Preview of As The Dust Falls

Ed Gannaby took one arm, his son the other, and guided Juan from the hospital to their 1929 Buick. Their proud, independent friend resisted support, but they held firm. For too long the 51-year-old Indian had inhaled deeply during a dust storm and his dear friends would not let his staunch resolve continue to overwhelm good sense.

They seated him between them on the front seat, Juan’s wife Nita and Ed’s bride Myra in the rear. Juan’s breathing, though still quite labored, was more regular than on their frantic twenty-mile dash to town a few hours ago.

But just outside of Chainburg Ed pulled over, stopped, and ran his only hand through his dark brown hair.

“I didn’t think this through,” he moaned. “We can’t take him back where everything is covered in powdery dirt. We’re going to a hotel.”

“That is so very kind, Bo, but hotels do not take people like us,” Nita muttered.

“I’ll buy the damned hotel,” Ed snapped.

“Take me home, Bo. I will be fine,” Juan wheezed.

“Bet Mr. Miller can help,” Myra said.

Ed looked over his shoulder, winked at his wife and spun the Buick around to head back into town. It was near closing when he parked at the Post Office which Miller managed.

“I’ll be right back,” and he raced inside. Not ten minutes later he and Miller came up to the car.

“I called the owner,” Miller said. “He’ll take you. I’m real sorry, Juan, but I had to tell him you work for Bo, that you’re his, um, his servant.”

Juan mumbled something then spoke up.

“Gracias, Senor Miller.”

Myra went to buy clean clothes while Ed got them checked in. He ran into stiff resistance regarding use of the bathtub on their floor and having meals taken to the older couple’s room during their stay. In order to oversee that himself, he secured flanking rooms next door for his family.

He was leaving the desk when Myra came into the lobby, her son helping to carry her purchases.

“We’re staying, too, Myra.”

“We are?”

“Yes.” His tone left no room for discussion.

Later, with Juan and Nita fed and settled in for a two-day stay, the Gannaby clan went to their chambers. Andy’s was two doors down, beyond Juan and Nita’s. Ed took the lad to his room, unlocked it, and led him in.

“First time in a hotel?”

Andy nodded, staring about the room.

“Ma got you new clothes and I’ll show you the bathroom so you can get cleaned up. You had a terrible day, son, and I’m sorry.”

“I shoulda gone back, started cleaning.”

“I’ll hire people.”

“Pa, told you before, I don’t know how to be rich. I’ll clean it. All my fault anyhow.”

“We can also talk about that later but, for now, trust me, there was nothing else you could have done. I’m proud of you. You look confused.”

The twelve-year old lad who looked as if he were fifteen took a breath, spoke in a low voice.

“When Mr. Miller told him what he’d had to say to the hotel owner, Juan muttered ‘Texas nigger.’ What’d he mean?”

Ed clicked his tongue, thought a moment.

“When Juan was teaching us to scythe and thresh, you remember that he didn’t want to drink our water?”

Andy’s face wrinkled. “Yeah. I couldn’t figure that.”

Biting his lip and nodding, Ed continued. “I asked him later. He reminded me that Virginia folks call the people who used to be slaves ‘niggers’ and treat them like scum. He said in Texas he is the nigger and we don’t want him using our ladle. Andy, I about fell over.”

The boy didn’t speak, didn’t move, for ten seconds.

“Let me show you the tub so you can get cleaned up and get some rest.”

Shortly, Ed joined Myra in their room and found her sitting on the side of the bed, elbows on knees, palms supporting a lowered brow. She looked up.

“Crazy day, Bo.”

He sat beside her, staring absently at the door, sighed, and turned to his wife.

“Andy feels guilty. When the storm hit, Juan tugged at the mule, breathing hard, wouldn’t stop. That’s why he gasped in so much dust. Andy did all he could to get Juan in, cover his face, move the mule, anything. Juan wouldn’t budge, and his lungs filled with dust.”

Her moistening blue eyes fixed on Ed, she muttered, “And us safe in Chainburg. My fault; shoulda been there.”

