In May, the valley dried out beneath sunny days and everything grew and blossomed. In June, the cotton plants flowered and needed to be trimmed. True to Welty’s word, those who lived at Welty Farms growers’ camp were the first to get these precious jobs; Elsa spent hours working beneath the hot sun. Most of the valley’s ditch-bank residents, including Jeb and the boys, had hitchhiked north for work. Jean stayed back with the girls and the stuck-in-the-ground truck that was all they had left.
Today, just before dawn, a big truck pulled into the Welty camp, chugging smoke. The people standing in line barely waited for it to stop before they climbed aboard. Men and women got into the back and crammed in tightly, hats drawn low, gloves on (gloves they’d had to purchase at the company store for an exorbitant price).
Loreda looked up at Mom, who was pressed close to the wooden slats directly behind the cab. She had been the second person in line when the truck pulled up this morning.
“Make sure Ant does his homework,” Mom said. “Are you sure I can’t—”
“I’m sure, Loreda. You can pick cotton when it’s ready; that’s it. Now go to school and learn something so you don’t end up like me. I’m forty and most days I feel a hundred. Besides, there’s only a week of school left anyway.”
A man closed the gate at the back of the truck. Within moments the truck was chugging out to the road, heading to the cotton fields. It wasn’t hot yet,
but it soon would be.
Loreda went back into the cabin. Already the small interior had begun to grow warm. Though she knew it was a harbinger of summer heat to come, Loreda still appreciated the warmth after the cold of winter. She opened the air vents and went to the hot plate and started the oatmeal she and Ant would have for breakfast.
As light came into the cabin, Ant stumbled out of bed and walked to the door. “I gotta pee.”
He came back fifteen minutes later, scratching his privates. “Did Mom get work?”
“She did.”
He sat on a wooden crate at the table they’d scavenged. After they finished eating, Loreda walked Ant to school. “I’ll meet you at the cabin after school,” she said. “Don’t dawdle. Today’s laundry.”
“It’ll be hot.” Ant grimaced and went into his classroom.
Loreda headed to her own classroom. As she reached the tent flap, she heard Mrs. Sharpe say, “Today the girls are going to learn to mix cosmetics, and the boys will do a science project.”
Loreda groaned. Making cosmetics.
“We all know how important beauty is in finding a man,” Mrs. Sharpe said.
“No,” Loreda said aloud. “Just … no.”
She put her foot down on making cosmetics. Last week the girls had spent hours learning to sift dry ingredients and knead bread, while the boys had been taught how to “fly” in a replicated plywood airplane cockpit with painted-on instruments.
She didn’t skip school often, because she knew how much her mother cared about education, but honestly, sometimes Loreda just couldn’t stand it. And Lord knew Mrs. Sharpe would give Loreda the evil eye either way. Her questions in class were not appreciated. She ducked into their cabin, found her latest library book, and headed out of camp.
Out on the main road, she felt her spine straightening, her chin lifting. She swung her arms as she walked to town. What could be better than skipping school to visit the library? She’d read The Communist Manifesto this week and she was eager to find something equally enlightening. Mrs. Quisdorf had mentioned something by a man named Hobbes.
Main Street was busy today. Men in suits and women in spring dresses walked toward the movie theater; the marquee read: TOWN MEETING.
Loreda walked into the library and headed straight for the checkout desk. She handed Mrs. Quisdorf the book.
“And what did we learn from this?” Mrs. Quisdorf asked in a lowered voice, although it didn’t look like anyone else was here. The library was empty most days.
“It’s all about class struggle, isn’t it? Serfs against landlords throughout history. Marx and Engels are right. If there was only one class, where everyone worked for the good of all, it would be a better world. We wouldn’t have people like the big growers making all the money and people like us doing all the work. We starve while the rich get richer.”
“From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs,” Mrs. Quisdorf said, nodding. “That’s the general idea. Who’s to say if it actually works, though.”
“Hey, what’s going on at the theater? I thought it was closed down.”
