Her Name Will Be Faith (29 page)

"Faith's done a dirty on us," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, she maintained her
course until she was past the southern tip
of
Eleuthera… Eleuthera is damn near a hundred miles long, you
know.”

"I know," she said. "I holiday there,
remember? It's just a glorified
sandbank,
hardly a couple of miles wide anywhere. So where's the storm
gone?"

He swallowed. "She's turned due west."

"Due west? But… oh, my God!"

"Yes," he said
miserably. "Her new track will take her right over
central Eleuthera. That means North Eleuthera will be
in the dangerous semi-circle. The most dangerous quadrant, in fact. And Jo… she's
increased in strength again; winds at the
center are blowing over 200 miles an
hour."

"Oh, God," Jo said.
"Oh, God." Her knees gave way and she sat
down. "Do you think they know?"

"Well, surely they'll be
listening to the radio for an update every hour,"
he said. "And they'll be taking every
precaution."

"But there's nothing any of us can do," she
moaned.

He sat beside her, put his arm round her shoulders,
ignoring the boy who stood in the doorway. "Not a thing. Except
pray."

"Why do hurricanes always come at night?"
Tamsin asked.

"Well, honey..." Belle,
engaged in tucking her in, looked at her
husband
for an explanation.

"They don't," Lawson
said. "They just seem more scary at night.
Anyway, we don't even know this one is going
actually to reach here
tonight. These are
just the first squalls."

"But maybe it will, and by the time you wake up
tomorrow, it'll be all over," Babs said reassuringly.

Tamsin buried her face in her pillow. "I wish the
thunder would stop."

"Thunder can't harm you, sweetheart. Now try to
get some sleep."

Big Mike stood looking out
through one of the sliding glass doors; there
was a board for this too, but they had left it
off until they knew the storm
was close, to give them some light and occasional air. "First
squalls,
huh?" he remarked, and
Lawson joined him. "What do you reckon it's blowing out there?"

"I reckon it's gusting
about 70 miles an hour. If the forecasts are right,
and the storm is out to the east, we shouldn't get
much more than this. Say, there's a forecast on radio in a few minutes; we'd
better listen."

"Forget it. We're in the
middle of it. I don't want to listen to some kid
in a snug studio telling me what I'm experiencing."

The thunderstorm was fierce, the flashes of lightning
so bright they gleamed through cracks between the shutters and lit up the glass
in the door as if someone had switched on the outside lights; the wind whined
and the rain squall slashed at the house, but it
passed over quickly
enough, and it
was obvious that the storm had not yet in fact arrived,
but Lawson
preferred not to argue with his father-in-law who, he could tell, was
distinctly nervous.

And it was coming closer, as even after the squall had
passed over and
the wind dropped somewhat,
the thunder continued to growl in the
distance. Around the supper table
the atmosphere had been one of tense
joviality,
tempered with apprehension, as they had eaten various leftovers
which
would go off first. Although, by mutual consensus, the Donnellys
had decided against taking Lawson's advice and
had topped the generator up with oil and water to keep it going – Big
Mike having calculated there
was just enough fuel to last the night and
claiming that it was absolutely necessary to keep in touch with the Robsons
– they knew that from tomorrow they would be without electricity, and
probably for some days.

Big Mike continued to stare through the door. "I
guess we should put this final shutter up."

"Not necessary, yet."
Lawson shook his head. "Faith is still a long way
away. Relax."

Mike glared at him, suddenly irritated by the casual
confidence in the younger man's voice. "How come you know so much about
it, eh?"

"I was in Martinique when
David struck, oh, must have been more
than
ten years ago."

"Was that a big one?"

"He carried 100 miles an hour plus winds just
like this one is supposed
to do. Come on,
Dad, settle down and let's talk about what we're going
to do with all of
that money lying just up the road."

It was the sort of chaff the
entire family indulged in all the time, but
Big
Mike felt like hitting him. Then he remembered Korea. He could
picture all the boys sitting around a tiny fire in
the native hut laughing
and leg
pulling in whispers, no one giving a hint of his inner terror that
at
any moment a bunch of Commies might burst in on them after silently
dispatching the pickets. Fear is exhausting, it
saps your strength, and
you can't live with it, only alongside it. To
survive, you must constantly
deny it, boost
your morale and your determination to win – and boost
those around
you as well.

So he grinned, and said, "Well, let's see now..."

There was a particularly loud bang, which brought
Tamsin upright in her bed, weeping with terror. Mike and Lawson jumped to their
feet, ran to open the glass door and peer out. They were between rain squalls,
although the air was damp with the spray thrown up
by the sea on the
outer side of the
point, so they ran outside in opposite directions, buffeted
by the wind, which was now a sustained 50 miles per
hour. Dale followed
them, and Belle
and Babs stood on the patio, Tamsin between them,
wind whipping their
hair and clothes, to look over the garden down at the dock. Usually the water
was only three feet deep down there, and
mirror
calm; now four-foot waves crashed over the wooden platform. Built
of
heavy planking nailed on to stout tree trunks drilled into the seabed,
normally it looked sturdy enough to withstand
anything… but
Belle wondered how long it could take a battering like
this – or worse.

The men came back, looking wet
and windswept, and mystified. "Can't
imagine what the hell that was." Dale shrugged.
"It can't have been on
the
property."

"Must have been," Babs
said. "The noise seemed to come from right
out here."

