Dust and Roses

by Wes Brummer

  “Cream of wheat,” the big man said as he lumbered to the next table.

  Sara picked up a spoon and dug in. A bit gritty—Wheatley could have rinsed out the pot better—but not too bad. This past week certainly taught her the errors of being too fussy with food. Besides, she was hungry.

  Patrick sat across from her, eating with his usual gusto. Sara reached out, touching his arm. “Have you seen Bea?”

  “No.” He barely slowed eating.

  She’d have to find her. Sara gripped his arm harder. “There’s something you should know. I’m leaving today. You’re a true friend. I’m going to miss you.”

  Patrick squinted, following Sara’s hand up to her face. “Can’t. You have to take care of Maxie.”

  “Miss Gloria will help you look after Mrs. Hiebert.”

  Patrick’s slack jaw drew into a tight frown. “Why?”

  “I’m leaving. Mr. Evans died. It’s my fault. He’d still be alive if I closed his window.”

  “Oh.” Patrick bobbed his head. “I get it. You’re sad about Mister Cyrus.”

  “I grew to like that cranky old man.”

  “You were friends. But not like me and Maxie.”

  A faint smile touched Sara’s lips. “You’re a wise man, Patrick Arnesdorff.”

  “Funny kind of friends, but not ha-ha funny.”

  Sara’s eyes glistened. “Funny friends. I couldn’t agree more.”

  After breakfast, Sara knocked again on Bea’s door. No answer. She turned, heading for the stairs when Mrs. Eisner’s voice beckoned. “Miss McGuire, I have your bags in my office. Would you come back here, please?”

  Sara bustled up the hall. Mrs. Eisner didn’t like to be kept waiting.

  She sat at her table with a sheet of paper in her hands as Sara entered. Her travel bag and purse sat nearby. “Here is an inventory of your belongings. Check to be sure nothing is missing.” She handed Sara the slip of paper.

  Sara took a seat, looking through her purse. Her Max Factor makeup, wallet, and the money were untouched. The travel bag felt as tightly packed as the day she left home. “It’s all here. Thank you for storing my things, Mrs. Eisner.”

  “You’re welcome. Where will you go?

  “To Hutchinson. I have relatives there. After the baby is born, I can give the child to the children’s home there. After that, I may try to return home.”

  “I wish you luck, Miss McGuire.”

  “Thank you.”

  She leaned back in her chair. “Some men are coming to take Mr. Evans away. Could you show them to the body?”

  “Of course.”

  “The commissioner will be visiting as well. After our meeting, he can take you to the train depot.”

  Sara nodded.

  Mrs. Eisner rose to her feet. “You’ll want to change into your own clothing before the Commissioner arrives.”

  “I’ll do that. And thank you for everything, Mrs. Eisner.” Sara stood, picked up her belongings, and stepped to the door. “Have you seen Beatrice today?”

  The matron glanced up from her ledger. “I assumed you assigned her duties in the infirmary.”

  “No. But I’ll check up there. I want to say goodbye to her before I leave.”

  “Make it quick. I don’t want you dawdling while the county men are waiting.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Eisner.”

  “Goodbye, Sara. Write to us. You’ve left your mark here.”

  “I will.” Sara left the office and returned to her room. After the morning cleaning chores, she drew out a purple lilac dress from her travel bag. No way to iron out the wrinkles, but that couldn’t be helped. She put on the dress, running her hands over the pliant fabric, enjoying the texture. It felt good to wear her own clothes again.

  She left her bags and scaled the stairs to find Bea.

  The hallway was still full of sleeping patients, including Mrs. Hiebert. Sara picked her way through the cluttered passage, looking under beds and inside doorways. No Bea. Sara avoided Evans’ room but peeked in the rest. No luck. Where was she? She couldn’t think of anywhere else to look. Shaking her head, Sara wandered back downstairs to wait.

  At nine-forty, Wendell parked the station wagon in front. As the commissioner came through the entrance, he raised his brows. “My, you look nice today. Going somewhere special?”

  Sara swallowed, trying to form the words. “I’m leaving.”

  His mouth fell open. “You can’t. Not now. The New Deal is coming to Kansas. Big changes are on the way. I’ve got a job set up for you.”

