Though Waters Roar

  “You’re right, Harriet. That was completely unfair of him. But I don’t suppose anyone is going to convince him to change his mind, are they?”

  I shook my head, rainwater dripping from my hair. “Even Mother’s and Alice’s tears wouldn’t do me any good this time.”

  Grandma fetched a towel and gave it to me to dry off. “I know that right now you want sympathy more than advice, Harriet, but I’m going to give you some advice anyway. Just two words: Trust God.”

  I looked away. She was right—I didn’t want to hear it.

  “You have to trust that He is arranging the events in your life in order to lead you to the purpose He has for you,” she continued. “Sometimes those events are tragic and painful. But He uses them to shape us into the people He wants us to become.”

  “But I loved my job. And I was good at it!”

  “Did you ever stop to think that maybe God has an even better job for you? You’re so young, Harriet, and working at the store was the first challenge you ever faced on your own. But what if God has planned something even better for your future? Would you want to end up stuck at the store all your life and missing something great? Remember poor Horatio and how much he disliked working in his father’s business? I always thought he was destined for better, greater things, but he was stuck there. He had no choice. He was expected to continue his father’s work. And poor Neal MacLeod, who was so well suited for the job, was written right out of his father’s will.”

  I tossed the wet towel down on the floor. “Life is so unfair.”

  “Yes, it is. But in spite of that fact, we can trust God to always do what is best for us—best for His purposes. If working at the store is His choice for you, then He’ll arrange circumstances to lead you back there. Maybe your father’s attitude will change. But in the meantime, go to college. Find out more about yourself and your gifts. Women will be able to vote soon, and then watch out. There will be no limit to what we can accomplish.”

  “My life was going along so nicely,” I said. “And now I have nothing.”

  “Remember what my mother once told me, Harriet? She said, ‘Life is always changing, always flowing forward like a stream. Things never stay the same. And we have to move on and change, too.’ She was right, you know.”

  I heard what Grandma was saying, but disappointment and rage kept her words from sinking in. “I want to move in with you,” I told her. “I hate my father and I’m never going home again!”

  She stood to pour water from the boiling kettle, then said, “You may stay for a day or two. . . . After all, I would hate to see you commit patricide. But eventually you will have to forgive him.”

  “Never! What he did was unforgivable!”

  Grandma smiled sadly. “Your father grew up in an era when a man’s role was that of provider and protector. Whether men went to war or to work, they did it so that the women they loved could stay home where they were safe and cherished. That’s the way your father was raised, and in his mind he is doing what’s best for you—saving you from being forced to earn a living. He thinks he’s your knight in shining armor, doing battle in the business world so that he can give you and your mother everything you need, without you having to lift a finger. That’s the only way he knows to show his love for you. He can’t change his role overnight. Imagine how threatened men like your father must feel now that women are coming into their own, working in professional fields, voting to change things. Look how much your mother has changed in the past few years. In many ways, your father’s entire way of life is coming apart.”

  “Don’t ask me to feel sorry for him, Grandma. I can’t do it.”

  “I know, dear. But you are going to have to forgive him.”

  I closed my eyes, picturing my beloved Home Goods Department, knowing I would never work there again. I shook my head. “Forgiving him is impossible.”

  CHAPTER

  27

  I decided to start college in the fall of 1919 and faced a new injustice. When I reapplied to the school that had accepted me two years ago, I discovered that the admissions office was now giving preference to the men who had served their country during the war. And because so many men enrolled that fall, there was no room for me. Grandma Bebe would have told me that it was another instance of God ordering the circumstances in my life for His purposes, but if that was the case, I was starting to feel pretty angry with God, too.

  I ended up attending a small female college in Roseton and living at home. My classes weren’t nearly as challenging as my job had been. I signed up for a liberal arts degree with no clear goals in mind.

