“What does that mean?” Rosa asked.
Papá explained. “A demonstration project shows everyone better ways to do something. This project will show us better ways to keep the soil from blowing away in the wind.”
“But it’s too late,” Tío said. “The soil has been blowing away for years. There is nothing left.”
“This project will show us how to rebuild the soil and keep it where it belongs,” Papá said.
“Will it give us a crop this year?” Tío asked. “Will it grow grass for the cattle to eat?”
Papá shook his head slowly. “No, not this year. But maybe next year.”
“Next year is a long time to wait,” Tío said.
“Perhaps it will rain this year,” Papá said. “Perhaps God will send the rain and keep us together one more year.”
Rosa thought about all the times that Tío was the one to say that rain would come and they would have a crop again. Now even Tío didn’t think it could happen.
The wind began to blow the next day. Rosa felt the familiar taste of dirt in her mouth while she sat at her desk in school. The day was stifling, and the windows were open. Mrs. Briggs continued her lecture about Texas history as she closed one window after another. Rosa groaned inwardly. Now the room would become even hotter. Closing the windows might keep out some of the dust, but it did not keep out the howl of the wind. Rosa gazed through the rattling glass, discouraged at the thought of another summer like last year’s.
At home, Mamá would be running around trying to cover furniture with old sheets, while Tía would be making sure everything in the kitchen was closed up. But Rosa knew nothing would help. The wind would blow, and the dirt would fly through the air and land wherever it wanted to. Mamá and Tía could do nothing to stop it, any more than Papá could make the dry, thin soil grow a crop.
“Why doesn’t God send us some rain?” Rosa asked Mrs. Madden one day after school. “You told me the story about Noah, when too much rain fell and the world was flooded. Why can’t we have some of that rain now?”
Mrs. Madden sighed. “We can’t always understand the ways of God, Rosa,” she said. “That doesn’t mean He’s not taking care of us. He gives us what we need at just the right time.”
Rosa was thoughtful. “What if He forgets?”
“God doesn’t forget, Rosa.”
“Is He taking care of Téodoro?” Rosa asked.
“I’m sure He is.”
“I wish He would tell Téodoro to write Mamá a letter.”
“Perhaps He will. You must not give up hope. We must never give up hope.”
“Ope,” little Henry said. “Osa ope.”
Rosa laughed. “Yes, Henry, I will hope.” She scooped him up in her arms and tickled his belly.
Mrs. Madden laughed, too, and took Henry from Rosa’s arms. “Time for you to get back to your lesson, young lady.”
Rosa turned back to her book. We may not have any rain, she thought, but at least I still have school and my lessons with Mrs. Madden.
Isabella had begun to walk. Now Rosa followed her little cousin around making sure she was safe. Isabella was a curious little girl. She loved to touch everything and climb on anything she could. Rosa held her little hand and took her for walks down the road. When Isabella was tired, Rosa carried her home and laid her down for a nap.
Isabella did not understand what a drought was. She did not know there would be no crop this year. She did not know that the animals on the range had nothing to eat. She simply loved to explore her world and learn everything about it.
Rosa wished that she could feel that way again. She wished she did not have to see the worry lines in Papá’s face or the way Tío looked at Tía to see if she was going to start coughing. Rosa wished she did not have to see the sadness in Mamá’s eyes when no letter came from Téodoro day after day.
One day when Rosa came home from school, Mamá was ripping up the old sheets and had a stack of burlap sacks.
“What are you doing, Mamá?” Rosa asked.
“It makes no sense to cover the furniture when the dust still comes in and makes us sick.”
“So what are we going to do?”
“You can help me stuff these rags into the cracks around the windows and doors so the dirt can’t get in.”
“Do you really think that will help?” Rosa asked as she picked up a burlap sack. “We’ve done that before, and the dust still comes in.”
“We have to try something,” Mamá said. “We will use every inch of extra fabric we can find. I am tired of living in a filthy house.” Mamá ripped a long strip off a sheet. “Soon we will all be as sick as your tía.”
