Dust and Roses

by Wes Brummer

  Sara slumped to the floor, her hands covering her face. “Is that how you see me? A fake?”

  Beatrice sat beside her, steadying her breath. Whew. Anger is exhausting. “Of course not. But you hide behind your father’s words and the work upstairs. It’s easy to act the hurt daughter or the busy boss. But it’s not so easy to trust. To take off the disguise and let others see who you are.”

  Sara tilted her head, her eyes full of wonder. “I’ve never heard you talk like this before. How did you put this together?”

  Beatrice reached into her apron. She missed her slate. It was so easy to jot down some words and make a few gestures. “I’m no different. For years, I never uttered a word. Wishing for a normal life was always a constant thought. But it was so easy to hide behind Sally. You led me out of the darkness, Sara.”

  “You did it yourself.”

  Bea touched her arm. “Since you came here, I felt like you were better than the rest of us. But today I realized how hiding behind a mask is so easy. That has to end.”

  Sara gripped her hand. “I’m so sorry for the way I acted. How can I make it up to you?”

  “You can come to Sunday service with me.”

  “You’re relentless.” Sara shook her head in surrender. “How can I refuse? I’ll go, but don’t expect me to sing.”

  They embraced. Bea hid a sly grin. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Wednesday, May 8, 1935

  There may be better ways to travel, Jason thought, stretching his legs, but riding in Mr. Bigger’s roomy La Salle made for a smoother ride then the jittery Model A. He sat in the passenger seat while Michael dozed in the back. The car was long and stylish, with a tall radiator in front and small portholes running along the side of the hood. An elegant, yet sensible car. On this trip to Joshua they stuck to the main road. Not that bumpy, rutted lane they used to follow Larry. Maybe today they’d have better luck finding Sara.

  It was more than three weeks since Larry’s death. Twenty-four days since they followed him on the day of the biggest dust storm since, well, ever. Now they were beginning the search again, thanks to Mr. Bigger lending his time to the effort. And his car. They could ask around—find out if anyone seen her. And if they were lucky—bring her back home.

  “Boys, I need gas and I can hardly see out of this filthy windshield. I’m pulling in, here.”

  Bigger pulled into a Sinclair station. The attendant, a young man with a blonde brush cut and stained overalls, hopped out of the small cubbyhole of a building and loped to the car. “Fill ’er up, sir?”

  Bigger leaned out the open car window. “Do that. And check the oil and tires.”

  “Glad to, sir.” The eager employee jumped to fill the gas tank.

  He turned to Jason. “Where would you like to start?”

  Jason glanced down the street, toward the center of town. “I’d like to talk to a few people. See if anyone spotted Sis.”

  Michael stirred in the backseat. “We could put some of the leaflets in the restaurants and on telephone poles, especially downtown.”

  “Sounds reasonable. How many flyers do you have, Jason?”

  Jason glanced down at the thick envelope on the front seat. “About forty.”

  “I’ll stop at the county courthouse and talk to the sheriff. You boys distribute the flyers and see what you can dig up. I’ll meet you at the newspaper office.”

  “We appreciate your help, Mr. Bigger,” Jason said.

  “It’s the least I can do. Larry’s death has been tough. He was our only son. And to find out he has a child… I imagine your parents are horrified, but we—Lois and I—are excited. It means a part of Larry still lives.”

  “I’m sorry for the way I told you about Sara.” Jason sighed. “We came at a bad time. But I wanted to get your attention.”

  “You did that, son. After you left, I relayed the news to Lois, and she called your mother to see if it was true. That’s something women have over men. They’re not afraid to talk about sensitive matters. I should do the same with your father.”

  The gas attendant opened the hood of the car.

  Jason shook his head. “You better wait until after Sunday. Dad’s got a big show planned that morning. It’s all very hush-hush.”

  “I’ll call on him later this week, then.” Bigger slapped Jason’s knee. “Liven up. Today, we might get lucky and find your sister.”

  “Fine by me.” A brief smile passed Jason’s lips.

  Michel gestured to a large Nehi sign mounted on the side of the filling station. “Is it okay to drink pop in your car?”

