The Journey Home
When the Ford Fairmont wagon pulled into her driveway, Alvina Beamish turned off her television. She had not been paying attention to it anyway. Even under normal circumstances, she had little interest in news broadcasts. During the past week, she had thought of little else except her husband's death and the necessary funeral arrangements. She and Judd were married for more than fifty years. Now he was gone. What did she care about who President Reagan nominated for the Supreme Court?
The front door opened, and her daughter, Maureen Macaulay, called out, "Are you ready, Mom?"
"I'm coming," Alvina said and took her handbag off the kitchen table.
Neither woman spoke as they drove to the funeral home. The car radio, which Maureen had tuned to an easy-listening station, provided a somber soundtrack to their commute. It was not until the Fairmont turned into the parking lot that the widow spoke.
"Where's Waylon?" the widow asked, not seeing her son-in-law in the group of mourners.
"He took the baby to his cousin's house. He'll be here before the service starts," her daughter assured her.
"Here comes your brother and his family."
Gavin Beamish got out of his car, crossed the parking lot and kissed his mother's cheek. Then tightly holding on to her son's arm, Alvina entered the funeral home. Once inside, the widow took her seat in front of the casket. Her son and daughter took the chairs to her immediate left and right.
For the next hour, a steady stream of relatives, friends, neighbors and many customers of the family's automotive repair business filed past the coffin, said farewell to the deceased and offered their condolences to the family he left behind. When the viewing came to an end, Reverend Conniff conducted a brief memorial service. Alvina, who was not a religious woman, had agreed to this short ceremony but had refused to have a full-fledged funeral inside a church.
Once the crowd in the viewing room cleared out, the doors were shut and the casket was loaded into the back of a hearse for transport to the crematorium. Maureen and Gavin had both wanted their father buried in a nearby cemetery, but their mother had held firm in her wish to have her husband cremated.
"I mean to take his ashes home," was all the reason she gave them.
A crowd of more than forty mourners congregated at the family home where caterers had laid out a buffet while the service was being held. People gathered together in small groups as they ate chicken, sandwiches and salads. Conversations were held in low voices, the speakers respectful of the somber occasion. However, there was occasional soft laughter as people told humorous anecdotes about the deceased.
"Your dad could be could be quite the character! I'm going to miss him," Hubie Ripken, Judd's long-time employee said, patting Gavin on the back. "You've got some big shoes to fill, son."
"Don't I know it!"
"And what are your plans for the future, Alvina?" Hubie asked the widow. "Are you going to sell this house and move into something smaller?"
"All I know is that I'm not going to stay in California. I want to go back home."
Gavin and Maureen were dumbfounded by their mother's announcement. She might as well have said she planned on going to the moon!
"What do mean by that?" Maureen cried. "California is your home!"
"No, it's not. Your father and I were originally from Oklahoma. Frankly, I never wanted to leave there. Abandoning our farm and heading west was your father's idea, not mine."
"Why did you never tell us that?" Gavin asked. "We assumed you were born and raised here."
"Your father didn't want to talk about the past. He preferred to look to the future."
"And you?" Maureen prompted. "Do you feel the same way?"
"No. I never let go of the past. Although I don't talk about it, I hold it here in my heart. Now that I'm on my own, I want to return to my true home—if only for a short visit. You see, I aim to go back and scatter your father's ashes in Oklahoma."
* * *
A week after the funeral, Alvina Beamish and her two children put their luggage in the trunk of Gavin's Chevy Monte Carlo and placed the plain wooden box they had collected from the crematorium on the floor of the back seat. Maureen and her brother had agreed to accompany their mother to Oklahoma to spread their father's ashes on what had once been the couple's farm.
"It'll take about two days to drive there, depending upon traffic," Gavin announced. "Don't worry. There ought to be plenty of rest areas along the way, so we can stop, eat, get a drink, go to the bathroom or just stretch our legs."
"I really appreciate you two coming with me," Alvina said. "And I hope Waylon doesn't mind watching the kids while you're gone."
"He better not!" Maureen laughed. "I've been watching them since they were born. He can handle them for a week."
On the second day of the trip, as they made their way through New Mexico, Gavin found it necessary to change radio stations several times. At one point, the reception was so bad, they could hear nothing but static.
"I should have got a tape player put in this car. Then we would at least have something to listen to."
"We don't need music," his sister declared. "We can talk instead."
"What do you want to talk about?"
