A LOSS OF FREEDOM
by
Richard K. Moore

Copyright 2000 by Richard K. Moore
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be
reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by
any means, without written permission from the author.

ISBN # 1-58500-916-4

This is a novel in which the author has fictionalized the
involvement of imaginative characters in a number of historical
events. Any resemblance of these fictional characters to actual
persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental. It is not the
author's intention to denigrate the involvement or conduct of any
individual in any of these events.

For my father: Walter Thomas Moore 1892 to1961.

Chapter 1.

Seventeen-year-old Thomas O'Roark was smitten. Fresh back from lunch and
a stroll through Court House Park with the beautiful brown-haired
Brenda, he was having trouble concentrating. Since returning to his
desk, his pulsating heart and tingling groin had been distracting him
from the columns of deposits and withdrawals he had coaxed from his
adding machine. He had been courting her for several weeks and during
their walk she finally had accepted his invitation to a special evening
he had been planning.

He was snapped out of his reverie by the jangling of the telephone at
his desk. As he reached for the receiver, he glanced guiltily across the
lobby toward Mary Wilson, the bank president's secretary, who also
served as telephone operator.

She had a way of casting an eagle eye on anyone not working up to snuff,
and he feared she had caught him mentally napping.

But when she advised she was transferring a call from his mother, his
guilty feeling quickly changed to annoyance and embarrassment. He had
admonished his mother several times not to bother him at work. Then when
he put the receiver to his ear, he could only hear the muffled sound of
someone sobbing.

Mother? i he whispered into the mouthpiece. All he heard was more crying
and unintelligible mumbling.

Mother, for Pete's sake! i he whispered louder, glancing around to see
if his fellow workers were watching him.

His annoyance was turning to anger as he told himself this must be
another of his mother's attempts to get his attention.

Suddenly, the tearful words came through the receiver, Papa's dead! i
followed by louder crying.

Thomas caught his breath, then spoke in a loud whisper, imy God, what
are you saying ... wh ... what happened? i For a moment, there was only
silence from the phone, followed by the voice of his older brother,
Patrick.

Tommy ... Pop's dead! i He lifted the telephone from the desk and arose
from his chair, trying to comprehend. ipatrick, I ... I can't believe.
Is this a bad joke?

No joke, Little Brother. I found him up in the vineyard 'bout an hour
ago.

Thomas hesitated, realizing several of his associates were staring at
him. Inexplicably he blurted out, imy father died! i The clerk at the
adjoining desk gasped, igood heavens! i Others nearby looked up from
their work.

Thomas spoke back into the telephone. ihow'd it happen?

Don't know. Just found him sprawled out in the dirt stiffer'n a pike.

Thomas stood dumbly, holding the receiver to his ear, the mouthpiece in
his other hand, trying to collect his thoughts.

A fellow employee stepped forward. ithomas, you better tell Mister
Johnson and close out your ledger. You need to go home.

He spoke into the phone, ipatrick, I'll come home soon as I can close
out here. Er, how's Mother?

Pretty down in the dumps. I brought her over here to the Maloneys so's
we could use the phone. Would you pick up Becky on your way out?

Sure.

Thomas hung up and, conscious of several pairs of eyes following him,
walked toward the office of Bank President Emmett Johnson. He paused
tentatively. Miss. Wilson, exchanging her usual protective frown for a
look of sympathy, waved him inside where he broke the news to his boss.

He returned to his desk, took a few minutes to balance out his cash
drawer, and strode solemnly out to his motor car parked

at the curb. He was oblivious to the newspaper in the curbside rack with
the bold headline, CONGRESS CONSIDERS WAR!!!

He stepped proudly up to the shiny black Ford Torpedo roadster, then
grimaced as he noticed the fresh bird dropping on the hood.

It was his first car, a second-hand 1911 model he was buying on time,
and he tried to keep it spotless.

He removed a rag from the toolbox, dampened it at a nearby faucet, and
carefully wiped away the offending dropping. He removed the jacket of
his new Hart Schaffner and Marx dark blue pinstripe, folded it neatly on
the passenger seat, and unloosened his tie and shirt collar. He had
invested a third of a month's pay in the suit when he had been promoted
from messenger to assistant teller at Fresno's First National Bank and
wasn't about to get it wrinkled on the drive to the family farm.

In recognition of the warm, sunny day, he took a moment to fold the top
down behind the seat. It was the first full sun the area had seen after
a long winter trapped under an omnipresent tule fog and soaked by
unseasonably heavy rains. He set the spark and gas levers, stepped
around to the front, pulled the choke out a quarter length, and turned
the crank. The little four- cylinder engine popped to life and he eased
his solid six foot, two inch frame in behind the wheel and backed away
from the curb. He headed north on Fulton for a few blocks before cutting
over a block to continue along Van Ness Boulevard. He had driven on the
boulevard several times before, admiring the palatial homes of the
city's business and professional leaders, which lined both sides for
several blocks north of the downtown area. They were fronted by broad
lawns tended by Mexican gardeners and shaded by stately palm, elm and
eucalyptus trees.

His drive had taken him out past the city limits and the dying vineyards
that had been abandoned to make room for new houses. He turned on to
University Avenue and pulled up to the curb in front of the Normal
School, a two-story, red brick, tile roof building that stretched for
more than a block in front of him. He had only driven past the year-old
institution once before and had never been inside.

Thomas got out of his car, pulled on his suit coat, tightened his tie
and collar and strode toward the center of the building.

Inside he found a door labeled Administration, knocked and tentatively
pulled it open. In response to his query, a middle-age woman, her stern
visage accented by a bun of tightly wound hair, thumbed through a
registration file, and directed him to the gymnasium.

Uncertainty started to overtake him as he walked through the colonnaded
hallways, crossed an open courtyard, and approached the large, high-roof
building at the back of the campus. He had never been in a gymnasium
occupied by women and was wondering what he might find. As he drew close
to the door, he could hear music from a Victrola and someone chanting,
istep one, step two, turn around, raise your arms.

He toyed with the idea of waiting until the chanting and music stopped
or someone came outside. But then he recalled his purpose in being
there, cautiously opened the door and peered inside. He saw about twenty
young women all lined up like a chorus line and dressed in white
middy-style blousens, black bloomers and matching stockings and shoes.
All were moving in unison to the music and directions being given by an
older woman instructor. Although his sister's willowy body was covered
by the loose-fitting garments, he easily recognized her reddish-blond
hair sticking up about half a head above the others. She saw him as she
pirouetted in his direction, let out a little gasp of recognition, and
stopped dancing. The instructor turned off the music and followed Becky
with her eyes as she ran to the door.

He led his sister outside to break the news of their father, then waited
while she tearfully returned to advise the instructor and change into
her street clothes. They returned to his car where he pulled on a
duster, cap and goggles in preparation for the drive out in the country.
She tied a babushka around her head, and they motored back through the
downtown area and turned east toward the family farm. The silence of
their private thoughts was broken only by her intermittent sobs and nose
blowing.

Thomas tried to force his mind away from memories of his father, the
only way he could deal with the deep, bitter anger and frustration
welling up inside. The drive took him back seven years when the family
had moved from Michigan to a farm east of Fresno in the center of the
vast San Joaquin Valley. They were investing in their twenty-acre piece
of the California dream. Bountiful crops, plenty of cheap water,
perennial sunshine, and no snow was the promise. He stared blankly at
the flat terrain and the green vineyards and orchards burgeoning up from
the rich soil and to the distant foothills shouldered up against the
Sierra Nevadais, still capped with their winter snow.

That was where snow belonged he mused, not underfoot.

But the dream had given way to the reality. The cultivation of grapes
had proven to be every bit the hard, unrewarding struggle that managing
a dairy farm in Michigan had been.

Insects, root rot, or late summer rains could quickly destroy a crop
that had taken most of the year to nurse to ripeness. And prices for the
finished product never seemed to justify the interminable work or bring
a profit, at least not until recently, thanks primarily to the war in
Europe.

It was this brutal economic reality of farm life that had triggered
Thomas' move into town. His parents, Alexander and Emma, had pressured
him into leaving high school early so he could get a job and contribute
to their meager income. He actually had welcomed the move since it gave
him a chance to get away from the farm life he abhorred, and from a
father with whom he couldn't communicate and a mother who seemingly
wanted to control his life.

The roadster now had carried Thomas and Becky to the end of the paved
city street, which continued eastward as a dusty, gravelly farm road.
They rattled over the wooden bridge that crossed the Fresno Canal
brimming with fresh, life-giving irrigation water bound for the area's
vineyards and orchards.

The more severe bouncing snapped Thomas back from his painful memories.

idammit! i he exclaimed as his hands tightened on the steering wheel.

Becky jumped, startled from her own private thoughts.

Something wrong with the car? i He blushed and glanced sheepishly at
her. isorry, I forgot you were here.

She frowned at her brother, and waited for an explanation.

It just occurred to me ... what'll happen to the farm now that Father's
gone? i Becky was pensive, then asked, ican't we just keep it?

Who'll take care of it?

Mother, or maybe Patrick? i Thomas stared grimly ahead, struggling to
temper the negative feelings he held toward his mother and older
brother.

Mother doesn't know the first thing about farming and I doubt that
Patrick's ready to settle down.

She was thoughtful again before asking, ihow about you? i He chuckled
and glanced at her with a disdainful frown.

No thanks. I had enough farming to last two life times.

They rode along in silence for a few minutes until she spoke.

I understand somebody offered to buy the place a couple months ago.

Oh yeah, who?

Have no idea. Mother mentioned it one day but said Father wasn't
interested.

He slowed the car as they arrived at the O'Roark farm and turned into
the dirt drive leading into the yard. Thomas felt a pain deep in the pit
of his stomach as his eyes took in the small, dilapidated house he used
to call home, the large wooden shed and bunkhouse to the left
background, the outhouse in the rear.

God, the place looks pretty bad, i he remarked. ilook at the weeds in
the vineyard.

And Mother's vegetable garden! i Becky cried.

As the car rolled to a stop, they observed the shiny black Stephens &
Bean hearse parked under the big sycamore centered in the yard. Two men
in dark suits, along with Patrick and their neighbor, Michael Maloney,
were standing around a wooden flatbed farm wagon. A shapeless form,
covered by canvas, lay on the wagon.

Thomas and Becky stepped out of the car as Patrick approached and
greeted them with ihi, kiddoesi, his annoying way of reminding them he
was the oldest. He put his arm affectionately around Becky and offered
Thomas a limp handshake. Neither had seen their older brother since he
had returned to town a week earlier after almost a year's absence.

Maloney stepped forward, doffed his hat to Becky and grasped Thomas'
hand firmly in his rough, weathered hand.

Sure sorry about your father, Son. He was a mighty good friend and
neighbor.

Thomas acknowledged Maloney's condolences with a wan smile, then he and
Becky moved closer to the farm wagon.

Father under there? i he asked.

Afraid so, i Patrick replied.

Can we see him? i Becky asked weakly.

Yeah, i Patrick responded, ibut don't get too upset 'cause he's still
covered with dirt from the field.

Patrick pulled back the canvas to expose Alexander's head and upper
body, still dressed in his dirty, well-worn coveralls.

The eyes were closed, the cheeks sunken, the mouth agape as if gasping
for a final breath. Neither Thomas or Becky had seen a dead body before
and the impact of viewing their father this way was traumatic.

Thomas' breath caught in his throat as he stared almost unseeing at the
lifeless body that once seemed so strong, and remembered the stern voice
now stilled forever. He turned away choking, his chest heaving as he
struggled to breathe.

Becky's eyes filled with tears as she reached out hesitantly to touch
the hard, lifeless chest and cold hand.

He feels so small. He ... he ... always seemed so big and strong, i she
sobbed.

He felt plenty heavy when I had to load him on the wagon, i Patrick
grumbled.

Thomas pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped angrily at the tears
rolling down his cheeks, and blew his nose lustily. He turned toward his
brother, ihow'd you find him?

Well, he didn't come in for his noon meal so Mom sent me after him.
Found him sprawled in the dirt up at the north end where he'd been
irrigatin'. Scared the shit out of me when I seen he was dead. So I ran
back to the shed and got the horse and wagon.

Guess it was his heart? i Becky ventured.

Probably. Mom's been worried about him lately. Says he's been drinking
and staying out too much.

How's Mother doing? i Thomas asked absently as he watched the morticians
move the body into the hearse.

About as good as could be expected, i Patrick replied as they turned and
walked toward the house. ishe's in the bedroom with Missus Maloney. Been
asking for you and Becky.

When Thomas walked inside the house and glanced around the all-purpose
living, eating and cooking room, he paused as painful memories came
surging back. In the years he had lived there, he could hardly remember
a happy moment, free of the continuous arguing and bickering that went
on between one or more members of the family. In his last year at the
farm, he spent his spare time in the bunkhouse doing homework or reading
a book or occasionally eating his meals. The arrangement suited him just
fine, except when his older brother started some of his shenanigans or
his father or mother rousted him out for chores.

His look around the empty room added to the pain. There were dirty
dishes in the sink, partially eaten food on the table, old magazines and
newspapers strewn on the floor. Even from across the room, he could see
that his mother's bric-a-brac cabinet in the corner was dusty and in
disarray.

He turned to his sister, isomething smell funny to you? i She sniffed,
iyeah, like musty, or all closed up.

They continued across the room and opened the door to their parents'
bedroom where they observed more evidence of neglect.

Copies of Mcclures and Ladies Home Journal were scattered on the floor
and a dusty Victrola stood in the corner with the lid open. They found
their mother in bed, red-eyed and haggard from crying. She pulled both
of them to her and started sobbing again. Vivian Maloney greeted them
with a half smile and left the room.

Poor Papa. He worked so hard for all of us, i Emma moaned, i and now
he's gone.

Yes, Mother, we're terribly sorry, i Becky responded, sitting down on
the edge of the bed.

What will I ever do without him. How will I ever go on? i Thomas pulled
back from his mother's grasp and remained standing. ilet's not worry
about that now, Mother. We'll figure something out, But the farm, how
can I ever take care of the farm? i she wailed.

He was repelled by his mother reaching an arm out to him and backed away
a step while Becky continued to console her.

After more sobbing and wailing, Emma began to doze off.

Thomas and Becky eased quietly from the room.

They found Mrs. Maloney at the sink washing the dirty dishes and Patrick
at the table helping himself to a big slab of the apple pie she had
brought with her. Becky paused to straighten the magazines and
newspapers scattered on the floor as Patrick offered some of the pie to
her and Thomas, then commented to no one on particular, iman, what the
hell we gonna' do with this place? i Neither Thomas or Becky was in any
mood for pie, nor did they offer an answer to the question. They sat
down together on the sofa.

It's a cinch Mom can't handle it, i Patrick continued.

Maybe we could sell it.

Probably wouldn't get enough to pay what's owed on it, i Thomas
responded.

And what would Mother do? i Becky asked. ishe wouldn't have any money to
live on and she doesn't know any kind of work.

Thomas glanced up toward his brother, ii guess the place belongs to you
now since you're the oldest.

Hell, I ain't no farmer, i Patrick responded testily. Besides, I'm
makin' tracks soon as we get Pop buried.

They were quiet for a few moments as Patrick finished his pie. He arose
from the table, took his plate to the sink and turned toward the sofa,
ihow about you taking over, Little Brother? i Thomas stared at the floor
without responding, then mumbled, ioh damn! i Becky jumped, not used to
that kind of language from her younger brother.

He blushed and glanced sheepishly at his sister and Mrs. Maloney fussing
in the kitchen. isorry, ladies, forgot my manners.

What's the matter? i Patrick asked, wiping his mouth with the back of
his hand.

Just remembered I'm supposed to play at a dance tonight.

Anyone know what time it is? i Patrick reached into his pocket with a
flourish and like a child with a new toy, pulled out a gold watch.
Snapping open the lid he announced, iit's almost five o'clock, i Thomas
bristled as he immediately recognized his father's Lord Elgin pocket
watch. iwhere the hell you get that?

Took it out of Pop's coveralls ... for safe keeping.

Then Thomas noticed the ring on his brother's left hand.

Silently he gritted his teeth, trying to control his rising anger.

And that's Father's ring? i Patrick held his hand up for all to see.
iyep, it's mine now ... goes to the oldest son.

Becky, sensing that Thomas was about to explode, arose from the sofa and
asked, iwhat time do you need to leave? i He held his response as he
clenched and unclenched his fists, then stood up and stalked toward the
door muttering, iright now will be just fine.

He returned to his car, cranked it back to life, jumped in behind the
wheel and spun it wildly around the sycamore,

unmindful of the chickens he sent cackling and fluttering to safety. He
headed for town, his eyes unfocused, fighting back tears. Struggling to
force his mind away from his father's death, he was oblivious to the
vineyards budding out in their first spring greenery, the orchards
blossoming in pinks and whites, their sweet fragrance mixing in with the
earthy smell of freshly irrigated land.

He finally began to relax as he bumped across the Santa Fe Railroad
tracks, a clear signal that he was back in town. He turned north on Van
Ness then pulled to the curb at the corner of Tulare so he could read
the big electric screen atop the Morning Republican building. It was
flashing the latest Associated Press news from Washington: SENATE VOTES
FOR WAR!

HOUSE TO VOTE TONIGHT! He pointed the car back into the street, eased
around the crowd watching the sign, and motored on to his boardinghouse.

He ran inside and, happy to see that Mrs. Olson, the landlady, was not
around to engage him in conversation, bounded up the stairs. He decided
to take a quick bath to wash off the road dust and enjoy another of the
advantages he had found in city living ... the ability to revel in a tub
of hot water whenever one pleased rather than just on Saturday nights.

Afterwards he combed a dab of Palmade into his shock of wavy brown hair,
splashed on fresh Bay Rum, and dressed in a more casual suit, shirt and
tie. He took a few moments to brush the road dust from his blue suit,
hung it in the closet, grabbed his banjo, and returned to his car.

He drove over to the Oyster Grotto and Chop House on I Street, where he
and Jack Lewis had agreed to meet for dinner.

He had met Jack, who played saxophone, when he joined the band. He was
typical of Thomas' newfound friends in that he was older, having just
turned twenty-four. He enjoyed the friendship and camaraderie of such
older men and was gaining a higher level of self-confidence from their
fatherly, almost protective interest in him.

Thomas entered the restaurant and took a booth to await Jack's arrival.
When he did, he was wearing his National Guard uniform. Thomas reached
to shake his hand asking, iwhat's with the uniform. War hasn't started
already, has it? i Jack slid into the booth across from him replying,
inot yet, but it looks pretty close. Understand Congress is supposed to
finish voting tonight.

They gave a waiter their order, then Thomas asked, iwearing your uniform
to the dance? i Jack grinned, iyeah. It's great for catching women.

Jack had ordered a half dozen oysters to precede their chops and when
they arrived, offered one to Thomas. He had tried them before and could
hardly stand to put the slippery, tasteless mollusks in his mouth. But
he dutifully swallowed one as Jack commented, igood for puttin' lead in
your pencil. Thomas could only speculate on what that expression meant.

After dinner, they departed for the dance hall. This particular dance,
an annual event sponsored by the Women's Club for Fresno's debutantes,
was typical of the 'dance craze' that was being pursued by the country's
fashionable young set.

Following the new ragtime beat, they were shocking their elders with
such daring dances as the Turkey Trot, Bunny Hug and Grizzly Bear.
Thomas never quite felt comfortable watching these displays of wild
abandon, but he did appreciate the extra income. He was being paid up to
three dollars for each dance and sometimes playing two or three times a
week.

The dance was a rousing success that went on past midnight.

As usual, Jack spent the band's break periods flirting with several of
the prettier young women. Thomas retired to a quiet corner during these
moments to muse over his father's death and his own future. He turned
down Jack's invitation to join in an impromptu party after the dance,
and drove back to his boardinghouse alone and dejected.

He spent the first few hours in bed tossing and turning. He finally fell
asleep in the early morning hours, only to be awakened by a noise coming
from the street outside his room.

He struggled into his robe and opened the window to hear more clearly. A
newsboy was calling, iextra, Extra-War Declared! i

Chapter 2.

Thomas pulled on his slippers, ran downstairs to the street and handed
the newsboy a nickel. Returning to his room, he quickly scanned the
headlines and lead story in the Morning Republican to learn that the
United States Congress had voted to declare war on Germany. President
Wilson was expected to sign the formal declaration in Washington D.C.
later that day.

Thomas turned his desk calendar to note the date, April 6, 1917.

What a way to celebrate Good Friday he mused.

After scanning the headlines, he dressed in his old farm coveralls and
returned to the front yard to wash his car. It was only 6:30, too early
for Mrs. Olson to be serving breakfast, and he was anxious to remove the
dust and hay from the previous day's trip to the farm. When he had
bought the car several months earlier, he had been particularly
attracted to its sporty look. The Ford Motor Company had given the
Torpedo Roadster graceful, curved fenders, angled the windshield, and
set the steering column at a low, rakish angle. The gas tank had been
placed behind the fold-down top and seat and the latter lowered, thus
adding to the overall racy appearance. He had replaced the original gas
headlamps and side lamps with brass electric ones that matched the brass
radiator. Some of his happiest moments were spent washing and polishing,
lubricating various parts and changing the motor oil, and adjusting the
clutch bands or the engine bearings.

He was just finishing his car washing when Mrs. Olson stuck her head out
the door and called him to breakfast.

Reluctantly this morning she allowed him to sit at the kitchen table in
his coveralls. She much preferred that he take his morning and evening
meals at the dining room table and be properly dressed. She had
permitted him to break this rule on only one or two other occasions in
the months he had lived there since moving into town from the farm.

Good morning, Missus Olson, i he said brightly as he sat down at the
table, unfolded his napkin and reached for the freshly poured cup of
coffee. He was hoping his feigned cheerfulness would distract her from
her regular lecture on his late night carousing.

Good morning, Thomas, i she responded absently as she puttered around
the stove.

Taken aback, he picked up the morning paper and continued, ilooks like
we're going to be in the war after all.

Oh, I'm so upset. President Wilson promised to keep us out of it too, i
she replied. ibut I guess all those terrible ship sinkings were just too
much. He finally had to do something, i she added with agitation.

We've all been anticipating it for some time, i he ventured, buttering
his toast. iwe've been training soldiers for two years now and Congress
has been appropriating more money for national defense.

Now we have to worry about all those German aliens-and spies-and being
invaded! i She started sounding a little hysterical.

Invaded?

Yes, haven't you read? They're expecting the Mexicans to invade Arizona
and New Mexico and ... and ... California. And the Japanese right here
on our coast! i He glanced down at his paper, trying to hide a grin as
she continued.

Don't you laugh, young man. Governor Stephens has sent soldiers out to
guard the electric plants and the dams in the mountains, even the
railroad tunnels!

Well, I guess we can't be too careful, i he said, hoping to sooth the
elderly landlady. As he dug into his eggs and bacon,

she solemnly reached into a drawer, withdrew a key and handed it to him.
ii've decided to lock my doors so here's a key. You'll be needing it if
you're going to keep getting in so late all the time.

He hadn't escaped her lecture after all. He paused, debating whether or
not to reply, then blurted out, ii'm sorry, Missus Olson, but I had a
very bad day yesterday. My father died.

She dropped the dish she was holding, then sank onto her kitchen stool.
ioh, my heavens, that's dreadful! i Fearing for a moment that she might
faint, he stepped over to put his arm around her shoulder. iyes, we all
were very shocked. It was so sudden.

As she sat sobbing and dabbing at her tear-filled eyes, he filled in the
details of his father's death.

How's your poor Mother? i she asked, struggling to regain her composure.

Pretty broken up, but I imagine she'll survive. She's a strong-minded
woman.

Pleading that he had to get to work, Thomas leaned down and kissed her
on the forehead then went upstairs to bathe and dress. When he returned
to the kitchen, she was gone and he could see through the screen door
that she was outside in her garden. He drove down Van Ness, turned over
to Fulton, pulled up and parked in front of the bank. Since he still was
too early for work and could see clusters of people standing on the
sidewalk reading the newspaper and talking, he decided to walk over to
the Hughes Hotel to see if any of his friends were hanging around the
coffee shop.

As he pushed through the door into the bustling lobby, his eyes scanned
across to the crowded coffee shop to see Jack standing with Earl Fenton
and Brad Simpson, waiting for a table.

Of the three, twenty-five-year-old Jack was the one Thomas saw most
often because they played in the band. At five feet, six inches, he was
the shortest of the group, although quite handsome with reddish-blond
hair and a full, friendly face that almost always bore a smile.

Earl, twenty-two and unemployed at the moment, in August was scheduled
to join the State Employment Office, one of the new agencies made
possible by recent state legislation. He was the most muscular of the
group with wide-set eyes and a broad forehead that matched his
shoulders. He was a former star football player at Fresno High, who
still was recognized occasionally by people on the street. Thomas had
met him through Jack.

Simpson, a reporter with the Republican and at twenty-six the oldest of
the group, was also the tallest at six feet, four inches. Slender of
body and face, he had smiling eyes and dark blond hair. He had
befriended Thomas when his boss had started getting him involved in
community projects. The two of them also played basketball on the
Methodist Church team in the city league.

As Thomas approached the threesome, Earl was running his fingers through
his straight, black hair and griping, ilook at this bunch of god damned
foreigners. They oughta' be out plowing 'stead of sitting around here.
Jack acknowledged Thomas' arrival with a weak smile from under eyes
bloodshot from a night of partying after the dance. Brad extended his
usual friendly handshake. A stirring in the corner signaled that a table
was being vacated, and Earl muscled his way through the crowd to stake
their claim.

All three of Thomas' friends had come from more privileged backgrounds
than he had and were better educated. Although Jack was the one he most
envied because of his outgoing manner and fun-loving personality, he
felt closest to Brad, who had become a sort of father figure. He had
graduated from a mid- western college with a degree in journalism, and
his parents had provided him with a broad background in language, music
and the arts. He had introduced Thomas to classical music when Lillian
Gish had come to town to sing at the Barton Opera House and had taken
him to several art exhibits.

Jack, an attorney and scion of one of Fresno's wealthier families, had
graduated from the University of California, where he was a track star.
Earl was a native born Californian, a rarity among the nearly four
million people living in the Golden State.

While he had not gone on to college, his father's experience in land
development seemingly had helped open doors for the son's future.

As they took their seats, Jack, still dressed in his National Guard
uniform, turned to Thomas. iyou missed a good party last night.

Earl glanced at Jack, iyeah, you look like you had a good time
someplace. What'd you do, get laid? i Jack responded with a knowing
grin, then added, iall I'll say is that we sure found a neat place to
party ... dark and quiet, and nobody else around.

Roeding Park? i Brad asked.

No, too many police out there. We drove out to the river.

Sound of rushing water softens up those women every time.

Earl turned to Thomas, iso you didn't join Jack. Afraid to get your wick
wet? i Thomas shrugged his shoulders and ignored the question.

As the youngest and most sexually naove in the group, he had learned to
accept the fact that he would be the target of much of their teasing.
And most of it came from Earl and occasionally Jack, who tended to be
the needlers.

When a waiter had taken their order for coffee and doughnuts, Jack
changed the subject. iwell, what do all of you think of our Democrat
president now ... got us into war after all didn't he? i Earl added,
iguess that shouldn't be a surprise, considering all that's been
happening in the past few months.

Brad, who had been listening indulgently to the banter of his younger
companions, joined in, ino surprise, and it looks like the government is
moving pretty fast. Governor Stephens already has named a State Council
of Defense with thirty-three members, including my boss. He turned to
Jack, iwhat's the outlook for your Guard outfit? i Brad asked.

So far we're just pulling guard duty. We're heading up to the Dinkey
Creek power station this morning.

iguess that'll comfort my landlady-she's sure worried about spies, i
Thomas interjected.

God, we better be, i Earl added with agitation. iall these damn Germans
and other foreigners among us. He glanced suspiciously around the
crowded room before adding, ii sure have mixed emotions about all of
this. I feel patriotic and ready to sign up when I hear that military
music, but a few years of war sure could screw up my future.

Especially if you got yourself killed, i Jack added sarcastically.

Won't have much choice, will we? i Thomas asked.

Government says we all have to serve one way or the other.

You're not old enough to go, Tommy, i Jack said as he reached across the
table and patted Thomas' cheek. ihell, you're barely old enough to
shave!

I imagine we'll all get our chance, i Brad said. Then, leaning across
the table and lowering his voice, he added, ii can tell you on the QT
that the government already is making plans to draft over one million
men.

What the hell you talking about? i Jack asked with agitation.

I've heard that tomorrow Secretary Baker will be submitting a bill to
Congress to expand the Army and National Guard, and it will include
provision for a national draft.

I thought we'd be using volunteers, i Thomas responded.

Guess that's up to Congress to decide, but I understand the War
Department feels we'll need a draft to get enough men, i Brad continued.

Jesus, you mean the government has been making plans in secret? i Earl
asked.

That's my understanding, i Brad replied. ithey're even starting to print
millions of registration forms in advance. Be sending them to local
sheriffs soon as the draft is approved by Congress.

Christ, isn't it just like the Democrats to make plans behind our backs,
i Jack added, still agitated.

isomething that'll bother you even more, Jack, i Brad continued,
glancing around the room. icriticizing the government like you just did
may get you in a lot of---i He stopped as the waiter arrived with their
order.

As soon as he departed, Jack turned to Brad, frowning, iwhat the hell
you mean ... cussing Democrats is going to be against the law?

Not just Democrats, but the government and the way they run the war. Our
friends in Washington are working on plans for censoring the news. I
don't know the details yet, but you can bet we're not going to like
them.

Thomas took a sip of coffee then asked, iwhat's going to happen to
freedom of speech and all that stuff?

Guess that's all going to be set aside, supposedly in the interest of
winning the war, i Brad replied. ibut that's not all.

They're also talking about new laws to define treason. The four of us
can be thankful we're not German-Americans because the government is
going to be keeping special track of them.

Well thank God for that! i Earl mumbled, his mouth half full of
doughnut. He spoke so heatedly that everyone at the table looked at him
quizzically, but he continued, iyou realize we've got over two million
of those damn Heinies living in this country, all born in Germany? And
that doesn't include their damn kids!

But most of them are citizens, i Brad protested.

Earl remained defiant. iwell, far as I'm concerned we need to become one
hundred percent American. We've got too many goddamn Heinies, Italians,
Slavs and other hyphenates in this country. Oughta ship a few boat loads
back to where they came from! i Everyone was silent for a moment, taken
aback by Earl's outburst, then Jack spoke, iwell, hell, how about the
Chinks and Armenians?

Don't forget the Niggers, i Brad added sarcastically.

Thomas put his coffee cup down and blurted out, ihow about my dead
father? He was Irish-American. Never one to

share personal matters, he was non-plussed at how quickly the words had
popped out of his mouth.

His companions squirmed in their chairs and glanced at him
uncomfortably, then Brad ventured, isomething happen to your father? i
Now fully embarrassed, Thomas nodded sheepishly and explained what had
happened. Brad and Jack expressed condolences. Earl glanced furtively
back at Thomas, but made no comment.

Brad, seeking to ease the tension, spoke up. ia lot of those so-called
hyphenates are loyal, hard-working American citizens, Earl. It wouldn't
seem right to lump them all together.

Earl, still not ready to show contriteness, replied, imaybe so, but I'll
bet a lot of 'em are spies, too. Wouldn't bother them a bit to see this
country lose the war.

Jack also tried to calm things down. imost of their women are too fat
for my liking.

Earl chuckled and looked at Thomas, iyeah, like that Heinie girlfriend
of yours.

Thomas bristled as he put down his cup of coffee, ishe's not fat---i He
was interrupted by muffled sounds from the street outside. The babble of
voices and laughter in the coffee shop was replaced with the scraping of
chairs across the hardwood floor as people stood up for a better view
through the hotel windows. Thomas and his friends also arose and could
see a mob crowding along the sidewalk and half pulling, half dragging
some hapless individual toward the middle of the street. A heavy rope
was tied around his waist, and his hands were bound behind his back. He
stumbled and fell to his knees as he was dragged off the curb, and
someone kicked and jerked him back to an upright position. Although the
mob was shouting and chanting at the victim, their words could not be
heard inside the coffee shop.

Earl moved away from the table first and was followed outside by the
others. From the cacophony of booing and shouting they could make out
words and phrases like igoddamn Heinie, i or iget the tar and feathersi
or istring him up. The

mob had stopped moving now and formed a loose circle that filled the
entire intersection. A great cheer went up as two young men broke into
the center and began stripping the victim down to his skivvies.

Brad turned to one of the crowd and shouted above the noise, iwhat the
hell'd he do?

Made a speech in the park.

What about?

Bastard was speaking for Germany and knocking Wilson and America.

As the four friends peered over the crowd, they could see the victim now
had been stripped naked and was being punched and kicked by the two
young men.

Come on, this is too much, i Brad yelled as he started pushing through
the mob, beckoning to his friends to follow.

The foursome ran to the center of the intersection where Jack, Thomas
and Earl flailed and pulled at the attackers as Brad lifted the victim
to his feet. Led by Earl, they formed a flying wedge as they tried to
rush him through the surprised crowd.

But the mob quickly recovered and the foursome now became the focus of
its surging anger. Thomas and his friends found themselves fighting for
survival, kicking and swinging wildly in an effort to break through to
safety. Their struggle was finally eased as the wail of approaching
police sirens momentarily distracted their attackers.

Earl was the first to make it to the perimeter. He turned toward the
others, still dragging the semiconscious victim, as Brad motioned to his
friends to follow him into the hotel lobby.

Come on, we can go out the back door. My car's in the alley, i he
shouted breathlessly. Each of them was bleeding from cuts on his face
and arms, and their clothing was badly torn. Brad was bleeding profusely
from his nose and Thomas' eye was turning black and blue. One arm of
Earl's jacket was torn completely off and he and Jack were limping.

They struggled through the still-crowded lobby, leaving a squiggly trail
of blood on the polished wooden floor, stumbled into the alley and piled
into Brad's Model T. He quickly set the spark and gas levers and ran to
the front to crank it to life.

Nothing happened. He cranked again, and the engine only coughed.

Earl looked anxiously toward the hotel door through which they had just
exited, jumped out and leaned his bulk up against it as their pursuers
started pushing and banging on it from the inside. ichoke the bastard, i
he yelled at Thomas in the front passenger seat, and he leaned over and
pulled the choke knob out part way. The engine sputtered and struggled
to life in response to Brad's third turn of the crank. Earl jumped on
the running board as Brad climbed in behind the wheel and, holding a
handkerchief against his bleeding nose and steering with one hand, he
headed down the alley and turned east on Kern Street.

He turned north on Fulton, dodged recklessly around the mixture of
streetcars, automobiles and horses and buggies, and headed for the
police station adjacent to City Hall.

When they arrived, they carried the semiconscious victim inside and laid
him on a bench. He had numerous cuts and abrasions on his face and body
and was bleeding freely from a head wound. Brad removed his coat and
laid it across the man's naked body then borrowed a towel from the desk
sergeant to wrap around his bleeding head. Jack used his pocketknife to
cut the ropes from his body and wrists. Brad continued to dab at his own
bleeding nose as he sat down next to Earl and Thomas, who were busy
assessing their wounds.

The desk sergeant approached warily, raising his eyebrows as he
recognized Brad.

Been in a bit of a fight have you? i he asked.

Trying to save this poor soul from a mob, i Brad replied.

The sergeant ordered an officer to bring a blanket to more completely
cover the victim and moved around to better see his battered face.
ilooks like that old German preacher.

Who? i Thomas asked.

Don't remember his name---Gischer or Geesher, something like that.
Always spouting off down at that Heinie church.

Guess he spouted off in front of the wrong crowd, i Jack observed as he
brushed the dirt from his uniform and tried to

push a torn pocket back in place. ijesus, if my lieutenant saw me out
there he'd kick me out of the Guard.

When the police sergeant left to summon an ambulance and start filling
out his report, Earl turned to Brad testily, iwhy the hell did we get
mixed up in that mess ... just for some damn German preacher who can't
keep his mouth shut?

Yeah, i Jack groused, glancing sideways at Brad. iif it hadn't been for
you we'd still be in that coffee shop eating doughnuts.

Brad hesitated thoughtfully, dabbing at his nose and staring at the
floor before answering. ii can't believe you fellows are saying that.
The poor bastard was getting beat up for speaking his mind.

Spouting off against the government, you mean, i Earl interjected.

That's what democracy and freedom are all about, Earl.

Just because we're in a war doesn't mean---i Jack butted in, iguess it
would be pretty bad if we fought for freedom overseas and lost it here
at home.

They fell silent for a moment. Thomas, who had removed his coat to
assess the damage to his tattered suit, broke the silence when he
mumbled, iwell, we damn near lost our freedom in that mob, along with
our balls and everything else.

The others looked at him and started chuckling.

Sorry I got you guys involved in that mess, i Brad said with a sigh as
he inspected his bloody handkerchief. iunfortunately, when you're
fighting for something you believe in you can't always pick your odds.

With the sound of the ambulance arriving, the four friends returned to
Brad's car. Jack and Earl lighted cigarettes as they stood around,
absently massaging their sore muscles. Brad, his nose no longer
bleeding, leaned up against the front fender.

Thomas had dampened his handkerchief with cold water and was holding it
against his black eye as he sat down on the running board.

He was the first to speak. iman, that was some experience.

I've never been tangled up with a mob before.

Jack agreed, i me either. I wonder how much of that kind of violence
we're going to have to put up with.

Earl took a deep drag on his cigarette before suggesting, iall the
government has to do is string up a few of those against the war and
everything will calm down.

That might cover a lot of people, i Brad responded.

What do you mean? i Thomas asked.

Well, there appears to be quite a lot of opposition to the war,
particularly in other parts of the country---isolationists, pacifists,
immigrants, Socialists. Be pretty hard to hang all of them.

Outside of a few loudmouth radicals, how many are you talking about? i
Earl grumbled.

The American Socialist party, for example, has over 100,000 members,
including more than a thousand scattered around the country in state and
local political offices.

Jack puffed on his cigarette and joined the discussion.

Yeah, I remember back in 1912 when Debs was running for president and
got about six percent of the Socialist vote.

Earl wasn't impressed. ihell, that was five years ago.

Question is how strong are they now? i Brad answered, imaybe we'll find
out tomorrow. They've scheduled an emergency meeting in New York to
protest the war. They're expecting several thousand to attend.

Guess President Wilson knew what he was talking about after all, i Jack
added, dropping his half-finished cigarette on the ground and grinding
it dead with his shoe.

Thomas looked up at him, iwhat did he say?

When he asked Congress for a declaration of war. Said something like it
was a terrible thing to lead this peaceful people into war.

Brad nodded, ithat's right. He also said they'll forget tolerance, and
to fight you must be brutal---the spirit of ruthless brutality will
affect everyone, including the man on the street.

Jack added somberly, The also predicted that the Constitution will not
survive. Free speech and the right of

assembly will disappear, and it'll take a generation to get back to
normal.

Thomas shook his head, iman, that's pretty scary.

Brad looked at his watch. itime for me to get to work.

Maybe we better go our separate ways. Those goons might recognize us if
we're together.

They shook hands, and Thomas headed up Mariposa toward the bank, musing
how he could explain his black eye and torn suit to his fellow workers.
When he reached Fulton Street, he mingled in with the throngs moving
toward Court House Park and an impromptu celebration of the start of the
war. He could hear a band tuning up in the distance.

Chapter 3.

Alexander O'Roark's funeral was held the Monday morning after Easter.

Seemingly in recognition of the somber occasion, a gentle spring rain
was falling from graying skies.

Patrick drove his mother and Becky to the funeral home in the family
horse and buggy. Thomas motored into town to the Brix Apartments to pick
up Brad, who had volunteered to join him for moral support, then headed
toward the mortuary.

Neither showed any obvious damage from their mob encounter of the
previous Friday. Thomas had taken his suit for repair by the tailor at
Goodman's Mens Store, and his blackened eye had almost returned to
normal. They were solicitous of each other's condition but otherwise
didn't discuss the affair.

During their short drive, Brad remarked that Thomas seemed to be taking
his father's death pretty calmly.

Thomas was pensive for a few moments, then responded, iguess it hasn't
really hit me yet. Maybe later.

I don't know what I'd do if my father died. We're pretty close, even if
we do live two thousand miles apart.

Before replying, Thomas was silent as he waited for an oncoming car so
he could negotiate a left turn. ican't say the same about my father.
Unfortunately we don't get to pick our parents.

That's for sure. Well, if there's ever anything I can do to help, please
let me know.

Thomas didn't acknowledge the offer. He was not used to expressing his
innermost feelings to anyone and although he had always felt comfortable
in Brad's presence, wasn't sure if he was the one to empathize with such
deep painful moments. But the pressure of the many memories roiling
around in his mind slowly forced themselves into the open and he began
to muse, half aloud, half to himself. iguess I wasn't too surprised he
died. I used to wonder if someone that angry could live very long.

Angry?

Yeah. It seemed like he was always mad at something.

Me, or the government, the Niggers or Mexicans. Hell, he even blamed the
English for starting the war.

That probably came from his Irish heritage.

Thomas fell silent as he eased his car into the funeral home parking
lot. He cut the engine and resumed talking. ii guess the worst times
were at meals. That was when he seemed to express his anger the most. If
he wasn't ranting about something he was picking on me, or Mother.

Brad, sensing that his young friend needed to get something off his
chest, remained quiet.

Seems like the only nice thing he did when I was a kid was buy me some
of those penny licorice twists or root beer candies, the ones that come
in little wax barrels. He held his thumb and forefinger apart to
demonstrate the size.

Brad nodded in recognition adding, imaybe he was trying to assuage his
feelings of guilt. Then he asked, ihow on earth did you cope with all
that anger when you were growing up?

Stayed out of his way much as I could. Never had the guts to stand up to
him and fight.

Well, it's pretty tough for children to fight their father, or their
mother, for that matter.

Thomas nodded silently as tears started to well up in his eyes. He
glanced across the parking lot to see Patrick arriving with his mother
and sister.

He wiped his eyes and blew his nose, got out of the car and walked over
to assist them from the buggy. Brad followed at a

little distance. Thomas gave Emma and Becky a friendly hug and extended
a limp hand to his brother. He motioned Brad forward so he could
introduce him as they walked slowly toward the funeral home.

Thomas, feeling terribly alone, took a seat in the mourning room a
little to one side of the family. As the minister launched into his
message of deliverance and salvation, Thomas peered around the curtain
to the main seating area. He saw Brad, who had declined his invitation
to sit with the family. He noted the Maloneys were there along with
another neighbor couple, Sean and Marian Harrington. Several other
couples he didn't recognize, presumably friends of his parents, took
seats near the back. Two older men, looking awkward in their dark,
ill-fitting suits, were sitting to one side. He assumed they were his
father's saloon buddies. Three young women and an older one, who he
remembered as his sister's gymnasium teacher, also were in attendance,
as were two of his fellow employees from the bank, Mary Wilson and Ralph
Mcintire.

He was brought back to the moment by the sound of his mother sobbing,
and the rustling of Patrick and Becky as they moved to console her. The
sobbing stirred his own mixed emotions, and he again struggled to
distance his mind from the funeral happening immediately in front of
him.

His thoughts drifted back to when he was a child in Michigan. He
recalled his least-favorite chore, that of being rousted out of bed
before dawn on freezing winter mornings to chop ice out of the watering
troughs so the animals could drink.

He supposedly received a penny each time he did this except that his
parents seldom had one to give him. He also remembered with
stomach-churning clarity the times his father had slaughtered his pet
rabbits and later a pet sheep in order to put food on the family table.
And he would never forget the time when as a youngster he milked several
cows all by himself, then got no recognition from his father. His mind
ranged forward a few years to the birthday that neither parent thought
of until two days late. He was reminded of his father's brown leather
belt and the painful whippings.

Thomas was pulled from his private anguish by the minister's closing
prayer and the organ playing Rock of Ages, followed by the audience
filing hesitantly past the plain pine coffin. When it came time for the
family's final viewing, he held back as they moved forward then,
hesitantly, stepped up for a last look at the man he never really knew.
He reached out and touched the stilled chest, now all dressed up in his
one dark suit with no place left to go. He instinctively glanced down at
the worn, brown belt around his waist and the lifeless, ringless hands
folded across his stomach. With tears blurring his vision and a sudden
feeling of emptiness swelling up inside, he was brought back to the
finality of the moment by Becky slipping her arm in his and gently
tugging him away.

Thomas and Patrick, neighbors Maloney and Harrington and two men from
the funeral home served as pallbearers. As they struggled out to the
hearse with the heavy coffin and slid it into the waiting vehicle, a
wave of emotion grabbed Thomas in the gut and surged up into his chest.
He started blubbering uncontrollably and stumbled off to one side. Becky
came to his rescue with an arm around his shoulder and soothing words,
and gently guided him to the front seat of the waiting Cadillac
limousine. They rode to the cemetery in silence, staring out through the
rivulets of rainwater trickling down the windows or being tossed to one
side by the slap-slap of the windshield wipers.

After a brief graveside ceremony, attended only by Emma and her
children, they returned home to find the Maloneys and Harringtons
waiting for them with a grand array of food; fried chicken, potato
salad, a couple of vegetable dishes, fresh-baked rolls, pie and cake.

Hot damn, look at this food! i Patrick exclaimed as he entered the house
and started to dig in. Thomas was taken aback by his brother's
cheerfulness after such a solemn occasion, but remained silent. Emma
took a seat on the sofa, dabbed at her eyes, and waited until Becky
brought her a plate of food. The Maloneys filled their plates and sat on
either side of Emma, while the Harringtons brought casual chairs in from
the bedrooms. Thomas and Becky sat at the kitchen table. Patrick
remained standing, absently strolling around the room as he ate.

The Harrington and Maloney children sat on the floor.

After a few minutes of eating and idle conversation, Sean Harrington
spoke up. ipatrick, any thoughts on what you plan to do with the farm? i
Patrick's reply was disingenuous. ii told Mom yesterday someone's gonna'
have to finish the irrigating Pop was doing.

But isn't that your responsibility now? i Patrick carried his empty
plate to the sink. inot mine, i he replied firmly. ii ain't sticking
around here long. He pulled the gold watch from his pocket, opened the
lid to check the time, carefully wound the stem, and returned it to his
pocket. Thomas, pretending not to notice, concentrated on his potato
salad.

Harrington responded, imight not be that easy, Patrick. As the oldest
son the place is yours now.

Well I sure don't want ... Marian Harrington interrupted, ithat's not
right. It belongs to Emma now.

Everyone paused and looked at her quizzically. Her husband spoke, idon't
believe that's right. Back home property is inherited by ... But this is
California. We have community property laws here.

Becky spoke up, imissus Harrington is right. I learned that in school.
It's derived from the Spanish legal system and became part of California
law back when it belonged to Mexico.

Thomas turned to his mother, ididn't you and father both sign the papers
when you bought the farm? i Emma looked befuddled and shrugged her
shoulders.

Everyone returned to their eating until Patrick spoke, iso what's Mom
gonna do? Sure as hell can't work the place by herself.

How about you taking over? i his brother asked.

Patrick bristled, inot me, Little Brother. ii'm no farmer and besides,
I've got other plans.

Becky, sensing the antagonism bubbling between her brothers,
interjected, imaybe Mother could sell the place and move into town. With
the war she probably could get a good price, pay off the debts, and have
money left over.

Then what would she do? i Thomas asked, glancing at his sister as he
gnawed on a chicken leg.

Find a job? i she ventured.

No work experience, i he replied between bites.

Seems like she could find somethingi Becky continued defensively.

Patrick paused in his wandering around the room and suggested, imaybe
she could take in laundry.

That's a terrible idea, i his sister responded firmly. iit's all hard
work and very little pay.

How about seamstress work? i Sean asked as he arose, stepped to the
table, and cut himself a piece of pie.

Becky responded, imother never seemed to enjoy sewing.

Well, she oughta do something to get away from the drudgery of farm
life, i Vivian said firmly.

Michael shot a surprised glance at his wife as he commented, iwell, it
don't seem like a woman could run twenty acres by herself.

She could hire a manager, i Vivian suggested.

Or maybe she could manage it herself and hire some men to help, i Marian
added.

Patrick cut himself a big slab of pie, then grumped, ihell, she probably
couldn't afford to hire help for this dumpy little farm. You need a big
place to pay wartime wages.

Becky added, igood help is going to be hard to find with all the
able-bodied men going off to war.

Help is going to be a problem for all of us, i Sean added.

Maybe we could find some Orientals willing to work.

Better forget the Chinks, i Michael added in an ominous voice. imight
get cross-wise with the packers and shippers.

Vivian turned to Emma, iwell, you sure can't run the whole twenty acres
by yourself. Any thoughts on what you want to do? i

Emma had been sitting quietly, poking listlessly at her food as everyone
talked around her. iguess I haven't thought much about anything yet, i
she replied.

Vivian looked at Thomas, still sitting at the table. ihow about you
taking over the farm?

I'm already plenty busy at the bank. I might be able to help some on
weekends, at least if I'm not in the army.

Sean spoke up again, i me and Michael been thinking that with our four
teenagers and our wives maybe we could work out a deal to help each
other. At least we could cut down on the extra help.

Thomas reached across the table to serve himself some pie then, glancing
at Michael and Sean ventured, imaybe one of you would like to lease the
place.

Both of them begged off, saying the forty acres they each owned already
were all they could handle without extra help.

Everyone fell silent for a few moments, then Emma spoke again,
sorrowfully, almost musing to herself. ii couldn't bear to leave, at
least not for now. Papa and I worked so hard here and raised you
children.

No one commented, and Emma continued, iguess I could figure out how to
run things myself, if I just had a little help.

Thomas tensed up and stared down at his plate, sensing his mother was
referring to him. Michael, trying to ease the friction, added, ilike
Thomas said, he's probably going to be in the army before long. Maybe
Patrick too.

Patrick stopped his restless walking and replied angrily, iwell, if the
goddamn Heinies are going to be fightin' us, why don't we draft them to
do our work. Hell, we got too many of them in this country already,
including the bunch living down the road.

Thomas bristled, assuming his brother was referring to the Stuckeys,
parents of the girl he was courting. He had dated Brenda only twice,
once at a Sunday concert in Court House Park, the other time at a moving
picture show, and was surprised that anyone in the family was aware of
this.

ipatrick, you dumb bastard. That's the stupidest remark you've made in a
long time. The Stuckeys are American citizens, for Christ's sake! i
Patrick, his face flushing in anger, moved toward his brother. icome
outside, you goddamn fancy pants banker. I'll beat some of that smart
ass talk right out of you! i Thomas arose from the table, ready to take
the challenge.

Emma stifled a scream. Vivian and Marian reached out to protect their
wide-eyed children. Michael and Sean jumped up and grabbed the brothers
to keep them apart and eased them into seats on opposite sides of the
room. Emma started crying.

Everyone was quiet for a few moments, then Vivian and Marian stood up
and started carrying dirty dishes to the kitchen.

Thomas finally couldn't contain himself any longer.

Dammit, I can see what this is coming down to. Mother or Becky can't run
the place and Patrick isn't interested ... His brother cut him off,
ihell, I can't afford to. I can make more money working in the mines or
lumbering, and wages are going up now that the war's started.

I've got a job and career too, i Thomas yelled, i and it sure as hell
isn't in farming. I might not be making your big wages but at least
there's more potential than slaving away fourteen hours a day on this
crummy little farm.

Emma let out a moan, ioh what a terrible thing to say!

Yeah, that was shitty, Little Brother. You ought'a apologize, i Patrick
hollered.

Boys, don't fight! i Emma pleaded. It had been several years since the
two had gotten into a real fistfight and it had been pretty brutal. She
remembered that their father no longer was here to separate them.

Thomas got up abruptly and stalked outside, letting the door slam behind
him. He was followed by Becky. The rain had stopped and been replaced by
a bright sun trying to poke through the lingering clouds. They both
breathed deeply of the freshly washed air, but neither said a word for a
few moments. Then he started talking, half to himself, half to his
sister.

ithere doesn't seem to be any justice. Just when I've gotten away from
this crappy place and backward life, I'm being forced back. I feel like
running away and dumping everything.

She responded, ino Thomas, you'd be running away from your new friends
and the bright future you've been working on in town.

Maybe I could enlist in the army, i he mused. She didn't comment.

He jammed his hands in his pockets, obviously fuming with frustration
and anger. Finally he spoke, iso I guess I'm the chosen one. We can't
afford to abandon the farm. That wouldn't be financially smart, and it
would only leave Mother with no place to go, and one of us would have to
support her.

Looks like you're right, i Becky concurred. ibut you might try to look
at it more positively. With Father gone you could do some of those
things you used to talk about. Maybe make the house more livable, or
start some modern farming methods.

He brightened a little and smiled. iyeah, Sis, guess you're right. I
hate to think how smart you're going to be after another year in that
Normal School. He put his arm around her in a brotherly hug.

She reached up and kissed him on the cheek. ishall we go in and tell
Mother?

OK, but if Patrick pulls out that watch one more time I'm going to stuff
it in his goddamn loud mouth! i She frowned at her brother, puzzled by
the outburst.

That was Father's gold watch, you know.

Still puzzled, she silently took his arm and guided him back to the
house where his decision was greeted with approval and encouragement.
The Maloneys and Harringtons promised to help as much as they could and
offered to provide the benefit of their experience. Patrick pumped his
brother's hand vigorously and slapped him on the back, then quickly
stepped back as he realized he might be pushing his luck. Emma raised
her arms up from the sofa to beckon her younger son to come closer so
she could hug him and kiss him. He smiled resignedly above the

knot in his stomach when she promised to be a good mother and not
interfere with his life.

Chapter 4.

The O'Roark farm was located approximately ten miles east of downtown
Fresno, a growing city of some 45,000, and the county seat of Fresno
County. The area was particularly attractive for farming because it was
irrigated by a series of canals and ditches that carried abundant,
inexpensive water from the Kings River, which tumbled out of the Sierra
Nevada Mountains some twenty miles east of town. The river carved a
southwesterly path away from the mountains and around the county's
southern border before it eventually turned north and joined the San
Joaquin, another major Sierra river, to empty into San Francisco Bay
nearly two-hundred miles to the north.

During the late spring and early summer the rivers, canals and ditches
often fought a losing battle to contain the surging snow melt only to be
reduced to mere trickles by late summer and fall.

When Alexander and Emma purchased the acreage in 1910, it already had
been planted in grapevines, but there was no house, no barn, no other
structures. Thus, with the limited funds remaining after their down
payment on the land, they and their two young sons and daughter had set
about building their meager living quarters.

The resulting house was a simple, rectangular wood frame structure set
back approximately one hundred yards from the main road that ran east
from town. The house was entered through a single door that led into a
large all-purpose living room and an open kitchen tucked into the corner
to the left.

Two equal-size bedrooms, one for Alexander and Emma, the other for
Becky, occupied the far end of the structure. In addition to a bed, each
bedroom held nightstands, a single kerosene lamp, a dresser with
porcelain wash basin and pitcher, and a closet. There was no interior
bathroom, only an outhouse some thirty yards to the rear of the main
house. A small room next to the kitchen served as pantry and storage
area for miscellaneous household items, including an oversized
galvanized tub for bathing. Laundry was done over a washboard and
double-sided graniteware sink located outside near the single entryway.
Since there was no running water in the house, it had to be pumped from
the family well, heated on the stove and carried to the outdoor basin
for laundry or the tub for the Saturday night bath, or to a bedroom
basin for a quick wash-up.

A large fireplace, constructed of stones hauled in from the riverbed,
was centered in the living room wall to the right with a square woodbox
next to it. Furniture included a sofa, Alexander's overstuffed easy
chair, a couple of casual chairs and a pinewood dining table with four
ladder-back wooden chairs.

Emma's glass-enclosed bric-a-brac cabinet stood in one corner.

Wool throw rugs, which Emma and Becky had knitted during the long winter
months in Michigan, added a bit of color and warmth to the wood plank
flooring utilized throughout the house.

The kitchen included cupboards, a sink and drainboard, and an adjacent
hand pump connected to the water well. A wood- burning cook stove
completed the kitchen. An enclosed cooler used to preserve meat and
other perishables, which was constructed of wood slats wrapped in burlap
that had to be frequently moistened to provide evaporation, stood
outside the kitchen door. There was no telephone or electricity;
kerosene lamps were the only source of interior lighting.

It had taken the O'Roarks and some helpful neighbors a little over a
week to build the house and outhouse so they could move out of the tent
they had been using for temporary shelter. They then were able to start
work on two outlying buildings. One was a large covered shed used to
store firewood and farm equipment and supplies, including the flat
wooden trays needed each fall for drying grapes into raisins. The other
building was a combination small barn and bunkhouse. This latter
structure served as sleeping quarters for Patrick and Thomas, and
provided shelter for the family horse, cow and chickens.

The dirt driveway that entered the property between vineyard rows ended
in an open yard presided over by a huge sycamore tree. The house sat to
the right of the tree, and the barn and covered shed were located in the
left background.

Emma's vegetable garden was to the left of the driveway, and vineyards
surrounded the house and barn on three sides.

This was the hated old homestead that Thomas was returning to the Friday
morning following his father's funeral to discuss future plans with his
mother. As he pulled into the yard and cut the engine, he found her bent
over the outdoor sink doing laundry. She turned part way toward him and
waved a soapy arm.

As he alighted from his car and walked toward her, he noticed she was
dressed in an old, shapeless cotton housedress.

A strip of black mourning cloth was tied around her upper arm.

Several ringlets of hair had broken loose across her sweating forehead
and bounced as she scrubbed clothing in and out of the soapy water and
against a washboard.

What's that? i he asked.

Papa's coveralls.

Good grief! Why worry about those now?

Didn't want to put 'em away dirty.

He started to say something further, but caught himself when he noticed
the tear stains on her cheeks. He poked at the material rinsing in the
right hand tub. i and this?

Sheets and ticking for your bed.

He hesitated for a moment, then rolled up his sleeves and plunged his
hands into the clear, warm water. ithese ready to ring out?

Uh huh.

He squeezed the surplus water out of the sheets and ticking, carried
them around to the back of the house and hung them on

the clothesline. He returned to repeat the process for his father's
coveralls and work shirts.

Emma pulled the plugs on the two basins so the water could drain out on
the ground, and went into the house. He finished hanging the rest of the
clothes, returned to his car to retrieve the newspaper he had brought
from town, and walked to the outhouse for his daily constitutional. As
he approached the rickety wooden structure, the odor caught him up
short, reminding him of how much he had been spoiled by the comforts of
city living. He entered, dropped his pants, sat down tenderly on the
cold wooden seat and peered around in the semidark. The door hook was
still missing, presumably from the time a couple years ago when his
father ripped it off in one of his fits of anger.

He had forgotten that sunlight squeezing through the cracks and
knotholes was the only source of light, so had to forgo reading the
paper. They also allowed the cool spring breeze to waft through the
structure, causing him to shiver. He was reminded of the more frigid
winter winds and the wild runs from a warm bed across frosty ground that
contributed, he believed, to his occasional bouts of constipation. He
recalled with annoyance that his sister or mother always seemed to be
pounding on the door for their turn just as he was getting comfortable
or else massaging his new-found maleness. Or how his brother and his
cronies once tipped the outhouse over with him inside. At least in the
latter instance, he got to see Patrick receive a good whupping from
their father.

Thomas finished his business with dispatch and returned to the house. He
found his mother seated at the kitchen table, the contents of her
bric-a-brac cabinet spread out before her. He observed that the
furniture had been dusted and could detect a faint odor of disinfectant
from a freshly-scrubbed floor. The kerosene lamps, now sparkling clean,
were sitting on the counter in the spotless kitchen, and the windows
were open to the outside air.

Looks like you've been busy, i he commented as he approached the table.

iwell, it is spring. Time for cleaning.

He scanned the items on the table, iwhat are you doing with these?

Dusting 'emi As a child, Thomas had always been warned not to touch the
cabinet so had never paid much attention to the contents. They included
a porcelain tea set with four cups and saucers and a matching creamer
and sugar bowl, a small wooden box with an inlaid lid of green and
rosy-colored abalone shell, three dolls and a number of seashells of
various shapes and sizes. He picked up a cup and saucer, noted the
Chelsea name on the bottom, admired the primrose pattern in pink and
rose colors. ithese are very attractive. Where'd you get them? i She
hesitated before replying, ifrom my father and mother.

They were my cotillion gift.

That must have been fun. How old were you? i Her voice softened almost
to a whisper. ialmost eighteen.

But we never had the cotillion because my father was killed.

Oh, gosh. I'm sorry. He put the cup and saucer down, reached for another
saucer and turned it over in his hand.

How'd this one get chipped? i Emma sighed, ioh, on our move from
Michigan. Her plaintive response brought back that traumatic moment
seven years earlier when she had unpacked to find the damaged saucer.

She had broken down crying, causing eleven-year-old Thomas to break out
in tears, and Alexander to storm out of the house in frustration.

He gently returned the saucer to the table and picked up a doll dressed
in colorful trousers, tunic and cap. ithis looks Oriental.

Her voice brightened a little. iyes, his name is Ling Fu. He was a
Christmas gift from our Chinese servant when I was a little girl.

Emma put down her dust cloth and reached for the other two dolls. ithese
were made by my Mother, this one from spools left over from her sewing,
the other from Easter egg shells. She used cotton to make the hair.

She placed the dolls back on the table and pointed at two of the
seashells. Each was cone-shaped, each in variegated hues of brown,
green, gray and white. ithat one's called a Hawaiian Bubble and the
other's called Olive something ... I don't remember exactly. My father
brought them back from a trip to Hawaii.

Thomas detected a choking to his Mother's voice and decided not to
question her further. He walked around the dining table toward the
bedroom that was to become his. She cautioned him.

What's the matter? i he asked.

I've got the mattress feathers spread on the floor to air out.

Since moving into town, he had forgotten about this annual spring
ritual, but he did remember the bouts of sneezing it generally elicited.
He turned to the sofa and sat down, commenting, ishall we get started on
our planning? i She nodded, picked up her purse from the floor, and
moved beside him. This made him wary because usually when she became so
friendly, she was going to make some demand on him. But this time she
had a surprise as she opened her purse and started pulling out money,
mostly one and five-dollar bills, a few tens and twenties.

My gosh, where'd you get this?

Most of it is left over from my inheritance, and some I saved from
grocery and clothing money and selling eggs.

How much do you have?

About four hundred dollars.

Where've you been keeping it, in the bank?

No, no. In my mattress.

My God, Mother, that's a lot of money to be stuffed in your mattress.
What if this place burned down?

Well, I didn't want Papa to know about it and besides, he didn't believe
in banks.

OK, so you have four hundred dollars. That will be a big help but we're
still going to need more money, i Thomas said.

If I have to move back here, we're darn sure going to bring this place
out of the dark ages, i he added with conviction.

His plans included an indoor bathroom complete with flush toilet and a
real porcelain bathtub, hot and cold running water in the bath and
kitchen, and electric lights throughout the house.

He picked up the newspaper he had brought and opened it up. isee, the
gas company will give us a big allowance if we exchange that old wood
stove for a new gas cook stove. It has four burners and a broiler and
even a kitchen heater. We can burn wood in it to warm the kitchen in the
winter.

Emma nodded, but didn't comment.

He turned to another page. ilook here. With one of these gas water
heaters we would have hot water whenever we wanted. And here's an icebox
that holds a whole fifty-pound block of ice. We can buy an enamel-lined
one for about twenty dollars or a fancier one with stone lining for less
than fifty dollars. Either way we can get rid of that old meat cooler
and have real ice for lemonade in the summer.

That all sounds wonderful, Thomas, i she responded, ibut can we afford
it? i He ignored her question as he turned to another page.

Here's one of the new electric washing machines. It has a big copper tub
and a wringer with a hand crank. You won't have to squeeze wet clothes
out by hand anymore.

She showed more interest in the washer, leaning forward to look at the
illustration. ihow does it work?

Well, you put the dirty clothes, soap and hot water in the tub and turn
it on so the agitator can slosh the clothes back and forth. It's a lot
easier than using that old washboard.

Does it get 'em clean? i He frowned, icertainly.

Emma sighed, ibut I don't see how we can afford all this.

I'll talk to my boss at the bank about getting a loan against our crop,
and I have about two hundred dollars in the bank to help us get started.

Father never believed in borrowing, so I don't know what he would say
about all of this.

ii'm afraid he's not in a position to say much about anything anymore.
Anyway, that's old-fashioned, Mother. Borrowing is the only way to get
ahead nowadays.

Guess I don't understand that much about it, but if you want to it's
alright with me.

We'll only be borrowing against the crop that's in the field so there's
very little risk.

Thomas withdrew a paper and pencil from his pocket and started making
notes on the changes he had been talking about, the materials that would
be needed and the money they would require.

Emma sat quietly, absently glancing at the newspaper.

Thomas resumed talking. iwe're also going to sell that old plug of a
horse and get one of those new mechanical tractors. I'm going to get rid
of the cow too so I can concentrate on growing grapes and getting the
best return for my effort. With the war, the government already is
calling for everyone to raise more food, so that's going to mean higher
prices.

She interrupted, laying her hand on his knee. ithomas, if we can borrow
money maybe we should get enough to buy more acreage. Wouldn't that help
us---i He jumped up from the sofa, partly in reaction to his mother's
touch, partly in anger, shouting, imother, for Pete's sake!

What's the matter?

I haven't figured out how I'm going to handle this place ... and you ...
you want more land! i Emma, looking thoroughly crushed, sank into the
sofa. ii guess you're right, i she answered weakly. ipapa always said
twenty acres was the most he could handle by himself.

He took a seat at the kitchen table to distance himself from his mother
and silently reviewed his notes.

In a moment, she called to him, ison?

Huh?

Can we also buy a new Victrola? Papa's old one is broken. Her voice was
almost pleading.

He was taken aback. He hadn't realized how dogmatic he was being with
his planning.

Why, er, certainly. He glanced around the room, trying to hide his
guilty feeling.

His eyes fell on the open window, its chintz curtains twisting lightly
in the breeze. i and maybe you'd like to have some new curtains, at least
for this room and your bedroom.

Their discussion was disturbed by the sound of a motor car approaching
up the driveway, and Emma went to the door and peered out the window.
ilooks like some stranger, Thomas.

He opened the kitchen door to have a better look. inobody I know, i he
commented as he stepped outside.

A portly, well-dressed man got out of the vehicle and approached the
house. He was carrying a small bouquet of yellow daffodils. iguten
morgen, i he called cheerily.

Thomas looked puzzled but didn't respond.

Ah, I apologize, i the visitor continued in broken English.

Sometimes I forget myself.

What can we do for you? i Thomas asked.

I'm Hans Schiller, president of the Hanover Bank. I came to see Missus
O'Roark to offer my condolences.

Thomas limply shook hands, then held the door as Schiller paused on the
step to kick any dirt from his shoes and entered the house. After
bowing, handing the flowers to Emma and expressing regrets over the
death of Alexander, the banker asked, imissus O'Roark, I assume you are
aware of the lien we hold against this property?

Heavens no! What do you meaner how much? Mercy, I don't know what you're
talking about!

What are you talking about, Mister Schiller? i Thomas asked irritably.
idid my father borrow money from you?

Yah, he borrowed five hundred dollars last fall and secured it with a
deed of trust for the twenty acres.

My God, Mother, didn't you know about this?

No!

So what's the status of the loan, Mister Schiller? i iit's in default.
In fact, we have a potential buyer and will be ready to foreclose by the
end of May.

What does that mean? i Emma asked anxiously.

That means they're kicking you out, Mother. You won't have this place
anymore and won't be able to live here.

I'm very sorry to add to your burdens when you're in mourning, Missus
O'Roark, i said Schiller. ibut we have been in touch with your husband
several times on this matter and weren't able to get him to do anything
about it.

So we have until the end of May to pay off the loan or get out? i Thomas
asked.

Yah, i the banker responded a little sheepishly.

Thomas escorted him out the door, then turned to find his mother in
tears.

Come on, Mother. Crying's not going to solve anything.

That damn foreigner's got my 'Irish' up now.

Emma dabbed at her tears, ibut what on earth can we do?

I'm not sure yet, but I want to talk to Mister Johnson and see what
ideas he might have.

On Monday morning, Thomas drove into town to meet with Emmett Johnson.
Johnson had been president of the First National Bank for several years
and had gained a reputation as a comer in the banking field. Now in his
mid-forties, he believed in getting himself and his employees involved
in the community.

During his tenure, First National had surpassed its nearest rival in the
number of customers and had built up some six million dollars in assets.
It was among the city's first to advertise that it had money to loan.

Johnson had taken a Mentor-like interest in Thomas, his youngest
employee, promoting him early and guiding him into outside activities
that would broaden his knowledge and experience. He had even appointed
him as his personal representative on the Finance Committee for the
Raisin Day Parade, a major annual event. Thomas appreciated this
relationship and thus felt quite uneasy about approaching him

this morning. He was going to have to tell him about his plans to leave
the bank and return to farming, and to ask for a loan in order to keep
the farm.

When he parked in front of the bank's familiar faaade of brick and
glass, he was suddenly reminded of how comfortable he had felt inside
its warm environment of oak paneling, solid oak counters and desks, and
polished marble floors. The employees, all older than he was, had
readily taken him under their wing and guided him through the
regulations and arcane procedures and introduced him to many of the more
important customers.

Now, as he walked through the lobby toward Johnson's corner office, he
got an unexpected lump in his throat. Two of the employees not busy with
customers greeted him with smiles and friendly waves. And as he
approached the president's office, Mary Wilson arose from her desk, held
out her hand, and expressed condolences. He was thanking her as Johnson
stepped out smiling, his hand extended, imorning, Thomas.

Good morning, Sir.

Sure sorry to hear about your father.

Yes, it was quite a shock.

Sorry I couldn't get to the funeral. Had to attend Mayor Toomey's war
preparedness meeting.

That's all right. Miss. Wilson and Mister Mcintire were there.

As Johnson took his arm and ushered him to a seat in his office, Thomas
sensed something was wrong-he didn't appear to be his usual ebullient
self.

Everything OK, Mister Johnson? i The banker, still standing, fussed with
the papers on his desk before he replied. ino, those damn Germans are
about to get the best of me.

What happened? i Johnson sat down. ithat preacher from the Lutheran
Church came in here this morning with some of his flock and threatened
to withdraw all their deposits to protest the war.

Thomas frowned, ikinda late, aren't they? i iyeah.

What'd you tell them?

Told 'em I didn't start the war and if they wanted to be that
unpatriotic, they could just take their damn money.

How much they talking about? i Johnson hesitated, lowering his voice,
iover three hundred thousand dollars if the whole church goes for it.

Thomas shook his head. Johnson seemed anxious to change the subject,
iwell, son, you wanted to see me. What can I do for you? i When he
revealed that he was leaving the bank to return to the farm and told of
the visit from the German banker and the need for a loan, he received a
surprisingly warm response.

Johnson, although somewhat miffed that he would be losing a prized young
employee, acknowledged that it was for a worthy purpose. After all,
President Wilson already had called for everyone to raise more food to
help the country 'Whip the Kaiser', and that's certainly what Thomas
would be doing.

He finally approved a thousand dollar loan to pay off the existing debt
and cover the home improvements Thomas wanted to make. Then, in giving
his approval, he said, ii want you to understand that I'm also expecting
something from you.

What's that, Sir?

First, I'm expecting you to do a good job of making that old farm more
productive. But also, I want you to promise that you'll stay involved in
the community and continue representing us on the Raisin Day Finance
Committee.

OK, that's fine with me.

Well, as I think you know, we might have a problem with the parade. With
the war heating up, some folks want to cut it back or even cancel. It's
too important for Fresno's image to cancel and even more important for
stimulating farmers to support the war effort. We need to keep that
project on the right track.

Thomas nodded.

And between us, there's another reason I'm approving your loan, i
Johnson said, again lowering his voice and smiling.

Thomas leaned forward expectantly.

I just love taking business away from Schiller and his damned old German
bank! i

Chapter 5.

Thomas lost no time preparing for the remodeling. During the week, he
ordered the lumber and other supplies he would need and visited
retailers to check out various models of stoves, ice boxes and washing
machines. He also dropped in to see Brenda Stuckey at Gottschalks
department store. Held back by his inexperience with women, he had only
dated her twice since meeting her two months earlier. While he found her
quite attractive, with wavy brown hair and soft hazel eyes, she also was
a year or so older and, he sensed, more self-confident around men than
he was with women.

But he had finally screwed up his nerve and now wanted to see if she
would join him for a Saturday afternoon swim and picnic at Zapp's Park,
where a new pool recently had been completed. The coming weekend would
be the first that it would be open for the season.

Goodness, Thomas, I don't know how to swim, and I don't have a bathing
suit, i Brenda protested.

You can buy one before Saturday.

But, I don't even know what I'd look like in a suit!

You would look beautiful, no doubt the loveliest girl at the pool. He
blushed at his sudden forwardness.

Blushing and smiling coyly in return she asked, ihow can you be so sure?

I could tell that night at the picture show, i he whispered, referring
to their earlier date. There, in the flickering light and

stirring organ music of the Kinema Theatre his leg touched hers and he
ventured to lay an arm across her shoulder.

Brenda smiled demurely and turned away, then moved along the counter to
assist a customer. Thomas waited patiently, pretending to be shopping.

Finally, she returned and volunteered, ii suppose I could find a bathing
suit here in the store. What time did you want to go? in'll pick you up
around three o'clock. Maybe I could get another couple to join us-make
it a party.

Sounds like fun. I'll be ready.

Saturday morning Thomas was at the farmhouse, up with the sun and eager
to start the remodeling. He would begin by building a new storage shed
on the back of the house so he could convert the existing storage room
into a bathroom. He had engaged an electrician to wire the house and a
handyman to dig a new water well back near the barn and install an
electric pump and storage tank. This water would be piped into the
kitchen and new bathroom. He also had arranged for the San Joaquin Light
and Power Company to run gas and electric service to the house from the
main road. To accommodate the new bathroom, the handyman also would be
digging a cesspool, complete with redwood sides and cover, and using the
dirt to fill in the hole under the old outhouse.

Emma had arisen with Thomas, pulled on a robe against the cool spring
morning, and hurried her visit to the outhouse so she could prepare a
substantial breakfast of eggs, bacon and biscuits.

She shivered when she returned to the warmth of the kitchen, imy, it'll
be nice not to have to go out there anymore. I'm happy that you're
getting started so quickly.

He poured each of them a cup of coffee then took a seat at the table as
she started cooking. He cupped his hands around the hot cup and tried to
take a sip before replying, iwell, I need to finish this soon as
possible so I can concentrate on the vineyard.

Those grapes will be coming on mighty fast with warm weather, so there
won't be enough time then.

Yes, and when they're ready to harvest we'll probably have trouble
finding help with all the men turning to war work or signing up for the
draft. They'll undoubtedly be calling some of them soon.

Yeah, I hear the first draft registration already has been set for early
June. It will be for men ages twenty-one to thirty so I won't be
included, at least for the time being.

She turned back toward him, i won't you be exempt anyway now that you're
responsible for the farm? i He hesitated. The thought of exemption had
not crossed his mind, and now he wondered. Was this another example of
his mother trying to manage his life?

He took a swallow of coffee before finally replying, somewhat
disingenuously, iguess I don't know. But I'll undoubtedly have to
register some day. The government is talking about raising an army of
over a million, so it's hard to say who will be exempted.

Emma dished up their food and sat down at the table before commenting
further, iwell, I sure hope you don't have to go, or Patrick either.

They ate in silence for a few minutes until he spoke, ispeaking of
Patrick, where is he this morning?

Oh, he went into town last night.

Stayed over at some saloon or bawdyhouse, I suppose?

Thomas! i He shrugged his shoulders and continued eating.

Said he was going to some meeting. Why, were you expecting him to help
you?

No, no. I'm just as happy he's not here since we never seem to agree on
how something should be done.

When they had finished breakfast, Thomas headed outside to start on the
new shed and help the well digger determine where to begin his work.
Following the digger around with his divining rod took over an hour,
after which Thomas labored for some time over the precise location and
measurements for the

shed. He was barely able to frame in the new foundation before it was
time to break for lunch. Because of the limited facilities at the farm,
he had earlier determined that in order to keep his date with Brenda, he
needed to drive into his boarding house to bathe and change into casual
clothes.

As he put away his tools and entered the house, his mother confronted
him, iyou're quitting already?

Yes, Mother. It's opening day at Zapps and I have a date.

He sat down at the kitchen table.

A date?

Yes, with Brenda Stuckey.

She placed a sandwich and glass of milk in front of him.

But I thought you were going to spend the night here and work more
tomorrow. I've already planned dinner.

I won't be back until tomorrow morning. He could see her jaw start to
tighten, a sure sign that he was in for a confrontation, but he decided
to hold his ground.

I gather from Patrick you've been seeing quite a lot of that girl. You
getting serious?

Good grief, Mother, we've only had two dates. Maybe Patrick should mind
his own business.

But isn't she German? i He flushed with anger. ibrenda's an American
citizen for God's sake, and so are her parents! i Looking hurt and
defeated, Emma turned away from the table and stalked into her bedroom.
Annoyed and frustrated, he tried to cram the sandwich and milk into his
churning stomach, gave up after a few bites, climbed into his car and
headed into town. Later, as he drove into the downtown area, he could
hear the siren from atop the California Raisin building, the signal that
something special was going on. He turned north on Van Ness and looking
ahead to the Fresno Street intersection, could see that it was blocked
by a crowd of people and motor cars. He pulled into a parking place and
joined the cheering throng just in time to see two police officers
sitting proudly on their new Indian Powertwin motorcycles and slowly
sweeping back and

forth to clear traffic along Fresno Street. Next came a big Packard open
touring car bearing newly elected Mayor William Toomey and other city
officials. Then came the Fresno High School marching band, resplendent
in its blue and gold uniforms. They were followed by the city's own
Company K of the California National Guard, some sixty members strong in
their new khaki uniforms and broad-brimmed campaign hats, and led by
their young lieutenant.

Cheered on by young women waving and blowing kisses from curbside, the
guardsmen were marching proudly, chests out, chins jutted forward, eyes
straight ahead. This was in marked contrast to a year earlier when they
had returned demoralized from the ignominious and fruitless Mexican
campaign to capture Pancho Villa. But this time would be different; now
their country was calling them up to fight in a 'real war'.

Thomas turned to a stranger standing beside him, iwhat's happening?

Company K's heading for the train station ... shipping 'em out to the
training center.

The soldiers were followed by an unruly crowd of several hundred
revelers, mostly men. Some were trying to march in step with the music,
others were just strolling along, many waving small American flags. Most
had removed their hats and coats and were yelling and shouting slogans
like ikill the Kaiser, i ihang the Hun, i or idown with Germany. In
their midst, a big red streetcar was struggling to inch its way eastward
along the street.

Suddenly the mob turned on the temerarious intruder and started banging
on its sides and shouting obscenities at the hapless motorman. Then
someone pulled down the tie line for the overhead trolley and cut it,
leaving the trolley pole swinging in the air like a leafless sapling.
The powerless streetcar now resembled a beached whale surrounded by the
laughing, taunting crowd. Resignedly, the motorman slouched in his seat,
arms across his chest. His passengers filed out to join the crowd.

Thomas smiled bemusedly at the proceedings and, suddenly recalling his
date with Brenda, ran back to his car. He executed a U-turn and circled
around the crowded downtown area, finally reaching her boarding house
almost an hour late. He fidgeted anxiously as the smiling landlady
welcomed him into the parlor then summoned Brenda, who appeared shortly,
skipping down the stairs in a bright spring frock, her wavy brown hair
partly hidden by a large straw hat. To his relief, she made no reference
to his tardiness. She waved with a cheerful 'Good Afternoon',
disappeared into the kitchen, and quickly returned with the picnic
basket she had promised to prepare. Nervously, he took her arm, hung the
basket over his other arm and escorted her to the automobile.

They drove south on Van Ness to Olive and east to Zapp's at the corner
of Blackstone Avenue where a large crowd already had gathered. Opened in
1907, the twenty-acre park had become one of Fresno's favorite
recreation centers. It featured a roller coaster, Ferris wheel,
merry-go-round, a bowling alley and boating lagoon, plus a zoo and
picnic area. Today's opening of the new swimming pool was being
celebrated with a huge barbecue.

Thomas found a parking place, and the two of them joined the crowd
heading for the gate. He paid their twenty five cent entry fees then
searched around the picnic area until they found Jack and his
girlfriend. The foursome settled down in a shady spot and spread a quilt
and their picnic baskets. Thomas could hardly wait for the introductions
and social pleasantries before taking Brenda by the arm and steering her
toward the dressing rooms.

Once they had changed into their bathing suits, he dove in and swam a
few strong laps, relishing the cool water and an activity at which he
was very good. Finally tiring of weaving and dodging between all the
screaming, splashing children, he eased up to Brenda, who was sitting on
the edge soaking up the sun. iyou sure look great in that bathing suit,
i he said.

You're so flattering. Where'd you learn to swim so well? i iback where I
grew up in Michigan. Had lots of lakes and ponds there. Aren't you
coming in?

I don't know how to swim.

Come on, I'll show you.

He coaxed her into the pool and while she held onto the side, showed her
how to kick. Then after further persuasion he held her around her
slender waist so she could try paddling with her arms.

After a few minutes, she tired of the lesson and they stood in the
waist-high water chatting. Impulsively he placed his hands on her hips
and pulled her close.

Oh, Thomas, you shouldn't do that!

Why ... doesn't it feel good?

But in public ... people are watching!

So let 'em. Suddenly feeling very brave, he thought of kissing her on
the forehead, then decided against it. Holding her firm, full body close
was causing him to become very aroused and he remembered that all he had
on was a wool bathing suit that when wet, showed all the contours and
protrusions of his private parts. He suddenly sensed that indeed,
everyone was watching.

