The wind began to die down, the dust less incessant. What had been black for the entire trip was now flecked with gray sky. The static electricity went away, and visibility returned. It was like it had gone from day to night and back to day again.
He removed the mask and his hat and shook dust from both. He blew wet dust from his nostrils—even with the mask, the granules were so fine they still got in. Then he looked up and spotted it not far ahead—the row of dugouts where he’d accidently bought that boy, Peter. He must have traveled faster than he’d thought, his pace fueled by good memories and by the reason he’d made the journey in the first place. Ellen needed answers, and he’d get them for her even if it killed him.
Problem was, despite his urgency, he was too late. As he approached the dugout where the sign that said Child for Sale once stood, it became apparent that no one lived there anymore. Tire tracks from a vehicle piled heavy with belongings remained even after the storm.
They’ve all gone. But letting Ellen down wasn’t an option. Maybe they left stuff behind.
As he started toward the dugout another memory popped— the day the Maverick family arrived in the fall of 1925. He and Josiah had turned fifteen two weeks prior, and Daddy had recently taught them how to drive the tractor. Josiah had just climbed down from it and Jeremiah was about to climb on when they heard that black Dodge puttering into town, the top of the car just visible above the sway of golden wheat.
“Another suitcase farmer,” Wilmington said with a grunt before heading into the house, his neck suntanned the color of leather.
The suitcase farmers would come in for a season, run through a crop, and leave with a suitcase of money, the same suitcase they’d lived out of for the duration of their stay, stealing a quick piece of the wheat boom whose fury rivaled the gold rush out west a few generations earlier. Some of the suitcase farmers would plant in the fall, go back east, and come back a year later to harvest. Those were the ones with whom Wilmington and Orion had the most disagreements. They can’t have it both ways. Only time would tell what the newest arrival would do.
The Dodge drove into the town square and stopped just outside the Bentley Hotel. The twin boys hurried through the wheat field to get a look at the vehicle with its luggage strapped to the back. Before the newcomers even opened the car door, Jeremiah pulled a quarter from his pocket and thumb-flicked it into the air. He and Josiah watched it spin until Jeremiah caught it and slapped it atop his left hand. “Heads, they end up staying; tails, they go like Daddy says.”
The driver’s side door opened, and a finely dressed man in a beige suit and matching top hat stepped out. Next, on the far side of the car, emerged a woman wearing a blue and white flapper day dress that swayed like ocean waves just below the knees. Then the back door opened, and a girl in a yellow dress, roughly the same age as the twins, emerged, her sandy hair collected up in a bundle and secured with a red ribbon. They’d learn later that evening that her name was Ellen.
Jeremiah removed his right hand to reveal the coin, which showed heads.
“I was hoping that was so,” said Josiah, saying it like he knew most of Jeremiah’s coin flips came out in their favor.
They watched the new family walk as a threesome toward the hotel, where Orion had just emerged to welcome them, cigar dangling like it was part of his lips, probably already starting into his sales pitch for them to throw away the suitcases and come live for good in the glorious town of Nowhere. “Health, wealth, and opportunity!” The girl trailed a few paces behind her parents, taking in the expanse of wheat in every direction.
She caught the twins staring and waved.
They waved back.
Josiah smiled. “I’m gonna marry that girl, Jeremiah. What’s funny?”
Jeremiah smirked. “Only if I let you.”
“Call another number, Orion,” said an unenthusiastic Deacon Sipes from across the hotel parlor.
Deacon sat with his pal, Toothache. Toothache had teeth like a horse, and he was always complaining about how they hurt. The two of them wore dusty clothes that smelled of booze, and they both needed a good shave. Together they ran Sipes Automotive, the local fix-up place for cars and tractors on the fritz. Both had hair as greasy as their hands, except Deacon wore his black hair slicked back while Toothache had a deep part down the middle that made him look half-bald.
Ellen sat next to Orion, James on her lap, and repressed a little shiver of revulsion. Those two had given her the heebie-jeebies ever since they came to town during the boom. Of all the folks who might pick up stakes and head west to California, those two would have been first on her wish list to go. But they clung to Nowhere as if they’d been anchored.
