were placed randomly along the walls. At least a dozen people were at work: some at typewriters, others at mimeograph machines. Cigarette smoke thickened the air but couldn’t obliterate the sweet smell of hay.
Elsa and the children walked among the Communists; no one seemed to notice them. Elsa saw a paper come out of a mimeograph machine. “WORKERS UNITE!” was the bold headline. She smelled an odd odor of ink and metal.
They passed a small dark-haired woman wearing spectacles who paced as she dictated to another woman, who was typing. “We cannot allow the rich to get richer while the poor get poorer. How can we call ourselves the land of the free when people are living on the streets and dying of hunger? Radical change requires radical methods…”
Loreda elbowed Elsa, who looked up.
Jack was coming toward them.
“Hello, ladies,” he said, staring intently at Elsa. “Loreda,” he said, “Natalia is at the mimeograph machine. She could use some help.”
“You, too, Ant,” Elsa said. “Stay with your sister.”
Jack led Elsa outside, to a firepit around which was arranged a collection of mismatched furniture. Several ashtrays overflowed with bent cigarette butts. “So, Communists sit around a fire and smoke like everyone else,” Elsa said.
“We are almost human that way.” He moved closer. “What happened?”
“Jean died. There was no way for us to save her. The company store was closed to teach us a lesson and the hospital wouldn’t help. I even used a … baseball bat to get their attention. All I got was some aspirin.Oh, and they culled our names from the relief rolls today. If you can pick cotton, you have to. No state relief.”
“We heard. The growers bullied the state into it. They’re calling it the No Work, No Eat policy. They’re afraid that relief will allow you to feed your children while you strike for better wages.”
Elsa crossed her arms. “All my life I’ve been told to make no noise, don’t want too much, be grateful for any scrap that came my way. And I’ve done that. I thought if I just did what women are supposed to do and played by the rules, it would … I don’t know … change. But the way we’re treated…”
“It’s unfair,” he said.
“It’s wrong,” she said. “This isn’t who we are in America.”
“No.”
“A strike.” She said the frightening word quietly. “Can it work?”
“Maybe.”
She was grateful for his honesty. “They’ll hurt us for trying.”
“Yeah,” he said. “But life is more than what happens to us, Elsa. We have choices to make.”
“I’m not a brave woman.”
“And yet here you are, standing at the edge of battle.”
His words touched a chord in her. “My grandfather was a Texas Ranger. He used to tell me that courage was a lie. It was just fear that you ignored.” She looked at him. “Well, I’m scared.”
“We’re all scared,” he said.
“I have children to worry about, children I have to feed and clothe and keep safe. I can’t risk their lives.”
He said nothing, and she knew why. He was letting her say it.
“They’re already at risk,” she said. “They can’t be taught that this is what we deserve, that this is America. I have to teach them to stand up for themselves.”
Elsa felt both a stunning sense of relief, almost of coming home, finding herself … and a deep, abiding fear. Courage is fear you ignore. But how did one do that, really? In practical terms.
“The rifle tower they built in the field … that’s to scare us, right? What we’re doing—a strike—it’s legal.”
“It’s legal. Hell, it’s the very essence of America. We were built on the right to protest, but laws are enforced by the government. By the police. You’ve seen how they support big business.”
Elsa nodded. “What do we do?”
“First we need to get out the word. We’ve set a strike meeting for Friday. But it’s dangerous even to tell people, let alone to show up for the meeting.”
“Everything is dangerous,” she said. “So what?”
He laid a hand along her cheek.
She leaned into his touch, taking strength and comfort from it.
THIRTY-THREE
In the dark just before the dawn, Loreda opened the cabin door and stepped outside. Last night’s gathering of the Workers Alliance had energized her, galvanized her. The Communists were working hard to bring about a strike, but they needed people like Loreda to spread the word through the camps. The Communists couldn’t do it on their own.
It’s dangerous, though, Natalia had said to Loreda last night. Don’t forget this. When I was a girl, I