Maureen turned around and looked at her mother who was sitting behind her.
"Why don't you tell us about Oklahoma?"
"It's been a long time since I was last there," Alvina replied. "I imagine it's changed a lot."
"When did you leave?" Gavin asked.
"In 1935."
"That was during the Dust Bowl, wasn't it?"
"Yes."
"What was it like?" Maureen prompted after her mother fell silent.
"Terrible. The drought began in the early Thirties. With no significant rain, the over-farmed soil soon dried out. Over the next few years, dozens of dust storms raged through the Plains states. You can't imagine what it was like. Wheat and corn fields were empty and brown. You could see the topsoil swirling in the wind. We put rags beneath the doors and around the windows to keep the dust out of the house. I had to hang my laundry inside otherwise it would be covered with red dust."
"That must have been horrible!" her daughter exclaimed.
"It was! Dust was everywhere. I kept lids on my pots and pans when I cooked. When we slept, we pulled a sheet up over our heads. Even still, there always seemed to be grit in our eyes and mouths. And that was just the so-called minor inconveniences caused by the smaller dust storms. When the monstrous black blizzards came through, they covered fences, tractors, animals and buildings with dust. Deposits could get as tall as a thousand feet, although that was not the norm—thank God. The sand got so heavy on some houses that the roofs caved in. There were times when it was dark as night during the day. Once in a while, dust particles rubbed together and created static electricity sparks."
"I don't know how you could live like that!" Gavin said with awe.
"What choice did we have? It was the Depression. We had no money. Besides, it was our home. That land had been in my family for three generations."
"And yet you finally left," Maureen pointed out.
"Is that a rest stop up ahead?" Alvina asked, her eyes filled with tears.
"Yeah," her son answered. "You want me to stop?"
"I'd appreciate it. I could use a nice, cold bottle of Coca-Cola about now. All this talking has made me thirsty."
Gavin put on his turn signal and pulled off the highway. For the time being, Alvina took a detour from her trip down Memory Lane.
* * *
"That hamburger wasn't bad, considering it came from a truck stop," Maureen opined as she walked back to her brother's Monte Carlo.
"I'd rather have had a salad," Alvina said. "I usually don't eat that much for lunch. It makes me sleepy."
"Feel free to lay down on the back seat and take a nap if you'd like," Gavin told her.
"That sounds like a good idea."
"Oh, no, you don't!" Maureen laughed. "I want to hear more about what happened to you and Dad in Oklahoma."
"Give me a chance to let my food digest," her mother said, hoping to postpone the resumption of her story for as long as possible.
"I'd better get gas while I'm here," Gavin announced. "I'm down to less than half a tank, and there's no telling when we'll see another service station."
Half an hour later, as the family continued heading east, Maureen bombarded her mother with questions about the Dust Bowl days.
"Why did you eventually leave? Did you sell the farm or let the bank foreclose on it? Why did you go to California? Did you and Daddy have friends there? Were you ...."
"Come on, Maureen," her brother cried. "Give the poor woman a chance to answer."
"Sorry, Mom."
"That's all right," Alvina said. "I suppose it's only natural you want to learn about the family history, especially since you just lost your father."
"Does it bother you to discuss the past?" Gavin asked.
"About most of it, no. But some of it ...."
Her voice trailed off, and tears came to her eyes.
"Don't tell us anymore if it bothers you," her son advised.
Maureen glared at her brother, failing to understand why he was not as curious about their parents' early lives as she was.
"I suppose you deserve to know what happened," Alvina conjectured with a sigh of resignation. "Judd and I dug in our heels and stoically held on despite there being no indication that conditions would improve anytime soon. The farm was a failure, so your father found work in town as a mechanic—he was always good at tinkering with the tractors and trucks."
"That explains why he opened a service station," Gavin observed.
"Stop interrupting!" Maureen told him.
"Thankfully, we managed to eke out a living. I suppose notwithstanding the terrible circumstances, the three of us were happy."
"Three?" her daughter and son both echoed.
"Yes. Three. Your father and I had a child that was born back in 1932. A son who we named Caleb."
"What happened to him?" Gavin inquired, stunned by the fact that he had an older brother.
"He disappeared."
The answer took her children by surprise. Gavin and Maureen had expected their mother to say that Caleb died of some childhood disease, possibly measles. He might even have succumbed to pneumonia, tuberculosis, scarlet fever or any other deadly ailments that could be cured nowadays.
