Dark Water Rising (6 page)

Once Henry stopped talking and started working, I could see why Mr. Farrell put up with his thoughtless remarks. He was a good carpenter. We finished the outside stairs and the balustrade that ran up and around the gallery, then Mr. Farrell put us to trimming windows. When the sun finally sank behind the trees, we packed up our tools and started for home.

Henry lived to the east on Avenue Q, not far from Mr. Farrell, so the two left together. Josiah struck out for the beach, and rather than take my morning route alone, I decided to walk with him. His long strides had taken him three full blocks before I caught up with him. “Hope you don’t mind the company,” I said, breathing hard.

“No, sir, don’t mind.” He gave me a quick glance, dropped a half pace behind, then turned his attention back to the ground he was covering.

“Are you going far?”

“No, sir, not far.”

He didn’t seem too fond of talking, but I’d admired his work more than once today and told him so. He’d anticipated Mr. Farrell’s every move, made quick work of figuring and marking his cuts, and I’d never seen anyone saw through boards the way he had.

He listened, then tossed me a look I couldn’t quite decipher, something kin to puzzlement, or perhaps surprise. It left me thinking that maybe no one had ever told him just how good a carpenter he was. After several more failed attempts at talking, we walked in silence.

Just before we reached Thirty-fifth Street, where Uncle Nate lived, Josiah nodded his good-bye and turned down the alley. I slowed, trying to keep my eye on where he was going, but he disappeared quick, leaving me to wonder just how close he lived to Uncle Nate.

As I passed Thirty-fifth, I looked long and hard down the street, hoping to catch a glimpse of Ella Rose, the girl with sunshine hair. But I still had a good walk ahead of me, so I didn’t dally.

When I got home, I saw Matt, Lucas, and Kate at the Masons’ house next door, eating melon with Kearny, Jr., and Francesca.

“Hey!” Matt spit seeds. “Did they sack you yet?”

“Aw, they ain’t gonna kick Seth off that job, Matt.” Lucas grinned at me. “He’s almost good as Papa.”

Kate dropped her rind and jumped into my arms. “Where you been, Seth?” she asked, her breath sweet from the melon. “I waited and waited.”

I pulled her sticky fingers from my neck and let her slide back to the ground. “Come on, Kate,” I said, ignoring the boys. “You need cleaning up.”

We both washed up out back, and after sending Kate in to Mama, I took the back stairs to the kitchen. Supper was long over, but Mama had left me a plate in the oven. I poured myself a glass of milk, and while I wolfed down my meal, Papa came in with a newspaper tucked under his arm and a cup in his hand.

“How’d it go?” he asked, reaching for the coffeepot at the back of the stove.

I swallowed a mouthful of potato. “Good, Papa, very good. And you?”

He swished the pot, gauging its contents. “The same.” He managed to fill his cup half full, gave me a slight smile, and headed back to the parlor to read his paper.

Like always, I wondered what was behind his smile. Was he proud that I’d done a man’s work today, or just glad that I was saving toward college?

It was different with Mr. Farrell. “Good work, Seth,”
he’d said, and that wide, gapped grin of his told me that he meant it. I couldn’t remember ever hearing Papa say words like that. Not to me. Not to any of us.

An unexpected bitterness welled in my throat. I swallowed hard, jerked up my dirty dishes, and slid them into the sink.

After washing up, I stepped outside, onto the east gallery. In the distance I heard the lulling sound of surf rolling onto the beach. With the sky so clear, surely there wouldn’t be any thunderstorms tonight. I stretched, already feeling the achy tightness that twelve hours’ labor brings when you’re not used to it. Tomorrow I’d work that soreness out, but I didn’t see how I could work away the bitterness inside me if Papa kept adding to it every day.

The three Judson brothers arrived early Wednesday wearing black mourning bands around their shirt-sleeves. One glance and I knew Frank and Charlie were twins—same nose, same crooked teeth, same cowlick in their identical brown hair. They looked to be about twenty, some years younger than their brother.

Zachary Judson already had the markings of a working carpenter—that leathery brown skin with the tiny hatch lines that would eventually deepen, like mud cracking under a scorching sun. I’d seen it happen to Papa and knew that it was in my future as well.

Mr. Farrell introduced me to the Judson boys, and after I’d offered my condolences, he put me and Josiah to work with Zach.

I liked Zach right off, and I think Josiah did, too. The man didn’t say much, but when he did, I heard a slow easiness behind his words. I followed on his heels all morning, doing whatever he asked, but always watching. There was something almost mystifying in the way he rested saw and nail against lumber—just for a second—like he was listening, like the wood had whispered something to him I couldn’t quite hear.

After our noon meal, I began to notice a connection between the three of us, an invisible rhythm that bound us one to the other. We danced to music only we could hear. One set of hands. A single purpose.

I was startled later to see the sun sinking below the tree line. Like chickens picking off june bugs, we’d finished one job after another, and the hours had disappeared clean and without notice. I looked back, surprised at what we’d accomplished. I think Mr. Farrell was, too.

“Well, I swan,” he said, pushing his straw hat back off his forehead, “if you three don’t make a dang good team.” He walked off with a grin on his face, shaking his head. “Bright and early tomorrow, boys,” he hollered over his shoulder. “Bright and early.”

I helped put away the lumber and tools, then said
my good-byes. Zach nodded and headed north with his brothers. They’d said very little about themselves, but Henry had already told me about their mama passing last summer. And now their daddy was gone, too, leaving Zach with eight younger brothers and sisters to worry over. Curious about where he lived, I watched him till he turned east on Avenue P, then hurried after Josiah. He’d already lit out for the beach, like yesterday.

This time, I didn’t talk much, at least not at first. I didn’t have any idea where Josiah’s thoughts were, but mine were a jumble of captured moments that played and replayed in my head. And all of them had to do with Zach and the way he worked. But even so, it wasn’t long before I remembered that I still didn’t know anything about him. Like yesterday, he’d been keeping a half pace behind me, which made talking difficult, so I slowed down and matched my steps with his. Confusion flickered across his face, and I saw a definite hesitation in his gait, but he kept to my pace.

“I was wondering,” I said to him. “Do you live with your parents?”

“No, sir. I lives with my granddaddy.”

“Just the two of you?”

“Yessir.”

“Oh.”

He never raised his eyes to look at me.

“Well, I noticed that you turned down the alley
behind my uncle’s house yesterday. Maybe you know him? Nathan Braeden?”

He tossed me a quick glance. “Yessir, I knows Mister Braeden. My granddaddy works for ’im.”

“Your grandfather is Ezra?”

“Yessir.”

I grinned at him. “I stayed at my uncle’s house just this past Friday. Ezra helped us get moved into our rental the next morning.”

“I knows. Satdy was my first workday or I woulda hepped. It were Mister Braeden that got me my job.”

I laughed. “He got me my job, too.”

Josiah never looked me in the eye, but he smiled slightly before he turned down the alley.

“See you tomorrow,” I called.

“Yessir,” he called back.

I shook my head. No one had ever called me sir before, especially not someone my own age, and it just didn’t sit right.

I shot a quick glance down Thirty-fifth Street, and when I didn’t see Ella Rose, I let my thoughts turn back to work, back to those frozen moments in my head, back to that . . . that thing that had passed from Zach right into me.

I’d felt it wake something inside me, and I think Josiah did, too. A quiet something that’d always been waiting in my hands and suspended in my every word
to Papa. Today, it shot right through me, lighting me up like the electrical current that lit the city, bridging each of us to our work and to one another, twilight-soft one minute, then strong enough to light the whole world the next. I didn’t understand it, not a bit of it, but thanks to Zach, I recognized it. I’d glimpsed it before—this undercurrent that had been sleeping in me ever since I could remember.

Now if I could only bring it to life, make it shine in me the way it did in Zach. Then Papa would know. He’d see I was a true carpenter, and that I could never be anything else.

7

I came home Wednesday evening to find kids all over the yard. Kate sat on the steps with two neighbor girls, Katherine Vedder and Francesca Mason, jars of lightning bugs in their laps. The black bugs snapped and clicked against the glass, and Kate, grinning, held hers up for me to see.

I heard counting coming from behind an umbrella chinaberry tree next door and saw a handful of Peek children scramble for good hiding places before the count reached ten. And out in the street, the boys hadn’t given up on their game, even though the day’s light was almost gone.

Jacob Vedder tossed a ball into the air and swung his bat. A loud crack sent Matt and Jacob’s cousin Allen sliding across the dirt after a fly ball. Clouds of dust billowed into open windows, and when Matt came up victorious, he reared back to throw the ball to Jacob.

But something stopped him.

He stood there, arm flung back, staring at a young colored boy not much bigger than Kate. I’d seen the boy watching at the edge of the road, eyes wide and eager, bare toes digging into the dirt.

“Come on, Matt,” Lucas complained. “Throw it.”

Matt just stood there, his face a puzzle. He slowly lowered his arm. “What’s your name?” he asked the boy.

“Toby.”

Matt nodded. “Well, here you go, Toby,” he said, tossing the ball to him. “Jacob’s waiting.”

Toby pitched the ball back and sat down in the dirt again, a grin of pure pleasure on his face. For such a little fella, he had a dang good arm on him, but it was Matt who’d surprised me most. He rarely showed this generous side of himself, not to me anyway. I glanced at Lucas, and saw amazement skitter across his face, too.

I remembered Mama’s words about there being a good reason for everything that happens, and shrugged. Maybe a bit of Galveston was what Matt had needed all along.

I squeezed around the girls and took the steps up to the gallery two at a time. Mama and Papa sat outside on the east end, catching the breeze and watching the kids play. They waved at me, and Mama hollered, “Supper’s in the oven.”

I waved back, already headed for the kitchen.

Thursday morning, I skipped my usual route down Broadway and took Avenue N instead, the same way Ben and I had walked to the beach last Friday. Sunrise colors faded to a cloudless blue sky as I approached the Garten Verein. Unlike my first night here, I heard no band music, no crash of bowling pins, no laughter, but it did make me long for the beach again. As much as I liked my job, I found myself looking forward to Saturday evening after work. Ben and I planned to meet at the Pagoda bathhouse again, and on Sunday, we were going fishing.