Mrs. Quisdorf looked back through the windows. “Town meeting. It’s politics, I guess you could say. Happening right under our noses.”
“Would they let me in?”
“It’s open to the public, but … well … sometimes it’s better to study politics from a nice, safe historical perspective. The real thing can be pretty ugly.”
“How can they stop me from going? I’m a resident of the state now.” “Yes, but … well, be careful.”
“I’m reliably careful, Mrs. Q.,” Loreda said.
Outside, a hot June sun shone down. She left the side street and emerged onto Main, passing a soup kitchen with a long line of people out front.
Loreda merged into the well-dressed crowd and entered the theater. Inside, red velvet curtains bracketed a raised stage. Gilt trim highlighted intricately carved woodwork. Within minutes, most of the seats were taken.
Loreda took a seat on the aisle beside a man in a black suit and hat who was smoking a cigar. The smell of the smoke made her feel slightly sick.
A man stepped up onto the stage, took his place behind the podium. The crowd quieted.
“Thank you all for coming. We all know why we’re here. In 1933, the Federal Emergency Relief Administration was set up to be temporary help
for folks coming into the state. We didn’t know we’d be overrun with migrants. And who knew so many of them would be of weak moral character? Who knew they’d want to live on relief? Thanks to FDR’s support for business, we’ve ended federal relief, but the state still pays people who have been here for a year. And frankly, the state just doesn’t have the resources to handle the need.”
Weak moral character?
A man in the crowd stood up. “We hear they aren’t going to pick. Why should they? They’re living the good life on the dole. From my taxes!”
“What if there aren’t enough workers to pick our cotton crop?”
“And what about that durn tent camp the feds are building for migrants in Arvin? It’ll be a hotbed for agitators. I hear they’re talking about giving them gosh darn healthcare.”
A man stood. Loreda recognized Mr. Welty. He liked to walk through camp, with his chest all puffed up, and look down on his workers.
“The damn relief workers are coddling the Okies,” Welty said. “I say we stop all relief during the picking season. What if they get a hankering to unionize? We can’t afford a strike.”
Strike.
The man at the podium held out his hands to quiet the audience. “That’s why we’re here today. The CSA shares your concerns. We will not let the crop—or your bottom line—suffer. The state knows how important the crop is to our economy. Just as we know how important it is to manage the disease in the camps so our own children remain safe. We need to build a migrant school, a migrant hospital. Keep them to themselves.”
“The damn Red agitators were at my farm this week stirring up trouble.
We gotta stop a strike before it happens.”
A man strode down the aisle as if he owned the place. He wore a brown suit coat that was dusty and out of date. Loreda saw him and sat up straighter.
Jack.
“They’re Americans,” Jack said. “Do you have no shame at all? You don’t mind breaking their backs when the cotton is ready, but as soon as it’s done, you throw them away like they’re garbage. Just as you’ve always done to the people who pick your crops. Money, money, money. It’s all you care about.”
A shouting match erupted throughout the audience. Men stood, shouted, pumped their fists in anger.
“A man can’t feed his family on one cent for every pound of cotton he picks. You know it and you’re scared. You should be scared. You kick a dog long enough, he’s going to bite,” Jack said.
Two policemen rushed in. One of them grabbed Jack and hauled him away.
Loreda ran outside, blinking for a moment in the brightness. Flyers stuck to the sidewalk, along the curb, drifted down the street. Workers Unite for Change!
Jack lay sprawled on the ground. His hat had fallen off and lay beside him.
“Jack!” Loreda yelled, running over to him, kneeling.
“Loreda.” He grabbed his hat, crushed it to his head, and stood up, giving her a slow-building smile. “My little commie-in-training. How the hell are you?”
How could he smile with blood running down from a cut at his temple? A police siren wailed.
“Come on,” Jack said, taking her by the arm. “I’ve had enough jail time this week.” He gathered up his flyers, and then pulled her across the street and into a diner.
