Only the Strong Survive
By Rhoda D'Ettore
Copyright 2014 Rhoda D'Ettore
Smashwords Edition
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Summer 1918
Sarah Collins-James gave birth to a beautiful boy nine months later, and the Collins farm stayed in the family for the next 140 years. The industrial revolution brought with it new agricultural resources, as well as factory jobs in Philadelphia and the surrounding areas. Textiles, bottling companies, and breweries were opening everywhere. With the flowing economy, and assistance of machinery, people for the first time had leisure time for recreational activities.
Around 1910, Jonathan James sold about 20 acres of the family farm along the creek. Wealthy families from the city began building summer cottages there. It was a nice break from not only the city, but the Jersey shores that were now flooded with people. The yards of the cottages backed against the creek, and diving boards and slides were added for summer fun. The fishing was excellent, and romantic moonlit excursions could often be seen from the shore. Life was good, until World War I broke out, with it, came the Spanish Influenza pandemic. People fled from the cities, as millions succumbed to illness and death.
The New Jersey shark attacks of 1916 were almost forgotten as the summer of 1918 brought even more families to the creek bed, requiring additional cottages to be erected. Many who owned the cottages brought with them their extended family from the city, as a way of fleeing the influenza problem. One such family was the Owens family. Mr. Matthew Owens was an executive at the Haines Brewery, and owned three cottages along the creek. He insisted that his wife, five children, and his parents as well as in-laws refrain from the city. His ego prevented him from believing he could be susceptible to such illness, only the weak were in danger.
Each cottage was a four room dwelling made up of a kitchen, living space, and two bedrooms. Each had an outhouse, and because they were constructed as summer homes, there were no furnaces. They did have gas lighting, however. As the summer dragged on, one cottage was expanded to five bedrooms and used as a hotel, while another was converted into a restaurant. A doctor was practicing out of one home, and the little area seemed to be becoming its own little village. The children laughed and played, ignorant of the horrors of the war in Europe, or the deadly virus that was killing millions worldwide.
Patricia Owens was determined to give her children a happy summer. With her parents next door, and her in-laws on the other side, she felt safe and content. Her husband did his best to visit weekly, but was concerned about passing the virus as a carrier. The youngest of the Owens children was a red haired blue eyed girl with big puffy cheeks named Agnes. She always had a smile on her face, and at two years old, saw the wonder in everything around her.
Patricia carried Agnes on her hip as she called the others, "Children, come and get some pots. I need you to pick some berries from the bushes so that I can make a pie." With that, a swarm raced towards the kitchen and out the door to the yard, clinging and clanging pots along the way. The oldest was a 15 year old boy named Henry, who boosted his 10 year old sister on his shoulders.
"Gee, Stella, you are gaining weight! If you eat anymore, you will break my shoulder bones! I suggest you forego the pie." Stella playfully grabbed a handful of berries from a tree, and smashed them into Henry's face.
"That will teach you to be mean to me. Next time, I'm telling mother!" Stella exclaimed.
Grasping at Henry's legs was the seven year old named Peter. With his curls of gold, he tried to climb up Henry's back to get a better reach at the trees and bushes. "Let me try! Let me try! My turn, my turn!"
The five year old, Maggie, was too busy looking at the ducks swimming along the creek to care what the other children were doing. To her, animals, bugs, and anything that made noise were of the most interest. She had brown hair, and big green eyes. She looked just like her mother. "Quack! Quack! Quack! Mother, the ducks are not quacking!"
Just then the neighbor, Mrs. Emmitt, came by for a visit. "Hello, Mrs. Owens, dear. Did you hear the awful news? The James' family at the top of the hill lost one of their boys in the war. Isn't it terrible?"
Patricia frowned, looking at her children, "I couldn't imagine such a loss. I'm ashamed to say that I am glad my children are too young to be included in this awful fighting business. If God be good, the war will be over shortly, and all will return safely home."
