A Cup of Dust

by Susie Finkbeiner

“Beanie,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  Mrs. Jones turned away from all of us, but Beanie walked around to be in front of her.

  “Darlin’,” Daddy called. “We best get home.”

  My sister acted like she hadn’t heard him at all.

  “We’ll take care of him,” Beanie said. “He’ll be a good boy.”

  Mrs. Jones turned to look at a field full of ruin.

  “You’re a good mama.” Beanie blinked real fast and rubbed at her nose. “You’d be better if you came to our house.”

  Reaching for Beanie, I grabbed her hand. She followed me all the way home, her hand in mine.

  Millard came over to the house with us. Mama set two extra plates at the dinner table for him and Ray. She’d pulled together a good meal for us. The beans may have been a little runnier than normal, but they were steamy hot and tasted better than stale fried dough, so none of us complained.

  “Welp, the town didn’t fair too well the last month,” Daddy said once he’d chewed and swallowed the last of his food. “There’s lots to do.”

  “I don’t hardly have the will to do nothing no more,” Millard said. “I’m wore out.”

  “There are plenty of men left. We’ll get her done.”

  “I wanna work,” Ray said. “I’m strong.”

  “I know you are, son,” Daddy said. “And I’ll be glad for your help.”

  “Tom, I meant what I said earlier. I’d like you to take over for me.” Millard crossed his arms and leaned back into the chair. “I wanna ask you to act as mayor until the folks can get together an election.”

  “Well, why would I do that?” Daddy asked.

  “This town’s in need of somebody younger. Somebody who can rebuild it.” Millard shook his head. “I ain’t got it left in me. The fire’s all burnt out.”

  “I don’t know, Mill.” Daddy turned his eyes toward Mama’s. “I’ll have to talk to Mary about it.”

  “There ain’t a pay raise.” Millard laughed. “And you’ll still need to wear that sheriff badge.”

  “You trying to talk me out of it?”

  “Maybe I am. I ain’t making it too attractive, am I?”

  Daddy took in a deep breath and puffed it back out. “I’ll have to let you know about that one, Mill.”

  “I know it. Take your time.” Millard smiled. “There’s nobody else in this county I’d trust, son.”

  Daddy didn’t say a whole lot for the rest of the afternoon.

  I imagined it was a heavy weight on him, the thought of rebuilding a town that was just about dead.

  Mama wore a bandana tied around her head while she cleaned. She said it was to keep the dust out of her hair, but I thought she looked real pretty in it. Like Cinderella in my fairy-tale book.

  It surprised me that the thought of one of my old stories didn’t make my head spin or stomach upset. I guessed that meant I was healing up a little bit in my soul.

  Daddy had taken Ray out back with him to clean up the old windmill. It had broken right in half during the month of dusters. When he’d asked Ray to go with him, that boy smiled as big as he could.

  Beanie was in our room. Mama had asked her to take the dirty sheets off our mattress. The soft snoring I heard through the vents told me that she’d not gotten her task done.

  I swept the dust out of every corner and from under the furniture, just like Mama had asked. It felt good to move, to be of use. It passed the time and kept me from thinking about the scary memories that hid in the corners my mind. I made believe that I was sweeping those out along with the piles of dirt.

  Daddy came in through the back door. “Mary, do we have any bread or biscuits or anything?” he asked.

  “I can get you a couple slices,” Mama answered, lowering herself from the chair she was standing on. “I don’t have butter.”

  “Ray and I don’t care. We’re starving.”

  “I’ll bet you are.” Mama smiled at him.

  “Mary …” Daddy took a step closer to her. “You are beautiful.”

  She touched the bandana on her head and turned her eyes to the floor. “I’m all grimy.”

  “That doesn’t matter. Not to me.” Daddy touched her hip. “Dance with me.”

  “Tom,” she said, touching his shoulder but looking out the window. “The neighbors.”

  “What neighbors?” Daddy laughed. “They’re all gone.”

  He took her hand in his, the other hand reached to her back.

  “We don’t have any music,” she said, letting him lead her in a swaying back and forth.

  “Sing something.”

  They spun, and Mama’s feedbag dress swung around her knees. She laughed, catching the bandana as it slipped off her head. Daddy pulled her closer and their cheeks touched. He hummed a tune, one I’d heard on the radio but didn’t know the name of. Mama joined along with him. She reached her arm all the way around his neck.

  They were all the fairy tale I needed.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  The morning sun forced its way through my bedroom window, warming my face. Beanie had moved back into the bed with me, making space for Ray in Meemaw’s old room. He’d been with us less than a week, but it felt nice to have him around so much. I’d swear he’d put on five pounds from eating Mama’s cooking.

  Beanie snored beside me, not taking any notice of the bright light beaming on her face. The way she lay, with one arm bent and resting over her head and her face turned toward me, just so, she looked pretty. I’d never thought of her that way before. Most of the time she grimaced or scowled or wore confusion between her eyebrows. But sleeping, her face relaxed, she looked the way I thought God must have seen her. Beautiful.

  “Rise and shine,” Mama said, rushing into our room, insistent as the sun. “I declare, this is not a day to be lazing around in bed.”

  Pushing the curtains to either side of the window, she let in the full brightness of the morning. It soaked my room and filled my heart with warmth I thought had left forever.

  “It’s Palm Sunday,” she sang. “Not a cloud in the sky, and it’s as blue as you could imagine.”

  Beanie grunted at her, rolling over and smashing her face into the pillow.