"It was April 14, 1935, a day later dubbed Black Sunday. Normally, we attended church services on Sundays, but that day I wasn't feeling well. Judd went to a neighboring farm to help with repairing a chicken coop while I remained at home with Caleb. He was only three years old at the time. He had just finished his lunch, and I put him down for a nap. Then I laid down on the couch and rested for a while. I must have dozed off because when I opened my eyes, the front door was open and my son was gone."
Parents themselves, Maureen and Gavin sympathized with their mother's torment.
"I went outside to look for him, and that's when I saw a wall of blackness headed my way. It was like a tidal wave of dirt. I later read that the storm displaced three hundred thousand tons of topsoil and that residue could be found as far away as Chicago, New York and Boston."
Gavin whistled, amazed at the extent of the storm.
"I was frantic. I searched everywhere for Caleb. Soon the cloud of dust was upon me. I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. I could barely breathe! Somehow, your father made it home before the worst of it hit. By some miracle, he found me and pulled me into the house. Then he went back out. He was gone for hours. I feared that I had lost both of them, but eventually he returned. I hardly recognized him. He was covered from head to toe in dirt."
"And Caleb? What became of him?" Maureen asked.
"I don't know. We never found him. For more than a month, we dug through the drifts of soil. At first, hoping to save his life and then wanting to find his body and give it a decent burial. But we found no trace of him."
"Oh, Mom!" her daughter exclaimed. "I'm so sorry!"
"My heart was broken. I stopped caring about the house, the farm, the land that had been in the family for so long. To be honest, all I wanted to do was die. I would gladly have killed myself. The only reason I didn't was that the church teaches us that suicides are damned to hell, and I hoped to someday see my baby in heaven."
"Is that why you moved to California?" Gavin wondered.
"Yes. Your father decided we should start a new life in a new place. We packed up the truck one day and just left. I don't know what happened to the farm. Maybe one of my relatives took it over or maybe not. I didn't give a damn."
"You said Caleb was born in 1932, but Gavin wasn't born until 1946," Maureen mused. "Why did you wait so long to have another child?"
"Judd and I got married young. I was only fifteen when Caleb was born," Alvina explained. "After losing him, I couldn't bear having another child. Then the war came, and your father went overseas. By the time he came home, I had warmed up to the idea of being a mother again."
"I'm glad you did," Gavin laughed.
Silence temporarily descended on the Beamish family. Then they saw a sign that read WELCOME TO OKLAHOMA.
"We're almost there," Maureen observed, her mood improving now that they were reaching the final leg of their journey.
"According to my calculations," her bother said, "we should arrive at our destination in about two to three hours."
"I think I'd like to take that nap now," Alvina announced.
"Sure, Mom. Go ahead and get some rest," her son suggested. "We'll wake you up when we get there."
With the discussion at an end, he leaned forward and turned on the radio. Glen Campbell was singing "Galveston."
"It must be a country music station," Gavin surmised.
"It ain't rock 'n' roll," his sister joked, "but I guess it's better than nothing."
* * *
When the Monte Carlo pulled off the road onto the gravel driveway, Alvina sat up in the back seat. It was a familiar sight she woke up to.
"The place hasn't changed at all!" she exclaimed.
The Chevy came to a stop, and she got out of the car without waiting for one of her children to open the door.
"So, this is where you and Dad lived?" Gavin asked, staring at the two—story farmhouse.
"Yup. The place belonged to my parents and their parents before them. It was handed down to me when ...."
Suddenly, the screen door opened, and a middle-aged man stuck his head out.
"Oh, my God!" Maureen cried. "You look just like my late father!" Then she turned to her mother and added, "He must be one of Dad's relatives. Maybe a younger brother or a nephew?"
Alvina did not answer. It was as though she had not heard a word her daughter said.
The man and the old woman stared at each other for several minutes. Finally, he stepped outside.
"Is it really you?" he asked with amazement.
The old woman slowly nodded her head but made no sound.
"I never thought I'd see you again," he said and embraced her. "Oh, Mom, where did you go and why did you and Dad stay away so long?"
Gavin and Maureen exchanged baffled looks. Could this man really be their long-lost brother? The age would be about right, and he was living here in the family home. Besides, there was a strong family resemblance.
Alvina took a step back to stare up into the man's face.
"Caleb?"
"Yeah, it's me, Mom."
