* * *
LATER THAT NIGHT, ELSA stood at the hot plate stirring a pot of beans.
Someone pounded on the door so hard the walls rattled.
“Kids, get behind me,” she said, and then went to the door, opening it.
A man stood there, holding a hammer. “Well, well,” he said. “If it isn’t the woman at the front of the line. The Red’s whore.”
Elsa shielded the children with her body. “What do you want?”
He shoved a piece of paper at her. “Can you read?”
She yanked the notice out of his hand and read it.
To John Doe and Mary Doe, whose true names are unknown:
You will please take notice that you are required to vacate and surrender up to me the premises now occupied by you; said premises being known as California Lands Unit 10.
This is intended to be three days’ notice to vacate said property on the grounds that you are in unlawful possession thereof, and unless you do vacate the same as the above stated, the proper action at law will be brought against you.
Thomas Welty, owner, Welty Farms
“You’re evicting us? How am I here unlawfully?” Elsa said. “I pay six dollars a month for this cabin.”
“These are pickers’ cabins,” the man said. “Did you pick today?”
“No, but—”
“Two more nights, lady,” the man said. “Then we come back here and take all your shit and throw it in the dirt. You’ve been notified.”
He left.
Elsa stood in the open doorway, stared out at the pandemonium in camp. A dozen men moved ominously forward, pounding notices on doors, kicking doors open, handing out eviction notices, and nailing them on posts near every tent.
“They can’t do that!” Loreda screamed. “Pigs!”
Elsa yanked her children inside, slammed the door shut.
“They can’t evict us for exercising our rights as Americans,” Loreda said. “Can they?”
Elsa saw when it settled into place for Loreda, when she really understood the risk. As bad as ditch-bank living had been before, they’d had a tent, at least. Now, if they got kicked out of here, they had nothing.
The growers knew all of this, knew tomorrow it would be harder for the workers not to pick, and harder still the day after that.
How long could hungry, homeless, starving people stand up for an idea?
* * *
ELSA WOKE TO A hand clamped over her mouth.
“Elsa, it’s me.”
Jack. She sat up.
He took his hand away from her mouth.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered.