Dust girl

7

“Ah, there you are, Callie! We were beginning to wonder.”

Mrs. Hopper sailed into the Imperial’s main kitchen while Jack and I were unloading the last of the groceries. We were both streaked with sweat and grime. It had been impossible to push the barrow through the blow dust. We’d had to drag it behind us like a couple of mules hitched to a plow.

“Why, who’s this?” Mrs. Hopper tilted her chin down so we could just see the green flash of her eyes above the rims of her tinted glasses.

“Jack Holland, ma’am,” I told her. “He’s here to help out while you stay.” Which was true as far as it went. The Hoppers didn’t need to know where or how I’d found him.

“Charming!” She held out her hand and smiled. Her teeth were very straight and very white. Jack blushed and shook her hand. “Mr. Hopper will be pleased. He believes in rewarding hard work. Now”-she grew brisk-“as my children made clear before you left, I’m afraid we’re all just a tiny bit hungry. Callie, you’ll put together some tea for us, won’t you?”

Tea? I hadn’t thought about tea. It was going to be hard enough to pull together a dinner for so many, even with Jack’s help.

“No hurry, of course,” Mrs. Hopper said in a tone that meant just the opposite. “But as soon as you can.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She beamed at me and sailed out through the swinging doors.

Tea. I looked at the heap of groceries salvaged from Van Iykes’s. How was I going to make them tea?

“She’s pretty.” Jack hooked a tall stool out from under the counter and sat down a little too hard.

That woke me up. I planted my hands on my hips and glared at him. “She’s a guest. So don’t go making a fool out of yourself.” Then I realized he wouldn’t do me any good starved and thirsty, so I filled a glass from the sink and shoved it at him.

“Who are you calling a fool?” Jack gulped the water down.

“You, if you go making eyes at married guests.” I plucked the salami out of the crate and a sharp knife out of a drawer and passed him both.

“I wasn’t making eyes!” He snatched up the salami and swiped a slice off the end.

“You were! You’re red as a beet.”

“I am not,” he muttered around his mouthful of hard sausage.

“Suit yourself.” I shrugged and turned to face the kitchen.

Except for the Moonlight Room, the kitchen was the biggest room in the Imperial. The two cast-iron stoves sat solidly in the middle of it all, with the bake ovens underneath and the warming ovens on the side. In the corner, the housekeeper’s desk sat under the hook board where we hung the spare keys.

I started filling the kettle and a couple of big pots. “First thing to do when you’re cooking is get the water boiling,” Mama had told me. “It saves time and you’ll always find a use for it.”

I remembered playing with pots and pans in here when I was really little, while Mama and the cooks worked, filling the air with the best smells. Gradually, the cooks drifted away and it was just Mama, and then even that ended. Now it was just me. Well, and Jack, but he was just wolfing salami, and I couldn’t really count him yet.

“You’ll get a stomachache,” I said, shaking out the match I’d used to light one of the burners on the right-hand stove.

“Already got one,” he told me around another mouthful. “You can pick ’em up for free on the road. Thought I’d see if store-bought is better quality.”

I peeked in the tin box labeled TEA and found there was actually some tea in it. That was something. “How long you been on the bum?”

He shrugged. “Not so long. I’m headed to Los Angeles.”

“Everybody’s headed to California.” I laid out the vegetables on one of the marble counters and wiped a bread knife clean with a dish towel. I threw the towel over my shoulder to keep it handy. “The place must be full up by now.”

“Of people going to work the crops, sure. But that’s not me. I’m going to be a newspaper writer.”

“You are?”

“Sure.” He sat up straighter. “I worked the paper at school. Won a prize for it and everything. They take boys on at newspapers in big cities. Let ’em work as copyboys and learn the trade. Sometimes even for pay, but I wouldn’t mind doing it for free. I could get another job in a city like that. I can do anything. You’ll see.”

I looked at him, sitting on that stool, in clothes that were too small and all tore up, cutting hunks off a salami he got as charity, and at the same time talking about how he could do anything, like nothing bad had ever happened to him. Jack Holland was either really brave or completely cracked.

That seemed too big a question to try to answer right then, so I wiped the dust off another section of counter and started slicing up the Pullman loaf instead. Jam sandwiches sounded like something you’d have with tea, didn’t it? And deviled ham.

Jack wiped his hands on his trousers, found the apron on the clothes hook, and started filling the double sink. “Which dishes you want to use?”

I pointed to the cabinet where the afternoon china was, plain white with a black border and gold rim. He got it down and started washing it.

“What was that song?” I asked while smearing jam on bread. “The one you were singing in the jail?”

