"We are."
"Show me. May will pack a basket for us. Say you'll come, Callie."
"We're not supposed to be in the woods alone."
"The men are right here. No one would be lurking around with them so near. We'd need only to call out
And the almond is in bloom now. Please—I'd love to find one o£ the bushes. The blooms won't last long."
Callie remained reluctant, but Natalie sounded so earnest and apologetic. "We shouldn't."
"We won't go far. I promise. Please say you'll come. It would mean so much to me, and it's true you and I have not enjoyed an afternoon together for a long time."
With the dinner May packed for them, the two girls set out. Natalie walked to the far edge of the field and took the long way around to the woods, as if she thought no one would notice them. Callie knew they had been seen and wondered just how she would explain this disobedience to Peter this evening.
Peter had been very firm in warning them. Dangerous bands of laborers wandered the neighborhood, and the women were not to go near the woods even for berry picking unless one of the men went with them. He was sure to ask her about today's venture.
Her misgivings growing stronger, she called to Natalie who had run gaily ahead. Natalie looked back, laughing, then ran along the woods path. Callie hurried to catch up. Natalie remained several steps in front. Callie shifted the dinner basket to her other arm and ran a few more steps, then stopped. They were already deep in the woods. It was too late to protest "Natalie, wait. I want to rest. The basket is heavy."
The sounds of the woods closed around her. But no human sound. "Natalie!" Callie called, alarmed. She was still not familiar with the woods, and fearful of becoming hopelessly lost. "Natalie! Where are you?"
Callie stood still as stone, her ears straining, already edgy at her disobedience to Peter for coming into the woods at all. Every sound became ominous, a possibility that a band of men could leap out at her from the cover of any clump of underbrush. Leaves rustled; a
twig snapped. Callie dropped the basket and ran pell-mell into the thicket.
Natalie raced after her, finally catching the sleeve of her gown. Breathlessly she gasped, "Why are you running away? I found the almond bush. Come see."
Callie sank to the ground. "Oh, Nattie, you scared me. I thought you were a band of those men."
"Me!? A whole band of them?"
Callie laughed weakly. "Yes."
Natalie put her hand out, helping Callie to her feet. "Come see the almond. There's not a living soul in these woods but you and me. I know. I can sense these things."
Natalie led Callie to the small lovely almond, its pale pinkish flowers delicate and fragile-looking like small confections set deep in the green woods. Callie's eyes shone with as much pleasure as Natalie's. "Let's eat here."
Natalie agreed, saying she could use the emptied basket to carry the blooms home. They nibbled on cold shepherd's pie and thick chunks of bread and cheese. Callie wrapped up what was left and tucked it into one end of the basket. "It's so beautiful here. I'm glad we came . . . even if Peter will be angry." She lay back and stared dreamily up into the laden green boughs. She loved these woods. The sounds of the trees in the wind, and the animals scurrying unseen around her, were like symphonies far more exhilarating than any she had heard in London concert halls.
With great reluctance she got up and reminded Natalie they had to get back to the house. She had no idea how long they had been gone, but from the angle of the sun she knew it was well into the afternoon.
They started back, Natalie leading, for Callie no longer had any idea which path to take or where she was.
Callie stopped in surprise. "What is this place?" She pointed to a neat row of small cottages. Where the ground had allowed them to sink, they leaned against each other as though for comfort
Natalie stood for a long time staring at the cabins. Her face was sad; then slowly the sadness became anger. She spat on the ground.
"Natalie!"
Rigid, Natalie tore her eyes from one particular cabin and faced Callie, turning so she could no longer see the hated place. Her lips barely moved; her eyes blazed as she said, "They are goatherd's cottages— when we have need of goatherds. They are shepherd's cottages—when we have need of shepherds. Mostly they are for the hop pickers when we have need of hop pickers. And they are for Rosalind and Albert— when they have need to ... to ... of each other."
"Natalie Berean! I truly don't know what is wrong with you today. God forgive you. The terrible things you've said about Peter and now Rosalind and Albert. You can't say things like that. Truly you can't. It's a grave sin."
"Good Callie. Everyone knows how good you are . . . and how sweet. Why, you've probably never even committed a sin, have you? Do you do any wrong?"
"Nattie!"
"Oh, Nattie what? You make me sick sometimes. What do you know? How do you know I'm not telling the truth? Truth doesn't always have to be nice."
Callie said nothing, and Natalie went on. ''What would you say if Rosalind and Albert really did meet here?"
Callie remained silent, walking a little faster away from the cabins.
"Why don't you answer? You can't admit you're wrong! You're afraid!"
"I am not afraid!"
"Then answer me."
"All right," Calfie sighed. "It would be different if Rosalind and Albert really met here, but they don't. Rosalind is Peter s wife. She'd never do something like that. She loves him and Albert loves you. You re wrong and it's terrible of you to say such things. Think of what something like that could do to the people you are slandering."
"It could be true."
"It could not! Maybe with other people, but not with our family."
"You could prove it—one way or another," Natalie said slyly. "Rosalind is always taking walks. Don't you think that is strange for someone who thinks lifting the fork to her mouth is work? Follow her. See if she doesn't come straight here."
