Dust and Roses Read online

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Kudos for Wes Brummer

  Dust and Roses

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Part I: Defiance

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Part II: Deliverance

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Part III: Convergence

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  A word from the author…

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  A distant horn blew,

  its blast rising in pitch. A farm truck bore down on them, the young driver motioning frantically for them to move aside. Sara and Bea leaped for the ditch as the huge truck roared past. Behind the vehicle swirled a fantail of fine powder, a faint imitation of what was to come.

  Sara climbed onto the road on hands and knees, pushed to her feet, and helped Bea up. The air thundered. Darkness drew around them like an enveloping cloak.

  Bea took a step and collapsed. Sara heaved her up, wrapping her arm around her waist. “Come on! I’ll help you. The driveway is just ahead!” She yelled to be heard.

  They set off with Bea leaning on Sara’s shoulder, pacing in sequence like runners joined in a three-legged race. With time all but gone, they left the road, entering the curving driveway. The wind shrieked. The steps were just around the curve. But even as they neared the porch, the storm rushed upon them.

  A black wave surged around the tenant house and obliterated it from existence. Before Sara could scream, a blast of cold air gave her goose bumps, and dirt pelted her like buckshot.

  The darkness swallowed them.

  Sara and Beatrice were trapped in the belly of the storm.

  Kudos for Wes Brummer

  Won second place in “first chapter” category

  Kansas Writers Association Writing Contest

  Dust and Roses

  by

  Wes Brummer

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Dust and Roses

  COPYRIGHT © 2017 by Weston Brummer

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Debbie Taylor

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First American Rose Edition, 2017

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-1789-2

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1790-8

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To my wife, Debbie

  Part I: Defiance

  “The bold defiance of a woman is the certain sign of her shame. When she has once ceased to blush, it is because she has too much to blush for.”

  ~Charles Maurice de Talleyrand

  “A woman is like a teabag—you never know how strong it is until it’s in hot water.”

  ~Eleanor Roosevelt

  Chapter One

  KSKN Radio Station

  Prepares to Join Alliance Network

  Since their announcement April 3 of joining the Alliance Broadcasting Systems, Wichita’s KSKN radio station has been hard at work. Announcers are promoting network shows. New equipment is arriving daily. More positions are being added. There is an air of expectancy as KSKN prepares to join the fastest growing radio network in America.

  “We are getting ready for the big changeover,” says W. L. Tabor, owner and manager of KSKN. “Alliance Broadcasting offers a wide variety of programs, including dramas, comedies, news and sports. Soon, we will air live professional baseball games, directly from the ballpark.” In addition to baseball, KSKN will air all of ABS’s most popular shows including Saddle Tramp, Lew and Mabel, and Graveyard Tales.

  Currently, Alliance Broadcasting has stations in Newark, Detroit, Cincinnati, Chicago, and Omaha. Each station adds their unique shows to ABS’s line-up. Which KSKN show will ABS choose? “The secret is out,” said Mr. Tabor. “Alliance has aired several KSKN programs. The audience favorite is Heaven and Earth, Pastor Samuel McGurk’s half-hour Sunday morning commentary.”

  “Everything is in place to bring the resources of Alliance to Wichita listeners,” says Jeremy Gorham, chief engineer at KSKN. “All that is needed is the wire linking KSKN to its sister stations. Once connected, a concert in New York will sound as close as The Forum Exposition Hall downtown.”

  KSKN’s Alliance premiere will be Sunday, May 12. “More details are coming,” says Gorham. “Stay tuned.”

  The Wichitan

  6 April, 1935

  “Are you sure?” Sara McGurk asked for the second time.

  Dr. Daniel Payton fidgeted in his swivel chair, peering through bifocals at a flimsy sheet of paper. “Miss McGurk, the pregnancy test we use is ninety-eight percent accurate. You’re going to have a baby around mid-November. I know this is a shock. The good news is you’re young and healthy. I see no complications at this time.”

  “Oh, the complications are just beginning.” She looked about the too-small doctor’s office. Certificate hung on the wall above a cluttered wooden desk that seemed to take up most of the room. Nearby were family photographs and a calendar that hadn’t been switched to April. Three months. If only she could undo her mistake as easily as turning the p
age of a calendar. But she couldn’t.

  Doctor Payton was doing a poor job of hiding a grandfatherly smile. With a start, Sara realized she voiced her first thought aloud. “We’ll schedule you for another visit, this time with the father. He should be involved as well.”

  She sighed. “I’ll have to tell him. That won’t be easy.”

