A Cup of Dust

by Susie Finkbeiner

  “Keep him here. As your son.”

  “Luella …”

  “I can’t do it no more, Mary. I don’t got any life left in me.” Mrs. Jones’s voice sounded like she was crying. “I don’t trust nobody else with him. I know y’all would take good care of him.”

  “What are you saying?”

  Quiet again.

  “Luella, you ain’t thinking of—”

  “No. No,” Mrs. Jones said, interrupting. “I ain’t gonna kill myself.”

  “Good lord, but you’re making me nervous the way you’re talking.”

  The scraping sound of a chair being pushed. Then a cough.

  “Mary, I’ve got to leave. And I can’t take Ray.”

  “I don’t know why not.”

  “Because he’s better off here.”

  “That isn’t true.”

  “Well, he ain’t getting a good life being with me,” Mrs. Jones said.

  Shoes clomped on the floor.

  “We can’t take him,” Mama said. “Luella, he belongs with you.”

  “I got nothing to give him.”

  “You’re his mother. He needs you. Especially after all that’s happened.”

  Another round of clinking plates. The cupboard door shutting.

  “You’ve took in a kid before.” Mrs. Jones’s voice was flat.

  “Luella, I’ll ask you to keep your voice down,” Mama scolded. “The girls are upstairs.”

  “All I’m saying is you done it before.”

  “I know,” Mama said. “But I can’t do it again. It’s—it’s just different now.”

  “Mary, you’re the only hope I got for him.”

  “No, Luella.”

  Quiet for longer than I liked. I wondered if Mrs. Jones was about to leave our house. But then she spoke again.

  “Mary, I’m begging you. I don’t want him ending up like Rosie. And I don’t want him turning out like Si.”

  “The answer is no,” Mama said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Mama sat between Beanie and me in our usual pew, the second from the front on the right-hand side. Even after nearly a month, it still felt wrong to sit there without Meemaw. I didn’t reckon that would ever change.

  I had never seen the church so full of folks from Red River. Not on Christmas or on Easter. There was no room for any latecomers that day—all the pews had backsides in them. I hadn’t realized so many people were still in town. With all the people packed in, nobody talked. The only sound anybody made was a cough here or there and a few crackles of old wood pews.

  It wasn’t even Sunday, but still I wore my green dress. Town meetings seemed a fitting reason as any to wear it.

  Daddy and Millard stood at the front, both of them with their hats in hand and their hair smoothed back. Daddy caught me staring at him and gave me a quick wink.

  Millard cleared his throat. It sounded like all the gunk in Oklahoma had got stuck in there. I wondered how he resisted spitting it all out right there in front of everybody.

  “Now get yourselves settled,” Millard called out.

  The folks in the pews stopped shifting to get comfortable. They all sat up straighter and turned their faces right toward Millard. Everybody seemed eager to hear what he’d called them in for.

  Pastor and Mad Mabel sat in the front row on the left side. He held his arms crossed tight over his chest and his eyes shut up tight. I didn’t know if he was sleeping or praying. She kept her face turned toward the window next to her, watching. For what, I didn’t know. But I was just glad she didn’t turn her face toward me. She gave me the heebie-jeebies.

  I hoped Pastor was spending his time praying for Millard. The way he and Daddy stood in front of the whole town, sweat beading on their foreheads, I figured they both could use a little praying for. Sneaking another quick peek at Pastor, I decided that he was, in fact, sleeping by the slow rise and fall of his chest and his wobbling head. So I offered up a word or two to God on behalf of Millard and Daddy.

  Millard pulled a bandana from his overall pocket and wiped his face before he got to talking.

  “Well,” he said, “might as well get this along.”

  He cleared his throat one more time, giving the people in the pews another moment to get adjusted.

  “Now I called y’all here today to talk on a couple of matters. I bet y’all got questions, and that’s fine. But I ain’t going to have nobody starting a fight. Pastor don’t want no punches swinging here in the church.” Millard nodded toward Daddy. “That’s what I brought Tom along for. To keep the peace.”

