Day by day the weather turned hotter, and slowly the state laborers returned to the area. Dale cut the scabs down to a skeleton crew and prepared for the blossom season and the constant irrigation and pesticide spraying that would accompany it. All across the valley things were starting to pick up even as rumors began to fly from the mouths of farmer and worker alike, whispers of trouble on the coast and big changes in Sacramento. Anyone with any connection at all to the ag bureau suddenly became an expert on California farming politics. They all claimed that something big was coming down the pipeline in Congress, though not a one of them was clear on the details. The TV news, meanwhile, started carrying reports of strange insects from Asia contaminating local orchards, forcing already struggling parcelites to quarantine and destroy hundreds of acres of trees before the first nectarine could begin to swell. Other stations pointed to low levels at the national aquifers and prophesized a summer of water rationing and withered fruit left to rot on branches. The county slashed prices on parcels for the first time in over a decade, and still the neighboring plots remained unoccupied.
Not even my classmates were oblivious to the fear in the air. To the contrary, we all seemed to internalize our parents’ worries, filling the corridors at school with a morose and nervous atmosphere that made our already stressful days positively nerve-wracking. Most of us found ways to cope with the added anxiety. Others reached their breaking points and never looked back. It seemed like every other day a fight broke out on the quad during lunchtime. The siren would go off and the attendants would usher the whole student body into the classrooms for lockdown. One time we heard police cars coming up the road and by the next day eleven members of the freshman class had been expelled. Another time, on the morning of the national standards test, one of the boys in my exam room started trembling all through his body ten minutes into the first math section. The girl sitting next to him told him to quit it, at which point the boy stood and threw his chair against the wall so hard it left a ten-inch crack in the dry erase board. The proctor ordered us outside, and while we waited for the attendants to contain the boy’s outburst, the sky itself burst open and commenced to pummeling the campus with hail pellets the size of cherry stones. They fell off and on for over an hour, after which the sun came out and the temperature rose to the mid-seventies.
I started playing hooky sometime after Easter vacation. It wasn’t like how it was with the other kids who ditched, who took their cars out for lunch or free period and never came back for the rest of the day. On mornings when I didn’t feel like putting on a show of being alive, I slept late and asked Anthony to pick up my homework. Mama trusted me to do what I needed to do, and anyway, she was the last person to judge someone else for staying in bed all day. I always knew there was a chance I’d start experiencing sad stretches of my own. Fortunately, they didn’t come anywhere close to Mama’s. Most hooky days, in fact, I was up and around before noon, and after lunch I’d head out to the field office to check with Dale on how the spraying and pruning were going. Crazy weather aside, the blossoms were coming in on time, full and fragrant. It was that time of year when the whole valley was in pastels, with mile after mile of trees sporting tiny pink, white, and yellow buds like colored popcorn exploding off the branches. The bees emerged from their winter dormancy and hay fever spread like the plague. That was also the only time of year we saw anything like tourists in the valley, weekend visitors driving in from the coast to gawk at all the pretty flowers, tipping dollar bills to the laborers in exchange for access to the orchards. They wore enormous cameras on straps around their necks and spent hours out there alternating between different sizes of lens. One spring Ruby Mendes and me stumbled upon a pregnant lady standing half-naked between two rows of blooming nectarine trees. She kept one hand over her breasts and held her giant belly with the other as her husband took photos of her from every conceivable angle. Eventually they noticed us spying on them. The lady pulled up her dress and staggered through the soft earth in her flip-flops. The man told us to thank our parents for him, handed us each a stick of gum, and followed his wife to the car.
A few Sundays after Easter, I was sitting on the porch of the bigger house with Dawn and Anthony, sucking on one of the small popsicles we made in the ice cube tray with juice and toothpicks. Anthony had given up sugar for Lent, but even now he didn’t seem to have much of a sweet tooth. He sat Indian-style on the boards, whittling a square of wood with his pocketknife, while Dawn used a kitchen knife to slice lemon rings into a pitcher of sun tea. Jessie and Gracie were playing with Mark and Karina on the grass. After months of initial shyness, they were finally starting to come around to their other siblings.
It’s a beautiful day, Dawn said. We should see if Beth would like to come over. The sunshine would do her good.
I sucked the last drops of juice from the ice and tossed the leftovers behind the hedge. Ever since the night of the dance, Dawn had remained deeply committed and attentive to Beth. The only reason she thought to make tea, in fact, was probably because she knew Beth liked it.
You know she’s talking about running off to live on the coast.
Dawn nodded. We’ve talked about it a lot recently.
And? What did you tell her?
Dawn set the knife down and rubbed the smell of citrus over her hands. I told her how hard it can be for a young woman on her own. I shared some of my experiences from the years before I met your dad.
That’s good. Hopefully you got her to change her mind.
I wouldn’t know. That was never my intention.
Surprised to hear you say that. You were the one who told me how dangerous it is out there. She could get really hurt, or worse.
Dawn sealed the plastic lid onto the pitcher. She carried it to the corner of the porch where the tea could soak up the sunlight the whole day through. Any danger out there can just as easily reach her here, she said. That should be obvious at this point.
