And here’s another contradiction in the party. They teach us that the ideal Nazi woman is to be pure in mind and spirit. But here in camp, the leaders are very lax about promiscuity among the older members. (Sorry to be so blunt, but you asked.) The counselors and teachers openly teach that love between young people is natural and they encourage couples to fully express their feelings for each other. That makes some of the boys feel like they have the right to be aggressive with us, even if we don’t like them and tell them to leave us alone.
I have learned to keep my membership in the Church a secret, for even though the official party line says that religions are acceptable in the Third Reich, our camp leaders ridicule people of faith, and if they catch one of us saying prayers, they will make us stop. They say religion makes us weak, and in the Third Reich, weakness is forbidden.
She stopped and reread what she had written, a sudden weariness hitting her like a blow. After a moment, she sighed and started writing again.
As I read what I just wrote, I hope I haven’t given you the wrong idea, Benji. I don’t want you to think I am ashamed of being a Mormon or about my belief in God. If I am asked about it, I answer honestly. But I don’t talk about it otherwise, like I did last year. As far as I know, I am the only Latter-day Saint in camp. If I say anything, they make fun of me. Even Miki tells me what a fool I am for believing in God. She also openly mocks Mama and Oma Inga, which infuriates me.
Oh, Benji, I feel so alone here. Jo told me that she told you how I cried when Papa and Mama said I couldn’t go to America, and that is true. I sobbed until my whole body hurt, something I have never done before. What Jo doesn’t know is that I’ve been crying a lot this summer. I wait until the lights are out and everyone is asleep, and then I bury my face in my pillow and weep until I have no more tears.
She stopped and lifted the flashlight so it put light directly on the paper and read again what she had just written. Then she groaned. Where had that come from? Weep until I have no more tears? Oh, that will impress him. She turned the pencil around, prepared to erase the whole last paragraph. But after reading it yet again, she changed her mind. She desperately wanted someone to know what she was feeling, what she was going through. And why not him? He had told Jo he had feelings for her, so that was more than just friendship, wasn’t it? Lisa sighed, suddenly feeling very tired.
Sorry, Benji. I hadn’t planned on saying all of that. Don’t want you thinking that I’m not the girl I pretend to be in my letters. But I am so lonely. And right now, until I get back home again, you’re the only one I can say these things to. Your friendship is so precious to me. It means more to me than I can express in words. This summer I have found myself thinking of you at the strangest moments. On the rifle range, when I put all but one shot in the bull’s-eye, my first thought was, “I’ve got to tell Benji.” At night, when I can’t sleep, I have these imaginary conversations with you, and it gives me strength to keep going the next day. I keep asking myself what that means. Are my feelings for you deepening into something else besides friendship, or is it our friendship that is deepening? To be honest, I guess that is what has hurt the most this summer. If I had come to Utah, I could have had these conversations with you face-to-face instead of with myself. And that is what makes me cry.
And with that, I fear I have said far more than I should have. Please forgive me. Seeing my family again and talking to Jo has unhinged me a little, I think. So I shall close because right now I find myself blushing as though you were standing here listening to me rattle on.
Her shoulders lifted and fell as she stared at her last words. Then, before she changed her mind, she wrote two more lines.
With feelings that I cannot fully express,
Your friend forever, love, Lisa
2:05 a.m.—Women’s Latrine, Hitler Youth Camp
Lisa washed her mouth out with water, using her finger as a makeshift toothbrush. She was staring at herself in the mirror, her eyes wide and unseeing, her heart suddenly pounding with indecision. The folded sheets of paper were on the sink beside her. One minute she had this tremendous sense of relief to have let it all out. The next minute, a voice in her head demanded, “What will he think when he sees that you signed it with love? What will he say? Will he think you’re this fourteen-year-old little girl who can’t control her emotions?”
