by E. Joan Sims
God got me almost immediately. Andy Joiner was his instrument.
“Morning, Andy,” I sang out gaily. “Fresh hot coffee? The eggs and bacon are rotten, but the biscuits and jam are still better here than any where else in Lakeland County, even if the flies have been…”
“Paisley, shut up!” shouted Mother, astounding both me and Andy.
“Well, sure. If you say so. Although I…”
“Paisley,” she continued in a tightly controlled voice, “Andy has just presented me—us—the inhabitants of Meadowdale Farm, with an injunction against the direct hiring of non-citizens to perform any labor whatsoever on our property.”
“What the hell?” I protested.
“Look, Paisley, Miz Sterling—this has nothing to do with you all personally,” said Andy, as he shifted uncomfortably from one big foot to the other.
“I should hope not!” declared Mother.
“What does it have to do with, Andy?” I asked softly. “Is it just a coincidence that we sat here for two hours watching fifty pounds of food go bad while we waited for a bunch of guys who can’t help us anymore—and you show up with this paper? What’s going on?”
“Look, Paisley,” he began. “Mind if I sit down?”
“Help yourself,” I said, plopping down in a chair opposite him. “And help yourself to some coffee, and biscuits. The ones on top are the freshest,” I added wickedly.
Mother and I went over the legal papers while Andy fixed his coffee. I watched out of the corner of my eye as he picked three big biscuits from the top of the pile. He ate them quickly, washing them down with a second cup of coffee.
“Thanks,” he sighed with satisfaction. “I didn’t have time for breakfast this morning and I was a mite famished.”
“Have some more then,” I said pushing the biscuit plate closer. “And some bacon. Make yourself a sandwich.”
“Thanks, Paisley. I really appreciate your not holding a grudge,” he said with a winning smile.
I felt a guilty little twinge in the pit of my stomach. “Let me fix some fresh bacon. Won’t take me but a minute.”
“There’s no bacon left, Paisley. We cooked it all,” observed Mother dryly.
“Thanks, just the same, ladies. I don’t really need anything else. It’ll be lunchtime soon and Connie’s bringing something to the office for me.
“Who is behind this nonsense, Andy?” insisted Mother waving the injunction like a banner. “Jimmy Hershey’s been a friend for fifty years. I can’t believe he signed this ridiculous piece of paper. What’s going on?”
Andy shook his head slowly.
“I’m not really sure what’s going on. Seems to me like it would be a good idea to let those guys help out. Everybody else in town is swamped, and I know the Mexicans need the money. Most of the tobacco crop was wiped out by the storm, and they don’t have anything else to do right now. They don’t make much money in the best of times, and what they do make most of ’em send it back regular to their families. Two months without work could make a big difference, and it’ll be at least that long before plantin’ time. But I guess their contractor won’t let ’em do any outside work.”
Andy looked acutely uncomfortable. That was a long speech for him and I was sure he felt like he’d said too much. I probably should have let it go at that, but he had said something that piqued my interest.
“Contractor? I thought these men were independents who went wherever there was a need for laborers.”
“I’m not just exactly sure how it works,” said Andy, “but from what I’ve gathered, it’s a lot more organized than that. This bunch here definitely has a labor contractor. He brings ’em in from Mexico, sets ’em up with a work permit, finds ’em a job and a place to live, and sends ’em back home when their work permits expire.”
Mother was quick as a bunny. “The labor contractor must be the person who got Jimmy Hershey to sign the injunction,” she guessed.
Andy turned a bright telltale red from his neck to his ears. “I’m sorry, Miz Sterling. I’m just the bearer of bad tidings. I’m not at liberty to say any more. I’ve said enough already,” he added under his breath.
He stood up and brushed the biscuit crumbs from his starched uniform shirt.
“Gott’a be going. Thanks again for the breakfast. It really hit the spot.”
Chapter Eleven
Mother and I spent an hour cleaning up the breakfast mess and throwing spoiled food away. Aggie was still so tired she remained in her basket even when she heard me scraping plates into the garbage can. That was usually the clarion call that brought her from one end of the farm to another. It seemed strange when she didn’t move a muscle.
“Do you think we should take Aggie to the vet for a once over?” I asked Mother.
“I thought you didn’t care, dear,” she said with a knowing smile.
“I don’t! Not about her, anyway. But if she’s going to keep biting me and sleeping with Cassie…”
“I think she’s fine, Paisley. She’s just exhausted and frightened like we were after the storm. And she was a long way from home. That must have been a terrifying experience for such a little animal.”
She reached down and caressed the sleeping puppy.
“I must say, I’m quite happy to have her back again. And I think you are, too, dear.”
“Hummfp.”
I swept the last of the crumbs off the patio and took stock of the work that remained to be done in the yard. The larger fallen trees had been stripped of their branches and rolled into the orchard where they lay waiting to be cut into logs. The giant holes where trees were uprooted remained to be filled. Most of the lawn would have to be tilled and replanted, and my moon garden was still a mess.