I know. I just thought you might want to warn her about what she’s getting herself into. Seeing as how at the time it was worth marrying Elliot to get yourself out of it.
I never said it was worth it. At any rate, though, it’s her life to live the way she wants. After all she’s been through, it’s not going to do any good to try and keep her caged up here.
She should give her life to God, Anthony said. He shook his head and scraped a particularly long wood shaving from the edge of the block. God’s the only one who can take her pain away. He’s healed women who have been through a lot worse than her.
How would you know? I asked.
Don’t worry about it. I know what I’m talking about. Read the Bible.
I tried reading the Bible once, Dawn said. Gave up after Lot’s wife got turned to salt.
All of a sudden there was dust flying up from the driveway and a low rumble that grew louder the longer I listened. I stood and peered out through the gaps in the tree line. Something shiny caught my eye with the gleam of the sun. There’s a car coming, I said. Nice one from the look of it.
Turned out nice was an understatement. I’d never seen a car as new and fancy as the one that came up the drive just then and parked beside the house. It was a European import, all sleek and automatic, with hardly a speck of dust anywhere above the tire treads. The engine was still clicking when the driver’s side door swung open and a pair of clean leather shoes stepped out onto the gravel. A tall young man in a suit and dark sunglasses paced around the yard for a stretch, looking the houses up and down and staring far off into the orchard with a hand shielding his already shaded eyes. I don’t think he could’ve failed to notice that we were there, but he was sure taking his time getting around to acknowledging us.
Hello there, I said, waving to him from behind the porch railing. If you’re looking to take some photos of the blossoms, you’re welcome to do so.
The stranger turned his head ever so slightly and cracked a smile. I’m not here on vacation, he said. I’m here on business. I’d like to sit down a
nd have a talk with your mothers.
Me and Anthony glanced at each other for a second and then looked back at the stranger. I tried to remember what the inspectors at the ag bureau looked like, and considered how likely or unlikely it was that one of them would be driving around in a German sports car.
Anthony shot to his feet still holding the pocketknife and block of wood. What sort of business do you have with them?
That’ll be made clear in due time, the man said. For now, you had best get your people together in one place. Because what I have to say concerns all the Temples.
Such vague menace resulted in a fairly accurate test of how quickly we could get everyone together for an emergency meeting. While Mama and Claudia prepared the little ones for another babysitting session with Jewel, I got on the phone and alerted Katie to what was happening. Whoever this guy was, I stressed, he seemed intimately aware of who we were and what our living arrangement was like. Within ten minutes, all of adults and older children were assembled around our kitchen table, remaining tensely silent as Mama served coffee to our well-dressed visitor.
I don’t believe you’ve given us your name, Katie said. Seems like that’d be a good place to start.
The young man stirred heaping portions of sugar and cream into his coffee. Without his sunglasses on, he looked no older than Logan, and even had his hair combed in the same slicked-back style. My official title is as a contractor, he said. That should suffice for now. At the moment, I’d prefer to focus on who I represent and what they have to offer.
So you have come to make us an offer, Jennifer said. I figured as much.
An offer on what? Claudia asked. What do we have that’s even worth buying?
Your property, for one, the contractor said. The Russert Growers Company out of Watsonville has enabled me to speak and act on their behalf. They’re prepared to make a very generous offer to you for the farm as-is. That means everything—the land, trees, buildings, and all the equipment and machinery therein. They’d like the place to be ready to hand off before the start of harvesting, and they’re willing to compensate you appropriately for a speedy transition.
He folded his arms over his chest and leaned back in his seat. While the rest of the family, including me, stared at him with looks of confusion or fear plastered over our faces, Beth smiled and let out a single condescending laugh.
Mister, she said, I don’t know how long you’ve been working or where you got your information from, but this is San Joaquin. We’re on parcel land. That means we can’t sell the farm to anybody, except back to the government. Anything else is against the law.
The contractor smiled and raised an index finger in front of his face. Actually, he said, this property is registered as a cooperative. And according to the policies set forth by the national agriculture bureau, any piece of land registered as a cooperative may be transferred from its current occupants to any individual or organization willing to buy them out under the terms of the original agreement. That means the Russert Growers Company is perfectly within its legal rights to assume tenantship of the farm provided that they compensate you for the full amount of your deposit. Now, seeing as how you all have put a lot of work into these orchards over the past several months, the company has authorized me to offer you compensation over and above your initial investment. One and a half times, in fact. For a fifty percent return on what you paid in. No one else is going to give you that kind of deal, I assure you.
I can’t see what a big company from the coast would want with our place, Anthony said. Or how they even found out about us.
I alerted them to your situation myself, the contractor said. As to their reasons for making an offer, I believe they see this place as a means of getting in on the ground floor here in the Central Valley. You see, folks, whether you want to accept it or not, the parcel system is a thing of the past, a relic of a more desperate time. Perhaps it was useful in the early days of the Republic, but since then it’s become an inefficient boondoggle that keeps the land from being developed to its fullest potential. Our nation has grown up, and agriculture must grow with it. A handful of corporations could do more with this valley than all the tenant farmers and state laborers in the country put together. That’s the way the wind is blowing now, and anyone with any sense at all should cash out while they still can.
