Page 8 of Resilience on Canvas

“Naw, I, uhm, I want to be by myself for a while,” Henry choked out.

He considered saying sorry one more time. If only so that he could hear his parents say that they weren’t mad. But even if they weren’t mad, Henry knew they weren’t exactly happy with him right now, either. Apologizing some more for not marrying Clara would either result in more silence or, more likely, false reassurances, neither of which he wanted to sit through.

Without uttering one more peep, Henry headed upstairs to his bedroom, and once he was by himself, he knelt by his bed to fish for his charcoal pencils and sketch pad that he kept beneath his mattress. Drawing had never once failed to take his mind off of whatever might be bothering him. Hopefully it’d work tonight. Otherwise, how would he even eat supper? Guilt was still making his stomach churn.

Once Henry had his supplies, he checked to see that the lock on the door was set, and then he sat on his mattress with his back resting against the headboard. Flipping through the pages, Henry spent a few seconds scrutinizing each of his sketches. He found flaws in every single one. Sometimes he thought that a tree’s leaves weren’t realistic enough or a barn owl’s eyes were too small, its feathers too rigid-looking to even really resemble feathers. But when Henry reached his favorite page—the one with a sketch of Robert on his farm—he smiled a little. Even though it barely looked like Robert—the face only a rough outline, lacking much detail—it was close enough. Henry ran his fingertips over the charcoal. Closing his eyes, he traveled back to the time he had seen Robert in the field pulling dandelion root one or two months back, probably to make a salad. Henry had slowed the Model A to a crawl so that he could watch him for a few extra seconds before speeding back to town. Golly, Robert had looked so... so beautiful, then. Robert was the verypictureof a man who would never let the world break him, who would never let himself be conquered by black blizzards or economic hardships.

And, boy, was that something. Henry was so impressed by him.

After opening his eyes, Henry turned to a blank page, and then, he started sketching. His mind still holding tight to that memory, Henry started drawing a dandelion. Midway through, he realized that the flower itself looked a little like a lion’s mane. At least, this one did. Which was pretty perfect, wasn’t it? Because Robert was like a lion. Proud. Determined. Courageous.

When Henry was finished, he blew off the excess shavings and heaved a sigh.

Robert Davis was a lion. But Henry... he was a scared little lamb. And if Robert tore him to shreds once he called off the wedding, Henry wouldn’t blame him.

Not one bit.

Chapter Three

Robert

April14,1935

Robert plunged two fingers into the glass jar of Vaseline, collecting enough for himself and for his brothers, both of whom were playing marbles by his feet. Taking care not to smear the colorless blob onto the label, Robert balanced the container in his palm and replaced the screw-top lid. After setting it back onto the counter, he knelt.

“Thomas, you first,” he said before stuffing some of the Vaseline in his brother’s nostrils.

“Why’re we wearin’ this stuff today?” Thomas asked, his face contorting in a sour expression.

“Car wouldn’t start this morning.” Robert switched over to Peter. “We’re walkin’ to church, and it’s mighty windy right now. Gotta try to keep our lungs clear. Or, clear enough. We’ll put rags over our faces and wear the goggles, too. Ain’t exactly a short walk into town. Hopefully it won’t be so windy later when we walk back.”

“Can’t we skip church?” Peter asked.

“No, we can’t,” Robert said, though he wouldn’t have had too much of a problem with it himself. But he’d promised his ma thathe’d bring the boys up right. And that meant making sure they went to church on Sundays. Even the Sundays when the wind was blowing and there might not be many others in the pews. “Don’t eventhinkof asking me that again, neither.”

After Robert prepped his own nose, he found Clara and May in the bedroom finishing up stuffing their noses, and then everyone took some fresh rags from one of the cupboards. Well, everyone except their pop. He wasn’t nowhere to be found. Bastard.

After wetting the rags with some water from the well and positioning them over their noses and mouths, they began the walk to church. Luckily, the wind had settled some. And even though it was hot, it wasn’ttoohot. It wasn’t the kind of heat that made you feel like your skin might blister from only a few minutes in the sun. Or, hell, even melt clean off the bone, like in the middle of summer. Thank God it was still only April.

Halfway to town, the bottom of one of May’s shoes ripped clean off, and then Robert had to carry her on his back the rest of the way, which meant that it was tricky to keep holding the rag to his face, especially when May started swaying and squirming and saying that she was uncomfortable. Only three minutes into the carry, Robert abandoned the rag. Shoving the fabric into his pocket, Robert took a breath and welcomed whatever nature might bring. Even if that something might mean a windstorm that filled his lungs with sand.

Probably he shouldn’t have smoked that cigarette last night.

While they walked, Robert had to fight to keep his expression neutral. Crossing the open fields was so Goddamn sad. What had once been miles of wheat had turned into a barren stretch of nothing. Nothing except soil that wasn’t useful no more. And rabbits. Hundreds of ’em. Christ, how long had it been since the last rabbit drive? Six weeks? Eight? It was probably time for another. Goddamn son-of-a-bitch rabbits were taking over, eating every leaf andberry they could. Hopefully the town would rally together soon to kill more of the pests. Because it was a miracle that them Hoover hogs hadn’t massacred the few remaining crops on their property. Just then, a horrible thought popped into Robert’s head. What if the critters feasted on their plants while they were in church? What the hell would they even eat, then? Damn tumbleweed salad for every meal?

Gnashing his teeth, Robert fought to contain the fury and nervousness now swirling in his belly. He only stopped when Clara caught his eye and he saw the worry on her face, the emotion manifesting as horizontal lines rippling across her forehead above her goggles.

“Sorry,” he said. “Just thinkin’ about these Goddamn Hoover hogs.”

Clara nodded. “Well, we put up that barbed wire fence. Should hold ’em off for a bit. At least ’til we’re back from church.”

“Yeah, I sure hope so,” he said, heaving a breath.

Once they reached the church, they shuffled into their regular pew, one toward the back of the nave. Robert felt more comfortable on the periphery in houses of worship, what with how he was and everything. He’d have probably stopped coming altogether if it weren’t for his siblings. Not that he mindedmostof the Christian teachings. But some...

Robert shook his head to shoo the thought away. None of that mattered right now. Because he needed to be here for his family. He needed to be here for his mother.

Soon, the pipe organ started to play. The sickly string of notes coming from what had to have been slightly clogged pipes was making the instrument sound as though its life was slowly fading, like its vitality was being choked out, even in this Goddamned holy sanctum. If that wasn’t the most perfect symbol of what washappening to the people of Oklahoma, Robert wasn’t sure what else was.

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