Three more days with the Mexicans would have set us to rights. And now that I knew the poor guys needed the work and the money, it seemed even more unfair that we couldn’t use them. Maybe there was still something we could do about it. I was never so foolish as to underestimate Mother’s considerable charms. Perhaps now was the time for her to use them on Judge Hershey, but first I had to pay Rudolfo and his friends for the work they had already done. And for that I needed Cassie.
I knocked on her door and politely asked to be admitted.
“Go away!” she shouted angrily.
“Please, Cassie,” I begged. “I’ll tell you why Andy was here.”
“I couldn’t care less.”
“I made him eat fly turds. I’m sure you want to hear about that.”
I thought I heard muffled laughter.
“You’re a terrible person, Paisley Sterling DeLeon. You know that, don’t you?” she said as she opened the door and then climbed back on her bed.
“I know,” I sighed, looking around at the disarray of clothes and open suitcases cluttering her pretty room.
I sat down on the pink and lavender striped chaise, pushing aside dirty socks to make room. Now was not the time to criticize her for being messy. Instead, I agreed with her assessment of me.
“It’s a curse, but someone around here has to be the monster. Mother is too elegant and proper, and you’re too angelic and beautiful. Guess I’m elected.”
“I’m not angelic,” denied my daughter, sticking out her tongue to prove it.
“Then maybe I’m not such a terrible person?”
“You are terrible sometimes, Mom. And you hate Aggie. And worst of all, you’re prejudiced and bigoted against Latinos!”
I laughed heartily for a full minute until I saw from her reaction that she was truly serious about her accusations.
“Cassandra, how can you say such things?” I asked incredulously.
“Because they’re true,” she mumbled into her lace-trimmed pillow
“I married your father, didn’t I,” I asked softly. “I had his child and lived happily in his home for eight wonderful years. Is that the behavior of a person who dislikes Latinos. Your grandparents and aunts were Latinos…”
“And we never have anyt
hing to do with them, do we!” she retorted accusingly.
“Cassie, you know that was their decision. They thought it best to cut any ties. It was for our own safety. Because we still don’t know why your father disappeared.”
Cassie raised up and looked at me, tears spilling down her cheeks and her dark eyes filled with pain and longing. I never knew until that moment just how much she missed the rest of her family.
“Oh, darling!”
I crawled up next to her in bed and held her while she cried softly on my shoulder.
“Don’t misunderstand me, Mom,” she hiccoughed finally. “I’m not that unhappy, really I’m not. It’s just that sometimes I feel like half of me is missing.”
“I know, pumpkin,” I soothed. “Sometimes I feel the same way.”
She bounced up on her knees and hugged me.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m such a self-centered creep. I forgot that you have to miss Daddy, too.”
“Wow,” I said with the tiniest of snuffles. “What a pair we are! You’re a creep and I’m a monster. Do we have any redeeming value?”
“You bet we do!” she said as she gave me a rib-squeezing bear hug. “And I love you very much.”
“Even if your dog and I don’t get along very well?”
“Even then. And besides, it really doesn’t matter that much anymore because she’ll be coming with me.”
“Excuse me, did I miss something here? Are you going somewhere, Cassie?”
She untangled her arms from around me and sat up.
“Come on, Mom. You knew I would be moving out and making a life of my own after college. Admit it. I’ve warned you often enough.”
“Yes,” I sighed. “I knew you would be leaving home sooner or later. But somehow I hoped it would be a later than sooner—maybe in the fall. Couldn’t you spend the summer with us, at least?”
“Celestine needs me now.”
“Celestine? Who the hell is…you mean the girl who owns the coffee bar downtown on Main Street?”
“Yep! I start work first thing Monday morning,” she announced with a huge grin.
“What?” I shouted with dismay. “You’re going to work in a coffee shop?”
“Just until I save up enough money to open a book store,” she answered defensively.
“I simply cannot believe this,” I cried. “Is this why I sent you for all that expensive Emory education? At the very least, I thought you would be going out in the world to beat your head against a few corporate brick walls first.”
“Mom, I watched all my friends mailing off resumes and interviewing for fancy yuppie jobs in Atlanta’s glass towers, and I knew I just couldn’t live like that.”
She smiled and gave me another hug. This time I sat like a lump and didn’t respond. I was too stunned.
“Thanks for my education,” she continued persuasively. “My mind is full of wonderful facts, but it is my mind. And one thing an education—the proper kind of education—does is teach you how to think for yourself. I did just that, for quite a long time, and this is what I want to do.”
“But Rowan Springs is about as country as you can get,” I protested, “and you’re a city mouse.”
“So are you, Mom. And look how much happier you are here than you were in New York three years ago. I can see the difference in your face. You look ten years younger. Horatio says we really do look like sisters.”
“Never mind flattering me. I still think you should go and seek your fortune like the old fairy tales say.”
“And come to the same conclusion twenty years later like you did? Why not now before all the lumps and disappointments? This is my laughing place, Mom. This is where I’m the happiest me. Let me stay, and I promise you won’t be disappointed. There’s a lot I can do to set this old town on its ear.”
“Okay, sweetie,” I sighed. “I can’t really say I’m sorry you won’t be hundreds of miles away. I just thought you would need to be out on your own.”