His brief moment of pleasure was interrupted by a familiar voice
shouting, ihi Thomas! i It was his sister.

Hi Becky, what a surprise. What are you doing here?

I came with some friends from school. We wanted to try the new pool.

He noticed Becky and Brenda eyeing each other and made the
introductions, after which his sister invited them over to meet her
friends.

Thomas swam a few more laps, primarily to cool down his ardor, before he
and Brenda strolled over to Becky. She introduced them to three
girlfriends seated around a picnic blanket and to an older man in a
bathing suit, who was standing a little to one side.

This is Professor von Karman from our school. He's our history teacher.

Thomas and Brenda acknowledged the girls, and he stepped around the
group to shake hands with von Karman as one of the girls added, The also
teaches men's gymnastics. Thomas smiled but made no comment as he felt
the firm handshake and noted the muscular chest, shoulders and arms.

As the group exchanged pleasantries and dug hungrily into the barbecued
ribs provided by Zapps and opened their individual picnic baskets, the
professor turned to Brenda.

Haven't we met before? i Brenda looked puzzled for a moment before
responding, ioh, now I remember ... at my parents' house several months
ago. iiyou know the professor? i Thomas asked, feeling a twinge of
jealousy that she might have associated with another man, particularly
an older one.

He's a friend of my parents, i she replied disinterestedly.

Thomas and Brenda left Becky's group to find Jack and his girlfriend and
enjoy their own picnic. Later as they were finishing and getting ready
to join the long lines waiting for the various rides, they were
distracted by someone shouting from the top of the ten-foot high wooden
diving platform. A large crowd was gathering around the base.

Thomas stood up for a better look across the broad picnic area, then
took Brenda's hand. ilet's go see what's happening.

As they drew closer, Thomas moaned, ioh, my God!

What's the matter?

That's my brother!

Who?

My older brother, Patrick. I can't believe ... They were close enough
now to hear that Patrick was trying to make a speech against the
'Capitalist's War' and urging all men to resist the draft and refuse to
buy Liberty Bonds because that would just put more money in the pockets
of the Wall Street bankers. He didn't appear to be alone because a fight
was erupting at the base of the platform between those trying to climb
up it and several muscular men resisting.

Thomas and his companions stood by dumbfounded as the screaming, surging
crowd began to get the upper hand and two men started climbing the
platform. When they reached the top, Patrick turned to defend himself,
but was finally overpowered, and he and the others tumbled into the pool
with a mighty splash. As they struggled to the surface in a tangle of
flailing arms and legs, several others jumped in from the sides and
started pummeling Patrick and pushing him under the water.

Thomas, remembering that his brother couldn't swim, ran to the edge and
dove in. As he punched and kicked at the attackers, he turned to see
that Jack was beside him. They finally got their arms around Patrick,
wild-eyed and gasping for breath, and pulled him to the opposite side of
the pool. They were saved from further attack by the arrival of the
police.

For a moment, Thomas was too embarrassed and annoyed to say anything.
Then, catching his breath, he asked, iwhat the hell you trying to do,
get yourself killed? i Patrick, his chest still heaving, responded with
a weak grin, ican't let the damn capitalists get the best of us, Tommy
boy.

Next time maybe you better pick a better spot, since you can't swim.

His brother grinned back and was still smiling as two policemen lifted
him to his feet and dragged him off to join several others in a waiting
paddy wagon. Thomas stood up and extended a hand to Jack, ithanks for
your help.

You're welcome. But one thing worries me.

What's that?

If we keep getting into these brawls, we might not live long enough to
fight the Germans! i Thomas put an arm around his grinning friend's
shoulder and they returned to their worried girlfriends.

Later, as the sun was giving way to a cooling evening breeze, Thomas
drove Brenda back to her boarding house. He escorted her to the door and
reached out uncertainly with a modest handshake. She responded by
squeezing his hand, kissing him on the cheek and thanking him for a
wonderful afternoon. The softness and warmth of her lips and the
sweetness of her perfume left him breathless. He returned to his car and
drove dizzily to his boarding house where he spent the rest of the
evening packing his belongings for his move back to the farm and
consoling a tearful Mrs. Olson. He went to bed early and, lost in serene
memories of his afternoon and tired from the swimming and the morning of
work on the farmhouse, he slept blissfully.

The next morning, after breakfast and more tears from his landlady,
Thomas climbed into his motor car and headed south on Fulton Street. As
he motored through town, quiet except for well-dressed couples and
families on their way to Sunday church. He couldn't help but feel a bit
of civic pride as he continued past where workmen had been installing
the new electric streetlights that eventually would continue for another
seven blocks, all the way to Los Angeles Street.

This project would extend the electroliers throughout much of Fresno's
growing business district and was of particular interest to Thomas
because of the support his boss and other businessmen had given through
the Chamber of Commerce. He also felt a sense of pride in the city's
other signs of keeping up with modern developments. Over eighteen
thousand telephones now were in use in the area, motor cars were almost
as prevalent as horses and buggies, and the Postal Service recently had
changed from horses to automobiles for its rural deliveries. In August
the fire department would be replacing its horse-drawn equipment with
the latest gasoline-powered Kissel Kar chemical engines. Most of the
central business streets were paved, and the electric railway extended
from downtown east to the Sunnyside residential district and all the way
north to the San Joaquin River.

But as he turned east toward the farm, feelings of frustration and
emptiness descended on him. The feelings had hit him increasingly in
recent weeks as it became obvious the United States would be drawn into
that ugly war in Europe. Now the country actually was in that war, and
he felt that his future was clouded even further.

Chapter 6.

It had been over two weeks since Alexander's death and Patrick had been
giving out signals that he was again becoming restless. He had spent a
couple nights in jail because of the fracas he had started at Zapp's
Park, and had gotten out by paying a hundred dollar fine.

For Thomas, his brother's presence had been uncomfortable because it
reminded him of the years they had lived together at the farm, sharing
the small bunkhouse. During the final year or so, they had had several
arguments, one of which ended in a fist fight that their father had to
break up. The older brother had increased the discomfort level with the
annoying habit of going into town after work then returning drunk in the
early hours to awaken Thomas and brag about his latest female conquest.

Several times during that period, he had brought men friends back to the
bunkhouse for more drinking, laughing and boasting about their sexual
prowess. These occasions usually ended in peeing contests in which they
would see who could squirt his urine the greatest distance. Patrick
always won, shooting his stream some ten to fifteen feet in a beautiful
golden arch and usually hitting some hapless chicken.

Thomas never could master the technique of building pressure in his
bladder while pinching his penis between thumb and forefinger, then
letting go at precisely the right moment.

His production never dribbled more than three or four feet, much to his
embarrassment. This always elicited gales of falling-down

laughter from Patrick and his friends and earned Thomas the sobriquet of
'Little Pisser'.

Thus, Thomas was somewhat relieved over his brother's signals of
restlessness. The hell-raising trips into town no longer bothered the
younger brother, but Patrick's attempts to help with the remodeling had
been a problem. Since they had seldom worked well together, such spells
of helpfulness generally erupted in an argument over how the work was to
be done and ended with Patrick storming off to sulk under a tree or
heading for town and his favorite saloon. The one chore he did complete,
for Thomas' eternal gratefulness, was to find a buyer for the family
horse and buggy and cow, adding three hundred dollars to the family's
meager funds.

On the morning of Patrick's departure, Thomas had agreed to drive him
into Fresno for lunch before taking him to the Southern Pacific depot to
board the afternoon train. Emma had decided to bid her oldest son
farewell at the house and hide her tears in the bedroom. Becky, eager
not to miss any more of her classes, had offered her goodbye over Sunday
dinner and returned to her boardinghouse in town.

Thomas was dressed in his banker's suit and tie because he planned to
attend a meeting of the Raisin Day Committee that afternoon and take
Brenda to dinner in the evening. Patrick had on slacks and shirt and a
leather jacket, and was carrying his old canvas valise.

Other than a little idle chitchat, the brothers were quiet during the
drive into town. As Thomas pulled into the downtown area, he slowed his
car and concentrated on the heavier city traffic. He turned north on
Fulton, paused for people boarding a streetcar, then continued on,
searching for a parking space. He eased into a spot on Mariposa Street
and cut the engine. They stepped onto the sidewalk and started strolling
toward Court House Park.

So you're going to be trying some copper mining? i Thomas ventured,
breaking their silence.

Yeah, word's out they're hirin' in Arizona. Seems they have a big war
contract, so there should be some pretty good pay.

ihad any experience in mining?

Nope, but it can't be any tougher than lumberin'.

As they approached the park, they noticed a large gathering of people
blocking the intersection and listening to a speaker standing on the
raised edge of a decorative fountain. The crowd appeared to be made up
primarily of working people, farmers and laborers, with a mixture of
lunchtime businessmen and women milling around the periphery.

My God, that's Frank Little! i Patrick exclaimed.

Who?

Frank Little. He's one of the leaders of the Wobblies. Man he's one
tough Indian. Wait here a minute, I'm going' up to speak to him.

Patrick started pushing his way through the crowd while his brother
stepped to one side. Thomas could follow his brother's head as he moved
through the throng to the edge of the fountain.

In a moment, he could see the speaker stop and lean down to shake hands
and converse with Patrick, who then jumped up on the fountain. The
speaker shouted something to the crowd, and Patrick raised his hands
like an orchestra leader and started leading them in a song. Thomas,
feeling embarrassed, glanced around to make sure none of his friends
were in the area. The song was sung to the tune of ii Didn't Raise My
Boy to Be A Soldier.

The fields and jungles are full of slaves They are waiting to be put
wise And one Big Union is the way That all the workers should organize
Line them all up solid, union makes us strong And better hours and wages
is our song.

When the song was finished, the crowd clapped and cheered.

Patrick waved, jumped down and made his way back to his brother. He
spoke excitedly. ithat sure was a lucky break. I haven't seen Frank
since Seattle. He told me things is different from the last time he was
here.

When was that? i Thomas asked.

Back in 1910-11, 'bout the time we moved here.

The used to live in Fresno?

Yeah, moved here after he got busted up in that damn Copper Queen mine
in Arizona. Still has a married brother around here somewhere.

The crowd was breaking up and the brothers turned and started making
their way south along Van Ness. Patrick continued, iback then, Frank was
helping organize local farm workers and leading the free speech fights.
The police put him in jail for reading the Declaration of Independence
from a soapbox. Jesus, can you imagine anything so stupid?

Sounds pretty dumb, i Thomas responded. iguess that's one reason we're
going to war, to save our freedoms.

That's bullshit, Little Brother. Us working stiffs are going to be
fightin' so the capitalists of the world can get richer.

Well, who are the Wobblies? Seems like I heard they're a bunch of
socialists or communists. You involved with them?

We're not commies, least wise I'm not. I'm what they call a job
delegate.

They turned the corner at Tulare and walked past the Post Office to
Fulton Street. Thomas paused to admire the new ten- story Bank of Italy
building nearing completion. It was Fresno's first skyscraper since the
Griffith-Mckenzie Building had been completed a few years earlier and
had attracted a good deal of favorable speculation about the city's
future.

Thomas chuckled, isure a good looking building. No wonder it makes my
boss nervous.

Why's that?

Competition. Owners of this bank are headquartered in San Francisco and
have lots of money.

Hell, they're all rich, Tommy. Gettin' rich off the war and little guys
like you and me.

Thomas didn't respond. They waited on the curb as a streetcar negotiated
the turn from Fulton west toward the Southern Pacific depot, then
continued walking toward I Street and the Oyster Grotto and Chop House.

When they were seated, Thomas ordered a pork chop and fried potatoes.
Patrick ordered the same plus a half dozen oysters, after the waitress
assured him they had arrived on the morning train from San Francisco. As
the buxom, slightly chubby waitress turned to leave the table, Patrick
called her back. igot any nice cold Cerveza, bonita mia? i he asked,
patting her on the fanny.

Si, Senor, i she smiled, picking up on his bit of Spanish.

Want one, Little Brother?

They won't sell me one ... still too young.

Bullshit. Bring two, Senorita.

Thomas was embarrassed over his brother's flirting with the waitress,
who by his standards was overweight and not attractive enough to warrant
such attention. The envy that he used to feel in his early teens of
Patrick's apparent ability to charm and conquer almost any female had
turned to disgust as he later learned how unparticular he could be. He
felt certain that most of the women Patrick had bragged about were old
whores.

In a few minutes, the waitress returned with the beers and oysters.
ineed these to keep up my strength for the ladies, i Patrick commented
as he selected one and slurped it down.

Thomas ignored his brother, took a swig of the cold beer, and returned
to their earlier conversation. iso, if the Wobblies aren't commies, what
are they? i Patrick explained that the Industrial Workers of the World,
commonly known as the Wobblies, had been formed some ten years earlier
to fight the growth of capitalist power. They were striving to establish
an industrial democracy in which workers would own the tools of
production.

We've got over sixty thousand dues-paying members in minin', lumberin',
textiles ... even longshoremen and harvest workers, i Patrick continued.
ithat's my job as a delegate, to sign up new members, collect dues and
settle job disputes.

Thomas took another swallow of beer. iharvest workers?

Yep, that's what the meetin' in the park was about. In fact that's how
the job delegate system got started, signin' up farm workers.

iso when I get ready to hire pickers for my grapes this summer I'll
probably have to pay them more money, all because of my big brother and
his Wobblie friends? i Thomas asked.

Looks that way, don't it? But what the hell, you'll be getting' a lot
higher price because of the war, so why not share some with the poor
workers?

Just so I get to keep enough for my hard work and pay off our bank loan.

Patrick had finished his oysters and tipped the bottle up to his mouth
for a long drink of beer. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve he replied,
iwell, like I said, Little Brother, us workers are just asking for a
fair share. We believe the capitalist exploiters should spend some of
their profits on more wages, shorter hours, better housing and safety
... things like that.

The waitress delivered their chops and Patrick ordered another beer.
They fell silent for a few minutes as they tackled their food, then
Thomas spoke. iseems like I've seen a few articles in the Republican
about the Wobblies. Don't I recall something about strikes and workers
getting killed or having their heads bashed in?

Yeah, that's us, but not me. I been in a few fights with scabs and them
goons the owners bring in to break up the strikes. But I ain't been hurt
bad.

Thomas, feeling agitated, cut into his chop and asked, iwhat the hell
you trying to accomplish anyway, striking and causing trouble when
there's a war on. Don't you realize we all gotta' help fight the
Germans? i Patrick tensed up and raised his voice, i and us workin'
stiffs will be doin' the fightin'. The damned capitalists will just sit
at home and make millions. If we put all the manufacturin' tools in the
hands of the workers, I'll bet the goddamn war would stop in a hurry! i
Thomas took a swallow of beer and pressed on. iwell, it sounds pretty
radical to me. Seems like the Wobblies are heading for trouble with the
government. It's one thing to strike in normal times, but when there's a
war on we're all supposed to ...

Patrick, poking the air with his empty fork, cut him off. ii bet you'd
feel different, Tommy, if you'd ever seen what workin' conditions was
like in one of them lumber mills up north.

Maybe. Thomas stuffed a slice of fried potatoes in his mouth and chewed
morosely.

Patrick stared out the window for a few moments, then spoke wistfully,
ithat farm house of the folks is a palace compared to them lumber camps.
The bunkhouse I lived in was like a cattle pen. About a hundred of us
packed into one long room and only one stove at either end. My bunk was
in the middle so I damn near froze all winter.

Thomas chewed on a piece of chop as his brother continued, ithere was no
place to take a bath and there was lice in everything. And the food,
Jesus ... pancakes, stew or beans.

When we got meat it usually was rotten.

Why the hell did you work there? i Patrick took another bite of chop and
washed it down with a couple gulps of beer before replying, icause they
paid better'n any place else, up to $4.50 a day. Trouble was, they
deducted $1.25 a day for room and board and another $1.50 a month for a
medical fee.

At least they provided medical care?

Shit no. That was our biggest gripe of all, no medical facilities in
camp. Some idiot pretending to be a doctor didn't even know how to stop
the bleedin' when one of our guys got a couple fingers cut off. Turned
out that so-called sawbones was a fake hired by the company.

Thomas, realizing his brother again was getting agitated, concentrated
on the last of his chop and beer. When he finished, he ventured another
question, iso now you're going to try mining. Why don't you stay here
and work the farm. We can't afford to pay you $4.50 a day, but at least
it would be a hell of a lot healthier.

Hell, Tommy, you know I ain't cut out to be no farmer.

Can't stand to be tied down for one thing. No, I'm ready to hit the
road.

Thomas wondered out loud if it was getting close to train time, then
grimaced as his brother pulled out their father's gold watch. But he
noticed he wasn't wearing the ring. iwhere's Father's ring? i he asked,
striving to control his frustration.

Er ... I ... it's in my valise, i Patrick answered, appearing flustered.
isafer there, i he added with a grin as he finished the last of his
beer.

Thomas suspected his brother was lying, but could only comment, ii hope
you'll take good care of it, and the watch.

Patrick looked perplexed for a moment, then replied, still grinning,
ioh, sure, Little Brother. Don't worry, I won't let some old whore get
her hands on 'em. Unless I'm out of money, of course! i Thomas held back
his rising frustration and anger, as he stood up and paid the bill. They
left the restaurant and walked over to the train depot.

In a few minutes, the southbound train rolled into the station. As
passengers disembarked and others crowded forward to board, Patrick
turned to bid his brother goodbye. As they shook hands, he slipped a
crumpled fifty-dollar bill into Thomas' hand. i just want you to know how
glad I am you're taking over the farm, Little Brother. Mom appreciates
it too and so would Pop.

Thomas was surprised. ithank you, Patrick. This sure will help.

Sorry it couldn't be more, but that damn judge got most of my money last
week. And you know how it is ... gotta' keep a few bucks in case some
good-looking broad comes along! i He turned and strode toward the train,
flinging back a casual wave as he stepped aboard.

So long, i Thomas called out. itake care and drop us a note sometime.

He turned and walked over to the Chamber of Commerce building across
from the station for his meeting with the Raisin Day planning committee.
This event had originated in Fresno in 1909 to promote the farm crop
that was becoming increasingly important to the whole central San
Joaquin Valley. Concerted promotion on the part of the California
Associated Raisin

Growers had helped to create an increasing demand for raisins and table
grapes, particularly among consumers in the Eastern and Midwestern
United States. The California Railway Exposition, featuring exhibits of
vineyards, Yosemite National Park, the Merced Caves, Big Tree Groves and
other attractions set up in railway cars and hosted by local beauty
queens, had attracted over 300,000 visitors when it toured the country
the previous fall.

The 1917 Raisin Day celebration, scheduled for April 30, would include
band concerts, musical recitals, a pageant at the fairgrounds with 150
school girls and a huge fireworks display, a grand ball at the
auditorium, and the largest parade in the event's history. There were to
be ten divisions with floats, decorated motor cars, and three local
bands, plus eight others from surrounding communities. All of the street
electroliers in the business district were to be decorated as well as
the ten blocks of Tulare Street from the Southern Pacific to Santa Fe
depots. In an earlier meeting, the Finance Committee on which Thomas was
serving had budgeted a record thirteen hundred dollars just for street
decorations.

Now in this Monday afternoon meeting, a moment of doubt came up when
someone asked if the committee should cut back on its planning because
of the war. Doubt was quickly dispelled when Thomas, remembering the
concern expressed earlier in his meeting with Emmett Johnson, pointed
out that the event would help promote the government's appeal for the
country to raise more food for the war.

As the committee deliberated over the numerous details that remained to
be finalized, Thomas' mind drifted forward to his evening date with
Brenda. He had arranged for it by phoning her Sunday, the day after
their visit to Zapp's Park. She had demurred at first but relented when
he advised that Rags, a new moving picture with Mary Pickford, was
showing at the Kinema.

When the Raisin Committee meeting finally broke up around six o'clock
and he drove up to her boarding house, he found her waiting in the
parlor, plainly upset over his tardiness.

He explained about the meeting and apologized. He complimented her on
the new ankle-length skirt, white blouse and cardigan sweater she was
wearing. He even thought about kissing her hand like he had seen Francis
X. Bushman do in the movies, but felt uncomfortable even thinking about
it.

Brenda got over her pique during dinner and the subsequent movie.
Sitting next to her in the dark theatre, close enough to feel the warmth
of her body and inhale the perfume that stimulated the tingling
sensation between his legs, Thomas had trouble concentrating on the
story of a poor little girl who became a society belle. Also, his mind
kept drifting ahead to the plans he was formulating for the balance of
the evening.

It was 10:30 when they exited the theatre and he realized that Brenda
had been crying. iwhat's the matter? i he asked.

Oh, that poor little urchin. I felt so sorry for her.

What ... oh, you mean the movie?

Uh huh. She pulled a hanky from her purse and dabbed her eyes and blew
her nose. iit sure made me happy to see her beat up those kids teasing
her dog.

Um, yeah. The movie was starting to come back to Thomas. ihow about when
she went in the saloon and beat up those bums and wrecked the place ...
did you like that part too?

Yes. Sort of like Carrie Nation.

They had reached his car and Thomas worked up his nerve to ask, iwould
you like to go for a root beer and a drive?

Where?

The moon is almost full tonight ... You thinking of Roeding Park?

No, no. I've got a special place picked out where we can really see the
moon.

Brenda hesitated before giving a tentative agreement.

Remember, I have to be back at the boarding house before midnight. They
motored over to the Hire's root beer stand and when they finished, he
started the car and pointed it south toward Tulare Street where he
turned west and bumped across the Southern Pacific tracks.

Thomas, where are we going? i she asked, a touch of apprehension in her
voice.

iyou'll see. I've got a special spot to show you.

But you're driving through Chinatown at night. Isn't that dangerous?

Don't be silly. No one will bother us.

She sat quietly as they passed along the dark streets, reacting
anxiously to the strange sounds and smells wafting out from the Chinese
joss houses and other odd little buildings, and the occasional ribbons
of light peeking out from drawn curtains of simple frame houses.

Aren't there Negroes living out here too?

Don't worry, they're probably all in bed by now.

She hunkered down in the seat and stared straight ahead as he drove on
for about a mile, then steered onto Church Road where it wound alongside
a large irrigation canal. After a short distance, he turned abruptly and
stopped in the middle of a rickety wooden bridge spanning the canal,
which was full of slow-moving water.

Now isn't that beautiful? i he asked, pointing out the right side of the
car and putting his arm across her shoulder.

Hesitantly she glanced out the side then gasped as she caught the
reflection of a full moon illuminating the deep water flowing ominously
toward them and under the bridge, and the dark, muscular shoulders of
dirt struggling to hold it in place.

But she was too nervous to enjoy the view. She could feel the car quiver
from the vibration of the bridge being pounded by the water.

Thomas, can't we get off this bridge? i He patted her shoulder
soothingly, eased the car forward onto a dirt road, pointed it back in
an easterly direction adjacent to a large almond orchard, and cut the
engine. He took a deep breath, iah, just smell those blossoms. Isn't
this a romantic spot? i Gradually, she began to relax as he put his arm
around her and kissed her, first lightly on the cheek then more firmly
on her upturned mouth. She began to return his petting with her own
moist, soft kisses and stroked his thighs and stomach. Her warm

response, on top of the anticipation he had built up over the past few
days, so aroused him that he felt like he would explode.

Reacting to her favorable response and his own rising passion, he laid
his hand on her knees and struggled to push up her long skirt so he
could move his hand between her warm thighs. He kissed her neck and the
soft concave of her throat.

Eagerly he whispered, ii'd sure like to make love to you, Brenda.

She drew her head back and opened her eyes, iwhat?

Make love. Wouldn't you like ... Isn't that what we're doing?

Yes, but if we had more room ... But where? i She looked around
quizzically, apprehensively.

There, in the orchard.

In the dirt?

No, no. I brought a blanket and pillow. He opened his door, peeled off
his suit coat and tossed it on the seat. He rummaged behind the seat and
pulled out a blanket and pillow and in a flash, was opening her door.

But Thomas, i she protested, ithere are animals out there!

Oh nonsense ... nothing but a little rab ... And snakes!

Here, I'll show you. He stepped away from the car a few feet into the
dark orchard, then exclaimed, ioh shit!

What's the matter? i He came back to the car, clumping his feet on the
ground.

Mud, dammit, all over my good shoes, clear up to my ankles.

Jesus what a mess!

Thomas, I want to go home! i she wailed.

But Brenda ... I want to go home right now! i She pushed her skirt back
down over her knees, straightened her blouse and pulled her sweater more
tightly around her shoulders.

Heaving a sigh of resignation, he stalked to the front of the car and
turned the crank. Nothing happened. He gave it another mighty turn. The
engine coughed once, but didn't start.

Swearing under his breath, he tried a third time. The crank snapped back
giving his wrist a painful twist.

Thomas, stop fooling around. I want to go home! i He backed away to give
the car a kick then remembered. He stomped around to the driver's side,
reached in and set the spark and throttle. The engine only coughed and
sputtered and still wouldn't respond to his cranking and swearing. He
stopped and took a deep breath, trying to control his anger. Brenda
started crying.

Finally, he went to the tool box at the back and pulled out a small
bottle of sulfuric ether, lifted the hood over the engine, and with a
medicine dropper inserted a few drops of the liquid directly into the
carburetor. When he turned the crank again, the engine exploded to life
with a tremendous popping roar. Brenda screamed and covered her face.
Thomas slammed the hood down, climbed in behind the wheel, backed away
from the orchard, eased across the bridge, and headed back to town at a
steady thirty miles per hour. The two lovers, lost in their individual
embarrassment and frustration, were silent during the entire ride. They
parted at her boarding house with only perfunctory good-byes.

It now was nearly midnight as Thomas drove through town, the streets
empty except for a single streetcar. Its few occupants, looking so alone
silhouetted against the interior light, reflected the despair gnawing at
the pit of his stomach. At Tulare, he turned east toward the farm. As he
proceeded further into the darkness and waning moonlight that had
settled over the quiet farmland, he suddenly became aware of an ominous
yellow glow above the tree line in the distance. Snapping out of his
lingering self-absorption, he exclaimed out loud, imy God, that looks
like a fire! i He accelerated the car as a frightening chill shook his
whole body. He still vividly remembered the terrible night back in
Michigan when a farmhouse fire took the lives of a neighbor family. He
didn't need to be reminded that fire was one of the most dreaded of farm
catastrophes.

His first reaction was that the fire was at his mother's place, but as
he sped closer he could see more clearly that it was further in the
distance, undoubtedly the Maloney's two-story house. Above the vineyard
line and in between trees, flames were clearly visible spouting from the
upper floor.

As he sped past his own driveway for another half-mile and skidded to a
stop in the Maloney yard, he could see the shadowy outline of three
individuals against the day-like brightness of the roaring, snapping
fire. The upper floor was completely engulfed and flames were stabbing
through broken windows of the ground floor. ioh Thomas, i Vivian cried
as she and the two children ran to him. imichael went back to get the
dog and hasn't come out! i He jumped from his car and ran to the open
front door of the house. Flames lashed out and singed his eyebrows and
forearms as he peered inside. He could barely see a prone figure on the
floor near the base of the stairs.

He quickly dropped to his knees and, holding one hand up to shield his
eyes, crawled and groped his way forward. He found Michael's body,
grabbed both ankles and dragged him back toward the open door, down the
porch steps and into the yard.

Get some water! i he yelled breathlessly.

In a moment, Vivian was back with a bucket of cold water.

Thomas dumped it on Michael's still face, causing him to jump and stir
into consciousness as Vivian dropped down sobbing on her knees beside
him.

Looks like he's going to be OK, i Thomas said, helping Michael sit up
and take some deep breaths.

Never saw no dog, i Michael gasped, his chest heaving and gulping for
air while Vivian poured more water over his singed hair and forearms.
iguess he got out earlier or got trapped upstairs. Sorry kids.

Thomas sat down in the dirt and splashed cold water on his singed face
and arms. Then he absently surveyed the tattered and burned remains of
his shirt and the pants from his best suit.

Vivian and the children gathered around Michael to console him as they
sat and stared at the ghostly charred skeleton of their

home, now completely engulfed in flames. The clanging bell and pounding
hooves of a horse-drawn fire truck could be heard approaching from the
distance.

As the firemen arrived and began pumping water to control the remaining
blaze, Michael began sobbing. imy God, everything we own is in there ...
everything. I got nothing but these half-burned clothes on my back!

Yes dear, but the four of us are safe, i his wife responded soothingly.

And you've still got neighbors, i Thomas interjected.

Come on, let's go to our place. Can't do any more good here.

Thomas returned to his car and with the Maloneys following in their
truck, headed for the O'Roark farm. After awakening Emma, who served hot
chocolate all around, the weary Maloneys crawled into bed, Michael and
Vivian in Thomas' bedroom, the children in Emma's.

I've always wanted to try sleeping on this sofa, i Emma said. iit was
Papa's favorite spot.

Wordlessly, Thomas wadded up his coat for a pillow, rolled up in a
blanket and fell asleep on the floor.

Chapter 7.

When Thomas awoke the morning after the Maloney fire, he ached all over.
He had a headache, his back hurt from sleeping on the hard floor, and
his face and forearms felt hot and raw from his close encounter with the
flames.

As he sat up and struggled to awaken completely, he realized that his
heart ached too. His conscience was telling him that he had made a mess
of his evening with Brenda. At one moment he was angry and frustrated
that his lovemaking had not worked out as planned; the next he was
embarrassed over how clumsy he had been and the thought of facing her
again.

He rose gingerly to his feet, pulled on his robe, picked up the smoky,
tattered shirt and pants he had hung over a kitchen chair and tiptoed
into the bathroom. He was trying to not disturb his mother still
sleeping on the sofa and the Maloneys occupying the two bedrooms. As he
emptied his bladder, he couldn't help but revel in a feeling of pride.
He had finished the new bathroom just before the weekend and the shiny
flush toilet, porcelain wash basin and bathtub gave tangible tribute to
his hard work. And no more stumbling through the cold or rain or dark to
the old outhouse.

He pulled the chain and watched the water sluice into the bowl, then
stepped over to the basin and surveyed his fire- reddened face in the
mirror. He turned the faucets and in a few moments, hot water flowed in
from the new water heater he had

installed in the kitchen. Unfortunately, he found he couldn't fully
appreciate this modern convenience because it hurt his arms and face too
much. He gingerly toweled off the water, dabbed some petrolatum on the
burned areas, and combed his hair. Finally, he surveyed his clothing,
still smelling of smoke, and decided to relegate the shirt to the
ragbag. The pants he would take into town to see if a tailor could make
them wearable.

He went to the kitchen to brew up some coffee and, when he glanced at
the wall calendar, realized he had a problem. The Raisin Day festivities
were coming up the following weekend and he had promised to take Brenda
to the Sunday afternoon band concert in Court House Park and the Grand
Ball Monday night. Sunday would be a particularly festive day because
the Pacific Electric Railway Band from Los Angeles, one of the largest
on the West Coast, would be playing. That evening there would be another
concert in the Civic Auditorium featuring an organist and soprano from
San Francisco, plus a number of smaller bands from communities around
Fresno, which also would be marching in the Monday parade.

As he hovered over his coffee, trying to determine the best way to
reestablish his relationship with Brenda, his mother woke up and the
Maloney children stumbled sleepily from the bedroom. Thomas decided to
busy himself preparing breakfast, primarily to forestall the questions
he anticipated would be forthcoming from Emma about his late evening.
Michael and Vivian, summoned out of bed by chattering children and the
irresistible odors of breakfast, soon joined them. The smell of smoke
from the fire still clung to them, and Michael looked like a fuzzy beet
with his reddened face and singed hair and eyebrows.

While Thomas was cooking and serving and subconsciously worrying about
how long he and Emma would have to accommodate the Maloneys, he began to
recognize they might be a blessing in disguise. For here was Michael
ignoring his pain and volunteering to help with the rest of the
remodeling project and Vivian prodding Emma to let her pitch in with her
chores. Thomas suggested that Michael and the boys could tear down the
old outhouse and Vivian could help Emma get her vegetable garden ready
for spring planting. He even insisted on doing the dishes to expedite
everyone's move out of the house, and immediately after their departure,
started turning the crank on the new telephone.

He soon found that reconciliation with Brenda would not be easy. She had
responded when summoned to her boarding house phone, but then promptly
hung up when she heard his voice. He next ordered a bouquet of flowers
to be delivered to her along with a note of apology. Still no response.

Later in the week he decided to take a more direct approach and drove
into town to try to meet with her in person. But she refused to see him,
instead sending word out to please leave her alone, she had another date
for the Raisin Day concert and ball.

When it finally dawned on him that he would have to face the weekend
without her, he compensated by plunging morosely into the last of his
remodeling.

By Monday Thomas was feeling less sorry for himself. He dressed in
casual slacks, corduroy jacket and open-neck shirt and drove into town
to watch the parade he had worked so hard on.

But as he waded through the throngs of happy, milling people and
approached the Fulton Street reviewing stand, he became uncomfortable.
It seemed that everyone was looking at his fire- reddened face. He
decided not to sit in the area of the reviewing stand reserved for
Raisin Day Committee members and city dignitaries, instead crowding in
among all the others.

But as the parade began wending its way down the street, his discomfort
was lessened by a strong sense of pride and accomplishment. It soon
became obvious that the affair would be one of most festive in the
history of the Raisin Day celebration. The city was expecting a record
of over 100,000 visitors, aided in part by booster trains from
throughout the valley and from as far away as Monterey, Los Angeles and
San Francisco. Large welcoming archways, depicting raisins and the
cornucopia of other fruits and vegetables grown in the area, had been
constructed at either end of Fulton an dover the major cross-streets.
And the decorations on the electroliers along the parade route were
truly spectacular, easily justifying the record funds that Thomas had
helped to fight for in the Finance Committee.

The theme of this year's celebration was ithe Raisin-Power, Peace and
Prosperityi. The thirty-eight piece Pacific Electric Railway Band led
off and was joined by fifteen other bands scattered throughout the
length of the parade, including the Negro boys band from the Fink-Smith
Playground in west Fresno. The city's other playgrounds paraded by in
carts drawn by Shetland ponies. Eight of the bands were from surrounding
communities like Reedley, Caruthers, Los Banos and Porterville.

Local Army, Navy and Marine Corps recruiting stations had added their
own marching units. The Army also had a float displaying a huge cannon
and the Navy had one carrying a large- scale model of a battleship.

All together there were ten divisions, a record for the Raisin Day
Parade. These included twenty floats from various fraternal, civic and
business organizations and some forty decorated motor cars, led by the
one with Governor Stephens and Mayor Toomey, elected to office just
three weeks earlier.

The queen's float was followed by a melting pot float carrying
representatives of the many nationalities that had migrated to the
Fresno area.

After the parade had gone on for over an hour, it was nearing its climax
with a procession of decorated cars representing individual
organizations. The general revelry of the reviewing stand suddenly
became ominously quiet, then changed to sporadic booing and angry
shouting. Thomas stood up with others around him to see the source of
the commotion and quickly recognized that it was being directed at
Schiller, the German banker and his Stanley Steamer.

The booing and cat-calling intensified as Schiller steered his Steamer
past the reviewing stand, smiling and waving valiantly and trying to
ignore the hostile crowd. He was accompanied by a young woman, decked
out in a flowing spring dress and broad-

brimmed hat. Thomas caught his breath and felt a sudden flush of
embarrassment as he recognized Brenda.

Suddenly, a loud 'pop' emanated from the Steamer, which ground to a
halt, hissing and puffing. Those near the front of the crowd screamed
and ducked, and Schiller and Brenda scrambled from the vehicle. In a
moment, everyone had recovered from the initial shock and was laughing
and yelling as the befuddled banker tried fanning the car with his coat.
Brenda, looking like a scared rabbit caught in bright headlights,
glanced frantically in one direction then the other.

Thomas bolted from the stands, stumbling recklessly across the other
onlookers, down the aisle and into the street. He was oblivious to the
continuing jeers and laughter as he grabbed Brenda's hand and silently
guided her to one side and through an opening in the crowd, and down an
empty Mariposa Street toward the park. At the end of the block,
breathless from running, Brenda stopped to remove her hat, which had
been knocked askew, and turned toward him. Beads of sweat were rolling
down his still-pink face, causing her to look at him quizzically. She
opened her mouth to form a question, but was interrupted by the sound of
someone running up the street toward them.

Now what? i Thomas asked apprehensively as he turned to see two men
approaching.

Oh, that's my brothersi Thomas relaxed as the two reached them, the
older one putting his arm around her shoulder as the other eyed Thomas
suspiciously iyou OK, Sis? i the older one asked.

Yes, but I'm sure mad at Papa for making me ride with that darned old
Schiller. I've never been so embarrassed!

Who's this? i the younger brother asked, still eyeing Thomas.

Oh, he's just a friend. Thomas nodded and smiled, but waited in vain for
either to offer a hand or any mention of their names.

The older one spoke again, icome on, Brenda, we'll take you home.

The threesome turned and left without another word.

Dejected over Brenda's aloofness and disappointed that he hadn't had a
chance to tell her of his heroic rescue of Michael Maloney, Thomas
walked back to his car. He felt like returning to the farm but had
promised he would attend the afternoon pageant at the fairgrounds where
his sister would join 150 other young women in aesthetic dances
interpreting the Raisin Day theme of War and Peace. He felt a particular
obligation to support Becky since she had been practicing for a month
and since their mother had declined to attend, feeling it was not yet
appropriate for her to appear in public so soon after Alexander's death.

As Thomas motored up to the fairgrounds along Ventura Boulevard, he was
slowed by the throngs. He finally brought his car to a complete halt as
hundreds of children emptied out from the special Southern Pacific train
that had transported them from the downtown area. Eventually he was able
to cruise slowly around until he found a parking space and made his way
to the grandstand.

He arrived just as a large biwing aeroplane was circling the field and
in a few moments, it landed on the racetrack between the stage and
grandstand and discharged a handsome middle- aged woman. From his
earlier visit to the Normal School campus, Thomas recognized her as the
director of women's Physical Education.

He sat quietly during the hour-long pageant, his mind wandering back and
forth between the dancers and his problems with Brenda and the work that
needed to be done at the farm.

When the affair ended around five o'clock, he returned to his motorcar
and headed back to the farm. Since he no longer had a date, he had
earlier decided to not attend either of the band concerts or the grand
ball that night in the auditorium.

Upon his return, he found his mother and the Maloney family sitting
around the living room waiting for him. Smiling, Michael stepped forward
to shake his hand, then returned to the sofa beside his wife. Emma,
relaxing in Alexander's old rocking chair, spoke first, iwe just
finished supper. We were hoping you would be here in time to join us.

I went to the fairgrounds to see Becky dance. Anything left in the
icebox?

Apple pie, and some nice cold milk.

He opened the icebox door, pulled out the milk and pie, and served
himself at the kitchen table.

What's everyone been up to? i he asked between bites.

The Maloneys brought you a present, i Emma announced brightly. One of
the children jumped up from the floor, went to the bedroom and returned
with a large, flat cardboard box. He put it on the table in front of
Thomas.

What's this? i he asked suspiciously.

Open it and see, i his mother called out eagerly.

He put down his fork, untied the string around the box, and lifted the
lid. He caught his breath, ioh, my gosh ... a suit! i Vivian spoke up,
i just like the one you ruined in the fire.

Thomas lifted the blue pinstripe from the box, peeked inside for the
Hart Shaffner label, stood up and held it against his body.

Salesman at Goodman's said it was your size, i Michael noted.

You'll have to take it back for cuffs or any other alterations, i Vivian
added, ibut they promised not to charge you. ithomas was too dumbfounded
to respond. He wasn't used to receiving many gifts, let alone one that
cost at least twenty dollars. Finally, he choked out a weak 'thank you'
and wiping a tear from his eye, stepped to the sofa to give Vivian a hug
and shake Michael's hand.

Everyone was awkwardly quiet until Michael broke the silence, i me and
the boys got rid of the outhouse. Stacked the lumber out behind the
bunkhouse.

Your mother and I cleaned up the garden and planted a bunch of new
vegetables, i Vivian added brightly.

Oh, and Missus Maloney showed me how to use the new washing machine, i
Emma enthused. iit's so much easier than that old tub and washboard.

Michael chuckled, ithe boys and I tried to wear out your new bathroom.
Sure felt good to soak in a bathtub with all that hot water.

Me to, i Emma added, i and the new toilet. I feel like ... like ... a
millionaire. No longer have to use that smelly old outhouse.

Just wait 'til this winter, i Vivian smiled. ithen you'll really
appreciate it.

Thomas had carried his empty glass and dish to the sink. He turned to
acknowledge their comments with a smile and thanked the Maloney's for
the work they had done. Then his mother ventured, ii believe the
Maloneys have an announcement to make.

Glancing toward Michael and Vivian he asked, iwhat's up? i Michael
responded, iyeah, Thomas, we've decided to move back to Indiana.

My gosh, why? You're not letting a little old fire get you down, are
you?

It wasn't just a little fire. It was our whole house and belongings.

Sorry. I didn't mean to make light of your loss. But I thought you were
making plans to rebuild.

Vivian spoke up. ithat was our first thought, but now we've decided to
go back home. We've never really been that happy here. We miss our
families and the changing seasons. Believe it or not, we even miss the
snow!

And this looks like a good time to make the move, i Michael added.
ibecause of the war, factories are booming back there so I shouldn't
have any trouble finding a good job.

What will you do with the farm? i Thomas asked.

Michael paused, glancing first at Thomas then his mother.

We'd like to sell it to you.

Vivian quickly added, iwe'd make you a real good deal.

Thomas, catching his breath in surprise, stammered, imy God, what would
we do with another forty acres?

We ... we ... don't have any money. We've borrowed and scraped together
every dollar we could just to fix this place up and keep it going! i
Emma spoke up, ithomas, maybe we could rent or lease the Maloney place?
i He looked at his mother in disbelief. iwhat do you know about renting
or leasing? i She shrugged her shoulders, inothing really. But I heard
Papa mention it once in awhile.

The Maloneys looked at each other before Michael spoke, ithat would be
OK with us. We could do it on a crop-sharing basis. Any way to make it
easy on you would be fine.

Thomas returned to his seat at the table. ibut how on earth would I
manage it? I'm going to have my hands full running this place,
especially at harvest time.

Emma responded, ithat would be an advantage with the Maloney farm. Part
of their acreage is in peaches, which are harvested earlier than grapes.

Again, Thomas was taken aback. He thought his mother hardly knew one
crop from another, let alone their different harvest periods. He ran his
hands absently over the new suit, back in its box on the table, as he
felt himself weakening. He recognized that their twenty-acre farm was
too small to be efficient and that more acreage would help maximize his
time and make it easier to benefit from fluctuating market prices.

He turned toward the sofa, iwhat arrangement would you suggest, Mister
Maloney?

I guess sixty/forty is the usual. You keep sixty percent of what you
sell the crop for and send us the balance. That should be sufficient to
make our annual payment on the place and give you enough to make your
work worthwhile.

That sounds fair. But that still leaves me with the job of trying to
manage another forty acres.

I'll even throw in my equipment, except for the truck since we plan to
drive it to Indiana, i Michael added. iwe can sell the animals, but
there's a good wagon and plow ... and hey, I almost forgot!

What? i iyou can have our brand new Bean Track-Pull ... cost me nine
hundred dollars. Sure is a lot easier and faster than plowing with
horses and you can cultivate right up to the roots.

OK, I give up. Looks like we've got a deal. Thomas stepped to the sofa
and shook Michael's hand. imy God, I can't believe I'm doing this, i he
added.

His mother arose from her chair, ioh, Thomas, we're going to be big
landowners, i she enthused. ipapa would be so proud of you! i Sensing
she was about to throw her arms around him, he walked back to the sink
and poured himself a cup of coffee. He hoped it would settle his
churning stomach.

Chapter 8.

The morning after the Raisin Day Parade, Thomas had finished his
breakfast and was heading out the door to tackle the day's chores when
the phone rang. His mother answered and frowning, handed over the
receiver, iit's some girl.

He spoke into the mouthpiece, then caught his breath at the cheery
voice, ithomas, this is Brenda.

Oh, er hello.

Did you have fun at the ball? i He paused before replying, ii didn't go.

Well, I went but didn't have much fun.

Too bad.

He was feeling hesitant, quite surprised to receive her call after she
had rejected his attempts to make up and her aloofness when he had
rescued her during the parade. He was not sure where the conversation
might be leading.

She continued, ithe flowers you sent last week were quite lovely. I
really appreciated them.

I'm glad.

She hesitated for a few moments, leaving the telephone silent, then
spoke again, iyou still there, Thomas?

Uh huh.

I'm sorry I was rude yesterday morning, after you were so brave to
rescue me.

Silence from Thomas.

I was so angry ... and ... and embarrassed.

Guess that's understandable.

iat least I should have introduced you to my brothers.

Yeah.

She fell silent again. He was trying to think of something to say when
she spoke, ii'm sorry about the other night too.

Me too. I tried to apologize ... She interrupted. ii know. I was just
too upset.

Guess I can't blame you.

They both were quiet again. Then she asked, ithomas, would you come to
dinner at my parents' house this Sunday?

Um, maybe. What's the occasion?

Nothing special. I'd just like you to meet my family.

They're inviting some other guests you should enjoy.

Who? i He was stalling, not sure what he might be getting into.
ireverend Geschler from our church and Professor von Karman from the
Normal School. My brothers will be there too. iioh, yes. We met von
Karman at Zapps.

Yes.

What time should I pick you up?

You could just meet me at my parents about one o'clock.

That way you won't have to make a special trip into town.

OK, I'll see you Sunday.

He hung up and, avoiding his mother's inquiring look, went outside to
start his chores. He had realized before that if he wanted to continue
dating Brenda, he probably was going to have to meet her family. She had
hinted at this once but he had not reacted with much interest. In
reality, he was afraid of how such a visit would be interpreted.
Although he found her very attractive and would like to continue dating
her, he wasn't yet certain of how far he wanted to take the
relationship. The traditional meeting with her family might get him more
involved than he wanted to be.

Now with the war and his future even more uncertain, he didn't want to
feel that he was being rushed into any decisions.

His return to the farm further confused his feelings.

Brenda, in turn, had been giving him mixed signals. She had seemed
anxious for him to meet her family and yet was apologetic about them.
They were from Germany and still set in the ways of the Old World, she
had complained. Even her two brothers, although born in America, were
described by her as being old fashioned, hard working and not very
receptive to new ideas.

So Thomas was somewhat nervous on the appointed Sunday when, dressed in
his corduroy jacket, slacks, shirt and tie, he drove up to the Stuckey
farmhouse, which was located about three miles east of the O'Roarks.
When Brenda walked out in the driveway to meet him, so feminine looking
in a new spring dress and light pink sweater, he realized how much he
had missed her. He wanted to throw his arms around her but settled for a
limp handshake.

Thank you for coming, Thomas. Her smile made blood rush to his face.

You're welcome. I've been looking forward to seeing you again.

Her smile turned to a frown as she looked at him more closely in the
warm sunlight, iwhat's the matter with your face? i Reflexively his hand
went to his still-pinkish skin, now starting to peel across his
forehead. He shrugged his shoulders and smiled sheepishly, iwell, that's
a long story. He told her briefly about the Maloney fire.

She took his hand and led him toward the house. ithank goodness you
weren't hurt more seriously. I wouldn't want you to miss the special
meal Mama's cooking. Sauerbraten and dumplings, and apple strudel for
dessert.

What's sauerbraten?

Beef. It's marinated in vinegar with onions and spices.

She'll probably have sauerkraut too. She usually makes a fresh batch
each spring.

Understand we're supposed to call it 'Liberty Cabbage' now that we're in
the war.

She glanced at him, frowning.

ioh, sorry. Guess I shouldn't have said that. So what's strudel?

A pastry ... my favorite. She held her hands up to demonstrate a
wrapping motion as she described how it was made. iit's thin dough
wrapped around sliced apples with cheese and cinnamon.

Maybe I can just eat dessert? i he asked jokingly.

Oh, you'll love all of it, Thomas, I just know. Maybe Papa will serve
some of his good bratwurst or braunschweiger sausages.

He didn't respond to this last revelation. He had paused to glance
around more closely at the Stuckey farmhouse and was impressed. It was a
two-story wood structure with a wide, covered veranda stretching around
the front and sides of the lower floor. Shutters and flower boxes
adorned the upper windows, and everything was well painted and
maintained.

There was a flower garden and shrubs in front, and a variety of fruit
trees framed both sides. He was particularly struck by the profusion of
flowers blooming at each of the windows and in the gardens.

What a handsome house. Who takes care of all the flowers?

Mama and Papa both work at it. They say it reminds them of their home in
the old country.

While they were chatting, Brenda's brothers, Ivan and Emil, had stepped
out on the veranda. Thomas recognized them from their brief meeting
after he had rescued their sister from the parade. As they moved forward
to greet him, he mentally sized them up. Both were a little shorter than
he was and more stocky.

High foreheads and square faces reinforced their German heritage. Ivan,
the older, was the first to extend his hand and speak, iwelcome to our
home, Mister O'Roark.

Emil followed with his extended hand, i and thank you for rescuing Brenda
from that bunch of phony patriots last week.

van shot his younger brother a disapproving glance.

Thomas didn't respond to Emil's touch of zealousness, but the brothers'
firm handshakes signaled that he probably wouldn't want to tangle with
them in a brawl, and that he better be careful how he treated their
sister.

Thomas and Brenda were ushered inside to a large parlor where he was
introduced to Heinrich and Greta, Brenda's parents. Another firm
handshake came from Papa and, to Thomas' surprise, an eye-popping bear
hug from a rather plump Mama. Both appeared to be older than Thomas'
mother. Papa was somewhat heavyset and partly bald with what Thomas
thought was a surprisingly soft, gentle face, albeit well tanned.

The rough hand he proffered bespoke years of rugged farm work. He wore
plain brown trousers held up across his rotund belly by suspenders and a
plaid shirt with a tie that seemed to clash.

Mama's round, stern face, showing more age than her husband's, was
framed with ringlets of gray hair. She was dressed in a rather plain
housedress partially covered with a striped apron that hardly covered
her ample bosom. In spite of her smile and warm greeting, Thomas
speculated she was not a woman to be trifled with. He also concluded
that the soft beauty he admired in Brenda did not come from her mother.
Both of the elder Stuckeys spoke in guttural English.

Thomas next was introduced to two men. One he recognized as von Karman,
looking rather stiff and uncomfortable in his Sunday suit and tie. iyou
remember Professor von Karman from the Normal School? i Brenda asked.

Yes, i Thomas responded. ii believe we met at Zapp's Park. Isn't my
sister one of your students? i Von Karman looked puzzled.

Becky O'Roark?

Ah, yes, yes, i the professor replied. ione of my better pupils as a
matter of fact.

The professor also teaches men's gymnastics, i Emil interjected. ihis
grandfather was one of the leaders of the gymnastics movement, which
started in Germany almost a hundred years ago.

And introduced in this country by Germans, i von Karman added.

Ivan spoke up, ihealthy bodies beget healthy minds don't they Professor?
i Von Karman smiled and nodded.

Brenda then introduced the other guest as Reverend Carl Geschler, still
wearing his preacher's dark suit and formal collar.

The reverend is pastor of our Lutheran church, i she added.

While shaking hands with the two men, Thomas couldn't help but notice
the difference in appearance. Von Karman was blond, tall and athletic
looking with what Thomas had heard described as the Teutonic look.
Geschler was shorter, stocky and square-faced, and as they shook hands,
some vague hint of recognition flitted across his mind then disappeared.

Ivan had excused himself during the introductions and now returned with
a bottle of wine and tray of glasses.

Would you care for wine, Mister O'Roark? It's one of our best vintages.

Thomas took a glass and when Ivan had served the others, Papa Stuckey
offered a toast ito our honored guest, Herr O'Roark.

Thomas acknowledged the toast, touched the wine to his lips and
swallowed a mouthful. igosh, what a refreshing flavor, kind of fruity!

Thank you, i Ivan responded. ithis is our Riesling. We press it from our
own grapes.

Muscats?

No, no. We have a separate small vineyard of Rieslings in back of the
house where we can keep a close eye on them. It's pretty hard to make
quality wine from Muscats. As you know, they're mainly good for table
grapes and raisins.

The group moved from the parlor into the dining room and was seated
around a large rectangular table with Papa Stuckey at one end. Thomas
was placed next to Brenda on his right and Emil between her and Papa.
Reverend Geschler was directly across from Thomas, then Ivan and von
Karman. Mama had disappeared into the kitchen. Those at the table
engaged in casual conversation about the weather, ripening crops and the
outlook for farm labor until Mama reappeared with a large, steaming
platter of sauerbraten. She placed it in front of Papa and took the seat
being held for her by Ivan at the opposite end of the table.

Papa asked the reverend to give the blessing, which he did at some
length. Then Papa asked Brenda to pass Thomas' plate and ladled out
generous portions of marinated beef, dumplings and gravy, and served the
others. The aroma of sweet-sour marinade reminded Thomas of some of the
memorable dishes he had been introduced to in Chinatown and he could
hardly control his appetite while waiting for the others to be served.
Everyone dug industriously into the rich food and washed it down from
always-full wineglasses.

When there was a lull in the eating, Reverend Geschler glanced across at
Thomas. iyou planning to attend the Chautauqua next week? i he asked.

Um, probably. I understand that comedian, Lon Beauchamp, will be there.
Sure enjoyed him the last time.

And lots of musical features, i Brenda added brightly.

Also that traitor, William Jennings Bryan, i Geschler noted with
agitation. ii can't believe how he's turned around since he resigned as
Secretary of State.

Von Karman took a drink of wine. iyes, he used to be antiwar. Now he's
talking in favor, trying to build up community support.

van spoke, ii guess we all know the Chautauqua movement was started by a
German-American. I believe his name was Mueller, or Miller?

Yes, Lewis Miller, back in New York, i Geschler confirmed.

Everyone fell to eating silently for a few moments until Ivan spoke,
iyou feeling alright, Mister O'Roark? i Thomas had felt his face
flushing and starting to sweat, a reaction to the wine and spicy food,
but didn't realize it was that noticeable. He opened his mouth to reply,
but Brenda beat him to it. She told about him saving Michael Maloney
from the house fire, eliciting approbative comments from everyone.

Emil, glancing toward Thomas, commented. ii hear the Maloneys are moving
back to Indiana.

iyes.

How do you plan to handle that additional forty acres? i Thomas' jaw
dropped open. How the hell did these people already know about the
Maloney lease, decided only a few days earlier?

inot sure I've figured that one out yet, i he responded, trying to sound
non-committal.

Those peaches will be coming on pretty fast, i Emil continued.

Thomas sensed that everyone was looking at him and could feel Brenda
squirm in her chair next to him. iyeah, I guess you're right, i he
finally answered.

Ivan spoke, ithat could be a pretty valuable crop.

Especially since last year's dried peaches are about sold out already.

Papa interjected, iyah, at six cents a pound, about double the previous
years. He stabbed a dumpling with his fork, pushed it around in the
gravy and popped it into his mouth.

And some farms were hit with that late frost last month, Emil added.
ithey're estimating this year's crop at only twenty thousand tons.

Brenda ventured, ii guess the war will drive up prices even more.

The brothers nodded, then Ivan, holding his plate out for another
helping of sauerbraten, added, iyou might end up being a pretty big
landowner.

Probably not, i Thomas replied uncomfortably. iwe're just leasing the
Maloney place.

Well, if you ever want any help, just let us know, i Emil said, pouring
himself more wine.

Ivan added, ilet us know too if you ever want to sell your place. We've
been trying to find more acreage. He pushed his chair back from the
table and went to the adjoining hallway to rewind the Victrola, which
had been playing during dinner, and change records.

Mama also had gotten up from the table, removed the empty serving
platter and carried it into the kitchen while Brenda was

picking up the individual dishes. In a few moments they came back with
more dishes and another platter, this one bearing strudel and kuchen.
Brenda also brought in side dishes of whipped cream and blueberries and
a pot of coffee.

Mama made kuchen! i Brenda exclaimed as she returned to the chair that
Thomas was holding for her.

Mama responded with a iyahi and grin as she retook the seat held by her
older son.

As the platter was being passed around the table, Thomas helped himself
to generous portions and turned to Brenda. ithis looks like coffee cake.
Is it?

Oh, but such coffee cake, i she replied. isee, Mama tops it with sugar
and cinnamon, then we add berries and cream. She reached for the side
dishes and ladled generously from them onto her dessert. Thomas did
likewise.

Ivan had returned from the hallway followed by the strains of a
different record. iwhat's the music? i Thomas asked between bites.

This is Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, i Ivan replied. ithe one before was
a Bach fugue.

You like German music, Herr O'Roark? i Reverend Geschler ventured.

My taste runs more toward American music, something with a tune I can
hum, i he responded, sampling his dessert and again emptying his wine
glass.

Thomas plays in an orchestra, i Brenda volunteered brightly.

Band, i he corrected her.

What instrument do you play? i von Karman asked.

Banjo.

That's interesting. Isn't that popular with your southern Darkies? i
Geschler inquired.

Thomas flushed but ignored the apparent insult. iit's a very popular
instrument in dance bands, Reverend.

Mama Stuckey turned to Thomas. iherr O'Roark, I have a new record from
the Dixieland Jazz Band. Would you like to hear it? i

iwhy, er, yes, Missus Stuckey, if it's OK with the others.

Ivan, play my new record.

But Mama, we're listening to Beethoven.

That's putting us all to sleep. We need something more ... how you say,
'bouncy'.

Everyone turned to their coffee in silence as Ivan left the table to
change records. When the scratchy, syncopated sound flowed into the
room, Thomas glanced over his cup to see Papa suppressing a grin. After
a few moments of listening, he commented to Mama, isounds like they're
playing Livery Stable Blues. That right? i Now tapping the rhythm with
her fingers, she smiled at Thomas in agreement.

Thomas caught Geschler's eye, inone of these players are Negroes,
Reverend, even though they call themselves the Dixieland Jazz Band.

The reverend squirmed uncomfortably in his chair but didn't respond.

Thomas decided to break the awkwardness with a new line of conversation.
ireverend, you're from Germany aren't you?

Ah yes, as are Herr von Karman and the Stuckeys. I believe we are evenly
matched with you four Americans.

Thomas looked around the table. ii wasn't trying to compare numbers,
Reverend. But I did notice your accent and was curious how long you've
been in this country.

About five years. Von Karman and I came over around the same time.

From the same village, i von Karman added. iin fact, the very village
that the Stuckeys moved from over twenty-five years ago.

That's interesting. Did you know each other over there?

No, but we did know some of their younger relatives.

What's Germany like ... is it flat like our valley?

No. Where we came from in the central part of the country is more hilly.
Our village is near the Rhine River, which is much larger than the
rivers here in California.

There are farms there? i iyah, many farms, but smaller than here. All
the farms there are small, i Geschler emphasized.

Mama and Papa used to have a vineyard there, i Brenda added.

Thomas ignored her comment and continued to question Geschler, iwhy did
you move to America? i Von Karman responded. iwe all moved for the same
reason. We thought of America as a land of opportunity and wanted to
escape the growing oppression and militarism of our country.

Well, it looks like the Kaiser and his military clique have gotten
Germany into a lot of trouble now, i Thomas ventured.

First they started war with France and England and now they've provoked
us into fighting them.

Geschler bristled, iyah, and that will be a calamity for America. This
country is foolish to go to war with Germany.

There was absolutely no provocation! i Thomas was taken aback by the
sudden outburst. Ivan, appearing embarrassed, patted the reverend on the
arm trying to calm him down But Thomas, armed with boldness from the
wine, forged ahead. iwe really didn't have much choice after Germany
declared unrestricted submarine warfare on our shipping.

That's my point, i Geschler responded heatedly. ithat shipping included
guns and ammunition and food for England and France when President
Wilson promised America would remain neutral! i Von Karman decided to
assert himself. ithere never was any intention to remain neutral.
America's been caving in to the Allies' wishes from the very beginning.

Brenda tried to step into the conversation, partly to take some of the
heat away from Thomas. ibut when German soldiers started all those
atrocities in Belgium, I don't think we really had a choice but to
support the Allies, i she said defensively.

That's a bunch of allied propaganda! i Geschler responded, still
agitated. idon't you realize the British have been

controlling all the news out of Germany since the start of the war. They
even cut the transatlantic cable! i Papa Stuckey spoke up, iperhaps we
should change the subject. After all, Herr O'Roark is a guest in our
house. At his suggestion, everyone arose from the table, picked up their
coffee cups and moved toward the parlor. Thomas excused himself and
after getting directions from Ivan, went down the hall to the bathroom
to empty his wine-filled bladder. As he stood there letting his stream
flow noisily into the toilet, his eyes took in the spotless bathroom,
the tub with a shower overhead, the porcelain sink, the hinged mirror in
which he could examine the sides and back of his head. He flushed the
toilet, washed his hands with the lilac-scented soap, carefully examined
his face and teeth and patted down a loose hair at the back of his head.

When he entered the parlor, Brenda motioned him to a large easy chair
and sat on the arm next to him. Ivan produced a humidor and offered each
of the men an expensive Cuban cigar.

The reverend declined but the others lit up. For Thomas, who had never
smoked, it was a first and he puffed away nonchalantly, trying not to
expose his youthfulness. He was careful not to inhale.

Everyone was silent as they filled the room with smoke until Thomas
spoke. He felt like he had been put on the defensive by Papa's remarks
at the table and turned to him. imister Stuckey, I appreciate your
consideration but it really doesn't bother me to talk about the war.
After all, I'm probably going to be involved in it one way or the other.

Von Karman spoke before Papa had a chance to reply, ithat's the real
tragedy. A lot of American boys are going to be involved, and many will
be killed or wounded.

What a terrible thing to say! i Brenda cried.

But he's right, Brenda, i the reverend added. ihundreds of thousands
already have been slaughtered on both sides so there's no reason the
American soldiers won't be also.

Well, I predict the Germans will win, probably before the end of this
year, i von Karman continued, puffing on his cigar.

The British and French are completely worn out and the Americans will
never get a large enough army trained in time to help.

Thomas bridled at von Karman's boastfulness, but controlled his
emotions. iwe're talking about raising a national army of over one
million.

Do you have any idea how long that will take when you haven't even
started building the training centers?

Sounds like von Karman might be right, i Ivan ventured., putting down
his empty coffee cup and learning forward to tap his cigar in an ash
tray. ilook at the Mexican Campaign last year. We could hardly raise
enough troops to track down one rag-tag bandit.

The numbers speak for themselves, i said Geschler.

America's army numbers about a hundred thousand men and there's another
sixty thousand in the National Guard. Germany has over three million
trained soldiers in France already, plus two million in Russia.

Emil added, idon't forget that Germany got all those men through
compulsory military training, which we don't have. He paused to re-light
his cigar before continuing, ihow are we going to raise such an army in
a democracy? i Von Karman replied, ithe same way as Germany. I
understand the government already is making plans for conscripting men.

In a democracy? i Brenda asked.

I predict that will lead to rioting like it did during your Civil War, i
Geschler interjected, his voice again rising in agitation.

The word 'rioting' suddenly triggered something in Thomas' wine fogged
mind, and he leaned forward to take a closer look at Geschler sitting
across from him. ihaven't we met before? i he asked.

The reverend stared back at Thomas, then took a deep breath as he
struggled to calm himself before shaking his head.

In the flushness of the reverend's agitated face, Thomas now could
detect the remnants of a bruise. ii remember now ... the

mob outside the Hughes Hotel, and the police station a few weeks ago! i
Geschler mumbled something, stood up and stalked from the room. Thomas
glanced around to see everyone looking at him.

I'm sorry if I upset the reverend, but my friends and I saved him from a
mob.

The awkward silence that followed was broken by the telephone ringing in
the hallway. Emil went to answer and returned to motion to Thomas. iit's
for you ... your mother.

Perplexed and embarrassed, he went to the phone to hear his mother
crying on the other end of the line. imother, what's the matter?

I'm sick, i Emma replied in between sobs.

What do you mean sick? You seemed OK earlier.

She hesitated before replying, isick to my stomach. I vomited, and my
head aches.

Want me to call a doctor?

No, no. Aren't you coming home soon?

Yes, we're finishing up here. I'll drive Brenda back to town then come
home. Maybe you better lie down and rest.

He could hear her blowing her nose, then her plaintive response, iwell,
alright. But please hurry.

He returned to the parlor, explained the call and apologized for the
interruption. Brenda responded first, suggesting that he not worry about
her, one of her brothers could drive her back to her boarding house.

No, i he insisted, ii promised.

van asked, ibut aren't you worried about your mother?

She'll be alright. She's resting now.

Everyone arose from their chairs and walked to the front porch. After
many friendly handshakes and another bone- crushing hug from Mama
Stuckey, Thomas and Brenda were sent on their way.

As they drove out the driveway and turned west toward town, Brenda
commented, ii believe Mama likes you.

Surreptitiously, he removed the half-burned cigar from his mouth and
dropped it onto the dusty road. ithat's nice. How about Geschler and von
Karman?

I hope their remarks didn't bother you too much.

Oh no, i he responded. ieveryone's entitled to a point of view in our
democracy. I have the feeling, though, they're going to have to be
careful where they express their opinions in the future.

Why?

Because of the patriotic fervor that's building up and the antagonism
towards Germany.

You're probably right. I understand the reverend's parishioners already
have warned him about some of the things he's said from the pulpit.

Seems like he would have learned his lesson from that mob.

She nodded in agreement.

Also strikes me that von Karman would be in a vulnerable position at the
Normal School. Guess I'll have to ask Becky about that sometime.

As they motored along in silence, his thoughts turned toward Brenda and
he wondered how much the day's events had repaired their relationship.
He had the feeling he had been well accepted by her family, but how
about her? Was she still annoyed over his clumsy attempt at love-making?
How should he handle their parting when they reached her boarding house?

But he need not have worried. As they pulled up and stopped at the curb,
she placed her soft, warm hand on his, then leaned over and kissed him
on the cheek. ithank you, Thomas.

I had a lovely day.

He felt an unusual sense of exhilaration as he pointed the Model T home
through the gathering dusk. He drank heavily of the cooling breeze and
musty odor of irrigated vineyards and pondered the possibility of life
on a farm with Brenda.

Chapter 9.

The death of Alexander had presented Emma Oiroark with a problem she had
not faced before in her forty-six years, deciding what to do with the
rest of her life. In fact, deciding what to do tomorrow or the following
week now was a dilemma.

For the twenty-four years of their married life, her husband had made
all major decisions. Actually, in recent years their life together had
settled into such a routine that very few new decisions had to be made
by anyone.

Emma had been born in New York City into a comfortable family life. Her
father, a civil engineer, had provided a relatively carefree living for
her and her mother. Emma was an only child and when she was six years
old, the family moved to Sacramento so the father could apply his skills
in the final stages of hydraulic mining for gold. The family continued
its comfortable existence in a large two-story house where Chinese
servants did the menial work.

Then, during her final year in high school, her father was killed in a
mining accident. Her grieving mother decided to move to Michigan, where
she originally had come from, to be near her own relatives. Emma was
devastated by the loss of her loving, doting father and her school
chums.

After a year in Michigan, she was introduced to Alexander at a church
picnic. She was not particularly attracted to him at first, primarily
because he was fourteen years older. But he was tall, broad-shouldered
and handsome. As they continued to meet

at Chautauquas and other social events, she began to appreciate his
seeming maturity. After all, he was managing the largest dairy farm in
the area and appeared ambitious in his plans to buy his own farm
sometime in the future. Emmais mother, unhappy with her widowhood and
worried that her daughter might become a spinster, encouraged the
growing relationship.

But after marriage, reality quickly took over. Emma was not used to the
hard life of a farm wife. She had to arise before dawn to cook breakfast
for her husband and the milking crew.

This was followed by a long day of cooking, house cleaning, churning
butter, sewing and mending, caring for the family garden and other
miscellaneous chores, finally falling into bed at night bone tired. The
house they lived in was marginal, even by farm standards. There was no
indoor plumbing or electricity, and it was inadequately heated against
the bitter Michigan winters and poorly ventilated for the hot, muggy
summers.

There was little social life to ease the monotony of unending labor. She
and Alexander went to a small country church most Sundays, but seldom to
the social functions. The nearest neighbors were two miles away and even
her mother, who lived in Detroit, was too remote for more than an
occasional visit.

During the winters, they hardly ever saw a soul outside of the working
crew Then the children started arriving. The first was stillborn.

Later, during pregnancy with Patrick, she had many bad dreams of him
being born full size, tearing her apart, pushing his way up the birth
canal rather than down. She often had difficulty breast feeding him. He
always seemed to be rebelling even from the earliest age, and acted much
like his father personality-wise.

The third child, another boy, died of small pox at an early age. Becky,
her only girl, was her fourth child. She initially brought Emma a
special joy because she represented someone to share her feminine
interests and activities. But early childhood moments of learning to
read and cook and sew were too soon forgotten as Becky seemed to grow
closer to her father. This phenomenon added to Emmais loss of
self-esteem because she couldnit detect much evidence of Alexander
reciprocating his daughteris love and adoration. Emma was puzzled over
why a young girl would be attracted to someone who apparently did not
return her interest and affection.

Thomas, the fifth child, was an easy birth. Emma experienced no problems
during that pregnancy, no nightmares, and a relatively easy delivery.
Breast feeding actually brought her first experience with orgasm and
aroused deep sexual feelings she had never realized with her husbandis
crude and perfunctory love-making. Thomas reminded her of her own
father. His happiness as a baby brought back her fatheris smile, his
expressions of affection, and a sense of her own self-worth and
femininity.

Emmais and Alexanderis final child, Robert, had almost seemed an
accident, born as he was three years after Thomas.

Emma blamed Robertis respiratory problems and general tendency toward
sickliness on her age, almost thirty at the time of his birth. The fact
that he had died from influenza at age nine did not contribute to her
self-confidence. But that tragic event did facilitate the familyis
decision to move to California. The move was further eased by an
inheritance Emma had received earlier that year following the death of
her mother. It was a windfall she did not fully disclose to her husband.

Now back at the farm in Fresno, Emma had been indulging in this reverie
on the Saturday night of Motheris Day weekend.

She and Thomas earlier had eaten a quiet supper, after which he had
returned to the vineyard to finish some irrigating. She had retired to
her bedroom and been drifting back and forth between sleep and memories
of her married life. She was awakened to full consciousness by the
increasing chill of the late evening and the slamming of the kitchen
door as her son returned from the field. She pulled a comforter around
her and listened wistfully to the masculine sounds of him in the
bathroom preparing for bed. Thomas, weary from a long day in the field,
finished in the bathroom, undressed, crawled into bed and promptly fell
asleep.

Several hours later, turning fitfully, he sensed the presence of someone
beside him. He came fully awake, jumped out of bed and turned on the
light.

Mother, what the hell are you doing in my bed?

Oh, Thomas, i she cried, idonit get angry. I get so cold and lonely in
my bed without father!

Butobutoiim not father, i he sputtered. ifor Godis sake, Iim your son!

Please donit get so upset. I didnit mean any harm. When you were a
little boy you used to enjoy cuddling with me in bed. iiwell, Iim not
your little boy. Iim a grown man for Peteis sake. Now please go back to
your bed and let me get some sleep.

Sheepishly, Emma climbed out of bed, pulled her robe around her and
returned to her room. Thomas, still shaking from the experience,
returned to his bed, turned off the light and stared sleeplessly into
the night. In recent weeks, he had become increasingly concerned about
his mother, wondering how he could get her to face up to doing something
with the rest of her life. Her growing despondency and chronic
illnesses, including the one she used to summon him home from the
Stuckey dinner, had prompted him to discuss his concerns with Becky.
Fortunately she would be home the next day for their Motheris Day
dinner.

Over breakfast the following morning, he wasted no time bringing up the
nightis event. imother, whatever happened last night must never happen
again. If it does, Iim moving back to town, permanently!

It wonit, son, i she replied wearily.

Itis been a month now since Father died and you need to do something
about getting on with your life, i he lectured.

I guess youire right, but I donit know where to start, or what to do. I
feel so listless all the time.

You been taking your liver pills?

Yes.

How about the iron pills? They build up your blood, you know.

She nodded.

Well, you need to do something besides sit around and read those womenis
magazines and listen to the Victrola.

But Thomas, all live ever known is this farm life. What on earth could I
do?

I have a couple of ideas, but why donit we wait until Beckyis here so we
can all talk about them?

Whatever you say.

He finished his breakfast and reminded his mother that he had saved this
morning to clean out the old shed and bunkhouse.

The structure had been untouched since his fatheris death and the sale
of the cow and horse, and although he had no plans for its use, he had
decided to shovel out the manure and clean out the empty boxes, broken
tools and other accumulated trash.

Except for a few nights while the Maloneys were staying in the house and
recovering from their fire, he hadnit slept in the bunkhouse since he
had moved away from home. He still harbored unhappy memories of
squabbling with Patrick, the sinus-clearing odor of manure and wet hay,
and the nightly scurrying of mice and bats.

After about an hour of shoveling out the stalls, he turned to the bunks
and adjoining closets and shelves. Reaching into the shelf above where
his brother usually slept, his hand fell on a stack of papers. He pulled
them out and sat on the edge of the bunk as he leafed through what
turned out to be a collection of newsletters, posters and bulletins. One
of the publications was titled Industrial Worker, another Solidarity. As
he flipped through the pages he found articles criticizing the war and
patriotism and capitalism. Posters and bulletins urged workers to oppose
the war and strike against their capitalist bosses. He was intrigued by
a poem found in one of the publications: I love my flag, I do, I do,
Which floats upon the breeze, I also love my arms and legs, And neck and
nose and knees.

One little shell might spoil them all Or give them such a twist,

They would be of no use to me, I guess I wonit enlist.

Thomas, you going deaf? i It was Becky, standing in the doorway.

Oh, hi Becky. Sorry, I didnit hear you.

live been helping Mother with dinner. Itis almost ready.

He motioned for her to come closer. ilook what I found.

She stepped inside the bunkhouse and glanced at the papers.

What are these?

Some of Patrickis papers.

Oh my goodness, i she exclaimed as she scanned the bulletins and
newsletters. ithis sounds like Socialist stuflooroor Communist!

Yeah.

I wonder what heis involved with?

Dunno. Told me he belongs to some bunch called the Wobblies. Said
theyire just trying to get better wages and working conditions.

They were interrupted by the sound of their motheris voice calling from
the yard. They answered back and returned the papers to the shelf.
Inside the house, Thomas washed up then slipped into his bedroom to
retrieve three packages from under the bed. He brought them to the table
as he and Becky wished Emma ehappy Motheris Dayi.

Hesitantly she opened the largest to find a new spring dress from Becky.
Then came a round-shaped package, which Emma opened to reveal a bright
flowered bonnet. This one was marked from Patrick. The third one was
from Thomas and contained boots in a soft, white kid leather.

Emma promptly broke into tears, and Becky patted her on the back and
arm, trying to sooth her. Finally, she calmed down enough to retreat to
the bedroom to try on her new outfit.

Becky turned to her brother, ii canit believe Patrick remembered
Motheris Day!

He didnit. I used three dollars of that fifty he gave me and bought the
hat.

She touched his arm affectionately. i and the bootsoyou must have paid a
fortune!

Only five dollars. They were on sale.

Emma was emerging now from her bedroom, but Thomas and Becky quickly
noted she was only wearing the bonnet along with her same old dress and
shoes. Perplexed, they glanced at each other then back to their mother.

Mother, where is the new dressoandoand the boots? i Becky asked.

I just wanted to try the bonnet for now. Wasnit that thoughtful of
Patrick to send me a new hat, all the way from wherever he is? i Becky
was too flustered to respond immediately, but quickly recovered as she
sensed the anger and frustration rising up in her brother.

But Mother, Thomas and I gave you gifts, too!

Yes, theyire lovely. But the bonnet brought back old memories. My father
used to give me hats all the time. Once he even brought me an old
mineris---i She was interrupted by Thomas abruptly shoving his chair
away from the table and stalking outside. He let the door bang shut
behind him. In a few moments, his sister followed, running to catch up
with him as he strode down the driveway, hands jammed into his coverall
pockets.

She hooked her arm in his and walked along silently as they reached the
main road and turned west toward town. Finally, he spoke. ii donit know
how much of this I can take, Sis. She remained silent, sensing it would
be prudent to let him talk out his anger and frustration.

She really doesnit care a damn about me or my feelingsojust wants me
around to do her bidding. Patrick doesnit give a shit about her, but he
gets all the recognition.

Becky blanched at the crude language, then ventured, iyou really want
recognition from her, Thomas? i He fell silent, his head down as they
walked along. Finally he replied, ino, I guess youire right. Iid really
prefer she left me alone and let me lead my own life.

ithen weire going to have to help her find a new life. Sheis always been
dependent on someone else.

They stopped walking. He put an arm around her shoulder and hugged her
as he spoke, iyouire undoubtedly right, Becky.

They turned and walked back to the farm in silence.

When they entered the house, they found Emma fully dressed in her new
Motheris Day outfit, sitting at the table eating. Wordlessly they sat
down and Thomas sliced some of the roast chicken for Becky, and carved
off a leg for himself.

They helped themselves to the mashed potatoes and gravy and the spinach,
fresh-picked from their motheris garden. Then he asked, iwe got any
vinegar? i Emma stopped chewing and looked up, ivinegar?

Yeah. I wannai put some on my spinach. He stood up, went to the kitchen
cupboards and started rummaging around until his mother directed him to
the one to the right of the sink.

He returned with the bottle, sprinkled a few drops on his spinach, added
salt and butter and used his knife and fork to mess it all around in the
saucer. As his mother and sister watched bemusedly, he took a taste,
frowned, added a few more drops of vinegar, then commented, imissus
Olson taught me this. ithey resumed eating until Becky spoke. imother,
have you thought any about your future, what you might want to do?

Not really.

Maybe you could find some kind of job in town. There should be lots of
opportunities with the men going off to war.

Heavens, live never had a job in my whole life!

You could learn.

Thomas glanced at his sister, iwhat kind of job you thinking of? iimaybe
secretarial work, or being a clerk in a store, oroor maybe working in a
bakery. Motheris a good cook.

Emma looked pained. ithat sounds like hard work.

Becky pressed on. ihow about the bank, Thomas? Would your old boss give
Mother a job? i

He responded with a disdainful look. imotheris not good enough with
numbers.

Maybe you could work in a millinery shop, Mother, you like to sew, i
Becky suggested. Emma didnit reply.

Thomas spoke up, ihey, that gives me an idea. I hear the Red Cross is
looking for volunteers to help in their war work.

What would I do? i Emma asked. ii donit have any skills.

Donit need any. Theyire making bandages, dressings and things like that
to send to hospitals overseas. None of that takes any special skills.

But, I wouldnit know anyone there.

Youid have a chance to make some new friends.

That sounds like a great idea, Mother, i Becky chimed in.

Well, maybe I could give it a try.

And I have another suggestion, i Thomas added. iiill teach you to drive
my motor car so you could go into town by yourself.

Oh goodness. I donit think I could do that!

Sure you could. In fact, weill start with your first lesson this
afternoon. Then tomorrow we can drive into the Red Cross center.

About an hour later, after they had finished their peach cobbler dessert
and he and Becky had cleaned off the table and washed the dishes, Thomas
took his motheris arm and guided her outside to his car. He opened the
door on the driveris side and helped her into the seat.

Iim not sure I should be doing this, i Emma protested nervously.

Nothing to it, Mother. First Iill show you how to start the engine. Itis
real easy once you get the hang of it.

Maybe I should just stick to a horse and buggy.

Nonsense. Besides, donit you remember? We donit have a horse anymore.

Emma settled into the driveris seat, tenderly touched the steering wheel
and stared wide-eyed out through the windshield.

She was too tense to utter a word.

Her son continued. inow, pay attention. First you turn on the ignition
key like this. Then you push this lever up to retard the spark and move
this one down to advance the gas. Then you switch on the battery with
this gadget.

Emma, her throat dry with fright, could barely croak out a question.
iwhatis a battery?

This thing on the running board, i he responded sounding a bit agitated.
iit supplies electricity for the engine to run on.

It runs on electricity?

No, no. It runs on gasoline. But the electricity provides the spark that
explodes the gasoline inside the motor. Thatis why itis called an
internal combustion engine. He felt a touch of self-satisfaction that he
could enlighten his mother on a technical subject, but quickly realized
he was confusing her.

Thereis an explosion?

Not a real explosion, Mother, more like a poppingothe noise you hear
when the engineis running. Now letis review the starting steps.

Thomas, Iim so confused already. Maybe Iim too old to drive.

He ignored her. i just remember, there are four easy steps.

He took her hand and guided her through turning the ignition key, moving
the spark and gas levers, and switching on the battery.

Now weire ready to crank the engine, i he continued, pulling her from
the seat and leading her around to the front of the Ford.

Watch how I push in the crank and pull it up to get compression. Then I
pull this wire out a little to choke her. But donit pull it too far or
youill flood the engine.

Flood it?

Yes. Youill flood it with too much gas. Now this next step is real
important. See how Iim holding the crank with my thumb loose, not
wrapped around the crank?

Uh huh.

Thatis so if the engine kicks it wonit bust your thumb.

Good heavens, you mean I could hurt myself? i inot if you pay attention
to what I say. He grabbed the crank and gave it a mighty turn. As the
little engine popped and sputtered to life, he ran back to the driver's
side to move the spark to idle position, ease back on the gas lever, and
switch the battery key over to magneto.

Now wasnit that easy, Mother? i Emma was too frightened and confused to
answer. She was shaking as he helped her back into the driveris seat and
ran around to get in the passenger side.