Rosa worked all afternoon, stuffing rags, towels, and old clothing into any open space she could find. Standing on a chair, she reached above the back door to feel for air coming in. Dust immediately left a thick coat on her fingers. Rosa used a wet rag to wipe the dirt away, then stuffed a strip of a sheet into the space. Mamá pushed furniture out of the way so she could reach the windows. Rosa handed her one rag after another.
Isabella toddled around after them, pointing at windows.
“Window,” Rosa said clearly for the child. She made sure to teach Isabella the English words for the things she pointed at. Everyone else would teach her the Spanish words.
Rosa hated the dust and dirt, but she also dreaded having to keep the windows closed all the time. The house would get so hot!
The next day when Rosa got home, Mamá and Tía were hanging the wash on a line in the backyard. Rosa went into the kitchen and saw the large kettle of boiling water. She knew that Mamá had been scrubbing clothes on a washboard all day, then swishing them around in the boiling water. Spring days were cool, so it was not so bad standing over the hot water. Soon summer would arrive, and the days would be hot. Rosa hated to think about Mamá and Tía working so hard in a hot kitchen. She wanted to keep up with her studies with Mrs. Madden in the summer, but she promised herself that she would work harder to help Mamá at home, too.
The winds blew and blew. Everyone in Rosa’s family grew more quiet each day. They all knew what the winds meant. They would have another hard year, another summer with not enough rain, another season with no crop to harvest, another year without money.
As she hung wash in the yard, Mamá often gazed toward the western horizon. Rosa wished she could go find Téodoro and bring him home. What if he never wrote a letter? What if he never came home? What if she never saw her brother again? No wonder Mamá felt so sad.
At bedtime, Rosa helped Tía get Isabella settled down for the night. She was getting too big for her basket, but Tía still wanted Isabella to sleep there. It was easier to keep the dust off of her that way.
Every night before Rosa went to bed, she ran some cool water on a washcloth. She lay straight on her back and put the damp cloth over her face to keep the dirt out of her nose and mouth. If she didn’t keep perfectly still all night, the washcloth fell off and she woke up with her mouth full of dirt.
Rosa hated the dust storms.
CHAPTER 10
Creak and Crash!
But, Mamá, it’s a flour sack!” Rosa protested. Mamá held the sack up against Rosa to see if it was long enough for a blouse.
“Mamá, you can’t use a flour sack to make me clothes.”
“Unless you can make yourself stop growing, you need new clothes. I have no fabric, Rosita, no money to buy any, and no more old dresses I can cut down for you.”
“I won’t wear a flour sack!” Rosa insisted. She pushed her mother’s arms away from her.
“Would you rather have a burlap sack?”
Rosa was horrified. “You wouldn’t really make me wear burlap, would you?”
“You can choose. Burlap or the cotton fabric of a flour sack.”
Rosa sighed and could hardly keep herself from crying. “Please make sure the writing doesn’t show,” she finally said.
Mamá softened. “Oh, mi hija, I don’t like this, either. But what ch
oice do I have?” She brightened. “Perhaps we can dye the fabric. You can choose a color.”
Rosa raised her eyes to her mother’s but said nothing.
“I still have a few beets in their juice in the cellar,” Mamá said. “Or we can look for some wildflowers.”
“Beet juice will not make a flour sack pretty, Mamá.”
“I’m sorry, hija. I don’t know what else to do.”
Rosa did not want to be the first student in her class to wear clothes made out of flour sacks. She promised herself she would only wear the flour sack blouse at home. School was almost out for the year. For the summer lessons, Mrs. Madden would understand—she hoped.
Rosa was determined to make her report card at the end of sixth grade the best she could do. She had passed most of the other students in the class. No one wanted to be friends with a Mexican girl who was smart, however, so Rosa was lonely. Even Sally, who sat right next to her, ignored her when she saw Rosa earning one A after another. Rosa sat at lunch by herself and played at recess by herself.
