In a Handful of Dust

“I was looking at ’em, earlier. You’d already drifted off, so I walked among the stones for a bit. There’s a section that’s older than the others. Most of the stones are fallen down or worn away, but you can still read some. Those people, they lived a long time ago, but their lives weren’t so different from what you and I are living right now.”

“Poor bastards,” Lucy said, and Lynn snorted.

“It made me think though, about what you said in Iowa—the emptiness of it all. You’re right, there aren’t many people. I was looking at those old stones, and there was this one woman, buried with her children. By the dates, she wasn’t much older than me, but it seems she lost five little ones before she died herself.”

“Five?”

“Yeah. Made me think, there’s probably people like that now too. Going through the hell of delivering five babies just to lose them all and die.”

“Not sure how looking at the most depressing stones you could find is helpful.”

“Reminds me of how important it is to keep going, that you’re what’s mine to protect and keep safe.”

A lump formed in Lucy’s throat, making her voice thick when she spoke. “You never wanted any of your own?”

“No,” Lynn said. “I’d think about it, but then poor Myrtle would go and get pregnant again and I’d see her so big and awkward she couldn’t even get her own firewood. I need my body to do the things I ask it to, and not struggle to do it. And besides, I’m not made for it.”

“What do you mean, not made for it? You’re a great mom to me.”

“Sure, and when I got you, you were half-raised already, determined to do everything on your own and not ask for help. You weren’t hard to mother ’til you got older and didn’t listen anymore.”

“I listen,” Lucy said indignantly.

“If you agree with what I’m saying. Mother used to tell me I should be careful, ’cause I’d get a kid same as me someday and pull my own hair out over it. I’m sure you’ll get yours one day.”

Lucy thought of what Carter had said to her about naming a baby after him, and the lump came back in her throat. “I guess maybe I will.”

“You will,” Lynn said, with conviction. “You had it about you, even when you were a little one yourself. Red Dog had more mothering than he could stand, and you brought me any injured animal you found, determined to save it.”

A smile fought against the lump for control of her voice as Lucy spoke. “Remember the baby skunks?”

Lucy didn’t need to see in the dark to know Lynn had rolled her eyes. “Do I ever.” They giggled together in the night, the high sounds echoing off the stones around them.

“Anyway,” Lynn went on, “what I’m saying is, I don’t mind sleeping in the cemeteries ’cause it’s a reminder of the generations before, without which we wouldn’t be here.”

“And without us, there wouldn’t be anyone to look back a hundred years from now,” Lucy finished.

“Without you,” Lynn corrected. “You’re the one of us that’s going to have babies. You’ve got the temperament for it, and you’ve not killed.”

“What’s that got to with it?”

A long silence stretched out over the tombstones. When Lynn finally spoke, Lucy could hear the tightness of her throat echoed in her voice. “Once you’ve done that, taken a life someone worked hard to bring about, it sticks with you. Stays close in a dark place you can’t quite shake. It’s in my blood, and it’s not something I want to pass on.”

“So it’s on me to keep the human race going,” Lucy said lightly. “Could you do me a favor and not announce this to every boy we meet?” Beside her, she felt Lynn’s silent laugh and the tension that slipped out of her with it. “What’s your responsibility then?”

“To protect you, always.”

They found each other’s hands in the dark, and an angel with chipped marble wings watched over them as they slept.

They found a house on the western edge of Nebraska, just as the gray haze of the mountains made their presence known on the horizon. Lucy had been watching the approaching smear for days, thinking a storm had not quite reached them yet, before Lynn corrected her. The thought of something so massive it could be seen a state away left Lucy quiet and concerned.

The house was a relief, so close to Lynn’s yearnings spoken in Iowa it seemed it might have grown from the ground on account of her wishes and waited for them to reach it.

It was small, untouched, and close to freshwater. They circled it twice on horseback from a distance, guns drawn and eyes searching for flashes of movement. Lynn and Lucy shared a silent look and moved closer warily, but their caution was unnecessary. It was empty, and the dust they found on the countertop was deep.

Lucy stood on the porch where the horses were tethered, her eyes drawn to the distant mountains, the gnawing worry they caused in her belly distracting her from the happiness she should have felt at the promise of rest. She heard cupboard doors opening, and Lynn joined her outside, a can of corn in her hand.

“The kitchen is even full,” she said. “I can’t hardly believe it.”

“Careful what you say,” Lucy answered. “You might wish it away.”