Before Dorothy, page 26
Emily’s dress was sodden from the hail, her shoes covered in dust and dirt, her face burned with the sting of the wind, but Dorothy was safe, and that was all that mattered.
Toto curled up at their feet as they clung to each other while the storm rattled the barn roof. They played counting games and guessing games to pass the time. Emily sang an Irish ballad her mother used to sing when the wind whipped across the Atlantic and rattled the eaves of their Connemara cottage.
“Why didn’t you go to the cellar?” Emily asked eventually when Dorothy had calmed down a little.
“I tried to, but Toto was afraid. He wouldn’t go down. Would you, Toto?” The dog licked Dorothy’s hand. “He got a fright and ran outside.”
Emily was so afraid of what could have happened if Toto had run off further, if the storm had been worse, if something had fallen and hit Dorothy on the head. And while she was so grateful that Dorothy was safe, she was still desperately worried about Henry as images from the night flashed across her mind and the echo of his agonized cries tormented her. On the prairie, the margins between life and death were dangerously thin.
Eventually, the storm passed and everything fell silent apart from the drumming in Emily’s heart as she thought about Henry in the hospital and prayed she’d gotten him there in time.
* * *
—
Emily watched the first lavender light of the new day settle over the prairie. She hadn’t slept a wink. In her arms, Dorothy slept soundly.
She stood up carefully so as not to wake the child and carried her back to the house, quietly calling for Toto to follow.
Outside, the air was so still it was hard to believe such wild winds had roared just a few hours earlier, the only sound now the familiar hum of the ’hoppers. The prairie was such a riddle. Furious one moment, peaceful the next, lurching from one mood to another like a petulant child. Which was why she didn’t fully trust this peaceful truce.
She recalled a conversation with Adelaide. “You adjust to the silence, and the thinking. Strange, isn’t it, how somewhere so vast can make a person feel so small. But you do get used to it. Learn to adapt.”
Had she gotten used to it? Really? As it had so often since she’d come here, Emily felt the prairie, once again, asking questions of her. Was she brave enough to stay when it turned against her? Could she do any of this without Henry—manage the farm alone if anything happened to him, like Ingrid after Eric’s death? And the hardest question of all: What is it you really want, Emily?
As she looked at the sleeping child in her arms, she remembered the featherlight feel of Dorothy as a newborn, the almond-sweet scent of her, the way the infant had looked at her with such innocence and love, the ache of letting go. What she’d felt that day, and so many times since, had frightened her, but no more. Finally, she understood that what she’d felt was nothing dark or sinister. What she’d felt was love. A great and powerful love.
It settled now in the map of her heart as the answer to the hardest question came to her. What she wanted wasn’t important. It was what she needed that mattered, and she had everything, right here. There was no feeling—no place—like it.
Inside the house, Emily laid Dorothy on her bed and pulled up the bedspread she’d made with her own hands through the long winter nights in her first years on the prairie. As she bent down to kiss Dorothy’s cheek, the child’s hand reached for hers.
Emily had promised she would never leave her again, and she meant it. No matter how hard things might become, she couldn’t bear to send Dorothy away, not to Nell, not to anyone. Wherever Dorothy went, she went, too. They were connected now. Two ends of an hourglass, forever turning together.
She lay down beside Dorothy and closed her eyes.
She was just drifting off to sleep when she heard it. Distant at first, and then louder.
The pitch and whine of an engine.
Getting closer.
She stood up and walked to the door, opened it a crack, and then wider as the roar of an engine filled the air and dust blew in whirlwinds on the porch.
Adelaide!
Adelaide had returned.
Part Four
Kansas 1932
No matter how dreary and gray our homes are, we people of flesh and blood would rather live there than in any other country, be it ever so beautiful. There is no place like home.
—L. Frank Baum,
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
Extract from
Wonderful—A Life on the Prairie
by Emily Gale
During the winters, we burned unsold corn on the fire for fuel. We threw the cobs onto the flames and waited for them to start popping, like gunfire. That sound, and the smell of fairground popcorn, became the background to our little home as the nights closed in around us. It filled my head with memories of cotton candy and circus sideshows. It reminded me of my sisters. It reminded me of happier times.
When you have next to nothing, you look back often. We clutched at the straws of our productive past and prayed that the present would reward our patience and resilience.
But summer hailstorms and wicked tornadoes care nothing for such things. And when the rain doesn’t fall and the sun-scorched earth rises up in great clouds of choking dust, what becomes of a person’s patience and resilience then? And what of all their hopes and dreams and love?
That is when the prairie asks the question of all who come here: Do you have the will to go on, and if not, do you have the courage to leave? To answer that question is to understand who you truly are, to discover what it is that you need, and not what you want.
Hope returned with the arrival of the rainmaker, but fear remained.
And they say hope makes fools of desperate men…
37
Emily could hardly believe it. Adelaide Watson, back in their house, as striking and flamboyant as ever. Not a hair out of place, ruby lips curving into a playful smile, laughter on the tip of her tongue as she rubbed Toto’s belly and told Dorothy a tall tale about being chased by an enormous duster in Oklahoma.
