The Edge of Nowhere

by C. H. Armstrong

  Mr. Snyder—Troy, as we began calling him—stayed on far longer than expected, and Catherine took to him immediately. He was a drifter looking for a place to put down roots, and had taken a shine to Catherine as well. I knew I’d have to watch this. We knew nothing about Mr. Snyder, and Catherine was far too young to be thinking about a beau. But Mr. Snyder had been helpful, and the harvest would be coming in soon. Joseph and Daniel convinced me to let him stay, saying they’d need help with the harvest. We couldn’t pay him, but Mr. Snyder insisted all he really needed was shelter over his head and food in his belly. He said he was sick of drifting, and just needed a connection to people. He didn’t have any more money than we did—which is to say he had nothing—so his contributions would be the help he provided for the harvest, and any meat he could put on the table through hunting. We asked him to stay, and gave him the mostly-empty barn for sleeping. This proved a good decision, and he immediately took over much of the hard labor Will had once done.

  Troy Snyder was only a couple years older than the twins, and the three young men fell into fast friendship. He had big plans and great ideas, and no idea or scheme was too grand. He and the twins sat up late many nights, sitting at my kitchen table, making plans for the farm. His ideas were too good to be true, but he was sincere, and we were desperate. We’d take hope anywhere we could find it.

  I liked Troy Snyder, but I worried about his presence. Experiencing her first real crush, Catherine followed him whenever possible. Troy was patient, and careful of her feelings, but I watched them closely. I knew any relationship between them would only lead to heartache.

  The first of May came, and plans for harvest were kicked into high gear. The problem was, we still hadn’t had enough rain, and crops were dying in the fields. Instead of lush stalks of wheat, there was nothing but dry, cracked earth in every direction. Not all of the crops failed, but enough that we knew we wouldn’t get the bumper crop we needed. Most everywhere you looked was suffering the same. Some places were so dry the ground was cracked with two-to-three-inch wide gaps extending deep into the earth below. We wondered how far down those cracks went. Some nights I dreamed of the ground opening up and swallowing us into the pits of Hell. Even in my dreams, Hell was better than Oklahoma at that time.

  The dust storms that had begun the two previous years picked up with more frequency, leaving dirt and poverty the only constants in our lives. That, and hunger. We’d cut back on our food rationing to ensure the children were properly fed. More than a few nights every week, I went to bed hungry. It was more important for the children to have food for their growing bodies, so I gave much of my share to them.

  Removing the dust and dirt from our home was a constant process. We began hanging wet blankets over the windows and doors to catch as much of the dirt as we could. If it helped at all, it was minimal. We went to bed each night, then arose each morning to find an imprint on the sheets of where our heads had lain, the area around it stained by the constant dust and dirt that had settled during the night. Some families tied sheets between the headboard and footboard to catch the dust falling over their bodies while they slept. There were just too many of us. We didn’t have enough extra blankets or sheets, and certainly no money to buy them.

  The dirt outside the home was beyond imagination. Down by the creek was a thicket of sand plum bushes, the entire colony sagged heavily with the weight of the dirt covering it. Even the animals couldn’t escape. Those housed in barns received some relief, but the livestock living in the fields suffered most. They had no shelter from the constant dirt in the air. The dust settled deep into their lungs, eventually killing them. Even people were falling ill from what became known as dust pneumonia. It was an awful way to die.

  As May moved into June, we were hit with even more devastating news. Of the twenty-five head of cattle Joseph and Daniel had saved to sell come August, seventeen had died.

  July came, and with it came Gene Blanchard. I knew it was coming, but I dreaded seeing his car lumbering down the path toward our home. I’d hoped he might forget about me with all his other responsibilities. But luck never seemed to be on my side.

  Gene stepped out of his car and approached me with a sleazy grin on his pock-marked face. As always, his dark hair was slicked back, and his mustache was trimmed neatly. His suit was immaculately cleaned and pressed, despite the sweltering heat of the Oklahoma sun, or the constant dirt in the air. His big belly protruded over the tops of his pants, and the buttons of his shirt strained where they met. He was obviously enjoying better times than we were.