"Agreed. And the end of this Spanish Influenza as well. This morning's edition of the newspaper stated that the illness is killing American military as quickly as the war. I'm so glad to be away from the city. Fights are breaking out in the streets over the war, and whether our country should have gotten involved, and the FBI is investigating people who oppose the war for violation of the Espionage Act. Imagine that, spies in our own neighborhood and families!" Mrs. Emmitt crossed her arms, and made a scowl. She looked like a cold woman, but she had lost her twin sister and brother-in-law on the Titanic. Although wealthy, life was not always kind to her.
Patricia tried to bring some good thoughts to the conversation, "Matthew said there were rumors that Henry Ford was going to try to broker a peace deal to end the war. Pray that it is successful."
Just then the children came screaming, "Mother help! Help! Maggie fell in the water! She can't swim!"
The color drained from Patricia face as she threw the child from her hip to Mrs. Emmitt, and she raced to the water's edge. She did not see Maggie, and she knew that with her long skirt on, she would not be able to swim properly, risking both their lives. She began to remove her skirt and called to her son, "Henry! Please, please save Maggie!" Henry dove into the water immediately.
He came up for air several times, before calling out, "I can't find her! I can't find her! Do you see her?"
Patricia began screaming for help from surrounding families, and fell to her knees sobbing. Just then, Maggie jumped out from the bushes and said, "Haha, Mommy, I tricked you." Patricia was so relieved, she was not sure whether to beat the child or hug her tight. She told the children to all get in the house right away, fearing that she would lose her temper. Mrs. Emmitt followed them with the Agnes still in her arms, while Patricia tried to catch her breath.
Henry climbed out of the water, approached his mother, and put a wet hand on her shoulder, "Mother, it is alright, she is safe." The words did not assist in quashing the waves of emotions and thoughts still swirling in her head.
After she gained her composure, she dusted off the front of her dress and headed inside. She had promised to bake a pie for the children, and that is what she intended to do. The world may be on the brink of annihilation between the war and the influenza, but she needed to keep a smile on her face and create a happy world for her children.
After dessert, Patricia ordered the children to gather around so she could tell them a story. If Maggie wanted to scare her and play tricks, Mommies have their ways to do it back. "I never told you children the story of The Captain of the Creek, did I?" The children all nodded in the negative. With the sunlight fading, Patricia adjusted the gas lamps, and began, "Over a hundred years ago, there was a famous pirate captain. Because his crew was made up of slaves, he did not want men, he wanted children. When the children would grow to become adults, The Captain would make them walk the plank, sinking to their death. Then he would row to shore and capture more little children to replace them."
The kids listened with anticipation, their faces glowing from the flickering flames. "Why did he want children, Mommy?" asked Maggie.
"Because they eat less, take up less room on the ship, and they were easier for him to control. When they were bad, he could beat them without fear of them hitting him back."
That seemed to appease the children, "Oh, I see."
Then Patricia continued, "The Captain and his crew sailed the Delaware River and up and down this creek for decades, until one day the children had enough. They revolted, and while they were all fighting with The Captain and trying to free themselves of their chains, the ship overturned, and all the crew perished! The bodies of the children washed up on shore, but The Captain was never found. Now it is said that every Halloween night, the ghost of The Captain sails this creek, looking to take the souls of bad children who do not mind their parents!"
The children were covering their faces with their hands, "Mommy, that isn't true! Tell us you made that up!"
"Don't worry children, you all have nothing to fear, not only will you always obey your parents, but we are never here on Halloween." She said it with a laugh, and enjoyed the idea of scaring them, hopefully it will scare them into proper behavior.
Seven year old Peter then started screaming, "Mommy! Mommy! Close the windows! Ghosts can come through windows!"
Fifteen year old Henry pushed Peter's shoulder, and replied, "Ghosts can come through walls too, what do you want her to do about that?"
"MOM! Henry wants the ghost to come get me!" Then all the children started wrestling.
This was not Patricia's intent. She put her fingers in her mouth, whistled, and said, "That is it. Be good, or I will go out to the creek and bring the ghost of The Captain back here myself!" To change the subject, she began singing songs, and the children eventually joined in. A cool summer breeze began to flow through the dark cottage as a light rain began rustling the trees. As she drifted off to sleep that night, she wondered how her husband was doing, whether the panic of the influenza was dying down in the city, and how her friends and their families were.
