Cinderella in Overalls - By Carol Grace Page 0,72

road than Jacinda appeared at Catherine’s door, a waterproof poncho covering her small figure. Without wasting time with a greeting she pulled a basket of tomatoes from under her poncho and held it up for Catherine to see.

Catherine frowned at the white spots of mildew that dusted the tops of the tomatoes. “Oh, no,” she murmured.

“Tomatoes need sun. Not much, but some,” Jacinda said. “We cannot take these to sell.”

“What about the potatoes or the melons?”

Jacinda shook her head. “Rotting in the fields.”

A sick feeling hit Catherine with the force of a tractor. Mechanically she removed her jacket and boots and put water on the stove to boil for tea. Then she turned to Jacinda.

“What will we do?” the old woman asked, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

Catherine rubbed her hands together. “Wait,” she said. “And while we have time on our hands, we’ll knit for Magdalena’s baby. Tell the women to come by this afternoon for a sewing bee.”

Jacinda’s narrow shoulders relaxed, and she smiled at Catherine. “I knew you would have the answer.”

After Catherine poured the tea, Jacinda leaned forward across the table. “But what about the bank? We have not been there for many days. What will Mr. Bentley say when we do not appear with the payment?”

Catherine looked at the calendar on the wall. There was a large red circle around the seventeenth. “We have a few more days to worry about that. We’ll think of something,” she said with all the confidence she could manage. “Maybe the rain will stop by then.”

Every day they crocheted blankets for the baby or knitted socks for the men in the mines, and still the rain came down. Restless, Catherine put her needles aside and went to the front window. It was so ironic that she almost laughed. Too much rain in Aruaca and too little in California. She finally wrote a letter to the bank to explain their problem, but the mailman’s truck got stuck in the mud outside of town and no messages went in or out of Palomar for days. Josh must be wondering why they didn’t show up at the stall or come by with the payment. But surely he would suspect it was because of the weather.

When the mailman finally dug his truck out, he brought a letter for Catherine. The women were in her kitchen, the sound of their voices blending with the click of the knitting needles. She saw the name of the bank in bold black letters in the corner of the envelope. Before she opened it she took a deep breath. When she scanned the print, certain words and phrases leaped out at her. They were “final notice,” “vitally important,” “further action” and “past due.” The letter was signed by someone she’d never heard of. Catherine stood in the doorway of the kitchen, feeding the blood drain from her face.

Jacinda jumped up from the table and took Catherine’s hands in hers. The letter fell to the floor. “Is it bad news from home?” she asked with a concerned frown on her wrinkled face.

Catherine steadied herself with one hand on the back of a chair. “No, not from home.” She sat down with the women and explained what the letter meant. They argued that Josh wouldn’t do this, that they should talk with him, but in the end they agreed that Catherine should take the truck back. They tried to be strong, but their disappointment was obvious. Catherine couldn’t stand the look of sorrow on their faces any longer. She turned and ran upstairs to change her clothes. As she pulled off her long skirt and exchanged it for trim navy blue pants and a matching jacket, she seethed with anger.

She knew the meaning of “further action.” It was a euphemism for “repossession.” She could understand that. She could understand their concern. But this form letter was so impersonal. Did Josh know about it? Was it his idea? He knew and she knew that she’d promised to bring the truck back if the worst happened and they couldn’t make their payments. Well, the worst had happened and she’d bring the truck back to where she’d gotten it in the lot behind the bank. Then she’d ride up to his office and put the keys on his desk. If the bank wanted to repossess the truck, she’d make it easy for them. She said goodbye to the women, stuffed the letter into the pocket of her jacket and drove out onto