"I'll do no such thing! And to accuse Albert—your own fiance! How can you claim to care a fig for him? You don't even trust him!"
"It's because I do love him," Natalie said airily. "But you wouldn't understand. You're too young."
"I'm fifteen—old enough."
"You just turned fifteen. I'm still four and a half years older than you. I should know far more than you, and I do."
"I'm not going to talk to you anymore about this. It's hateful. I'm going back to the house."
"Go back and I shall tell Mama and Papa that you asked me to come to the woods then ran off and left me!"
"Tell them! Go ahead! And 111 tell them the awful things you said."
Stalemated, they stared at each other, neither willing to take another step until the other gave in.
Finally Natalie smiled. "Oh, let's forget it. You
know I didn't really mean anything. I was just teas-ing."
"Teasing?"
Natalie shrugged. "You'll never know for sure, will you?"
"I don't want to know."
"Are you still going to tell Mama and Papa?"
Callie hesitated, then shook her head. Once again she walked by Natalie's side, but she was no longer sure she liked Natalie. As delightful as the girl could be, there was an inexplicably vengeful side to her that Callie despised. Natalie called it teasing, but Callie thought it malicious.
Sideways Callie looked at Natalie. She was in much better humor now, smiling and humming softly to herself. Catching Callie's look, her smile broadened. "Am I forgiven?"
Callie's lips pursed. Her impulse was to say no, but she couldn't make the word come out.
Natalie sighed. "Well, I wish I could take it all back, but I can't Surely you know I didn't mean it. Rosalind just makes me so angry. She's so flirtatious and syrupy around Albert She has her own husband; why must she fall all over Albert?"
Callie said nothing. It was just Rosalind's way—but Natalie would never listen to that.
"Say something," Natalie
prompted, feeling frightened for reasons she didn't understand fully. She knew only that she regretted heartily the honesty she had exposed to Callie. "I said I was sorry. I didn't mean those things I said about Peter. Don't you believe me? Don't you?"
Callie looked at her. "Honest? You'll never say them again?"
"Never."
Chapter 11
By midsummer of 1830 it was apparent that the threshing machine, which had been used primarily in the north, would be coming to the southern counties. The year had been bad and the crops had to be brought in. One threshing machine would do the work of many men.
Callie heard the news as she did nearly all the rumors that passed through the Berean farm. She did not realize its importance until August, when four hundred Kentish laborers began to smash the hated machines. .
The sporadic disturbances had been exciting and a little frightening, but not quite real. The Bereans had observed certain basic precautions, but even those had not seemed connected with anything too serious or imminent. The disturbances hadn't touched them directly. Now, with a rising lump of apprehension, Callie stood at the entry to the barn watching Peter clean his gun.
Sensing her presence, he said, "Come in, Callie."
She walked over to where he sat. The gun was no longer in sight.
"What were you doing, Peter?"
"Oh, not much. Just sitting here and thinking about getting the hay into the loft."
"Why did you hide the gun?"
"You saw, then. Well, it's a good thing you weren't Ma." He leaned down, pulling the gun from the hay. "Ma would worry needlessly, so keep it between us, will you, Callie?"
"But why do you have it out?"
Peter's serious expression lightened immediately. "Because, little one, there is trouble afoot. Where have you had your head and ears? In some cloud of daydreams where they belong, I guess."
"I have heard—but you are in sympathy with the laborers. They wouldn't hurt you. You're one of them!"
"Desperate men are rarely true friends, Callie. They can't be. Nor am I so much in sympathy that I will let them ruin my thresher or burn my fields. There are four hundred or more of them wandering about Do you comprehend what they could do?"
Callie did not comprehend.
The following morning Albert appeared at the front door before breakfast. The usually immaculately groomed Albert was untidy, his face pale, the meticulously neat mustache in need of a trim and waxing. Brushing past Callie without a greeting he went directly to James's study. "Tell James I must see him immediately!" he called as he went to the liquor cabinet. Albert never drank in the day and only moderately at night.
Callie hurried needlessly in search of James; Albert's urgent voice had carried. James was already coming, with Meg close behind. Natalie was at the
foot of the stairs. "Albert? Did I hear Albert? Where is he?"
"Have you firearms at ready?" Albert demanded from the doorway.
"Firearms! Jamesl What is happening?" Meg wrung her hands.
"Did you come to see me, Albert?" Natalie asked, slithering down the final two steps toward him.
"Always dear, I always come to see you, but at the moment there is an emergency. Your father and I have important business to discuss."
"James, what is he talking about?" Meg cried.
"Albert, for the love of heaven," James said. "You have the entire family in alarm. What the devil's gotten into you? What's this about firearms? Have we declared war?"
He turned and shoved Albert, who had come to the door, back into the depths of the study. "Now, what is all this?" James asked severely.
Within a few minutes the door to the study reopened. "Callie! Callie! Call my sons in from the fields!"
Albert stood in the middle of the floor, his third glass of rye in his hand, holding in the other a ragged piece of paper. James looked at the note. "Bewar of the fatel dager!" He read the signature, "Swing."
