“Sorry,” I muttered through happy tears, “I’m sure I smell downright awful with that mustard plaster all over me. But I’m so glad to see you!”
Pa walked over and gave Thimble a pat on his flank. “I cleaned his hoof again this morning and put on a new bandage. The wound is deep but clean. He’ll be limpin’ awhile, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you were back in the saddle again before the month is out. He’s a stubborn beast, jus’ like you.”
I grinned and covered Thimble’s face in kisses. He made a rumbling sound in his throat and nuzzled me back with his warm, velvety nose.
Then I turned to Pa. He was covered in dust—from his boots to his jeans to his bone-tired face. I ran to him and wrapped my arms around his waist. “I’m so sorry, Pa,” I burst out. “I’m so sorry I ran away and scared you and made you spend money that we didn’t have in the first place jus’ to fix up the mess I made.”
After a minute, Pa pulled me from him and looked me straight in the eye, his hands on my shoulders. “You wouldn’t have run away if I hadn’t pushed you,” he said. “I should have listened to what you were tryin’ to tell me. It’s true that we got to make sacrifices to stay on this land, and that’s gonna be hard no matter what. But some of the things we keep, even though they’re just things—they’re us. That’s right, isn’t it?”
I nodded.
“I should never have tried to sell Thimble,” he went on. “I see now that he’s not a thing to be bought and sold, not to you.”
“But what about the money?” I asked. “How are we gonna afford to keep ’im?”
“We’ll find another way,” Pa said, standing straight and tall, sure as sure. “And maybe your Mr. Bennett will help us out like he says.”
I shook my head. “I still can’t believe he came all the way here jus’ for me! Sent by the president himself!”
Pa smiled. “You see, girl? Your little adventure wasn’t a mistake, not really. Courage always brings somethin’ home with it.”
I felt just as light as a feather, standing there in the barn with so much possibility waiting outside the door. “Oh!” I exclaimed. “That reminds me!” I ran out of the barn and back into the house. In my bedroom, I dropped to my knees beside the bed and scrabbled around underneath it until I found what I’d been looking for.
I found Ma in the kitchen, helping Gloria squeeze lemons and spoon out sugar for the lemonade. I took her hand, still pink from washing, and placed the delicate china teacup in it. The one with the pink roses inside. “Sorry I stole it,” I said quietly. “But I couldn’t let you give ’em all away.”
Ma looked at the teacup for a long time. Then she looked up at me, and ran her hand along the side of my face. “It’s good to have you home,” she said softly.
I watched her carefully place the teacup back in the glass cupboard. Outside, I could see trucks approaching and hear familiar voices shouting hello—the Atwoods, the Wilsons, and a few of the other neighbors from miles around. Mr. Bennett went out to greet them and shake their hands. The sight of them all together like that made our farm look more alive than it had been in a long time.
I could hardly wait to run to the barn and tell Thimble the good news! Grabbing up a pitcher of lemonade from the kitchen table and a few glasses, I headed out to the porch to see everyone. I didn’t know what was going to happen next, but I sure was excited to find out.
Chapter 12
Indomitable
“Ginny!” Ma’s voice called from the house. “Supper!”
From up in the saddle, I saw Thimble’s ears flick toward the sound. He knew that supper for me meant supper for him, too, and there ain’t nothing my horse loves more than a good meal at the end of a long day. I clicked my tongue and tugged on the reins, and Thimble started moseying out of the cornfields and back toward home.
It had been two months since Mr. Bennett had come to our farm, and he sure left his mark on the place. Where there’d always been hard, straight lines plowed across the land, his WPA men had helped us make curvy ones instead, with little strips of grass in between each. The men also planted long lines of trees across the fields, which he said would help protect us from the fierce winds of the dusters.
I got Thimble settled out in front of the house with his nosebag of oats and ran inside to wash up. Ma was dishing out plates of chipped beef on toast, with a casserole of baked apples for dessert cooling on the counter. Gloria was busy pouring glasses of milk for each of us, while Pa fiddled with the radio. “Can we listen to some music instead of the news tonight?” I asked as I laid out the napkins.
“Not tonight,” Pa replied. “The president is givin’ one of his fireside chats in a few minutes—and word around town is that it’s about us.”
“Oh!” I exclaimed. I loved President Roosevelt’s speeches. I didn’t always understand exactly what he was talking about, but there was something about his voice that made me feel like I was wrapped up in a big, soft blanket.
“Hey, Gin,” Gloria said, pointing her chin toward me. “A letter came for you.” She pulled a small, wrinkled envelope from her dress pocket and handed it over. “Looks like it’s from California.”