That last question did it. The thought that he might think less of her was unbearable. Lisa snatched up the sheets of paper and walked quickly over to the nearest stall. She read the last two lines again and felt her face go red. “Love, Lisa?” Had she really said that?
She carefully shredded the letter into small strips and then turned them crossways and ripped the paper into smaller pieces. When she was done, she dropped them in the toilet and pulled the chain. “Don’t cry! Don’t cry!” she murmured over and over as she watched the last of the paper disappear.
And then, suddenly exhausted beyond measure, she turned and walked out the door.
“Lisa! What are you doing here?”
She jumped almost a foot and fell back. Then she recognized who it was in the moonlight. “Miki?” she gasped.
“Yes, Miki!” her cousin snapped. “What are you doing out here? Do you know what time it is?”
“I. . . .” Lisa’s heart was hammering in her chest so hard she could hardly breathe. “What are you doing out here?” she finally stammered.
“Your tent leader woke up and saw that you were gone. She came looking for you, and when she couldn’t find you, she came and got me.” Miki was clearly suspicious. “What have you been doing?”
Two things came to her that she later would consider small miracles. The first was that as she had finished Benji’s letter, it had occurred to her that if one of her tentmates woke up as she came back in the tent and saw that she was carrying a lapboard, pencils, and paper, that would not be good. So she had hidden all but the letter itself behind the tree, to be retrieved tomorrow.
The second realization left her weak in the knees. If she had not torn up Benji’s letter, Miki would right now be reading what Lisa had written about her. This thought turned her heart to ice. If Miki shared what Lisa had written about the Nazi Party, it wouldn’t be just her in deep trouble. That would likely get her father brought in for an interrogation. That thought nearly made her throw up.
Miki stepped closer, angry now. “Answer me. What are you doing out here?”
What came next was pure inspiration. Lisa visibly started, as if she were just coming awake. “Miki?” she mumbled. She leaned in, her words slurring. “Is that you?” She turned slowly. “Where am I?”
Miki’s face relaxed as she peered more closely at her. “Are you sleepwalking?”
Lisa looked around, her eyes dazed. Then she stared down at her pajamas. “Uh . . . I need to go to the bathroom.”
“You were just in the bathroom.”
“I was?”
Smiling now, Miki took her arm. “Silly goose. Come on, I’ll take you back to your tent.”
Lisa tried to lay her head on Miki’s shoulder and yawned. “I’m so tired, Miki.”
“I know, Lisa. Let’s get you back to bed.”
May 20, 1934, 7:35 p.m.—U.S. Highway 50, about 30 Miles West of Dodge City, Kansas
As they walked wearily along, kicking up puffs of dust with their feet, Benji was studying the buildings up ahead of them across the road. He glanced at Mose. “This place is like the surface of the moon. How many of these abandoned homesteads have we seen now?”
Mose didn’t answer. He was staring straight out to the west, where there was a line of solid black thunderheads across the whole horizon.
“We have a few abandoned ranch houses and isolated homesteads in Utah, but nothing like this,” Benji went on. “Where did all these people go?”
Mose shrugged. “Probably same place we’re goin’. California, most likely.”
“All right, Mose! I admit it. It was a dumb idea to go back to Oklahoma. But you saw that newspaper back in North Platte, same as I did.” Benji spread his hands as if the paper were right before him. “‘Wildcatters wanted. No experience needed. Ten dollars a day.’”
“And I told ya that I didn’t believe it.”
“I know,” Benji snapped. “I got it. It was a stupid thing to do.”
As usual, Mose said nothing.
So Benji turned and studied the small farm—or what had once been a farm—just ahead of them. It was a frame home, one story, long and narrow. It had once been white, but most of the paint looked like it had long ago faded away. The front door had a single window, which had no glass in it. Most of the windowpanes were broken or gone. A tattered curtain fluttered in one of them. Mounds of dust and sand filled the windowsills and covered the porch. Out back, there was a dilapidated barn with part of its roof caved in. A windmill with only two blades left was behind the house. Four- and five-foot drifts of sand and dust were everywhere.
