Hemingway's Girl (41 page)

The clerk listened to the meteorologist’s report over the phone as he yawned. He hung
up and woke up one of the staff to tell him the report and see whether they should
call and wake up
Sheldon. Since it was almost morning, they decided not to wake him.

Monday, September 2, 1935

Gavin sat up in his cot and decided to dress. He hadn’t slept at all, and could no
longer bear to lie in wait. He pulled on his work uniform and went outside without
shaving.

The water was violent with whitecaps, and the sound of the waves slamming the shore
filled his ears. The clouds sat fat and heavy fifty feet above the ground. It was
drizzling steadily, and the wind blew without breaks. Gavin walked over to Sheeran’s
cabin and saw a light on in the window. He knocked at the door and Sheeran opened
it. Sheeran had dark circles under his eyes and was wearing the same clothes he’d
been in the day before. He waved him in and pointed to the barometer: 29.89.

It had been 29.96 last night. Normally the barometer rarely moved from thirty. A fall
of that many points during such a short time meant trouble. Without speaking much,
the men drove over to the headquarters at the hotel. It didn’t seem as squally there,
but Sheeran reminded Gavin of the rain bands that came out of a hurricane as it approached.

When they pulled in, the hotel owner, Ed Butters, was kissing his wife, Fran. He and
his son were prepared to drive up to Miami for the day. Gavin thought it strange that
they’d go and leave Fran, but then he thought that these people were natives to the
Keys and surely knew when things were bad. It made him feel a little better, until
the barometer started reading 29.87. Sheeran pulled Ray Sheldon into an office and
closed the door. Gavin sat out with Fran and Gayle and listened as the voices got
louder. Gayle put her hand on Gavin’s arm.

“What do you think?” She was pretty and young, just twenty-seven.
He could see her worry and wanted to assure her, but again couldn’t find the words.

“Sheeran’s been through this before,” he said. “If he’s worried, I’m worried.”

Fran agreed. “I don’t have a great feeling myself,” she said.

Bonefish came in the door, bringing in a wind gust. Papers on the table near the door
blew off and scattered. Gayle moved to pick them up.

“The lighthouse at Alligator Reef put up the hurricane flags,” he said.

Sheeran walked out of the office with Sheldon.

“I’m calling Ghent,” he said. Fern handed him the phone.

Gavin and Sheeran watched a freight train move into camp three. It held ten thousand
gallons of water. The rain was coming down fast. Ghent was missing, and no one had
been able to contact him. It had been almost two hours since Sheldon had called, and
panic was setting in.

“Should we have them pump the water in the camp’s tanks?” asked Gavin.

Sheeran looked at the rising tides.

“No,” he said. “We might need water after the storm.”

They’d started back to headquarters when Gavin remembered the Morrows. He turned and
began running down the road as best he could in the wind.

“Where are you going?”

“I’ll be back. Just want to check on a family.”

Sheeran nodded and disappeared into the storm.

Gavin could barely see from the rain, wind, and sand slapping his face. He wiped his
eyes with his wet sleeve and continued until he reached the rock on the side of the
road near the Morrows’ house.

Water from the gulf lapped the door of their house. The shack shook dangerously in
the wind, and Gavin prayed they’d gone and found shelter up north. When he looked
in the window he saw no one. He tried the door and it opened, and sure enough, the
family was gone. He could smell the sour-sweet smell of the baby and knew they’d left
not long ago. He didn’t know whether he should be relieved or scared. All the way
back to headquarters, he prayed for their safety. When he finally got to headquarters,
Fran was pacing.

“Ed’s coming back, and Sheldon sent Gayle north with some other civilians,” she said.
“The barometer’s down to twenty-eight-point-nine.”

Gavin looked out the window and saw a piece of roofing fly by. A riderless child’s
tricycle moved across the road in a wind gust and got stuck in a clump of bushes.
He wondered how Mariella and her family were doing. He knew the barometer readings
were higher in Key West, but his best hope was in John’s fortress of a house.

Standing there, he resolved that this couldn’t go on. He’d have to find a way to work
in Key West. He’d use his savings to buy a boat. They’d start the business. He couldn’t
stand the separation from Mariella any longer.

Mariella hammered the last board over the window at her own house and stopped to massage
her shoulder. Her ponytail was wet and stuck to her neck, and her father’s old shirt
was soaked through.

As much work as it had been, readying her house for the storm while her family stayed
at John’s was a relief. She needed physical labor to take her mind off her worry over
Gavin’s safety.

She heard a car pull up out front and walked around the side of the house to see Papa
at the wheel of his Ford.

“Got something on your mind?” he asked.

She laughed. “Hmmm, just a little bit.”

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get your family and let them ride it out at my house.”

“You came over here just to get us?” she asked, moved.

“Of course, daughter.”

“I told you. They’re all at John’s—Gavin’s friend. Over on Olivia.”

“Are you sure it’s safe?”

“It’s a big blue cinder block.”