“I’ll be on my own. I’m getting the apartment above Celestine’s as part of my compensation. I’m the morning manager,” she added with pride.
“Wow, and it took a 3.8 GPA to get that job, I bet.”
“Celestine had a 4.0.”
Chapter Twelve
Cassie insisted on driving Watson to the trailer park where Rudolfo lived. She used both her knowledge of the direction to take and the argument that when she moved out she would no longer have the use of the car to convince me.
“Maybe we can find an inexpensive little…”
“Mom, forget it. For twenty-two years you have taken care of my every need and desire. Now it’s time I took care of myself. Besides, I’ll be living downtown and won’t need a car. The grocery stores will be within walking distance, and for anything else, I have my bike.”
“What if you should happen to want to visit your poor old relatives?”
“I’ll give you a call,” she laughed. “But remember, I’ll be working six days a week. There won’t be much time for visits.”
“I predict that your grandmother and I will soon develop an insatiable thirst for that strange exotic coffee Celestine sells.”
We discussed the merits of Raspberry Truffle Jubilee as opposed to Maxwell House instant until we turned off the main highway. Cassie aimed Watson down a dirt track that led to several rows of dilapidated and rusting trailers that were mercifully hidden from the road by some really tall and beautiful cedars.
The rain had washed deep gullies in the red dirt, but the road was dry now and very dusty. We kicked up a small dirt storm as we drove on into the trailer park.
Overflowing garbage cans abuzz with large black-green flies stood at the entrance to each row of trailers, and the air was ripe with the odor of rotten food. Latin music from several competing radio stations blared at us from the open windows of every trailer we passed. Flimsy plastic fans tried valiantly to move the air in and out of the small windows, but I could only imagine the sweltering heat inside the trailers. Angry shouts followed the swirling dust cloud we kicked up with our passing, and for once, I was glad I couldn’t understand their meaning.
“I guess they don’t have air conditioning,” I observed dryly.
“They don’t have much of anything, Mom.”
“What’s it look like inside these sardine cans?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Rudolfo wouldn’t even let me come this far when I brought him home, but he did point out his trailer. It’s the one on the end.”
We pulled up next to the one she indicated and parked Watson. We waited for a minute or two until the dust settled so we could get out without choking to death.
Rudolfo’s trailer was the only one with all the windows closed. When we tried it, we found the door tightly shut and locked as well.
“Nobody’s home,” I announced unnecessarily.
“Wonder where he is,” said Cassie, peering in the dust-covered window.
“Gone back where he come from, that’s where. And good riddance, I say!”
Cassie and I turned startled heads in the direction of a large man wearing a red and white flowered shirt and the biggest pair of blue jeans I had ever seen. The jeans were tucked inside beautifully tooled leather cowboy boots and belted at his considerable waist with silver conchos the size of small saucers.
“What in the blue-eyed world do you two ladies think you’re doin’ out here?” “We have some business with Señor Rudolfo,” I said, as politely as I could muster.
“Seenor Rudolf don’t have no business I don’t know about. And I don’t know nuthin’ about anything he might have to do with the likes of you, Ma’am,” he added with a sarcastic sneer.
“He performed some services the other day for which we would like to pay him,” I insisted. When the words were out, I realized how much I sounded like Mother—and what a mistake that was.
A sleazy smirk distorted the big man’s weathered face. His eyes were light brown, almost yellow, and narrow like a serpent’s. It w
as hard to believe that a mouth as small as his could take in enough sustenance to keep his heavy body fueled.
“And I wonder just what kind of servicing he did for you ladies? I’ll be glad to give Rudolf your money,” he added slyly, “And perform any more services…”
“I just bet you would,” interrupted Cassie, angrily. “I thought you said he was gone.”
“Maybe he is, and maybe he ain’t. Damn flies!” he shouted slapping at his face. “I keep telling these pigs they gotta bury their leavins. Animals, that’s what they are, nuthin’ but animals.”
“Are you the manager of this delightful place?” I asked.
The music was barely audible now, and I knew our little discussion was the object of intense interest for the silent observers behind the thin metal walls of the trailers all around us.
“And just who wants to know?” he demanded, with the same awareness of an audience.
“Paisley DeLeon. I’m Anna Howard Sterling’s daughter, and this is my daughter, Cassandra.”
“Well, how de freakin’ do,” he snorted. “Nice to meet the little lady that got one of my best men in trouble with the law.”
“Wha…what do you mean,” stammered Cassie.
“Rudolph Ramirez. Thanks to you and your meddlin’ old bitch of a grandmother, Ramirez got deported this morning—along with three other men who didn’t pay no attention to the rules.”
“You fat tub of guts!” I shouted angrily. “How dare you…”
Cassie grabbed my arm and began pulling me toward the car.
“Let me go, Cassie,” I panted. “That fat pig needs to be told a thing or two.”
The big man turned and watched with great interest as Cassie pushed me in the car and slammed the door. As we backed out of the drive he deliberately and carefully mouthed two words in my direction, “You’re dead!”
By the time we got back to the highway, my heart had quit racing, but I was drenched with sweat and still shaking with anger.