  “Victoria,” he said, eyeing me up and down. “You’re lookin’ good.”

  “Gene.” I nodded. “What can I do for ya?”

  “Just thought I’d check in on ya and see how things are goin’—how the crops are comin’ along.”

  “And what did you discover?” I asked.

  “Not much yet. Mind if I take a look around?”

  “Yes, I mind.”

  Gene lifted a mocking brow. “Why is it ya always have to make things so difficult?”

  I shrugged. “Just protectin’ what’s mine.”

  Standing under the hot sun, Gene pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. When he finished, his eyes met mine and his mouth tipped in a creepy smile. “Let’s just push this animosity aside for a few minutes, and be straight with each other. Okay?”

  “Go ahead,” I prompted.

  “Your loan’ll be called in come next month. That means you’ve got two or three weeks to pull the money together, and I don’t see near enough crops to make that happen. Unless you’ve got some money hidden away I don’t know about, I’m thinkin’ you’re not gonna make that payment. D’ya know what happens when ya don’t make that payment?”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m sure you’d love to tell me.”

  “The bank takes possession of the things ya own. First we come for the small things, like your truck. No truck, ya can’t get to town very easily. You’re cut off, socially, from those who can help ya, and gettin’ groceries is that much harder. Next we come for the farm equipment. No farm equipment, then no chance of farmin’. Now your best chance at livelihood is taken away. After that, there’s not much left but the house and farm itself, so the note on that gets called in.”

  A chill rushed down my spine at his words, but I lifted my chin in defiance. “I’m well aware of all that.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure y’are. I wonder, though: your family is already in dire straits. I’ve heard talk your kids are near starvin’ already. You’ve lost so much weight yourself, I barely recognize ya. What’s gonna happen when ya not only can’t put food in those kids’ bellies, but ya don’t even have a place to shelter ’em at night? It ain’t pretty bein’ homeless in these times.”

  “What’s your point, Gene?”

  “Well, here’s the thing: the bank don’t really want your property, and there’s not a damned thing they can do with a farm that won’t produce. What they do want is the confidence to know they’re gonna get their money back. I can give that to ’em. That is, if you’re nice to me.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well,” he continued. “Let’s start with just bein’ neighborly. I come here, and ya don’t invite me in. Ya stand out in the road and block my path so I can’t even get near the house. Ya make me feel as though I’m not welcome.”

  “That’s ’cause you’re not.”

  Gene cleared his throat. “Let’s not to be too hasty, Victoria. You’re not in the best position to make me angry.”

  “Are ya threatenin’ me?” I narrowed my eyes.

  “No, not threatenin’. Just offerin’ you an alternative.”

  “And what is that alternative?”

  “Ya know Maureen passed on ’bout a year ago. Had ya heard?”

  “I’d heard she was ill. I didn’t know she’d passed. I’m sorry for your loss.” Somehow I think his wife got the better half of that deal.

  “Thank you.” H
e nodded. “But ya see, a man gets lonely without his wife. He gets used to a certain type of … comfort, shall we say? And when that regular comfort goes away, it makes a man rather … uncomfortable.”

  The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood up straight as Gene laughed at his own joke.

  “And what is it ya want from me?” I asked.

  “You’re an attractive woman, Victoria. I’m just thinkin’ if you were to make me comfortable now and then, I’m sure I could convince the bank to give ya some extra time on that loan of yours. Give your kids someplace to continue callin’ home.”

  “You’re disgusting.”

  “Maybe, but I have somethin’ ya need, and you have somethin’ I want. We can do each other a favor.”

  The idea was repulsive. But something in me told me to keep listening. “What would this entail?”

  “Oh, I dunno.” Gene shrugged. “Maybe a social visit from me, say, twice a month—sometime when the kids aren’t here? You can lose ’em for an afternoon twice a month, can’t ya? You still have that big sister of yours down the road, don’tcha? Think ya could find a way for her to keep ’em occupied?”