Even if what you’re telling us is true, Mama said, I don’t see why we should be in any hurry to sell. Those trees out there didn’t bloom by themselves. We deserve to see through our first harvest. Or else all the time and money we’ve put in will be for nothing.
The contractor smiled, showing a mouth full of perfectly straight teeth unlike anything you ever saw east of the Pacheco Pass. Mark my words, he said. The government is starting to catch on to the untapped potential here in San Joaquin. When the laws change and privatization takes effect, you might end up having to pay a whole lot more than a deposit to hold on to a piece of property this size.
That may be so, Katie said. If and when that day comes, we’ll deal with it the best we can. In the meantime, you thank the Russert Growers Company for taking the trouble to approach us, but I’m afraid the answer is no. This farm means more to us than a return on an investment. We’re building a home here on this land, for ourselves and for our children. And we don’t intend to give it up after less than a year.
I thought you might respond like that, the contractor said. In which case, I’m sorry to say, you’ve forced me to play my trump card. You understand, it’s just business.
I’d finally had it. Even before he started talking, this cocky interloper had irked me something bad, and now that he was being openly threatening, it was too much for me to hold my tongue any longer. You’re dancing around something, I said. Go ahead and tell us whatever it is you think you know. We don’t deserve to be strung along.
Fair enough, he said, and laid his knuckles down on the tabletop. You purchased the rights to this farm with money attained through fraud and deceit. When he was alive, Elliot Temple was married to five women at the same time. He used each of his wives to apply for a different parcel in a different county, in direct violation of the limits established by the bureau of agriculture. After his death, you used the deposits from his parcels to set up a cooperative farm in your own names. Ergo, this entire enterprise is founded on ill-gotten money. Which, as it happens, is the sort of offense the authorities would be very interested in hearing about.
When he’d finished speaking, I closed my eyes and let out a slow stream of breath. Everyone else at the table appeared similarly stunned, with the possible exception of Dawn, who sat with her head down and a hand over her eyes, feeling whatever reaction is possible when you’re proven right about your own vulnerability. And she was right, after all. Without even stepping off the property, the danger had found us once again. Even after all the precautions we’d taken, even after our betrayal of Beth, the life we’d worked to build up for ourselves all these months was on the verge of coming undone. I wanted to run outside screaming and tear every last blossom off every last tree in the orchard. They were as much to blame as any of us—the bright and pretty things in this world always invite disaster.
Claudia held her hands out imploringly. We have two houses full of children on this land, she said. How could you live with yourself if you cast them out of their homes?
The contractor titled his head to the side, looking around at us with an annoyed intensity in his eyes. He pushed his chair out from the table. I can see you need some time to process this, he said. That’s why I’m going to give you a week to think it through. I’ll be back next Sunday at the same time. For your children’s sake, I hope you come to your senses between now and then. Here. Let me give you my business card.
He pulled a stack of cards from his coat pocket and divided it into two even halves like a magician preparing a trick. Go ahead and pass them out, he said. I’ve got plenty.
The two halves went around opposite sides of the table before convergi
ng on Anthony at the end. Each person who took a card paused for a moment before passing off the rest of the stack. They were cream-colored and tastefully understated, with the lettering sunk-in so it felt like the words were trying to evade your touch.
Elliot Temple, Jr.
Independent Contractor
I let the card fall and settle face-down against the table. I felt Mama touch my arm in a way that was somehow different from her usual expressions of anxiety. It took me a while to realize that she, in her own imperfect way, was trying to comfort me this time.
In case there’s any more confusion, my newest brother said, let me make myself clear. Don’t ever try to assume the limits of what I’m capable of. You’ll be unpleasantly surprised.
ELLIOT
I was eighteen years old the summer my father took me on the road with him to the San Joaquin Valley. Dad was in the fruit business and spent most of his time traveling around between the Bay Area and Yosemite. Before that trip I had never been east of the Diablo range in my life, nor had I spent more than a few hours alone with Dad at one time. The car radio died out halfway over the Pacheco Pass, and after driving through miles and miles of pure nothing from Los Banos to Fresno, we suddenly came upon a pastoral landscape where trees outnumbered men by a wide margin. You live all your life on the coast and you forget there are places so different just over the mountains, places without any of the things you’ve come to expect from a civilized community. No traffic, no sea walls, no gated housing tracts. Nothing but trees and grass and livestock, and tiny, old-fashioned houses with entire families of people with unwashed hair congregating on their porches like Okies from a social studies textbook. I had plenty of time to take it all in on the drive down; Dad was never one to converse behind the wheel, and after four years without seeing him, my own awkwardness kept me similarly silent right up to the moment we crossed the town line into Porterville. I don’t know if it was awkwardness, boredom, or a need to make myself heard, but I turned to him then and said with the eagerness of a younger boy, “The land’s so beautiful. It must be nice living here.”
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