The Promise (28 page)

‘Lakeside Park in Dayton had amusements during the summers,’ I heard myself say while Andre had his lunch, a lunch that I could not eat. Beside me on the bench, Andre was so close that he was almost on my lap.

‘The park was next to the Miami River, and my friends and I used to rent rowboats.’ I put my arm around Andre. He slumped against me, his eyes heavy.

I spread the red blanket under the table for him, then scraped our dishes. ‘There were concerts at Lakeside Park,’ I told him. ‘It might be a barbershop quartet, other times it could be a brass band with cornets, trombones, and tubas.’ Andre lay on his side on the blanket and watched me with his thumb in his mouth, something I had not seen him do before.

‘I used to see your father at the concerts. He was a handsome young man. All of my friends thought so.’

Andre kept his eyes open wide, fighting sleep. Near the table, the dirty bath water in the washtub sloshed from the wind’s vibration in the floor. I had expected the vibration to upset Andre all the more but it seemed to calm him. I, though, could not bear the feel of it, or the sound of the rattling tub. I dragged it across the room and when I opened the front door so I could empty it, the dogs shot in and nearly knocked me down. They darted, sliding on the wood floor, their tails tucked as they sniffed the corners of the rooms, turning, circling, and thumping against the walls.

‘Out,’ I said. ‘Out.’ They ignored me. They found Andre and shook themselves. Dirty water flew in every direction and splattered Andre’s clean clothes and face.

‘Whoa, boys,’ he said, sitting up now. ‘Whoa, slow down.’ Their wet smell filled the house. One of the dogs pawed him, and another one jumped up on the table bench, then back down. ‘Sit, Tracker,’ Andre said. ‘Everybody sit. Be good, be good.’

I heard the plea in his voice. He expected me to turn them out into the storm. I knew little about dogs, but I could see that these were frightened. They trembled and cowed every time the house popped. I told Andre they might stay and that had made him smile.

Now, I waited on the veranda for Oscar, my nerves humming. The water was halfway up the third step.

The barn was an island in a sea of water, and the weather vane on the roof had blown off. Shallow rippling waves crested and broke over the collapsed outhouse. Far beyond the sand hills, shelves of dark clouds rolled.

Oscar had left us to fend for ourselves. The water was rising. The rain was a thousand waterfalls, and the house made noises that I couldn’t identify. If something happened, if I needed help, I wouldn’t know where to go. I didn’t know where the Ogdens lived. Or any of the people who had come to the dance. They all must be somewhere. But from here, there was only the faint outline of the orphanage farther down the beach. To get to St. Mary’s, I’d have to carry Andre. He wouldn’t be able to walk. The wind was too strong, and the water flowed too quickly for a five-year-old.

‘You and Andre are plenty safe up here on the ridge,’ Oscar had said.

He was wrong. The ridge was a myth. The island was flat and flooded.

Driftwood from the beach banged against the steps. I needed a plan; I needed to do something. This waiting was unbearable; my nerves were faltering. Rain spray blew in, gritty with sand. A shadow down the island caught my attention. Patches of shadow darkened the terrain everywhere but this one moved. It was coming this way. Through the heavy rain, I kept my gaze fixed on it, afraid that it would disappear if I looked away. I waited, straining, my eyes aching. Time slowed, the shadow stopping, then starting again.

Two horses. No wagon, just horses.

The broom slipped from my hands and clattered to the floor. I hurried inside. The dogs leapt to their feet. I picked up a lantern from the parlor. Back on the veranda, frogs jumping out of my way, I held it high. My hair blew in the wind, and the globe rattled and the flame flickered.

Horses. But not alone. Someone rode one of them. Oscar.

There was the press of his wet poncho against me, his kiss, and our arms around one another. Rain gusted onto the veranda and it didn’t matter. Oscar was home. He was safe. We were all safe. We held each other, the storm momentarily forgotten, relief and joy coursing through me.

‘Cathy,’ Oscar said into my ear, ‘I’m sorry. Didn’t think it would flood. I’m so sorry. I never would have left if I’d thought we’d flood.’

‘You’re home,’ I said.

‘I don’t understand it,’ he said. ‘The wind’s coming from the mainland. But this gulf water here, pushing up on the ridge. It doesn’t make sense.’

‘You’re safe,’ I said. ‘That’s all that matters.’