Loreda climbed up onto the stool next to him. Taking a napkin, she dabbed at the blood at his temple.
“Does it give me a rakish look?” “That’s not funny,” she said. “No. It’s not.”
“What was all of that about?”
He ordered Loreda a chocolate milkshake.
“Cotton prices are down. That’s bad for the industry and bad news for the workers. The growers are getting nervous.”
Loreda slurped up the sweet, creamy milkshake so fast it gave her a headache. “That’s why they had that meeting and called us names?”
“They call you names because they don’t want to think of you as like them. They’re worried about you forming unions, demanding more money. The so-called Bum Blockade—the closing of state borders—is over, so migrants are pouring into the state again.”
“They don’t want to pay us enough to live on.” “Exactly.”
“How do we make them pay?”
“You’ll have to fight for it.” He paused, looked at her, trying to appear nonchalant. “Now, tell me, kid, how’s your mom?”
 |
AFTER TEN HOURS OF hard labor beneath a hot sun, Elsa climbed down from the truck. She had her work chit in one gloved hand. It wasn’t worth much, but it was something. The company store charged the camp residents ten percent to convert the chit to credit, but they couldn’t cash it anywhere else; if they wanted cash instead of credit, they had to pay interest. So, in point of fact, as little as they were paid, it was really even ten percent less. Exhausted, her hands and shoulders aching in pain, she walked over to the store and went inside. The bell that jangled at her entrance grated on her nerves. All she could think about in this place was her growing debt and the grinding truth that there was no way out of it.
A new man was at the counter, someone she didn’t know. “Cabin Ten,” she said.
The new man opened the book, looked at the chit, and wrote down the amount she’d earned. Turning, she chose two cans of milk from the aisle beside her. She hated to pay what they charged for it, but Ant and Loreda needed milk to keep their bones strong. “Put this on my bill,” she said without looking back.
She joined the women in line for the bathroom. Usually she struck up a conversation with the women around her, but after ten hours in the cotton field, she didn’t have the energy.
When it was finally her turn, she went into the dark, smelly bathroom and used the toilet.
She washed her hands at a pump outside and then headed back to her cabin. A foreman followed her part of the way, stopped to listen to a pair of men talking along the fence line. It was happening more and more lately, the growers sending spies to listen to what the workers said when they weren’t in the fields.
At her cabin door, she paused, collected herself, and managed a smile just as she opened the door. “Hello, explor—”
She stopped.
Jack sat on Elsa’s bed, hunched forward, as if telling a story to Ant, who sat on the concrete floor in front of him cross-legged, looking rapt.
“Ma!” Ant said, springing up. “Jack is tellin’ us about Hollywood. He’s met a bunch of movie stars. Ain’t that right, Jack?”
Elsa saw the stack of flyers on the chair beside her. Workers Unite for Change!
Jack stood. “I met Loreda in town today. She invited me here.”
Elsa looked at Loreda, who had the grace to blush. “Loreda was in town. On a school day. How interesting. And she invited you—a Communist— back to our tent, with your flyers. How very thoughtful of her.”
“I skipped school and went to the library,” Loreda said as Elsa put the milk away. “Mrs. Sharpe was teaching the girls in class how to make cosmetics, Mom. I mean … we can’t buy books and we’re hungry, and making eyeliner is important?”
“Loreda tells me you’ve been working hard lately,” Jack said, coming toward her. “It was sure hot today.”
“It’s still hot. And I’m lucky to have the work,” she said. When he was close enough to hear her whisper, she said, “You endanger us with your presence.”
“I promised the kids an adventure,” he whispered back. “Ant tells me you have an Explorers Club. May I join?”
“Please, Mom,” the kids said in unison.
“They have the hearing of jackals when they want to,” Elsa said. “Pleeeeeease.”
“Okay, okay. But I should feed us—”
“No,” Jack said. “You are in my care now. I’ll meet you out at the road.