“No one knew a dust storm was coming. We had to get the adoption moved to the next phase, the last step.”

She was silent another five seconds, gaze still locked on Ed, eyes now wet, tearing.

“Why we in Texas, Bo?”

He shook his head and shrugged.

 -    -    -

Next morning, they woke to a soft rap on their door. Light was flooding in through the window. Ed jumped up, unlocked, and cracked the door. It was Andy.

“Juan’s better, Pa, wants to go home, clean it up.”

Ed rubbed his eyes with his right hand and his left stub. “He may feel better but if he breathes dust he’ll be right back where he was.”

“He’s kinda stubborn, Pa.”

Snickering, Ed said, “Let’s talk to him” and started into the hall to go next door.

“He’s outside, pacing. You need your clothes.”

Andy came in and they worked out a strategy as Ed dressed. Myra was sent to enlist Nita. Ed, known as Bo to his Texas friends, and his soon-to-be-official son Andy went to the hotel lobby, then out to the street. Juan saw them.

“Bo, we must hurry. Jangles is still outside, Cow is God knows where, dust covers everything.”

“I need you to do things here, Juan. Andy, Myra and I will go to the farm and take care of the animals and cleaning.”

“You do not speak with a stupid Mexican you can trick. Why will you force me to walk home?”

Ed gaped at his friend a second, nodded and spoke.

“I know who I’m talking to. You are Caddo Indian, you can grow grain in sand with no water, you face the fury of nature, and you are smart! If your mule insisted on working today, you would not let him because you’ll need him the next day with clear lungs.”

Juan chuckled.

“I fancy mule demanding to work and can only laugh. You are saying the pigheaded must be protected from their doggedness. Perhaps. But I am not all mule. Would you lock up a racehorse, not let him run?”

“If he were lame, yes.”

He looked at Bo several long seconds.

“One day.”

Ed studied a moment, held out his hand.

They shook.

 -    -    -

The drive to the farms grew somber when they reached the area the storm had ravaged. The Buick plowed through dust nearly a half inch thick, hurling it aside, into the air, the cab, all about. They coughed.

Ed stopped and they affixed bandanas over their faces like cowboys driving a herd. The wind had calmed significantly since yesterday. That helped. He drove slowly: more help. There were still mounds of the powdery grit stacked against farm equipment and other objects on the ground. Crops, already parched and pitiful from over a year of drought, were covered in it.

“Ma, Pa. That looks like Bobby’s car.”

The couple traded sad glances. Myra turned to Andy, looked into his eyes. “Dust blinded him. He didn’t make it. I’m sorry, Andy.”

“Bobby’s dead?”

Myra nodded.

Andy’s gaze jerked to whatever was on the other side of a very dirty window and didn’t speak.

They passed their own place without stopping, went fifty yards and turned right, took that road, and went several hundred yards to Juan and Nita’s where more heartbreak lurched. Jangles, the mule, lay on his side on the leeward edge of a shed. He barely moved, his tongue was out, eyes open with a blank stare. Andy knelt beside him. Ed felt for pulse, breath; found he was alive, though barely.

“My fault, Pa; never shoulda left.”

The boy’s eyes closed: no tears, no crying. Ed ached for him. His son reminded him, too much, of his young soldiers in the Great War after a ferocious battle - - his twelve-year-old kid!

The boy snapped to his feet.

“I better go check Cow and the chickens.”

As their son plodded resolutely toward their place Myra walked to her still kneeling husband.

“Why we in Texas, Bo?”

He had no answer. Staring after Andy, he muttered, “I’ll give him a few minutes by himself, then drive up to give him a ride. Can you start cleaning indoors?”

Not long afterwards Ed caught up with Andy where Juan’s dirt road ran into the larger one. Their place was on that corner, before him and to the left. Andy got in the large green automobile.

“Myra and I ran by quickly yesterday, looking for you before we knew you were at Nita’s. It’s covered in dust here, too, Andy, and some chickens died.”