‘The Ogdens wouldn’t leave. And neither would Nan. I left them there, Cathy. I left them and the water was high. It’s like nothing I’ve seen before. Had to leave the wagon at St. Mary’s. The wheels kept getting stuck and I couldn’t drive the horses any harder. I asked the sisters what I could do for them, but Sister Camillus told me to get on home. God was watching the children, she said. She had them singing hymns. She told them they had to practice for Mass tomorrow.’

He’d been at the orphanage, I thought. While I had been nearly frantic about him, waiting, the water rising, he had taken the time to stop there.

Oscar’s tone shifted, urgent now. ‘Listen. You must listen to me.’ He pulled away from me. ‘This flood coming from the gulf,’ he said. ‘If the saltwater gets in our wells, the livestock could die of thirst. But it might not be too late. The kitchen pump, Cathy. Test the water for salt. If it’s still fresh, fill every pot, every bucket, even the tub. I’ll be doing the same at the barn.’ His face was pale and drawn, and the scar along his jaw looked more jagged than before. ‘I need you to do this,’ he said. ‘Do you understand?’

Fresh water. And not just for the livestock. It was for all of us. ‘Yes,’ I said.

‘All right then,’ he said. He looked over toward the barn. Worry creased his forehead. Oscar turned back to me, and for a moment the tension in his face eased. He said, ‘We might get a little roughed up, but just you wait and see. We’ll get through this.’

I took his hand and gave it a little squeeze. He nodded, and without another word, he turned and went down the steps. He untied the horses from the veranda rail and left, the water to his calves as he led them to the barn. They pranced, twitched, and jerked, but he wouldn’t let them bolt. Oscar was home.

The water in the kitchen was lukewarm and cloudy, but free of salt. I gathered up pans and buckets, rolled my sleeves above my elbows, and began to fill them. ‘Your father’s home; he’s in the barn,’ I said to Andre when the pump’s squeak awakened him. Beside him, the dogs panted and beads of spittle dripped from their tongues.

‘Your father needs you to keep me company,’ I said before Andre could begin to cry. His face was tight with fear. The rain on the roof almost drowned out the sharp whistle of the wind now. ‘Stand right here, beside me,’ I said. ‘Now tell me about your dogs. Such unusual names. Bear, for instance. However did you think of that?’

These were questions meant to distract. Mr Brand, my music teacher from Cincinnati, used this trick to calm my nerves before piano recitals. ‘Your family’s cottage,’ he’d say while I waited offstage. ‘How long is the train trip from Dayton to Lake Erie? How many stops?’

I pumped water and asked Andre about the cats in the barn. Did they have names? Did they bother the cows? He held on to my skirt and his answers were short but he didn’t cry. What color do you like best? Your favorite thing to do? Play with your dogs? Or dig for buried treasure? I strained to hear him above the roar of the pounding waves. From time to time, I ran my fingers under the pump water and tasted for traces of salt. The water still fresh, I kept on, the joints in my fingers stiffening and my arms and shoulders throbbing.

Twice, Oscar came to the veranda with empty milk containers for me to fill. ‘Sit down,’ I said each time. ‘For a minute. A cup of coffee at the least.’

‘Can’t,’ he said both times, his hand on my bare forearm. ‘I’ll have that coffee later. Keep it hot on the stove,’ and then he was down the steps and on his way back to the barn.

I worked, the squeak in the pump the music of fresh water. I stopped once to take off my corset, my need to breathe a far greater concern than appearances. Later, I stopped to look outside through the open door. Waves battered the sand hills but the water had stopped rising. It was still at the third step. A good sign, I told myself. The storm wouldn’t go on much longer; the wind couldn’t get any stronger. Surely the day was almost over, it was dark as dusk but when I looked at the clock on the mantle, it was only a few minutes past four.

I filled the tub in the washroom, bucket by bucket. The air was laden with salt, and my clothes were wet with perspiration. Two of the dogs were nowhere to be seen, but I didn’t question Andre about them. He sat on the floor by the cistern with the brown dog hunched beside him. The yellow dog was behind the tub, shivering. Blisters formed on my palms, and spasms pinched the muscles in my back. The work was exhausting, and a week ago, I would have been shocked to think of myself engaged in common labor with my hair loose around my shoulders and my blouse unbuttoned nearly to my bosom. But for the first time since I’d left the ensemble in Philadelphia, I had a purpose. I was necessary. I was doing something for Oscar and for Andre.

‘When is your birthday?’ I said to Andre.

‘December.’

‘And your father’s?’

‘I don’t know.’