Now weire ready to drive. See those three pedals on the floor? The one
on the left is for making it go forward and the one in the middle is for
backing up. The otheris the brake. So push in the left one first, pull
the spark and gas levers down a little, and ease out the pedal.

Emma pushed the pedal tenderly with her left foot but it didnit move.
iit wonit move.

Struggling to control his impatience, he instructed her to push harder
and reminded her to let it out slowly. She summoned all the strength she
could in her left leg to depress the pedal, then released it too
quickly, causing the car to lurch forward and die.

I said let it out easy! i Thomas snapped. His mother snuffled like she
was about to cry, causing him to sigh and pat her on the shoulder
reassuringly. inever mind, everyone kills it the first few times. She
gave him a startled look, pulled a hanky from her sleeve and blew her
nose.

He took her through the starting steps again, cranked the engine back to
life, and returned to his seat.

This time, she eased the clutch pedal out more slowly then let out a
gasp as the car started to move. ithomas, itis moving!

Thatis what itis supposed to do. Hold on to the steering wheel and watch
where youire going. He reached over and opened the throttle a little
more while she struggled with the wheel, trying to point the car out the
driveway.

As they approached the main road, he eased back on the gas and coached
her to start pulling the wheel to the right. He

quickly realized she wasnit turning fast enough and reached for the
wheel. ihit the brake, push in the clutch! i he yelled.

But he wasnit quick enough. The car lurched across the road and into the
shallow drainage ditch and the engine died.

Emma slumped in the seat, her new hat knocked askew, and started crying.

Thomas struggled to control his frustration as he handed her a
handkerchief and tried to console her. inow, now, Mother.

That wasnit bad for a first lesson. You did manage to drive about a
hundred yards. Youill get used to it after a few more times.

It seems so complicated, i Emma blubbered. iat least when I hitched up
eold Bluei, I knew how to control him.

Yes, but with the car you can get where you want in less than half the
time.

She dabbed her teary eyes and blew her nose, then responded, ibut I
donit even know where I want to go! i

The following Sunday, undeterred by the unsuccessful driving experience,
Thomas and Becky decided to again try to interest their mother in a new
life. The date was May 20, which had been designated Liberty Loan Sunday
throughout the country for the official kickoff of the public campaign.
While over a fourth of the two billion dollar goal already had been
subscribed by banks and other financial institutions, there still was
much uncertainty over how the general public would respond.

Fresno, faced with a goal of five hundred thousand dollars, had joined
the country in planning a major publicity campaign to be launched with a
public rally in Court House Park. The downtown area had been plastered
with posters urging citizens to ebuy Liberty Bondsi, the electric sign
at the Morning Republican echoed the message, and all major merchants
had filled the Sunday paper with supporting ads.

The rally was scheduled for one oiclock to give people a chance to get
out of church, where clergymen added their

support. It would include several bands, musical groups and speakers and
feature Francis X. Bushman, who was to arrive by train from Hollywood
the night before.

Thomas and Becky had used the famous actor as incentive to encourage
their mother to attend the rally. They also hoped to introduce her to
the mother of one of Beckyis school chums, a Mrs. Mabel Duncan, who was
active in the Red Cross.

The effort that morning had not been easy. Thomas eventually had gotten
her to put on her new Motheris Day dress, but she insisted on covering
that with her old gray cloth coat.

For a hat, she would only wear a knit cloche because it fit over her bun
hairstyle. And she had tied a strip of black ribbon around the arm of
the coat and dress. By the time she was ready to leave the farm, it was
almost too late.

So when Thomas pulled into town and turned north on Van Ness toward the
park, he was further discouraged by an unbelievable mass of motor cars
and horses and buggies. Rather than add to the confusion, he turned east
on Kern Street, a block south of the park, and found a parking place. He
helped Emma out of the car and escorted her toward the park entrance,
where Becky was waiting for them with Mrs. Duncan, in her white Red
Cross uniform and bonnet, and her daughter, Karen.

After introductions they squeezed their way through the boisterous,
flag-waving throng toward the bandstand, where a brass band already was
in full sway. They were met by Boy Scouts distributing small printed
folders titled ethe American Creedi. As Thomas started to open his copy,
he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to find Brad Simpson.

Afternoon, stranger, i he called out, reaching for Thomasi hand. Thomas
returned the greeting and introduced him to the Duncans and his mother
and Becky, reminding them they initially had met at Alexanderis funeral.
Then he remarked, ilooks like quite a rally.

Brad replied, iyeah, Mayor Toomey says itis the largest ever in Court
House Park.

Thomas held up the little folder, iwhatis this all about? i Thatis part
of the countryis new one hundred percent Americanism program, i he
answered. ithe press ran a national contest for a creed that would best
state a citizenis responsibilities during wartime, and thatis the
winner.

They were interrupted by Mayor Toomey calling for attention through a
megaphone and trying to quiet the milling, unruly mass of people. He
finally silenced everyone enough to direct them to open their folders
and recite along with him: ii believe in the United States of America as
a government of the people, by the people, for the people; whose just
powers are derived from the consent of the governed---i The mayor
paused, waiting for the crowd to catch up with him in reciting the
unfamiliar tract. Many read enthusiastically, others mumbled along
trying to keep pace; those who couldnit read simply mumbled and moved
their lips.

He continued, ia democracy in a Republic; a sovereign Nation of many
sovereign States; a perfect Union, one and inseparable---i Again he
paused for his audience to catch up. Several near the back yelled
elouderi so, raising his voice, he continued, i established upon those
principles of freedom, equality, justice and humanity for---i Toomey
stopped and peered out over the audience in response to a disturbance a
few feet off to one side from where Thomas and his group were standing.
Then someone shouted eto hell with the wari, followed by another, ehell
no, we wonit goi, and still another, edonit buy bondsi.

For a moment, the crowd stood still or looked around in stunned silence,
but soon followed with a low, ominous murmuring that grew into a roar of
booing and cat-calling. The unpatriotic outbursts were repeated, and the
crowd responded with its own shouting, etraitorsi, eslackersi,
ehyphenatesi.

Someone called out eget the hempi. Another yelled etar and feathersi.
Still others pointed to a large oak tree, egot a nice sturdy limb right
herei!

Mayor Toomey started rapping on the podium and called for the band to
resume playing, but to no avail. Thomas, peering

over the top of the crowd, could see someone throw a rope over a limb as
others were wrestling with a dark-haired, rather plump individual on the
ground, trying to get him to his feet. When they finally stood him up
and struggled to slip the noose over his head, Thomas called out, ihey,
that looks like Aram!

Who? i Brad asked.

Aram Bedrosian. Knew him in schoolowe struggled through chemistry
together.

The attackers now had the noose around their victim and were pulling
down on the bitter end of the rope, while others were trying to lift him
off the ground. Suddenly, a phalanx of police broke through and chased
the attackers away, allowing the victimis limp body to fall to the
ground.

With Brad next to him, Thomas started shoving his way through the mob
toward the victim. After a few steps he was stopped by an almost primal
cry from his mother screaming his name. Fearing she had been injured by
the crowd, he spun around to see her glaring at him, her eyes a mixture
of fright and motherly command.

Angrily he shouted at his sister to escort her back to the car, then
resumed plunging forward with Brad. When they reached the unconscious
Bedrosian, they knelt down and removed the noose, exposing a circle of
bloody welts around his neck. They slapped and fanned his face until he
finally started to come to.

Thomas cut the twine binding his wrists behind his back.

Letis take him to my car, i Brad suggested. iiill get him to the
hospital.

Thomas nodded and with the police escorting them through the booing
onlookers, they half carried, half walked the groggy victim to safety.
Wordlessly, Brad started his car and headed off toward the hospital,
while Thomas returned to his mother and sister and the Duncans waiting
nervously beside his car. They all looked disheveled..

Emma had lost her hat and the black armband from her coat.

Becky was missing a shoe and was balancing on one foot, while Mrs.
Duncan was trying to hold together the pieces of her torn uniform Emma
started crying. Thomas put an arm across her shoulder and Becky reached
to calm her. Mrs. Duncan and her daughter gave each other reassuring
hugs. With weary goodbyes, Thomas, Emma and Becky climbed into the
automobile. It had been Emmais first visit to town in several months,
and her children wondered if there ever would be another.

Chapter 10.

Although Fresno was somewhat isolated from larger cities like San
Francisco and Los Angeles, as well as the state capitol of Sacramento,
the community responded quickly to the country's growing war effort In
the two-month period following the declaration of war, the local Red
Cross chapter had mounted a drive to sign up some four thousand new
members by July 4. This was in response to President Wilson's
declaration placing the organization on a wartime footing. The chapter
also was well on its way toward raising $8,000, its part of the national
goal.

The chapter was taking over an abandoned store on Fulton Street where
its women volunteers would be manufacturing surgical dressings, gauze
bandages, pajamas, dressing gowns and other garments that eventually
would be sent to American field hospitals in France.

The community's younger women also were organizing to do their part.
Over one hundred of them had formed the Samiettes, honoring the
'Sammies' nickname being given American soldiers. The young women had
been meeting at the Civic Auditorium to prepare boxes of food and knit
sweaters for departing soldiers, sew for the Red Cross, solicit funds
for war relief and help sell bonds in the nation's first Liberty Loan
drive.

Under the direction of a sergeant from the Army recruiting office, the
women conducted drills and exercise classes and were planning dances for
men who would be going into the service.

Even the Normal School, about to wind down the first spring session at
its new ten-acre campus, was gearing up to play its part in the war
effort. Faculty and students were supporting the Liberty Bond drive, and
a Red Cross student club had been formed. Courses were being scheduled
in First Aid, hygiene and food conservation, along with a Canning Day. A
series of lectures on the history and background of the war were being
planned and a huge Victory Garden was being planted and maintained by
the students.

Now it was the first week in June, a time of two key events.

The first would come on Tuesday, June 5, when all men ages twenty-one
through thirty throughout the country would be required to register for
the draft. The second event would fall the following Saturday, which had
been designated Liberty Loan Bond Day. That was when Fresno and the rest
of the nation would tote up the results of the month-long campaign to
raise two billion dollars through the sale of Government bonds to help
finance the war.

Like the draft, the bond campaign was of particular concern because the
country's leaders couldn't predict how the public would react to a
program created by the Federal government.

But that concern had been quickly put to rest in early May when the
first day's bond subscriptions by financial institutions had topped
sixty-three million dollars. By the time the public drive had started
ten days later with the support of a massive publicity campaign, the
country's newspapers already were declaring the campaign a rousing
success.

During these first two months of the war, life also had changed for
Thomas and Becky. She, in addition to her classes, was becoming involved
in the various war-oriented activities at the school. Thomas was working
twelve-to-fourteen hours a day trying to keep ahead of his ripening
crops. Adding to their burden was the fact that their mother showed no
interest in their efforts to draw her out of her dependency and
isolation. Emma refused to take any more driving lessons or get involved
in Red Cross or some other form of war work. She seemed content to cook
and keep house for Thomas, work in her vegetable garden,

read her Woman's Home Companion or listen to the Victrola.

She continued to wear black in mourning for Alexander.

Her unresponsiveness had so frustrated Thomas that by Draft Registration
Day he had decided to get away from her and the farm and meet his
friends in town. Afterwards he would accompany them to the polling place
where they were to register. That afternoon he was to attend a special
meeting of the new Food Defense Council to discuss plans for finding
sufficient workers to handle the huge fruit harvests anticipated from
mid through late summer. That would be the same period that the first
contingents of young men were to be called away to the training camps.

When he found Brad and Earl around 10:30 that Tuesday morning, a huge,
boisterous crowd already had collected along both sides of Fulton Street
awaiting the start of the parade especially organized for the day.
Governor Stephens had declared a statewide holiday and all businesses,
including saloons, had closed. Hundreds of American flags, loaned by the
Raisin Day Association, brightened lampposts throughout Fresno's
business district.

The Commercial Club, sponsor of the parade, had decreed there were to be
no vehicles or horses, only people walking.

This resulted in a two-hour procession that officials later estimated
involved 5,000-6,000 individuals.

The parade was led by the Chief of Police and a number of his officers,
who were followed by the military cadets from Fresno High School.
Veterans of the Civil and Spanish- American Wars, many squeezed into
their moth-eaten uniforms, marched proudly down the street. A few of
these older vets rode in motor cars, a last-minute concession granted by
the parade sponsors.

All civic, fraternal and patriotic organizations were represented, along
with most of the churches. City fathers and the county supervisors were
joined by employees of major business firms such as Standard Oil, San
Joaquin Light and Power and the Sun Maid Raisin Board, along with
retailers like Gottschalks, Radin & Kamp, Einsteinis, Goodman's Clothing
and Bowman's Drug Store.

As the parade wound down just before noon, Thomas and his friends walked
over to the Hughes Hotel, which they found packed with people. The crowd
was comprised mostly of young men with a generous mixture of wives and
girl friends. All seemed to be having a jovial time, apparently
oblivious to the probability that the men were about to consign their
futures to a trench in France. The threesome squeezed through the crowd
to a corner table.

What a jolly bunch, i Thomas ventured, gesturing around the room.

Maybe they're happy because they're secretly planning to riot, i Earl
observed sardonically.

More likely it's because the draft will give them a change to get away
from home, i Brad suggested.

Not to mention a few wives and kids, i Earl added.

I don't think they're planning to riot, i Brad observed. iat lease not
the ones I've interviewed.

A harried-looking waitress arrived and took their order for sandwiches
and coffee.

Thomas asked, ianybody seen or heard from Jack? i Earl replied, The was
in town last week, just for a day. He's still pulling guard duty up at
the power station.

The three friends fell silent as a group in the corner of the restaurant
started raucous singing. After a few moments, when the noise had leveled
off a little, Thomas remembered that Brad was a reporter with access to
advance information. iany word on how the sign-up is going in the east?
i he asked.

So far, no problems have been reported on the wireless from New York or
Washington. In fact, it's starting to look like record numbers are
registering.

Our situation might be rather unique because of all the goddamn
foreigners around here, i Earl groused. iunderstand they had to print
our draft notices in fourteen languages.

Brad nodded as Earl continued, ino telling how many of those dumb
bastards might refuse to sign up.

iguess they could have skipped the Mexican version, i Thomas added. ii
see in the paper that most of them already are heading back to Mexico,
afraid they might get drafted.

Earl replied, ithat's right. I saw a couple truckloads heading south
this morning.

Above the din of conversation and laughter, the strains of ihail, Hail
the Gang's All Herei drifted across the room.

God, how can anybody be happy about signing up for war? i Earl asked,
glancing toward the singing.

Maybe that beats the boredom of everyday living, i Brad observed. inone
of us realize what the hell we're getting into.

War still seems a long way off.

Yeah, and just a few weeks ago we were in favor of peace and doing our
damnedest to stay out of war, i Thomas said.

I think the government propaganda had a lot to do with changing people's
minds, i Earl continued. i and the Chautauqua a couple weeks ago. All the
speakers were promoting the war.

How about the Chamber of Commerce and the Council on Defense, i Brad
added. itheir slogans 'Don't Be A Slacker' and "Pay Up Or Go To War'
sure don't leave anyone much choice.

The waitress had delivered their sandwiches and they stopped talking and
started eating. Earl took a swallow of coffee then turned to Thomas,
ihow you going to find pickers after all those wet-backs go home and the
rest of our guys go off to war? i Thomas wiped his mouth with his
napkin, imaybe I could get some of those Chinese coolies. I heard their
government offered to send us all we could use.

Brad responded, inot the government. It was the Chinese Consolidated
Benevolent Association in San Francisco ... called the 'Chinese Six
Companies'.

Earl, agitated, interjected, idoesn't make a damn who offered, we don't
want all those Chinks running around town.

Thomas protested, ibut they guaranteed to ship 'em back to China after
the war. Even offered to hold out part of their wages 'til they left.

Earl, his mouth half full of sandwich, leaned angrily toward Thomas.
I forget it, man! Those gooks aren't that stupid.

They'd never go back to that God forsaken country, so we'd be stuck with
'em.

Thomas bristled but before he could respond, Brad stepped in to sooth
the tension. iwell, you guys can relax because it's not going to happen.
We'd have to change the Exclusion Law, and nobody in Sacramento has the
guts to suggest that. And we're running another editorial tomorrow
against the hiring of Orientals.

Each of them quietly finished his sandwich against the continuing
background noise of the crowded restaurant. Then Earl, now calmed down,
spoke, iwell, I guess something's going to have to give. The Food
Council estimates we'll need over ten thousand workers next month just
to handle the peaches and apricots, and the government already is
predicting a critical food shortage this winter.

Thomas put down his empty coffee cup and pushed his chair back from the
table. ii'm so concerned about how my peaches will get picked that I've
asked my sister to see if any of her school friends would want to help.

Sounds like a good idea, i Earl replied, draining the last of his
coffee.

We'll see, i Thomas added absently as he noticed Brad glancing at the
dining room clock and reaching to pay the waitress. ieither of you
thought about what you're going to do when you're called? i he asked as
they arose to leave.

Brad answered first, inot me. But I understand the first call won't be
until September when they expect to have the training cantonments ready
... guess I can worry about it then.

I've decided not to go, i Earl responded.

Brad and Thomas glanced quizzically at their companion, then realized he
was joking.

Yeah, i he smiled. iunderstand they're not going to allow any liquor or
whores around the camps. Sounds too dull for me.

Thomas and Brad chuckled dutifully at the weak joke as they stepped out
to the street and headed toward the draft registration station. When
they paused at Tulare Street to let a streetcar pass, Thomas felt a hand
on his shoulder and turned to find Sean Harrington, the neighbor he
hadn't seen since his father's funeral.

Mister Harrington. What a surprise!

Hello, Thomas. Didn't expect to see you here in town.

Decided to join my friends. They're registering today. He introduced
Harrington to Brad and Earl.

Harrington hardly acknowledged them and continued, iwell, this is a sad
day for America. When we start conscripting our young men for killing we
shouldn't be celebrating.

Thomas was surprised at his neighbor's comment and felt a twinge of
guilt. iwell-er-I guess you're ... We shouldn't be in this war in the
first place. It's just to benefit those big bugs on Wall Street and the
munitions makers! i Thomas, embarrassed by the outburst, didn't know
what to say. He glanced at Brad and Earl, hoping for support, but they
remained silent.

Harrington continued, ithe only ones in favor of the draft are big
business and high finance. They think by drafting all our young men they
can throttle freedom of speech ... and ... the strikes ... and all the
discontent in this country! i The old farmer's ranting was gaining the
attention of several people on the crowded sidewalk and they began to
stir and mumble their disapproval. He seemed to sense this as he pressed
a pamphlet into Thomas' hand and in a lowered voice invited him and his
friends to attend an afternoon rally in Court House Park. Then he turned
and strode off down the sidewalk Earl spoke first, iyour neighbor sounds
like one of those revolutionaries. What is he, a free lover, or some
damned anarchist?

Beats the hell out of me, i Thomas replied with agitation.

Hell, I hardly know him.

iwell, he's sure going to have to be careful, i Brad added.

The government, and a lot of our so-called loyal citizens, are starting
to crack down on that kind of opposition talk.

Yeah, i Earl added, isoon as that new Espionage Bill gets passed, we can
really take care of some of these Socialist bastards.

Afraid it's already affecting freedom of the press, i Brad added. imy
story on the pros and cons of the draft got killed a couple weeks ago.

Killed? i Thomas asked.

Yeah. My editor decided it sounded too critical of the government.

The threesome crossed the street and headed for the draft registration
station. Thomas stood by for about an hour as his two friends waited in
line to sign up. When they finished and turned to leave for the Court
House, where the law library had been set aside for draftees to receive
their physical exams, Thomas bid them adieu. As they parted, Earl called
out, i want to join us for some Chinese food tonight?

Chinese? i The suggestion seemed incongruous to Thomas in light of
Earl's earlier comments.

Brad sensed the confusion and interjected, iit's about the only place we
can buy beer tonight.

Thomas smiled and agreed to meet them at Shun Wo's around six o'clock.

He returned to his car and drove to the Normal School to attend the Food
Defense Council meeting. The statewide council had been formed at the
start of the war to gather data on crops, acreage under cultivation, and
labor requirements.

During the meeting, farmers estimated Fresno County would need some four
thousand workers in July and an additional ten thousand in September and
October to harvest the season's fruit crops.

Representatives of the Valley Fruit Growers Association pledged their
support in getting their three thousand members to provide better
temporary housing and food for workers.

The Normal School agreed to enlist as many of its five hundred students
as possible and the Commercial Club would urge merchants to close their
stores for a day or two each week so their clerks could work in the
vineyards and orchards.

Representatives of women's organizations promised to find members who
would help farm wives in preparing food for workers. Plans were made for
recruiting tradesmen such as carpenters, bricklayers and plumbers to
provide a few days of labor in the fields.

As the meeting was winding down, it suddenly broke into a wild and
unruly shouting match over Washington's proposed new Food Administration
to be headed up by Herbert Hoover.

Some were protesting the concept of government agencies that would buy
and sell grain, sugar and other basic commodities.

Others complained that plans to cut down on the production of sugar and
flour would curtail baking, which in turn would reduce the use of
raisins, one of the Fresno area's main products.

And packers yelled that as middlemen, they would be the ones hurt the
most by any effort to control prices for farmers or consumers.

Thomas finally tired of the cacophony, left the meeting and drove back
to town and across the Southern Pacific tracks to Chinatown where Brad
and Earl were waiting for him to join them for dinner.

The three friends moved from the waning but still-bright summer sun into
the dark restaurant and groped their way to a booth. Brad ordered a
round of cold beers and Brad started asking how the meeting went. Thomas
was opening his mouth to respond but suddenly tensed and stopped in
mid-sentence as the teenage Chinese waiter returned and set three
bottles on the table. iwhat's the matter? i Brad asked.

That ring ... that's my father's ring! i he yelled, pointing at the
waiter's hand.

The alarmed waiter jerked his hand back from the table, knocking over
one of the beer bottles, spun on his heel and darted toward the back of
the restaurant. Thomas jumped from the booth and yelled back at his
companions to call the police as he started in pursuit. His mad dash
took him into the kitchen where he banged against pots and pans and
stumbled and shoved his way through startled cooks and helpers,
following the waiter out the back door into the alley.

There he found himself staring blindly into the setting sun, and crashed
noisily into a garbage can as he staggered around trying to find his
prey. He partially regained his eyesight in time to see a flash of metal
and feel a searing pain across his left forearm. He instinctively
grabbed the arm with his right hand and felt the warm, sticky blood
oozing between his fingers as he stepped back and delivered a solid kick
into the groin of his still- blurry target.

The resulting scream confirmed he had hit pay dirt. As he glanced down
at his bleeding arm, he felt Earl's ample frame brush past and watched
him crash into the slumping waiter and fall on top of him, sending the
knife clattering across the alleyway.

You OK? i Earl yelled to Thomas as he pinned the waiter to the ground.

I think so, i he replied, wrapping a handkerchief around his forearm.
The cut me with that goddamn knife.

What the hell we fighting about? i Earl asked as he sat astraddle the
still-moaning waiter.

Look at the ring on his right hand. That used to belong to my father.

Earl lifted the hand to get a closer look. iyou sure?

Pretty sure, i Thomas replied, stepping closer.

Sure hope you're right, i Earl said as he nodded toward the two Chinese
cooks standing in the back doorway of the restaurant. ihope the police
get here before those guys decide to come after us. Thomas gave a sigh
of relief as he glanced down the alley to see Brad running toward them
with two policemen. The cooks disappeared inside the restaurant.

As Earl stood up and the officers helped the waiter to his feet, Thomas
explained about the ring. He described how it was comprised of a gold
band with a clear, emerald-cut mounted stone. The stone had a stylized
flower with stem and leaves embossed in gold and a tiny diamond
representing the blossom.

The initials AHO and year 1893 were engraved inside the band.

One of the policemen removed the ring and confirmed Thomas' description
as the waiter started protesting in Chinese.

Anybody understand this Chink gobbledygook? i the officer asked.

Everyone shook their heads.

Sounds like he's saying 'hock'... or maybe it's 'luck'.

The officer slipped handcuffs on the waiter and escorted him back toward
the restaurant. ilet's see if he can find a receipt.

Maybe he bought it in a hock shop.

nside the kitchen, the waiter spoke excitedly to one of the cooks, who
then addressed the policeman in broken English.

He say bought ring 'cause velly lucky numbers.

The policemen glanced inside the band. iall I see are the numbers 1893.
What the hell's he talking about? i Brad spoke up, ii understand the
Chinese believe in the luck of certain numbers. Not sure which ones,
though.

The cook removed a paper and pencil from a drawer, licked the pencil
point, and laboriously wrote down the numbers 1-8-9- 3. He pointed to
the eight and the nine and three. isee, mean velly lucky and have long
life.

Earl cursed, iwhat a bunch of shit! i Thomas, gripping his bloody
forearm in an upright position to slow the bleeding, added, iyeah, I
don't care about his good luck. I just want my ring back.

The waiter mumbled something in Chinese and pointed toward the drawer.
The cook rummaged around in the mixture of utensils until he found a
scrap of paper and handed it to the officer. It turned out to be a
receipt from Armen's Pawn Shop.

Looks like he bought it OK. Paid five bucks, i the policeman observed.

OK, I'll give him five bucks.

The waiter and cook again conversed in Chinese, after which the latter
turned to Thomas and advised that the waiter would settle for ten
dollars.

ijesus, wait 'till I get my hands on my brother, i Thomas mumbled. He
responded to the cook, itell him that's too much.

I'll give him seven dollars.

The two Orientals jabbered back and forth, then the cook shook his head
in agreement.

Thomas pulled out his wallet, ichrist, I've only got three dollars. Can
anyone loan me a few bucks? i Brad extracted a five-dollar bill from his
billfold and handed it to the cook.

Thomas gave him the balance, the policeman released the waiter and gave
the ring to Thomas.

He slipped it over the drying blood on his left ring finger.

Sure hope this turns out to be my lucky ring! i Chapter 11.

June was turning into a long, hard month for Thomas. With the hot summer
sun beating down, he had been working from dawn to dusk trying to keep
up with the irrigating and weeding on his twenty acres and the forty he
had leased from the Maloneys.

His situation had not been helped any by his Chinatown fight. The
knife-cut across his arm, although it had not reached any tendons, had
required more than a dozen stitches to close.

Working and sweating in the dirt and hot sun irritated the wound so that
it had to be cleansed and re-bandaged every night.

Although he was happy to have his father's ring safely back on his
finger, he still felt anger toward his brother for having hocked it in
the first place. And he was frustrated that he still owed Brad the five
dollars he had to borrow to get it back.

So when Brad phoned late one evening near the end of the month, Thomas
was almost too embarrassed to talk. ihello, my friend, where've you been
for the past two weeks? i Brad asked.

You kidding? I've been stuck on this damned farm.

Well, I have a suggestion for getting you unstuck. Earl and Jack and I
are organizing a July 4 trip to Huntington Lake. We want you to join us.

Thomas hesitated before replying. igosh, that sounds like fun, but
expensive. I still haven't repaid your five bucks.

Forget that. It was worth it to see you get your ring back.

ioh, I won't forget it, but Huntington still sounds expensive.

Not that bad. We'll share a cabin, and Jack's parents are loaning him
their new Cadillac so we'll have free transportation.

Must be nice to have rich parents.

Yeah. Guess they're trying to treat him to a good time since his Guard
unit will be shipping out right after the holiday.

So, what's the plan for Huntington?

We'll motor up to the lake on the third, stay over for the holiday
dance, and come home on the fifth.

OK, count me in.

Thomas decided to not reveal his plans to his mother until the following
Sunday when Becky would be joining them at the farm for dinner. He hoped
his sister's presence would help mitigate the negative reaction he fully
anticipated.

When Sunday arrived, he felt especially confident he had made the right
decision because Becky unexpectedly had brought three girl friends. She
introduced them and, ignoring her mother's protesting look, bustled
about setting more places at the table.

Over dinner, it soon became obvious that Becky and her friends were full
of enthusiasm for their activities at the Normal School. They had joined
the Farmerettes, the seventy-five students who were preparing Victory
Gardens on the campus.

The girls had planted a variety of vegetables and were seeking Emma's
advice on watering, weeding and fertilizing. She was flattered over the
newfound attention and responded favorably, seemingly drawn out of her
introversion for the first time since her husband's death.

Thomas became a happy observer as he watched the transition the bubbly
girls were working on his mother. As the dinner progressed, they
switched from the subject of gardening to the physical exercise classes
they had joined along with over one hundred other girls. At one point,
Becky arose from the table to demonstrate some of the gymnastic
movements they

were learning, and the other girls added their descriptions of classes
in folk dancing, baseball, soccer and basketball.

He eventually realized that his sister had been subtly steering the
conversation toward her plans for the summer. Part of her enthusiasm,
she soon revealed, was a buildup for her wanting to enroll in the
school's Sierra Summer program at Huntington Lake.

Oh, but Becky, that sounds expensive, i Emma interjected into her
daughter's description of the program.

The registration fee is only five dollars, Mother, plus three dollars
for a special class in cooking and sewing.

Cooking and sewing? i Emma asked suspiciously, recalling how in the past
she had tried unsuccessfully to interest her daughter in homemaking.

Thomas chuckled inwardly at his sister's ploy to gain their mother's
acceptance, then spoke up before she could protest.

Where would you stay?

The school has tent cabins, i Becky answered.

Included in the registration fee?

No, they rent for ten dollars. But that's for the entire six- week
session.

For each of you?

That's the total. The four of us would share.

Emma looked at the girl friends, ih ave your parents approved your going?
i All three nodded in the affirmative, as if rehearsed.

Is the school just for girls, or boys too? i Emma asked suspiciously.
The girl friends, who had been quiet throughout the questioning, giggled
and glanced at each other.

Mother, don't be so old fashioned. Of course boys attend.

But they stay in separate cabins, so you wouldn't need to worry.

How would you get there? i her brother inquired.

The school has a special train, just seven dollars and fifty cents for a
round trip ticket.

The San Joaquin and Eastern?

Yes, i Becky grinned. istudents call it the 'Slow, Jerky and Expensive'.

iwhat about your Victory Garden. Who'll take care of that? i Emma asked.

Some of the other girls.

Thomas interjected, ithe unlucky ones, huh? i Becky just shrugged her
shoulders at the lame attempt at humor.

He was trying with little success to suppress a big grin.

Becky, when we get ready to sell our peaches and raisins can we come to
you for help? i She smiled at the compliment. Emma looked perplexed, but
didn't say anything.

Thomas went to a kitchen drawer for a paper and pencil, returned to the
table, and started adding up his sister's numbers.

So OK, you need almost twenty dollars, plus a few more for spending
money, i he concluded.

We have that kind of money? i their mother asked.

Guess we could take it out of savings, i he replied.

I can pay for part of it, i Becky added for reinforcement.

Sighing, Emma shrugged her shoulders as she commented weakly, iwell, I
guess it's alright. Becky jumped up and gave her mother and brother big
hugs.

Deciding to seize the moment and trying to sound casual, Thomas spoke
up, iwell, it looks like Huntington Lake is the place to be this summer,
i he ventured. ii'm planning to be there myself over the July 4 holiday.

Disregarding his mother's look of surprise and protest, he told of his
plans to join his friends.

With barely disguised sarcasm, Emma asked, ii suppose your lady friend
will be there too?

Brenda?

Whoever.

Don't believe so, Mother. Just us four guys.

So, it looks like I'll be spending the holiday by myself, i Emma said
with a sigh of self-pity.

He ignored the comment and moved from the table to the rocking chair.
Becky and her friends started carrying dishes to the sink and putting
left over food in the icebox.

Emma arose and, hands on her hips, faced her son. iyou really think you
should be going away this time of year? i she asked angrily.

Perplexed, Thomas glanced up at her then toward Becky ... iwhat do you
mean, what's your concern?

Well, you do have lots of chores to take care of.

I can get the Harrington boys to tend the irrigating. There's nothing
else that can't wait a few days.

So you're going to leave me here all by myself just so you can go
someplace to meet girls? i His confusion over her sudden change in
attitude shifted to anger. iwhat I do at Huntington really is none of
your concern.

Jack Lewis has to report for duty after the holiday so Brad, Earl and I
want to give him a good sendoff.

Becky, embarrassed in front of her friends, tried to soften the
confrontation she could see building. ithomas has been working pretty
hard, Mother. Don't you think he deserves a little break?

Not when there's so much work to be done. And he's really going up there
to meet girls, i Emma responded hotly.

My relationship with girls is none of your damn business, Mother! i he
shouted angrily as he stood up to leave the room.

Emma gasped at her son's sharp retort, then cried out, iyou'll be sorry.
I just might not be here when you return! i She stalked to her bedroom
and slammed the door behind her.

My God, what was that all about? i he asked his sister.

Not sure. At first I thought she really was worried about the farm, but
now I don't know. Sounds more like jealousy, or maybe she's afraid of
being here alone.

He sat back down with his head in his hands, trying to reconcile the
argument, and mused aloud. igod, no wonder Father seemed unhappy if she
was always so demanding, so dependent.

Becky glanced silently at her brother and her girl friends sitting
quietly, uncomfortably on the sofa. Thomas stood up.

Well, the hell with this mess. I'm going to Huntington.

As Becky turned to the kitchen sink to wash dishes and her friends moved
to help her, Thomas took their place on the sofa and stretched out his
tired body. In a few moments he was dozing, only to be awakened by the
ring of the telephone. Becky stepped to the wall, lifted the receiver,
then quickly held it away from her ear.

What on earth ...!i Thomas called from the sofa, iwhat's the matter? i
She eased the receiver back toward her ear. ican't make it out ...
sounds like someone screaming or crying.

He moved beside his sister, took the receiver and put it to his ear.
Between sobs he could hear a female voice and something about jail, and
the words 'Mama' and 'Papa'. Then he recognized Brenda's voice.

He called her name into the phone and finally got her to calm down.
ibrenda, what's the matter? i After a long pause, she replied haltingly.
ioh, Thomas, they've taken Mama and Papa to jail ... and shot Emil!

My God ... what ... I mean who. Who you talking about?

The sheriff and his men.

What did your parents do?

Nothing ... I don't know. She started sobbing again.

You home?

Uh huh.

Anybody with you?

Ivan.

OK, stay there. I'll be right over.

He hung up the phone, pulled on his shoes, and rushed out the door. In a
few minutes, he was driving up to the Stuckey house where Brenda and her
brother were waiting on the porch.

They escorted him inside and began describing how the sheriff and
several of his deputies had driven up to the house while the family was
having supper and demanded that everyone come out. Papa and his sons had
stepped out on the porch to hear the sheriff announce he was arresting
the parents as aliens and would be taking them to jail. In the arguing
and shouting that ensued, Emil had slipped back into the house and
gotten a rifle. He reappeared around the corner, pointed the weapon at
the sheriff, and told him to get the hell off their property.

One of the deputies then drew his gun and shot Emil in the shoulder.
Much screaming and confusion followed when Mama and Papa ran to their
fallen son, but eventually the deputies were able to restore order. They
put handcuffs on the parents and piled them and the bleeding Emil into
their paddy wagon and headed to town. That's when Brenda had phoned
Thomas.

He listened in disbelief and asked, ihow come the sheriff called your
parents aliens?

van answered, iwe don't know. They became American citizens several
years ago.

And they've always been such good people, i Brenda protested. ialways
worked hard and never bothered anyone.

But we're at war now with Germany, and people like our parents are still
considered German, i Ivan grumbled.

There's so much war hysteria sweeping the country, i Thomas added,
trying to assuage their distress. ii read about it in the paper, but
never thought of it happening here.

What are we going to do? i Brenda asked anxiously. ii can't stand the
thought of my folks being in jail. And poor Emil.

I wonder if they took him to a doctor. They all fell silent as the big
grandfather clock in the hallway bonged ten times.

Come on, i Thomas said, ilet's go see what we can find out. He helped
Ivan and Brenda close up the house, escorted them to his motor car and
headed for town.

Half an hour later when they drove up to the county jail, they were
surprised to encounter dozens of people milling around. Most were in
civilian clothes along with a mixture of military uniforms and Red Cross
dresses.

Heavens, what's going on? i Brenda asked.

Maybe they cleaned out all the saloons, i Ivan speculated.

Looks more ominous then that, i Thomas mused as he drove around the
corner looking for a parking spot. He finally found a space on a side
street that ran along the backside of Court House Park, and the
threesome made their way through

the dark and back to the crowd in front of the old brick, two- story
jail. Thomas turned as he felt a hand on his shoulder.

It was Earl with a big grin, ievenin', Tommy. What do you think of our
little round up?

What the hell's going on?

Spies and slackers. Sheriff's been picking 'em up all night.

Must have a couple hundred locked up by now.

Doesn't look like there's room in there for that many, i Ivan observed.

Got 'em shoved in pretty tight, i Earl responded. iexcept for about
twenty women. Locked them up in the Court House basement.

Brenda wailed, ioh, poor Mama! i Thomas spoke angrily, iwhat the hell
you mean spies?

Sheriff Thorsen wouldn't know a spy if one bit him on the nose.

Spies, aliens, Heinies ... all the same thing, i Earl replied, glancing
toward Brenda and Ivan.

My parents are not spies, i Brenda protested. ithey're honest,
hard-working farmers and good Ameri---i Thomas interrupted as he
continued probing Earl. iwhose idea was this anyway? Thorsen wouldn't
have the guts to arrest these people without someone backing him.

Your old boss, Tommy boy, along with a lot of other business leaders.

You mean Mister Johnson ... the ... the bank president?

Yes sir.

My God, I can't believe he'd be involved in something like this. iiyou
better believe it. He's in charge of our local chapter of the American
Protective League.

What the hell's that?

van spoke up. iyeah, I read about them in the paper.

Businessmen all over the country are forming chapters to get people
behind the war and round up dissenters.

Earl pulled out his wallet and held a card up to the dim street light.
isee, here's my ID card. We've been appointed by the Justice Department
in Washington. And here's my badge.

We've all got our own code numbers.

They glanced at the card and badge then turned and faced the front of
the jail as someone mounted the steps and started leading the crowd in
patriotic songs. Earl joined in loudly and a little off key as Thomas,
Brenda and Ivan stood silently trying to gather their thoughts.

When the crowd had tired of the singing and quieted somewhat, Earl again
spoke to Thomas. iwe got that nutty neighbor of yours too.

Who?

Harrington.

What the hell did he do?

Been trying to organize the farmers to be against the war, oppose the
draft ... stuff like that.

Thomas shook his head in disbelief.

Guess he hasn't tried to sign you up?

Nope. Can't remember last time I saw him. Guess it was Registration Day.

Better stay away from him. He'll get you in big trouble with the
government.

The crowd started stirring again and turned its attention toward the
jail as Sheriff Thorsen stepped out and signaled for quiet. He was
accompanied by Emmett Johnson and several other community leaders. The
sheriff proudly announced that the evening's raids had netted
one-hundred seventy-four miscellaneous aliens, dissenters and draft
dodgers. Six of them had to be taken to the hospital but, in the words
of the sheriff, ithey probably will live. Some in the crowd chuckled
nervously, a few others booed.

Brenda started to cry and her brother put his arm around her
protectively as he turned to Thomas. imaybe we should go home, Thomas.
Doesn't look like we can do anything more here tonight.

The following morning the threesome returned to town and the county
hospital where they found Emil in a private room with a sheriff's deputy
at the door. He scanned their identification, searched Brenda's purse
and patted down Thomas and Ivan before letting them enter. Brenda
sobbingly threw her arms around her wounded brother.

Oh, Emil, I've been so worried about you. I couldn't sleep all night.

Emil hugged her with his good arm and tried to sooth her.

Don't worry, Brenda. I'm gonna' be OK. What did they do with Mama and
Papa?

van replied, ithey're in jail. We're going to see them next.

Thomas expressed his condolences and told Emil about the scene at the
jail the night before. After a few minutes they departed and Thomas
drove Brenda and Ivan back to the jail to check on their parents. He
excused himself and walked through Court House Park, oblivious to the
light and shadows of the summer sun poking its warming rays through the
trees. He exited at Mariposa Street and continued on to the bank at the
corner of Fulton to see if he could meet with Emmett Johnson.

He found the president in his office, and was somewhat taken aback by
his effusive greeting.

My heavens, Thomas, what a pleasant surprise! How's my favorite young
farmer? i He motioned him to a seat in his office, closed the door, and
pulled up a chair beside him.

Thomas didn't waste time on formalities. imister Johnson, what was that
roundup all about last night? i Johnson leaned toward him and replied in
a confidential voice, ispies, Thomas. Sheriff Thorsen was looking for
German spies.

In Fresno! My God, what would they spy on around here?

The country's full of them. The Justice Department in Washington is
getting a thousand accusations a day!

What kind of accusations?

All sorts of things. Doing things disloyal to the country, saying things
that are seditious, attempting to hinder the war effort, espionage and
sabotage.

Thomas was so disbelieving that he couldn't think of what to say, then
finally asked, iwho gave the sheriff the authority? i Johnson didn't
reply immediately, but stepped over to his desk drawer and drew out a
badge, manual and newsletter and showed them to Thomas. ithe American
Protective League.

I'm chairman of the local chapter and see, here's my badge and my secret
manual of operations. And this is the Spy Glass, our weekly newsletter.
Comes directly from the Justice Department.

Thomas flipped through the manual and newsletter unseeingly, trying to
collect his thoughts. He realized that his work on the farm had isolated
him from the community and the country's burgeoning war effort but had
no idea to what extent.

This going on all over the country? i he asked absently.

Absolutely. According to this latest Spy Glass we already have over six
hundred local chapters throughout the country and more than ninety
thousand members.

Thomas arose from his chair, walked to the window and peered silently at
the people passing by on the sidewalk. After a moment, his mind returned
to the reason for his visit and he turned back toward Johnson.

Mister Johnson, what does all this have to do with people like the
Stuckeys. Surely they're not German spies?

Maybe not, Thomas, but we can't be too careful. The sheriff did find
guns in their house, which all aliens were supposed to turn in last
month.

But they're not aliens! i Thomas protested.

But they are German-Americans. Our informants tell us they receive
several German language newspapers and they're active in the Lutheran
Church.

Thomas' voice rose in frustration, imy God, Mister Johnson, they're
American citizens! They're entitled to worship where they want, or read
what they want. What the hell is this country ...? He caught himself
and stopped short, surprised at how disrespectful he was sounding in
front of his old boss, a prominent business leader and more than twenty
years his senior.

Johnson didn't reply for a few moments, waiting for his young protege to
calm down. Then he asked, iwhy are you so interested in the Stuckeys?

They're neighbors and good, hard-working farmers. Sure don't look like
spies to me.

And they have a pretty daughter, i Johnson added with a knowing smile.

Thomas blushed and shrugged his shoulders.

They fell silent again, each waiting for the other to speak.

Finally Thomas asked, iwhat will happen to them?

We've scheduled a hearing for tomorrow before a Federal judge. If he
doesn't find anything wrong, they'll probably pay a fine and be
released. But I imagine that younger son will spend time in jail for
pointing his gun at the sheriff.

Thomas arose from his chair, silently shook Johnson's hand, and stepped
toward the door. He paused when his old boss called to him.

Thomas, I appreciate your concern for your friends but hope you'll be
careful in these trying times.

What do you mean?

Well, there are a lot of hysterical people out there doing crazy things
in the name of patriotism. There have even been some beatings and
lynchings in other parts of the country. I'd hate to see you get hurt.

Thank you, sir. I'll be careful.

The following day, Thomas accompanied Ivan and Brenda into town for the
morning hearing. The judge had agreed to release most of those who had
been rounded up, after they had promised to purchase a Liberty Bond in
lieu of a fine. As Thomas entered the jail, he recognized Marian
Harrington among the crowd waiting their turn to retrieve their friends
or relatives.

He greeted her and introduced her to Ivan and Brenda. ii understand they
picked up Mister Harrington also? i

iyes, Thomas. I'm so afraid of what's going to happen to him. He seems
to be on some crusade. If he gets hurt or ends up in prison I don't know
what the children and I would do.

Before he could answer, she was called to the desk to write out a check
for two hundred dollars to purchase a bond, the price that had been set
for each man's release. If a person couldn't pay, he would be spending
time in jail.

In a few moments, a defiant-looking Sean Harrington was escorted out by
a jailer. He hugged his wife and shook hands with Thomas. iwhat do you
think of this free country now, son?

Don't know what to think, Mister Harrington. I guess it's getting pretty
scary.

I hope you've got better sense than to join the army and get yourself
hurt for 'Slick Willie' and his money-grubbing bankers and
industrialists.

Thomas looked puzzled until Mrs. Harrington, lowering her voice,
enlightened him, The's referring to President Wilson.

Thomas felt embarrassed by his neighbor's outburst and by the people
looking at the two of them. But before he could react, Mrs. Harrington
was dragging her husband from the room and he heard the Stuckey name
being called. He turned to see Papa being brought out from the cell
area. Ivan stepped forward to sign for his Liberty Bond as Brenda hugged
her father. He looked drawn and red-eyed, as if he had been crying and
without sleep.

They left the jail and walked to the basement wing of the Court House to
look for Mama Stuckey. When they stepped to the counter and gave her
name, the jailer responded with a sigh, iwell thank God. We'll be mighty
happy to get her out of here.

What happened? i Ivan asked.

Been making trouble ever since they brought her in.

Banging on her cell all night, hollerin' something in German.

van struggled to suppress a smile.

The jailer glanced at Brenda then back at Ivan and lowered his voice,
iyesterday she kicked the other jailer in his ... er ... privates. Took
three matrons to put cuffs and irons on her. ieveryone remained silent
as the jailer went to get Mama.

Still in irons, she came hobbling out, her eyes flashing defrance, her
jaw jutting out in anger. The jailer handed the keys to Ivan.

Here, you unlock her. I'm not gittin' near the old bag.

van unlocked the cuffs and leg irons, tossed the keys back to the
jailer, and took Mama's arm as they headed for the exit.

As they walked through the door to freedom, she turned her head and
yelled 'Schweinfart'!

A grinning Ivan looked at Thomas. iplease forgive Mama.

When she gets excited, she mixes up her German and English.

The Stuckeys and Thomas returned to their respective cars and drove
quietly back to their farms. A week later, Emil was transferred from the
hospital to jail where he would spend the next three months for
threatening the sheriff with his rifle.

Chapter 12.

On July 3 a hot summer sun had already burned a path part way through
the early morning haze as Thomas finished a hurried breakfast. He
stepped out the back door of the house to the sound of a motor car
pulling into the driveway, its horn honking. It was Brad, Earl and Jack,
the latter grinning at the wheel of a shiny new black and green Cadillac
phaeton.

Come on, Tom, the women canit wait much longer! i Jack yelled.

Yeah, and the beeris getting warm! i Earl chimed in.

Brad glanced silently toward Thomas with a sheepish grin, looking
slightly embarrassed by his boisterous companions.

Thomas waved silently, stepped back in the house to pick up his valise,
and tapped on the door of his motheris bedroom. She had been giving him
the silent treatment since their confrontation over Sunday dinner and,
continuing to nurse his own hurt and frustration, he had refused to
initiate any conversation. On this morning of his departure for
Huntington Lake, she was still closed up in her bedroom. She didnit
answer his knock, so he left the house and climbed into the back seat of
the motor car next to Earl and tossed his valise on the floor.

He gave Jack a friendly slap on the back and, looking around commented,
iman, Iim impressed with the new motor.

A little fancier than my old Chandler, i Brad added as he turned around
to shake Thomasi hand.

Fancier than my Torpedo, too, i Thomas observed as he rubbed his hand
caressingly over the soft leather upholstery and

reached up to touch the top, which Jack had left up to protect them from
the hot summer sun.

Pretty nice duds, too, i Thomas continued as he noticed that his
companions were dressed in new jump suits and caps and had goggles
perched on their caps, suitable attire for the hot, dusty road they
would be travelling in the open touring sedan.

He was wearing his old duster over slacks and an open shirt along with
his usual driving cap. His goggles were hanging by their strap around
his neck Everyone pulled their goggles over their eyes as Jack shifted
into gear and headed out the driveway. Feeling the surge of the
Cadillacis powerful V-8, Earl asked, ihow fast you driven her, Jack?

Took her up to fifty-five yesterday, and she still had more in her.

Wow! i Thomas exclaimed. ibest I can do in the Ford is about thirty, and
thatis downhill.

They all chuckled, then settled into quiet admiration of the
smooth-running engine and comfortable ride over the bumpy farm road.
Jack had turned west toward Fresno, then north through the community of
Clovis, where Earl reached into the heavy canvas bag at his feet,
extracted four ice-cold bottles of beer and passed them around. When
they reached the junction of the Auberry Road, they turned easterly into
the warming sun.

They soon were rolling past clusters of ancient oak trees and through
sere foothills as the road, following the winding path of Little Dry
Creek, started its gradual ascent toward the mighty Sierra Nevadais.

After a brief stop in Prather to check the caris radiator, drain their
bladders and purchase more beer, they piled back aboard and continued
their journey. As Earl distributed the fresh beer, he commented, ihope
you guys realize we wonit be doing this much longer.

What do you mean? i Jack asked as he down-shifted against the steepening
grade.

ithose Temperance gals have pressured Congress into a ban on brewing and
distilling, supposedly to conserve grain for the war effort.

Thatis right, i Brad added, ibut it wonit take effect until September.

Didnit Fresno used to be dry? i Thomas asked as he put a bottle to his
lips and let the cooling liquid wash away the dust in his throat.

Yeah, back in i09,i Brad replied, grinning. ithatis when our little town
was known as ethe toughest city of the plainsi.

Jack slowed to wheel the heavy Cadillac around a sharp curve then
commented. iat least we had the good sense to vote wet again a few years
later.

Brad added, imy boss had a lot to do with that with his editorials about
improved saloon conditions. Trouble is he changed his mind again when he
decided to run for the Senate.

Earl chuckled as he drained another bottle. iguess it didnit do him much
good since he lost.

They all fell quiet as Jack slowed for the community of Auberry, and
each dutifully waved back at the few natives clustered in any available
shade. A few miles later, their journey was halted by a mighty epopi and
ethump-thump-thumpi as the right rear tire hissed flat. Earl yelled eoh
shiti and the others groaned as Jack eased the wounded machine to the
side of the road. iworry not, my friends, i he announced. iwe do have a
spare. And if we need it, we have our own repair kit and electric tire
pump.

Jackis beery self-confidence soon turned to doubt and frustration as the
four took turns straining to jack up the heavy car, remove the rim and
flat tire, and mount the spare. The sweat-filled struggle took more than
an hour, during which they polished off the rest of their beer. Earl
took the occasion to pick his way down through the granite boulders and
dry grass to again relieve himself. He returned with confirmation that
in spite of his effort, Little Dry Creek was living up to its name.

Undaunted they piled back into the vehicle and continued their journey
up the road. Jack expertly shifted the car through the gears as they
rolled through the community of Pineridge and climbed into the cool,
beckoning forest of towering pine trees and welcoming breezes. The only
other incident was that of Earl heaving over the side, which didnit
deter the journey for even a moment since Jack was reluctant to slow his
momentum up the steep, winding grade. They stopped at Shaver Lake long
enough to refuel the car and buy sandwiches and more beer, then
continued on around the dam and down past the Dinkey Creek power
station, where Jack executed a snappy salute in acknowledgement of his
earlier guard duty. They pulled up in front of the Huntington Lodge by
mid-afternoon.

The lodge reminded Thomas of some of the rustic farm buildings he had
seen as a child in Michigan. It was a large, rough-hewn wooden structure
with a high-pitched roof designed to ward off the heavy winter snows
common at the 6,000-foot elevation. It faced the roadway against a
background of stately pine trees in which were located some twenty
individual cabins.

Although these were of varying sizes, each contained a stone fireplace,
useful in winter as well as for warding off the chill of summer mornings
and evenings. Each also featured a private bath with tub and small
kitchen, the latter with a wood-burning stove and firebox designed to
heat water for the bath and kitchen. To save money, Brad had reserved a
cabin with a single bedroom and twin stacked bunks for the four of them.
He joked, without much conviction, that it would be good training for
when they ended up in the army.

After checking into their cabin, Earl decided to lie down for a nap
while the others wandered off to see the sights. All four regrouped
later for dinner in the lodge, which was filling up with revelers
warming up for the big holiday celebration. A three- piece band was
tuning up at the far end of the room.

Jack was the first to spot them, four middle-aged women seated in a
corner giggling and chatting. He had donned his National Guard uniform
for the evening.

Brad spoke, iwell, Jack, you going to show us one of your special
infantry moves?

gnoring Earlis chuckling, Jack responded with a crisp salute. iyessir,
just watch me capture this group single handed.

He strolled over to the corner as the others waited expectantly. In a
few moments he returned, frowning, iguess whatotheyire married.

Whatis that got to do with anything? i Earl asked peevishly.

Their husbands are supposed to join them this evening.

Earl mumbled eshiti under his breath as he and his companions returned
quietly to their meal. They continued to scout any women entering the
large dining room, but found no other eligible candidates. After
finishing dinner and washing it down with a few more beers, they
stumbled out into the cool night air, vaguely looking for some kind of
activity. But there was none, except for an occasional couple of lovers
strolling off into the dark. They finally returned to their cabin and
crawled into their bunks, tired, frustrated and half drunk.

The following morning, as bright sunlight poked between drawn curtains
into their darkened cabin, Thomas and his companions began to stir
fitfully. All groaned from their hangovers but eventually, with the aid
of tepid baths, they started to regain their youthful exuberance. Jack,
the last to arise, stepped from the bath in the glory of his nakedness,
and started marching around the room singing an off-key rendition of
Over There. Earl fell in step behind him but Thomas and Brad, hands
cupped over their ears, escaped to the great outdoors.

They regrouped for huge mid-morning breakfasts of pancakes, eggs and
bacon and coffee. Afterwards, Jack took the flat tire to the service
station across from the lodge to have it repaired. The other three
walked down to the lakeshore where Brad talked them into renting a
rowboat, which they paddled around to the dam and back. Then they
stretched out on the beach in the warm sunshine.

When Jack rejoined them, he and Earl decided to stroll around in search
of unattached women. Thomas, finding it

difficult to adjust to a lazy day, invited Brad to join him on a hike to
the Sierra Summer School to see if he could find his sister.

They trudged along the side of the roadway in silence, basking in the
sunlight sprinkling down through the trees and drinking in the fresh,
pine-scented mountain air. Thomas, breathing deeply in the thin air,
pulled off his shirt and tied it around his waist. Brad opened a few
buttons, but left his on.

Thomas spoke first, iyouive sure been quiet since we left town.
Something wrong? i They walked along for a few moments before Brad
answered laconically, iyeah.

They continued on in silence until he elaborated. ithe editor killed a
couple more of my stories last week, and Iim pretty damned upset, if you
want to know the truth.

Whyid he do that?

Said they would get the paper in trouble with the government.

What were they about?

Those slacker raids a couple weeks ago and the rest of the war hysteria
thatis building up all around Fresno.

Then you know about that American Protective League? i Thomas asked as
they continued along.

Thatis what one of the stories was about.

You know Emmett Johnson, my old boss, is involved with them?

Involved, hell, heis the local chairman.

Well, who are they. What do they have to do with the war? i They were
having difficulty breathing in the high altitude and Brad was
complaining of a headache. Thomas stopped and sat down on a tree stump
beside the road. Brad sat next to him, massaging his head. He leaned
over and picked up a few granite pebbles from the forest floor and let
them sift through his fingers. Finally, he took several deep breaths
before responding to the question. ifar as Iim concerned, theyire a
bunch of troublemakers. The organization was started by some zealot in

Chicago and now theyive been endorsed by the Attorney General. Theyive
gone nationalochapters all over the country.

Thomas remained quiet, waiting for his companion to continue. itheyire
using the war hysteria to make trouble for anyone who criticizes the
government or doesnit show enough support for the war.

They stood up, stretched and resumed their walking as Thomas related how
the Stuckeyis had been rounded up and put in jail, supposedly for being
spies.

Brad responded, itheyire among the lucky ones. Some of those poor folks
are still in jail.

They paused beside the road as a motor car approached on its way up the
hill and stopped to ask if they wanted a ride.

They declined and the vehicle continued on with a friendly wave from the
occupants. As they resumed their hiking, Brad returned to their
discussion. ias I see it, the main problem is all of this eone Hundred
Percent Americanismi business.

Whatis that?

Well, itis the new national slogan everyoneis supposed to be using,
trying to get all of us to conform.

To what?

The war effortonationalismodutyovolunteerism. You name it. But it
doesnit allow any room for dissent or disagreement. Brad paused in his
walking, picked up a loose pinecone, and threw it forcefully into the
forest. Thomas, sensing that his companion was upset, remained quiet.

As they resumed their trek, Brad continued, iweire supposed to have
rights and privileges, a free press, freedom to speak our minds, or
disagree with the government. Now the one-hundred percenters say we
canit do that any more.

Thomas continued his silence for a few more yards then, trying to steer
his friend away from a bothersome subject, asked, ihow do you stand with
the draft? i Brad, nonplussed by the change in subject, frowned before
replying, ijudging from my number I shouldnit be called for awhile.

iguess Iill remain exempt long as Iim on the farm, i Thomas ventured.

Your age, too. How old are you now?

Turned eighteen a couple weeks ago. But I hear theyire already talking
about lowering the age to eighteen.

Well, as far as Iim concerned, being drafted is the least worrisome part
of this whole war.

What do you mean?

ilike I was sayingothe government trying to control our livesotake away
our freedoms.

Thomas didnit comment, and Brad continued, iguess you havenit paid much
attention to the new Espionage Act passed by Congress? i Thomas shook
his head. ithatis one of the problems being stuck on the farm. You lose
track of what is going on in the world.

Supposedly the act is intended to punish anyone who makes false
statements about the war, or causes disloyalty, or obstructs military
recruiting.

Sounds reasonable.

I guess itis a matter of interpretation. Us reporters are worried that
it will restrict freedom of the press, our ability to write about the
government and its conduct of the war.

Like the editor killing your stories?

Thatis right, along with everyoneis freedom to worship, or speak out, or
assemble or bear arms. You know, all that stuff in the Bill of Rights.

We studied that in school, but guess I didnit pay enough attention.

Youire not alone. Youid be surprised how many people donit know anything
about the Bill of Rights or our Constitutional protections against
oppressive government.

They continued hiking along the mountain road lost in their own thoughts
until Brad resumed talking. iwhen Sheriff Thorsen rounded up the
Stuckeys and those other people he violated several of their rights.

Such as the right to worship in their Lutheran church? i iexactly. And
the right to keep arms at home, or the right to read whatever newspapers
they prefer, or the right to assemble wherever they want.

Thomas didnit comment, then Brad added. i and one of the worst offenses
committed by the sheriff was rounding up all those people without search
warrants.

What are those?

Documents issued by a judge when he believes the reis a good reason to
find something illegal.

They walked on for a few more yards before Thomas continued, iwell,
Brad, I guess itis hard to find fault with a law that punishes someone
for being dishonest or disloyal in time of war. Seems like thatis a
logical way to get everyone working together to pull us through this
damned mess.

That sounds sensible, Tom. The problem comes in how itis administered.
President Wilson has already said he considers all dissent to be
disloyal, and heis warned anyone who stands in the way of the
government.

Sounds like heis planning to be pretty tough.

Especially on the press. We anticipated that from the censorship
arrangements he made last year during the Mexican conflict. They were
informal, but we sure had to be careful what we wrote and published.

They stopped talking as they turned off the road and into the summer
school grounds. In a few moments, they found Becky engaged in races and
games that had been organized by the school to celebrate Independence
Day. She broke away and greeted her brother with an enthusiastic hug,
and offered a demure handshake to Brad. She invited them to stay for the
dinner and dance that evening. As a special treat, the Sierra Male
Chorus, comprised of students and faculty, would present a program of
patriotic songs. Thomas and Brad declined politely, then after being
shown the girlsi cozy tent cabin and escorted on a brief campus tour,
they bid Becky farewell and started their return hike to the lodge.

Later, when they entered their cabin, Jack and Earl were getting dressed
for the evening. Jack advised he had made dates

for all of them with the four women he had introduced himself to the
night before. iwhat happened to their husbands? i Thomas asked.

Guess they didnit show up, i Jack replied as he adjusted his tie in the
mirror. iin fact, Iim not even sure theyire married.

What made you think we wanted dates? i Brad inquired.

Well, take eem or leave eem. Iim not forcing you into anything. But I
thought we came up here to chase broads.

Maybe weire just turned off by the possibility theyire married, i Thomas
added.

Suit yourself, i Jack retorted testily.

When the four entered the lodge a little later, they found the crowd had
expanded considerably from the previous night.

They finally found a table and ordered a round of beers. As soon as the
band showed up, Jack took off across the floor in search of the four
women. In a moment, he was dancing with the skinny one. The three
buddies shrugged their shoulders and with a ewhat the helli look, strode
off in pursuit of the other three women.

Thomas ended up with a buxom blond named Irma, who turned out to be a
pretty good dancer. Jack soon tired of the skinny one and glommed on to
the short, dark-haired woman.

Earl got the fat, giggly one, and Brad eventually retired to a
relatively quiet corner with the skinny one, drinking beer and talking
earnestly about philosophy and the meaning of life.

As the evening wore on, Irma became more and more amorous and started
rubbing her body up against Thomas as they danced. He didnit discourage
her and was becoming quite aroused. He was wondering what to do about
the situation when she made the first move.

Where you staying tonight? i she asked.

Cabin Six.

Not alone, huh?

Afraid not.

Iim in Number Ten with one of my girl friends, but it doesnit look like
sheis in any hurry to leave. Want to go over there? i

iwhat about your friend?

Iill take care of her.

And your husband?

Heis not coming up etil tomorrow. You wannai go with me or not? i He
nodded and she left the dance floor to speak with the girl friend. In a
moment, Irma was back and leading him out the door. As they entered
Cabin Ten, he could see it was larger and more luxurious than the one he
and his friends were occupying.

There was a spacious living room with fireplace and doors that led to
separate bedrooms. Irma locked the front door then took his hand and
guided him into the bedroom on the left.

She lost no time in pulling the bedspread and blankets back, turning out
the bed lamp, getting undressed and climbing under the sheets. He
undressed and joined her. When he started kissing her and caressing her
warm body and ample breasts, she responded eagerly and reciprocated by
stroking his chest, then working her hand down his stomach. imy God
youire big, i she whispered as she wrapped her warm hand around his
erection.

But Thomas hardly heard her as a tingling sensation started welling up
in his loins and burst beyond control. ioh no, no, i he moaned with a
mixture of ecstasy and frustration.

What the hell! i Irma cried. ijesus, youire squirting that stuff all
over my sheets. God, what if my husbandoi A loud pounding at the front
door shook the whole cabin.

Irma, Irma, open the door. Itis me, Henry.

Thomas and Irma sat bolt upright, clutching the sheets in front of them.
ioh my heavens, i she whispered, iitis my husband! i Thomas glanced
around the dark, unfamiliar room, igoddamn, how do I get the hell out of
here? i She pointed toward the window and grabbed for her clothes.

He scrambled out of bed and started pulling on his shorts with one hand
as he struggled with a double-hung window that wouldnit budge.

The pounding and shouting at the front door became more insistent. Irma
shouted, i just a moment, darling. Iill be right there.

She turned to help Thomas with the window, but noticed it was still
latched. She turned the latch and the upper pane dropped down with a
crash, allowing the cool mountain air to pour into the room. He
struggled in vain to lift the lower pane until, stimulated by the
incessant pounding at the front door, she urged him to exit through the
upper opening. He tossed his sweater, pants, shirt, shoes and socks out
the open window, pulled himself up, squeezed through and tumbled out
heavily onto the ground. Outside in the dark night he groped around on
his hands and knees for his clothes until he finally found his pants.

He started trying to pull them on but stopped when he heard Irma and her
husband enter the bedroom just a few feet away and turn on a light that
cast a faint beam out the window. He hunkered down like a scared rabbit
when the husband stepped over to close the window. When he moved back
into the room, Thomas decided it would be prudent to abandon the rest of
his clothing and started crawling away naked, dragging his pants with
one hand. After a few feet, he arose to a crouch and stumbled bare
footed through the sharp-pointed twigs and prickly pine cones, and
stubbed his toe on a rock.

He finally made it back to his cabin, still shaking from the close call
and cool night air. He pulled a blanket from his bunk and wrapped it
around his sore body and bruised ego. He tried unsuccessfully to build a
fire in the kitchen stove to create hot water. Frustrated, he gave up
and took a bath in water so cold that steam came off his warmer body.
Shivering, he climbed into bed, pulled an extra blanket around him, and
fell into the most restful sleep heid had in weeks. He hardly stirred
when his friends staggered in later that night.

The next morning, Thomas awoke with the dawn and tiptoed back to
retrieve his clothing and returned to the cabin to find the others
struggling up from sleep. They all were noticeably quiet as they started
getting ready for their return to Fresno. Later over breakfast in the
lodge, Brad finally broke the silence.

I would like to thank you, Jack, for introducing me to Pearl last night.
We had a nice long talk and settled most of the worldis problems.

Glad you had a good time, i Jack replied grumpily before stuffing a bite
of pancake in his mouth. icouldnit even get to first base with my dumb
broad.

Mine turned out to be a dud too, i Earl grumbled. i took off dancing with
some other guy, even after I bought her all that beer.

How about you, Tom, you get lucky? i Jack asked.

Thomas took a swallow of coffee and glanced warily at the others,
wondering what they might know of his nighttime adventure, then
ventured, iyeah, guess you could say I was lucky.

Chapter 13.

The morning after returning from the Huntington trip, Thomas arose with
the dawnis pale light and was standing dejectedly in the Maloney peach
orchard. His feelings seemingly were reflected in the trees, their limbs
curving toward the ground under their burden of ripened fruit. Three
days of one hundred degree temperatures had brought the golden yellow
crop to its voluptuous fullness. The silence was broken only by the
cawing of black birds and chirping of sparrows and the skittering of
squirrels as they sought out the ripest of the fruit.

They would make short order of the entire crop if it werenit harvested
soon.

But Thomas had no pickers. Absently he reached up into one of the boughs
and gently twisted a fat peach into his hand.

He rubbed off some of the fuzz, carved the skin open with his thumbnail
and separated the two halves from the freestone. He bit deep into the
plump luscious pulp, relishing the sweet, tangy juice, still cool from
the night air, as it ran down his chin. That tasted so good, he had
another, then picked several to take back to the house for breakfast.

He first decided to phone Earl to see if the new State Employment
Office, due to open in August, was ready to help.

He was consoling but couldnit provide any assistance.

Disdainfully Earl advised that an estimated sixty thousand Mexicans, the
usual source of farm laborers, had returned to their homeland, running
from a rumor that they could be drafted into the army. He concluded that
to the best of his knowledge,

there wasnit an unemployed picker left in the whole San Joaquin Valley.
Many had found better paying war work or already were committed to large
growers.

Then Thomas phoned the Normal School, which couldnit promise any help
either. The majority of students were away from campus for the summer,
or already signed up by major peach growers. And with his sister out of
town at the Sierra Summer School, he couldnit prevail on her to line up
some of her friends.

Finally, somewhat reluctantly he decided to visit his neighbor, Sean
Harrington, to see if he had any suggestions.

Thomas had not seen him since his release from jail after the slacker
roundup and was wary of being subjected to his radical views, but was
feeling desperate for help with his impending harvest.

He found Harrington irrigating his vineyard and, judging by the friendly
greeting, happy to see him. Neither referred to their chance meeting at
the jail. As Thomas related the problem he was having, Harrington doffed
his straw hat, pulled a red plaid handkerchief from his sweat-streaked
coveralls, and wiped the perspiration from his forehead and from around
his hatband.

Replacing the hat, he responded, iwhatever you do, donit use any
Mexicans.

Why?

Theyire greasy and dirty and you canit trust eem.

Well, guess I wonit have to worry about that. Understand most of them
have gone back to Mexico.

Not surprised. Theyire quick to start their own little wars but donit
want any part of ours.

The younger man followed his neighbor as he walked away a few feet to
shovel dirt against a leaking dike. Harrington spoke again, ihow about
the Orientals?

What do you mean? i Thomas asked.

Over on the west side. I understand there are quite a few unemployed
Chinese hanging around the Joss houses. Maybe you could talk some of
them into picking your peaches.

But isnit there a lot of opposition to using Chinese? i ii guess the big
growers donit like the idea. But seems to me your first worry is getting
your crop picked. Harrington walked away a few steps to repair another
leaking dike, and Thomas followed him.

What could they do to me?

Maybe nothing. But you probably heard what happened to a couple of
growers around Kingsburg last week.

The orchard fires? i Harrington nodded.

Thomas was thoughtful for a moment. ii guess the Republican editorial
last week against hiring Orientals didnit help.

Nope, just strengthened the hand of the big growers and packers. But the
reis another answer, son.

Thomas hesitated, sensing his neighbor might be ready to expound on one
of his radical ideas, iuh, what is that?

State ownership of the packinghouses.

Never heard of that. How would that help?

Then they wouldnit be controlled by big business, the same people who
got us into this damned war.

Thomas started feeling uncomfortable over Harringtonis remarks. Partly
to distance himself, partly in reaction to the hot sun beating down, he
moved away a few feet to the irrigation ditch. He knelt down, cupped his
hands, drank heartily of the cool, clear water, and splashed some on his
face and neck.

When he had finished, Harrington, raising his voice, pressed on. iyou
see, us small farmers always get stuck with high rates by the packers
and shippers and for loans and insurance. We need a state-owned system
that would guarantee us the same rates the big guys get.

Guess I donit know much about that.

Thatis why Iim trying to get the Non-Partisan League started here in the
valley.

Thomas, noticing water sluicing down a gopher hole, reached for
Harringtonis shovel. He waited a few moments until the water bubbled and
gurgled back, indicating the hole was full, then packed it with dirt.
iguess that should take care of him,

assuming he didnit escape out the other end, i he chuckled as he handed
back the shovel.

Harrington didnit react to Thomasi little neighborly deed, but continued
talking, almost to himself. ileagueis real strong in the mid-west. Won
big victories in last yearis elections. And theyive been leading the
fight against the damned war.

He turned and walked a few feet away to tend to his irrigating. Thomas,
squirming uncomfortably over what sounded like another of his neighboris
radical ideas, didnit follow. He hoped the break would give him an
opportunity to get away.

Guess Iill run along, Mister Harrington, i he called out.

Iill think about your idea of hiring Orientals.

Not much time for thinking son. If that fruit is ripe youive got to get
it off the trees and to market.

Thomas had already made up his mind. He returned to his car, drove into
town and across the Southern Pacific tracks into west Fresno. He pulled
up in front of a Chinese general store at the corner of Tulare and Fagan
Alley and stepped inside the semidark room, pausing to let his eyes
adjust from the bright sunlight outdoors. Shelves along the left wall
were lined with a variety of mysterious-looking canisters and tins of
tea and condiments. The back wall was hung with tapestries and Oriental
bric-a-brac. To the right, behind a long wooden bar, shelves were
stacked with dry goods.

Several Orientals, dressed in traditional coolie-style caps, tunics and
pants, were sitting or standing around the room, fanning themselves
listlessly against the stifling heat. They all turned their
expressionless eyes toward Thomas. He spoke to one individual standing
behind the bar but got no response. He turned to the others, who
returned his greeting with blank stares.

Finally, a man wearing a derby emerged from a beaded curtained area at
the back of the store. i me Lee Chenospeaky emelican.

Thomas acknowledged the greeting, introduced himself and asked Chen if
he knew anyone interested in picking peaches.

How much pay? i Chen asked.

Two-bits a lug.

Chen spoke in Chinese to the men in the room and was greeted with
murmurs that didnit sound encouraging.

Fifty cents best plice, i Chen announced. Thomas grimaced. Fifty cents
was double the going rate.

How many men, i he asked, momentarily ignoring the price discussion, i
and how soon can they start? i After further haggling among the
Orientals, Chen sat down at a table and pulled a crumpled paper and stub
of pencil from his pocket. He started polling his compatriots and making
notes.

Finally he turned to Thomas, held up both hands and extended all ten
fingers twice. itwenty men start Monday, i he grinned.

Fifty cents best plice.

Thomas sighed resignedly, iok, fifty cents. He borrowed Chenis paper and
pencil and sketched a map to the Maloney farm. isee you Monday, i he
said as he shook hands with the Chinaman, nodded to the others, and left
the store.

He drove back to his farm, feeling frustrated and disappointed that he
had not been able to drive a better bargain.

He also felt apprehensive that hiring Chinese was the right thing to do,
but then rationalized that he really had no choice. When he arrived
home, he found his mother at the kitchen sink peeling peaches. The
counter was covered with glass canning jars. The two lug boxes of
peaches he had picked the previous day were next to her on the floor.

Mindful of the silent treatment he had been receiving since the
Huntington trip, he spoke cautiously, ihi.

She responded with a cheery igood morning.

Kindai hot day for canning, isnit it?

Yes, but theyire about to go rotten. And tomorrow Iill be doing tomatoes
from the garden and bread and butter pickles.

He had witnessed his motheris periodic canning of fruits and vegetables
since his earliest childhood, but had not participated.

It had always seemed to be such a laborious all-day chore, but he had
never been too concerned since it had been his sisteris responsibility
to help.

Sure seems like a lot of work, i he observed.

iyes, but Mister Hoover says we must conserve---food will win the war.

He chuckled, iso weire going to beat the Germans with peaches and
pickles? i She shrugged and continued peeling, and Thomas sensed she
hadnit appreciated his weak joke. Hesitantly he asked, ican I help?

Certainly. Those jars and lids need to be washed in hot, soapy water.
Then you can attach those new rubber rings to the lids. The rolled up
his sleeves, filled the sink with hot water and started washing the jars
and lids. Emma continued peeling and pitting the peaches. The firmer
ones she halved and dropped into a large cooking pot on the stove. The
riper ones and those with bruises she cut up into a separate pot to be
cooked and canned as jam in the smaller jars. They worked silently for a
few minutes before she asked, ihow was your trip to the mountains? i He
was taken aback-ohe had almost forgotten the trip. iuh, it was fine. We
had a good time.

Whatid you do?

Well, we had dinner at the lodge the first night, then the next day we
went swimming and boating on the lake.

He continued preparing jars and watching as his mother turned the fire
on under the partially filled pot and started stirring.

She spoke again, imeet any nice girls? i He hesitated before replying as
his eventful evening with the married womanowhat was her name? Oflashed
through his mind. ino, most of them seemed to be there with their
husbands or boy friends. But we did see Becky.

Oh, my! She turned the fire down as the pot started to boil.

Yeah, Brad and I hiked up to her summer school and had a nice visit.

Is she alright. Is she safe?

Safe?

Yes, I mean like is the school well supervised? i iseems to be. She
shares a tent with three of her girl friends, and the activities we saw
looked like they were well supervised.

I worry about Becky. She seems to be growing up so fast, obviously not
going to remain my little home daughter much longer.

Well, Mother, letis face it. Sheis almost twenty, been away at school,
likes to meet new people.

Emma didnit comment further, but instructed him to place the washed jars
and lids in a separate pot of water boiling on the stove to sterilize
them. She then extracted the jars one at a time, filled them with peach
halves and poured in hot sugar syrup. He sealed them with the lids and
inverted each jar to test for leaks.

When they finished canning the halves, they turned to cooking a pot of
crushed peaches for jam, Thomas stirring as his mother added the sugar.

They downed quick sandwiches and cold lemonade for lunch and worked into
the afternoon. The July sun had cut its path around to the westerly side
of the house, adding its searing rays to the already over-heated
kitchen. Thomas, sweating profusely, removed his shirt and poured them
another glass of lemonade and added chips of ice from the icebox. Then
he retrieved the electric fan from his motheris bedroom and set it to
oscillating on the floor behind them. All it seemed to do was draw in
more hot air from the outside. Emma, more used to the regular summer
canning chore, just perspired in silence, occasionally lifting her apron
to wipe her brow or push a wisp of damp hair from her forehead.

When they finished filling the quart jars, he carried them to the pantry
and returned to collapse exhausted into one of the kitchen chairs. He
watched dumbfounded as his mother started refilling the cooking kettle
with the crushed fruit. ilordy, arenit we finished?

Afraid not, i she smiled weakly. He moved back to the stove as she
directed him to keep stirring and measured out the required sugar. Next
she turned her attention to a smaller pan of crushed fruit cooking on
the back burner.

iwhatis that? i he asked.

Cooking it down to make pectin, i she answered. She asked him to get a
bottle of apple juice and bag of Epsom salts from the pantry, poured
some of the juice into the pan, added a pinch of the salt and continued
stirring until it had dissolved. She let the mixture set for about
twenty minutes as she turned to filling the jars, then finally topped
them off with the pectin. He screwed on the lids as she turned out the
fires and collapsed on the sofa like a limp, wet dishrag.

He brought her another glass of lemonade and, struggling to control his
admiration for her stamina, coaxed her toward the bathroom and long
cooling soak in the tub. He returned to the kitchen to clean up the mess
and prepare a crisp green salad for supper.

Emma emerged from her bath dressed in a fresh summer frock, and
exclaimed over the salads, ioh, heavens, these look so refreshing. I was
planning a pot roast, but I guess itis too late, and too hot.

I appreciate the thought, Mother. Maybe some evening when itis cooler.

Well, I still do have a surprise anyway. She went to the corner cupboard
and removed a rhubarb pie she had baked that morning. He put his arm
around her shoulder, and she smiled lightly.

As they ate, he told her about hiring the Orientals. She was
non-committal, seemingly lost in her own thoughts, but finally she spoke
up.

Thomas, would you take me into town to the Red Cross headquarters?

Why, er, certainly, Mother. He could barely contain his surprise.

And will you teach me to drive your motor car? i He swallowed a
half-chewed piece of lettuce, almost choking, iof course, by all means!

Can we start in the morning?

Yes, yes. In fact, maybe we could drive into the Red Cross and if you
feel like it, you could practice on the way. His voice

was tentative, almost shaky. He couldnit judge how fragile her new
spirit might be, or how to respond to her sudden interest in spreading
her wings.

She resumed eating in silence, looking down at her plate, then, iof
course, tomorrowis Saturday. They might not be open, i she speculated,
the old self-doubt returning.

Theyire open, Mother, i he replied, more firmly than he intended. ii
hear theyire working every day to keep up with the armyis needs. He
crossed his fingers under the table, not certain that his statement was
true, but not wanting to risk her changing her mind.

When they finished eating, he cleared the table and washed the dishes.
She retired to her room and her Victrola and womenis magazines. He
hardly slept that night, worrying about his decision to hire the
Oriental pickers and wondering what had come over his mother.

The next morning, he was in the field with the first sunis rays to
continue his irrigating. When he returned a little later for breakfast,
he found a strange car in the yard with several men standing around. One
of them spoke first, imister Oiroark?

Iim Thomas Oiroark.

Iim Jeb Benson. This hereis a couple of my friends.

Weire from the Peach Growers Association. Benson stuck his hand out; the
others nodded.

Thomas, suspecting the visitors were not there to do him any favors,
returned a limp handshake, iwhat can I do for you?

Understand you got a few acres ready to pick?

Thatis right.

Rumor has it youire planning to use Chinks.

Thomas shifted his stance uncomfortably and crossed his arms across his
chest, iwhereid you hear that?

Not important where we heard. But it is important you understand we
donit employ Chinks around here.

Then how the hell am I supposed to get my crop harvested? i he asked
with annoyance.

We can find pickers for you.

How much? i idollar a lug.

Shit, I guess you would like to get that much. Afraid I canit afford
that kind of pay.

Mebbe you canit afford not to, i one of the other visitors commented
ominously. iwhat you plan to do with your fruit after them Yellow
bastards picks it? i Thomas could see where the discussion was heading
and bristled at the thought of someone telling him how to run his farm.
iso if I donit use your over-paid pickers I canit use your goddamn
packing house. That the picture?

You catch on pretty quick, son, i Benson replied.

Especially for an Irishman, i added the other with a half smile.

You stupid shit, i Thomas yelled. iget the hell off my property! i The
visitors stared defiantly at him then, following Bensonis lead, they
turned and climbed back in their car. As they started to pull away, the
leader called out, iremember, young man, you donit have to use our
pickersojust donit use no Chinks.

Thomas, his gut roiling in anger, turned and went into the house. He
stalked past his mother at the kitchen stove and into the bathroom to
wash up for breakfast. Struggling to calm down, he splashed cold water
on his face. He went to the toilet and yanked the flush chain so sharply
that it almost broke. He washed his hands and face again and returned to
the cup of coffee waiting for him at the kitchen table.

Good morning, i Emma called out cheerily.

Hi, Mom. You sleep OK?

Very well, thank you. She brought their breakfast to the table and sat
down across from him. iwho were those men? i He sprinkled salt on his
eggs and slathered butter on a biscuit. ithey were from the Peach
Growers Association, offering to find us some pickers.

But you already hired some.

Yeah, thatis what I told eem. They dropped the subject and started
discussing their plans for the day in town. Later, when they were ready,
he started the car, steered it out the driveway, and parked in on the
main road so she wouldnit risk repeating her previous sojourn into the
ditch. Then he sat beside her and gently coaxed her through operation of
the clutch pedal and throttle and occasionally pushed or pulled on the
steering wheel to compensate for her over-corrections. He encouraged her
all the way, controlling the urge to lose his patience, until they
approached the heavier traffic of the downtown area.

There, as they thump-thump-thumped across the multiple tracks at the
Santa Fe depot, she stomped on the brake pedal and stalled the engine.

What happened? i Emma cried with a panicky look up and down the tracks.

You stepped on the brake, Mother, and didnit depress the clutch. That
killed the engine. She stared blankly ahead gripping the steering wheel,
afraid to move or touch anything.

