“Not we. You. You know I want nothing to do with a farm.”
“Aneshka and Holena are counting on a farm,” I said.
“And what about me? About us? You made a promise to me, and I’ve been counting on that.”
“I can’t crush their dreams, and my father’s dreams, by spending that money on anything that would trap us here in the coal camp.”
“Is that how you see your promise to me? As a trap?”
I hesitated, unable to look him in the eye.
“You said you would stay forever,” he said, his voice full of bitterness.
“I can’t, Mark.”
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
I bit my lip. I wasn’t sure myself.
“You lied to me,” he said.
I shook my head. “I didn’t. But when I promised myself to you, I thought there was no chance of a farm. Things have changed.”
“Nothing’s changed for me.”
“Don’t you want to get out of here? Come with us! Come help my papa on our farm—a real farm away from here. Your papa can come too!”
“I won’t be a farmer.”
“Just to get out of here. Then you can go to high school, or get a job in town, or—”
He shook his head. “I’ve got a job now, a real job, to support us like we planned, you and me. Like we promised each other.”
“Try to understand, Mark. You know this has always been my dream.”
“If this has always been your dream, Trina,” Mark said, his voice shaking with anger, “what have I been to you?”
I hesitated, trying to sort out the confusion of disappointment, hope, and pain in my heart.
He took another step away, misinterpreting my silence. “Never mind. I think I’d rather not know. Go on, then. Get your farm. Find yourself a nice farm boy.” He spat out the last words with such anger that it seemed to scorch the air between us.
“I don’t want a farm boy!” I insisted.
“But you sure don’t want a coal miner.”
I put my hand on his arm, trying to stop the widening gap between us. “But don’t you see? You don’t have to be a coal miner. I want you, Mark, but I want to get out of here too. This is our chance! What about your dreams?”
At that he jerked back and pulled his arm from my grasp, as if I had been a wasp and stung him. “This is my dream, having all this with you. But you never wanted any of it, did you? You never wanted me. So, I know it’s not much more than a piece of trash, but if you’ll give me back my ring, I’ll be out of your way.”
“Mark—”
“My ring, please,” he said, holding out his hand.
Tears were stinging my eyes, but I blinked them away angrily and pulled the copper band from my finger. He put it in his pocket and pulled out the smooth pebble I had given him. I refused to take it back, so he dropped it in the dirt before me. I stared at it as he walked away. No longer shining with the creek’s water, it looked dull and worthless, just the way I felt.
Chapter 22
I FORCED my thoughts back to the farm that was nearly within reach. That was what I had really wanted all along, I told myself. But inside I felt my heart going as dry and dull as the pebble in the dust.
I did not tell my mother what had happened, but it wasn’t long before she knew. Her anger and disappointment were thick in the air at home all the next week as I went about my chores and my orders. By the end of the workweek on Saturday, my sales were nearly equal to the week before. I set off to church on Sunday, hoping to push my total a little higher. Sure enough, women found me in the crowd outside after church, their money in hand. I wanted to keep my attention diverted from Mark, so I paid no attention to anything but the orders. I was surprised by my mother’s question at the dinner table a short time later.
“How long has Mr. Johnson been watching you like that, Trina?” she asked.
I stiffened. “Mr. Johnson was watching me?”
“After church, when you were taking orders.”
I felt a chill go through me, but I tried to hide it. “Mr. Johnson is afraid of competition,” I said. “That is why I have to be careful and only sell dry goods. Most of his business is in food.”
Momma frowned. “I don’t like it. Don’t cross him, Trina. He’s trouble.”
“I haven’t. There’s nothing wrong with what I’m doing. It’s perfectly legal, and I’ve been careful to keep away from him.”
“You worry too much, Ivana,” Papa said to Momma, casting a quick smile to me. “What harm can Mr. Johnson do us? Trina’s making so much money now, we’ll be out of here in a few months’ time. It won’t matter one whit what some shopkeeper thinks of her.”
I felt a pang of guilt. I wanted to agree with Papa, but I knew that Mr. Johnson could cause us harm, that he had already done so. When dinner was over, I went as soon as I could and checked our hidden money. I would have to be careful no one knew where it was. And I would be more careful to take and deliver orders out of Mr. Johnson’s sight.
I didn’t have to deliver orders forever. As Papa had said, only a few more months and we would have enough money saved. We could leave here for good, and never worry about Mr. Johnson again. I reminded myself, too, that he had known of my garden and chickens for weeks before he had found a way to destroy them. I had time.
The following day was laundry day, but since we only had our own to do, I carried water from the creek, and we did the job at home. That way, we did not leave the house unguarded. I was hanging the last basket of clothes on the line beside the house when I looked up to see my father approaching, though it was only midmorning. The only reason I knew why a miner would be home so early was because he was hurt—but though my heart skipped a beat at the thought, I knew immediately it could not be true. Papa wasn’t even dirty; he didn’t appear to have been in the mine at all that day.
Curious, I went in the back door, just as he went in the front.
Momma and my sisters were in the kitchen, kneading bread dough. Momma looked up in alarm when Papa stepped in and set his lunch pail, still full, on the counter by the sink.
