The Four Winds

by Kristin Hannah

She was “too” everything—too tall, too thin, too pale, too unsure of herself.

The Texas Panhandle town of Dalhart stretched out in front of her, wakening beneath a bright sun.

Dalhart was the county seat, and these were booming economic times. Ever since the train had been routed through here on its way from Kansas to New Mexico, Dalhart had expanded.

He was Italian. Catholic. Young. Nothing about him was acceptable to her family.

“Dalhart is on its way,” Papa said loudly enough to be heard above the music. “I’m gonna build us a damn opera house next year. Why should we have to go to Amarillo for a little culture?” “We need electricity in town. That’s the ticket,” Mr. Hurst added.

She would take whatever she could get from Rafe and pay whatever price there was for it. Even going to hell. He’d made her feel more beautiful in one minute than the rest of the world had in twenty-five years.

A year ago, Elsa would have thought it insane that any woman would think to walk from Oklahoma or Texas or Alabama to California, especially pushing a baby carriage. Now she knew better. When your children were dying, you did anything to save them, even walk over mountains and across deserts.

In the mirror, she’d seen more than her face. She’d seen the girl she’d been before all of this. A dreamer, a believer. Someone who would go places. How had she forgotten all of that?

Elsa held her children’s hands. They stood on the muddy bank and looked up to the bright heavens and sang hymns and Christmas songs, and by the end, none of them cared that the local churches denied them entry or that their clothes were ragged and dirty or that Christmas dinner would be small. They found strength in each other. Elsa and Jean looked at each other as they sang the words be unbroken.

Loreda looked at her. “I know you have stuff you need to say, but we’re kids so you stay quiet. I thought maybe writing it down would make you feel better.”

“My grandfather was a Texas Ranger. He used to tell me that courage was a lie. It was just fear that you ignored.” She looked at him. “Well, I’m scared.”

“No sorries. We fought, we struggled, we hurt each other, so what? That’s what love is, I think. It’s all of it. Tears, anger, joy, struggle. Mostly, it’s durable.

“They were crazy,” Loreda said. “Your other family, I mean. And they missed out.” “On what?” “You. They never saw how special you are.” Elsa smiled. “That’s maybe the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Loreda.”

but tonight … when I saw you get hit…” “What?” “I thought … it’s not worth that.” He looked at her. “You’ve unbalanced me, Elsa.”

She’d rather reach for love and fail than never reach at all.

“You’re wearing your worried face,” Loreda said when Elsa sat down on the bed beside her. “It’s my love face,” Elsa said, stroking her daughter’s hair. “I’m proud of you, Loreda.

The four winds have blown us here, people from all across the country, to the very edge of this great land, and now, at last, we make our stand, fight for what we know to be right. We fight for our American dream, that it will be possible again.

A warrior never gives up. A warrior fights for those weaker than herself. It sounds like motherhood to me.

I’ve never seen anyone so brave. Why was I so mean for so long? You gave me wings, Mom. Did you know that? I feel you here. Will I always?

“I wish I’d told her I was proud of her,” I say quietly. Regret reemerges at the oddest moments.