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July fourth burned white-hot from sunup.

There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky and barely a breath of wind.

Emily fanned her face with the end of her apron as she swept centipedes and spiders from the walls, but the flapping only disturbed the dust and made her eyes gritty.

She draped a wet towel over her neck and shoulders and pressed a damp cloth to her face.

It was the only way she could cool down.

The animals were particularly lethargic too, conserving what little energy they had as they lay in any patch of shade they could find.

The rivers and creeks were as dry as the cracked skin on Emily’s hands.

The ground was baked iron-hard beneath the Model T as Henry drove into town that afternoon.

Emily held an apple pie in her lap. Dorothy held Toto in hers.

They all held a silent longing for some respite from the relentless heat.

Despite the temperature, Emily was glad of the excuse to get out of the house. Closing the windows and doors was a necessity to keep out the bugs and insects that were thriving in the hot, dry conditions, but it made the place feel like a furnace.

“Will Pieter be there today?” Dorothy asked. “Will there be a carnival?”

Emily said she was sure Pieter would be there, yes. The two of them were inseparable. “I don’t know about a carnival, but I’m sure there’ll be plenty to keep you busy.”

“I wish Miss Adelaide was here,” Dorothy said as she peered out of the window. “I’d like to go up in the Jenny with her again. It was such fun.”

Emily followed Dorothy’s gaze skyward and let out a wistful sigh. She wished she could go up there again, too, but real life had rooted her in the prairie dirt.

“I’m sure Adelaide will be back soon,” she said, and wished she could be more specific. Every day since the telegram had felt like a month, and still, she didn’t return. “Although she’ll be very busy helping the rainmaker, so you’re not to be pestering her for a ride.”

Dorothy promised she wouldn’t.

Emily didn’t believe her for a second.

Hank and Henry and the other farmers had already raised a decent collection to pay the man whenever he showed up, and they hoped to raise even more during the day’s celebrations.

“What does the rainmaker do?” Dorothy asked. “Can he really make it rain?”

Henry glanced at Emily. “Sure hope so, kid.”

Emily wasn’t entirely sure how the rainmakers operated. “He has special machinery, and rockets, and fireworks that explode in the sky to bring the rain.” It was quite the spectacle by all accounts, although she remained skeptical until she saw it for herself.

“He sounds very clever,” Dorothy said.

Emily hoped they weren’t building this rainmaker up only to be let down. He’d become something almost mythical. Their last chance.

“Shall we talk about something else?” she said. “How about we sing a song?”

But it was too hot for songs.

They traveled the rest of the way in silence, glad of the light breeze that was stirred by the motion of the car.

—

The town was modestly decorated with patriotic displays of flags and bunting in red, white, and blue.

The Women’s Club and Beautification League had done their best, but it was a far cry from the impressive exhibits Emily remembered from her first years here.

Still, the place looked pretty with the added bursts of color.

Despite the heat, folk came out of their farms and homes, grabbing any patch of shade they could find. With so little to celebrate in these testing times, they all welcomed the opportunity to shrug off their worries and talk to friends and neighbors for a few hours.

Music and song carried from the shaded porch of the town hall, but only a few children and younger adults had the energy to dance, and although tables had been brought outside for the food, and plates were passed around, the heat stole everyone’s appetites.

“Just as well,” May Lucas said as she looked at the meager display. “There ain’t that much to go around.”

Folk had done their best with canned vegetables, dried beans, and salt pork pulled from their personal stores, but the excesses of past years that had seen the tables piled high with pies and salads, corn breads and biscuits and hams, were a distant memory.

It was hard to believe there had ever been such extravagance and abundance here.

Even Wilhelmina West was too hot to care what anyone else was doing, her usual need to interfere and chastise melting away in the heat. She barely reacted when Toto bared his teeth at her, shooing him away with a weary flick of her hands.

Dorothy scooped the dog up. “Toto! That isn’t very nice.”

Emily offered an apologetic smile. “He’s usually so good with people.”

“Dogs don’t care for me,” Wilhelmina said. “Nor children,” she added as Dorothy set her face into a scowl. “Don’t care for them much myself either.”

Emily tried a different approach. “How is your sister? I heard she wasn’t well.”