  On January 29, 1920, Grandma Bebe’s prohibition amendment went into effect. It was now officially against the law to manufacture, transport, or sell alcoholic beverages in the United States. “You have a right to be proud,” I told Grandma. “You’ve accomplished all your goals.”

  She must have detected a note of jealousy or maybe bitterness in my voice, because she caressed my cheek and said, “Your day will come, Harriet. Just be patient.” That August I was on summer break and sitting around feeling sorry for myself when Maude called to tell me that Bertha and Lyle had just had a second child. I decided to pay Bertha a visit and surprise her with a gift. I found her in tears.

  “Bertha, what’s wrong?” It was probably a stupid question. She had a runny-nosed two-year-old hanging on to her apron and a fussy newborn in her arms. The apartment looked much too cramped for a family of four, and the temperature inside felt ten degrees hotter than outside. I would weep, too, if I were Bertha.

  “Oh, Miss Sherwood. Lyle and I are in a terrible pickle. He . . . oh, maybe I shouldn’t tell you. He said not to tell anybody, but I . . . I just don’t know what we’re going to do!”

  I guided her to a chair so she could finish feeding the baby, then gave her two-year-old the stuffed bear I had brought him. Both children were content momentarily, so I encouraged Bertha to confide in me. “You know that I would never share your secrets with anyone—and maybe there’s something I can do to help.”

  Bertha wiped her eyes on the burping cloth that was slung over her shoulder. “You see this crummy apartment? It was all we could afford, and now we can’t even afford to live here. If we don’t pay the rent by next week, they’re going to throw us out.”

  “I thought Lyle had a good job.”

  “He did! But they went on strike a month ago and now we’re all out of money.”

  “Maybe I could loan—”

  “I’m not even to the worse part, Miss Sherwood.”

  I could see that this might take a while, so I sat down on one of Bertha’s splintery kitchen chairs to listen.

  “Please don’t get me wrong. My Lyle is a very good man, and he knows that he never should have done such a stupid thing, but with two children to take care of and no money for the rent, he was desperate. So when a friend told him how he could make a little extra money . . . well . . .” Bertha’s voice dropped to a whisper. “He got mixed up with the wrong kind of people, and . . . and he agreed to smuggle liquor across the border from Canada.”

  “Oh my.”

  “Transporting liquor is against the law, Miss Sherwood, and if Lyle gets thrown into jail, we’ll starve. I didn’t know he was planning to do it until it was too late. He had already gone up to Canada and he never said a word about it until I saw him bringing all the crates of liquor and beer into the apartment, and I—”

  “Wait a minute, slow down. He brought the liquor in here?”

  “Yes, here! Lyle hid it here in our apartment.”

  I took a quick glance around the two rooms and knew it wouldn’t be too hard for me or anyone else to find it. The baby had fallen asleep in Bertha’s arms, so she laid him in a laundry basket that she was using for his cradle. Now that her hands were empty, she began wringing them. “I don’t know what to do!”

  “Why didn’t Lyle just deliver his cargo right away?” I asked. “Why bring it here?”

  “They told him to w
ait a couple of days and to use a different car in case the police were watching him and were planning to follow him to the delivery place. When he told me all this . . . honestly, Miss Sherwood, I had a fit! We have two children to think about. Lyle told the people that they would have to come here and get the liquor themselves, but they explained that transporting it is the part that’s against the law. They said that Lyle has to deliver it, but now he’s afraid to. And I’m afraid to let him. Oh, I just don’t know what to do!”

  “If I were you, I think I would dump it all down the sink.”

  “We can’t. The people loaned him the money to drive up to Canada and buy it. Beer costs five dollars a case up there and sells for twenty-five dollars a case down here, and after Lyle pays the people back, plus a little bit for interest, we were supposed to keep the rest. Now we’re in even more debt.”

  It sounded like a very well-planned operation where the bad guys made desperate people like Lyle and Bertha take all of the risks. “Have you considered going to the police?” I asked.

