Though Waters Roar (36 page)

“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.”

What really confused me was the fact that I was happy to see him. Both times that Tommy had made an appearance I had felt a jolt of adrenaline go through me, just as it had when we were kids. Back then, the spurt would come as I readied myself for a fight. But he was behaving so nicely today. Why was my heart speeding up? Could it be a learned reaction that I’d developed over the years? I didn’t want to believe that it was because Tommy had grown into a good-looking man with a grin like ivory piano keys.

“Here you go,” Tommy said as the cell door creaked open. “Dinner is served.”

This time he came all the way inside and set the tray on my lap. The aroma of roast beef drifted up to my nostrils. A mound of mashed potatoes with gravy and a pile of green beans lay alongside the slab of meat. There was a hefty slice of chocolate cake for dessert. My traitorous mouth began to water.

“Thanks,” I told him.

Tommy started to leave but made it only as far as the cell door before turning back. “Are you sure I can’t do anything else for you, Harriet?”

I studied him with suspicion. Why was he being so nice? Why couldn’t he have been this nice during our school years instead of tormenting me day after day? He had been nice last night, too, when he’d stopped my car and seemed to genuinely regret the need to arrest me.

“As a matter of fact, there is something you can do,” I told him as I speared a forkful of mashed potatoes. “You can notify the Sunday school superintendent at my church that I won’t be available to teach my class tomorrow—unless the girls want to come down here for their lesson.”

“Harriet . . .” he said with a sigh.

“Tommy . . .” I said, imitating him.

“I don’t understand you,” he said, leaning against the bars. “I never did. You were never like any of the other girls in school.”

“Oh? How was I different? Aside from the fact that I stood up to you and the other girls all ran away in fear?” I continued to eat my dinner. Mother would call it unladylike to talk with my mouth full or to eat in front of someone who wasn’t eating, but I was hungry.

Tommy smiled. “You were always just like this—sassy and bold. And you were also a lot brighter than the other kids, even the boys.” He hesitated, and he appeared to be considering something. “I’ve been thinking about your arrest all day, Harriet. I want you to tell me your story again. How did you end up with all that bootleg liquor in your car?”

“I knew you weren’t listening to me last night.”

“You weren’t exactly reasonable last night.”

After a moment’s reflection I knew it was true.

“The thing I don’t understand,” he continued, “is that your grandmother is notorious here in Roseton for busting up saloons and smashing whiskey barrels. We have quite a collection of hatchets that once belonged to her.”

“I used to buy her a new one for Christmas every year.”

“So why are you carting liquor around for a bunch of bootleggers?”

I didn’t reply. My reasons no longer made sense to me in the light of day. I sawed into my roast beef with the dull knife.

“I was thinking that maybe I could get you out of jail myself,” Tommy continued. “I’m off duty until Monday. I could keep you under house arrest until your hearing before a judge—and in the meantime, maybe you can explain everything to me in a calm, reasonable fashion.”

“You coming to Sunday school with me, too?” I asked with my mouth full.

He shrugged. “I suppose I’ll have to.”

I studied him with narrowed eyes. “Is this some sort of policeman’s trick?”

“What would I gain from it?”

“I don’t know—fame, a big promotion for capturing such a notorious criminal. Maybe you dream of becoming police superintendent like your father.”

“You have quite an imagination, Harriet.”

“I’ve studied police procedure, you know,” I said with a half grin. “I’m a big fan of ‘The Keystone Cops’ and Fatty Arbuckle.”

“Hey, me too! There’s a new episode playing at the movie theatre this week—have you seen it yet?”

I gestured to my surroundings and shook my head before gulping the last bite of my chocolate cake.

“So what do you say, Harriet—have you had your fill of this place? Are you ready to be set free?”

I knew I should keep my mouth shut and let Tommy spring me from jail rather than spend another night here, but I couldn’t let my suspicions rest. “I need to know why you would do this,” I told him.

“Look, I live in this town, too, so I’d like it to be a safe, law-abiding place. My job is to keep the peace and arrest people who break the law. Our hands have been full of lawbreakers ever since Prohibition started. The moment the government made liquor against the law—which I think is a good thing, by the way—there was suddenly a lot of money to be made by breaking that law. It’s supposed to be up to the federal agents to enforce Prohibition, but there aren’t enough of them to go around.”

“I think it’s ironic that we’re both on the same side for once, Tommy.”

“Yeah, me too.” He smiled his magnificent smile, erasing all traces of the bully I once knew. “Listen, why are we still talking in here? Let me see about getting you out of jail, all right?”

I remembered how the farmer and his sons had pulled Grandma and me out of the mud. Maybe this was one of those times when it was better to be rescued than to be stubbornly self-sufficient.
“There
is no shame in changing direction,”
Grandma had said.

“All right. If you insist, Tommy. But I really have no place to go.”

“Where are your parents? And your famous grandmother? . . . Although, under the circumstances, I think I understand why you may not want to call her. Don’t you have a married sister who lives here in town?”

“You seem to know quite a lot about me.”

“Roseton isn’t that big. Listen, do you really want to spend another night in this place?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“Sit tight, then,” he said as he took my supper tray. “I’ll be back.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I assured him. I lay down on the cot and folded my hands behind my head as he hurried out, locking the door behind him.

Funny he should ask about my parents. My mother’s life was another complicated story. I decided to consider the part that she played in this drama while I waited for Tommy to return.

My mother’s childhood was worlds apart from the simple farm life that Grandma Bebe had known. Lucretia “Lucy” Garner was born with the proverbial silver spoon in her mouth, and she knew it. She quickly acquired a taste for the finer things in life, and by the time she learned to walk, any lesser type of spoon left a very bad flavor on her palate.