  The elderly physician jotted some notes on what could have been her medical chart. He was certainly taking it well. Probably wasn’t the first time he had to tell an unmarried woman she bore a child. And now she had to share her news.

  He scratched his rumpled gray hair. “Nevertheless, it’s important he understands your condition as you get closer to delivery.”

  “After I tell him, I’ll need to tell my parents. Daddy’s old fashioned.” She threw her hands to her face. “It feels like the world’s coming apart.”

  Dr. Payton touched her wrist. “Tell the father what you know. Make a plan together. Then face your parents together. It may be troublesome now, but every parent secretly wishes to be a grandparent. Keeping up appearances is what gets in the way. I’ll have you come back in a month. But before you go, I want to check your information.” He drew a fountain pen from his white coat pocket and retrieved her chart. “What is your full name?”

  “Sara Kay McGurk.”

  “Your birth date?”

  “May 23, 1911.”

  “Street address?”

  2234 Parker Street.”

  “And that’s in Wichita?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Do you have a telephone?”

  “Yes, MO-55545.”

  “Finally, I need the name of a relative in case of emergency.”

  “That would be my mother, Katherine McGurk. Same telephone number and address.”

  “Very good, Miss McGurk. See my nurse on the way out. She’ll set up your next appointment.”

  “Thank you, doctor.” Sara stood. Dr. Payton pushed himself to his feet as well, shaking her hand.

  “See you in May, Miss McGurk.”

  Sara made her appointment, gathered her handbag, donned a lavender hat, and left the doctor’s office. She had one more task before going to work—breaking the news to Larry.

  Downtown Wichita bustled with activity this crisp April morning. Women in long tapered dresses peered in shop windows while men in homburgs and fedoras hustled to work, holding their hats against the occasional of wind. The pleasant smell of bacon turned her head as she strolled past Woolworths. She could stop for a cup of coffee to steady her nerves, but she had no time. Turning, she picked up the pace, making her way through the business district.

  Would this be the end, or a new beginning for her and Larry Bigger?

  They’d been seeing each other for five months. Larry was fun, always telling hilarious stories about his customers at the mercantile. Even when he did something boneheaded, he could still get her to smile. Come to think of it, she couldn’t remember when they ever had a serious conversation.

  She met Larry by way of his father, Gerald Bigger. Jeremy Gorham—that bookish engineer from the radio station—bet her she couldn’t sell radio advertising to the owner of Bigger Mercantile. Yet, she pulled it off, earning her the friendship of Wichita’s savviest businessmen. From that escapade, Gerald introduced her to his son, Lawrence Bigger.

  Larry was like a real-life Lamont Cranston from The Shadow radio show, a carefree man about town. Nearly every week he took her on a different adventure, showing her places and experiences she never imagined.

  One week they dined at the Kit Kat Restaurant in the newly completed Allis Hotel. Then they rode in an elevator seventeen stories to the rooftop and gazed at the lights of Wichita far below. Another time they flew in one of Boeing’s newest planes at an air show. On Sundays, they sped along country roads in Larry’s 1933 Chevy Roadster. He paid extra for the silver paint job.

  She also learned to dance.

  Dancing was the best, whether it was a New Year’s ball in the Allis or a dance marathon at The Evergreen Club. She loved twirling with the flow of music. The closeness, the thrill, and the vitality, all made dancing an exuberant celebration. To share the bond together, to perform with other couples; this was the heart of it. To dance was to be alive.

  Sara approached the corner of First and Market. The cement fortress of the Hotel Lattimore rose before her. The notorious lodging held a speakeasy beneath the ballroom. She accompanied Larry to a Valentine’s dance here two months ago. That night changed her life.

  It began as an adventure—going to a speakeasy in a notorious hotel. They entered the lobby wearing red and white. Larry sauntered to the bell desk handing the employee a gold card and a five-dollar bill. The bellman escorted them to a closed door with a sign:

  DANGER!

  EXPOSED WIRING

  Inside, muffled drums thumped behind a partition. After the bellman rapped a hurried code, a hidden door slid opened.

  The joint, as they say, was jumping.

  Men and women shouted to each other in a large smoke-filled room with a jazz band playing on a small stage. Couples, dressed to the nines, were laughing and drinking from small glasses. A pretty cigarette girl worked the crowd. Long-legged waitresses, dressed as cabaret singers, served eager young men. A rotating mirror ball scattered beams of light across a brilliant dance floor.