  “Wendell. Stop. I have to go. I need a favor, though. Would you take me to the train depot after your meeting?”

  Wendell pursed his lips. “Only if you explain to me what happened.”

  Sara let out an exasperated sigh. Why did she have to explain herself?” A man choked to death from the dust after I left a window open. He died under my care. I can’t stay here anymore.”

  Brakes squeaked outside. A large box truck stopped behind the county vehicle.

  “That’s unfortunate.” Wendell gazed out the front window as two men in uniform stepped to the ground and headed to the rear of the truck. “The Feds started a new program. Thousands, if not millions, will get work. It means you can stay—”

  Sara stepped back. “I’ve decided. Don’t make this harder for me than it already is.” Doors slammed, and the two men came up the steps. “Please excuse me. I’ll talk to you later.” She dismissed him and turned to answer the door.

  Wendell trudged down the hall.

  Two men stood at the entrance. The taller one tipped his cap. “Good morning, ma’am. We’re from the County Medical Office.” He was a balding, mustached man holding a folded gurney. Behind him, a shorter, heavier man held sheets of cloth. Both wore dirt-stained coveralls and name tags on the front pocket with the county seal beneath. The taller man’s tag said Stewart. “Could you direct us to the body?”

  “Cyrus is upstairs.” Sara wrinkled her nose. Why were these men so filthy? She turned to go up the landing. “Follow me.”

  “Appreciate the help, lady. It’s been a trying day—our second pickup,” the shorter man said. His nametag read Toliver.

  Upstairs, Sara opened Evans’ door and stayed outside as the workers entered, unfolding the gurney next to the bed. They lifted Cyrus and plopped him onto the wheeled stretcher. How could they treat a body with such disrespect?

  Stewart sneezed into a handkerchief. “It’s not often we retrieve two bodies a mile apart on the same day. We had to dig him out. Not sure if he died from his car accident or if he suffocated from the storm.”

  “How awful.”

  Toliver shrouded Mr. Evans with a white sheet and cinched him tight to the stretcher. Sara followed them down the stairs and outside. It looked like another gusty day.

  Stewart opened one of the big back doors and detached the stretcher from the gurney. Toliver jumped inside the truck, and together, they secured Cyrus in place. The smaller man leaped out, ran to the cab, and started the engine.

  Stewart strapped the gurney to the back door and reached for the handle when a gust of wind blew a dingy white hat out the rear door. The heavy door flew shut and knocked Stewart to his knees. Groaning, he staggered to his feet clutching his head.

  Sara ran to him, holding him steady. “Are you okay?”

  He rubbed his forehead, eyes scrunched shut. “Give me a minute. That smarts.” He blinked a few times before pointing a shaky finger to a spot on the driveway. “The dead guy’s hat is blowing away.”

  Sara dashed to pick up the topper, a bloodstained panama. She dropped her jaw in horror. Was it possible? Her head reeled. She planted her feet to steady herself. Was Larry the other body in the truck?

  With numb fingers, she returned the hat. “What kind of car did this man drive?”

  Stewart tossed the hat back inside. “Hard to say. Dirt covered most of it. The sheriff said it had a Sedgwick County license plate. He’ll call Wichita to get the owner’s name. We
couldn’t find his billfold, either. For now, we’re calling him John Doe.”

  Sara’s mouth was dry. “Can I see him?”

  The man stopped rubbing his forehead and gave her a strange look. “He’s a horrible sight. The neck is broken, and he’s covered in dirt.” He tilted his head. “You think you know this guy?”

  Did she really want to see Larry this way? “No. I’m thinking of somebody else.” She backed up a step. “Take care of Mr. Evans. And put some ice on your head to ease the swelling.”

  The truck honked. “Quit your lollygagging back there!”

  The tall man tipped his cap. “I will. Bye now.”

  Sara watched the truck head east to Joshua. She stood, turning one way and another. Mounds of dirt collected around the cedar trees like brown snow drifts. The wind methodically erased tire tracks and footprints. No grass anywhere. And to think—it was like this for miles around.

  Oh Larry, what were you doing?

