Coldwater Revival: A Novel (32 page)

Forty-two

With his nerves chafing together like new shoes on sore feet, Nobie steered away from the train station, and searched for work elsewhere. Though the station was where he most needed to be, he couldn’t go near it because of that man Tate. So he and his wagon wandered further south, drumming up business on the inland streets south of Strand—after Nobie had scouted them for the dark, dangerous stranger of his nightmares.

But prospects were scarce. The drugstore man hired him to deliver medicine to a woman on Church Street, and he earned two more pennies by taking the same lady’s dog for his poopy walk. But after three days of dragging his wagon around downtown Galveston, the collection in Nobie’s pockets added up to a pauper’s mite: four pennies and one nickel. And the ragged scrap of paper Miss Emma Grace had given him.

On the fourth day, with much reluctance in his heart, Nobie returned to the station. There wasn’t much money in the tin can at home; barely enough coins to cover the bottom, and Ma hadn’t had a cleaning job since the day Miss Emma Grace watched the babies for her.

Nobie stole into the train yard, keeping a close watch on the men who wandered about, looking for friends or family most likely. The tall man wasn’t in sight. Nobie melted into a shaded, shadowed area on the ticket platform, and tucked his booted feet away from the sunlight. But his heart shot into his mouth every time he spied a pair of long legs. And every time he thought about that man Tate, it felt like vermin were crawling all over his skin.

The porter helped an elderly woman from the train. As he held her elbow, he glanced around the station, spying Nobie atop his wagon near the ticket office.

“Hey, Nobie. Can you give us a little help here? Mrs. Crendle needs you to carry her bag home.” The porter, whom Nobie knew only as Mose, motioned to him with his long, uniformed arm. “You hear me now, son? Let’s have a hurry with it.”

Nobie carted Mrs. Crendle’s case to her apartment on Twenty-Fourth Street. He liked the old lady, partly because she tipped good, but also because she never asked him a hatful of nosy questions. However, he could have made two deliveries in the time it took him to get her home, for she had the rheumatism real bad.

Nobie closed a tight fist around the silver quarter in his pocket. It was worth the risk, he figured. He and his wagon turned off Twenty-Fourth Street, onto Mechanic, just one block from Strand. He scuttled back to the station, hovering mostly in the shadows, reappearing only when a likely patron debarked. He waited a couple of hours, near-dark folding into dusk as passengers arrived and detrained. But nary a one needed his assistance.

“Hi, Nobie.”

The deep voice behind him sounded too familiar. Nobie dug in his right toe, ready to make a dash for the woods, but a monstrous hand clasped his shoulder like a steel claw. He couldn’t have moved if his pants were afire. He turned his head, heart a-thunder at the sight of the man called Tate.

“Been looking for you, son. You’re a hard one to find.”

The man smiled, friendly enough. Too friendly for Nobie’s comfort. He squatted beside Nobie’s wagon, his hand resting on the wagon handle as though he’d not let it fly away this time. Nobie felt trapped and frightened, like the baby monkey he’d seen in a cage at McRamey’s Feed Store. Anger fired his heart. Somehow, he and his wagon would escape the giant’s clutches.

“You have a good job, Nobie. Helping people the way you do. My hat’s off to you.”

“How do you know my name?” Nobie glared at the man, hating him for his hound-dogging ways, his nosiness, his easy smile, and his eyes that pretended to be kind. Hated him, too, for making Miss Emma Grace’s heart beat like a baby bird’s. He had felt it all aflutter when she hugged him to her chest and kissed his cheek a few days back. Most of all—he hated the man because the man thought Miss Emma Grace belonged to him.
You’re dead wrong, mister. She belongs to us.

“Did you tell Emma about me, son?” The man stared into the depths of Nobie’s eyes, as though he could untangle a truth from a lie with just a look.

“I asked you how you knew my name.” Nobie gritted his teeth, determined not to answer. He felt flames shoot across his face. Even worse, he felt the sting of tears behind his lids. But he wouldn’t cry. No matter what the man did to him. One thing was for sure: He wouldn’t let the ugly old man steal Miss Emma Grace away.

“I’ve known old Mose most of my life,” the man said. “He told me your name. Remember—I told you I worked here when I was a lad? Had a job similar to yours, right here at the station. Only—sometimes I didn’t earn my money quite so respectably as you do.”

“I told you I don’t know the lady you’re talking about.”

“I think you do. What did she say when you told her I was looking for her? You did tell her about me, didn’t you?” The man held a steady gaze, which made Nobie squirm. He turned his eyes from the stranger, studying the train as though he’d later have to draw it from memory.

“Guess you could say I’ve been looking for Emma my whole life. I’ll find her, you know—one way or the other. Just wish you’d tell me where she is. I really need to talk to her, Nobie. I won’t insult you by offering you money. That’s not the way friendship works. Please—just help me find her.”