In the morning, while the children were clearing away the breakfast dishes, Patricia took Agnes and Maggie for a walk down the street. It was much cooler after the rain, and the morning dew made the leaves looks shiny and bright. The air was less thick, and it felt as though the pollen was washed away from the air. Shortly into their walk, Mrs. Emmitt approached.
"Good Morning, Mrs. Owens, I hope to find you and your family are well?" asked Mrs. Emmitt. She was wearing a long pink dress with blue trim, and a wide brim blue hat with pink trim. She looked good for her age, but was somewhat of a busybody. Patricia assumed it was because her husband was in the city, and she was alone for the summers. Patricia gave a nod of acknowledgment, but before she could respond, the news wagon approached them.
"Good morning, Mrs. Owens, Mrs. Emmitt. Good to see you ladies today. And look at those lovely angels you have with you," stated the driver of the news wagon. Twice a day, he rode his wagon through their neighborhood, spreading the latest editions of the local newspapers. "Today, the mayor closed all of the churches, sporting events, schools, and other public functions until further notice. The sickness is spreading quickly. They say it is on it's third wave now, so hopefully it with end soon. They say that it starts with a fever, and some people turn blue! Can you believe it? Blue. So if you start feeling ill, please go immediately to the doctor. I don't want any of you wonderful ladies in this area becoming ill."
Mrs. Emmitt wrinkled her brow in worry. The flu normally affected elderly and small children, so she was more concerned for herself than for Mrs. Owens. Mrs. Owens on the other hand was confident that their retreat was safe from the pandemic, and would keep them all safe. She said to the driver, "Thank you, sir. We will surely heed your advice. Have you heard any news of the James' family? I wanted to gather the ladies together to cook them some meals this week."
"Aye, ma'am. There was no point to have a burial, you see, they did not have enough of him to send home. They are having a memorial service at the end of the week. Sad. I love that family," he said with cast down eyes, and a look of deep sympathy. "Well, I have to get moving. I will see you this afternoon." With that, he drove his horse and wagon further down the street.
"Mrs. Emmitt, do not look so worried. We are all quite safe here. This is the best place for us to be." She patted her elderly friend on the back as they continued to walk. After about twenty minutes, Patricia and the girls returned to the cottage to find both sets of grandparents waiting for them.
"Patricia, please do sit down. I have something difficult to tell you," declared her father-in-law, a portly man with a walrus like mustache. Although he was a stubborn man, he was always very good to Patricia and the children, often more than he was to his own son. "I just received word that Matthew has become ill, and I am returning to the city this afternoon to see he has proper care. I forbid you to escort me, as I fear that you too may become ill, or perhaps bring the illness back here to the children. I assure you that he will be well cared for, and will be up and about in no time."
Patricia pulled out her handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. She knew that her husband was strong and healthy, but she also knew that this illness was irrational. She could not imagine a life without him, especially considering her children would be deprived of their father. She clutch her handkerchief tighter and wrung it with both hands. She stood and walked towards the window looking out onto the creek. It was so beautiful and pleasant here, somehow hearing the news of his illness here, made it a little easier. She knew Mr. Owens was correct, she could only cause more grief by going to her husband, and she knew that Matthew would never want her to jeopardize herself or the children. Mr. Owens approached her, and looking into her eyes promised, "All will be well, dear. I will return by the end of the week, and Matthew will be well again, you will see." He then kissed her on the forehead, and left to prepare for his trip.
Her own mother and Mrs. Owens raced to her side, "What can we do dear? Do you want us to take the children for a bit? Yes, we will do that, until we get word. You just rest." The women were soon gathering the children and had them out the door. Patricia was now left alone in the cottage, something that almost never happened. She climbed onto the bed, and felt sick to her stomach. Dancing through her head were hundreds of thoughts a minute. She knew that she would go mad sooner than Mr. Owens could even get to the city.
The next two days were agonizing for Patricia, as she heard no word from Mr. Owens regarding her husband's health. Both morning and evening, she rushed out to the news wagon hoping to hear something from the driver. She felt as though she were in a trance, not actually hearing the children play and talk, but more like they were at a distance from her. Finally, she heard shouts, "Mom! Grandpa is back! Grandpa is here!" she heard Peter cry out, as she rushed to the street.
