The Four Winds(65)

Loreda self-consciously smoothed the hair back from her face, tucked a few flyaway strands back under her faded red kerchief.

“You’d best control those kids of yours,” the man behind the counter said to Mom. “They can’t touch things with their dirty hands.”

“I’m sorry for our appearance,” Mom said, stepping up to the counter as she unclasped her purse. “We’ve been traveling and—”

“Yeah. I know. Your kind pours into California every day.”

“I got gas,” Mom said, plucking one dollar and ninety cents in coins from her wallet.

“I hope it’s enough to get you out of town,” the man said.

There was a quiet after that, a drawing in of air.

“What did you say?” Mom asked.

The man reached under the counter, pulled up a gun, clanked it on the counter between them. “You best go.”

“Children,” Mom said. “Go back to the truck. We’re leaving now.” She dropped the coins onto the floor and herded the kids out of the store.

The door banged shut behind them.

“Who does he think he is? Just ’cause he hasn’t hit hard times, the crumb thinks he has the right to look down on us?” Loreda said, infuriated and embarrassed. He had made her feel poor for the first time in her life.

Mom opened the truck door. “Get in,” she said in a voice so quiet it was almost frightening.





NINETEEN





Elsa was glad to put that place in her rearview mirror. She didn’t know what she was looking for, what she was driving toward, but she figured she’d know it when she saw it. A diner, maybe. No reason she couldn’t wait tables. She drove to Bakersfield and felt a little disoriented by the size of the city. So many automobiles and stores and people out walking around, so she turned onto a smaller road and kept driving. South, she thought, or maybe east.

She refused to let one man’s prejudice hurt them after all they’d been through to get here. She was angry that Loreda and Ant had experienced such baseless prejudice, but life was full of such injustice. Just look at how her father had talked about the Italians, the Irish, the Negroes, and the Mexicans. Oh, he took their money and smiled to their faces, but his words were ugly the minute the door closed. Look at what her mother had seen when she’d looked at her newborn granddaughter: the wrong skin color.

Sadly, that ugliness was a part of life and not something Elsa could shield her children from entirely. Not even in California, in their new beginning. She simply had to teach them better.

They passed a sign for DiGiorgio Farms, saw people working in the fields.

A few miles later, outside a nice-looking town, Elsa saw a row of cottages set back from the road, all neatly cared for, with trees for shade. The middle one had a FOR RENT sign in the window.

Elsa eased her foot off the gas, let the truck coast to a stop.

“What’s wrong?” Loreda asked.

“Look at those pretty houses,” Elsa said.

“Could we afford that?” Loreda asked.

“We won’t know if we don’t ask,” Elsa said “Maybe, right?”

Loreda did not look convinced.

“We could get a puppy if we lived here,” Ant said. “I surely do want a puppy. I’d name him Rover.”

“Every dog is named Rover,” Loreda said.

“Is not. Henry’s dog was named Spot. And—”

“Stay here,” Elsa said. She got out of the truck and closed the door behind her. In the first few steps, she felt a dream open up and welcome her in. A dog for Ant, friends for Loreda, a school bus that stops out front to pick them up. Flowers blooming. A garden . . .

As she neared the house, the front door opened. A woman came out, wearing a pretty floral-print dress beneath a frilly red apron, and holding a broom. Her bobbed hair was carefully curled and a pair of wireless glasses magnified her eyes.

Elsa smiled. “Hello,” she said. “The house is lovely. How much is the rent?”

“Eleven dollars a month.”

“My. That’s steep. But I can manage it, I’m sure. I could pay six dollars now and the rest—”

“When you get a job.”

Elsa was relieved by the woman’s understanding. “Yes.”

“You’d best get in your car and head on down the road. My husband will be home soon.”

“Perhaps eight dollars—”

“We don’t rent to Okies.”

Elsa frowned. “We’re from Texas.”

“Texas. Oklahoma. Arkansas. It’s all the same. You’re all the same. This is a good Christian town.” She pointed down the road. “That’s the direction you want to go. About fourteen miles. That’s where your kind lives.” She went back into her house and shut the door.

A few moments later, she took the FOR RENT sign out of the window and replaced it with a placard that read: NO OKIES.

What was wrong with these people? Elsa knew she wasn’t as clean as she could be and was obviously down on her luck, but still. Most of America was. And she’d offered eight dollars a month. She wasn’t asking for charity or a handout.

Elsa walked back to the truck.

“What’s wrong?” Loreda asked.