Dust girl

5

When I woke up, Baya was gone. It wasn’t just that he’d left the room; he was gone away a whole lot farther than that. I could feel it, like I’d felt someone watching me through the kitchen window before.

This made me feel about as easy as smelling smoke and not knowing where the fire was.

I sucked in a deep breath. That was when I knew something else was gone. The pain-the burning and the weight like stones on my ribs-was all gone. I took another breath, in and out. I didn’t cough. I laughed, pressing my hands against my chest, and gulped air, and it went down smooth and clean. I had so much air I got dizzy. I tore open the parlor door and ran straight out the Imperial’s double front doors.

“Thank you!” I shouted to Baya, wherever he’d gone. “Thank you!”

No one answered. The hot wind whipped at my dress, and the grit scraped across my skin. Slowly, it sank in that the dust storm hadn’t let up yet. Dust still rolled in black clouds across the sky. The strange, silent green lightning that we’d been told came from static electricity in the blow dirt flickered overhead. Tumbleweeds rode the roaring, dusty wind like the biggest-ever crows and piled themselves up against the walls of houses and churches. The streets were already gone beneath the drifts of sepia dirt. All that was left were some houses sticking out of piles of blowing sand. Out beyond the passenger depot, windmills marked where fields used to be. Their spindly towers swayed back and forth. The static electricity had gotten into them too, and they lit up with the same spooky green color as they swayed back and forth.

Maybe I should have just been happy. I could breathe. I’d spent a year wishing I could breathe again. I wasn’t going to die now. I could feel it in my bones, and in the way I’d run out the front door without coughing. But being able to see through all the dust… that was something else. It was like the music that had poured through my hands when I’d touched Papa’s piano. A thought got into my head that if I could see through the dust, maybe other things in this dust could see me.

I went back inside and shut the door. That didn’t help any, because as I stood in the big, empty lobby, the quiet filled my head, reminding me that I was all alone. I sat on the bottom step of the grand staircase and hugged my knees.

What do I do? What do I do?

The clock on the registration desk said quarter after six. I didn’t even know if it was six in the morning or six at night.

Mama, what do I do?

I pressed my forehead against my knees. I had to find her. I knew that much. But how? Where would I even start? Baya-whoever or whatever he was-had talked about the golden mountains of the west. That could only mean California. Never mind that it was impossible for Mama to be in California when she’d been here in Slow Run, Kansas, just a few hours ago. Everything about this day had become impossible, me included.

So, California. How was I supposed to get to California? The only money I had was the seven dollars from the coffee can. Maybe I could hop a freight. Plenty of people did, kids included. I saw them every time a train went past, riding on the tops of the coal cars, or sitting in the open-sided boxcars. Sometimes they came to the Imperial’s doors, and Mama would trade them food and a night in one of the empty rooms if they would spend a few hours helping her clean.

But even supposing I could get out to California by going on the bum, how would I find the “valley of smoke”? Or the “house of St. Simon”? Somehow I didn’t think those would show up on one of Rand McNally’s maps.

Then I thought, what if while I was wandering around trying to find Mama, Mama came back here? Or sent word? If she was in California, she might send a telegram or a letter, and I wouldn’t be here to get it.

Which was almost funny, because that must have been exactly how Mama thought about Papa all that time.

One thing was certain: I wasn’t going to get any answers just sitting here. I got to my feet. First things first. I’d go back to our part of the house and take stock of just what I had that might be useful, and then…

A car horn cut through the sound of the wind outside. I froze.

Can’t be, I thought. Nobody could drive in this.

But it sounded again, a double beat, high and sharp and demanding.

I pulled the front doors open again. Dust whirled all around me. In the patch of rippling sand where the front drive used to be sat a car, but not just any car. It was huge, heavy, and shiny, with a burgundy and cream paint job, chrome bumpers, huge headlights, and a hood ornament big enough for the prow of an old-fashioned sailing ship. It was a Duesy-a Duesenberg-the kind of car the boys sighed over in the auto magazines.

While I stood there with my jaw hanging loose, the driver’s-side door opened and a man climbed out. He was a match for the car-big, solid, and expensive, with white skin turning red from the heat, a cream-colored suit, and two-tone wingtip shoes that sank into the dust. He wore a pair of round spectacles thick enough to make his dark eyes look blurred and bulgy.