My truck’s there. It’s best not to be seen with me.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s best not to be with you,” Elsa said.
Loreda jumped up and led Jack to the door, closing it behind him.
Slowly, she turned, making a face. “About school—”
Honestly, Elsa was too hot and tired to care about skipped school right now. She washed and dried her face and brushed her hair. “We’ll talk about
it tomorrow.” She made Ant turn around, then stripped out of her work clothes and into the pretty cotton dress from the Salvation Army.
They left the cabin and walked out to the main road, where Jack’s truck was parked.
All the way there, she worried that they were being watched, but she didn’t see any foremen skulking about.
They crammed into Jack’s old truck. Elsa held Ant on her lap. “And we’re off!” Ant said as Jack steered their way out to the road.
Soon they turned onto the road where the abandoned hotel was. “Wait here.” He parked the truck and bounded out and went into a small Mexican restaurant that appeared to be standing-room-only busy inside. Moments later, he came out with a basket, which he put in the back of the truck.
Well out of town, they turned onto a road Elsa had never been on before.
It twisted and turned as it rose into the foothills.
At last Jack pulled over and parked at the edge of a large, grassy area, alongside a dozen or so other parked cars. People walked among the newly planted trees; children and pets ran across the grass. Elsa could see three lakes; one was dotted with people in paddleboats. People swam along the shore, laughing and splashing. Off to the left, in a copse of trees, a band played a Jimmie Rodgers song. A string of concession booths had been set up along the shore. The air smelled of brown sugar and popcorn.
It was like going back in time. Elsa thought of Pioneer Days and how she and Rose had cooked all day to be ready, how Tony had played his fiddle, and everyone had danced.
“It’s like home,” Loreda said beside her.
Elsa reached out for her daughter’s hand, held it for a moment, and then let her go.
The kids ran off toward the lake. “It’s beautiful,” Elsa said.
Jack got the basket from the back of the truck. “The WPA built it with FDR’s funds. It put men to work and paid them a good wage. This is opening day.”
“I thought you commies hated everything in America.”
“Not at all,” he said solemnly. “We agree with the New Deal. We believe in justice and fair wages and equal opportunity for all, not just the rich. Communism is really just the new Americanism; I think it was John Ford,
the director, who said that first. At one of the early meetings of the new Hollywood Anti-Nazi League.”
“You take it very seriously,” she said.
“It is serious, Elsa.” He took her arm, began strolling through the park. “But not today.”
Elsa felt people looking at her, judging her worn clothes and bare legs and shoes that didn’t quite fit.
A tall woman in a blue crepe dress walked past, her gloved hands holding fast to her handbag. She sniffed ever so slightly as she turned her head away.
Elsa stopped, feeling ashamed.
“That old bag has no right to judge you. Stare her down,” Jack said, and urged her to keep walking.
It was exactly the kind of thing her grandfather would have said to her.
Elsa couldn’t help smiling.
They went to the edge of the lake and sat down in the grass. Ant and Loreda were splashing in water up to their knees. Elsa and Jack took off their shoes; Jack set his hat aside.
“You remind me of my mother,” he said. “Your mother? Have I aged that much?”
“It is a compliment, Elsa. Believe me. She was a fierce woman.”
Elsa smiled. “I’m hardly fierce, but I’ll accept any compliment these days.”
“I often wondered how my mother did it, survived in this country, a single woman who barely spoke the language, with a kid and no husband. I hated how other women treated her, how her boss treated her. I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
“You probably think she was lonely, worry that you weren’t enough. Believe me, I know lonely, and I’m sure you were the thing that saved her from it.”
He was silent for a moment, studying her. “I haven’t talked about her in a long time.”
Elsa waited for him to go on.
“I remember the sound of her laughter. For years, I’ve wondered what she had to laugh about … now I see you, here, with your children … I see the way you love them and I think I understand her a little.”
Elsa felt his gaze, steady and searching, on hers, as if he wanted to know her.
“Come in with us, Mommy!” Ant said, waving her over.