He was able to remain calm since he already had determined that no
trains were coming, but he was starting to feel embarrassed as he
noticed people on the nearby station platform glancing curiously their
way.

He patted her on the shoulder and spoke soothingly, imaybe you better
let me take over here in town since the reis a lot more traffic. He
reached over to retard the spark and gas levers, got out and walked
around to the front of the car, cranked the engine back to life, and
moved into the driveris side while she slid silently into the passenger
seat. They continued west on Ventura, turned north on H Street for five
blocks, and eased into a parking place in front of the Chamber of
Commerce building.

A large banner identified the structure as the Fresno Chapter Red Cross,
Military Relief Department. Several women, their starched white uniforms
and bonnets looking overly bright in the glaring July sun, were moving
in and out of the building in a business-like manner..

Thomas started to step out of the car when Emma placed a hand on his
arm. ino, son, you donit need to go with me. I want to do this myself.

OK Mother. I need to see Mister Johnson for a few minutes, so weill meet
here at the car when youire through.

He strolled up the street and as he turned the corner toward the bank,
glanced back to see his mother chatting with two of the Red Cross
ladies. He smiled and shook his head with a mixture of pride and
disbelief, and continued on his way.

When he entered the bank, Johnson greeted him warmly, escorted him into
his office and listened intently as he told of the arrangements he had
made for Chinese pickers and of his morning visit from the Peach Growers
representatives. Then he ventured, ii might have figured a way to get
around the packing problem.

Howis that?

Iill ship my peaches to market myself.

How do you plan to do that, and what market?

Iill lease a freight car and ship eem to the produce market in Los
Angeles.

Sounds interesting. But have you figured out the economics. Can you make
any money that way?

Not sure yet, but maybe you can help me. I read in the Republican where
weire supposed to get about nine cents a pound. Thatis about half more
than what peaches went for last year.

That sounds right.

And I understand theyire going to be selling for twelve to fifteen
cents, maybe more in Southern California.

Uh huh.

Can I make any money with that difference?

Well, letis see, i Johnson replied tentatively, reaching for his adding
machine. He toted up a few numbers, then turned back with a grin. iyoung
man, looks like you might have come up with a hell of an idea. Why donit
you go for it?

All I need is money, Mister Johnson.

Kinda figured that. How about a five hundred dollar loan for ninety
days, three percent interest?

Sounds good to me, i he answered standing up and shaking the bankeris
hand. iiill keep you posted on my progress.

Remember, Thomas. This is strictly between you and me.

A few of our good customers would love to hang me if they knew I was
doing anything that would help the Orientals, even indirectly.

Thomas nodded his understanding, left the bank and returned to his car
to find a Red Cross uniform neatly folded on the passenger seat. Also on
the seat was a note from his mother advising she had gone to a nearby
beauty parlor. He re-read the note a couple times, grinning in disbelief
at her sudden decisiveness. Calculating that she would be tied up for at
least an hour, he decided to step across the street to the Southern
Pacific depot to arrange for the refrigerator railcar he would need to
haul his fruit to Los Angeles. He was told that because of war demands,
none could be made available for at least three weeks.

Undeterred, he returned to his car and drove back across town to the
Santa Fe railway office. After much humming, hawing and checking of
records, the station master finally decided he would have one car he
could release the following Monday. Thomas paid his deposit and drove
back to the Red Cross building to wait for his mother.

When she finally returned to the car, he hardly recognized her. She had
changed her hairstyle from the old-fashioned bun she had worn ever since
he could remember to a more casual bob. She was wearing a new white
cotton summer blouse and long skirt, belted at the waist to show off her
trim figure. New shoes, purse and summer hat completed the outfit.

Heavens, Mother, I hardly recognized youoyou look great! i She blushed
and smiled demurely as she stepped into the car. ioh, Thomas, I just
feel wonderful. Almost like a new woman.

Well, you should. That outfit makes you look ten years younger!

But Iim embarrassed to say how much it all cost---over thirty dollars. I
hope we can afford it.

We can. And I see you already have your new Red Cross uniform.

iyes, and the ladies were so friendly. I start work Monday in the
bandage wrapping section.

He started the car and headed east on Mariposa Street toward Court House
Park, steering around workers painting the cityis first pedestrian
crosswalk at the Fulton Street intersection.

He turned left at Van Ness, circled around the park and the hubbub of
automobiles, horses and buggies and people milling around the Saturday
morning farmeris market, and headed east.

They rode along in silence as he maneuvered through traffic.

She was taking in all the sights, and he glanced bemusedly at her from
time to time as she sat primly in the seat and occasionally patted her
new dress or admired the details of the purse or Red Cross uniform.

On Monday morning, the Chinese pickers arrived at the Maloney farm with
the dawn. Thomas was waiting for them as their ancient bus turned into
the driveway and wheezed to a stop.

A teenage boy was at the wheel and Lee Chen, still wearing his derby,
was standing beside him, obviously much in charge. He stepped down from
the bus, smiled and bowed slightly toward Thomas, ordered his sleepy
charges out of the vehicle, and pointed them toward the orchard. Thomas
counted twenty, exactly the number of pickers he had bargained for. Chen
would be their supervisor and the driver, who obviously considered
himself above the menial job of picker, would spend his time tinkering
around the bus or snoring loudly from a back seat.

It soon became obvious that Chen knew what he was doing.

He organized his workers two to a tree, with the smaller one always
dispatched up into the limbs to gather the topmost fruit.

Lug boxes quickly started filling up as the day wore on. These were
loaded onto a flatbed truck that Thomas had rented and when it was full,
he drove it to a railroad siding in town where he watched the boxes,
along with hundred-pound blocks of ice, being placed directly into the
waiting refrigerator car. He felt a touch of pride as he thought of the
citizens of Los Angeles biting into the freshest possible sun-ripened
fruit, picked right from the tree and shipped without delay.

It took the Chinese team two full days to finish the job with a grand
total of one-hundred-ninety-eight lug boxes. Thomas paid Chen
ninety-nine dollars and added a five-dollar tip, then drove into town
with his final load of fruit and oversaw its placement in the railroad
car. He watched the door being sealed, verified with the station manager
that it would be connected to the southbound train that evening,
returned the rental truck, and wearily drove back to the farm.

After a light supper and long soak in the bathtub, he headed for bed as
the relentless summer sun eased its grip on the tiny farmhouse and
surrounding land. Stripped to his underwear and with the windows wide
open to catch any wayward breeze, he quickly fell asleep, content that
his valuable peaches were on their way to market. But around midnight,
he was prodded reluctantly from his slumber by the distant clanging of a
bell.

As she struggled from bed and stumbled through the darkened kitchen, he
recognized the bell as coming from a fire engine. He looked out the back
door in time to see the flashing red lights and feel the vibration of
the twin-horse team thundering past on the farm road. Remembering that
the Stuckey home was in that direction, he yanked on his pants and
shoes, ran to his car, cranked it to life, and took off in hot pursuit.
He caught up to the engine just after it had rolled to a stop beside the
Maloney orchard.

As the firemen dropped their suction hose into an adjoining ditch and
started pumping water, Thomas counted six trees in various stages of
burning. All were in the row next to the road.

There was a distinctive odor of coal oil in the air.

After about twenty minutes of dousing the flaming trees, the fireman in
charge walked up to Thomas, ithis your place?

Iim leasing it.

Looks like somebody donit like you.

I kinda gathered that from the smell of coal oil.

Probably them damn Wobblies, or maybe the Heinies.

How can you tell? i ibeen finding similar fires over the last couple of
weeks.

The firemen finished mopping up in about an hour and Thomas surveyed the
damage more closely. Four trees were completely destroyed and several
others so badly singed he wasnit sure if they would survive.

He returned home, crawled into bed and fell into a disturbed sleep. He
was comforted somewhat by the thought that the peaches had been picked
and were safely on their way to Los Angeles.

Chapter 14.

July continued to be unbearably hot, with most days topping the
one-hundred-degree mark. Anyone who could manage to get away did so in
spite of the war. For the well-to-do, that meant month-long vacations in
the mountains, along a Pacific Ocean beach or in a fog-cooled apartment
in San Francisco. For the less affluent, a weekend at the beach or
mountains had to suffice, or a hot, sweaty ten-mile ride on the electric
streetcar to the San Joaquin River north of town.

But for farmers like Thomas, July meant long hours of sweaty, dusty
work. Their only respite might come from a quick swim in one of the
large irrigation canals, a splash of cold water over their heads, or a
brief moment under a shade tree. Such breaks were short and infrequent
since the same sun that was causing so much discomfort also was speeding
their grape crops toward harvest. This meant a continuing round of
irrigating, repairing ditches, checking the progress of the ripening
fruit, digging out weeds, and mending the flat, wooden trays on which
the picked clusters of plump, juicy grapes would be arrayed so they
could soak up the sun and dry into raisins.

In such heat, a good nightis sleep became almost impossible.

Temperatures didnit drop much until after midnight when an occasional
breeze would sneak through the area. It was common practice to sleep
outdoors in a cot or temporary bed set up under a tree. If one slept
indoors, it was usually in the nude or in a pair of cotton underwear.
Rolling over from back to side to front sometimes would add to oneis
comfort when it exposed the sweaty side of the body to any ephemeral
breeze.

Thomas was experiencing such a night in late July after a particularly
wearing day in the sun. There was no wind to penetrate his open bedroom
windows and sooth his sweating, aching body, just a stillness that
suggested even the earth was too hot and tired to move. He was drifting
in and out of sleep, fighting a nightmare in which he was digging in the
vineyard trying to help his brother find his fatheris watch. He heard
Patrick call to him and tried to answer.

Suddenly, Thomas realized he really was hearing his brotheris voice. He
sat up in his sweat-soaked bed with a start and could see the vague
shadow of someone standing outside his bedroom window. It was Patrick
calling in a loud whisper, ilittle Brother, for Christis sake let me in!
i Thomas jumped out of bed and ran to unlock the door, turning on lights
as he went. imy God, what a surprise! i he exclaimed as his brother
stumbled into the room. But when he could see Patrick in the light,
surprise turned to shock. His face was covered with a scraggly beard and
the right side was black and blue and his eye was swollen shut. His hair
was disheveled and matted; his left arm hung awkwardly in a makeshift
sling.

His shirt and pants were torn and dirty, and he walked with a limp as he
struggled into the room and collapsed on the living room sofa.

Jesus, what happened to you? i Thomas whispered, trying not to wake
their mother.

Fuckini goons, fuckini goons, i Patrick mumbled, obviously having
trouble making his jaw work.

Thomas got a pan of cold water and wash cloth and started to wipe some
of the dried blood from his brotheris face and hair, but was brushed
aside. i just let me rest, Tommy. Been runnini and hidini for three days.

Thomas went to his bedroom to pull on a pair of pants and retrieve a
bathrobe, which he draped over his brother as he started to fall asleep.
He sat back, wondering what or who on earth could have done this much
damage to an older brother who once seemed to be such a tower of
strength.

Patrick fell into a heavy sleep while his younger brother dozed fitfully
in the easy chair. They remained that way for several hours until the
rising sun forced its light into the room.

Emma entered the room along with the sun and awakened Thomas with a gasp
as she noticed her older son on the sofa. He quieted her with a finger
to his lips and guided her into the bedroom to tell what little he knew
about Patrickis return.

When they returned to the living room, Patrick was stirring.

Gotta take a shit, i he mumbled. ioh, escuse me Mom, didnit see you
there.

Thomas helped his brother to the bathroom and suggested he take a bath
with lots of hot water. Patrick nodded agreement and Thomas started
filling the tub and helping him struggle out of his tattered shirt and
pants, then went to his bedroom to find clean clothes.

When the older brother emerged from the bathroom almost an hour later,
he looked somewhat improved. He was wearing a pair of his brotheris old
Levis and a scoop neck T-shirt that exposed more bruises on his arms and
upper body. But his slicked-back hair and clean-shaven face couldnit
hide the fact that his eye was still black and blue and closed, and that
his arm hung limply at his side. With a grim smile and obvious
difficulty, he walked across the room, sighed and settled his battered
body into the easy chair. Emma appeared from her bedroom with an old
sheet, tore it up and fashioned it into a new sling. iwhat on earth
happened? i she asked as she knelt down to fit the sling.

He didnit respond, but asked if he could have something to eat. iseems
like I havenit ate for a week. Maybe you got some mush and milk?

Wouldnit you rather have bacon and eggs and biscuits?

No thanks, Mom. Jawis too sore for much chewing.

Emma moved to the stove to start cooking and Thomas pulled up a chair at
the kitchen table.

Speaking with some difficulty, Patrick related how he had gone to
Arizona to work in the copper mines, eventually ending up in Bisbee, a
small town near the Mexican border. Trouble had started almost
immediately when the workers demanded better pay and the mine owners
threatened to lock them out. The workers countered by going on strike.

We was havini a good time sittini around our shacks drinking beer and
swappini lies, i Patrick related. iwe figured the mine owners would cave
in pretty quick since they had that big new war contract.

The workers belong to the Wobblies like you? i Thomas asked.

Whatis Wobblies? i Their mother called out.

Weill explain later, i Thomas replied impatiently.

We was all Wobblies and damn good workers, too, i Patrick responded
defiantly.

So what happened?

One morning afore sunup we was attacked by the sheriff and his bunch of
goon deputies. We was all sleeping and they beat down the doors to our
shacks and drug us out in the dirt and kicked the shit out of us.

Oh Patrick! i Emma wailed.

You ainit heard the worst yet, i he responded, leaning forward in the
easy chair.

They put you in jail? i his brother asked.

Yeah, an open air jail. His voice cracked in agitation as he continued,
ithey herded us like hogs down to a park in the center of that shitty
little town. Kept us there all day with no food and only a little water
and the sun beatini down. Thought I was gonna die of heat stroke.

Hard to believe the law would do that, i Thomas said.

Hell, thatis easy to figure. The mine bosses own everybody in that
God-forsaken dump.

That when you got hurt? i Emma ventured as she came to the table with a
large bowl of stewed peaches and poured them both a cup of coffee.

iyeah, they clubbed me up side the head when they rousted me out of my
shack. I took a swing at one of them goddamn goons and thatis when they
wrecked my arm.

Looks like your legis in pretty bad shape too, i his mother observed as
he struggled to his feet and limped to the table to start his breakfast.

That happened later when they marched us to the train station and shoved
us into cattle cars. Then they took us over to New Mexico and dumped us
in the fuckini desert.

Patrick!

Sorry, Mom. Guess Iim a little upset.

Canit say I blame you, i Thomas said solicitously. He reached across the
table to pour milk on his brotheris cereal and pushed the sugar bowl
closer. isounds like youive been through hell. iiif it wasnit it got
pretty close, i Patrick mumbled as he helped himself to sugar, stirred
it around in his cereal and tenderly spooned some into his mouth.

How long were you in the desert? i Emma asked as she joined them at the
table.

About three-four days. The army came over from one of their forts and
gave us food and water. Otherwise we probably wouldive starved to death.

Howid you get home? i Thomas inquired.

Me and some buddies snuck out one night and caught a train west.

Patrick was getting exhausted from relating his ordeal and from the
effort to sip coffee and spoon food into his battered mouth. Thomas
spoke up, ilooks like we better get you into town to see Doc Bandy.

Patrick nodded agreement and later that morning he and Thomas drove into
the doctoris office. They rode along in silence for the first few
minutes until the thought of their fatheris ring popped into Thomasi
mind. He had not worn it since his brotheris return, but had left it on
his bedroom nightstand as he often did when working in the field. He
decided to test Patrick, ii see youire not wearing Fatheris ring.

Patrick glanced down at his limp arm and hand. inaw, lost it in Arizona.
But it sure came in handy in that fight.

Howis that?

When I slugged one of them deputies, the stone cut a big gash in his
cheek.

Thomas stared silently ahead, embarrassed that he had caught his brother
in a lie. Then he asked, ihow about the watch?

Got it right here. Patrick fumbled in his pocket and produced the gold
watch.

When they arrived in town, Thomas turned into a side street, pulled up
to the curb and cut the engine. He stepped around to the side to help
his brother out of the car and into the antiseptic aura of the doctoris
waiting room. He was happy to see that no other patients were there,
thus precluding any need to explain his brotheris condition. And when
Patrick failed to flirt with the receptionist, Thomas began to more
fully appreciate how bad his brother really was feeling.

Doc Bandy found that Patrickis arm indeed was broken, reset it and
placed it in a splint. For the eye and battered jaw he could only
recommend alternating cold compresses and applications of red meat. It
didnit look like the eye was damaged beyond recovery, and the gimpy leg
didnit appear to be more than a bad sprain. He removed two loose teeth
on the side where the jaw had been hit, and recommended that Patrick
come back in three or four days.

The brothers returned to the farm in silence, each lost in his own
thoughts. As they pulled into the yard and came to a stop under the
sycamore tree, their mother came out of the house waving an envelope. ia
letter for you, Thomas. Looks like itis from the Maloneys.

He took the envelope, glanced at the Indiana postmark, tore it open and
silently read the single-page, hand-written letter. He looked at his
mother, then at Patrick, who had eased himself out of the car and was
limping toward the house.

Damn! i Emma gasped, ithomas! i Patrick stopped and turned toward his
brother, iwhatis the matter?

The Maloneys want to sell their farm.

Emma looked perplexed, then asked, us that bad?

Bad for us, Mother, because we donit have any money. He went on to
explain that the Maloneys had received a letter from the
Hanover-American Bank representing an unnamed buyer in the Fresno area.
They had made a generous offer for the forty acres, but the Maloneys
wanted to give the Oiroarks first right of refusal. Besides, they
indicated in their letter, they were reluctant to sell to a bunch of
Heinies.

That was nice of them to think of us, i Emma commented.

Thomas smiled indulgently. iyes, Mother. The only problem is we donit
have enough money to buy one acre, let alone forty. Besides, we already
owe the Maloneys for their percentage of the peach crop we just
harvested.

Could we borrow the money? i she asked.

Patrick spoke up, iyeah, how about that banker you worked for? Them
banks have all kinds of money.

Thomas bristled at his brotheris remark, but controlled himself.
itrouble is we already owe over two-thousand dollars against the grapes
that are still in the field out there. Jesus, if something happens to
themoi The sound of the phone ringing interrupted their discussion and
drew them inside the house. Thomas picked up the receiver, listened
briefly, then responded, ii donit understand. They were shipped last
week. He listened for a few more moments before adding, iok, Iill check
on it and let you know.

He hung up and turned to his mother and brother with a puzzled look.

Whatis the matter, son?

Our peaches didnit get to Los Angeles.

What diya mean? i Patrick asked.

Just what I said. Apparently our carload of peaches didnit arrive in Los
Angeles.

He sat down, silent for a few moments as his mind roiled, and his
brother and mother stared quietly at the floor. He

jumped up and headed for the door. iiim going back to town, to the Santa
Fe station. He let the door slam behind him as he stalked out to his
car, venting his frustration by kicking a couple of chickens that got in
his way.

By the time he reached the railroad depot, he was a tangle of confusion,
frustration and anger ready to explode. First came the underlying
annoyance and discomfort over his brotheris problems, then the news that
the Maloneys were going to sell their place, and now the apparent loss
of his peach crop. He was beginning to suspect that an alien world was
closing around him.

He strode up the clerk, waving his shipping receipt, iwhat the hell
happened to my peaches!

Beg your pardon?

My peaches, dammitoa whole carload. They didnit get to Los Angeles.

Who says so? i Thomas was taken aback for a moment. iwell, the wholesale
market. Thatis where they were supposed to go.

Silently, the clerk glanced at the receipt. He turned to rummage through
a file drawer with what seemed to Thomas like deliberate slowness.
Finally, he returned to the counter, iyup, her etis. Guess weill have to
send a tracer.

Fighting the temptation to slug the clerk, Thomas yelled, iyou damned
well better. And start making out a check for my crop.

Well, if the reis a problem our insurance will take care of it.

So donit worryoi He screamed back at the cowering clerk, iwho the hell
could afford the railroadis insurance you dumb bastard! i He reached
across the counter and grabbed the clerk by his shirt, then slowly
relaxed his grip as he felt the cold steel of a revolver pressed up
against his chin. Trembling with frustration, he loosened his grip,
backed away from the counter, and stalked out of the station. He drove
silently back to the farm where he found that his mother and brother had
gone to bed. He fell on his bed, fully clothed, for a sleepless night.

Patrick hung around the farm for the next few days, nursing his battered
body and gradually regaining his appetite. Thomas went about his chores,
avoiding contact with his mother and brother as much as possible and
mulling over what could be done about the lost peaches and the Maloney
offer.

Then one evening over supper, Patrick announced that he would be leaving
the following morning.

Heavens, you just got here, i Emma cried. iyouire not well yet. iihow
you gonna work with a busted arm? i Thomas asked, watching his brother
struggling to butter a slice of bread with his left arm still in a
sling.

Iill find something I can do. Besides, afraid if I stick around here too
long, I might turn into a farmer, i he responded with a crooked grin.

Where will you go? i Emma asked.

Been thinking about Washington.

Whatis up there? i his brother asked, scooping up a spoonful of beef
stew.

Lumbering. We gottai cut wood for ships so our poor soldiers can go to
France and get themselves killed.

Oh, Patrick, i Emma protested. idonit be so cynical. You sound just
likeowell, just like Papa.

Just talking reality, Mom.

Thought you told me those lumber camps were a lousy place to work. Why
go back there? i Thomas asked.

I hear theyire paying over five dollars a day and begging for workers.

Gonna be any safer than Arizona? i Patrick shrugged, isure hope so.

They finished supper and Thomas treated himself to a hot bath and
crawled wearily into bed. The next day being Sunday, he allowed himself
to sleep late and awoke to his mother knocking on his bedroom door.

Patrickis gone, i she called through the closed door.

He mumbled, iiim sorry Mother, i then rolled over and tried to go back
to sleep. In a few moments, she was tapping on this door again and
calling excitedly.

For Godis sake, Mother. Iim trying to get a little sleep.

She opened the door slightly. ilook what Patrick left.

He sat up in bed, rubbed his eyes and looked toward his mother waving
something. iwhat is it?

A hundred dollar bill. And a gold watch! i She approached his bed and
handed him the money and watch and a piece of paper. Thomas immediately
recognized his fatheris watch, took it and the bill, all crinkled from
being wadded up someplace, then glanced at the paper. There in his
brotheris clumsy scrawl were the words, ethanx fur yur help.

Luv, Patrick.

Emma retreated into the kitchen as Thomas laid back in bed pondering his
brotheris unexpected gifts. Suddenly it occurred to him that he might
have taken something in exchange for the watch and money, and he jumped
out of bed and ran to the back door to look for his car. It was parked
where he had left it the night before.

Whatis the matter? i his mother asked from the stove where she was
starting breakfast.

Nothing, I guess. Just checking.

She continued with her work, humming softly.

You missing anything, Mother? i She paused, puzzled, ino, why?

Just wondered, i he mumbled as he returned to his bedroom to get
dressed. Then it hit him as he glanced toward the nightstand where he
had left his fatheris ring the evening before when he took his bath. It
wasnit there. He yanked open the drawer and rummaged inside, glanced
quickly around the floor, than over at the dresser. The ring was gone.
Silently he cursed his brother. Pulling on his pants and shirt, he
returned to the kitchen, ipatrick took fatheris ring, i he announced
solemnly.

Emma looked up from the stove disinterestedly, iwhat?

Fatheris ring. Patrick stole it from my nightstand.

She resumed cooking, seemingly not interested, then asked, iwhy is that
old ring so important to you? i He slumped down at the table and thought
for a moment before responding, inot sure. Guess itis just something of
fatheris I wanted to haveoa sort of keepsake.

I always thought Papa meant for it to go to his oldest son.

Maybe so, but Patrick doesnit seem to care about it. All he ever does is
hock if for money.

She reached in the cupboard for dishes to serve their breakfast as he
continued, ithe Chinese think it has lucky numbers.

She brought the food to the table and sat down, iwhatis that mean? i As
he spread butter and poured syrup on his pancakes, he explained how he
had found the ring on the Chinese waiter several weeks earlier.

She took a sip of coffee, iwell, it never brought Papa any luck or me
either. Guess thatis another reason I always hated it. Surprised, he
looked at his mother. iwhat do you mean? i She took a bite of pancake
and chewed for a few moments before replying. ipapa bought that ring in
i93 at the Chicago Exposition. He went there with some men friends and
left me home when I was having a bad time pregnant with Patrick.

Thomas lowered his eyes to his plate, feeling embarrassed that he had
uncovered a family secret, not sure he wanted her to continue.

Worst of it was he spent three dollars for it, plus what he paid for the
train and staying in a fancy hotel. All of this when we hardly had two
nickels to rub together.

Iim sorry, Mother. I had no ideaoi She interrupted, ino point in being
sorry now. I still miss him. ithey continued eating in silence for a few
minutes, until Emma, ready to change the subject, spoke cheerily. imaybe
now we can buy the Maloney place after all.

What do you mean? i iwe can use Patrickis money for a down payment.

He stopped eating and stifled a chuckle, momentarily amused by the
suggestion. iafraid not, Mother. Weill need a lot more than that hundred
dollars.

She reached across the table and laid a hand on her sonis arm. ii bet if
you talked real nice to Mister Johnson he would help us make a down
payment.

Anger and frustration welled up as he withdrew his arm.

Mother, for Godis sake, we owe the bank over two thousand dollars
against our raisin cropoandoand hell, that doesnit even count what we
owe for the remodeling work! i He started to also mention what he had
found out about the lost peach crop, but was interrupted as words rushed
out of Emma.

But donit you see, son, those debts are secured by our crops. And if we
had more crops we would make more money.

And it would be easier to pay them off.

He jumped up from the table and shouted angrily, ibut whois going to do
all the work? i She began to pout. ioh, Thomas, please donit get angry.
I just want what is best for all of us.

You mean what is best for you. You just want to tell your new rich lady
friends how much land you own. Youire not thinking of what is best for
me, or for Becky.

She started crying, arose from the table and retreated to her bedroom.
He stalked outside and hunkered down beneath the sycamore. His stomach
was churning, as it always did when he argued with his mother. In a few
minutes, he arose from the comforting shade of the giant tree, jammed on
his hat and wandered into the hot sun to start his chores for another
day.

Chapter 15.

By early August, Emma was adapting quite comfortably to her new life
style. Somewhat to Thomasi surprise, she had actually learned to drive
his automobile. It had taken several harrowing sessions, including
another sojourn into a roadside ditch. But now she was able to get all
the way into town without killing the engine. Sometimes she still had
trouble cranking the little Model T back to life, but on such occasions
she managed to find a chivalrous male.

She also had taken quickly to her Red Cross work and had been put in
charge of the bandage wrapping section, overseeing the work of ten other
volunteers. Initially she had felt lost among the preponderance of city
women involved in the program and their mindless chatter about social
events and musical concerts, luncheons at the Parlor Lecture Club, and
vacations at the seacoast or mountains. She found only a sprinkling of
farm women involved since most of them were too busy aiding husbands,
raising children, and helping to produce more food for their own
consumption and for the war.

A number of the volunteers represented the cream of Fresno society. Mrs.
Gottlieb, who headed up the entire program, was the wife of a prominent
surgeon. Others were married to attorneys, businessmen, merchants,
accountants, land developers and key administrators from the Normal
School. Even in this first summer of the war, some of them would
disappear from their volunteer work for long weekends or a week or two
at a time to join their families on a motoring or train trip that would

take them away from the oppressive heat of the San Joaquin Valley.

However, Emmais new life was turning into a mixed blessing for her son.
While he welcomed her decreasing dependence, Thomas now found himself
competing with her for things he wanted or needed to do. Her use of the
car had left him stranded at the farm on more than one occasion. He
frequently had to prepare his own meals, and he no longer played in the
dance band, partly because of this conflict and partly because he was
too exhausted from long days in the field.

He was becoming increasingly isolated from his friends and any outside
interests.

This growing conflict between mother and son came to a head the first
time she was invited to attend an evening meeting of volunteer leaders
at Mrs. Gottliebis home. Up until then all of her work had been during
the daytime and at the Red Cross center. But now that she was in charge
of the bandage section, she was expected not only to attend the evening
meeting but also to report on her sectionis progress and goals for the
following month.

My goodness, Thomas, I just donit know what to doi she lamented over
supper at the farm as she told of the upcoming meeting.

You should go and give your report. Whatis the big deal? i he responded
rather snappishly.

I havenit given a report since high school! I donit know what to say.

Just tell eem what youive been doing. How many hours your volunteers
have been working, how many bandages theyive made. Sounds pretty easy to
me.

Easy for you maybe.

How about demonstrating that new way of folding bandages you told me
about? You said it saves a lot of time.

I suppose I could do that. But, I havenit had to stand up in front of
other people for so many years. Iill probably be too nervous to even
talk.

imother, for Peteis sake! i He was getting annoyed, but she just ignored
him and pressed on with her concerns.

What should I wear? i she lamented.

How about your Red Cross uniform?

Missus Gottlieb said we should forget our uniforms and wear something
cool and summery.

Well, I think you should wear the new skirt and blouse you bought a
couple weeks ago.

She didnit acknowledge the suggestion, but started on a new tack. ii
donit even know how Iim going to get to the meeting.

He hesitated, then replied, ihow about walking. Itis only about ten
miles from here.

His bizarre suggestion finally snapped her out of her self- centered
worrying, and she looked at him quizzically. ison, are you upset about
something? i He was too embarrassed to express his true feelings and
dodged the question with a non-responsive answer. ino, Mother, guess Iim
just too tired. Itis been another long day.

She pressed on. iwhat Iim really worried about is driving at night. live
never done that.

Itis no big deal. Just turn on the headlights and take it easy.

But Iill be alone.

With a sigh of resignation, he gave up. iok, Mother.

Youire right, women shouldnit be driving alone at night. Iill take you
to the meeting.

A week later, as he delivered his mother to the Gottlieb home on Van
Ness Boulevard, he almost regretted his decision.

The house they pulled up to was a huge two-story structure built in the
Greek style of architecture. The other Red Cross women were arriving in
Cadillacs, Packards, Chandlers and similarly expensive automobiles. He
noticed only one other Model T, and that was parked across the street.

When he had agreed to drive his mother to the meeting, he also had made
arrangements to take his sister to Intolerance, the

new moving picture showing at the Kinema. It featured Lillian Gish and
Constance Talmadge, two of Beckyis favorite actresses, and special
effects created when the projectionist threw beams of red and blue light
onto the screen. Friends had told her that this really dramatized the
four interwoven stories of intolerance from ancient to modern times.

But when he pulled up in front of Beckyis boarding house, he sensed that
something was wrong. The windows appeared to be closed and the shades
were drawn, even though it was a warm summer evening and still light
out. He cut the engine, walked up to the front door and knocked
tentatively. In a moment, someone opened the shade a crack and peeked
out, then cautiously opened the door.

It was his sister. ioh, Thomas, come in. She threw her arms around his
neck as he stepped inside.

Hi, something wrong? i His eyes quickly scanned the large parlor to see
three young women sitting around. One was seated on the sofa with her
arm around the shoulders of a young man, and an older woman was sitting
in a corner chair by herself. The room was warm and stuffy, like it had
been closed up for some time. A mostly empty pitcher of lemonade and a
few leftover cookies were on a low table in the center of the room.

When Becky introduced him to Sarah, Elizabeth and Emily, he nodded and
smiled as he recalled their June visit to the farm.

He responded similarly to Mrs. Brown, who smiled back but didnit appear
very happy.

Then Becky motioned toward the sofa, i and this is Karl Schwimmer. The
young man arose as Thomas stepped across the floor to shake his hand. He
was slender with olive skin and dark wavy hair and a boyish, almost
effeminate face. Thomas judged him to be a couple years older than he
was.

Thomas noticed a suitcase and violin case beside the sofa as he returned
to his chair, and Sarah piped up, ikarlis a music major at our Normal
School.

Elizabeth added eagerly, iyou should hear him play.

Thomas turned to his sister, ii gather the reis some kind of problem at
school? i

iyes. Karl has received his induction orders for the September call-up.

Thomas shrugged. ihowis that a problem?

Heis a ecoi, Conscientious Objector.

Thomas didnit know how to react to that revelation. He had heard of such
people but somehow didnit feel much sympathy.

It seemed cowardly or unmanly and he wondered if it was just a
convenient way to shirk oneis duty.

His thoughts were interrupted by Sarah, The and Emily also are members
of the Socialist Party and are opposed to war.

Schwimmer added, i and Iim a Jew. Emily put her arm back around his
shoulder and edged closer.

Man, that sounds to me like three strikes, i Thomas observed. No one
laughed at his offhand remark, so he tried another approach. iso why is
everyone sitting around here? i Becky replied, ikarl was giving a
recital this afternoon at the school and was booed off the stage. Some
students threw stuff at him and called him names like slacker and
coward. So weire hiding him here until his parents can pick him up after
dark.

Thomas had noted the ring on Emilyis left hand and asked, iare you two
married? i Emily giggled and nodded, iyes, in June.

Wonit that defer you? i Karl replied, ianything after May, when the
draft law was passed, is considered a eslacker marriagei, so the draft
board wonit honor it.

So what are you going to do about the call-up? i Thomas asked.

His sister handed him a letter commenting, iemily wrote to an
organization in New York thatis supposed to help ecosi.

Hereis their response.

He took the letter, noted the Bureau of Legal Advice letterhead and
scanned the contents. They recommend that Schwimmer let himself be
drafted until the government decides what to do about COs, and advised
that the Army is planning to have separate programs for them at the
cantonments. Thomas handed the letter back to his sister. ilooks like he
better go when heis called.

Emily spoke up, i If he doesnit, heill be labeled a slacker and put in
jail.

Karl added, i and since I was born in Austria, I could have another
problem.

Whatis that? i Becky asked.

If I served in France with the American army and was captured, the
Austrians would execute me. They have a law against any of their natives
serving in another army.

And he might be fighting against some of his relatives, i Emily added.

Mrs. Brown spoke for the first time, ibut arenit you an American
citizen?

Yes, and so are my parents. But that wouldnit make any difference to the
Austrians.

The sound of a car slowing outside caused Becky to go to the window and
peek out, then return to her seat with a shrug, ithey just drove by.

Mrs. Brown, sounding more irritable, spoke again. iwell, I wish your
parents would hurry. I donit want a bunch of idiots attacking my house
or throwing yellow paint around.

The sound of the hall clock bonging eight-thirty reminded Thomas that it
was time to retrieve his mother. He offered Schwimmer his best wishes,
bade the others farewell, and stepped out on the porch with Becky
following.

She spoke first, isorry we missed the movie.

Me too. But more than anything, Iim worried about you.

You sure you should be involved in this?

Oh, I feel so sorry for him and Emilyojust wish there was something I
could do.

With feelings of annoyance and protectiveness, he leaned down and kissed
her on the forehead. iwell, be careful. Donit want my big sister getting
hurt. He returned to his car, cranked it back to life, and with a wave
turned back toward the Gottlieb mansion.

When he picked up his mother, she was breathless with excitement. ioh,
Thomas, youill never guess what happened!

You fainted right in the middle of your report?

No, no. My report went fine. All the ladies clapped and Missus Gottlieb
gave me a big compliment.

So what happened? i he asked as he pulled away from the curb and made a
U-turn back toward town.

The Red Cross division chairman was there and heis someone I used to
know in high school!

What a coincidence. How did you recognize him?

I didnit, but he remembered me. Can you imagine, from thirty years ago?

Amazing.

His name is Bill Hardy, and heis just been appointed chairman of Red
Cross programs in all of California, Nevada and Arizona. I think the
other ladies were a little jealous because he spent so much time
chatting with me.

Sounds like he has a big job.

Oh, he does. He had just come from a meeting with President Wilson where
they set a national goal of over four hundred thousand new members.

Thatill be quite an army. Wordlessly, he cut over to Fulton so he could
drive past Beckyis boarding house. The shades were still drawn when they
motored by, so he continued on toward the downtown area.

Emma didnit seem to notice the maneuver and continued talking about her
meeting. iyes, and Iim proud that our chapter is doing its part. Mister
Hardy gave us a certificate because we met our goal of five thousand new
members in July.

Iim happy for you, Mother. Seems like youire really enjoying your work.

I am, Thomas. But Iim afraid Iill never measure up to some of the other
women.

Howis that?

They seem to have so much of everything. That house of the Gottliebis is
huge. And it cost over eight-thousand dollars!

Well, what would you expect. Heis a wealthy doctor.

ithe living room is so big. You could almost put our whole house in
there. Thereis a separate dining room big enough for a banquet, and done
in gray and mulberry wall coverings. And a real crystal chandelier.

For a few moments, they continued along in silence. Then Emma resumed
her description of the Gottlieb house. ithey have one room just for
music with a grand piano and a Victrola, and I saw a violin. The
wallpaper in that room was a lovely pale blue. Someone said it was
imported from France, and the room was trimmed in ivory. I guess Doctor
Gottlieb plays the violin and she accompanies him on the piano.

How big was their outhouse? i he asked teasingly.

Thomas! i she responded, suppressing a giggle. ithey have a bathroom on
the ground floor with real Italian marble. One of the ladies said they
have two more bathrooms upstairs and three bedrooms, including the
doctoris own with a drawing room and private bath. Can you imagine? i He
was too impressed to respond.

They even have separate servant quarters.

He had lost interest but replied with a non-committal imy Heavens! i She
continued, almost talking to herself, i and the yard, you should have
seen the back yard so full of flowers and a pond with gold fish, and the
green grass. I donit know how they keep it so green in the hot summer.

How could you see all that in the dark?

Electric lights, and lanterns. It was so beautiful the way they were
hung all over the yard.

They must have a gardener.

Oh, and their motor cars, Thomas. Theyire all so shiny and so big
compared to our little roadster. And they donit have to crank them to
start.

The newer cars have electric starters.

I was glad you picked me up so I didnit have to worry about cranking
ours.

Maybe you shouldnit drive my car if it bothers you.

Wouldnit want my mother to be embarrassed in front of her high society
friends.

idonit be mean, Thomas. Canit a mother dream for a better life for
herself and her family? i They had turned east on Ventura, heading
toward the farm and Thomas had pulled to a stop at the Santa Fe tracks
waiting for a slow-moving freight train to pass. They sat lost in
thought as the car jiggled in rhythm to the vibrations of the heavy
train until the sight of several refrigerator cars creeping by provided
him with a painful reminder of his lost peaches.

Guess it doesnit hurt to dream a little, but look where it got me a
couple weeks ago. Lost our whole peach---. He caught himself,
remembering he had not given her the details of the loss. She turned to
him, frowning. iwhat did you say? i He hesitated, trying to think if
there was any way to soften the bad news. iyou remember that carload of
peaches I shipped to Los Angeles?

Uh huh.

It never got there.

His mother looked forward, blinking unseeing at the passing train, her
mouth partly agape. He glanced toward her, waiting for a response, then
finally, ii donit understand.

He told her what he knew about the incident, adding, ifar as Iim
concerned, we lost it because I dreamed of beating the systemothought I
could market a crop by myself.

How much was the load worth? i He did a little mental calculation,
iwell, at market prices in Los Angeles about three-hundred fifty to
four-hundred dollars.

Emma was thoughtful for a few moments before asking, ibut why?

The growers association didnit like it because I used Chinese pickers,
so they wouldnit let me use their packing house. I imagine they also
made arrangements for my refrigerator car to sit on the siding in the
hot sun.

Thatis terrible, especially since weire supposed to be saving food for
the war effort.

Yes, but itis reality, Mother, i he concluded as the end of the train
passed and they resumed their drive home.

When they arrived home and entered the house, the phone was ringing.
Thomas picked up the receiver to hear Earlis voice. ihey, my friend,
whereive you been hiding?

On this damn farm.

Not as easy as banking, huh?

Afraid not. What have you been up to latelyosigned up yet? iinot me. But
it looks like Brad will be going to Washington, D.C. in a few weeks.

My God, what for? i Thomas felt a sudden emptiness in the pit of his
stomach. Even though he had not seen Brad for several weeks, he still
regarded him as his closest friend and had not visualized him becoming
involved in the war.

Something with the government, Committee on Public Information I think
he called it. His boss got him signed up.

Thomas fell silent and in a moment Earlis voice came over the line
again, iyou still there?

Yeah, but the thought of Brad leaving sure depresses me.

Well, before you get too depressed, live got an idea that should cheer
you up.

Whatis that?

Brad and I are planning a trip to Santa Cruz and want you to join us.

Where is that, on the coast?

Yes, by the nice, cool ocean.

Thomas hesitated before responding. iyou realize live never seen the
ocean?

Youire kidding!

Nope. You forget Iim a Midwestern farm boy.

Well, youill get a kick out of Santa Cruz. Wide, sandy beach, crashing
breakers, lots of cool breezes. Sure beats sweating in this damn summer
heat.

Yeah, but what would I do about the farm. I still have a lot of
irrigating ahead of me and weire coming up to harvest time.

Before you decide, let me give you the best news.

Yeah?

Women. Our girl friends are going to join us.

Thomas didnit react, but continued lamenting his farm problems. i and
pickers. live got a big crop coming on and havenit lined up a single
picker.

Didnit you hear me, Tommy? Iim talking about Brenda, your Heinie girl
friend. You wonit have to take pot luck like at Huntington.

He frowned at the insulting reference but before he could react, Earl
continued. isheis going to be in Santa Cruz with my new gal, Susan
Eastman. Brenda introduced us. He went on to explain that the two women
were spending a week in San Francisco and would meet them on the coast
and bring a date for Brad. Thomas felt a twinge of guilt over the fact
that although he had visited Brenda and her folks once after the jailing
incident in late June, he hadnit seen or talked to her since.

Finally, the appeal of a refreshing weekend away from the hot summer
overpowered his reservations. He and Earl agreed to schedule the trip
for the next to last weekend in August to avoid the crowds that would be
anticipated over the subsequent Labor Day holiday.

Chapter 16.

On the Friday of the Santa Cruz trip, Thomas was up and packed before
the morning sun had rediscovered its way across the Sierra Nevadas. He
and his two friends had agreed to the early start in the hope of beating
some of the heat that soon would be boiling up from the flat, treeless
valley floor. He gulped the last of his coffee as the lights from an
automobile swung into the drive, and bolted out the door to sleepy
welcomes from Brad and Earl. The latter was at the wheel of his fatheris
Overland Six and Brad was seated next to him. Thomas climbed in the back
and tossed his valise on the seat. They were dressed in their dusters,
caps and goggles in preparation for the long, dusty trip ahead of them.

They pulled out of the yard and headed west toward Fresno.

After a brief pause in town to pick up coffee and doughnuts, they
continued westward through Chinatown and along Palm Drive, welcoming the
cool shade afforded by the stately palm trees, their dried fronds
hanging down like giant beards. Some thirty miles later they turned
north onto the unpaved, dusty road they would follow for the next one
hundred miles.

Man, I bet this is a bugger when it rains, i Earl commented as he fought
the steering wheel against the chuckholes and dry wheel ruts of the
unimproved road. A rooster tail of yellow dust billowed up behind them
as they pressed on through the

ramshackle farming village of Mendota. Twice during the next few miles
Earl had to come to a complete stop as the dust from approaching motor
cars blinded his view.

Hard to believe some of this land is selling for twenty-five dollars an
acre, i Brad observed, gazing across the miles of flat, barren desert.
To the east, where the San Joaquin River roughly paralleled their
northwesterly direction, they could see green pastures and several
ten-mule teams ploughing through clouds of alkali dust.

All they need is water, i Thomas added, i and they can grow about
anything they want.

At Firebaugh, a small community comprised of several wooden shacks and a
single saloon, they paused at the intersection of an unmarked road that
headed west toward the coastal mountains. Confused over whether they
should turn or continue on northward, Earl pulled up next to a Mexican
lounging under the shade of a big sombrero. Responding as best he could
to Bradis tortured Spanish, he confirmed that they should proceed
northward to Dos Palos.

As Earl put the car back in gear and continued up the road he groused,
ithat must be the last Mexican in the valley. Guess he hasnit heard the
draft might get him. Brad and Thomas chuckled dutifully.

As their drive continued, Brad told about his appointment to the
Committee for Public Information. President Wilson had created the
committee to develop and manage a comprehensive program of information
in support of the expanding war effort.

It was being headed by George Creel, a well-known newspaperman from
Denver, and staffed by journalists, advertising and public relations
specialists, moving picture people, artists and others experienced in
communications.

These people would be distributing news about the countryis programs and
policies on the war and also would be working with the nationis
newspaper editors to determine which war news should or should not be
printed in the interest of military security.

The committee had set up headquarters in the nationis capital and Brad
had been selected because of his journalism experience and his ability
to speak and understand French.

Bradis discussion seemed rather esoteric until he advised his two
companions that he would be departing within a week or two. A feeling of
emptiness washed over Thomas as he contemplated the upcoming absence of
his friend and the growing uncertainty of all their futures.

Earl, peering intently ahead, interrupted Bradis remarks, iwhat the
hellis that? i Brad and Thomas looked up the road about a mile where
they could see the low, scattered buildings of another small town,
apparently Dos Palos. They also could make out two vehicles parked
beside the road and several men standing next to them. imaybe an
accident? i Brad ventured.

As they drew closer, the men started waving to flag Earl to a stop.
ilooks like theyive got guns, i Thomas observed.

Earl stopped the car then, after waiting for the dust to catch up and
pass over them, the threesome removed their caps and goggles. There were
four men beside the road dressed like farmers and cradling shotguns or
rifles across their arms. Two of them had holstered pistols hanging from
their belts.

Welcome to Merced County, i the apparent leader called out as he stepped
closer to the driveris side.

Thanks, i Earl responded, suspiciously.

Where you boys from? i the leader asked.

Fresno, i They replied in unison.

Where you headini?

Santa Cruz.

Got any identification?

Who wants to know? i Earl asked, a touch of defrance in his voice. The
four men stirred and moved closer to the car.

The leader rested a hand on his pistol as he responded firmly, iwe do.
Weire deputies and weire here to keep them damn Wobblies and hyphenates
out of Merced County.

Brad spoke up, iwell, weire not any of them. Iim a reporter with the
Republican. Earl here is with the State Employment Bureau and Thomas is
a farmer.

Any ID? i the lead deputy repeated firmly.

All three squirmed around in their seats and under their dusters to
reach their wallets. Earl handed over his draft registration card and
his badge and identification card from the American Protective League.

The leader looked at it then called out to one of his companions, ihey,
Frank, this guy belongs to the same outfit you do.

Good for him! i The deputy scanned the draft card from Brad and Thomasi
old business card and peered suspiciously at the latter. ithis hereis a
bankeris card. Thought you was supposed to be a farmer. After Thomas
explained the apparent discrepancy, the deputy asked, iwhereis your
draft card?

Donit have one. Iim only eighteen.

The deputy again looked the business card. ioiroark, thatis Irish. You
one of them hyphenates? i Thomas bristled. ino, for Christis sake. Iim
an American citizen! i Earlis usual short fuse was running out and he
spoke angrily, ihey, letis cut out the crap. Give us back our cards so
we can get on our way.

The deputyis face flushed and he put his hand back on this holster. One
of his companions called out, ithey look OK to us, Al. Let eem go.

The deputy handed back the cards and badge. Earl jammed the car into
gear and gunned it ahead, showering the deputies in a cloud of dust and
gravel. They drove along for a few minutes before he spoke, ideputies my
ass. That was a bunch of goddamn hick farmers taking the law into their
own hands.

Brad glanced down bemusedly at the American Protective League badge and
card, which Earl had placed on the seat, before responding, iyouire
probably right. Mercedis been having lots of problems since they
arrested that Wobbly leader

couple weeks ago. Somebodyis apparently been trying to get even by
setting fires to buildings and crops. So the farmers are stopping anyone
that looks suspicious.

Earl took his frustration out by roaring through the tiny burg of Dos
Palos in a cloud of dust and continuing on for some twenty miles to the
larger Los Banos. There they stopped for gas, water, sandwiches and beer
before pressing on toward the brown, buttock-shaped mounds of the Diablo
Mountain range.

They soon found out where the name came from as they followed the rough
and crooked unpaved road, first up one steep hill after another, then
plunging down into ravines and across occasional dry, sandy streambeds.
They climbed past groves of giant oak and sycamore trees as they neared
the summit, where the road narrowed into a single-lane shelf cut into
solid rock. At one point, they had to pause for a flock of several
hundred sheep as they leisurely munched their way across the roadway.

By mid-afternoon the threesome had reached Gilroy, situated on the main
north-south highway, where they enjoyed a few blocks of paved bliss
before they again turned west into the dirt, rocks, twists and turns of
the Hecker Pass road. By the time they limped into Watsonville, the car
was barely recognizable under a heavy coat of mud and dust. It was early
evening before Earl was able to nurse the vehicle and its broken front
spring and badly cut tires into Santa Cruz so its three weary, dusty
travelers could check into the Casa del Rey Hotel.

The three girls had arrived earlier by bus from the Bay Area and
according to the gimlet-eyed clerk, already had inquired about the men,
then left for the beach. Thomas and his friends quickly felt rejuvenated
as they visited their rooms just long enough to change to their
swimsuits and take off in hot pursuit.

It didnit take long. Although the beach was crowded with sun-baked
families and squealing children and virile males of all ages chasing
blushing females, Thomas quickly spotted Brenda.

She came running with two girl friends trailing close behind, then
slowed and stopped as she drew close.

Hi, Thomas, i she greeted him reservedly.

Hello, i he responded, smiling weakly.

ihavenit seen you for a long time.

No, guess live been too busy on that darn farm.

I thought you might be afraid to be seen with a bunch of spies, i she
continued with a touch of sarcasm.

No, no, i he protested, trying not to look as uncomfortable as he felt.
iitis just that live been working so hard---. He stopped, realizing he
had used that excuse so much lately that it no longer sounded plausible.
He started over, trying to cover his guilty feeling with another
approach. iiive even stopped playing in the band.

She reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. iwell, now that youire
here maybe we can make up for lost time. He smiled and squeezed her
back. ii didnit realize how much live missed you, i he whispered.

She smiled back.

With a little more reserve, Earl was shaking hands and looking doe-eyed
at his new girl friend while Brad was formally introducing himself to
the girl they had brought for him.

Thomasi attention was quickly diverted to the beach and the breakers
smashing against the shore, something he had never seen. He leaned down
and pulled off his shoes and helped Brenda do the same.

Where we going? i He didnit reply but took her hand and guided her
across the beach, reveling in the sensuous feel of the warm sand
squeezing between his toes. He didnit stop until they had reached the
spent breakers slithering up on the sand, and carving curlicues as they
slipped back to be sucked up in the next breaker. They continued walking
along the beach, squishing their toes into the wet sand, and pausing
occasionally to pick up a stray seashell.

Presently, he stopped and breathed deeply of the cool, moist air. igod,
isnit this something?

Youive never been here before?

Nope. First time live ever seen the ocean, or a beach bigger than Fresno
beach on the river.

Brenda tugged at his hand. imaybe we should go back to the others. Itis
time to get dressed and ready for dinner.

He didnit reply but instead sat down in the wet sand, stretched out flat
on his back and let the cool ocean waves wash up over his body and
trickle back down across his stomach, groin and legs on their return to
the sea. He reached up and pulled her down beside him and they both lay
there giggling at the tingle of the cool water against their skin, and
gazing absently up at the crystal blue sky.

In a few minutes, she turned toward him, iwe really should go, Thomas.

He didnit reply, but sat up, pulled his knees up to his chest, and gazed
out over the ocean before he finally spoke, igod, we must be doing
something wrong, Brenda.

Howis that?

Living in that hot old valley, working our heads off while all this
peaceful life is available over here.

Yes, it does seem idyllic. But how would you make a living around here?
i He shrugged his shoulders, and they fell silent. Then wordlessly he
stood up, pulled her to her feet and they walked back to join the
others. All had agreed earlier that they would return to their hotels to
get bathed and dressed for the evening.

Then they would regroup for a seafood dinner and leisurely stroll on the
Electric Pier and finish the night dancing at the Casino. They all
anticipated a fun time, but none more so than Thomas and Brenda. He
hadnit fully realized how much he had missed her, however, until after
dinner when they started dancing.

He held her closer and closer as the evening continued and Brenda
responded eagerly, pressing her warm, full body close to his. Finally,
she whispered, ithomas, have you really missed me? iiyes, live missed
all my friends.

Me more than the others?

Uh huh. He pulled her closer.

She responded with her body, then whispered in his ear, iiive been
lonesome for you too.

The music stopped and they stood holding hands in the middle of the
dance floor. iwhere we going after the dance? i she asked.

He was starting to feel uncomfortable and didnit respond.

He sensed from her closeness during dancing and the tone of her
questions that she was expecting more than a stroll on the beach and a
goodnight kiss.

Finally he asked, iwhere would you like to go?

Where we can be alone.

How about the pier? We could get some cotton candy.

Brenda frowned. ithat doesnit sound very alone. Besides, we were there
earlier.

But itill be cooler than this crowded dance floor. He took her hand and
led her out the door and down the street toward the pier. As they walked
along silently, his mind was in turmoil.

He sensed that she wanted him to make love to her but he wasnit sure
what to do about it. He didnit even know where to go for privacy in this
unfamiliar town. He certainly couldnit take her to his hotel room with
Earl and Brad hanging around, and Brenda was sharing her room in another
hotel with the other girls. He was further tormented by the memory of
his clumsy attempt at lovemaking in the orchard. His feeling that Brenda
had more experience than he did in these matters added to his anxiety.

Thomas, youire hurting my hand, i Brenda cried, bringing him back to the
moment.

Oh, Iim sorry.

mpulsively he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it gently and
realized immediately from her affectionate response that he was getting
in deeper and deeper. They were strolling along the brightly-lit pier
now, oblivious to the crushing throng and the crashing breakers below.
They stepped up to the nearest cotton candy stand where he ordered two
cones and paid the man a dime. They walked along in silence, struggling
to consume the ephemeral confection against the rising sea breeze. She
shivered

and he removed his jacket and placed it over her shoulders as they
turned and ambled aimlessly back toward the mainland.

Gosh, itis past midnight, i he commented, noticing a clock in one of the
stands. iguess I better get you back to your hotel.

Yes, I guess so, i she sighed.

They returned to the small beachfront hotel where Brenda was staying
with the other girls. Thomas kissed her lightly on the cheek as he bid
her goodnight, turned and strode purposely away. He glanced back once to
see her disappear into the hotel.

When he entered his room he was surprised at this late hour to find it
empty. Neither bed appeared to have been used so he uncovered the single
one, opened the windows to let in the cooling breeze, undressed and
climbed between the sheets for a night of restless sleep.

He awoke by late morning to a still-empty room, indulged in a long,
leisurely bath, then strolled into the warming day in search of
breakfast and his friends. He found Earl, alone and obviously hung over,
in a corner coffee shop.

Good morning, i he ventured as he eased into the booth across from him.

Howdy, i Earl replied, stabbing listlessly at his fried eggs.

Looks like you had a bad night.

Earl shrugged his shoulders.

A waitress came to the table, poured Thomas a cup of coffee, refilled
Earlis cup and said she would return for his order.

Thomas took a sip of the hot liquid and asked, ifind a new spring for
the car?

Overland dealeris shipping one down from San Francisco.

Should be here this afternoon.

Thomas paused, trying to assess his friendis unenthusiastic response,
then continued, iyou didnit return to our room last night?

Nope. Earl took a bite of eggs and followed that with a drink of coffee.

How about Brad?

Havenit seen him since yesterday afternoon.

iwhat happened to his dateolinda whatever?

Looks like he dumped her.

Where is your girl friend?

Still at the cottage I guess.

Cottage?

One of the hotel cottages. Earl nodded toward the beach.

Thomas stopped probing when the waitress arrived to take his order. He
absently asked for bacon and eggs as he struggled to piece the evening
together. Eventually it dawned on him that he and Brenda had spent the
night alone in their respective hotels while Earl and Brad apparently
were shacked up somewhere else.

The two friends didnit converse much during the rest of their meal, but
as they finished Thomas asked, iwhereid you say these cottages are? i
Earl directed him to the south end of the long beach beyond the
boardwalk, and Thomas departed with a purposeful stride.

By late morning, he caught up with Brenda at the beach where she and
Susan and Linda were soaking up the sun. He waved to Earl, stretched out
a few feet from the others and started to ask about the missing Brad,
but changed his mind.

When he greeted Brenda and laid down in the warm sand next to her, he
sensed from her aloofness that she also knew where everybody else had
spent the night. Like two animals in heat, they whiled away the shank of
the morning, alternately approaching each other with a word or gesture
then backing away in silence and frustration. Finally, as the hot sun
edged toward its zenith, he arose, stretched excessively and announced,
iiim going for a swim.

Earl stirred from his lethargy and raised up on his elbows, iwhere?

The ocean.

Susan sat up, shading her eyes against the sun, iisnit that rather
dangerous? i Brenda, still prone, added, iyes, Thomas, the reis a strong
undertow.

And sharks, i Linda added.

iiill be careful. He trotted off toward the water and everyone sat up
and watched as he slowly disappeared into the breakers and started
swimming along the west side of the pier.

When they could no longer see his head, they stood up and shaded their
eyes against the reflection of the sun-glistened sea, trying
unsuccessfully to follow his progress.

Brenda spoke, igod, I wish he wasnit doing this. Can any of you see him?
i Everyone shook their heads, then Earl added, iiim going out on the
pier for a closer look. He took off running and the girls briefly
followed with their eyes before they decided to join him.

Regrouped shortly at the end of the pier, they looked vainly across the
undulating sea.

In a few moments, Earl shouted and pointed west toward Point Santa Cruz
and the lighthouse, ijesus, is that him? i The girls squinted in the
direction of his extended arm until, approximately halfway to the point
and beyond where the breakers were forming for their assault on the
beach, they could make out a head and arms moving in a steady, rhythmic
stroke.

They could see no one else that far out in the water.

Brenda started wailing, ioh, my heavens, what are we going to do! i The
other girls put their arms around her and Earl patted her shoulder
trying to add reassurance. iiim not too worried, i he added, ibecause I
know heis a strong swimmer. Just the same, Iim going to look for a
lifeguard or policeman.

He found an officer walking his beat along the boardwalk and told of his
concern, only to be advised there was no lifeguard; he had been drafted.
The officer went to his patrol car for a pair of binoculars and started
scanning the ocean in vain.

Come on, i he said, climbing in the car, iwe'll drive around to the
point for a closer look. When they arrived at the point, they looked
across the water to no avail and finally down to the breakers slamming
against the rocks. There was Thomas sitting quietly hunched over,
examining something in his hands. He responded to Earl's shouting with a
wave, turned and clambered up the rocks.

ilook what I found, i he grinned, holding up two large seashells.

Hey, those are abalone, i the officer called out. ibetter find someone
to cook eem for you.

Earl didnit show much interest. iman, you scared the shit out of us.
Brenda will probably kick your ass.

Thomas shrugged his shoulders and climbed in the patrol car. They
returned to the boardwalk to find the girls sitting forlornly on a
bench, their arms around Brenda. Thomas got out of the car and walked
toward the bench smiling sheepishly and holding up the two abalones.
Before he could speak, a teary- eyed Brenda stood up and confronted him,
idamn you, Thomas, I just hate you! i She turned and stormed off down
the boardwalk with the other girls trailing along behind.

Thomas and Earl thanked the policeman for his assistance and walked back
to their hotel. ilooks like I screwed up, i Thomas commented.

You kindai scared usothe girls anyway.

We still supposed to meet them for dinner?

Guess so.

Well, I sure had fun anyway. How far did I swim?

The cop said about a mile.

Worn out from their morning in the sun and the effects of Thomasi
swimming adventure, the two friends spent the afternoon resting their
sunburned bodies in the cool sheets of their hotel beds. They arose in
time to bathe and dress for the evening, then strolled down to the
girlsi hotel. Thomas could barely hide his self-satisfied grin when he
presented Brenda with a corsage and an apology, to which she responded
with a weak ethank you.

After a quiet and somewhat awkward dinner, they strolled over to the
casino and another evening of dancing. Thomas noticed that Brad still
had not rejoined the party and that Earl seemed to be morosely tagging
along with Susan and Linda. But he made no comment, feeling that he
already had done enough to upset the day.

Later when they started dancing, he soon sensed that Brenda was much
more tense and aloof than she had been the evening before. Finally,
after a few turns around the floor, he decided to try to ease the
tension. iiim sorry if I worried you with my swimoand sorry about last
night too.

She didnit reply as he led her around the floor, but he thought he could
feel her relax a little in his arms. In a few moments, she responded,
iiim mostly sorry about last night, Thomas. What are we going to do
about it? i He hesitated, a little surprised at her reference to the
previous evening and not sure if he dared plunge ahead. Then the words
just sort of tumbled out on their own, ihow about spending the night in
a beach cottage? i She tipped her head back from his shoulder to look at
him quizzically, iwhat do you mean?

I rented a cottage, just for us.

She stiffened slightly in his arms and he also tensed up, fearful of a
negative reply. Then, petulantly, she replied, iyou were taking it for
granted Iid join you?

Just hoping.

They danced silently for a few moments until the music stopped, then she
asked, iwhat are we waiting for? i He felt a tingling sensation rising
up in his loins and stomach and up through his chest as he led her out
the side door of the casino and headed south along the beach. After a
couple of blocks, he guided her into a row of small cottages close
enough to the ocean to hear the breakers crashing on the sand and rocks.
He stopped in front of one, fumbled in his pocket for the key, turned it
in the lock, picked up a compliant Brenda and carried her into the
bedroom. They closed the shade, tore back the bed covers and started
undressing.

Remembering vividly his experience at Huntington Lake, Thomas was
determined to control his throbbing sexual drive.

He turned out the bed light and pulled off all his clothes except his
underwear before slipping under the sheets, thinking that might slow
things down. When he reached for Brenda, lying with her back toward him,
he found that she still was wearing her brassiere and bloomers. He
turned and kissed her shoulder and back and started struggling with her
bra hooks. She finally reached around to unhook the garment, and he
curled his arm across her and cupped one of her warm, full breasts in
his hand.

He was surprised at how extra hard his penis suddenly became.

They both struggled out of their remaining underclothing and she rolled
toward him. Her initial reserve now turned to eagerness as she responded
to his caressing and kissing by stroking his body and pulling him closer
as they lay facing each other. As their breathing quickened, he pushed
her on her back and started to roll over on top of her, but was too
late. His passion surged out of control, spurting out like quicksilver.

Oh God, no, no! i he groaned painfully.

Thomas, what is the matter? Oh heavens! i He moaned in frustration and
fell back on the bed dejectedly. Brenda, suddenly aware of the warm,
sticky stuff on her upper thighs, asked suspiciously, iwerenit you
wearing a rubber? i He shook his head.

She responded, a touch of hysteria in her voice, iyou could have gotten
me pregnant! i He rolled on his side away from her, too embarrassed to
reply.

She sat up in bed, clutching the sheets across her bare breasts.
ithomas, if you want me to stay here any longer, youire going to have to
get some rubbers.

He thought for a moment, then rolled back toward her, iwhere, for Peteis
sake?

Back in town. Maybe somethingis open.

This late? Nothing is open now. He turned away, feeling angry and
defeated.

She got out of bed and went to the bathroom to wash up.

When she returned, he was stretched out flat on his back and snoring.
She crawled into bed, pulled the sheet and blanket up over both of them,
turned on her side away from him, and fell asleep.

She awoke in the early dawn to find him still asleep, curled up against
her back, his arm lying loosely across her body.

Wordlessly she took his hand and moved it to the patch of soft, curly
hair between her legs. He stirred awake as she guided his finger into
the hot stickiness of her inner body, then reached around to wrap her
soft warm fingers around his erection. Now fully awake, he pulled her
toward him, rolled on top and entered her in wild, thrusting abandon.
They climaxed together in an ecstasy of moaning and heavy breathing,
then reluctantly rolled apart and fell back asleep.

Later, they were awakened by loud pounding on the cottage door. Thomas
sat up and called out, iwhois there?

Time to get up, Tommy, i Earl hollered back. iwe gottai hit the road.

Brenda and Thomas took turns getting bathed before they walked out into
the bright morning sunlight. Wordlessly they strolled hand-in-hand back
to the center of town. There they found Earl seated impatiently behind
the wheel of the Overland, Brad next to him drinking a cup of coffee.

We want to have breakfast, i Thomas announced.

Too late, i Earl replied, starting the engine. ii want to get over the
mountains before it gets too hot.

Butobutomy abalone!

I ate it. Tasted great with my eggs. But I saved the shells for you.
Earl broke into a grin, i and I did buy you some doughnuts and coffee.
Iim sure you need something to restore your strength.

Thomas shook his head in disbelief, turned to kiss Brenda, and climbed
into the back seat. Earl yanked the car into gear and headed on down the
road.

Chapter 17.

For Thomas, Earl and Brad the return trip to Fresno was almost as rugged
and wearing as the one over to Santa Cruz.

Earl had decided to drive more cautiously, hoping to avoid another
broken spring, especially since he had to pay for the first one out of
his own pocket. But after they left the paved highway south of Santa
Cruz and wound their way along the unimproved road of the first mountain
range, one rear tire finally gave out and had to be replaced with the
spare.

Later, climbing through the Diablos with the mid-day heat bearing down,
the radiator boiled over. This brought forth an unusual amount of
frustrated cussing from Earl and forced the threesome to lose almost an
hour waiting for the engine to cool down.

It was during this wait, while they were stretched out under the skimpy
shade of a lone oak tree, that Earl abruptly turned to Brad. iwhere the
hell were you the last couple of days? i Thomas was surprised at the
sharpness of Earlis voice, although he had sensed since departing that
morning that something was wrong. He had assumed Earl was unhappy
because he and Brad hadnit returned to the hotel until almost ten
oiclock, forcing a late start. They now were paying the price of that
lateness as they traversed the mountains during the hottest part of the
day.

Brad didnit move for a moment, then raised up on his elbows before
responding to Earl. ii stayed with an old friend from college. Why?

Man or woman? i Brad frowned. ia man, for Christis sake. What business
is that of yours?

So you dumped the date my girl friend brought for you for some guy? i
Brad sat all the way up, his face turning red with anger.

Earl, quit talking like a jerk. I didnit dump Linda. I apologized to her
and explained that I wanted to spend time with my friend whois writing a
book. Now why the hell does that concern you? i Earl, who had been
picking up pebbles and tossing them forcefully at a nearby rock,
replied, iwell, you sure screwed up my weekend.

Howis that?

My Susan felt sorry for Linda and wouldnit spend any time alone with me.

Brad hesitated for a moment, then started chuckling. iok, I get the
picture. So you didnit get any nookie.

Earl threw a handful of pebbles more forcefully, iyeah, you got that
right.

Thomas, seeking to ease the tension, interjected with a smile. iwell,
sometimes weire lucky, sometimes weire not.

They looked at him quizzically and Earl asked, iwhat the hell were you
doing all night with that Heinie female, anyway? i Thomasi smile turned
to a frown, then anger. He jumped to his feet, stepped across Brad and
confronted Earl. igoddamn you, thatis the last time youire calling
Brenda a Heinie.

Apologize right now or Iim gonnai beat the shit out of you! i Surprised,
Earl sat part way up, then seeing the intense anger in Thomasi eyes,
held up a hand in supplication. iok, OK, Iim sorry. Guess I let my
frustration get the best of me.

Well, whatever. Iid appreciate your keeping your prejudices to yourself.
Besides, Brendais an American citizen,

just like you and me and Brad. He turned and walked a few feet away to
calm down.

Earl stood up and brushed the dust off his jump suit. iguess we better
see if the car has cooled down enough. They followed him back to the
Overland, filled the radiator with water, started the engine, pulled
their goggles back in place and resumed their journey through the
mountains.

As they descended into the flat, treeless valley, now too hot even for
the prairie dogs to venture out of their holes, Thomasi thoughts
returned to the most worrisome problem he faced. That was lining up
enough pickers in this first summer of the war when the teams of
migrants that usually descended on the valley had vanished into Mexico
or were finding better paying work.

The problem was particularly acute since he still would be responsible
for harvesting the Maloney grapes, even if the property were sold. This
gave him a total of fifty acres to worry about. Unlike most farmers in
the area, he had no sons or daughters or other family members to provide
some of the needed labor. His mother understandably wouldnit be much
help in the field, but hopefully she at least could be depended upon to
provide the noonday meal for his pickers, or could she?

He got his answer when he returned to the farmhouse that evening and
found her on the sofa reading a magazine. The electric fan was on the
floor oscillating across her in a feeble attempt to sweep away the
summer heat still clinging to the house. She didnit look up or speak,
even when he greeted her with an exploratory ehii.

He placed his valise on the table, opened it, and withdrew the abalone
shells. ilook what I brought you.

She looked up and mumbled a barely audible ethank you.

Too tired to challenge her lack of response, he laid the shells on the
table and went to the bedroom to doff his dusty travel clothes. Shortly,
he was in the bathroom drawing a tub of tepid water that he hoped would
give him some respite from the heat.

Later, when he returned to the bedroom, his mother was gone and her
bedroom door closed. As he passed the bric-a-brac cabinet, he noticed
the four halves of the abalone shells, their mother-of-pearl interiors
glistening in the evening light. They were centered on the top shelf
with the other seashells arrayed around them.

Emma continued the silent treatment for a few days until, over another
sullen dinner, Thomas confronted her. imother, I assume you realize
weill need to start harvesting in a couple of weeks? i She didnit
respond, but arose from the table to get dessert.

The silence was broken only by the hum of the electric fan sweeping
feebly back and forth across the floor.

He pressed on. iyou understand Iill be depending on you to feed the
pickers? i Still no response.

Dammit, Mother, live had enough of your silent treatment.

What the hellis bothering you?

Please donit swear at me, Thomas, i she mumbled, removing a bowl of
bread pudding from the icebox and spooning some into two dessert
saucers. Wordlessly she set the saucers on the table and returned to the
icebox for a pitcher of milk.

Well, dammit, that seems to be the only way I can get your attention.
You havenit spoken to me for the past couple of weeks.

She retook her seat across from him. ithere you go, swearing again.

Gritting his teeth in frustration, he poured the cold milk over his
dessert. iyes, and Iill probably swear a lot more before I get those
grapes harvested and the money in the bank.

Emma glanced at her son and her voice suddenly softened.

How much money you think weill make? i He hesitated before responding,
then said, i just a minute and Iill show you how live penciled it out. He
arose from the table, went to his bedroom and returned in a moment with
a pencil and piece of paper.

Altogether, between our place and the Maloneys, weill be picking fifty
acres. That should yield over three hundred tons of grapes.

Heavens! i ibut weill dry eem into raisins, so we should end up with
about one hundred tons.

Emma looked puzzled. iwhy so little?

Thatis just the way it is, Mother. When the sun dries the water out of
eem they lose weight.

Why not just sell the grapes?

Theyire more perishable, and raisins bring a better price.

She didnit respond, but still looked puzzled as he continued.

The packers estimate theyill be paying up to one hundred dollars a ton
this year because of the war demand. Thatis way above last year.

Emma didnit need an adding machine as her eyes widened.

Why thatisothatis ten thousand dollars!

Well, donit start spending it yet. We owe a lot of money to the bank and
other people.

Her eyes started to glaze over as he tried to direct her attention to
the numbers on his piece of paper. isee, first off, thirty acres, or
about sixty percent of that crop will come from the Maloney place. They
get forty percent of that, or about two thousand four hundred dollars.

That still leaves us with over seven thousand dollars.

Except for expenses. I figure it cost us about forty dollars a ton to
raise that crop.

What on earth for? A little water, and Don't forget fertilizer. And
pruning, and cultivating, repairing the drying trays and picking, boxing
and hauling to the packer. See here how it all adds up. He pointed to
the numbers on his paper.

Emma had lost interest and stared aimlessly, twisting her napkin.

Thomas continued, i and this year weill probably have to pay pickers
about five cents a tray.

Even for students? That seems like a lot.

It is, at least compared to last year when the Mexicans were getting
less than half that. But thatis what the war is doing for us.

He went on, ifinally, we owe the bank a lot of money.

Some for that lost peach crop, plus the money we borrowed to improve the
house.

She arose from the table, seemingly lost, not sure which way to turn or
what to say. She walked to the sink and started washing the supper
dishes. Finally, absently, she asked, iwhat are you doing about pickers?

Two things. Iim working with Becky to get some of her fellow students
and Iim keeping in touch with Earl, my friend at the Employment Bureau.
Theyire trying to line up some fourteen thousand people to help
throughout the county.

Where they going to get all those people?

Wherever they can find them. The Fruit Growers Association is helping
the bureau recruit anybody who can work. Theyire even asking carpenters,
bricklayers, plumbers and other tradesmen to give up a day or two of
their regular work to make sure the crops get harvested.

I overheard Missus Gottlieb say her husband would be closing his office
for a day or two to release his employees for the harvest, i Emma added.

Yes, the Commercial Club is making those arrangements.

How about high school students?

Donit know about them, but like I said, live talked to Becky about her
friends at the Normal School. She thinks some of them will be ready to
work for us, at least for a few days.

They finished the dishes and disappeared into their respective bedrooms.
Later that evening, Thomas received a phone call from Becky with the
encouraging news that she thought she had lined up about fifteen fellow
students for picking.

Thus, on the following Monday, he and his mother were up with the first
light of day. She was cooking up a big breakfast to assure him a proper
sendoff on his first day of harvest. And before he could finish his
second cup of coffee, the noise of a school bus rumbling into the yard
drew him to the back door.

He stepped outside and approached the bus to find a bunch of young
people either sound asleep or only half awake. Becky, sitting in the
front seat to guide the driver, was partially awake and responded with a
sleepy grin when her brother tapped on the side. Their mother had arisen
to the occasion. With her sonis help she lifted a large pot of coffee
out to a table under the tree.

A bowl of her recently canned peaches, clusters of ripe grapes and a
platter of hot biscuits, along with slabs of butter and jars of her
homemade jam, quickly followed. The smell of coffee soon did the trick
as the students began stirring and stumbled into the yard.

Thomas had decided to start the picking at the vines nearest the house,
figuring it would be easier to train and watch over his crew of amateur
farmers. After consuming everything that Emma had set on the table, the
students followed him to the nearest end-rows of the vineyard. With a
silent prayer, he gave each one a cutting knife and demonstrated the
proper technique for slicing the clusters of grapes from the vine and
placing them on the wooden trays on the ground. He cautioned them
several times to not slice their fingers.

All went surprisingly well for the first few hours. Thomas moved back
and forth among the students offering advice and encouragement. He
brought them water and urged them to drink copiously so they wouldnit
become dehydrated in the heat that was building steadily. He encouraged
the boys to step behind a row of vines to relieve what water they hadnit
sweated away.

The girls were allowed to return to the house for that purpose,
generating good-natured teasing and embarrassed giggles over their
privileged status.

By late morning, the blazing sun was starting to take its toll.

Everyone was slowing down and some were taking longer breaks, trying to
hunker down under the precious little shade provided by the grapevines.
Some of the boys were taking their shirts off, ignoring warnings of
sunburn, while others were pouring water over their heads. The girls,
who had worn the loose-fitting two-piece cotton jump suits issued by the
Normal

School as part of its wartime Farmerette program, seemed to be fairing a
little better. But most of them were taking longer and longer on their
trips to the house.

On one of his late morning trips to the field, Thomas glanced ahead to
observe several girls clustered around someone sitting on the ground.
Fearing that one of the students had cut himself, he ran ahead to find
Becky seated in the dirt and her friends wiping her neck and forehead
with a damp cloth.

What happened? i he asked, kneeling beside her.

She vomited, i one of the girls volunteered.

Sounds like youire getting too much sun, i he ventured. He felt her
forehead for any unusual temperature.

Sorry to be such a sissy, i Becky replied weakly.

He didnit respond but took her problem as a signal not to push his
charges too hard on their first day. He called them all together and,
helping Becky to her feet, led them into lunch under the comforting
shade of the big Sycamore. Emma had already spread quilts around on the
ground and quickly served up pitchers of cold lemonade to the sweating,
dust-covered students. Pails of water were set about so everyone could
sluice the dust from their faces and hands. Platters of sandwiches were
loaded on the tables along with fresh tomatoes, radishes and sliced
cucumbers. Slabs of rhubarb pie rounded out the noon meal. After that,
Thomas and the students promptly fell asleep in the shade as a light
breeze rustled the branches.

In about an hour, the students started to stir and struggle awake. Some
sat up moaning about aching backs and massaging sore muscles. Others
began to lament the hotness of arms, necks and faces, the product of a
merciless sun that even bore through broad-brimmed hats and lightweight
summer clothing. Many of the young pickers would be suffering painful
sunburns and peeling skin for days to come.

Thomas awoke to their movement and watched in quiet bemusement. He knew
what they were going through because he had experienced the same pain
and suffering upon his return to farming. Even now, with his skin
browned and toughened against the wind and sun and his muscles hardened
from the long hours of labor, he still found days and nights when he
wasnit sure that his mind or body would rise to another day of seemingly
relentless labor. But press on he must because the ripening crop would
wait for no one.

He also paid close attention to Becky, who seemed to have recovered from
her upset stomach and once again was full of her youthful vitality. She
was on her feet prodding her fellow students back to life, teasing the
boys who were complaining the loudest about their sore bodies, consoling
the ones who seemed to need the most encouragement. And she was doing
more than her share of the picking, actually seeming to caress each of
the fat grape clusters as she lay them on the drying trays. Thomas had
teased her about her delicate touch during the morning picking,
reminding her that they werenit babies. She had responded with a
quizzical glance and commented that they looked more like gold nuggets
to her.

Gradually, somewhat reluctantly, the students pulled their shirts and
shoes back on, clapped hats back on their heads and returned to the
fields. The worked relentlessly, almost silently throughout the
afternoon, pausing only for brief rest breaks and long drinks of cool
water. They stopped at seven oiclock as the late summer sun, slowly
giving up its effort to burn the spirit out of them, sank into the
western horizon. Thomas paid them the going rate of five cents per tray,
which averaged about five dollars for each picker. For many of them, it
was the most cash they had seen in a long time. All of them promised to
return the following day as they struggled into the bus for the ride
back to their homes and boarding houses in town.

Becky stepped aboard the bus after it was loaded to chide her charges
about going to bed and getting lots of rest because she would be looking
for each of them bright and early the next morning. When she finished
her little pep talk, she was met with a surprising response of clapping
and cheering. As the students departed, she returned to the house to
join her mother and brother.

ithat must have been quite a talk you gave, judging by the cheering, i
Thomas commented as they sat down for a light supper. iwhatid you tell
your friends?

Told eem if they kept up the good work until we got the whole crop
picked you would reward them with a bonus and a party at the beach.

Good grief, Becky, we canit afford that. What beach you talking about?

Relax, Thomas. Iim just talking about the river.

Goodness, that sounds like fun, i Emma enthused.

Yeah, Mother, i he groaned. iguess it does. And weire all going to be
ready for it once we get this crop in.

The following day dawned like most other September mornings in Fresno,
bright, hot and windless. The Oiroarks were up with the early rays,
getting ready for another day in the field. Emma and Becky teamed up to
get breakfast for themselves and the picking crew. Thomas went out to
the barn to assemble another stack of drying trays.

The student workers showed up on time with only two members missing and
dug into the bountiful breakfast. In a short time, they were being led
back into the field by Becky.

Thomas followed with a wagonload of trays. By mid-morning, he had to
return to the barn for another load.

As he pulled into the yard, he noticed a Western Union delivery car
coming up the drive. With a cursory, almost somber greeting, the driver
handed Thomas one of the familiar blue and yellow envelopes. He rewarded
the driver with a quarter and, noting that the telegram was addressed to
his mother, carried it into the house.

Emma was in the bedroom, but came into the living room in response to
his call, itelegram for you, Mother.

Oh, my, for me? live never received a telegram before.

Wonder who itis from.

Maybe your Red Cross ladies are starting to miss you.

She opened the envelope, glanced at the message, then gasped as she
collapsed into her sonis arms.

imother! i he cried as he struggled to hold onto her limp body. imy God,
what is it? i He partly carried, partly dragged her to the sofa and ran
to the sink for a glass of water.

She was coming to and moaning as he returned. iitis Patrick. Something
terrible has happened to Patrick! i Thomas picked the telegram up from
the floor and felt a deep stab of pain in his stomach as he saw the
message addressed to Mrs. Emma Oiroark: Tacoma, Washington September 17,
1917 REGRET NOTIFY YOU DEATH OF SON PATRICK J. Oiroark.

PLEASE ADVISE YOUR WISHES RE DISPOSITION OF BODY.

George Smyth, Coroner Pierce County, Washington Thomas sank weakly to
the floor next to his sobbing mother and absent-mindedly started
massaging her limp hand and wrist.

For seemingly endless minutes, his mind refused to work. He kept looking
at the telegram, turning it over, checking the address, subconsciously
hoping it was all a terrible mistake.

Finally, he started to move. He went to the bathroom and came back with
a damp cloth. ihere, Mother, try this on your forehead. How about a
drink of water, or maybe cold lemonade?

Oh, Thomas, Thomas, i she wailed in between sobs. iwhat do you suppose
happened to poor Patrick---what on earth are we going to do?

I donit know. Itis hit me as sudden as you. I need to collect my
thoughts. IOI just donit know what to say.

You suppose he was in some accident? He didnit seem to have any health
problems, did he? i

ihard to say. As you know, Patrick sometimes ran around in rough
company. Maybe he got in a fight. I canit imagine what happened.

Suddenly, Thomas remembered he had a crew of pickers working in the
field and his sister was among them. How was he ever going to break the
news to her. He pulled his fatheris watch from his coveralls, flipped
the lid open and realized that in a short time the crew would be in the
yard looking for lunch.

