“Today? Now?”
“We haven’t got time to waste.”
We returned home only long enough to tell Momma we were going and to gather a few things for our trip, including a substantial portion of our money. I wasn’t sure that Mr. Johnson wouldn’t concoct some reason for the Pinkertons to raid our home, and I couldn’t bear to lose the money we had to them!
“If anyone comes for their order, tell them there has been a delay and I have gone to town to sort it out,” I instructed Aneshka. She nodded seriously, a fierce look on her face, and I knew she was adequate to the task.
Momma frowned. “But Tomas, we are already in enough trouble. Let’s just pack and go.”
“We can’t.” Papa said. “Trina and I will be back tomorrow.”
We set out on foot, carrying supper in Papa’s lunch pail since we could not expect to reach Trinidad before nightfall. A shred of luck remained with us, for we encountered a farmer with a wagon headed to town. We hitched a ride for almost half our journey, but it was still past dark before we arrived in Trinidad, and all the businesses were closed. We walked the main streets, until we found Mr. Torentino’s store. It occupied a brick storefront with a large glass window along the front. The words TORENTINO AND SONS MERCANTILE AND EXCHANGE were painted in large gold letters across the window. We stood outside and peered through the glass, looking for all the world like country yokels who had never seen a store before. It looked much like Mr. Johnson’s store inside, the narrow interior crammed with everything under the sun. It was dark and silent, and there was no sign of Mr. Torentino.
“We’ll come back in the morning,” Papa said. We walked on, past the closed businesses around Mr. Torentino’s store, pausing briefly in front of the land office, looking at the advertisements pasted on the board just inside the window. Everything cost more money than we had, and once again my hope failed me. Papa, though, smiled and pointed at listings for acres of fruit trees or prime river-bottom land for vegetables, pretending we could afford them. I let out a deep sigh of sadness, but Papa patted my hand where it nestled in his.
“Someday, Trina. You’ll see,” he said.
Turning from the land office, we crossed the street to the hotel, where we took a room with two narrow, squeaky beds.
Despite my exhaustion, it was hard to sleep in the strange room without my whole family around me. I was worried about Momma and my sisters, alone in our house. I was praying that Mr. Johnson and his Pinkerton detectives would not give them any trouble. I could hear Papa stirring in the next bed, and I knew he could not sleep either.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but a sense of shame washed over me. How had I gotten my family into this? I thought I had learned my lesson when the chickens were killed. How had I gone back to my foolish dreams, and made matters even worse?
“I’m sorry, Papa,” I said into the darkness. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“Nothing’s happened yet, Trina. In fact"—Papa paused, but I could hear the mischief that had slipped into his voice—"I think it is just my wish going according to plan.”
“Your wish?”
“Remember? I wished for a farm, and I thought it was the garden and chickens, but now I think I was wrong. This must be it—I got fired so I could get my farm.”
“Papa, be serious,” I said. I appreciated his attempt to make me feel better, but it didn’t help. He didn’t know that I really had, for a time, believed there was magic in those wishes.
“What good is being serious?” Papa said. “Besides, maybe I am serious. We don’t any of us know what’s going to happen, do we? So where’s the harm in expecting the best instead of the worst?”
“Because it’s like Momma says—dreams like that only lead to disappointment.”
“And you were disappointed when your chickens died, weren’t you.”
“Yes,” I said, feeling a lump rising again in my throat as I remembered that awful day.
“But was it really the loss of the chickens that hurt you, Trina?”
“No,” I admitted. “It was so much more.”
“Right. It hurt so much because you lost your dream that day. You gave up on all your hopes and plans.”
I lay in silence, surprised that Papa understood all that so well, when I hadn’t been able to make Momma understand. “So,” I said, “that’s my point. Dreams just set you up for disappointment.”
“No, giving up sets you up for disappointment. That’s the big difference,” Papa said. “That’s why I say we are on our way to getting that farm. I refuse to give up.”
His logic was tugging at my heart, tempting me back into the dream. But fear and remembered pain held me back.
