Authors: Pamela Sargent
Andy reached inside the pocket of his overalls. "Damn," he said. He pulled out a rumpled envelope. "A man at the dairy gave me this in the morning, I forgot all about it." He handed it to her. "I think it's from Enid."
Paula opened the letter. Her sister didn't write often; it was difficult for her. She peered at the scrawled letters.
Dear Paula,
I hope this letter finds you well. Maybe I can visit after harvest but we are very busy now. A man from N.Y. stopped with us last week named Renay, Randolph talked bisness w. him. Renay said he is going to his farm to rest, ha ha. If he only knew. He has a girl and boy, they arent his kids tho. The girl is nice and she helped me some. Renay likes her and she may get his farm someday. I told her about Bert, their the same age. Randolph says Renay is rich. But thats your bisness. Do you have a wife picked for Bert yet.
Jane wrote to me and said she is doing well. Has she sent a note to you. She is teaching now and doing experments. I sure am proud of having our sister be a scolar but Jane always was smart. Randolph says knowing too much is dangerous like a lot of people but I think their full of it.
Today a man from town said the Army burned down a farm near us, they said the farmer was holding out. I sure am glad Randolph has friends in the Army. Well I have to go. Say hi to everybody and if I can find a convoy I hope I see you soon.
Love, Enid
Paula folded the letter, feeling irritated. Enid, trying to be helpful, had been insulting. She wasn't about to marry her son to a girl who was probably the mistress of Randolph's business partner, however rich she became. She glanced at Andy, wondering how to tell him about Bert and Amy Shulash. She heard scuffling footsteps behind her and turned, reprieved.
Clarissa and James had come to say good night. James, who was five, crawled up on her lap. Clarissa hurried to Andy, falling on him with a hug, wrinkling her nose at the smoke.
Paula looked over at her daughter. Clarissa had her father's deep blue eyes; her thick hair was light brown. She looked the way Enid had looked before she had married Randolph. By the time she got Bert settled, she would have to begin finding a husband for Clarissa, who was twelve. The girl was beautiful, that was true, but she was frail and lazy. She might have to marry a widower, a man with grown children, who would enjoy whiling away his last years with a pretty wife.
"Will you tell me a story later?" James asked.
"You'll be asleep by then," Paula replied.
"No, I won't. If I'm not, will you tell me a story?"
"All right." She stroked his thick dark hair, wondering why she felt so little for her second son. He was helpful and did his small tasks well. She had taught him how to read and he had been accepted by the town school; he was smart enough to go to a university later, maybe to be accepted as a scholar eventually. But there was a cold spot in him, something that kept her from being close. Unhappily she realized that it was Bert, upstairs sulking, whom she loved more.
Clarissa climbed off Andy's lap and hugged her. "Good night, Paula," she said in her high, light voice.
"Good night," James said. The two children disappeared inside the house.
"And don't forget to say good night to your Aunt Elaine," Andy called after them. He leaned forward, stubbed out his cigarette, and dropped it on the ground. "Enid say anything interesting in that letter?"
"One of Randolph's business partners was there a while ago." She decided she didn't want to talk about that. "The army burned out a farm near theirs."
"Why?"
"Enid says they were holding out or something."
Andy slouched in his chair. "Means they probably didn't have enough to feed themselves and the army, too. Those soldiers get greedier every year."
"She wants to visit in the fall."
He frowned. "I don't mind Enid, or even those spoiled kids of hers, but I can't take Randolph. Why don't you write back and sort of hint she comes alone?"
Paula shrugged. "It'll take a letter a month to get there, and by then she may be ready to leave." It was getting dark. She shivered a bit in the cooler night air. The darkness made her apprehensive; she imagined hordes surrounding the farm, descending on them. She felt tired, too tired to talk about Bert and Amy, but perhaps she could settle that by herself.
She stood up. "I think I'm going to go to sleep," she said.
He reached for her hand. "Am I working you too hard, Paula?"
"Of course not. It's just the heat during the day. It makes me sleepier."
"Well, then take it easy, I don't want you to run yourself down."
He released her and she went inside. She could hear the low, hoarse voice of Elaine Earls and the tenor tones of Kayo Sands, one of the hired hands. Poor Elaine, Paula thought as she went up the stairs, sandals clattering on the wood. Elaine, Andy's sister, had left her husband years ago. Paula never found out why; Elaine never discussed it. Andy, good man that he was, had taken her in. Her four children were married and occasionally she received a letter from one. They never invited her to visit and never came here.
I should be grateful, Paula told herself as she entered her bedroom. She remembered how her mother had criticized her for daydreaming, for always wanting something else. She took off her clothes and threw herself across the bed. She would get old here, she would die here. Instead of studying, like Jane, she had slid through childhood daydreaming, finally asked to leave school because she was always doodling and making up stories. There would never be anything new for her now. She would marry off her children, and then she would die. And she was still better off than Enid and most of her childhood friends.
She pulled the coverlet over her head, hoping sleep would come quickly.
Paula sat on the porch, knowing that she should be inside helping Elaine in the kitchen. She tried to stand up, but could not. Dan Sonneman was on the roof, fixing loose tiles and checking the solar collectors. The sound of his hammering jarred her, making her muscles tighten. The heat pressed against her; her body was damp with sweat.
She looked down toward the low stone wall and noticed two figures toiling up the hill. She squinted at them, thinking at first that Andy and James had finished early, fencing off the areas of poisonous vegetation. Then she saw that the two were strangers. They could be migrants, but it was unusual for them to travel in pairs; being in a group was safer.
