To Have and To Hold (20 page)

Chapter 19

Audrey stopped Marshall as he came down the stairs the next morning. “Aunt Thora isn't feeling well, but she mentioned she'd like a word with you in her sitting room before you leave.”

“I'm sorry to hear she isn't well, but I'll take a minute to visit with her.” He wondered if the old woman had decided to become a help or a hindrance where his courtship of Audrey was concerned. Way back in January she'd said she would study the Scriptures and then get back with him, but she never had. By now she'd taken enough time to read the entire Bible, and he didn't hold out much hope.

He tapped on the door and waited until she signaled for him to enter. “I heard you wanted to see me.” Thora Lund must be quite the actress to fool Audrey, Marshall thought. The woman didn't appear sick at all. She pointed to the door.

“Close it. I don't want no one to overhear.”

Marshall nodded and closed the door. “Am I to guess that the Lord has finally spoken to you through the Scriptures regarding my request for your help?”

She studied him a moment, pointed to the chair beside her, and took up her large, worn Bible. “You're impatient, but the Lord moves at His own pace—just like me. Now, sit down, and I'll tell you what He told me.”

Marshall did as instructed. Thora turned to where she'd marked a passage. She looked up. “This is from the forty-first chapter of Isaiah. Are you familiar with it?”

“With Isaiah? Yes. The forty-first chapter—not so much.”

“Well, this is what it says. ‘Keep silence before me, O islands; and let the people renew their strength: let them come near; then let them speak: let us come near together to judgment.' ”

She paused and looked over the Bible at him. “I've been silent, and now I've called you to come near. That means the Lord is ready for me to talk to you and to judge the situation.”

Marshall nodded. “All right. Let's talk.”

“But there's more.” Her tone of voice sounded rather ominous. She bent down over the book. “ ‘Behold, all they that were incensed against thee shall be ashamed and confounded: they shall be as nothing; and they that strive with thee shall perish. Thou shalt seek them, and shalt not find them, even them that contended with thee: they that war against thee shall be as nothing, and as a thing of nought. For I the Lord thy God will hold thy right hand, saying unto thee, Fear not; I will help thee.' ” She stopped and looked at Marshall once again. “Do you understand? That's the Lord sayin' He's taking a stand against them that warred against us. He's gonna restore the South.”

It puzzled Marshall how the old woman had pulled that from the passage, but he said nothing.

She seemed to sense this as his approval and continued to read. “Here's the part where God spoke to me about you. ‘I have raised up one from the north, and he shall come: from the rising of the sun shall he call upon my name: and he shall come upon princes as upon mortar, and as the potter treadeth clay.' ” She looked up with brows raised. “Makes it all perty clear if you ask me.”

“I'm . . . not sure I understand.”

The old woman frowned. “God has taken pity on us here, but in order to help us, He raised up one from the north. At first I thought maybe it was that Mr. Morley who the Scriptures spoke of, but it weren't. It's you.”

“And how do you figure that, Mrs. Lund?”

“Because you're the one workin' with mortar—with the tabby. Only seein's how Isaiah's folk didn't have tabby, they had to write about mortar, and you're the prince of mortar.”

Marshall was completely baffled. “Mrs. Lund, I don't mean any disrespect, but I'm not clear as to how that verse could possibly be about me.”

She sighed in exasperation, as one might when working with a child. “God's tellin' me here that He's raised up one from the north who calls upon His name. You profess to be a God-fearin' man who prays, and you're the one God is gonna use to help us against the Yankees takin' advantage of us. It's as plain as that.”

“All right.” Marshall decided to take another direction. “How does that pertain to my asking for your assistance in getting Audrey's agreement to let me court her?”

The older woman smiled and slammed the Bible closed. “If the good Lord has sent you to help us, then He would want me to help you.”

Marshall shook his head, but smiled. “Mrs. Lund, you are a wonder, indeed.”

“You can call me Aunt Thora.”

Later that night as Marshall prepared for bed, he pulled out his Bible and pored over the forty-first chapter of Isaiah. Somehow he just couldn't seem to fit the pieces together in the same way Thora had. He couldn't help but marvel nevertheless. The old woman was adamant that she had interpreted this passage to be a personal message from God. How many other people made the Bible twist and turn at their convenience?

As he neared the end of the chapter, however, the last verse caught his eye. Murmuring the words aloud, Marshall read, “ ‘Behold, they are all vanity; their works are nothing: their molten images are wind and confusion.' ”

A shudder ran through him. Was it a prophecy of their labors on the island? Maybe Thora understood more than he realized.

The following morning, Marshall, Mr. Morley, and the other foremen were still gathered around the breakfast table when a thunderous explosion reverberated in the distance. Moments later, the alarm bell clanged until it peaked in a frenzied crescendo. Several chairs fell backward as the men jumped to their feet and raced for the front door. That bell meant only one thing: injury or death at the work site. The words of Scripture echoed in his mind as he ran toward the clubhouse.