“Work song. I heard it from some fellas on a chain gang.”

I decided not to ask if he’d been on the gang with them. “Sounded pretty good.”

“Thanks. You figured out what you’re gonna make them folks for dinner?”

“Manhattan clam chowder. I’ll cook up the carrots and potatoes, and put the clams in the tomato soup with their juice, and season it up. They can have that for a first, with bread. Then ham and beans and biscuits.” We had flour in our little kitchen in the staff quarters, and I’d found an untouched can of Crisco at the mercantile. “Then bread pudding for dessert.”

“You’re really good at this.”

“Mama showed me.” I cut the crusts off the bread-they could go into the pudding-and sliced the sandwiches into little triangles to pile onto plates.

“Where is your mama?” Jack asked.

“She’s gone.” I grabbed up the tray of tea things and was out the door before he could ask where to. It was heavy and awkward to carry, piled with the towel-covered dishes, the teapot, and the sandwiches, and my hands were tired from all the work I’d already done. I was terrified I’d drop the whole thing on the way to the parlor. I kept my mind on the hundred-and-fifty and gripped the tray tight.

“Your tea, sir, ma’am,” I said as I backed through the parlor door.

“There now!” exclaimed Mr. Hopper. I set the loaded tray down on the table and started lifting the towels to show the heaps of sandwiches. “I told you Callie wouldn’t let you all go hungry! Dig in, my own! Dig in!”

The way those Hoppers fell on my sandwiches, you’d think they were half starved. But then, folks this rich wouldn’t be used to waiting to eat. They probably had servants and everything back home to bring them snacks whenever they rang a bell. It hit me that I’d forgotten the napkins. As I headed off to the downstairs linen cupboard to fetch some, I thought about how Mama used to smile with satisfaction when she fed people dinner, even if it was just salt pork and beans. Now I understood why. It felt good, seeing people enjoy something I’d made like that.

I’m coming to find you, Mama, I swear, I thought as I took up a big stack of white napkins from the cupboard. I’m leaving just as soon as I’ve got that money.

I knocked on the parlor door and went in. “I thought you’d need some…”

I stopped. I stared.

The sandwich plates weren’t just empty; they were polished clean. I thought the Hopper kids must be playing some kind of trick on me, until Mr. Hopper flicked a bit of deviled ham off his sleeve and burped.

“Pardon me! That was excellent, Callie!”

There’d been a dozen sandwiches when I left. I’d been gone less than a minute. I lifted the lid on the teapot. That was empty too.

“I’m afraid Hunter here’s still a bit hungry,” Mr. Hopper went on. “He is a growing boy after all!” Mr. Hopper laughed heartily, but Hunter just licked his lips. His tongue was bright pink against his white face.

“I’d better make up some more sandwiches,” I heard myself whisper. I didn’t want to be in that room anymore. Not with all those Hoppers looking at me with their big white smiles and their identical dark eyes behind their spectacles.

“Whatever you have on hand will be fine, I’m certain.” Mr. Hopper clasped his hands across his broad stomach and leaned back on the sofa.

“But do hurry, Callie,” said Mrs. Hopper. “It’s not just Hunter who still has an appetite. We’ve all had such a long journey today.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I grabbed up the tray and ran back to the kitchen.

“What’s the matter?” Jack had been busy while I was gone, slicing carrots and onions. He already had a good pile.

“They ate them.” I set the tray down on the counter. “The sandwiches. They’re gone.”

“That ain’t possible! Not even if they was starving!”

“I know.” In my mind I saw the white bones lying in the broken glass on the mercantile floor. I would have given anything not to have that picture in my head just then. “They want more.”

“More!” cried Jack. “What are you going to do?”

I forced myself to straighten up. I had to give them what they wanted, or Mr. Hopper might change his mind about the money.

I told Jack to keep going on the vegetables for the chowder. I sliced up the rest of the Pullman loaf and made a bunch more sandwiches. I still had the other one for the bread pudding. I drained two cans of peaches and forked some sardines into a bowl for good measure.

“There. This’ll hold ’em awhile.”

I toted the heavy tray back into the parlor. All the Hoppers looked up and smiled as soon as I pushed through the door.

“Now then!” Mr. Hopper clapped his meaty hands. “See what you can do with just a little motivation, Callie? Dig in, my own! Dig in!”

