I nodded, and the boy pulled himself onto the rungs. He hung there off the side of the train, the harsh wind buffeting him and blowing his gray cap right off his head and away. I nudged Thimble closer to the train, so close that I could almost reach out and touch it. The muffled chugga-chugga became a roar that drowned out everything else.
Sweat was glistening on Thimble’s neck as he ran—I could tell he was getting tired. I turned back to see the man in black at the end of the boxcar reaching out for the boy, shouting all kinds of angry words. Ahead, the bridge was almost upon us, and I could see where the ground dropped off to nothing. Looking back at the boy on the ladder, I shouted, “Whatever you’re gonna do, you best do it quick!”
The boy looked at me and then the ground flying past beneath him. “Okay, I’m gonna jump!” he cried. “Keep that horse steady with me!”
’Course I’d known this was his plan from the start, but it was only then that I realized just how crazy it was. “Wait, wait!” I yelled. “This ain’t gonna work! You’re gonna fall!”
“No, I ain’t! Just trust me, all right?”
I don’t know why I trusted that boy, but I did. “All right! Go!” I answered.
The boy closed his eyes for an instant, as if to say a prayer, then leaped from the ladder.
He seemed to hang in the air for a moment. I held my breath, gripping the reins so tight that my knuckles were white. And then—
He crashed down across Thimble’s back behind me, scrabbling for a handhold. Thimble whinnied and lurched to the left with the extra weight. The boy latched onto the saddle straps but was still slipping, his feet sliding along the ground. “Hold on!” I yelled. Reaching back, I grabbed the boy by the back of his shirt and yanked on him with all my might. From there, he pulled himself up and wrapped his arms around my waist. I could feel his heart hammering as I pulled back on the reins, shouting, “Gee, Thimble! Gee!” Thimble swerved to the right just in time to avoid us tumbling off the gulch’s edge into the dry riverbed below. The train thundered past, taking the man in black with it. I caught a glimpse of him peering back at us, his face purple with rage.
And then, he was gone.
I slid from the saddle to the ground, my legs wobbly, and coughed. My lungs had been feeling raw ever since that last duster, and this whole episode with the train hadn’t helped one bit. I gave Thimble’s neck a pat and pulled an apple from my saddlebag for him to eat. “Good boy,” I said as he took it from my hand and crunched it in half.
The boy jumped down, too, and I finally got a good look at him. He had skin like caramel; a wide, broad nose; and a nest of curly brown hair. He brushed the dirt from his overalls, which were too short, and looked back at me with dark eyes that sparkled with mischief. “See?” he said. “What’d I tell you? Piece of cake.”
I snorted. “You gotta be kiddin’ me. You’re lucky you didn’t get killed!”
The boy waved my words away like a swarm of flies. “Naw. It’d take more than a bump on the head and one of them fool ’bo chasers to kill me.”
“ ’Bo chaser? You mean that man in black? What’d he want you for, anyway?”
“Oh, they go after anybody tryin’ to ride the rails,” the boy said with a shrug. “ ’Specially Mexicanos like me.”
I shook my head. There weren’t many Mexican folks in Keyes, but I’d seen a sign or two in Boise City about places that wouldn’t serve them food or let them buy things. It weren’t fair to treat people differently on account of what they looked like. “Well,” I said, “I think that’s jus’ awful.”
“Yeah, I reckon it is,” he replied. “Anyway, I’m glad you showed up when you did. Jumpin’ off a train onto a horse has got to be the most excitin’ thing I’ve done all week.” He grinned and stuck out his hand. “Name’s Silvio Hernandez,” he said, giving me a firm shake. “Nice to meet you. Guess I owe you one.”
“I’m Virginia Huggins,” I said, “but everyone calls me Ginny.” I glanced back to see Thimble munching up the rest of the apple, the juice running down his lips. “You got my horse to thank more than me,” I continued. “He’s the one who done all the work.” I took the little bucket down from where I’d tied it to the saddlebag and poured some water in for Thimble to drink.