Mayhem. That was the only word to describe the scene. Workers scurried in all directions, each shouting to be heard above the other. Marshall came to a sudden halt, unable to fully grasp the disastrous sight that greeted him. Screams of injured men, the pealing bell, groans of weakening joists and beams all mixed together in a discordant composition that wailed tragedy. He needed to move. Somehow, he needed to make sense out of chaos.

Marshall grasped Frank Baker's arm. “The third floor has collapsed. You take control of the east side of the building. I'll see to the west side. Get the men calmed down and make certain there's no one trapped in that debris.” He saw Dr. Wahler running toward them. “Once the doctor assesses the situation, we'll have a better idea of how to proceed. Until he gives us the order, we don't want to move anyone and risk causing further injury.”

One of the young workers balled his fingers into tight fists as he approached Marshall. “My brother is in there, and I aim to go and get him out—with or without instructions from any doctor. We don't need no doctor tellin' us how to move a heavy beam off a man's chest.”

Another laborer stepped alongside the younger man. “He's right. If they're underneath heavy rubble, their injuries will only get worse. I say we go down and begin looking for them that's hurt. Ain't right to leave 'em down there suffering. Who can say how long it's gonna take the doctor to get 'round to all those men?” The man's eyes shone with disdain. “Is this your best plan of how to handle a disaster,
Mister
Graham?”

The worker's eyes shone with a mixture of anger and hatred. Even now the men preferred to take their orders from his assistant. These men were not easily won over. They trusted no one they didn't know, especially a man from up north. Their allegiance was to Frank Baker.

Marshall gritted his teeth and stepped forward. Trust him or not, they were going to follow his orders this time. “If the rest of you promise to keep your distance, I'll see if I can work my way upstairs. If I find something, I'll call from one of the windows.” The men weren't happy, but they mumbled their agreement.

All appeared safe enough as he climbed the stairway. He could only pray that the damage had been contained to the second and third floors—and that none of the men had been seriously injured in the collapse. “Please, Father,” he murmured as he continued the upward climb, “keep the men safe.”

As he approached the second floor, it appeared that at least a quarter of the third floor had collapsed onto the second floor. Floor joists had snapped like twigs while others swayed overhead like broken tree limbs after a storm. The sound of groaning timbers told a story of their own: Further damage could occur at any moment. Anyone on the second floor was in danger. A couple of the injured called out to him while others simply groaned in pain.

The sights and sounds tore at Marshall's heart. “Help will be here soon, men. Just hold on.” He stooped down to speak to one or two as he edged along the perimeter toward the window openings.

When he finally reached the first opening, he caught sight of Mr. Morley approaching and waved to him. “The steps are still intact. Once the doctor gives the okay, I'll need some help moving the men. From the looks of things, more beams could fall at any moment.” He'd no more than spoken the words when another beam crashed to the floor and missed him by only inches.

Mr. Morley cupped his hands to his mouth and called toward the window. “The doctor's on his way up. The men and I will await your direction, Marshall.”

For once, Marshall was glad to have the doctor around. Wahler quickly assessed the men and passed his orders on to Marshall. Obviously, his experience as a physician during the war was serving Dr. Wahler well. He didn't seem disturbed by the pain and suffering. Instead, he appeared quite detached.

Marshall assigned seven laborers to assist him. He would have preferred to swarm the place with men to help carry out the injured, but the weight and activity could do more harm than good. They worked feverishly and without further incident until all the injured men were safely outside the building.

Irene and a couple of the cooks assigned to the kitchen in the old slave quarters delivered sandwiches and coffee while Audrey instructed and helped some of the workers tear and roll strips of bedsheets for dressings. She'd even gone and hoisted the red flag to signal passing boats of their emergency situation. Marshall hoped someone would take heed and stop at Bridal Veil or at least deliver a message of disaster to the authorities in Biscayne.

Marshall's body ached as he continued to move among the injured men. Two fishing boats heading back to Biscayne noticed their flag that evening and docked at the pier. The captains were willing to take the injured into Biscayne and promised Marshall their crew members would transport the men to the hospital.

In total there were only ten needing transport—most of them for broken limbs. Dr. Wahler declared the rest of the injuries to be only cuts and bruises. Before striding off to wrap another cut, he told Mr. Morley they should be able to return to work within a few days.

The shoulder seam of Marshall's shirt had given way, and the pocket was hanging by a slender thread. He turned toward Mr. Morley, his face and hands smeared with a mixture of dirt and blood. Swiping his hands down his pant legs, he shook his head. “The men may be able to return to work in a day or two, but this damage won't be repaired so quickly.” Marshall approached the uninjured men. “I'd appreciate it if the rest of you would help the doctor as needed and then get to bed. There's much that will need our attention come morning.” Marshall pointed to four of the workers who were standing huddled together. “You four stand watch. If any more of those joists drop, or anything else goes wrong during the night, ring the bell.”