Though Waters Roar

  “Wait!” Neal interrupted again. “I don’t think you should do this, Beatrice. I . . . I can’t let you do this.”

  “Why not? You’ve been operating the tannery all these years, so it’s not as though I’m giving it to you for free—you’ve earned it. You’re the one who has made it profitable. Besides, if part ownership is in your hands, then my daughter and I will be even better off than we are now. I’m sure you’ll be motivated to work even harder if half of the tannery belongs to you.”

  Neal slumped back in his seat, shaking his head in disbelief, but Bebe remained determined. “Can you arrange for the transfer, Mr. Harris?”

  The lawyer had been watching and listening without commenting, but he finally spoke up. “Are you certain you wish to do this, Mrs. Garner?”

  “Yes. I’m absolutely certain.”

  “Very well. I’ll respect your wishes. I’ll prepare all of the necessary documents and deeds.”

  Neal followed Bebe outside afterward, stopping her as they reached the curb. “I still can’t believe you would do this, Beatrice. It’s a very kind, generous thing to do. I don’t know how I can ever thank you.”

  “It was the right thing to do, Neal. You’re Mr. Garner’s son— I’m only his daughter-in-law. Besides, I watched you work at the tannery for more than a year, remember? I saw how much you love that place, how it has become part of you.”

  “Yes . . . well . . . in any case, thank you. I’ll make certain you won’t regret it.”

  Bebe’s carriage was parked nearby and the driver had opened the door for her. She had accomplished her task and had no reason to linger, yet neither she nor Neal seemed in a hurry to leave.

  He cleared his throat. “Maybe . . . maybe this isn’t the best time to discuss this, for I know that you loved your husband and that you’re still in mourning. But I think you also know that I . . . I have feelings for you.”

  “Yes. I know,” she said softly.

  “During the time we worked together, it would have been wrong to tell you how I felt because you were a married woman. But now it’s no longer a sin. . . . I fell in love with you, Beatrice. Whenever I’ve thought about you for the past year and a half, I’ve wished that I had told you.”

  “I knew. And you must have known that I fell in love with you, too. I realized too late that it was wrong. I should have guarded my heart better.”

  Neal had been staring at his feet as they talked, but he finally looked up at her. “Someday . . . in a year or two . . . do you think there could ever be a future for us?” She saw love and hope and fear in his unguarded expression.

  “Oh, Neal . . .” She closed her eyes, longing to share his hope, longing to fall into his arms. “I would love to believe that we might have a future together after enough time has passed, after I finish grieving for Horatio. But Mrs. Garner knows who you are. And if I left her to be with you . . .” Bebe shook her head. “I could never hurt her that way.”

  Neal exhaled. “Yes, of course. I understand.” The muscles in his face worked as he battled his emotions. “I’m a reminder of her husband’s infidelity.”

  “She has lost so much more than we have. Her husband betrayed her, her only son is dead, and the only thing she has left, besides Lucy and me, is her social position. I can’t take that away from her. Believe me, I don’t want to stay in that horrible house and live an empty life. I would much rather be with you. But I have to stay, for her sake.”

  Do the right thing, Bebe’s mother would have told her, and trust God to bring good out of it. But she wondered as she watched Neal wipe away a tear that had escaped, if she ever would find the contentment and peace that Hannah had found.

  “I might have chosen differently before I started working for the Temperance Union,” Bebe continued. “I used to think only of myself and what I wanted. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned from that amazing group of women, it’s that God puts other people in our life so that we won’t have to suffer through it alone. I can’t leave Mrs. Garner all alone. God loves her, even if I find it hard to. And I’m responsible before God for how I treat her.”

  “You’re a good woman, Beatrice,” he said, swallowing. “I never dreamed you would give me a share in the tannery. In fact, whenever I’ve thought about you and the possibility of a future together, I was afraid that it would seem as though I was pursuing you so that I could inherit it. It never would have been my intention to marry you for the business.”