“I don’t know any Emma.” Nobie stood up, his hand itching to grab the handle that the man cupped with a big-knuckled fist. “And … another thing—I don’t want you following me no more. Ain’t there a law against following after kids?”

The man turned his sad-looking eyes away. He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “If Emma asked you to tell me where to find her, and you don’t do it—well, I just don’t think real friends treat each other that way.”

It seemed to Nobie that the man stood there for an hour or more. Finally, he turned and walked from the station.

As Nobie struck out for home, he jammed his hand into his pants pocket, fingering Miss Emma Grace’s note. He walked west on Strand, following a roundabout route, trudging home in the opposite direction of the man. But as he walked, his legs waxed heavy and his feet bogged down, as though he waded through a river of thick molasses. The man’s words tugged on Nobie’s conscience; stinging his eyes, hacking at his heart with a dull knife. He felt ashamed. What would Miss Emma Grace think if she knew he had not done the one thing she asked him to do?
I don’t think real friends treat each other that way.
Nobie walked on, but the going was slow and worrisome.

He halted at the corner and plopped down in his wagon. His heart hurt, for he’d let Miss Emma Grace down. He didn’t like letting his friend down. As he sat with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, he pondered the lie he’d have to come up with when she asked him about the man and the note. Nobie didn’t know if he could tell Miss Emma Grace a lie.

Nobie jerked the wagon about-face and sped down the blocks that led to Strand Street. He ran all the way to the ironworks building. He stopped and looked around. The man was nowhere in sight. Nobie spied the front door, and a side door. He calculated that the front door was locked for the night. He dropped the wagon handle and sprinted to the side door. It was closed, but not locked.

He entered the narrow hallway and flew through the dark interior as though goblins were after him. As he called out the man’s name, it echoed back to him from the narrow passageway.

“Mr. Tate! Mr. Tate!” Nobie slowed his gait and looked hard at the end of the hallway. When the man suddenly bolted through a side door and almost slammed himself into the wall, Nobie jumped so high he thought he’d left his skin behind on the floor. A truckload of grin spread across the man’s face. Nobie could see his white teeth all the way from where he stood. He supposed it was a nice-enough looking face, after all.

“I got this note to give you—from Miss Emma Grace. She said to be sure you got it.”

Forty-three

Even with the wind blowing from the south, the breeze carried a snitch of autumn in it. I snuggled deeper into Granny’s porch rocker and tucked the blanket beneath my legs. The road was vacant and quiet. Not one long-legged, dark-haired man strode its dustiness, looking for a girl he once knew. I thought I would surely spy Tate on the street this day, waving to me from a distance, his legs awhirl as he bounded up the steps and into my embrace. But Nobie’s hand had received my note four days earlier, and still Tate hadn’t come calling.

The sun swagged low in the sky, neighbors’ rooftops blocking all but an upper rim of the amber fireball. ’Twas the time of day when the sun relinquished its right to rule over our part of the world. The wind brought the subtle scents of surf and tide with it, and all things coupled to the sea. I believed that ocean scent was the fragrance of life, for in what other depths did such a bounty of creation exist and thrive—from eons past until today?

As twilight hastened to nightfall, I maintained my vigil, though the view grew blurry and dim.

I had used up four days walking these planks, morning till night, save for snatched moments of eating and tending to life’s necessities. I felt as though I had joined forces with women of old: gentle ladies who had stretched their gazes beyond unplowed fields, looking for husbands not yet returned from war; seamen’s wives who had climbed the widow’s walk, searching for ships lost at sea.

“Come in, child. ’Tis too late for yer young man to come calling tonight. He’d be in a terrible fix to find an address on this dark street. Maybe he’ll show up tomorrow.”

I glanced at the doorway, Granny’s white hair poking a halo into the night’s dimness. I didn’t have to see her faded eyes to know that empathy crowded all other emotion from their depths. Deep silence tagged behind her words.

“I’ll leave the lantern so’s ye won’t be tripping yer way into the house.”

“I’ll be in soon. Just want to watch the moon come up.” In truth, I wanted to give Tate five more minutes to prove Granny wrong.

An hour or so later I folded the blanket, abandoning my post, relenting to the thickening cold. I heard a car and wondered if it was Mr. Pehacek’s Packard or Mr. Herndon’s pickup. I turned, seeing an auto roll to a stop in front of Granny’s house. I stood with lantern in hand, mesmerized by head beams that spun tunnels of light into the darkness. Then I heard the metal click of a door unlatching. An alpine of a man unfolded his body and stood behind the car door without speaking. His hair blended with the night, even as his persistent gaze discharged an arrow straight into my heart.

“Emma?” he called.