"But your father and I thought you were dead, that you were buried under a mountain of topsoil during that horrible dust storm."
"I thought the same thing happened to the two of you."
"We searched for weeks. Where were you?"
"I went outside to play while you were sleeping on the couch. When the storm came, I tried to find my way back to the house, but I couldn't see anything. Eventually, I found shelter; I don't know where. Remember, I was only three at the time. Lucky for me, there was food there. I remained in that place, waiting for you and Dad to find me. But you never came."
"Oh, my poor boy!" Alvina sobbed, throwing her arms around her firstborn son.
"Where's Dad?" Caleb asked. "Isn't he with you?"
"No. I hate to have to tell you this, but your father died recently. That's why we're here. We came back to Oklahoma to scatter his ashes."
The man turned his attention to Maureen and Gavin.
"You must be my brother and sister," he assumed.
The siblings stepped forward and introduced themselves.
"I can't believe it!" Caleb muttered, wiping a tear from his eye. "I've got a family."
"Why don't we go inside," his mother suggested. "I could use something cold to drink."
"Sure. I've got some lemonade in the fridge."
Once her thirst was quenched, Alvina offered to cook dinner for her three children.
"That would be great!" her oldest son declared. "I have chicken defrosted, and there's plenty of vegetables."
After an impromptu dinner of fried chicken, dumplings, green beans and corn, Gavin retrieved his father's ashes from the back seat of his Monte Carlo. Then he joined his mother, brother and sister beneath a large apple tree.
"Judd always loved this tree," the widow reminisced. "I would make him apple pies, turnovers, fritters and cobbler. I think this is the perfect place for his ashes."
Gavin opened the lid of the wooden box and tilted it, slowly letting the contents spill out onto the ground. As the ashes mingled with the grass, the dead man's family recited the Lord's Prayer.
"For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever," they concluded in unison.
"Amen," Alvina intoned, as her younger son put the lid back on the empty wooden box.
"It's getting late," Maureen noted as she watched the sun hovering above the western horizon. "We ought to get going. We've got a long ride ahead of us."
"I think it's best we stay at a hotel tonight and start fresh in the morning."
"You two go ahead. If it's all right with Caleb, I'll sleep here," Alvina said.
"I'd like that, Mom," her long-lost son agreed.
He took his mother's hand and led her back into the house. Neither of them said goodbye to the two younger children, nor did they watch as the Monte Carlo drove away.
"It's good to be home at last," the old woman said as she crossed the threshold of eternity."
* * *
Gavin pulled up in front of Sal's Ristorante and turned off the Monte Carlo's engine.
"Feel like having pasta?" he asked his sister.
"No, but I could go for a few slices of pizza," she replied.
Maureen turned her head and looked into the back seat.
"Mom's still sleeping. She's been out like a light since we crossed the border into Oklahoma."
"I'll wake her up," Gavin said and opened the rear door. "Rise and shine, Mom. It's time to eat dinner."
Alvina Beamish did not move or speak. She could do neither since she had passed away quietly in her sleep not long after entering the Sooner State.
"What do we do now?" Maureen asked once the police arrived and their mother's body was taken to the morgue.
"Well, we can't take Mom home with us," Gavin pointed out. "I can't fit a coffin in my trunk, nor can I strap it to the roof."
"I supposed we ship her back to California."
"I think it's better if we arrange for a funeral and cremation here in Oklahoma. Since we're going to scatter Dad's ashes on their old farmland, we can scatter hers along with them."
Three days later, as the siblings crossed over into New Mexico on their journey back to California, they heard a startling news story being broadcast on the radio. In short, the skeleton of a child, which was recently found only a few feet away from the farmhouse where Alvina and Judd Beamish had once lived, was determined to be that of a three-year-old boy. Police assumed it belonged to Caleb Beamish, who had gone missing on April 14, 1935.
"That's our brother's body!" Maureen exclaimed.
Gavin made a U-turn and headed back to Oklahoma.
"Where are we going?" his sister demanded to know.
"We're going to see that Mom and Dad are reunited with their missing son. They may have been separated far too soon in life, but at least their ashes can be together."
"Ashes to ashes," Maureen mumbled. "And dust to dust. Or perhaps that was a bad choice of words."
"Considering Caleb has been buried in dust for roughly half a century, I'd have to agree with you."
Salem visited Oklahoma during a dust storm. Afterward, he cast a spell to make a sand castle.
