Montgomery - The Awakening Part 22

"Strike," Amanda said.

Hank laughed at her. "Strike and they can have their maids serve their meals in their rooms for a few days?"

Amanda saw that Joe and Reva were smiling at her too, as were a family of workers who spoke English. Once again she was a freak and an outsider, someone who didn't belong. She had begun to feel that she was part of something, that she was helping, but they'd never considered her one of them. They thought she was the rich Miss Caulden who didn't understand that not everyone had servants and unlimited budgets.

"They really should have saved some of their money," she said as haughtily as possible. Let them believe what they would. "Perhaps they waste it on drink and motion pictures. Perhaps I should translate the story of the gra.s.shopper and the ant." She flicked an imaginary speck off her silk dress. "Couldn't we get one of these women to clean this place?" She sat down at her desk, her back to them.

No one said anything for a while, and Amanda was torn between rage and tears. All of them thought they were so enlightened, but they judged her by the circ.u.mstances of her birth, not by what they could see to be true about her.

Behind her, Hank was puzzled by her outburst. He had snapped at her because he'd disliked the way she'd stepped between the sheriff and him, and the sheriff's att.i.tude had reminded Hank that she was the daughter of the enemy. But her words were like nothing he'd heard from her before. She'd worked hard the last few days and she had never shown any distaste for the workers.

At six o'clock, Taylor Driscoll walked in, and Hank felt a surge of irrational hatred for the man. And as Taylor looked down at Amanda with soft, loving eyes, Hank broke a pencil in half.

"Are you ready?" Taylor asked quietly.

Amanda straightened her desk and left without saying a word of farewell to the others. She still hadn't spoken when she and Taylor were seated in the back of the limousine.

"So, that's where you work?" Taylor asked. He wasn't used to making conversation. For the last eight years he'd talked to Harker about the ranch and to Amanda about what she was studying.

"Where I work, but not where I belong," Amanda said with some bitterness.

Taylor smiled. In his new position of not being her teacher, he was determined not to tell her what he thought of that filthy house filled with those filthy people. He reached across the seat and took her hand. "No, darling, you don't belong with them. You belong with me and people of your own kind."

Amanda looked at him and wondered if she were like him. She didn't feel much like going to a carnival but she didn't want to go home either. Maybe she did belong with Taylor. Of course she belonged to Taylor!

The carnival was loud and dirty; it stunk; it glittered; it was garish- and Amanda loved it immediately. It was what she needed to forget people who thought she was a spoiled little rich girl.

Taylor stepped out of the limousine and wanted to get right back in. The place was as hideous as he remembered. There was a sign looming over his head: Princess Fatima, a full-blooded Bedouin from the fabled City of Nineveh, will dance the mystic anaconda dance exactly as danced by Hypatia in the Holy Writ.

Next to the sign was a fifteen-foot-high picture painted on canvas of a plump, scantily clad woman with a snake wrapped around her. This is what he went to college for? he thought. This is what he went to college to escape.

"Amanda, we can leave if this place offends you."

Amanda's eyes were wide in wonder as she looked about her at the skill booths, the rides, the exhibits, the food vendors. Everyone seemed to be yelling at once. "No, it's wonderful, isn't it?" She took his hand. "Oh, Taylor, thank you so much for bringing me. What shall we do first? Are you hungry? How about some popcorn? I used to eat that when I was a child. What do you think a corn dog is? Shall we find out?"

"Oh yes, please let's do," Taylor said, thinking he just might get sick.

Did other men go through this for the women they loved? If so, it's a wonder anyone ever got married.

An hour later Taylor was sure he was going to be sick. He'd eaten popcorn, peanuts, a nasty thing called a corn dog and, feeling that he'd done his duty, he had politely refused the chocolate-covered caramels Amanda had offered him. He had even acted awestruck when a fat, dirty fortune-teller had looked at Amanda's palm and said, "You will dance with a queen and have a son who will become king."

Now she was looking longingly at a booth in which a vile-smelling young man in a red satin s.h.i.+rt was trying to get Taylor to throw a ball at wooden milk bottles in order to win a hideously ugly doll covered in pink and purple feathers.

