The Four Winds

“There’s talk of trouble. I want you and the kids out of the camp tonight.”

“Yes. They evicted all of us today. I think that’s just the beginning.” She threw back the covers and got out of bed. His hand slid down her side in a quick caress.

Elsa closed the window vent, then lit a kerosene lamp and went to wake the children.

Ant grumbled and kicked at her and rolled over.

“What?” Loreda said, yawning.

“Jack says there may be trouble tomorrow. He wants us to move out.”

“Of the cabin?” Loreda said.

In the faint light, Elsa saw the fear in her daughter’s eyes. “Yes,” Elsa said.

“All right, then.” Loreda elbowed her brother. “Get up, Ant. We’re on the move.”

They packed their few belongings quickly and stowed the boxes in the back of the truck, along with the crates and buckets they’d salvaged in the last few months.

At last, Elsa and Loreda stood at the door, both staring at the two rusted metal bed frames with mattresses and the small hot plate, thinking what luxuries they were.

“We can move back in when the strike is over,” Loreda said.

Elsa didn’t answer, but she knew they wouldn’t live here again.

They left the cabin and walked out to their truck.

The children climbed into the back and Elsa got into the driver’s seat. Jack took his place beside her.

“Ready?” he said.

“I guess.”

She started the engine but didn’t turn on the headlights. The truck grumbled down the road.

Elsa parked in front of the boarded-up El Centro Hotel, where they’d stayed during the flood.

Jack unlocked the heavy chain from the front door and led them inside.

The lobby stank of cigarette smoke and sweat. People had been here, and recently. In the dark, Jack led them up the stairs and stopped at the first closed door on the second floor. “There are two beds in here. Loreda and Ant?”

Loreda nodded tiredly, let her

half-sleeping brother angle against her.

“Don’t turn on the lights,” Jack said. “We’ll come get you in the morning for the strike. Elsa, your room is … next door.”

“Thank you.” She squeezed his hand and let him go, then got the kids settled in their separate beds.

In no time, Ant was asleep; she could hear his breathing. It struck her with painful clarity that this simple sound was the very essence of her responsibility. Their lives depended on her and she was letting them strike tomorrow.

“You’re wearing your worried face,” Loreda said when Elsa sat down on the bed beside her.

“It’s my love face,” Elsa said, stroking her daughter’s hair. “I’m proud of you, Loreda.

“You’re scared about tomorrow.”

Elsa should have been ashamed that Loreda saw her fear so clearly, but she wasn’t. Maybe she was tired of hiding from people, of thinking she wasn’t good enough; she’d filled that well for years and now it was empty. The weight of it was gone. “Yes,” she said. “I’m scared.”