Rosa didn’t want to play, anyway. Instead of going outside for lunch and recess, Rosa asked Mrs. Briggs for extra lessons. After that, the other students called her the teacher’s pet. But Rosa didn’t care. It was more important to learn everything she could than to have lots of friends. She told herself it didn’t matter. One day, she would finish school and become a teacher herself. Then she would have all the friends she needed.
In the meantime, she had Mamá and Papá, and Tío and Tía, and Rafaél and Juan, and Mrs. Madden. And somewhere in California, she had Téodoro. She hoped he thought about all of them as much as they thought about him.
Mrs. Briggs began to tell the other teachers what a hardworking student Rosa was. While Rosa sat outside eating lunch by herself one day, the second-grade teacher came and sat beside her.
“Are you Rosa?” the teacher asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Rosa answered, wondering what this teacher wanted. For a moment, she was afraid they were going to send her back to second grade.
“My name is Miss Cordray,” the teacher said. “I teach first and second grade. I have some students who need some extra help. Mrs. Briggs thinks you might be just the person to help them.”
“Me?”
Miss Cordray smiled. “Yes, you. Mrs. Briggs tells me that you are bright and hardworking. She thinks you would be patient with the younger children.”
“I help take care of my cousin, Isabella, and Mrs. Madden’s son, Henry. They’re not old enough for school.”
“That’s excellent experience,” Miss Cordray said with a smile. “Would you like to meet your new students?”
Rosa’s eyes widened in excitement. “You mean today—right now?”
“Certainly. I’ll introduce you today, and tomorrow you can begin helping them with their lessons at lunchtime. Would you like to do that?”
“Yes, yes, yes!” Rosa exclaimed. She followed Miss Cordray into the building and met Jeannie, Sylvia, and Marcos. Each day, she would work with a different student on spelling and simple arithmetic. She would also listen to them read and help them figure out how to say the hard words.
Rosa ran to Mrs. Madden’s house after school with the good news. “I’m going to be a teacher! I’m going to be a teacher!”
Mrs. Madden gave Rosa a great big hug. “I knew you could do it, Rosa. You can do anything you put your mind to.”
Henry reached up for Rosa. “Hope. Hope.”
Rosa laughed. “Yes, Henry, I still have hope. I will keep hoping.” She picked him up under his arms and twirled him around.
Rosa loved helping the younger students. Helping them learn was almost as much fun as learning herself! Jeannie was writing some of her letters backward. She made a b look like a d. Rosa guided her hand over and over as Jeannie practiced the hard letters as well as the easy ones. Soon they moved on to writing whole words, then sentences.
Sylvia was having trouble with subtraction. She would add well, but she did not understand that subtraction was the opposite of adding. Rosa gave her real problems to figure out.
“If my hen lays four eggs and your hen lays seven eggs, how many eggs do we have together?” she asked. Then, “The crate had twelve eggs in the morning. In the afternoon, I count only eight. How many are gone?”
The words helped more than just looking at numbers on a chalkboard, and soon Sylvia was more confident.
Marcos was a smart little boy. He just needed some help with his English, and Rosa was glad to help him. No one at his house ever spoke any English words to him. When he started second grade, he did not know how to say anything in English. Rosa loved to speak English with another Mexican child. She was patient while he figured out what she was talking about. When he started to ask questions in Spanish, she made him use English. She was sure that by the time he started third grade, he would be doing very well.
By the middle of April, many of the children were eager for school to be out for the summer. They were ready to set their books aside and run free. Rosa kept working hard in her own class and helping the second graders at lunchtime. She could hear the other students on the playground, and she knew it was hard for Jeannie, Sylvia, and Marcos to stay inside and work, so she tried to make it as fun as she could. She asked them riddles while they ate their lunch before they got down to work.
On Thursdays, it was Sylvia’s turn to be inside with Rosa. Sylvia stood at the chalkboard, and Rosa sat at a desk nearby. Rosa made up math problems, and Sylvia listened for clues about what numbers to write on the board. Then she figured out the answer, and Rosa cheered for her. Rosa tried to be quiet while Sylvia was thinking. The sounds from the playground wafted through the window, but the only other sound was Sylvia’s chalk clicking against the chalkboard. So when Rosa heard a creaking sound, she jumped up immediately.
