American Triumph: 1939-1945: 4 STORIES IN 1

by Susan Martins Miller, Norma Jean Lutz, Bonnie Hinman

  “My tía Natalia is very sick. She can hardly breathe. I help take care of Isabella so she can rest.”

  “I’ll pray for her to get better soon.” Mrs. Madden took another swing.

  “I wish I could do something to make her better.”

  “You can pray for her, too, Rosa.”

  Rosa remembered how she prayed to find her father on Black Sunday and then she found him.

  “Mama hit,” Henry said, pulling on Rosa’s dress.

  “I’ll play with Henry for a while so he doesn’t get in your way.”

  “Thank you, Rosa. When we get all this cleaned up, we’ll have to get back to our lessons.”

  “I’d like that.” Rosa took Henry by the hand and led him away from the rugs.

  “Did you hear what the ranchers are saying?” Papá asked Tío about the latest news while they leaned on a fence looking at an empty field. Rosa had a book to read and sat in the shade of a tree.

  “What are you talking about?” Tío asked.

  “The editor of the newspaper has started a club.”

  “You know that I do not read the English newspaper,” Tío said gruffly. “I don’t have time for a silly club.”

  “This is not a silly club,” Papá answered. “It’s called the Last Man’s Club.”

  “The Last Man’s Club? What is he talking about?”

  “He says that the drought has made us all look at the hole. He wants us to look at the doughnut. The drought has not hurt us as badly as it has other parts of the country.”

  “The drought is hurting us now. Natalia and Carmen have no vegetables to put up for the winter. We have no crop to sell. We have to sell off the cattle before they die, but they are so thin that they are worth very little.”

  Rosa watched her uncle’s face as he spoke. Never before had he looked so worried and discouraged.

  “Yes, yes, that’s all true,” Papá agreed. “But in some places, all those things happened a long time ago. We are just now catching up.”

  “This is one race I would rather lose.”

  “You are looking at the hole,” Papá said. “To join the Last Man’s Club, you take a pledge to stay to the end of the drought. You promise that nothing but extreme illness will make you leave the land.”

  “This editor asks a great deal. How can we make such a promise? If we cannot earn enough money to feed our families, we may have no choice but to leave.”

  Leave! Rosa did not want to leave! What about her lessons with Mrs. Madden? What about going to a good school? And she would miss Henry very much.

  Papá shrugged. “Men are signing up. Who knows? If the government project works, perhaps there is hope for the land.”

  “I would like to believe that,” Tío said. “My question is, can we last long enough to find out?”

  Rosa liked it better when Tío believed the rain would come soon.

  California became the talk of the town. The mild weather in California meant long growing seasons. Farmers had several crops to harvest each year—all kinds of fruits and vegetables. Workers moved from one crop to the next, with their children working beside them in the field to earn even more money for the family. Rosa sat on the stairs one morning while Isabella was napping and listened to Papá and Tío talk about it.

  “The Delgados are going,” Tío said. “They say many Mexicans work in California. Their children are old enough to help them pick.”

  “The Furmans are also leaving,” Papá said.

  Rosa’s ears perked up. Sally Furman was in her class at school.

  “This is just the beginning,” Tío said. “I hear a lot of people talking about California. They are trying to decide if they should go.”

  “They wonder if it is really better than here,” Papá said.

  “Anything is better than here,” Tío said.

  “We must keep up our hope,” Papá said.

  Tío shook his head. “No, Pedro, hope is almost out. How can we survive here?”

  “How can we survive anywhere else?”

  “We could pick fruit in California,” Tío suggested.

  Rosa gasped. California? She did not want to move to California to pick fruit. She wanted to go back to school in September. How could she go to school if Mamá and Papá expected her to pick fruit in the hot sun all day long?

  “I am not sure everything we hear about California is true,” Papá said. “I’m sure people in California have problems, too.”

  “Nothing is worse than this drought and these dust storms,” Tío said. “We should think about California.”

  Isabella squawked in her basket, and Rosa scampered up the stairs to get her before she woke Tía with her cries.