  Bigger glanced at the advertisement.

  Drink Genuine Nehi in All Popular Flavors!

  Along with the bottle was a pair of women’s curvy knees beneath a bouncy skirt. “Sure. We all can do with a soda pop.”

  The attendant closed the hood, wiped down the windshield, and came to the driver’s side with a ticket pad. “She took a lot of gas. It’ll be $2.45. Anything else I can get you?”

  “How about three bottles of Nehi? What’ll you have, Michael?”

  “I’ll take chocolate.”

  “Jason, get me two of those flyers. What would you like?”

  “Peach for me.” Jason handed Bigger printed leaflets with Sara’s picture.

  “And I’ll have a Grape Nehi. If you can tack up these posters, you can keep the change.” He handed the attendant three dollars bills and two leaflets.

  The attendant glanced at Sara’s photograph and whistled. Jason frowned. Wolfish behavior was acceptable—but not when it was directed at Sis. “There’s a reward for finding this girl?” he asked.

  “Fifty dollars,” Gerald said. “Call the sheriff if you see her.”

  “Yes, sir. Be right back with the pops. And I’ll take care of these posters.”

  “Thank you, son. One more thing. Can you give us directions to the newspaper office?”

  About ten minutes, the green La Salle drove along Joshua’s single main street.

  “The Sentinel building should be ahead and on the left,” said Bigger.

  Jason nodded. “I see the sign. Pull over where you can. Michael and I can tack flyers to the poles. Then we’ll talk to the newspaper people.”

  “I smell food.” Michael pointed at an eatery on the corner called The Covered Dish.

  “My brother was born hungry,” Jason said. “We’ll see you in a little while, Mr. Bigger.”

  “See you later, boys.” Bigger set the car in gear and drove away.

  Jason took half the flyers from the envelope and handed them to Michael along with a box of tacks. “Let’s get these posted.”

  “I’ll go across the street and work my way around the block and meet you at the newspaper office.”

  “You’re just interested in that restaurant.”

  “I’m only going to peek in and leave a flyer.”

  “Sure,” said Jason.

  His brother crossed the blacktop street with leaflets in hand. Jason set to work tacking the “Our Sister Is Missing” posters on utility poles, giving some to shopkeepers and pedestrians, and stuffed a few in the door handles of cars. Twenty minutes later he tacked a flyer in front of a feed store. With one sheet remaining, he headed to the newspaper office. And sat on the front steps of the news building to wait for his brother.

  He didn’t have to wait long.

  “Hey, I got a lead!” Michael yelled, running across the street. “A waitress remembered seeing her,” he said, catching his breath. “Sometime before the big dust storm.”

  “That’s great.” Jason clapped him on the back. “That is a break. Did she have any details?”

  “Not much else. She ate supper with a young man, but he didn’t look like Larry.”

  “If one person saw her, others should have too. Come on, let’s get our poster in the paper.” The two rushed inside the Sentinel office.

  Jason expected to find a secretary, but the only person in the office wa
s a rotund man at a typewriter, wearing a white shirt and suspenders.

  Jason and Michael stood before him, but the man kept typing. Finally, Jason cleared his throat. “Hello?” The desk a plaque read “Editor.”

  The man nodded, hit the carriage and continued hitting the keys. Three paragraphs later, he yanked the sheet from the machine, snatched a pair of reading glasses, and peered at the words. “What are you doing in my office,” he said, still scrutinizing his work.

  Jason placed his remaining poster on the editor’s desk. “We’d like this in your paper.”

  “A missing sister,” he mused. “This has the makings for a good story. I can get it in the next edition. Too late to for this week. Paper goes on sale noon tomorrow. Too bad you didn’t come in this morning—might’ve been able to squeeze it in the classifieds.

  “A whole week?” Michael shook his head. “That’s too long a wait.”

  “Hold it.” Jason held up a hand. “You said this could be an important story. Couldn’t you replace this for a minor story. We’ll still pay for it like it’s an ad.”

  “I said it could make for a good story. It would take a fair amount of work to make changes at this stage. Tell me the back story.”

  “What’s that?” Michael scrunched his forehead, looking at his brother.