“You didn’t get up to Cow?”

“No. We didn’t even know there’d been a duster until we got to Chainburg, in with the adoption lady. She told us and we rushed right home.”

“How’d you know about Bobby?”

“She told us. He always drove fast, and Myra said these storms blind you. I’ve never been in one.”

“Hope you never are.”

They had driven past their shack of a house to a pond some hundred yards behind it, where they kept Cow. She was facing the breeze, steady, but wheezing.

“I shoulda come here, got her in the barn.”

“You had your hands full, son. As far as what should have been, Myra and I should have been here.”

They could do little for Cow. Of their two dozen chickens, they’d lost four. Two of those were nearly covered over where the muck had drifted like a snowbank against the coop.

They put out feed and water, went to the barn, the shed, and finally inside the house. Dust was everywhere but there were no broken windows or wind damage. They shoveled a drift from outside the front door, looked around, saw they could spend hours doing more here, but left to join Myra at Nita’s.

At the turn to Juan’s road, they saw their pastor working on his Model T. They stopped, spoke.

“Broken down, Pastor Martin?”

“No,” his mellow bass drawled. “I’m checking my congregation, have to wipe dust from the carburetor and filter now and then. Bet you don’t have that with the Buick.”

“I haven’t yet, but I’d better carry a rag.”

“Good idea, Bo. Y’all have any problems?”

“Not too bad. Our mule, cow and chickens are having trouble breathing, and we lost a few hens.”

“Umm. I just left a place that may lose their cow. It was outside. They get blinded and can run around in circles, tire out, breathe harder, suck more dust into their lungs - - come down with pneumonia.”

“I didn’t know that. Ours was outside, we couldn’t get to her, and she may have done that.”

“Likely. You might keep a long rope inside so that if you have to go out you can tie it to the house and your waist. Have you been in dust storms, Bo?”

“No.”

“You can’t see in one, they mess up your eyes. With the rope, and something around your head to protect you breathing any more dust than you have to, you can go toward the sound of whatever’s moaning, take care of it, then use the rope to find your way back.”

“I’ll get some long rope. Thanks.”

“Bo, is there anything I can do for you? You need food, water, anything? I’ve come across folks that their water’s dirty ‘cause their wells weren’t covered.”

“I think we’re OK, pastor. What can I do to help you or the folks you’ve been calling on?”

“We’ll be alright, but thank you.”

“Pastor Martin,” Andy yelled. “What do mules do in a dust storm?”

“Don’t know about mules, but horses try to outrun the storm. If they get caught, they do like cows.”

“Our mule wouldn’t budge.”

“Well, I reckon animals are like us and one acts different than another when they’re scared to death.”

They helped the preacher wipe down under his hood then saw him off to his next family.

“Our well ain’t covered, Pa.”

“I thought of that when he mentioned it. We’ll build some kind of lid with hinges”

“Day we met, you said next time it rained we’d mark leaks to patch. Well, it finally rained - - but it rained dust.”

Ed scanned the flat, baked fields at the intersection, now covered over. “It sure did.”

As they drove up to Juan and Nita’s adobe home, Myra was coming out the front with a bucket full of ravaged soil that was the texture of ashes. She watched her guys silently amble to her.

“How’s Cow?”

Ed shrugged. “I think she has mild pneumonia. We saw Pastor Martin and he gave us some ideas. Andy and I will cover the well before the next storm, get some long rope, and now we’re going to wipe down under the hood and get dust out of the carburetor and air filter.”

They went to their tasks and worked at cleaning various things, and shoveling dust, for many long hours.

The three of them got the old hacienda about as dust-free as they could, as well as a couple of sheds on the two-acre parcel. They knew that Juan would drag himself all over the small farm, checking everything and, if they left any of it unattended, he’d start shoveling and wiping dust.

They got Jangles, the mule, into shelter and made water and food available. He still looked bad, but they didn’t know what else to do for him.

They left, went to clean up their own place.