  Even when the wind stopped blowing and the house was clean, Tía Natalia did not get better. Mamá asked her friends about medicine to help Tía get well. Señora Hernandez said to rub skunk grease on Tía’s chest. She knew a man who trapped skunks and saved the fat. He would not charge very much for Mamá to buy some. Perhaps he would trade skunk grease for some eggs.

  Rosa wrinkled her face at the idea of skunk grease. But if it would make Tía better, maybe they should try it.

  Señorita Cruz told Mamá to put a drop of turpentine in sugar and give it to Tía. This would help clear out her throat so she could breathe better. Mamá did try that idea, but Tía did not get better. She only coughed harder.

  Señora Garcia suggested a mixture of kerosene and lard. If Mamá would put the mixture on Tía’s throat, it might help. Mamá tried that idea, too, but Tía said the smell made her feel even more sick. Her fever went higher.

  Mamá took care of Tía, and Rosa took care of Isabella. Tía never came downstairs anymore. Mamá took food up to her, and Tío tried to get her to eat. Sometimes Tío or Mamá stayed up all night with Tía, putting a little bit of food or water on a spoon and trying to get it in her mouth. But she was too tired from coughing to eat and was growing thin.

  Rosa was sitting in the shade on the side of the house with Isabella one day when her mother flew out the back door. She ran to Rosa and snatched Isabella from her arms.

  “Mamá, what is it?” Rosa sensed panic in her mother’s movements.

  “It’s Natalia. Run, Rosa! Run and get the doctor.”

  Rosa was on her feet in an instant. Mamá never called for the doctor, because they had no money to pay him. Rosa knew it was serious if Mamá wanted the doctor. She knew right where Dr. Ewbank’s office was. Rosa ran as fast as she could. She burst through the door calling for Dr. Ewbank. Three people sat in wooden chairs, waiting to see the doctor themselves. Rosa rushed to the desk where a nurse sat.

  “My tía,” she said, “I mean, my aunt, she’s sick. Very sick. We need the doctor right now.”

  “The doctor is taking care of other patients right now,” the nurse said. “The best thing is to bring your aunt here.”

  “She’s too sick,” Rosa insisted. “She’s too weak. And Papá never drives the truck anymore. We have no money for gasoline.”

  “Is she coughing?” the nurse asked.

  “She never stops,” Rosa said.

  “Does she have a fever?”

  “It’s very high.”

  “Dust pneumonia,” the nurse murmured. “Let me have a word with the doctor. Wait right here.”

  Rosa waited, her heart pounding the whole time. The few minutes that the nurse was away seemed like hours. When she came back, the nurse had a pencil in her hand.

  “Tell me where you live. The doctor will be there in one hour.”

  “But he must come now!”

  “He can’t come now, little girl. Your aunt is not the only person with dust pneumonia, especially after that last storm. He will be there as quickly as he can in his car. Now tell me where you live, and then go on home.”

  Rosa swallowed hard as she gave the nurse directions and left the doctor’s office. If only he would come right now. Tears slipped from her eyes as she thought of going home and telling Mamá the doctor would not co
me right away. She hoped that Mamá had not waited too long to call for the doctor.

  “Please, God,” Rosa said softly, “take care of my tía. Please.”

  Then she ran home as fast as she could.

  CHAPTER 15

  Get Out!

  Rosa stood in the big room and pressed her face against the dirty window. Where was the doctor? What was taking him so long? Mamá made tea for Tía, but Tía would not sit up and drink it. Tío paced back and forth in their bedroom, wishing he could do something, anything, to make Natalia better. Rosa turned and scooped up Isabella and pressed the baby’s face against her own. Isabella must not know how worried everyone is, Rosa determined. She began to hum a tune, and Isabella squirmed in her arms to look at her face, smiling.

  Juan flew in the front door. “He’s here!”

  Dr. Ewbank had just turned up the road in his car. Rosa went outside to greet him and led the way to Tía Natalia’s bedroom.

