The Four Winds

“Children?”

“Loreda Martinelli, thirteen. Anthony Martinelli, eight.”

“Address?”

“Uh.”

“Side of the road,” he said with a sigh. “Around here?”

“About two miles south.”

He nodded. “Squatter’s camp on Sutter Road. When did you arrive in California?”

“Two days ago.”

The young man wrote all that down on her red card, then looked up. “We keep records of everyone who com

es into the state. Your date for residency starts when you sign up, not when you actually arrive. There’s no state relief until you’re a resident, defined as being in the state for a year. Come back on April twenty-sixth.”

“A year?” Elsa frowned. “But … I hear there’s no work in the winter. Don’t folks need help then?”

The man gave her a pitying look. “The feds’ll give you some help. Commodities. Every two weeks.” He cocked his head. “That’s their line over there.”

Elsa turned, saw the even longer line down the street. “What’s commodities?”

“Beans. Milk. Bread. Food.”

“So, all those folks are standing in line for food?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Elsa felt deeply sorry for the women she saw standing over there, skinny as rails, their heads bowed in shame. “That’s not me,” she said quietly. “I can feed my children.”

For now.

TWENTY-ONE

At the end of the school day, Elsa stood at the flagpole, waiting for her children. She fought a wave of dizziness and realized that she’d forgotten to pack herself a lunch when she left this morning. After signing up for relief, she’d spent more hours walking through town, looking for work. It hadn’t taken long to realize that no store proprietor or diner owner would hire someone who looked as ragged and poor as she did.

The school bell rang; children poured out of the school. The school bus doors wheezed open in welcome for some of the children.

She saw Loreda and Ant coming her way.

Ant had a black eye and his collar was ripped.

“Anthony Martinelli, what happened?” Elsa said.

“Nuthin’.”

“Anthony—”

“Nuthin’, I said.”

She hugged her young son.

“You’re choking me,” he said, trying to get free.

Elsa forced herself to let go, and Ant pulled away. He walked on ahead, his empty lunch bag balled up in his fist.