The Four Winds

The ground was hard and flat in places, scoured to hardpan by the wind, which had also torn through barbed wire as if it were strands of hair, ripped it away, sent it flying. There were bits of it on every building; tumbleweeds stuck to it and then were covered in drifts of sand.

She saw a wheelbarrow standing upright, half buried in sand.

Could she do it? Push him two miles to town in a wheelbarrow?

Of course. She could take him as far as she needed to.

She walked unsteadily toward it and lay him down in the rusted scoop, his spindly legs hanging over the edge. She positioned his head carefully on the blanket.

“Mo-mmy?” he wheezed. “The light … hurts.”

“Close your eyes, baby,” she said. “Go to sleep. We’re going to see Doc Rheinhart.”

Elsa picked up the rough wooden handles and headed for the driveway.

“Elsa!” She heard Rose yelling for her, but didn’t stop, didn’t listen. She was in a panic to go, to get him help. She knew it was crazy, knew she was a little unhinged, but what else could she do?

“Elsa, let us help!”

Elsa plunged forward. The wheelbarrow seemed to fight back. She felt every bump in the driveway, every furrow like a blow to her spine. She made it to the main road.

Desolation. Sand in heaps. Sheds covered by it; fences fallen.

She turned onto the road and kept going, breathing hard.

Heat beat down on her. Sweat blurred her vision, ran between her breasts in itchy streams.

She stubbed her toe on something buried in the sand and stumbled. The wheelbarrow was wrenched out of her hands, clattered forward. Ant hit his head on the ground.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Elsa said. Even she couldn’t hear her words, her throat was so dry. She looked down at her left palm, skin torn away, bloody. Her blood darkened the handles.

She resettled Ant in the wheelbarrow and fought to move forward; before she’d taken a full step, she felt a hand on her shoulders.

Tony stood there, with Rose and Loreda on either side of him. “Are you ready to let us help you now?”

“You don’t have to do it all yourself,” Rose said.

“Yeah, Mom,” Loreda said. “We’ve been yelling for you. Are you deaf?”

Elsa almost burst into tears. Very slowly, she set the wheelbarrow down.

Tony took hold of the handles, lifted the wheelbarrow up, and started off. Loreda moved in beside him, took over one side.

“You made it nearly a mile,” Rose said, tenderly smoothing the damp hair from Elsa’s dirty forehead.

“I’m just—”

“A mother.” Rose reached down for Elsa’s hands, lifted them, looked at the torn, bloody palms.

Elsa steeled herself. Her own mother would have scolded her for her stupidity in not wearing gloves.

Rose slowly lifted one of Elsa’s hands, kissed the bloody skin. “That used to make it all better for my foolish son.”

“It helps,” Elsa said. It was the first time in her life someone had kissed an injury of hers to make it better.

“Come. My husband is not as young as he thinks. It will be my turn soon.”

* * *