“You sure ’bout this?” Silvio asked me.
“Sure I’m sure,” I said. “We can’t jus’ leave those fellas out here to melt. Besides, Thimble’s up for it, aren’t ya, boy?”
I patted Thimble’s neck, and he stood tall, his silvery coat shining under the bright sun. “You know I am!” he seemed to say.
Squeezing Thimble’s sides with my heels, I clicked my tongue and spurred him forward. Thimble began to pull, the muscles in his neck and shoulders bunching up as he strained against the harness. With the car’s back tires parked in the dirt, the first pull onto to the road was going to be tough.
Thimble pulled and pulled, but the car wasn’t budging. I could see Mr. Bennett’s face creased with concern. In the passenger seat, Charlie was shaking his head, probably thinking, I told you so.
“C’mon, boy,” I whispered into Thimble’s ears. “You can do it, I know you can! Why, if you pull us all the way, I’ll get you a whole basket of apples. The juiciest ones I can find!”
Behind us, the car moved forward an inch, out of the dirt. “It’s working!” Silvio exclaimed.
“And a whole box of sugar cubes!” I continued excitedly.
Thimble lowered his head, straining against the harness with all his might. The car lurched another foot forward.
“And a bag of those little peppermint candies that you like!” I shouted.
With one last yank, the car popped onto the road and started to roll smoothly along behind us.
Yes!
I could feel Thimble’s body relax as the weight on him lifted, and he could trot along like normal. “You did it, boy!” I exclaimed. “That was amazing!”
Thimble whinnied and turned to look at me, his eyes sparkling. I’d never seen him so proud. Keeping a steady pace, we made our way slowly down the road.
Silvio laughed with delight, and I turned back to look at him, my heart blooming with pride. “Piece of cake,” I said with a wink.
About twenty minutes later, we pulled into the little white Texaco station. There were two red pumps out front, with a Coca-Cola sign up on the roof. Standing on the ground beside the door was another sign that read: FISH AND CHICKEN DINNERS. A family in a rust-colored jalopy was filling up their tank when we arrived, and they watched us with curious eyes. A horse and two dusty kids pulling a fancy black automobile. We must have looked a sight!
I dismounted and watched Mr. Bennett and Charlie get out of the car. “Well now,” Mr. Bennett began, looking over at his young friend. “Looks to me like you just lost a bet, Charlie.”
Charlie dragged a sleeve across his forehead and sighed. “Guess you’re right, chief. I just didn’t think that horse had it in him.”
“Hmph,” I grunted, crossing my arms over my chest again. He’s sure got a lot of nerve!
Mr. Bennett walked over to us and gave Thimble’s head a pat. “I must say, Miss Huggins,” he said, “I am impressed. It looks like your little horse has got the heart of a lion. His riders, too.”
“You got that right,” Silvio muttered and elbowed me in the side.
I shrugged, my cheeks hot. “Anybody coulda done it, with a good horse like mine.”
“Just because anybody could, doesn’t mean everybody would,” Mr. Bennett said. Thimble leaned into Mr. Bennett’s hand, which is something he only does to people he likes. I couldn’t blame him. I didn’t like that Charlie too much, but Mr. Bennett sure was nice. “Now, why don’t you two kids come inside and take a load off? You just earned yourselves some lunch.”
While Silvio and I got Thimble unhitched and set to graze in the shady field out back, Mr. Bennett and Charlie went to talk to the mechanic about getting the car fixed. Once we were done, we all went into the diner inside the station to see about a meal.
It was a cramped little place, with only four booths and half a dozen red stools at the counter. A radio was playing music while the sounds of sizzling and clattering pans came from the kitchen in the back. Movie posters and framed Hollywood photographs hung on the walls, and it smelled like butter and hot coffee. We sat ourselves in one of the booths and squinted at the menu posted on the wall behind the counter. I should have been starving, but for some reason I had no appetite at all. Even though we were finally out of the hot sun, I still felt too warm. The stress of the ride there must have taken it out of me.
