In the Path of Hurricanes

By Ann Bezayiff

Three years after the destructive 1900 Galveston, Texas Hurricane, Amie Anders is unexpecteddly summoned to the Houston law office of her friend and lawyer, Loman Nurge. As she waits impatiently to learn the reason for this mysterious meeting, she reflects back upon her life. Growing up in the post-Civil War era along the Buffalo River in Tennessee, she barely survives her dysfunctional upbringing. A distant cousin, Harry Aylett, finds her in squalor and rescues her from hunger and deprivation, but being her benefactor isn't all he's interested in. A deep abiding love develops between the two, and somehow they manage to keep their secret relationship hidden from Harry's wife Hattie. When the Galveston Hurricane destroys everything, the four friends face an unknown future. Even as they restructure their lives, they experience more personal tragedy. And now the unimaginable is about to occur in Amie's life. To hide her deepest, darkest secret from those she loves, Amie must give up her identity, become Amma Geary and create a whole new life for herself far from Houston and her friends. But when her secrets are revealed, her deceptions exposed, lives are turned upside down, including hers. Is she strong enough to survive? Will she endure or be destroyed in the winds of her own personal hurricane?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Whiskey Creek Press
• Release date: Jun 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781611608038

Book preview

Part One: Amie Anders

Hurricanes of Our Own Creations

Chapter 1

Mysterious Meeting

Amie Anders sat poised and proper, her gloved hands resting on her lap and her back stiff against the curve of the hand-carved chair. The horse-hair leather seat underneath her torso was firm and unforgiving. Though she had been waiting for less than fifteen minutes for her appointment in the Houston law office, she was having some difficulty sitting so stiffly. It had been a very long day and wild hairs were forever sliding out of the tight bun she’d fashioned so carefully on the top of her head that morning.

To help pass the time she analyzed the room. Dark wooden panels covered the walls of the reception area and matched precisely the polished wooden floor brushing the hem of her skirt. The soles of her tightly-laced leather shoes rested on the edge of an expensive hand-knotted carpet which covered the center area of the room. She recognized the fine quality of workmanship. Its pattern created a dance of floral and woodland animals below her feet, providing a slight distraction as she waited to meet with Loman Nurge.

She closed her eyes. Why was she here without any explanation? What was it her lawyer had to tell her? She became anxious and fidgety. She had been like this all week but especially this morning. Men can be so infuriating and frustrating, she thought. She shook her head trying to relax the muscles tensing in at the base of her neck and took a deep breath to calm herself.

She forced herself to concentrate again on the carpet’s hand-stitched warp. She followed tiny streams of heavy threads which turrned into larger streams, all flowing in all directions and finally blending into a large river down the center. Perhaps the Mississippi. She could feel the peaceful flow and ebb of the imaginary river currents and allowed her mind to return to the rivers and hollows of her childhood in Tennessee, along the Buffalo River.

She closed her eyes tightly. With all that had happened in her life, this moment of peace was only that—a moment. Her home had been a place of anguish too; a place to escape for a new life. In this place and time the line between saint and sinner was blurred, not unlike faded brushstrokes on a forgotten canvas. Only God would know the difference.

If He cared at all.

Chapter 2

Hurricane Mills

Along the Buffalo River, Tennessee

Amie Anders grew up with the freedom of a young boy. She experienced the thrill of hunting animals through the brush with shotguns, handling small river boats, and diving into the cool river during the heat of summer. She fished for hours without guilt and mastered the art of catching snakes with the best of them. She smiled at the memories. But there was a heavy side to that life too. Now she understood her birthright, what was expected of her, but then, as a young girl, she understood nothing, only what the immediate circumstances forced upon her.

The genteel life, which she never experienced, eroded away even before her birth. It eventually killed her mother and demented her father. Her father did his best to provide for the family, but after the Civil War, the pretenses and charades of the past were no longer necessary. He had lived through the deaths of his brothers, two sons to disease and an infant daughter to starvation. He had witnessed the slaughter of Confederate soldiers and the demise of the Southern cause. But everyone had suffered deaths, the loss of wealth and property, all of them living in the shadows of defeat.

In an emerging and redefined South, opportunities and thriving business opportunities eluded her father, Jeffrey Anders, at every turn. Still, he remained hopeful, waiting for his luck to change for the better. After all, he was a Southern gentleman.

He initially decided to build a lumber mill on his property. What could be a better investment than a lumber mill? The South was rebuilding and the demand for lumber was great. The Buffalo River was easily accessible and wide enough to ship the logs on flat boats to Nashville.

He shared his plan with local investors, mainly those from the North looking for opportunity and monetary gain. With their backing and with the last of his own wealth, he began work on the project. He thought his luck had finally turned around. However, no sooner had the mill been completed than it was destroyed by a hurricane in a single afternoon.

Only his home remained and it was shaken loose at its very foundation. It was too much. He had reached his breaking point. He no longer held any hope of riches, and he refused to hire out like a common field slave. He wouldn’t adapt to the new order of things, but returned to the past glories. In the end he recognized his fatal flaw but could not self-correct it; he chose to ignore what he could not change.

Amie was his only surviving child. She grew wild and independent, but Susanna Anders, her mother, managed in moments of lucidity to muster enough resolve to ensure that her daughter received a proper education and, when required, dress according to her position in society. Susanna Anders’s depression would last for weeks, sometimes months at a time. She’d lock herself in her room, ignoring her household duties and Amie, but then suddenly reemerge as if nothing had happened. When connected to reality, she looked after Amie’s education and made sure it was suitable for a lady from a refined and cultured family. Amie was the family’s last hope of propriety. Mrs. Anders knew her daughter’s marriage to a wealthy, well-connected family could bring prosperity back to the Anders family. Her mother insisted on hiring tutors from New Orleans, her family home before her marriage. Later she sought out tutors from Nashville where she had other family connections.

