Elsa felt something hit her so hard she staggered, clutched her side.
Warm, wet, sticky.
I’m bleeding.
She heard Loreda scream, “Mom!” and Elsa wanted to answer, to say, I’m fine, but the pain.
The pain.
She dropped the megaphone, heard it thunk to the back of the truck. Through the burning, stinging haze of smoke, she saw Loreda pushing through the crowd, screaming, and Ant stumbling along beside her.
All Elsa wanted was to let them get to her, stay awake, tell them how much she loved them, but pain was overtaking her, squeezing until she couldn’t breathe … My babies, she thought, reaching out for them.
* * *
IT SEEMED TO HAPPEN in slow motion: the sound of a gunshot, Mom staggering forward, blood turning her dress red. Jack throwing men off of him.
Loreda screamed and grabbed Ant’s hand, fighting her way toward the truck, through the panicking crowd. She saw Jack hit one of the vigilantes with his own bat and fell another with a punch.
“They shot her!” someone yelled. The vigilantes backed away from the truck.
Jack jumped into the back of the truck, took Mom in his arms.
“Is she alive?” Loreda screamed.
Mom opened her red, teary eyes and looked at Jack. “We failed.”
Jack lifted Mom into his arms and carried her out of the truck.
He stood in front of the strikers, holding Elsa. Her blood dripped through his fingers and onto the ground. Tear gas drifted past them.
“Strike … lead them,” Mom whispered, and Loreda understood.
“Arrest them!” Welty shouted to his henchmen, but the policemen backed away from the woman covered in blood. The vigilantes froze. Some dropped their weapons. The strikebreakers fell silent.
Loreda saw a rifle on the ground at her feet. She picked it up, walked over to Welty, who blocked the entrance to the field, and aimed the gun at his chest.
Welty raised his hands into the air. “You wouldn’t dare—”
“Wouldn’t I? I
f you don’t get out of our way, I’ll kill you. As sure as I stand here.”
“It won’t do any good. I’ll break your damn strike.”
Loreda cocked the gun. “Not today.”
Welty stepped aside, moving slowly.
Ike stepped forward, pushed his way through the crowd. He walked past Jack and headed into the field. Then Jeb and his children followed … and Bobby Rand and his father.
The workers filed silently, solemnly into the field, taking up space in the rows, making sure no one could pick this cotton today.
In Jack’s arms, Mom lifted her head, looked out at the strikers gathered in front of her. She smiled and whispered, “No more.”
As scared and shaken as Loreda was, she’d never been prouder of anyone in her life.
* * *