I could feel Silvio staring at me as I tried to figure out what to get. “What?” I snapped.
“Nothin’,” he said, lowering his eyes again.
When the cook came around to ask us what we wanted, Mr. Bennett ordered a round of Coca-Colas. He and Charlie both got hamburgers, while Silvio chose a bacon-and-egg sandwich. When they all turned to me, I swallowed and said, “Can I jus’ have some buttered toast, please?”
Mr. Bennett cocked his head. “Don’t you worry about the money, Miss Huggins—you get whatever you like.”
“That’s all I want, thank you,” I said. The cook nodded and made his way back to the kitchen. He came back a moment later with four ice-cold bottles of Coca-Cola. I pulled one toward me and took a long drink. It was so cold and sweet and bubbly that it almost instantly made me feel better.
“So tell me,” Mr. Bennett said after taking a long swig of his own soda, “what brings two young people like yourselves out on the road?”
“I’m goin’ to California,” Silvio replied. “Papa got taken by the dust sickness, so I wanna work and send money back to my family.”
“Mighty big of you, Mr. Hernandez,” Mr. Bennett said and turned to me. “And how about you?”
After guzzling down more than half the Coca-Cola, I said, “I’m goin’ there, too. My pa was gonna sell my horse, on account of us not makin’ enough money to keep the farm, but I jus’ couldn’t let ’im do it. So Thimble and I left Keyes to head west. My ma’s got some cousins there, and I can get a job, like Silvio. My family’ll be better off without us there, weighing ’em down and all.”
Mr. Bennett looked at me curiously. “Your pa told you that, did he? That they’d be better off without you?”
I swallowed the last sip of my drink and glanced out the window. I could see Thimble out there, standing under a tree. He was looking straight at me, and for the first time, I wondered if he missed home. “Well, no, he didn’t say that exactly,” I finally replied.
“What did he say, Miss Huggins?” Mr. Bennett asked, his voice soft. It was strange, that soft voice, because it came from a man as big as a mountain. He looked even bigger inside that tiny restaurant.
I cast my mind back to the argument I’d had with Pa, on the road coming back from Boise City. “He said he didn’t know what to do with me—that I was always makin’ things harder. And that he jus’ had to sell all that stuff. He said they weren’t important at all.” Just thinking about it got me bothered again. “But those things . . . They’re part of our family, too. They got all our memories in ’em. If I got rid of everythin’ that made me Virginia Huggins, then what’s left?” I nodded toward the empty Coca-Cola bottle. “I’d end up jus’ like that. Still standing, maybe, but nothin’ on the inside.”
Mr. Bennett leaned back in the cramped little booth, crossed his arms over his chest, and sighed. “You know what I think?” he finally said.
“What?” I asked quietly. The last thing I felt like doing was listening to another grown-up lecture me about being an ornery girl with wild ideas, but I didn’t want to be rude to Mr. Bennett.
“You and your father . . . I think you’re both right,” he said.
“You do?” I said in surprise.
“I do.”
Well! I didn’t expect to hear that. I sat up a little straighter. “I mean, I know family’s the most important thing,” I said, thinking aloud. “It’s not like I’d sell off my big sister before my favorite pair of overalls—though sometimes I’d like to. But when things get real bad, like they
been, I jus’ think that havin’ those special things around helps us remember what we’re fightin’ for, y’know? But Pa . . . he just wouldn’t hear of it.”
Mr. Bennett stared out the window, watching the cars roll by. “I think that you and your pa probably fight like a couple of cats only because you’re so alike. You know how I know?”
“How?”
“Because I have a daughter, too,” he said. “Sarah. She’s all grown up now. But when she was young, we used to argue about all kinds of things! She was stubborn, that girl, just like her father.” He looked back at me. “But let me tell you something, Miss Huggins. No matter how much we fought, and no matter how difficult things got— I never, ever thought that I would be better off without her.”
I blinked and looked down at the table as tears welled up in my eyes. Luckily, that was the moment when the cook showed up with our plates of food and a couple more Coca-Colas. Soon we all had our mouths too full of food to talk anymore, and that was fine with me.
