Katerina's Wish (30 page)

ALL THE WAY
back to camp in the wagon, Papa was whistling Bohemian folk songs or talking about what we'd plant in the spring. I shared his happiness at first, but as we got closer to camp I felt increasingly nervous. We still had the load of goods to deliver. I had no choice but to deliver it, for Papa had already committed our saved money to the lease of the farm. Refunding so much as a penny to my customers was no longer an option.

One other fact weighed on me as well, marring my happiness. Leaving the mining camp meant saying good-bye to people I loved. Saying good-bye to Mark. The fear and excitement of the previous day had kept me from thinking about him or the little ring of copper wire I had returned to him. I wanted him to come away from the coal camp, but how was I to convince him? He'd made it plenty clear he had no desire to farm.

As we came nearer the camp, Papa's whistling quieted, then stopped altogether. I could see his expression through the dim light and knew that he was worried about trouble too.

“Do you think they'll be waiting for us?” I asked into a silence that was already filled with the question. We could see the mine hoist in the distance now, haloed by the setting sun.

Papa shaded his eyes with his hand. “Well, we'll know soon, won't we?” he said. I shaded my eyes too, and looked where his gaze was fixed. Someone was standing on the road ahead of us, just this side of the store. I felt my chest tighten and I forced in a deep breath.
It might not be anyone connected to us at all,
I reminded myself. But as we drew closer, I could see the man was watching our approach. With the sun behind him, I could not tell who it was, though he could probably recognize us.

“Should we keep going?” I asked uncertainly.

Papa shrugged, but his grip tightened on the reins. “What else can we do?”

We continued forward, now almost to within shouting distance of the man in the road. He could have easily called out a greeting to us, but instead he turned and ran back toward the camp.

“Well!” Papa said. “I do believe that's your Marek.”

He was right. We could see Mark's uneven gait. As we watched, he ran past the store, which was closed at this hour, and on up the road until he was out of sight.

I felt relieved, but also confused. Why hadn't he greeted us or waited long enough to tell us whether or not the Pinkertons were watching for us?

“Perhaps he's gone to let Momma know we are coming,” Papa said. “She's probably worried sick with us being so late.”

“You are probably right,” I agreed, but my nerves only tightened.

“Well,” Papa said, “he gave no warning, so the road must be clear.”

I nodded, but I gripped the seat tightly with both hands as we came into town, passing the company store first. The doors were closed and the lights were out in all the buildings, but I could not keep my eyes from turning toward them as we passed. I saw no movement in any window and no one stepped out any door. Once past the store, we were climbing the hill, passing the houses of our neighbors. Many of them were on their front porches and watched us pass. I looked back and saw several of them, those who had orders to be filled, rise from their chairs and follow us up the road. By the time Papa reined in the team in front of our house, it would have looked like a welcome-home parade if not for their silent, nervous expressions. They wanted their goods, but they didn't want trouble with the mine officials.

Momma was on the front porch, drying her hands on a towel as Papa stopped the wagon and we both jumped down. Papa hurried up the steps and grabbed her in a hug like he had done to me as he announced the good news. Momma gave a quick, girlish squeal of surprise that set both of my sisters giggling, but over the din of it all, Papa was telling Momma of the farm.

I looked around. “Where's Mark?” I asked. He should have been here after the way he had run ahead of us.

Old Jan, who had been sitting on the porch with my sisters, put his arm around my shoulders and walked me back off the porch and toward the wagon, where women were congregating. His face wore a worried, strained expression.

“Do you have those purchases you went for?” he asked.

“I do.”

“Then you better get on with your deliveries as quick as you can.”

“But where's Mark?” I asked again.

Old Jan glanced around before he spoke in a low voice. “He's at the superintendent's office.”

My heart froze. Had Mark been stopped by the Pinkertons when he had run ahead of us?

“He's not going to get fired too, is he?”

“Just get your deliveries taken care of,” Old Jan said. “Quickly.”

I nodded and climbed up into the wagon, calling Aneshka and Holena to help, and we were soon handing down goods to the women who had followed us. I had expected to be done with that quickly, as only a handful of women had seen our wagon coming into camp, but soon I noticed that the line was not getting any shorter, and I was handing out goods to women who lived several streets away. Word was apparently spreading fast. Within an hour, I had dispersed nearly everything.

Aneshka and Momma set off to deliver the few orders that remained so that Papa and I could eat our supper. We were just walking up the porch steps when someone shouted behind us.

“There they are—and that's Torentino's wagon. I recognize his team! I knew it!”

We turned back to see Mr. Johnson walking toward us, Mark beside him. He didn't look like he had been dragged in by the Pinkertons. No one was forcing him to walk with Mr. Johnson. I threw a questioning glance at him, but he looked away.

“If you've brought contraband goods to this town, I'll have you arrested!” Mr. Johnson shouted, running to the wagon to look inside. When he saw that the bed was empty, he didn't seem to know whether to puff up indignantly or slink away shamefaced.

“We rented the team and wagon to move to town,” Papa said. “So we can get out of our house by the deadline.”

Mr. Johnson squinted at us, angry he hadn't caught us redhanded. Then he wagged a finger at my father. “You think you're so smart, do you? Well, don't. We know all about you—this boy has told us everything about your secret union meetings.”

“But that's a lie!” I said, looking angrily at Mark. “There were no secret meetings here.”

Mr. Johnson gave a snorting laugh, his arrogance returning in force. “We know all about you now, and word's gone out to every other mine in the state. You won't find work anywhere. You're finished in the mines. You might as well pack up your bags and go back to where you came from.”

