She’d been at the Hendersons’ with instructions from Nellie to help with the new baby. Upon her return she discovered them gone—lock, stock and kitchen supplies—and a note from Harry saying he couldn’t take the drought any longer. They were going farther west. No room in the truck for her. He’d send for her soon, within a week for sure. He’d arrange for Mr. Henderson to deliver a message.
They’d left barely enough food and water to last her.
“God will take care of me,” she murmured.
The frightening man turned. “You say something?”
“God will take care of me.” She spoke louder, firmer. After all, He’d led the children of Israel through the desert. Her situation wasn’t any worse. Except she was alone. No, not alone. God was with her. So she had reminded herself over and over.
The house shook under the wind’s attack. Dirt ground between her teeth. Her throat tickled. She breathed slowly to stop the urge to cough. She longed for a drink. Her last drink had been some unsatisfying mouthfuls this morning. The only place she could get more was at Lother’s. She shuddered just thinking of her nearest neighbor.
Eligible young men were scarce as rain. Most had gone looking for work. Seemed wherever they went jobs were hard to come by. She saw them riding the rails every time she was in town, going from one end of the country to the other. Lother, one of the few bachelors still in the community, made it clear he’d be glad to marry Charlotte. He seemed to think she’d be equally pleased to accept the opportunity. If she had to choose between marriage to Lother or rotting on the manure pile, she’d gladly choose the latter. She shuddered again, harder.
“It will doubtless end soon.”
Did he think she worried about the storm? That happened to be the least of her current concerns. “You can be certain? I heard tell they had a three-day duster over toward Bentley.”
“Yeah, but it ended, didn’t it? Even the flood ended eventually.”
Despite her mental turmoil, she laughed. “I guess we should be grateful we haven’t had a forty-day duster.”
The wind increased in velocity.
The man raised his voice. “I sat by a railway track once while a train went by. Never figured wind could make more noise, but it does.”
The roar made conversation impossible.
She hunkered down, prepared to wait out the storm. Just like she’d been waiting for Harry’s message. Was she destined to spend her life waiting for one thing or another?
Kody glanced toward the woman. She sat with a rag of some sort pressed to her face. Above the gray cloth her eyes regarded him with wariness. Or was it determination? He guessed both. She’d already shown she had plenty of grit.
The wind grew louder. The room darkened like the dead of night. He buried his face against his knees and waited. Could be the storm would end soon, or not. No predicting the nature of nature. He smiled into his handkerchief. Ma would chuckle at his choice of words. Suddenly in the noisy gloom, he missed his mother and father, even though he knew they were better off with him out of the picture. Nor were they the only ones to benefit from his departure. He pushed aside the forbidden memory.
The woman opposite him coughed. Not a tickling sort of cough relieved with a clearing-your-throat kind of sound, but a dry cough that went on and on. He held his breath, waiting for it to end. She stopped and he let out a gust of relief. It was short-lived as she began again.
Poor woman needed some water to wash down the dust.
He slid across the floor until his elbow encountered the warm flesh of her arm, vibrating from her coughs. “Here, have a drink.” He offered her the canteen he’d grabbed out of habit, having learned never to wait out a dust storm without water nearby to wash his throat.
She latched on to the canteen, lifted it to her mouth and drank greedily. For a fearful moment he thought she’d drain the contents. Not that it was a matter of life and death. He’d refill it from her well as soon as the storm ended. But nevertheless he swallowed hard. A duster could make a man mighty thirsty.
She capped the canteen and handed it back. “Thank you.”
He stayed where he was and again buried his face in his handkerchief and let his thoughts drift back to Favor, South Dakota, where he’d been born and raised and where the only parents he’d ever known still lived. He didn’t want to think about all he’d left behind. Better to think about this woman huddled in the corner.
He turned his head a fraction, still protecting his face but making it possible to talk. “What’s your name, ma’am?”
“What’s yours?”
He chuckled. Got to admire a woman who showed no fear even in this awkward and potentially threatening situation. He knew many men who would take advantage of his position—alone with an unprotected woman. “Ma’am, my name is Kody Douglas. My father is a preacher man and I’ve been raised to be honorable and God-fearing.” The “raised” part was true. Never mind he no longer had the faith he’d been raised with. Not that he could explain what he now believed. God’s love had become so mixed up in his soul with man’s unloving behavior he didn’t know how to separate the two.
She uttered a sound full of disbelief.
He wasn’t surprised. All his life he’d encountered the same reaction. As if a man like him could have a father like his, a home like his, a faith like he’d once had. For most people it defied explanation.
He hunkered down over his knees, preparing to ignore the woman. No doubt she likewise wished to ignore him. Besides, there was no reason to strike up a conversation. He’d be gone as soon as the storm ended. They’d never see each other again in this life or the one to come. That idea gave him pause. “You a believer?” he asked, even though he’d just told himself conversation was unnecessary.
“In God?”
He grunted affirmation.
“Most certainly I am. I have been since I was a child at my mother’s knee. In fact, He has been my strength and help all my life. He will continue to take care of me.”
Kody wondered at the way she said the words. As if she expected him to argue. “Got no cause to disagree.” God did seem to favor the likes of her, but Kody figured God regretted making the likes of him.
“My name is Charlotte Porter.”
He thought of shaking her hand but refrained. He didn’t want to put her in the position of having to choose whether or not to accept his offer nor did he want to shift his position and allow any more dirt to invade. Dust covered every bit of exposed skin, filling his pores until he envied the fish of the sea. He might head west to the ocean and sit in the water until he shriveled up like an old man just for the pleasure of having clean skin if he hadn’t already decided to ride north into Canada and keep riding until he got to uninhabited land.
He settled for acknowledging her introduction with the proper words, though she perhaps expected nothing more than a grunt. “Pleased to meet you.”
“You from round here?”
He