People in California didn’t like the Okies, anyhow, the two of them liked to point out, turning them away just as they would the Indians and the blacks. “Betteroffstayin’,” she’d heard Toothache mumble on several occasions. That’s how he talked, a mumbled run-on grumble only Deacon could understand.
Deacon and Toothache now hovered over homemade bingo cards, little piles of beans at their side to serve as markers. Sister Moffitt was the only other one playing, and she was sweating profusely. She never would take that white cap and heavy-looking headdress off, even when the summer temperatures hit triple digits.
Orion nodded toward Ellen, who allowed James to reach into the hat and pull out another cardboard piece. Ellen handed the piece to Orion, who lifted his head with an eager-to-please smile and shouted, “N-47. N-47.”
Sister Moffitt raised her hand and said with no enthusiasm, “Bingo.” Then she leaned back in her chair, crossed her legs, and took a drag on the cigarette she’d left smoldering on the tin plate next to her card. Wasn’t like she got to win anything. Sometimes Orion would give away extra cow chips for the stove, but tonight the game was just for fun. Except there wasn’t much fun to be had. Everyone was too worn out, slumping in their chairs like they’d been slung the worst hand life could deal.
“Sister won again.” Deacon shook his head, pushed away his card and the beans atop it. One bean bounced on the floor, and Dr. Craven’s skinny mutt jumped on it.
“Likesistergotsumhelpfromabove,” said Toothache, real fast and all in one big word, like if he didn’t get out what needed to be said in one breath it would kill him.
“Shut up, Toothache,” said Josiah, standing now in the middle of the cramped room, where the pea-green designer wallpaper was so old it looked jaundiced. The seats, once plush and fancy during the twenties, were now faded and full of dust.
Betsy Finnigen, the town seamstress and hotel piano player, had stopped playing ten minutes into the get-together. She always seemed on the verge of tears nowadays. Phillip Jansen played his accordion in the back corner, but it was low-toned and lazy and sounded like it had dust in it.
Orion clapped his hands together and smiled. “One more game then.”
“No more games,” said Josiah. He took a few steps in a circle, still favoring that shot toe. “You didn’t gather us for bingo, Orion. Now let’s get down to the meat.”
Where Jeremiah could sometimes speak with his eyes, Josiah liked to talk with his hands, and in the right one he held a bottle of Old Sam corn whiskey.
Ellen’s lips pressed together as she watched the bottle wave around. She didn’t care for it one bit—neither the whiskey itself nor the fact that her husband drank so much of it. He hadn’t been a drinker before. In fact, he’d been against it—not because he thought it was some kind of sin, but mostly because Jeremiah drank so much of it. But ever since the earth started peeling off and Jeremiah went to the big house to pay for his crime—with Josiah being responsible for putting him there—Josiah had taken to the bottle like he was finally conquering some big dream.
Ellen followed the bottle in Josiah’s hand, and even though the whiskey was sloshing, she could tell he’d consumed half of it. It was probably what had given him the courage to stand up in front of the town now. It used to be different. Before the bullet, Wilm
ington had been the one who spoke for the family. Before the arrest, it had been Jeremiah. Lately she had been the one. Now she just wanted to go to bed.
“Jeremiah’s gone,” Josiah slurred. “Went right out into the dust storm like some hero.”
“How’s that toe doing?” asked Deacon with a smirk, and beside him Toothache chuckled.
“I’ll punch your face off, Deacon Sipes.” Josiah gulped, pointing with the bottle. “Don’t be interrupting.”
Ellen wished Josiah would sit down. He was making a fool of himself. She knew Orion had gathered them to discuss what would be done if Jeremiah returned. And eventually Orion would have gotten to it, but not like this. Beside her Peter sat silently with his hands folded in his lap, the typewriter at his feet. He’d been clacking it earlier, until Deacon said he couldn’t focus on his bingo with all that key punching.
“If he comes back,” Josiah said. “What are we to do?”
