Hattie Marshall And The Hurricane

By Debra West Smith

A young teenager battles for survival when a deadly storm hits Louisiana: “Well paced, interesting and with a likable heroine . . . A fun adventure tale.” —Children’s Literature
 
The winds are picking up. The sky is darkening. Now, as a hurricane begins to destroy the coast of south Louisiana in October 1893, thirteen-year-old Hattie, a girl from Texas, and her friend Eric find themselves in danger. They were enjoying their trip to New Orleans and Grand Isle, but there’s no time for playing now. Fighting their way through the chaos, they must try to help an Acadian family—while also trying to survive themselves . . .

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Nov 30, 1999
• ISBN: 9781455605590

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Invisible House

Anyone traveling the dusty red road that morning would have thought the Marshall girls had lost their minds. Stalking among the wildflowers and tall grass of an open field, Hattie followed Rosalie in a strange pantomime. First, they went this way, then that, waving their arms and pointing—at thin air.

They were interrupted by a wagon creaking to a halt.

How's it going, ladies? called Rosalie's husband, Lester, as he climbed down.

Rosalie's giving me the tour, said Hattie, but I can't picture the upstairs of this invisible house.

Stand back here and think about it, said Lester. With a little imagination, you can see just about anything.

He pointed into the clear blue sky. The house will be taller than it is wide, and yellow with white trim. The bedrooms are upstairs, and the parlor and dining room face the road. That's so folks can see Rosalie's fancy chandelier when they go by.

Will you have a porch with a swing? asked Hattie.

Absolutely.

Hattie nodded thoughtfully. It sounds like a mansion.

It's a Victorian cottage, corrected Rosalie, her tongue tripping over the syllables.

Well, when do we start? Hattie wanted to know.

Lester lifted a bundle of wooden stakes, a hammer, and a roll of twine from the wagon. Right now, he said cheerfully.

While Rosalie prissed about with the large roll of paper on which the houseplans were drawn, Lester measured and hammered wooden stakes into the hard-baked ground. Between the stakes Hattie stretched and tied the string. Soon the bottom floor resembled a life-size maze in which Rosalie wandered.

Something's not right, she complained.

Lester mopped the sweat that dripped from his face. What do you mean?

The parlor is different. It's the size of a postage stamp, said Rosalie. And this utility room is huge. How much space do we need for mops and washtubs?

More than you need for tea parties, argued Lester.

So you changed it, thinking I wouldn't notice?

Now, Rose, you don't understand ...

I understand perfectly well. What else were you going to change without telling me?

Leaving the stakes and hammer, Lester went over to wrap his arms around Rosalie's tiny waist and say something Hattie couldn't hear.

Shaking her head, Hattie went to the wagon. Though she was thirteen now and their mushy stuff didn't turn her stomach like it used to, she didn't care to stand around and watch. Besides, she figured Lester was just trying to improve Rosalie's mood and get on with the house.

Fetching the water jug, Hattie flopped down in the shade and stretched out long legs that matched the rest of her. She wiped the sweat trickling from her dark bangs onto thin, tanned cheeks and sighed. Though it was nearly September, the day was scorching hot. Back in June, when Lester had been hurt in the forest fire, she had gladly offered to help when he felt like starting the new house. He had been so pitiful then, and the project had sounded exciting. She had never helped Papa build anything larger than a chicken coop.

But Rosalie's dream house was no chicken coop. There would be walls and windows every which way, and paint and plaster and whatever else her sister imagined. Then Rosalie could change her mind and have them moving rooms. Now that Hattie was home from helping her cousins during their chicken pox epidemic, she wished that she hadn't gotten into this. School would start soon, and all she had done this summer was work.

By the time Lester and Rosalie came to a truce, friends were stopping to see the new homesite at the edge of town. Hattie brightened when she saw a golden-haired rider on Doc Siegen's chestnut mare.

Eric! she called. Welcome to the invisible house—I mean Vic-tor-ian cot-tage.

Eric shaded his eyes against the glare. A bit drafty, don't you think?

Hattie grinned. Walls will help, if Rosalie and Lester can agree where to put them. What are you up to?

I had to pick up books at the schoolhouse.

Why? asked Hattie. School won't start for two more weeks.

True, said Eric, but I won't be here. He was trying to sound casual, but his eyes sparkled. They were a deep indigo that changed with his moods, and Hattie had learned to read most of them. Right now she read excitement.

Where will you be? she asked.

He paused, pretending to think. Oh, New Orleans, Grand Isle ...

Why on earth would you be there?

Father has an old friend who bought a hotel down on the Gulf. People from New Orleans go to the beach there. He invited us and Mother got excited, insisting that we need a vacation. So I guess we're going," Eric concluded with a smile.

Hattie was stunned. It seemed that people were always going off and leaving her. That's exciting, she muttered. How long will you be gone?

A month or so, said Eric.

"A month? What did Miss Kate say about your missing school?"

She said travel is educational, and that there's no problem as long as I study.

What about your father? How can the county's only doctor take off for a month? Are folks supposed to stop getting sick and hurt? And I guess Clara Carson's baby will wait till you get back to be born, Hattie declared with some sarcasm.

Eric ignored it. The doctor from Tyler will come over in two weeks, and women like your grandmother were delivering babies long before we moved here.

Hattie turned away She knew that Doc Siegen worked hard and deserved a vacation. That wasn't the problem at all.

Believe it or not, I'm sorry to miss the first day of school, said Eric, his smile fading. It's always interesting.

Hattie shrugged. Not this year, she thought.

And I'll miss you, he said softly.

She turned back to stare. Really?

Of course.

Yeah, sure. You'll be seeing wonderful stuff and won't even think about us back on the farm. Maybe I'll get a letter and maybe I won't . . . Hattie angrily rubbed her head. Look, I've already been through this with my brother, Sam.

Eric's eyebrows, darker than the wispy blond hair, furrowed into a frown. I'll write every day if you like.

If you can find the time, Hattie said, climbing to her feet. Right now I'm supposed to be helpng with a house.

With that, she returned to the maze of string where Rosalie had won the battle of the parlor. Eric mounted the horse and rode away.

At supper that evening, Hattie gave her family a report on the new house. Gramma laughed while Papa shook his head.

If Lester can build a house to please that girl, he should get an award, said Papa.

Hattie agreed, then grew somber as she thought of Eric.

What's the matter, young'un? asked Papa. Are you having second thoughts about helping?

Hattie shrugged. I promised, she said, then changed the subject. Did you hear about the Siegens going to New Orleans?

All of em?

Yes, sir. Eric even gets to miss school.

I reckon it's going to be quiet around here, he teased.

Hattie wasn't amused. Do you think we'll ever go some place like that? she asked.

Don't know, said Papa. When you farm for a living, it's hard to get away. Never bothered me much though.

Hattie said nothing. Right now it bothered her a lot.

The next day promised to be a scorcher, so Hattie was out early helping Papa tend the cows. It had been hard to sleep the night before, thinking of how she'd missed Sam since he left on the cattle drive and how Eric had helped fill that void. Though different in personality, they enjoyed the same things and had grown close this summer. Now he was leaving, too. She wondered if he would think of her at all while he was down on the Gulf.

"Papa, have you