Devil Storm Read online

  “Walter, I’d ’preciate it if you’d see to turning those new melons on that south patch. I noticed yesterday that a couple of ’em were beginning to go yellow on the bottom. And see if you can find where old Crockett’s got to—he never came home all day yesterday. I don’t want him worryin’ Frank Buvens’s cows like he did that other time.”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll see to everything.”

  Their father opened his mouth to say something else, but just then the wail of a whistle split the air, and the G & I came thundering down the track. It was a splendid specimen of a train, a prince among steam engines. The children all admired it greatly. They stood as close as they dared and waved and waved as it labored to a stop under a mighty cloud of black smoke. Papa climbed aboard and waved back; he was the only passenger at the depot that morning. The engineer, whose name was Jelly Ingram, waved too, and so did three ladies in picture hats, two little boys in white sailor suits, and Mrs. Leola Sparks from down at Rollover—all on their way to Galveston for a holiday, Walter judged, except for old Mrs. Sparks, who was probably going over to Sealy Hospital or St. Mary’s Infirmary to perform Good Works. Mrs. Sparks was famous for her Good Works.

  “Good-bye!” Walter yelled over the clamor of the wheels and the beating of his heart as the train pulled away. “Good-bye!”

  “Bye, Papa!” Alice called.

  “Bye-bye,” said little Emily, waving with one hand and holding on tightly to Alice with the other. “Bye-bye …”

  And the train was gone. The steel rails sizzled where it had passed. Walter leaned over and touched one gingerly, then jerked his finger away. “Hot as fire,” he murmured.

  Richard Carroll settled himself on the plush-covered seat and prepared to enjoy his trip. He liked trains. Boats were best, in his opinion, but trains were fine in their way, even if they were a bit lumbering, clumsy, compared to the mighty ships he had sailed.

  He looked out the window at the expanse of blue water racing past. Sometimes he missed those days at sea.… Not that he wouldn’t give it up all over again to be with his family—not that he regretted his choice; it was just that sometimes, in the last year especially, he had found himself yearning for the solitude, the peace of the open water.… But then he had never really given it up—not entirely. On a Bolivar farm there was always the sound, the smell, the everlasting presence of the sea. Lillie couldn’t understand its hold on him. She was deathly afraid of water herself. Though she had married a sailor and lived by the Gulf all her adult life, she had never really got used to it—never even learned to swim.

  Sometimes Richard wondered why she had ever married him at all. They came from such different worlds, he and Lillie. She was the daughter of a proud old Mississippi family that had lost everything in the war and moved to Texas when it was over. He was the son of plain folk, a gentle Quaker mother and a father who had been a seafaring man like himself. Yet Richard and his bride had been happy enough, for a time.… Of course, it had been hard for Lillie, learning to be a farmer’s wife. She would have preferred to settle in town—Houston, maybe, where she had lived as a child, or San Antonio, near her brother—somewhere more “civilized,” as she put it. But they had got on pretty well, all things considered, until William died.…

  Just a year ago today it was. Richard took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He had tried not to think of it—hadn’t even mentioned it at home this morning, in the hope that Lillie might be spared the reminder. He knew she blamed him for the child’s death, though she had never said it in so many words. And who knows? he asked himself for the thousandth time, Maybe she’s right.… Maybe if we hadn’t been stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, if it hadn’t taken so long to get the doctor, maybe we wouldn’t have lost him. Who can say?

  “Pardon me, Mr. Carroll, is this seat taken?”

  Richard looked up. He had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t noticed Leola Sparks approaching down the aisle on his right. “Why no, ma’am,” he answered, collecting himself. “I’d be pleased to have you join me.”

  With a rustling of petticoats and black muslin, Mrs. Sparks deposited her stout self in the seat beside him, her kind old face glowing from the heat and exertion of travel and … something else, Richard decided, judging from a certain agitation in her manner. Leola Sparks had something on her mind, it was plain.

  “You’re looking mighty well, Mrs. Sparks,” he remarked politely.

  “Why, thank you, Mr. Carroll. Though heaven knows I’m not a one to pride myself on looks—‘No fool like an old fool,’ as the saying goes. But I’m thankful to say my health is good, which is a great blessing, of course.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And how are you and all your family?”