  “I know, Neal. I know you would never do that.”

  “Well . . . maybe we should leave things the way they are— strictly business.” He looked up at her again, and she saw both love and pain in his eyes. She still could change her mind; she had only to speak the word and they could be together.

  “Strictly business,” she whispered. She could barely see him through her tears. Bebe loved Horatio. He had just died, and she still couldn’t accept his loss. But she loved Neal MacLeod, too. Was such a thing possible?

  “Are you going to be all right?” he asked. She nodded. “You could always come back to work with me at the tannery, you know.”

  “The tannery is your life’s work, not mine. I have to move forward, not backward. And change is a part of life. I learned that growing up on the farm—sowing, growing, harvesting—life always goes on.”

  “What will you do, then?”

  It was becoming clear to Bebe that she would continue her work with the Temperance Union even though her family was no longer affected. As the wife of Roseton’s new hero, her voice would carry a great deal of clout. “With so much reconstruction taking place around here,” she said, “I need to make sure that all the saloons aren’t rebuilt, as well.”

  “I know how smart and capable you are. I have no doubt at all that you’ll succeed in whatever you try to accomplish.”

  “Thank you.”

  The street had been free of traffic as they’d talked, but when a wagon and team of horses approached, Neal took Bebe’s arm and gently guided her away from the curb so the approaching vehicle wouldn’t splash them. “Why does life have to be so hard?” she asked after it passed.

  “I don’t know. I guess that’s just the way it is.” He released her arm and began backing away from her, as he always did. She wanted to embrace him one last time but knew that she didn’t dare.

  “Thank you again, for what you did with the tannery,” he said. “I’ll run it well, for both our sakes. I’ll make sure that you’re always well provided for.”

  “I know I’m in good hands. Good-bye, Neal.”

  “Good-bye.”

  Bebe took one long, last look at him as he continued to back away from her. Then he finally turned and hurried off. “God go with you,” she whispered.

  Bebe went upstairs to her mother-in-law’s room and knocked on her door as soon as she returned home. Trading a future with Neal MacLeod for a future with Mrs. Garner had been one of the hardest things she had ever done, but she knew she had made the right decision. Again, she thought of the words Not my will, but thine, be done.

  “Mother Garner?” she said after knocking a second time. “It’s me, Beatrice.” When she still didn’t hear a reply, she went inside. The shades were drawn in the unkempt room, and Mrs. Garner lay buried beneath a mound of blankets and pillows. Bebe scooped up the tin of laudanum pills from her nightstand and slipped it into her pocket, then opened all the curtains and window shades.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Mrs. Garner asked. The pillows muffled her voice.

  “You have to get up, Mother Garner. You need to answer all of these condolence cards.”

  “You do it.”

  “I already answered the ones that were addressed to me. But good manners require you to respond to the ones addressed to you.”

  “Who are you to lecture me about good manners?”

  Bebe drew a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I share your grief, Mother Garner. I loved Horatio, too. But he wouldn’t want us to stop living. He would want us
to carry on with our lives and learn to be happy again.”

  The covers rustled as Mrs. Garner sat up, leaning on her elbows.

  “What reason do I have to be happy? I have no one left.”

  “That’s not true. You have Lucy . . . and me.”

  Mrs. Garner stared at Bebe as if questioning her sincerity. “I suppose you’ll sell my home out from under me now, and everything will change. You never wanted anything to do with this house or our way of life.”

  “I’m not selling the house, and nothing is going to change. You’re Horatio’s mother, and he loved you. I’ll always take care of you, for his sake. And for Lucy’s sake. She loves you, too.”

  Mrs. Garner’s eyes were cold as she stared at Bebe. “If you hadn’t made him go up to that cabin with you, he would have been here at home where it was safe when the dam burst.”

