No one moved until the footsteps went away.
Then Loreda launched herself off the bed and grabbed the paper before her mother could.
FARMWORKERS UNITE
A call to action.
We must fight for better wages.
Better living conditions.
A coincidence our wages are cut now?
We don’t think so.
Poor, hungry, desperate folks are easier to control.
Join us.
Break free.
The Workers Alliance wants to help.
Join us Thursday at midnight
in the back room at the El Centro Hotel.
Mom grabbed the paper, read it, crumpled it.
“Don’t—”
Mom lit a match and set fire to the paper; she dropped it to the concrete floor, where it burned to ash.
“Those people will get us fired and thrown out of this cabin,” Mom said.
“They’ll save us,” Loreda argued.
“Don’t you see, Loreda?” Mom said. “Those men are dangerous. The farmers are opposing unionization.”
“Of course they are. They want to keep us hungry and at their mercy so we’ll work for anything.”
“We are at their mercy!” Mom cried.
“I’m going to that meeting.”
“You are not. Why do you think they’re meeting at midnight, Loreda? They’re scared. Grown men are scared to be seen with the Communists and union organizers.”
“You’re always talking about my future. Your big dreams for me. College. How do you think I’m going to get there, Mom? By picking cotton in the fall and starving in the winter? By living on the dole?” Loreda moved forward. “Think about the women who fought for the vote. They had to be scared,
too, but they marched for change, even if it meant going to jail. And now we can vote. Sometimes the end is worth any sacrifice.”
“It’s a bad idea.”
“I can’t take being kicked around and treated badly, barely surviving anymore. It’s wrong what they’re doing. They should be held accountable.”
“And you, a fourteen-year-old girl, are the one to make them pay, are you?”
“No. Jack is.”