  “I don’t know.” I shook with anger, and maybe even a small amount of fear. “I’d need food, too. Twice a month of ‘social time’ in exchange for an extension on the loan isn’t enough. I need groceries. Beans, rice, canned goods, fresh fruits and vegetables. Meat, occasionally.”

  “Oh, I think my offer is more than generous.” He smiled, but it was cold and didn’t reach his eyes. “But I’m feelin’ charitable. I’ll negotiate a bit. I’ll bring ya some groceries from town when I come out. Not much, mind. These’re hard times and we’re all hurtin’. But I can bring enough to fill the gap. But twice each month, I expect ya to be here with a smile on your face and ready to treat me sweet.”

  “I need time to think about it. I can’t decide right now.”

  “Sorry, darlin’. This is a one-time offer. I’m a busy man, and I have other house calls to make. Make a decision, and do it quickly, or the offer’s off the table.”

  “I don’t know! I need time to think on it!”

  “I’ll tell ya what: you take all the time ya need, but I can’t guarantee I’ll still be interested when ya finally decide. Your children are hungry now. I don’t have time for this, Victoria; so, when I leave, I can’t promise the offer’ll still be open.”

  Gene walked back toward his vehicle, pulled the door open, and stepped inside. Seating himself, he closed the door but leaned out through the open window. “Last chance …”

  I didn’t know what to do. I stood there, dumbly, watching as he started the car and backed down the path to the main road. I didn’t want to do it. The idea of being anywhere near Gene Blanchard made my skin crawl. But I didn’t have a lot of options. The kids were hungry, and the crops wouldn’t bring in enough to pay off the loan, much less feed the kids.

  Gene turned his steering wheel, raised his hand out the window, waved goodbye, then slowly drove toward the main road.

  “FINE!” I ran after him. “FINE! JUST STOP! I’LL DO IT!”

  Gene’s car slowed to a stop, then backed in reverse toward me. When he pulled up next to me, he leaned out the window again. “Smart girl. I knew you’d come around. Ya just saved your children from starvation.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  GENE BLANCHARD AND I AGREED TO MEET ON the second and fourth Wednesdays of every month, which meant I had to be sure the children were out of the house. Grace and Jack returned to school in August, which left only four-year-old Ethan still underfoot. On the days I met with Gene, I sent Ethan to Julianne’s for the afternoon. Though suspicious, she never asked questions. I’m glad she didn’t—there was no way to explain my decision. She’d never understand. Nobody could.

  The first time with Gene was the worst, leaving me physically ill. Each time afterward was a little easier, but I could feel pieces of my soul chipping away. I wondered how much more could disintegrate before there was nothing left of me. I dreaded those Wednesdays for days in advance, then mourned again for Will in the days following. In the beginning, I worried constantly about people discovering my secret. But, watching nearby families starve, and their children die, cured me of that worry. It was an era of survival, and I would survive at all costs. Morals and values came second to not dying. Still, I worried about those I loved discovering my secret. What would Mother Elizabeth say? Father Caleb? Julianne? Will’s children? I knew they wouldn’t understand. How could they? If it meant choosing between my children’s lives or certain death, I didn’t care if they understood. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for my children.

  Reconciling myself with this arrangement eased my guilt, but the disparity between my husband and Gene left me empty and sad. I was angry before, but debasing myself stripped my dignity.

  The differences between Will and Gene were more than just physical. I’d loved Will deeply. I barely tolerated Gene. Each time with Will was a celebration. Our joining had been more than a physical act; it was an expression of love, where we each gave a piece of ourselves to the other for safekeeping. I missed those moments with Will, but I dreaded every second spent with Gene. Each moment with Gene was a small death. Where Will had been gentle and caring, Gene was selfish and hasty. Everything about Gene Blanchard repulsed me. His dark hair, carefully slicked back with not a stray strand in sight; his black eyes; his tightly trimmed mustache; his extra flesh, heavy from wealth and laziness; and even the smell of his cologne—it all left me physically ill. Will had smelled like the outdoors, a combination of sweat and leather. He smelled like a man who worked hard providing for his family. Gene reeked of privilege and excess.