“Biggest you ever saw. At least a hundred feet high and twice as wide. Thought I was done for, but the Jenny flew faster and we landed safely.”
Dorothy sat wide-eyed as she hung on Adelaide’s every word, her trio of little toys—Lion, Twig, and Straw Brigid—clasped tight in her hands. She was almost over the measles now. Her temperature had come right down and the worst of her rash was subsiding. It was almost as if she’d willed herself better because Adelaide was here.
Emily looked at Dorothy and smiled to herself. The child was just as enchanted by their guest as she had been the first time she’d landed in their lives. The long anxious weeks waiting for her to return were quickly erased so that it felt as if she’d never left at all. And while Emily couldn’t express her delight quite as openly as Dorothy, she was surprised at how glad she was to have Adelaide back, especially since she hadn’t returned alone.
Just as she’d promised, Adelaide had found the rainmaker and persuaded him to bring his magic to the skies above Liberal. The tension in Emily’s shoulders eased as she reflected on their brief spell of good fortune: Henry had come through his operation and was making a good recovery, Dorothy was almost better, and the news of Adelaide’s return with the Okie rainmaker had lifted everyone’s spirits. The anxious days of waiting and watching the skies eased, and hope returned. Maybe all was not lost after all.
“How did you find him?” Emily asked as Adelaide took a ride into town with her, Dorothy and Toto happy passengers in the back seat. The motorcar had been repaired thanks to Hank Miller, who’d retrieved it from the ditch where Emily had abandoned it on the night of her dramatic trip to the hospital.
“Finding him was the easy part! He’s hard to miss with his thunder-mugs and lightning-mugs and Lord knows what other weird and wonderful contraptions. And he’s a very persuasive showman. Loves to draw a crowd.”
“Then what took you so long? We thought you’d forgotten about us.”
“Convincing him to team up with me was a little harder. He likes to do things his own way. Doesn’t like the thought of anyone else to answer to or worry about. Says he’s always done things his own way. Thinks a bit too much of himself if you ask me. The adulation has gone to his head!”
“What changed his mind? Couldn’t resist those red lips of yours?”
Adelaide laughed lightly. “You mean, did I have to turn on my charms and convince him that way?”
Emily was embarrassed. “Gosh, no. I just meant…Well, anyway. How did you convince him?”
“Took him up for a spin in the Jenny. Explained that I could take him up much higher to detonate his dynamite, and that he would be doing something no other rainmaker has. Something unique. That got his attention. But it was when I mentioned Kansas that he really seemed to change his mind. Told him I’d promised a bunch of decent Liberal folk that I would bring them a rainmaker. We went to some other towns first. Word spreads quickly when folk are desperate, and he needs the money.”
“I hope he’s paying you a decent cut.”
“Enough. I might attempt that solo transatlantic flight yet.”
“Well, whatever it took to get him here, we’re very grateful. Folk have been talking about little else: When will the rainmaker come? Will his tricks and explosives work? Henry and Hank and the men have raised a reasonable pot of money. Everyone’s all in. Boom or bust.” She paused for a moment. “Do you think he’s genuine, Adelaide? Has he actually made it rain anywhere?”
“We moved on before his chemical compounds had time to take full effect. He says it can take up to five days to work, and he’s in such demand he can’t afford to wait around to see the results for himself. He certainly seems to know what he’s doing, though, and it has to be worth a try, right? Doing something has to be better than doing nothing.”
Emily sighed as she pulled up outside the hospital. “You’re right. Things are bad, Adelaide. Really bad.”
“It sure seems that way.” Adelaide stepped out of the car and covered her face with her scarf. “Things are bad out Dalhart way, too. Seems there isn’t a prairie farmer across the Great Plains who isn’t suffering.” She looked toward the hospital. “You sure I can’t come with you? Do anything to help?”
“No, thank you. I’ve got this. There’ll be no chance of keeping Henry in the hospital if he sees you! He keeps pestering the nurses to let him go home, but I keep telling them to keep him here. He’ll only try to do too much and burst his stitches.”
“Bet you can’t wait to have him home all the same. Oh, I nearly forgot!” Adelaide pulled a leaflet from the pocket of her pants. “Show Henry this. My new business partner. Might make him feel a bit better.”
Emily took the leaflet and read the print.
THE REMARKABLE RAIN MAN!
The world’s best in precipitation conjuration.
The leading moisture scientist in concussion theory and aerial agitators.
“Whatever all that means,” she said.
“Sounds impressive, though, doesn’t it.”
Emily studied the leaflet again. “When do we get to meet this mysterious Rain Man anyway?”
“Tomorrow. He’s making his way in his truck with all his equipment. I said he could catch some sleep in your barn. Hope that’s all right?”
Emily nodded. She didn’t much mind where the man slept as long as he did what he promised.
“He’s planning to do a demonstration in town first,” Adelaide continued. “Get folk fired up, if you’ll pardon the pun!”
“We’re already fired up. It feels like this is our last hope. The last roll of the dice.” Emily looked at the leaflet again. “I just hope this Remarkable Rain Man lives up to his name.”
