Katerina's Wish (27 page)

By Saturday afternoon, I thought that nothing could ever go wrong again. Our lives seemed charmed at last. I did not hesitate for a minute when Mark asked me to take a walk with him that evening. He said he had something to show me. My heart sang as we set off up the road, hand in hand.

We walked past his house and on toward the edge of town. We were out of the Bohemian area now, into a group of houses occupied almost entirely by Greeks. I was increasingly curious of what he might be planning to show me that required us to come here. At last we came to an empty house on the very edge of the camp, its back door opening out onto a steep, treeless ridge.

“We will rent this,” he announced proudly. I looked at the house, then at him. He had an expectant look on his face, as if I was supposed to understand something. I turned back to the house, looking again, trying to see what was special about it. As far as I could tell, it was just like every other house in town.

“Why here?” I said at last.

“Don't you see?” he said, wrapping an arm around my waist
as we looked together at the little house. “There's a whole empty hillside behind it. We could move the chicken coop here and plant a garden twice the size of what you had. When we have the money, we can buy a goat or even a cow. There's plenty of hillside where we can keep it. With his new leg, Papa could take a goat or a cow up the hill each day to pasture. It would be good for him.”

“That's a nice idea, Mark, but that's all still years away. I'm not old enough to get married yet, and you don't have the money to do any of this now. This house will be rented to someone else long before we are ready for any of that.”

“It doesn't have to be, Trina. We can start before we are married. Karel and Martina want to be on their own anyway, so they are going to stay in our house, and Papa and I are going to move here. We can move the chicken coop and get chickens right away. We can't plant the garden until next spring, but you can come over and help Papa start preparing the ground for the garden patch. We can go by the mine dump on Sundays and look for more fencing, to keep the dogs and the goat out of the garden, but if we can't find any, we can always buy that, too. I've seen it in the Sears and Roebuck catalog. What do you think? I'll go tomorrow to the mine office and rent this place.”

“But how are you going to do all this now? You've only been back to work for a week, and you have back rent to pay off first.”

“We'll do it with the money you've saved. Everyone knows you've been making money on your deliveries. Why should we wait? This is exactly the opportunity that we need!”

I pulled out of his embrace. “My money! But it's not my money—it's my family's. We can't spend it on this.”

“But your mother told me you were setting it aside for us,
for our future. After all, it's your delivery business; you do all the work. Your momma's very proud of you for building such a good dowry.”

“Mark, it's not my dowry. It's for—” I stopped myself.

“For what?”

I took a deep breath. “It's for my family. Don't you see? We came to America so my father could own land.”

“A farm, you mean,” Mark said, his voice hardening.

I nodded. “A farm. And this is the first time we've saved any money at all since we came here. This is our chance to get what we really want—what we came to America for. This is our chance to get out of the coal camp for good!”

“Not we. You. You know I want nothing to do with a farm.”

“Aneshka and Holena are counting on a farm,” I said.

“And what about me? About us? You made a promise to me, and I've been counting on that.”

“I can't crush their dreams, and my father's dreams, by spending that money on anything that would trap us here in the coal camp.”

“Is that how you see your promise to me? As a trap?”

I hesitated, unable to look him in the eye.

“You said you would stay forever,” he said, his voice full of bitterness.

“I can't, Mark.”

“Can't? Or won't?”

I bit my lip. I wasn't sure myself.

“You lied to me,” he said.

I shook my head. “I didn't. But when I promised myself to you, I thought there was no chance of a farm. Things have changed.”

“Nothing's changed for me.”

“Don't you want to get out of here? Come with us! Come help my papa on our farm—a real farm away from here. Your papa can come too!”

“I won't be a farmer.”

“Just to get out of here. Then you can go to high school, or get a job in town, or—”

He shook his head. “I've got a job now, a real job, to support
us
like
we
planned, you and me. Like we promised each other.”

“Try to understand, Mark. You know this has always been my dream.”

“If this has always been your dream, Trina,” Mark said, his voice shaking with anger, “what have I been to you?”

I hesitated, trying to sort out the confusion of disappointment, hope, and pain in my heart.

He took another step away, misinterpreting my silence. “Never mind. I think I'd rather not know. Go on, then. Get your farm. Find yourself a nice farm boy.” He spat out the last words with such anger that it seemed to scorch the air between us.

“I don't want a farm boy!” I insisted.

“But you sure don't want a coal miner.”

I put my hand on his arm, trying to stop the widening gap between us. “But don't you see? You don't have to be a coal miner. I want you, Mark, but I want to get out of here too. This is our chance! What about your dreams?”

At that he jerked back and pulled his arm from my grasp, as if I had been a wasp and stung him. “This is my dream, having all this with you. But you never wanted any of it, did you? You never wanted me. So, I know it's not much more than a piece of trash, but if you'll give me back my ring, I'll be out of your way.”

“Mark—”

“My ring, please,” he said, holding out his hand.