  “He wants to know what happened up to now,” Jason said.

  With frequent corrections from Michael, Jason went over Sara’s disappearance. “So you see. We’ve been worried that Sis might be hurt. But today, my brother says someone might have seen her.”

  The editor rubbed his chin. “You convinced me. It’s a hot story. Ernestine Graber’s nuisance dog can wait another week. It will take a pot of coffee and a few hours’ work, but I’ll change things around. Might even put it on the front page. It gives me an excuse to move the dust storms to page two for one week.”

  “Thanks, sir.” Jason held out his hand.

  “Glad to help, son,” he said. “The name’s Mel White. No relation to that hotshot newspaper man from Emporia.”

  Jason and Michael met Bigger as he emerged from his car. “The editor will run our poster,” Michael said. “Sara’s story will be in Friday’s paper. She might even be on the front page.”

  “Good job, boys. Is there anything else we need to do here?”

  “No, sir,” Jason said. “Our job is done.”

  “Fine,” said Bigger. “One more stop, and we’ll be home by supper.”

  A few minutes later the La Salle drove west on Miller Road. Jason leaned back in his seat. It was disappointing not to have found Sis. The news from the waitress, though, was encouraging. Between the leaflets and the newspaper, something was bound to happen.

  “Where are we going, Mr. Bigger?” Michael asked. “This isn’t the way we came.”

  Bigger rolled up his window to keep dirt from blowing in. “We’re going to where the storm overtook you boys.”

  Jason raised an eyebrow. They were stopping at the place where Larry died. He’d better stay close by Mr. Bigger, in case he needed help. They passed a small cemetary, then slowed at an intersection.

  Michael pointed to a large formidable-looking structure ahead. “What’s that?”

  “A poor farm.” Bigger turned south. “The sheriff said if I drove past it, I went too far. In my day, we called them county asylums.”

  “It looks creepy.” Michael turned to stare out the back window at the tall building with the wide porch and short steeple. “It must be full of ghosts.”

  Jason rolled his eyes. “I didn’t know Sam Spade was afraid of spooks.”

  “No spooks,” Bigger said. “The people who live there are real enough.”

  Near the next intersection, he stopped the car at the side of the road. The storekeeper got out with Jason and Michael followed. Bigger took off his suit jacket and tie, and handed them to Michael. He stepped to the rear compartment, removed a bundle of cut flowers, stakes wrapped in twine, and a hammer. The three crossed a shallow ditch to a barbed-wire fence. The pasture beyond held little grass and no cattle.

  “Stay here,” Bigger said. He tossed the items over the fence.

  “You’ll need help with those things,” Jason said.

  “Suit yourself,” Bigger said.

  Jason helped him climb through the wire. In the pasture, he retrieved the flowers and other things and followed the merchant into the field. Michael stayed behind. Dirt still covered much of the area, but patches of prairie grass had begun to reclaim the pasture. A small, disturbed spot showed where a tractor pulled out the Roadster. Bits of broken glass littered the area. This was Bigger’s destination.

  He wants to make a memorial.

  Jason knelt, tied a length of twine around a stake and hammered it into the ground. He positioned the flowers under the twine, tied the other stake, and drove it into the earth. The arrangement held the flowers secure. He rose and nodded to the store owner. Both men bowed their heads. The older man began speaking. It wasn’t a prayer. More like a one-sided conversation.

  “My son, I worked hard to teach you a trade. More than that, I wanted you to be a man. One who would gladly take on new responsibilities. I failed in that. I may have put too much pressure on you. Or too many expectations. In any case, I know you hated your work. That’s why I introduced you to the McGurk girl.”

  Jason swallowed. Larry did hold a grudge.

  “I was hoping she’d bring out the best in you. I know now, you despised me and the principles I hold dear. But I can’t understand what you had against that young woman. Was it more than anger? Were you jealous? I remember that night you came home drunk. It’s now so clear. You knew you were going to be a father, and you kept it a secret. If you had told us—trusted us, you’d still be alive.”