  Mama laughed. Her bright smile was prettier than all the sunshine that had ever shone on any day in all of history. I wanted so bad to tell her that but couldn’t find a way.

  “Is Daddy coming to church with us?” I asked, climbing over Beanie to get out of bed.

  “Well, he’s cleaning up.” That smile was still on her face. “And he’s letting Ray borrow one of his nice shirts.”

  I imagined Ray would look mighty handsome dressed so nice, even if the shirt was too big for him.

  Reaching for my green dress, I imagined us all walking into the sanctuary. I would hold Daddy’s hand, and Beanie had Mama’s. Ray didn’t need to hold anyone because he was strong and didn’t like touching all that much.

  “What a beautiful family,” someone would say.

  We’d save seats for Millard and Mrs. Jones. Of course, she’d agree to come stay with us after seeing how happy Ray was.

  I stepped into my dress, feeling the fine fabric against my skin.

  For the first time in months, I felt that life would end up being just fine.

  During church, those of us who had come sang loud hosannas with all the strength we had. We did believe that morning that God was the one who saves. The One who would raise us up from the tomb of dust.

  Pastor had even declared that the hard times were done. He said the rains would come along on the coattails of that sunny day.

  I’d never heard so many amens in all my life.

  The rest of his sermon I didn’t take in. Instead, I allowed a daydream to ease up from inside me. It felt like going home.

  In my daydream, all of Red River was as it had been. Wheat grew thick and tall, and the pastures were full of fat cattle, maybe even a buffalo or two. The old butcher charged too much for meat, and the diner served up the best
pie in all of Cimarron County.

  My dream made me never know about Eddie or Jimmy or even Winnie. The cellar didn’t exist. Mama and Daddy were really mine, blood and all. And Beanie’s brain worked the way it should.

  Model Ts chugged up and down the main street, coughing smoke that rose slowly into the sky. Relief trucks never came to us because we had plenty, and we all stood proud for that.

  Every table had more than it could hold. A roast or a chicken steaming with creamy mashed potatoes and thick slices of bread. No beans or fried dough.

  We were all smiling and healthy and safe.

  And we didn’t have so much as a cup of dust.

  DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  1. Before reading A Cup of Dust, what did you know about the Dust Bowl? The Great Depression?

  2. The 1930s were a time of rich storytelling. Daddy and Millard told tales that were sometimes believable and sometimes fantastical. What are some stories shared by your family that are close to mythological? What are some stories that are more plausible?

  3. A popular teaching during the Dust Bowl was that the disaster was caused by the sin of the people. Many preachers taught that it was the punishment of God, much like Pastor Ezra Anderson did. What is your reaction to such theology? How does Pastor’s teaching contrast with the teachings of Meemaw?

  4. How does the theme of fairy tales run through A Cup of Dust? Why does Pearl rely less and less on them as the story unfolds?

  5. The author used historically accurate language for the description of African American and Native American people. How did those words sit with you? Do you believe that we’ve made progress in relations between people groups?

  6. One tagline for this novel is, “Where you come from isn’t who you are.” What does that mean when reflecting on Pearl’s story? What does it mean for you?

  7. In the cellar, Eddie told Pearl “pity ain’t love.” What do you think about that within the context of the story? How about in your life?

  8. What did you think of the scene in which Daddy comes into the cellar? Did it end the way you expected? What did it tell you about Daddy’s character?

  9. Palm Sunday in 1935 started as a beautiful, sunny day. That’s where A Cup of Dust ends. What do you think is next for the Spence family?

  AFTERWORD

  At the age of sixteen I read John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath for the first time. As soon as I closed the book I knew I wanted to read it again. Reading Steinbeck led me to the photography of Dorothea Lange. Steinbeck’s novel told me the story, and Lange’s photographs showed me the people.

  The more I thought about the folks who survived this time, the more I felt compelled to learn as much as I could about the Dust Bowl—why it happened and how the people survived.

  I found it curious that such an ecological disaster hadn’t warranted more than a short paragraph in my US history textbook, and that so many families displaced by dust would be all but forgotten in the enormous narrative of the Great Depression.

  For nineteen years I found out all I could about this period in history. I wrote plays and short stories and poems about it. When given the opportunity, I led discussions on Steinbeck’s work and the history behind it at my alma matter, Great Lakes Christian College.

  When asked how a Michigan city girl ended up being interested in the Dust Bowl, particularly with Cimarron County, I placed the blame on my Steinbeck obsession.

  At the age of thirty-five I announced to my husband that I was going to write my Dust Bowl novel. He said, “It’s about time.” He knows me so well. To demonstrate his support, he bought me books of photography from the 1930s: one of Dorothea Lange’s work and one of Arthur Rothstein’s.

  Each of these photographers worked for the federal government to document the everyday life of those living in the hard times of the Depression. Many of my characters were born as I studied the faces in the photos.

  In all my years of studying the Dust Bowl, I’ve gleaned the most from the work of two men: Ken Burns and Timothy Egan. Both men have connected with scholars to learn the why and wherefore of the “Dirty Thirties” and spent time with those who lived it to learn their experience. Burns’s documentary The Dust Bowl (PBS) and Egan’s book The Worst Hard Time tell the stories of courageous folks who did what it took to survive.

  After writing A Cup of Dust I find that my admiration for the Dust Bowl survivors has grown. They were courageous, faithful, optimistic, and generous with what little they had. After all, who knew what the next year might bring. It very well might bring rain and mercy from the Lord Himself.