"Have you an idea of how many of these notes we've collected?" Albert asked. "Swing is everywhere, I tell you. The man has spread his agents throughout the country. The attack is planned. Wellington himself has received several notes threatening an invasion of London, and death if reform is not made law. We've been up all night recruiting and preparing for what is coming."
"Just how far has it spread?" Frank asked.
"We've had reports from Northhamptonshire, Dorset,
J 66 Sharon Salvato
Norfolk, Lincolnshire . . . and of course all of the south."
"And how bad is it?"
"We don't know. How can we separate rumor from fact in a situation like this? We've had reports of the streets running in blood. One market town claims to have dead bodies piled in front of the town halL It may all be true."
"Sit down. You look ready to drop." James rang for food to be brought in.
Slowly they pieced together Albert's disjointed story. Several things were clear. Pressure was being put on the local magistrates to control the situation. There would be no help on a national level. The men in Parliament were still convinced that the problem wasn't serious. The Duke of Wellington ignored Captain Swing. He also discounted the fears of the Kentish landowners. Wellington had written to a friend, "The gentlemen in Kent, so bold in Parliament, are terrified out of their wits with the burning of a few cornstalks and the breaking of a few threshing machines." There would be no help from London.
Albert slumped deeply in his chair, his head nodding with fatigue and the effect of the rye. "We must organize immediately. Everything must EeT organized. Can't do anything until then . . ."
"I suggest you go home, Albert," James said. "And get some rest. Come back this evening and tell us what we need to do to be prepared. Better still, I'll have Meg prepare a guest room. You can rest here, and please my daughter. She would like nothing better than to care for you today."
The problem Albert and the other magistrates faced was clear. The southern counties were infected with a virulent tide of righteous rebellion. There was going to be no help from the army, and the magistrates were
having difficulty assembling local men. They had the power to increase their yeomanry to enforce the law, but the yeomanry was a voluntary, unpaid, thankless job. Many of the tradesmen and farmers were in sympathy with the laborers and didn't want to join a force designed to quell them. At the same time there was panic and fear as to what could happen to any individual farm or community. They wanted protection from the very forces whose ranks they refused to fill.
There was no unity of purpose in the effort to quell the rebellion, only a massive atmosphere of panic.
The Bereans, sympathetic to the laborers and to the difficulties Albert faced, turned to their first and primary concern: the hops. The hops had to be gathered and taken to the oast house in Seven Oaks. Callie saw the Bere/m house empty for the first time.
Everyone in the family, and hordes of temporary laborers from other communities as well as London, poured onto the fields to gather the hops. The little cottages that Callie and Natalie had seen were nearly filled. Around them were the tents and caravans of other families. The gypsies with their bow-topped and gaily painted wagons were in a group of their own away from the others.
The hop harvesting was like a fairy-tale world to Callie. With the people and the colorful costumes, everyone was in a festive mood. Everything was better for they had worked hard all day and were excited by the odd blending of music and dancing and storv telling at night. It could be forgotten that the reddish night skies were caused by the destruction of other fields or machinery. It was easier to believe that the flames were the gypsy campfires glowing, and that the smells permeating the air were of campers' bread being baked, and not of scorching grain.
The hop picking began at the end of August and
continued until the first week in October. Callie went out each morning with the rest of the family. Natalie was her picking partner, though she did more dreaming and chattering than picking. By the end of the first week Ca
llie had become an expert with the pole used to bring down the hop vines from the top wire. As the vines tumbled Callie stripped away the clusters of greenish-white flowers that left her fingers stained. She filled up cart after cart with them, and as she did she tucked away thoughts and sights of these days, savoring them and rethinking them in her room at night.
The sight of Peter's blond hair glinting in the sun as he rode through the long rows on the brightly colored farm wagon was something she never wanted to forget. He gathered the carts of hops from each group of pickers, praising their work and making them laugh as he clowned and showed off his strength, dumping the hop carts into the larger wagon as though they weighed nothing. He was tireless, and for all his good cheer no one doubted the seriousness of his business or his attention to it as he took the hops to the oast house.
No matter how tired anyone was by nightfall, the sight of the people dancing among the fallen vines was something to revive the most weary hands and feet All of them acting the wag—happily twining the hop vines around their heads to keep the flies away, but mostly for fun—added to the pleasurable feeling of a long holiday.
The sounds of Romany music and the gypsies themselves fascinated Natalie the most. The woods were all around them at the perimeter of the fields. The coolness of the trees was enticing to everyone, but particularly the children. Natalie would watch.
"That is the child of a Romany," she said as a stray
child fled into the green shadows. "Let's visit the gypsies, Callie."
"Aunt Meg would skin us alive. Hurry up, Natalie. Our cart isn't filled. Peter will be back to collect them soon."
Natalie dropped a few more hops into the cart and returned to her musing. 'They'll be dukkering."
"Natalie!" Callie breathed in exasperation. "Pick the hops. We won t be finished if you don't help." "Wouldn't you like to have your fortune told?" "No! Pick! You aren't picking your share, and I'm tired"
"You probably don't know anything about gypsy dukkering."
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