"Amanda, what if a person were to win?" he asked, aghast.

"It's just for fun," she said.

"Come on, mister," the young man called. "Three b.a.l.l.s for a nickel. Ain't a lovely lady like this worth a mere nickel?" He looked Amanda up and down. "I'd pay a nickel to win her."

Amanda looked at Taylor with pleading eyes, and while he was trying to think of a reason why he couldn't partic.i.p.ate in this ignorant, loutish game, they were shoved aside by another couple as if they weren't there.

Amanda's good mood left her when Dr. Montgomery and Reva stepped in front of them. She saw Hank slam the first ball into the milk bottles, all of them falling.

"Shall we go?" Amanda said to Taylor.

Hank turned around with a false surprised look on his face. "Well, Miss Caulden, fancy meeting you here. Driscoll," he said, nodding at Taylor.

"You gonna throw again, mister?" the barker asked, still eyeing Amanda.

Hank threw another ball and knocked more milk bottles down, then turned to Taylor. "Didn't they teach pitching where you went to school?"

"I think we should go," Amanda repeated to Taylor, but he didn't move.

Hank knocked down a third set of wooden bottles.

"Your choice," the barker said to Reva, motioning to the kewpie dolls hanging from the ceiling and walls of the booth.

Reva's face lit up as she pointed to a pink feathered doll.

Something primitive broke open inside Taylor, and he realized that it wasn't the vulgar prizes that were to be won that made men play this game but it was a man exhibiting his skill to win a woman. In the years since coming to the Caulden Ranch, Taylor had almost forgotten his past, all those years of struggling to put himself through school. One of his early jobs had been working at night in a carnival just like this one. He would take over for anyone who, for some reason or other, couldn't work that night. He'd worked in every booth, on every ride, in every fake exhibit.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a nickel.

"Taylor," Amanda said, "you really don't have to do this. I have no desire to own one of those... those..."

"Kewpie dolls," Hank supplied. "Afraid he'll lose and embarra.s.s you?" he asked softly.

"He hasn't lost anything to you yet," she answered, but she held her breath. She didn't really want Taylor to make a fool of himself.

Taylor knew the trick was that the bottom row of bottles were weighted heavily. When he'd worked for the carnival, he'd had to demonstrate to the audience that the bottles could be knocked down.

Easily, he knocked all three sets of bottles down, and Amanda, with a triumphant look at Hank, chose a purple-feathered doll.

"Shall we try the shooting gallery?" Taylor asked Hank. "Or do you use only brute force and not skill?"

"Try me," Hank said.

"I'm not sure-" Amanda began, but the two men stalked ahead of the women. Amanda gave Reva a weak smile and looked at the garish, fragile doll. "It is kind of cute, isn't it?"

"Which? Their idiocy or the doll?"

"Definitely the doll," Amanda answered.

The men went from one booth to another. Hank had to work harder, because he had no inside information on how to win the games, but he tried as if he were competing for his life. Taylor won at the booths that required skill and knowledge, but Hank beat him badly at the strength test. He made the bell ring, shoved a stuffed animal into Reva's full arms, then rang it a second time to win an animal for Amanda-but she refused to accept it.

By nine o'clock the women were weighted down with dolls, stuffed animals, plates, ugly little cups and saucers, and "surprise" packages. The two men prowled ahead of them like lions on the hunt.

When they'd covered every booth, the men turned and glared at each other.

"May we please take these things back to the car?" Amanda asked. "And if it's all the same with you, Taylor, I'd like to go home. I can feel a raging headache coming on."

Reva stood there, her arms full to br.i.m.m.i.n.g, and looked from one man to the other. She didn't think that Amanda had any real idea of what was going on, but Reva did. She was sure that Taylor had been winning prizes for her-not Amanda. She'd seen the way Taylor had glanced in her direction every time he won. He'd shoved the prize into Amanda's arms but it had been Reva he had looked at.

