A Cup of Dust Read online

  “Get up. Mama’s waiting on us.” I grabbed hold of her arm and pulled. “Put that old cup down, and let’s go.”

  Scooping a cup of dust, she finally looked at me. Not in my eyes, though, she wouldn’t have done that. Instead, she looked at my chin and smiled before dumping the whole cupful on my foot.

  Some days I just hated my sister so hard.

  “I seen a horny toad,” Beanie said, pushing against the ground to stand herself up. She stopped and leaned over, her behind in the air, to refill the cup. “It had blood coming out its eyes, that horny toad did.”

  “So what.” I took her hand. Scratchy palmed, she left her hand limp in mine, not making the effort to hold me back. “Mama’s gonna be sore if we don’t get home.”

  “Must’ve been scared of me. That toad squirted blood outta its eye right at me. Didn’t get none on me though.” She looked down at her dress to make sure as she shuffled her feet, kicking up dust. Her shoes were still on, tied up tight on her feet so she wouldn’t lose them.

  Mama moaned many-a-day about how neither of her girls liked to keep shoes on.

  “That toad wasn’t scared of you,” I said. “Those critters just do that.”

  We took a few steps, only making it a couple yards before Beanie stopped.

  “Duster’s coming.” Dark-as-night hair frizzed out of control on her head, falling to her shoulders as she looked straight up. Her big old beak of a nose pointed at the sky. “You feel it?”

  “Nah. I don’t feel anything.”

  Her long tongue pushed between thin lips making her look like a lizard. Her stink stung my nose when she raised both of her arms straight up over her head. She would have stayed like that the rest of the day if I hadn’t pulled her hand back down and tugged her to follow behind me.

  After a minute or two she stopped again. “You feel that poke?” she asked.

  “Just come on.” Hard as I yanked on her arm, I couldn’t get her to budge.

  Goose pimples bumped up on her arms. Then I felt them rise on mine. A buzzing, fuzzing, sharp feeling on my skin caught the breath in my lungs.

  The same feeling we always got before a dust storm rolled through.

  “We gotta get home.” Finally, my pulling got her to move, to run, even.

  Flapping of wings and twittering of voice, a flock of birds flew over us, going the opposite way. They always knew when a roller was coming, all the birds and critters did. Beanie did, too. I wondered if she was part animal for the way she knew things like that.

  We stopped and watched the birds. Beanie’s coal black eyes and my clear blue, watching the frantic flying. Beanie squeezed my hand, like we really were sisters and not just one girl watching over the other. For a quick minute, I felt kin to her.

  Most of the time I just felt the yoke of her pushing me low, weighing about as much as all the dust in Oklahoma.

  The winds whipped around us, and a mountain of black dirt rolled along, chasing behind us. Making our way in a straight path was near impossible, so we followed the lines of wire fence, watching the electric air pop blue sparks above the barbs. We got home and up the porch steps just in time. Mama was watching for us, waving for us to get up the steps. Reaching out, she pulled me in by the hand, our skin catching static, jolting all the way through me and into Beanie.

  Just as soon as we were inside, Mama closed and bolted the door. “It’s a big one,” she said, shoving a towel into the space between the door and the floor.

  “Praise the Lord you girls didn’t get yourselves lost,” Meemaw said, stepping up close and examining our faces. “You got any blisters? Last week I seen one of the sharecropper kids with blisters all over his body from the dust, even where his clothes covered his skin. And we didn’t have nothing to soothe them, did we, Mary?”

  “We did not.” Mama moved around the room, busying herself preparing for the storm.

  The nearest doctor was in Boise City, a good two-hour drive from Red River, three if the dust was thick. When folks couldn’t get to the city or didn’t have money to pay, they’d come to Meemaw and Mama. I thought it was mostly because they had a cabinet full of medicines in our house. Meemaw’d said, though, that it was on account of Mama had taken a year of nurses’ training before she met Daddy.

  “That poor boy. We had to clean out them sores with lye soap. I do believe it stung him something awful.” Meemaw shook her head. “Mary, did we put in a order for some of that cream?”