“Is this the Imperial?” the man bawled, clapping one big hand down on his straw boater hat to keep it from blowing away.

I swallowed. “Yes, sir!”

“Very good. I’ll be requiring rooms for the night!”

“I…”

“Come, come, girl, what’s the difficulty?” The diamond on his pinkie ring flashed as he waved the beefy hand that wasn’t holding his hat. “This infernal dust has blocked the roads, and my family needs a place to wait out the storm. This is a hotel, is it not?”

“Yes, sir, but…”

“But what?”

I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry, sir. We’re not open for business.”

The window on the Duesy rolled down and a woman stuck her head out. Like the man, she wore thick spectacles, but hers were round and tinted blue for the sun. Which meant she must have been about blind right then, because there was no sun. Her perfectly curled gold hair waved in the dusty wind under the drooping brim of her white hat, which was pinned with a brooch set with stones the exact color of the scarlet lipstick on her perfectly shaped mouth.

“What’s happening, Desmond? Is there a problem?”

“The girl says they’re not open for business, Irma.”

“What? Nonsense. Have you told her we can pay?”

“Well? What of it?” the man snapped at me. “We’re not a passel of Okies, as you can see. How much for your best rooms?” With that, he yanked a roll of bills bigger than my fist out of his pocket. “Will this be sufficient?” Those thick fingers peeled off a fifty.

“I…”

He peeled off a second bill and slapped both down onto my palm. “That should be more than enough.”

A hundred dollars. My fingers curled over the bills to protect them from the wind. That was a hundred dollars in my hand. I’d never seen that much money, let alone touched it, not even when I was a little kid back before the Crash.

What I did next was about the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

“Sir, I’m sorry. There’s only me here. I couldn’t give you the kind of service you expect for a hundred dollars.” I held the bills out. Can your hand feel like it’s going to cry? ’Cause I swear mine did. “But you’re welcome to stay till the storm’s over.” You didn’t send anybody away in a duster, not strange Indians, not rich folks in big cars.

“Hmph!” He took those fifties back. “I’ll have you know, girl, I’m a businessman and I don’t take charity. I’m giving you a chance to make something. You give us the best you’ve got for one night, food and rooms complete, and you’ll get not one hundred, not one-twenty, but one hundred and fifty dollars.” He held up the bills. “What do you say?”

What did I say? A hundred and fifty dollars could get me to California and back again and keep me fine while I was out there. Maybe I could even hire a detective like in the movies, to help find Mama.

My shoulders squared. If this man didn’t want charity, he wouldn’t get it. “I’ll need fifty up front so I can lay in supplies for the night.”

“That’s the spirit!” The man slapped a fifty into my palm and shook my hand doing it. The bill was new and crisp. It crackled as my fist closed around it.

“Irma!” He opened the front passenger-side door of that shiny car. “Children! Come, my dears! We’re staying.”

The entire family piled out, every last one of them done up as fine as could be. There was a tall, fair-haired boy in a white suit and straw hat, just like his father. After him came a thin, willowy girl, wearing a summer dress with a bright green sash and a pleated skirt. Her hat and shoes matched the sash. The next-in-line boy wasn’t out of short pants yet. His blond curls peeked out from under his flat-brimmed cap, and he had freckles all across his stubby nose. The youngest girl held tight to her sister with one hand. In the other, she clutched a blue-eyed doll in an emerald satin dress nicer than anything I’d ever owned. Every last one of them wore the same kind of thick, round spectacles that made their eyes too big and too dark for their sharp faces.

The man’s chest swelled with pride at the sight of them. “Now, young lady, you see before you the proud Hopper clan. My wife, Irma. My heir apparent, Hunter. That fine strapping lad with him is William. This lovely lady is Letitia, and this is our little Clarinda.” Mr. Hopper waved his hand at me. “My own, this plucky young lady is offering us the run of her fine establishment for the night, and hot, home-cooked meals in the bargain.”

I looked at the Hopper kids, and the kids looked back at me, their spectacles glittering even in the dust-filtered light. I saw their tidy white-and-green clothing and tried not to tug at my own too-small, dirt-smeared, used-to-be-yellow dress.