I set the lantern on the floor, my mute self gaping at the vision before me. It was as though a seizure struck, enfeebling me from head to foot. My mouth wouldn’t spout its multitude of words, my hand wouldn’t wave, my nailed-down feet wouldn’t budge. The only working part of my body was a heart that sputtered and stalled, threatening to quit altogether.

“It’s Tate, Emma. May I come up? I need to talk to you.”

My head must have bobbed, for he slammed the door and bounded up the stairs as though there were two steps, not ten. He stopped just short of bowling me over.

What happened next was a blur. Somehow, we were in each other’s arms, his mouth covering mine as it had in my dreams of years past. When we parted at last, my lips pulsed tender and swollen, yet I wanted more. More time in his embrace, more pressing our bodies together; more shared breaths and pounding heartbeats. I knew a lifetime in Tate’s arms wouldn’t satisfy my hunger.

I gripped his arms, my legs too unstable to stand on their own. Rock-hard muscles burgeoned with inflexibility.
He must still be working at the docks.
Tate’s voice was shaky, but oh, the smile I heard in its deepness.

“Oh, Emma—you’re even more beautiful than I dreamed you’d be.”

I released my grip and finger-combed long straggles of hair that had wrapped my face and neck. I knew I composed a frightful sight.

“It’s time you knew my name, Tate. It’s Emma Grace Falin, but you can call me Emma if you want to. I’m sorry I never told you my last name, back when we were—”

“I’ve been thinking about us a lot, Emma, and I don’t want to waste a minute on apologies. We’re together again. That’s all that matters to me.”

I thought my heart would crack open from all the happiness his smile shoveled into it.

“Let’s go inside, Tate. Out of the cold.” I wanted him in the light where I could view him until I was filled to the top and overflowing.

“Cold? What cold? There’s not an inch of me that’s cold right now, sweetheart. I’ve been on fire since the day I saw you on the street corner.”

“Wha—”

“I’ll tell you all about it later. Right now, we have a lot of catching up to do.” He smiled again, lifting my heart on eagle wings. It seemed my flight might take me straight to the portals of paradise.

We sat on the parlor sofa until well past midnight. I supposed we could have stayed there for a year or more and never tired of each other’s company.

As Tate’s gaze flowed over me, I studied him as well. His was a striking face—a truly breath-snatching face. Perhaps more handsome than any I had gazed upon. It had an openness that invited me to share its secrets; an appeal that hastened a caress from my fingertips. I moved my hand from his cheek to his shadowed jaw, feeling the stubble of new growth. While I traced my finger over his brow, my gaze fixed on Tate’s chocolate eyes. The union of our gazes stilled my heart, for it seemed as though we were one.

“You’ve got eleven freckles. Did you know that, beautiful?”

Tate’s words jarred me. “You’ve been numbering my freckles?”

“You used to have seventeen. I counted them one day at the beach, when you weren’t looking.”

I giggled and leaned into Tate, our foreheads melding together like blown glass. It felt good to laugh with the man I feared I had lost forever.

He took my hands in his, surprising me when he lifted my fingertips and covered them with butterfly kisses. His gaze poured over my hand, which appeared half the size of his own. “No rings. Good. I was afraid if I ever found you again, it would be too late—you’d be married, or engaged, or something.” As we looked into each other’s eyes, I knew I had to tell Tate about Gavin.

“There was a man. We had set our wedding date and everything. But I knew something was wrong with our relationship. When I realized I wasn’t in love with Gavin, I broke up with him. Guess I never got over you, Tate. Perhaps that’s the reason God led me back to Galveston.”

“But why did you leave in the first place? Why did you disappear like that, Emma? I didn’t know what to think. Didn’t know how to find you. I searched for you like a crazy man—walking the streets—going to our dune every day. Waiting there till late at night.”

“Elo came and took me back to Coldwater. My little brother was deathly ill, and my folks wanted me home. I left a note for you in Micah’s tin. Had my name and address on it. I hoped you had seen me digging there and you’d remember it later. I couldn’t think of any other way to get hold of you, Tate.”

Tate shook his head. “It never occurred to me to look for a note. I saw you digging one time, but thought it was just another secret you were keeping from me.”

“There were so many things I couldn’t share with you back then. But that’s all in the past.” My hands cupped his face as I gazed into his eyes. He had to know the truth behind my next words. “I came back to God, Tate, and it was just as you said it would be—only better. I’ve even forgiven myself for Micah’s death. I’m happier now than I’ve ever been.”

Tate ducked his head, it seemed in prayer. When he raised his eyes, I saw a glint of tears, but mostly I saw the love in his eyes. “Beyond telling me that you love me—there’s nothing on this earth I’d rather hear. Somehow … I knew you’d give God another chance. But—where’s home?” he asked. “You mentioned Coldwater. I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s a small town near Brenham, a community of farmers for the most part. I have a big family: Mama and Papa, three married sisters, Elo, my older brother, and my younger brothers, Nathan and Caleb. I told you about Micah—Caleb’s twin. He died five years ago.”