  “I did.” Mama plunged a sheet into the sink and pulled it out, letting it drip on the floor. “Pearl, would you please help me? This is the last one to hang.”

  We hung the sheet over the big window in the living room. Mama’s shoes clomped as she moved back from the window. My naked feet patted. I remembered my shoes, still under the porch. I crisscrossed my feet, one on top of the other, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

  “You can dig them out in the morning,” Mama said, lifting an eyebrow at me.

  Mama never did miss a blessed thing.

  Rumbling wind pelted the house with specks of dirt and small stones. Mama pulled me close into her soft body.

  “Don’t be scared,” she said, her voice gentle. “It’ll be over soon.”

  Then the dust darkened the whole world.

  Wind roared, shaking the windows and rattling doors. It pushed against the house from all sides like it wanted to blow us into the next county. I believed one day it would.

  The dust got in no matter how hard we tried to keep it out. It worked its way into a crack here or a loose floorboard there. A hole in the roof or a gap in a windowsill. It always found a way in. Always won.

  Dust and dark married, creating a pillow to smother hard on our faces.

  Pastor had always said that God sent the dust to fall on the righteous and unrighteous alike because of His great goodness. I didn’t know if there were any righteous folk anymore. Seemed everybody had given over to surviving the best they knew how. They had put all the holy church talk outside with the dust.

  Still, I couldn’t help but imagine that the dust was one big old whupping from the very hand of God.

  I wondered how good we’d all have to be to get God to stop being so angry at us.

  Pastor’d also said it was a bad thing to question God. If it was a sin, sure as lying or stealing busted-up cups or tarnished spoons, I didn’t want any part of it. I didn’t want to be the reason the dust storms kept on coming.

  I decided to fold myself into my imagination instead of falling into sin. I pretended the wind was nothing more than the breath of the Big Bad Wolf, come to blow our brick house down. Problem was, no amount of hairs on our chiny chin chins could refuse to let it in. Prayers and hollering didn’t do a whole lot either, as far as I could tell.

  The daydream didn’t work to push off my fear. Mama’s arm around me tightened, and I turned my face toward her, pushing into the warmth of her body. She smelled like talcum powder and lye soap.

  I stayed just like that, pressed safely against her, until the rolling drumbeat of the dust wall slowed and stopped and the witches’ scream of wind quieted. The Lord had sent the dust, but He’d also sent my mama. I wondered what Pastor would have to say about that. I wasn’t like to ask though. That man scared me more than a rattlesnake. And he was just as full of poison.

  Mama loosened her arms and rubbed my back. “It’s done now,” she said. “We made it.”

  “Praise the Lord God Almighty,” Meemaw sang out.

  Sitting up, I felt the grit the storm left behind on my skin and in my hair and under my eyelids.

  “You think Daddy’s okay?” I asked, blinking against the haze hanging in the air.

  “I have faith he is.” Mama stood and shook the dirt from her skirt. “I would bet he’s worrying about us as much as we’re worrying about him.”

  A flickering flame rose as Meemaw lit a lantern. It barely cut through the thick air. Still, the light eased my fear.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Beanie couldn’t s
leep after dusters rolled through. They got her too wound up to relax. Since we shared a bed, when Beanie didn’t sleep, I didn’t either. Both of us tossed and turned, flipped and flopped all night. She about kicked me out of bed a dozen times.

  If I could have gotten three wishes somehow, I would have used every one of them on getting a bed all to myself. But since I had yet to find a genie-in-a-bottle buried in all the sand, I didn’t like my chances for that one to come true.

  Meemaw had come to our room early, before the sun was halfway in the sky. She put a cool washrag on Beanie’s forehead and shushed her.

  “Now, calm yourself, child,” Meemaw said. “Be at peace, Beanie Jean.”

  Beanie stilled, and I wished Meemaw could have come in hours before.

  “Our God is the God of salvation.” Meemaw pushed Beanie’s hair off her forehead. Then she closed her eyes tight, praying. “‘For thou hast been a strength to the poor, a strength to the needy in his distress, a refuge from the storm, a shadow from the heat, when the blast of the terrible ones is as a storm against the wall.’”