He finally looked away. The sight depressed him. The whole country depressed him. And the fact that they hadn’t seen a single car in the last half an hour only added to that feeling.
They had left Oklahoma City three days before, riding the rails westward until they got to Dodge City. There they had spent the night in a hobo jungle near the tracks. Most of the others there were headed west and south, following the Southern Pacific route, which eventually would take them to Arizona or Southern California. Benji and Mose, on the other hand, were headed back to North Platte, Nebraska, their starting point. There they would link back up with the Union Pacific transcontinental line. But there were no major railroad lines going in this direction, so they had taken to riding their thumbs. Without much luck. Though Highway 50 was a major route through the Midwest, it was carrying very little traffic today.
“Don’t like the look of that sky out there.”
Benji turned his gaze to the west. “It’s a gully buster, that’s for sure. If it keeps coming this way, we may have to hole up in one of these homesteads.” Then he pointed. “But look out there to the northwest. Isn’t that a twinkle of lights? Maybe we’ve got a town up there.”
“Yup! One more place to be run out of.”
Just then a sound brought Benji’s head around. He nudged Mose. “Car coming. Try to look like we’re from around here,” he said as he turned around and stuck out his thumb.
“Right,” Mose growled as he turned and extended his hand too. “And when was the last time you saw a black face out here in the middle of nowhere?”
“Yesterday afternoon, back in Wichita, I’m thinkin’,” Benji acknowledged.
Though both of them put on a big smile, the car barely slowed as it whipped past them, churning up billowing clouds of suffocating dust. “Thanks a lot, jerk!” Benji hollered, shaking one fist at the disappearing car as he clamped his other hand over his mouth and nose. “Man! No wonder they call this place the Dust Bowl.”
If Mose heard him, he paid him no mind. He was peering forward, through the swirling clouds of dust, which were now starting to drift away. “Look! He’s stoppin’.”
He was right. The glow of brake lights was clearly visible. Then suddenly they went off and smaller, white lights came on.
“Hey, hey!” Benji cried. “He’s backing up. Whoo–ee! I think we got ourselves a ride, Mose!” As the car came slowly toward them, they could see it was a sedan. A Chevy, most likely. Maybe a Dodge. But it was coming back. Benji and Mose broke into a trot.
As the car slowed and came to a stop, Benji and Mose could see the passenger-side front window rolling down. They quickly walked over to it. In the last glow of evening, Benji saw that it was a man and a woman in the front seat. They were dressed in the plain clothing of farm folk. A boy of ten or twelve and a girl that Benji guessed was six or seven were sitting in the back seat. They were watching the approaching strangers with wide, curious eyes. But to Benji’s surprise, they didn’t seem afraid.
As Benji and Mose reached the car, the woman pushed back against her seat so that her husband could lean across her and speak to them. “Jumping criminy,” he cried. “What are you two doing out here? Can’t you see there’s a storm comin’?”
Startled by his abruptness, Benji started to answer, but the man cut him off. “Where you headed?”
“Well, eventually, we’re making our way up to North Platte, but tonight, we’re just hoping to get to Garden City. How far is that?”
The man seemed not to hear him. He looked over the back seat. “Scooter! Get on your brother’s lap.” Then to Benji he snapped, “Get in. Now!”
Mose opened the back door and Benji climbed in. As Mose followed and shut the door again, the driver put the car into gear and roared off, throwing them back against the seat. He shifted into second gear, engine howling as he pushed the gas pedal to the floor. “What’s the matter with you guys? Strolling along out here like a couple of California tourists.” He pointed out the windshield to the west. “Did you even look out there?”
His wife murmured something and reached across and laid a hand on his arm. His tone immediately softened. “Sorry, but this is supposed to be a bad one.”
“Uh. . . .” Benji was taken aback. “Yeah, we saw that it’s probably gonna rain later.”