Amie’s father couldn’t afford the tuition and after a month or two of promises and excuses, they’d pack their bags and leave. A few would stay longer for room and board, but eventually that wasn’t enough. In spite of the parade of tutors, their ridged curriculum and stifling personalities, Amie flourished and developed an appetite for learning. She earned a reputation as a fine pianist, her notes like the endless days of silent rafting along the rivers, pouring out from some peaceful place deep inside her. The music sustained her through the turmoil of reality that was her life. The flowing melodies of music affected her parents too, calming their souls and giving them moments of peace. Even the haunting and restless house ghosts stilled and felt some peace.

The month before Amie turned sixteen Susanna Anders was happily making preparations and final arrangements for a coming of age party. She was elated and excited for the first time in years, and her jubilance was infectious. Many of the proper and influential families, including hers, had accepted invitations and it appeared to be the event of the season.

One morning Amie went looking for her mother, but when she failed to come down for breakfast, Amie went looking for her upstairs. She found her mother in bed, but when she called her name she didn’t respond. Thinking it was another attack of depression; Amie took her mother’s shoulders and shook her. The fine lace, floating loose on the bodice of her nightgown, swayed back and forth with the movements.

Not this time, she yelled at her. Not this time. It’s my party, my time. You can’t disappear this time.

When Susana Anders failed to respond, she shook her even harder. Crying, she let her mother’s shoulders fall back against a nest of pillows, each one enclosed in perfectly starched and embroidered pillowcases. Her head followed and fell softly back into a preformed indention in the middle of the pile. Amie noticed her mother’s lips were blue and her skin cold to the touch. She drew her hands away from her mother’s body and stepped back in a panic. She screamed. Her mother wasn’t breathing.

Della, a Negro servant, was in the kitchen and dropped everything. She’d had a suspicion something terrible was going to happen in this house; it was only a matter of time. She crossed herself as she ran up the winding stairway, past Mr. Anders who sat quietly in an overstuffed chair in the parlor. He was watching a non-existent fire.

As Della entered the bedroom, she knew immediately what had happened. She’d lived and faced death every day of her life. Miz Amie. She grabbed Amie and held her so tightly the girl couldn’t move. Your mama, she gone, chile. Ain’t no use cryin’. She at peace now. Let her go.

Finally when Amie was calm, Della released her. Amie ran from the room.

Later the doctor said her death had something to do with her heart. Anders kept it to himself, but knew it was due to humiliation and disgrace; he had known many who died from what was called complications of life. It was a common disorder among the elite and fragile women, those raised in proper and acceptable Southern ways. So Jeffrey Anders wasn’t surprised to learn that his wife had died. He had expected it would be an easy way out for her after what he’d told her the previous evening.

Before retiring to her room for the night, he had asked her to have a drink with him in the parlor. He smiled at her as he filled her glass with an especially strong whiskey. She took a sip but choked, surprised at its strength. He encouraged her to drink the glass and poured her another. I feel slightly intoxicated, she said and giggled. What’s the occasion? He rarely went to so much trouble unless he had something to tell her. She warmed at the thought of a surprise.

Yes, he told her. He did have some important news and then he informed her that he had canceled the party.

His wife’s family money and Amie’s dowry had been gone for years and his own estate had little left. There wasn’t enough money to cover even the smallest of parties. For months he had received letters from merchants in Nashville and businesses nearby, all requiring—demanding, cash—before orders could be filled. All their cash was gone, the Anders’ credit exhausted, and the family reputation irrevocably ruined. He had to rely on the charity of his church to bury his wife.

After the death of Amie’s mother, Anders’ misery was complete. He sank into a void of despair and depression, barely eating and vacillating in that shadowy space between catatonic stillness and violent anger.

Those loyal slaves who remained as servants after the war, finally left. Then the wives of some of his friends looked after him, but they had their own problems to deal with. Amie cared for him as best she could, but she knew, if he didn’t recover soon, they would lose what little was left of their home. The vultures of the new South were closing in, but Jeffrey Anders didn’t care. He never imagined losing his family home to them, and Amie was ignorant of how to stop them.

Chapter 3

The Missionary Cousin

Amie was a daily reminder of Anders’ failed life. Over time, he grew to hate her and blamed her for his ill fortunes. He yelled at her and cursed her. Only the sounds of the piano could sooth him. So when a distant cousin of his late wife came calling several years later, Anders was more than willing to relinquish his responsibly for his daughter’s well-being. He needed to be rid of her.

Harry Aylett, a missionary and teacher, had heard from concerned family members that Anders was doing poorly and there was some confusion over what had happened to his daughter. He decided to see for himself and report back to the family.

He arrived in Nashville and hired a coach and driver to take him directly to the plantation. He knocked on the door and after a time, Amie answered. Once inside the place, he understood the situation immediately. The fireplaces in the main rooms had not been lit in a long time, and a chilling coldness filled the heavy air inside. The house was dusty and the furniture disheveled. It had been a long time since many of the rooms had been cleaned. A dank smell came from the kitchen. He wondered if there was anything to eat and discovered the pantries empty except for mice droppings. Amie stood next to his discovery with shame. With Amie’s help, he found Old John, a manservant, out among the dilapidated slave buildings. He sent him into town with a list of supplies to purchase and to advertise for someone who could cook and run the house.

Once done, he turned his attention towards Amie. What was to be done with her? After one busy morning and afternoon in town, he returned to the mansion and found her in