Silvio dropped his pack and went over to Thimble, who sniffed him with his wet muzzle. “Gracias, Señor Caballo,” he said, wiping the horse slobber from his cheek with a laugh. He turned back to me. “Got to be a purty good horse to outrun a freight train.”
“He’s good, all right,” I agreed. At that moment, my stomach growled—loudly.
“Wow,” Silvio said. “Didja swallow a badger or are you jus’ hungry?”
I crossed my arms over my stomach. “Guess I haven’t really eaten much today . . . ,” I admitted, my cheeks getting hot and turning red.
“You’re in luck!” Silvio said brightly, grabbing his pack. “I got a feast fit for kings right here.” He untied the knot in the sack and began taking things out of the bag: half a loaf of white bread, some bologna sausage, and a big hunk of cheese.
My mouth started to water just looking at it. “Where’d you get all this?” I asked in wonder. Store-bought food was a luxury for most folks nowadays.
“Oh, I did a little work washin’ dishes in one of them roadside diners before I hopped the train,” Silvio said proudly. “They said they’d pay me in leftover food instead of money, and I was fine with that. C’mon, let’s eat!”
“Oh, I can’t take your food,” I said, shaking my head. “Sounds like you worked hard for it. Wouldn’t feel right.”
Silvio looked at me with one eyebrow raised. “Like it or not, you saved my hide, Ginny Huggins. Jus’ take the food, will you? Then we can call it even.”
“Well,” I said slowly, “I do love me some bologna sausage . . .” With a smile, I pulled my quilt out from Thimble’s saddlebag, and we went over to a lone tree in the middle of the field. We laid it out in the shade beneath it, and Silvio took out all the food from his bag. I threw in a couple of Ma’s puny garden tomatoes that I’d taken with me when I left. Before I could tear into the bread, Silvio waved me away and spent a good ten minutes carefully piling up the meat and cheese and tomatoes into sandwiches that were almost too pretty to eat.
“Where’d you learn to do that?” I asked him.
“My mama,” Silvio replied, arranging the bread just so. “Before I left, I told her that one day I’d own my own restaurant, and I’d cook all the special things that she taught me to make. And people there would jus’ throw money at me because it was so good. Silvio’s Place. That’s what I’d call it.”
I nodded and took a bite of the sandwich.
“Good?” Silvio asked, his eyes searching my face.
“It’s heaven,” I groaned, my mouth full of food. “If I had any money, I’d definitely throw it at you.”
He laughed.
We ate there under the tree, drinking cool water from our canteens and watching Thimble graze on scrub and tumbleweeds. It was the finest meal I’d had in a long, long time.
Chapter 7
Something Good
“So,” Silvio said once we’d finished stuffing ourselves silly with all that good food, “where are you and your horse off to, anyway?”
“California,” I answered. “San Joaquin Valley.” The words sounded so exotic on my lips. I imagined green fields of grapevines and orange groves as far as the eye could see. After all those years in dusty Oklahoma, a place like that sounded like something out of a fairy tale.
Silvio’s eyebrows went up. “Really? Me too!”
“You’re jokin’!” I said so loudly that Thimble nearly spooked. “You got family there? My ma got some cousins up that way I’m headin’ to see.”
Silvio shook his head. “No family,” he muttered. “Jus’ hopin’ to get a job as a picker or somethin’ like that. Maybe work in
a restaurant washin’ more dishes, if I’m lucky.”
“Right,” I agreed. “I need a job so’s I can send money back home to Oklahoma.”
“You still got folks there?” Silvio asked.
I nodded. “Ma and Pa and my big sister Gloria. How about you?”
Silvio looked away, his eyes on the horizon. “Got a little sister, Marisol. She and my mama are stayin’ with my uncle in Guymon. But Papa—he’s gone.”
My mouth suddenly went dry. “Gone?” I repeated.
“The dust sickness,” Silvio said. “Few months back. That’s why I went on the road, so I can take care of Mama and Marisol, and make sure they got everythin’ they need. It’s what Papa woulda wanted.”
“Gosh,” I said, “I’m real sorry I asked, Silvio.” I’d heard about the sickness that came from breathing in too much of the dust. The last couple of funerals at the church were for people who’d died of it. Not knowing what else to say or do, I picked up a stick and started drawing figures in the dirt.