“Momma says only a fool believes in dreams,” I said.
“Your Momma’s afraid,” he said quietly. “That is why we have to do her dreaming for her.” I heard him shift in the bed. “But for now we had better get on with some real dreaming of our own, don’t you think?”
I rolled over onto my side and realized I could sleep now. Papa had made me feel better. “Good night, Papa,” I said.
The next morning we were up early. Papa waited patiently at Mr. Torentino’s storefront door, but I couldn’t hold still. My stomach was knotting with nerves. I paced the length of the block until he arrived to open.
“Mr. Torentino!” I cried from nearly a block away when I saw him putting his key into the lock. Two boys were with him, both somewhat younger than me. I assumed they were the sons referred to on his window.
He turned, looking surprised, then broke into a warm smile. “Miss Trina!”
“Mr. Torentino, I have to have those orders, or else the money back!” I blurted out, without even a “good morning.”
He unlocked the door and ushered us inside, glancing around nervously as he did. When we were all in the cool, dusty interior of the store, he spoke again. “I am glad to see you safe, Trina. I was worried! Did they give you any trouble?”
“A little,” I said. I introduced my father to Mr. Torentino and told him what had happened.
“They accused us of trying to organize a labor union, but I don’t think Mr. Johnson really believes that. I think he just wanted to be rid of competition,” I said.
Mr. Torentino nodded and smiled at Papa. “Your girl’s got quite a head for business. When she first came up with this idea, I didn’t think it would amount to much. This week I’ve gotten more business from her than from the coal company. That’s what’s got them scared.”
“What happened to you?” I said. “Why didn’t you come yesterday?”
“Well, I was up at the store at my usual time. My wagon was half-full of produce and canned goods for the store, and half-full of your orders. But I never unloaded a thing. When I stopped my wagon in front of the store, old Johnson steps out with three Pinkertons. One of them had a shotgun. I didn’t even get down from my wagon seat before Johnson says, ‘You been cheating me right under my nose.’ I says, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ And he says, ‘You’ve been supplying them union organizers, haven’t you? I’ve seen all the extra goods that you don’t unload here. And then next thing I know, there goes that Greek girl with a load of goods, up to camp. I know what you’re up to.’
“And then, two of the Pinkerton men came up to my wagon and started pawing through everything, spoiling the vegetables while they were at it. I couldn’t do a thing to stop them, as the one with the gun was keeping his eye on me every minute.”
“Did they confiscate your merchandise?” Papa asked.
“Did they hurt you?” I added.
“No, but they made me plenty mad, that’s for sure. I guess they were looking for guns or something illegal. I says to them, ‘There’s no law that says I can’t deliver supplies to my customers here.’ And old Johnson, he just laughs and says, ‘No, but this is private property; this whole town belongs to CF&I. If you come up here again, we’ll have you fined for trespassing. And no need to make other deliveries to me, either.
I’ll be doing business elsewhere.’
“Then his Pinkertons escorted me back down the road to the edge of the company land and told me to go on back home. I hated to leave without letting you know what had happened, Trina, but what else could I do? That man with the shotgun just kept standing in the road watching me. So I kept going, right back here with everything still loaded in my wagon.”
“Were you scared?” I asked. Chills were creeping up my spine just listening to him.
“Mostly I was mad, but I’ll admit it gave me a prickle on my neck to have that fellow with the shotgun watching at my back. I’d have been a lot more scared if you had been waiting for me. I’ve been worrying about you ever since. I’m awful sorry to hear what this has done to your family.”
Papa nodded. “They say we’ve got to be out of our house and out of camp by tomorrow. You can see that we have a real problem if Trina doesn’t have the money to give back to the people in the camp. They are going to demand it before we go.”
“But I don’t have it either. It’s all in the merchandise on the wagon,” Mr. Torentino said, “and I can’t take my wagon back up there. If your customers will come to Trinidad, I’ll be happy to give them their goods.”