Still dazed, he went to the icebox and started pulling out materials for
sandwiches. In a few moments, Emma joined him, periodically wiping away
tears and pausing to blow her nose in a hanky. He put an arm around her
shoulder, then moved to carry the pitchers of lemonade outside and check
on those arrangements. He looked toward the vineyards to see the workers
straggling toward him with Becky in the lead. He vowed to put up a brave
front and not tell her the bad news until later, and suggested the same
to their mother when he returned to the kitchen to haul out trays of
sandwiches and fresh fruit.

The luncheon was a repeat of the day before, although the students
didnit seem to eat as much and were more subdued.

Perhaps they were recognizing that moderation in food and drink was the
best policy when working in the one-hundred-degree heat. Maybe they were
beginning to realize there wasnit much fun in farm work. Hopefully, the
patriotic thought that they were contributing to the nationis war effort
would be enough to sustain them through the balance of the harvest.

The relative quietness of the lunch period gave Thomas a chance to start
collecting his thoughts. Certainly he would have to tell Becky about
Patrick very soon, but then what? And he was going to have to make
arrangements to bring the body home. His initial thought was to have it
shipped, but that wouldnit give him a chance to find out what had
happened. But if he went after the body, who would manage the balance of
the harvest? In a moment, Becky helped to make his decision a little
easier when, as the other students slipped into their rest period, she
came to him.

ithomas, live really been enjoying this work in spite of the heat and
dust, and Iim having fun working with my friends.

Iim glad to hear that, Becky, because we still have a long way to go.
Guess you must be feeling better today?

Yes, i she replied, fibbing and not revealing that she had vomited again
that morning. This time the sickness had struck earlier while she was in
the bathroom and Thomas and Emma were out of the house.

He continued, iiim sure proud of how youive been keeping the group
organized. I didnit realize you were such a good leader.

She smiled, imaybe the reis a lot you donit know about me, even though
you are my brother.

Youire undoubtedly right, Sis, i he acknowledged, putting an arm around
her and easing her toward the kitchen door. iiid like to take time to
find out more some day, but right now we have a more pressing problem to
deal with.

They stepped into the house to find their mother slumped in the easy
chair, staring into space. imother, is something wrong? i Becky asked.

Thomas responded for her. ibecky, Iim sorry but we have some terrible
news. Patrick is dead.

She cried out, then ran to her motheris side. imy God, what
happenedowhen? IOIOdonit understand! i He showed her the telegram and
explained that it was all the information they had. Emma and Becky now
had their arms around each other and both were crying.

When they eventually calmed down, he spoke up. iiive decided that I
personally want to go after Patrick rather than have him sent home.

Why? i Becky asked.

I want to find out how he died. Something seems suspicious.

Oh heavens! i Emma cried. iyou think he was in a fightooroor someone
killed him? i

ii donit know, Mother. Like I said earlier, Patrick ran around with some
pretty rough company. Anything could have happened. Seems like the least
I can do is try to find out.

I think youire right, you should go, i Becky said.

But what if he was involved in some scandal, oroorosomething illegal? i
Emma stammered.

Whatever it was, Mother, I donit plan to tell the world, i he replied,
annoyed at her reaction.

What will I ever tell the Red Cross ladies? i she moaned.

Mother, for Godis sake get a hold of yourself! i he said with more
sharpness than intended.

Becky patted her motheris arm, trying to calm her as she started crying
again.

Thomas turned to his sister. ibecky, if I leave for a few days that
means youill have to take charge of the harvest. Think you can handle
it?

Sure. Iill just keep doing what live been doing.

I should be back before you need to start on the Maloney place.

Iill help too, i Emma said, wiping away her tears.

I know you will, Mother. Youive been very helpful already. After all,
weive got to keep those young people well fed if we want them to work.
He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead then went to the telephone
to make reservations for that evening on the Southern Pacific's Golden
State Limited.

Emma and Becky returned to ministering to the needs of the harvesting
crew, and Thomas went to his bedroom to prepare for the trip. Later that
afternoon, after bathing and dressing for the first time in the new suit
the Maloneys had bought for him, he drove into the train station. His
mother accompanied him so she could return the car to the farm. He
didnit realize until she rummaged into her purse for a hanky that she
again was crying.

He reached over and patted her on the knee. She blew her nose daintily
before speaking. ii feel so guilty.

What on earth for?

Maybe if Iid been a better motheromaybe if---i istop it, Mother. You
canit blame yourself. Patrick was a grown man.

I know, but he was my first baby. Guess Iill always think of him as my
little boy.

Yes, but we all have to grow up sometime.

She silently dabbed at her eyes then blew her nose again before
continuing, ii feel like I should be going with you to help bring him
home.

I understand how you feel, but itis probably best that I go alone. Itis
not going to be a happy occasion and besides, itis more important that
you help Becky with the harvesting.

What do you plan to do when you get to Tacoma? i she asked.

Iill probably go to the coroneris office first to claim the body and see
if they can tell me how it happened. Then Iill make whatever
arrangements are needed.

What happens when the body gets here? Should we have a funeral? i He
thought for a moment before replying. ino. Patrick didnit have any
friends around here. Far as Iim concerned we should just have a simple
graveside service.

Emma fell silent, lost in her own thoughts. ii guess youire right, son.
It just seems so sad and lonely.

What do you mean?

Being buried with no friends around. Hope I have lots of friends when I
die.

Letis face it, Mother. The whole thingis sad. Seems like Patrick could
have done so much more with his life.

He always seemed to be fighting against something, even when he was a
baby.

Like Father? i She glanced at him, a bit surprised, and sighed. iyes,
like Father.

Thomas pulled the car up to the station platform. iiim going to phone
the funeral home before I leave to see if they can schedule the burial
for the end of the week. I should be back by Friday, so we might as well
get this over with.

He retrieved his valise from behind the seat and gave his mother a
reassuring pat on the arm. itry not to worry too much about Patrick and
me, Mother. You need to help Becky all you can with the harvest.

She nodded her agreement, and tried unsuccessfully to put her arm around
him as he stiffened and walked away. the careful, Thomas, i she called
out plaintively.

Chapter 18.

Thomas entered the station, purchased a round trip ticket, and phoned
the funeral home. Then he walked over to the Western Union desk and sent
a wire to the Pierce County coroner to advise of his plans to claim
Patrickis body. With about half an hour to kill until train time, he
stepped over to the newsstand and scanned the dayis headlines: FIRST
MARINE BATTALION BOUND FOR FRANCE; LIBERTY MOTOR READY FOR PRODUCTION;
SECOND BOND DRIVE SET FOR OCTOBER. He handed the clerk a nickel, found a
seat on one of the hard benches and used the paper to fan himself
against the stuffiness of the crowded waiting room.

The confidence he had felt earlier in deciding to travel to Tacoma was
being replaced by nervousness. He arose and went to the bathroom. He
relieved himself then peered at his sweating face in the mirror,
meticulously examined his teeth and combed down a lock of loose hair. He
wiped his sweating forehead on the bathroom towel and walked outside in
search of a breath of fresh air.

It was then he realized that part of his problem was the wool suit. Not
only was it too heavy for the still-warm September day, but he was no
longer comfortable wearing it. Since his return to the farm, he had
gotten used to the loose-fitting comfort of his old denim coveralls. He
started to peel off his jacket when the sound of a whistle from the near
distance signaled the imminent arrival of the train.

As he watched the engine puff and clang past the platform and come to a
stop with the hiss of air brakes, another wave of nervous apprehension
swept over him. He had not been on a train since the family moved to
California some seven years earlier. What had started as a big adventure
that the family could barely afford turned into four days and nights of
boredom in a noisy, crowded chair car that alternated between overly hot
and overly cold. That trip only brought painful memories of trying to
sit up all day in the hard wicker seats, of long periods of restlessness
frequently broken by squabbling with his brother or parents, of
struggling to escape into sleep against the constant rocking and
jerking, and of trying to assuage hunger pangs with dry bread, cheese or
cold beef, and warm water from the toilet compartment dispenser.

These memories were roiling through his mind as, along with about a
dozen others, he stepped aboard the six oiclock express. He worked his
way back through the crowded car, miraculously found an empty seat
beside an open window and placed his valise in the overhead rack. He sat
down and tested the firmness of the mohair seat. He reminded himself
that although it felt more comfortable than the old wicker one, he soon
would be trying to sleep in its upright and unforgiving embrace.

He peered out the window and for a moment felt disoriented as the
familiar old depot seemed to slip away behind him, then realized it was
the train moving forward as it returned smoothly and quietly to its
northward journey. He sat transfixed, marveling at its gathering speed
as the telegraph poles began clicking by. Finally, he settled back in
his seat, unfolded his newspaper and started absently reading the lead
articles until he was distracted by the hollow clacking of the wheels as
the train rolled over the San Joaquin River bridge. The smell of food
wafting back from the dining car suddenly reminded him he hadnit eaten
anything since early morning. He arose and, steadying himself against
the swaying of the speeding train, followed several other passengers to
the diner.

The car already was crowded but the headwaiter guided him to a table for
two opposite an elderly gentleman, handed him a menu and placed an order
pad at his elbow. His eyes appreciatively scanned the table before him,
impeccably covered in white linen and bearing twin serving plates with
the railroadis familiar Golden State logo. A small vase of miniature
zinnias provided a refreshing accent.

Evening son, i the stranger ventured as he offered a friendly hand.
igood evening, sir. Thomas returned the handshake then removed his suit
jacket, as others had done in the hot car, and handed it to the waiter
before taking his seat. He thought he detected a disapproving glance
from his dinner companion, who remained fully suited. He also observed
that his well-dressed companion wore an eye patch and sported a mustache
that matched his silvery hair. He guessed that he must be in his
seventies.

Thomas scanned the menu and was surprised to find it almost as
comprehensive as the more familiar ones in some of Fresnois finest
eateries. Trying not to appear obvious, he peeked over the menu to see
what some of the others had ordered. He also was trying to conceal the
youthful discomfort he always felt in an unfamiliar situation and
particularly the presence of older people, especially men.

His companion interrupted. itravelling to San Francisco, are you?

No sir. Tacoma.

Must be heading for Fort Lewis. Going to enlist?

No sir. A waiter appeared at their table, enabling Thomas to breathe an
internal sigh of relief. He couldnit think of how to answer the next
obvious question on the purpose of his trip.

Too hungry to wait for his senior companion, he filled out the order
blank for a shrimp cocktail, fresh green salad and T- bone steak with
baked potato. The older man ordered a simple meal of soup and salad
then, to Thomasi relief, changed the subject. ii sure donit like this
draft business. When I was your age, I volunteered on my seventeenth
birthday.

Reluctantly, Thomas could see that he was going to have to participate
in conversation, ithe Civil War?

Yes sir, joined the Twentieth Massachusetts. Got to serve under Oliver
Wendell Holmes.

Thomas had to scratch his memory for a moment, ithe judge?

None other. He was one of our officers at Fredericksburg and Antietam.
Thatis where I lost my eye and got my leg torn up. ithomas hadnit
noticed until then the head of a cane hooked across the back of the old
manis chair. imust have been pretty bad, i he commented.

Oh, it was a glorious time. We sure liked to give those Rebs what to.
The stranger was raising his voice, causing diners across from them to
glance over.

The first of their food had arrived so Thomas dug in, hoping the
conversation would end. But his companion was just getting wound up.

Lost several of my buddies in that last little scrap, but I was lucky.
Distracted by the hollow sound of the train rumbling across another long
wooden bridge, he paused briefly to stare out at the bluffs carved by an
ageless river and down at the riverbed, now reduced to its typical fall
trickle. iwhat streamis that? i Thomas looked out the window, ium,
afraid I couldnit tell youonot sure where we are. Doesnit look like much
like a river though, does it?

Not like the ones we have back home.

Thomas started to ask where ehomei was, but the old man spoke first,
continuing on his earlier subject. iwaris terrible when youire in the
middle of it, son. But afterwards you remember it as a grand adventure.

The remark caused Thomas to recall the Official British War Movies he
had seen in August at the Kinema. iwell, it sure looks bad in France. I
saw the movies of the Battle of the Somme last month.

His companion continued eating without comment.

ithose were official British war movies, i Thomas added, not sure the
old man had heard or caught their significance.

That right?

Yes sir. Showed the British and French going over the top against those
machine guns and artillery exploding all around.

Then later the German counter-charge. Showed dead soldiers lying in
shell holes and pools of water and mud.

They became silent as the waiter delivered their main course.

Thomas cut into his steak before resuming the conversation, iguess you
didnit have machine guns in the Civil War. Must take a lot of guts---i
The old man interrupted. ino, but we still faced a lot of shot and shell
in our day. Just had to grit your teeth and march straight into it.

Thomas decided to change the subject. iwhat do you do now?

I own a metal working plant. Weire making artillery casings for the
army.

Unthinking, the young man commented, imust be pretty profitable.

The old man bristled, imight be if it werenit for the damn workers
striking all the time! i They became silent and concentrated on their
dinner, occasionally glancing absently out the window as the train sped
north through the dusk closing in over the flat valley, crossing
alternating fields of grain and open range where cattle grazed
peacefully. A team of horses plowing up a cloud of dust was shadowed
against the half-sun setting behind the coastal mountains in the far
distance. Finally, the older man, declining dessert, paid the waiter and
excused himself from the table.

Thomas tried not to notice as he struggled out of his chair, took his
cane and hobbled toward the back of the train.

Finishing dinner and deciding it was too early to return to his seat,
Thomas made his way back to the parlor car. It was full of laughing,
noisy people. Four soldiers were standing at the bar, and obviously had
been drinking for quite a while. Several

others were scattered around at various tables, and a number of
well-dressed civilian men and women rounded out the crowd.

He shouldered his way up to the small bar and ordered coffee.

Then he turned and noticed his dinner companion sitting in a corner,
apparently regaling a couple of soldiers with war stories.

After finishing his coffee, he returned to his passenger seat.

He was happy to find that no one was sitting opposite him so he could
stretch out his long legs and try to get a little sleep.

With the sky now dark outside and the gentle rocking and rhythm of wheel
against rail, he quickly dozed off. Soon, however, the train had turned
west and was following the beam of its powerful headlight through the
darkness as it snaked between low mountains and into tunnels on its way
toward Oakland. With his head now flopping from side to side, he
awakened to find a stunning blond woman sitting across from him. He sat
up and rubbed his eyes and the back of his neck and stretched his
cramped arms and legs. Was he still dreaming he wondered?

The apparition smiled and spoke in a contralto voice that vibrated all
the way down to his loins, ih ave a good sleep?

Er, yeah, guess I did. Where are we?

Still on the train.

Yeah, I can feel that. They both smiled as he realized she apparently
had a sense of humor.

I overheard your little conversation earlier in the dining car and
wanted to compliment you on the way you handled it.

He hesitated as he tried to recall dinner. ioh, thank you.

Guess I didnit realize the old gentlemen was so intense.

Some people get that way when they get older. Whatis your name? i she
asked.

Thomas Oiroark, i he replied, a little surprised at her boldness.
iwhatis yours?

Lillian Branson.

Youire very beautiful. You an actress?

No, i she chuckled at a tone level that made him warm and tingly all
over. iiim just a nurse married to a military officer.

On your way to see him? i iyes, heis stationed at Camp Lewis near
Tacoma. What kind of work do you do?

Iim a faroer bank officer, i he fibbed, suddenly realizing that farmer
didnit sound very impressive. The fact he was dressed in his blue pin
stripe suit hopefully made his response sound credible.

You must be going to San Francisco then. Thatis where all the banks seem
to be centered.

No, Iim heading for Tacoma. Taking care of a little personal matter.

She ignored the reference to a personal matter. idonit tell me you plan
to sleep in that seat all the way?

Afraid so. By the time I made reservations all the compartments were
taken, i he fibbed again.

Well, I have a roomette out of Martinez. Youire welcome to the upper
bunk if you think you can get those long legs in there.

He almost wet his pants. Heid never before had a woman speak to him with
such frankness, and that voice! He suddenly realized that the coffee he
had drunk was about to burst his bladder.

Uh, would you excuse me, please. I need to find the toilet.

Better hurry. Feels like weire slowing for a station.

He stumbled down the aisle and into the menis washroom.

As he relieved himself, his mind was churning over the invitation to
share a woman is compartment. He had heard that nurses were a pretty
wild bunch, but was this a trick of some kind? Subconsciously, he moved
the wallet from his back pants pocket to his inside coat pocket.

He returned to his seat and spoke to Lillian. iyour offer to share your
roomette kinda surprised me. Think you want to do that with a stranger?

You look like a respectable gentleman and I feel like I know something
about you, so Iim not worried. But donit get any ideas. Weill be
sleeping separately all night long.

What if your husband shows up? i She laughed that throaty chuckle.
idonit worry, heis having too much fun playing soldier. He wouldnit
leave that long enough to take a train ride with me. Besides, heis a few
inches shorter than you are.

OK, I accept your invitation. A berth sure does sound a lot more
comfortable than this seat. The train started slowing for the Martinez
station where they were to transfer to the train bound for Oregon and
Washington. Once there, they were escorted from their arriving train to
the night train where Lillian was shown to her roomette by the porter
and Thomas wandered off to find a seat in a crowded passenger car. This
had been her suggestion so as to cause no suspicion. As the train got
underway, she came after him and guided him back to her compartment.

I could go for a bottle of champagne, i she announced.

How about you?

Sure, but let me pay for it since youire being such a generous hostess.

Before she could summon a porter, there was a knock on the door. Thomas
jumped about a foot as the porter announced himself from the other side.

Lillian opened the door a crack to learn they had oversold the train and
would like to place another woman in her roomette.

She started protesting, but was advised that because of wartime
regulations the railroad had the right to require passengers to double
up. She reached in her purse and pulled out a five-dollar bill and gave
it to the porter. He hesitated for a moment, but then quietly apologized
for the interruption and headed down the aisle. She called after him,
waiving another five-dollar bill, and asked him to please deliver a
bottle of champagne as soon as he found accommodations for the other
passenger.

It was past midnight as Thomas and Lillian downed the last of the
champagne and she started yawning. She suggested that he go to the
toilet down the aisle while she dressed for bed, then she would don her
robe and take her turn.

The system worked perfectly and before long Thomas, aided by champagne
and the motion of the train, was sound asleep.

But he soon was awakened by Lillian pushing on the bottom of his berth
and calling his name. He sat up, cracking his head on the low ceiling,
and switched on the overhead light.

Thomas, Iim getting cold. Is there an extra blanket up there? i He
acknowledged that it indeed had gotten cold and speculated from the
movement of the train that they probably were winding through the
mountains of northern California.

Sorry, no extra blanket up here. Suppose the porter would bring you one?

live rung the bell twice, but he doesnit answer.

You want to use my robe, or maybe my coat?

No, guess Iill be alright, i she answered plaintively.

For a few minutes, all was quiet in the compartment, and he pulled a
book from his valise and started to read. Presently she spoke again.

Thomas?

Um?

You awake?

Yes.

What are you doing?

Reading.

What?

A book.

She hesitated, trying to decide if he was teasing or attempting to
ignore her. Then she called again, but this time her voice was about two
octaves lower.

Mister Oiroark, would you please be a gentleman and come down her and
warm me up? i That old tingling sensation overpowered any reticence that
he might have had. He hesitated only a moment, switched off his light,
dropped to the floor and crawled in beside her. She was lying on her
back, but immediately turned on her side and snuggled her back against
him. He turned toward her and laid his arm across her body. An almost
uncontrollable desire surged up in him as she took his hand and guided
it inside her nightgown and around a bare, full breast. He rolled her on
her

back and raised the bottom of her nightgown to explore the rest of her
warm, voluptuous body. In a moment, she pushed him on his back, kissed
him fervently on the mouth and started unbuttoning his pajama top. iyou
sure have a lot of clothes on, i she whispered as she ran her hand down
his chest and belly, probing for his hardness.

He reached down with both hands and wriggled out of his pajama bottoms
then started moaning, partly in ecstasy, partly in weak protest as he
felt the warmth of her hand. With his passion starting to surge out of
control, he again pushed her on her back and mounted, just barely
penetrating when his organ started pulsating in spasms that seemingly
werenit going to stop. Spent and frustrated, he flopped back on the bed.

Lillian remained on her back, baffled and slightly dazed. In a moment,
she turned and cuddled against him, resting her head on his shoulder,
her soft curls falling on his cheek. igoodness, that was quick! i she
whispered.

God, how frustrating, i he mumbled, almost on the verge of crying.

She kissed his cheek softly and pulled the blankets up around them,
idonit worry. Weive got lots of time before morning. They fell
blissfully asleep, cradled in their own warmth and the rhythmic rocking
of the train.

Within an hour he was awakened by her stroking his penis back to
hardness while she kissed his chest and stomach. This time they made
love more slowly and deeply, so ardently that they steamed the window
and warmed the entire compartment.

And they did it again later as the dawn light crept under the window
shade and the train puffed across the border into Oregon.

When chimes signaled that breakfast was being served, they rolled out of
bed, washed as best they could at the tiny fold- down sink, dressed and
went to the dining car. They both were famished and ordered eggs, bacon,
biscuits and coffee like a pair of wheat thrashers.

Thomas, i she whispered, iiive never ordered that much breakfast in my
life. I feel like a farm wife.

inothing wrong with that, is there?

Heavens no! i she smiled back. iiive always thought it sounded like a
wonderful life. Fresh air, good food, lots of babies.

He reached across the table for her hand and whispered back, ispeaking
of babies, I trust we didnit start any last night?

No, wrong time of the month.

He wasnit sure he understood her answer, but tried to act nonchalant.
iguess thatis one of the benefits of being a nurse.

You understand those things better than men do.

She smiled again, i and most women.

They were silent as the waiter brought their biscuits and poured coffee.
They each buttered a biscuit before he continued, iwell, when you
mentioned that wonderful farm life, you forgot hard work.

You sound like a man of experience. You sure youive never been a farmer?
i He hesitated before confessing, ii am a farmer, Lillian, but not by
choice. Sorry I fibbed to you. But I used to be a banker, so maybe
youill forgive me?

I suspected something wasnit right last night when I felt your body. I
donit think bankers get muscles like you have.

He grinned, iyep, guess that was a dead giveaway.

Nothing dead about your performance, i she whispered and squeezed his
hand. iafter that Iill forgive any little fib you want to make.

He blushed and smiled back, thanked her for the compliment and promised
no more fibs.

Then she spoke up, ithomas, I have a confession to make, too. Iim not
married. Iim going to visit my brother, not my husband.

They both laughed out loud, causing others in the dining car to smile
their support or just turn and stare. iwell, that makes me feel better
about last night, i he said. ii felt kinda guilty about sleeping with a
married woman.

You shouldnit, i she replied, again reaching across the table for his
hand. iafter all, I encouraged you.

The waiter delivered their bacon and eggs and more biscuits and refilled
their coffee cups. She started eating in silence as did Thomas, except
that he was having trouble concentrating.

He was becoming captivated by the details of her beauty, to the extent
that all he wanted to do was touch her and feel her warmth close to him
as he had during the night.

When her attractiveness first caught his eye the evening before, he had
guessed that she was a few years older than he was. Now, with the bright
sun streaming through the dining car window, that difference was
reflected in a mature beauty he had never observed before in a woman.
Her soft, blond hair, done in a stylish bouffant and reflecting the
intruding sunlight, framed her face like a halo. The blue eyes and full
red lips always seemed to be smiling in a friendly, come-hither look,
leaving him with an almost breathless feeling. He became entranced with
her long, delicate fingers as she took a bite of food or picked up her
coffee cup. He started fantasizing about taking her back to the
compartment, and subconsciously reached for her hand. ithomas?

Huh? Oh, er, Iim sorry. He blushed as he released her hand and resumed
eating.

Something bothering you? You seemed to be day- dreaming.

No, No. I was just thinking how beautiful you are. He looked down at his
plate, embarrassed at his own frankness.

Thank you! i She blushed in return and smiled. ibut I was trying to ask
you a question.

What?

You havenit told me why youire going to Tacoma.

He hesitated, brought suddenly back to the reality of the moment. Then
he replied rather matter-of-factly, igoing to retrieve my dead brother.

She gasped, ioh, my heavens!

Iim sorry. Didnit mean to be so blunt.

What on earth happened? Was he sick, orooroin an accident? i idonit
know. We just received a brief telegram from the coroner.

Iim so sorry. You must be terribly upset.

He stared out the window and hesitated before responding.

Not sure how I feel. Guess it hasnit sunk in yet.

They downed the last of their coffee. He paid the waiter and, holding
hands, they left the diner and walked to the parlor car where they spent
the rest of the morning watching the passing scenery and telling their
real life stories.

Suddenly Lillian asked, ithomas, why donit you like farm life? ithe
question was so unexpected that he had to pause, again peering out the
window at the passing scenery. He turned back and started playing idly
with the ash tray on the table as he answered, iguess live never tried
to spell it out before in so many words, but it just seems so pointless.
You work like hell all year and if the weather or the bugs donit get you
then you might end up with a decent crop. Then you have to worry about a
good price for your crop and getting it to market, and hope you make
enough money to last another year.

Sounds rather frustrating.

I guess unrewarding is the word Iid useoat least for me.

So why are you doing it? i He told about his fatheris death and how he
was the only family member who could take over the farm.

Iim sorry about your father. But sometimes the death of a parent can be
beneficial.

He looked puzzled, ihow do you mean?

Well, I really changed after my father died several years ago. iihow?

He wanted me to be a concert violinist, which I didnit have the heart
for. I always wanted to be a nurse. His death sort of released me, but
it wasnit easy. I still feel twinges of guilt.

Were you close to your father?

Very. I loved him very much.

iafraid I canit say the same for mine. Iim not even sure what he would
want me to be.

So, now that heis gone, what would you really like to do? i He paused,
before replying, idonit know. Banking was OK but guess I mostly liked it
because of my boss. He gave me an opportunity to get involved in
community work and politics. I enjoyed that.

Maybe youill be a Congressman or even a Governor someday.

Sounds better than farmer, doesnit it? But Lillian, youive been asking
all the questions. How about youoi take it you enjoy being a nurse?

Oh yes. It feels so good to be able to help people get well and, like
you say, rewarding.

You donit get depressed working with sick people all the time?

Only when they donit get well. Sometimes they die, you know.

He was quiet and pensive for a moment, then, iyou know something,
Lillian, live never before talked to a woman like live been talking to
you.

How about your girl friend? i He grinned, inope.

Your mother?

inever. Wouldnit even think of it.

Why? i He hesitated. iguess it never occurred to me. I donit believe she
would understand the way you seem to. Then he added, ihas it ever
occurred to you that some women seem to be man-oriented and some are
woman-oriented?

Never thought about it. Which am I?

Iid say man-oriented. Youire more comfortable around men. Thatis why
youire so easy for me to talk to.

Maybe youire right. I find it easier to help men patients in the
hospital. Sometimes it seems like women tend to exaggerate their
illnesses.

Sounds like my mother! i ihow would you classify your mother?

Not sure. Maybe self-centered, over-dependent.

Oh, Thomas, that sounds so cruel. Is she really that bad?

Iim sorry. Guess I shouldnit have said that. Actually Mother has led a
pretty dull life, hasnit experienced much of the world away from the
farm. Maybe I can classify her better after sheis had a chance to spread
her wings.

Maybe the death of you father will help her too?

Weill see.

When they finally had to leave the train that evening in Tacoma, it was
with a deep feeling of emptiness. They kissed demurely as they parted
and vowed to meet again.

Chapter 19.

Thomas had checked into the Hotel Tacoma following his arrival and now
was arising the next morning after a fitful, restless night to what he
anticipated would be a painful day. He bathed and dressed, stopped for
breakfast in the dining room, and stepped outside to a cold, drizzly
day. He pulled a rain cape from his valise and headed down the street to
the coroneris office.

When he entered the drab, brick building and introduced himself to the
fat, gum-chewing receptionist, her listless reaction did nothing to lift
his spirits. In response to her summons, a man who could have passed for
her twin brother stepped out from an office and introduced himself as
George Smyth. icome to pick up your bud I take it?

Yes, i Thomas replied, somewhat taken aback by the coroneris
informality.

Got identification? i Thomas pulled out his billfold and produced one of
his old bankeris business cards. The coroner glanced at it then at
Thomas, commenting suspiciously, iyou donit look like no banker, even in
that suit.

I was. Been working my family farm lately.

Trying to stay out of the war, huh? Where is your draft card? i Thomas
tensed. iiim not old enough yet.

Smyth returned the business card. icanit afford to release a body to the
wrong person you know. Thomas didnit respond

but wondered who the hell would want to pick up the wrong body. The
coroner led him through swinging doors and waddled splayfooted down a
corridor into a cold storage room. He flipped a switch to turn on a
single overhead light, the brightness of which added to the starkness of
the icy room. It was absent of furniture except for several metal chairs
and a zinc-topped examining table in the center. The coroner stepped to
a wall lined with large drawers and pulled one out, revealing a sheet-
covered, lifeless form.

As Thomas moved tentatively forward, the coroner flipped back the top of
the sheet to reveal Patrickis head. Thomas groaned, then turned away
gagging back the bitter-tasting remains of breakfast surging up from his
stomach. idead folks never are very pretty, i Smyth observed.

Thomas managed to control his emotions and turned back for a better
look. His brotheris body had not been embalmed so his face had turned
purple and was shrunken and hollow- cheeked. He reached to touch the
still-covered body but drew his hand back at the revolting sight of the
barely recognizable face. iguess the reis no doubt this is your brother,
i the coroner asked, ibut are you aware of any identifying marks for my
records? i Thomas thought for a moment. iyeah. He had a tattoo on his
left forearm, a heart with the word emotheri underneath.

The coroner stepped around to the side of the drawer and pulled the
sheet all the way down to Patrickis waist.

My God, what is this? i Thomas yelled. His brotheris upper body, the
shirt blackened with dried blood, had been exposed to full view. ijesus,
thatis blood. Was he shotooroor stabbedowhat the hell happened? i he
screamed as shock and anger boiled up from inside.

Take it easy, son. I thought you knew, i Smyth said, trying to calm him.

Knew what, for Christis sake? All your telegram said was he had died. My
God, what happened, was he in a fight? i

ithe sheriff shot him.

Sheriff! Christ, I canit believeowhatid he do? i He stepped away from
the table, collapsed into a chair and dropped his head into his hands as
the reality of Patrickis death began to overwhelm him. He had always
worried that because of his brotheris antagonism toward much of the
world and his association with people who seemed to be troublemakers,
someday he would come to no good. But not this, not being shot by a
sheriff.

Canit you tell me any more about what happened? i he cried. The was with
some of them Wobblies trying to stop work down at the shipyard and they
got in a gun fight with the sheriff.

We got two other bodies in here from the same fracas, i Smyth replied.

My God, three people killed?

Yep. But mebbe they was the lucky ones.

Lucky?

Yeah. Over in Butte last month the vigilantes got that Wobbly leader,
Frank Little. Cut off his balls, drug him through town and hung him from
a railroad trestle. Guess Iid rather be shot.

Thomas just shook his head as the coroner continued, idonit know about
you California boys, but up here we donit cotton to anyone messini up
the war effort.

With a sigh of resignation, Thomas pulled himself together, struggled to
his feet and walked around to his brotheris left side to verify the
tattoo. He pulled back the sling hanging limply around the arm that had
been broken in Arizona and the shirtsleeve to expose the heart-shaped
design. Tears welled up as he took a final lingering look at the
emaciated body, shook his head in disbelief, and turned to leave the
room.

Got his billfold and clothes up front, i Smyth volunteered as he pulled
the sheet back over the body and closed the drawer.

Weill put him in a shipping box and get him to the station if you tell
me which train youire leaving on.

Thomas turned back toward the coroner, ii guess his ringis in his
personal stuff?

Donit remember no ring when they brought him in.

Thomas flushed, ibut he must have been wearing it. It was our fatheris.

Sorry, son. Werenit no ring when he come in here.

Collected his personal stuff myself. Maybe it got lost in the fight.

They returned to the front office where Thomas was given a cardboard box
containing his brotheris muddy boots, his empty billfold and a few
coins, but no ring. Barely controlling his anger and frustration, he
paid the five-dollar fee for the shipping box, signed the papers to
release the body, and left the coroneris office to seek out the sheriff.

The lawman was accommodating to his questions but very firm in his
position. He explained they had been having a lot of labor strife in the
shipyards where work had been going on around the clock in support of
the war. A group of about thirty Wobblies had commandeered a ferryboat
in Seattle and piloted it to Tacoma in an effort to come ashore and
stage a sit down in the shipyards. The sheriff and his deputies had
ordered them not to come ashore and when the Wobblies persisted,
shooting erupted. He said he was sorry that Thomasi brother was one of
those killed, but as far as the sheriff was concerned he had no damn
business trying to interfere with the war effort.

When Thomas tried to press for more details, the sheriff became
belligerent. Asked why the strikers were shot, why not rounded up and
put in jail, the lawman became even more angry.

When he ventured an inquiry about the missing ring, the sheriff
bristled. iyou accusing my deputies of stealing?

No sir, just trying to find the ring. It was my fatheris.

The sheriff wasnit listening. iwe got lots of extra space back in that
jail for troublemakers, i he said threateningly.

Thomas clenched his fists in frustration, took a deep breath, and turned
to leave. ithank you for your help, Sheriff, i he called over his
shoulder with as much contempt as he dared.

He stepped outside and into the continuing drizzle. He pulled his rain
cape back over his shoulders and started sauntering down the street, his
despondency easily matching the darkening late morning sky. After a few
blocks, he came to a restaurant and decided that a beer and sandwich was
just what his growling stomach needed. The first beer tasted so good, he
decided to have a second.

His mind kept returning to the lost ring and the rest of the dayis
events until it suddenly occurred to him to visit the site of Patrickis
demise. He paid the waitress and stepped outside to hail a cab. Ignoring
the cabbieis quizzical glance over his shoulder, he directed him to take
him to the shipyards.

Once there, he felt like he had been deposited in a foreign land. Off to
his left behind a fence topped with barbed wire, for as far as he could
see, was a manmade forest of wooden ships in various stages of
construction. Giant cranes were hovering over them like huge preying
mantises, their spindly arms carrying planking, odd-shaped chunks of
metal and workers hanging on precariously. Behind the fence in the
foreground was the largest parking lot of motor cars Thomas had ever
seen in one place.

Armed guards patrolled the fence.

Feeling very lost and despondent in the strange environment, he turned
and wandered aimlessly along the roadway paralleling the shipyard,
kicking at puddles of rainwater and loose rocks.

He tried to visualize and identify with the frightening ordeal his
brother must have gone through. But his thoughts kept returning to the
ring. One minute he was cursing the coroner and sheriff for supposedly
stealing the ring, the next he was glancing absently along the wet
ground and in the gutter and behind shrubs and trees in a vain hope that
it would turn up.

Unseeing he passed liquor stores that were mostly empty of customers but
still hopefully lighted against the dark afternoon and shabby, open-door
bars that smelled of warm, stale air and gave off an occasional spark of
life with the crack of a pool cue.

Lost in his wandering thoughts, he ignored the decrepit hotels and the
pleading prostitutes taking shelter in their entryways.

Finally, he paused unthinking in front of a pawnshop, then it hit
himopawnshop! Patrickis disdainful words about the ring came back to
him: emight come in handy if I have to hock it for a meali.

Thomas entered the shop and started eyeing the array of watches, rings
and other assorted jewelry. He didnit see anything that resembled his
fatheris ring so tried to describe it to the Oriental behind the
counter. They obviously werenit communicating because the clerk kept
trying to show him various items of jewelry and other junk.

He walked back outside and pulled out his pocket watch. It was almost
two oiclock, which meant he had a little more than an hour to train
time. He looked up the street where he could see at least three more
pawnshop signs. He hurried to the next two locations, but had no better
luck in either. In the third one he finally found a clerk who could
speak English and started describing the ring.

That sounds like the kind they used to sell in Chicago at the Columbia
Exposition back in i93,i the clerk responded.

His motheris earlier complaint about the ring came back to Thomas.
iyeah, believe thatis where my father might have bought it.

The clerk guided him to another viewing case and pulled out a tray of
rings. ihere, I have several of those.

Thomas could see at least three rings similar to his fatheris.

He lifted each one from the tray and examined it carefully, then caught
his breath as he noticed the initials A. H.O. and 1893 engraved inside
the band of one ring, and the details of the stone and its embossed gold
flower quickly came back to him. He tried to control his excitement as
he asked the price, and only winced slightly when he pulled a ten-dollar
bill from his billfold and handed it to the clerk.

The clerk returned the tray of rings to the case and took the money and
ring from him. ilet me polish it up for youomake it look like new.

As Thomas waited patiently, the clerk resumed talking.

You know, itis strange. I donit pay much attention to most of the folks
who come in here, but I believe I remember the guy who brought this in.

That right?

Yes, big fellow. Had a kind of mischievous grin on his face but looked
pretty run down. Had his arm in a sling and didnit look like heid shaved
for a week.

Thomas didnit respond.

Iill look him up. He flipped through his box of receipts and pulled one
out. iyep, here etis. Said his name was Oiroark. I bought the ring from
him on September 14.

Thomasi mind started reeling as he thought to himself that was just a
few days before his brother was killed.

The clerk handed the freshly polished ring back to him, then commented.
ifunny thing was I couldnit figure why he wanted to hock it. I could see
he had money in his billfold. Guess he was just getting ready for a big
weekend.

Thomas thanked the clerk, slipped the ring on his finger , stepped
outside and hailed a cab for the train station.

The trip back to Fresno on the crowded train seemed slow and tedious,
especially with no one like Lillian to help him while away the hours.
When he finally rolled into Fresno late the following afternoon, he
disembarked to find his mother and sister waiting. They greeted him
warmly and asked about the trip. He was non-committal, having decided to
spare them the details of Patrickis death. They watched solemnly as the
box carrying his body was off-loaded from the baggage car to the Beckman
Brothers hearse. They walked to their motor car and drove silently
toward the farm, Becky sitting on her motheris lap in the tiny coupe.

After a few minutes, Becky broke the silence by advising that the
pickers had finished at the Oiroark farm and would be starting on the
Maloneyis thirty acres in the morning. She and Emma were planning to be
up extra early to transport breakfast to that new location. They had
cleaned out one room of the burned-out house to use as a temporary
kitchen. Thomas marveled at his sisteris planning and organization.

How long you think it will take to finish picking? i he asked.

Well, they completed our twenty acres in four days so would guess five
or six days.

He counted mentally, ithatill run into next week, especially since weire
going to have to take time off to bury Patrick.

Sounds about right, i Becky replied.

I suggest, then, that we schedule your picnic for the following
Saturday.

Becky and Emma gave each other a hug and smiled their approval.

As they pulled into the Oiroark farmyard, they observed two sheriffis
vehicles parked near the sycamore and several deputies standing around.
inow what? i Thomas asked. His sister and mother shook their heads.

He braked the car, cut the engine and stepped out to greet the visitors,
ievening gentlemen. What can we do for you?

You Patrick Oiroark? i one of the deputies asked.

No, Iim Thomas. Patrickis my older brother. He debated whether or not to
tell of his brotheris death, but decided to hold off. iweire looking for
Patrick and some of his Wobbly friends.

Why?

Bunch of eem cut a couple cars loose from a troop train up around Merced
and got into a fight with the soldiers.

After the strain he had been through for the past few days, the event
described by the deputy struck Thomas as ridiculous, and he started to
chuckle. He caught himself and asked, ianyone hurt?

Two soldiers killed, several others injured. Weid sure like to put a
good stretch on the bastards that did it.

Well, I donit believe my brother was---i He was interrupted by a shout
as two more uniformed men exited from the bunkhouse and walked toward
them waving a large envelope. Thomas recognized one of them as Sheriff
Thorsen.

Looks like we hit pay dirt, i Thorsen announced as he approached the
assembled deputies, still waving the envelope.

Got a whole bunch of that Wobbly crap in here.

Thomas and Becky stood silently. Emma glanced quizzically at the
sheriff, then her children, then back. iwhat are you talking about? i
The sheriff replied, ilooks like somebody around her was workini with
them Wobblies. Wasnit one of you I suppose? i He looked suspiciously at
Emma and her children.

No, sheriff, i Thomas responded wearily. iiim sure you know of my
brotheris involvement.

Donit guess you know where we could find him? i Thorsen asked, a touch
of sarcasm in his voice.

You might try the funeral home, i Thomas said, trying to match the
lawmanis inflection.

Responding to Thorsenis perplexed look, he told about his brotheris
death as Emma started crying and Becky reached to comfort her.

Sounds like he got what he deserved, i one of the young deputies
observed.

The frustration and anger of the past few days suddenly welled up in
Thomas, and he swung at the deputy yelling, iyou dumb bastard! i The
blow from his left hand hit the unsuspecting officer full on his cheek
and knocked him to the ground moaning, blood spurting from the cut made
by Thomasi new-found ring.

He stood transfixed, momentarily shocked at the result of his sudden
outburst. His next sensation was a dull, stabbing pain delivered to the
side of his head by one of the other deputies, and he fell unconscious
to the ground. Another officer hovered over Thomasi crumpled body,
cussing and slamming his billy into his ribs. Emma screamed and Becky
started kicking and flailing at the deputies attacking her brother.

When Thomas came to, he was being half walked, half dragged to the
sheriffis car in handcuffs. Through his throbbing

head and ribs and ringing ears, he could hear his mother sobbing and
Becky screaming obscenities.

He passed in and out of consciousness during the long ride into town and
didnit fully awake until the next morning when he heard someone calling
his name. Gingerly he raised up on one elbow and found that he was lying
on a bunk in a jail cell.

Vaguely he could make out the form of someone sleeping in the adjoining
bunk and the hulking shape of Earl standing outside the bars.

With a groan, Thomas struggled to a sitting position on the edge of the
bunk. Gingerly he felt his aching ribs and touched the dried blood on
the side of his throbbing head. ijesus, what happenedowhere am I? i he
asked, still dazed.

Earl told him he was in jail and had been there over night.

Then he explained what little he knew, namely that Thomas had been
caught in a country wide round-up of suspected Wobblies and their
supporters. itheyive got hundreds of eem locked up all around the
country, including about twenty or thirty right here, i he added.

A jailer appeared and unlocked the door as Earl advised that he had
purchased a one hundred dollar Liberty Bond in Thomasi name to get him
out of jail and have the charges of assaulting an officer dropped. Earl
helped him to his feet, picked up the jacket from his blue suit, all
dirty and tattered from his tussle with the deputy, and draped it over
his shoulders. As they walked slowly out past the jaileris desk, Thomas
recognized the deputy he had slugged, even though his face was heavily
bandaged. He paused with the thought of apologizing, but was repelled by
the angry look he got in return. He turned and followed Earl to his car,
and they headed east toward the Oiroark farm.

They rode along in silence for a few minutes as Thomas squirmed one way
then the other trying to cushion his sore ribs from the bouncing of the
car.

Finally he remarked, i Guess that deputyis pretty mad at me.

ijesus, whatid you expect? You broke his jaw and probably left him with
a hell of a scar from your ring.

They continued along further, lost in their respective thoughts, until
Thomas asked, iwhat the hellis happening to us, Earl?

What do you mean?

Everybody seems so angryosooso suspicious.

Guess thatis what war does to people.

And that goddamn sheriff in Tacoma killing my brother.

Why not just lock him---i Earl interrupted, iwhat are you talking about?

Sorry, hadnit had a chance to tell anyone yet. He told about his trip to
Tacoma and the story of his brotheris shooting.

Earl didnit respond. He had slowed the car on the narrow farm road and
was concentrating on trying to pass a horse-drawn hay wagon that was
stirring up a cloud of dust.

Thomas continued unburdening his feelings, i and putting all those people
in jail last night. And earlier, when they rounded up the Stuckeys and
Harrington and all those others?

Well, guess we shouldnit be too hard on the sheriff.

Community leaders been giving him hell for not getting rid of the damn
Wobblies.

Whyis that?

All the trouble they been causing, like the fires and stuff.

Hadnit heard about that.

Yeah, several vineyard fires and one of the packinghouses up by Clovis.

Howid they know the Wobblies did it?

Who else? i Earl responded with a frown as he concentrated on
maneuvering around the hay wagon.

Thomas shrugged and grimaced at a stab of pain from his aching ribs as
Earl continued, iguess we gottai face it, my friend. Weire in a war and
not everyoneis supporting it, like some of the Wobblies. Government says
some of eem are secret agents being paid by Germany.

Thomas stared pensively at the passing scenery for a few moments before
replying, iwell, I know my brother was mad

about the war and the capitalists making all their money, but I donit
believe he was a German agent.

Maybe not, Tom, but some of them sure as hell act like theyire working
for the enemy.

He didnit respond for a few moments, then commented, ii guess old Brad
was right.

Howis that?

Couple months ago, up at Huntington. He said the government would be
trying to control everything. Makes you wonder what is going to become
of our freedoms.

Earl slowed the car and turned into the Oiroark farm before he replied.
imaybe there are different degrees of freedom.

Thomas hesitated thoughtfully, imaybe you mean different degrees for
different people? i His friend didnit comment further. They shook hands
and Thomas, stepping slowly and painfully from the car, promised to
repay the Liberty Bond. With a wave and smile, Earl drove off back to
town.

Patrick, his battered body cleaned up and dressed in his favorite
leather jacket and rough corduroy pants, was buried the following day
next to his father. Emma, Becky and Thomas were the only ones in
attendance at the simple graveside service.

Chapter 20.

As October rolled around and the heat of summer was replaced by autumnis
cooling breezes, Fresno began to feel the impact of the countryis first
five months of war preparation.

Like every other community in America, the city had sent its first
contingent of draftees to the hastily built training cantonments. Its
patriotic citizens and businessmen, who had over-subscribed the first
Liberty Loan drive in June, were gearing up for the second campaign with
a new round of community sings, parades, poster campaigns and other
promotional activities.

The Red Cross chapter, guided by some of the cityis most prominent women
leaders, had expanded its operations from the original facility in
Southern Pacific Park to a large empty store building on Fulton Street.
Chapter volunteers were conducting training classes in first aid, food
conservation, dietetics and hygiene. To raise funds for the chapter,
hundreds of school children had been enlisted to collect old paper and
turn it in to fire stations. Salvage boxes had been hung on lampposts
around town to encourage people to deposit lead and tin foil. As a
result of the chapter's appeal to donate old shoes for French and
Belgian refugees, thousands of pairs were gathering in an eight-foot
high mountain at the main entrance to Court House Park. The Normal
School was doing its part too. In addition to encouraging students to
use school property to plant Victory gardens, the faculty had organized
a series of lectures on patriotism and the background of the war. The
school also was collecting books and phonograph records to be sent to
military hospitals overseas. And in mid-October, it would welcome its
first contingent of some three hundred soldiers for training in the new
science of radio electricity.

But perhaps most important to the Oiroarks and other farmers in the area
was the Food Defense Council, which had been formed to help supply their
labor needs. By coordinating efforts of the State Employment Bureau, the
Fruit Growers Associations, the schools, businessmen and merchants, the
council had arranged for over fourteen thousand workers to harvest the
vital fruit crops and stave off impending food shortages.

Thomas had completed the harvesting and drying of grapes from their
twenty acres as well as the thirty they were leasing from the Maloneys.
He had trucked the last of nearly one hundred tons of beautiful,
sun-dried raisins to the packing house and was sitting at the dining
table trying to calculate the money they should receive.

Well, like I figured last month, i he announced, iwe should be getting
around ten thousand dollars altogether.

His mother, who was preparing breakfast, responded, imy heavens, what
will we do with all that money!

Donit forget, we owe a lot of it to the bank. He reminded her of their
two loans, the one they made to pay off the money Alexander had borrowed
and to modernize the house, the other for Thomasi ill-fated peach
marketing effort. Also, the hundred dollars he owed Earl for getting him
out of jail. Whatever was left would have to cover their living expenses
for another year, until the next crop was ready to harvest.

She started humming, apparently oblivious to her sonis comments.

Remember, too, Mother, we donit get to keep all the payment for the
Maloney crop, only sixty percent.

She served up breakfast and joined him at the table, her enthusiasm
still bubbling out between bites of food.

He continued trying to bring her back to reality. ibesides the bank,
weive got lots of bills to payofertilizer, sulfur, water, taxes.

She was starting to calm down now and after a few moments of
contemplation asked, ihow much will be left?

Iim estimating around two thousand dollars, maybe a little more.

Emma arose from the table to get more coffee for each of them. When she
returned, he continued, iyou see now, Mother, why I find farming so
frustrating? i She nodded and commented rather weakly, imaybe if we just
had more land.

He looked at her and shook his head in disbelief. He had long since
realized that once she got an idea stuck in her mind, it was useless to
pursue a different point of view. He arose in frustration and went to
the bathroom to shave. She returned to the sink to wash the dishes.

Later when he came out of the bathroom, she was returning from outside,
waving an envelope. ithomas, look, the postman just brought us a check!
i He took the envelope and looked the check over carefully.

Well, Iill be darned.

Itis over seven hundred dollars. Whatis it for?

Itis the final payment on last yearis raisin crop.

Emma clapped her hands together exclaiming,. inow we can buy the Maloney
farm! i He didnit respond but stood there rigidly, resignedly.

Later in the day as he went about his chores, he decided the best way to
bring her closer to reality was to let her deposit the check in the bank
and have the experience of disbursing some of the money. ioh, but I
wouldnit know how to do that, i she protested that evening in response
to his suggestion.

But I think itis time you learned, Mother. Iill phone Mister Johnson to
let him know youire coming. Iim sure heill be glad to take you through a
step at a time.

Still protesting the following morning, Emma drove into town for her
regular Red Cross work and to do the banking. She

returned to the farm that evening, full of more enthusiasm than Thomas
had ever seen in his mother.

Oh, Thomas, Iim so excited I can hardly stand it. live been invited to
go to San Francisco!

Whatis the occasion?

The Red Cross is having a regional meeting and theyive asked me to
report on our programs. And weire going to stay at the Palace Hotel! i
He frowned, ibut how much will it cost?

Oh, the Red Cross will pay for the tripotrain, hotel, meals, everything.

Well, Iim very happy for you. Youive been working hard and deserve a
break. By the way, did you go to the bank?

Oh yes, and Mister Johnson was so helpful. He told me about a vineyard
we can buy real cheap.

Mother, good grief. We donit have enough to buy--- But Mister Johnson
said we could get this for less than a hundred dollars an acre, and just
a small down paymentothatis cheaper than the Maloney place!

You must have misunderstood. Since the war vineyards have been selling
for five hundred dollars an acre and more.

This oneis all run down. I drove past it on the way home.

He sighed in frustration. ihow big is it? i Emma, sensing she might be
pushing her son too hard, walked over to the sofa and sat down. Then she
replied softly, ionly forty acres.

He exploded, imy God, what would we do with another forty acres? I can
hardly manage what we have now! i His mother sat quietly, her hands
folded demurely in her lap while he continued fuming, iandoandowe donit
have enough money for forty acres!

Mister Johnson said the bank would help us.

Thomas, realizing that yelling wasnit getting through, lowered his
voice. ibut Mother, you didnit answer my question.

How on earth would we manage another forty acres? I almost killed myself
with work this last season.

imaybe we could hire a manager. And besides, I read in Mcclureis that
this is a good time to invest in farm land.

Why, for Peteis sake? The war has pushed land prices out of sight.

Along with the price of fruit, i she added.

Weary of trying to argue with her, he finally caved in. iok, Iill talk
to Mister Johnson soon as I get a chance.

Donit wait too long, son. We wouldnit want someone else to get that
property, would we? i Part of his resistance to buying more land came
from the fact he had been thinking about using some of their unexpected
windfall to buy a new car. His Ford was starting to have mechanical
problems, and he had read that production of motor cars for civilians
was being curtailed because of the war. He had hinted several times
about the new Chevrolet roadster with a rumble seat, which he could buy
for around seven hundred dollars. But his mother had ignored his hints
and countered by pointing out advertisements for the more impressive
looking Maxwells and Overland touring sedans, which could be purchased
for around the same price. So he was uncertain about how best to
continue pursuing the subject in view of her apparent primary interest
in buying more acreage.

But on Sunday afternoon, when he drove her to the Southern Pacific
station for her trip to San Francisco, he saw an opportunity to press
his interest. He deliberately pulled the Ford into a tight spot between
two large touring sedans and surreptitiously moved the spark lever up
and down, causing several loud backfires. Emma, who already was waving
at a covey of Red Cross ladies standing on the nearby platform, was
mortified. ioh, my heavens! i Thomas looked concerned, iyeah, afraid
this thingis on its last legs.

Struggling to suppress a grin, he stepped around to help her from the
car and escorted her up to the group of women. As she proudly introduced
him, they were at first attentive then soon distracted by others joining
them. Thomas observed that most were driving Maxwells and Overlands.
Mrs. Gottlieb was the last to show up, arriving majestically in a new
Cadillac driven by her husband.

Emma, after a week of excited anticipation, boarded the train a bundle
of nerves. She had purchased two new dresses, matching hats and a cloth
coat for the occasion, and was carrying a new suitcase. It would be the
first time she had been away from Fresno since she had arrived with
Alexander and the children seven years ago. It also would be the first
time she had visited San Francisco since her father and mother had taken
her there over thirty years earlier when she was still a young girl.

That was many years before the great earthquake, so she wasnit sure how
much of the city she would recognize or remember.

But she was struggling to control her excitement, trying to appear blase
to her fellow Red Cross ladies. So when they suggested gathering in the
parlor car after the train had gotten underway, she readily agreed.
After they had settled around a comfortable corner table, Mrs. Gottlieb
ordered a round of gin fizzes. Emma was somewhat surprised, but tried
not to show it in her desire to be like the others. It tasted so
refreshing that she drank it right down and readily agreed to join in a
second round.

But when Mrs. Lundgren offered her a cigarette, she politely turned it
down while trying to conceal her surprise. She did vow to herself that
she might try that sometime in the privacy of her home.

Later in the dining car she felt supremely flattered to be invited to
share a table with Mrs. Gottlieb and two other ladies.

All probably would have gone well if she hadnit found the wine so
enjoyable. Mrs. Gottlieb had ordered the first bottle and Mrs. Duncan
insisted on reciprocating with a second. As they neared the end of their
dinner, Emma began to realize that the dining car and the lights inside
and the other tables were moving more than they had been. She felt
queasiness welling up in her stomach and excused herself to go to the
womenis toilet where she paid an embarrassing price for her first few
hours of worldliness.

Emma eventually returned to her regular seat where she was spared
further embarrassment by the absence of her companions, who had returned
to the parlor car to play whist. She suffered the rest of the trip in
silence, only perking up when the train eased into Oakland. The cool
night breezes during the ferry trip across the bay to San Francisco
almost completely restored her enthusiasm to its pre-trip level.

A Red Cross van met the Fresno contingent at the ferry terminal and
transported them to the Palace Hotel. And when Emma checked into her
room, she found a surprise that further restored her enthusiasm, a dozen
long-stem red roses. The card wished her a wonderful and memorable visit
to San Francisco.

It was signed ewith much affection, Billi. She was perplexed for a
moment, then realized the flowers must have been arranged by Bill Hardy
as part of his official welcome for all the Red Cross ladies.

Worn out from her ordeal on the train and the overall excitement of the
trip, she slept soundly and was up bright and early Monday morning.
After bathing and putting on one of her new dresses, she went downstairs
where she joined the others for breakfast. Amid the chatter over the
program schedule for the day, Emma looked up to see Hardy approaching
their table.

Good morning, ladies, i he greeted them cheerily. ih ave a comfortable
train trip, did you? i The women returned his greeting, then he
ventured, iyour rooms are satisfactory, I trust.

Mineis lovely, i Emma responded, iso bright and sunny.

And the roses are beautiful. Thank you very much.

The other women became silent and glanced at her suspiciously. Hardy
cleared his throat. iuh, youire very welcome. After all, you are putting
on part of the program this afternoon.

Appearing somewhat flustered, he excused himself.

Frowning, Mrs. Gottlieb turned to Emma, idid he leave flowers in your
room?

Why, yes, a dozen beautiful roses. Didnit the rest of you get flowers
too? i

All heads around the table shook in the negative.

She started to blush, iwell, he just said it was because Iim on the
program.

So am I, i one of the women protested.

And Iim in charge of our part of the program, i Mrs. Gottlieb reminded
everyone with some emphasis.

Oh, Iim so embarrassed. IOIOjust donit know what to say, i Emma
stammered. iwhy would he only leave flowers in my room?

Because youire not married, my dear, i Mrs. Gottlieb replied with a
touch of acid in her voice.

Maybe you need to be careful, i another added mysteriously. imister
Hardy might turn out to be one of those San Francisco gigolos that prey
on innocent women. They all excused themselves from the table, leaving
Emma confused and feeling very alone in a dining room full of laughing,
chattering people.

Later in the morning, Hardy caught up with her when she was separated
from her companions. imissus Oiroark, Iim terribly sorry. I didnit mean
to upset you with the flowers. I remembered you hadnit been to the city
for many years and just wanted to offer you a special welcome.

That was very nice of you, Mister Hardy, i she responded guardedly.

You arenit too unhappy with me, are you?

I guess not, i she replied, glancing around to see if any of her lady
friends were watching.

I didnit realize the flowers might embarrass you with the others. Iill
have to learn to be more careful.

I was just surprised, guess I shouldnit have assumed you would give
flowers to all the ladies.

He smiled, ii would never do that. Just someone special.

She blushed over the flattery.

Missus Oiroark, i Hardy continued, ii have a suggestion.

Yes? i she replied cautiously.

Since youill be giving your report this afternoon, you wonit need to
attend tomorrowis sessions. After I open the morning

meeting, I would like to slip away and show you some of our beautiful
city. Would you accept my invitation? i She caught her breath. ioh my,
that does sound like fun.

But what about the others?

Donit worry, we can be discreet. Iill meet you outside on Market Street
around nine thirty after the meeting gets underway.

Emma demurred, then said she would think about it and give him an answer
that evening. He suggested she leave a note in her hotel room box at the
registration desk.

Tuesday dawned as one of those crystal clear fall days that San
Francisco is so famous for, with only a few puffy clouds cushioning the
bright sun. When Emma met Hardy outside the hotel at the appointed hour,
his warm greeting helped to soften her lingering guilty feeling. He took
her hand and suggested they walk up to Powell Street where they could
catch a cable car to Fishermanis Wharf, have an early luncheon, and
return in time for the afternoon meetings.

As they strolled along the sidewalk, she began to relax and feel more
like a young schoolgirl as she drank in the varied sites of the big
city. The bustling crowds, the many stores with their varieties of
stylish clothing and other merchandise, the multitude of motor cars and
cable cars all added to the hurly-burly and left her feeling breathless.

Her feelings were tempered only by the behavior of the relatively
strange man next to her. Hardy was proving to be a most gentlemanly
host, holding her arm as they walked and shielding her against the
hurrying throngs, pausing frequently to point out interesting sites and
beautiful clothing in the shop windows, guiding her across
intersections, and helping her board the cable car. She had never met
such a man before and felt guarded and slightly uncomfortable. She also
felt a little guilty that she wasnit attending the Red Cross meetings
like she was supposed to.

At Fishermanis Wharf they drank in the fresh ocean air, marveled at the
size and variety of the morningis bounty from the sea, fed the sea
gulls, and ended up at Aliotois for lunch.

Over their meal of fresh sea bass and a glass of Chardonnay, Emma could
no longer stand the tension she had been feeling.

Mister Hardy, i she asked, iare you a gigolo? i He was caught by
surprise, then started chuckling. ido I seem like one to you? i She
blushed. iwell, Iim not sure what one is. But the other ladies warned
me.

I assure you Missus Oiroark, I am not a gigolo. However, I am a lonely
widower.

Oh, Iim sorry.

Yes, my dear Martha was killed in the earthquake.

Oh, that must have been terrible. Iim truly sorry. I didnit mean to
bring up a sad subject on such a beautiful day.

Thatis all right, you donit need to apologize. That happened eleven
years ago, you know, so live pretty well gotten over it.

Mister Hardy, Iim afraid live been terribly rude. I really donit know
anything about you. What did you do before you came to work for the Red
Cross?

I was a vice president of the Bank of Italy here in San Francisco. I
took a leave of absence and joined the Red Cross so I could make more of
a contribution to the war.

Oh, my son was a banker with the First National in Fresno.

Heis not there now?

No, heis managing our acreage since my Alexander died.

Iim sorry about your husband. The other ladies told me about it when I
was in Fresno.

As they continued their luncheon, he went on to tell about how he had
moved from Sacramento after graduating from high school, his years of
working his way up through the bank, his marriage, and his son and
daughter, both of whom were grown now and living away from home. Emma
also related her life story, reflecting to herself how unexciting it had
seemed compared to his.

After luncheon, they took the cable car back to the hotel, both pensive,
almost silent throughout the return trip. Outside the hotel, Hardy
gently kissed Emmais hand and they promised to see each other again. She
returned to the Red Cross meeting where, warmed by the eventful day and
luncheon wine, she struggled desperately to stay awake.

The following morning during the return trip to Fresno, Emma had hardly
settled into her seat before she was confronted by the other Red Cross
ladies.

We missed you at the meeting yesterday, i Mrs. Gottlieb commented
sarcastically.

You have a nice time with Mister Hardy? i Mrs. Lundberg asked before
Emma could respond.

Oh, we just went out to Fishermanis Wharf andoandohad lunch, i she
stammered.

Yes, we know, i Mrs. Gottlieb said pointedly.

Did his wife join you? i Mrs. Duncan inquired.

Emma gasped, iheavens noosheosheis dead! i Mrs. Duncan glanced at the
others, puzzled, iwell, one of the ladies from the San Francisco chapter
told me heis still married.

Emma replied defensively, ioh, no. His wife died several years ago in
the earthquake.

He told me she died from a heart attack a year or so ago, i Mrs.
Lundberg interjected.

Emma looked perplexed. iwell, Iim sure I heard him correctly. He told me
it was during the earthquake.

Well, whatever. You might want to be pretty careful, i Mrs. Gottlieb
commented dismissively as she arose, steadying herself against the
movement of the train. iyou ladies ready for a little whist? i Three of
them stood up to follow her to the parlor car. Emma, feeling somewhat
crushed and confused,

stared out the window at the passing scenery. Later she took solace in
her Womanis Home Companion.

When Emma stepped off the train in Fresno, she was met by Thomas who
guided her to a brand new Maxwell touring sedan.

Well, Mother, you think this will impress your lady friends?

Oh, Thomas, is this ours?

Yep, I bought it yesterday. Last one they had.

She walked around the vehicle, admiring the shiny black finish, the
running boards with folding luggage racks, the spare tire mounted on the
back. iitis so big. Will I be able to drive it? i icertainly. Iill show
you how.

She reached inside and rubbed her hands lovingly over the soft leather
seats. iare Maxwells good motor cars? i she asked.

One set a non-stop record of over two thousand miles last year, and
averaged twenty-two miles to the gallon.

Her eyes sparkled as she continued rubbing her hand silently over the
seats.

The local dealer drove one to Fowler and back four times, over
thirty-six miles on one gallon of gas.

My, that sounds impressive.

Itis important now since the government wants us to cut down on pleasure
driving during the war.

Oh, Thomas, does it have an electric starter?

Yes, Mother, i he replied a little peevishly as he opened the door and
assisted her into the front passenger seat. He climbed behind the wheel
and started the engine, then backed carefully away from the curb while
she waved gaily to any lady friends she could see. He felt pretty proud
of himself as he took a circuitous route over to Fulton Street,
skillfully maneuvered the big vehicle northward through the street cars
and other motor and horse-drawn traffic, then east after a few blocks
and back around Court House Park before finally turning toward home.

During the drive to the farm, Emma chatted happily about her trip, the
Red Cross meetings, and the train trip with her associates. She skipped
the part about her getting together with Bill Hardy.

Suddenly, a twinge of suspicion in her voice, she asked, ithomas, how
much did you have to pay for this car?

It was the last of the dealeris 1916 models, Mother, so I got a good
deal.

How much?

The price was six-hundred-seventy-five dollars, but he allowed me two
hundred for my old car.

Emmais suspicion was edging into despair, ibut where did you get the
money?

Oh, I just made a down payment of one hundred dollars.

She relaxed a little, but was still afraid to ask the question really on
her mind. Then he started slowing the car and pulled to a stop alongside
the road.

Why are you stopping?

Just wanted to show you our new acreage, i he replied nonchalantly,
pointing to the vineyard next to the road.

She clasped her hand to her mouth, stifling a little scream.

She stared blankly across the rows of vines, her eyes glistening with
tears. Then, smiling broadly, she leaned across the seat and kissed him
on the cheek. Feeling proud of his two new acquisitions, but annoyed
that he had caved into his motheris wishes, he remained silent.

She broke the silence, iiim so proud of you, son.

Trying to hide his annoyance and embarrassment over what he viewed as
her victory, he volunteered an answer to what he anticipated would be
her next question. iwell, Mister Johnson offered me a deal I couldnit
pass up. Only ninety dollars an acre and the bank is loaning the balance
at three percent so we can save our limited cash.

Heavens, thatis almost too good to be true!

In a way it is because the place is so badly run down. The owners just
took off leaving the bank stuck with it, so weire helping them out of a
bind too.

Mister Johnsonis sure been nice to us.

Yes, but he has another reason for helping us this time.

Oh? i iheis upset because the Stuckeys are trying to buy the Maloney
place, and they were asking about this forty acres.

Said he didnit want those damn Germans getting their hands on any more
property.

Your friends? i Thomas, struggling to conceal mixed emotions, didnit
respond. Since he knew the Stuckeys, he couldnit share the rising
community feeling against such honest, hard-working people. Yet, he felt
somewhat betrayed that Brenda hadnit told him of their interest in
buying the Maloney place.

He eased the Maxwell back onto the road, heading for home.

As they pulled into the yard, they noticed a stranger sitting under the
sycamore. As he rose to his feet and walked toward the car, they could
see he was quite small, probably not over five feet, five inches, and
slender as a whip. Thomas mused that if he turned sideways in the shadow
of the tree, he probably never would have noticed him. The stranger was
wearing an oversize ten-gallon hat that made him look top heavy.

Howdy, Mister, i the stranger said, laconically.

Howdy, i Thomas replied warily as he stepped out of the car. iwhat can I
do for you?

Nameis PJ, i the stranger announced. ireckon youire Mister Oiroark since
thatis your Mama in the auto.

Thomas glanced quizzically at his mother, then back to the stranger.
iiim Thomas Oiroark. What do you want?

Work. Iim lookini for work.

Afraid youire a little late. We needed lots of help a few weeks ago, but
the harvestingis all done now.

Your Mama said you might be needini help on a new place youire thinking
about buying.

Emma had alighted from the motor car and was standing next to Thomas.
ioh, Mister Sloan. I remember, you were here last week.

Thomas frowned at his mother, and turned again to the visitor. imaybe
you should wait here while I talk with my mother. PJ nodded agreement
and returned to his seat under the tree. Thomas and Emma went into the
house.

iwhat do you know about his guy, Mother. Whereid he come from?

I donit know anything about him, Thomas. He just showed up at the door
last week. Said heis from Georgia and has experience in fruit farming.

Been working around here on any of the other places?

Donit think so. Told me heis been in the oilfields around Bakersfield,
but he didnit like that kind of work.

Thomas peered out the window toward the stranger, ihard to judge his age
but looks like heis too old for the draft.

Youire probably right. Said he was too old to chase Germans but not too
old to put in a hard dayis work.

You promise him anything, pay or food or anything?

No, just told him he had to wait for you.

OK, I suggest we offer him three dollars a day to help clean up that new
forty acres, and see what we decide after that.

Emma nodded approval.

Thomas summoned Sloan into the house and made his offer.

He asked about meals and Emma replied, somewhat to her sonis surprise,
that they would provide two meals a day. Sloan resolved the question of
where he would sleep by suggesting that one of the bunks in the shed
would do just fine. Heid already taken the liberty of checking it out.

All three shook hands and Thomas said, imister Sloan, if youire going to
be working for us maybe we should know your first name.

PJ.

You donit have a proper first name?

Just PJ. Ainit never had a name, never will.

Chapter 21.

It was the third Sunday in October and Thomas and his mother had motored
into town to attend a giant Liberty Loan celebration at the Civic
Auditorium. Fresno, like the rest of the country, was in the midst of
the second loan drive, with a national goal of three billion dollars.
The day had been designated Aviation Day with Army aeroplanes scheduled
to fly over and ebombi the city with promotional leaflets. The program
at the auditorium would include over thirty soloists and a chorus of one
thousand students gathered from public schools.

A representative of the Four Minute Men would be there to speak on food
conservation. Boy Scouts would launch their weeklong campaign to reach
still more buyers.

A special sales booth had been set up at the entrance to the auditorium,
adjacent to which campaign workers had rigged up a contraption with a
likeness of the Kaiser at the top. Anyone who purchased a fifty-dollar
bond could swing a mallet against a target, which in turn rang a bell
and caused the eyes of the effigy to light up. At the coaxing of her
son, Emma bought her bond then took a dainty swing. Nothing happened and
much to her chagrin, the onlookers chuckled and groaned. A campaign
worker prodded her into trying again and this time she mustered all her
strength into a mighty blow that rattled the bell and started the
dummyis eyes blinking and generated much cheering and clapping.

Now half-proud, half-embarrassed, she accompanied Thomas into the
auditorium. They found it packed with people

but finally were able to squeeze in among those standing along the side.
A soloist had just completed her song and Mayor Toomey was launching
into a speech against unpatriotic and treasonable activities and the
need to force slackers to support the war by buying Liberty Bonds. He
was interrupted in mid- sentence by a commotion that started beside the
stage. Thomas, stretching to his full height, could see that several men
were struggling with someone, who they finally managed to drag onto the
stage. They placed the individual on a chair facing the audience and
while two men held him there, Emmett Johnson stepped forward, apologized
to the mayor for interrupting his speech, and signaled for quiet from
the audience.

Isnit that Mister Johnson? i Emma asked.

Yes, and my God, that looks like Sean Harrington in the chair! i Emma
didnit respond, but strained to get a better look as the crowd quieted.
Large doors at the side of the auditorium near the stage swung open and
two men pushed a motor car in from the outside.

With the crowd quieted, Johnson began shouting. ipatriotic Americans,
you now have before you the worst kind of animal, a slacker! This
animal, and I hate to flatter him that way, opposes our countryis
participation in the war.

The audience responded with boos and catcalls. Some stood and raised
their arms, and shook clenched fists toward the stage.

Johnson continued, ias a further insult to all you good citizens of
Fresno and American patriots, he has refused to invest in Liberty Bonds!
i More boos and people yelling eslackeri, ecowardi, eyellow bastardi,
eheinie loveri. Some in the front rows wadded up their programs and
threw them at the stage along with several oranges and apples. One
person shouted estring him upi; another yelled etar and feathersi.

Johnson waved his arms to quiet the crowd then announced, iwe have
decided not to waste good hemp or even tar and feathers on this German
sympathizer. Weive decided to auction off his motor car and use the
proceeds to purchase a Liberty Bond in his name! i The crowd erupted in
loud cheers and clapping.

Pointing toward the car, now parked beside the stage, Johnson shouted,
iweire sorry this poor excuse for an animal doesnit have something
better to offer toward our great cause, so his 1916 Overland will have
to do. How much am I offered? i Someone yelled fifty dollars, causing
several in the audience to laugh. Another person shouted one hundred
dollars and someone else raised the bidding to two hundred. A number of
increasing offers were made until they finally stopped at five hundred
dollars. Johnson closed the bidding at that total and directed the
winning bidder to come forward with his money and claim the automobile.

Thomas and Emma had stood quietly during the auction, too dumbfounded to
speak. He turned to his mother, imy God, can you believe this is
happening? i Emma shook her head.

They turned their attention again to the front of the auditorium where
Harrington was being led off the stage, presented with his bond, then
shoved out the side door. Johnson returned to the stage and motioned for
a large group of students to join him for the singing of patriotic songs
that was to follow.

Realizing that the audience now was distracted by the students moving
onto the stage, Thomas whispered to his mother, icome on, letis get out
of here.

They worked their way back through the crowd toward the entrance and
walked outside. Looking around, they could see Harrington about half a
block away, striding at a brisk pace. He was being followed by three
young hoodlums shouting obscenities.

Iim going after the car, Mother. You keep an eye on where he goes, but
donit get too close to those guys following him.

He took off running toward his car parked a couple blocks away while
Emma followed Harrington at a discreet distance.

But when the hecklers caught up with him, knocked him down and began
beating and kicking him, she couldnit stand it any

longer. She started running as fast as she could in her high heels until
she reached the melee and started screaming and swinging wildly with her
purse. The threesome stopped their pummeling and, momentarily confused
by the attack of a woman, began backing away. Then one of them lunged
toward her, only to be met with a slap of her heavy purse against his
head.

Thomas was pulling up to the curb now, honking his horn, and shouting at
the attackers. He jumped from the car, grabbed a tire iron from the
toolbox and started after them. He dealt a painful blow to the ribs of
the one nearest his mother, knocking him to the ground writhing in pain,
then took after the other two.

In a moment, all three were in hasty retreat.

Harrington, pained and confused from the beating and kicking, was trying
to struggle to his feet. As Thomas approached, he staggered up and moved
into a defensive crouch, fists raised.

Mister Harrington, itis me, Thomas Oiroark. I came to help.

Harrington relaxed as he recognized his neighbor, reached to shake his
hand and throw the other arm around his shoulder.

When Thomas gave him a reassuring pat on the back, the older man started
crying.

Thomas helped him and his mother into the car and they silently headed
east toward their farms. In a few minutes, Harrington pulled out a red
and white checkered handkerchief, blew his nose vigorously, and spoke up
from the back seat.

Thank you both. You probably saved my life.

Emma sat silently, a satisfied smile on her face, a purse with a broken
strap at her feet. Her son glanced at her with a touch of pride followed
by annoyance that she would take such a risk, then replied, iglad we
could help, Mister Harrington. But how the hell did you get caught in
that mess? i The older man didnit respond at first, then asked, iyou
remember back in July when I told you about the Non-Partisan League?

Vaguely.

Well, Iim president of the local chapter.

iwhat is it?

An organization that believes in peace. We believe there is no reason
for America getting into war. The draft should be repealed and we
shouldnit be sending our boys overseas to fight someone elseis war.

Kindai late for that, isnit it? i Harrington didnit answer, but went on
talking. iall the talk about fighting for freedom and democracy is a
bunch of hogwash. How can we claim to be a free country if we donit
allow free speech? i Neither Thomas nor Emma tried to answer the
question.

Look at our last war, that Spanish-American fracas. Got a bunch of our
soldiers killed and all we got was some islands full of aborigines out
in the middle of the ocean.

Thomas could sense that the older man was getting pretty wound up, so
didnit try to respond. Emma just stared straight ahead as their neighbor
ranted on.

And Wilsonis misadventure in Mexico a couple years ago got some more of
our boys killed, all for nothing.

He fell quiet for a few moments, allowing Thomas to venture an
observation. ii gather you donit believe in Liberty Bonds either.

They just finance eslick Willieisi war so the gun makers, ship builders,
copper barons and other capitalists can get rich.

Not worth the paper theyire printed on. Here, Iill show you! i He leaned
forward in the seat and held the five hundred dollar bond where they
could see it. Then he tore it into shreds and let it flutter away in the
wind.

Emma gasped in disbelief; Thomas just shook his head. A few moments
later, as they turned into Harringtonis driveway, he stood up in the
back of the car and yelled, ioh, my God! i Perplexed at the outburst,
Thomas started slowing the car, but Harrington shouted, idonit stop,
donit stop! Oh those bastards! i Looking ahead now to the house some
hundred yards away, the reason for his agitation was clearly visible.
Someone had painted the work eslackeri across the front in bright
yellow.

Thomas continued on to the house and when he drew near, Harrington
jumped out and ran inside calling out to his wife and sons. In a minute
he returned to the porch screaming, itheyire not here! Theyire gone! i
Thomas and Emma climbed out of the car. iyou look all through the house?
i Emma asked.

He nodded.

No notes or anything? i Thomas inquired.

Didnit see anythingoeverythingis torn apart.

Weill help you look again, i Thomas volunteered as he took his
neighboris arm and escorted him back into the house. They found the
place in a shambles, furniture overturned, pots and pans dumped out of
cupboards, drawers emptied on the floor.

Unobtrusively, Thomas also was looking for blood or any other sign that
Mrs. Harrington or the children had been harmed, but found nothing. He
observed that the older man now had a wild, frantic look and was
breathing heavily. Fearing that he was about to faint or have a heart
attack he suggested as calmly as he could, imister Harrington, let's
look around outside. Maybe they're hiding out someplace.

He followed Thomas out the back door where they caught the strong odor
of coal oil. They peered aimlessly into the gathering dusk, then ran to
the nearby barn. Harrington kept calling out the names of his wife and
sons.

They found no one in the barn, came back outside and started searching
along the ends of the rows of vines. Finally they heard a feminine voice
shout eseani and a younger one yelling epapai.

Vivian and the two boys stumbled out through the soft vineyard dirt and
threw their arms around Harrington. As they walked back to the house,
she described how in the early afternoon she had heard the dog barking
and looked out the front to see a truckload of vigilantes approaching up
the driveway, just barely giving her enough warning to grab the boys and
run out the back door and into the vineyard. iif Iid had my wits about
me I wouldive grabbed the shotgun and given eem something to remember, i
she lamented.

The younger son, who had run ahead of them, cried out and ran back to
his parents sobbing, iprince is dead! They killed Prince! i Vivian and
Emma tried to comfort the two boys as they steered them into the house.
Thomas followed Harrington around to the side where they found the dog,
dead from gunshot wounds.

The older man sank to the ground, put his head in his hands and started
moaning in anguish. Wordlessly, Thomas leaned down and laid his arm over
his neighboris shoulder, trying to console him. Finally he ventured
softly, ilooks like you might have been pretty lucky at that.

Harrington raised his head, wiped his tear-stained cheeks with his
shirtsleeve, and blew his nose on the ground. iwhat do you mean?

It smells like they were planning to set fire to your house.

Maybe the dog scared them off.

Harrington didnit reply.

Or they might have shot Vivian or the kids.

The older man still didnit respond, then mumbled, ibastards, dirty
rotten bastards.

Thomas stood up, walked over to the barn and returned with a shovel.
Together they carried the dogis body to the edge of the vineyard and
solemnly buried him.

They returned to the house to find Vivian and Emma and the boys
straightening up the mess and putting things back in place.

Thomas and his mother, wrung out by the dayis events and feeling
uncomfortable with their neighboris radicalness, declined an invitation
to stay for coffee and dessert and took off for home.

They rode along for a few minutes before he spoke. isure looks to me
like Mister Harrington is heading for a lot of trouble with the
government. Wish I understood why.

Maybe I found out, i Emma ventured.

Why?

Missus Harrington told me his older brother was killed in that
Spanish-American war.

Thomas didnit comment, and his mother continued, ithen his younger
brother was killed two years ago when he was serving as a soldier in
Mexico.

He shook his head. ii guess that would make a person pretty much against
war alright.

They fell silent as they approached the Oiroark farm and turned into the
driveway. The house stood in ghost-like outline and barely visible in
the incipient darkness. The big sycamore was poised like the shadow of a
woman undressing, bare arms in the air, its skirt of dry leaves gathered
on the ground around its feet. Emma leaned forward and squinted toward
the house asking iwhatis that? i He peered ahead beyond the headlights
to see someone sitting on the back stoop. us that Becky? i The visitor
stood up as they drew closer and Emma called out, ibecky is that you?
What on earth are you doing here in the dark? i She responded with a
wave, ihi Mother, Hi Thomas. Think you can stand a visitor? i He turned
off the engine, walked around to help his mother from the car, then they
both turned to give Becky a big hug.

What a nice surprise, i Emma said. ii hope you can stay for the night.

Looks like thatis the plan, i he commented wryly as he noted the large
suitcase and valise sitting by the stoop. As they moved inside and
turned on the light, Emma took a close look at her daughter and became
concerned. ibecky, you look rather peaked. Are you ill?

You do feel feverish, i her brother added as he felt her forehead.

Becky didnit respond to their expressions of concern. She walked over to
the large easy chair, settled wearily into its comforting embrace and
closed her eyes.

Would you like something cold to drink, or maybe some hot chocolate or
milk? i her mother inquired.

Something wrong at school? i Thomas asked, remembering this was Sunday
evening and she should have classes the

following morning. He stepped over to the fireplace and started to build
a fire against the evening chill.

Becky opened her eyes and replied, iguess I wonit be going back to
school for awhile.

What on earth happened? i he asked, looking back at her.

Becky hesitated then, tears welling up, stammered, ithey donit allow
pregnant girls in school.

My God, what---i Emma gave out a little cry before Thomas could finish
his question. ioh no, not you Becky!

Afraid so, Mother.

Oh, how could youohow could you do this to me? i Already deeply shamed
and frightened over her condition, she frowned at her motheris question.
igod, Mother, I didnit do it to you. I did it to me! i Emma was crying
now, ioh, I feel so ashamed. I canit bear the thought of this happening
to our little family. Whatever will I do?

Mother, for Christis sake shut up! i Thomas yelled as he moved over to
comfort his sister. ibecky needs our help, not criticism.

Becky had started sobbing. He went to the sink to get her a glass of
water and damp cloth, then returned to try and calm her.

For a few moments nothing was said as the three remained locked in their
introspective thoughts.

Finally, Emma got control of herself and asked how long she had been
pregnant.

Since early August, I guess.

The wheels were obviously turning in Emmais head. iwhy, thatis when you
were at that school in the mountains!