She saw Mr. Owens driving the wagon, the midnight black horse trotting along as if nothing in the world as wrong. She wondered why he would come himself, instead of sending a message to the family. As the old man got closer, she began to understand why. It was not just luggage he had in the wagon behind him, it was a pine box. One about six foot two inches tall, and approximately 180 pounds. She felt her energy drain out of her body as she fell to the ground, "NO! NO! NO!" The children were confused and did not understand, but she was inconsolable.
Mr. Owens shouted to Henry, "Hurry, get the doctor who lives down the lane! She needs help! Run boy!" Henry ran so fast that his shoes kicked up the dirt from beneath his feet into clouds. Mr. Owens carried Patricia as best he could to the cottage and laid her on the bed.
When the doctor arrived, he gave the screaming Patricia a sedative. She was crying so violently, he was expecting her to start convulsing. While he was attending to her, the pine box containing her husband was brought into the house, and placed on a table.
As was tradition, the wake would take place in the home, and refreshments would be served. Patricia spent the next few days and the wake in a dream like fog. All she could remember of the day, was that he was laid out in his favorite blue suit. She did not remember the children, she did not even remember she was not in the city. The only think that she could comprehend, "my husband is dead, and he is wearing his blue suit." After the wake, the family followed the precession to the wagon, as the bearers placed the box into the back. They stood and watched as the wagon pulled away down the street. The strongest, healthiest of the family was now being laid to rest by a little bug of an illness that would come to kill up to 40 million people worldwide. No one was safe, and everyone was a potential victim.
A Message from the Author
Dear Reader,
I would like to thank you for taking the time to read this story. This is actually one chapter of my book entitled "The Creek: Where Stories of the Past Come Alive". The first chapter is about a love blooming in the midst of the Revolutionary War. This is that you just read is the second story, as another is about a family dealing with the impact of the Vietnam War. All of the stories take place in the same location, just decades apart. As the book moves along, the neighborhood evolves, both physically and with the people's behavior. Each story shows the struggles and obstacles that people face, and the emotions they suffer. The final story takes place in the present day where some very sensitive boys get glimpses of those who had gone before them.
If you like my work, please review it. They are also on B&N and Amazon. I would appreciate you taking the time, and if you are a writer who would like your work reviewed, please contact me on my Facebook page at Rhoda D'Ettore, or my blog, Rhoda D'Ettore's Writing Corner. Thank you.
Sincerely,
Rhoda
About the Author
Rhoda D'Ettore is a 15 year veteran of the United States Postal Service. While working there, she earned her Associates Degree in Human & Social Services. She comes from a large family outside the Philadelphia, PA area, where she has lived her entire life.
For the past two years, Rhoda D'Ettore has headed a group on human sexuality and self-esteem. She encourages women to appreciate themselves for who they are, and to defy the pressures of society to be a Barbie Doll cut out. She also has volunteered for various organizations, including organizing care packages for servicemen overseas.
Rhoda began her first book, "Goin' Postal: True Stories of a U.S. Postal Worker", as a joke for her family, that contained several postal workers. As she discussed aspects of the book with her co-workers, several asked to read it. After getting positive feedback, she decided to publish the book as an ebook for the public to enjoy.
Other Works By Rhoda D'Ettore
Goin' Postal: True Stories of a U.S. Postal Worker
This ebook tells of real but humorous stories that United States Postal Workers across the country live everyday. From finding human heads in the mail to trying to catch loose alligators, this book is guaranteed to make you laugh. You will also explore the fear and panic that they faced during the 2001 Anthrax Crisis, and how these unique people care about and support each other.
10 Shades of Blush: The Softer Side of Kink
This is the first book in a series devoted to exploring women's sexuality, by women for women. The book will include fantasies of real everyday women who just like to sink into their own minds once in awhile, as well as providing some interesting suggestions to liven up one's sex life.
The author encourages women to write to her on Facebook in order to submit topics or fantasies they would like published.
The Creek: Where Stories of the Past Come Alive