dead wrong. You and I both know that the storm’s on its way to Islamorada and we’ll get the heft of it. None of us conches are taking any chances.”

  Roy nodded. “That’s right. The hotel’s all boarded up.”

  “God help those veterans out there in the camps with their flimsy huts. I hear their buildings are already starting to fall apart in the winds,” Mr. Ashburn said.

  Later we ate lunch upstairs to be near Star, who was sleeping on the couch. I slapped together some bologna sandwiches for all of us.

  Dad looked at the falling barometer. “It’s down to 27.4 now,” he said. “I don’t remember ever seeing the barometer fall this low. The storm must be almost on us.”

  “Will Mara and Miss Edith be okay over there by themselves?” I asked.

  “The wind has battered that house many a time,” Mom said.

  “And it’s anchored onto rock-solid coral,” Dad added.

  “Maybe we should go check on Sharkey before it gets any worse. With his bad leg …”

  “Sharkey can fend for himself,” Dad said. “He’s an old salt, and he’s weathered lots of hurricanes.”

  “But what will he do with Jewel? The only shelter she has is that old lean-to,” I said.

  “Jake, Sharkey knows we have our own family to take care of,” Mom said. “Don’t worry about him or Jewel. Sharkey loves those animals, and he’ll find a way to keep them safe. Once the storm passes, you and Dad can go over there and see if they’re okay.”

  By late afternoon the wind raged against our wooden house as if giants were rattling the shutters.

  “The wind wants to come in,” Star mumbled.

  “We won’t let it in,” I promised. But I could feel the gusts slyly creeping over the windowsills and around the door frames. Suddenly, crack! A shutter rattled, then blew off, smashing the kitchen window. The wind exploded into the room in a fury, tearing the curtains and shades and whipping the tablecloth onto the floor.

  Star came out of her sleep and screamed. “Make the wind go away, Jake! Make it go away!”

  I looked at Dad helplessly. “It will go away soon,” I promised Star.

  “Let’s find something downstairs that we can use to cover the window, Jake.” He started for the stairs.

  Dad and I hurried down to the store. Rivulets of water were slithering under the door. “It’s raining in here,” I said.

  “Never mind that now.” Dad motioned me to the back room, where we removed supplies from a shelf, then took a crowbar and pried the shelf from the wall. “This should do,” he said. “It’s about the size of the window.”

  We headed toward the front of the store and looked down at our feet. “I think the water is higher already.”

  Dad reached down, put his hand into the water, and then tasted it. “This isn’t rain, Jake. It’s salt water! The sea is coming in!”

  I opened the front door to look outside. “No, Jake!” Dad yelled, but before I realized my mistake the wind blew it out of my hand and almost off the hinges. It took all our strength for Dad and me to pull that door shut against the wind. Dad stared at me, his eyes wide and fearful. “Oh my God, Jake, the sea is right outside! The ocean is overtaking us. The storm surge is coming directly into Islamorada.” He pushed me in front of him. “Get upstairs, quick.”

  I raced up the stairs to our apartment with Dad following, hoisting the heavy shelving over his shoulders.

  Mom was waiting at the top of the stairs. “What’s happening?” she asked, tracking Dad to the open window.

  “Hold this while I hammer,” Dad said to me, ignoring her question. I held the shelving while he hammered big nails right into the wall and the sill.

  “Doug! You know something. Tell me this instant!” Mom demanded.

  Dad turned to her. “The sea is coming in downstairs.”

  “But our house isn’t on the ocean,” she said. “How can the sea be coming up this far?”

  “I don’t know!” Dad yelled. “But believe me, Lou, it is!”

  Mom was quiet for a moment, and then she said urgently, “The hurricane is here inside our house. The wind is blowing the windows out; the ocean is creeping into the store. The whole house is shaking. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  “What are you saying?” Dad exclaimed.

  “Let’s get out while we can—before the house caves in on us. We can drive the truck to the clinic. There will be a doctor there, and other people. We won’t be alone. We could make it, Doug. I know we could make it.”

  “The clinic is way up on Windley Key and it’s only for the veterans,” Dad reminded her

  “This is an emergency! They wouldn’t turn us away,” Mom pleaded, grabbing Dad’s arm. “Please, Doug. How can it be any worse out on the road?”

  “What if we get stuck? We’d be miles up the road with nowhere to go and a storm on top of us.” Although Dad was arguing, I knew he was weakening. Another gust of wind struck the tree outside the broken window, and we could hear the branches shatter.

  Mom swung around and grabbed a quilt from the couch. “If we wait any longer, we’ll miss our chance.” She put out her hand. In her palm were the keys to the truck.

  “Mom, branches are flying off trees,” I pleaded, “and the road could be underwater anywhere along the way.”

  “I can’t stay here and watch us all perish.” Tears poured from Mom’s eyes. Her voice rose into a cry, and she stretched out her hand again. “Help us, Doug!”

  “What about the rising water, Dad? Can we drive through it?” I asked.

  “From what I can see, the water isn’t as deep on the leeward side of the house where I parked the truck. It isn’t even up to the hubcaps yet. We can get through the water if we go now. It’s the engine I’m worried about.”

  Dad and Mom stared at each other for a long minute; then Dad took the keys. “Put your oilskins on, Jake. You’ll have to sit in the back.” He went to the closet and tossed me my yellow raincoat and hat, then pulled o
n his own as well. “Get Star ready, but wait inside until I get the truck started,” he ordered Mom.

  Dad and I went downstairs, where the water was now up to our ankles. When I opened the door, a gust pulled me bodily out into the yard. Through the shrieking of the storm I could hear the gushing of the crashing breakers. Other sounds mingled together—the rattling of palm fronds and shutters, the rain, the smashing of objects that were being hurled through the air.

  “This is crazy,” Dad muttered as we sloshed through the mud and debris.

  I yanked off the canvas that covered the hood of the truck while Dad got behind the wheel and pulled the choke lever over and over. “I don’t want to flood it,” he yelled above the wind. “But it needs more gas because the engine’s cold.”

  I held my breath as he turned the key and pushed the ignition. The engine coughed a few times, then died. Dad tried it again, and this time the motor sputtered, but as Dad adjusted the choke, it turned over and stayed. “Go get Mom and Star,” he called to me.

  Mom was already standing in the doorway with Star bundled in her arms. “Take her for me, Jake, while I get in.” I took Star and held her close in the quilt to keep the rain off her face. I could feel the heat from her body as she slept through it all. Her periods of deep sleep made me even more fearful that she might have the sleeping sickness, as Mom had guessed.

  Mom sloshed over to the truck, where Dad had already reached over and opened the door. Once she was inside, I placed Star gently in her lap.

  “Get in the back, Jake. Quick!” Dad ordered.

  I grabbed the canvas tarp and climbed in. It was dripping with rainwater, but it would protect me from the downpour to some degree. Dad backed up and was about to turn onto the road when—crash! A huge limb broke off from the gumbo-limbo tree and fell in our path. Dad paused, with the truck still running, while I jumped out and dragged the heavy branch far enough to the side of the road so Dad could drive around it.

  “Get in!” Mom yelled. “Hurry!” I climbed back in and dove under the wet canvas. The branches of the bough scratched against me as Dad gunned the engine and steered around the fallen limb. I put my hands over my ears to drown out the screaming storm. Then I closed my eyes and prayed.