  A couple men, including Daddy, snickered at that. Millard grinned at his joke before he went on.

  I didn’t understand what was so funny, but Mama didn’t seem to be in an explaining mood.

  “Now first off, I hear some of y’all that’s been getting the relief checks have been worried,” he said, his voice carrying all the way through the sanctuary. “Some folks don’t think it’s enough.”

  “It ain’t,” somebody added.

  “I hear you. I wish to God I could put more cash in your pockets. I do.”

  “I wish you could make it rain.” It was the same man.

  “Wouldn’t that be something.” Millard put his hand up as if to still the man from interrupting anymore. “Now, I think we got a solution to help you get a little folding money.”

  A murmur moved among a few people, and Millard waited for it to pass before he went on.

  “I know y’all been hearing talk about President Roosevelt sending his men for our cattle.” Here he paused again and let a few of the old ranchers and sharecroppers grumble a bit. “Thing is, we got ourselves a couple of choices to make. One is, are we gonna sell our livestock?”

  “Hardly nothin’ left to sell,” a man said from way back in the sanctuary.

  “Now hold on, Harold. Just hold on.” Millard put the bandana back in his pocket. “You ask me, I’d say we gotta sell them. We can’t feed the cattle. Ain’t no use in watching them waste away like they’re doing.”

  “What about when things turn around?” An old man stood, holding for dear life to the pew in front of him. “Things ain’t gonna stay bad forever. If we sell all our cattle for a little folding money, then next year when the rains come back and the wheat’s thick, we’ve gotta buy them all back again. I bet that’s why Roosevelt’s doing this. To get us to give them right back that money they give us. And with interest.”

  “Now, Orvil, you got an idea there. You do.” Millard pulled that bandana back out and wiped his forehead. “Problem is, we don’t have a reason to think next year will be any better.”

  “Millard, you know as well as I do that it’s gotta rain sometime.”

  “I know it. I know it.” Millard nodded. “But we’ve gotta think about right now. We can’t get to next year if we all starve this year.”

  “How’s about they pay us in gas so we can get outta town and head west?” I didn’t recognize the voice, but a few people must have. And they made loud agreements with what he’d said.

  “Well, if that’s what you want, then you should go ahead and do it. Nobody’s gonna stop ya. And it don’t hurt my feelings none. Anyhow, you gotta make the decision for yourself. I know what I’d do. But I ain’t you. And I don’t own a single head of cattle for myself. All I got is a place to stay in the courthouse. But if I did have a herd, I’d see what I could get for them.” He nodded his head. “I would make sure I got a fair shake. And I want the same for you.”

  “Any idea what we can get for ’em? Seein’s I paid a good price, I wanna know that I’m gonna get the right amount.”

  “Now I don’t know for sure. But they’re gonna give them a good looking over and see how old they are. See if they’re healthy and check their teeth. Let me be God’s-honest-truthful here. If them cattle’s no good, they’re gonna have to destroy them.”

  “Listen here, I don’t like that none.”

  The men in the meeting got to grumbling. Women chatte
red to each other. Millard stood in front of them, one hand in his pocket and the other still holding his hat. He looked out the same window Pastor’s wife did and waited for them all to get their anger out.

  Nothing but Israelites grumbling in the desert, that’s what I thought of, listening to them. I wondered if they’d take one of those skin-and-bones cows and paint it gold, horn to hoof. I closed my eyes and imagined the folks dancing around that gold cow and building a big fire like the picture in my Bible.

  A crying baby caught my attention. It was a weak cry. A hungry one. Without much breath behind it. I was sure it could feel all the upset in the room. I knew I could.

  “Well, if you want, I guess you could watch them waste away.” Millard scratched the back of his neck. “Just the other day I went out with Tom here and a few other fellas. We watched the cattle rooting around in the dust, looking for something green to eat. Y’all know it’s been that way a couple of years now. I can’t explain how they’ve survived this long. How any of us have, for that matter. They can’t live on tumbleweeds no more. And neither can we.”