“Really?” I asked, grabbing the letter. The return address was written in tiny handwriting to fit onto the envelope. I ripped it open and started to read.
Dear Ginny, it began. I finally made it to Stockton. I found your nice family, and they gave me a place to stay and hot meals. I asked about you, and they said they’d spoken to your mother on the telephone, and that you are safe and well. Your cousin Ruth has already put in a good word for me at the diner down the street, so I think I will have a job soon. I will remember you and your fast horse in my prayers every night. I hope one day we will meet again.
—Silvio
Smiling, I folded the letter and slipped it into the pocket of my overalls for safekeeping. I thought about me and Silvio, all grown up, with me going to eat at his restaurant, and him coming to visit me at the farm. My farm. Yeah, I thought. I think we will meet again someday.
“Who was it from?” Gloria asked, her nose poking in as usual.
“A very good friend,” I replied.
Pa was still sitting by the radio, and all of a sudden he started waving his hands. “It’s startin’!” he said and turned the volume knob all the way up before joining the rest of us at the table.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer began. “The president of the United States.”
There was a pause, and then a familiar voice filled the room. “My friends,” President Roosevelt said, “I have been on a journey of husbandry . . .”
I shoveled a few forkfuls of chipped beef and bread in my mouth, but my supper was quickly forgotten as the president went on to talk about the struggling farm families of the “drought states” and the burned-up fields of wheat and corn that he’d seen while he visited there.
“He’s talking about us!” Gloria said, nearly upturning her glass of milk.
I was so excited that I wanted to scream! But I was afraid to miss something, so I clapped both hands over my mouth and kept listening.
“Yet I would not have you think for a single minute that there is permanent disaster in these drought regions,” President Roosevelt continued, “or that the picture I saw meant depopulating these areas. No cracked earth, no blistering sun, no burning wind, no grasshoppers, are a permanent match for the indomitable American farmers and stockmen and their wives and children who have carried on through desperate days, and inspire us with their self-reliance, their tenacity and their courage. It was their fathers’ task to make homes; it is their task to keep those homes; it is our task to help them with their fight.”
We listened for a long while after that, supper getting cold on our plates but none of us wanting to eat. It felt sort of wrong to be gobbling up our toast when the great man was talking. When it was all done, Pa stood up slowly
and turned off the radio. We ate our cold food in silence, thinking about everything the president had said.
“What’s ‘indomitable’ mean?” I asked after a few minutes.
Pa looked up, his eyebrows furrowed. I thought he looked very smart in his new flannel, which he bought with the government money he got for working with Mr. Bennett and his men to farm our land in the new way. He got Ma and Gloria new sun hats, too, and a new pair of overalls for me. Even Thimble got a present: a little bag of his favorite peppermint candies. “I don’t know exactly,” Pa finally said, “but I think it means that nothing can beat us. That no matter what happens, we’ll make it in the end.”
* * *
After we washed and dried all the dishes, I went out to settle Thimble in the barn for the night. He nosed at the pocket where I usually kept a couple of sugar cubes, and sure enough, I managed to find one down at the very bottom. Thimble took his time to crunch it carefully, savoring every bit of sweetness he could.
I picked up a curry comb and rubbed it over his shoulders. It was something he always liked before bedtime, and I liked it, too. With how busy everything was these past two months, Thimble and I didn’t hardly get a chance to be together except at the end of the day. Things were better since Mr. Bennett had showed up, but things were still hard. We still only had just enough money to get by, it was still hot as blazes, and the dusters still blew in now and again, making a downright mess of everything.
But things were different, too. We had hope. It was just a little bit of hope, but maybe a little bit was all we needed.
“Good night, Thimble,” I said, giving him a kiss. “I’ll take you across the field again tomorrow, all right? I think it’ll be a nice day for a ride.”
Outside, the open sky was a quilt of stars, so big that it made me dizzy to look at it. I didn’t actually know if tomorrow would be a nice day for a ride. There might be a storm coming, or who knows what. But that didn’t matter. Because Thimble and me, and Ma and Pa, and everyone else in Oklahoma—and even Gloria—we were indomitable. The president said so himself.
I rolled the word over my tongue, and it was like tasting something new and exciting.
Indomitable.
Yessir, that’s us.
And now, here’s a sneak peek at the next
American Horse Tales
Hollywood
by Samantha M. Clark
Juniper gripped the reins tighter as her horse sped across the paddock. Balancing carefully, she pulled her right leg up and over her horse’s back. She crouched on the stirrup at his side, and when her target was near, Juniper thrust out her arm.
“Take that, fire breath!” she shouted, brandishing her makeshift sword in the air. “We got it, Able. We got the dragon!”