From a chair against the wall next to the bar, Wilmington said, “Have a seat, son.”
Josiah held his hand up as if asking for another minute. “We gonna let him waltz back into town like nothing happened? Like we never found four bodies inside that silo.” He raised the bottle, tilted his head back, and gulped three swallows. When he lowered the bottle, his stance wavered. “He’s my twin brother, but he’s also a murderer.”
“We don’t know that,” said Wilmington. Ellen was close enough to put a hand on his arm to calm him down, but Wilmington wasn’t having it. “That trial was a bad one. Too much mystery. Too much those jurors didn’t know to come up with the decision they did.”
Ned Blythe, the food store owner, said, “He is a son of this town. I say we open our arms back up to him and forgive and forget.”
Sheriff McKinney stood up. He had a bruise shaped like a walnut on his forehead from where Jeremiah had pasted him earlier in the day. “We can’t forget what he’s done.”
“Allegedly done.” Wilmington was on his feet, pointing his index finger like a piston, face red. Orion stood and coaxed his friend back to the seat, where Wilmington shouted, “He was drinking a lot then. Maybe he done some questionable things because of it, and his head wasn’t all that clear, but I doubt it was murder.”
Richard Klamp, who owned the clothing store and whose hair had gone white since his business went from profit to bartering, said, “I’m sorry, Wilmington. I consider you family, but I’ve gotta say this. Let me know if I’m wrong,” he said to the crowd, “but him being here for just that little bit made us all uneasy. We all seen the bodies they dug up. He admitted to putting them there.”
By the head nodding around the room, most of them agreed.
“He’s a changed man,” said Ellen.
Josiah spun toward her voice. “And how do you know that?”
She didn’t like his tone—a tone laced with venom. Josiah had never spoken to her like that. She’d heard it from other couples, but never him.
“Same way you know it,” she said to Josiah. “He doesn’t drink anymore. His nightmares are gone.”
Josiah laughed. “Yes, the nightmares. Here we go.” He took another pull from the bottle. “Poor, poor, Jeremiah and his restless nights.”
“Sit down, son,” said Wilmington, murmuring desperately to Orion. “Please just sit down.”
Orion patted Wilmington’s shoulder and then stepped out into the belly of the room with Josiah. “Thank you, Josiah.”
“I ain’t done.” He took another swig, staring right at Ellen when he swallowed the gulp.
She pursed her lips and stood with James on her hip. “Jeremiah might have agreed with the cowboys, but he still helped protect this town. He worked the land to help bring wealth to your family.”
“She still takes up for him,” Josiah slurred. “Even still.”
Peter appeared nervous. He’d started bobbing, and the typewriter was back on his lap. He started typing until the clacking keys echoed.
Josiah said, “If he didn’t like it, he could’ve left long before he was forced to.”
Ellen said, “No, he stayed for the town. For your daddy and Orion and your mother’s memory.” Wilmington’s shoulders slumped, and he wiped his eyes as she continued. “He stood nose to nose with the judge on the auction block when they started foreclosing our properties. He hijacked that train to stand up for the farmers.”
Josiah looked away because he couldn’t deny it.
Peter typed faster. Sister Moffitt motioned the sign of the cross and pulled rosary beads from a hidden pocket.
Sheriff McKinney said, “We’ve got no choice on this. If he comes back, we have to bring him in. He’s a fugitive, a dangerous one. Won’t be long before the state comes sniffing.”
Dr. Craven, from his table, said stoically, “Government don’t care about us out here. So what if he comes back? I’ll take my chances.” Dr. Craven shared a look with Wilmington, and both men nodded. Ellen couldn’t help but think they knew something they weren’t telling.
Deacon said, “Or he may come back and kill us all.”
Toothache added, “Comeinstartflippingthatcoinandwhatnot.”
“He’s not going to kill anybody,” Ellen said to Deacon, eyeing Toothache like she didn’t know what he’d just said.
Josiah pointed the bottle. “There she goes again. Always protecting him.”
“You can sleep in the living room tonight, Josiah Goodbye.”