  The room went quiet except for the whimpering of the baby. Millard looked right at it and sighed.

  “There ain’t enough food to go around,” he said. “We’ve gotta feed the kids first. Us next. Then the livestock last. Maybe a bit of money from Washington can help us feed our young with a little for us, too.”

  A woman cried out, frustrated. I turned to look, but Mama tapped me on the knee and gave me a shake of the head that said I better not stare.

  “But what are we gonna do for milk?” a woman asked. I wondered if it was the mother of the whimpering baby. “You get rid of all the cows, and we won’t have none for the kids.”

  “Now if any of you can tell me in truth that you’ve gotten any good milk outta one of them cows, I’ll say you should keep it,” Millard said, his face kind even though he spoke sternly. “Far as I know, though, most of y’all ain’t got so much as a drop in months. Maybe years. Even when you did, it was nothing but mud. Ain’t that right?”

  “Now, what I wanna know is how they’re fixing to destroy them,” a man said. “I know it don’t matter, but I gotta know.”

  “Well, that’s the next thing you gotta decide.” Millard swallowed. “If they decide the cattle is no good, they’re gonna slaughter them.”

  “But how? I wanna know how,” the man said.

  “Now, I hear from Boise City that they shot them in the head with a rifle.”

  “Who done the shooting? And what gun’d they use?”

  More grumbling.

  “Now, hold on, folks. I’m getting to that.” Millard waited for them to quiet. “Eddie, would you come on up here, son?”

  My stomach flopped, and I wished I would have stayed home.

  It took some nerve for that man to step foot inside a church.

  Eddie made his way up the middle aisle to the front of the sanctuary, looking about as out of place as Winnie had at the revival. He slouched and had his hands shoved all the way into his pockets.

  I imagined Jesus storming in just at that moment with His cord of a whip or whatever it was He’d had when He cleared out the temple in Jerusalem. It made me smile to think about Jesus using His whip to hit Eddie and hollering that His house was being turned into a den of thieves.

  It wasn’t a good daydream to have, and I shouldn’t have thought it was funny. Mama elbowed me to get me to pay attention again. Boy, had her elbows ever gotten sharp over the years of drought.

  “This man here’s been appointed to help with the slaughter.” Millard put a hand on Eddie’s shoulder.

  “Now, listen here,” a man barked from somewhere to my left. “Ain’t no man gonna slaughter my stock but me.”

  “I hear you.” Millard nodded. “I do. Let me finish what I was fixing to say.”

  The crowd settled a bit.

  “You can choose to do the killing yourself if you want,” Millard said.

  “Doggone right I can.”

  “Were it me,” he went on. “I don’t think I’d have the heart to do it myself.”

  “What if I just go on out to my field now?” the barking man hollered. “Shoot ’em all? Then at least I’d get a little meat off ’em.”

  “Well, you could do that if you wanted. It’s still a free country, far as I know. But you wouldn’t get a single red penny for a one of them. And you ain’t like to get any meat off them, either.” Millard tossed his hat on the floor behind him and stepped forward. “Listen, I understand you gotta take care of your own. You know I do. I just reckon you ought to think about waiting until the government fellas come. See what they’ve got to say.” He shrugged. “Heck, they’ll even let you use their gun and bullets, too. Save on yours. But if you can’t see to do it yourself, there’s this man here to do it for you.”

  All the murmuring and crying had hushed. Daddy rubbed his forehead and looked over at Mama. It was like he didn’t know what to say and didn’t want to be standing up there on the stage. He didn’t smile or frown or anything.

  “I’m trying to have faith that you’ll all get a fair shake. I do hope that you’ll get some money to buy some food or shoes for your kids.” Millard nodded to someone near the middle of the room. “Maybe you’ll get enough to hold you over until the rain comes next year.”

  “We been waiting on next year forever.” I knew it was Mrs. Jones’s voice by the cool and flat tone. I turned and looked at her, even if Mama did elbow me.

