The Four Winds

“Yeah,” he said. “But life is more than what happens to us, Elsa. We have choices to make.”

“I’m not a brave woman.”

“And yet here you are, standing at the edge of battle.”

His words touched a chord in her. “My grandfather was a Texas Ranger. He used to tell me that courage was a lie. It was just fear that you ignored.” She looked at him. “Well, I’m scared.”

“We’re all scared,” he said.

“I have children to worry about, children I have to feed and clothe and keep safe. I can’t risk their lives.”

He said nothing, and she knew why. He was letting her say it.

“They’re already at risk,” she said. “They can’t be taught that this is what we deserve, that this is America. I have to teach them to stand up for themselves.”

Elsa felt both a stunning sense of relief, almost of coming home, finding herself … and a deep, abiding fear. Courage is fear you ignore. But how did one do that, really? In practical terms.

“The rifle tower they built in the field … that’s to scare us, right? What we’re doing—a strike—it’s legal.”

“It’s legal. Hell, it’s the very essence of America. We were built on the right to protest, but laws are enforced by the government. By the police. You’ve seen how they support big business.”

Elsa nodded. “What do we do?”

“First we need to get out the word. We’ve set a strike meeting for Friday. But it’s dangerous even to tell people, let alone to show up for the meeting.”

“Everything is dangerous,” she said. “So what?”

He laid a hand along her cheek.

She leaned into his touch, taking strength and comfort from it.

THIRTY-THREE

In the dark just before the dawn, Loreda opened the cabin door and stepped outside. Last night’s gathering of the Workers Alliance had energized her, galvanized her. The Communists were working hard to bring about a strike, but they needed people like Loreda to spread the word through the camps. The Communists couldn’t do it on their own.

It’s dangerous, though, Natalia had said to Loreda last night. Don’t forget this. When I was a girl, I saw revolution up close. Blood runs in the streets. Don’t forget for one moment that the state has all the power—money and weapons and manpower.

We have heart and desperation, had been Loreda’s answer.

“Yeah,” Natalia had said, exhaling smoke. “And brains. So, use yours.”

Loreda closed the door behind her and walked out into the camp. She could hear people readying for the day, serving food, packing lunches. There was a long line at the toilets.

But the quiet was new and unnerving. No one laughed or even talked. Fear had moved into the camp. Everyone knew they were being watched by people whose loyalty was to the grower, not to the workers. Unfortunately, you never knew who the traitor was until you said the wrong thing to the wrong person and a knock at your door came in the middle of the night. They had heard the cries of families being hauled out of camp.

The first colors of sunrise cast light on the coiled barbed wire that topped the new fencing. She walked toward the line for the toilets and waited her turn. Afterward, she saw Ike filling his canteen at the waterspout outside the laundry. Loreda tried to look completely casual as she moved toward him, but she may have failed. She was filled with adrenaline, scared and exhilarated and excited.

She stepped in close to him, said, “Friday,” without stopping. “The barn on Willow Road. Eight o’clock. Pass the word.”

She kept going, didn’t even look back to see if he heard. She walked back to the cabin, very slowly, expecting every minute to be stopped.

She closed the door behind her.

Mom and Ant looked at her.

“Well?” Mom said quietly.

Loreda nodded. “I told Ike.”