  Her mother-in-law’s words couldn’t hurt Bebe. She had punished herself with them a hundred times since Horatio died. “Maybe so,” she said quietly. “But thousands of innocent people would be dead.” She walked toward the door, then turned back. “I’m going to send Herta up with a tray of food. You need to eat something, Mother Garner, and regain your strength. I’m planning to invite a small group of your friends to come for tea next week. They are concerned about you. Besides, according to all the etiquette books, holding a small reception is the proper thing to do.”

  Bebe felt a double measure of sorrow as she descended the stairs to speak with the cook—sorrow over Horatio and over Neal. Yet God seemed very close to her at that moment, as close as He had been the first time she’d prayed in front of a saloon. Loving her mother-in-law was the task that He had given to Bebe for now. And though nearly everything else in her life had been taken away, God was still with her.

  And she was going to be fine.

  By the time Grandma Bebe finished telling her story, I was crying. Tears flowed down her cheeks, too. I felt terrible for putting them there. I never should have made her relive that terrible day—much less relive it during Alice’s wedding reception. The musicians played a stately waltz, people laughed and danced— while we cried our eyes out.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, hugging her. “I heard about the Great Flood of 1876 in school but no one ever told me what my grandfather did. Why didn’t you tell me this story before?”

  “Don’t be silly. You’ve heard the story.”

  I shook my head. “No, I haven’t. . . . I don’t even know where he’s buried.”

  “I’ll take you there some time. . . . Well, I’m ready to leave, are you? There is entirely too much drinking at this shindig for me to want to stay.”

  I told Daddy we were going home, and I climbed into Grandma’s car with her. I expected her to go straight home, but instead she drove to Garner Park and stopped at a spot overlooking the river.

  “I know you’ve been to this park before, Harriet. You must have seen the monument stone.”

  “I guess I have,” I said with a shrug. “I know your name is Garner and that this is Garner Park, but my name is Sherwood . . . and I guess I never gave it much thought.”

  “Well, come on, then.”

  Dew dampened my shoes as we walked across the grass. A half-moon lit the way for us, and stars shone above our heads. Grandma halted beside a granite marker that was taller than she was. It looked like a giant tombstone. I had never bothered to read the engraving before, but this time I did: In memory of Horatio T.Garner, whose courage and heroism saved thousands of lives in the Great Flood, March 25, 1876. The names of the fifty-six other people who had perished along with him were inscribed beneath his name in smaller letters.

  “The city proclaimed your grandfather a hero,” Grandma told me. “They named this park after him. They said he saved thousands of lives, but my poor Horatio was washed away with the floodwaters. They found his body nearly a mile downstream.” She sighed and gestured to the trees and pathways and flower beds all around us. “This park is where The Flats used to be. After the disaster, the city decided to move the workers’ neighborhood to higher ground. They built those levies along the riverbanks for protection.”

  “No one ever told me,” I said softly.

  “Well.” She sighed again. “I can’t imagine why not. My Horatio was quite famous, dear.” She gazed off at the distant river. “It was always very hard for me to talk about losing Horatio. I imagine it must have been even harder for your mother. How do you explain heroism to a child, especially when she misses her daddy?” Grandma Bebe pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve and wiped her eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Grandma. I didn’t mean to spoil this happy day.”

  “You didn’t spoil it, dear,” she said with a smile. “Joy and sorrow are two sides of the same coin. They both come in seasons, just like floods and droughts. I loved my Horatio. I think about him nearly every day.”

  She reached to take my hand and we walked side by side, back to her car.

  “He was a good man underneath it all,” she said as she slid behind the steering wheel. “But in a way, he really died years earlier on a battlefield in Virginia. I guess it just takes some men longer than others to fall down dead. My brother Joseph was one of the lucky ones who died quickly.”

  I was afraid to ask any more questions, but as we drove away, I wondered when Grandma had moved out of Horatio’s big mansion on the ridge. She had lived in her modest house overlooking the river for as long as I’d known her. The view from her bedroom window was of the river. I wondered if it reminded her of Horatio.

