Kidnapped in Key West. Edwina Raffa
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their invitation to join the game. As he approached Matthew’s place, Eddie saw Matthew’s wife. She was cooking in the kitchen house, a small building built behind the main house like ones in the Bahamas.
“Looking for Matthew?” she called out. Eddie nodded. “He’s in the garden. Go on around.”
As soon as Matthew saw the droop in Eddie’s shoulders, he put down his hoe. “Something on your mind?”
Eddie nodded. “I . . . I . . .” He couldn’t finish his sentence.
“Go sit in the shade,” said Matthew. “I’ll make us a pitcher of limeade. I just picked some Key limes this morning and a cool drink would taste good about now.”
Eddie sat on a chair under the gumbo limbo tree and watched Matthew cut open some small, greenish-yellow limes and squeeze the juice into a pitcher of cool water. Then the old man sweetened the juice with sugar cane and poured it into two tall glasses. He handed one to Eddie and set the other on the small table beside his chair. Before he sat down, Matthew thoughtfully put a bowl of water on the ground for Rex.
The limeade was delicious, but neither his favorite drink nor relaxing in the shade could relieve Eddie’s fears. He took a deep breath and let out a sigh.
Matthew reached over and patted Eddie’s arm. “Take your time. I’m in no hurry.”
Eddie took another deep breath and then began talking. Once he started, it was easy to pour his heart out to his trusted friend. Matthew listened intently to every word about the sheriff’s early morning visit and Pa’s arrest.
When Eddie finished, he glanced hopefully at Matthew. “What should I do?”
The old man looked squarely into Eddie’s eyes. “Well, for now there’s nothing you can do. Why not stay here a while? Mrs. Lawrence is just about ready with breakfast. Then later, after the sheriff sorts things out, you can go over to the jail and see your father.”
Eddie felt the heaviness in his heart lift a little. He could always count on Matthew for practical advice.
Eddie’s appetite returned as the aroma of frying fish wafted from the kitchen house. When Mrs. Lawrence called out, “Breakfast is ready. Come and eat!” he jumped up and followed Matthew inside.
While Rex napped under the tree, the Lawrences and Eddie sat around the wooden table eating fried flounder along with the pineapple and cantaloupe from Matthew’s garden. For the first time, Eddie tried “hurricane ham,” the Bahamian name for dried conch. It was chewy, but good. When they finished, Mrs. Lawrence got up to clear the table. As she passed behind Eddie, she put her hand on his shoulder.
“Eddie,” she suggested, “get Matthew to tell you a railroad story while I put things away. That’ll take your mind off your troubles.”
Turning to Matthew, Eddie asked, “Would you tell me one?”
Matthew smiled widely, showing several gold-capped teeth. Besides fishing, there was nothing he liked better than talking about the railroad. The old man ran his hand several times over his white, close-cropped hair while he decided which story he’d share.
“Have I told you about the hurricane of nineteen-oh-six?” he finally asked.
“No,” replied Eddie. “I’d like to hear about it.”
That was all the encouragement Matthew needed and he launched into his story.
“After Mr. Flagler built the Florida East Coast Railway from Jacksonville to Miami,” began Matthew, “he decided to extend the line on down to Key West. Train tracks had to be built across one hundred and twenty-eight miles of coral reef and ocean floor. To keep construction on schedule, we had to work during September and October, the worst months for hurricanes.
“That worried me a lot because hurricanes are dangerous and unpredictable. That’s why I always carried this little barometer.”
Matthew reached into his pocket and pulled out a small glass tube filled with water. A weed was floating in the bottom of it.
“Many railroad workers carried these and checked them as often as they did their watches. I still like to keep mine handy.”
Matthew went on to explain, “When the air pressure goes down, the weed rises. That means a hurricane is coming and you’d better get ready.
“About six years ago, I was working on the Long Key viaduct north of here making cofferdams. Those are the wooden forms that mold the cement foundations for the bridge. Well, at any rate, on the evening of October seventeenth, when I checked this tube, the weed was moving up. I was living on a houseboat then along with one hundred and sixty or so other railroad workers. The houseboat was tied down so it couldn’t drift off, but that night the wind got stronger and the waves got higher. Pretty soon, the houseboat started rocking back and forth something fearful.”
Matthew paused for a moment to collect his thoughts, then continued, “The next morning, the hurricane hit us full force and the houseboat’s cable snapped in two. I’ll never forget the terrified screams of the men as they were tossed into the water when the houseboat broke apart. I grabbed onto a wooden plank floating by. Believe me, I clung to it like a tick to a dog. I floated for hours until finally the hurricane was over and a passing freighter rescued me.
“When I got back to Long Key, I couldn’t believe the terrible damage to the bridge. Most of our hard work was wiped out. We had no choice but to start all over again. After the houseboat accident, Mr. Flagler ordered the construction of new dormitories on land and living in those made us feel much safer.
“Yes, Eddie, what with the hurricanes of nineteen-oh-six, nineteen-oh-nine, nineteen-ten, and the construction accidents, building the Key West Extension has been a tough job. Many men have given their lives to build Mr. Flagler’s Over-Sea Railroad, but thanks to workers like your father and me, it is almost finished. Why in just a little more than a week, Mr. Flagler will finally achieve his goal of connecting the U. S. mainland to Key West by rail.”
The old man fell silent. He looked off in the distance, as if the story had transported him back in time.
“Wow,” said Eddie. “That was some adventure. I’m sure glad you lived to tell it.”
Matthew’s attention snapped back to the present and he stood up to stretch. “So am I, Eddie, so am I. Well, I’ve kept you long enough. You’re probably anxious to be on your way.”
Eddie nodded and got up from the table. After thanking the Lawrences, he and Rex hurried through town to the jail. Eddie left Rex at the screen door and went inside.
The sheriff was tilted back in his chair with his hat pulled over his face taking a snooze.
“Ah-hum,” said Eddie, pretending to clear his throat.
The sheriff sat up and quickly put his hat back on his head.
“What do you want, boy?” asked Charlie Jenkins.
“I’d like to see my pa,” said Eddie.
“I reckon you can visit him just this once,” said the sheriff, getting up from his seat and unstrapping a ring of keys from his belt. “Come with me.”
Eddie followed the sheriff along a narrow hallway that reeked of stale sweat. When the lawman reached Pa’s cell, he stopped, opened the door, and let Eddie inside. Then he locked it again.
Frank Malone sat on the sagging mattress of his cot, listlessly peeling flakes of gray paint from the walls. Like prisoners before him, he’d found that it was a way to pass the time. He paid no attention to the cockroach crawling across his boot.
Seeing Pa locked up in such a bleak place made Eddie sick to his stomach. His hands began to tremble and he quickly clasped them behind his back so Pa wouldn’t see how scared he was.
Pa?” asked Eddie timidly.
Frank