  Soon as Beanie heard Meemaw’s voice, she quieted her grunting and let her body ease a bit. I thought Meemaw must have been part fairy to work that kind of magic.

  As for me, I wasn’t about to fall asleep. Too many ideas passed around in my head for me to find rest.

  I got out of bed and pushed aside the curtains. Outside my bedroom window I would see three things, four if the air wasn’t thick with earth. One was Mama’s mostly-dried-up and buried-in-dust vegetable garden. The only thing that seemed to grow in that soil anymore was potatoes. They were the saddest looking potatoes in the history of our great state, at least that was what Daddy had said.

  The next thing I could see was our chicken coop. We only had three or four scrawny laying hens left. The rest had suffocated or become dinner at some point to go alongside those sad-looking potatoes.

  Third was an old windmill that stood a few yards behind the coop. Daddy had told me that it was older than our house. He had often said the first settlers in Red River had put it in. The way it creaked whenever the wind blew, I believed it.

  Last, and only on clear days, I could see straight out to the sharecroppers’ cabins. The folks that lived in those little shacks had to pay the rent with the crop they harvested. Seeing as nobody had a crop to speak of for years, most of them had been forced out by the banks. A few had managed to hold on, though nobody could figure out how.

  The first in the line of cabins belonged to Ray Jones. At least, it was his parents’ and he lived there with them and his little sister, Baby Rosie.

  Ray was about the only friend I had. He was a full year older than me, but he didn’t seem to mind being around me too much.

  Watching out my window, I hoped to see Ray himself, sitting outside his family’s old dugout. It turned out to be one of the days when I could barely see the windmill, though.

  Still in my nightie, I slapped my bare feet on the floor and went out of my bedroom and down the gritty steps. From below, I heard the scratching of Mama’s broom on the linoleum. I knew she would put me to work right away if she knew I was up and at ’em, so I turned to go right back to my room.

  I’d forgotten about the creak in the middle of the third step from the bottom. Just my luck, the step hadn’t forgotten and sung out under my weight.

  The broom stopped scratching. Mama’s shoes clicked on the floor. She’d caught me.

  I used a bad word. But only in my head so Mama wouldn’t know. I didn’t want to get my mouth washed out with soap first thing in the morning.

  “That you, Mother?” Mama always called Meemaw Mother even though she was Daddy’s mama.

  “It’s me,” I answered, taking the last few steps, slumping in my defeat.

  As soon as she saw me, Mama handed me a wet towel and went about scrubbing down the windows and walls and anything that could stand the punishment of her washrag.

  “Wave that in the air, Pearl. It’ll knock the dust down so we can sweep.” Her behind moved right along with her scrubbing hand. “We have got to get all that dirt out of here. I swear, this grit is going to be the end of my sanity.”

  “Where’s Daddy?” I asked, swinging the towel around my head.

  “Out making rounds,” Mama told me. “Now, don’t whip that thing. Be gentle.”

  “When will he be home?” I tried to make the towel billow, but could only manage to wave it up and down. “Will he be home for dinner?”

  “I don’t know.” Mama sighed. “He’s got a lot of stops to make before he can take a break.”

  I knew that meant he was checking on everybody in Red River, making sure they’d made it through the storm. That was what good sheriffs did. And Daddy was the best there ever was. I was sure of it.

  “He’ll be home soon enough.” Mama’s washcloth streaked black, oily dirt on the windows. “I do believe all the dirt in Kansas is here in my kitchen. Can’t hardly think of eating with all this grime.”

  The ache in my belly didn’t care if the house was half full of spiders. I never told Mama that, though. She’d have told me I would care plenty enough if I had spiders crawling in my oatmeal.

  She would’ve been right about that.

  We worked for a good long time, all the while my hunger distracting me more and more. She turned toward me when my stomach rumbled and shook her head.

  “Why don’t you go on and get dressed. Then I’ll get you something to eat,” she said, taking the towel from me. “Don’t wake your sister, though.”

  I did my very best to be quiet as I made my way up the stairs and into my bedroom. Meemaw was awake and smiling at me, so big I saw the five or six gaps where she was missing teeth. I wondered how she could chew anything at all.

