The Dust Bowl: A Thimbleful of Hope

by Michelle Jabès Corpora

  Pretty soon, just staying awake was hard work. I could see Thimble’s muzzle pinched tight, which was something he only did when he was worried. “Oh, stop your fussin’,” I said, my voice weak. “I just need a catnap, that’s all.” But even I didn’t think it sounded very convincing.

  In fact, I was getting sicker by the minute. I could hardly hold my head up, and even the gentle movement of Thimble’s gait was making me dizzy. I pulled a rope from my pack and tied myself to the saddle so that even if I fainted, I would stay put.

  More time passed; I don’t know how long. At one point, I remember seeing an old abandoned farmhouse—windows all boarded up, the front door hanging off its hinges like a broken tooth. The little garden had once been full of rosebushes, but all that was left were thorny, furious tangles that looked like they didn’t even remember the look of a summer bloom.

  In my confused state, I imagined it was my own house. That I’d gotten home too late, and everything had been sold off, and my family went and left without me. Somewhere in my mind, I knew it wasn’t true. But by then, everything was starting to feel like a dream. “Ma! Pa! Gloria!” I called out. “I’m so sorry I left. Please come back!” But there was no answer.

  A huge black bird perched on the rusted-out mailbox by the road. He watched us as we passed with an eye that looked as big as the moon, and when he opened his mouth to caw, the sound was an earthquake that shook the earth beneath me.

  “Thimble,” I moaned as I fell into a deep hole, darker than dark. The whole world was slipping through my fingers like sand, and I couldn’t hold on to it anymore. “Please don’t leave me, too . . . Thimble . . .”

  I don’t remember much of anything after that.

  Chapter 10

  The Longest Night

  A voice pulled me back from the dark place. It was quiet at first, just a whisper in the corner of my mind. The world rocked gently, and I felt heavy, so heavy. I lay with my face pressed against the warm, breathing body beneath me. All I wanted to do was sleep.

  But the little voice grew louder and louder, and it was calling my name.

  “Ginny!”

  I groaned. Everything was starting to come back, though I wished it wouldn’t. The thirst, the fear, the pain. My chest felt like it was stuffed full of straw, and I wheezed with every breath.

  “Ginny, wake up!”

  And then I felt hands untying the rope that held me in the saddle, pulling me down into strong, familiar arms. I opened my eyes to see a man looking down at me, his face in shadow from the pink light of dawn shining at his back. When I finally got a good look at him, I had to wonder if, like Rip Van Winkle, I’d somehow slept for a hundred years, because I never knew my father to look so old.

  “Pa?” I croaked. “Is that you? What happened?”

  When Pa saw that I was awake, he squeezed his eyes shut and tilted his head up to the sky before looking back at me. “You ran off, Gin—that’s what happened. But your horse brought you back,” he said, his voice angry, happy, and exhausted all at once.

  “I had to go,” I said, “so I could stay with Thimble. I was gonna send money to help the family. But then I got kinda sick—” I stopped mid-sentence to cough, a sound that seemed to chill Pa right to the bone. His eyes got real wide, and he hugged me tight to himself and started to run. “Lina!” he shouted as he went. “Ginny’s back! Get the doctor here, quick!”

  The movement made me dizzy. My head wobbled around, and I managed to see flashes of the little ruined garden and Ma’s frightened face; of Gloria, her hair messier than usual; of Thimble trying to follow me, his eyes wild as he was led away into the barn; of my bedroom, just the same as I’d left it two days before. When Pa laid me down on the bed, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven, it was that soft. Had it always been that way? I promised never to take that wonderful bed for granted again.

  Everything that came next was a blur. I fell in and out of a restless sleep, where the waking and the dream world were drawn up so close together I couldn’t quite tell them apart. But there were some things I remember.

  I remember somebody undressing me and pulling a fresh nightgown over my head.

  I remember warm, sweet tea, lifted to my mouth one spoonful at a time.

  I remember tall Dr. Sturm, with his wire spectacles and his coal-black beard, sitting beside me, listening to my chest with a stethoscope. I remember him standing in the doorway later with Ma, murmuring words that I couldn’t make out.