Yes, Mother.

I knew it. I just knew we shouldnit have let you go up there. I just
knew that wasnit a safe place for young girls! i Thomas had been quiet,
not sure what to say to alleviate the pain his sister must be feeling,
and not certain how to handle his motheris reaction. Seemingly she was
less concerned about Beckyis condition then she was about herself.

Finally and tentatively he asked, ibeckyouhodo you know who the father
is? i She hesitated before mumbling softly, idoctor von Karman.

Who? i their mother called out.

Becky spoke louder, repeating the name.

Oh my heavens! Oh no, not a German! i Emma cried.

Poor Papa must be turning over in his grave!

Does von Karman know? i Thomas asked.

Yes.

Whatid he say? i Becky hesitated, then spoke. The got real mad and
blamed me. Said it was my fault.

Son of a bitch, i Thomas mumbled under his breath.

What? i Emma asked, frowning.

Never mind, Mother.

Becky continued, ithe main reason I came home tonight was because he
threatened me at school. Said I should leave town and get rid of the
baby.

Emma, who had been pacing back and forth in agitation, slumped on the
sofa seemingly in a faint. Thomas returned to the sink to dampen another
cloth, and placed it on his motheris forehead. He moved over to the
roaring fire, picked up the poker and stabbed angrily at the logs. Then
he stalked out into the dark night, clenching his fists in frustration.
Becky started crying again and disappeared into the bathroom.

After a few minutes, she came out and went into her brotheris bedroom to
lie down. Emma gradually came around and sat up groggily on the sofa.

Thomas, i she asked when he came back into the house, iwhat on earth are
we going to do?

I donit know. Iim at a complete loss, but it seems that our first
concern should be for Beckyis welfare.

Maybe we should send her away to one of those sanitariums for unwed
mothers, i she proposed.

Mother, Iim ashamed of you. Beckyis your daughter.

At least she would get good medical attention.

ibut that sounds so cruel and heartless. How could you possibly send her
away when she obviously needs your help?

But if she stays here, everyone in town will know about her condition.

My God, Mother, how selfish can you get?

Oh, but Missus Gottlieb and oando missus Duncan and all the other Red
Cross ladies. I just canit bear the thought--- Screw the goddamn Red
Cross! i he yelled. iyou should be concerned about Beckyis welfare, not
those fat old society broads.

She gasped and seemed to shrivel up deeper into the sofa.

Her son had never spoken to her so crudely before. He, in turn, was
chagrined and embarrassed at the outburst. He had never seen his mother
appear so vulnerable.

He walked over to the bedroom door and saw that Becky had fallen asleep.
He pulled a quilt up over her, then went to the kitchen for a glass of
water. He took it to his mother and sat down beside her.

Iim sorry, Mother. I didnit mean to sound so brutal but I just feel that
our first priority is to take care of Becky.

She took a sip of water and stared blankly into the dying embers before
replying. ii guess youire right. It just seems now that Iim finally
getting a chance to do something with my life besides worry about this
old farm, everyone is conspiring against me. iibeckyis not everyone,
Mother, sheis your daughter.

Emma became lost in self-pity and didnit respond.

He continued, ii believe we should encourage her to stay here and make
her as comfortable as possible. After all, she should be able to help
around here for several more months and give you more time for Red Cross
work or whatever you want to do. ishe still didnit respond.

Doesnit that appeal to you?

I guess so, i she finally replied listlessly.

Why not? i he asked, sensing that something was still bothering her.

She didnit reply further, but with a profound sigh got up from the sofa,
announced that she didnit feel well, and retired to her bedroom. He knew
better than to pursue the subject further.

He banked the fire, pulled a blanket from the closet, turned out the
lights and stretched out on the sofa for a restless attempt at sleep.

Around midnight, he was awakened by the phone ringing.

He stumbled groggily across the dark room, picked up the receiver, and
mumbled ihello.

The operator asked for Becky Oiroark.

Er, sheis asleep. Whois calling? i He heard the operator ask for a name,
then speak back into the phone, idoctor von Karman.

Thomas came fully awake as anger welled up from inside, ithat son of a
bitch. Let me talk to him!

Beg your pardon? i Thomas heard a click and the operator spoke again,
isorry, the party hung up.

He slammed the receiver back on the phone and turned around to see Becky
standing in the bedroom door. ican I guess who that was? i she asked.

Afraid so, i he replied as he walked over, put his arm around her
shoulder and kissed her on the forehead. iwhy donit you go back to bed
now and try not to worry too much. Guess I better talk to the sheriff
tomorrow.

Becky smiled weakly, went to the bathroom, and in a few moments returned
to bed. Thomas resumed his tossing and turning on the sofa.

During the following week, Emma and Becky barely spoke to each other.
Thomas snapped at them from time to time, saying they were acting like
two pregnant bears, grunting and growling at one another occasionally
and making exaggerated moves to keep out of each otheris way.

The tension eased somewhat near the end of the week after Mrs. Lundberg
had phoned to inquire about Emma and gave no

hint that the news of Beckyis condition had become a topic of
conversation among the Red Cross ladies. Emmais attitude was helped
further when she was asked to chair the chapter's second membership
campaign, a request that apparently had come directly from Bill Hardy.

Finally, Becky confronted her mother one morning when they were alone.
imother, why are you so upset over my pregnancy? Iim not happy about it
either, and your silence for the past few days hasnit helped very much.

Emma didnit respond for a few moments, then finally, with a sigh of
resignation, said, ii guess I was upset that you would let some dirty
old man violate your young body.

I didnit think of him as a dirty old man, Mother. Foolishly, I thought
we were in love.

The truth is, Becky, I was hoping for a better life for you, one not
burdened with children.

Better than who? i Emma hesitated before answering, i me.

Her daughter looked puzzled. iwerenit you happy to have children, and
being married to Papa?

At first, yes. But I got awfully tired of being pregnant. For the first
few years of our marriage I was afraid your fatheris passion was going
to kill me.

But five children doesnit seem like so many. Lots of women have that
many.

Emma hesitated again, looked down at the floor, and murmured, isix my
dear.

Becky gasped, iwhat are you saying, Mother?

live never said anything to you children, but my first baby was a little
girl, stillborn andoando two months premature.

Becky reached out to comfort her mother, who had tears in her eyes. iiim
sorry. I had no idea.

Choking out her words, Emma continued, iit was a terrible shock to lose
the first one, but then Patrick was born in less than a year. A year
later it was baby Alexander, who died so young in that terrible winter
of ninety-nineocouldnit even bury him until spring thaw. Then you came
along and I finally had my little girl. By the time Thomas was born I
was mighty tired of being pregnant and too worn out to be much of a
mother to any of you.

Becky sat dumbfounded at the painful outpouring from her mother. She had
been too young to remember the death of Alex, but was reminded of the
passing of a younger brother the year before the family moved to
California. ithen Robert was the last one? i Emma nodded, iyes, he was
sort of an accident. Papa came home drunk one night andouhosort of
forced himself on me.

Becky shook her head in disbelief. iwhat on earth did you do after that?

Anything I could to avoid Papais advances. Stayed up late reading or
pretending I was ill. By then he was drinking quite a lot, so he usually
fell asleep right after dinner.

They both were silent for a few moments before Becky continued, iat
school the girls used to talk about birth control.

I tried that too.

Mother! I never dreamed you were thatothat modern.

Donit know how modern I was. I just didnit want more babies.

How did you learn about birth control?

Just a moment, Iill show you. Emma went to her bedroom and returned with
a pamphlet titled, Family Limitation.

Mother this is incredible. One of my girl friends had this same
publication. See, it was written by Margaret Sanger.

Have you read it?

Yes, and I know what your next question will be.

Well? i Becky was thoughtful for a moment before replying. iguess I just
wasnit thinking. We just went for a walk one evening to talk about our
history class. It was a lovely moonlight night and the first thing I
knewowell you know the rest.

Yes, dear, more than you realize. Emma was blushing.

What do you mean?

I fibbed to you as few minutes ago, Becky. My first baby was stillborn
like I said, but she wasnit premature.

Becky looked at her mother with a mixture of disbelief and newfound
understanding. She leaned over and put her arm around her shoulder and
kissed her on the cheek as they both burst into tears.

As Saturday brought the eventful week to a close and an Indian Summer
breeze blew away the early fall chill, the Oiroarks tumbled into their
respective beds. Thomas now was sleeping in the bunkhouse with PJ to
give Becky the comfort of his bedroom. He was dozing peacefully until
around midnight when he was awakened by what he thought were screams. He
sat up for a moment to make certain he hadnit been having a nightmare,
then clearly heard his sister cry out for help.

He jumped up and, clad only in his underwear, stumbled blindly across
the dark yard, oblivious to the small stones and rough dirt stabbing
into his bare feet. He yanked open the door and dashed into the semidark
living room to find his mother standing wide-eyed at her bedroom door
awkwardly holding a large pistol. He hesitated, puzzled, then asked,
iwhat the hellis going on?

I think someone is hurting Becky! i He flung open the door to the
still-dark bedroom and could vaguely make out two forms thrashing around
on the bed. He ran to the bed and grabbed at the shoulders of the person
on top, who swung at him with the back of his hand, knocking Thomas off
balance. As he regained his footing and again lunged at the intruder, he
was conscious of another figure entering the room.

It was PJ mumbling, ilemme at the bastard, boss.

PJ jumped atop the intruder like an alley cat and grabbed him by the
throat with both hands, finally forcing him to release his choking grip
on Becky. They both tumbled to the floor and then struggled to their
feet in a tangle of flailing arms and legs.

In a flash, PJ stepped back and, mustering every ounce of his slender
frame, sank his pointed cowboy boot deep into the intruderis groin. The
hapless victim doubled up with a painful scream and fell to the floor.
PJ put him out of his misery with another strong kick to the head.

Thomas had turned the bedroom lights on by now and was checking on his
sister. She was sitting up in bed rubbing her badly bruised throat and
coughing and gasping for breath, but seemed to be recovering. They both
glanced toward the muscular blond-haired intruder, who was being rolled
over on his back by PJ.

My God, itis von Karman! i Thomas shouted.

Becky moaned and shook her head in acknowledgment.

PJ let out a yelp, iboy Howdy, you mean I got me a goddamn Heinie?

Sure looks that way, PJ.

Hot damn, and I ainit even in the army!

Glad youire not, PJ, i Becky said in a croaky voice. ithank you for
being here when we needed you.

Thomas went to the kitchen to get a rope to tie up von Karman and to
phone the sheriff. PJ noticed a tiny silver Maltese cross hanging at the
victimis neck, grabbed it and snapped it off with one hand. iguess Iill
take me a little souvenir, i he grinned.

Chapter 22.

Since their chance meeting on the train to Tacoma, Thomas and Lillian
Branson had corresponded several times, each time promising they should
get together. Now, in early November with the harvest all completed, he
was on the train bound for Bakersfield and a weekend visit.

Although he was reluctant to admit it and had not mentioned Lillian to
anyone, he had thought of her many times since their memorable train
ride. He still marveled at how quickly and easily they had become
acquainted and how comfortable he had been in her presence. Unlike the
few other women he knew, particularly his mother, he had found Lillian
so easy to talk to.

His heart always skipped a beat whenever she suddenly crossed his mind
and he often tried to guess where she was or what she might be doing at
those fleeting moments. He wondered if he might be falling in love,
although neither had made such a bold suggestion in their
correspondence. And he worried too that she might not be as beautiful as
he had remembered.

But as the Southern Pacific Flyer pulled into the Bakersfield station
that balmy Friday evening, his eyes found her in the waiting crowd even
before the train came to a complete stop. His worry was quickly erased
as his heart reacted to the blond vision he was seeing, even more
beautiful then he had remembered.

She was dressed in a broad-brimmed hat and vee-necked red wool dress,
belted around her small waist. Much to his satisfaction, the light
sweater over her shoulders did not hide her full bust. She was smiling
and gazing anxiously at the windows of the slowing train, vainly trying
to get a glimpse of him against the reflecting glass.

He arose from his seat and with valise in hand inched his way through
the other departing passengers and stepped down onto the platform. He
ran toward Lillian then paused as their eyes met and they drew within a
few feet of each other. He wanted to wrap his arms around her but his
innate reserve held him back. But she didnit share that reserve and
unabashedly threw her arms around his neck and kissed him full on the
mouth. He caught his breath, dropped his valise, pulled her close to him
and passionately returned the kiss. For long seconds, they didnit speak
and were totally oblivious to other people on the platform.

Then he whispered, imy God, I didnit realize how much live wanted to see
you.

Me too. Letter writing is such a poor substitute for feeling your arms
around me.

She took his arm and escorted him to a Model T sedan parked at the curb,
explaining that her mother had loaned it to them for the weekend. She
insisted that he drive so he helped her into the passenger seat, reached
across her to set the spark and gas levers, and stepped in front to
crank the engine to life.

As he eased in behind the steering wheel he asked, iwhich hotel will I
be staying in tonight?

You wonit be staying in any hotel, i she replied, glancing at him with a
coy smile.

How come?

live made other arrangements for us.

Like what?

Like a friendis apartment.

Must be a very thoughtful friend.

Sandra works with me at the hospital. Sheis gone to Los Angeles for the
weekend.

He smiled, reached over and squeezed her hand. iok then, which way to
the apartment? i He backed the car away from the curb. ithat comes
later. First Iim taking you to dinner.

Where?

You ever tried Basque food?

No, what is that? i Lillian gave him directions as she explained about
the sheepherders from northern Spain who had been brought over to tend
the flocks being raised in the foothills of the southern San Joaquin
Valley. She told about the restaurants they had started in Bakersfield,
and was describing the food when she directed him to pull up in front of
a rather ramshackle wooden building.

This a restaurant? i Smiling, she nodded in the affirmative and waited
for him to help her out of the car. iit doesnit look like much, but
youill just love the food, i she enthused.

They entered a room so dark they had to pause for their eyes to adjust.
In a few moments, they were directed to a long wooden table along one
wall and seated across from each other.

As Thomasi eyes adjusted to the darkness, he turned to look around the
large room. An older couple sat at the far end of their table, and there
were three more long tables parallel to theirs. They were occupied by
about a dozen people, dressed primarily in farm clothes, and bent
industriously but quietly over their meal. Six soldiers were at the
table against the far wall, laughing and joking.

Thomas quickly became uncomfortable. He had worn his bankers blue suit
and tie, partly because it was the only suit he had and partly because
Lillian had admired it when they first met. But now, it made him feel
out of place among the rough board tables and wooden walls of the Basque
restaurant and the simply dressed patrons and uniformed soldiers. He
toyed with the idea of returning to the car and changing to the leather
jacket in his valise.

His thoughts were interrupted by a buxom, dark-haired waitress
delivering a carafe of red wine and a small plate of

sliced meat. She returned in a moment with a large tureen of vegetable
soup and platter of coarse looking bread.

Whatis that? i he asked, pointing at the meat.

Oh, thatis marinated beef tongue. Itis an appetizer. Try it with the
wine.

She poured them each a glassful, stabbed a slice of tongue with her fork
and popped it in her mouth. He took a big swallow of wine, reached for a
slice with his fingers, dropped it on the table, picked it up again and
took a tentative bite. ihum, thatis pretty tasty. He licked his fingers
and used his fork to reach for another slice.

He then ladled out soup as Lillian poured more wine and raised her glass
in a toast to what they anticipated would be a memorable weekend. He
quaffed almost an entire glass of the rough, slightly sweet liquid, then
held his glass out for her to refill. The waitress next brought a
lettuce salad, a bowl of stew and a platter of fried chicken. He spooned
some of the stew onto each of their plates as she picked up a bottle of
lemon dressing and poured a generous portion over the salad, then served
it.

Man, this is good, i he mumbled as he sampled the stew, then stopped
short. He stuck a finger in his mouth and pulled out something hard.

Oh, you got a piece of bone. Be careful.

He looked suspiciously at the knuckle-shaped object in his hand. iwhat
is it?

Thatis ox-tail stew. Isnit it delicious? i He made a funny face and
reached for more wine. A little later, the waitress brought a platter of
tender, garlic-laden barbecued lamb with green beans. She followed that
with another carafe of wine.

Thomas pushed the stew to one side, took a clean plate and helped
himself to generous portions of the chicken and lamb and used a slice of
bread to push it on his fork. He washed it down with more wine. Later,
with his stomach groaning from the onslaught of rich food, he hardly
remembered the custard dessert.

During the dinner, their conversation had gradually turned to the war.
She asked if he expected to be called or if he would be exempted because
of the farm.

It looks like weill continue to be exempted. But Iim not sure yet what
Iill be doing. Frankly, Iim not comfortable with the thought of
remaining a civilianofeel like Iim shirking my duty.

You wouldnit enlist, would you?

I might, especially if I could figure out what to do about the farm.

I understand how you feel. live been thinking about signing up too.

He put down his wineglass and looked across the table in surprise. iwhat
are you talking about?

Guess I forgot to mention it in my last letter, but live been thinking
about joining the Red Cross nursing corps.

What will they be doing?

Theyire organizing a special training program for nurses to work
overseas in field hospitals. Several of my friends are talking about
signing up too.

He frowned, iyouid be sent to France?

Yes, but not in combat. Weid be serving behind the lines, maybe in Paris
if we get lucky, i she replied smiling.

That doesnit sound very safe. Havenit you read about the Germans
shelling Paris with their big guns and bombing with their aeroplanes?

She shrugged. ii guess the reis danger in everything, Thomas. But I feel
pretty strongly that I should be using my nursing skills to do something
worthwhile for the war effort.

He was silent for a moment, his mind not wanting to face the thought of
anything happening to the beautiful vision sitting across from him.
Finally he replied, iguess I canit argue with that. Just like I feel I
should be doing something more than run a farm.

They drained the last of their wine. Lillian withdrew a five- dollar
bill from her purse and, overcoming his protests with her warm hand on
his knee, slipped it into his hand under the table.

He paid the waitress and they walked out into the dark, cool night and
returned to the car.

He first noticed the dizziness when he leaned over to crank the engine.
Then when he struggled in behind the wheel and turned his head to back
away from the curb, it hit again. He pointed the car down the street
and, steering with one hand, silently reached across the seat with the
other to hold her warm, soft hand. He was having trouble keeping his
eyes in focus.

Fortunately for him, they only had to travel a few blocks to the
apartment, and there was very little traffic. He managed to park the
vehicle safely, but the dizziness had turned to nausea, forcing him to
step over to nearby bushes and heave up his wine and Basque dinner.
Lillian rushed to his side, but there was little she could do other than
hold his head and coo condolences.

Eventually they made it up the stairs into the apartment, undressed, and
tumbled into bed. She tried to demonstrate her nursing skills by
applying cold, wet cloths to his forehead. He showed his appreciation by
falling asleep. She changed into her nightgown and climbed into bed,
wide awake with frustration over the derailment of her planned
lovemaking.

In about an hour, Thomas awoke and stumbled to the bathroom. When he
returned to bed, they fell eagerly into each otheris arms, kissing and
caressing one another passionately until he realized something was
dreadfully wrong. As soon as he had laid down, the bed and room started
turning dizzily.

Then, in spite of Lillianis hovering over his body and her tantalizing
stroking and warm, wet kisses, his penis was only getting fat and
rubbery, not hard. She fell back on the bed in frustration; he was on
the verge of crying.

They were startled from their misery by someone knocking at the door.
She sat up, clutching the sheet to her breasts and called out to the
unexpected visitor, who shouted back, isandra, itis me, Joe. Open the
door. The knocking continued.

Lillian arose from the bed, pulled on a robe and stepped closer to the
door. ijoe, Sandrais out of town. This is her friend, Lillian Branson.

A moment of silence from outside the door then, iwhereis Sandra? i
Thomas had gotten out of bed and pulled on his pants and was slipping
into his shoes.

Sheis gone to Los Angeles, Joe. She said I could use her apartment for
the weekend.

Another moment of silence, then, ican I come in?

No, Iim in bed. Please go away now and donit bother me any more. You can
see Sandra Monday.

More silence from beyond the door, until finally the sound of footsteps
could be heard fading away down the hall. Lillian heaved a sigh of
relief and she and Thomas got back in bed. But the sudden interruption
was the coup-de-grace to their long lingering passion and they just
cuddled together like two spoons.

They quickly fell asleep with his right arm curled over her body, his
hand cradling one of her breasts.

But their mutual passion, built up over three months of youthful desire
and fond memories of their night on the train, finally roused them. She
pushed him over on his back and began kissing him warmly and stroking
his stomach, then climbed on top of him and eased his hardness deep into
her body. With little moans of pain and ecstasy she moved up and down in
complete abandon. In a few moments, their pent-up desire was temporarily
satiated and they tumbled apart and fell sound asleep, again cuddled in
each otheris arms.

Their lovemaking resumed in the morning after which they arose and
bathed. They made breakfast together, all the while laughing, touching,
kissing and teasing with the abandon of young lovers. Finally, over the
last cup of coffee, he turned serious.

Lillian, i he asked, iare you really going to sign up for the nursing
corps?

Believe so, darling. My friends and I feel pretty strongly that we want
to do our part for the war.

God, Iim going to be worried sick.

Will you really worry about me? i iconstantly. But Iim not sure if Iim
more worried about you being injured, or more disturbed about what
youill be doing.

What do you mean?

It just seems the war is turning everything backwards. Men are supposed
to go off to war, not women.

But I wonit be going to war, Thomas. Iill be nursing the men injured in
the fighting.

I guess thatis womenis work alright. But look at what other women are
doing now that the war is on. You say your mother is working in a
factory. Mine is bossing a bunch of other people for the Red Cross. And
Becky is practically running the farm by herself. Thatis all manis work!

Oh, poor Thomas, i she soothed teasingly, us your manly ego being
bruised? i He frowned. ii guess so, but it makes me wonder if the world
will be the same after the war.

She moved over and sat on his lap, put her arms around him and whispered
in his ear. idid you mind last night when I got on top like a man?

No, i he smiled and kissed her firmly on the mouth.

Shall we go back to bed now?

We might miss the big parade, i he whispered, noticing the kitchen
clock.

She sighed and stood up. iafraid Iim committed to that booth, so guess
we better behave ourselves. She had promised to serve in the Red Cross
membership booth during the parade after which she would be free for the
balance of the weekend.

The parade was part of a community-wide program to raise funds for
Christmas packages for soldiers. There also would be a dance at Castle
Hall that evening, where various service organizations were combining
their efforts into one overall kickoff campaign. This would include the
Kern County YMCA, which was trying to raise ten thousand dollars as its
quota in the organizationis national program, and the WCTU, seeking two
thousand dollars to purchase an ambulance in support of the troops in
France.

Since the citizens and businesses of Kern County already had established
a reputation for their strong support of the war, a good deal of
enthusiasm and patriotism had built up for this November event. In June,
the county had pledged over one million dollars to the first Liberty
Loan drive and in October had topped that with another two million for
the second drive, making it one of the few California counties to
over-subscribe.

Thomas accompanied Lillian downtown and much to the amusement and
giggles of Red Cross ladies and passerby, was the only man working in
the booth. He had abandoned his blue suit for a more casual leather
jacket, open-collar shirt and pants.

Thanks to his rugged good looks and disarming smile, he was particularly
effective in signing pretty young girls up for membership or garnering
pledges of financial support from hapless businessmen. When their
morning shift was over, he shamelessly took much of the credit for the
fact that the agency had raised over a fourth of its quota for the
Christmas drive.

Lillian took his arm and firmly led him away from the admiring gaggle of
Red Cross ladies.

After luncheon, they drove out along the Kern River, now reduced to its
meandering fall trickle, to the county park for a leisurely afternoon in
the warm autumn sun. They were both in silent, pensive moods strolling
along the riverbank until she brought up the war.

Thomas, have you really been thinking about enlisting?

Why do you ask?

Oh, just curious I suppose, and worried. I know youire exempt because of
the farm, but youire obviously not happy there.

Youire right. Iid do just about anything to get away from that darned
place but Iim not sure that includes going to war.

Whyis that?

Guess Iim a coward.

I know better than that, i she replied, squeezing his arm
affectionately.

He smiled wanly, iwell, I donit honestly believe I would be a coward,
but the thought of killing another man really doesnit sound very
appealing.

No, it doesnit.

And I guess what really bothers me is that my plans for the future have
been put on hold, partly because of the war and partly because of the
farm.

What kind of plans? i He hesitated for a few moments before replying,
ipromise you wonit laugh?

Shame on you! I wouldnit even think of laughing. Iid love to hear about
your plans.

He hesitated again, then seemingly without much conviction said, ii
think Iid like to write.

That sounds wonderful! What kind of writing?

Well, Iim not sure yet. Itis just been recently that live allowed such
dreams to really take shape in my mind.

Whatis been holding you back? i He again became pensive as they stopped
and sat down on a park bench. Gazing out across the cottonwoods and
willow oaks that lined the quiet river bottom, he finally responded. ii
guess the first problem is education. I only have a high school
education and probably wonit be able to go to college to develop the
knowledge it would take to become a good writer.

Do all writers have a college education?

Not necessarily, but sure seems like it would help.

Any particular kind of writing, like books or what?

Yes, books or maybe newspaper writing like my friend Brad Simpson.

Whois he?

He was a reporter with the Republican. Heis in Washington now working
for some government agency.

Sounds interesting. Howid he get that job?

Through his boss and because of his college education, and he speaks
French.

Well, since youire exempt from the draft, maybe you could start your
college education.

iiive thought of that, but havenit quite been able to take the first
step.

How come? i Again he hesitated before replying. ii guess itis the pull
or the distraction of the war. Donit think Iim ever going to feel right
if I donit get more directly involved. Afraid in the years to come I
would always feel like a slacker, like I didnit do my part. ishe smiled
and kissed him on the cheek. inow you know why Iim signing up for the
nursing corps.

You think youire going to be able to handle all that blood and gore from
battle wounds?

Hope so. live had some experience in helping a surgical team with an
amputation. Another time a farmer was brought to the hospital after
being gored by a bull. Unfortunately we couldnit save that one.

Thatis probably pretty tame stuff compared to what live read about war
casualties.

Thatis what some of my friends tell me, but I just feel like you do. I
want to get more involved in the war.

They arose to leave and he put his arm around her waist, pulled her
close and kissed her firmly on the mouth. iwe sound like a couple of
real patriots, i he mused aloud as they strolled back to the motor car.

Later that evening when they arrived at Castle Hall, they found several
hundred people already inside and dancing.

Although there were a number of men scattered throughout the crowd,
including quite a few in military uniforms, it was readily apparent they
were outnumbered by women at least two-to-one.

After some searching, Thomas and Lillian sat down at an unoccupied
table. He ordered a bottle of beer and she a soft drink and after they
were served, they squeezed into the throng on the dance floor.

During their fifth or sixth dance, Thomas felt a hand on his shoulder
and turned to find a Marine sergeant, resplendent in his dress uniform.
imay I dance with this young lady? i he asked.

Lillian responded first, igood evening, sergeant. Howive you been
feeling?

Just fine, Maiam, thanks to your good treatment.

Noticing the bewildered expression on Thomasi face, Lillian quickly
explained, ithe sergeant was a patient in our hospital a few weeks ago.

Thomas reached to shake the sergeantis hand and introduce himself. The
Marine returned the greeting with a firm handshake and repeated his
request to dance with Lillian.

Would you mind terribly, Thomas? i she asked.

Well, eer noogo right ahead. He returned to their table feeling somewhat
rejected. It had never occurred to him until this moment that Lillian,
even as beautiful and approachable as she was, might have other men
friends. And of all people, a Marine sergeant. He suddenly felt very
inadequate.

When the dance was over, the sergeant escorted Lillian back to their
table, thanked Thomas for his courtesy and again shook his hand.
Lillian, sensing she was in the middle of an uncomfortable situation,
hastened to explain in some detail that Sergeant Henderson had been a
patient in her ward for about a week while he recuperated from an
appendix operation.

Your little lady here sure knows how to make a man comfortable, i
Henderson volunteered. ishe took real good care of me.

Thomas just nodded agreement while Lillian smiled. iwe try to take good
care of all our patients, Sergeant.

He turned back to Thomas. iwhat kind of work you do, Mister Oiroark?

I have a farm up near Fresno, i he replied without much conviction,
squirming uncomfortably in his chair.

He owns sixty acres, i Lillian added, striving to strengthen Thomasi
seemingly weak response.

Guess that gives you a pretty strong exemption from the draft, i the
sergeant ventured.

iyeah, believe it does.

Thatis too bad. I was hoping I might have a chance to recruit a big
strong fellow like you.

Maybe some other time, i Thomas replied with a weak grin.

The Marine again shook his hand, bowed to Lillian, and excused himself
from the table. Without a word, the two lovers arose from the table and
returned to the dance floor.

It was a nice, slow waltz and Thomas was reveling in the warmth of her
firm breasts close against his body when he suddenly felt her tense up
and glance over his shoulder. inick! i she cried in a startled voice.

Dancing with slackers I see, i came the word from the menacing sounding
voice behind Thomas.

He stopped dancing and turned to look directly into the cold blue eyes
of an Army captain. Thomas opened his mouth to say something but only
choking, gasping noises came out as the officeris knee dug deep into his
groin. As he doubled forward in reaction to the dull, excruciating pain,
a sharp blow chopped into the top of his shoulder and snapped his head
to one side.

Thomas slumped unconscious to the floor.

When he struggled back to consciousness about an hour later, he began to
realize he was lying in a bed with cool, clean sheets, and he could
smell the antiseptic odors of a hospital. He could still feel a dull
ache in his groin and a sharper one in his left collarbone and upper
arm, then determined that the arm was taped to his side. A single lamp
bathed the room in a soft glow, and by turning his head slowly and
painfully he could see that it was dark outside. He drifted back into
heavy sleep.

He awoke the next morning to find a smiling, heavy-set nurse standing
beside his bed. ihow we feeling this morning? i she inquired cheerfully.
He responded with a grunt, and noticed an orderly entering the room.

Mister Hansen here will help you to the bathroom, then weill have some
breakfast, i the nurse advised as she turned and left the room.

Painfully, groggily he arose and with the help of the orderly shuffled
down the hall to the bathroom. iwhere am I? i he asked.

Mercy Hospital.

How long?

Ambulance brought you in last night.

When he returned to the room, a breakfast tray was waiting and he
started picking listlessly at the toast and cereal. As he reached for
the cup of coffee, he looked up to see Lillian standing hesitantly in
the doorway. She entered the room and approached his bed tentatively,
silently, not sure of what to say or how he might react to her presence.

He remained silent and unresponsive for a few moments, then his eyes
flickered into a frown as he noticed her black eye and an ugly bruise on
her cheek. He started to speak, but she was first.

Thomasoioiim so sorry. She reached for his hand as a tear trickled down
her cheek.

What the hell happened? i She hesitated and glanced down at the floor
before she murmured, ithat was my husband. Iim so sorry, so ashamed.

She was sobbing now. He didnit comment, didnit react to her warm hand on
his.

After a few moments, she released his hand and regained her composure
enough to continue. ii wrote to him several weeks ago to tell him I was
filing for divorce, but never heard back. I never dreamed he would show
up unannounced.

Where is he now?

In jail. He struck me after he hit you, then started fighting with some
men who tried to help me. The police finally came and took him away.
They were silent as the orderly came in to retrieve the tray. They
remained that way for several minutes, lost in their private thoughts,
unable to think of anything to say.

Finally, Lillian spoke again. ithomas, I hope some day you can forgive
me. I didnit mean to hide my marriage. I just didnit want anything to
come between us. Iim afraid live become very fond of you.

His eyes met hers briefly, before he turned away, still silent.

Finally he glanced back at her and asked, iwhen will I be able to get
out of here?

Probably this morning, soon as the doctor sees you.

He again turned his head and gazed out the window, not certain how he
felt toward her, not able to think of anything to say. She left the
bedside and walked to the door where she paused and turned back toward
him. igoodbye, Thomas. I hope we meet again some day. Silently, she
disappeared down the hall. Thomas was discharged from the hospital later
that morning, returned to the apartment to recover the balance of his
clothing, and caught the noon train back to Fresno.

Chapter 23.

With Becky now pregnant and living at home, Emmais new life of
independence had changed. Whereas before she had been able to come and
go pretty much at will, a totally new experience, now she felt torn
between trying to care for her daughter and the increasing demands of
her Red Cross work.

She felt particularly guilty over Beckyis periodic bouts with morning
sickness and the memories they brought back of her own uncomfortable
pregnancies. The one compensating factor was that on her good days,
Becky was able to help with the housework and preparing meals, chores
that no longer interested her mother.

This Monday before Thanksgiving was starting out to be one of the good
days. Emma, Becky and Thomas had enjoyed an unusually cheerful
breakfast, and the sun had broken through after several days of
depressing rain. Thomas had driven over to a neighboring farm to
purchase their holiday turkey, and Emma decided to check the roadside
mailbox while waiting for him to return with the car so she could leave
for the Red Cross center.

She was surprised to find an envelope addressed to her from Red Cross
division headquarters in San Francisco.

Apprehensively, she opened it to find that it was from Bill Hardy. She
scanned it quickly and initially was bothered that the tone seemed a bit
too presumptuous, coming from someone she identified with primarily on a
professional basis.

Additionally, it conveyed information that she found confusing.

She read the letter several times, turning it back and forth in her hand
as she returned to the house.

San Francisco, California November 23, 1917

My dear Mrs. Oiroark: I am personally delighted to learn that you have
agreed to serve as chairman of Fresnois Red Cross membership campaign in
December. As I believe you already know, this will be a particularly
important drive for us as we strive to reach our Pacific Division goal
of 467,000 members. Through Mrs. Gottlieb, I have become intimately
familiar with your chapter work and am confident you can handle this new
responsibility.

To assist in our planning, I am inviting you to join me in a meeting I
have scheduled for December 7-8 inst. in San Francisco. I am taking the
liberty of reserving a room for you for three nights at the Palace
Hotel. I would anticipate that our meeting schedule would permit us time
to enjoy the Holiday decorations, which are particularly lovely this
year in spite of the war restrictions, and to do some Christmas shopping
if you so desire.

I would appreciate it if you could advise me of your acceptance of my
invitation and your travel plans by return post. The Red Cross, of
course, will cover all of your expenses.

Very cordially yours, William Hardy, Chairman Pacific Division The
letter confused Emma because although Mrs. Lundberg had advised of her
appointment a couple weeks earlier, she had heard nothing further from
her chapter leaders. In fact it had seemed to her that Mrs. Gottlieb and
some of the others had been rather cool toward her since the San
Francisco meeting in October. Emma had returned to her work at the
bandage- wrapping center and now that she thought of it, had not been
invited to any of the chapter leadership meetings.

She decided to discuss the letter with her son, who now was driving into
the yard with a huge turkey flapping against its tethers in the back
seat. She stepped out of the house and started to shout a greeting to
Thomas but held back when he began swearing.

Goddamn bird, i he fumed.

Oh son, must you swear so? What on earthis the matter?

This damned animal is about to get the best of me. First he broke his
tether and almost got away as I was driving up the road, then he pecked
me when I tried to tie him down again and now heis shit all over the
back seat! i He eased himself out of the car, still favoring the tender
groin muscles and battered shoulder he had received almost two weeks
earlier at the hands of Lillianis husband. He had explained away the
bandaged shoulder as being caused while he was changing a car tire and
now that the bandage had been removed, everyone seemed to have lost
interest.

Oh my, i his mother ventured as she peered at the agitated turkey from a
safe distance. imaybe we should have planned on serving chicken like we
usually do at Thanksgiving.

Too late now. This old buzzard cost me a whole dollar and Iim going to
have the pleasure of chopping his head off and eating him, by God.

He went to the barn for a burlap sack to drape over the turkey so he
could haul him out of the car and put him in a pen to await his fate.
This accomplished with only a couple more bloodletting pecks, he turned
to cleaning up the back seat of the

car. He eventually entered the kitchen, still mumbling to himself.

Emma and her children had agreed several days earlier that they wanted
to make this a special Thanksgiving, in spite of the war austerity.
After all, they had successfully brought in their first harvest and
unlike thousands of other American families already separated by the
war, they could still enjoy the holiday in the comfort of their home.
But they also determined they wanted to share their good fortune with
others. So Emma had asked two of her unmarried Red Cross lady friends to
join them for their holiday dinner. Becky had invited three girl friends
she knew from the Normal School and urged them to bring several of the
soldiers who were stationed there in training. Thomas had invited Earl
and his girl friend, and after much procrastination also had phoned
Brenda. He had not seen her since the weekend at Santa Cruz and was
surprised when she readily accepted the invitation. Including PJ, there
would be fifteen for dinner.

In view of her sonis agitation over the turkey, Emma deferred bringing
up the subject of her letter from Hardy until they were eating supper
that evening. He read the letter and asked, iwhatis your concern,
Mother. Looks like a pretty straight forward invitation to me.

Guess Iim not used to getting invitations from men, i she replied.
imaybe Iid feel more comfortable if it had come from Missus Gottlieb or
one of the other ladies.

Anyone else going from Fresno? i Becky asked.

Not that I know of. I phoned Missus Gottlieb this afternoon and found
out she didnit know about the meeting.

And she didnit seem to want to talk about my appointment as Membership
chairman.

Does sound kindai strange.

Then I called Missus Lundberg and she just laughed. Said she guessed
Mister Hardy had overruled Missus Gottlieb on my appointment.

You ladies shouldnit be so suspicious, i Thomas said, finishing his
supper and carving himself a big slice of cherry pie.

After all, Mister Hardyis the Western Division chairman and heis put you
in charge of the Fresno campaign. Sounds like you should be getting
together to work out your plans.

But for three days? i Becky asked.

That should allow plenty of time for Mother to buy our Christmas
presents, i he grinned, glancing at his sister.

But what will the other ladies think if I go up there all by myself? i
Emma asked.

Mother, there you go again, worrying about the wrong things, i Thomas
said, getting annoyed. iafter all, youire a grown woman and not married.
You can do as you please.

What a terrible thing to say! Papais only been gone since April and I
still miss him so. He shrugged his shoulders and finished eating his pie
in silence.

Becky spoke up, iwell, Mother, I think Thomas is right.

The letter sounds like a legitimate invitation and you are free to go,
so I wouldnit worry what the others think.

Thomas arose to leave the table, commenting with a chuckle, i just
remember to stay out of the speakeasies, Mother.

Thatis where all those gigolos hang out looking for loose women.

Later that evening, Emma retired to her bedroom to write her acceptance
letter to Hardy. As she picked up her pen, she realized she had never
written to a man before. She labored over the salutation, first
emulating his with emy Dear Mr. Hardyi and then only edear Mr. Hardyi.
Both seemed too personal and informal, so she finally settled on a
simple emr. Hardyi.

She found composing the message equally trying in her effort to convey
her understanding that she would be travelling to San Francisco strictly
for Red Cross business. Her final letter read as follows:

Fresno, California November 27, 1917 Mr. Hardy:

I accept your kind invitation to participate in the Red Cross planning
meeting you have scheduled for December 7-8 inst. I will be arriving on
the Southern Pacific Daylight at six oiclock Thursday evening and will
take a cab directly to the Palace Hotel. I will look forward to meeting
with you the following morning.

Thank you for your invitation.

Sincerely, Mrs. Alexander Oiroark The signature for the letter had
represented her final agony.

Since her husband had died, most of the people she met had identified
her as Mrs. Emma Oiroark, and she noted that was the way Hardy had
addressed his envelope. But that seemed a bit too informal for this
occasion so she had settled on the more formal Mrs. Alexander Oiroark as
demonstrating an appropriate degree of rectitude. She was feeling very
proper and proud of herself the next day when she stuck a three cent
stamp on the envelope and personally handed it to the rural mail
carrier.

Two days later, Thomas awoke and peered out his window to a foggy
Thanksgiving morning that echoed the strong sense of foreboding clouding
his mind. He had run out of time now and still didnit feel he had a
satisfactory plan for killing the turkey.

He had butchered plenty of chickens in his time and a few rabbits, and
he had watched once as his father and older brother slaughtered a sheep.
But this old turkey weighed about twenty- five pounds and already had
given signs that he wasnit going to his glory without a fight.

Thomas dawdled over breakfast and after being prodded by his mother,
moved his dawdling out to the yard. He eyed the turkey in its pen, and
the turkey ruffled his feathers and eyed him back. Then he fetched his
hatchet and spent thirty minutes sharpening it on the grindstone and
testing the blade. He returned to the turkey and contemplated the idea
of draping a burlap sack over its head. He abandoned that approach when
he realized he probably wouldnit be able to find the head inside the
sack so he could chop it off.

It occurred to him that he would need a pot of boiling water big enough
to immerse the turkey in after his head was chopped off so the feathers
could be plucked. He poked around in the barn for another half-hour
before he finally found an oversized galvanized wash tub. He set it up
on a semicircle of rocks, filled it with water, and started a fire
underneath.

PJ sidled up beside him, imornini Boss, got a problem?

Yeah, PJ. Trying to figure the best way to chop this bastardis head off.

Donit reckon thatis going to be easy.

You ever killed a turkey?

Yeah, got me a wild one once back in east Texas. But that was with a
shotgun.

What the hell, live got a shotgun in the house.

Probably wouldnit work with this wily old bird, Boss.

Why not?

Heis too smart. See how he keeps facing you. He wonit turn sideways so
you can just blow his head off. If you shoot him head-on, youill fill
him so full of buckshot you wonit be able to pick him up.

PJ excused himself and came back in a moment with a rope.

What diya say we lasso him, then tie him down and chop his head off? i
The turkey seemed to sense that his tormentors were getting serious so
he started gobbling and hissing and fanning out his feathers in a
menacing stance. Then he shit on the ground.

God, Iim glad he got rid of that, i Thomas observed.

i just emptying his bowels so he can fight better, i PJ responded. iall
good fighters do that.

Iill have to remember that, i Thomas mused, massaging his still-tender
shoulder.

They then agreed on a plan where PJ would hold a noose over the pen
opening while Thomas tried to prod the bird out.

But they couldnit make that work because the turkeyis fanned feathers
prevented him from moving through the opening.

Finally, they decided that since the pen was bottomless, Thomas could
lift up one end and PJ then could loop the rope around the bird. After
all, its feet were still hobbled and one wing was clipped so it could
neither run nor fly. On the count of three, Thomas grabbed one side of
the pen and tipped it up so PJ could demonstrate his roping magic. After
delivering a sharp peck to Thomasis hand and much loud gobbling and
hissing, the turkey took off across the yard on a wobbly but determined
run, dragging his broken hobble string. PJ followed, twirling his lasso,
then dropped that and with a mighty leap landed on top of the turkey.
His left hand wisely gripped the struggling birdis neck while his right
arm tightly encircled its flailing wings and body. Thomas quickly
followed up to loop the rope around the turkeyis legs, then around its
body. In a final act of defrance, it shit all over his forearm. While PJ
hung onto the struggling animal, Thomas stretched its neck over a
sawhorse and chopped off its head with a satisfying whack. In a few
moments the dying turkey was doing its final dance hanging upside down
from the sycamore tree.

Goddamn, PJ, not sure if I can eat this old bird or not, i Thomas said
as they watched its death throes.

Youill change your mind when he comes out of the oven.

They fell silent as they pulled the carcass down, dipped it in the
boiling water and plucked the hot, wet feathers. Their ritual was broken
by a shout from Emma, peering out the back door of the house, ithomas,
isnit that turkey ready yet? i In spite of this inauspicious beginning,
the Oiroark Thanksgiving celebration proved to be a rousing success. The
sun broke through the early morning fog and escorted in an unseasonably
warm day. This enabled Thomas and PJ to set up a long table outside
under the sycamore, utilizing plank boards salvaged from the old
outhouse. They found enough chairs in the house for one side of the
table and used wooden crates and barrels and more planks to create a
bench on the other side.

Emma and Becky cooked the turkey to a juicy, golden brown. They added
dressing, giblet gravy, sweet and mashed potatoes, peas and carrots, and
mustard greens from the garden to produce a sumptuous meal. Pumpkin and
mince pie, plus peach cobbler made from the fruit Emma and Thomas had
preserved that summer, rounded out the menu.

The three Normal School girls and their soldier escorts were the first
to arrive, having motored out from town snuggled into a big Chandler
touring sedan. The Red Cross ladies soon followed in a Model T, looking
very prim in their ankle-length skirts and cloche hats. Earl and his
girl friend were next, then Brenda arrived, driven by her older brother.

Thomas went to greet her as their car rolled to a stop. When the door
opened and she turned toward him to exit the vehicle, he caught his
breath. She was hatless and her hair was bobbed in the new style being
favored by the more adventurous young society matrons. She was wearing a
form-fitting dress with a hem that allowed her knees to show as she
stepped down to the ground.

Er, hi, i he greeted her tentatively as he reached to help her down.

Happy Thanksgiving, Thomas, i she replied cheerily.

Ivan called out a friendly egood morningi as he got out of the driveris
side, removed a case of wine from the back, and carried it to the table.
He returned to shake Thomasi hand, climbed back in the car and drove off
with a goodbye wave.

How do you like my new hairdo? i Brenda asked, primping with one hand as
Thomas led her toward the other guests gathered around the table.

iuh, nice. You look different. Nice dress, too. Although he found the
new look very flattering, he was apprehensive about how it was going to
be accepted by the others and his mother in particular.

He looked at her more closely. iwhatid you do to your face? i
Reflexively her hand went to her cheek, ioh, thatis my new powder and
rouge.

Your eyebrows look funny.

Thatis another new product. Itis called Lash-Brow-Ine.

Donit you like it? i He responded with an uncertain euh huhi as they
reached the other guests. When he introduced Brenda, the reactions were
mixed. Becky and her friends and the soldiers were enthusiastic. Earl
and his girl friend just gaped and mumbled their greeting. Emma and the
Red Cross ladies offered reserved handshakes.

But when Emma, Thomas and Becky returned to the house and brought out
the food, everyone sat down and began to relax.

Soon there was much jollity around the long table, coming initially from
Thomas and PJ elaborating over their conquest of the turkey. The
soldiers started flirting, first with Becky and the other girls from the
Normal School, then with the Red Cross ladies. This proved to be a
fortuitous distraction because the two, who were members of the Anti
Saloon League, were starting to look askance at the others consuming the
wine that Brenda had supplied from her fatheris fine cellar.

After everyone had finished dessert, Thomas brought his banjo out from
the house and accompanied mostly harmonious renditions of eover Therei,
ehow eya Gonna Keep eem Down On The Farmi, and ewhen Johnny Comes
Marching Homei.

Earl joined in with his harmonica while his girl friend danced with one
of the soldiers. PJ went to the barn and brought out a battered old
fiddle and struck up a square dance number.

Thomas picked up the beat with his banjo as the soldiers and their dates
arose from the table and started dancing as best they

could on the rough ground. The others clapped hands to the rhythm.

After a couple of numbers, one of the soldiers spoke up, iseems like we
should be doing the Turkey Trot, this being Thanksgiving.

His date made a face, igosh, I donit know that.

Brenda spoke up, ioh, I do! i followed by Becky, i me too! i Telling her
brother to play the proper music, she and Brenda got up from the table
and proceeded to demonstrate the fast one- step, punctuated with their
arms flapping and pumping to simulate a turkey. Emma gasped at the sight
of her daughter with her protruding belly dancing around on the uneven
ground.

The Red Cross ladies gaped wide-eyed in a mixture of disbelief and
disapproval. PJ grumbled as he tried to follow Thomas with the
unfamiliar music.

The soldiers and students, along with Earl and his girl friend, quickly
picked up the dance from Brenda and Becky, and in a few minutes were
bouncing around in two other new dances, the Bunny Hug and Grizzly Bear.
When their dates eventually broke away for a rest, two of the soldiers
grabbed Becky and Brenda and the third glommed onto Earlis date. He
resisted for a second and Thomas feared there might be a confrontation.
But his friend recovered from his shock and went after Emma.

Her protests didnit last long and much to the surprise of Thomas and
Becky, their mother was on her feet following around as best she could.
The crowning moment came when the two soldiers released the tiring Becky
and Brenda, dragged the disbelieving Red Cross women to their feet and
led them through the stomping and grunting of the Grizzly Bear. The
celebration finally wound down as the sun slipped away into the western
sky, allowing the fog and cool evening breezes to creep back in.

Becky gave her girl friends and the soldiers teary hugs as they climbed
boozily into their motor car. Earl drove off with his girl friend beside
him, trying to ignore the fact she was waving lustily at one particular
soldier. The two Red Cross ladies bid Emma a fond farewell while they
tried to encourage her to attend a Temperance meeting scheduled for the
following week. PJ returned to his bunkhouse, still sawing on his fiddle
and calling eswing her high, swing her low, please donit step on that
pretty little toei.

Brenda stayed behind, volunteering to help clean up the mess and hoping
she would have an opportunity to get better acquainted with Thomasi
mother. But her strategy didnit work.

Becky, after reminiscing over the party for a few minutes, retreated to
her room, pleading fatigue. Emma called up her readily available
headache, and departed for the security of her room. Brenda and Thomas,
with a sigh of resignation, started working their way through the mound
of dirty dishes and left over food.

Lovely dinner, i she ventured as she carried dishes to the sink. iyeah,
Mother really can cook when she takes a notion.

Everyone seemed to have a good time.

Yes, thanks for bringing the wine. It helped everyone relax, except the
Temperance ladies. They laughed awkwardly and fell silent.

She broke the silence with a chuckle. iwish I could have seen you and PJ
trying to kill that turkey. Must have been quite a sight.

Thank God for PJ.

More silence followed as Brenda removed Emmais apron from the cupboard,
tied it around herself, filled the sink with hot water and started
washing dishes. Thomas pulled a drying towel from the drawer and tried
to think of something to say. But his mind kept going back to the last
time he had seen her, that wild night in the cottage by the seashore.

Finally, she spoke. iiive missed you, Thomas. Itis been three months
since Santa Cruz.

He hesitated, not certain how to reply even though he had felt sure the
subject would come up. iguess I was just too embarrassed. Afraid you
would beowello mad at me.

She looked at him, frowning. imad?

Yeah, because well, you know what happened.

She hesitated before replying. iyou didnit hear me complain, did you? i
He shook his head.

Smiling, she again turned from the sink and kissed him on the cheek,
causing him to blush.

They continued washing and drying the dishes in silence for what seemed
like an eternity to Thomas. He decided to change the subject. ihow is
your family getting along with the war? i She glanced at him
perplexedly.

I mean the sheriff. Hasnit been hassling you any more? i She sighed,
ino. Weive been staying on the farm, keeping low. iihow about your job?
i She chuckled sardonically, igot laid off several weeks ago, along with
some others with German-sounding names.

Christ, thatis terrible.

And you remember my Uncle Max, the one who owns the brewery?

Yeah.

Heis closing the place down. Last week someone broke in and wrecked a
lot of the equipment and emptied a bunch of kegs on the ground.

Thomas shook his head in disbelief.

But it looks like weire good enough to help America fight.

My brother received his draft notice last week.

Emil?

Ivan. Emilis still too young.

Bet that upsets your parents.

Mamais almost hysterical. After all, one of the reasons they moved to
this country was to get away from military service.

How you going to work all your crops?

It wonit be easyoguess weire lucky Papa didnit get the Maloney place.

Yeah. Understand some newcomers bought it.

She pulled the plug to drain the sink, inon-Germans, undoubtedly.

Thomas finished drying the dishes and stacked the last of them in the
cupboard. Then they walked silently out into the foggy night so he could
drive her home. He eased the car onto the main road, turned east and
peered intently ahead. The twin headlight beams could cut through only a
few feet of the thick, wet fog, leaving him with the unnerving sensation
that he was about to drive off the end of the world.

Eventually he relaxed enough to talk, iwell, I guess we can be thankful
the war hasnit hit us any more than it has. Seems like weire starting to
lose a lot of our freedoms.

Yeah, like von Karman and Reverend Geschler.

What happened?

Theyire being deported.

What for?

Geschler wouldnit stop preaching against the war. And they claim von
Karman is a spy.

Well, I feel kindai sorry for Geschler. But as for that bastard von
Karman, I say good riddance.

Brenda glanced quizzically at Thomas.

Heis the one who got Becky pregnant.

Oh, good heavens! i They rode along in silence until she spoke again,
ihow about Sean Harrington?

Whatid he do now?

Got himself arrested the other day, along with about a dozen others.

Why?

They were making speeches against the war.

Thomas shook his head quietly as he turned the car into the Stuckey
yard. He stepped around to the side to help Brenda out, then hesitantly
reached for her hand and volunteered, ii really do like your new dress
and hairdo. She smiled, put her arms around his neck and kissed him on
the cheek. Without a word, she turned and ran into the house.

Chapter 24.

The Monday morning following Thanksgiving Thomas and his mother and
sister were just finishing breakfast when they heard a motor car pull
into the yard. He went to the door to observe a man step out of the
vehicle and start walking toward the house. The stranger was
well-dressed in a dark business suit and hat and, judging by the gray
sideburns, was in his mid-to- late fifties. He walked with a decided
limp, seeming to favor his right leg. As he approached the house and saw
Thomas standing at the door he called out, imister Oiroark? i Thomas
acknowledged his identity a little warily.

The stranger continued forward and reached to shake hands as he
announced, iiim Gerald Collins. Iim an attorney from New York City.

Thomas shook hands but didnit comment, now feeling more guarded that the
stranger had identified himself as an attorney, and from the east.

I believe you know Sean Harrington, Mister Oiroark?

Uh, yes. Heis a neighbor.

You aware heis in jail?

Yes.

You know heis going on trial next week?

Hadnit heard that. What for?

The charge is sedition. Speaking out against the government and the war.

Emma had moved beside her son, and asked what was going on. He
introduced Collins, who doffed his hat, then related to his mother what
had been said. ioh, my, that sounds serious.

Yes, Missus Oiroark, itis very serious. Mister Harrington probably will
end up in prison.

You representing him? i Thomas ventured.

Yes, Iim with the Civil Liberties Bureau.

Whatis that?

Weire a new organization formed to help people fight for their
Constitutional freedoms and protect their civil liberties.

What are those? i Emma asked, to her sonis annoyance.

Our basic American rights, Missus Oiroark. The right to free speech, a
free press, to be safe in our homes---i Thomas interrupted, itheyire
called the Bill of Rights, Mother.

Collins ignored the interchange. imister Oiroark, live come here to ask
you to appear in court as a character witness for Mister Harrington.

Emma, paying no attention to the question or her sonis obvious
annoyance, invited Collins to come in for a cup of coffee. They moved
inside and took seats around the kitchen table. Thomas introduced Becky,
who poured coffee and joined them at the table.

Collins, looking at Thomas, continued to pursue his subject.

I understand youive known Mister Harrington for several years?

Heis been a friend of my parents since they moved here.

Sheis a lovely woman, i Emma chimed in. ithey brought food and were so
supportive when my husband died.

Oh, was that recently, Missus Oiroark?

In April, just before the war started.

Sorry to hear that.

He turned back to Thomas. iwould you describe Mister Harrington as a man
of good character? i Thomas nodded cautiously.

A good citizen and family man? i Emma interrupted again. ithey have two
wonderful sons.

Collins ignored the remark as he continued to question Thomas, ia good
neighbor, Mister Oiroark?

Oh yes, i Emma added, turning to her son. iremember in July when they
brought both boys over to help with the Maloney harvest?

In September, too, i Becky added.

Thomas, trying to ease the temptation to throttle his mother and sister,
arose from the table and moved over to the sofa. He had been recalling
Harringtonis odd behavior since the war had started and wasnit sure he
wanted to get all that involved in being a character witness.

Collins took a drink of coffee and pulled a legal pad from his brief
case as he turned toward Thomas. ih ave you ever known Mister Harrington
to speak out against the war or our government? i Thomas was conscious
of all eyes focusing on him before he replied, ito tell the truth,
Mister Collins, heis done some strange things. He went on to relate the
neighboris behavior on draft registration day and at the bond rally, and
told about him tearing up the five hundred dollar Liberty Bond and
finding his house painted yellow by vigilantes.

Emma interrupted, ii know why heis so against war.

Why? i Collins asked.

Both of his brothers were killed in wars. She related her conversation
with Mrs. Harrington after the vigilante affair.

Well, I can empathize with their feelings about the Spanish- American
War because I served there. It was pretty brutal. He made more notes on
his legal pad then asked Thomas, idid Harrington ever mention the
Non-Partisan League?

Yeah, tried to get me to join.

Did you?

Nope.

They were all quiet for a few moments as Collins scribbled on his note
pad. He sighed and put down his pen before he again turned to Thomas,
iwould you be willing to testify as a character witness? i He demurred
before replying, i could I do him any good? i

ihard to say. But the fact remains, Mister Oiroark, we do live in a
democracy. Even in wartime we should be allowed to say what we want.
Thatis what the Bureau is trying to do in supporting this case and many
others like it throughout the country. It would be tragic if we lost the
very freedoms weire fighting to save.

Becky spoke up, imister Collins does your organization help
Conscientious Objectors too?

Yes.

Thomas frowned at his sisteris interruption, her seemingly irrelevant
question.

My friend Emily, her husband is a CO. The Army has him in some camp in
Kansas where they torture and harass him all the time, just because he
doesnit believe in war.

Yes, we have reports of over thirty cases of brutality against
objectors.

Becky was getting agitated. iemily showed me one of his letters. They
march him around so the other soldiers can call him names, or they keep
him hanging by his wrists in segregated quarters. And they beat him and
torture him, force him on long marches then douse him in icy showers,
only feed him bread and wateroit just sounds horrible.

It is, and weire working with another organization, the Bureau of Legal
Advice, to try to---i Becky interrupted, iyes, thatis the one Emily is
corresponding with.

Emma looked at her, iwhy are you getting involved in their problems? i
Thomas, glancing at his sisteris growing belly, added, iyeah. Seems like
youive got enough to worry about already.

Becky shrugged her shoulders, iiim just trying to help a friend. Seems
like someone needs to stand up for what is right.

Collins added, iwell, Miss. Oiroark, itis too bad there arenit more like
you. If someone doesnit fight for our freedoms we could easily end up
losing them.

They became quiet for a few moments until Becky spoke, iwell, Thomas, I
think you should try to help Mister Harrington.

Itis the least you can do for a good neighbor.

He gave a sigh of resignation. iwhen would this be?

Next Monday.

That seems awfully soon.

Yes, the Government isnit wasting any time on these cases.

Thomas finally agreed to testify then fretted about his decision all
week. He wasnit feeling any more assured that cold, foggy December
morning when he came into the house from the under-heated bunkhouse,
noting that the outdoor thermometer registered only 26 degrees
Fahrenheit. He poked the slumbering embers in the fireplace back to
life, added more paper and wood and hovered close with his hands wrapped
around a cup of coffee while his mother prepared hot Cream of Wheat. But
when he sat down at the table, his stomach was churning so much he could
barely eat. He drank only half a cup of coffee.

When he finally left the house, the outdoor thermometer had only climbed
four degrees. Even after he had replaced the engine water he had drained
the night before and placed a pan of glowing embers from the fireplace
underneath the caris engine, it still took twenty minutes to get it
running. He drove into town slowly, hunkered down behind the steering
wheel in his denim coveralls and heavy sheepskin coat, his leather
driving gloves and wool cap with the pull-down earflaps tied firmly in
place.

Collins had recommended he dress in work clothes, hoping that would lend
credibility to his testimony before a jury of local citizens. He arrived
in town early enough that he was able to find a rare parking place near
the Mariposa entrance to Court House Park. He climbed out of his car,
buttoned his jacket against the bitter cold and walked disinterestedly
around the mountain of used shoes still being collected by the Red
Cross.

He paused at the decorative fountain for a drink of water, only to find
it still frozen.

Reluctantly Thomas proceeded on toward the front of the Court House. He
had been to the surrounding park for a number of entertainment events,
but had never had occasion to mount the formidable granite steps or
enter the somber, gray building.

Inside he found it teaming with people rushing every which way and
uncomfortably warm, even though it was being kept cooler than normal in
response to the wartime edict to conserve fuel.

He removed his cap and unbuttoned his coat and wandered through the
halls until he found the correct room. Hesitantly he pulled the door
open a crack to find it full of people chatting informally, some
standing, others sitting. His nostrils were assaulted by the
sinus-clearing odor of mothballs and wet wool.

He started to turn to leave when he heard someone call his name. It was
Collins motioning him to a seat at the front. The attorneyis friendly
demeanor and words of reassurance didnit do much to calm his
still-churning stomach, nor did the brisk handshake from Harrington when
he reached across the railing separating the principals from the
audience. Collins explained that the court was having its mid-morning
recess and that he had arrived just in time to appear as the first
defense witness. ithe prosecutoris been pretty brutal against Mister
Harrington, so we need all the help we can get, i he added.

Thomas sat down and the jury members started returning to their seats to
his left. His general feeling of discomfort increased when he observed
they all were older men, and all but two were dressed in business suits.
He was ready to bolt from the room when the bailiff called for order and
the judge entered and took his seat. In a moment, Thomas heard himself
being called to the witness stand and told to raise his right hand to be
sworn in by the clerk. Then Collins stepped before him.

Mister Oiroark, please state your name for the record.

My name is Thomas J. Oiroark.

And your occupation?

Er, Iim a farmerobut I used to be a banker. A few chuckles came from the
audience.

Would you describe your farm? i iwell, altogether we own sixty acres out
east of town, and weire leasing another forty. Most of itis in grapes,
some in peaches.

Sounds like a pretty sizeable operationoa lot of responsibility. Thomas
nodded.

The judge interrupted. iplease respond verbally Mister Oiroark for the
benefit of the record.

Yes sir.

Collins continued, imister Oiroark how long have you known the
defendant, Sean Harrington?

Oh, about seven years, ever since we moved here. Heis a friend of my
parents.

Youive always known him to be a good neighbor?

Yes sir. He and his family were very helpful when my father died, and
theyive helped harvest my crops.

You would describe him as a good family man, a loyal American citizen?

Absolutely.

Honest?

Yes.

Mister Oiroark, are you familiar with our countryis Bill of Rights?

Yes sir.

You know then that they are part of the Constitution and the law of the
land? i He answered affirmatively, although somewhat uncomfortably. He
could anticipate Collinsi next question.

Could you recite some of those rights for the benefit of the court?

Well, the reis the right of free speech, and freedom of the pressoand
the right to assemble, and to be safe in our homes.

Those are the ones I remember the most from school.

Then if our Constitution guarantees all of us these freedoms, why do you
suppose Mister Harrington stands before this court accused of treason? i
Thomas shrugged his shoulders. inot sure I know the answer. Maybe during
wartime weire not supposed to have

those freedoms? Maybe that new Espionage Law is more important than the
Constitution? i The audience began stirring and murmuring and the judge
rapped his gavel for order.

Collins continued, ii donit believe so, Mister Oiroark. But then thatis
part of what weire trying to determine with this trial and others like
it around the country. Almost as an aside, he turned toward the jury and
added, iletis just hope the Constitution wins.

The courtroom fell silent for a few moments as the defense attorney
reviewed his notes. Then he stepped over to a table in front of the
judgeis bench, picked up a pamphlet titled The Price We Pay and showed
it to Thomas.

You ever see this? i Thomas glanced at the publication and recognized it
as the one that Harrington had been distributing on draft registration
day. iyes, but I never read it.

Then permit me to read part of it. He opened it and, turning toward the
jury, recited the following: Conscription is upon us. The recruiting
officers are coming. They will take your sons and impress them into the
army. They will be shipped to the bloody quagmire of Europe.

Agonies of torture will rend their flesh, crack their bones and dissolve
their lungs. Black Death will be a guest at every American fireside.

Collins was quiet as several members of the jury squirmed in their
seats. Then he turned back to Thomas. imister Oiroark, earlier this
morning the prosecution established the fact that the defendant is
familiar with the restrictions of the Espionage Act. Why do you suppose
he would ignore that law and distribute this folder and speak against
the war? i He hesitated before responding, iwell, I understand two of
his brothers were killed in two different wars. I guess thatis a good
reason to believe that war is terrible.

And I can testify that he is right. With that statement, Collins pulled
up his right pant leg to expose a bandage wrapped around the length of
his calf. As the jury and audience strained forward for a better look,
he placed his foot on a chair and slowly unwrapped the bandage to expose
a long gaping wound.

The prosecuting attorney jumped to his feet to object, but the judge
ordered him to sit down and the defense attorney to continue.

Turning toward the jury Collins said, ii received this wound charging up
San Juan Hill with Teddy Roosevelt, and live had to endure constant pain
ever since. So I can assure this court that this little pamphlet is
accurate. War is an agony of torture that rends flesh, cracks bones,
dissolves lungs. Gentlemen of the jury, Mister Harrington has spoken the
truth and in our great democracy he should not be persecuted for that! i
The jury and audience sat in stunned silence. A few turned in their
seats, some glanced at their neighbors, others down at the floor.
Finally, the judge broke the silence, iyou have further questions for
this witness, Mister Collins?

No, your honor.

At the beckoning of the judge, the heavy-set, jowly prosecutor from the
District Attorneyis office arose ponderously from his seat, moved to the
center of the room and turned toward Thomas. igood morning, young man.

Mornini sir.

That looks like a very heavy jacket youire wearing, Mister Oiroark. You
cold?

No sir. It felt good outside, but itis warm enough in here.

Several in the audience chuckled.

Would you like to take it off?

Iim fine sir, thanks.

Would you please spell your last name for me? i Thomas looked perplexed
but replied, iuh, yes. Itis O, apostrophe, R O A R K.

Most people I know with that name spell it with a eui and add an eei on
the end.

Thomas shrugged, idonit know about that. I spell it the way my father
always did.

Maybe thatis the way the poor Irish spell it, the so called Shanty
Irish? i

Thomas bristled, but didnit respond.

The prosecutor turned and took a few steps toward the jury, then turned
back, ii believe you told the court youire a farmer, Mister Oiroark? i
Thomas nodded.

The judge interrupted, reminding him to respond verbally.

Yes sir.

The prosecutor continued, i and youire a neighbor of Sean Harrington, the
accused?

Yes.

And youive known him about six, seven years?

Uh huh.

You know then that he was born in Ireland?

Er, no sirobut I believe heis a citizo Just answer the question, Mister
Oiroark.

OK.

So that makes the accused an Irish-American, a hyphenate? i The
prosecutor turned toward the jury as he awaited an answer.

Guess thatis right. Thomas choked down the bile rising from his stomach.

The prosecutor turned back toward him. iwhere were you born, Mister
Oiroark?

Michigan.

And your father?

Ireland.

That means youire also an Irish-American? i Thomas bristled at the
prosecutoris half-smile and blurted out, iiim a full-blooded American,
Goddamnit! i The prosecutor jumped at the outburst and the judge,
reacting to laughing and stirring from the audience, rapped for order.
He admonished Thomas against further outbursts.

The prosecutor returned to the attack. ii believe you associate with a
young lady by the name of Brenda Stuckey, also a neighbor? i

Thomas, surprised at the reference to Brenda and sensing the direction
he was being taken, didnit answer until the judge ordered him to. He
responded with a reluctant eyesi.

The prosecutor continued, iso she also is a hyphenate, a
German-American? i Thomas could barely control his rising anger and the
judge again had to order him to answer. Glaring at the prosecutor
through clenched teeth he replied, imiss Stuckey is an American citizen.

The prosecutor ignored the response and moved a few steps closer to the
witness chair as he returned to the subject of Harrington. imister
Oiroark, I believe you understand the accused is charged with treason,
agitating against the war, and disloyalty to the government of the
United States?

Yes. The intense questioning, combined with the warmth of his heavy
jacket in the stuffy courtroom, was causing Thomas to sweat profusely.
But he refused to remove his jacket, feeling that would be a sign of
weakness in front of the prosecutor.

Have you ever heard the accused speak against conscription and the
draft? i He demurred before replying, idonit believe so.

The prosecutor stepped over to the evidence table, picked up the
pamphlet and waved it above his head. His voice rising angrily he turned
to Thomas, iyouive already indicated that you are familiar with the
scurrilous, seditious wording in this despicable publication.

Objection! i The judge recognized Collins, the defense attorney.

The prosecution is attempting to prejudice the jury by using the word
eseditiousi, your honor.

The judge instructed the prosecutor to confine himself to the language
of the pamphlet. After a pause, he again turned to Thomas, iare you
registered for the draft, Mister Oiroark?

No, Iim only eighteen.

You would register if you were old enoughothis folder would not deter
you? i

iabsolutely not! Ouh, yes I would gladly register. That folder wouldnit
stop me. The prosecutor suppressed a smile and Thomas, realizing he had
been tricked, clenched his fists.

So if you were drafted you would go, you would support Americais great
cause?

Certainly.

You wouldnit claim an exemption and hide out on your farm? i Thomas
didnit reply but turned red with anger and frustration and arose part
way from the witness chair. The prosecutor, hearing an angry murmuring
and stirring from the audience and apparently sensing he was pushing the
witness too hard, backed away a few steps and turned to a different
tack.

Mister Oiroark, you say you are familiar with the Espionage Act recently
passed by the Congress of the United States?

Yes.

You understand then that it is intended to punish anyone who makes false
statements about the war, or causes disloyalty, or obstructs military
recruiting?

Yes.

Have you ever heard Harrington speak against Liberty Bonds? i Thomas had
settled back in the witness chair but again squirmed uncomfortably. He
had never heard his neighbor actually speak on the subject, but had a
pretty good idea how he felt. He finally replied with a weak 'No'.

But you did witness him tearing one up, a five hundred dollar bond at
that? i Lamely, Thomas nodded affirmatively, and the judge again
admonished him to answer verbally. He realized he was not helping his
neighbor and silently berated himself for agreeing to testify.

And you did observe his house painted in yellow with the word eslackeri?
i This brought more stirring and mumbling from the audience, causing the
judge to again pound his gavel before Thomas could answer in the
affirmative.

iwere you aware the accused is a member of the Non- Partisan League?

I guess thatis right.

You know then heis against our capitalistic form of government and
undoubtedly a socialist in addition to being a traitor and agitator?

No! I never heard him--- Objection! Again the defense attorney was on
his feet, charging the prosecutor with trying to unduly influence the
jury.

This time the judge overruled and allowed the questioning to continue.

And since the defendant is opposed to capitalism he has no right to free
speech or the protection of his other civil liberties? i Thomas opened
his mouth to answer, then angrily realized there was no way he could
without hurting Harrington. The prosecutor grinned then with a touch of
sarcasm continued imaster Oiroark, you have indicated---i Thomas jumped
up angrily from the witness chair, shaking his fist and sputtering at
the prosecutor. iyou old bastard, donit try to put me down with that
emasteri crap. Iim a full-blooded American citizenoandoand live got
rights! i The prosecutor backed away, wide-eyed. The jury and audience
erupted in surprise and the judge rapped vigorously until he finally
could bring the courtroom back to a semblance of order.

The prosecutor, visibly shaken, turned to the judge. iyour honor, we
obviously have a hostile witness here. Would you please instruct--- I
donit need any damn instruction, just a little respect. Iim a grown man,
old enough to go fight for our freedoms, whichowhichois more than you
and the rest of your fat old friends here are ready to do. All you want
to do is destroy our freedoms. As he shouted breathlessly, Thomasi eyes
darted angrily from the prosecutor to the jury and back again.

When the tirade stopped, the dumbfounded judge again tried to assert
himself and restore order. The prosecutor stood aghast, not certain how
to respond or which way to turn. The jury members stared open-mouthed at
Thomas then each other, mumbling uncertainly.

He took a deep breath as he stepped down from the witness chair. ii hope
youire through with me because live had plenty of you. Ignoring a
mixture of gasps and murmurs, and a little timid applause, he strode
unseeingly from the courtroom.

He continued walking rapidly down the hallway until he heard the
courtroom door open and close behind him. He turned to see if someone
was following and was surprised to find Brad Simpson running toward him.
They shook hands warmly and Brad placed his arm over his young friendis
shoulder and steered him past the front door.

Come with me out the back way. Thereis a mob on the front steps waiting
to raise Cain with someone.

Thomas followed along asking, ijesus, what the hellis going on? iiiim
afraid you were set up. Thereis no way you could have helped Harrington.
The juryis mostly members of the American Protective League, and theyive
already decided heis guilty.

Guess I didnit help him any by blowing my stack.

Brad didnit respond but silently led him down some stairs into the
basement and out a back door. They exited into a large open lot that was
empty of people. Thomas paused to button his coat, pull the collar up
around his neck and put his cap and gloves back on. iman, live never
felt it so cold around hereoworse than when I was a kid in Michigan.

Brad did the same with his heavy wool topcoat and fedora and responded,
iyouire lucky youire still not living back there or in the east where
theyire having the worst winter on record.

People are freezing to death. And the reis a shortage of coal so some
people have been caught stealing it.

Thomas just shook his head as they started walking toward the center of
town and Brad continued, ithe cantonments are even worse. Bunch of guys
have died from pneumonia, influenza, meningitis, even the mumps.

Well, live read a little about it in the paper, but never imagined it
was that bad.

Brad replied bitterly, iitis actually worse, but then weire not supposed
to talk about it. Guess thatis what to expect when a war is run by a
bunch of amateurs.

They paused for traffic at Van Ness and Thomas stamped his feet against
the cold sidewalk. Brad asked, ihow about a cup of coffee, or maybe a
good stiff drink? i As Thomas nodded and they headed for the Hughes
Hotel, he turned to his friend, iman, youire a sight for sore eyes, but
what are you doing back in town?

The Committee for Public Information sent me here to observe the trial.
Iill be in town for a week, then theyire shipping me off to Paris.

France?

Yes. Iill be working in their headquarters, distributing American
propaganda all over Europe.

An empty feeling started churning in Thomasis stomach.

Once again it seemed that the world was passing him by. He felt he
should be doing something more toward the war effort.

At the hotel coffee shop, Thomas finally realized how shaken up he had
been when his hand trembled as he picked up a glass of water. Brad
recommended a beer to help settle his nerves, and they ordered
sandwiches.

Pensively, Thomas asked, ihow come Harrington didnit have a local
attorney?

No one would take the case. Afraid they would be labeled unpatriotic for
defending a dissenter.

Thomas shook his head as Brad continued, ithatis why the Non-Partisan
League paid for Collins to come here and try to defend him.

What is the league anyway?

Basically itis an organization of pretty radical farmers who are against
the war. Theyire strongest in the mid-west, especially North Dakota and
Minnesota. Theyire headed by a guy named A.C. Townley.

Thomas took a few satisfying swallows of beer before commenting, isounds
like the Wobblies.

ione difference is that my boss supports the League, primarily because
Townley promised to back the Wilson Democrats against all those
Republicans in the mid-west. Thatis why Iim here as an observer.

Pretty confusing.

Yeah. In the meantime your poor neighbor is caught in the middle.

Whatill happen to him?

Heill undoubtedly go to prison.

His poor wife and kids.

Pretty sad. And heis probably one of the lucky ones.

What do you mean?

This is going on all over the country, Tom. Some people are being
lynched, or tarred and feathered, bullwhipped. Lots of men have gone to
jail without the benefit of a trial.

Isnit that illegal?

Sure, but some courts have decided not to waste due process on what they
consider the wrong people.

The waitress delivered their order and Thomas took another swallow of
beer and chewed thoughtfully on his sandwich for a few moments. Then he
asked, igod, Brad, what is happening to our country?

I donit have an answer, my friend. But itis obvious we canit criticize
our government like us Progressives used to.

He responded with a wan smile.

Brad continued, iit also appears the Federal government will be a lot
more involved in running our lives, even after the war.

Howis that?

Well, it used to be that differences between liberty and license were
generally decided at the local level, usually by the propertied class.
Now the government is making those decisions.

Is it possible the government could become a threat to our freedoms, our
civil liberties?

Judging by that courtroom back there, it already has. And we
Progressives might be partly to blame.

My God, how? i iwe were always pushing for more regulation by the
Federal governmentointerstate commerce, pure food and drug laws, child
labor regulations. We sort of showed them the way.

And to think weire fighting a war to make the world safe for democracy.

But there may be some sunshine peeking through those clouds, too.

Yeah?

That attorney who got you to testifyofrom the Civil Liberties Bureau?

Guess he made about the best case he could for poor old Harrington.

Yes, and his organization and others like it are starting to make civil
liberties a broader national political issue. We might all benefit in
the long run.

Yeah, if we donit go to jail or get killed in the meantime! i Chapter
25.

When Emma disembarked from the railroad ferry in San Francisco that
foggy Thursday evening in December, she was surprised to find Bill Hardy
waiting at the gangplank. He greeted her effusively, bowed and kissed
her hand.

Mister Hardy, what a surprise. I didnit expect to see you until
tomorrow!

Just thought I would make it a little easier and safer for you to get to
your hotel, i he responded. ihope you donit mind.

Oh no, i she replied, feeling flattered in spite of a little tug of
apprehension.

I also was concerned about your finding a cab at night.

Sometimes I think itis rather risky for a woman alone.

You have a cab waiting? i she asked as they exited the ferry building
and walked toward the curb.

Hardy motioned toward a Cadillac limousine and liveried chauffeur
standing at the curb. ibetter than that, live hired a car and driver to
be at our disposal throughout your visit. If youill just give Henry here
your claim checks, heill pick up your baggage and bring it to the car.

Emma produced the checks from her purse. They climbed in and settled
into the warmth and soft leather seats and waited for the driver to
retrieve and load her bags. But with the door closed, she did not feel
comfortable but rather a deepening sense of entrapment and suspicion.

imy, I just love the smell and feel of leather, i she ventured, rubbing
her hand over the seat and trying not to sound nervous.

Yes, i he replied.

I imagine this is a very comfortable motor car to travel in, i she
continued.

Iim glad you feel that way because I thought we might take a little
drive this evening before going to the Palace.

Oh heavensowhere?

How about along the waterfront to Fishermanis Wharf, where we rode the
cable car the last time you were here? i She demurred. iiim sorry to
disappoint you, Mister Hardy, but I really would prefer to go directly
to the hotel.

Very well, Missus Oiroark. To the Palace, Henry, i he called to the
driver with a twinge of resignation in his voice.

During the short drive, they engaged in small talk about the weather and
the bright Holiday lights. After escorting Emma into the hotel, he
suggested they meet in the morning for breakfast and to schedule their
Red Cross planning sessions.

They wished each other good night in the lobby, with Hardy again kissing
her hand, somewhat to her discomfort. Then when she entered her room and
found the dozen red roses, her suspicions that he had more than the Red
Cross on his mind forced their way relentlessly into her consciousness.
She slept restlessly most of the night.

The following day dawned crisply with the windows popping as they
expanded and the morning sun burning through the shades in Emmais room.
She bathed and dressed, and promptly at nine oiclock descended to the
lobby to keep her rendezvous with Hardy. When she didnit find him, she
decided to step outside into the fresh air. After her eyes had adjusted
to the brightness, she noticed a man, some distance away with his back
toward her, talking heatedly with a shabbily dressed woman. It looked
like Hardy so Emma started walking toward him, then stopped, embarrassed
at the thought of intruding. She returned to the lobby.

In a few moments, Hardy entered the hotel, greeted her warmly and kissed
her hand. She observed that he was dressed rather casually for a
business meeting.

Missus Oiroark, i he enthused as he took her arm and escorted her into
the dining room, ithis beautiful morning has given me a splendid idea.

Yes, Mister Hardy, i she replied reservedly.

After breakfast, letis motor to the beach to conduct our meeting. We can
arrange for a picnic lunch and enjoy a very relaxing day away from this
stuffy old hotel.

The idea did sound very appealing to Emma, but she was still feeling
cautious. ioh, but Mister Hardy, Iim not properly dressed for motoring,
or for a picnic at the beach.

Thereill be plenty of time for you to go to your room and change after
breakfast. In fact, while youire doing that I could arrange for our
luncheon.

The pull of a day at the beach, tripping through waves in her bare feet
and letting the tangy salt air blow through her hair, was too strong for
her to resist. She remembered a single childhood visit to the ocean with
her parents many years before when all the cares of growing up seemed to
drift away on the wings of hundreds of seagulls and the strong arms of a
loving father protecting her from all earthly evils.

What do you say, Missus Oiroark, shall we make it a day to remember? i
Dreamily she responded favorably and after breakfast retreated to her
room to change into something more casual.

Hardy summoned the waiter and ordered a sumptuous picnic basket complete
with a well-chilled Chardonnay.

Later, as they motored away from the Palace, Hardy directed the driver
to head for the waterfront. They climbed the hill to Coit Tower for a
view of the city, then drove westerly past the Presidio, now ringed with
soldiers on guard. Contingents of recruits were visible through the
fence practicing close order drill or doing calisthenics. Hardy and Emma
continued on through Golden Gate Park, and out to the beach. Like
carefree teenagers, they grabbed the picnic basket, blanket and
umbrella,

left Henry to hover over the Cadillac, and gamboled barefoot off through
the cool sand.

By noon, they had found a partially sheltered area behind a sand dune
and spread out their blanket and umbrella and were plunging hungrily
into the picnic basket. Hardy had arranged for chicken sandwiches,
potato salad, pickles and olives and crisp apples for dessert. The Napa
valley Chardonnay rounded out their repast.

As they finished the last of the sandwiches and potato salad, they laid
on their backs loudly munching the apples and nursing the last of the
wine. Emma started admiring the puffy, amorphous clouds, floating across
the pale blue sky.

Oh look! i she cried, sitting up. ithat one looks like a little white
poodle.

Where? i He raised up on his elbows.

There, see. The head is facing right with the two little dark eyes, and
the reis the tail.

He strained to look, twisting his head one way then another.

Missus Oiroark, i he chuckled, ii do believe youive had too much wine.

She ignored his response and peered around the horizon.