“Rain!” the man screeched. “Hells bells, boy. We haven’t seen more than a drop or two of rain since January. That’s not rain comin’ at us. It’s a black blizzard. And you two are out here strolling along like a couple of bloomin’ idiots.”
“Garrett,” his wife said softly. “They’re not from around here.”
“You mean a dust storm?” Benji asked.
“You better believe I mean a dust storm. Didn’t it make you a wonder a little why there are no cars on the road?”
Mose and Benji exchanged startled glances. “We did notice that,” Mose finally said.
“Everybody’s home, nailing things down.” Then the man spoke more kindly again. “With the light so low and in my eyes, I didn’t even see you guys. If my wife hadn’t seen you, by morning you’d be a couple of dirt piles.” He went right on. “Last spring, we lost a neighbor. He’d gone down to Dodge City to get some wheat seed. Then he heard there was a dust storm comin’ and decided he’d try to make it back. The storm hit him about twenty miles out. When these storms hit, it’s like being inside the belly of a whale. You can’t see ten feet in front of the car, even with your headlights on. He evidently ran off the road not far from here. Got himself stuck in a ditch. It broke out the windshield.” He took a quick breath. “When they found him the next day, he had suffocated, choked to death with a mouth full of mud.”
“Garrett,” his wife said, more sharply now. “Remember the children.” She turned and looked at Benji. “It actually wasn’t me that saw you first. It was Sally Ann. As we went by you, she hollered out, ‘Ma! There’s two guys out there.’”
Benji turned to the children. The girl was staring at him with unabashed curiosity. Her hair, long enough to go partway down her back, was a light brown and braided into two pigtails. It matched the color of her eyes. She had dimples in her cheeks, and he could see that she was missing all four of her front teeth. And she didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the fact that she suddenly had two strangers sitting next to her in the car.
“Hi,” he said. “My name is Benji. And this is my friend Mose. What’s your name?”
“Sally Ann,” she said without hesitation. “But everyone calls me Scooter.”
“Oh? Is that because you have a scooter?”
She gave him a pitying look. “No. It’s because I run real, real fast.”
“Ah, I see.”
“And is this your brother?” Mose asked, looking over at the boy.
“Yup. His name is Charlie. But he don’t talk much.”
“Only because Scooter talks enough for the both of them,” her mother said, turning around and smiling.
By now the car had settled into a steady speed. Benji glanced at the speedometer and saw that it was hovering at about sixty-five miles an hour. That sobered him. This guy was anxious to get home, which suddenly left Benji with a queasy feeling in his gut.
“Right pleased to meet you, Scooter,” Mose said, extending his hand. He shook hers briefly and then said, “You too, Charlie. Right pleased to meet you as well.”
Charlie murmured something unintelligible, shook both their hands, and turned and looked out the window. The father reached around and stuck out his hand without looking back. “Name’s Garrett Martin. This is my wife, SuAnn.”
Benji shook it. Then Mose. “We are much obliged,” Mose drawled.
“We’ve got a farm just outside of Pierceville,” Garrett continued, “which is about thirteen miles this side of Garden City.”
“You natives of Kansas?” Mose asked.
“Nope. Hail from Texas originally. Down around Amarillo. Came to Kansas about fifteen years ago when the state was luring farmers with free land and promises of incredible crop yields. We decided to check it out. Liked what we saw. Now we consider ourselves Kansans. Best durn wheat-growing soil in the whole U.S. of A. We came up and homesteaded a section, 640 acres. That fall we plowed up about a fourth of that and put in winter wheat, left the rest as pastureland. We also brought in about thirty head of beef cattle and three or four milk cows from our little ranch in Texas. But we did so well with the wheat—this was when a bushel of wheat was selling for a dollar or more—we homesteaded two more quarter sections and put in wheat there as well.”
Fire and Steel, Volume 6 Page 8