It was late, very late, when the three filthy, exhausted troopers finally reached the safety of their hotel.

 -    -    -

Next morning was bright, hot, and dry. They’d been too tired to clean up late last night, so scrubbed up this morning before they gathered in Ed and Myra’s room.

“We’ll get rope, bandanas, and goggles if we can find them while we’re here in town. I’m glad we don’t have to worry about money now.”

“Hate to spend your inheritance this way, Bo.”

“Our inheritance, Myra. We were dirt poor, now we have lots of money. Anything happens to y’all, Juan or Nita that money can prevent, I’d about die! Don’t do that to me.”

A scowl on his face, he let that sink in before going on, deep gray eyes flashing from one to the other.

“We must be ready for the next dust storm. Andy, let’s think through how to cover the well and get what we need for that.”

He was looking at his son.

“OK, Pa.”

Bo turned his gaze to his wife.

“What else? Food? Clothes?”

“Train tickets.”

“Ma, I been wanting to see Virginia more than anyone, but I ain’t leaving Juan.” The boy was staunch.

“We can’t leave just now, but I’ll take y’all to see Virginia soon. Let’s get Juan and Nita and go eat.”

Ed opted not to waste energy arguing over who could eat in the hotel dining room. They got some victuals they could take outside and sat under a tree.

“Jangles is alive but bad off.” The lad swallowed, then resumed his report to the neighbor, his good friend. “Cow’s better, but sick.”

“Better, but sick; like this old man.” The Indian smiled. “Thank you, Andy, for all of your help.”

The boy sucked both lips between his teeth, and nodded slightly.

“Nita,” Myra began. “Before we head home, we’re going by a store for things we need. Be thinking what y’all need so we can get those.”

“You are so kind, all of you, but we can get by with what we have.”

Andy snapped forward, glared at her, caught himself, calmed, took a breath. “Pa said to us, ‘don’t you dare be bashful about telling me what you need.’” He waved a hand over the gathered group and added, “Anything happen to any of us that his money coulda fixed, it’d snap Pa right in two.”

After a minute to let that soak in, they took action. They checked out, loaded up, and went to the store. Inside, Juan and Andy teamed up to get outdoor things, Nita wandered about looking, while Ed and Myra gathered food.

“Every time I see you and Andy teaming up to do things, it warms me all over, Bo.”

 “We are a team. He has both arms, he’s smart; and I’ve been around, learned. We need each other.”

“Only known you a few months, we’re all like lifelong friends; warms me. Thank you, Bo.”

“Thank you, for saving this despondent hobo and bringing me back to life.”

“What you went through, I thank God you didn’t jump off a cliff long time ago.” She squeezed his hand, stretched up and pecked his cheek. “Thank you, Bo.”

They didn’t find goggles but did get the rest of what they needed. The group piled into the Buick.

First, they drove to Juan and Nita’s. Myra took Nita through the house while Andy and Ed went around outside with Juan. The old man could offer only empathy to the mule, but he was pleased and grateful for all that Andy and Ed had done around his place.

“We must shake dust off the grain before we give it to Jangles or Cow. My father saw storms like these many years ago in a four-year drought. They had cattle starve to death - - starve, not choke. They cut one open and found so much dirt in the stomach that food could get no further. We cannot let them graze in pasture covered with dust, or drink water turned to mud.”

After that sobering thought settled, they cleaned a 1914 Model T stake-bed in Juan’s largest shed. The pickup truck had been Myra’s, but when Ed brought his deceased uncle’s 1929 Buick Series 129 from Virginia, they enlisted Juan to house the Model T and keep it running. They got most of the dust off it, and it started on the second crank.

At Myra and Ed’s place, they went through a similar routine and managed to keep Juan from swallowing more dust. They tended to Cow and the chickens, frustrated that they had no magic elixir. Juan and Andy built and mounted a hinged lid on the well while Myra and Nita began fixing an evening meal. Ed spent that time surveying their 800 acres, looking for damage. He found no problems other than the disgusting dusty covering over everything.