  The combo finished a breezy number with sax and trumpet amid muted drums. A hush fell as the room blacked out. Moments later, a spotlight kindled to life over a statuesque colored woman in a white evening gown. She sang “Blue Moon.”

  They danced the night away. After relentless teasing, Larry talked Sara into trying a martini. Actors drank them in movies. They came in such small glasses. How bad could they be? She gulped one down, as instructed. Then Larry ordered her another.

  Things got fuzzy after that.

  She couldn’t remember leaving the speakeasy, but she did recall the drive out of town. “Larry, take me home. My head is spinning.” She cupped her hands over her temples, trying to keep the world steady.

  “In a bit. It’s Valentine’s Day, and there’s a lover’s moon.” The dim light from the car’s dashboard gave his face a predatory look. “Don’t you want to see it?” He turned the car onto a country path.

  A silent bolt of lightning penetrated the fog in her head. Sara gasped. With awful clarity, she realized what was about to happen.

  What followed was an act, not of passion, but of regret and sorrow.

  And now…shame.

  She pushed the memory aside as she hurried past the dreadful hotel, crossing the next block. Catty-cornered was the Orpheum Theatre, its corner marquee shouting in bold letters:

  NOW SHOWING

  “THE GAY DIVORCEE”

  Maybe Gladys from work could watch it with her. Gladys was a big fan of Fred Astaire.

  She would have a serious talk with Larry. He’d snort and complain but would do the proper thing in the end. He had to. After they married, they could rent a small house. Mother would love the baby, as would Mr. and Mrs. Bigger. Daddy would be hard to win over, but in the end, all should work out.

  At Emporia Street Sara turned north. Bigger Mercantile was one block away.

  The brick and limestone building stood four stories tall with rows of tall windows on all sides and marked the dividing line between the business and warehouse districts. The mercantile traded in practical goods. Those looking for trendy fashions or delicate jewelry should go elsewhere.

  Sara entered the store and climbed the stairs. As she rounded the third-floor landing, she spotted Gerald Bigger stepping down from the fourth floor, talking to another man. The stranger wore a brown woolen suit and flat-brimmed derby. Mr. Bigger looked impressive in his black three-piece suit and large watch-chain. His striking blue eyes and gray temples could turn even a young woman’s head. He stopped in mid-sentence when he saw her. “Sara! This is a surprise!” Bigger turned to his companion, gesturing. “Eustis, this is Sara McGurk. She and my
son have been seeing each other these past few months. Sara, this is Eustis Case. Mr. Case does business in Kansas City.”

  Sara curtsied. “How do you do, sir.”

  “Hello young lady.” Case tipped his hat.

  “Sara’s father is a notable radio pastor in this town,” said Bigger. His program Heaven and Earth is quite popular.” He turned to Sara. “Did I read that your father’s program will be on the Alliance network?”

  “Yes sir. His premiere will be in six weeks.”

  “I imagine your workload will soar when your father gets a nationwide audience.”

  “We’re already seeing more listener mail.”

  Bigger motioned to his colleague, “Mr. Case is helping me put together a mail-order catalog for out-of-town customers. It could double our sales.”

  Gerald Bigger exhibited the most commonsense of any businessman Sara met. His store was always clean, prices well marked, and every light bulb lit. Details like these would stand out if neglected. He had a simple, yet ingenious method of keeping customers; he wandered around, viewing the store the way a customer would. Sara often glimpsed him poking among the racks, straightening stock, checking signs, and talking to customers. Bigger carried a notebook, noting what needed attending. His help hated that notebook, Larry most of all.

  Eustis chuckled. “Mail-order customers can order anytime from anywhere. Work clothes and hard-to-find tools are appealing to rural customers. Bigger Mercantile could become a major mail-order business in the next two years.”

  “That sounds grand.” Sara shifted her feet. “Is Larry still working the fourth floor?”

  Gerald pointed upstairs. “In the men’s department, re-arranging clothes unless he wandered off.” He tapped his fingers on the rail. “Say, when you see him, tell him to head straight home after work. Mr. Case is having supper with us tonight.” He shook his head. “I swear, managing a business in the middle of a Depression is easier than raising a son. Tell him it’s important.”

  Sara nodded. Gerald’s demeanor always seemed confident, but today she saw something else. Exhaustion.

  “I’ll tell him, Mr. Bigger. Good day, gentlemen.”

  The fourth floor was essentially one large room. Rows of tables and shelves sat in neat rows beneath lights hanging from long cords. Piles of goods occupied every flat surface. Easy-to-read signs listed items and prices: