Chapter 1
Burning in Hell
1964
Willa Hardesty lit a cigarette and tossed the burning match into the barrel. The bone dry stacks of the Enid Morning News and the Freedom Call caught first and fueled the rest. Flames and smoke filled the barrel and poured over the top. She took a deep drag on her cigarette and then another. She stared into the inferno and imagined the flames leaping out of the rusted barrel, igniting the twine-wrapped bundles of newspaper and the stacks of cardboard boxes filled with things that nobody wanted, and then, unsatisfied, the flames would devour the shed and, still hungry, would lap up the dry yellow grass in the yard, explode the gas cans in the garage, engulf Annie’s Dodge Dart, and then roar onto the porch of Aunt Mattie’s house, eat through the walls and doors and floors consuming everything, and then race across the pastures, and into the plowed fields, burning deep into the soil and charring the fresh drilled wheat, then gobbling every fence post, every weed and thistle along the way, burst to the top of Sugar Loaf hill until all four hundred acres was a wasteland of dry black powder. And the ravenous fire wouldn’t stop there; it would blaze east to Protection and Coldwater and beyond to Wichita and Topeka until there was nothing left of the whole goddamn state of Kansas. Nothing but ashes.
Ashes. Her mouth tasted like ashes. Willa sucked smoke deep into her chest. Searching for some kind of comfort. She stubbed out the spent cigarette in the dirt and lit another. Her stomach burned. Her ulcer was acting up again. The new medicine wasn’t worth a damn. She picked up another bundle of papers and threw them into the fire. The flames leapt. Hell. She was in hell.
She had gone over it so many times in her mind she was sick of it. Still the outcome was always the same. She knew something was up when Jake ran off to Kansas without her. He had said yes immediately to all of Aunt Mattie’s terms. They would farm on a 2/3-1/3 share, giving Mattie a third. “We should have talked it over,” Willa said. “Gotten a better deal.”
“What’s to talk about?” Jake said. “We’ll put cattle on wheat pasture, pay off our loan, and soon we’ll buy her out.”
“But without a contract, something in writing,” Willa argued, “what’s to stop Mattie from just selling it to somebody else or giving it to the church if you piss her off.”
Jake shrugged. “You don’t have contracts with family. We shook hands on it.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Willa countered. “She hasn’t cared a thing about us all these years.”
Jake walked away. He hated arguing. He’d made up his mind, done what he wanted, and there was nothing she could do about it except start packing.
She should have known, when the President was shot and that bastard in Protection spit on her Kennedy bumper sticker, that the whole world had turned dark.
She stared at the fire. Her heart pounded, and her face was hot. Maybe if she got lucky, she’d have a stroke and end it all right here. But then who would take care of Annie? No one, that’s who. Not Jake. The boys had their own lives. Not Ellie. Where the hell was she? Ellie was supposed to help her clean out this shed, and then she disappeared. She was always disappearing, always finding some excuse to get away from home. Away from work.
Willa stubbed out her cigarette in the dirt and lit another. It dangled from her lip as she picked up a box to toss into the barrel. Why did she have to do every goddamn thing herself?
“Mama!”
“Ellie! You scared the shit out of me! Don’t sneak up like that. You made me drop my cigarette.” Willa placed the box in the barrel. She picked up her cigarette and brushed off the dirt.
She took a drag and stared at her fifteen-year-old daughter. As bright and shiny as a new penny. And about as useless.
“What are you doing, Mama? You look all sweaty and weird.”
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m working. Which is more than you’re doing.”
“You don’t have to bite my head off.”
Willa added a stack of newspapers to the barrel. Ellie was up to something. Seemed like the only time Ellie ever said two words to her was when she wanted something.
“Well, don’t just stand there, missy. Hand me one of those boxes.”
“No. I’ll get all dirty and sweaty like you. Stewart’s picking me up. We’re going to town. Daddy said I could.”
“Oh no you’re not!” But Ellie pretended not to hear. She’d already run off. Back to the house to put her head in a book while she waited for Stewart.
Oh, forget it, Willa thought. Maybe Jake’s right. Let her do what she wants if it makes her happy.
And more than anything Willa wanted her baby girl to be happy. To have a happy life. Not a life like hers, filled with unhappiness and despair and grief. Willa lit a cigarette, savoring the familiar calming taste. She filled her mouth with smoke and blew a perfect smoke ring. At least she could still do that. She envied Ellie running toward her future. All Ellie wanted to do was get out, and Willa was doing her best to make sure she did. Nothing would stop Ellie from getting an education. Unless she got pregnant. Willa worried about that. Flicking the porch light on and off when Ellie stayed in Stewart’s car too long. It made Ellie furious, but Willa didn’t care. Everybody said that Ellie looked just like her. That they were two peas in a pod. But as soon as Ellie was born, Willa vowed that her daughter wouldn’t follow in her footsteps. And so far she hadn’t. No. Ellie took after Jake. Always spilling over with enthusiasm and optimism, never thinking of anyone but herself. But at least Ellie was happy. And that was all that mattered.
Willa picked up another box to add to the fire. A big boot box tied with rawhide string. No, it couldn’t be. She hadn’t seen this box in years. She put the box on the ground, kneeled down, and unknotted the string. She lifted the lid. Inside were dozens of calendar notebooks, all different sizes and different colors. So many years. She sorted through them until she found the first one. A small spiral notebook with a faded blue cover. A stubby pencil still stuck in the wire coils.
She took a deep drag on her cigarette and then buried the butt in the dirt. She flipped open the notebook. As she read, she remembered something. A long time ago she had been happy. She hadn’t started out in hell. She had started out in Freedom.