Look over there, then. See the fluffy, gray cat? i He sat upright now,
his head spinning a bit from the wine, and turned around to look where
she was pointing. Again, he turned his head back and forth, and even
closed one eye, then the other. He glanced at Emma for a signal; was she
pulling his leg?

He decided to humor her.

Yes, I do believe youire right. I do believe that looks like a cat
alright, but I donit see any eyes.

No, poor kitty doesnit have eyes. But she does have soft, gray fur. See
how itis darker around the edges and lighter toward the center? i Hardy
wasnit sure at this point if she was being coquettish, or acting giddy
because of the wine, or was a little unbalanced mentally. But he was
certain that he was falling madly in love.

He longed to touch her but sensed that would destroy the moment. He laid
back down on the blanket, his hands clasped behind his head.

Didnit you tell me you visited here when you were a little girl? i he
asked trying to divert his mind from his rising passion.

Yes, with my father and mother. I must have been about six or seven.

What was the occasion?

Summer vacation, primarily for my mother.

She was ill?

She had lost a baby in childbirth a few months earlier. He would have
been my little brother.

Oh, Iim sorry. I didnit mean to bring up a sad subject.

I donit think my mother ever fully recovered, or father either. Still in
a sitting position, her knees pulled up, she leaned forward and absently
picked up a handful of sand and let it sift through her fingers.

What was your father like? i Emma hesitated, dreamy eyed, obviously
reaching back into fond memories. The was very strong, used to give me
rides on his shoulders, up high where I could see the whole world.

Sounds like a nice father.

Yes, and we played catch and he would take me to the circus and the
playground where I could ride the merry-go- round.

Did you have fun here at the beach?

Yes. Daddy drove us out from the city in a horse and buggy. We didnit
have motor cars in those days. And we built a fire on the beach to keep
warm and cuddled close in the buggy on the way back to our hotel.

Whereid you stay?

I donit remember. San Francisco didnit have as many big buildings in
those days and not as many people.

She became pensive again, her head down on her upturned knees, her eyes
sad, seeing something far away. Suddenly, she brightened and raised her
head, iletis go look for shells.

Shells? i iyes, seashells. She arose from the blanket and struggled to
stand up in the soft sand. Hardy jumped up to help her, then followed as
they ran barefoot toward the crashing breakers.

They paused at the wateris edge while she bent down to pull her
pantaloons above her knees and he rolled up his pant legs. She stepped
into the water first, reacting with a little scream, ioh, itis so cold!
i He nodded in agreement, caught his breath and shivered from the cold.
He wrapped his arms around his body for warmth.

I remembered it being much warmer.

You said that was in the summer. Itis winter time now, you know, i he
reminded her.

They started wandering along, heads down through the ankle-deep water
washing back and forth across the sand. In a moment, she bent down and
picked up a shell, partially hidden in the wet sand. ioh, itis broken.
She dropped it and continued on. He found the next one, an almost
perfect sand dollar, which he handed to her. They strolled along
wordlessly, timelessly until they had gathered about a dozen shells of
various sizes and shapes.

Hardy paused, straightened up and rubbed his back, sore from the bending
down. He looked out over the ocean toward the sun, its pale winter fire
slowly being extinguished as it settled into the cooling ocean. ii have
a suggestion, Missus Oiroark.

She paused in her searching, iyes?

Itis getting late. Why donit we return to the city and freshen up and go
to dinner? i She sighed her agreement. They walked back to gather up
their picnic things and returned to Henry dozing in the limousine. They
wiped the loose sand from their feet and shoes, snuggled into the back
seat and pulled the blanket around them to fend off the chill of the fog
curling in from the ocean. Hardy ordered the driver to return by way of
Twin Peaks to give them a breathtaking overview of the city lights as
they struggled to penetrate the encroaching dusk. Noting the wistful,
faraway look in Emmais eyes, he put his arm around her, and she laid her
head on his shoulder and began to doze. They returned silently to the
Palace.

Over dinner that evening, Emma again tried to return to business.
imister Hardy, when are we going to do our Red Cross planning?

Well, eer, how about tomorrow morning? i he stammered.

Sounds fine to me.

But I have another suggestion, Missus Oiroark. iafter finishing our
planning, letis take the ferry across the bay to Sausalito for lunch.

Oh my. Would we still have enough time?

Plenty. We can even make plans during the ferry ride an dover lunch if
we need to. And weill still be back in time for the opera and a late
supper.

Operaoi didnit realize---!i He smiled and reached across the table for
her hand. iiive been saving that as a surprise. I hope youill agree to
go.

Oh, but I didnit bring a proper dress. Wonit I need a formal?

We can take care of that very easily. Weill just stop by Gumps in the
morning and whatever you select will be ready by the time we return from
Sausalito.

She was too overwhelmed to respond. The thought of such a fun and
eventful day and evening sounded very appealing, but she began to sense
she was losing control in an unfamiliar situation. And hadnit her own
children reminded her there was no such thing as a free lunch? She
certainly was flattered, almost overwhelmed by so much attention from so
prominent a man as Bill Hardy, but what price would she be expected to
pay in return?

Before she could reply, he spoke again. iif youire concerned about the
cost of the dress, please donit be. I would be honored to put that on my
account in memory of a most enjoyable weekend.

Emma responded a little testily that the price of the dress did not
concern her. She tried to conceal her reservations by

indicating she had never been to an opera and wasnit sure she would
enjoy it.

Oh, but itis Alma Gluck in La Boheme. Sheis been singing all week to
capacity crowds.

Emma now sensed she already had allowed the weekend to go too far. She
agreed to Hardyis pleading and silently hoped she could bring his
exuberance under control before it was too late. They completed their
dinner and wound down the evening with a leisurely stroll back to the
hotel, admiring the bright lights and colorful Holiday decorations. She
returned to her room to find that the slightly tired roses had been
replaced by a large, sunny bouquet of yellow chrysanthemums.

The mums did not foretell the following day, which dawned cold and
foggy. But Hardy was a man in love and not about to be deterred by
weather. He showed up bright and cheery as ever for breakfast in the
hotel and somewhat to Emmais surprise, armed with a notebook to use in
their Red Cross planning. And further to her surprise, he had reviewed
in some detail the suggestions she had made for the December membership
drive.

These included a parade that would feature floats sponsored by civic and
fraternal organizations, several local bands, and girls from the Normal
School and Fresno High School dressed in Red Cross uniforms. Boys from
the schools would be marching and carrying flags.

The Saturday before Christmas would be declared Tag Day and some
seventeen booths would be set up on downtown street corners to sign up
new members. Anyone who paid at least a dollar would receive a bright
red ribbon for his or her lapel.

Church leaders already had agreed to designate the following day as Red
Cross Sunday and to plead for membership support from their pulpits. The
Fresno chapter was going to auction off a horse that had been donated to
the cause and expected to fetch at least two hundred dollars.

Hardy marveled at the extent of Emmais planning, made a few minor
suggestions, and reminded her that the Fresno chapter had been one of
the most active and successful among the one hundred fifty six under his
jurisdiction in the Pacific Division.

She felt particularly flattered when he expressed confidence that the
chapteris excellent record would continue under her chairmanship. Then,
politely but almost impatiently, he escorted her out of the hotel and
down the street to Gump's department store. Emma selected an exquisite
red satin, low-cut evening dress with a long flowing skirt and, trying
not to show her shock, wrote out her own check for thirty-five dollars
to pay for it. The sales lady assured her the few minor alterations
would be completed that afternoon.

The trip to Sausalito went uneventfully, primarily because the heavy fog
had settled over the bay, seemingly having a calming effect on its
normally choppy waters. The weather kept both of them confined to the
inside of the ferry and close to a warm fireplace during their luncheon.
They returned to San Francisco in the afternoon to find her dress ready,
and later that evening, arrived resplendently at the opera house. She
had a difficult time staying awake during Alma Gluckis long performance,
partly because she didnit understand the music and partly because the
busy two days were starting to wear on her.

But she came back to life during their late supper at Maximis
Restaurant, when Hardy finally decided to make his move. He reached
across the table and placed his hand on hers.

Emma jumped, ioh, Mister Hardy, you surprised me!

Iim sorry, Missus Oiroark, I just couldnit resist any longer. I find you
so beautiful. May I call you Emma?

Well, yes, that is my name.

I know, but I didnit want you to think I invited you to the City to take
advantage of you.

Thatis very thoughtful of you, Mister Hardy. Until this morning, I did
wonder if we were going to do any Red Cross work.

We did, didnit we? i She smiled in response.

He continued, iif Iim going to call you Emma wonit you please call me
Bill? i

iyes, Mister Harobill. They both chuckled.

He pulled her hand to him and kissed it warmly. Her face flushed and she
glanced around the restaurant to see if anyone was watching, then heard
him whisper, iemma, I donit mean to upset you but I am absolutely, madly
in love with you! i She gasped and blushed but couldnit find words to
respond.

Please donit be embarrassed, i he continued in a throaty whisper, ibut I
fell in love with you the first time I saw you at that meeting in
Fresno.

She tried to recall the meeting, but her mind was in too much turmoil to
focus on anything that remote. Finally, she stammered, imister
Hardyouhobill. I hope I havenit done anything to mislead you,
butobutoiim a widow! i She withdrew her hand from his.

He was momentarily taken aback by the incongruity of her remark, then
responded, iwell, Iim a widower, Emma. Is that a problem? i Feeling
defensive, she protested ibut my Alexander died just a few months ago.
You said your Martha died several years ago. ihardy, surprised that she
had remembered his wifeis name, hesitated before replying, ibut Emma,
does that mean you canit fall in love for some period of time, or even
return someone elseis love?

I donit knowoioi just donit know what to say. Youive got me so flustered
I just canit seem to think straight.

Iim sorry, i he said, again grasping and kissing her hand, then holding
it to his cheek. ii wouldnit upset you for the world. Perhaps we should
return to the hotel.

She nodded her approval and after he paid the check and summoned the
car, they returned silently to the Palace. As they wished each other
good night in the lobby, she reached up and kissed him tentatively on
the cheek. He responded with a weak smile.

When Emma returned to the security of her room and prepared for bed, she
mulled through mixed emotions. She had been very flattered by all of
Hardyis attention, but something was holding her back from responding in
kind. Was it really the memory of her dead husband, or just her natural
shyness. And what did she really know about Hardy and his past? Her mind
suddenly flashed back to that previous morning when she thought she saw
him on the street corner arguing with some strange woman.

By the next morning, after another sleepless night, she had decided she
didnit want to see him again that soon. She arose early, ordered coffee
and a Danish delivered to her room, bathed and dressed, and departed for
the ferry building to catch the morning train back to Fresno.

She had hardly settled into a seat on the ferry before self- doubt began
to take over. She felt guilty over leaving Hardy without so much as a
personal goodbye or thank you for his courtesy and hospitality, and yet
his declaration of love had surprised her and made her very
uncomfortable.

In her forty-six years, Emma had had very little experience in dealing
with men. She had enjoyed a close relationship with her father where he
had been the strong protector, the one who made decisions and plans for
their life together. He had made very few demands and was always
surprising her with little gifts and other expressions of his fatherly
love.

His death had devastated her, more so because of her limited
relationship with her mother. And when they moved back to Michigan, it
seemed to Emma that her motheris primary goal was to find her a husband.
This led to her marriage to Alexander, a man lacking in warmth and
closeness. He had never expressed his love for Emma in so many words or
deeds, certainly not like her father had, or like Hardy.

By the time the ferry had reached Oakland and as a porter helped her
transfer to the train, she concluded that she had responded rather badly
to Hardyis professions of love. She vowed that when she got home, she
would write him a letter of appreciation and apology. Perhaps Becky
would help her.

Several hours later, it was obvious to Emma as she stepped off the train
in Fresno and opened her umbrella against a drizzly Sunday afternoon
that something was wrong. She immediately noticed the somber faces and
black-dressed women and the men wearing black armbands. She started to
question someone when she spied Thomas and Becky waving and walking
toward her.

My goodness, what is wrong? i she asked as Becky gave her a welcoming
hug.

Jack Lewis has been killed, i Thomas blurted out in a choking voice.

Thatis terrible! What on earth happened?

Accident in one of those aeroplanes he was training in, i Thomas
muttered.

Oh my, I didnit realize he was doing that.

Becky responded, iwe didnit either, Mother. Apparently he had
transferred from his Guard outfit.

A stranger in a group next to them turned and confided knowingly,
iunderstand he was practicing landings at the Army flying school.

Killed outright, i another clucked.

Thomas, who didnit feel like sharing his grief over the loss of a
friend, suppressed his annoyance and nodded acknowledgment of the input.

Emma asked, ihow is his mother taking the news?

We hear the whole family is pretty broken up, i Becky replied.

So are a lot of other people, i Thomas added, gesturing toward the
somber groups clustered around them. ithe Lewises are well known in town
and now their son is our first war casualty.

Oh thatis so sad. I feel like we should do something, i Emma said.

Weire planning to go by their house to express our condolences, i Becky
said. iyou want to go with us?

Yes, maybe we should take flowers or something?

Weill stop at the florist on the way, i Thomas said as they collected
their motheris luggage from the baggage cart and guided her toward the
motor car.

They drove out Van Ness Boulevard to find a large crowd gathered at the
Lewis home. They parked and made their way

inside. There they found the Lewises, obviously very distraught, but
bearing up bravely under the tearful condolences of dozens of friends
and miscellaneous citizens who felt a sense of loss now that the reality
of the war had been brought to Fresno so suddenly.

After their short visit, Emma and her children motored home in silence.
They had learned that the funeral for Jack would be held the following
Wednesday, and that he would be buried in a temporary grave until the
new Memorial Park three miles northwest of town was completed and he
could be given a soldieris proper resting place.

On Wednesday, the Oiroarks, along with several hundred of their fellow
citizens, crowded in and around the Stephens & Bean funeral home for
Jackis service. Afterwards, they joined the cortege of motor cars and a
few horses and buggies wending their way to the burial site, where a
brief final ceremony was followed by a volley of rifle fire and the
mournful sound of taps, all provided by the local Army recruiting
contingent.

The whole affair profoundly affected Thomas. First of all, he was
annoyed and frustrated that the casket was not opened for the service.
While he understood the rationale, that Jackis body was too badly burned
and mangled for viewing, it left him with the empty feeling that he not
could offer his friend a proper farewell. Then, it was the first time he
had ever witnessed the pomp of a military funeral and it caused a
swelling in his throat and brought tears to his eyes. It forced to the
surface the growing feelings of guilt he had been unable to suppress in
recent weeks. He vowed that before long we would be doing more than just
raise food for the nationis army; he would become part of the army.

When the graveside service ended, Thomas and Becky walked back to their
motor car while Emma stayed behind to talk to a cluster of Red Cross
ladies, including Mrs. Gottlieb.

After a few minutes waiting patiently in the car, they noticed that the
group had moved along leaving their mother and Mrs.

Gottlieb talking to each other with some animation. Finally, Emma turned
on her heel and strode toward the car, obviously agitated.

Is something the matter, Mother? i Becky asked as she climbed into the
car.

Itis that Missus Gottlieb. Iid like to wring her neck! i Thomas glanced
quizzically at his mother arranging herself in the front seat beside
him, then he started the car and pulled away from the curb. He and Becky
remained quiet as Emma slumped in the seat, obviously struggling to
control her emotions.

Becky couldnit stand the suspense any longer. imother, what happened? i
Emma remained silent for a few moments, then blurted out, ithat ugly
woman had the nerve to discharge me.

What on earth do you mean?

Iim not in charge of the December membership campaign any more. She
appointed someone else.

Why, for Peteis sake? i her son asked. iyouive been making all the
plans, havenit you?

Apparently that doesnit mean anything. She said I was absent from last
Fridayis planning meeting, so she put another woman in charge.

But thatis when you were in San Francisco with Mister Hardy, i Becky
noted.

She said that didnit make any difference. In fact she said she
telephoned him long distance and he didnit care if she wanted to appoint
another chairman.

Well, so much for having friends in high place, i Thomas mused aloud.

So what did you say to Missus Gottlieb? i Emma hesitated, then replied,
ii told her I was quitting and she could just take her old Red Cross
andoando put it out of the sun! i Her children exchanged puzzled
glances. iwhat did you say, Mother? We donit understand, i Becky asked.

Their mother looked perturbed. iwell, Iim not sure. During Thanksgiving
dinner, one of the soldiers said he used that expression with one of his
instructors.

Becky and Thomas again looked confused, then started chuckling. imother,
i Becky said, ithe expression is estick it up where the sun donit
shinei.

Well, what does it mean? i Emma huffed, upset that she apparently had
missed an opportunity to properly tell off Mrs. Gottlieb.

Becky, glancing at her brother for moral support, stammered, iwell, itis
not very nice. Itouhomeans---i Thomas came to her rescue, iit means
stick it up your ass, Mother.

Emma gasped and clapped her hand to her mouth, ioh my heavens, did I say
that?

Well, not quite. The way you mangled it Iim not sure if she got the
message or not.

Would you like to go back and try again, Mother? i Becky teased.

No thank you, Iim satisfied. Besides, Missus Gottlieb has such a fat old
bottom she probably couldnit do it anyway! i Thomas and Becky looked at
their mother in surprise, and all three burst out laughing.

After returning his mother and sister to the farm, Thomas drove back to
town to meet Earl at Ah Fats, the dingy Chinatown saloon where they
occasionally saluted the trials and tribulations of another week and
tried to understand the women in their lives. This visit was special
because the saloon had been a favorite hangout for Jack Lewis, and his
two friends had decided at the funeral that it would be an appropriate
place to drink a toast or two or three to their departed buddy.

When they entered the bar around five oiclock, they had to pause inside
the door for their eyes to adjust to the thin light, making the room
even darker than the winter dusk settling outside. Eventually, they were
able to make their way to a table near the back, noting with disinterest
two or three men scattered along the bar and several others sitting at
tables. Earl ordered a

shot of whiskey for each of them since that had been Jackis favorite
liquor.

They clinked their glasses together in a silent salute and downed the
burning liquid. As Thomas was trying to catch his breath, the more
experienced Earl chased his shot with a swallow of water, adding, iman,
thatill clean out your pipes.

Thomas followed suit by drinking a whole glass of water.

Guess we wonit be able to enjoy that much longer, i Earl observed.

Whyis that?

The Senate just passed that damned Prohibition amendment.

Whatill that mean?

No more booze. Nobody will be allowed to make it or sell it. isounds
pretty tough.

Yeah. But a bunch of states will have to ratify it first. So maybe we
can still enjoy it for a while. Earl signaled the waiter for another
whiskey while Thomas opted for beer.

When their orders arrived, Earl pointed to Thomasi bottle.

Wonit be enjoying that much longer either, now that Wilsonis signed that
law regulating beer.

Canit be stronger than two-point something, i Thomas acknowledged. He
put the bottle to his lips and let some of the cool beverage gurgle down
his still-burning throat.

Probably taste like horse piss, i Earl added before swallowing his
second shot and shuddering in appreciation. In a few moments, they both
ordered more beer and turned to reminiscing and laughing over some of
their favorite activities with their departed friend.

As the evening wore on and Ah Fatis got noisier, their attention was
drawn to three soldiers sitting two tables away between them and the
door. The solders were contributing more than their share of the noise
and Thomas and Earl began to hear words like eslackeri and emamais boysi
and to realize that they were being talked about.

Finally, one of the soldiers turned directly toward them and shouted,
ihey, farm boys, you pick us some of them raisins today? i The two
friends looked at each other and tried to ignore the question. But
another soldier took his turn. iyou boys wouldnit be slackers, would
you? i he asked boozily.

The first soldier turned to the second, ithey ainit slackers, dummy,
theyire farmers making lots of money while we fight Germans.

Hell, for all we know, they might be a couple of them German hyphenates.
Understand a bunch of eem live around here.

Thomas and Earl could see the situation was getting out of hand, so they
paid their tab and started for the door.

Hey look, the slackers is leaving, i a soldier yelled, rising unsteadily
from his chair. He lunged toward Thomas, who reacted instinctively,
swinging his right arm and fist against his attacker and knocking him
sprawling across the floor. The second soldier started to stand up, but
Earl was too quick. He slammed his doubled-up fists down on top of the
soldieris head, sending a shock along his spine that left him
momentarily paralyzed and slumped over the table.

But the third soldier was on his feet and swinging at Thomas with both
fists as the first one staggered to his feet, grabbed one of the
cane-back chairs, and started after Earl. Thomas was swinging back at
his assailant with mixed results when his mind flashed back to PJis
attack on von Karman. He stepped back and delivered a mighty kick to the
soldieris groin, sending him reeling into the corner doubled up and
groaning with pain.

Thomas then turned to help his friend but could see that he didnit need
any. Earl had managed to duck under the swinging chair to launch a
flying tackle that sent both fighters crashing into the corner. Before
the soldier could recover, Earl had his hands around his throat in a
strangle hold that Thomas couldnit break. He grabbed a glass of water
from the table, dashed it in his friendis face and pulled him back into
a sitting position on the floor. They sat there briefly, catching their
breath and eyeing the fallen soldiers.

You know what, Earl? i Thomas asked, massaging his sore hands.

What?

For a fat guy, youire sure a hell of a fighter.

Earl chuckled, iat least I fight clean. I never kicked anyone in the
balls like you just did.

Thomas grinned, iguess that comes from my hyphenate background. He took
a few deep breaths before continuing, ibut I tell you what, Old Buddy.
If we got this much fight in us we oughta be tackling Germans.

Yeah. Didnit realize I had so much pent up anger. Guess we better go
after the real enemy.

I been thinking about joining the Marines.

Sounds good to me. They shook hands and eased themselves up from the
floor, massaging their sore hands and muscles. They gave the bartender a
couple dollars to help pay for damage, returned to Thomasi car, and
drove back across the Southern Pacific tracks into downtown Fresno
searching for the Marine Corps recruiting office. They found it closed
for the evening, but made a solemn pledge to return the next day.

Chapter 26.

Thomas was struggling with mixed emotions as he drove back to the farm
after he and Earl had enlisted at the Marine Corps recruiting office.
Although his self-confidence had been bolstered by his friendis
reassurance, he had never made such an important decision before in his
young life. On the one hand, still reveling in the camaraderie of the
recruiting sergeant, he was feeling pretty proud of what he had done. On
the other he felt twinges of self-doubt over an unknown future that
could severely test his manhood and bravery in the bloody, brutal
trenches of a foreign land. Finally, he had to face up to telling his
mother and sister, and deciding what to do about the farm.

He was still wrestling with these thoughts and emotions as he turned
into the family driveway. He parked the car under the sycamore and
walked back to check the mailbox beside the road.

He found several miscellaneous Christmas flyers, one of his motheris
magazines and, to his surprise, a letter addressed to him and postmarked
from Bakersfield. Recognizing Lillianis feminine handwriting, he tore
the envelope open to read the following:

Bakersfield, Calif.

December 12, 1917

My dear Thomas: I do hope you wonit tear up this letter before you read
it because it represents my first feeble attempt to apologize for that
frightful ending to such a lovely weekend. I also owe you an apology for
fibbing about my marital status. Guess I was just too afraid that if I
told the truth I would never see you again.

When I first met you on the train to Washington, I was on my way to tell
Nick that I wanted a divorce. Then when I got back home, I wrote to let
him know that I had actually filed papers.

He said he agreed with my decision and didnit seem particularly upset.
After all, weive never had much of a life together with him being away
in the Army all the time. And we never did seem to enjoy each otheris
company, at least not the way you and I did. At any rate, he now seems
to have accepted the fact that we are finished and has gone back to his
real love.

I now have signed up with the Red Cross Nursing Corps and volunteered
for service in France. My heart no longer was with the Mercy Hospital
when I realized there soon will be an overwhelming need for medical
people overseas.

Then when my mother decided to move back to Texas and several of my
nursing friends signed up, my decision became very easy.

Weive been very busy with our training classes and will leave for Los
Angeles tomorrow to organize a field hospital unit.

This will include doctors and nurses, tents and beds and all the
surgical and medical equipment needed to set up a complete hospital. No
one seems to know how long it will take us to get ready, but the rumors
are that we will be transferred to the East Coast by late February or
early March, then shipped overseas.

Again, Thomas, I do hope you will accept my apology and that we will
meet again sometime soon. I do think of you often and will always
cherish our few moments together.

Hopefully we will see each other again after the war, if not sooner.

Love, Lillian Thomas stood by the mailbox reading and re-reading the
letter until he realized it was getting too dark to see.

Despondently, he folded it and stuck it in his jacket pocket as he
walked toward the house.

He found his mother and sister just sitting down to supper.

He washed up, went to the stove to ladle himself a bowl of vegetable
soup and joined them at the table. Since this was a meatless Tuesday, as
decreed by the Food Administration, the soup and chunks of rye bread
would comprise their evening meal. ino butter? i he asked, reaching for
bread.

Not today, i Becky replied, iweire being patriotic.

Emma spoke up, ibut weill have a bigger meal tomorrow with chicken and
everything.

iwe do have custard for dessert, i Becky added.

They continued eating in silence until Thomas spoke, iwell, live decided
to be patriotic too. Earl and I have joined the Marines. Emma gasped and
looked at him wide-eyed, her mouth agape in disbelief and shock. Becky
responded with ioh my goodness! i Silence followed until he continued,
isorry to be so blunt about it. I just couldnit think of any way to---i
Emma interrupted, her voice almost hysterical, ibut why now, whyoerowhat
will we do about the farm? Why would you give up your farmeris
exemption? i Becky joined in, icouldnit you wait until they start
drafting eighteen year olds? i His mother fell silent, her mind roiling,
her eyes darting back and forth as if looking for answers. She couldnit
comprehend why her son would want to leave her protective wing, why he
would want to give up the important work of providing food for the war
effort.

Iim sorry Mother. Thereis probably nothing I can say to help you
understand. I guess itis just something a guy has to do. iibut why now?
i she asked weakly. She had removed a hanky from the pocket of her
housedress and was dabbing at the tears welling up.

He hesitated pensively before replying. iguess Iim starting to feel too
much like a slacker, like Iim not doing my part. He smiled weakly and
added, ilike the posters say, I believe my country needs me now.

Why the Marines, Thomas? i Becky inquired, trying to divert her motheris
line of questioning.

I believe theyill give me the best training.

Emma wasnit being diverted. iwhat on earth will we do with the farm?
Becky and I canit handle it by ourselves. She was really starting to cry
now and blew her nose lustily into her hanky.

Seems like you should be able to handle everything with PJis help, i he
answered, trying to ignore his motheris crying.

Becky added, ii understand heis found a Mexican family now to help full
time.

Yes, i her brother replied, iweive put them up in that old house on the
new forty acres. Thereis a father and mother and four kids, so they
should be pretty helpful come harvest time.

Yeah, as long as they donit take off for Mexico like all the others.

The fatheris too old for the draft, so donit think theyill do that,
especially since they can make more money here.

But can we afford them? i his sister asked.

I sure hope so. PJ promised them two dollars a day plus whatever extra
food we can provide. You should be able to make that back by not having
to hire extra help next spring and summer.

Emma had gotten her crying under control and fell silent as Thomas,
prompted by his sister, continued discussing details of pruning,
weeding, watering and harvesting the crops for the coming year. She also
asked for information on the financing that would be needed for the
upcoming season, who to contact at the bank, and how and when PJ and the
Mexican family were to be paid. She also suggested that the foremanis
pay should be raised to six dollars a day because of the extra
responsibility he would have to assume in her brotheris absence. Thomas
was a little surprised, albeit comforted, by Beckyis growing interest in
the farm.

Their mother stirred listlessly at the soup turning cold in her bowl and
remained silent during their discussion. She rejected their efforts to
bring her into the conversation, responding only with an occasional nod
or shrug of her shoulders. Finally, she arose and sighed, ithomas, I
just donit know what Iim going to do. I canit understand why you would
do this to me.

Iim not doing it to you, Mother. Iim doing it for me. I couldnit live
with myself after the war if I didnit feel I had done my part.

Maybe itis something us women arenit supposed to understand, Mother, i
Becky suggested.

Emma ignored their comments. With a profound sigh she announced that she
didnit feel well and was going to bed.

Becky went to the ice box for custard, brought a dish to her brother,
then turned suddenly and disappeared into her bedroom, closing the door
behind her.

Thomas ate his dessert in silence and when he finished, carried the
dirty dishes to the sink and put the remaining soup and bread in the
icebox. Then he became concerned about his sisteris sudden departure,
went to the door of her bedroom and tapped lightly. He heard a muffled
response and opened the door a crack to find her lying on the bed with
the light still on.

She was on her side to favor her protruding belly, and her head was
buried in the pillow.

Becky, you OK? i he called out.

He could barely make out her response, a mumbled iuh huh. The sat down
on the side of the bed at her back and put his hand on her shoulder,
iyouire not sick, are you?

No, just sadoandoand worried.

He gently pulled her to a sitting position and put a brotherly arm
around her as she nestled her head on his shoulder. He could see from
the damp pillow that she had been crying.

Youire not worried about me, are you?

Yes, and usoandoand what the war might do to us.

Well, you can just stop worrying because I know everythingis going to be
OK How can you be so sure? i She picked up her hanky and blew her nose.

Trust me. I just know.

Sure hope youire right. I couldnit stand to lose another brother.

And I canit stand it when my big sister cries.

They were quiet for a few moments, then she asked, iwhen will you have
to leave?

Not until after---i He was interrupted by the phone ringing, went to the
kitchen and picked up the receiver to hear Brendais voice.

ihello, Thomas, what are you doing?

Um, nothing. Just finished supper.

Havenit seen you since Thanksgiving. Whereive you been?

Just working. He toyed with the idea of telling about his enlistment,
but she interrupted.

You feel like going for a drive?

Now?

Yes.

He paused for a moment, thinking he detected a little anxiety in her
voice, wondering about her sudden interest in getting together.

Thomas?

Uh, OK. Iill pick you up in about half an hour.

His sister had come into the kitchen to inquire about the phone call.
When he hung up, they decided to wash the evening dishes. After
rebuilding the fire and making sure she would be comfortable for the
evening, he pulled on his winter jacket and wool cap and strode out into
the dark, cold night. He drove east toward the Stuckey farm then as he
slowed to turn into their driveway, his headlights caught the reflection
of Brenda waiting beside the road. He pulled to a stop and reached
across to open the door. iwhy are you standing out here in the cold. I
was going to drive up to the house.

Brenda eased into the seat, closed the door, pulled her coat tight
around her shivering body, and stuffed her cold hands into her pockets.
ii couldnit stand it in there any longer, Thomas. I just had to get out.

He shifted into gear and eased the car back onto the road, continuing
east.

Whatis the matter?

Everything. The war has ruined everything for us.

Like what? i She continued to tremble against the cold air seeping in
around the caris side flaps. Steering with one hand, he reached into the
back seat to retrieve a heavy wool motoring blanket and helped her tuck
it around her legs and upper body.

iweire prisoners, Thomas, prisoners in our own home.

Weire afraid to go any place because weill be booed or harassed for
being German-Americansohyphenates. Mama and Papa wonit even go to the
market, and no one will hire me to work for them anymore. I havenit been
to a picture show for over a month.

God, I had no idea.

And Christmas is ruined, too. It used to be so much fun when my
relatives and their children came over and weid open presents and Papa
would play his accordion and weid sing carols.

He just shook his head as she continued. imama wouldnit even make
pfeffernusse or honigkuchen this year.

Whatis that?

Cookies.

Thatis too bad.

And Papa wouldnit fix up the Christmas room, said it was too much
trouble.

A special room?

Yes, the parlor. Thatis where Mama and Papa would put the tree and gifts
and keep it locked until Christmas Eve. Then weid all march in together
and sing O Tannenbaum.

Her description was starting to bring back painful memories for Thomas.
He was pensive for a few moments before responding, iour family never
did that much for Christmas.

Sometimes we were lucky to have a tree, let alone gifts. And a couple
times we spent Christmas Eve waiting for father to come home drunk from
some saloon.

They both fell silent, staring ahead into the dark night, hardly
noticing the odd shapes and shadows barely outlined by the caris
headlights. Brenda spoke again, ithe war has changed Emil, too,
especially since the sheriff put him in jail. He carries a loaded gun
now whenever he goes into the field.

Guess he got through his jail time OK?

Just barely. The other prisoners beat him up a couple times and the
sheriff didnit do anything to stop them.

Heard anything from Ivan? i iyes. Heis going through basic training in
some camp in Texas. I donit think heis enjoying it very much.

Thomas was silent as she changed the subject. ii guess you heard that
von Karman is being deported. Reverend Geschler too? iiyou mentioned
that at Thanksgiving. How about poor old Harrington? The judge gave him
ten years in prison.

Brenda didnit acknowledge the information but, seemingly wrapped up in
her own worries, continued, i and now the Post Office has stopped
delivering the German-American newspaper so Mama and Papa are cut off
from news of the war.

They canit read the regular newspaper? i She shook her head, inot very
well. Sometimes I read it to them.

Thomas, not knowing what to say, drove along in silence.

Brenda, gradually warming up under the blanket, began to relax.

Finally he asked, iwhere you want to go?

How about the river, just a little way further? i His mind returned to
his enlistment and he decided to break the news. He was surprised that
she didnit react for a moment, then with a little chuckle, responded,
iso now youire going to be shooting Germans, maybe some of my relatives.

Hadnit thought of it that way. I just got tired of feeling like a
slacker.

Iim sorry, Thomas. I shouldnit have said that. Guess Iim more bitter
than I realized. But Iim really very proud of you.

She reached over and patted his knee.

They had reached the Kings River and he pulled off the road under a
large oak tree, turned off the headlights, and cut the engine. Although
the limited mid-winter runoff from the High Sierras had reduced the
river to a shadow of its raging summer output, they still could hear it
burbling softly over the rocks below.

Impulsively, mostly in sympathy, he put his arm across her shoulder and
pulled her closer. She responded warmly, first snuggling against his
shoulder, then rubbing his knee and thigh.

He kissed her lightly on the cheek. She reacted by tipping her head up
and they kissed firmly, passionately. She moved her hand inside his coat
and started rubbing his chest and stomach.

As he started to become very aroused, she whispered in his ear.

Why donit we move to the back seat?

Huh? Oh, OK.

They struggled out of their heavy coats and wrapped them around their
upper bodies as they settled into the rear seat. He put his arm across
her shoulders again and they resumed their kissing. He slipped his hand
under her coat, unbuttoned her blouse, and felt the warmth and fullness
of her brassiere. He lowered his head to kiss the soft concave of her
throat.

Abruptly, she lifted his head up and pushed him back into a semi-prone
position in the corner of the seat. She reached down and unbuttoned his
pants and freed his hardness from the constraints of his underwear, then
lifted her skirt and struggled out of her bloomers. She moved astraddle
him and, with a little squeal, eased herself down on his erection.
Rocking gently back and forth, she pulled her sweater off over her head
and reached around to unhook her bra, releasing her firm, round breasts
right in Thomasi face.

Brenda moved up and down more determinedly, moaning with ecstasy as he
caressed her breasts and slipped deeper inside her. She let out a little
scream when he exploded, then continued her movements and moaning for a
few more seconds.

Finally, her passion spent, she laid down on his chest and snuggled her
face into his neck. He reached down to the floor and pulled the blanket
over them, and they fell blissfully asleep.

When he awoke in about an hour, a cramp in his neck from his awkward
position in the seat, Thomas could feel his tumescence returning and
realized he was still inside Brenda.

She awoke and they resumed their lovemaking, this time taking longer to
reach a climax. She kissed him gently on the cheek and asked softly,
ihow did you like your Christmas present? i He grinned, ibest I ever
had.

She frowned, ibest present, or best love making?

Both, i he smiled, kissing her softly on the lips.

Just remember, it has to last you etil the waris over.

iok.

I donit want you fooling around with those French girls.

Just hope I didnit give you a present in return.

What do you mean?

I didnit use a rubber.

Donit worry, I took care of it. He looked puzzled, but didnit question
her.

Reluctantly they pulled apart, dressed and returned to the front seat.
She gathered the blanket around her shoulders and legs and cuddled up to
him as he started the car, backed away from the river and quietly headed
for home.

In a few minutes, she broke the silence, iiim sure proud of you, Thomas,
and my brother too.

Whyis that?

For deciding to serve.

Just hope Iim doing the right thing.

Are you afraid?

Of what?

Dying or being wounded.

He was pensive before replying. ii havenit thought much about that. I
sure wouldnit want to die or be badly wounded.

Guess Iill just have to face that when the time comes.

She reached to tuck the blanket more tightly around her legs and upper
body and stared silently into the night. When she spoke again, she
sounded reflective, almost like she was talking into the darkness.

It seems like women have to endure all the depressing part of war, all
the sadness and loneliness. Nothing to do but wait for their men to come
home.

He didnit respond, and she continued, ii guess war is one thing that
women never have been able to participate in, maybe never will.

His mind flashed back to Lillian and her nursing, then to his mother and
her Red Cross work and he asked, iyou ever thought about the Red Cross,
or maybe studying nursing? i She didnit reply but sat up as he slowed
the car and turned in at the Stuckey farm, now completely dark except
for a single bulb burning on the porch. She insisted on getting out by
herself, so he kissed her goodbye and watched in the headlights until
she was safely inside the house. He drove home to the cold bunkhouse and
crawled into bed. It was past midnight.

Thomas arose the next morning to break the news of his enlistment to PJ
and start making arrangements for his departure.

Technically, he and Earl had only applied to enlist. They would still be
free men until the day after New Years when the Marines would transport
them to the Mare Island Navy Base near Vallejo for their formal
enlistment ceremony and four weeks of basic training.

He motored into town that week to do his Christmas shopping. For his
sister, he purchased a pretty new spring dress and bonnet. He had
determined that he didnit want to buy the obvious baby things, but
rather something frilly and feminine she could enjoy when her pregnancy
was over. This purchase was made with some difficulty since the stores
were all displaying winter clothes, but he finally found a sales lady
willing to dig something out of storage. For his mother he bought a book
on the feminist movement and two new records for her Victrola.

When he returned home from shopping, his mother was waiting for him with
that look of hurt mixed with defrance she sometimes assumed and that he
quickly recognized and tried to ignore. ihi Mother, what is up? i She
replied brightly, iiive taken a job.

He frowned, iwhat do you meanowhat kind of job?

At the bank.

Which bank?

The First National. Because of the war theyire having trouble finding
help. Mister Johnson asked me several weeks ago if I would be
interested. So I telephoned him this morning and said I would do it.

Thomas was getting frustrated and annoyed. igood grief, Mother, you
donit know anything about banking. Youive never even kept books for the
farm! i imister Johnson said he would start me as an assistant teller
and train me, i she replied, raising her voice defiantly.

Becky, who had been resting in the bedroom, joined them.

Whatis all the discussion about?

Mother says sheis taken a job at the bank.

Sounds interesting, i Becky said without commitment.

My God, the two of you are ganging up on me, i he yelled in frustration.
iwho the hellis going to run the farm while Iim gone?

Not me, i Emma replied.

He clenched his fists, trying to control his mounting anger.

Mother, for Godis sake stop talking nonsense. It was your idea that we
take on all that extra acreage. Whois going to manage it if youire
working in town?

How about me? i Becky asked plaintively.

Emma looked at her daughter in surprise and Thomas instinctively glanced
at his sisteris expanding belly. ithat would be great, Sis, but it looks
like youive already got enough problems to worry about.

My pregnancy shouldnit be a problem. Now that live gotten over the
morning sickness Iim doing fine. The Mexicans and PJ are doing all the
hard work, and he doesnit seem to mind taking orders from me.

Thomas smiled at his spunky sister, reached over and patted her knee in
approval. He had to admit that starting with the fall harvest, she
indeed had seemed to take an unusual interest in the farm. She had
expanded the family garden, made new curtains for her bedroom and was
sewing a patchwork quilt. She also had been doing most of the cooking
and housework. Most importantly, she had been demonstrating a strong
interest in cultivating and marketing the farmis crops.

He decided to test her, ihow will you know when to prune the vines, or
how often to water?

Well, if itis anything that PJ or I canit figure out, Iill call that
Mister Mardikian at the Farm Bureau.

Who? i Emma asked.

iheis the man who helped us when we found the dead vines on the new
acreage. He said to call any time we need help, thatis what the bureauis
for.

Thomas turned back to his mother. iit looks like you win, Mother. When
do you start the new job?

The day after New Years.

He smiled at his mother and sister. ihate to admit it but guess Iim
pretty proud of both you. Inwardly he wondered if life would ever by the
same after the war was over.

The holiday period, unseasonably cold and foggy even for the Fresno
area, passed quickly for the Oiroarks. The cheerfulness normally
associated with the season was overshadowed by the imminence of Thomasi
departure and the news that the countryis first soldiers had been killed
or taken prisoner during a German trench raid against the First
Division.

Over one million young American men now were away from their homes and
families, scattered around the country in training camps.

On Christmas day, the Oiroarks exchanged gifts and had a quiet dinner.
On New Yearis eve, they went to bed early without so much as a drink to
celebrate the beginning of an uncertain year. Emma spent a good deal of
the period holed up in her room playing her Victrola. Becky, her life
already circumscribed by the new life lustily kicking inside her, was
racked by unusual feelings of self-doubt. Could she really manage the
farm without the support of her brother or seven her mother? Would PJ
actually take orders from a woman? And how well could she handle
motherhood?

The morning of Thomasi departure, also Emmais first day at the bank, the
threesome motored quietly into town. They were joined at the railroad
station by Earl and his parents and younger brother. Somewhat to Thomasi
surprise, Brenda was there, standing quietly alone in the background.
The recruiting sergeant assembled Thomas and Earl and four other
recruits and their well wishers for introductions, and spent a few
minutes assuring family members that their sons had made the right
choice in joining the Marines. Then he pulled Thomas to one side.
imister Oiroark, i he asked, iyou know your mother came to see me last
week?

Why?

Well, first she claimed you hadnit graduated from high school.

Thatis not true! I didnit attend the graduation but I completed---i The
sergeant interrupted, ii know, you showed me your diploma. But she still
tried to get me to cancel your enlistment.

What did she say?

Told me if you left there would be no one to run the farm.

Thatis not true either, i Thomas snapped. iwe have a full time foreman
and a Mexican family, and my sisteris quite capable.

The sergeant glanced toward the pregnant Becky with a doubtful look.
iwell, itis your decision Mister Oiroark. Weive been visited by more
than one mother, wife or sweetheart, but we have to leave the final
decision up to you.

live decided. Iim ready to go.

The conductor was calling eall Aboardi so Thomas turned and gave his
mother a quick, listless hug. He then stepped over to Brenda and hugged
and kissed her on the cheek. He returned for a warm, exuberant kiss from
his sister, then picked up his valise and strode arm and arm with her
toward the train.

I love you Thomas, i she said. the careful and try not to worry about
Mother and me. He responded with a wan smile, turned to wave at his
mother and Brenda, and stepped aboard.

As the train eased out of town and gathered speed through the flat,
dreary frost-covered countryside, Thomas soon became despondent. He had
always found this time of year depressing in the valley. The dormant,
leafless trees with their spindly limbs and the dark, twisted trunks of
the grapevines appeared to be worming back into the black earth in the
throes of death. The cold, omnipresent fog squatting over the pall of
blue-gray smoke

and odor of coal oil from the farmersi annual burning of pruned
deadwood, seemed to eat through the warmest clothes right into oneis
ribs and bones.

He barely noticed as the sergeant and the rest of the brood arose from
their seats and headed for the parlor car. He declined the invitation to
join them and slumped in his seat as the train rolled inexorably through
the dreary environment. He soon was asking himself if he really had done
the smart thing by enlisting, or whether he should have waited to see if
he were drafted in the spring. Maybe he should be staying home to manage
the farm and look out for his pregnant sister, especially now that their
mother had taken a job. After all, even President Wilson had stressed
the importance of producing food for the countryis burgeoning war
effort.

But he was not to be allowed to harbor such self-doubts for long. Like a
mother hen, the recruiting sergeant could recognize a stray chick when
he saw one, and he soon returned to bring Thomas under his wing. He had
heard about his and Earlis infamous bar fight and knew they were the
type that made good Marines. Physically strong and mentally bright, they
were just the right kind of raw material that could be molded into an
elite team. The sergeant sat down across from him, and inquired casually
of his well-being. Thomas shrugged his shoulders non- commitally and
subconsciously straightened up from his slouch.

He had already found the tall Marine a tough man to ignore in his forest
green uniform with the tunic sleeve chevrons and chest of colorful
ribbons, sharply pressed pants with the stripe down the side, and
brightly-polished shoes.

As the sergeant silently pulled out a little cloth sack of Bull Durham
and packet of paper and started rolling a cigarette, Thomas watched out
of the corner of his eye, trying to appear insouciant. He tried not to
notice as the sergeant carefully curled the thin paper around a finger,
lightly tapped it full of tobacco, closed the yellow sack strings with
his teeth, rolled the paper edges together and sealed it with a swipe of
his tongue.

When he stuck the tightly rolled cigarette in his mouth, reached under
the seat to scratch a match to life and blew the first puff of sweetish
blue smoke into the air, Thomas was captivated.

He accepted the proffered makings and like any first-timer trying to
roll a smoke, especially in the rocking and lurching of a speeding
train, he fumbled badly. He spilled most of the first tap of tobacco in
his lap and found that he was all thumbs when he tried to close the
limp, half-full paper. Grinning, the sergeant reached for the Bull
Durham and patiently guided his new recruit through the intricacies of
rolling his own. He scratched another match and reached across the seat
to light Thomasi first smoke.

Then, with Thomas puffing awkwardly and trying desperately not to cough,
they sat back sharing his initiation into the brotherhood of men at war.
The sergeant segued smoothly into an hour-long dissertation on the proud
history of the corps and their determination to lead the countryis fight
against the heinous German war machine. Thomas soon was feeling much
better. He even joined the sergeant and others in a few ribald jokes,
and followed that up by choking his way through one of the big Cuban
stogies that Earl was passing around.

Still later, after four weeks of basic trainingoof incessant marching,
close order drill, manual of arms, rifle practice, calisthenics, guard
duty and KPOThomas still wasnit certain he had made the right decision.
But he was too busy nursing sore muscles to care much any more. He was
well on his way to becoming another tough Marine.

Chapter 27.

Thomasi introduction to Sergeant Macbride was not very auspicious. He
and Earl and about one hundred other Marine boots had undergone a
tedious four-day train ride from the basic training camp at Mare Island,
then had disembarked in a pouring rain at the advance Marine Training
Facility near Quantico, Virginia. They had been standing in front of
their barracks for over an hour and were getting thoroughly soaked as
they underwent inspection and the formality of being separated into
squads and platoons.

As Thomas and Earl and five others finally were assigned to a squad,
Sergeant Macbride stepped forward to call them to attention and
introduce himself. He then proceeded to inspect each recruit one at a
time until he stood in front of Thomas, whose patience had worn mighty
thin.

Sergeant, i he spoke up.

Yes private.

Weive been standing in the rain for over an hour, Sir.

Good observation, soldier.

Weire getting pretty wet, Sir. Couldnit we be dismissed to the barracks?

You donit like rain, soldier?

Not especially.

Beg your pardon? i Thomas realized he had forgotten the military
etiquette he had been taught in boot camp. ino Sir! i he corrected
himself.

It rains a lot in France, soldier. What do you plan to do about that? i
Thomas could feel his fellow squad members starting to squirm and
recognized he had started a confrontation he couldnit win. itolerate it,
Sir.

Weill see about that. Whatis your name soldier?

Oiroark, Sir.

Private Oiroark, I want you to spend an hour policing the parade ground
in front of us. The rest of the squad is dismissed to the barracks.

Thomas could barely contain his anger and frustration, but he marched
off to do his duty. He didnit appreciate it yet, but he had tangled with
Sergeant emaci Macbride, one of the most respected Drill Instructors at
the base.

He stood five feet ten inches, although his ramrod bearing made him seem
taller to hapless recruits. He was more soft- spoken than most DIs, but
his voice had an edge to it that carried authority. He had cold blue
eyes that could stare through steel and a shock of sandy red hair,
cropped close in standard Marine Corps style.

Macbrideis build was spare and wiry. His fellow non-coms and young
commissioned officers addressed him as Sergeant Mac, usually with a tone
of reverence for the experience and skills he had honed during twelve
years in the Corps. A Purple Heart ribbon, earned in Nicaragua, adorned
the left breast of his dress uniform along with several other ribbons
and a Sharpshooter badge. The latter was his proudest possession, clear
evidence of his passion for the rifle.

In all his training of raw recruits he stressed rifle handling and
marksmanship. He taught through drill and drill and more drill, laced
with frequent sexual connotations. His squad members would hear that
their rifle was more important than their pecker. One could save your
life, the other could get you killed.

Besides Thomas and Earl, the young boots that Sergeant Mac would start
molding into a tight-knit squad over the next eight weeks included
Bernard Bernstein, Timothy Campbell, Pierre Leconte, Rudolfo Martinez
and Gerald Pembroke.

Before enlisting, Bernstein had graduated from college and been working
in his fatheris clothing store in Los Angeles. He was a redhead, slender
of face and build who almost seemed too frail for the rugged life of an
infantryman.

Campbell had spent two years in a San Diego junior college then become a
mailman with the Post Office. Although this work gave him an exemption
from the draft, he had decided to volunteer, partly out of boredom. He
had dark brown hair, receding prematurely at the front to expose a lot
of forehead.

After being sheared by the Marine barber, he almost looked bald. Leconte
was an itinerant blackjack dealer from Texas who had barely finished
high school. Before the Marines got hold of him, his chunky body had
been slipping into softness, primarily because of the sedentary nature
of his occupation. He had bottomless blue eyes that seldom showed
expression and an enigmatic smile.

Martinez had been a gardener in Arizona. In spite of his surname, his
round flat face, wide-set dark eyes and black hair made his ancestry
appear more Oriental than Mexican. He was the youngest in a family of
six children and the only one to finish high school. Pembroke, a
Blackfoot Indian from Montana, had finished high school on the
reservation. He also had dark hair and eyes and a very muscular body
from several years of working as a lumberjack. He smiled a lot but
almost never spoke.

After several weeks of rugged training, Thomas and his fellow squad
members had begun to settle into their daily routine. This typically
included lengthy day and night marches with full field packs, trench
digging and techniques used in attacking and defending from trench
positions, weapons training with machine guns, Stokes mortars and hand
grenades, and attacking and defending under simulated gas barrages. The
ewill to use cold steeli and epull out the liveri was drilled into them
with bayonet training against hanging sacks of straw. And almost daily
there was target practice with the rifle. The Marines had a regulation
that no soldier could go overseas until he had achieved at least
Marksman status.

For Thomas and Bernstein and Pembroke this regulation was proving to be
a problem. Thomas, although he had been raised on a farm, had never
handled any weapon other than a single- shot .22 rifle, which he had
used occasionally as a youth in hunting rabbits. Bernstein, born and
raised in the city in an over-protective family, had never been exposed
to any kind of weapon, and Pembroke had spent most of his life on an
Indian reservation where fists and sticks and rocks were the primary
weapons of offense or defense. The heavy, powerful Springfield 30.06
issued to the Marines was a more formidable weapon than any of them had
experienced before.

After several weeks of standard training on the rifle range had not
produced the desired results, Sergeant Macbride was becoming impatient.
He ordered the threesome to arise early one Saturday morning for a few
hours of intensive, personalized training.

OK, i he said, as they spread out on the ground in the prone shooting
position and slipped their rifle slings under their left arms. imake
sure your chambers are empty because weire starting back at the
beginning with dry firing. Each soldier dutifully popped open his rifle
bolt to verify that he had a clear chamber.

I want you to lay that stock against your cheek and sight down the
barrel toward your target, i Macbride continued, and the three did as
they were told. inow tell me something, i he added, idonit that feel
just like a woman is soft, warm thigh? i No one answered.

What the hell, ainit none of you Boots ever laid with a woman? i Thomasi
mind easily called up beautiful memories of Lillian and Brenda, but he
sensed a trap and kept quiet. Bernstein tried to stifle a giggle and
Pembroke responded with a knowing smile.

The sergeant, apparently not realizing that he wasnit reaching his three
charges, pressed on with his attempted analogy. inow I ainit talkini
about some old whore. I mean a beautiful woman, maybe like that little
gal you left at home.

Thomas smiled and spoke up, partly to break the impasse that seemed to
be building. iyes, sergeant, I believe youire right. This does remind me
of a gal I knew once. He rubbed the gunstock against his cheek. His
companions followed his lead, rubbed the smooth wood against their skin
and smiled knowingly.

OK, I want you to wrap you finger around the trigger, real gentle, i the
sergeant continued. iremember, youire going to squeeze her easyono
pullini or jerkini.

Squeeze her like a titty, Sergeant? i Bernstein asked in his
high-pitched voice.

Hey, thatis pretty good, Bernstein! i the sergeant responded. inever
thought of that, but youire right. Girls likes to have their titties
squeezed real gentle, donit they? i Thomas glanced at a grinning
Bernstein in disbelief, thinking that he didnit look like the type who
would know much about womenis breasts. Macbride was warming to his
subject now, hovering over each of his charges as they squeezed off one
imagined round after another. Finally, he handed each a six- round clip
of ammunition and ordered them to load their rifles, then aim and fire
one round at a time. But as he leaned forward to pick up the binoculars
he had placed on an ammo box, he stiffened and yelled, iwhat the
fuckocease fire! i A startled Thomas, lying the nearest to the sergeant,
jumped and looked up as the others raised their heads in curiosity.

Macbride was turning red in the face and pointing at the ring on Thomasi
left hand. Recalling how he had been chewed out several times and
ordered to extra KP duty over the ring, he cursed inwardly over his
forgetfulness. He had been hiding it in his foot locker or wearing it
with the stone pointed inward, but this morning he had turned it outward
so his fingers could better grip the rifle stock.

Take off that goddamn ring! i Macbride yelled.

Thomas sheepishly removed the ring and started to stick it in his
pocket.

Not so fast, soldier. Letis see how good an arm you got.

Fling that fucker as far as you can.

But Sarge, thatis my--- Shut up and throw, or youire headini for the
brig.

Thomasi stomach was churning with anger and frustration and he toyed
briefly with the thought of standing up to challenge the sergeant. Then
he threw the ring forward into the dirt of the firing range.

Macbride again reached for his binoculars. inow we can get back to
acting like Marines. Assume your positions and commence firing, i he
ordered firmly. He resumed coaching them for about two hours, guiding
their aim toward the targets, reminding them to squeeze off their shots,
and making minor adjustments in their prone, standing and sitting
positions. As their training session wore down, it was obvious that all
three were making significant progress and Macbride was generous in his
compliments. When they finished and turned to picking up their spent
cartridges, Bernstein spoke up. isergeant, would you mind giving us a
demonstration of your marksmanship? i The sergeant was happy to oblige.
He ordered the target set up at the maximum effective range of eight
hundred yards, reached for a rifle and inserted an ammo clip in the
chamber. He adjusted the sights, hooked the sling around his left arm
and from a standing position squeezed off six shots in rapid succession.
Silently he handed the binoculars to Bernstein.

He twisted the glasses into focus and softly exclaimed, ijesus Christ! i
as he turned them over to Pembroke, who scanned the target and added his
grunt of admiration and approval as he passed them on to Thomas. Thomas
surreptitiously lowered them toward the ground before him, trying
without success to see his ring. Then he focused on the distant target
and exclaimed, isergeant, I only count five holes.

Lemme see, i Macbride responded sharply as he reached for the binoculars
and brought them into focus. iyep, youire right. Looks like I put two
bullets right through the same hole.

His three charges looked at each other but didnit openly venture any
doubts.

The sergeant ordered them to fall in and as they were marching back to
the barracks, he made them an offer.

If you Boots qualify for Marksman by the end of the week, Iill get you
and the whole squad a Saturday night pass.

They responded with cheers.

Where can we go? i Thomas asked.

Yeah, what is to do around here? i Bernstein added.

Macbride was thoughtful for a few moments. iwell, there ainit much.
Washingtonis too far because youill have to be back by midnight. But at
least you can get off the base for a few hours.

They marched along in silence until Macbride spoke again.

I think the reis a couple saloons beyond the three-mile limit.

You could get drunk or maybe get lucky and find some nookie.

He chuckled so himself.

More silent marching until he added, ihey, I just remembered. On the
highway south the reis a joint called Minnieis. Itis run by Niggers but
they put out the best damn catfish and cornbread in the south.

Whether Macbrideis offer had anything to do with it or not, they did
qualify and the following Saturday afternoon found them eagerly ironing
their uniforms to a razor sharpness and polishing their boots to a
mirror finish. They were taking serious the rumor that if they didnit
look like real Marines, the guards would turn them back at the gate.

Earl had decided to join them, claiming that Macbride had appointed him
eto look after themi. The rest of the squad was planning to stay on the
base and relax.

The foursome passed through the gate with their snappiest salutes for
the guards and just in time to catch the rickety old Reo bus headed
south. They boarded and took forward seats, Thomas next to Earl,
Bernstein and Pembroke across the aisle.

Thomas hadnit paid much attention to the fact that several other people
were on board along with about a dozen Negroes sitting in the back.

In about half an hour, the bus squealed to a stop and the Marines exited
in front of an old clapboard building that had seen better days. A sign
in the window, hand-painted on cardboard, confirmed they had arrived at
Minnieis. Thomas pushed the door open and led them tentatively into the
semidark room and to the bar. A big-breasted, overly-fat Negro woman
greeted them from behind the bar, ievenini Genmen.

Thomas was the only one to respond with a verbal ehowdyi, while the
others remained silent. The bartender served the schooners of beer they
ordered and moved down to the end of the bar.

Earl was the first to speak after his eyes had adjusted to the dim
light, giving him an opportunity to fully survey the room.

Looks like Sarge played a joke on us.

What do you mean? i Bernstein asked.

Weire not getting any nookie around here.

Thomas took a swallow of the cold creamy beer, idonit get your balls in
an uproar, Earl. The eveningis still young.

Maybe so, but anything else that comes in here is gonnai be as black as
the rest.

Wonit bother me, i Bernstein observed.

Earl chuckled, ifigurini on changing your luck? i Bernstein took a swig
of beer and shrugged his shoulders.

They downed their first beers like water, ordered another round along
with catfish dinners, and moved to a corner table.

When the Marines had entered, there had been two Black couples seated at
a table in the far corner. Now, with the dinner hour approaching, others
were entering. All were Negroes and they also congregated at the far end
of the bar or at the corner tables furthest away.

Guess they donit care who they serve in here, i Earl groused.

Pembroke looked at Earl, inaw, even Marines. Earl frowned and pulled out
a pack of cigarettes, lighted one, and offered them around the table.
Pembroke was the only taker.

In a few minutes, a tall, slender Negro man, wearing a grease-stained
apron that might have been white at one time,

came out of the kitchen bearing four large platters. Each was laden with
a whole catfish, cornbread, collard greens and black- eyed peas. The
foursome ordered a third round of beers then stared and poked
suspiciously at the strange food.

After the cook had returned to the kitchen, Earl was the first to speak,
ijesus, this looks like Nigger food.

At least they couldai cut the heads off, i Bernstein griped.

Pembroke responded, ium, headis best partobetterin dog food. He stuck
his fork into the cheek portion of the fish head and put it in his
mouth.

Earl watched Pembroke wide-eyed. ichrist, thatis right.

You guys used to fry scalps and eat eem, didnit you?

Still do when we get mad. Earl and Bernstein looked at Pembroke
suspiciously, not sure whether or not to believe him.

Thomas had poked his fork through the crispy skin of the fish into the
firm, white flesh and taken his first bite. iman, taste that!

Boy, I like this green stuff, i Bernstein added.

Thomas agreed. iyeah, Mom used to fix greens at home.

But theyire better with salt, butter and vinegar on them. He called out
to the bartender and she silently set a jar of butter, cruet of vinegar
and a salt shaker on the bar. Thomas retrieved them and put a little of
each on his greens; Bernstein followed suit. They nodded their heads in
agreement over the improved taste as everyone went quietly back to
eating their dinners and quaffing beer.

Earl interrupted the quiet, iwhat the hell are these? i he asked, poking
at his black-eyed peas.

Pembroke responded, isome kind of beans. Theyill make you fart and shit
real good. They all chuckled appreciatively.

Thomas ate everything except most of his peas, then strolled out to the
outhouse to take a leak. Pembroke and Bernstein cleaned their plates and
looked around like they wanted more.

Earl ate part of his fish and all the cornbread, but left the greens and
peas. They ordered pecan pie for dessert and Earl and Bernstein called
for another schooner of beer. Thomas and Pembroke opted for coffee. Earl
left to take his turn at the

outhouse and when he returned, stepped up to the bar and bought four of
the biggest black cigars they had ever seen.

Pembroke and Bernstein took their turns getting rid of used beer and in
a few minutes, the foursome was leaning back in their chairs, puffing
contentedly and barely visible to each other behind a cloud of cigar
smoke.

Bernstein was the first to suffer from the pile of food, beer and cigar
smoke. With a groan, he jumped from his chair and bolted for the door.
Thomas followed to check on his buddy and found him at the side of the
building heaving his guts out. As he was patting him on the back and
trying to console him, he heard a vehicle grinding up the road and
turned to watch the old Reo bus limp by, its dim lights barely poking
their way through the dark night.

He pulled out his watch to observe that it was ten thirty.

Oh shit, that was the last bus. Bernstein barely acknowledged the
information.

Thomas returned to the restaurant to give the others the bad news.
Pembroke had laid his head on the table and fallen asleep.

Earl was slumped morosely in his chair, half dozing, half sucking on his
dead cigar. Thomas paid the tab and led them out the door for their
three mile hike back to camp.

After staggering and singing for several hundred yards along the dark
road, Earl suddenly stopped, stepped to the side and started vomiting.
Between heaves, he kept muttering edamn Nigger food, damn Nigger food.

t was after eleven oiclock before they heard their first vehicle, and
turned to see two dim headlights approaching up the road. Thomas stuck
out his thumb and an old Model T touring sedan wheezed to a stop.

You boys be needini a lift? i a male voice called out.

Thomas peered into the dark vehicle to see the whites of two big
owl-like eyes staring back at him, then realized they belonged to a
Negro, the black of his face barely visible against the dark night. It
was the cook from Minnieis.

Yeah, weire trying to get to the Marine base.

The driver reached across the front seat to open the doors and invited
them to hop in. Pembroke climbed groggily into the back followed by
Bernstein, and Thomas got in beside the driver. icome on, Earl, i he
shouted to his friend, still sitting beside the road trying to recover
from his vomiting.

Earl didnit respond, so Thomas called out again. Finally, he yelled
back, iiim not ridini with any Niggers.

Thomas caught his breath, too embarrassed to know what to say or do.
Earl staggered to his feet, turned toward the car and shouted again,
iyou guys get the hell out of there. Weire marching back like real
Marines.

Bernstein, who had been leaning forward with his head on his knees, sat
up and shouted back in his high-pitched voice, iyou can kiss my white
Jewish ass, Earl. Weire riding! i He put his head back down on his
knees.

Thomas glanced sideways to see that the driver was grinning from ear to
ear. He closed both doors, and the driver eased the car down the road.

You boy needini be back by midnight? i the driver asked.

Yes sir.

Where you be from?

Iim from California, so is Bernstein. Pembrokeis from Montana. He turned
around to observe Pembroke slumped back in the corner, head pitched up,
mouth wide open and snoring to the heavens. Bernstein still had his head
on his knees.

Thomas hoped he wasnit throwing up.

They fell silent, listening to the steady put-put-put of the little
engine, until the driver remarked, icalifornee musi be nice, all
sunshine, ani open space. Nobody hasslini you.

Yeah, pretty nice place to live, i Thomas replied. He asked the driver
where he was from.

Minnieis.

Yeah, I know. But where do you live?

Bayou back of Minnieis.

Thomas was thoughtful for a moment before commenting, iman, youire
driving way out of your way to come up here.

Doan mine. Gottia take good care soldier boys.

They again fell quiet, mesmerized by the steady rhythm of the old Ford
and Pembrokeis snoring. Then Thomas asked, iever been to California?

Nope.

You oughtai go there sometime. Lots of opportunity.

The old Negro shook his head. idoan know ebout that.

Reckon Iid still be black.

Thomas frowned, but didnit respond.

They pulled up to the base gate just five minutes before midnight.
Thomas got out of the vehicle, pulled his two buddies from the back
seat, and tried to offer the driver some money. He waved it off with a
big grin as he pointed the car back down the road. The three of them
made it to reveille the next morning, badly hung over. Earl did not, and
was assigned to two days of KP duty, one for not returning to base until
two a. m., the other for being unshaven and having his uniform in
disarray at roll call.

For the next ten days, Thomas and his fellow Marines were subjected to a
speeded-up training schedule that included calisthenics twice a day and
forced marches of up to fourteen miles, always with full field packs.
Near the end of the period, Sergeant Macbride lined his weary squad up
for two special announcements. The first was that sometime within the
next two weeks, the entire cadre of one thousand Marines would be
loading into trains for Philadelphia where they would board ships for
France.

The second announcement was that everyone had been granted a forty-eight
hour pass to Washington, D.C. for the upcoming weekend. Macbride
reminded his charges of his promise to escort them to town for a egood
timei. But he warned that because of the imminent transfer overseas,
they were to keep their mouths shut and not go any place other than
town. He promised that any Boot who missed the bus returning to camp
Sunday evening would be court- martialed.

The following Saturday dawned warm and sunny as the eager Marines
assembled for what they hoped would be a wild weekend in the nationis
capital. Macbride, acting more like a mother hen than a tough drill
sergeant, shepherded his squad aboard the first of some thirty buses
lined up next to the parade ground and when it was full, ordered the
driver to head for town.

After about an hour of riding, singing and raucous jokes about the good
time they all planned to have, the bus ground to a halt along
Constitution Avenue. Macbride, who had been to the city once before,
pulled his rubber-necking squad together and pointed out some of the
sights, including a number of ugly, temporary buildings that had been
hurriedly constructed along the avenue as office space for wartime
workers.

As the other buses parked and began disgorging hordes of Marines, he
pulled his seven charges to one side and asked if any wanted to go with
him efor a little whorini. No one responded, their minds still recalling
the gruesomely descriptive lectures on venereal disease and the
embarrassing short-arm inspections. The sergeantis offer sounded
tempting, but they werenit sure it was one that should be accepted.

Whatis the matter, not ready to get your ashes hauled? i he asked
testily.

Thomas spoke up, iwe might be ready, Sarge, but not sure we should be
doing that, especially after last weekis medical lecture.

Donit worry. These gals is nice and clean. And the Shore Patrol donit
know about them so there wonit be no trouble.

Campbell begged off, saying he wanted to visit the Smithsonian.

Leconte indicated he would be meeting a girl friend. That left five,
plus the sergeant.

Jesus, Iim not sure if Mary and Hattie can handle five young bucks at
once or not, i he teased. iwe might have to take turns.

Without further discussion, they took off down the street in lockstep
behind Macbride. After walking several blocks and turning down more than
one alley, the sergeant halted at the back of a dilapidated two-story
structure. Directing his

companions to stay put, he mounted the rickety wooden stairs running up
the outer wall and rapped on the door. In a moment, a woman dressed in a
loose fitting flowered frock answered and engaged him in lively
conversation as she peered down at his eager entourage.

Finally, the sergeant beckoned to everyone to climb the stairs where
they entered a large, wildly decorated living room reeking of cheap
perfume. ithis hereis Mary, i he said, introducing the large, heavyset
madam. iall her friends call her emattress Maryi. She and her sister
Hattie been runnini this place ten years I know of, havenit you Mary? i
She didnit answer and didnit appear very amused.

Undeterred, the sergeant continued addressing his followers, all
standing around with their hands in their pockets, not certain what was
supposed to happen next. too bad Hattie ain't here today because sheis
got a pair of jugs to beat alloclear out to here. He demonstrated by
holding both hands in front of his chest. ithatis why they call her
ehooter Hattiei, i he added with a chuckle.

Mary spoke up, iyou bring these fellows here for some action or just to
hear you run off?

Theyire craving action, but since you only got three gals working today
guess weill have to take turns. But I allow as how they wonit mind since
youire givini us a special rate of three dollars, and youill supply the
rubbers. You guys just make damn sure you use eem. He collected money
from each of them and handed it over to the madam.

The young Marines continued shuffling their feet and looking
embarrassed. Then Sarge spoke up, iok, whois first, or shall we draw
straws? i They all looked sheepishly at the floor until Earl grabbed
Bernsteinis arm and stepped forward. icome on, you look like you could
use a good piece. Pembroke followed them as they were directed down a
hall where three whores stood beckoning in the doorways of separate
cribs. In a few moments, the intermingling of muffled groans and
squeaking beds could be heard, and in a few more moments Earl stepped
back into the hallway, still buttoning his pants. He was closely
followed by Bernstein, still pulling at his pants and shorts only half
way up his thighs. His penis hung down limply in full view, and he
looked confused and perplexed.

Their return to the lobby was followed by the sound of screaming and
yelling from the farthest room down the hall.

Mary reacted immediately, grabbing a baseball bat from behind the sofa
and lumbering down the hall. By the time she had reached the room, the
door flew open and Pembroke staggered out trying desperately to pull up
his pants. He ducked as Mary raised the bat, scooted safely underneath
her and back into the sanctuary of his buddies.

Jesus, Chief, youire supposed to fuck eem not scalp eem.

What the hellid you do in there? i Macbride yelled.

She say me got little peckeroi slap her, i Pembroke replied with much
agitation.

Mary was storming back into the room by now, heading for Pembroke with
her bat held high. iyou bastard. You gave my best gal a black eye.
Nobodyill want her now! i Macbride grabbed Mary and her bat and ordered
Pembroke to leave. iok, Mary, calm down, take it easy, i he soothed.

You can just get your goddamn Marines the hell out of here, and donit
come back! i she screamed.

How about the rest of our turns? i Macbride pleaded.

Go fuck yourselves. And Iim keepini your goddamn money to pay for my
galis eye.

Sarge started to argue, but caught himself. He knew if he caused any
real trouble she would be calling the Shore Patrol.

With resignation he turned toward the door, iok men, letis get the hell
out of here.

All of them stumbled down the stairs and retraced their way back through
the alleys and streets into downtown Washington.

Earl had a satisfied look on his face but had the good sense to keep his
mouth shut. Bernstein maintained his perplexed look, even after Martinez
laughingly saddled him with the new nickname of estudi. Thomas felt
relieved that he had been spared what he anticipated would be an
unrewarding experience,

without losing face among his fellow Marines. All that Sergeant Macbride
could do was mumble to himself about efuckini whores, fuckini whores.

Pembroke, the Blackfoot Indian with the new nickname of echiefi, stared
ahead solemnly like he really wanted to scalp someone.

After returning to the town center, Thomas and Earl separated from the
others and, rejecting the tent city set up for the Marines, checked
several hotels before they could find one that would rent them a room
for the night. They spent the afternoon at a moving picture and treated
themselves to a gourmet dinner and an evening of jazz in a nearby bar.
That night they took turns soaking in a bathtub full of hot water, then
fell sound asleep.

The next day they strolled aimlessly around town viewing the Capitol and
monuments, consumed hot dogs and beer, and flirted with young women
enjoying a Sunday break from their government jobs. They returned to
Constitution Avenue in plenty of time to catch their bus back to
Quantico.

As they climbed aboard, Sergeant Macbride pulled Earl to one side and
directed him to sit beside him in the front. Thomas headed toward the
back and was surprised to turn and find the sergeant following him. He
pressed something into his hand.

One of my buddies found this. Believe it belongs to you.

Thomas looked down at his fatheris ring, the stone still shining through
the encrusted dirt. He opened his mouth to say something, but Macbride
interrupted.

Now do me a favor and keep it out of sight.

Yes sir.

Macbride returned to his seat and during the return trip, carried on a
prolonged conversation with Earl. When the bus discharged them at the
base, Thomas sidled up to his friend and showed him the ring. ilook what
Sarge brought me.

Yeah, I know.

Said one of his friends found it.

Told me he found it himself. Went back to the range looking for it.

ino shit!

No shit.

They walked along in silence until Thomas commented, iyou and Sarge were
having quite a conversation. What was that all about?

Guess.

He telling you how to handle whores?

Nope. Heis promoting me to Corporal.

Thomas shrugged, feigning disinterest, but feeling disappointment.
Dejectedly he returned to his bunk, where he found a letter waiting for
him. He picked up the envelope and, recognizing his sisteris handwriting
and the Fresno postmark, opened it to read:

Fresno, Calif February 9, 1918 Dear Thomas: Sorry to be so slow in
writing, but weive been pretty busy, even though itis winter time.

A heavy fog has settled in, making for another cold, damp Saturday
night. Also a lonely one, since Mother decided to spend the night in
town. She doesnit like to drive in this weather and I guess itis just as
well.

We received some sad news last week.

Karl Schwimmer committed suicide. You might recall, he was the
Conscientious Objector from Normal School who got drafted last fall. His
wife Emily, whois been staying with me for a few days, showed me his
final letter. The way the Army was treating him and the other COs was so
brutaloguess he just couldnit take it any longer.

Emilyis been showing me some of the new canned foods. Tonight we had
Campbellis tomato soup, then pork and beans out of another can from a
company called Van Camps. For dessert we had Minute Tapioca.

All you do is open the can, heat and eat. Very tasty and sure less
trouble than cooking a whole meal when the reis just one or two of us.

Of course, Iim not really alone since I have the baby inside me. In
recent weeks live felt him quickening more and more (I say ehimi because
he sure has a strong kick!). But I sure am getting big and awkward.
Guess thatis to be expected. Just two more months until Iim a mother,
and youire an uncle!

Things have been going all right with the farm. PJ has about finished
pruning the vines and burning the prunings. He finally managed to find a
couple of helpers and has been working the Mexican family pretty hard.
He and I have been getting along fairly well, although we had a big
argument over my wanting to sign up for the new Marketing Association
(donit think PJ likes to take orders from a woman). I finally insisted
and guess I was right. Over eighty five percent of the raisin farmers
have enrolled, according to yesterdayis paper.

Mother seems to be doing OK, although sheis not too happy working at the
bank. She talks to some of her Red Cross ladies once in awhile. Wouldnit
be surprised to see her go back to that if they asked her to. She hasnit
mentioned Mr. Hardy for some time, so looks like heis faded out of the
picture.

Richard Mardikian, the farm advisor, has invited me to a Valentineis
Dance next week.

Itis to raise funds for Armenian Relief.

Havenit told Mother yetoexpect sheill raise Cain because of my
condition. But Iim getting too lonely to miss a good social occasion.
Sure miss my friends from Normal School.

Itis getting late, so will sign off for now.

Hope you are safe and warm, and the Marines arenit working you too hard.
And hope this terrible war is over before you have to go overseas.
Please write soon.

Love, Becky P.S. Mother phoned before I got this in the envelope and
said to give you her love.

Thomas read the letter over a couple of times, then tossed it in his
footlocker. Somehow, it upset him and he wasnit sure why. He couldnit
identify with the Conscientious Objectors, so Schwimmeris suicide didnit
bother him that much. Was he uncomfortable because a woman, albeit his
sister, seemed to be doing so well at manis work? And who was Mardikian?
He vaguely recalled meeting him but why was his sister going out with an
Armenian; wasnit her life already messed up because of some other
foreigner?

He sighed in resignation. Maybe he was just feeling lonely, maybe
homesick? He went to the toilet and brushed his teeth, then crawled into
bed for a night of fitful sleep.

Chapter 28.

ibecky, you canit be seriousoin your condition?

Yes, Mother, I am serious. Richard has invited me to the Valentine dance
and live accepted.

But youire seven months pregnant and itis soowelloso obvious!

So what. Richard doesnit mind and I donit care what people think. And
Iim tired of hiding out on this lonely old farm.

But all that bouncing around. What if you fall?

Donit worry, weill be careful.

Emma shrugged her shoulders and sighed in frustration as she arose and
started clearing their supper dishes from the table.

Becky remained seated uncomfortably, trying to shift her bulging belly
and aching back against the unforgiving hardness of the cane back chair.

It had been over a month now since Thomas had enlisted and left the two
of them to manage their own affairs, and things had not been going well.
Emma did not enjoy working with numbers and trying to balance her cash
drawer, so had quickly gotten bored with her job at the bank. She also
didnit like the pressure of having to arise early every day, and had had
several frightening experiences driving to and from town through the
dense winter fog that continually enveloped the valley floor.

Finally, she hadnit found the male-dominated work environment at the
bank nearly as satisfying as had been the predominantly female one at
the Red Cross.

Becky also was unhappy. At first, the responsibility of managing the
farm without her brother had sounded challenging.

But she missed his camaraderie and strong right arm, and making
decisions and setting priorities on the myriad of never ending farm
chores wasnit much fun, even with the help of PJ.

Most importantly, she was finding farm life to be much too lonely. She
sorely missed her friends from Normal School. PJ certainly was no
companion and her mother was gone most of the day. And the babyis more
frequent stirring and kicking inside her was a constant reminder that in
two short months she might face the prospect of giving birth all alone.

Thus, when Richard Mardikian, the County Farm Advisor, had motored out
to the Oiroark place several times to check on the root disease
attacking some of their vines, Becky had found him to be a welcome
visitor. He was in his mid-twenties, slender and handsome with dark
brown eyes and black wavy hair that she found disturbingly attractive.
He also was well educated with a range of interests, which made it easy
for the two of them to engage in long, friendly discussions beyond the
subject of farming. And although her pregnancy was becoming quite
obvious, it didnit seem to bother him. He was always solicitous of her
welfare.

As Emma filled the sink with hot water to wash the dishes, she turned
back toward her daughter, still sitting dreamily at the dining table.
Recognizing that Beckyis pregnancy was not going to keep her from the
dance, she started asking about Mardikian.

Since his visits to the farm had always been in the daytime when Emma
was in town working, the two had not met.

Who is this Richard anyway?

Heis a County Farm Advisor.

He must be an old man.

No, Mother. Heis only a few years older than I am.

Howid you meet him?

Heis been out here several times helping with our root problems.

Emma turned back to washing the dishes, then spoke again, iwhatis his
last name? i

imardikian.

Frowning, she again looked back at her daughter. iheis one of those
refugeesowhat do you call themoarabians?

You mean Armenian. Heis an American of Armenian descent.

Is he dark, does he look foreign?

He has dark hair and eyes. I think heis very handsome.

Becky, observing the extra energy her mother was putting into washing
the dishes, could see she was becoming agitated.

She arose heavily and moved from the table to the sofa, partly for the
added comfort, partly to distance herself from the harangue she could
see coming.

Emma picked up a dishtowel, started drying her hands and watching
Beckyis movement before she spoke, ii donit understand how you can do
this. How can you possibly go out in public with someone so foreign
looking, and you obviously so pregnant?

Mother, I canit believe you! i Becky cried. ihow can you be so
prejudiced?

Butobutowhat if some of my friends see you, what would they think? i
Emma pleaded, her voice rising.

You mean those old Red Cross women you never see anymore. How could you
possibly care? i Becky shouted back.

Heavens, they might think heis your husband!

They might also think heis someone who cares enough about me to take me
dancing or to a picture show. Thatis more than anyone else has done
lately.

Oh Becky, how can you be so cruel? You know how much I love you!

Well, you sure donit show it. All you want to do is keep me hidden away
on this damned farm.

Emma caught her breath at the sharp language, started getting teary-eyed
and didnit respond. As she turned from the sink and stalked off to her
bedroom, Becky followed with her eyes and sank back in the sofa in
silent frustration. In a few moments, she struggled to her feet and went
to the sink to finish drying the dishes.

The next day Emma didnit go to work at the bank and didnit come out of
her room, even that evening when Mardikian showed up to escort Becky to
the dance. She stayed cooped up, reading and listening to records for
most of the evening, until the telephone rang. It was a long distance
call from Bill Hardy in San Francisco. He was going to be in Fresno on
Monday and wanted to know if Emma would have dinner with him. She
demurred, then in response to his promise that the meeting would be
strictly business, she accepted.

When Becky returned from the dance around midnight, she was surprised to
find her mother waiting up in the living room.

She was even more surprised to find her dressed and in such a jovial
mood that she decided to invite Mardikian in.

Mother, this is Richard Mardikian, i she said nervously as he stepped
through the door.

Good evening, i Emma replied brightly. idid you two enjoy the dance?

Very much, i he responded. iespecially since your daughter is such a
wonderful dancer.

Even in her condition?

Mother! i Becky gasped. ihow could you---i Mardikian interrupted firmly
but politely. iiim well aware of Beckyis condition, Missus Oiroark, and
it doesnit bother me.

My only concern is that she not fall or injure herself, and she did seem
to get along well dancing. At least as long as I held on to her, huh
Becky? i She smiled and took his arm. Emma, sensing she was being
outmaneuvered, changed the subject.

Youire from around the Fresno area? i she asked.

Yes, I was born on a farm near Reedley. My parents still live there.

Richardis family came here in 1882," Becky added, cheerily. ithey were
among the first immigrants from Armenia to settle in this area.

Where is Armenia? i Emma asked.

iitis in southwest Asia, i he answered. iit used to extend from the
Black Sea to the Caspian, but the Turks conquered much of the area in
the late 1800s.

And since the war they've massacred thousands of Armenians, including
some of Richard's relatives, i Becky added.

Thatis terrible! i Emma responded.

We just heard last year that an uncle and his whole family were among
thousands who died of starvation when they were chased into the desert
by the Turks, i Mardikian added.

There was an awkward moment of silence as no one seemed interested in
pursuing the conversation further. Mardikian squeezed Beckyis hand and
thanked her for a lovely evening, paid his respects to Emma and took his
leave.

Well, what do you think of Richard? i Becky ventured to her mother as
she turned toward her bedroom.

