The Four Winds Page 71

Rafe.

It couldn’t be, but still . . .

She slowed the truck to a stop and rolled down the window. It was not her husband, of course.

“You need a ride, friend?” she asked.

The man glanced sideways. The skin on his face was tightly drawn over sharp bones. His cheeks were hollow. “Naw. Thanks, tho. Ain’t nowhere to go and I got me a rhythm.”

Elsa stared at him for a long moment, thinking, Yeah, none of us has anywhere to go, then she sighed and put her foot to the gas.

THAT DAY IN CAMP, Loreda learned the flexibility of time. Until today, it had always seemed fundamental, reliable. Even in the midst of heartbreak—losing her father and her best friend, and Ant’s illness—time had soothed with its consistency. Time heals all wounds, people told her, underscoring its essential kindness. She knew in fact that some wounds deepened over time instead of lessened; still, she’d relied on time’s constancy. The sun rose and the sun fell every day; in between there were chores and meals and markers, a schedule of daily life.

Here, hobbled by misery, time crawled forward.

There was nowhere to go and nothing to do. She couldn’t leave Ant and go hunting for doves or jackrabbits. Instead, she and her brother sat on the lumpy camp mattress and Loreda read The Wonderful Wizard of Oz out loud. But the book, with its terrible tornado in Kansas, wasn’t as fantastic as it used to be, not when you were staying in a place that looked like a disaster zone. In fact, Loreda thought it might give them both nightmares.

It was just past five-thirty P.M. when Loreda heard the familiar rumble of their truck. She pushed Ant away and jumped out of bed.

Outside, on the rutted road, a crowd of people were walking this way.

Mom pulled up next to the tent and parked. Loreda waited impatiently for her to shut off the engine and step out of the truck. When Mom finally did exit the truck, she just stood there, hunched over, looking tired. Defeated.

“Mom?”

Mom straightened quickly and smiled, but Loreda saw that it was a lie, that smile. The defeat in Mom’s blue eyes was frightening.

“I did laundry and soaked beans,” Loreda said, suddenly wanting Mom back, the woman who was a full-charge-ahead workhorse, who never cried or gave up, who was never afraid. “We can leave after dinner.”

“I got a job today,” Mom said. “I worked all day for forty cents.”

“Forty cents? That’s not even enough to—”

“I know.”

“Forty cents?”

“Now we know what we’re up against, Loreda. We can’t spend money on rent or gas.”

“Wait. You promised we’d only stay one day.”

“I know,” Mom said. “I was wrong. We can’t go anywhere yet. We need to make money, not just keep spending it.”

“You want us to stay here? Here?” Loreda felt horror rise up and turn into a tremulous, terrifying anger, directed at her mother. In some small speck of her she knew it wasn’t fair, but there was nothing she could do to draw it back. “No. No.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to do.”

“You lied. Just like he did. Everyone lies—”

Mom pulled Loreda into her arms. She fought to break free, but her mother held fast, tightened her hold until Loreda gave up and slumped forward and wept.

“I talked to Jean. Cotton-picking season is supposed to be the time we can save money and pay our bills. If we are really careful and save every penny, maybe we will be able to leave in December.”

Loreda drew back, feeling shaky and uncertain. Angry. “Can we go back to Texas? We have enough for gas.”

“The doctor said Ant’s lungs wouldn’t heal for at least a year. You remember how sick he was.”

“But he refused to wear his gas mask in the beginning. Maybe now—”

“No, Loreda. That’s not an option.” She pushed the hair out of Loreda’s face with a gentle touch. “I need your help with Ant. He won’t understand.”

“I don’t understand. This is America. How can this be happening to us?”

“Hard times,” Elsa said.

“That’s a darn lie.”

“Language, Loreda,” Mom said tiredly. Then she walked over to the truck and climbed up into the bed and began unstrapping the narrow, black wood-burning stove that Rose and Tony had used in the dugout years ago, before they’d built the farmhouse.

Loreda hated the idea of unpacking that stove with every fiber of her being. A stove meant home; it meant you were staying someplace, settling in. They’d imagined this stove heating a new house. With a sigh, she climbed up alongside her mom and untied the straps. Together, both of them grunting, they muscled the heavy stove out of the truck and onto the weedy grass in front of the tent. The buckets and a metal washbasin were beside it.

“Great,” Loreda said. Now they looked like all the rest of the poor, desperate people living in tents in this ugly field.

“Yeah,” Mom said.

There was nothing else to say.

They went into the tent, where Ant was lying on the dirt floor beside the mattress, playing with his toy soldiers. “Mom! You came back.”

Loreda saw the pain flash across her mother’s face. “I will always come back. You two are my whole life. Okay? Don’t ever be afraid of that.”

Prev page Next page