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The Storm After

By Gina Hooten Popp

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Prologue

GALVESTON ISLAND
Saturday Afternoon
September 8, 1900

Looking out over the ocean, Sister Elizabeth noticed two things: magnificent, violet-tinged clouds streaking across a gray-blue sky, and a strange swirling of waves in a most unusual green color. Walking back along the beach, she began to mentally prepare a list of things needed to ready the orphanage for the coming storm.

When Sister Elizabeth went to town for supplies, she would seek the advice of John, the church’s volunteer handyman. Close to her in age and thought, John was her friend and a Godly man, even though there were some who thought otherwise. But she knew his heart and was grateful for his help. As Sister Elizabeth made her way back to the dormitories, she felt the first drops of rain. She couldn’t help thinking they tasted like tears as they slid down her face. A gull in erratic flight screeched overhead.

Sister Elizabeth only intended to make a quick trip into town, but the rain had intensified, making it difficult to navigate the streets. People scurried about making last minute preparations for the storm. No one had ever seen flooding come in this fast, or this far inland, and people were starting to take the weather seriously. Many appeared to be leaving their jobs early to go home and help their families get ready for the approaching storm. Some were saying the hurricane had changed paths and, now, it was headed directly for them. If the townsfolk’s speculation of the storm came true, the orphanage would be completely unprotected in its position near the beach. Sister Elizabeth looked down at the too-fast rising water impeding her progress and shifted her packages higher.

“Sister Elizabeth. Sister Elizabeth.”

She turned to the voice she knew so well. John stood, drenched by the rain, giving him the appearance of a different person. But she knew when he took the heaviest packages and loaded them for her he was the same sweet John.

Jumping into the buggy, John took the reins. “I’ve got to get you back, sister,” he said. “Got to help you and the sisters batten down. Ships coming in report this storm’s a real bad one. Sailors told me it’s the worst they’ve ever seen.”
•••
Later that night hurricane-force winds pounded the orphanage like demons with sticks. This is as close to hell as Sister Elizabeth ever wanted to be. Fear rose like bile in her throat and she wished John had not insisted on going back to town. His presence would have been comforting. However, she knew no mere mortal could protect them against the angry winds and needle-like sheets of rain being forced down upon them. The outcome would be in God’s hands.

Rising high, the water covered the whole first floor. She was thankful John had the foresight to convince the sisters to gather all the children on the top floor of the girls’ dormitory. He had deemed it the stronger of the buildings. Now at the height of the storm, even its sturdy construction groaned from the strain of the sustained high winds. She thought back to what the store clerk had said about the hurricane changing paths. Judging by the unrelenting roar, the hurricane was passing right over the heart of Galveston, and the island didn’t have a seawall. Her heart lurched as she watched one wall start to bend perilously inward. Nails popped. Wood splintered.

Knowing she could not hold all the children in her arms, she had used clothesline to connect each child’s hand to one another. She had told them they were playing a game. Now linked together, the little ones huddled around, hiding their eyes in her robe. With each new crash of thunder and burst of lightning they cried uncontrollably.

“Shhh, now … shhh,” she said. The roar of the storm deafened her so she could barely hear her own words.

As the pressure outside dropped lower, she felt the urge to sleep—even as her anxiety increased. Her nerves raw, she stayed strong for the little ones. Silently, she prayed the clothesline would keep them from becoming separated if the storm intensified. If they had to move…closing her eyes, she tried not to think about “what ifs.”

In the chaos, she saw one girl’s mouth moving. As she leaned close to listen, she felt the toddler’s silky blonde ringlet brush her cheek. “Momma. Momma. Make it stop,” the toddler cried into Sister Elizabeth’s ear. The heartbreak was instant. Her breathing became labored and she feared each breath would be her last. And she wasn’t sure if she was holding the orphans or if the orphans were holding her.

A kerosene lantern hanging in the rafters cast ghostly shadows over them as it swayed ominously back and forth. Looking across the room, she locked worried eyes with one of the other nuns.

The wall of ocean water crashing through the roof on their side of the building took them both by surprise, as did the darkness it brought with it. Burning saltwater filled her lungs as the force of the wave pulled her and the children down. Death was imminent.

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