Katerina's Wish (28 page)

“She couldn't have known, Ivana. She couldn't know he would go to the superintendent with lies.”

“Well, know or not, you still have to make this right, Trina. You will go to the superintendent and apologize to the company.

Tell them your father had nothing to do with it so they will take him back! Promise to stop your little business right here and now!”

“I can't do that,” I said. “My biggest order yet is coming this afternoon, and people have already paid for it. I have to pick up and make these deliveries. But Papa, with this week's orders we have nearly one hundred and eighty dollars saved! We don't need their job, right?”

Papa smiled at me, but it was a sad smile. “That's not enough for a farm, Trina. And with autumn already upon us, we wouldn't have a cent left come spring to buy seed, even if we did get a farm for so little. But it is a good cushion while I find other work, and that's a lucky thing. Run on about your business now, and let your momma and me sort out what we are going to do.”

My heart was heavy as I walked down the hill with my sisters to meet Mr. Torentino that afternoon. Though Aneshka and Holena didn't know everything, they knew enough to be quiet on our walk. They each walked close, burrowing their hands into mine. At least I would have this one last order to deliver, and maybe Mr. Torentino would know of someplace that would have work for my papa. Or maybe Papa was wrong, and we
could
somehow get a farm with the money that we had. I could not bear the crushing disappointment of failure now, so I pretended to myself that all would become right when I saw Mr. Torentino.

I arrived at our usual meeting place a little early. I wanted to be sure to get the re while he was still unloading Mr. Johnson's goods. But when I squinted up the road toward the store, I did not see his wagon. A hint of foreboding stirred within me. Mr. Torentino should have already
been there, unloading or wrangling with Mr. Johnson about unkept promises, as he did every week.

Perhaps, because my order was so large this week, Mr. Torentino ran late loading it in Trinidad. Or maybe his team plodded up the hills toward our town more slowly than usual because of the extra weight in the wagon. I looked down the road in the other direction, but saw no sign of him coming. I began to pace nervously.

I was so unnerved by Mr. Torentino's absence that I forgot that I had arranged for the ladies who had placed orders to meet me, until the first of them appeared. I should have been completely unloaded and had their goods waiting for them long since. When I saw them and realized how late it was, hope died in my heart.

“I'm afraid my partner from town is running late today,” I said as they gathered around me with questions. What else could I say? “But I'm sure he will be along. He's usually very punctual.”

We waited there for another half an hour. With each minute that ticked by, more women arrived, more suspicious comments were whispered, and I grew more desperate. Something was very wrong, and I was going to have to face it alone.

“You haven't cheated us, have you?” said an impatient Welsh woman. Though it was a question, it was stated more as an accusation.

“No, of course not. Perhaps his wagon broke down.”

“Or maybe his horse went lame,” Aneshka suggested.

“Maybe we should get our money back,” came another voice from the crowd.

“Please, you have to believe me. He always comes!”

A stir went through the crowd of women, and their
attention turned away from me. Women at the edges of the crowd scurried away. I turned to look where everyone else was looking. Mr. Johnson was approaching with three men in dark suits. Two of the men carried shotguns and wore badges. I couldn't read the badges, but I didn't have to. I knew they were the Pinkerton detectives my father had mentioned—the private police force of the mining camps. I had heard plenty of rumors about Pinkertons in our year in America, and none of them were good. The sight of the detectives now sent a bolt of fear through me. I whispered to Aneshka to run home with Holena, and I pushed them both away from me. The little girls slipped out of the crowd through the legs of the women. There was no such simple escape for me. I knew it from the look on Mr. Johnson's face when his eyes met mine.

“WHAT'S GOING
on here?” One of the detectives called out as he approached. “Who's in charge here?”

I glanced around at the women, every one of them struggling to get by. None of them could afford trouble with the mine.

“I am, sir,” I said, stepping forward on trembling knees.

“You,” the man said, surprised.

“She's the one, all right,” Mr. Johnson said. “She's been nothing but trouble. She's a union rabble-rouser if there ever was one. Her and her pa, too.”

The detective gave Mr. Johnson a doubtful look, and his shotgun sagged a little. “Hardly Mother Jones, is she? She's just a kid!” He looked back at me, a sarcastic smile on his face. “You a union organizer, miss?”

“No, sir,” I said, trying to look as young and innocent as possible. “I am only thirteen.”

“Then what's going on here?” Mr. Johnson demanded. “What are all these women doing here?”

The crowd had continued to scatter, but there were still women around me who had not been able to slip away. My mind raced for an answer, but I couldn't think of anything that would save us all.

“Sewing circle,” said a bold voice behind me. I turned, and was surprised to see Nancy Llewellyn.

“Sewing circle?” asked one of the detectives.

“My oldest girl's getting married,” Nancy said, “and we've fallen on hard times, a bit.”

“So Trina, here, organized a sewing circle so the lass will have some pretty things to take with her,” added Glenys.

“Is that so?” said the second Pinkerton, looking at me. “Friend of yours, is she?”

“Yes, sir,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

“What's her name, then?”

“Mary.” Half the girls in school were named Mary, so it was as good a guess as any. “We're schoolmates.”