I barely had time to get clear of the table before they were on it. All the Hoppers, all at once, crowded over the tray. I backed off until I bumped up against the door. Those rich people in their white clothes slurped and smacked and slobbered as they grabbed at the food. Mrs. Hopper snatched up the bowl of sardines, opened her mouth wide, and poured them all in. Her cheeks bulged like a squirrel’s, but only for a minute before she swallowed. She didn’t even chew. She tossed the bowl aside, swatted Clarinda’s hand back, and grabbed up a fistful of yellow peaches, squishing them between her fingers as she crammed them into her bright red mouth.

Under all the slobber was a clicking, buzzing sound I felt sure I should recognize. But I was seeing those white bones on the mercantile floor again, and all I could think was, Got to get out, get out before they remember about me…

I backed up, but too fast. My heel caught the footstool, and I toppled hard onto the carpet. A big cloud of dust puffed up around me. I shook my head and blinked.

Through the rosy cloud of dust, I saw the Hoppers elbowing each other around my tray. Only they weren’t people anymore. I saw the horsey faces and huge eyes made up of a million shining facets, waving antennae, hard black skins, and delicate legs with saw-sharp ridges.

The Hoppers were locusts. Black locusts the size of people.

I screamed. The chomping and buzzing stopped, and all those bug heads tilted to look at me. The dust was settling, and they were the Hoppers again, except not quite. Because now I could see how their eyes behind those thick glasses stayed round and lidless. Bug eyes.

“Why, whatever is the matter with Callie?” asked Mrs. Hopper.

“Poor girl’s fallen down.” Mr. Hopper reached out his big, meaty hand to me. This close, I could see through him, like Mr. Hopper was a chantilly lace curtain draped over the insect underneath. I could see hooked feet and skinny legs and the way its curved mouth parts moved back and forth. “Let me help you.”

“No thank you, sir.” I pushed myself up against the footstool. “I’m all right.”

“That’s good.” He grinned, way too wide for his face. “Because I’m afraid my family has eaten all those excellent sandwiches.”

It was true. The plates and bowls were empty. Hunter had peach juice and crumbs all over his face, and he grinned at me, exactly like his daddy.

“They’re hungry, Callie.” Mr. Hopper’s voice buzzed and rattled. “A man can’t let his family go hungry, now can he?”

“N-n-no, sir.”

He clapped his hand on my shoulder. It was heavy. It was light. It had fingers. It had a hook. I could feel it both ways, just like I could see the man and the locust. “You’ll bring us something else, won’t you? Whatever you have on hand will do fine.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

I backed the rest of the way out of the parlor. I stood in the hallway, panting hard. I’d gone stone cold despite the fact that I was still sweating.

Every nerve I used to have snapped in two, and I ran. “Jack!” I hollered as I slammed back into the kitchen. “We gotta get outta here!”

“What?” He looked up, knife in one hand and half-peeled carrot in the other. “Why?”

“They’re not people! They’re bugs! Giant bugs!”

“What’re you, crazy?”

“I swear! They’re locusts! That’s why they can eat like that! They…”

“Callie! Is that any way to talk about paying guests?”

It was Mrs. Hopper. Her hat had come off somewhere, and two black antennae stuck out of her yellow curls. They both pointed right at me. Jack must have seen them too, because he turned white and green, and backed away, just like I had.

“What would your mother say?” Mrs. Hopper’s antennae curled and opened again, like fingers. But her words blew all the fear right out of me.

“What do you know about my mama?”

“More than you could begin to guess.” Mrs. Hopper stepped forward. Jack made a little noise in his throat and tried to back up again, but between one blink and the next, Mrs. Hopper was beside him with her hand, her hook, around his wrist.

“I’ll just take this sweet boy here, so you don’t have any distractions while you’re getting our supper ready.”

Whatever happened later, I will say this about Jack Holland-he had nerve. With that giant Hopper holding his wrist, he kept his head. “But I’ve got to get back to the store, ma’am,” he said, his voice tight as he tried to keep it from shaking. “There’s some stuff Callie needs.”

“That’s right!” I yelped. If he gets out of here, he can go for help…

“How thoughtful!” Mrs. Hopper patted his cheek. I thought Jack might faint. I sure wanted to. “But I know Callie can handle all of that sort of thing. You come along with me. I want to introduce you to my sons.”

The helpless look Jack threw me over his shoulder as she dragged him out sank straight into my stomach. The door flapped back and forth behind them, and I couldn’t move. The Hoppers had him and they were still hungry.

I squeezed my eyes shut so hard I saw red and gold inside my lids. I had to think. I had to see what I had and use it. I had to, because otherwise… otherwise…

I couldn’t think about otherwise. I opened my eyes.

