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Updated: May 3, 2025
No " Belle shook her head. "I'm not a good enough swimmer." Another short silence. "Belle, does this river rise every winter?" "Why, yes, I suppose it does. I know one year Emville was flooded and the shops moved upstairs. There was a family named Wescott living up near here then " Belle did not pursue the history of the Westcott family, and Miss Carter knew why.
It was not a long drive to the deep woods; and it was but six miles to Emville, where there was always the pleasant stir and bustle of a small country town; trains puffing in to disgorge a dozen travelling agents and their bags; the wire door at the post-office banging and banging; the maid at the Old Original Imperial Commercial Hotel coming out on the long porch to ring a wildly clamorous dinner-bell.
Then, if we can't walk into Emville, we'll have to spend the night on the hills. We could reach the hills, I should think." Her voice broke. "Oh this is terrible!" she broke out frantically and she began to walk the floor. "Hong, could we get the baby acrost?" asked Belle. "Oh, the child of course!" said Miss Carter, under her breath. Hong shook his head. "Man come bimeby boat," he suggested.
Molly grew to love Emville. Then, two or three times a year, such old friends as the Porters, homeward bound after the Oriental trip, came their way, and there was delicious talk at the ranch of old days, of the new theatres, and the new hotels, and the new fashions.
Sometimes in the hot summer, when the sun hung directly over the California bungalow for seven hours every day, and the grass on the low, rolling hills all about was dry and slippery, when Joe Parlona forgot to drive out from Emville with ice and mail, and Elma complained that Timmy could not eat his luncheon on the porch because of buzzing "jellow yackets," Molly Tressady found herself thinking other treasonable thoughts thoughts of packing, of final telegrams, of the Pullman sleeper, of Chicago in a blowing mist of rain, of the Grand Central at twilight, with the lights of taxicabs beginning to move one by one into the current of Forty-second Street and her heart grew sick with longings.
"Well!" she flared. "Do you suppose that anything bigger was ever done in this world than getting these things these generators and water-wheels and the corrugated iron for the roof, and the door-knobs and tiles and standards and switchboard, and everything else, up to the top of the ridge from Emville and down this side of the ridge? I see that never occurred to you!
She sat in the demoralized little parlor of the Emville Hotel waiting for news very white, very composed, a terrible look in her eyes. Jerry came and went constantly; other people constantly came and went.
The flood was falling fast now and barges were being towed down the treacherous waters of Beaver Creek; refugees and women and children whom the mere sight of safety and dry land made hysterical again were being gathered up. Emville matrons, just over their own hours of terror, were murmuring about gowns, about beds, about food: "Lots of room well, thank God for that you're all safe, anyway!"
The garden path that led to the Emville road ran steeply now into this pool, and the road, sloping upward almost imperceptibly, emerged from the water perhaps two hundred feet beyond. "Him how deep?" asked Hong. "Well, those hollyhocks at the gate are taller than I am," Belle said, "and you can't see them at all. I'll bet it's ten feet deep most of the way."
An old doctor came up from Emville at once, and Jose and Marty accompanied him all the twenty miles back into town for medicines. But days went by, and the invalid was no better. She lay, quiet and uncomplaining, in the airy bedroom, while October walked over the mountain ranges, and the grapes were gathered, and the apples brought in.
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