  “We’re very well, thank you.”

  “Well, I’m delighted to hear it. You know, I’ve been so concerned about Mrs. Carroll. I do wish she’d return to church; it would be such a comfort to her. I remember when my little daughter was taken; it like to have killed me too. I don’t believe I could have gone on without the Lord’s help.…”

  “Yes’m, I’m sure you’re right,” Richard said quietly. He still found it quite impossible to talk about William.

  “Perhaps next year, when the baby is a little older,” Mrs. Sparks suggested.

  “Maybe so,” Richard said vaguely.

  Mrs. Sparks maintained a respectful silence for a moment, then leaned toward him, as if unable to contain herself any longer. She lowered her voice. “I s’pose you’ve heard the news?”

  “What news is that, Mrs. Sparks?”

  “Why, old Tom’s back, Mr. Carroll—didn’t you know?”

  “Yes’m, now that you mention it, I did hear something of the sort over at the Landing yesterday morning.”

  Mrs. Sparks looked disappointed, but then she brightened again. “Well, you don’t know the half of it then, Mr. Carroll, if you were there in the morning; it was yesterday afternoon that the real to-do took place. It just so happened that I was there for the whole thing. I was over at Grady Barrett’s, lending Mary Bell a hand with Sister Sue—she’s got the colic, you know—”

  “No, ma’am, I didn’t.”

  “Goes stiff as a board and cries for hours. I told Mary Bell what she needs is a good dose of Mrs. Winslow’s Soothing Syrup. Which reminds me, I must try and pick some up for her at the infirmary in Galveston—I’m on my way over there right now, as a matter of fact. You know, there’s the awfullest influenza been striking people down left and right, and here it is the middle of summer! I tell you, Mr. Carroll, it’s enough to break your heart.… But dear me, where was I?”

  Richard did his best to backtrack through the barrage of information. “A to-do at the Barretts’ …?”

  “Oh my, yes. Well, it was all on account of this tramp business, you see; we were all discussing it, naturally, and Mary Bell was just remarking that there wasn’t a one of us safe in our beds these days, when there came a loud knocking at the door. Well, it set our hearts to racing, let me tell you, but turns out it was none other than Sheriff D. W. Elliott himself, from over at High Island. Said he was looking for Lester Barrett. Of course, you know that Lester has all his meals with his brother Grady and Mary Bell, which was why the sheriff thought he might find him there, but wouldn’t you know Lester was gone on his boat right then and wasn’t expected back for at least another hour. But the sheriff said he just believed he’d wait, if it wouldn’t be putting anybody out, and naturally Mary Bell said why no, certainly it wouldn’t—although I could see right away that she was mortified because she didn’t have a thing baked that she could offer him, what with the baby being so colicky and all. But it just so happened that by the grace of Providence I had thought to bring over two of my pies—they were right outside in my buggy. I forgot to bring them in when I arrived—I’m getting absentminded as a turnip—so I fetched them, and we all had a lovely refreshment.”

  Mrs. Sparks paused for breath. Richard began to wonder if she would ever get
to the point, or if there was a point. “And did Lester finally get back?” he asked, half-afraid to hear the answer.

  “Oh my, yes—and Rupert Bland with him. It seems that Mr. Bland had gone along on the boat—something to do with trying to get a better price for his cantaloupes.… So anyhow, they all shook hands, and then right straight out Sheriff Elliott looked Lester in the eye and asked him would he be interested in a job as Bolivar deputy. Just like that! Well, everybody was mighty surprised, let me tell you—Lester Barrett most of all, from the look of him. And he told the sheriff that he was honored to be asked and all but he had never really given much thought to a career in politics, and besides, he didn’t believe his family could spare him from their boat business. But Sheriff Elliott said they wouldn’t have to spare him; he probably wouldn’t have to do one blessed thing. It was just that he’d had several people pestering him about the tramp, and he’d feel a lot better about the situation if he had a deputy to help him keep an eye out for trouble, although he didn’t really expect any. And to tell you the truth, Mr. Carroll, I’m inclined to agree with the sheriff. It’s always been my feeling that old Tom is more to be pitied than anything else—‘There but for the grace of God go I,’ don’t you know.… But of course, you can’t be too cautious about a thing like that, especially as so many of our families have children to think of.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Richard. He felt a twinge of worry but shook it off. There was nothing to worry about, he was quite sure of it.…