  He stooped forward, knees bent. Fearing that the older man was about to collapse, Jason put an arm around his waist, but Bigger thrust it away. He stiffened his back and called across the empty pasture, “Where is she, son? Where is Sara? I want to know. I demand it!”

  To the north, a lone train whistle blew. Bigger looked down at the flowers one last time, then turned and trudged back to the fence.

  Jason helped him through. Michael had his jacket ready, making eye-contact. Is he okay?

  He waved a palm. Tell you later.

  The store owner glanced back to the empty pasture, then kicked a small rock on the roadside. “What a desolate place this is. Get in the car, boys. We’re going home.”

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Friday, May 10, 1935

  Sara led the way into Mrs. Hiebert’s room but stopped just inside the doorway. Maxine’s breath crackled like a straw sucking up air and thick liquid. There was a pause, and then the wet crackles began again.

  Sara knew that horrid sound. The day Grandpa McGurk died those slow, burbling rasps sent her fleeing from the room as a child. Her parents and relatives remained seated around Grandpa’s bed. Now, it was her turn to sit with the dying.

  Patrick rushed to Maxine’s side, calling her name and reaching for her hand. Inching her way to the bed, Sara bent over the small form. Maxine’s frail body lay unmoving; her mouth gaped open.

  Patrick patted her wrist. “Why doesn’t she wake up? She’s breathing funny.”

  Sara stepped to his side, resting her hand over his. “She’s leaving us. Hold her hand. That’s all you can do. Hold tight.”

  “I wanted to be more than just friends.” Patrick leaned forward and squinted, trying to study Maxine’s slackened features. “She’s snoring loud.”

  Sara bit her lip, forcing the words out. “Her body is saying goodbye.”

  “Is her soul leaving?”

  “Yes. Keep holding her hand. You’re doing what any husband would do for his wife.”

  “I am?” Patrick’s eyes were bright as he grasped her limp fingers.

  Bea stood outside the open door, her hands covering her ears. Sara gasped. Was she merely fearful or would this event trigger Sally’s return? Sara
rushed out of the room, pulling Bea aside. “Are you all right?”

  Bea stood trembling, staring through the doorway. “I can’t go in there. It sounds like death.”

  Sara hugged her, sighing with relief. “You don’t have to. Find Mrs. Eisner. Tell her Mrs. Hiebert is passing.”

  Long minutes went by as Sara and Patrick stood their vigils. A squeaky cart rolled in the passageway. Sara peeked out the door to see Mrs. Eisner and Bea completing morning rounds.

  The rasps were much shallower now. Each interval between breaths grew longer by the minute. Sara found herself holding her own breath during those moments of silence.

  Twenty minutes later, Gloria entered the room. “I helped Bea with serving the rest of the meals. She told me she couldn’t bear to see Mrs. Hiebert. So I sent her downstairs. How are you and Mr. Arnesdorff holding up?”

  Sara shrugged. “I’m okay. I worry about Patrick. I don’t think it’s really hit him yet.”

  Gloria glanced at the sixteen-year-old grasping the hand of his dying friend. His eyes were expectant as if searching for movement.

  Anytime now.

  Sara’s thoughts returned to that day a few weeks ago when Maxine and Patrick reunited. What a joyous event that was. What a pleasure to see two devoted friends happy these few weeks together. They made an odd, yet endearing couple. Sara’s eyes brimmed with tears. Each one was so protective of the other. For both, it was an end to loneliness, however brief.

  The dreadful rattling paused. Silence hung heavy in the room. Patrick still held Maxie’s hand, while Gloria placed her fingers on Maxine’s neck.

  “She’s gone.”

  The matron stood with her head bowed for a moment, then leaned over to whisper in Sara’s ear. “Stay with Patrick. I’m concerned that when the county picks up Mrs. Hiebert, the reality will hit home. We could see some temperament. Talk to him, Sara. Prepare him for Maxine’s departure.” Mrs. Eisner left the room, closing the door.

  While Mrs. Eisner spoke, Sara glanced at Patrick to see if he was paying attention to them. He continued to stroke Maxine’s hand. After the matron left, she sat beside the youth, placing his hands in hers. “Maxie’s gone to a better place. She’s not hurting anymore.”