“Won’t you come in?” I led the Hopper family into the lobby and shut the door tight behind them. I hoped they didn’t notice how the dust had already drifted up against the registration desk and the foot of the stairs.

But it looked like I didn’t have to worry. “Well, this will be charming. Just charming.” Mrs. Hopper smiled at the carpet and the curving staircase and the chandelier under its cloth cover. “We certainly didn’t expect to find such a lovely hotel. We were getting ready to sleep in a hay barn, weren’t we, Desmond?”

“Exactly!” he cried. I tried to picture these clean, rich folks bedding down like hobos and couldn’t do it. It wasn’t right. I mean, it was okay for people who were used to it, but not folks like this. “But we are all rescued. Now… Miss…?”

“Callie.” I ran around the desk, opened the registration book, and rummaged in the drawer for the fountain pen. If I was going to do this, I was going to do it right. Mama would expect it. “If you’ll just sign in, Mr. Hopper?”

“Excellent!” Mr. Hopper signed the book with a flourish.

Little Clarinda was staring all around at the stairs and the lobby and the covered chandelier, inching closer and closer to her sister the whole time. “I’m hungry!” she announced in a high, piping voice.

“Yes, honey pie.” Her mama smoothed her yellow corkscrew curls and idly straightened her big green hair bow. “We’ll be eating soon. I promise.”

I swallowed, wondering how I was going to feed the Hopper tribe, and tried to keep my brain on the job right in front of me.

“If you’ll follow me? You can wait in the parlor while I get your rooms ready.”

All six Hoppers followed me down the carpeted hallway, with Mrs. Hopper murmuring “Charming, charming” every few feet. I pushed open the door to the ladies’ parlor.

“Please, make yourselves at home.” I hurried around, pulling dustcovers off the furniture and piling the dishes from my lunch with Baya on the tray. It felt like he’d left a million years ago. The Hoppers filling the parlor seemed to wipe out all sense of him, like the sun wipes out a dream. “I’ll go see about those rooms.”

Mrs. Hopper looked around with bright eyes, taking in all the details. “Charming,” she said again, and gave me her warm smile. I’d never seen a lady like her, not in real life anyway. She was so neat and pretty, like a movie star. She carried herself as if she’d never had to worry about anything and didn’t want you to have to either. “So unexpected and so charming.”

I blushed and hurried out.

It was a kind of relief to have my head fill up with details of taking care of guests. It pushed out all the weird things that had happened and made everything real and everyday again. Even the rattling windows and the groaning walls were familiar. It was the season for high winds, after all.

The best suites were on the second floor. Those had their own sitting rooms and baths. Mr. and Mrs. Hopper could have one room and share the bath and sitter with the girls, while the boys could have the suite across the hall. I pulled tape off doors and the heavy dust cloths off furniture. I had to run to the linen cupboard to get the big laundry bag to stuff the cloths in. None of the beds were made, so it was back to the linen cupboard for pillows, sheets, and blankets. Perspiration poured off me by the time I finished with the last bed, and I had to keep wiping my face on the maid’s apron I’d wrapped around me, to keep from dripping on everything. It must have been almost nighttime, but the air wasn’t getting any cooler, and I didn’t dare open a window for the breeze because it would bring the dust in.

As I tucked in the last hospital corner on what I figured would be the boys’ beds, I heard a scraping noise and whirled around. Clarinda Hopper peered in the door from the sitting room. She’d tilted her head all the way sideways like little kids can, so I could just see her spectacles, nose, and upper lip around the door frame.

“Can I get you something, Miss Clarinda?”

Her upper lip twitched, like she was maybe trying to smile. Then she was gone except for the sound of her patent-leather shoes thudding on the carpet.

Probably shy. I smoothed down the bedcovers. The Hoppers would want to wash up, I realized. So they needed towels. I started out again, thinking about what we had left in the linen cupboard, but something caught my eye and I stopped.

The Imperial’s thresholds and doors all had a dark walnut varnish that was still smooth despite being nearly fifty years old. On the doorjamb, though, right at waist height, a pale crescent had been gouged out of the wood.

I straightened up and hurried down the hall. I tried hard not to think about how that fresh crescent-shaped, splintery gouge was at the same height as little Clarinda Hopper’s twitchy upper lip.