  “We can’t. Lyle broke the law. We’ll starve while he’s in jail, and once he has a prison record, he’ll never be able to get another job. I know you’re very smart, Miss Sherwood, and you’re always thinking up new ideas and things—please tell me what we should do.”

  “Wow.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I ran my hands through my short hair as I pondered Bertha’s dilemma.

  She was an excellent salesclerk, but she would never be able to find a job now that she was married. Besides, who would take care of her children? The women like Millie White who had come to Grandma Bebe for help had faced the same dead end, and Grandma had begun her temperance crusade to help them. My mother’s involvement with the suffrage movement had started after Daniel Carver’s wife and children were also left destitute. Mother had enlisted the help of her women’s club the very next day. Now it was my turn to come up with a solution to rescue someone in need. I rose from the chair and started to pace.

  I could borrow Grandma Bebe’s car and deliver the liquor myself, but I would be taking a huge risk. Then again, Great-Grandma Hannah had taken a risk when she hid escaped slaves in the back of her wagon. And Grandma Bebe had not only risked contracting cholera in order to help out, but she had been willing to go to jail to close down saloons. My mother had risked losing her reputation and all of her society friends when she stood up in front of her club members and declared her intention to help families in need. And I wanted to help this family.

  “I’ll deliver the liquor,” I told Bertha. “And collect your money.”

  “Y-you will?”

  “Yes. But I need you to swear to me that you and Lyle will never do anything this stupid again.”

  “I do swear! On my very life! And I’ll make sure that Lyle swears, too.”

  I borrowed Grandma’s car that evening. As I drove back to Bertha’s apartment I felt like Joan of Arc or Queen Esther, or some other noble heroine racing to the rescue. I admit that the thought

  of breaking the law—for a worthy cause—was very exciting. And heaven knows I hadn’t had much excitement in my life lately.

  My apprehension began as I watched Lyle loading all the liquor into the car. “I never imagined that there would be so much of it,” I told him.

  “Yeah,” he said, wiping sweat from his forehead. “And I don’t think it’s all going to fit in your trunk.”

  “How did you get all of this across the border?”

  “They gave me a special car to drive, with compartments to hide it all in.”

  “Well, I’m not making two trips,” I said. “You’ll have to pile the rest of it in the back seat and cover it with a blanket. I want to get this over with.”

  Lyle gave me the address where I was supposed to deliver the liquor, along with his profuse thanks. “Good luck, Miss Sherwood.”

  I started the car and took a moment to wipe my sweating palms on my thighs before shifting into gear. The excitement I had felt on the way over began to drain away once I started driving through town. Fear replaced it. What in the world was I doing? I pushed down on the accelerator, driving a little faster, eager to get my good deed over with. That’s when I heard the siren behind me.

  My first impulse was to press the accelerator all the way to the floor and make a run for it, but then I recalled how Hannah had stopped and waited for her pursuers. I pulled the car over to the side of the road, hoping the police car would drive past, hoping the blaring siren wasn’t meant for me, after all. But the police car came to a stop behind me. I thought I knew how Grandma Bebe felt when the bounty hunters had halted their horses beside her wagon and the dogs started sniffing around. I tried to act calm, but my entire body was trembling. Imagine my surprise when I looked in the mirror and recognized the officer who was walking up to my car window.

  “Would you step out of the car, please?” Tommy asked.

  I could barely stand and found I had to lean against the fender for support. Too late, I noticed that the blanket had slipped off, exposing my cargo in the back seat. I watched in a daze as Tommy uncorked one of the bottles and sniffed. How could this be happening to me?

  “I’m going to have to arrest you, Harriet,” Tommy said. He seemed truly surprised. I was even more surprised. Unlike my great-grandmother Hannah, I had been caught with the goods!

  “So you see?” I told Tommy, “I did it to help a friend in need. Bertha and Lyle have two small children, and I don’t have anyone to worry about but myself. I don’t intend to make a career of rum running, and neither do they. I just wanted to do a good deed.”