"Well, we couldn't find anything wrong."

Tamsin had to be tucked in again, but before she could
settle a palm frond fell with a crack and a thump. "See, Tammy,"
Lawson told her. "Those fronds are only falling now, but when Faith gets
closer they'll fly
horizontally. That's why
the windows are boarded up, so they can't smash
through the glass."

"What would happen if they
did?" the little girl asked. "Would the
rain get in?"

"Worse than that. The wind
would get in, and if it did that, it.  . .
would blow everything all over the place." It could also well lift
the roof
off, he thought – but he
didn't tell the little girl that; she was scared
enough. He looked at
his watch. "I'll just go check the generator."

He opened the door and stepped outside. He was
actually enjoying the weather, having experienced such a storm before and
survived without
injury – although
that had been in an hotel, with lots of expert help
around, and the
responsibility of survival someone else's. But he liked to
feel the wind and sea spray swirling through the
trees even when it wasn't
raining. It
went with his mood, his sudden surges of euphoria; he had
had to live
with debts and financial threats for so long it was almost unbelievable that
the end was finally in sight.

Lawson returned, dripping water.

"What's it like out there?" Dale looked up
from his book.

"Wild, man, real wild. But beautiful, too."

"Guess I'll go take a look. I could do with some
fresh air."

"For Christ's sake be
careful," Big Mike warned. "We don't want to
be sending out a rescue party."

"Forget it, Dad; I'm not a kid," Dale
protested.

"You don't think?" For a moment there was a
smile on Big Mike's face
as he watched his
son go. He loved all of his children. He had enjoyed
his business
career, often at the cost of time that could have been spent with his family.
Now he was easing back, letting Michael junior take over –at his own pace
– leaving himself more time with Babs and the kids. Not
that they were really kids any more. Not even Dale,
the baby of the
family, the crazy,
leggy youngster who had just walked off his campus
one day because he'd been bored, who didn't seem
able to stick at any
job, who sometimes came home with that vague,
staring look caused by
marijuana – at
least, Mike hoped it was only marijuana – yet who had so much love and
caring to offer. He would find his way, given time –
and
understanding.

Just as Marcia had found hers. Marcia had never been
an easy girl to
understand, especially during
the period when she had dyed her hair
purple and worn it in those
hideous spikes, with zany clothes to match. God, he had felt so embarrassed
when she had arrived home one evening during a dinner party he and Babs had
given for the new candidate for Governor of Connecticut. They'd had the eight
people they most wanted to impress round that table when Marcia strode into the
dining room and
said, "Hi,
folks!" He could remember the expressions on the guests' faces, ranging
from astonishment to horror. He had wanted to get up and paddle
her
backside, but before he could get his breath back Babs had reacted,
wonderfully, he agreed, looking back. She had
risen and put an arm
round the girl,
immediately. "Hi, sweetheart, how lovely of you to look
in on us.
Let me introduce you." And she had led the monstrosity round
the table, proudly introducing the 'artist of the
family'. The effect had
been miraculous, both on the guests and on
Marcia, when everyone had understood she was not a creature from outer space
and could actually
speak intelligently,
they seemed to warm to her and made complimentary
remarks about her
after she'd left. While as for Marcia herself, mysteriously the hideous
hairstyle had vanished soon after and her gorgeous natural blonde color was
restored. Yes, Babs had handled that quite brilliantly, and now Marcia had her
Benny and even a house of her own.
And maybe
kids, some day. It hurt Big Mike that only his Protestant
English
daughter-in-law had so far given him grandchildren.

He did not suppose Belle and Lawson ever would now,
with their expensive lifestyle and their precarious realty business down in
Nassau. Belle and Lawson worked and played too hard ever to consider kids,
although they had a big house and lots of space, and a beach front –
ideal for bringing up a family. It was a really lovely house, yet Mike and Babs
never felt quite comfortable staying there, despite the invariable warmth
of their welcome. It was too clean, too perfectly
arranged, no untidy piles of books thrown on a chair; no sewing, no dog or cat.
And they never had
ordinary meals, or warm overs. Belle would speed home
from downtown Nassau in her Lotus at 6.3o with four vacuum-packed New York
strips and a brown store bag filled with exotic fruits, vegetables, and salad-
makings, and bottles of French wine and, wearing a
pretty apron to
protect her silk dress, would set the table and prepare
her purchases for
dinner within fifteen
minutes, in time to greet Lawson's return and join
her guests for drinks
on the patio.

Mike gazed at them now, saw the look of affection they
exchanged as
Lawson, having dried himself,
settled on the arm of Belle's chair, and
then he found himself thinking
about Belle's older brother. One couldn't help wondering if Michael should ever
have had a family – he spent so little time with them. The kids seemed
bright and happy enough, but the
thought of
Jo at her job all week, and their father even more preoccupied,
made him feel angry and hurt for them. Big Mike
didn't approve of
working mothers… yet
he couldn't blame Jo. He remembered her saying
all along that she would go back to journalism, and at least she spent
every moment of her spare or vacation time with
her children – but
Michael had
never warned anyone that he would devote virtually all of
his leisure hours to sailing, before he was
married. Sailing! He had finally
won the race he wanted more than any
other. God, where was he now?
Once this
storm had passed Eleuthera there was every possibility it would
make
straight for Bermuda. But Michael would know how to handle it, wherever it was.