  Mrs. Sparks showed no sign of letting up. “And so, as I was saying, here was the sheriff wanting to deputize young Lester, and Lester trying to make up his mind, when right out of the blue Rupert Bland says, ‘Excuse me, Sheriff, but if Lester’s too busy to take the job, I just might be able to see my way clear—’ So naturally we could all see right off that his feelings were hurt that he hadn’t been asked to begin with. But the sheriff said he really appreciated the offer and all, but it was Lester he wanted. Well, Mr. Bland didn’t say a word after that, but it was plain he was just cross as two sticks. The Blands are all that way, I’m afraid. They absolutely cannot stand to have anybody else take first place. Why, I’ll never forget how aggravated his father was when Tiger Terry bested him in the spelling bee at the old W.O.W. Hall.…”

  And Mrs. Sparks was off on another track entirely. Richard waited patiently until she paused for breath again. “And so what was it Lester decided, Mrs. Sparks?”

  “Oh, mercy me, didn’t I tell you? Well, he finally said yes indeed, he’d be glad to be deputy if it would put the sheriff’s mind at ease. So that was that. And you mark my words, Mr. Carroll, I wouldn’t be atall surprised if great things came of this for Lester Barrett. Why, you never know—he could very well have a future in politics after all. There’s just no telling what the Lord has in store for any of us.… Why, I recall how little mind I paid it when my dear brother Davis told me he was bringing his new acquaintance, Mr. Wesley Sparks, to church the next Sunday, when it just so happened I was scheduled to sing the solo, ‘Rock’d in the Cradle of the Deep.’ I remember it well.…”

  Richard sighed inwardly as Mrs. Sparks chattered on. It was going to be a longer trip than he had originally anticipated.

  Alice and Emily stopped at the beach to hunt for sand dollars on the way back from the depot, while Walter took the wagon home; he fully intended to go straight to the fields and turn melons. But then he remembered he’d never asked his mother what kind of an omen a crane might be, and as it seemed as good an excuse as any to put off work a little longer, he decided to go look for her.

  She sat on the front porch, rocking.

  “Mama,” he began, and then he stopped. There was something the matter with her eyes again.

  “You feelin’ bad?” he asked gently. It just about killed him to see her unhappy. He loved his mother better than anything else in the world. He couldn’t help it.

  “I’m all right, son. Just a little tired, is all.” She took his hand and pressed it to her cheek. It felt wet.

  “You want me to get you a drink of water?” Walter wished to goodness he’d gone straight to turn the melons after all.

  “No, thank you,” she murmured. “I’m not thirsty.… Was there something you wanted to talk about?”

  “Uh, yes’m, but—but it’s not really important.”

  “That’s all right. Go on—I’d like to hear.”

  Walter cleared his throat. He was feeling more and more foolish by the minute. “It’s just—well, Papa told me I should ask you—whether a crane’s a good omen or a bad omen. We surprised one yesterday on the way over to the Landing.”

  His mother was quiet for a moment. She sighed a long, shuddering sigh. “Do you remember—did it fly north or south?” she asked at last.

  Walter tried to think. “Well, let’s see … the sun hadn’t been up too long; it was still behind me, I guess.… Well, I guess it flew sort of westerly.”

  Mama shook her head. “You can’t tell then. North would mean bad luck, south is good, but west—well, west might mean anything, I suppose.” She smiled wanly. “Not much help, am I?”

  “Oh, it’s no matter. It was just a silly thing, anyhow.…” Walter started to pull away, but his mother kept her grip on his hand.

  “You know what today is, Walter?”

  “No, ma’am.” Somehow, Walter didn’t want to know.

  “It was one year ago today that your little brother died,” she whispered.