Nor did I, I realized with a start. ‘We’ll ask him,’ I said. ‘When all this work is finished, when the storm has ended. You must help me to remember. Now then, when is Thanksgiving?’

‘When it’s not so hot.’

I ran pump water over my fingers. ‘Which month?’ I said. I tasted the water and if Andre answered, I didn’t hear him. I tasted my fingers again. Salt. The well was flooded.

Wind blasted through the propped-open front door. Oscar’s newspapers flew. One of my bookends on the parlor table fell, then my books, small explosions as they hit the floor. The lamps blew out. I stood stunned at the kitchen counter, my skirt flapping around my legs as Andre clutched at them. I heard Oscar call to me; then he was inside, pushing the door closed. Rainwater streamed from his poncho, and his trousers were muddy and soaked. He latched the door and dragged a table bench in front of it to keep it from tearing off its hinges.

‘It’s here,’ he said. ‘Wind’s turned and is coming from the gulf.’ I couldn’t grasp his meaning. Or the suddenness of the change, the wind beating against the front of the house. Everything shook: the floor, the house, and me.

Oscar went to the back veranda to look at the storm. I pushed against my panic. ‘Stay with me,’ I told Andre. ‘Hold on to my skirt and help me light the lamps.’ The lantern on the kitchen counter was still lit and slivers of daylight came in around the frame of the rattling door. I found the matches on the cupboard shelf. They were damp from the air, and bent and broke when I tried to strike them. The one lantern would have to suffice. As though it were important, I began to pick up the scattered newspapers, my hands fluttering and moving too quickly. The glass of milk that I had poured a few minutes ago for Andre rattled on the counter. So did the panes in the windows.

Something banged hard against the front wall. ‘My goodness,’ I said to Andre, trying to control the tremor in my voice. ‘The wind certainly does not blow like this in Ohio but if it should, it’d bring a blizzard of snow. And wouldn’t that be exciting?’ He stared up at me, his eyes too wide.

I felt sure that I looked the same when Oscar came into the kitchen and said he needed to go to the barn. He stood close to me with Andre between us, clinging to his legs. Oscar’s hold on my arms was firm. ‘Water’s coming up fast, it’s in the barn,’ he said, his voice raised above the storm. ‘Got to get the horses out. And the cows. It’s their only chance. They’ll panic in their stalls. They’ll try to climb out; they’ll get tangled in the rails. They could kill themselves.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘Don’t leave.’

‘You’ll be all right,’ he said. ‘If the wind gets worse or water comes in, get in the attic’s stairwell. It’s the safest place. If you have to, go up to the attic. I’ll find you, don’t worry about me. But don’t latch the back door.’

‘Water in the house?’ I said. ‘Was that what you said?’

‘It’s just a plan. That’s all. If something happens.’

‘Oscar. Don’t go. Please. Don’t go.’

‘They’re our livelihood.’

‘This water. You said it yourself. It’s rising. You could—’

‘They’ll panic. I can’t do that to them.’

Every part of me shook.

‘I’ll be back before you know it.’

He’d risk his life for animals. ‘I’m begging you,’ I said.

‘I have to. I won’t let them suffer. I can’t live with that.’

Guilt. I knew something about that. I touched Oscar’s cheek. He put his hand on top of mine and with that, my panic eased. Beneath my fingertips, the stubble of his beard was rough and it was once again last Monday. He and I stood in the tide, our bare feet sinking into the eroding sand. I was off balance, the water pushing and pulling, but he held me steady.

‘Go,’ I said. ‘Quickly. So you can hurry back.’

Oscar kissed me and left.

The four horses were the first to come out of the barn. They sidestepped down the ramp with their heads and tails raised. In the barnyard, the water was high on their legs. They lunged and thrashed, and turned in circles as if looking for escape from the storm. One of them bucked and kicked. Another horse reared up and pawed at the gusting wind and rain.

I watched from the back veranda where the house sheltered Andre and me from the brunt of the wind. Rain, cold and sharp, blew in from the sides. I kept my hands on the top of Andre’s head as he cried into my skirt. The late afternoon light was an eerie gray tinged with pink. Broken boards planed over the surface of the floodwaters. Roof shingles spun in the air, and tree leaves swirled like snow. I swayed from side to side as though I rocked Andre in my arms. I had held him for a few minutes but had bowed from his weight. I knew I should take him inside. He shouldn’t be a part of any of this. But I had to watch. I could not let Oscar do this alone.