Irene's Diary, Part One

June 28th, 1934

Dear Diary,

The summer has been difficult so far, especially since Daddy is no longer with us. Mama originally said that he was traveling west to look for a job, but he hasn’t sent any letters for months. Lately she doesn’t talk about him if she can help it, and when the neighbors ask after him, she only says that he’s on a freight train, and she knows where it’s headed. The last time I saw him, his eyes seemed to well up in tears—although I don’t know if that was just on account of the dust—and he said, “Irene, I want you to look after your ma and your sisters. I’ve always known . . . I know you’re the only one who will understand in the end.”

That was the last we saw of him. He took half of our money, saying it would be a good start until he found his fortune, but he did leave behind his whiskey bottle collection. I tried to explain to Mama that this was The Lord providing for us, like she always said He would, but Mama simply wouldn’t have any of it. Instead of selling the bottles, she often had me and my sisters take them to neighbors. She said that this was charity, but accepting money for the wares of a slothful drunkard would be a sin. I hate to think of it, but Daddy drank the devil’s tonic more often than was agreeable to a Christian, and sometimes he would drink so much that he would just stare into the mirror for hours on end, not moving or even breathing. He would wake up soaked in sweat, and wouldn’t speak when Mama chastised him. He wouldn’t even look at us at all.

It was a delivery of Daddy’s old whiskey that brought me to the cabin of Uncle Bud and Aunt Judith today. They lived several miles away, and it was always an unpleasant walk. It was easiest to follow the dried-up creek, which was now filled with sand, and I tried to ignore the crows that sat on the dead trees, which seemed to laugh as Eunice, Nettie, and I made our way to the isolated home of our aunt.

Aunt Judith was washing clothes when we arrived, and acted pleased to see us, but she also seemed distracted. Perhaps it was because she has been with child for a few months . . . I couldn’t rightly say. She asked Eunice about Mama, Nettie ran off to play with their dog, Typhoid, and I entered the cabin to put down the bottles.

Despite the ever-burning sun that seemed to be punishing all of Oklahoma for some terrible sin, the cabin was dark, as usual. The room was barren except for a table, two cots with dirty straw mattresses, an unused box for firewood, and a mirror on the wall. Uncle Bud sat on one of the cots in the corner.

Uncle Bud has never been much for conversation—in fact, he never speaks at all. His head is about a foot long, and only one eye seems to work properly, and it follows you around the room. Sometimes he makes sounds, but never exact words. Once, I stayed for a night at their cabin on account of a particularly strong dust storm, and Uncle Bud moaned for hours while the dust and sand blew around the house. It made me a bit uncomfortable, but I just tried to pray for the storm to die down and not listen. In the morning, the weather had settled, and Uncle Bud looked at me all morning, as if he wanted to tell me something. He was looking at me again today. I said hello.

Uncle Bud and Aunt Judith also live with their one son, Cousin Erwin. He is very tall and talkative, with hair like a crow’s feathers and small, twinkling eyes. He was not at home today, and I figured that he was at the church in the neighboring town. Cousin Erwin went to church every Sunday, and he prayed more than anyone I knew. Aunt Judith always mentioned Cousin Erwin when she wrote to the family at Christmas. “He’s such a good boy,” she’d say. “I don’t know what I’d do without him around the homestead.” I could figure why he’d be so helpful, since Uncle Bud was limited in the work he could do.

Folks expected that Uncle Bud might be a genius because of his big head, and most of the family were disappointed when his small, twisted mouth never opened. But today, as I was walking out the door, I heard someone say my name. I turned, but Uncle Bud was looking at the window, not at me. It must have been the wind. The strange thing is, I thought I heard that same voice after I said my nightly prayers. There must be another storm on the move.