Papa and I looked at each other for a brief moment, the n Papa burst out laughing.

“You're right, Mr. Johnson,” Papa said. “We are finished in the mines. Good-bye.”

We went inside and shut the door behind us, but not before seeing Mr. Johnson's shocked expression. My father was still laughing.

I watched through the window to make sure he did no harm to the team or the wagon. It was probably the sort of thing he would gladly have done if he'd thought of it. As it was, he was so surprised by Papa's reaction that he did nothing but walk away. I might have laughed too, but through the gathering darkness, I could see someone else turn away.

Tears sprang to my eyes. I knew Mark was angry with me, but I never thought he would be spiteful toward my whole family. The pain of his betrayal was sinking in now that the confrontation with Mr. Johnson was over. I skipped the supper my papa was piling on a plate for me and went straight to bed, where I cried myself to sleep before my sisters got home.

The next morning we were all up early. We ate a hasty breakfast of oat porridge and coffee. Momma, who had been up before any of us, packed a cold lunch of bread, pickles, and cheese. When breakfast was done, we cleaned everything in the kitchen and arranged it all in the washtubs or crates, using towels and blankets to cushion the few fine things Momma had brought with her from Bohemia. Packing was not a difficult task; after a year in America we had little more than what we had come with. Yet our hearts and minds were all filled to bursting with the realization of Papa's dream, and that gave a new richness to our labors.

Of our neighbors, only Old Jan and Martina came to help us. She brought plum kolaces for our dinner on the road and stayed to help Momma fold the sheets and blankets so they would come out crisp and ready to use. Old Jan helped lift our goods up into the bed of the wagon. I avoided him, still too angry about his son's lies to want to face him.

When nearly everything was in the wagon, Old Jan and my sisters took the team to the creek to drink and eat a few mouthfuls of grass before we hitched them up. I stayed behind to help Momma with the last few chores. Papa found me out back a short time later, beating the dirt from the last rag rug.

“That will do, Trina. Don't you have any good-byes you want to say before you go?” he said, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder toward Mark's house. “He's working the night shift again, so he should be home.”

Bitter anger surged in me again. “He betrayed us, Papa! He lied to the superintendent about you just to get us in trouble. I never want to see him again!”

Papa's eyebrows shot up. “Is that what's been bothering you all this time? Trina, it was a trick.”

“A trick?”

“The superintendent and his detectives will listen for hours to anyone willing to squeal on union organizers. Marek knew we were going to need time to unload goods if we had them. When he saw us coming, he ran to the superintendent and told them the kind of stories they wanted to hear so we had time to unload. Old Jan explained it all last night.”

“Why did he say you'd had meetings, then?” I said, still angry.

“Well, what harm could the mine do to me? He didn't want to get anyone else in trouble who still needed the job here.”

“What about them?” I asked. “If he said he'd been at these meetings, couldn't he have been in trouble too?”

Papa's face grew serious and he nodded. “It was certainly a big risk for him. We can only hope that it doesn't come back to hurt them. He did it for you, Trina. Now go say good-bye.”

Tears burned my eyes as I realized the size of my mistake. Mark had risked his own job to help me get a dream, even though that dream stood in the way of what he wanted. I put down my broom and hurried to Mark's house.

He was not home, so I knew where he had to be. If he had things on his mind, he had always gone to the same place I went, so I set off for the creek. At the creek bottom I found the horses tethered in a patch of dry grass where they were chewing contentedly. But my sisters and Old Jan were not with them. It seemed all our paths led to the same place in this last hour before we left the camp for good. That felt right to me. Whether there was any magic in that quiet pool or not, it was forever linked to our dream in America. I was glad to get the chance to say good-bye to Mark and his father there, where so many good things had happened. And I hoped that the spot might have one more bit of magic left for Mark and me.

When I rounded the bend, I saw what I had expected to see. The cottonwood leaves were turning autumn gold, and Old Jan, Mark, and my sisters were all together in their golden shade. I had thought that perhaps my sisters had taken Old Jan there so he could tell them one last story, but the telling seemed to be the other way around. Aneshka was talking up a storm, her hands gesturing wildly. Holena was nodding in agreement and throwing bits of bread into the pool. Mark was sitting by himself a short distance from the others with his back toward them and his shoulders hunched. A painful tug at my heart stilled my breath when I saw him.

Aneshka glanced up from her storytelling and saw me approaching. A huge smile spread across her face and she gave a quick bounce of excitement.

“Trina's here! Now he will come for sure!” she called excitedly. She ran to me and grabbed my hand, to pull me to the tree.

“What? Who will come?” I asked. Everyone I expected to see was already there.

“The magic carp, of course,” Aneshka said.

Old Jan smiled up at me from his seat on the tree root. “Your sisters have been telling me the whole story of your wishes, and how they have all come true. They brought me here so I could see the carp and make a wish too.”

Holena turned to me. “Please help us find him, Trina. We want Old Jan to get a farm too.”

“And he could wish to have his leg back,” Aneshka said.

“And Mark could marry you,” Holena added quietly.

“Holena!” I said, glancing, mortified, at Mark's back. He gave no sign that he had heard, but I knew he had.

Old Jan laughed. “That's an awful lot to wish for,” he said.

“But we got all our wishes,” Aneshka pointed out.

“But you have to see the fish first,” said Holena, “and we've been down here a long time. I don't think he's going to come.”

“Well, never mind, girls,” said Old Jan. “Magic carp can be finicky things. They don't show themselves until they're good and ready.”