  I didn’t tell Tommy, but after thinking about it for the past twenty-four hours, I also think that I did it because I was angry with all of the maddeningly heroic people in my family: Great-Grandma Hannah, who helped free millions of slaves; Grandpa Horatio, who saved an entire town; and Grandma Bebe, who not only conquered Demon Rum in our family and our town but also helped the entire nation go dry. And even my lovely, shallow, socialite mother was about to succeed in a way that would change the life of every woman in America. And what had I ever done?

  “I come from a long line of heroes and heroines, Tommy, and I wanted my chance to be brave. But there aren’t any more causes to fight for. I’ve been left out and left behind. I’m plain-faced and ordinary. And now, apparently, I’m also a criminal.”

  “I don’t know where you got that idea,” Tommy said, looking up at me. “You’re not plain-faced. And you’re certainly not ordinary.”

  “Thanks.” I wasn’t sure if I believed him. I wondered if he believed me.

  “The funny thing is,” Tommy said, leaning back in the booth, “I believe your story.”

  “You do?”

  “No one could make up something as wild as that,” he said with a grin.

  I felt only a small measure of relief. “So I guess Lyle was right. I guess the police were watching his house, after all.”

  Tommy’s brow furrowed. “I wasn’t watching his house. I stopped you because you were driving too fast.”

  “You’re joking!”

  “No. When I saw that it was you, I was going to let you go with a warning—but then I spotted all those bottles in the back seat and I had no choice.”

  “The blanket must have slipped off.”

  “Apparently. The liquor was in plain sight.”

  “Poor Lyle,” I said with a sigh. “I don’t know how he’ll ever pay back all the money he owes. Some very big people are going to be awfully mad at him.”

  The furrow in Tommy’s brow deepened, but I didn’t think he was worried about Lyle and Bertha. “So that means . . . Lyle’s customers must still be waiting for their delivery,” he murmured.

  “I suppose they are. . . . Why? What are you thinking?”

  “I was thinking that if I called in some federal agents to help me, we could go raid the place. You had an awful lot of alcohol in your car, Harriet, so I’m guessing it must be a very large operation.

>   Do you still have the address?”

  “I do.”

  Tommy leaned forward, his gaze intense. “Listen, if you give it to me and we’re able to catch the big guys, maybe the judge will be more lenient toward you and your friends for cooperating.”

  I did some quick thinking, and I didn’t like Tommy’s idea. “Your plan would get my friends into trouble, and right now you don’t have any evidence against them. The liquor was in my car. But if you go crashing in to catch the bad guys, they will think Lyle tipped you off. And if Lyle doesn’t pay back the money he borrowed, he and Bertha will be even worse off than when they started.”

  “Maybe so, but—”

  “I have a better idea. Let me make the delivery and collect Lyle’s money first. Then you can move in and make your arrests.”

  “I can’t involve you in this. It’s much too dangerous.”

  “Well, I’m not giving you the address unless we do it my way.”

  I crossed my arms and lifted my chin. Tommy would recognize the pose.

  “Now, Harriet—”

  “Look, I was going to drive there last night and make the delivery, so how is this any more dangerous? Please, let me try to undo some of the harm I’ve already done.”

  We argued about it until we had each drunk enough coffee to keep us awake for a week. In the end, Tommy reluctantly agreed with my plan, since it was the only way he would ever make the arrest and close down a secret gin joint. We walked back across the street to the police station. Night had fallen by now, and it was dark outside.

  I sat in a wooden chair in the back room and listened while Tommy made some phone calls and enlisted two federal agents to help him. “Okay, it’s all set up,” he finally told me. “Your car is still behind the police station, where my partner parked it last night. The alcohol is in the evidence room, but we’ll put it all back in the car. . . . Listen, are you sure you won’t change your mind and just give me the address?”