Tate nodded his head in recollection. Then he straight-eyed me, his face serious and troubled. “So—this Gavin fella—what happened between the two of you? There’s something you’re not telling me.”

I didn’t want to spoil the night, this magical night, with thoughts of Gavin; with remembrances of what he had done. Anymore, I tried not to think about Gavin at all.

“Later on I’ll tell you everything you want to know, but not tonight.”

“Promise? Just know that when you’re ready … I’ll be here.” Tate tasted my lips again, his warm breath sliding moist whispers into my mouth. “I’m just glad he’s out of the picture.” He leaned back, studying my face. Perhaps my recollections had penned a bit of sadness upon my features. “I don’t need to worry about him, do I, Emma?”

“No, you don’t. He’s not part of my life anymore—and never will be again. What about you? Are you involved with anyone?” My heart ticked off a thousand beats while I waited for his answer.

Tate sucked in a breath, his eyes narrowing as he shook his head and sighed with heaviness. “Wish I could tell you there’s no one in my life.” He seemed to take pity on me, seeing the spurt of tears in my eyes and the slump of disappointment in my shoulders. “I don’t love her, Emma. Never have, though I’ve tried to talk myself into it many times. I just never could give her my heart.” He smiled and leaned over, kissing my nose. “It’s you I love, Emma Grace Falin.” His finger thumped a place on his chest. “There’s no one who can fill the spot right here—but you.”

“Know when I first fell in love with you?” Tate asked. I shook my head, joy bells clanging such a noise in my head I feared I’d miss Tate’s words. “I fell in love with you shortly after we met that first night. I knew when it happened. I just didn’t know what to do about it. I had never been in love before. I prayed about it. I mean, gosh, you were just a kid, and I was barely a man. Know what God told me to do?” My head shook as though swinging on loose hinges. “He told me he would take care of everything, and for me not to worry about it. ‘Just give her your true love.’ That’s all I had to do, he said.” Tate laughed and shook his head. “Boy—he sure took his sweet time making it right between us, didn’t he?” I bit my lower lip and smiled. I was too happy to talk. “I was scared, Emma.” Tate’s brows knitted together and his smile disappeared. “I was sixteen, you were only thirteen. I was confused and afraid I’d do something wrong. Then you upped and went away. Guess I thought my falling in love with you had somehow caused your disappearance. My life really went into a tailspin then, but after three or four years of not hearing from you, I started trying to make a life without you. That’s when I began dating Miriam. Miriam Caldwell.”

“Who is she?” I didn’t want to know, yet I had to know.

“She’s the owner’s niece.”

“The dock owner? His niece?”

“No … no. I forgot—you don’t know I’m an ironworker now. Remember the day I didn’t make it to the beach?”

“How could I ever forget? I waited for you till daylight was gone, praying you’d show up. I had to leave early the next morning.”

“I’m sorry. I did show up, but not until about seven thirty or eight that night. On the way home from work I passed a man, all dressed up in fancy duds. His car had a flat tire, so I offered to change it for him. I was already filthy from the docks. Anyway, guess he took a liking to me. Asked me to come over to his house. Told me he wanted to talk to me about becoming an apprentice at the ironworks factory. I didn’t know I was talking to Mr. McDonough himself—owner of The McDonough Ironworks Company—until we introduced ourselves a while later. I jumped at the chance. I’ve always liked working with my hands.”

“I’ve still got the crane you carved me.” I felt shy mentioning it to Tate, though I didn’t know why.

“I’d forgotten the crane. I’ll carve some more things for you. Anything you want. Oh, by the way … is this your necklace?” Tate smiled as he dug into his pocket and pulled out Mama’s locket. I gasped aloud and started bawling uncontrollably. “I found it a few weeks after you left and it’s never been out of my sight since then. Somehow—I knew it belonged to you.”

Finding Tate and getting Mama’s locket back all in the same night. I couldn’t fathom so many blessings at one time.

After my emotions settled a bit, I said, “I searched for Mama’s locket every time I went to the beach. I can’t believe you found it, Tate. Thank you … thank you so much.”

“I’m sure I had some help.” Tate pulled me to him and slipped the necklace around my neck. “I’ve been waiting five years to do this. Glad it’s back where it belongs.”

Tate lifted me onto his lap and curled his arm around my shoulder. We fit together with perfection, our heads touching as we whispered our words of love to each other.

“So—you’ve been working as an ironworker all this time?”

“Yep. Get to draw designs and craft them into iron and steel. Made shop foreman last year. There’s eight men working under me now, but there’s so much work, we could easily hire three or four more workers.”