The first thing I saw was the heap of vegetables Jack had cut up. Ridiculously I thought I’d better get the potatoes in the pan before they turned brown. Past the counter, I saw the housekeeper’s desk, and the hook board with the spare keys.

The keys.

They weren’t just room keys; they were all the downstairs keys too. Including the key to the ladies’ parlor.

I’d seen how the Hoppers ate. They hadn’t paid attention to anything else while they were stuffing their faces. I’d make a pile of food. A whole great big mess of food. Then, while they were eating, Jack and I could sneak out and I’d lock them in and we’d run.

I felt better with a plan. Not a lot, but better enough that I could start moving and keep ahead of the part of me that wouldn’t stop screaming.

I sizzled up the salt pork in the old cast-iron Dutch oven, poured in the beans, and put that on the back burner to heat slowly. I made up the biscuits and got them in the oven. I cut bread into cubes, mixed in sugar and condensed milk, and put that in one of the other ovens. I cooked down the onions, carrots, and potatoes Jack had cut up in one of the big soup pots. I dumped in the clams and juice, got all that hot, and then poured in tomato soup and water. I lost track of time. Sweat ran in rivers down my face. I was close to worn out from heavy work and heat, but I didn’t dare stop. If I stopped, the fear would catch back up with me and I wouldn’t be able to do anything at all, even run. I sliced off thick ham steaks and put them in a pan and poured one of the nickel Cokes over them to make the glaze. I brewed coffee and used some of it for redeye gravy.

I could have fed the entire population of Slow Run with all this. I just had to hope it would hold the Hoppers long enough for me and Jack to get away.

“Oh, Callie!”

I jumped. The spoon shot out of my hand and hit the ceiling, then the floor, spattering gravy everywhere.

“I’m sorry, Callie, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Mrs. Hopper’s antennae waved in two directions at once, tracking the slick brown splatters. “I just wanted to let you know we’ve moved over to the main dining room. So comfortable and charming.”

The Moonlight Room. The Hoppers were in the Moonlight Room. My favorite place, the last place I’d seen Mama, and now it was full of Hoppers…

“Is that a problem, Callie?” She tilted her head, waiting patiently. Waiting to see if I’d do something stupid.

“No, ma’am.” Fear dug in, urging me to take a chance with my plan. “Could you… could Jack come and help me, please? There’s going to be a lot to carry, and I don’t want the food to get cold.”

“But sweet, sweet Jack’s looking so tired. I’ll send Letitia in to help, how’s that?” She didn’t wait for an answer. I didn’t see her go, she moved so fast. There was just the door flapping.

It didn’t matter. My heart sank right through the floor. I’d ruined my whole plan. I’d have Letitia right behind me while I was serving. She wouldn’t be joining the others at the table if she was keeping an eye on me. What was I going to do now?

“I hope you eat yourselves sick,” I muttered, clutching the spoon tight. “I hope you choke, you…”

I stopped. Eat yourselves sick. The words repeated in my brain. Eat yourselves sick.

I had to be fast. I ran out the back door, into the narrow side hall that led to the bathroom. In the bathroom was a medicine cabinet. Mama kept a stock of useful stuff in that cabinet for guests with emergencies. There were bandages and aspirin, but also bottles of milk of magnesia and Pepto-Bismol, in case you needed to hold something down, and syrup of ipecac, in case you needed to bring something back up.

I stuffed the ipecac into my apron pocket and ran back to the kitchen.

“There you are.” Letitia folded her arms. I didn’t think it was just the breeze from the door that made her sash ends wave. I didn’t look too hard. “I thought maybe you ran out on us and your little friend.”

“Just had to use the water closet,” I muttered, going around the far side of the counter to get back to the stove.

Letitia made a delicate face. Then she leaned over the stove and sniffed at my gravy. “This better be good. My parents are very particular, and I think Clarinda’s starting to take a liking to your friend.”

The back of my brain tried to tell me what that meant. I told it to be quiet. “It’ll only be another minute.” I picked up the wooden spoon, stirred the chowder, and tasted. “You can go tell them.”

She wrinkled up her borrowed nose. “Nice try, but I’m staying right here.” She stomped her foot. “My parents think you won’t light out on that skinny little boy, but I’m not so sure.”

“Then can you get the tureen off the shelf?” I pointed. “This is ready.”

She snorted, but she did it. As soon as her back was turned, I yanked the stopper out of the ipecac bottle and emptied the whole thing into the bubbling pot.

“Anything else, Miss Callie?” Letitia banged the tureen on the counter.

“Thank you.” I poured the chowder in, careful not to spill a single drop. “That should do fine.”