The Last Train to Key West - Chanel Cleeton Page 0,60

I were in charge, too.

“The inn seems sturdy enough—built this close to the water, it has to have been designed to withstand the weather down here. And the hurricane still might miss us. Maybe this is the worst it’s going to get. It’s a lot harder moving hundreds of men than it would be for us to take shelter if we need it.”

“Do you know where they’re taking them?” I ask.

“My friend thought Miami, but he wasn’t sure.”

“If they’re headed to Miami, maybe we should make our way up there.”

“At most, they’ll be gone a day or two. Better we stay here until they’re back. Besides, you don’t even know that your brother will evacuate. He might be down in Key West for the weekend. I know you want to find him. I’ll do everything in my power to help you. You have my word. But you can’t risk your life. We have to be smart about this. I’m not comfortable driving in this weather. The roads are going to start flooding soon. We don’t know the area that well. Better we wait here than risk getting stranded somewhere without good shelter.”

I stare out the window, the wind and rain blurring everything. The desire to go after my brother is inescapable, but knowing that someone is likely coming to rescue him makes it easier to do the thing I’ve always struggled with most—

To wait.

Seventeen

Mirta

When I wake the next morning, Anthony is already up and gone, a red rose lying on his pillow beside me.

I never would have thought Anthony would be such a romantic.

I stroke the soft petals, a smile spreading on my face. Last night was lovely, and while our marriage has yet to be fully consummated, I admit the intimacies between us thus far have made me more eager than afraid.

I rise, a new awareness of my body dawning. My mother told me there was power to be found in the marital bed, that my husband would be kinder to me if I pleased him, less likely to stray if I kept him satisfied. She never described it as anything other than a means to an end, never told me I could like it, that my husband could bring me pleasure.

I pick one of the prettier dresses from my trousseau, a lacy, frivolous confection that is wholly inappropriate for our current surroundings yet I’m sure Anthony will love.

When I peer out the window, though, the weather is hardly welcoming. When I went to sleep last night, it was calm and peaceful. Today, the wind rumbles outside the house, palm trees bending in the heavy breeze. A sinking feeling enters my stomach, the scene a familiar one. It looks like a hurricane is about to hit us, and suddenly, all thoughts of pretty dresses flee.

I hurry downstairs, searching for Anthony. It’s difficult to appreciate how bad a storm can be if you haven’t experienced one for yourself. It’s like revolution—on the surface, it seems scary, but only those who have lived through it fully comprehend its true horrors.

Anthony stands at the bottom of the stairs, speaking to Gus in low, urgent tones. I’m too far away to make out everything they’re saying, Anthony’s back to me, but I hear enough of their conversation—

“. . . barometer falling . . .”

“. . . going to be an ugly one . . .”

Gus glances over Anthony’s shoulder, and his gaze connects with mine. He tips his hat to me before scurrying out the front door, a grim look on his face.

Anthony turns, and his solemn expression tells me everything I need to know.

“The storm changed course?” I guess.

“The locals seem worried. The barometer’s falling. I don’t know exactly what that means,” he admits, “but Gus seems concerned the storm will hit us.”

“Should we evacuate?”

“I asked him, but he said there’s nowhere to go. The storm’s coming. Soon.” Anthony grimaces. “We didn’t get all of the hurricane preparations finished last night; they said the storm was going to miss us. It was so late, and everyone was tired, and I thought it was safe. I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for. Storms can be unpredictable. It might still miss us, and even if it doesn’t, it might not be that bad. Often these storms are all bluster and trouble, but they peter out when they actually make landfall.” I take a deep breath. “We have enough food and supplies. I suppose the best thing for us is to ride it out and see