As the horse sped away, Juniper pushed up onto Able’s back again. She flipped around so she was sitting backward, then grinned at the massive elm tree they had just passed, its crooked branches like clawed arms reaching out to catch them.
Juniper patted her horse’s side as he slowed to a trot. “If that really was a dragon, Able, we could’ve taken it. You and me—we’re the best team ever, right?”
She peered over her shoulder as Able neighed, nodding his head as though he agreed wholeheartedly.
Juniper spun around to face forward and said, “Let’s go again. This time, let’s circle around, like Lady Penelope does on Castle McAvoy.”
Able’s ears twitched as Juniper hunched over his neck, then the horse took off.
“Woo-hoo!” Juniper shouted. “Watch out, all ye drag—”
The rest of her war cry got stuck in her throat. A figure over by the stables caught her eye. It was someone who wasn’t supposed to be there. Someone who had said he’d be working in his office for at least the next hour.
Juniper quickly pulled back on Able’s reins.
“Abort! Abort!” she said, steering the horse toward the stable. With a nervous laugh, she whispered, “The real dragon is watching us now.”
Juniper’s father shook his head as they trotted toward him.
“What are you still doing in the paddock?” Her father took hold of Able’s reins while Juniper slid from her horse’s back. “Able’s supposed to be cleaned, fed, and resting by now.”
“I was going to . . . ,” Juniper began, trying to think of an answer that didn’t include swords or dragons, but nothing came to her mind.
Her father brushed dust off Able’s side. “You can’t clean him from the saddle, you know.” His eyes dropped to Juniper’s waist, then narrowed. “And why is the rasp tucked into your belt?”
Oops! Juniper looked down and yanked the rasp out from where she had secured it tightly between her belt and her jeans. She waved it in the air like she was using it to attack an enemy. “It was my sword?” Each word was filled with uncertainty, as though it wanted to run back into her mouth and hide.
“Wait, don’t tell me: A troll is on the grounds, and you just had to protect the ranch.” Her father’s lips loosened like there was a possibility of a smile inside them.
Juniper jumped on the chance to bring it out. “A dragon, actually. Fifteen feet high! No . . . twenty! And it was getting ready to burn the whole kingdom—uh, ranch—down, and everything in it. You, me, Mom, Rose—everyone. Remember what the dragon did in the last episode of Castle McAvoy? Able and I couldn’t let that happen here. We had to save you guys.” She ventured a grin.
“A dragon, huh? In the paddock?”
“A huge one,” Juniper said. “The exact size of that tree, in fact.” She pointed at the old elm with the claw-like branches.
Her father looked at the tree, then back at Juniper. “So, what you’re saying is, if you didn’t have to battle a dragon to save our ranch, you would’ve had Able brushed by now?” He raised one eyebrow, and a giggle bubbled up inside Juniper.
She nodded. “Exactly.”
“Okay.” Her father whirled around and faced the tree. He stood tall and raised his arms wide.
“Dragon!” her father shouted. “I, King Paul of Ranch Bar K, demand that you halt your threat until . . .” He paused, glancing at Juniper. “Tomorrow afternoon, after school! Be gone until then, oh fiery dragon . . . thing.”
He turned to Juniper, slapping his hands together like he’d just finished a job well done.
“There. You can pick up where you left off tomorrow, but after you’ve finished your homework.” He smiled. “Deal?”
Juniper bowed low. “Your wish is my command, my king.”
“Good, because I need Able happy and healthy tomorrow.” He rubbed the horse’s nose. “He might have a job.”
Juniper’s eyes grew wide. “Really? You think he’s ready?”
Her father nodded. “He’s been doing great with you here at the ranch. And this role sounds perfect for him.”
“What it is?” Juniper wiggled her fingers back and forth at her side, excitement building within her.
“It’s . . .” Her father held on to his next word, and the suspense bit into Juniper.
“What?” she pressed. Then she saw the twinkle in her father’s eye.
“Wait! It isn’t . . . Is it . . . Do they want him for . . .” Juniper gulped. “Castle McAvoy?”
Her father cracked another smile, and Juniper released all her excitement in a jump and an “AAAAHHHH!”
To be continued . . .
About the Author
Michelle Jabès Corpora is a writer, editor, community organizer, and martial artist. In addition to working in the publishing industry for more than a dozen years as an editor and concept developer, she has ghostwritten five novels in a long-running middle grade mystery series. American Horse Tales: The Dust Bowl is Michelle's first novel under her own name. Her second novel, The Fog of War: Martha Gellhorn at the D-Day Landings (Pushkin Press), also publishes in 2021.
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The Dust Bowl: A Thimbleful of Hope Page 7