When I looked up again, Silvio was staring out to the horizon. “S’okay,” he said softly. “Please, no te preocupes. I mean, I miss him. Miss him real bad. But I got a big family, and they’ll take good care of Mama and Marisol while I’m gone. And, hey, I met you and your fast horse, and we got to eat together under this here tree. So I figure today, I might as well be happy.”
I shook my head. “Wish I could think like that,” I said. “I been havin’ a real hard time bein’ happy with things lately.”
“No hay mal que por bien no venga,” Silvio said, a small smile touching his lips. “It’s somethin’ my papa always used to tell me. Means that even when everythin’ seems bad, somethin’ good always comes from it.”
“Huh,” I said, a sting of pain in my heart. “That sounds a lot like somethin’ my pa would say, too.” Silvio and I were silent then, both watching the parade of jalopies and trucks roll by on the highway across the field.
“Anyway,” Silvio said, standing and shouldering his refilled pack. “It’s ’bout time I got some road behind me before it gets too hot.”
I stood up, too, shaking the dirt from my quilt before rolling it up again. “You interested in some company?” I asked. “Thimble here’s got room for two, don’t ya, boy?”
Hearing his name, Thimble looked over and nickered, his mouth full of scrub grass. “See?” I said with a laugh. “He agrees.”
Silvio looked surprised. “You sure? I don’t wanna trouble you none.”
“Wouldn’t be no trouble,” I assured him. “In fact, I wish you would. The ride would be a lot more fun with someone to talk to.”
Silvio beamed. “Well,” he said, “you don’t have to ask me twice! California, here we come!”
After packing up the saddlebag and checking Thimble’s hooves, we climbed up into the saddle—me in front, Silvio in back. Thimble headed toward the highway in an easy jog, warming up his legs for the day’s journey. Silvio whistled a jaunty song as we went, and my mind drifted to something he’d said about his trip to California:
It’s what my papa woulda wanted.
Was this what my pa would have wanted? I wondered. Probably not. I imagined him waking up that morning to find my bed empty, Thimble gone, and the little note I’d left them, waiting on the kitchen table.
Dear Pa, I’d written, Couldn’t let you sell Thimble, but I didn’t want to burden the family anymore, either. So we went to find a job out West. I’ll send whatever I can back to you, to help keep the farm going. I know how important this land is to our family. Don’t worry about me, I got everything I need. Tell Ma and Glo I love them.
Your girl, Ginny
Would he be mad? Sad? Proud? Maybe all of those things put together?
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to drive the thoughts from my head. I couldn’t worry about that, not while I had Thimble—and now Silvio—to think of. We had a long road ahead of us, and if we succeeded, it would be better for everybody. You’re doin’ the right thing! I told myself. How could it be wrong, if all these other people are doin’ it, too? I let the sounds all around me—the rattling of loose furniture, the crying of babies, and the rumbling of engines—drown out the nagging doubts in my mind. When I opened my eyes again, I could barely hear them at all.
We traveled for a couple of hours, and as the sun rose in the sky, the crowded highway began to thin out as people stopped for lunch. We’d just finished getting Thimble fed and watered at a farmhouse a couple of miles off the main road when I saw something strange up ahead. “What’s that?” I asked, pointing at the thin stream of white smoke rising into the sky.
Silvio shaded his face with his hand and squinted into the distance. “Looks like a broken-down car,” he said. He was right. As we got closer, I could see the smoke was coming from the hood of a long black automobile that looked nicer than any other I’d seen. A man in a navy suit was frantically waving the smoke away and trying to get a look at the engine. Another man—a big, tall fellow in white shirtsleeves, tan trousers, and with a fedora on his head, stood by watching, his hands on his hips.
“Not a great place for it, either,” Silvio added.
I nodded. We were still a ways off from rejoining the highway, and there wasn’t a single other vehicle in sight. I was about to say something else when a coughing fit came over me. After I took a swig from my canteen, I felt much better. When I was finished, I saw Silvio looking at me, his dark eyes searching. “You all right?” he asked.
