Кристин Ханна - The Four Winds

“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 He wore a brown suit coat that was dusty and out of date.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.