“So then let's see this sewing you're doing,” Mr. Johnson said, trying to trap us in our lie.

I suppressed a smile as all the women around me pulled bits of sewing, mending, knitting, or crocheting from apron pockets. These were the sorts of things women carried with them to fill idle moments.

The detectives looked at each other, their shotguns now hanging casually at their sides. Mr. Johnson shouted at them to arrest me, but they only shook their heads and rolled their eyes. They did not seem to have any better opinion of the storekeeper than anyone else.

“You've got quite an imagination, Johnson,” said one of the detectives. He turned back toward the store. The other clapped a hand on Mr. Johnson's shoulder to walk him back the same
way, but Mr. Johnson jerked loose. He glared at me, practically purple with rage and humiliation.

“You think you're so clever, pulling the wool over their eyes, missy, but think again. You haven't got any of the things you sold. I'd say you better pay the money back or you could be finding yourself in jail. It's theft to take the money and not deliver the goods.” He gave one last nasty smirk in my direction and turned to follow the Pinkertons back to his store.

The women dispersed quickly, but not without giving me looks of warning.

“We've got to have our goods or our money back,” Glenys said before slipping away herself. “I'm sorry, lass, but that's just the way it is.”

I nodded and fled to the one place I could be alone, the cottonwood by the creek. Once again, my family's hopes and dreams had been snatched away. I did not have the goods or the money to return to the women. Even if I paid them back with the money we had saved, it wasn't nearly enough. And besides, that money was all my family had now.

I simply had to get the goods, but it was impossible. Mr. Torentino must have been run off by the Pinkertons, and I had no way of bringing the delivery up from Trinidad myself. I had lost everything—Mark, our money, my business. And all for having believed once again in a foolish dream. I sunk down in my shady refuge, and gave in to my misery.

I don't know how long I cried beside the pool before Papa found me. Holena was with him, and of course she had known where to look. Papa sat down on the raised root of the tree and gently caressed my hair.

“There now, Trina. Things aren't so bad; you've just had a fright, that's all,” he said.

I shook my head. “I'm sorry, Papa. I've ruined us. I didn't mean to.” I could not go on. Fresh tears spilled down my cheeks.

“Trina, you are taking this too hard. I will find another job. Come to think of it, this is probably a lucky turn.”

“But Papa, there's more that you don't know.” Shakily I told him of the delivery that hadn't come. “People want their money or their goods, and I don't have either. Papa, it was eight hundred dollars! We can't even begin to repay them.”

Papa's face looked grim and he sat silent for a long moment.

“I'm scared, Papa. What if they send me to jail? Mr. Johnson says—”

“Where does this Mr. Torentino come from?”

Papa's sudden question surprised me. “His store is in Trinidad. I have the address.” I pulled the order book from my pocket and showed Papa the first page with the prices. Mr. Torentino had written the name and address of his store across the top.

“Then we will have to go find him. Come on.”

“Today? Now?”

“We haven't got time to waste.”

We returned home only long enough to tell Momma we were going and to gather a few things for our trip, including a substantial portion of our money. I wasn't sure that Mr. Johnson wouldn't concoct some reason for the Pinkertons to raid our home, and I couldn't bear to lose the money we had to them!

“If anyone comes for their order, tell them there has been a delay and I have gone to town to sort it out,” I instructed Aneshka. She nodded seriously, a fierce look on her face, and I knew she was adequate to the task.

Momma frowned. “But Tomas, we are already in enough trouble. Let's just pack and go.”

“We can't.” Papa said. “Trina and I will be back tomorrow.”

We set out on foot, carrying supper in Papa's lunch pail since we could not expect to reach Trinidad before nightfall. A shred of luck remained with us, for we encountered a farmer with a wagon headed to town. We hitched a ride for almost half our journey, but it was still past dark before we arrived in Trinidad, and all the businesses were closed. We walked the main streets, until we found Mr. Torentino's store. It occupied a brick storefront with a large glass window along the front. The words
TORENTINO AND SONS MERCANTILE AND EXCHANGE
were painted in large gold letters across the window. We stood outside and peered through the glass, looking for all the world like country yokels who had never seen a store before. It looked much like Mr. Johnson's store inside, the narrow interior crammed with everything under the sun. It was dark and silent, and there was no sign of Mr. Torentino.

“We'll come back in the morning,” Papa said. We walked on, past the closed businesses around Mr. Torentino's store, pausing briefly in front of the land office, looking at the advertisements pasted on the board just inside the window. Everything cost more money than we had, and once again my hope failed me. Papa, though, smiled and pointed at listings for acres of fruit trees or prime river-bottom land for vegetables, pretending we could afford them. I let out a deep sigh of sadness, but Papa patted my hand where it nestled in his.

“Someday, Trina. You'll see,” he said.

Turning from the land office, we crossed the street to the hotel, where we took a room with two narrow, squeaky beds.

Despite my exhaustion, it was hard to sleep in the strange room without my whole family around me. I was worried about Momma and my sisters, alone in our house. I was praying that Mr. Johnson and his Pinkerton detectives would not give them
any trouble. I could hear Papa stirring in the next bed, and I knew he could not sleep either.