She would have to interview them. Perhaps one of the neighboring farm families had sent them here; Andy was looking for a couple of extra hands. She hurried inside, went to the gun closet in the hall, removed a rifle, loaded it, and then went back outside. She always felt silly with the rifle, but it was customary to show one's protection to visitors.
She stood on the porch as the two climbed over the stone wall and approached the house. As they came nearer, she held the rifle, barrel pointed up, in ceremonial greeting. The taller one of the pair was a dark-haired, olive-skinned man with a beard. The smaller figure, thin and dark-skinned, wore a loose white shirt and tan pants, with a jacket tied around the waist. The two passed the weeping willow and stopped in front of the porch.
She studied them for a moment. Something about them bothered her. The man, instead of looking at his feet as was usual, stared at her steadily with his dark eyes. He was attractive, she realized; the thought made her uneasy. His companion looked hungry, with large brown eyes and hollow cheeks.
"Present your papers," Paula said, aiming the rifle over their heads. The man fumbled in his pocket and pulled out two packets. He placed them uncertainly on the steps in front of her.
"Not like that," she said, exasperated. "Unfold them and hold them up for me." He did so, and she scanned them quickly, checking the descriptions; they seemed to match, though the smaller person was shorter than the height listed, a common enough mistake. "You're Luis Ramirez," she said to the man. He nodded. "And you're Tomas Ruiz," she said to his companion, thinking that for a boy he was very pretty. She did not want to pursue that line of thought; she would not worry about what passed between them as long as they avoided her sons.
The man wavered. "Come up on the porch and sit down," she said, feeling sorry for them. They came up the steps and perched on the chairs. "I might be able to use a couple of hands. Did another farmer send you here?"
Luis Ramirez shook his head. "No, this is the first place we tried."
"Why are you by yourselves? Usually you people travel in groups."
He hesitated for a moment. "Uh, we were with a group, but we split up. We thought we might have a better chance at work this way. We're supposed to meet again further south."
It made sense. If times were hard for the farmers, they were even harder for the migrants. But something else was wrong. She surveyed them again. It was the boy's hands; they were too smooth, unmarked by labor.
"You haven't been migrants very long, have you," she said quickly, waiting for their reaction.
"No, we haven't," Luis said. He didn't look surprised by the question.
"What did you do before?"
"I was a researcher, but my university had to let me go. They can't feed everybody now. Tomas was a student, but they had to let him go too. He didn't have anywhere to go, so he came with me."
The story explained it all: the careful speech of Luis, the unmarked hands of Tomas. "What a waste," she said, wanting to show them that she understood. "All that training. Things must be worse than I thought." Well, she couldn't worry about that. She needed two hands as quickly as possible, and a trained man might come in handy. "I can give you room, board, and two credits a day," she went on, waiting for them to bargain.
But Luis nodded. "That's fine with us."
"I'll have to put mattresses in the attic for you, I have three men in the cellar already. It'll be hot."
"That's all right," Luis said.
"Come on inside, I'll get you some lunch."
Andy had not been so pleased with the new workers. He sat impassively in his high-backed brown chair, staring at the living room wall. Elaine sat at one end of the worn beige sofa, silently hemming one of Clarissa's skirts. Elaine's dark hair, streaked with white, was pulled back in a bun, adding severity to her fine-boned face. Paula, at the other end of the sofa, was darning socks; they would not be buying new ones for a while. Everyone else in the house was asleep. Bert had filled their truck with methane and disappeared. She prayed he was not seeing Amy Shulash.
She waited for Andy to speak about the workers; he believed in settling all matters of the day before retiring. But it was Elaine who spoke.
"Guy talked to me again today," the older woman said to her brother. "He wants an answer soon."
"What do you think about letting him have a little land?" Andy asked.
"He's worked for us for years. The land would still be ours, even if he keeps most of the produce, and he'd do a lot of work here still. He's got his eye on a woman in town, and I think she's getting impatient."
Andy shrugged. "You're right. Hell, I'd deed him the land if I could afford it. He's earned it, but it wouldn't be fair to Bert. Tell Guy we'll find him a plot this fall."
"What about the new workers?" Paula said impatiently. Andy glanced at her. "What are you going to do?"
"I don't know. I've a mind to tell them to leave, I don't know if we need a couple of college types here. And there's something funny about their papers. The last time the army stamped them was in June. It's kind of strange that they should go for almost two months without getting them stamped."
"It's not impossible," Paula replied. "They're not used to migrant life. Maybe they tried to avoid the army. You can't blame them for that."
"The phone lines are back up," Elaine said. "Call the army post in town and have them send someone over to check those two, if you're so worried. There was a prison break in New York earlier. Maybe they had something to do with it."
"Oh, Elaine," Paula muttered. "Don't be ridiculous. They're from a school. Anyway, I was told everyone was caught and executed."
"They always say everyone was caught, just to avoid panic."
"They don't seem like convicts anyway," Andy said. "And you should know I can't call the army." He looked at his sister. "We can't afford it. They'll send a platoon, and they'll have to be paid for their trouble. They'll be taking enough from us after the harvest."
"Give them a chance, dear," Paula said, putting down her sewing. "I can tell them what to do. If they don't work out, you can always ask them to leave, and we could use the help." She paused, wondering why she was so anxious to keep them. Then she knew; they were something different, a change from the usual routine.
"I guess that's fair," Andy replied. Paula sighed, relieved. It was settled, at least for now; she felt strangely cheerful. She picked up a sock and went back to her darning.
After a week, even Andy had little more to say about the two migrants. Tomas did the laundry, helped Elaine in the kitchen, and did the housecleaning Clarissa was too lazy to do. Luis had finished digging a new well, freeing Kayo Sands for other work. In spite of his education, Luis seemed used to digging.