Grateful for the distraction, Elsa broke eye contact with him and waved at her children. “You know I can’t swim.”
Jack got up and pulled Elsa to her feet. They were so close she could feel his breath against her lips. “No, really,” she said. “I can’t swim.”
“Trust me.” He pulled her toward the water. She would have fought, but they were garnering enough looks as it was.
At the shore, he picked her up and carried her into the water.
Cool water slapped Elsa in the back, and then suddenly she was in the water, in his arms, staring up at the bright blue sky.
I’m floating.
She felt weightless, a perfect combination of sun and water, cold and hot, steady in his arms. For a magnificent moment, the world fell away and she was somewhere else, before now, or long from now, and she wasn’t hungry or tired or scared or angry. She simply was. She closed her eyes and felt at peace for the first time in years. Safe.
When she opened her eyes, Jack was staring down at her. He leaned down, so close she thought he might kiss her, but he whispered, “Do you know how beautiful you are?”
She wanted to laugh at the obvious joke, but she couldn’t make a sound, not with him staring at her. After a moment, her silence turned the moment awkward. Still, she had no idea what she should have said.
He carried her back to the grassy shore and set her down and left her there, shivering and confused, both by his words and her sudden feelings for him.
He returned with a serape, which he wrapped around her shoulders. Opening the basket, he called for the kids, who ran up, dripping water from their clothes.
Ant collapsed beside Elsa. She pulled him under the serape with her.
Jack opened the basket and pulled out bottles of Coca-Cola and tamales filled with beans and cheese and pork and a deliciously spiced sauce.
It was the best day any of them had had in years, since before the dust and the drought and the Depression.
“It reminds you, doesn’t it?” Loreda said much later, when the park had emptied and the sky had darkened and the stars had come out to shine.
“Of what?”
“Home,” Loreda said. “I swear I can hear the windmill.”
But it was just the water, slapping rhythmically against the shore. “I miss it,” Ant said.
“I’m sure they miss us, too,” Elsa said. “We will write them tomorrow and tell them all about this wonderful day.” She looked at Jack. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
The exchange felt oddly intimate, or maybe it was the way he looked at her, or the way his look made her feel. You scare me, she wanted to say, but it was ridiculous and what did it matter anyway? This was just one day, a vacation. “And now…”
She didn’t have to finish the sentence. Jack stood. So did Ant and Loreda. He got them settled in the back of his truck and then opened the cab door for Elsa.
Back to the camp. Real life.
The road home was long and lonely and winding. In her head Elsa started a dozen conversations with him, found bits and pieces to say, but in reality she sat in silence, too confused to say much of anything. Today had felt … special, but what did she know of things like that? She didn’t want to humiliate herself by imagining some feeling that wasn’t there.
At the entrance to the Welty camp, Jack pulled off to the side of the road and parked. Elsa watched him walk through the headlights’ yellow glow to open her door.
She stepped out; he took her hand.
“I’m going up to Salinas soon. To try to unionize the workers up there.
Maybe head over to the canneries. I’ll be gone awhile. So…” “Why are you telling me that?”
“I didn’t want you to think I just … ran off. I wouldn’t do that to you.” “That’s an odd thing to say to a woman you barely know.”
“If you’ll notice, I’m trying to change that, Elsa. I want to know you. If you’ll just give me a chance.”
“You scare me,” she said.
“I know,” he said, still holding her hand. “The growers are scared, the townspeople are angry, the state is bleeding money, and people are desperate. It’s a volatile situation. Something’s gotta give. The last time it exploded, three union organizers were dead. I don’t want to put you in danger.”
The funny thing was, Elsa hadn’t meant that at all. She was afraid of him as a man, afraid of the things she felt when he looked at her, afraid of the feelings he had awakened in her.
“Aren’t you a union organizer?” she said. “I am.”
It made her think for the first time about the danger he was putting himself in. “So, I am not the only one who needs to be careful, am I?”
