Inundated Heart
by Emma Franzo, age 17
I lived alone in that big house on Galveston Island. It was 1900, and our city was one of the richest in the United States. Large homes lined the streets, ports were booming with boats and shipments, and the inhabitants were always dressed in the finest of clothes. The most refined materials were used to build every mansion, and astounding textiles were draped across fortunate people.
Many individuals living the less fortunate lifestyle were appalled by this sort of expenditure. I, on the other hand, was not one of those people. I possessed the most glamorous and extravagant commodities of the century. I had my own horse and carriage, my own butlers and maids, my own silk sheets and darling linens, and my own elegant, sizable abode. Everyone knew Evangeline Carllile as the woman who had it all.
I inherited wealth from my father’s cotton exchange at only twenty-five, so I lived the selfish, luxurious life for thirty more years. I was always independent, and I never wanted a family. I simply lived on my own and did as I wanted. Though I thought I was content with this rich livelihood, there was an emptiness within me that I could never shake. The emptiness was one that would never surface — or so I believed. I lived self-sufficiently, lonely, and greedily my whole life, but on September 8th, my entire world had to change as quickly as Galveston did.
I woke up that morning with an odd feeling in the pit of my stomach. It is a day I will never forget. The sky and the clouds were dark and brooding. However, rain was common, so I neglected the unease. I left the warmth of my cotton quilt and slipped on my silk slippers. I went on with my usual routine, sipping tea and reading the newspaper, then prepared myself for the rest of the day. I decided to go to the theater that morning in hopes of brightening my mood. As soon as I stepped outside, my neighbor approached me with a bright smile.
“How ya doin’ today, love?” asked Mr. Daniel Naves, an enthusiastic entrepreneur who had recently married a young doll from England.
“Fine,” I replied, not reciprocating the enthusiasm. It went like this every day. Kind men and women greeted me, and I bluntly responded. I had no interest in others’ ventures or personal lives. I cared about my things and myself, and that was all.
I arrived home from the theater unimpressed and still feeling uncomfortable. The house was deathly silent. The butlers and the maids resided in their own quarters, leaving myself as my only companion. A fire was going. but even the flames remained silenced. I sat on my lounging chair and tried to bring relief to my nervous soul. The wind began to pick up outside, the trees were violently swaying, and the sky grew darker. Rain was downpouring as it never had before. simply watched as the weather worsened, saturating my own uneasy thoughts. Though the skies were roaring, I suddenly felt a stillness. My thoughts abruptly ended. Through the extremities beyond the glorious walls of my house, I heard his voice.
“A hurricane is coming! A hurricane is coming!” A meteorologist by the name of Isaac Cline rode horseback through the neighborhoods. “Get out of here!”
My heart bounded at an impossibly fast rate. A monstrous storm was on its way, but there was little time to leave. I scrambled to call my maids and butlers, but they seemed to be gone. How did they know? I raced to the upper floor of the mansion and quickly grabbed my clothes. My mind was jumbled together, and I did not know what to bring with me. What was needed? Would the things I took be the only material items of mine that would remain? I jolted to my sanitary articles, a throw blanket of silk, and a few small, meaningful objects and tossed them into my handbag.
I approached the bottom floor, and 1 stopped immediately in my tracks.
Water creeped upward at the end of my staircase. The wood was slowly soaking in the rainwater, darkening in color. I knew I had to remain level-headed, so I managed to get down the stairs and find safety on the nearest table of my dining room. I helplessly looked around, noticing the fire had gone out. The sound of heavy rain drops banged against my roof, and the wind was aggressively pushing the trees against the exterior. I heard screaming people right outside. They were running towards something, but I could not quite see. Understanding it might have been my only hope of survival, I trudged to my front door. The Revenue Cutter Service had tanks with lines of rope pulling people into their protection. My neighbor, Daniel Daves, and his English wife were already reaching the tank when he turned around and locked eyes with me.
“There!” He shouted, pointing towards me. A soldier rapidly tossed a rope in my direction, so I took a step out.
The hurricane was so enormous; I had never seen anything like it. My balance was unsteady, my arms were weak from the swim. I had been paddling for my life towards the rope, and after much strenuous effort, I was able to grip it. The soldiers pulled, my frail body being dragged against the flooded gravel road. Raindrops pelted me, blurring my vision and sucking the energy out of me. I wanted to let go, to forget this pain, and to give up. Everything was gone. My home, my precious wealth, and my entire life were ripped from my hands. I thought I had nothing to live for anymore.
Then the moment that truly changed my life occurred.
Once I had finally been pulled to the tank, Daniel Daves met my broken stare and seized my hand, hoisting me to the top. He held my old, selfish, fragile body in his embrace.
“You’ll be alright, Ms. Carllile. You’ll be alright.” Then the world went black.
I awoke in a small room with a miniature bed, a nightstand, and a glass of water. I thought I was the only one there, for the house was utterly empty and quiet. A sweet face entered the room through a crack in the door.
“How are you doing, love?” Daniel Dave’s wife whispered from across the room.
“Quite alright,” I said in astonishment. I did not know where I was or what had happened after I reached the tank, but I felt a warm and delightful love surrounding the place.
I spent the day being cared for by the English woman, discovering that her name was Emily Daves and that they were currently residing in her mother-in-law’s cottage in The Woodlands. In the afternoon, I mustered up some strength to have dinner with the kind, welcoming family. While in their cherished presence, I saw the love they had for one another, the memories that bonded them, and the gratefulness within each of their souls. The house was small, unimpressive, and frankly quite poor, but it did not have any influence on their beautiful relationships.
While we sat at that dining room table, none of the things I had lost crossed my mind in any capacity. Not even for a single moment did I miss my self-centered life. The family opened their homes and their hearts to me in a way that altered my perspective completely. I had never witnessed such affectionate, such devoted people. They had no valuable things. They had nothing worthy of praise, but it did not matter. They had each other and that inundated my heart in the best of ways.
“Ms. Carllile, what are you going to do with Galveston? Have you thought about the next step?” Daniel inquired.
“I don’t know, dear Daniel, but I know it will be alright.”
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