I shook my head. “It is fifteen miles or more,” I said. “And no one in camp owns a horse or wagon. But—” I paused and thought. An idea was starting to form in my mind. “How much space does the merchandise take up in the wagon?”
“Without the delivery that went to the store, about half the bed.”
“So if it was all spread out on the bottom, no one could see it without actually coming up and looking in.”
“If you are thinking that I could sneak it in, forget it. I can’t go back up there whether I have anything in my wagon or not. I’m sorry, Trina, but it’s not worth the risk. The coal companies have so much power around here, they could put me right out of business if they wanted to.”
“You can’t go back up there, but we can, until tomorrow. In fact, we have to. So, I was wondering if Papa could borrow your wagon for my family to move our household into town,” I said with an innocent smile.
Both Papa and Mr. Torentino stared at me.
“If they knew it was his wagon, they still might stop us,” Papa said. “They will likely recognize his team.”
“But if we wait until this evening to go into camp, after the store is closed we could get by. Besides, they admitted to Mr. Torentino that there was nothing illegal in his deliveries, just trespassing. And until tomorrow, we still live there, so we won’t be trespassing.”
“I don’t know, Trina. There could still be trouble. They pretty much make the law up there,” Mr. Torentino said.
“But if we don’t do it, all those people will lose their money. Mr. Johnson said I could be arrested for stealing. Please, Mr. Torentino? Papa?”
Papa nodded slowly. “I’ll try it, if Mr. Torentino would be willing to loan us his wagon and team.”
“It’s the least I can do,” Mr. Torentino said.
“Oh, thank you!” I exclaimed, feeling relieved and nervous all at the same time. I had to deliver the orders; I knew that. Still, the thought of getting caught by the Pinkertons sent another shiver along my spine.
“I wish I could do something more,” Mr. Torentino said with a kind smile. “If you’ll be staying here in town, I could offer Trina a few hours of work here in the store. It wouldn’t be much, but I hate to see such a good head for business go to waste.”
“What I was hoping is that I might find work on a farm,” Papa said. “You know of any that need help?”
“I’m sure there’s plenty that need help with the harvest,” Mr. Torentino said. “But that won’t keep you through the winter.”
“We came to America to have a farm,” I said. “If I had been able to take orders in camp for just a few more months, we might have been able to buy one.”
Mr. Torentino’s eyebrows raised. “You mean you have been saving your money all this time for your family?”
I nodded. “But it hasn’t been enough.”
Mr. Torentino laughed. “I figured you and your sisters were spending it on lemonade and candy and new dresses to impress the boys.”
“No, sir.”
“I should have known better. Like I said, a good head for business. So how much money have you saved up?”
“Not enough for a farm,” I said. “I’ll have one hundred and eighty dollars if I could fill this week’s order.”
“And I collected fifteen from the mine yesterday,” Papa said. “They had to pay it all out in cash since they were firing me.”
“Well, I have a few connections, but I have to get opened up here first,” Mr. Torentino said. “Then, Trina, if you’ll stay here with my boys and run the store, your papa and I can go talk to the folks at the land office.”
Eagerly I agreed to the arrangement. While Papa and Mr. Torentino were gone, I waited on customers for him. When there were no customers, I gathered the necessary goods for my remaining orders. Mr. Torentino’s sons, Antonio and Vincenzo, though younger than me, were very helpful. I better understood his willingness to work with me despite my young age.
When all the goods were gathered, I watched for Papa’s return. With each passing hour I felt a little more nervous about my plan, and I knew that Momma must be beside herself with worry by now. Finally I saw Papa and Mr. Torentino approaching. They both looked pleased, which I hoped was good news. I wanted to ask the moment they came through the door, but I didn’t get the chance. Before I could say a word, Papa had swept me off my feet and spun me around in a big hug.
“What did I tell you, Trina! Didn’t I tell you? We’ve got a farm!”
I gasped. I couldn’t help it; it was too much to believe. “A farm! A real farm?”