  Mamá stepped aside as Dr. Ewbank laid his hand on Tía’s forehead. “She’s burning up. This woman is very sick.”

  Rosa translated the doctor’s words into Spanish, and Mamá’s Spanish words into English.

  “Nothing we do brings the fever down,” Mamá said. “I have tried everything I know.”

  “She’ll have to sit up a little so I can listen to her chest,” Dr. Ewbank said.

  Again Rosa translated, and Mamá and Tío immediately went to Natalia’s side to help her sit up.

  Isabella squirmed in Rosa’s arms and reached an arm out toward her mother. “Ma–ma–ma–ma–ma.”

  Rosa stroked the toddler’s head. “Shh, Isabella. The doctor is going to help your mamá.”

  The family hardly dared to take a breath while the doctor moved his stethoscope around Natalia’s back and chest. When she collapsed into a coughing fit, he stepped back, and Natalia fell back against the pillows.

  “How long has she been this sick?” the doctor asked.

  Rosa answered without translating. “She was sick last summer, but she was better in the winter. Now she gets worse with every dust storm.”

  “Your aunt definitely has dust pneumonia,” the doctor said. “She needs to be in the hospital.”

  Rosa translated, and Mamá and Tío spoke rapidly to each other in Spanish. Then Mamá gestured that Rosa should tell the doctor what they’d said.

  “They are afraid the hospital is very expensive. We have not had a crop for two years, and the cattle are dying from hunger. How will we pay for the hospital?”

  Dr. Ewbank shook his head. “Rosa, make them understand that this is very serious. I can give your aunt some cough syrup so she can rest better. But she needs constant care. She needs to go to the hospital. Four days ago, I examined a baby with dust pneumonia. His parents did not take him to the hospital. Tell your mother that baby died yesterday. I’m sure you know other families who have lost someone to dust pneumonia.”

  Rosa translated. Tío began to nod in agreement.

  “Good,” Dr. Ewbank said. “If your uncle will help me carry her to the car, I will take her to the hospital myself.”

  Tío was already gently lifting Tía off the bed. As he went past Rosa, he paused to kiss his daughter’s head.

  Isabella pointed and said again, “Ma–ma–ma–ma.”

  “Your mamá is sick,” Tío said, “but she is going to get better.”

  Rosa held Isabella tightly as she watched through the window. Tío laid Tía in the backseat with her head on his lap. Dr. Ewbank started the engine.

  Tío did not come home all night. With no telephone, the family had no word on how Tía was. Isabella called for her mamá and cried herself to sleep in Rosa’s bed.

  In the morning, Rosa sat out on the front stoop with Isabella, trying to get the child to drink a little bit of milk. When she lifted her eyes and saw Tío walking up the road, Rosa jumped up, grabbed Isabella, and ran to meet him. Tío carried Isabella, and they walked to the house together. Inside, Tío told about what had happened at the hospital.

  “They do not have any medicine to cure dust pneumonia,” he explained. “But they are bathing her with cool water all the time, every minute, to keep the fever down. The cough syrup helps her rest. And they keep the hospital very clean. People are mopping the dust away all the time so the patients can breathe clean air.”

  Mamá nodded. “That’s what she needs, rest and clean air.”

  Mamá fixed Tío something to eat, and then he walked back to the hospital. Rosa walked with him as far as the mailbox. When she pulled an envelope out of the box, she gasped and ran to the house as fast as she could.

  “Mamá! A letter!” She waved the envelope in the air as she ran.

  Mamá came out to the front stoop, where Rosa stopped to catch her breath.

  “It’s from Téodoro,” Rosa said. “After all these months, he wrote us a letter!”

  “Go quickly,” Mamá said. “Find your papá and brothers.”

  Rosa dashed to the barn and the henhouse to find everyone. When the family was all together, Mamá opened the envelope and handed it to Rosa to read aloud.

  My dear family,

  Greetings from California. I miss you all.

