Elizabeth gawked at every corner and building they passed. The carriage turned onto Simonton Street.
“We’re going this way?” Elizabeth frowned. “Did they rebuild the bridge over the tidal pond?”
“Unnecessary,” Father replied. “The storm closed in the entrance. Property owners are filling the old pond, and the streets go across without bridges now.”
On the day of the hurricane, the overflowing pond had slowed her progress to the harbor. No longer would it divide the town in two. Her Key West had changed. Gone was the debris from the storm. Roofs had been replaced and reshingled. New metal drainpipes gleamed in the late-day sun. Geiger trees blossomed bright orange against silvered verandas. Storefronts displayed china and parasols and every imaginable convenience. Key West might be small, but it was not provincial.
“It’s a lot to take in,” she murmured. “So much has changed.”
“Poor dear.” Aunt Virginia covered Elizabeth’s thin hand with her plump one. “You need to rest, and then tomorrow we will visit your mother’s grave.” Aunt leaned closer to Father as if sharing a confidence, though her voice did not lower. “I bear you no ill will. Given the heat and the primitive facilities, there was no time to post correspondence before interment.”
Elizabeth shuddered at the thought of her gentle, graceful mother in a coffin beneath the earth. According to her friend Caroline, the cemetery had been relocated to high ground near where she and the other survivors had clung to trees waiting out the storm. Those bodies from the old cemetery that hadn’t washed away were reburied there.
For once, Elizabeth was grateful for her aunt’s chatter. It allowed her to examine the passing neighborhoods. So much had changed, yet traces of the past remained.
She gasped when they approached William Street. “When were those homes built?” She pointed to two unfamiliar houses.
Father grunted. “The Bahamians brought them over.”
“Whole houses?” Elizabeth exclaimed. “How did they bring them from such a distance?”
“In pieces.” Father clearly did not respect the ingenuity it took to bring an entire house hundreds of miles over the ocean. “Apparently they couldn’t wait for good Florida pine to arrive from the mainland.” The carriage rolled to a halt. “Here we are.”
Elizabeth recognized her home at once. Though Mama’s oleander was gone, the gumbo-limbo and wild tamarind still shaded the yard. In front, coconut palms rose on slender stems, their thatch giving modest relief from the sun. The same picket fence delineated the yard.
“It’s exactly the same,” Elizabeth said. “No one would ever know how badly it had been damaged.”
“Your mother insisted I rebuild it that way.” For a moment, Father looked lost in memory.
Elizabeth swallowed the lump in her throat. Mother had wanted it to stay the same. Her son had been crippled. Her daughter had gone to Charleston. So much had changed. This would not.
Father assisted Aunt Virginia and then Elizabeth out of the carriage. She drank in every shutter and spindle of her childhood home. Both stories boasted a veranda facing the street. Floor-length shuttered windows lined the ground floor. At this late hour, they’d been opened wide to allow the ocean breezes to whisk away the day’s heat. Breathing deeply, she could almost smell Mama’s oleanders.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.
“It’s small,” Aunt Virginia noted.
Cook met them at the door, wiping her flour-covered hands on her apron. “Is dat Miz Lizbeth?”
“There will be two more for supper,” Father said. “Have Florie fetch my son.”
Elizabeth’s heart nearly stopped. Charlie. So soon.
“Yes, sir, Missa Benj’min.” Cook hurried into the house as Nathan drove the carriage back to the harbor to fetch their trunks.
Father escorted Aunt Virginia up the five wooden steps to the front porch. The entire house was elevated so as to allow both excessive tides and cooling breezes to sweep underneath. Aunt huffed and complained on every one of those steps.
Elizabeth trailed them. Soon she would know how her brother felt toward her. She reached for Anabelle’s hand, but her maid stepped away, her expression blank as stone.
Father turned back to Elizabeth. “Are you coming?” It was a command.
“Yes, Father.” The pine planks creaked with each footstep. Her salt-laden skirts forced her to tug them across the boards. Her stays let her draw only shallow breaths.
What would Charlie say?
“Your sister has returned,” Father said, ushering her inside.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimness of the interior hall. Before her sat a young man she barely recognized. His hair echoed Father’s sturdy brown, with sparse sideburns extending to his jaw. Dressed in a fine linen suit, cravat tied at the neck, he looked every bit the proper young gentleman—except for the wheeled chair and withered legs.
“Charlie.” Her voice trembled. “I’ve come home.”
He turned to Father. “Take me to my room.”