Wilhelmina seemed surprised that Emily had asked, or that anyone cared. “The dust has taken to her lungs. The doctors are doing what they can.”

“I’m sure she’ll be home soon. I have sisters. Well, just the one now. I know what a worry they can be.”

Wilhelmina looked at Emily, as if seeing her properly for the first time. “I was sorry to hear your sister died. I can’t imagine life without mine.”

Dorothy pulled on Emily’s arm. “Auntie Em! Come on. There’s a ring toss.”

Emily turned to leave. “Enjoy the day, Wilhelmina.”

She nodded. “I’ll tolerate it.”

Dorothy and Pieter went around the stalls, inseparable as usual.

Toto trotted along at Dorothy’s heels whenever he wasn’t bundled into her arms. She was utterly devoted to him, constantly patting and squeezing him close.

Not that the dog seemed to mind. Toto needed Dorothy as much as she needed him.

Ingrid noticed a rash on Pieter’s neck as they waited for a turn at the ring toss. “Come here, Pieter. Let me see.” She looked at the rash and asked Laurie for her opinion. “Is it a heat rash?”

“Looks more like measles to me. See how he is in an hour or so. Plenty of fluids and rest if it is.”

Ingrid turned to Emily. “Has Dorothy had the measles? If not, she’s likely to get it. She’s been practically attached to Pieter all day.”

Emily wasn’t sure. Yet again, the void in her relationship with the child stretched between them. “Dorothy? Do you know if you’ve ever had the measles?”

“I don’t think so. I had chicken spots once.”

Emily smiled. “Chicken pox , perhaps? I’ll keep an eye on you. If you start to feel itchy or poorly, you’re to tell me right away.”

Emily tried to enjoy herself, but the heat wilted her enthusiasm and her thoughts were elsewhere.

She exchanged small talk with her friends and played a few games at the carnival stalls, but her heart wasn’t in it.

While Dorothy played with Pieter and Toto, and Henry sat with the men in a huddle of serious conversation, Emily quietly stole away to the restorative solitude of the church.

It was cool and dark inside, a welcome break from the day’s searing heat.

She lit a candle and prayed for her parents and her sisters and baby Joseph, for Dorothy and Henry, for rain, and for the little souls she’d carried for such a short time.

Tears filled her eyes as the ache of the losses washed over her.

She’d had good reason to doubt her faith over recent years, but she took comfort from the practices and beliefs instilled in her by her parents.

She would be forever grateful for their careful instruction and firm discipline, for their kindnesses and guidance.

Like the fragile soil that blew loose from the tattered prairie, their deaths had left her uprooted and untethered.

It was part of the reason she’d come to Kansas.

The prairie had offered a fresh start, a chance to build a different life with Henry, but the most difficult parts of her past had followed her, nevertheless.

Part of her was still a child grieving her parents, an orphan who longed for their steady encouragement and advice and love.

Perhaps she had more in common with Dorothy than she realized.

She felt for the piece of Connemara marble in her skirt pocket, but it wasn’t there.

She panicked, afraid she’d lost it, until she remembered she’d given it to Dorothy.

She missed the familiar weight of it, but she hoped it would give the child the same comfort and assurance it had given her over the years.

She closed her eyes and said a final prayer to echo that hope.

She took a deep breath and readied herself to leave the quiet sanctuary and return to the scorching day, where nobody knew of the heavy ache in her heart. Like a circus illusionist, she revealed only what she wanted people to see. The rest was all a charade.

The sky had darkened and the wind had picked up while she was in the church.

Hats were pulled from heads and blown down the street like tumbleweeds.

Traffic lights swung back and forth on their wires.

The air was gritty, blowing dust into Emily’s eyes and scratching sharply against her skin like sandpaper.

There was a heaviness in the air. Emily felt the onset of a headache.

She was glad when the celebrations—such as they were—came to an abrupt end as everyone felt the unmistakable static prickle of a duster and hurried to their homes and cars.

Emily called for Dorothy while Henry cranked the motor.

In the distance, a great cloud of dirt was gathering.

—

Henry navigated by counting telegraph poles, the dimming light and the lingering drifts from previous dusters obscuring other landmarks.

He reckoned they were almost halfway home when the duster hit.

The car came to a sudden stop, the engine shorting out from the surge of static electricity. The hairs on Emily’s arms stood up.