  Shaking her head, she turned to the house.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Sara stood outside the door of her room with her bag, waiting. Wendell and Mrs. Eisner stepped out if the matron’s office and were ambling toward her. She was about to leave this unlikely home, and she still had not found Bea. A twinge of disappointment squeezed at her heart. Where could she be?

  Wendell nodded, “Mrs. Eisner told me about Cyrus Evans. A terrible accident. It’s commendable you tried to resuscitate him. Few would have made the effort.”

  Sara retreated a step. “I never told anyone about that.”

  “You didn’t have to,” the matron said. “I examined Mr. Evans while you were sleeping. He was on his stomach with his mouth and nose cleared, and you swept dirt away from his head. Knee imprints in the dust were visible. You tried to revive him.”

  Sara gaped. Not much got past this woman. “It didn’t work.”

  “I think you should stay,” Wendell said.”

  “I have to go.”

  He nodded. “If you wish. Where do you want to go?”

  “The train station. I’m going to Hutchinson.”

  “We best be off, then. There’s a southbound to Newton. You can transfer from there.” He pointed to her carrier. “I can stow that in the car.”

  She handed the case to him, and turned to Mrs. Eisner. “Beatrice wasn’t upstairs, and she hasn’t answered her door. I don’t know where she could be.”

  Mrs. Eisner stepped to the girl’s door, rapped once, and opened it. “She not here. I’m sure the child is about. She can be mischievous. Or she may not want to see you go.”

  Sara bit her lip. “We have to find her.”

  Mrs. Eisner narrowed her eyes. “I’m not going to spend the rest of the morning looking for Beatrice. Especially if she doesn’t want to be found. We have an immense cleaning project ahead of us. She’ll show up in due time.”

  “I could stay long enough to help.”

  Wendell cleared his throat. “I don’t expect to be coming back for another week,” Wendell said. “Mrs. Eisner said you wanted to leave today.”

  Sara nodded. “I only wish I could have said goodbye to Bea.”

  Mrs. Eisner took her hand. “You can write her. Don’t worry about young Beatrice.”

  “You’re right. Goodbye, Mrs. Eisner.”

  “Goodbye, Sara. You’ll be missed.”

  Wendell led Sara down the front steps to the station wagon. “I have an appointment at the courthouse in an hour, and the roads are in terrible shape. Hopefully, the county maintainer will be along soon. It will make getting to town easier.”

  “A few detours won’t bother me.”

  The commissioner dropped the tailgate and stowed her carrier inside. “I’m glad to hear that. This will give us a chance to talk. A job opportunity has opened for you.”

  “Wendell, I don’t feel like talking right now.”

  He slammed the tailgate and escorted her to the passenger door. “You won’t have to. Just listen. If I don’t convince you to stay by the time we reach town, then you’re free to leave with my blessing.”

  “Nothing is going to change my mind.”

  Wendell sighed and opened the passenger door.

  “Sar-r-aaa!”

  Her name was a piercing cry that echoed off the cedars. Sara glanced around. Where did it come from? She turned to the house. No one stood on the porch. She drew in a breath. Please, no. With terrifying certainty, she peered up.

  Bea sat on the ledge outside the attic window as she had a week ago, arms gripping the sill on either side of her.

  Rooted in place, Sara gazed upon her troubled friend. Her heart pounded. Around her, she sensed the wind stirring, drawing a mighty breath. There was a moment of stillness, and then the gust blew. A shutter flew inward, catching Beatrice on her hurt shoulder. She cried out, flailing her limbs, grabbing for the battered wood. The shutter bounced away. She missed, teetering on the edge of the sill.

  And fell.

  One hand shot up, catching the ledge. Beatrice scrambled to find a hold for both arms as she hung over the porch.

  Her spell broken, Sara dropped her purse, darted up the steps and threw open the front door. Inside, she grabbed the curled end of the banister, sprinting upstairs. How did Bea get to the attic? Biting her lip, Sara scanned the ceiling.

  Over the linen bureau was an opened square hatch and a pile of dust sat atop the big dresser. Two drawers were pulled out, making steps.

  “Sara!” Another cry. This one more urgent.

  With her heart beating in her throat, Sara clambered up the bureau. As she climbed higher, the massive chest of drawers wobbled. She pulled herself over the top and stood upright, grabbing the edge of the hatch opening. Inside the attic, mounds of dust covered the floor. Nearby was an open window.

  Crack! Brittle wood snapped just outside. The ledge was breaking!

  She clutched the splintery frame that held the hatch in place, then jumped, scrambling for a perch. Her face burrowed through dust as she pulled her legs inside the attic.

  “I’m coming!” Wendell pounded up the steps.

  Sara stood, gasping for breath. No time to wait. She leaped for the open window.

  It was a reckless act. A mistake! The position she found herself in was awkward, if not downright dangerous. Sara gripped Bea’s wrist with her right hand; her left clutched the broken wooden ledge. Her left foot, wedged behind the window frame, kept her from falling out while the right leg remained suspended in the air, maintaining a precarious balance. One hand and one foot held her in check. For now.

  They were both in trouble.

  “Wendell!”

  “Coming up.” Downstairs, wood splintered and a sharp yell came from Wendell. Moments later, creaking wood gave way to a thunderous crash. The bureau toppled.

  “Wendell?”

  No answer.

  Cold fear pierced her heart, but she had her own hands full. One slip of her foot or hand and both she and Beatrice would fall and tumble off the porch roof. Sara swallowed hard, pushed aside her fear, and met Bea’s terrified eyes. “I got you. When I pull you up, grab for the window frame with your free hand.” Drawing a breath through clenched teeth, she pulled on Bea’s arm, bending her own arm back like an archer drawing a bow. Bea strained but couldn’t reach the side of the window. Sara exhaled, easing the smaller woman back down, letting her leg take the weight.

  “Let’s try again,” Sara hissed. “On three.” She took another breath to steady her nerves.

  “One…Two…Three.” Arm muscles tensed as Bea came closer to the window. Sara’s left foot dug into the sharp corner of the framing. Bea reached out, fingernails scratching the gnarled wood, but she couldn’t get a handhold.

  Sara’s head filled with the roar of pumping blood. Dizzy with fatigue, she eased Beatrice back down. Her limbs ached for release.

  Her foot slipped, scraping along the side of the rough wood. Long slivers of dry, brittle wood drove into her flesh. Tears welled in her eyes. A small v
oice plucked at her thoughts.

  Let go.

  No. Never.

  Save yourself.

  She’s my friend.

  You were going to leave her.

  Sara gritted her teeth. No more thinking. Be done with this.

  With every limb aching, Sara took in a ragged breath. “Bea.” Her voice was dead calm. “One last time. Count out loud. You can do it.”

  Bea nodded. “One.”

  Sweat made her hands slippery. She gripped tighter.

  “Two.”

  She set her jaw; muscles coiled.

  “Three!” Bea screamed as Sara whipped her arm back. The younger girl rose, clawing for the window. And then she was gone, yanked out of Sara’s grasp.

  Firm hands grabbed Sara around the waist, pulling her from the ledge. She fell backward, landing inside the attic on top of another body.

  A man groaned. Sara looked down. Wendell lay beneath her, glasses dangling off one ear, and an earpiece bent upward like an antenna.

  Wendell grimaced. “This is almost pleasant. Except for the board cutting across my back.” His arms were still around her.

  Sara thumped him on the chest. “You took your sweet time getting up here.”

  “You’re welcome.” He groaned, releasing her.

  Sara rolled to one side, careful to keep the splinters from driving into her skin and sat next to Bea.

  Wendell gritted his teeth and scooted near the open window leaving a trail of blood. The torn fabric of his left pant leg revealed a ragged gash down the middle of the shin.

  “What happened?” Sara asked.

  “Oh.” Wendell glanced at his injury. “I was climbing the bureau. A board scraped my leg when my foot broke through the bottom of a drawer. That’s when the dresser fell over. I’m still not sure how I scrambled out of the way.”

  “How did you get up here?”

  “I found a ladder in a storeroom behind a stretcher.”

  “Thank you.”

  Wendell nodded. “I think we both need Mrs. Eisner’s nursing services.”

  Sara glanced at her scraped ankle then turned to Beatrice. “What were you doing outside that window?”

  Bea reached in her apron.

  Sara glared with green fire. “We’re long past that. Talk.”