  She halted the car in front of her garage, but we didn’t get out right away. The gaslights up and down the street gave off a warm glow as we sat in the dark, talking.

  “I loved him, Harriet. There was goodness and joy in him in spite of all the sorrow he brought into our lives. If only he could have believed in himself and overcome his drinking. But alcohol had a grip on him, and he couldn’t shake free. That’s why it should be outlawed. It ruined the life of a good man.

  “Some people call our temperance crusade the Women’s Whiskey War,” Grandma continued. “And it is a war, make no mistake about that. We’ve had to fight hard to make this community aware of all the hardship that comes from alcohol, aware of the children who live in appalling conditions and die from poor health because their fathers drink away all of their earnings. We’ll do whatever it takes to win this war, whether it means praying in front of saloons or smashing whiskey barrels at the train depot.”

  “But after Horatio died, you had no reason to keep fighting, did you? Why not just live peacefully?”

  “I couldn’t do that. I knew about the evil of alcohol firsthand. What better work could I ever do than to help others fight it? The other women and I do what we need to do—and lives are saved. I would like to think that in his short, tragic life, Horatio saved this town from more than the flood.”

  “But you did all the work, Grandma, not Horatio.”

  She shook her head. “Marriage is always a partnership, dear.

  I loved Horatio.”

  “How could you still love him after everything he put you through?”

  “Love isn’t always a feeling. Sometimes it’s a decision. I can only pray that you and Alice will find love and meaning in your marriages, too.”

  “I’m never getting married,” I mumbled, crossing my arms. I meant it now more than ever before. Why suffer all that pain and sorrow?

  Grandma smiled at me through her tears. “We shall see, Harriet, my dear. We shall see.”

  CHAPTER

  21

  Who knew that life in jail could be so boring? Grandma Bebe had been arrested several times, so you’d think she would have at least mentioned it. If only someone would bring me a book to read—I would have even settled for some needlework to help while away the hours, and heaven knows I never have been one to sit and stitch. I seemed to be the only person in jail that day, which meant I had no one to talk to. Time passed as slowly and as annoyingly as a dripping faucet.


  I finally sat up and ate my lunch. The glistening tapioca pudding wore down my resistance. I never could turn down a good bowl of tapioca. When that was gone and I had licked every slick, lumpy morsel off the bowl and spoon, I decided I might as well eat the vegetable soup and the bread, too. There is no point in attempting a hunger strike if you’re going to make an exception and gobble down your dessert.

  “The soup was watery and the bread was dry,” I told the man who came to retrieve my lunch tray.

  “Ain’t that a pity now?” I could tell by his smirk that he didn’t care. He slammed the cell door closed as if to remind me that I was incarcerated.

  The afternoon dragged even more slowly than the morning had. Worrying about my fate didn’t help my mood, either. Prohibition had become the law of the land only a few months ago, and I was one of the very first people in Roseton to get caught breaking it. I had no idea how long my jail term might last. Spending one day in this place was bad enough; I couldn’t imagine spending several years this way. If prison was meant to be a deterrent to a life of crime, then I was ready to repent of my misdeeds and forswear all criminal behavior forever.

  I slumped against the cold brick wall and sighed. I had been asking myself the same questions over and over ever since Tommy had locked me in here last night. How in the world had I ended up here, so far from where I imagined life would take me? And how would I ever find my way back to where I should be? I had hoped to stumble upon the answers by reminiscing about my grandmother’s life. So far, it hadn’t worked.

  When my supper tray arrived hours later, I was very surprised to see that once again, Tommy O’Reilly delivered it. “Is our town so short of policemen that you not only have to arrest all the criminals but feed them, as well?” I asked.

  “I was worried about you, Harriet. I wanted to see how you were doing.”

  I tried to think of a witty retort but couldn’t. Boredom had dulled my mind. “I’m fine,” I said, “considering my circumstances.”