Seems like a nice enough young man. Obviously feels very strongly about
his heritage, Canit say that I blame him. His parents and relatives have
experienced a lot more oppression than most of us can imagine.

Emma mumbled her agreement, bade her daughter egood Nighti, and went to
her bedroom.

When Emma motored into town early the following Monday morning, she was
feeling happier than she had in many weeks.

On Saturday, she and Becky had received a letter from Thomas, and
everything seemed to be going well for him. She was feeling a little
more comfortable over her daughteris friendship with Mardikian and had
put that matter in the back of her mind, at least temporarily. And this
evening she would be having dinner with Bill Hardy as a result of his
unexpected phone call.

He had been so mysterious in refusing to discuss the reason for their
getting together that little arrows of suspicion kept trying to
penetrate the aura of self-satisfaction she was experiencing from the
invitation. At any rate, she felt confident enough to have

dressed in her most flattering wool suit and coat and new winter hat.
But when he had suggested they dine at the Pleasonton Hotel she again
felt reserved, even a little wary. Although located only three blocks
north of the Hughes Hotel, it had never been as popular a meeting place
for the cityis social and business leaders. She was still feeling a
little uncomfortable when she walked into the lobby that evening,
especially when Hardy greeted her effusively and raised her hand to his
lips.

Missus Oiroark, you look radiant. I didnit realize how much live missed
you!

Well, thank you, Mister Hardy. Itis nice to see you again.

Yes, itis only been a couple of months but it seems like ages. He helped
her out of her coat and handed it and his own to the maitre di.

What have you and the Red Cross been up to since our last meeting.

He didnit respond as he took her arm and guided her to a table where
they could look out through the plate glass window to the traffic and
passersby on I Street. She picked up her menu, then glanced out the
window and asked suspiciously, iwhy did you want to meet here rather
than the Hughes, Mister Hardy? i He followed her gaze out the window and
shrugged his shoulders, ino special reason. I just thought it might be
more private. The Hughes is always so busy, you know.

As they perused the menu and he inquired about her welfare, she told of
her new job, of her sonis enlistment in the Marines, and how she and
Becky were trying to cope with the farm.

Somewhat to her surprise, she even told of Beckyis pregnancy and her
motherly concerns about her daughteris health.

She purposely avoided any further mention of the Red Cross, partly to
conceal her continuing pique over the way she had been dismissed as
chairman of the Membership Campaign and partly because she didnit want
to appear that interested. She had heard rumors of troubles within the
Fresno chapter and wondered if Hardyis visit was in any way related.

When the waiter finished taking their order, Hardy came to the point.
imissus Oiroark, the main reason for my wanting to see you was to talk
about the Red Cross.

Oh yes, theyire in deep trouble, I trust? i She immediately felt
embarrassed at the sarcasm apparent in her remark and glanced away
sheepishly.

Guess I deserved that. I hope you can accept my apology for your
dismissal and particularly for the way it was handled.

I accept, Mister Hardy, and apologize for my remark. I didnit mean to be
so sarcastic.

The waiter delivered their oysters, freshly shipped in from San
Francisco, as Hardy continued, iiim especially anxious that you harbor
no hard feelings because I want to ask a special favor.

Whatis that? i Hardy paused to slip an oyster in his mouth, then ii want
you to come back to the Red Cross.

Oh, good heavens! Why, I donit knowoi mean Iim not sure I could do that.

He reached across the table and took her hand and remained quiet,
waiting for her to calm down.

Regaining her composure, she asked, iwhatis happened to Missus Gottlieb
and the other ladies?

Missus Gottlieb has resigned.

Oh, my. What happened?

It was at my request. Missus Thomason is our new chapter leader.

My goodness! I was teasing about them having problems.

I never dreamed anything really was wrong.

He glanced around the room and lowered his voice, iwell, itis too sad a
story to go into during this lovely evening. But basically, the
Gottliebs are having major problems because of their German heritage. He
has lost most of his medical practice, and I understand they have become
virtual recluses.

Oh, in that beautiful home?

And their social life doesnit exist any more, which magine bothers
Missus Gottlieb more than anything.

They fell silent as the waiter returned with the prime rib cart, rolled
back the sterling silver cover and started carving their individual
servings. When he finished, Hardy resumed, ithe chapter has been falling
behind in its fund raising and in several of its important programs. We
badly need your help.

Doing what? i She cut into her prime rib.

We need someone to take charge of a new Home Service section.

Whatis that?

Itis a new activity being undertaken by our national headquarters. Now
that thousands of our boys are away from home serving in the military,
they are running into all kinds of problems. The Red Cross is organizing
to help them.

What kinds of problems?

Mostly family matters. Maybe a wife has lost contact with her soldier
husband, or her allotment check hasnit started arriving. A family might
need financial assistance, or a soldier might inquire about a parent who
is ill.

Emma had never been considered for such a major responsibility and
wasnit certain how to respond. She felt tremendously flattered that she
was being asked, and especially that she had been recommended by some of
the other ladies.

She had not had the experience of handling other peopleis problems, and
oh myoshe would be expected to speak in front of community groups!

Her innate shyness and lack of experience in community work started to
get the upper hand. imister Hardy, Iim not sure I would know how to
handle such a big responsibility. live never had the experience like
Missus Gottlieb and some of the others. Heavens, I just donit know.

Iim confident you could handle the job, Missus Oiroark, or I wouldnit be
asking you. You did a masterful job of working with the others to
increase bandage production last fall. He dug into his Yorkshire
pudding, waiting for her response.

But, I wouldnit know where to start.

inational headquarters has prepared a Home Service manual and theyire
setting up training institutes to help hundreds of other volunteers just
like you.

But what about my job with the bank. Iill have to resign!

The position does provide a monthly stipend, and youill have a motor car
at your full disposal. He fell silent, feeling it would be better to let
her talk her way out of her dilemma.

And the farm, and my dear Becky. I just donit know what to say.

Well, why donit you wait and discuss it with your daughter. And you
might want to talk to your boss. Iim sure he would hate to lose you but
I also would expect him to realize how important you could be to the Red
Cross.

They agreed that Emma should think it over and give Hardy an answer by
the end of the week. After dinner he escorted her to her car and she
returned to the farm to spend a sleepless night with her indecision. One
moment her mind was roiling with grand plans for organizing the Home
Service program. The next she was overwhelmed with self-doubt and the
sense of obligation she felt toward the farm and her pregnant daughter.

Over the next two days, she did think almost constantly about the
potential new opportunity. One evening she phoned two of her former
associates to discuss some of the chapteris problems and possible
solutions and sound out how she might be received if she returned. She
also talked it over with Becky, who encouraged her to accept even though
inwardly she felt uneasy over her mother becoming so involved in some
community activity when Becky herself was feeling a growing need for
comfort and support. But by the end of the week, Emmais worries had been
pushed aside by the appeal of helping others and she had resigned from
the bank and phoned Hardy with her acceptance.

Within a few weeks, the impact of her decision was beginning to weigh
heavily on her and Becky and the status of the farm. She had quickly
become overwhelmed by the responsibility of training and supervising
over fifty volunteers involved in the new program. The long hours, along
with the attendant fund raising and community speaking demands, made it
virtually impossible to motor back and forth to the farm on a daily
basis. A three-day trip to San Francisco for a regional meeting had left
her so exhausted that in mid-March she finally made the decision to move
to a boarding house in town. While this had eased her life somewhat, it
had thrown a still heavier burden on her daughter. Except on weekends,
when Emma usually returned to the farm, Becky had to prepare her own
meals and take over most of the household chores, along with supervising
PJ and preparing his noonday meal.

Additionally, she now was approaching the final month of her pregnancy
and feeling much too uncomfortable and ungainly to undertake the
unending work around the farm. Until recently she had been able to help
with the least strenuous chore of irrigating, but the stepped-up spring
pace of fertilizing, weeding and generally tending to the budding crops
was too much for her. She often found herself too tired to prepare PJis
meal so that the old foreman, generally irritable by nature, now was
getting downright irascible.

The one saving grace for Becky was Mardikian. He had been spending more
and more time at the farm, mostly helping her, and occasionally
assisting PJ.

Matters came to a head in early April when Becky, trying to weed her
vegetable garden, stumbled in the rough ground and fell down hard on her
left side. She tried to struggle to her feet then cried out at the
severe pain in her ankle. She raised herself to a half-sitting position,
brushed the loose dirt from her side and protruding belly, and looked
around for PJ. She thought she remembered seeing him near the barn and
called out, but got no answer.

She lay back down on the ground and tried to ease her throbbing ankle
into a more comfortable position. She was starting to feel chilled from
the afternoon breeze, but was unable to drag her heavy body closer to
the tree where she had hung her sweater earlier. After lying in the dirt
for about half an hour, she was becoming panicky. A sudden, sharp cramp
that seemed to come from deep inside her distended belly startled her
and reminded her of the life that was growing and kicking inside.

My God, i she thought half aloud, iwhat if live harmed the baby.

She cried out again, hoping that PJ had somehow come within the sound of
her voice. She also thought about her mother and cursed the day she had
abandoned the farm and moved into town. Tears came to her eyes now as
the feeling of panic started to wash over her again. Then, cursing
herself for losing control, she rolled on her back and, gritting her
teeth against the pain, rose up on both elbows and tried to drag herself
backwards toward the house. She paused when she heard a motor car
approaching from the distance and watched its trail of dust as it slowed
and turned in the driveway. It was Mardikian.

He saw her even before she waved and yelled, jumped out of the car as it
rolled to a stop, and was kneeling beside her.

What happened?

Oh, Richard, I feel so stupid. I fell and hurt my ankle and Iim so heavy
I canit get up.

He leaned over to examine her ankle more closely and could see that it
was swollen and had turned black and blue. ihurt anything else? i he
asked.

Donit know. live felt several stabs of painolike cramps.

OK. Letis get you in the house, then Iill phone the doctor.

He stepped behind her and lifted her under both arms to a sitting
position, then eased her to a full stand. He brushed the loose dirt from
her dress and held her close as she limped slowly into the house. She
jumped and let out a little yip of pain in response to another cramp in
her stomach.

Richard pulled back the chenille bedspread and blankets with one hand
and settled her onto the bed. She took several deep breaths and began to
unbutton her dress as he left the room to phone Doc Bandy. He returned
in a few moments. ithe doctoris in surgery. His nurse wants to know
about the cramps.

How often are you getting them, and when is the baby due? i ii donit
believe itis due for another few weeks. I donit know about the cramps,
havenit tried to time them. But live only had three or four. Now dressed
only in her slip, she lay back on the bed and rolled on her side, trying
to get comfortable.

He pulled the blanket up and tucked it around her shoulders before he
went back to the telephone.

When he returned to the bedroom, he was carrying a cold, damp cloth for
her ankle. ithe nurse thinks the cramps are just a result of your fall.
She says for you to stay in bed overnight and call the doctor in the
morning.

He used a wash cloth to wipe the garden dirt from her arms and legs and
pulled a chair up close to the bed. He quietly took her hand as she
began to doze. When she awoke an hour later, she started crying. He
stroked her forehead to sooth her and asked if he should try to reach
her mother. Becky nodded weakly.

He phoned the Red Cross headquarters and was advised that Emma was
participating in a meeting in Selma that evening and would not be back
in Fresno until the following day, a Saturday.

He advised Becky then told her he was going to the kitchen to cook up a
big pot of lamb stew.

Oh, Richard. Iim so sorryoioi. She felt too frustrated to finish the
sentence. Under the stress of her fall, she had forgotten the purpose of
his visit, to cook dinner for the two of them. But the thought of eating
anything at this moment set her stomach to churning, and she turned her
head away to conceal her reaction.

No problem, i he replied. iiill just pick a few vegetables from your
garden and cut up the lamb and before you know it weill be enjoying a
nice Armenian dinner. I even brought a bottle of wine.

About an hour later, with the pungent odor of lamb stew wafting through
the house, Mardikian heard a loud cry from the bedroom. He ran in to
find Becky writhing in pain and trying to sit up on the edge of the bed.

Oh, Richard, Iim so frightened. Whatis happening to me? i ilooks like
youire about to have a baby. Gently, he helped her lie down on her back
and placed a second pillow under her head. ibut itis not due yet.

Sometimes they have a mind of their own.

She cried out as another, stronger spasm seized her body.

He placed a cold, damp cloth on her forehead.

Maybe we should go to the hospital? i she asked.

He shook his head. iafraid weire too late for that.

You know anything about giving birth?

Well, live helped with a few lambs and calves. Does that qualify? i She
smiled grimly as another spasm wracked her belly and lower back. He went
to the woodbin beside the fireplace, picked up a handful of old
newspapers, and laid them out on the bed. He helped her pull her knees
up and spread her legs apart and pushed the papers under her buttocks
and lower body as best he could. He was just barely in time as blood
began oozing from between her legs.

He took her hand, ipush, Becky. Push hard.

She cried out as she pushed and he looked down to see more blood along
with the top of a tiny head emerging from between her legs. ihere it
comes, Becky, but you have to keep pushing.

She cried out again as her whole body contracted in one mighty effort
and the babyis shoulders slowly followed the head out of her body.
Richard reached down to grasp the bloody, slimy creature. When it was
completely free of the womb, he took out his pocket knife and expertly
cut the cord as the baby let out a lusty cry.

Itis over, Beckyoyouive just become a mother! i She started sobbing in
relief, then called out weakly, us it alright?

Yes, heis beautiful. And just look at that broad forehead and little
patch of blond hair!

Itis a boy? i Mardikian glanced down admiringly at the genitalia,
seemingly outsize for the tiny body. i and how! i he responded as he used
a towel to gently wipe off the blood and afterbirth.

He wrapped the baby in a clean towel and placed it in Beckyis arms.
iiive already decided what to name him, i she said as she kissed its
warm forehead.

What?

Richard Thomas Oiroark, after my two favorite men.

Blushing and smiling, he leaned down and kissed her on the forehead and
did the same to the baby, bringing on another lusty cry. imaybe heis
hungry.

As Becky pulled back the strap of her slip to start her first feeding,
Mardikian returned to the kitchen to find his stew bubbling all over the
stove and floor. Resignedly he turned off the fire and cleaned up the
mess and set about salvaging enough for each of them.

When he checked back on Becky, she was wide awake with her arm curled
around the sleeping baby. He helped her and the baby into a chair,
removed the bloody newspapers and sheets, remade the bed and eased them
back into it in a semi-sitting position, propped up with extra pillows.
He followed that up with a bed tray containing a bowl of stew, warm
Armenian peta bread and a glass of wine.

Richard, i she asked, iwhat day is this?

Donit remember. Iill look. He stepped to the kitchen to check the wall
calendar and returned with the information. iitis April 5.

Father died a year ago today.

Mardikian took a spoonful of stew before responding. iiim sorry. Too bad
he didnit live long enough to see his first grandson.

Becky nodded and with tears in her eyes, snuggled the baby closer.
Mardikian spent the night sleeping on the living room sofa under a
blanket he had retrieved from Emmais bed.

Chapter 29.

At the end of May, Thomas was sitting on the edge of his cot and
contemplating the end of the first real holiday he and his fellow
Marines had been granted since his enlistment. In those five short
months, they had been subjected to an endless round of rugged training
in the art of trench warfare. Now they were stationed at Gisors, some
thirty miles northwest of Paris, and more than ten thousand miles from
home where they had been completing training as part of the Fourth
Marine Brigade.

During the morning, Thomas had joined some of the other units in
athletic contests where he won the swimming competition. He had spent
the afternoon at the Red Cross canteen playing the banjo in an impromptu
jam session. As he sat there toweling off and lazily getting dressed
after a hot shower, he glanced around and reflected on the six other
young men who, under the tough-love of Sergeant Macbride, had been
molded into a tight-knit squad. There was Corporal Earl Fenton, snoring
contentedly after a daylong trip into Paris in search of mademoiselles.
Next came Pierre Leconte and Tim Campbell, both dubbed eluckyi because
they had escaped Sargeis ill-fated trip to the whorehouse in Washington,
D.C. Leconte was trying to mend a pair of socks; Campbell was cleaning
his boots. Then there was Martinez, the little Mexican, tough enough to
out march any of them, also taking a nap, and Thomasi two favorites,
squeaky voiced Bernie Bernstein, and the laconic Indian, echief i
Pembroke. They were studiously pursuing a game of checkers.

Each in his own way had enjoyed the Memorial Day holiday even though it
had been clouded by the distant, muffled rumble of the French and German
heavy artillery. The massive German campaign that had been unleashed
late in March had brought them some seventeen miles closer to Paris and
across the River Lys. The eager young Marines were beginning to wonder
if the war would be over before they got a chance to join the fight.

Around five oiclock, as they were lining up for the dinner call, they
noticed a French staff car dash up to the headquarters building in a
cloud of dust. In a few minutes, division officers emerged from the
building to announce they had received emergency orders. The Germans had
broken through Allied lines just forty miles east of Paris and French
camions would be arriving later that night to carry the entire brigade
to the front.

A frenzy of activity replaced the quiet evening. After a hurried meal,
Thomas and the others returned to their tent where Macbride was issuing
orders to prepare full field packs and distributing ammunition and cold
field rations.

Later that evening, they were ordered out to assembly points to await
their transportation. But by midnight it still had not arrived so
Macbride and the other squad leaders ordered their men to break out
blankets and sleep on the ground as best they could. Convoys finally
started arriving just before dawn and the Marines piled in,
twenty-to-twenty five to each truck. As they roared off to the southeast
through rolling fields of alfalfa patterned with yellow mustard, the sun
began to rise on a hot, sunny day.

Macbride helped keep the men in his truck in good spirits for the first
hour as they bounced and rolled through small villages, waving and
whistling at the farmers and pretty girls lining the roadway. But the
soldiers finally tired of the sergeantis weak jokes and became silent as
their butts and backs began to ache from the combination of wooden seats
and hard rubber tires. And if the constant jarring didnit overcome them,

the dust stirred up by the long convoy seemingly would. It swirled in
from both ends of the truck and up through the floorboards, covering
their forest green uniforms with a fine powder and making it difficult
to breath. Earl even tried putting on his gas mask, but found that more
stifling than the dust.

At St. Denis, some ten miles northeast of Paris, the convoy stopped to
allow the soldiers to stretch their legs and relieve themselves along
one side of the road while civilians served them water from the other
side. When they reboarded, the convoy turned east on the Paris-Metz
highway where they soon were slowed by streams of refugees straggling
away from the distant sound of cannon. Slack-jawed, the young Marines
stared dumbfounded at the unfolding tragedy as they encountered
thickening hordes of bedraggled women, bent old men, ragged children and
even French soldiers trudging trance-like along the roadside.

Most of the refugees were walking, while some were riding in rickety
farm wagons pulled by slack-sided horses or cows.

Some individuals were pulling small two-wheeled carts or pushing
wheelbarrows. Each person or grouping appeared to be carrying the last
vestiges of a broken life: chairs, tables, clocks, birdcages, chickens
and ducks, feather mattresses. From their slow, bent-over plodding and
empty stares, Thomas and his companions speculated this was not the
first time these defenseless civilians had been forced from their homes
by the indiscriminate savagery of battle.

As the convoy approached the town of Meaux, it received orders to divert
northward away from the refugee hordes and then eastward toward the
River Ourcq where they were to find billets in several small villages.
Still they found the roads almost impassable, clogged as they were with
thousands of refugees and French soldiers, all fleeing toward the rear
and staring hollow-eyed ahead with a mixture of terror and resignation.
Finally, as dusk began turning to night, the travel- weary Marines were
ordered from their camions. They straggled into a variety of bombed-out
houses and buildings, broke out their cold rations, and squirmed wearily
into their bedrolls. The

flash of German and French artillery to the east and south was clearly
visible throughout the night.

At four oiclock in the morning, they were awakened and ordered to
prepare for a dayis march. The Germans had broken through the French
lines during the night and the Marines were being deployed south toward
the village of Champillon to help stem their further advance along the
Marne River valley. As they trudged along the side of the dusty road and
on through the morning and afternoon with the hot sun beating against
their steel helmets and forty-pound packs, they continued to run into
demoralized French soldiers and officers, many no longer carrying their
weapons. Their uniforms were tattered and dirty and some carried
partially empty wine bottles and staggered along obviously more drunk
than sober. Cries of ela guerre est finii greeted the Americans at every
turn.

When the column reached its destination late that afternoon, it was
immediately deployed into trenches recently vacated by the French east
of the village. The tired, hungry Marines soon learned that the field
kitchens had not kept up with them, and they had to get by on dry
biscuits, tins of cold, greasy French ebully beefi and water that tasted
like the gasoline cans it had been carried in. As the night wore on,
other companies from the Sixth Regiment fell in behind them and to
either side to fill up gaps in the line.

When darkness fell over the front lines, Sergeant Macbride posted
Campbell to guard duty and ordered the others to grab some sleep. Thomas
and Earl found a dark underground bunker, broke out their bedrolls, and
tried to wrestle their bone-weary bodies into sleep. The rest of the
squad settled into cave-like alcoves or slumped down in the open trench
and dozed fitfully, only barely disturbed by the overhead whoosh and
rumble of artillery.

After about an hour, the sound of shouting and screaming from one of the
alcoves woke the entire squad. Everyone scrambled to their feet and Earl
pushed aside the gas curtain covering their bunker and stuck his head
out into the trench, rifle at the ready. Bernstein was jumping up and
down on the duckboards and yelling in his high-pitched voice, isomething
crawled over meosomethingis alive in there! i Sergeant Macbride was
beside them now, trying to calm everybody in a loud whisper, ishut up,
for Christis sake! You wannai wake the whole fuckini German army? i
Martinez and Leconte crawled out of their alcoves cursing.

Thereis rats in that fuckini hole, crawlini all over the goddamn place,
i Rudy announced.

Rats like hell! i Bernie continued in a loud whisper.

Whatever crawled over me was big as a dog! i Leconte was visibly shaking
as he added his bit, ithis place is filthy. Those fuckini Frenchies left
garbage, shit, rotten food.

No wonder the rats love this fuckini dump! i Thomas started chuckling at
the incongruity of Leconte yelling so disparagingly about his ancestry
and was trying to think of a suitable comment when Macbride, struggling
to restore order, yelled, iat ease, at ease. What the hell you guys
expect, the goddamn Hotel Paree? i The squad was calming down now and
the sergeant continued, visibly angry with his green soldiers. ithose
are rats and this hereis a fuckini trench and weire in the middle of a
fuckini war. If you think the rats are big, wait etil you see them
fuckini Heinies coming at you! i The squad became silent and stirred
uneasily, embarrassed at their actions. Macbride took a deep breath and
in a calmer voice ordered them to try again to get some sleep. iyouire
gonnai need it, i he added solemnly.

Thomas and Earl crawled back in their dark bunker to try to sleep but
Earl, still in a talkative mood, called out, itommie?

Yeah?

You still got your lucky ring?

Uh huh. He reached inside his shirt to feel the ring, which now hung on
the string around his neck that held his dog tags.

Fearing it might get lost or damaged, he had long since given up trying
to wear it on his finger.

You ready for tomorrow, Tommie?

Huh? i iyou ready to kill Germans?

Uh huh. He was trying to fall asleep, but his companion wasnit paying
any attention.

Think weill really go out there tomorrow?

Huhoout where?

Over the top. No manis land.

Guess thatis what weire here for.

Earl fell silent for a few moments, then continued, itom?

Uh huh.

You scared?

Shit yes.

Earl paused again, then, i me too.

Thomas started snoring lightly and Earl fell quiet for a few minutes,
lost in his thoughts. Then he heard a rat skittering across the floor of
the bunker, grabbed his trench shovel and slammed it down trying to hit
the intruder. The sharp clanging woke Thomas with a start.

What the fuck!

I was trying to hit a rat.

For Christis sake, Earl, get some sleep! i He didnit reply and settled
back in his bedroll. Thomas pulled his blanket up over his head to ward
off further talk and any curious rats, and dozed off.

Around four oiclock the entire squad was startled awake by a loud
explosion. As they stumbled out of their bunkers and alcoves into the
open trench, there was another, close enough to shower dirt on them.
These were followed by several other explosions near by. Macbride poked
his head out of his bunker and yelled, igerman artillery. Get the hell
under cover! i The artillery continued bracketing fore and aft of the
trench for over an hour, during which time there was one direct hit
about one hundred yards from Thomasi squad. Word quickly passed back and
forth that two Marines had been killed and another wounded. The sergeant
moved among his men, alerting them to the fact that the barrage
undoubtedly was in preparation

for an infantry attack. He ordered them to be ready to assume defensive
positions along the trench.

At five thirty the barrage stopped briefly then resumed forward of the
trench. Marines all along the line stepped into positions where they
could peer out through the morning mist steaming eerily up from the
charred and churned battlefield.

Macbride paced nervously back and forth ordering them to set their
sights for maximum effective range of eight hundred yards.

Weire gonnai show those fuckini Heinies some first class shootini, i he
lectured his troops. iremember to aim for their goddamn chest and
squeeze those shots. I want one German for each bullet, no fuckini
misses. Letis show eem some real Marine marksmanship. Remember to---i
Pembroke interrupted, isomething moved! i Macbride stepped up on the
parapet and peered through his field glasses. ihere they come! i Thomas
and Earl and the rest of the squad squinted into the mist straining to
find something moving. In a moment they could see what looked like
hundreds of gray, ghost-like forms running toward them from the
distance. They waited tensely, adrenaline flowing, stomachs churning,
for the Germans to come within range. Then first one shot was fired,
followed by another and suddenly everyone was blasting away. The
pop-pop-pop of rifle fire was joined by a deadly symphony of French
seventy- five millimeter artillery screaming overhead in a flat
trajectory so close it made the Marines want to duck for cover.

Macbride resumed pacing back and forth urging his squad to be calm, pick
their targets, and squeeze off each shot.

Suddenly, he screamed at Bernstein. iwhere the fuck you aiming? i He had
his rifle pointed about thirty degrees above the trench and was shooting
wildly into the air. He stopped and looked at Macbride with a panicky
stare. The sergeant put his arm around his shoulder to calm him, eased
him back into his rifle sling and quietly helped him point toward the
oncoming Germans. inow all you gottai do is get a Heinie in your sights
and squeeze off a shot real easy, just like at the rifle range.

Bernstein did as he was told and in a moment let out a yell as he saw
his target fall.

The deadly Marine rifle fire, augmented by the artillery and two machine
gun squads, was taking a heavy toll as the attackers started dropping
like cut wheat. They were hit first at the eight hundred yard range,
almost unheard of in three previous years of trench warfare, then even
more devastatingly as their thinning ranks drew closer to the Marine
trenches. In a few minutes, the attack had been broken and the remaining
Germans sought refuge in bomb craters and behind mounds of churned-up
dirt or bodies of their dead. Many started crawling and running back to
their lines.

Yelling and cheering broke out all along the trench as the Marines
realized they had successfully repulsed their first attack, and their
officers came through offering congratulations.

Macbrideis squad finally calmed down enough to break out cold rations
for their breakfast, and Thomas started heating water to make coffee.
Random heavy artillery from both sides continued to rumble overhead.

Then the call came down the line to fix bayonets and prepare for attack.
Runners came through distributing ammunition and grenades, and non-coms
ordered their troops to strip down to combat packs and make certain gas
masks were slung around their necks. Rounds of artillery from the French
batteries resumed whistling overhead to soften up German defenses.

When whistles sounded to launch the attack, Sergeant Macbride wished his
charges egood Lucki and ordered them to follow as he climbed the steps
leading to no manis land. As Earl moved up to follow, the sergeant
suddenly crumpled back down, knocking Earl off the ladder, and landed on
his back in the bottom of the trench. Thomas, mouth agape, looked down
into his sergeantis glassy, lifeless eyes and saw the small round hole
in the center of his forehead, a tiny trickle of blood and gray matter
oozing out.

As the squad bunched up trying to peer around Thomas, he stammered,
iheis deadosarge is dead! i Earl stood transfixed,

staring down at the lifeless body, unable to move or make a sound.

Thomas fought back the churning, retching feeling in his foregut and
forced his eyes off of Macbride to look at Earl.

Come on, letis get the hell out of here! i Earl didnit answer, didnit
break his stare. Thomas punched him on the shoulder. isnap out of it,
Earl, i he yelled, iletis go after those goddamn Heinies! i Earlis whole
body started shaking but he still didnit speak.

Come on, follow me! i Thomas yelled to the others as he climbed the
ladder. As he ran toward the German lines, he glanced back once to see
the rest of the squad following, heads down, bayonets and rifles at the
ready.

He continued running and stumbling across the shell-pocked terrain,
trying not to hear the angry buzz and zing of enemy bullets around him.
After several hundred yards, he dropped breathlessly into a large shell
crater and was immediately joined by Bernstein and Pembroke. Wordlessly
and wild-eyed they looked at each other as bullets zipped by like
hornets and artillery shells whooshed and whumped overhead.

Thomas peeked over the top of the crater to reconnoiter and detected the
chattering sound of a German machine gun off to the right. Silently he
pointed in the direction of the hillock from which the sound seemed to
be coming, then motioned to his two companions to spread out on either
side and follow as he started crawling forward. After about twenty to
thirty yards, they realized that bullets were zipping much closer
overhead then before. They stopped crawling and tried to burrow their
bodies into the powdery soil. They now could clearly hear the machine
gun and could see the tops of German helmets over the hillock, but they
were too pinned down by other enemy fire to move.

Thomas sensed a movement to his right and turned as Pembroke rolled on
his left side to free his right arm and hurled a grenade toward the
machine gun.

Without waiting for the explosion, Thomas jumped to his feet and ran
toward the nest with his companions in hot pursuit.

As the grenade exploded, they crested the hillock and fired into the
three gunners. Bernstein jumped into the crater and plunged his bayonet
deep into the belly of the one enemy soldier still writhing in pain,
then turned away as vomit gushed out of his mouth and down the front of
his shirt. Pembroke dropped in beside him, pulled out the bloody bayonet
and handed the rifle back to Bernstein. Thomas joined them as they
hunkered down momentarily, breathing deeply and trying to steady their
trembling bodies.

After catching their breath, they jumped to their feet, spread out and
resumed running toward the enemy lines. Within a few yards, Thomas was
slammed to the ground by a loud explosion to his left. Pembroke fell
into another shell hole to his right and as Thomas retrieved the helmet
that had been knocked from his head, he noticed a stinging sensation
along his left arm and hip.

He looked down to find several spots of blood oozing out through his
uniform, then reached up to feel the warm, sticky blood seeping out of
his ear.

Cautiously, he raised his head and glanced to his left to find himself
staring into the sightless eyes of Bernsteinis severed head, still
strapped in its helmet. He retched into the dirt as a wave of fear
sucked his heaving chest down into the puke and flimsy protection of the
shallow shell hole. His arms and legs had lost all feeling and wouldnit
move as bullets whined overhead and German artillery slammed into the
earth around him. As the counterattack against them intensified,
Pembroke dared to peer around from his shell hole and noticed a few
other Marines running toward them on either side. A machine gun crew
dropped into the new artillery crater to their left and another about
fifty yards to the right.

Hey, Boss, weire getting reinforcements, i he yelled.

Thomas didnit answer.

Pembroke threw a handful of dirt over at him.

Thomas raised his head slightly but didnit speak.

Pembroke yelled, inow me feel like Custer! i Thomas still didnit reply
but the incongruity of the remark from his usually laconic companion
started to break the fearlock on his body.

His buddy shouted again, imaybe we move back? i Thomas turned his head
longingly back toward the empty trench then peered forward to see the
backsides of a few fellow Marines disappearing toward the enemy and
falling to the ground. ishit no. Weire OK, long as we donit take a
direct hit.

If we do weill never know it.

n a few minutes the barrage eased up and Thomas and Pembroke raised
their heads warily. The machine gun team to their left had been wiped
out and replaced by another huge hole, apparently a direct hit from one
of the German nine-inch howitzers. The one further away on the right was
still in place and the helmeted heads of other Marines could be seen in
both directions, their bodies partially hidden by hastily dug mounds of
dirt. To the front they could see a long, flat field of wheat sloping
down toward a shallow gully. Beyond the gully and wheat waving lazily in
the early summer breeze was a dense forest about one thousand yards
distant.

Gerry, i Thomas called out, ihow far to that gullyoabout three hundred
yards? i Pembroke peered over his foxhole and nodded in agreement.

Set your sights for three hundred yards and pass the word around.

Pembroke adjusted his rifle sight and asked, ihow come?

If the Krauts attack, theyill slow down when they start climbing out of
that gully. Make it easier to pick eem off.

They passed the word along the scraggly line of Marines to their right
and left. After another half-hour of staring into the shadows of the
forest, they noticed that some of the foliage appeared to be moving. The
movement materialized into German soldiers, several hundred of them.

The two buddies watched transfixed as the hoard came running toward them
in compact groupings. Thomas snapped out of his hypnotic stare to the
sound of other Marines around them settling into defensive positions,
checking their rifles, and stacking extra ammunition.

He shouted to the nearest group to hold their fire. The word was passed
along the line as the Germans pressed forward relentlessly. On they
came, confidently, almost arrogant in the way they ran forward through
the wheat.

When they crossed the gully and slowed their charge up the long slope,
the Marines opened fire and cheered as the Germans fell. Finally they
broke and the remaining stragglers turned and ran back to the woods.

As dusk settled over the quiet, exhausted battlefield, a runner came
forward and ordered the Marines to recover their dead and wounded and
return to their trenches. Thomas and Pembroke made their way back
through the fading light, dumbfounded at the carnage. Everywhere they
looked, the remains of wounded or dead Marines were being recovered,
many with their bodies torn and twisted into grotesque shapes, or with
arms, legs or heads missing. They tried to avert their eyes as they
stumbled through the torn earth seeking the shell hole where Bernstein
had been hit.

When they finally found the right location, they recovered a rifle and
battered canteen and then a mangled arm, a leg, a stray boot with a foot
inside, and Bernsteinis helmeted head. Thomas pulled the poncho from his
field pack and stuffed the arm, leg and boot inside, but hesitated at
retrieving the head. Pembroke moved beside him and reached down to pick
it up by the rim of the helmet, only to grimace in revulsion as the chin
strap slipped off and the head tumbled back into the dirt.

Shit! i he muttered as he grabbed it by the hair and dropped it into the
open poncho. Silently they stumbled back through the uneven ground, both
realizing they soon would face the gruesome task of burying their
comrade and any others who might have paid the final price.

They returned to a trench in shambles. The bunker that Thomas and Earl
had spent the night in had taken a direct hit.

Bloody torsos, body parts, guts and brain matter were scattered around
in unbelievable disarray. Tim Campbell, who had

returned to the trench ahead of them, toted up their losses. In addition
to the death of Macbride and Bernstein, Rudy Martinez had taken a bullet
in the leg and been evacuated to a field hospital. Campbell and Leconte
had returned unscathed.

What about Earl? i Thomas asked.

Campbell shook his head, ihavenit seen him.

Who were these guys? i Pembroke asked as he stepped closer to the tumble
of bodies around the destroyed bunker, looked into unseeing faces, and
turned a couple of torsos over.

Replacements brought up this morning after we jumped off, i Campbell
answered.

They never fired a shot, i Leconte grumbled. iwhat a fuckini waste.

A medic, working his way through the trench looking for wounded,
interrupted, ianybody hurt here? i When Campbell pointed to the blood on
Thomasis left sleeve, the medic had him remove his shirt to find several
spots of dried blood. As he grimaced, the medic used a knife to dig into
the wounds, skillfully removing bits of bone embedded in his flesh.
ilooks like you were standing too close to someone, i he remarked
casually as he dressed the cuts.

Thomas pulled his shirt back on and walked along the duckboards to where
he had last seen Earl. At first all he found was a pile of dirt where
the front of the trench had caved in from another artillery hit. Then he
noticed the point of a bayonet sticking up through the mound. With his
hand he scraped away the loose dirt down to where the bayonet was
attached to a rifle.

He used his trench shovel to dig further until it clanged against a
steel helmet and finally the softness of a body seated against the
trench wall. When he finally uncovered Earl, he found no blood or other
signs of bodily damage; apparently he had suffocated under the mound of
dirt. Thomas turned away with a mixture of disgust and sadness and
returned to the half of his squad who were still alive.

He found a young lieutenant querying his buddies, iwhois in charge here?
i Campbell and Leconte looked at Thomas, and Pembroke spoke up, iour
sergeant and corporal are dead, Sir. Oiroark here should be in charge.
He organized our defense in the wheat field. It was one of his most
articulate statements, and caused his buddies to look at him in
surprise.

Damn nice work, Oiroark, i the officer said. iyouire now sergeant in
charge of this squad. Weive got replacements on their way up so you
should have a full outfit later tonight.

Yes sir.

The field kitchens have finally arrived. Get yourselves some hot food
then take care of your burying detail.

Yesssir.

Thomas led his tired buddies to the chow line where they loaded up their
mess kits with hot stew, biscuits, and coffee.

Later, their bellies full, they straggled back through the warm evening
toward the front line trench. There they found that a detachment of
engineers had dug a wide, shallow grave in the soft, churned-up soil.
Bodies of dead Marines, loosely wrapped in blankets or ponchos, some
with arms or legs sticking out, were stacked beside it.

Thomas dropped down into the grave, called out to Campbell to join him,
and ordered a couple of the replacements to hand down the bodies. He
stopped counting when he reached fifty and one of the bodies rolled out
of its blanket, spilling guts all over his shoes. Campbell reacted by
heaving his partially digested stew and biscuits into the grave. When
they finished, a chaplain said a few words and the rest of the squad
started filling in the grave. Sullenly and silently, Thomas and the
others returned to their rat-infested trench and another night of half-
sleep as the German and Allied artillery duel resumed.

All through the following day and night, the Marines stayed in their
trenches, standing to for possible attacks and awaiting their
reinforcements. The artillery bombardment waxed and waned and German
Fokkers flew over intermittently, strafing and bombing the trenches
until they were chased away by French and American squadrons. Finally
word came down the line that they would be attacking in the morning.
Thomas was advised by the company commander that he would be leading a
full platoon of sixteen men since there still was a shortage of
experienced non-coms. Their objective would be the villages of Lucy and
Bouresches and an old hunting preserve called Belleau Wood.

The Marines launched their attack as faint streaks of dawn penetrated
the gloom ahead of them. Thomas led his troopers over the top and
charged ahead zig-zagging through the wheat, heading for the dry gully
they had used so effectively during the earlier defense. He soon became
conscious of machine gun bullets buzzing past him and of members of his
platoon falling to the left and right. When he reached the gully and
flopped to the ground, Pembroke dropped in to his right and Campbell
followed up on the left.

I think Frenchie got hit, i Tim yelled breathlessly.

Couple more went down beside me, i Pembroke added.

Couldnit tell if they were hit or taking cover.

Thomas looked back to see if any more of his platoon was following.
Within a few moments, five other Marines had run or crawled into the
gully.

OK, weire going for the woods, i he ordered. itim, you take two guys
over to the left there and Chief and Iill take three to the right. Keep
your heads down and spread out so youire harder to hit.

He jumped to his feet and took off on a dead run for the woods,
stumbling and weaving across the uneven ground. Soon as he got to the
tree line, he dropped down behind a large boulder. The others fell in a
few feet to either side.

He quickly realized they were very near a machine gun nest and peered
warily around the rock to see three Germans hunched over a big Maxim,
spitting fire toward Americans advancing through the wheat. He motioned
silently to Chief who pulled the pin on a grenade and gave it a mighty
heave. Screams of pain, then silence followed the explosion, and Thomas
looked around for more Germans.

A bullet cracked against the rock, splattering chips in his face, and
whined angrily off in the distance. It was followed by

two more shots slapping into an adjacent tree trunk. He flinched, moved
to the left and wormed his body into the forest floor, yelling to
Pembroke, iwhere the fuckis that coming from? i He didnit answer.
Another bullet whined over Thomasi back, causing him to edge his body
further around the side of the rock away from the apparent source.
Cautiously he peeked out and yelled again, ianybody see where thatis
coming from?

Itis a fuckini sniperomust be in that tree clump over there. The voice
came from one of the replacement Marines, and Thomas eased his head up
enough to follow the pointing finger and watched as the newcomer calmly
raised his rifle and squeezed off a single shot. The high branches of a
large tree parted as a dead German tumbled to the ground.

With the sniper and machine gun silenced, the area around Thomas and his
four companions became quiet, although the intermittent pop, pop, pop of
small arms fire and booming of artillery could still be heard in the
near distance. He shouted again for Pembroke, who still didnit answer.
He crawled a few yards to his right and to the shock of seeing the
bloody, gray mass that used to be Pembrokeis brains. He apparently had
taken a sniper bullet that ripped off the side of his head and died
instantly.

Thomas dropped his head to the forest floor and fought the urge to
scream out in anger and frustration. He pounded his fist into the dirt
and choked back the bile rising in his throat until the muffled sound of
Germans voices snapped him to attention. He squirmed back to the
protective rock and motioned the rest of the squad to keep low as he
strained to see where the sound was coming from.

Some hundred yards away he observed a group of Germans weaving their way
through the trees. Three of them were manhandling a trench mortar and
boxes of shells, while the others followed with rifles. He watched
patiently as they selected a protected site behind some rocks and tree
stumps that gave them a clear field of fire toward the advancing
Americans.

He motioned for the three nearest Marines to come closer and sketched a
plan of attack in the dirt.

The four rose to a half crouch and inched their way forward, keeping
behind the cover of broken trees and underbrush. Soon as they were
within range, they lobbed two grenades then dashed toward the hated
enemy, their rifles at the ready. Thomas jumped wildly into the large
foxhole and plunged his bayonet deep into the sternum of one German,
feeling it grate against bone as it went all the way in to the hilt. As
the hapless Hun gave out his dying scream, Thomas struggled to free his
bayonet, finally firing a shot to blast it loose. He felt his own guts
twist and tighten as he turned to see the head of a second German
explode in a shower of blood and brain matter from the point blank shot
of another Marine. Thomas prodded the other bodies with his bloody
bayonet, but found none alive.

As the foursome sank into the foxhole to catch their breath, Thomas felt
dizzy and noticed the searing pain in his left shoulder. He looked down
to see blood oozing through his uniform. He unbuttoned his shirt and,
shocked at the quantity of blood flowing from his shoulder and down
across his belly, fainted dead away.

When he came to, he was being jostled onto a stretcher by two squad
members. A field medic had applied a temporary bandage, given him a shot
for tetanus, and marked his forehead in iodine with the letter eti.
Later, as he was being loaded into an ambulance for transport to a field
hospital, the company commander approached.

Nice work out there, Sergeant.

Thomas smiled weakly.

The battle for Belleau Wood raged on for another twenty days, finally
ending on June 26 when the Marines cleared out the last of the German
defenders. The battle had occurred in the Chateau-Thierry sector, and
had stopped the enemy advance toward Paris some forty miles away. It had
been one of five major offensives launched that spring against the
Allies, and American troops had assisted in breaking up each one.

In the Chateau-Thierry campaign, the Armyis Second Division and the
Marine Fourth Brigade suffered over nine thousand casualties. This
included 1,062 Marines killed and 3,615 wounded, more total casualties
than the Corps had experienced since its founding in 1776.

The French renamed Belleau Wood, ebois de la Brigade de Marinei.

Chapter 30.

By June, Emma and Becky had settled into virtually separate lives. Becky
had taken to motherhood very comfortably and had converted her brotheris
bedroom into a nursery, complete with bassinet, boyish-looking plaid
curtains and matching bedspread.

The care of baby Richard, now two months old, had turned into a full
time job. The periodic breast feedings, washing of diapers and baby
clothes, playing and reading to him, listening to the Victrola, and
singing him to sleep in her fatheris old rocker had become
all-consuming. These activities left her little time to oversee the
familyis two farm properties so that with the busy summer season now
upon them, PJ and the Mexican family were pretty much running things on
their own.

Additionally, with the help of Richard Mardikian, she was enjoying a
limited social life. He had taken her and the baby to a Liberty Bond
rally and a musical concert in Court House park, and had even arranged a
Memorial Day picnic with another couple. He and Becky seemed oblivious
to the incongruity of his dark hair and eyes and swarthy skin compared
to the babyis fair skin and blond hair.

Emma had become fully immersed in her Red Cross work.

As chairman of the new Home Service section she had a Ford van for her
full time use and an office in the Fresno headquarters from which she
coordinated the work of volunteers throughout the county. She was making
almost weekly driving trips to outlying communities as part of her
responsibility. The boarding house room she had taken in town had proven
to be a godsend,

saving her from many late night trips out to the farm and providing her
with meals when she didnit have the time or the inclination to cook.

The end result was that she had seen very little of her daughter or new
grandson. This did not particularly bother Emma since she had never
fully accepted Beckyis illegitimate pregnancy and had worried over the
problems she could foresee in raising such a child.

These long absences also meant that she was not aware that Mardikian was
becoming a surrogate husband and father. He was helping Becky with
household chores, playing with the baby and cooking some of their meals.
He had even stayed over a couple of nights when heavy rainstorms had
flooded the roads.

But he always insisted on sleeping on the sofa although Becky had
offered him the comfort of her motheris larger bed. And on more than one
occasion, he had made recommendations to PJ on crop matters, without
consulting Becky and somewhat to the crusty old manageris consternation.

Things changed dramatically late one night when Becky awoke vomiting and
with a high fever. Richard had stayed over because of another
thunderstorm, which even now was keeping him half-awake as it rumbled
and slashed through the night sky toward the rocky bosom of the Sierra
Nevadas east of the Oiroark farm. He sat up as she, clad only in her
nightgown, ran through the living room toward the bathroom. He pulled on
his trousers and shirt, retrieved her bathrobe from the bedroom, draped
it across her shaking body hunkered down over the toilet, and went to
the kitchen to prepare a cold compress. A flash of lightning illuminated
the wall clock long enough to tell him it was after midnight.

He tried to comfort her through the rest of the night, keeping her
covered in heavy blankets in an effort to sweat out the demons racking
her body and applying cold cloths to her feverish forehead. When dawnis
light began to peek into Beckyis bedroom and the baby awakened for his
usual morning feeding, Richard, feeling it might not be wise for him to
suckle from his sick motheris breast, prepared a bottle and held it
while he slurped it down. Then he phoned Dr. Bandy who advised that it
sounded like another case of the influenza starting to rage through
Fresno and the rest of the world. He urged that Becky and the baby be
brought into the hospital where they could be isolated and treated.

Richard didnit waste any time. He pulled his car up close to the door,
bundled Becky up in several blankets and helped her from bed into the
back seat. He laid the baby out on the front passenger seat and pointed
the car toward town. The rain had stopped and the sun was climbing
rapidly above the Sierras, promising a warm day as its rays stirred
misty vapors of moisture up from the saturated soil.

At the hospital, the doctor confirmed that Becky had influenza and
placed her in an isolation ward along with dozens of others felled by
the rapidly spreading epidemic. Over forty Fresno residents already had
died from the disease, and city fathers were closing movie houses and
placing restrictions on public gatherings. Most people were wearing
gauze masks to protect themselves from the scourge. Baby Richard was
sent to another wing some distance away along with other babies and
young children who also had been separated from ailing parents.

When Mardikian was satisfied that his two charges were being taken care
of, he phoned the unsettling news to Emma.

When she showed up later and after Mardikian reported on the status of
Becky and the baby and departed, she took up her vigil along with other
relatives of stricken patients. She was not permitted to enter the ward
and had to content herself with looking absently through the glass of
the locked door. After a few restless minutes, she wandered over to the
childrenis wing and tried unsuccessfully to identify her grandson among
the multitude of babies behind the viewing glass. But she didnit inquire
about his welfare, preferring not to be considered responsible for the
baby.

Upon her return to Beckyis ward, she heard her name being called and
acknowledged her presence. The short, cherubic man who approached her
identified himself as Dr. Bandy and extended his hand in greeting. She
mused that although she had

seen him some months earlier when she escorted Becky to her first
pregnancy examination, she certainly would not have recognized him now.
His face was partially covered with a gauze mask, his hair disheveled,
his eyes tired and watery, his shoulders slumped from the fatigue of
working around the clock battling the epidemic.

Missus Oiroark, I must tell you that your daughter is very ill, i he
said gravely. ishe had a temperature of 104 when she was admitted and
was experiencing a great deal of pain in her back and limbs.

Oh my, i Emma replied.

Weive given her calomel and an enema in an effort to purge her body of
this terrible disease. We also gave her a warm bath to ease some of the
pain and put her in a warm bed and gave her warm lemonade. And weire
applying ice caps, hoping to lower her temperature.

Mardikian, who had just rejoined them, asked, us there anything else
that can be done, doctor?

If her temperature doesnit come down by morning, we may administer a
small dose of antipyrine along with continuing the ice packs. The risk
is that too much could cause prostration, so we have to be careful.

Richard and Emma looked at each other and shook their heads; neither
could think of anything to say.

Dr. Bandy looked at Emma and spoke again, ii see your daughter has had
her baby. What did she have, and when? i Emma hesitated, looking
puzzled, so Richard answered, iit was a boy born April 5th.

Noting the doctoris quizzical look, Emma explained, imister Mardikian is
a friend of Beckyis.

Where is the baby now? i Bandy asked.

Emma pointed down the hall, iin the childrenis wing.

Good, we must keep him isolated from his mother until she recovers.

The doctor excused himself to talk to other relatives awaiting word on
their loved ones. Richard again took his leave and Emma returned to a
seat in the hallway to continue her vigil.

In a few moments, she was surprised to hear someone call her name. She
shook herself from her self-absorption and looked up to see a young man
and woman standing in front of her. Like Emma and the other visitors,
they were wearing gauze masks over their nose and mouth, making
identification more difficult.

Remember me, Missus Oiroark? i the young woman mumbled through her mask.

Emma nodded vaguely, not sure if she did recognize her.

The woman pulled her mask down, iiim, Brenda Stuckeyoremember last
Thanksgiving at your house?

Oh, heavens yes. Now I remember!

This is my brother, Emil.

Emma acknowledged the introduction, her eyes revealing a weak smile. She
didnit remove her mask.

Brenda asked, iwhy are you here, someone you know ill?

My daughter.

Brenda gasped, ibecky? i Emma nodded.

Oh thatis terrible! What about her baby? i Emma was taken aback by the
question. She hadnit thought of anyone else knowing that her daughter
had given birth. ioh, uh, heis fine. They have him in another ward. She
pointed down the hall.

Brenda and her brother were silent for a few moments, then he spoke
through his mask. iour Mamais in there too. He nodded toward the
influenza ward across the hall.

They took seats next to Emma as Brenda asked, ih ave you heard from
Thomas? i Emma had to collect her thoughts for a few moments before
replying. iyes, we got a telegram from the War Department a few days
ago. Heis been wounded.

Brenda caught her breath.

Apparently itis not too seriousonot enough to send him home.

Their conversation was interrupted as a doctor exited from the isolation
ward, glanced around at the visitors, and crossed the hall to speak
quietly to an elderly couple. The woman let out a loud wail and
collapsed in the arms of her companion. They left shortly and Brenda and
Emil, along with several other visitors, gathered around the doctor for
updates on their respective loved ones.

Becky remained gravely ill for over a week, her fever raging wildly, and
occasionally lapsing into unconsciousness.

Fortunately, she did not contract pneumonia, which usually proved fatal.
Eventually her temperature returned to normal and her overall condition
improved to the point that she could be sent home, along with the baby,
to complete her recovery.

This part of her recovery did not go well. First, her mother had finally
given her the news that her beloved brother, the rock of her young life,
had been wounded. Although the message indicated he was expected to
recover, it combined with her own near-death illness to bring home the
frailty and uncertainty of life. Second, the other anchor in her life,
Richard Mardikian, had advised her of his decision to enlist. Although
he was exempt from military service because of his position with the
Farm Bureau, he had decided that he had to do his patriotic duty.

The result was that Becky seldom left the comfort and security of her
bed and tended to neglect the ever-demanding baby. This placed added
pressure on Emma in her role as reluctant mother and grandmother.

Thus, when Bill Hardy invited her to join him for dinner one evening at
the Hughes Hotel, she readily accepted. During the terrible ordeal of
Beckyis illness and recovery, he had made several trips down from San
Francisco to oversee the chapter activities and try to support Emma
during her absences.

Although she was not too surprised at the invitation and actually
welcomed the chance to get away from Becky and the baby, she was taken
aback by the special dinner he had arranged.

Caesar salad, King crab shipped in from San Francisco, fresh summer
vegetables and a dessert of flaming cherries jubilee. An expensive
French champagne, an orchid corsage and a strolling violinist topped off
the arrangements.

During the first part of the dinner, Hardy contented himself with small
talk about Beckyis recovery, reports from the war front, and the status
of their Red Cross work. But as they finished their crab and the waiter
opened another bottle of champagne, Hardy could contain himself no
longer. He reached across the table and took Emmais hand.

Do you realize how extra beautiful you are this evening? i he asked.

Emma, still not used to such flattery, especially in a public place,
blushed.

Iim afraid live fallen hopelessly in love with you Emma.

She glanced around the room, smiled and tried to withdraw her hand. But
Hardy held on tight. ido you find my love objectionable?

Nooi justoi guess Iim not used to such flattery.

How do you feel about me, Emma. Do you love me? i She could feel her
heart beating, her head spinning. She felt a sudden urge to leave for
the ladiesi room. But Hardy was still holding on and she didnit have the
strength to pull her hand away.

He leaned forward and kissed her hand softly. iemma, will you marry me?
i She let out a little gasp, ioh, Mister Hardy, my heavens!

IOIOdonit know what to say! i Hardy sensed something negative in her use
of emister Hardyi. After all, they had been on a ebill and Emmai
relationship now for many weeks. He released her hand and they watched
silently as the waiter rolled a cart up to the table and started
preparing their cherries jubilee. As he reached to light the brandy, a
lightning flash from outside, followed shortly by a horrendous clap of
thunder, illuminated the room and rocked the venerable old hotel.

Bill and Emma jumped and the waiter almost knocked over the serving
cart. They watched, momentarily transfixed as a torrent of rain and wind
slashed against the window.

Hardy broke their silence, ii hope youire not planning on driving back
to the farm in this weather.

ino, I guess not.

As she daintily dipped a spoon into her dessert, Hardy turned to the
waiter. iyoung man, would you kindly check with the front desk to
reserve a room for Missus Oiroark?

Yes sir.

Emma didnit protest Hardyis action. They ate their dessert quietly and
followed that with coffee, peering absently out the window at the raging
storm. They limited the balance of their conversation to awkward small
talk about the Red Cross and the flu epidemic, with Emma expressing her
concerns over Beckyis seemingly slow recovery. When they finished, Hardy
escorted her to the elevator and up to the door of her room, kissed her
hand, and bid her goodnight.

She locked the door and turned to examine the living room, bedroom and
bath that made up the large suite. She took off her coat and hat, used
the bathroom and returned to sit on the edge of the bed as her mind
raced back through the eveningis events.

Restlessly, she returned to the living room and stared out the window
through rivulets of rain to the glistening city below.

She turned and poked around the room until she found several old issues
of Ladies Home Journal and Mcclures, which she flipped through until
realizing she already had read them.

She tossed the magazines aside, turned out the living room lights, and
went back to the bedroom. Resignedly she pulled back the bedspread,
undressed down to her petticoat and underwear, and slipped wearily in
between the cool, clean sheets. Her mind, shifting wearily from Hardyis
proposal to her Red Cross work to Beckyis illness, kept her from falling
asleep.

Then came the knock on the door, almost too soft to hear.

She sat up in bed and started to call out, but realized she didnit need
to. She tiptoed into the living room and listened quietly until she
heard Hardy whisper her name. She opened the door slightly to see him
standing there in his robe and pajamas with a bottle of champagne.

Silently, almost dreamlike, she returned to bed and watched wide-eyed as
he placed the unopened bottle on a table and turned out the light.
Wordlessly he undressed and climbed in beside her. She laid flat on her
back, tense as a board as he rolled his warm, naked body against her and
kissed her cheek, then her lips, then the soft concave of her neck. She
jumped at the touch of his hand on her thigh and fell limp as he
struggled to pull down her bloomers and helped her sit up to remove her
petticoat and brassiere.

When he laid her back down, Hardy began fondling and caressing her
breasts. Alexander had never paid any attention to that part of her body
and Emma began breathing heavily, almost overcome by the sensation that
ran down her body and into her thighs. As she felt his fingers gently
probing down her stomach and between her legs, she at first resisted
then began to relax and react more positively to his lovemaking. When he
pushed her legs apart, rolled on top and entered her, Emma began to
respond with an abandon she had never experienced before. She lifted her
legs and wrapped them around the back of his thighs and began thrusting
back at him with her hips. She started moaning in ecstasy and let out a
little scream as his hardness swelled up and squirted free inside her.

In a few moments, it was all over and Emma lay on her back gasping and
blinking at how quickly it had happened.

Wordlessly, Hardy rolled on his back, pulled the covers back up over
them, and they quietly fell asleep. When they awoke in the early
morning, their bodies entwined, they made love again.

This time Emma was even more relaxed, returning his kisses passionately
and tentatively probing his chest and stomach with her fingers, catching
her breath at the size and hardness of his erection. Their passion
spent, they fell back asleep. They didnit reawaken until late morning to
take baths and eventually, arm- in-arm, make their way downstairs for
breakfast.

They were seated at the same window booth they had occupied the night
before, only this time, feeling almost like a new bride, she smiled and
responded eagerly to his hand holding across the table. They hardly
spoke as they placed their order, then gazed out the window at the
bright, clear day, the street still wet and sparkling from the evening
storm.

As they absently watched the waiter bring their fresh fruit and pour
coffee, neither noticed a shabbily dressed woman approach their booth.
Hardy turned first and in a startled voice called out, imartha, what are
you doing here---!i The woman replied, igood morning, William, i as she
calmly reached into her bag and extracted a small, double barrel
derringer. With a toy-like epop-Popi, she pumped two slugs into his
chest. He moaned softly and slumped back in the corner of the booth,
blood burbling from his chest, his eyes glazing over as they stared into
eternity.

Emma reared back in her seat, her mouth agape, caught between a gasp and
a scream. The woman returned the pistol to her purse, apologized to Emma
for upsetting her day, turned and walked quietly from the dining room.
Emma started screaming then fainted.

When she awoke, she was lying flat on the floor, several people hovering
over her. Two of her Red Cross associates, who also had been eating in
the hotel, were fanning her and applying cold, wet napkins to her
forehead. They finally got her to her feet and assisted her to their
automobile to drive to the farm. The wail of an ambulance could be heard
approaching up the street.

Emma spent the next week confined to her bedroom. Mabel Duncan from the
Red Cross, recognizing her bereavement and the fact that a
still-recovering Becky could be of little assistance, had volunteered to
stay at the house to care for them and the baby. She also was the one
who noticed the headline the next day in the Morning Republican: ired
CROSS LEADER KILLED BY ESTRANGED WIFEi. She hid the paper under the sofa
cushion until such time that Emma might recover from her state of shock.

A week later, Mrs. Duncan also was the one who answered the door on a
warm summer morning to find a tearful, bedraggled-looking young woman,
obviously pregnant.

iiim Brenda Stuckey, a neighbor. How are Missus Oiroark and Becky doing?

They seem to be recovering, i Mrs. Duncan answered without commitment.

I read about the terrible shooting last week. Must have been awful.

Yes.

Brenda staggered a little and reached to the side of the house for
support.

You donit look too well. Maybe you better come inside.

Mrs. Duncan guided Brenda into the house and helped her lie down on the
sofa.

Can I get you a cup of tea?

Yes, thank you.

As the Red Cross lady stepped to the kitchen to prepare tea, Becky,
still looking emaciated from her illness, came out of her bedroom and
approached Brenda.

My goodness, i she ventured wanly.

Brenda sat up, smiling. iwhat a nice surprise to see you.

Iim so happy youire recovering from the flu.

Becky nodded and sat down weakly at the kitchen table as Brenda
continued, imy Mama wasnit so lucky. She died two weeks go.

Oh, Iim so sorry.

Mrs. Duncan returned with a teapot and cups and set them on the table.
She poured a cup for each of them and handed one to Brenda, still
sitting on the sofa, and commented, iyou still look rather peaked. You
alright? i Brenda took a sip of the hot beverage. ii believe this will
help. I guess you can see Iim expecting? i Becky nodded then noting that
Brenda was not wearing a wedding ring, ventured a question, iwhois the
lucky father? i Hesitantly, Brenda opened her mouth to reply, almost
forming the word eyouri, but was stopped as Emma opened the door to her
still darkened bedroom and stood blinking into the brighter light. She
looked tired and disheveled with her hair uncombed and robe hanging
loosely around her body.

Mrs. Duncan spoke cheerily, imy, you look like you could stand a cup of
tea and a hot bath.

Emma didnit reply but shuffled quietly to the table and sat down across
from her daughter.

Feeling better, Mother? i Emma forced a weak smile as she turned toward
Mrs. Duncan at the sink. iwe have anything cold to drink?

How about lemonade? i she replied as she reached into the icebox.
isqueezed it fresh this morning.

Brenda came to visit, i Becky ventured, motioning toward the sofa.

Emma sipped at the lemonade Mrs. Duncan had placed before her and turned
to Brenda. ihowis your poor Motherostill in the hospital? i Brenda
opened her mouth to reply, but Becky interrupted, imissus Stuckey died,
Mother.

Emma frowned and took another drink of lemonade.

She reached across the table for her daughteris hand, then extended her
other hand toward Brenda on the sofa.

Looks like weive got our work cut out for us, Mabel.

Howis that?

It appears these young ladies could benefit from our Home Service
section.

Becky squeezed her motheris hand and smiled toward Brenda. A cry from
the bedroom signaled that the baby was waking up, and Becky and Brenda
went to look after him.

Emma turned to Mrs. Duncan. ihow does Becky look to you, Mabel? You
think sheill ever fully recover?

Well, sheis still looking mighty poorly, but I think sheill be alright
eventually.

Emma became pensive and took a drink of her lemonade, then asked, ih ave
we heard anything from Thomas? i Mrs. Duncan shook her head.

Emma stared silently into space for a few moments before she again
spoke, ii would like to send a telegram, Mabel.

Would you please bring me a pencil and paper? i Chapter 31.

For Thomas the ambulance ride from the front lines to the field hospital
had almost been more traumatic than being wounded. He had passed in and
out of consciousness during the wild and bumpy journey as the determined
Annamite driver twisted and weaved down shell-pocked country lanes and
across open fields hoping to dodge enemy artillery. Of the three other
wounded soldiers crammed into the creaking Model T, one died enroute,
coughing and moaning in pain as blood dripped from his torn belly onto
Thomas lying in the stretcher below him.

The others groaned and screamed out from the agony of their wounds and
the hellish ride.

When the ambulance finally stopped, Thomas regained consciousness
briefly as two orderlies removed his stretcher, carried him into a large
stone building, and placed him on the cold, concrete floor among
hundreds of other wounded being brought in from the great battle. He had
been delivered to a field hospital in the process of being converted
from an old college at Seine-et-Marne, some twenty miles east of Paris.
The American surgeons and Red Cross nurses had just arrived a day or two
before to be inundated with the steady stream of ambulances disgorging
their battered casualties.

Inside the hospital, once-virile young men were moaning in pain with
arms or legs replaced by bloody stumps, gasping for breath through
gassed lungs, or gazing blankly into bandages covering sightless eyes.
Many were dying, only to have their spent bodies quietly removed by
orderlies and replaced by more broken bodies. The still air in the room
reeked of ether and chlorine and the putrid stench of torn and infected
flesh.

Thomas had passed out again from the throbbing pain of his wound, and
awoke during the night to find himself atop a metal table in a starkly
white, brightly lighted room. His uniform and muddy boots and leggings
had been replaced by cotton pajama pants. A surgeon, in sterile cap and
gown and rubber gloves, was peering down at his naked upper torso and
shoulder, still wrapped in the temporary, blood-caked bandage. A feeling
of terror swept over him as someone positioned above his head smeared
Vaseline around his eyes then lowered an ether mask toward his face. He
struggled briefly and tried to sit up but was restrained by orderlies on
either side, who strapped his body to the table. As the ether stung
through his nostrils and entered his lungs, he slipped into a terrifying
sleep in which he relived the horror of the battle and fell helplessly
into a deep, bottomless well. When he recovered several hours later,
Thomas found himself in a steel-framed bed in a ward with other wounded.
A glass bottle was suspended above with rubber tubes running down into
the fresh bandages on his left shoulder. The pain was almost gone,
thanks to the morphine he had received after surgery. Subconsciously he
moved his right hand to his neck and grasped the chain holding his ring
and dog tags.

An orderly approached, ihi, soldier.

He returned the greeting with a weak smile.

Got a little present for you. The orderly handed him a jagged piece of
metal about an inch across. ithis is what the doc took out of your
shoulder along with a wad of uniform.

Thomas took the metal without comment, then pointed to the bottle
overhead, iwhatis that?

Dakin solution. Your wound is still open and weire dripping that in
there to kill off any nasty little germs. Weill probably close you up
tomorrow then weill move you out.

Out? i iyeah, to the main hospital in Paris. Gotta make room for some
more of your buddies still out there whuppini those Germans.

Two days later, Thomas was returned to surgery for his wound to be
closed, then transferred to an ambulance for a quiet ride into the main
American hospital in Paris. There, during the first weeks of recovery,
the pain of his wound was gradually replaced by feelings of guilt.
Surrounded by so many other soldiers who had had their youth and vigor
literally ripped from their bodies, it didnit seem right that he should
have been so lucky. The sling around his recovering arm and shoulder was
gradually weakening as a badge of honor.

Near the end of his third week of hospitalization, he was becoming
restless and starting to feel more and more like a slacker when two
events sent his mind reeling. One was a telegram from his mother
advising of Beckyis illness and urging him to return home. The other was
Lillian Branson, who strolled back into his life so casually that it
almost seemed he was dreaming.

The telegram, delivered by a Red Cross aide as Thomas was relaxing with
several other patients in a warm afternoon sun, was brutally brief. A
single, cryptic sentence advised only that Becky was in the hospital
with influenza. It gave no indication of how severe a case she had or
the prognosis for recovery. The second sentence was no more helpful,
only urging that he come home to manage the farm. He re-read the
telegram several times vainly seeking more details.

Then, as he gazed absently across the hospital grounds trying to decide
how to respond to the message, he thought he saw a vision. Two Red Cross
nurses were walking along a distant path, conversing, paying no
attention to the relaxing patients. He sat upright to look more closely,
and glanced around to see if the other patients were still dozing, or if
he had slipped into an unreal daydream. He cried out, ilillian! i The
nurses stopped, turned toward his voice and slowly walked closer. In a
few moments, he was more certain and he

arose from his chair and called out, ilillian, itis me, Thomas Oiroark!
i Lillian now recognized him and ran toward him. She stopped just short
as she realized the other patients had awakened from the shouting.
ithomas, my God, I canit believe itis you! i She reached out for his
free hand, but held him at armis length as she noticed that others were
watching them.

Quickly, breathlessly they chattered back and forth, Thomas telling
briefly about his wound, Lillian relating how she had been assigned to
this particular hospital only a week earlier. She anticipated she soon
would be transferred to one of the field hospitals closer to the front.
When her fellow nurse broke in to remind that they were overdue at
another ward, Lillian suggested she and Thomas meet in the hospital
canteen that evening when she would be off duty.

He arrived at the canteen first and made his way past the coke and
coffee bar and through the miscellaneous gathering of patients, nurses
and doctors to a corner table, and took a seat facing the door. His
heart had been beating so hard all afternoon in anticipation of spending
time with Lillian that his injured shoulder again was throbbing.

In a few minutes, she entered and for Thomas the dimly lighted room
seemed to brighten. As she moved toward him, she paused several times to
acknowledge a doctor or fellow nurse or deliver a friendly pat to
another patient, all of which caused Thomas pangs of jealousy. When she
finally reached the chair he was holding, he could hardly control his
hunger. He sat down, reached impulsively across the table and took her
hand.

God, I didnit realize how much live missed you, i he said. ii had no
idea where you might be or what might have happened to you. ishe tensed
at his touch and frowned slightly, iyou didnit get my letters?

Just the one at home, advising you were signing up for the Nursing
Corps.

They both were pensive for a moment, not sure how to start pouring out
their feelings and memories. Thomas asked, i want a Coke, or coffee?

Coke would be nice.

He stepped up to the bar and returned shortly with two Cokes.

Lillian took a sip of her drink and made a face.

He chuckled, ikindai warm and watery, huh? Not like home.

She nodded and spoke. ithomas, I canit tell you how sorry I was about
that last night in Bakersfield. live thought about you a lot, and
worried too.

Reflexively he shrugged his shoulders, then gritted his teeth at the
stab of pain from his wound. iwhatever happened to your husband?

Not sure. I refused to see him any more. After they let him out of jail,
I assume he returned to his outfit. Didnit I tell you I filed for
divorce?

Yes.

She became lost in thought and a shadow of sadness came over her usually
smiling face. He suddenly realized that underneath the beauty that
always left him breathless there also was vulnerability. He again
reached for her hand and squeezed it gently, iiive worried about you
too, Lillian.

She smiled, iiive even prayed for you. And you might remember, Iim not
very religious.

He returned the smile. ilooks like it paid off because here I am. They
both took a swallow of the warm Coke and became silent for a few
moments, lost in their respective thoughts.

Then she asked, i was it very bad?

Huh?

At the front?

Yes.

He hesitated, momentarily drifting away in the nightmare he had tried to
put behind him. Then, iyeah, wasnit much fun.

We lost Sergeant Macbride and Bernie the first day. Oh, and Earl Fenton.
You remember my friend from Fresno? i She nodded.

We signed up together.

Iim sorry. It must have been--- Lost my best buddy couple days later.

Iim so sorry. Guess I shouldnit have brought up the subject.

He didnit seem to hear her, but continued talking, now in a voice barely
audible. igerry Pembrokeochief we called himogoddamn sniper blew his
head off. Tears were welling up in Thomasi eyes and Lillian, unmindful
of curious glances from others around the room, lifted his hand to her
soft, warm cheek. They both were silent as he struggled to regain his
composure.

After a few minutes, he took a deep breath and spoke again.

Enough about my problems. Howive you been doing?

OK, I guess. Itis pretty bad here, too.

Not like back home? i She smiled wistfully at the memory of the quiet,
almost routine days at Bakersfieldis Mercy Hospital. ino, back there we
were surprised if we got more than one or two trauma cases a month. Here
they just keep coming, hour by hour, day and night.

Yeah, I hear things are still going hot and heavy at the front.

At least by the time they get here theyive been partly patched up. Itis
hard to imagine what it must be like in the field hospitals. She stared
silently across the room.

Thomas could see she was letting emotion get the best of her and stood
up, suggesting they go for a walk. They walked silently out through the
canteen into the large courtyard and along the pathway, oblivious to
other nurses, doctors and recuperating soldiers. Oblivious, too, to the
increasing number of headstones cropping up in the temporary cemetery,
their whiteness made more stark by the waning dusk of the summer
evening.

Eventually, he remembered the news he had received earlier in the day.
igot a telegram from my mother today, i he announced casually.

Good heavens, what about?

My sisteris in the hospital with influenza.

Oh, thatis awful. How come you didnit say something earlier?

I forgot. Got so excited over finding you. He took her hand and squeezed
it.

Iim so sorry. You always spoke so fondly of your sister.

Yeah, Beckyis a great little gal.

You going to apply for a leave to go home?

Havenit decided.

Maybe the Red Cross could arrange it for you? i He turned pensive for a
few moments before answering.

Not sure I want to do that.

Why not? With your wound you should have a legitimate excuse for getting
out of this mess.

But I signed up for the duration. Iid be deserting my buddies.

Donit you feel youive done enough, after all youive been through?

Afraid I couldnit live with myself, knowing my friends would still be
here fighting for me.

Lillian was getting a sinking feeling in her heart at the thought of him
returning to combat. But she didnit pursue the conversation, sensing she
was encroaching on a battle-hardened bonding of men that could not be
broken.

At the entrance to the nursesi quarters, they stopped and stood
awkwardly, holding hands. He wanted desperately to kiss her, hold her in
his arms, make love to her. But that would be impossible in their
present surroundings. He opened his mouth to say something, but she
interrupted. ithomas, the reis something I have to tell you.

He frowned, tensed up for what might be coming.

Our group is moving to a field hospital early in the morning. IOIOwonit
be able to see you again.

His pulsing heart seemed to stop and turn to lead. He couldnit think of
anything to say. He raised her hand to his lips then released it
abruptly. Wordlessly, he turned and strode away, trying to hide the
tears trickling down his face. Halfway across the courtyard he glanced
back to see that she had disappeared into the nursesi quarters.

The next morning, Thomas wrote to his mother:

Paris, France June 26, 1918 Dear Mother: I received your telegram and
was terribly upset to learn of Beckyis illness.

Unfortunately, you gave no details so I canit judge how serious it might
be. Also, you didnit say anything about the babyoi guess it was born OK
in April? Would appreciate your writing me soon with more details.

Your telegram reached me here in the hospital where Iim recovering from
a slight shoulder wound. Iim in a Red Cross hospital and, big surprise,
one of the nurses is Lillian Branson, the woman I know from Bakersfield.
Although I realize Beckyis illness must be very upsetting for you, I
donit plan to request a leave to return home. I feel too much
responsibility to my buddies, some of whom have already been killed in
this terrible war. (I assume youive heard by now that Earl Fenton was
killed?). live been promoted to sergeant and expect to return to my
outfit sometime soon. I have no wish to die or be wounded again but do
believe I must do my duty like so many others.

I donit know what to suggest about the farm but would think PJ could
take care of things. If it gets to be too much of a burden maybe you
could lease it to someone, or you might want to sell it. Iill be anxious
to hear what you decide and hope you will write soon.

Again, am very sorry to hear about Becky. She is a wonderful fun-loving
sister and good friend. I miss her very much and know youill take good
care of her.

Love, Thomas By July 3, Thomas had recovered enough that he and a dozen
other patients were issued passes and new uniforms. The next day they
were to join about three hundred other Marines and Second Division
soldiers, just released from their capture of Belleau Wood, in a parade
through Paris to celebrate Americais Independence Day. They would be
joining thousands of Allied troops, including the newest additions to
the American Expeditionary Force, which now numbered more than one
million men landed ahead of schedule in France.

July 4 turned out to be a spectacular summer day. As Thomas stood by at
the Marine assembly point awaiting his turn to join the parade, he was
mesmerized by the troops passing by and the occasional military
aeroplane swooping overhead. A group of French dragoons, led the parade
followed by bands from the American Fourth and Second Divisions.

Several thousand Americans troops were next in order, smartly dressed in
their new khaki uniforms and service caps and marching like they were
fresh off the boat. Then came Thomas and his fellow Marines mixed with
other outfits that had recently been in the trenches. These soldiers
were wearing their steel helmets, and some looked rather tired and
rumpled. The nurses fell in behind the Marines, followed by several
thousand French poilus decked out in their pale blue uniforms, their
bayonets gleaming in the morning sun.

The parade passed for several blocks along the tree-lined Avenue du
Trocadero. As he marched along, Thomas particularly noticed the street
lamps wrapped in blue cellophane to reduce visibility against nighttime
bombing raids, their posts festooned for this occasion with intertwined
American and French flags. He and his fellow marchers were cheered by
throngs of Parisians waving wildly, blowing kisses and tossing flowers.
Hundreds were hanging precariously from the balconies of adjoining
buildings. On several occasions enthusiastic young mademoiselles dashed
in among the marchers, only to be forced back to the sidewalk by the
gendarmes.

After a few blocks, the parade turned into the Place diiena where large
reviewing stands had been set up around the statue of George Washington
astride his horse. The stands were occupied by political leaders, senior
military officers and foreign diplomats, several of whom had given
speeches prior to the parade. From there the procession turned into the
Champs Elysses and finally terminated at the Place de la Concorde.

He had decided earlier to try to find his friend Brad Simpson, so hailed
a cab and directed it to the address for the Committee for Public
Information. There he was advised that Simpson had the day off and was
given the location of his apartment. Another cab ride took him back to
the Left Bank, but at least this time, he found a much brighter
building.

He entered the elevator, exited at the top floor and knocked on the door
of Apartment 3-B. He fidgeted in anticipation and plucked at the wool
uniform sticking to his body in the warm,

airless hallway. He could hear voices inside, then the door opened part
way to reveal Brad standing naked except for his shorts.

Thomas! i he cried out ibrad! I wasnit sure if I would find---i He
hesitated. He felt a little uncomfortable that he had found his friend
so undressed, but now that his eyes were adjusting to the semidark room,
he was experiencing a more profound mixture of embarrassment and
confusion. He could see another man lying on a couch in the background.
This one appeared to be completely naked, and was grinning back at him.

Thomas frowned back at Brad and into eyes that seemed to have a pleading
look. The feeling of respect and admiration that Thomas had built up
during their friendship back home suddenly evaporated into choking
confusion and disbelief. He turned and ran down the hall and took the
stairs two at a time, too angry and upset to wait for the elevator.

He stumbled back into the bright sunlight and down the street, his mind
reeling from the dayis events. He didnit hear someone calling him until
the military vehicle pulled up in front of him at the intersection and
two Military Police confronted him. isergeant Oiroark? i the Lieutenant
asked.

Yes sir.

We want you to come with us.

Whyowhat do you mean?

Military Intelligence wants to talk to you.

My God, what for. What have I done?

Hopefully nothing. The officer had stepped out of the vehicle and stood
with his right hand resting on his pistol holster. iget in the vehicle,
please.

Thomas was driven several blocks to AEF headquarters, escorted down a
hall, and directed to take a seat at a table in a small, empty room.
After what seemed like an eternity, an Army Captain and a Lieutenant
entered. The senior officer sat across from Thomas while the other
remained standing. Neither introduced himself as the Captain asked for
identification.

Thomas handed over the dog tags from around his neck.

The officer glanced at the tags and ring and handed them back before he
spoke. isergeant, I see youire a Marine. What outfit?

Sixth Regiment, Sir.

One of the heroes of Belleau Wood, huh? i Thomas, ignoring what he
thought was a touch of sarcasm, replied, ino hero, Captain, but I did
take some shrapnel in the shoulder. Iim assigned to the American Hos---i
The Lieutenant interrupted, ii assume you know the Army was there too,
the Second Division?

Yes sir.

The Captain squared his shoulders and came to the point, isergeant, I
believe you know a Brad Simpson?

Er, yes. Heis a friend from back home.

You visited him today?

Yes sir. Hadnit seen him since he left Fresno. Guess that was last
December.

How long were you in his apartment?

I didnit go in, sir. I was there for just a moment. The two officers
looked perplexed and Thomas realized his answer sounded strange, but he
couldnit think of what else to say.

What do you mean? Isnit he a friend you havenit seen for a long time?

Well, I guess I caught him at a bad time. He wasnit expecting a visitor.

The Lieutenant, who had been pacing the room, stopped and turned toward
Thomas. idid you go in the room, or see anyone else?

I didnit go in, but I did see another man in the room. He tensed up,
fearing he was going to be asked to describe what he saw, but the
Lieutenant spared him the embarrassment.

Naked, I assume? i Thomas nodded.

The Captain, his forearms resting on the table, leaned forward.
isergeant, you realize your friend is a sexual invert? i Thomas was
surprised and confused and couldnit think of an answer. He had heard
barracks talk about sexual inverts, but wasnit really sure what one was.
He stared blankly at the Captain.

The Lieutenant stepped forward, put his hands on the table and shouted,
iyour friendis a fuckini queer, Sergeant! You understand that? i Thomas
nodded uncertainly.

And the guy in the room with him is another one, your friendis favorite
asshole! i the Lieutenant added.

The Captain motioned for the junior officer to calm down and turned to
Thomas. ithat other guy also is a German spy, Sergeant.

Oh, Jesus.

Did you give your friend any information on your outfit or your next
assignment?

No sir. Like I said, Iim in the hospital. I donit even know where my
regiment is or where theyill send me next.

The two intelligence officers, appearing disinterested in his reply,
retreated to a corner of the room where they exchanged a few whispered
words. They returned to the table and advised Thomas he was free to
leave, and to not talk to anyone about his interrogation.

During a long, disoriented walk back to the hospital, Thomasi mind
roiled between feelings of helplessness and confusion. The confusion
came from the disclosure about Brad and his companion; the helplessness
from the vulnerability he had felt at the hands of the intelligence
officers. These feelings churned into frustration and finally anger so
that by the time he got to the hospital, he had decided that he had seen
enough of Paris and started cramming personal items into his pack. As he
finished and turned toward the door, he was met by an orderly.

Sergeant Oiroark?

Who the hell wants to know? i The hapless orderly jumped back in
surprise. iuh, hereoyouive received orders.

He grabbed the slip of paper and read SGT. THOMAS Oiroark REPORT POST
HASTE SIXTH REG. HQS VIVERES.

Where the hellis Vivieres?

Beats me, Sarge. Gottai be someplace east of here.

Wordlessly, Thomas strode away from the hospital, breathing deeply of
the warm afternoon air. He hiked to the east of Paris where he thumbed a
ride from a camion heading toward the front. He crawled across several
sleeping soldiers and curled up in a corner. The familiar, concussive
ewhump, whump- whump, whumpi of heavy artillery in the distance soon
lulled him to sleep.

About the Author A novelist with much passion and conviction.

His work is extremely appealing for its historical relevance and worthy
theme. His writing is solid. Thatis how editors are describing the work
of Richard K. Moore in his novel, A LOSS OF FREEDOM. Although this is
his first novel, Mr. Moore has been writing professionally for over
thirty years. He is a native of Fresno, California, where he graduated
from Fresno State College with a degree in Journalism. Mr. Moore is
retired and currently lives with his wife in Southern California.