“Father,” she stammered, “I was calling Dr. Wilson. I was telling him—”
Father nodded. “I heard what you were telling him, Catherine.” He stepped forward, holding out his hand for the receiver. “I don’t think—”
At that moment the front door flew open with a bang and Zane Perkins staggered into the hall. A wild-eyed, barefoot, mud-smeared Zane who burst through the door, waving his arms and gasping. He lunged forward to the foot of the stairs and, clutching the newel post to keep from falling, hung there while strange noises came from his open mouth.
Father stared at Zane and then, grabbing Cat’s arm, he took the phone away from her. Cat reached for it despairingly but Father only turned away. “Hello, John,” he said, “Charles Kinsey here.” There was a pause, then, “Yes, I heard part of it. No. I don’t know what it’s all about. At least no more than you do. I just got home a few minutes ago.” Another pause. “No. No, I don’t think so. I don’t see why you should—”
Cat grabbed Father’s arm and stared up into his face. For a long moment he looked down at her and then over to where Zane was still clutching the newel post and making strange moaning noises as he tried to say something.
“Father”—Ellen’s high-pitched voice drowned out the sound of Zane’s efforts to speak—“I don’t see why we or the doctor should get ourselves involved in these people’s lives. After all, it was their choice to ...
Father looked at Ellen and then back at Cat. Then he turned his back on Ellen and said to Dr. Wilson, “Well, I hate to ask you to but it does seem we have some kind of an emergency here.” He looked at his watch. “Right at your suppertime, too, I imagine. But it might be ...
There was another long pause while the faint buzz of Dr. Wilson’s voice could be heard talking slowly and calmly at the other end of the line. At last Father went on, “Well, it’s up to you, John. Yes. Stop by our place first. Perhaps I’ll know more by then. See you shortly, then.”
Dr. Wilson was coming. Cat felt a great lightening as if a terrible dark cloud through which she had been struggling, a cloud so thick and airless that she could hardly breathe, had suddenly floated up and away. She was turning toward Zane to see if he had heard and understood that Dr. Wilson was coming, when everything began to whirl. The hall tree and the mirror and the faces of Mama, Father, Cliff, Ellen, and Zane seemed to be drifting slowly around her in circles, and then everything went dark.
The next thing she knew she was in Father’s arms. Father was carrying her up the stairs while Mama ran beside them crying and calling her name over and over again.
Cat began to struggle. “Put me down,” she said. “I want to get down. I have to ... But the dim swirling sensation returned then and, frightened, she lay still. Father went on climbing the stairs and then down the hall to her room. As he was putting her down on her bed she tried again. Pushing herself to a sitting position she said, “Zane?”
“Cliff is looking after the boy,” Father said.
Cat nodded and allowed herself to be pushed back down. Cliff would take good care of Zane.
“Father,” she said, “we ran all the way from Okietown, Zane and I. All the way.”
“Yes,” he said, “I know.” For a moment he stood over the bed, looking down at her. As always his face was quiet, his mouth still and controlled and his eyes shadowed. But somehow the shadows weren’t as dense, and Cat sensed something different behind them. Something she’d never seen before—or ever looked for. “That’s a very long way to run,” he said. “You’re a strong young lady, Catherine. A good, strong young lady.”
Father went out then and Mama helped Cat get cleaned up and into bed. All that time, while Mama was bathing her and getting her into her nightgown, Cat’s mind seemed to be stuck like a phonograph needle on a ruined record, repeating and repeating the same thing—running, running, running. All that would stay in her head was the running. In her head and in her legs and arms too. Her muscles could still feel it, and when she closed her eyes the running went on behind her eyelids. And the same words kept whispering through her mind. “We ran all the way from Okietown. All the way.”
After a long time the voice in her mind whispered, “Zane ran faster,” but that didn’t seem to matter all that much. What mattered was—for a moment she could hardly remember, but then it came back. Sammy and pneumonia and—Dr. Wilson was coming. Cat sighed deeply and went to sleep.
