A Twisted Ladder by Rhodi Hawk Page A

light had finally illuminated their efforts. Along the wooden basket weave of the levee’s edge, Rémi had found conical mud chimneys. Crawfish holes. Like a termite infestation in an old house, they weakened the framework. He had checked the water level again and saw that it had risen two inches. Despite their frantic efforts, the sandbags could only go so far. The higher the makeshift wall had risen, the more stout the base had had to be, and it had seemed as if they were trying to build a mountain from a bag of marbles.
    Francois had appeared with a cartload of laborers. Clad in galoshes with their bellies full from cold cornbread and hot coffee that Tatie Bernadette had hastily sent along, the Terrefleurs workers had set upon the levee with fresh vigor. Soon after, the sheriff and deputy had arrived with more men from other plantations. At that point Rémi had actually felt hope.
    However, as the hours had slipped by, the river had continued to rise and push against the thin structure with mounting force. Morning had now worn into noon, and Rémi decided to send Francois back to Terrefleurs for more supplies. They needed sandbags, food, and tents. They would remain there through the night.
    But before releasing Francois, Rémi leaned over and spoke to him in a low voice, “While you are there, check the levee at Terrefleurs. I want to know how it’s holding up.”
     

     
    IN THE AFTERNOON, THE rain stopped, and everyone breathed sighs of relief. Their bodies ached from long hours of exertion and lack of sleep. The workers slackened, resting in wet grass on higher ground, discussing past floods. Rémi heard horse hooves, and was relieved to see Francois returning with the supplies.
    “
Ici
,” he called, gesturing toward the least soggy stretch of grass.
    Francois eased the cart into place, and Rémi started pulling out crates before Francois had even dismounted. The smell of steaming beans and biscuits caused Rémi’s belly to cramp with sudden, almost savage urgency. It occurred to him that Glory Plantation was not sending provisions, and he wondered whether Francois’s load would accommodate everyone present. But as he peered into the back of the cart, he saw several more of the same crates. Tatie Bernadette had guessed the situation and sent enough for the entire lot.
    The workers formed a food line and all chatter ceased. Rémi looked across the faces of hungry men to Francois, who nodded in acknowledgment. Terrefleurs was safe.
    As much as Rémi longed to fill his plate, he waited while the men dished up first. He watched as one by one, they began to consume their meals, and he waited for the line to dwindle. He thought of his wife’s servant, Chloe, and how he would have preferred that she might have joined them. Not for labor nor skill in the kitchen, but she had about her a command that rallied others to toil, and her skill in healing could go far in situations such as these, where injuries and ailments prevailed.
    He lifted his face toward the heavens, wondering whether the deluge had stopped for good this time. One of the laborers had finished his meal and was already back at work. Rémi joined him. Might as well work—it might take his mind off the smell of food until he would take his turn. But although the rain had indeed stopped, the water continued to rise. The sheriff lingered along the great sandbag berm, speaking in low tones with Elrod Chapman, who then saddled his mare and disappeared into the mist. Rémi did not pause to ask where his father-in-law had gone.
    The deputy set off on foot in the direction of Vacherie, most likely to advise evacuation. Finally, the last man had filled his plate, and Rémi took from what was left. Cold and thin now, but enough. He told Francois to go home for the night and return with more supplies in the morning. Soon the sky would grow dark, and they’d have to pitch tents and build fires.
     

     
    THE RAIN HAD STARTED again during the night.
    At daybreak,