  Walter felt suddenly sick to his stomach. “I—I guess I forgot.…”

  “Oh, Walter, you mustn’t forget your brother!” Mama cried. “We can’t ever forget William.…”

  “No, ma’am,” Walter said miserably. “I didn’t mean I’d forgot him—”

  Mama looked away. “I believe your father forgot too. He never said a word about it this morning.… Well, there, never mind; I s’pose that’s just the way men are.…”

  “I—I got to go now, Mama,” Walter stammered. “I got to go tend to the melons.” This time he managed to pull his hand free and escape, his eyes smarting. He ran around to the back of the house, stopped at the pump, and stood there jerking the handle up and down, splashing the cool water on his hot face.

  “Walter, come quick!”

  “Whaaa …” Walter was so startled that he jumped about two feet off the ground. He whirled around and glared at Alice—it was Alice, of course.

  “Good Lord, Sister, how many times I got to tell you not to come sneakin’ up on a person that way?”

  “I’m sorry, Walter. I wasn’t tryin’ to scare you this time, honest. But you got to come right quick, ’fore he gets away—”

  “’Fore who gets away?”

  “Tom the Tramp,” said Alice breathlessly, her eyes bright as new copper pennies. “It’s old Tom himself.”

  Walter’s mouth dropped open. “What’re you talkin’ ’bout, Sister?”

  “Old Tom—I seen him with my own two eyes. He’s off down the beach a little ways! And Walter—” Alice grabbed her brother’s arm and squeezed tight. “He’s diggin”!”

  Walter’s heart skipped a beat. “You sure it’s him?”

  “Got to be—nobody else ’round here looks like that.”

  “What’d you do with Emily?” Walter cried, panic rising in his throat. “You didn’t leave her down there!”

  “Course not, silly. I gave her to Mama. And I didn’t say anything, neither. Come on, Walter, don’t you want to see him? He’s even uglier than you said.”

  “Well, sure I do,” said Walter, but suddenly he wasn’t at all sure that this was the truth. It was all well and good to talk about old Tom, to lie up safe and warm in your own bed at night and get all shivery at the thought of him, but to actually meet him face to face—that was another thing altogether.…

  “Well, come on, then,” said Alice, dancing with impatience.

  “I’m comin’,” Walter said. He had to follow her. He couldn’t let Alice see he was scared.

&n
bsp; “Wait a minute,” she said, once they had started out. “We better bring some food with us, case he’s hungry. ’Member what you said ’bout headhunters—”

  Hell’s bells, Walter groaned inwardly. Aloud he said, “Aw, we don’t need to worry with that. We prob’ly won’t be gettin’ close enough to feed him.”

  “Just in case,” Alice insisted. “Cain’t hurt.…”

  The kitchen was empty. “That’s good luck,” she whispered. “Mama must be puttin’ Emily down for a nap.” She rushed about, piling a bowl high with whatever presented itself—a slice of chess pie, cornbread, mayhaw jelly, some ham, a tomato or two. “Think that oughta do it?” she asked.

  “That oughta do it,” he answered grimly, wishing to Christmas he were in Galveston at this very minute, listening to one of Cousin Jack’s boring stories.

  The trip down to the beach had never seemed so short. Alice ran like a house afire, and Walter couldn’t let her get ahead of him.…

  “Get down,” she panted, when they reached the sand hills, “else he’ll see us.”

  They dropped to their knees, then flattened out on their bellies and slithered like snakes to the top of the nearest hill. Alice peered through the prickly salt grass and pointed just beyond the railroad tracks. “There he is, yonder,” she whispered, her mouth pressed up against her brother’s ear. “He looks older’n God, don’t he?”

  Walter’s eyes followed her finger, and then he saw him too: he was old, all right, so old that Walter couldn’t rightly tell what color he was. He didn’t look like any white man Walter had ever seen before, but he wasn’t all that black, either.… He was bent over his work, the shovel digging, then flying up again, showering sand. He might be old, but he looked plenty strong. Crockett was standing at his side—old Crockett, docile as a lamb, his tail wagging slowly. So that’s where he’d got to.… Walter tried to swallow, but his spit had gone dry as a desert.

  Chapter 6

  “Let’s go down and talk to him,” Alice said suddenly.

  Walter stared at her. “Good Lord, Sister, why would we want to do that?”