TWENTY-SEVEN
CAT WOKE WITH A start the next morning as if to the sound of a whispering voice. But the voice had been inside her head. The whisper said, Go back to sleep. Something terrible happened. Go back where it can’t reach you. But she ignored the warning and opened her eyes: A moment later, still in her nightgown, she was running down the stairs thinking How could I have slept? How could I?
Mama was making coffee as Cat burst through the kitchen door. “Sammy,” she shouted. “Where’s Sammy? How is she? I have to call Dr. Wilson.”
Mama put down the coffeepot and pushed Cat into a chair. “Cathy, sit down,” she said. “You shouldn’t be out of bed. You fainted last night. You’re not well.”
“I’m fine,” Cat said, struggling to stand up. She’d almost forgotten about the fainting—but it didn’t matter. “I’m fine now,” she said. “I have to call—”
“Cathy, listen to me. Father called Dr. Wilson a few minutes ago. She’s all right. The little girl is all right.”
“Sammy’s all right?” Relief, so sharp and sudden it was almost painful, flooded over her. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the chair.
“Well, not entirely perhaps,” Mama said. “The doctor said she is still very ill but she’s holding her own.”
Cat’s eyes flew open. “Holding her own? What does that mean?”
“It means she’s a fighter,” Father said. He and Cliff had come into the kitchen while Cat’s eyes were closed. “According to Dr. Wilson she’s a real fighter. She’s at the clinic and the doctor and Mrs. Wilson have been up with her most of the night. Doc says it was nip and tuck for a while but she’s doing better this morning. Responding to treatment.” Father came over and put his hand on Cat’s shoulder. “He also said that she undoubtedly would have died if he hadn’t reached her when he did. He says you saved her life, Catherine.”
Cat nodded. “And Zane too. How is Zane? He was sick too.”
“I think he’s fine,” Cliff said. “I think it was only exhaustion. And hunger, perhaps. I got him to eat a little last night. By the time Dr. Wilson arrived he seemed to be pretty much back to normal. He rode out to the camp with the doc to show him the way.”
“And where are they now—the rest of the Perkinses?”
“Well, I suppose the mother—Mrs. Perkins, is it?—is at the clinic,” Father said. “Dr. Wilson said she rode in with him and the child last night. But I gather the rest of the family are still out at the camp.”
Still at the camp. Still out there in that terrible, lonely, deserted mudhole. With no way to leave and maybe not even any food. Cat was sitting silently, her mind swamped with dark images, when she realized a new voice was talking to her. Talking and asking questions. It was Ellen.
Ellen was full of questions that morning. She wanted to know how Cat happened to know the Perkins family and how on earth she happened to be at the Okie camp last night. And what was she thinking of to go to a place like that all by herself and after dark at that? What on earth was she thinking of?
“It wasn’t after dark when I went there,” Cat said. “It just got that way later.” Then she went on and tried to explain why she went there by telling how she and Sammy had met because they both played in the canyon. And how they had become friends and how when she, Cat, had heard that the Perkinses were leaving she decided to go to the camp to tell them good-bye.
She made it into a very short story, leaving out most of the important details, and ignoring Ellen’s disapproving gasps. But even so the telling seemed to take a lot of energy. By the time she finish
ed she felt exhausted and it must have shown, because Mama began to fuss about how tired she looked and how she should go right back to bed.
“I’ll bring your breakfast up later,” Mama said.
Cat tried to say she was perfectly all right but Father sided with Mama. “All right,” Cat said, “I’ll go back to bed. But someone has to go out to the camp and tell them. Someone just has to go out there this minute and tell the rest of the family that Sammy is still alive.”
They just stood there staring at her, all four of them, and suddenly she was angry. She wanted to scream at them and run out of the room but instead she took a deep breath and said calmly, “Well, if nobody else is going to do it I’m going to go right out that door this minute and go do it myself.”