  Maybe the most notable difference between Will and Gene was their hands. I’d always thought you could tell a lot about a man by his hands, and how he used them. Will’s hands were large and calloused from hard work, yet gentle as he held me or cradled one of our children. His hands on my skin soothed like silk. Gene’s hands were smaller and softer than Will’s, with no evidence of having worked a day in his life. He didn’t have Will’s strength, but he made up for it with force. His hands on my body chafed like sandpaper, abrasive and raw. Every last thing about Gene Blanchard made me sick.

  His only redeeming value was the extension he provided on our loan, together with the few groceries he brought each visit. Not a lot, but it kept the children from starving. Though I hated Gene and our arrangement more than anything I’d ever known, the children were assured food and a roof over their heads—so long as I continued the arrangement, or until Gene became bored.

  Before long, fall had passed, and 1934 was ushered in. My arrangement with Gene had moved along for nearly six months with no complications. Now, though, I was hit with the most dangerous complication imaginable. I was caught. I’d known it was a possibility. How long could a woman have carnal relations with a man and remain unburdened? I’d prayed it wouldn’t happen, but there was no doubt. I’d missed my courses for two straight months. I didn’t know what to do. Who could I turn to?

  I held off telling anyone for as long as I could, but it’s impossible to be intimate with a man and keep that information from him. I kept it secret until the middle of February, but time was running out. I’d have to tell Gene soon, or he’d figure it out on his own. He might’ve been a disgusting pig, but he wasn’t stupid.

  That second Wednesday in February, I decided to tell Gene the news. I didn’t know how he’d react, or what this meant for our arrangement, but my most important concern was keeping the children fed.

  Gene and I spent the afternoon “socializing,” and I’d been just about as social as I was capable of being for one afternoon. Rising from the bed, I threw my robe over my shoulders and turned to him. “We need to have a serious conversation.”

  “Oh yeah,” he asked. “What about?”

  “I’m caught.”

  “What do you mean you’re ‘caught’? What the hell does that even mean?”

  “I
t means I’m expectin’ a baby. I’ve known for a while, but I wasn’t sure how to tell ya. I’m thinkin’ I’m due in early July.”

  “Congratulations,” he said. “But why’re ya tellin’ me?”

  “Why d’ya think I’m tellin’ you?” The urge to scratch his eyes out was almost too much, so I clenched my fists by my side. “I didn’t do this by myself.”

  “I’m sure ya didn’t, but what makes ya think it’s mine?”

  “What? What the hell are ya sayin’, Gene?” I sputtered. “Ya know damned well it’s yours. Who else d’ya think could’ve fathered it? Ya know I’ve not been with anyone else!”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea, and I know no such thing; but, just because you’re pregnant, doesn’t mean it’s mine.”

  “You son of a bitch,” I whispered, too angry to speak any louder. “What’m I supposed to do?”

  Gene sat up in the bed and threw his legs over the side. Grabbing for his pants, he slipped them on and buckled his belt, all while refusing to face me. “Do whatever ya want. It’s not my problem. You and I had a business arrangement. I expected you to deal with any problems that might arise. My suggestion is ya find yourself someone ya can pin this on, but it ain’t fixin’ to be me. No way am I takin’ on those brats of yours.”

  I was so angry, if I’d had a gun I would’ve shot him dead and without remorse. Instead, I took a deep breath and tried to figure things out in my head. What in the world would I do? Somehow I’d have to make Gene see reason. I didn’t want to marry the man—I’d rather have died. I’m not sure what I expected of him, but it was as much his problem as mine, and I needed help.

  Drawing in a deep breath, I circled the bed until I was standing directly in front of him. “Gene, this is your baby, and ya know it. Ya can’t expect me to let it grow up a bastard?”

  “I don’t expect ya to do anything, but figure it out. If ya can’t figure it out, then we’ve got nothin’ more to discuss.” Standing now, he brushed past me, knocking me out of his path as he moved toward the door. “It’s been a fun ride, but I don’t have the time or money for complications.”