“What is it?” Sylvia wanted to know. “Did I make a mistake?”
“Shh,” Rosa answered in a whisper. “You’re doing fine. Just listen.”
They both stood perfectly still, listening, hardly daring to breathe. There it was again! Something was creaking. Rosa began to feel funny. Something was wrong.
“Sylvia, we have to get out of here!” Rosa exclaimed.
“But I haven’t solved the problem yet,” Sylvia protested.
“Don’t worry about that. We have to get out of here.”
“Why? I don’t want to go. Having lessons with you is fun. I want to stay here.” Sylvia stuck out her lower lip in a pout.
Rosa heard the creak again, this time louder. She looked up and saw a crack beginning in the ceiling. Sylvia would have to do her pouting outside.
“We have to go now!” Rosa shouted. She grabbed Sylvia’s shoulder and dragged her out of the classroom.
“I didn’t finish my lunch,” Sylvia whined, trying to turn around. “Miss Cordray won’t let me eat during class.”
“Sylvia, run!” Rosa commanded, pulling on the little girl’s arm. They dashed down the hallway. The third- and fourth-grade class was next door to the second-grade room. Rosa ran past, then stopped abruptly.
“There’s someone in there,” she said to Sylvia. “You run outside. Don’t wait for me.”
“I’m scared, Rosa!” Sylvia said. “Stay with me!”
“Go!” Rosa screamed. She shoved Sylvia toward the door.
Rosa ran into the third- and fourth-grade room and saw the teacher with a student.
“The ceiling is falling in!” Rosa exclaimed.
The teacher made a face at her. “Don’t be silly.”
Then the ceiling creaked again. The teacher jumped up. She heard it, too!
“We have to get out!” Rosa insisted.
The teacher grabbed her student’s hand, and the three of them ran down the hall and out the door as the creak became a crash! Once they were outside, Rosa turned around and looked at the school building. A swirl of dust exploded into a cloud as the ceiling fell into the first classroom. The third- and fourth-grade r
oom was next. Teachers came running out of their rooms, and the principal came out of her office. Teachers and students stood on the playground and watched as the two classrooms collapsed.
“Is everyone out? Is everyone out?” The principal rushed around the playground looking for any missing children. “Have you all found your brothers and sisters?”
“Rosa! Rosa!” Miss Cordray called, her voice rising above the noise of the gathering crowd.
“I’m here!” Rosa shouted, turning toward Miss Cordray’s voice. “Sylvia is fine. We’re both here!”
“Oh, thank goodness,” Miss Cordray said when she found them. “When I saw the roof start to fall in—I didn’t want to think what might happen to you.”
“Rosa heard a creak,” Sylvia announced. “Rosa told me I had to get out. She made me. She pushed me.”
“You did exactly the right thing,” Miss Cordray said.
“Then she went in the third- and fourth-grade room,” Sylvia continued. “She got people out of there, too.”
By now, Mrs. Briggs had found Rosa, as well. The principal had made certain no one else was in the building. Townspeople gathered and gawked at the school with the big hole in the roof.
“It’s the dirt,” Mrs. Briggs said to Rosa. “The dirt from last year’s dust storms was never cleared away, and this year’s dirt has made it worse. The principal kept telling the school board they had to do something. Now that the storms have started again, the weight was too much for the roof.”
“I never thought that dirt could make a roof cave in,” Rosa murmured.
“Now the school will have to close,” Mrs. Briggs said sadly. “The city inspector will never let us take children back into that building.”
“But we still have six weeks of school left to go.”
Mrs. Briggs shook her head sadly. “I think we’re finished for the year, Rosa.”
“Will they fix the building over the summer?”
“I don’t know.”
Rosa held back the tears trying to escape her eyes. She had finally gotten to go to a real school, and now the school was turning into a pile of rubble.
American Triumph: 1939-1945: 4 STORIES IN 1 Page 6