Cliff began to laugh and that really made her angry—just for a moment. But then she looked down at herself, standing there with her hands on her hips, barefoot and still in her nightgown. She could see what Cliff was laughing about and for the tiniest moment she grinned back. But that didn’t change what had to be done. “Here I go,” she said, and headed for the door, but Father grabbed her arm. He was smiling too.
“You’re quite right, Catherine,” he said. “They must be told, of course. Cliff will drive out there immediately and let them know.” He turned to Cliff. “You can be back before eight if you hurry.”
“Of course, Cliff will do it,” Cliff said. “Cliff will drive out to Okietown immediately. Before breakfast.” He sounded sarcastic, but he grinned at Cat as he grabbed a piece of toast from the table on his way out the door.
Back in her room Cat watched from the window as the old Model A sputtered down the driveway and headed north. She got back into bed and thought about the Model A—and how much she’d always hated it. And hated Father for not buying them a decent car. And of course that led to thinking about the bankruptcy.
She was surprised to realize that she hadn’t worried about it much, but of course there hadn’t been a whole lot of time. So many things had happened since Tuesday when Cliff told her. She’d probably worry about it more later. There would be a lot to think about later, but in the meantime there were more important things to consider.
It wasn’t raining but it was another cold, gray day. Cat got out of bed again and looked up at the dark, dreary clouds. In her mind’s eye she could see the piles of trash and the pitiful wooden shacks, and most of all she could see Zane and Spence and the others not knowing. Still not even knowing whether Sammy was alive.
Cliff didn’t come back in a half hour, or in an hour. After a while Mama came up with Cat’s breakfast and said that Father and Ellen had decided to walk into town to open the store. It was a good thing they did, because it was almost noon before the Model A chugged down the drive. When Cat heard the familiar sound she jumped out of bed and ran downstairs so quickly she met Cliff as he came in the back door. His shoes and pants were muddy and he was worried about being so late, but he seemed to be in a good mood. Cat grabbed his arm and hung on.
“All right. All right,” he said. “I’ll tell you all about it. It was a good thing I went. They hadn’t heard about Sammy. Didn’t know whether she was dead or alive.” He stopped, shaking his head as if in disbelief. “The boys ran out to meet me, but then it was like they didn’t want to hear what I had to say. Afraid it might be bad news, I guess. But they were awfully glad when it wasn’t.”
Cliff glanced at his watch. “I stayed a lot longer than I should have. Turned out they needed another spark plug for the Studebaker. So I drove Mr. Perkins into town and helped him get one. And then I drove him back out there and helped out a bit until they got the old crate running.”
Cliff looked down then at Cat’s hands still clutching his arm and said, “Unhand me, kid. I’ve got to get cleaned up and down to the store before the old man has a conniption fit.”
The next day Cat went back to school. The Perkinses weren’t there and no one seemed to know anything about them. So that night after dinner she called the Wilson residence. Not the clinic, but the house on Pine Street where the Wilsons lived. The doctor’s wife answered the phone. Mrs. Wilson was full of information.
Sammy was still making good progress. The rest of the Perkins family had kind of camped in the Wilsons’ garage last night but in a day or two they were going to leave for Bakersfield. All of them except Sammy, of course, and Mrs. Perkins. Sammy and Mrs. Perkins would stay there in the clinic until Sammy was strong enough to travel and then they would go on to Bakersfield, too, by bus.
“That’s awful,” Cat said.
“What’s awful, dear?” Mrs. Wilson said.
“That they’re going off to Bakersfield without even knowing if they can get work there, or find a place to live or ...
“I know, dear,” Mrs. Wilson said. “But I think things might work out for them there. John talked to Reverend Booker yesterday about the Perkinses, and the reverend called his brother. It just so happens that Reverend Booker has a brother who works for the government in that area. His agency has been building places for dust-bowl immigrants to live. Just camps, really, but the tents have wooden floors and there are washrooms and showers. Reverend Booker’s brother says they can move right into one of the camps. And once they get there he’s going to see what he can do to help Mr. Perkins find work.”
