March brought us endless days of dust. Storm after storm after storm buried us, blinded us. Our old enemy attacked with no mercy. The only word I could find for it was evil.
It held me down so I could hardly move.
I tried not to give a thought to how much the weight of the dust reminded me of Winnie’s body, bleeding on top of me.
Mama kept the four of us holed up in the living room, damp sheets hung over the windows and doors. We all wore masks the relief truck had brought with the latest load of food.
For as much as she rushed around, battling the dust, it still got in. It found a way. It always did.
It wasn’t the dust or the house-shaking wind that got my nerves rattling. It was the dark. The blocked-out sun. The dim, closed-in living room. How it felt like I was underground, trapped.
Days blustered into one another, rolling away with the dust clouds so I couldn’t tell how long the darkness pressed down on us. Mama kept track as best she could, marking each day with an X on the calendar.
As soon as the dirt started to settle from one duster, another storm followed, hitting harder than the last.
We didn’t have a break to catch our breath.
Mama had served us lumps of fried dough she’d made a few days before. I didn’t feel much like eating but knew she would worry if I didn’t. I forced down a few bites.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I wish I had more to give you.”
“This is just fine,” Daddy answered back.
“We can’t hardly live on what that truck brings.”
“There isn’t much else we can do.”
We finished eating our small meal in quiet. I was grateful that Mama didn’t try to get me to eat anything else.
A storm rolled through while we were sleeping. Whether it was morning or night or the middle of the day, none of us could tell.
Daddy pulled Beanie and me close to him, us all hunching on the floor in front of the davenport. The wind roared something awful. The house shook like it was scared.
Something outside cracked sharp and crashed against the house. A window upstairs smashed in.
I breathed in and out and kept my eyes shut tight against the dust that stippled on my skin. More banging and crashing from outside. Then a blasting sound.
Just like a gun shot.
The weight of all things crushed down on my chest and my heart about thudded its way free from my body. My lungs wouldn’t take in any air, not because of the dust, but because of the fear.
Moaning and groaning, it sounded like the wind called out to me. It spoke my name.
Daddy’s arm wrapped tighter around me, squeezing me hard.
“Let go!” I screamed. “Don’t touch me.”
Gulping as much air as I could manage, I pushed away from him, scuttling across the floor to get to the other side of the room. Blind, I felt my way, pushing against the rocking chair and feeling the side table that held the radio.
“Pearl?”
I couldn’t tell if it was Daddy or the wind or Eddie DuPre calling after me.
“No,” I said back. “Leave me alone.”
Breath couldn’t come fast enough. I tore the mask from my face and sucked in. Grit filled my mouth, covered my tongue. I bit down on it, crunching it. When I breathed in, it scrubbed against my lungs. Try as I might, I couldn’t spit it out.
Head spinning, I struggled to get the mask back on my face. It covered my nose and mouth and I gulped in chopped and jagged breaths. Every one hurt like little knives in and out.
“Pearl?” Mama and her gentle, mask-muffled voice settled close by me. “Darlin’.”
Her sweet voice soothed and I tried my very hardest to put my mind only on her words. She felt of me, kind fingers touching lightly. She found my shoulders and drew me into herself.
“It’s just me,” she cooed. “You’re going to be just fine, darlin’.”
The wind sobbed again. All of my muscles tensed, and I tried not to make a sound.
“What is it?” Mama asked. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Eddie,” I mumbled. “He’s come to get me.”
“Oh, honey,” she said. “He won’t never hurt you again.”
“He’s here.”
“No, darlin’.” Mama rubbed circles on my back with her hand. “Eddie’s dead, honey. He’s gone.”
Still, I could have sworn he was riding on the wind, calling my name.