Half an hour later, after we all finished eating and Mr. Bennett had paid the bill, Silvio and I were out back with Thimble, getting him ready for the road again. I fished a few sticky sugar cubes out from my pocket and offered them to him in my open palm. “Swiped ’em from the table in the diner,” I explained. “I know it ain’t a basket of apples, but it’s the best I can do for now. Once I get that job out West, I’ll buy you all kinds of treats. Okay?” Thimble didn’t seem to mind; he just gobbled them up and huffed at my empty hand when they were gone.
I climbed up into the saddle and looked over at Silvio, who was staring at the horizon like his mind was a thousand miles away. He’d been acting real strange ever since we got to the diner. “You ready to go?” I asked.
He blinked and glanced up at me, squinting into the afternoon sun. “Yeah, okay,” he said.
I clicked my tongue and led Thimble up to the front of the Texaco station, where Mr. Bennett was standing by the black Buick. “She’s good as new,” he said, patting the hood. “Thanks very much to you both—for your help and your company. It’s always good to meet new people on the road! Now here, I want you kids to have this.” He reached into his pocket, pulled something out, and pressed it into my hand. I looked down and gasped.
It was a ten-dollar bill.
“B-but, you already bought us lunch!” I stammered. “This is a lot of cash!”
Mr. Bennett closed my hand over the bill and smiled. “I hope it helps you two on your way. But do me this one favor, Miss Huggins, will you?”
I nodded. “Sure, Mr. Bennett. Anything.”
“Go home,” he said. “I have a feeling your father is heartsick without you. And the rest of your family, too. I’m sure the problems on your farm are difficult to bear, but better to bear them up together.”
I looked away. “I . . . I’m sorry, I can’t promise you that, Mr. Bennett. You don’t understand—”
“Maybe I don’t,” he said. “But maybe I do. Just think about it.”
Try as I might, I couldn’t look Mr. Bennett in the eye. So I looked at the road instead. “Okay,” I said, nodding. “I’ll think about it.”
It wasn’t until I watched Mr. Bennett’s car disappear into the distance that I realized that after all I’d told him about me and my life, I didn’t know a single thing about him.
Chapter 9
Fever Dreams
The hours wore on, each feeling longer than the last. Silvio, Thimble, and I took refuge in an abandoned barn during the hottest part of the afternoon and hit the road again just as the clouds began to redden with the setting sun. Pretty soon, the whole big sky was an explosion of pink, purple, and orange—as colorful as fireworks.
Even though all I’d really done that day was ride, I was completely worn out. More than once, I fell asleep in the saddle. I’d wake up a few seconds later to Silvio holding me by the shoulders, keeping me from tumbling to the ground below. He kept telling me to pull Thimble off the road so we could stop and rest, but I told him no. We’d already lost too much time, and we needed to put more road behind us before the day was done. I’d pushed Mr. Bennett’s words way in the back of my mind, and I was determined not to think about anything but how many miles were left until the California border. Thimble kept looking back at me, his eyes asking questions I didn’t want to answer.
But when I started up with another coughing fit, Silvio yanked the reins from my hands and steered Thimble off the road. “Hey, whatcha doin’?” I asked between coughs. Silvio didn’t answer. Once we were out of traffic, he jumped out of the saddle and led Thimble under a clump of trees where he could graze. Still coughing, I jumped down, too, and took another long drink from my canteen and finally got ahold of myself. “It’s fine,” I said, my voice raspy. “Prob’ly just breathin’ in too much dusty air on the road today. We’ll jus’ ride for another hour or—”
“It’s not fine!” Silvio said, with surprising force. “You’re not fine! Can’t you see that?”
I froze. Silvio had hardly said two words since we left the Texaco station, and suddenly it seemed like hours and hours of pent-up talk was bursting out of him all at once. “Silvio,” I said, “I swear, it’s jus’ a little cough.”