Cat thanked Mrs. Wilson and hung up. She supposed Reverend Booker’s brother and the government camp made things a little bit better—but not much. She still thought it was a dumb thing for the Perkinses to do. Dumb to go off all that way without knowing what they were getting into. She surely did wish she could see Zane Perkins just for a minute so she could tell him so.
TWENTY-EIGHT
THE NEXT DAY WAS Saturday and it got off to a very bad start. During breakfast Father and Cliff got into one of their church arguments. This time it started because Cliff mentioned that Reverend Booker was going to take up a collection in church to help with the Perkinses’ bill at the clinic.
Cliff should have known better. Mentioning the Reverend Booker to Father, particularly before he’d had his first cup of coffee in the morning, was just like waving a red flag at a bull. Ellen joined in on Father’s side, of course, Mama’s eyes were beginning to get red, and Cat was gulping down her oatmeal so she could get out of there, when suddenly there was a knock on the back door. Father and Cliff, who were both talking at once, stopped in mid-sentence.
“Who could that be this hour of the morning?” Ellen said.
But then Cliff remembered that his friend Bud Jackson had promised to stop by to return an inner-tube mending kit he’d borrowed. Cliff was getting out of his chair when Father said, “Sit down, Clifford. Catherine can go. I want to finish the point I was making. Go to the door, Catherine.”
So it was Cat who went to the door, but the person who had knocked wasn’t Bud Jackson after all. It was Zane Perkins. Zane Perkins, barefoot and tattered as usual, but a good deal cleaner than he’d been the last time Cat had seen him.
“Howdy, Cat Kinsey,” he said, grinning. His grin was the usual too. Wide and ornery.
Cat closed the door behind her, quickly and tightly. “I—I thought you were on your way to Bakersfield.”
He nodded. “Leavin’ right soon,” he said. “This afternoon, like as not, if nothin’ else breaks down.”
Then he went on grinning and staring until Cat began to get mad. Sticking out her chin she said, “What are you staring at?”
“Not a thing,” he said. “Not a gol-durned thing. Oh, I almost fergot. I brung you something.” Reaching in his overall bib pocket he brought out a small linen handkerchief. “Here”—he held it out to her—“it’s for you. From my ma. She worked it for you.”
When Cat unfolded the handkerchief she saw that the letters C.K. had been embroidered in one corner. “Ma worked it while she was sittin’ up nights with Sammy,” Zane said. “She ast me to bring it over to you ’fore we left today.”
“Thank you,” Cat said. “I mean, would you tell your
ma thank you for me?”
“I’ll tell her,” Zane said. “Oh, yeah. Got somethin’ else for you too.” He pulled a wrinkled scrap of paper out of another pocket. “This here’s from Sammy. It’s a letter.”
“Can Sammy write?”
“Naw. Not really. But she told me what to say. I writ it down for her.” In large, messy handwriting the letter said:
Dear Cat,
Please come see me at the clinic. Lilly Bell says howdy.
Love,
Sammy Perkins
“Doc Wilson says she can have visitors now,” Zane said. “She and Ma are going to be here for a while. Maybe a week or so. Room three at the clinic.”
Cat said she would visit Sammy real soon. After that nobody said anything for quite a while. Zane looked off toward the road and then up at the sky and Cat studied the note and the handkerchief. But then, just as Zane started to say something, Cat suddenly remembered what she’d wanted to tell him if she saw him again. They both started talking at once but it was Cat who kept going.
“Hey,” she said, “I just wanted to tell you that I think it’s real dumb going off to Bakersfield the way you are. I don’t think you should go. I mean, down there where you don’t know anybody and there probably isn’t any work—and the schools are a lot worse than Brownwood.”
Zane chuckled in that maddening way he had. “How do you know the schools are worse?”
Cat smiled triumphantly. “Because Spence told me so. He told me how bad they were at the other place where you were.”
He nodded. “Yeah, that school in Cottonville was purty bad, all right. But maybe we’re going to go to a real good school the Reverend Booker’s brother knows about. Specially for camp kids.”
“Maybe?” Cat said scornfully. “Just maybe?”
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