trudged behind them but stopped when we heard excited yells behind us. We turned in time to see the Midway buildings lift on the waves and crash to the ground like kindling. Josiah gave me a stunned look as debris washed toward the shocked crowds. Many people turned to leave, but some stayed on, their faces lit with excitement.
“Let’s go!” I yelled over the sound of the surf. Josiah nodded, and we bent our heads into the rain, wading toward the higher ground on Broadway where I hoped we’d have an easier time of getting home.
Rising water and high curbs had turned the south streets into rushing brown rivers, but buggies and drays still moved along them as if overflows were a daily occurrence. Kids floated by on homemade rafts or paddled along in washtubs, bumping into broken tree limbs and odd bits of bobbing lumber. They laughed while wet hair whipped around their faces.
Everywhere I looked I saw tiny green frogs, thousands of them, covering floating debris, sitting on fence posts and porches, and even riding astride a horse’s back.
We waded out of the water just one block shy of Broadway and made our way west toward Thirty-fifth Street. It wasn’t long before I saw whole families struggling in from the beach roads just like we had, leaving their homes for higher ground. They carried clothing, food, and framed photographs, and ahead of themthey pushed muddy kids hugging kittens and puppies to their chests.
“The bay and the gulf have joined!” one of them yelled, pointing to the street.
I looked and saw water rushing in from Galveston Bay on one side and from the gulf on the other. The two seas met in the middle of Broadway, swirling over the wooden paving blocks, and I couldn’t help but shudder at the sight. All of Galveston appeared to be under water.
When we reached Twenty-fourth Street, I looked south toward the gulf, trying to keep an eye on the stalking sea. Wild waves rose up like a great hand and wrenched loose the Pagoda’s long staircase, sending planks tumbling through the air. With horror I watched the end of one twin building sway and dip into the surf.
I yelled at Josiah, but my words disappeared on the wind. I grabbed his arm, pointed, and we stood together, shoulder to shoulder, mouths gaping, watching the impossible.
Like a wounded Goliath, the great bathhouse shuddered, folded in on its long legs, and collapsed into the sea.
Chapter
10
My heart pounded as hard as the rain while, blocks away, the Pagoda’s twin buildings broke apart. Waves flung huge chunks of splintered wood into the air and dashed them into the homes overlooking the gulf.
The staggering truth of what was happening twisted so tight inside me I could hardly breathe. This was far more than the simple storm with overflows that everyone had expected. I stared toward the flooded beach and wondered if there were some who still watched, paralyzed, unable to tear themselves from the horror of seeing their great bathhouses ripped apart by the sea.
Josiah nudged my arm. “We needs to go.”
He blinked in the stinging rain, and I nodded, thankful to leave the shattered Pagoda behind. All I wanted now was to get to Uncle Nate’s, where I hoped to find Mama, Papa, and the kids, safe and dry.
Over the wind and rain, I heard shouting and dogsbarking. Cows bawled, and chickens squawked with fear as they flapped off to higher roosts. People hurried with us and past us, trying to get home from work or errands, while children still splashed in the rising water, unmindful of the violence that had taken place just blocks away. Horses continued to pull their loads, skirting fallen limbs and no doubt eager for dry barns and fresh hay.
By the time we reached the alley behind Thirty-fifth Street, the wind had shifted slightly to the east. Water swirled around our knees, and thousands of creosoted, wooden pavers swept along Broadway like toy boats. I followed Josiah down the alley to his grandfather’s house, and when we found it
“Let’s go!” I yelled over the sound of the surf. Josiah nodded, and we bent our heads into the rain, wading toward the higher ground on Broadway where I hoped we’d have an easier time of getting home.
Rising water and high curbs had turned the south streets into rushing brown rivers, but buggies and drays still moved along them as if overflows were a daily occurrence. Kids floated by on homemade rafts or paddled along in washtubs, bumping into broken tree limbs and odd bits of bobbing lumber. They laughed while wet hair whipped around their faces.
Everywhere I looked I saw tiny green frogs, thousands of them, covering floating debris, sitting on fence posts and porches, and even riding astride a horse’s back.
We waded out of the water just one block shy of Broadway and made our way west toward Thirty-fifth Street. It wasn’t long before I saw whole families struggling in from the beach roads just like we had, leaving their homes for higher ground. They carried clothing, food, and framed photographs, and ahead of themthey pushed muddy kids hugging kittens and puppies to their chests.
“The bay and the gulf have joined!” one of them yelled, pointing to the street.
I looked and saw water rushing in from Galveston Bay on one side and from the gulf on the other. The two seas met in the middle of Broadway, swirling over the wooden paving blocks, and I couldn’t help but shudder at the sight. All of Galveston appeared to be under water.
When we reached Twenty-fourth Street, I looked south toward the gulf, trying to keep an eye on the stalking sea. Wild waves rose up like a great hand and wrenched loose the Pagoda’s long staircase, sending planks tumbling through the air. With horror I watched the end of one twin building sway and dip into the surf.
I yelled at Josiah, but my words disappeared on the wind. I grabbed his arm, pointed, and we stood together, shoulder to shoulder, mouths gaping, watching the impossible.
Like a wounded Goliath, the great bathhouse shuddered, folded in on its long legs, and collapsed into the sea.
Chapter
10
My heart pounded as hard as the rain while, blocks away, the Pagoda’s twin buildings broke apart. Waves flung huge chunks of splintered wood into the air and dashed them into the homes overlooking the gulf.
The staggering truth of what was happening twisted so tight inside me I could hardly breathe. This was far more than the simple storm with overflows that everyone had expected. I stared toward the flooded beach and wondered if there were some who still watched, paralyzed, unable to tear themselves from the horror of seeing their great bathhouses ripped apart by the sea.
Josiah nudged my arm. “We needs to go.”
He blinked in the stinging rain, and I nodded, thankful to leave the shattered Pagoda behind. All I wanted now was to get to Uncle Nate’s, where I hoped to find Mama, Papa, and the kids, safe and dry.
Over the wind and rain, I heard shouting and dogsbarking. Cows bawled, and chickens squawked with fear as they flapped off to higher roosts. People hurried with us and past us, trying to get home from work or errands, while children still splashed in the rising water, unmindful of the violence that had taken place just blocks away. Horses continued to pull their loads, skirting fallen limbs and no doubt eager for dry barns and fresh hay.
By the time we reached the alley behind Thirty-fifth Street, the wind had shifted slightly to the east. Water swirled around our knees, and thousands of creosoted, wooden pavers swept along Broadway like toy boats. I followed Josiah down the alley to his grandfather’s house, and when we found it
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