In early evening they gathered in the small kitchen, crowded around the table, and sat down to eat.

“Our places ain’t like before the storm but a whole lot better than right after it,” Myra chirped.

“Yes, indeed.”

“Pa, I didn’t see many holes to patch to keep dust out during storms. How’s this stuff get in?”

“I’ve never been in one, Andy. I don’t know.”

A soft chortle drew everyone’s attention to Juan.

“I do not laugh because it is funny. On cold, windy days with the fire blazing, we put our hand at a window, a door, and feel drafts that we do not see. In heavy rain we see water seep in here or there where we did not expect it. The dust is like insects in the night. At sunrise they are everywhere.” He shrugged.

Resignation rolled in like fog. Andy stiffened.

“Well, I want to patch what holes I can see.”

“Si, I will help. We will do what we can.”

“When you reckon we’ll get the next storm?”

“We cannot know but usually we hear and see them coming in the distance. They rarely come as quietly and quickly as this last one.”

“Pa, we meant to get a crystal radio.”

“That’s right. At least now we have paper and pencil to make lists.”

Myra jumped up, grabbed a pencil and paper from a cupboard, sat back down, added Radio and checked off what they did get. The others watched. A couple of things were not checked.

“Add ‘Take list to store,’” her son smirked.

His mother flicked at his near shoulder-length blond hair while sticking her tongue out at him.

With a deep breath Ed gazed at his neighbor.

“The doctor said your body will put fluid in your lungs and it may bring dust pneumonia. Today you haven’t coughed as much as yesterday, but it’s raspy. Is it happening?”

“Si. Sometimes it comes up. But I feel good.”

“Do you have fever, chest pain?”

“Uh, no,” he replied hesitantly.

Nita felt his brow and shook her head.

“No more hot than we are, in a kitchen where we just burned up the wood to cook the food.”

Ed rubbed his chin, pulled on his beard. Myra took her pencil to add to the list.

“We need Vaseline to put in our nose.”

“I wish I’d brought gas masks back from the War.”

“Can we get those, Pa?”

“Yes, or something like them,” and he nodded as he saw his wife add that to her list then shift her gaze to Nita.

“Stay here tonight, Nita, so we can get Juan to the hospital if it gets worse.”

Brows lowered, hands spread, Juan croaked, “I am not sick. You saw me work today.”

“And you coughed,” Ed observed.

“I could not help it!” he snapped.

“We ain’t mad you coughed; just worried.”

The older man calmed at Myra’s words.

“I am strong, mi amiga. I will be careful. Tonight, Nita and I will stay at our own casa.”

“I want to stay with you,” Andy stated.

“If you wish, you may come.”

“We need medicine; make a compress.”

“For you, Myra, I will drink the rest of my tequila to cleanse me,” Juan said with a grin.

“The doctor told me,” Ed broke in, “due to this long drought choking all the plants, our storms don’t have little chunks of vegetation. The dust is exceptionally small, too tiny to see individual specks. It gets further, deeper, into the extreme edges of your lungs.”

“Bo, I am not ungrateful for your concern, but you forget something - - I feel fine.”

“I know,” Ed nodded. “But this cough may not go away and the worst thing, by far, would be to breathe in more dust in future storms. Come with us to Virginia till this drought is over.”

The Indian’s head jerked back; mouth fell open.

“I cannot leave my farm, animals, equipment.”

“You’ve seen droughts before. This will end and the dust will, too. When it’s gone, I’ll bring you back.”

“That is so very kind, but I cannot. Perhaps you can take Nita.”

“I cannot leave Juan,” Nita protested. “And my grandchildren, and my boys, they may come back from California.”

“Think about it,” Myra mumbled. “God don’t want us breathing dust, having no water.”

Juan did think about it, for just a moment.

“I knew a man from Virginia. He came here with tuberculosis because West Texas is dry. He said the air is wet in Virginia and he could not breathe.”

Ed had no answer to that one. After a moment of awkward silence, he said, “Let’s go cut grain.”

