“Loreda—”
“I know you love me, and … I’m sorry, Mom. I love you. So much.”
Mom pulled Loreda into her arms, held her tightly.
Loreda clung fiercely to her mother, afraid to let her go. “I was afraid you’d leave when I was gone…”
When Mom drew back, her eyes were bright and she was smiling. “You are of me, Loreda, in a way that can never be broken. Not by words or anger or actions or time. I love you. I will always love you.” She tightened her hold on Loreda’s shoulders. “You taught me love. You, first in the whole world, and my love for you will outlive me. If you had not come back…”
“I’m here, Mom,” Loreda said. “But I learned something last night. And I think it’s important.”
* * *
ELSA GRASPED LOREDA’S HAND, unable to let go, and let her daughter lead her back to the tent and pull her inside.
“I can’t wait to tell you where I was,” Loreda said as she unbuttoned her coat.
The reunion was over, apparently. Loreda was on to new business. Elsa couldn’t help smiling at the quick change in her daughter’s demeanor.
Elsa sat down on the mattress beside Ant, who was still sleeping. “Where did you go?”
“To a Communist meeting. In a barn.”
“Oh. That is hardly what I would have guessed.”
“I met a man.”
Elsa frowned. She started to get up. “A man? A grown man? Did he—”
“A Communist!” Loreda sat down beside Elsa. “A whole group of them, really. They were meeting in a barn north of here. They want to help us, Mom.”
“A Communist,” Elsa said slowly, trying to process this new and dangerous information.
“They want to help us fight the growers.”
“Fight the growers? You mean the people who employ us? The people who pay us to pick their crops?”
“You call that pay?”
“It is pay, Loreda. It buys us the food we eat.”
“I want you to come to a meeting with me.”
“A meeting?”
“Yes. Just listen to them. You’ll like what—”
“No, Loreda,” Elsa said. “Absolutely not. I am not going and I forbid you to go. The people you met are dangerous.”
“But—”
“Believe me, Loreda, whatever the question is, communism is not the answer. We’re Americans. And we can’t get on the wrong side of the growers. We’re close enough to starvation as it is. So, no.”
“But it’s the right thing.”
“Look at this tent, Loreda. Do you think we have the luxury of fighting our employers? Do you think we have the luxury of waging a philosophical war? No. Just no. And I don’t want to hear about it again. Now, come, let’s get a little sleep. I’m exhausted.”
* * *