“I know,” Mom said. “I was wrong. We can’t go anywhere yet. We need to make money, not just keep spending it.”
“You want us to stay here? Here?” Loreda felt horror rise up and turn into a tremulous, terrifying anger, directed at her mother. In some small speck of her she knew it wasn’t fair, but there was nothing she could do to draw it back. “No. No.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to do.”
“You lied. Just like he did. Everyone lies—”
Mom pulled Loreda into her arms. She fought to break free, but her mother held fast, tightened her hold until Loreda gave up and slumped forward and wept.
“I talked to Jean. Cotton-picking season is supposed to be the time we can save money and pay our bills. If we are really careful and save every penny, maybe we will be able to leave in December.”
Loreda drew back, feeling shaky and uncertain. Angry. “Can we go back to Texas? We have enough for gas.”
“The doctor said Ant’s lungs wouldn’t heal for at least a year. You remember how sick he was.”
“But he refused to wear his gas mask in the beginning. Maybe now—”
“No, Loreda. That’s not an option.” She pushed the hair out of Loreda’s face with a gentle touch. “I need your help with Ant. He won’t understand.”
“I don’t understand. This is America. How can this be happening to us?”
“Hard times,” Elsa said.
“That’s a darn lie.”
“Language, Loreda,” Mom said tiredly. Then she walked over to the truck and climbed up into the bed and began unstrapping the narrow, black wood-burning stove that Rose and Tony had used in the dugout years ago, before they’d built the farmhouse.
Loreda hated the idea of unpacking that stove with every fiber of her being. A stove meant home; it meant you were staying someplace, settling in. They’d imagined this stove heating a new house. With a sigh, she climbed up alongside her mom and untied the straps. Together, both of them grunting, they muscled the heavy stove out of the truck and onto the weedy grass in front of the tent. The buckets and a metal washbasin were beside it.
“Great,” Loreda said. Now they looked like all the rest of the poor, desperate people living in tents in this ugly field.
“Yeah,” Mom said.
There was nothing else to say.
They went into the tent, where Ant was lying on the dirt floor beside the mattress, playing with his toy soldiers. “Mom! You came back.”
Loreda saw the pain flash across her mother’s face. “I will always come back. You two are my whole life. Okay? Don’t ever be afraid of that.”
* * *
THAT NIGHT, ELSA LAY awake long after the kids had said their prayers and fallen asleep on either side of her. Moonlight illuminated the canvas walls, setting the small interior aglow. Careful not to disturb the kids, she found a scrap of paper and a pencil and sat up to write.
Dear Tony and Rose,
Greetings from California!
After a grueling drive that was more fun than any of us expected, we came to the San Joaquin Valley. It’s a beautiful place. Mountains. Crops that are green and growing, rich brown earth.
Our tent is near a river. We’ve made friends with folks from the South. The kids are excited to start school tomorrow. How are things with you?
You can write to us care of General Delivery at the Post Office in Welty, California.
Pray for us as we pray for you.
Love,
Elsa, Loreda, and Ant