They had three scythes and Ed, Andy and Myra rose to take care of it. Juan would not hear of that. So, the three men walked gingerly through the backyard and on to the barn, trying not to stir up any more dust than they had to, and carried the scythes to a large field of wheat to the left of the house and yard.

They spaced themselves so that no one would be hit by a swinging blade and began the rhythmic twist and swipe that brings down grain. Soon, the elder gentleman was wheezing badly.

“Juan, don’t do no more today,” Andy called. “Wait till you’re younger.”

The Mexican-looking farmer straightened, tilted his head. “Wait until I am younger?” He grinned. “Your wit has returned. Bueno. I missed it.”

“Reward me. Let Pa and me finish.”

Amid wheezes he stuttered, “You have earned that.” And he shouldered his scythe, tried to steady his breathing, and watched father and son finish up.

They carried the fallen stalks to the far side of the barn to tap off the dust.

“Stand downwind, Juan, so you won’t miss any,” Andy snorted.

Juan paced upwind, gasping out, “I like your wit, amigo, but in smaller doses.”

Soon Ed and Andy had shaken all their wheat and it looked as grain is supposed to look. Juan ambled over, still wrestling with his breathing. Ed leaned on his scythe and looked at him.

“I don’t think it was exertion that got you so much as the dust we stirred just cutting it. You’re smart; you had to know that would happen.” He spread his stump and right arm, shaking his head. “I don’t understand. Even if you want to die, why choose such an agonizing death as pneumonia?”

Teeth gritted, Juan spat “I do not run from work.”

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about. What would it do to Nita to watch you suffer?”

Juan turned, scooped up an armful of stalks, and huffed toward the pond to feed Cow.

“Wasting your breath, Pa.”

Ed stared after his friend a moment, nodded. “Let’s take a bucket to get water for Jangles.”

At the pond, they found Juan tugging Cow out of the muddy water. They rushed in, and the three of them easily brought the animal to the shore of the drought-shrunken lake - - the Indian, hands on knees, wheezed pitifully.

Andy glared at him, spoke harshly. “Why didn’t…” But Ed, holding out his hand and shaking his head, quashed his son’s outburst.

“Juan, when I lost my arm, I got mad when I needed to do something requiring two hands, something I had easily done all my life. But my left arm was gone. I had to adjust; and I had to control my fury. You do, too.”

He waited. He got no response. Ed turned to Andy.

“Cow has all the water she needs and, as Juan said, she may have mud in her stomach. Let’s put her in the barn and bring her food and water until this pond clears up.”

“Good idea,” the boy said. He led Cow away.

The day was fading. They drove Nita and Juan home, so they could use what light remained to settle in. Andy stayed with them. Myra took the wheel to drive back to their place.

“Bo, that man will run into the next storm to fix things. You know he will.”

Without moving, he muttered, “Yeah, I know.”

“Why? He ain’t stupid.”

After a long breath, Ed spoke haltingly. “Frustration maybe? He’s always been able to muscle anything he needed to. It’s infuriating to suddenly lose that ability.”

She glanced at him, did not speak; reached out and gently squeezed the stump of his left arm.

By the time they were ready for bed, moonlight was rolling in the window.

“Seems peaceful now, Myra.”

“Yep. Still want to see Virginia, soon. And I’ll use my Peacemaker to get Juan on that train with us.”

“We’ll go to town for what we need and find out when the judge will hold his adoption hearing. We can leave for our visit right after Andy’s a Gannaby. Juan won’t go, but I hope there’s no problem getting Andy to go.”

“He’ll come, Bo, unless Juan gets worse. He wants to see Virginia bad as me. Reminds me - - I’ll have to warn him that up there you’re called Ed, not Bo.”

He admired his tall, slender bride as she slid into bed beside him, and ran his hand down her long, golden hair.

“You will see Virginia, Myra. Soon. I promise.”

They settled into a needed and restful slumber. It went that way for hours.

Until a shocking event came right out of the blue.

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