“What on earth? Are you hurt?” Momma asked, echoing our constant fear as she hurriedly pulled out a chair for him.
Papa flopped down into the ch air. “I’ve been fired, Ivana,” he said quietly.
There was a moment of silence as we all stared openmouthed at him. Momma shooed my sisters outside to play before she spoke again.
“I thought they were going to full production. I thought they were hiring more men,” Momma said.
Papa nodded. “I’ve been fired. Not laid off, but fired.”
“But—why?”
Papa glanced up at me and I knew I had misjudged Mr. Johnson’s malice, and his power.
“When I arrived at work this morning the foreman told me the bosses wanted to talk to me. I was to go to the superintendent’s office. The superintendent was waiting for me with two Pinkerton detectives, as well as the mine officials. They asked me all kinds of questions about the union—was I an organizer, had I been talking to the other men? Where were we holding our secret meetings?”
“But you’re not involved in any of that!” Momma said.
“I’m not, but I couldn’t convince them of that,” Papa said. “They said they knew I had been organizing, that I had a gathering after the funerals that they figure was a union meeting. And they said I had organized a network to smuggle goods into camp. They’ve seen people from all over camp coming in and out of our house, even the Welsh and Scottish from across the tracks. They figure the only reason we would mingle is to unionize. They said they wouldn’t tolerate such ‘subversive labor practices.’ That’s when they gave me my back pay and told me I would have to leave.”
Momma looked at Papa, then at me, then back at Papa. Papa nodded.
“But what I’m doing isn’t illegal!” I insisted again. “They can’t do this!”
Papa shook his head. “It doesn’t matter whether it’s legal or not to them. They can fire or
hire as they see fit. They don’t have to put up with anyone who does something they don’t
like.”
“But it has nothing to do with the unions or with your job,” I said. “This was Mr. Johnson’s doing. He’s hated me since we bought those plums. He killed my chickens, and now he’s lied to get you fired. It’s not fair!”
“What do you mean, he killed your chickens?” Papa asked. Shamefaced, I told them everything I knew.
Anger flared in Momma’s eyes. “Why didn’t you say any of this before, Trina? You knew he could be dangerous. Why haven’t you been more careful?”
“She couldn’t have known, Ivana. She couldn’t know he would go to the superintendent with lies.”
“Well, know or not, you still have to make this right, Trina. You will go to the superintendent and apologize to the company.
Tell them your father had nothing to do with it so they will take him back! Promise to stop your little business right here and now!”
“I can’t do that,” I said. “My biggest order yet is coming this afternoon, and people have already paid for it. I have to pick up and make these deliveries. But Papa, with this week’s orders we have nearly one hundred and eighty dollars saved! We don’t need their job, right?”
Papa smiled at me, but it was a sad smile. “That’s not enough for a farm, Trina. And with autumn already upon us, we wouldn’t have a cent left come spring to buy seed, even if we did get a farm for so little. But it is a good cushion while I find other work, and that’s a lucky thing. Run on about your business now, and let your momma and me sort out what we are going to do.”
My heart was heavy as I walked down the hill with my sisters to meet Mr. Torentino that afternoon. Though Aneshka and Holena didn’t know everything, they knew enough to be quiet on our walk. They each walked close, burrowing their hands into mine. At least I would have this one last order to deliver, and maybe Mr. Torentino would know of someplace that would have work for my papa. Or maybe Papa was wrong, and we could somehow get a farm with the money that we had. I could not bear the crushing disappointment of failure now, so I pretended to myself that all would become right when I saw Mr. Torentino.
I arrived at our usual meeting place a little early. I wanted to be sure to get the re while he was still unloading Mr. Johnson’s goods. But when I squinted up the road toward the store, I did not see his wagon. A hint of foreboding stirred within me. Mr. Torentino should have already been there, unloading or wrangling with Mr. Johnson about unkept promises, as he did every week.
Perhaps, because my order was so large this week, Mr. Torentino ran late loading it in Trinidad. Or maybe his team plodded up the hills toward our town more slowly than usual because of the extra weight in the wagon. I looked down the road in the other direction, but saw no sign of him coming. I began to pace nervously.
I was so unnerved by Mr. Torentino’s absence that I forgot that I had arranged for the ladies who had placed orders to meet me, until the first of them appeared. I should have been completely unloaded and had their goods waiting for them long since. When I saw them and realized how late it was, hope died in my heart.
“I’m afraid my partner from town is running late today,” I said as they gathered around me with questions. What else could I say? “But I’m sure he will be along. He’s usually very punctual.”
We waited there for another half an hour. With each minute that ticked by, more women arrived, more suspicious comments were whispered, and I grew more desperate. Something was very wrong, and I was going to have to face it alone.
“You haven’t cheated us, have you?” said an impatient Welsh woman. Though it was a question, it was stated more as an accusation.
“No, of course not. Perhaps his wagon broke down.”
“Or maybe his horse went lame,” Aneshka suggested.
“Maybe we should get our money back,” came another voice from the crowd.
“Please, you have to believe me. He always comes!”