  Beanie had finally fallen asleep, and she snored with her mouth wide open. Meemaw put a finger to her lips to let me know I should be quiet. Then she winked at me, making me smile. Meemaw’s eyes were deep brown like Daddy’s and Beanie’s. What I liked most about them were the wrinkles that collected at the corners. Even when she wasn’t smiling, the crinkles were there in her skin. Years of smiling and laughing had made those lines. She complained about them, calling them her crow’s feet. I thought they were pretty, though. They made her look as kind as she was.

  I smiled back at her extra hard so when I got old I’d have wrinkles in the corners of my eyes, too.

  Remembering my empty belly, I turned to get dressed, hoping Meemaw wouldn’t watch me. I’d gotten private about things like that.

  My closet only had a couple dresses in it, but they were clean and they fit me just fine. All but one of them were made out of old sacks. Most all the girls and ladies in town wore dresses made of bags. Flour or sugar or feed bags. Almost nobody had money to pay for new fabric, so they used what they had. And what we all had were empty sacks made of cotton and the know-how to sew them into little dresses.

  Touching my few frocks, I remembered the day Mr. Smalley got a shipment of sugar for the store. Mama and I went to get a couple groceries, and he showed us the bags of sugar. They each had flowers printed all over them. So many different colors I couldn’t help but smile to see them.

  “They’re putting flowers on the bags now,” Mr. Smalley had said, his eyes bright as a little boy’s at Christmas. “Guess they wanted the little girls to have something fine to wear.”

  Mama had turned away from him and started crying. All I could think of to do was smile at Mr. Smalley until he gave me a stick of candy to suck on.

  That was when I learned that kindness could break a heart just as sure as meanness. The difference was the kindness made that broken heart softer. Meanness just made the heart want to be hard.

  Running my fingers across the hung-up dresses, I picked the one with red flowers and stepped into it. The buttons matched as well as they could. They were all plain white, even if a couple were smaller than the rest. Mama and Meemaw had collected buttons over the years, keeping them in an old coffee
can.

  My top buttonhole had a loose string. I wrapped it around my finger, popping it free.

  “Oh, don’t do that, darlin’.” Meemaw stood from her seat next to Beanie, teetering before she righted herself, grabbing the bed frame. Once steady, she whispered, “Praise Jesus.”

  The few steps she took toward me seemed to hurt her every joint, she walked so stiff. Still, those smile wrinkles lined the place by her eyes.

  “You don’t wanna pull your dress to shreds, do you?” She patted me with her crooked fingers. She straightened my collar. “Such a pretty girl. God bless you, darlin’.”

  Meemaw and I looked eye to eye. She’d shrunk, and I’d grown, and we were about the same height even though she didn’t like to admit it. I tried to mirror her smiling eyes. When she kissed my cheek it made my heart feel all kinds of warm.

  Meemaw sat back down in her chair and took Beanie’s hand again. She hummed a little bit of a song and rocked her head, closing her eyes. That was how she prayed. Humming and rocking and smiling with her eyes shut.

  I wondered if, under her eyelids, she could see what Jesus looked like. The way she smiled, I had to believe He was grinning right back at her.

  My grumbling tummy reminded me of Mama’s promise of breakfast, so I got back downstairs.

  Mama stood at the bottom of the steps, waiting for me with two biscuits, one in each hand. She handed them to me and nodded to the front porch. “Go on outside. Make sure you share one of these, hear?”

  Through the window I saw that Ray Jones stood on the porch, hands tucked into the front pockets of his overalls. Even from the other side of the still-streaked glass I could see the gold-tan of his skin.

  I didn’t wait a second longer than I had to. I got out the door with Mama calling behind me, “Dig out your shoes.”

  Soon as I was outside, Ray took a leap off the porch. He’d even done it with his hands still shoved in the pockets. When he landed, he went down into a low squat the way all the men did and wiggled his bare toes in the dirt. Those toes were stained from a couple years of not wearing shoes. I wondered if his mother ever scolded him for being so filthy. Mama would never have stood for that in her home. If Ray was her boy, she would have tossed him in the tub for a good scrubbing.