“On the Arkansas River,” Mr. Torentino said with a smile. “Sixty acres of vegetables and another thirty of apple trees.”
I pulled away from Papa. “So much? But we don’t have the money for that!”
“Not to buy,” Papa said, “but enough to lease. Turns out there’s a fellow looking to move into town, but he hasn’t been able to sell his farm, so he’s willing to lease it.”
“Lease it?” Such an idea had never occurred to me before.
Papa nodded, grinning wildly. “The papers are already drawn up. There’ll be no real profit this year, since we didn’t plant or tend the crops there now. But after that, we can use our profits toward buying it. And I think, Trina, that in just one good year, we could make the money to buy it. What do you
think?”
I smiled. Papa was off and dreaming again, and he’d never looked happier. I was feeling pretty happy myself. Who would have thought so much good could come from so much trouble? I stepped back into Papa’s embrace and let his big dreams and big arms catch me up.
“Why not, Papa. It’s a new country and a whole new century,” I said. And it was America—a land for dreamers—where lucky coincidences made those dreams come true. Or at least it had been for me, since I had seen a fish and made a wish.
Chapter 24
ALL THE WAY back to camp in the wagon, Papa was whistling Bohemian folk songs or talking about what we’d plant in the spring. I shared his happiness at first, but as we got closer to camp I felt increasingly nervous. We still had the load of goods to deliver. I had no choice but to deliver it, for Papa had already committed our saved money to the lease of the farm. Refunding so much as a penny to my customers was no longer an option.
One other fact weighed on me as well, marring my happiness. Leaving the mining camp meant saying good-bye to people I loved. Saying good-bye to Mark. The fear and excitement of the previous day had kept me from thinking about him or the little ring of copper wire I had returned to him. I wanted him to come away from the coal camp, but how was I to convince him? He’d made it plenty clear he had no desire to farm.
As we came nearer the camp, Papa’s whistling quieted, then stopped altogether. I could see his expr
ession through the dim light and knew that he was worried about trouble too.
“Do you think they’ll be waiting for us?” I asked into a silence that was already filled with the question. We could see the mine hoist in the distance now, haloed by the setting sun.
Papa shaded his eyes with his hand. “Well, we’ll know soon, won’t we?” he said. I shaded my eyes too, and looked where his gaze was fixed. Someone was standing on the road ahead of us, just this side of the store. I felt my chest tighten and I forced in a deep breath. It might not be anyone connected to us at all, I reminded myself. But as we drew closer, I could see the man was watching our approach. With the sun behind him, I could not tell who it was, though he could probably recognize us.
“Should we keep going?” I asked uncertainly.
Papa shrugged, but his grip tightened on the reins. “What else can we do?”
We continued forward, now almost to within shouting distance of the man in the road. He could have easily called out a greeting to us, but instead he turned and ran back toward the camp.
“Well!” Papa said. “I do believe that’s your Marek.”
He was right. We could see Mark’s uneven gait. As we watched, he ran past the store, which was closed at this hour, and on up the road until he was out of sight.
I felt relieved, but also confused. Why hadn’t he greeted us or waited long enough to tell us whether or not the Pinkertons were watching for us?
“Perhaps he’s gone to let Momma know we are coming,” Papa said. “She’s probably worried sick with us being so late.”
“You are probably right,” I agreed, but my nerves only tightened.
“Well,” Papa said, “he gave no warning, so the road must be clear.”
I nodded, but I gripped the seat tightly with both hands as we came into town, passing the company store first. The doors were closed and the lights were out in all the buildings, but I could not keep my eyes from turning toward them as we passed. I saw no movement in any window and no one stepped out any door. Once past the store, we were climbing the hill, passing the houses of our neighbors. Many of them were on their front porches and watched us pass. I looked back and saw several of them, those who had orders to be filled, rise from their chairs and follow us up the road. By the time Papa reined in the team in front of our house, it would have looked like a welcome-home parade if not for their silent, nervous expressions. They wanted their goods, but they didn’t want trouble with the mine officials.
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