A stir went through the crowd of women, and their attention turned away from me. Women at the edges of the crowd scurried away. I turned to look where everyone else was looking. Mr. Johnson was approaching with three men in dark suits. Two of the men carried shotguns and wore badges. I couldn’t read the badges, but I didn’t have to. I knew they were the Pinkerton detectives my father had mentioned—the private police force of the mining camps. I had heard plenty of rumors about Pinkertons in our year in America, and none of them were good. The sight of the detectives now sent a bolt of fear through me. I whispered to Aneshka to run home with Holena, and I pushed them both away from me. The little girls slipped out of the crowd through the legs of the women. There was no such simple escape for me. I knew it from the look on Mr. Johnson’s face when his eyes met mine.
Chapter 23
“WHAT’S GOING on here?” One of the detectives called out as he approached. “Who’s in charge here?”
I glanced around at the women, every one of them struggling to get by. None of them could afford trouble with the mine.
“I am, sir,” I said, stepping forward on trembling knees.
“You,” the man said, surprised.
“She’s the one, all right,” Mr. Johnson said. “She’s been nothing but trouble. She’s a union rabble-rouser if there ever was one. Her and her pa, too.”
The detective gave Mr. Johnson a doubtful look, and his shotgun sagged a little. “Hardly Mother Jones, is she? She’s just a kid!” He looked back at me, a sarcastic smile on his face. “You a union organizer, miss?”
“No, sir,” I said, trying to look as young and innocent as possible. “I am only thirteen.”
“Then what’s going on here?” Mr. Johnson demanded. “What are all these women doing here?”
The crowd had continued to scatter, but there were still women around me who had not been able to slip away. My mind raced for an answer, but I couldn’t think of anything that would save us all.
“Sewing circle,” said a bold voice behind me. I turned, and was surprised to see Nancy Llewellyn.
“Sewing circle?” asked one of the detectives.
“My oldest girl’s getting married,” Nancy said, “and we’ve fallen on hard times, a bit.”
“So Trina, here, organized a sewing circle so the lass will have some pretty things to take with her,” added Glenys.
“Is that so?” said the second Pinkerton, looking at me. “Friend of yours, is she?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
“What’s her name, then?”
“Mary.” Half the girls in school were named Mary, so it was as good a guess as any. “We’re schoolmates.”
“So then let’s see this sewing you’re doing,” Mr. Johnson said, trying to trap us in our lie.
I suppressed a smile as all the women around me pulled bits of sewing, mending, knitting, or crocheting from apron pockets. These were the sorts of things women carried with them to fill idle moments.
The detectives looked at each other, their shotguns now hanging casually at their sides. Mr. Johnson shouted at them to arrest me, but they only shook their heads and rolled their eyes. They did not seem to have any better opinion of the storekeeper than anyone else.
“You’ve got quite an imagination, Johnson,” said one of the detectives. He turned back toward the store. The other clapped a hand on Mr. Johnson’s shoulder to walk him back the same way, but Mr. Johnson jerked loose. He glared at me, practically purple with rage and humiliation.
“You think you’re so clever, pulling the wool over their eyes, missy, but think again. You haven’t got any of the things you sold. I’d say you better pay the money back or you could be finding yourself in jail. It’s theft to take the money and not deliver the goods.” He gave one last nasty smirk in my direction and turned to follow the Pinkertons back to his store.
The women dispersed quickly, but not without giving me looks of warning.
“We’ve got to have our goods or ou
r money back,” Glenys said before slipping away herself. “I’m sorry, lass, but that’s just the way it is.”
I nodded and fled to the one place I could be alone, the cottonwood by the creek. Once again, my family’s hopes and dreams had been snatched away. I did not have the goods or the money to return to the women. Even if I paid them back with the money we had saved, it wasn’t nearly enough. And besides, that money was all my family had now.
I simply had to get the goods, but it was impossible. Mr. Torentino must have been run off by the Pinkertons, and I had no way of bringing the delivery up from Trinidad myself. I had lost everything—Mark, our money, my business. And all for having believed once again in a foolish dream. I sunk down in my shady refuge, and gave in to my misery.
I don’t know how long I cried beside the pool before Papa found me. Holena was with him, and of course she had known where to look. Papa sat down on the raised root of the tree and gently caressed my hair.
“There now, Trina. Things aren’t so bad; you’ve just had a fright, that’s all,” he said.
I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Papa. I’ve ruined us. I didn’t mean to.” I could not go on. Fresh tears spilled down my cheeks.
“Trina, you are taking this too hard. I will find another job. Come to think of it, this is probably a lucky turn.”
“But Papa, there’s more that you don’t know.” Shakily I told him of the delivery that hadn’t come. “People want their money or their goods, and I don’t have either. Papa, it was eight hundred dollars! We can’t even begin to repay them.”
Papa’s face looked grim and he sat silent for a long moment.
“I’m scared, Papa. What if they send me to jail? Mr. Johnson says—”
“Where does this Mr. Torentino come from?”
Papa’s sudden question surprised me. “His store is in Trinidad. I have the address.” I pulled the order book from my pocket and showed Papa the first page with the prices. Mr. Torentino had written the name and address of his store across the top.
“Then we will have to go find him. Come on.”
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