He mumbled something about that being just fine by him.
“The government is looking after us now,” said Sheriff McKinney. “Roosevelt is a man of the people. The common man. And ever since one of these dusters lifted up and dumped dirt all the way to the nation’s capital, they’re starting to take notice. Those congressmen and such sitting in a room, watching dust fall outside their window. What’s that, they said? That’s Oklahoma and Kansas!”
“The rain will come.” Orion forced a smile. “I can feel it.” He motioned toward the redheaded newcomer sitting on the far side of the room, the rainmaker who, after two days of sending TNT into the sky, had yet to lure down that first drop. Ellen couldn’t even remember his name. She was still gazing at Josiah with too much angst to remember much of anything. The past aside, how dare he call her out in front of everyone?
Orion wiped his brow, still smiling. “We will get through this. Nowhere will survive. Isn’t that right, Wilmington?” Wilmington nodded. Orion straightened the lapels of his sport coat, and he too gave Dr. Craven a noticeable glance. “Nowhere will live on. And if Jeremiah comes back, we’ll figure out the right thing to do.”
“You need to kill him, is what needs to be done,” said an unfamiliar voice.
All eyes shifted toward the swaying doors, which were open to the cool evening air. A tall man stood in the threshold. He wore suspenders and high-waist pants, a white button-down rolled up at the sleeves, and his thick mustache was as black as his eyes.
“And who might you be?” asked Orion, trying to be welcoming, but just plain tired.
The man took off his bowler hat and stepped deeper into the room. He pointed toward Josiah with the hat. “That him?”
“That who?” asked Josiah, stepping closer to the man.
“Coin-Flip Killer.”
“No.”
“You look just like’m.”
“But I’m not.”
“Where is he then? Or are you needling me?”
“I’m his brother. His twin. What do you want?”
“I want him to reverse what he’s done.”
“And what exactly did he do?”
Peter burrowed into Ellen’s side as if trying to hide from the man. She whispered, “Do you know him, Peter?”
“Do you know him, Peter?” he whispered back with a couple of affirmative nods.
Josiah stepped closer, suddenly more sober than minutes before. “I’ll say it again. What exactly did he do?”
“He flipped the coin, and it came up heads,” said the man. “He put the rifle right to my h
ead and was fixing to blow it off.”
“Then why are you still alive?”
“I dunno.”
“So he didn’t pull the trigger?”
“No. Just said bang. Then he lowered the gun.”
“He was toying with you,” said Josiah. “That’s what he does with that coin.”
“Putting on some kind of curse is more like it.” The man surveyed the room and spotted Peter half-concealed behind Ellen. “Holy smokes, that’s him. He stole that boy right out from under me. I was all set to buy him, and then that killer come along and muddied the waters.”
Ellen put her arms around Peter and spoke to the man. “You stay away from him.”
Peter trembled. His trousers showed a wet patch, and Ellen smelled urine.
Orion clenched his jaw. “I’m gonna ask you one more time. Who are you?”
The man faced Josiah, watched him like he still wasn’t sure it wasn’t Jeremiah. “Name’s Benny. Friends call me Boo.”
“That ’cause you’re scary?” Josiah asked. “Or easily scared?”
Boo jerked backward. “That’s what he said.” He stared at Josiah with narrowed eyes. “You got a coin in your pocket?”
“I don’t,” said Josiah.
Boo nodded. “Okay, he had different eyes than you, and his hair was darker. So I suppose you ain’t him. Okay now, so here’s what I need. If you have any idea where he is, I need to find him before . . .”
“Before what?”
“Before he kills me.”
“If he was gonna kill you, he would’ve done it right then and there.”
“Well, I need him to unflip that coin.”
“That’s dumb,” said Josiah. “You’re dumb.”
Wilmington said, “Josiah.”
“I can’t sleep,” said Boo. “Can’t even open my eyes without death breathing down my neck. It’s coming—just don’t know how. I’m changing my ways. Walking the straight. So I need him to reverse it.”
What Blooms from Dust Page 7