Silvio’s whole body was shaking, and his face was crinkled up with a terrible sadness. “That’s how it starts,” he said softly. “With a little cough. Then the fevers come, and the pain. Here.” He put his hand on his chest. “And then it gets worse and worse until . . .” Silvio swallowed and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were pleading. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes, and I don’t want to see it happen again to you. Mr. Bennett was right. This journey ain’t right for you. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. Don’t let yourself be the one who’s lost. Not when you still have a home to go to—a Papa to go home to. You got to go back, before it’s too late.”
I stumbled back from the impact of his words. “No,” I muttered.
“Ginny, please,” Silvio said. “You saved my life. Now let me save yours.”
I didn’t want to believe what he was saying, but deep down, something was telling me he was right. And just like that, all the doubts about this entire plan came pouring into my mind: how much I missed my family, how scared I was, how terrible I felt, and how worried I was to admit the possibility of one awful, horrible thing:
That maybe, just maybe, I’d made a big mistake.
Silvio and Mr. Bennett were right. I had to go home.
“All right,” I said. “I’ll go back to Oklahoma.”
Silvio sagged with relief. “Gracias a Dios.”
“But how ’bout you?” I asked him. “You still have to make it all the way to California.”
Silvio shrugged. “I’ll figure it out,” he said. “Maybe hop another train at the next station or hitchhike my way there.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. In fact, I had a much better idea. I ran back to the saddlebag and pulled out the diary I had brought and a nub of a pencil. After ripping out a piece of paper, I started to write. When I was finished, I walked back to Silvio and handed it over.
“What’s this?” he asked, his dark brows furrowed at my scribbled handwriting.
“It’s the names and address of my ma’s cousins in the San Joaquin Valley and a note to them from me, sayin’ that you’re my very good friend. Maybe they can help you get settled. Maybe even get you a job in a kitchen somewhere, makin’ people bologna and cheese sandwiches.”
Silvio looked at the paper for a moment, and then back at me. “Thank you,” he said with a smile. “Maybe they can.”
“I put my own address on there, too. So when you come back to Oklahoma, you can find me and tell me all ’bout your adventures out West. Oh, and one more thing,” I said, digging inside my pocket. “I want you to have this.” I held out the ten-dollar bill.
Silvio stared at the money in disbel
ief. “Ginny, c’mon now . . . ,” he said. “What about Thimble? I know that money could help keep your pa from sellin’ ’im for a while.”
The thought had crossed my mind, but I shook my head. “You need it more’n I do,” I said, nudging it toward him. “I don’t want you ridin’ those rails unless you’ve got a ticket in your pocket. I didn’t save your hide just to have it beaten up by another ’bo chaser.”
Silvio took the money and then pulled me into a fierce hug. “It’s been good knowin’ you, Virginia Huggins,” he said, his voice muffled. “You’re a true friend.” When he stepped back, he gave me a little push toward Thimble. “Now, promise me you won’t stop to help anyone else on the way. No matter how handsome they are.” He winked.
“Oh, all right,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I promise.”
“Good. Now get back on your fast horse, and go!”
I climbed back onto Thimble’s saddle, which felt sort of lonely without Silvio. “Good luck,” I called out to him. “Make sure to write!”
Silvio waved as I bent my face close to Thimble’s ear and whispered, “Come on, boy. Let’s go home.”
Thimble must have understood because he gave an excited whinny and took off down the road, right back the way we came.
* * *
Thimble and I rode on and on, the world growing quiet, empty, and dark all around us. I knew it was still plenty warm out there on the open plain, but I was shivering like a leaf. The coughing fits didn’t come often, but every time they did, my chest hurt worse and worse.
I’d lost track of how many miles we had to go. It was hard enough to see road signs out there in the darkness, no less any kind of landmarks I might recognize. We stopped a couple of times so Thimble could get a drink and graze, but other than that, we kept going. I knew I should have been eating and drinking, too, to keep my strength up, but I couldn’t bear the sight of food. And my canteen was running on empty.
The Dust Bowl: A Thimbleful of Hope Page 5