Tears were stinging my eyes, but I blinked them away angrily and pulled the copper band from my finger. He put it in his pocket and pulled out the smooth pebble I had given him. I refused to take it back, so he dropped it in the dirt before me. I stared at it as he walked away. No longer shining with the creek's water, it looked dull and worthless, just the way I felt.

I FORCED
my thoughts back to the farm that was nearly within reach. That was what I had really wanted all along, I told myself. But inside I felt my heart going as dry and dull as the pebble in the dust.

I did not tell my mother what had happened, but it wasn't long before she knew. Her anger and disappointment were thick in the air at home all the next week as I went about my chores and my orders. By the end of the workweek on Saturday, my sales were nearly equal to the week before. I set off to church on Sunday, hoping to push my total a little higher. Sure enough, women found me in the crowd outside after church, their money in hand. I wanted to keep my attention diverted from Mark, so I paid no attention to anything but the orders. I was surprised by my mother's question at the dinner table a short time later.

“How long has Mr. Johnson been watching you like that, Trina?” she asked.

I stiffened. “Mr. Johnson was watching me?”

“After church, when you were taking orders.”

I felt a chill go through me, but I tried to hide it. “Mr. Johnson is afraid of competition,” I said. “That is why I have to be careful and only sell dry goods. Most of his business is in food.”

Momma frowned. “I don't like it. Don't cross him, Trina. He's trouble.”

“I haven't. There's nothing wrong with what I'm doing. It's perfectly legal, and I've been careful to keep away from him.”

“You worry too much, Ivana,” Papa said to Momma, casting a quick smile to me. “What harm can Mr. Johnson do us? Trina's making so much money now, we'll be out of here in a few months' time. It won't matter one whit what some shopkeeper thinks of her.”

I felt a pang of guilt. I wanted to agree with Papa, but I knew that Mr. Johnson could cause us harm, that he had already done so. When dinner was over, I went as soon as I could and checked our hidden money. I would have to be careful no one knew where it was. And I would be more careful to take and deliver orders out of Mr. Johnson's sight.

I didn't have to deliver orders forever. As Papa had said, only a few more months and we would have enough money saved. We could leave here for good, and never worry about Mr. Johnson again. I reminded myself, too, that he had known of my garden and chickens for weeks before he had found a way to destroy them. I had time.

The following day was laundry day, but since we only had our own to do, I carried water from the creek, and we did the job at home. That way, we did not leave the house unguarded. I was hanging the last basket of clothes on the line beside the house when I looked up to see my father approaching, though
it was only midmorning. The only reason I knew why a miner would be home so early was because he was hurt—but though my heart skipped a beat at the thought, I knew immediately it could not be true. Papa wasn't even dirty; he didn't appear to have been in the mine at all that day.

Curious, I went in the back door, just as he went in the front.

Momma and my sisters were in the kitchen, kneading bread dough. Momma looked up in alarm when Papa stepped in and set his lunch pail, still full, on the counter by the sink.

“What on earth? Are you hurt?” Momma asked, echoing our constant fear as she hurriedly pulled out a chair for him.

Papa flopped down into the ch air. “I've been fired, Ivana,” he said quietly.

There was a moment of silence as we all stared openmouthed at him. Momma shooed my sisters outside to play before she spoke again.

“I thought they were going to full production. I thought they were hiring more men,” Momma said.

Papa nodded. “I've been fired. Not laid off, but fired.”

“But—why?”

Papa glanced up at me and I knew I had misjudged Mr. Johnson's malice, and his power.

“When I arrived at work this morning the foreman told me the bosses wanted to talk to me. I was to go to the superintendent's office. The superintendent was waiting for me with two Pinkerton detectives, as well as the mine officials. They asked me all kinds of questions about the union—was I an organizer, had I been talking to the other men? Where were we holding our secret meetings?”

“But you're not involved in any of that!” Momma said.

“I'm not, but I couldn't convince them of that,” Papa said. “They said they knew I had been organizing, that I had a gathering after the funerals that they figure was a union meeting. And they said I had organized a network to smuggle goods into camp. They've seen people from all over camp coming in and out of our house, even the Welsh and Scottish from across the tracks. They figure the only reason we would mingle is to unionize. They said they wouldn't tolerate such ‘subversive labor practices.' That's when they gave me my back pay and told me I would have to leave.”

Momma looked at Papa, then at me, then back at Papa. Papa nodded.

“But what I'm doing isn't illegal!” I insisted again. “They can't do this!”

Papa shook his head. “It doesn't matter whether it's legal or not to them. They can fire or hire as they see fit. They don't have to put up with anyone who does something they don't

like.”

“But it has nothing to do with the unions or with your job,” I said. “This was Mr. Johnson's doing. He's hated me since we bought those plums. He killed my chickens, and now he's lied to get you fired. It's not fair!”

“What do you mean, he killed your chickens?” Papa asked. Shamefaced, I told them everything I knew.

Anger flared in Momma's eyes. “Why didn't you say any of this before, Trina? You knew he could be dangerous. Why haven't you been more careful?”