“Above sea level?”

“Yes, sir,” she said. The rain slowed, but the wind gusts were getting stronger.

“I’m done here,” she said. “Can I help over at your house? I can’t stand being caged
in until I have to.”

“Sure,” he said. “Come on; I’ll drive you.”

As they drove down the street, Mariella chewed her nails. She bounced her knees up
and down and fidgeted in the seat.

“Anything besides the storm bothering you?”

“I’m worried sick about Gavin.”

“When did you last speak to him?”

“He sent a telegram saying he couldn’t come down. Had to prepare the camps for the
hurricane.”

Papa was quiet. Mariella could see the lines of unease etched on his forehead.

“They’ll send a train, though, right?” she asked. “Get the men up to Miami or somewhere
inland?”

“Those men survived one of the bloodiest battles in military history,” said Papa.
“They’ll figure this one out.” His words sounded stiff and dishonest, and he wouldn’t
meet her eyes.

They pulled up to the house, and Toby was there carrying the deck furniture into the
cellar. The boys ran out to greet them in little rain slickers and boots that made
Mariella smile.

“Are you ready for the big storm?” asked Mariella.

“I’m not scared of some old wind,” said Patrick.

Mariella looked at Gregory. He had his fingers in his mouth, and his forehead was
creased with worry. He looked like a little Papa. She leaned down to pick him up.

“Did you know your house is the safest on the whole, entire island?” she asked.

Gregory shook his head from side to side.

“It’s true,” said Mariella. “And your papa will keep you safe.”

Mariella put Gregory down on the lawn. “Come on. Help us put away your toys so they
don’t blow to Cuba.”

Patrick and Gregory ran around the yard grabbing toys to take to the cellar. Mariella
walked over to the peacocks.

“These?” she asked Papa.

“We’ll bring them in later.”

Mariella stepped onto the porch and picked up the table with the phone. As she entered
the house, Pauline blocked her way.

“Please shake off before you come in here,” she said. Mariella was taken aback by
the iciness in her voice. She stomped and shook her hands, then wiped her feet on
the porch before entering the living room. Pauline looked her up and down with distaste
as Papa walked in behind her.

“Where are the others?” she asked.

“They’ll be at a friend’s house, and so will Mariella,” he said. “I invited them all,
but Mariella thinks they’ll be okay.”

“Well, since you’re here,” said Pauline, “go ahead and set the table. Isabelle cooked
the roast I was going to use for the party, and I want to get in a good lunch in case
dinnertime gets bad and we lose power.”

Mariella made a move to go to the kitchen, but Papa put out his hand to stop her.

“No, she should go to her family now,” he said.

“It’s okay,” said Mariella. “I’ll help with lunch and then go.”

Papa glared at Pauline. Mariella walked past her and into the kitchen.

The roast was warming in the oven. Mariella peeled potatoes while she brought a pot
of water to boil. Once it was bubbling she threw in the potatoes, stir-fried string
beans in oil, and sliced the meat. She could hear Papa and Pauline arguing in the
dining room, but couldn’t hear what they were saying. The boys ran through the kitchen,
but Ada grabbed them by the arms and hauled them upstairs, instructing Mariella to
bring their food up once Papa and Pauline were served.

When the potatoes were ready, Mariella mashed them with cream, butter, salt, and pepper,
and made up the plates. Papa’s voice was loud in the background, while Pauline’s had
lowered to a hiss. Mariella heard Pauline say her name and wondered whether Pauline
was jealous that Papa had thought to bring her to the house.

Patrick and Gregory ran back in the kitchen from the hallway and into the dining room.

“For God’s sake,” said Pauline. “Ada! Get them upstairs.”

Ada yelled for the boys from upstairs, and they stomped up and away from the storm
brewing in the dining room.

Mariella walked into the room and set the plates on the table, silencing the Hemingways.
Pauline slumped in her chair like a child, and Papa sat heavily in his.

“I don’t know why you’re still sulking,” he said. “You’ve got your way. We’re not
going to Cuba to visit the Masons.”

“Only because your boat is acting up,” said Pauline. “Otherwise we would have gone.”

“They invited us,” he said. “I didn’t want to be rude.”

“Oh, please,” said Pauline.

“And you’re the only one with the problem.”

“If it’s my problem, it’s your problem.”

“Believe me,” he said, “I know.”

Mariella uncorked a bottle of red wine on the sideboard and poured what was left of
it into their glasses. Eager to leave the room, she took the bottle into the kitchen
and began to clean the mess. Mariella could hear that they were still arguing and
finished cleaning as fast as she could. She heard the wind picking up outside the
house and decided that she’d better get to John’s before the weather got worse inside
and outside of the house.

When she stepped into the dining room to tell the Hemingways, she felt the air quiver
with the tension. It was deadly silent except for Papa’s chewing noises. He cut bloody
hunks from the roast, chewed them not quite enough, and washed them down with great
gulps of wine. A drip of au jus ran down his chin.