Mindy McGinnis - In a Handful of Dust

“I listen,” Lucy said indignantly.

“If you agree with what I’m saying. Mother used to tell me I should be careful, ’cause I’d get a kid same as me someday and pull my own hair out over it. I’m sure you’ll get yours one day.”

Lucy thought of what Carter had said to her about naming a baby after him, and the lump came back in her throat. “I guess maybe I will.”

“You will,” Lynn said, with conviction. “You had it about you, even when you were a little one yourself. Red Dog had more mothering than he could stand, and you brought me any injured animal you found, determined to save it.”

A smile fought against the lump for control of her voice as Lucy spoke. “Remember the baby skunks?”

Lucy didn’t need to see in the dark to know Lynn had rolled her eyes. “Do I ever.” They giggled together in the night, the high sounds echoing off the stones around them.

“Anyway,” Lynn went on, “what I’m saying is, I don’t mind sleeping in the cemeteries ’cause it’s a reminder of the generations before, without which we wouldn’t be here.”

“And without us, there wouldn’t be anyone to look back a hundred years from now,” Lucy finished.

“Without you ,” Lynn corrected. “You’re the one of us that’s going to have babies. You’ve got the temperament for it, and you’ve not killed.”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

A long silence stretched out over the tombstones. When Lynn finally spoke, Lucy could hear the tightness of her throat echoed in her voice. “Once you’ve done that, taken a life someone worked hard to bring about, it sticks with you. Stays close in a dark place you can’t quite shake. It’s in my blood, and it’s not something I want to pass on.”

“So it’s on me to keep the human race going,” Lucy said lightly. “Could you do me a favor and not announce this to every boy we meet?” Beside her, she felt Lynn’s silent laugh and the tension that slipped out of her with it. “What’s your responsibility then?”

“To protect you, always.”

They found each other’s hands in the dark, and an angel with chipped marble wings watched over them as they slept.

They found a house on the western edge of Nebraska, just as the gray haze of the mountains made their presence known on the horizon. Lucy had been watching the approaching smear for days, thinking a storm had not quite reached them yet, before Lynn corrected her. The thought of something so massive it could be seen a state away left Lucy quiet and concerned.

The house was a relief, so similar to Lynn’s yearnings spoken in Iowa that it seemed it might have grown from the ground on account of her wishes and waited for them to reach it.

It was small, untouched, and close to freshwater. They circled it twice on horseback from a distance, guns drawn and eyes searching for flashes of movement. Lynn and Lucy shared a silent look and moved closer warily, but their caution was unnecessary. It was empty, and the dust they found on the countertop was deep.

Lucy stood on the porch where the horses were tethered, her eyes drawn to the distant mountains, the gnawing worry they caused in her belly distracting her from the happiness she should have felt at the promise of rest. She heard cupboard doors opening, and Lynn joined her outside, a can of corn in her hand.

“The kitchen is even full,” she said. “I can’t hardly believe it.”

“Careful what you say,” Lucy answered. “You might wish it away.”

“It kinda seems that way, doesn’t it? Like what I wanted happened to fall into our path?” Lynn tossed the can from hand to hand.

Lucy deftly caught it in between tosses. “You should have specified creamed corn, and I’d like the creek to move a little closer to the house.”

“Yeah, I’d like that too,” Lynn said, looking to the north, where the strip of trees announcing the creek’s presence was barely visible on the horizon.

A hot wind blew in their faces, bringing with it a smattering of dirt that settled on Lucy’s skin. “You didn’t happen to wish up a bit of shampoo in that bathroom, did you?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if I did,” Lynn said. “I doubt anybody came through here and took the shampoo but left the corn.”

There was shampoo, and soap, and even washcloths so soft when Lucy pressed them to her cheek, a memory from childhood flashed so brightly she had to sit down to shake it off. She saw Neva, her long-dead mother, smiling and plastering a wet washcloth to Lucy’s pudgy toddler belly, tickling her through the softness. Lucy gasped for breath, still clutching the washcloth to her face and waiting for more.

But none came.

That night they were clean and full of a hot meal for the first time in a long while, and Lucy felt a happiness that even the rising mountains in the west couldn’t overshadow. Lynn sat with her on the porch and they watched the stars come out, like pinpricks in the black fabric of the sky. The horses grazed in the yard, their calm mutterings carried to the women on the breeze.

“How far back do your memories go?” Lucy asked suddenly.

“What’s that?” Lynn lifted her head from against the post she’d been resting against.

“What’s the earliest memories you have, from when you were a kid?”

“I’d have to think about it. It’s hard to know sometimes what’s real and what’s my mind filling in blanks with stories I’ve been told.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Lynn said slowly, “Mother was the only person I knew for a good long while. We had to work hard to get things done, and what little time there was together she was pushing me for something else. Like during the winters we’d be in the basement for hours, her teaching me to read when I was little, then memorizing poetry as I got older. Stebbs told me a few stories from before the Shortage, about how Mother looked or acted, that are nicer versions of her, with less worries. Some of those memories I can’t help but wonder if my mind is changing it so I remember good things that didn’t actually happen.”

“So how do you know what’s real and what’s something you made up?”

Lynn shrugged. “I guess you don’t. In the end I know Mother did what she thought was best when it came to raising me. If what I remember fits into that idea of Mother, it’s probably true. Why you asking me this?”

“No reason,” Lucy said, picking up a stone and flinging it into the night.

“Liar,” Lynn said. “Out with it now.”

“I don’t want you to think…”

“If it’s something you remembered about your mom, you go ahead and say. It won’t hurt my feelings. I’m good at pretending I don’t have those, anyway.”

“Okay.” Lucy took a deep breath. “Certain things will cause a memory to come rushing at me, and I don’t know if it’s because I need to know she loved me and I’m making it up, or if it really happened.”

“I can’t tell you whether your memories are true or not, but your mother loved you, very much.”

“But she left me,” Lucy said, her voice catching in her throat and barely clearing her teeth. “She knew she wouldn’t ever see me again when she shot herself.”

Lynn was quiet for a long time, long enough for more stars to blaze up and make themselves known. “That was a dark day.”

“I know it,” Lucy said, trying to ignore the tears creeping down her face. “Grandma told me about how I was sick, and the men from the south traded her for my mom, and my mom went with them because she thought I would die without Grandma to doctor me.”

“And you would have, little one. There was nothing I knew to do for you, and your uncle and Stebbs were lost thinking you would be taken from them. Vera saved you, like none of us could have.”