When he looked up at her, a scowl on his face, she was ready to turn and flee. J. Harker Caulden was not a man who liked surprises, and his daughter’s unexpected appearance was obviously unwelcome. Amanda braced herself.
“Father, I would like to speak to you about an important matter,” she said, trying to still her pounding heart.
“If it’s about your marriage to Taylor—”
“No, it’s not,” she said quickly. Did all men think that women only concerned themselves with emotions like jealousy and romantic love? “I have been working with the unionists, and the people seem to think you’re a…a tyrant and I would very much like to reassure them that you aren’t. I want them to know that you do care about your fellow man.”
J. Harker put down his pen, leaned back in his chair and studied her. Things were changing in his household and he didn’t know what was causing the changes. Some of them he liked and some he didn’t like at all. He liked his wife flirting with him and he liked his daughter showing a little spunk. But he didn’t like her thinking she had the right to ask what he was doing when he ran his ranch. In the last few days Taylor had been giving him problems too. What did people like Amanda and Taylor know about running a ranch? They’d had their noses in books all their lives. Harker was beginning to doubt his wisdom in choosing Taylor as a son-in-law. Maybe he should find someone else for his daughter to marry.
But now Amanda stood before him looking like a scared rabbit who was putting on a brave little face and demanding to know how he was running his own ranch. He was tempted to tell her to get the hell out of his office, but then he thought he’d be wiser to use his daughter’s connections to that unionist rabble. Perhaps he could help prevent any trouble. Not that it mattered much to him. Bulldog was deputizing half a dozen more men and they were going to be all over the fields during the picking. They’d stop any trouble before it started.
“Have they told you that all I care about is profit?” J. Harker asked.
“Why, yes.”
“That I don’t care about the people in the fields?”
Amanda was beginning to lose her feeling of terror. “Yes, they have.”
“I do hope, Amanda, that you didn’t believe them. That you didn’t side against your own father.”
“No, sir, I didn’t. But I did want to hear the truth from you.”
“I’m glad you came to me. It’s time you learned a little about the ranch that supports you. You see, this isn’t the first year I’ve had problems. For the last eleven years there have been rumblings of strikes and shootings and I’ve borne it all without ever defendin’ myself. Everyone thinks I make an enormous profit on this ranch, but the truth is I barely pull through. Those union men only think of what I sell the hops for, they never consider the expense I have to put out. Amanda, it costs twenty-four dollars to grow a bale of hops and twenty dollars of that goes to pay unskilled labor. Hell, it cost nine thousand dollars a year just for the string to trellis the hops. Nobody ever thinks of string, do they? I guess they think I get it free somewhere. And then there’s the cost of dryin’ and shippin’. And this year it’s been so dry I have two thirds the crop of last year. All these things add up.” He stopped and stared at her.
“I’d like to pay these people twenty dollars a bale,” Harker continued. “I know they’re poor and I know they think I’m rich, but I pay them as much as I can. This year the price of hops is down so low that I’m havin’ to cut corners everywhere—but
I’m not cuttin’ in wages, Amanda. I’m cuttin’ everywhere else so I can still pay these poor workers top wages. For instance, every year I’ve let the Kingman store owners set up little satellite stores out in the fields. The workers spend their money with the Kingman merchants while I provide the land as well as the opportunity, but I don’t mind—I share wherever I can. But this year I can’t afford to be generous. Taylor’s settin’ up stores full of supplies I’ve bought. That way, through the stores, I’ll be able to make a little profit, but I won’t have to cut the wages of the poor worker.”
Amanda was feeling jubilant. Her father wasn’t a monster as everyone said. They just didn’t understand. “If the union leaders came to you asking for things such as water delivered to the fields, you’d listen to their requests?”
J. Harker smiled at his daughter. “I’ve already arranged for lemonade to be delivered to the fields. And food. And glasses of cool well water.”
“Oh,” Amanda said, smiling. She felt as if her whole body were smiling. There’d be no need for the unionists to demand anything. The workers would know they had a right to protest but they wouldn’t have anything to protest against. Who could get angry at a man who had lemonade delivered to the fields? “Thank you,” she said, smiling. “I shall tell the unionists.” She started backing toward the door. “Goodnight, Father,” she said and left the room.
She went up the stairs as if her feet weren’t touching ground. Everything was settled. There would be no violence. Actually, there would not even be a need for a union. If every employer were like her father and delivered lemonade to the fields, the workers would have no need to form a union.
Amanda undressed and went to bed still smiling. Tomorrow she’d be able to tell that smug Dr. Montgomery that he could eat his words. And wouldn’t that awful man Whitey be disappointed? It wouldn’t do any good to draw the newspapers’ attention to a man who paid his workers top wages and delivered food and lemonade to them in the fields. And there would be no need to fear going to the Union Hall tomorrow. She was safe, made safe by her father, who was, in spite of what others said, a good man.
She went to sleep, never once giving a thought to Taylor. Nor did she wake when, at three A.M., he came creeping up the stairs, his shoes in his hand.
“Lemonade!” Hank yelled at her. “You risked your life by coming in here today because of lemonade?”
As soon as she’d walked into the Union Hall, Hank had grabbed her arm and pulled her into the cleaning closet. Now he stood glaring down at her, his eyes on fire with rage, cords in his neck standing out from the force of his shouting.
“Why bother to try for privacy?” she said coolly. “When you shout like that everyone can hear you.”
“I don’t give a good goddamn who hears me. Just where do you think you’re going?”
Amanda was trying to open the closet door but he’d locked it. “I won’t stay here and listen to such language.”
He grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face him. “What your father said to you was worse than any language I know. He lied to you, Amanda. Out and out lied. If he were good to his workers there wouldn’t be any need for us to be here.”
“That is what I have been trying to tell you. There isn’t going to be any violence. You can tell your friend, that awful man Whitey, to go home. He can find some other rancher to harass.”
Hank dropped his hands and his face changed. “Do you really believe that, Amanda?” he asked softly. “Do you really see us as the villains? Do you think the governor sent me here for no reason? Do you believe we are just out to cause an innocent, loving man like your father problems?”
“I think you have misjudged him. I’m not saying other ranchers aren’t persecuting their workers, but my father is a good man. He does the best he can. He has enormous expenses, and no one takes those expenses into account. He—” She broke off when Hank pushed past her and unlocked the door.