The Four Winds

“Come on, Miss Sunshine,” Elsa said, offering Ant his coat.

Elsa didn’t bother with her own coat. She put on her galoshes and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders.

They stepped out into the busy camp. Now that the threat of frost had passed, men were busy in the fields. Tractors worked ceaselessly, readying the soil, churning it up, planting seeds.

“It makes me think of Grandpa,” Loreda said.

They all stopped, listened to the sound of the tractors’ motors. The smell of freshly turned soil hung in the air.

“It does,” Elsa said, feeling a wave of homesickness.

They kept walking, three abreast, until they reached the school tents.

“’Bye, Ma. Good luck with relief,” Ant said, running off.

Loreda ducked into her tent.

Elsa stood there a moment, listening to the sounds of children talking and laughing, of teachers telling them to take their seats. If she closed her eyes—which she did, just for a moment—she could imagine a whole different world.

Finally, she turned away. Paths between the tents and cabins had been worn into ruts by hundreds of feet. At the bathrooms, she got in line and waited her turn.

It wasn’t a bad wait at this time of day—less than twenty minutes for the toilets. She wanted to take a shower, but with only two showers, the wait was always an hour or more.

She went into her cabin and washed the breakfast dishes and put them in the salvaged apple crate that was their cupboard. In the past months since the flood, they had become good at scavenging.

She made her bed and put on her coat and left the cabin.

In town, a long line of sad-looking men and women snaked in front of the state relief office. Most didn’t look up from their own clasped hands. They were Midwesterners or Texans or Southerners, most of them. Proud people who weren’t used to being on the dole.

Elsa took her place at the back. People moved in behind her quickly, seemed to come from the four corners of town to get in line.

“Are you okay, ma’am?”

She gave herself a little shake, forced a smile. “Forgot to eat, I guess. I’m fine. Thank you.”

The scrawny young man in front of her wore dungarees that must have been bought when he weighed fifty pounds more. He needed a shave but his eyes were kind. “We all forgot that,” he said with a smile. “I ain’t eaten since Thursday. What day is it?”

“Monday.”

He shrugged. “Kids, you know.”

“I know.”

“You got relief before?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t qualify until today.”

“Qualify?”

“You have to be in the state a year to get relief.”

“A year? We could be dead by then.” He sighed and stepped out of the line and walked away.

“Wait!” Elsa called out. “You need to register now!”

The young man didn’t turn around and Elsa couldn’t step out of line to follow him. Losing her place would cost her hours.

She eventually made her way to the front. Once there, she looked down at the bright-faced young woman seated at the desk, with a portable typewriter in front of her. Beside it was a long index-card box. “Name?”