  I am sorry I left during the night without telling you. I am sure you know that I wanted to go to California. I hitchhiked out here. I did odd jobs to earn food and slept in barns and cellars or out under the stars. The important thing is that I made it to California.

  I came here because I wanted to earn money to send to you. I am sorry that I have not been able to send any money. The stories you hear about the fruit are true. Fruit and vegetable farms spread for miles. The first time I saw an orange grove, I thought I was in heaven. Apples, peaches, melons—they have everything here. When the crop is ready, it must be picked within a few weeks so that it does not rot and fall to the ground. Then the fruit is shipped all over the country. The orange someone buys in Texas may be one that I picked.

  I have had a few jobs. The truth is that it is hard to get jobs. It is not hard to know where they are. But many more people want to work than there are jobs. For every job, ten people or even a hundred stand in line, hoping to get that job. Since the owners know so many people are looking for work, they keep lowering their wages instead of raising them. Whoever will work the cheapest gets the job.

  If you get a job, you get up long before the sun so you can make your quota before the hottest part of the day. On some farms, workers have to pick all day no matter how hot it gets. You work fourteen hours, eat, clean up, and go to bed. Then you get up and do it all over again. I am trying to save money so that I can send some to you, but it is more difficult than I thought it would be.

  I feel sorry for the families. I am a man alone, so I do not have to worry about a wife and children. Often the children work just as long as their parents, but because they are not as fast and cannot carry as much, they do not earn as much money. Many families have no place to live. They make shelters out of anything they can find. They use cardboard and scraps of aluminum roofing and old wooden crates. Perhaps they hang a blanket in the doorway for privacy. Mothers with little babies look hopeless. The babies cry because they are hot and hungry and dirty. There is no place to wash.

  In between jobs, families have a hard time finding food. One farmer’s pea crop froze in a spring freeze and was ruined. I have seen children out in the fields, pulling ruined peas off the vine to eat.

  Rosa would be sad to hear that most of the children do not go to school. They work, or they look after younger children while their parents work. In some places, workers can live in government camps. In those places, some of the people try to organize a small school.

  Are there jobs? Yes. Enough for everybody? No. If you work hard for one owner, he might hire you again for the next harvest. Or he might recommend you to another owner.

  I am going to find a way to send money. I promise. I hope everyone is well. I miss you and love you. If you write to me soon at the address on the envelop
e, I think I will get your letter.

  Téodoro

  Rosa looked up from the letter and saw that Mamá was crying and Papá had his arm around her.

  “We will write to him,” Mamá said through her tears. “All of us, we will all write him a letter. My son will know that we are happy he is safe and that we love him. Get some paper, Rosa.”

  “Yes, Mamá.”

  “I am not a good speller,” Rafaél said. “I can’t write a good letter.”

  “You will write the best you can,” Mamá said sternly. “Your brother will know how hard you tried.”

  “Yes, Mamá.”

  Rosa passed out paper and pencils. Then she sat down and thought about what to write to Téodoro.

  Dear Téodoro,

  You made us all very happy when we read your letter. Mamá cried. But I don’t think it was sad crying. It was happy crying. She is glad to know you are all right. I am, too.

  The roof of my school caved in. I don’t know if they are going to fix it. But Mrs. Madden still gives me lessons when she can. The dust storms have been very bad, even worse than last year.

  Papá is excited about a government project to save the soil.

  I take care of Isabella a lot.

  Please write another letter so Mamá can cry happy tears again.

  Love,

  Rosa

  The night was hot, and Rosa could not sleep. She crept out the back door to sit outside. Even at night, the air was warmer every day. But outside was cooler than inside.

  Rosa heard voices and realized that Tío had come home again. He was talking to Mamá and Papá in the kitchen, and she could hear what they said through the open window.

  “The doctor says that Natalia must get out of the dust or she will get sick again. And next time she might not get well.”

  “What are you saying, hermano?” Mamá asked.

  “I must take Natalia and Isabella away from here. We cannot stay here while this drought continues.”

  “You have always been hopeful that we would get rain,” Papá said. “Even more hopeful than I have been.”