38
Henry was discharged later that day and had never been happier to return home.
Once again, the little house that had often felt small for two stretched its arms wide and made room for more as Henry returned, and Adelaide joined them once again, and life fell into a new rhythm, moving to the beat of four hopeful hearts and Toto’s exuberant tail.
The women of Liberal were also pleased to have Adelaide back with her cheerful personality, but they couldn’t summon the same enthusiasm as the first time she’d arrived. Everyone was jaded, fretful, distracted. The Thursday supper club had dwindled as people left town and, for those who remained, there was no energy for the gossip and stories they’d once exchanged. The story was always the same now: drought, dust, despair.
Dorothy’s enthusiasm hadn’t dwindled at all. “I’m so pleased Miss Adelaide is here again, Auntie Em. She’s terrific fun!” She was feeling much better and was eager to read Adelaide the stories she’d written, and to show her the silver dance shoes.
“They’re magic shoes,” she said proudly as she clopped around in them.
“Is that so?” Adelaide glanced at Emily, who nodded firmly. “They’re very beautiful. You’d best take good care of them.”
“Oh, I will. They were Mommy’s dancing shoes. Auntie Em says I’ll grow into them.”
Adelaide leaped up from the chair and grabbed Dorothy’s hands. “Dancing shoes, you say? Then let’s dance!”
Emily looked on as the pair danced and twirled around the little room, the silver shoes sparkling in the light. It reminded her of how she and Annie used to dance with such joy and carefree abandon. She’d forgotten the simple pleasures of music and dancing and laughter, too worn out and hardened by the everyday struggles she and Henry faced to indulge in such things. Once again, Adelaide had shown her how easy it was to bring a smile to Dorothy’s face. Adelaide was the aunt that Emily wished she could be: entertaining, exciting, a little wild and reckless.
“You’re a terrific dancer,” Adelaide said when they were both out of breath and had to stop. “You clearly have your mom’s dancing feet! Or maybe your father was a good dancer, too?”
Emily stiffened.
Dorothy thought for a moment as she put the shoes away. “I don’t remember seeing Daddy dance.”
“I don’t think John—your daddy—was much of a dancer,” Emily added. She was keen to draw a line under the conversation and change the subject.
“Mommy had a special friend who liked to dance,” Dorothy added. “He could do real magic tricks, too.”
For a moment, Emily couldn’t catch her breath. She felt lightheaded as she stood up, brushed her hands briskly against her apron, and announced that she’d forgotten to check on the pigs.
Outside, she hurried to the barn, glad to step into its dim light and hide in its shady corners. She needed to calm down, to think, to process what Dorothy had just said.
“Mommy had a special friend…He could do real magic tricks, too.”
It could only be one person and, if it was, the implications were enormous. After all these years, had Annie been in touch with Leonardo? Perhaps seen him regularly, even? Suddenly, Annie’s distance and withdrawal made sense: She’d been protecting herself from further interrogation or judgment from Emily. And what of Dorothy? How well did she know this special friend? And—the bigger question—how well did he know her? Well enough to come looking for her in Kansas?
Emily’s stomach churned. If only she’d told Henry, she could confide in him about it. But she’d locked him out, and now it was her heavy burden to bear, alone.
* * *
—
“The kid seems much happier,” Adelaide said as she and Emily watched Dorothy play a game of hopscotch in the yard that evening. Henry had laid out sticks to make the numbered squares, but Toto kept running off with them, so he’d marked out the grid with stones instead.
“The dog has made a huge difference,” Emily said. “She still has strange dreams now and again, and her imagination is as active and vivid as ever, but she’s stopped sleepwalking. She’s much more settled.”
“And you?”
“Me?”
“Yes! You! How are you?”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you? Really? Looks to me you folks are going through hell. You seem afraid, Emily. Like you’re constantly looking over your shoulder.”
Emily had missed Adelaide’s straight-talking, no-nonsense approach to life. She let out a long sigh. “There’s plenty to be afraid of,” she said. “This place teaches you to be wary.”
“I guess so.”
There were many things Emily feared: dust storms and tornadoes, cottonmouths and rattlers in the woodpile. But it was the fear of failure that haunted her the most: the fear of not fulfilling the trust Annie had placed in her, the fear of admitting that the prairie had defeated them, the fear of uprooting Dorothy all over again. She had awful dreams of the child being lifted up and carried away, but she could never tell if it was a dust storm, a twister, or some other thing—or person—that took her. Like a circus performer on a high wire, the life they were building together was precariously balanced. One wrong move and it could all come crashing down. She thought of the desperate letter she’d written to Nell. If the rainmaker could summon the rain, maybe they wouldn’t have to send Dorothy away after all.
“And you, Adelaide?” she asked. “What are you afraid of?”
Adelaide seemed surprised that Emily had turned the question back on her. “Me?”
“Everyone is afraid of something, Adelaide. Some of us just hide it better than others.”
“Maybe so.”
Emily wished Adelaide would talk to her about her brother, tell her what had happened to stop them from flying together, but she decided not to press. She knew how hard it was to talk about some parts of your past.