  When I woke late that afternoon, finally with a clear head, I found Ma sitting next to me, reading. She wore a gray housedress that made everything about her look colorless. But when I stirred, she brightened and leaned in, putting a hand on my forehead. “Welcome back, sweetheart,” she said with a smile. “Thank goodness, your fever’s down. You had us all purty worried for a while there.”

  Her softness confused me. “Ma,” I said, touching her hand with my fingers. “Ain’t you mad? I ran away, I took food and supplies, and—”

  “Oh, I’m mad, Virginia Mae,” she replied, her eyes narrowing. “Madder than a wet hen, as a matter of fact.” She took a deep breath and sighed. “But I’m more happy than I am mad. ’Cause you came back to us.” She squeezed my hand, and I squeezed it back.

  I felt like I finally let out a breath I’d been holding for days and days.

  I tried to sit up and felt something sticky on my chest underneath my nightgown. I wrinkled my nose. “What is that? And why does it smell so bad?”

  “Mustard plaster,” Ma said. “Helps with the cough. And I cleaned out the whole place with baking soda and vinegar after you got home. Dr. Sturm said you’re lucky to be alive. You got home and out of the dust before it got all the way into your lungs. Another day, and it might have been too late.”

  I blinked, shocked, and leaned back onto my pillow. Then I closed my eyes and sent up a silent prayer for Silvio Hernandez, the only boy I’d ever met brave enough to tell me I was wrong. His good sense saved my life.

  Just then, I heard footsteps in the kitchen, and Ma called out, “Pa! Gloria! She’s awake!”

  A moment later, the two of them appeared in my doorway. Gloria ran over to my bed and threw her arms around my neck, squeezing me tight. “Gee, Glo,” I wheezed, “it’s already hard enough to breathe without you stranglin’ me.”

  Gloria pulled back, her eyes wet with tears. “You scared me, you dumb bunny!” she cried. “I’d smack you if you weren’t so sick!”

  “I love you, too, sis,” I said with a smirk, and Gloria punched me in the shoulder. “Well, you can thank Thimble for getting me home safe—”

  Thimble!

  I sat up and jumped out of bed like I’d been struck by lightning. How could I have forgotten about my horse? “Pa,” I said, dashing over to him, “where’s Thimble? Is he all right? I need to see him! Last thing I remember, you were pullin’ me off the saddle, and—”

  “Whoa, whoa, there,” Pa said, grabbing me by the shoulders and leading me back to bed. “You ain’t going nowhere right now, young lady.”

  “But—!”

  “No buts. Thimble’s home safe—he’s out in the barn. I’m lookin’ after ’im.”

  I bit my lip. There was something in the sound of Pa’s voice that got me worried. “Tell me he’s all right,” I demanded.

  Pa paused, his eyes flicking toward Ma next to me. Ma looked at the floor.

  I couldn’t bear waiting another moment. “Pa!” I cried.

  Pa sighed. “All right, all right,” he said. “There was a rock wedged in his hoof when he got here. I noticed ’im limping and pulled it out right away after we got you inside. It punctured the skin pretty deep. He must have jus’ kept on walkin’ on it for miles and miles till he got you home. Looks like it might be infected.”

  My chest got tight, and I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. Thimble was hurt! If he didn’t mak
e it, I’d never forgive myself—

  “Now listen,” Pa went on, seeing the look on my face. “I cleaned ’im up real good and put a nice bandage on there. He wouldn’t eat much, but I gave ’im plenty of water to drink, and he’s restin’ now. He’s a strong horse, and if he makes it through the night, I’m sure he’ll be as good as new soon enough.”

  “Please let me see ’im,” I begged. “I’m all right, I promise I am.”

  Ma and Pa exchanged a look, and Pa nodded. “Okay, Ginny—but only for a minute. You need to stay in bed so you can get your strength back.”

  The moment the words left his mouth, I was running past him and out the front door of the house, my bare feet slapping against the hard earth as I went.

  I found Thimble lying on the floor of the barn, his silver coat stained red by the sunset light pouring through the open door. He raised his head and gave a weak nicker when he saw it was me. He struggled to get to his feet, but Pa rushed forward to stop him.