“Sure I am. Musta swallowed a fly or somethin’.” I turned Thimble toward the smoking car. “C’mon,” I said. “Let’s go see if we can help.”
Silvio snorted. “How are we s’posed to help them rich-looking folks?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I dunno. But Pa always said we should never turn away from a stranger in need, even if we don’t have much to give. It’s in the Bible.”
“Well, all right,” Silvio said. “If your pa and the Bible said so, we’d better do it.”
The big man turned to see us approaching the car. He was as tall as a tree, and his clean-shaven face was pink with the heat. “Can I help you, kids?” he asked. From the way he talked, I could tell right away that he wasn’t from around here. His voice was clear, and it reminded me of the kind of gentlemen who read out the evening news on the radio.
“Actually,” I said, “we were wonderin’ if you might need a bit of help.” I pointed my chin toward the smoking car. “Looks like you’re purty good and stuck, mister.”
He chuckled and glanced at the other man, who was peering under the hood of the car. “What do you think, Charlie?” he asked.
“Engine’s overheated, Mr. Bennett,” Charlie replied. “We gotta get someone to check the water pump. Might just be some rust jamming up the works, but this old girl won’t start unless we get it fixed.”
The big man, Mr. Bennett, sighed and looked back at us, mopping his brow with a white handkerchief. “I guess you’re right; we are good and stuck. But what do you kids propose doing about it?”
Silvio and I thought for a spell. “Oh!” Silvio finally said with a snap of his fingers. “We passed a gas station back on the highway. Not too far from here. Bet they could fix your car.”
“That’s right!” I said, remembering the old Texaco station we’d seen. “Pretty sure Thimble could pull you there.” I patted Thimble’s neck and thought he stood a little straighter.
Charlie had wandered over from the car to join Mr. Bennett. He was younger than his traveling companion, and his long, narrow face was covered in grease. “You’re joking,” he said, glancing dubiously at my horse. “That scrawny creature couldn’t pull a tractor, let alone a Buick!”
I slid off the saddle and walked right up to that man, my arms crossed over my chest. Virginia Huggins never backs down from a challenge, and that sounded a heck of a lot like a challenge to me. “Well, I think he can
,” I said, with as much courage as I could muster. I turned to Mr. Bennett, who was obviously the boss of the two. “Whaddya say, mister?”
Mr. Bennett rubbed his chin. “We probably could get him hitched up to the front with some of the equipment we’ve got in the trunk.” He looked back at me. “And what do you expect in exchange for your assistance?”
I shrugged. “Lunch?”
“But, chief!” Charlie protested. “This is crazy, that horse pulling the car!”
Mr. Bennett gave the man a long look. “Do you have a better idea?”
Charlie crossed his arms and stared at the car for a while. Finally, he sucked his teeth and said, “I guess I don’t, sir.”
Mr. Bennett chuckled and reached out a hand that was twice as big as mine. “Well, little lady, that settles it. You’ve got yourself a deal.”
I shook his hand and turned back to Thimble. Silvio was still in the saddle, looking as entertained as if he were in the front row at the cinema. Thimble pawed the ground and blew through his nostrils. He knew his honor was at stake. “You ready, boy?” I said with a grin. “Let’s show ’em how it’s done.”
Chapter 8
The Heart of a Lion
Silvio and I did our best with Mr. Bennett’s equipment, and soon we got Thimble hitched up to the front of that black car pretty good. “We’re all set,” I said to Mr. Bennett. “Silvio and I will ride Thimble—all you got to do is put the car in neutral and steer.”
“Whatever you say, Miss . . .” Mr. Bennett looked at me expectantly.
“Virginia Huggins,” I replied. “But everyone calls me Ginny. And this here is my friend Silvio Hernandez.”
“Pleasure to meet you both,” Mr. Bennett said with a broad smile. “Lead the way, Miss Huggins.”
He and Charlie got into the car, and I climbed back into the saddle in front of Silvio. With the noontime sun beating down on us, it was hotter than blazes out there. Just breathing the scalding air made me cough, so I took a good long swig from my canteen before picking up the reins.
The Dust Bowl: A Thimbleful of Hope Page 4