  “I ain’t got another year in me,” she said. “And I don’t got no cattle to sell off, neither. What am I gonna do?”

  Ray squirmed in the pew next to her and wouldn’t look at me. He kept his eyes on the floor.

  “Ain’t no work, and I ain’t got nothing left from the food I put up. I’m doing as much make-work as I can, but we’re hungry. My boy’s trying to grow, and he’s hungry all the time. We can’t take it no more.”

  “Mrs. Jones, I sure am sorry about that.” Millard nodded at her, letting her know she could sit back down. She didn’t. “Ain’t y’all getting the relief food?”

  “They don’t give us enough of it. Since Rosie and Si’s gone, we get even less. I don’t need much to eat, but I got me a growing boy here. I can’t keep him fed on a couple cans of beans and a little bag of flour. That ain’t sticking by him.” She stopped and licked her lips. “We ain’t had meat in about forever. Growing boys need meat.”

  “I don’t rightly know an answer to give you, Mrs. Jones.”

  “I’ve never been outside of Red River except to bury my baby girl. You know that?” Mrs. Jones’s voice cracked. “I was born in the dugout I’m still living in. I never aimed to leave. This is my home. My pa and ma’s buried right here beside each other. We done all our living and birthing and dying right here. Last thing I want to do is go, but I don’t think I got no other choice, do I?”

  “I don’t know.” Millard stepped toward her and took her hands in his. His touch just about broke her. She cried, right out loud, in front of everybody and God. “Mrs. Jones, I do know things is hard on you right now. We’re all broke up about Si and the baby.”

  She nodded and pulled one of her hands loose, resting it on her forehead like she had to hold her head together.

  “If you’ll kindly let me finish this talk about the cattle, I’ll meet up with you and talk about what we can do for you and the boy.”

  “I ain’t looking for a handout,” she said. “I don’t want no more charity. All I want is a chance to work for what we need. That’s all.”

  “I know. I know. We all got our pride to care for. And ain’t nobody here gonna think bad of you if you do need to take a little gift now and again. ‘Specially after all y’all been through lately.”

  Mrs. Jones sat down, her eyes fixed on her hands.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The government men came on a Wednesday at the end of January. They carried their clipboards and briefcases. We watched them get out of their cars and
walk around with Millard and Daddy.

  “They’re wearing overalls,” I said.

  They weren’t new overalls, either. I could tell by looking at them that they were of soft fabric, not stiff like brand-new ones would have been.

  “Well, isn’t that smart?” Mama asked, standing next to me on the porch.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Men in this town don’t trust suits and ties. Men in suits are the ones who took everything they had. Bankers and lawyers wear suits.” Mama smiled. “Folks here trust somebody who looks down home. Like those men there.”

  Mama and I stayed on the porch for a bit, watching. All the sharecroppers and old ranchers and anybody who had even a single milk cow led them all toward Watsons’ ranch. I sat on the steps, and Mama joined me.

  “It’s a hard day for these folks,” Mama said. “It’s like they’re giving up.”

  They moved the cattle, slow and steady. They couldn’t go any faster—the animals were all ribs and hide. All the fat was gone off them. Every once in a while, one of them would stumble or sink into a soft spot in the dust.

  “All they have to do is get the cattle to the ranch,” Mama said. “Dear Lord, get them all out there.”

  It took a better part of the morning, but most of the men and cattle made it down the old road to the ranch. I watched as they became nothing more than dots along the tan sand.

  Mama went inside to see to the housework. I stayed to keep watching, not knowing what it was that I wanted to see.

  The old days of exciting cattle drives were gone. Nobody had any fight left in them.

  After a bit, a man came down the road, pulling along the skinniest cow I had seen yet. It seemed that was the only one he had, and it didn’t look as if it would make it. They still had a long way to go, and the cow stumbled and heaved. The man slapped its haunches, pulled at the rope around its neck. The man was about as skinny as the cow.

  Finally the animal crumbled to the dirt. The man squatted next to it and stayed like that for a long time. He put his ear to the face of the cow.