  “Oh no,” I murmured, seeing the bandage swaddling his foreleg and the pile of bloody cloths next to a water bucket nearby. I collapsed by his side, throwing my arms around his neck. “I’m so sorry,” I said through a mess of tears. “If I hadn’t gone and made you run away with me, you wouldn’t be sick at all.”

  Thimble sighed, and I felt his whole body relax. It was like he was as worried about me as I’d been about him, and now that he saw I was all right, he could finally rest. He pushed his nose against my cheek, rubbing the tears away. “Come on now, Ginny,” he seemed to be saying. “Don’t cry.”

  But once I’d started, I couldn’t stop. Even when Pa came in to take me back to the house, I just kept on crying.

  “It’s all my fault,” I kept saying as Pa tried to convince me to go to bed. “I should never have left. What good did it do, anyway? You were right, Pa. I’m always making everythin’ harder for us.”

  Pa looked at me, his eyes suddenly serious. “Ginny, I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I said that to you. I didn’t mean it to be hurtful, even though I know it was. The fact is, sometimes doing the right thing means doing the hard thing. And I’m sure glad that you’re here to remind me of that. D’you hear?”

  I smiled and nodded. “I hear you, Pa.”

  “Now, stop that blubberin’,” Pa said. “Ain’t going to help that horse one bit, having you cryin’ your eyes out like that. I’ll stay in the barn tonight and keep an eye on ’im, so don’t worry. If anything happens, I’ll come get you.”

  But I couldn’t go until I’d asked the question that had been running through my mind every minute of our trip home. “Are—are you gonna sell ’im, Pa?” I asked, my breath catching on each word.

  Pa sighed and reached a hand out to smooth the hair away from my face. “I can’t go and sell the horse that saved my girl’s life, can I?” he said. “That horse is family now. Guess he always was.”

  I gasped with relief. “But what about the farm?”

  “We’ll figure it out,” Pa said, standing up. “If your grandpa and his pa before ’im could make it on this land, so can we. Us Hugginses are made of strong stuff, an’ we don’t go down without a fight. Somethin’ will come along, you’ll see. Now go get some rest, Gin. I’ll watch over ’im like the moon, I promise.”

  I went back inside, and curled up in my bed to watch the light fade away through my bedroom window. I kept my eyes locked on the soft yellow glow of Pa’s lantern, burning inside the barn until after midnight.

  It was the longest night of my life.

  Chapter 11

  What Courage Brings Home

  The next morning, I woke up to Gloria yelling louder than a rooster’s crow.

  “Ma! Pa!” she hollered. “Come quick! There’s a big black car comin’ up the road!”

  I sat up in bed, thinking of every terrible thing that could have happened while I’d been asleep.

  Was that the horse doctor coming? Had Thimble taken a turn for the worse?

  Or could it be the police? Could I be in trouble for saving Silvio on the train?

  Or was it the bank, come to repossess the farm? Could Ma and Pa have used up all their savings taking care of me, and now they were flat broke?

  I shot out of my room, not even bothering to change out of my white cotton nightgown. “Ginny!” Ma called as I rushed past her in the kitchen, up to her elbows in dish suds. “Where do you think you’re goin’?”

  I didn’t answer but instead threw open the front door and stepped out onto the porch. Gloria stood there, her eyes focused on an automobile pulling up the drive. A car that looked more and more familiar the closer it came.

  No, I thought. It can’t be . . .

  But when the black Buick stopped in front of us, and a big man in a suit got out of it, I knew it was true.

  “Mr. Bennett,” I said, unable to believe my eyes. “What are you doin’ here?”

  Mr. Bennett pulled the fedora from his bald head and walked toward us with a wide smile. His face was as red as an apple, as if he’d been spending long hours in the sun, though I couldn’t imagine why. He looked like a man who spent his days in a tall city building somewhere—not in a cornfield. “Well!” he exclaimed. “If it isn’t Miss Virginia Huggins! Lucky for me there’s only one Huggins family in Keyes—or else it would have been a real job finding you. I guess you took my advice after all.”

  I looked down at my bare feet, a little ashamed. “Yessir, you were right. I came home. Just in time, too.”

