She pulled her bandanna down to talk. “No more milk.”
Tony’s quiet was heartbreaking. “So, we’ll sell the cows to the government. Sixteen bucks apiece, wasn’t it?”
Elsa tried to wipe the grit from her eyes. “We’ve still got soap to sell and a few eggs.”
“Thank God for small miracles.”
“Yeah,” Elsa said, thinking of the root cellar’s empty shelves.
FIFTEEN
Quiet.
No wind rattling the windows. No dirt raining down from the ceiling.
Elsa opened her eyes in the cautious way they’d all perfected. She pulled down the mud-encrusted bandanna that covered her nose and mouth, and brushed the dirt from her eyes. It took her a moment to focus. When she sat up, dirt pattered to the floor.
She checked on Ant first thing, wakened him by easing the gas mask off his small, bony face. “Hey, baby boy,” she said. “Storm’s over.”
Ant opened his eyes. Elsa could see the effort it took. There was no white in his eyes at all, just a deep, angry red. “I can’t … breathe.” His dirty, blue-veined eyelids fluttered shut.
He’s getting worse.
“Ant? Baby? Don’t go to sleep, okay?”
He tried to wet his lips, kept trying to clear his throat. “I feel … bad … Mommy.”
Elsa brushed the damp hair back from her son’s forehead, felt how hot he was.
Fever.
That was new.
Elsa had a deep fear of fevers, a remnant from her youth, a reminder of her own illness.
Elsa uncovered the pitcher beside the bed and poured water into the crockery basin. Then she dipped a washrag into the lukewarm water and wrung out the excess and laid the cool, damp cloth across his forehead. Water dripped down the sides of his face.
Elsa poured a small bit of water into a glass, helped him to take two aspirin. “Pretend it’s your grandma’s lemonade. Sweet and tart.” She gave him a teaspoon of sugar laced with turpentine. It was the only remedy they knew to combat the dust he breathed in, even with the mask on.
Ant drank a tiny amount and gulped down the sugar, then closed his eyes and sank deeper into the pillow.
Elsa had just released a breath when he suddenly arched up, his body seizing, his fingers curling into claws, his red eyes rolling back in his head.
Elsa had never felt so helpless in her life. There was nothing she could do; she sat there, watching the seizure wrack her little boy. The seconds seemed to last forever.
When it ended, she took him in her arms, held him tightly, too shaky and frightened to soothe him.
“Help me, Mommy,” he said in a cracked voice. “I’m hot.”
He needed help. Now.
She didn’t care if there was no money. She’d beg if she had to.
“I’ll help you, baby.”
She scooped him into her arms, blanket and all, and carried him through the house. As if from a distance, she heard the family yell at her. She couldn’t stop, didn’t care about anything but Ant.
She made it out to the porch before she realized they had no horse. Nothing to pull the wagon. The driveway stretched out in front of her, desolate and bare.