“Hush, Amanda,” Grace said sternly. “Lashing yourself isn’t going to help at all. You were a sweet little girl who wanted to please her father. Now dry your eyes and let’s get to work. It’s almost sundown, so the pickers will stop for the day, and the lemons will never get here before tomorrow morning. You wait here while I pack a few things, then we’ll spend the night at the Kingman Arms and tomorrow we’ll make lemonade. Now dry your eyes so you’ll look pretty for your professor.”
“But, Mother, you can’t leave Father just because I’m leaving.”
“What’s here for me? Your father and I haven’t had anything between us since he punished me for what he saw as a betrayal by taking you away from me. I have just been waiting until you either married Taylor or came to your senses. I couldn’t leave before; we couldn’t all desert you. But now I can leave.” She stood. “Stay here and I’ll be back as soon as possible.”
Amanda sat on a chair, her hands clasped in her lap. “If Hank will have me,” she’d said. It wasn’t difficult to see that she’d loved him for a long time. With a grimace, she thought that if nothing else about her was strong her willpower was. She’d willed herself to love Taylor, and in spite of his bullying her, in spite of his patronizing kisses and his punishments, she’d remained loyal to him. Yet Hank had shown he cared about her, had treated her as a person, but she’d willed herself to despise him. She’d almost willed herself into a miserable life that she would surely have had with Taylor.
Her first concern was the pickers, but when they were gone she’d go to Hank and beg his forgiveness on bended knee if she had to.
Her attention was taken off herself as, through the trees, she saw about ten men approaching the front of the house. At the head of the group was the man with the distinctive hair, Whitey Graham.
Amanda was on her feet instantly. This was no doubt the presentation of the grievances that Hank had said he was going to give to her father. She began running and reached the house just as Taylor, J. Harker and two of Bulldog Ramsey’s deputies came out to stand on the porch. Amanda stood in the deep shade to one side. She didn’t feel that she fit completely with either side.
“We have a list of grievances,” Whitey said. “We ain’t happy about things in the fields.”
Harker didn’t give any indication that he heard the man. He just glared, his eyes like coals.
Whitey stepped up on the porch so he was an equal height level with Harker. Taylor started to protest this insolence, but Harker pushed him aside.
“Say what you came to say,” Harker grunted.
Whitey read a list of seven complaints that included a need for field toilets, camp toilets, drinking water delivered to the fields, pickers appointed as inspectors, lemonade made with lemons and, finally, one dollar and twenty-five cents paid for one hundred pounds picked, with no bonus.
Everyone held his breath as Harker made up his mind.
Please, Amanda prayed, please agree to this.
Harker at last spoke and he agreed to more toilets, water delivered three times a day, real lemonade, and even to pay two dollars and fifty cents a day to inspectors chosen by the pickers. But he refused to raise the wages.
It was Whitey’s turn to be stubborn. “You have just dug your own grave,” he said quietly.
Harker smacked Whitey across the face with the back of his hand. “Get off of my land.”
In the next moment all hell broke loose. One of the deputies lunged at Whitey. Whitey ran down the steps, while the nine men with him didn’t seem to know whether to run or fight. The second deputy yelled that Whitey was under arrest, to which Whitey said there was no warrant for his arrest. With that, Whitey and his men ran from the property.
Amanda leaned back against the porch railing. It was done now. The ball had started rolling down the hill. No humans could stand the conditions in the fields for very long without exploding.
Suddenly, Amanda stood bolt upright. Where was Hank? He said he was going to present grievances but he hadn’t even been among the presenters. Did he decide to keep out of it? Had he at last come to his senses and realized it wasn’t his fight?
She almost laughed at the idea. Hank Montgomery didn’t have a cowardly bone in his body. He’d single-handedly taken on J. Harker Caulden, a man who terrified his own family yet Hank had always stood up to him. Hank dealt with crazy men like Whitey Graham. Hank set up a Union Hall in the middle of Kingman, California, and when the citizens had painted GET OUT OF TOWN on the building, Hank had just shrugged and had Joe paint over it.
No, the cause of Hank Montgomery’s absence from the grievance committee wasn’t cowardliness or disinterest. So what had made him stay away? Something awful must have happened in the fields.
Without another thought, she started walking rapidly toward the fields. Her mother caught her arm before she was out of the cool, shady garden.
“Decide to leave me behind after all?” Grace asked, trying to sound lighthearted, but her voice betrayed her concern.
“The union men gave Father an ultimatum,” Amanda said.
Grace groaned. “I can imagine how well your father took that.”
“He slapped the presenter, but, Mother, Hank wasn’t with them.”
Grace frowned, seeing her daughter’s fear. “I don’t understand. Do you think Dr. Montgomery could have done a better job of the presentation?”
“Hank said he was going to present the paper. But he didn’t do it. Mother, there is something awfully wrong. I know it. I’m going to look for Hank.”
Grace Caulden set down the suitcase she was holding. “Then let’s go. We’ll find him.”