  “Smart girl,” Mr. Bennett said. “Glad to see you’re safe and sound. And who’s this?” He gestured toward Gloria.

  “Gloria Huggins,” my sister replied, primly offering Mr. Bennett her hand. “Ginny’s older sister. Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

  “My, my, what a beautiful family,” Mr. Bennett said.

  Gloria preened like a peacock. I rolled my eyes.

  “But, Mr. Bennett,” I said, “I don’t understand. Did you really come all this way jus’ to make sure I got back home?”

  Mr. Bennett turned back to me and winked. “Not exactly,” he said.

  Around that time, Ma came out of the house, looking flabbergasted to find such a smart-looking fellow on her doorstep. She smoothed down her hair and adjusted her dress, and just like that she was beautiful. I don’t know how she does it.

  All the commotion also brought Pa out of the barn, blinking into the sunlight like he hadn’t slept a wink. Which he probably hadn’t.

  “Mornin’!” Pa called out to us as he walked up, looking warily at the black car. Charlie had gotten out and was leaning against the trunk, watching us with his arms crossed.

  “Oh, don’t mind Charlie, Mr. Huggins,” Mr. Bennett said with a chuckle. “He isn’t exactly warm and fuzzy, but he’s not too bad.”

  Charlie gave a nod, and Pa returned it. “Is there somethin’ I can do for you folks?” he asked, looking only slightly less suspicious.

  “Actually,” Mr. Bennett said, “I was hoping there might be something I could do for you. You see, your daughter Ginny and her horse did me a big favor out on the road yesterday. Helped me in a big way. And since I was passing through Keyes on the way up to the Dakotas, I thought I’d stop by and see if I could return the kindness.”

  “Did she, now?” Pa asked, glancing over at me.

  “Their car broke down on the highway, so Thimble pulled ’em to a gas station to get it fixed,” I explained.

  “That’s mighty kind of you, mister,” Pa said. “But what exactly are you offerin’?”

  Mr. Bennett smiled and clasped his big hands together. “Well, you see, my name is Hugh Hammond Bennett, and I’m the director of the Soil Conservation Service—have you heard of it? My colleagues and I are on a mission from President Roosevelt to help out folks in this region, to get your land growing again.”

  My jaw dropped. President Rooseve
lt?

  We all stood in stunned silence.

  “I don’t understand,” Pa finally managed. “It’s not like you can make it rain. How can you help us?”

  At that, Mr. Bennett’s eyes lit up with excitement. “I’m so glad you asked. You see, my friends and I have come up with proven new farming techniques that are already helping farmers like you across the nation. If you give me time, I’ll give you answers. But not just you—if you get all your friends and neighbors here, I’d be happy to help them all.”

  Pa looked at Mr. Bennett closely, like he was searching his face for the lie, the con, the cheat inside. He’d already been skinned by those crooked buyers in Boise City, and that hadn’t been the first time, either. But this was different. I took Pa’s hand into mine and squeezed it. “He’s the real thing, Pa,” I whispered. “I know it.”

  That seemed to settle Pa’s mind. “Lina,” he said, “call up all the neighbors and get ’em over here right away. Glo, get some lemonade goin’, would you, please? Enough for a crowd.” Excited, Ma and Gloria skittered into the house like two jackrabbits.

  “What should I do, Pa?” I asked.

  “You come with me,” Pa said. He turned to Mr. Bennett. “Excuse me for a second, mister. We’ll be right back.”

  Mr. Bennett nodded and gave me a wink. “Take your time,” he said. “I’m sure you two have lots to talk about.”

  Pa pulled me by the hand toward the barn. As we got closer, my heart started to beat faster. Today was turning out better than I thought it ever could—but what about Thimble?

  As soon as Pa opened the barn door, I saw him.

  Thimble stood by the window, his silvery coat shining in the sun. Pa must have given him a wash overnight, because I hadn’t seen him look so pretty in ages. His black mane and tail were combed and clean, and as soon as he heard the creak of the door, his dark eyes turned to me.

  “Oh, Thimble!” I cried. “You’re all right!” I dashed over and threw my arms around his neck. He snuffled at my hair and blew his nostrils out, shaking his head.