I think I may be in love with him, Reva thought with horror. He was completely wrong for her-he had no money at all-and she figured he'd never in his life marry someone like her, but right now she wanted to leave the carnival and be with him. Don't do it, she told herself. He needs money as much as you do, and he'll sell himself by marrying Amanda so he can get the Caulden Ranch. But before he married Amanda, she meant to have him.

Reva doubled over as if in pain, dropping most of the gaudy prizes.

"What's wrong?" Amanda asked, trying to free an arm to help Reva.

Taylor was there instantly, his arms supporting Reva.

"Just a stomachache. I think I better go home."

"Come on, then," Hank said reluctantly.

Reva groaned and clutched her stomach. "The ride in that little car of yours! I hope it doesn't make me sicker." She looked at Taylor, saw the interest in his eyes.

"I'll take her home," Taylor said. "She can stretch out in the back of my car."

"But I hate to ruin everyone's fun." Her eyes locked with Taylor's and she sensed that he understood her meaning.

Taylor straightened, and when he looked at Amanda he was her teacher once again. "Amanda, I am going to escort Miss Eiler to her home, but it is not necessary to ruin your evening. You may stay, and Dr. Montgomery, I'm sure, will drive you home." He didn't wait for an answer from either of them. "Here, Miss Eiler, let me carry those things for you. Good night, Amanda, and don't stay out too late." He started walking away with Reva beside him.

Amanda gritted her teeth. "I should have blackened both her eyes when I had a chance," she said angrily.

Hank was laughing. "What's the matter? Somebody steal your boyfriend?"

"Would you mind taking me home now? This minute?"

"How about a trip through the Tunnel of Love?"

"I'd as soon walk through a pit of snakes," she said and began walking ahead of him.

He caught her arm. "What's wrong with you? It looks to me like we have a splendid opportunity here. Reva has run off with your ice man boyfriend -what she wants with him, though, beats me-and here we are alone. You want to go somewhere private?"

"Not with you I don't."

He spun her about so that two animals and one plate went flying. "What's wrong with you? Last night you danced in my arms so close we were like lovers. We have been lovers. All I have to do is touch you and-"

"Right!" she hissed at him. "I'm no better to you than... than a paid woman, but when it comes time to defend me, you're a stranger. You may know about my body but you know nothing about me. "

"Amanda," he whispered, "we're drawing a crowd. Let's go somewhere quiet."

She started walking, him beside her. "Your room, perhaps?"

"What's eating you? What's made you so all-fired mad at me? Was it showing up here with Reva? Is it jealousy that's making you so mad?"

Amanda opened her arms and dropped all the prizes. "Men!" she gasped. "Do you think that every time a woman gets angry she's jealous? I don't care if you date Reva Eiler; I don't care if you date a hundred women. What I'm so mad about is what happened this afternoon. I may not know all the ways a union works and I may be naive about a lot of the ways of the world, but I'll be d.a.m.ned-yes, you heard me-d.a.m.ned if I'll let you or anyone else treat me like an empty-headed society girl. I had never partic.i.p.ated in society until I met you. I happen to care about those people I've met at the Union Hall. I've defied my fiance and embarra.s.sed my family in order to help with something I've come to believe in, yet you and the rest of them treat me as if I have no conscience or no brain. Now, Dr. Montgomery, take your prizes and your fast little car and put them someplace not many people see. I will walk home."

She turned on her heel, nearly tripped over a stuffed duck, then kept walking.

Chapter Sixteen.

Hank managed to get her into his car. It wasn't an easy task. He wasn't really sure what she was so angry about, but it seemed her feelings had been hurt today at work. Twice on the drive to her house he tried to talk to her, but she wouldn't speak to him. Maybe she was feeling rotten because she was finally realizing that she didn't love that emotionless Driscoll. It was good she was at last coming to her senses, but Hank saw no reason for her to take her anger out on him.

"Look out!" Amanda screamed.

Hank saw the two men standing in the road just when Amanda did. There was no way he could stop the car in time, so he swerved to the left to avoid hitting them. Even as he was pulling on the hand brake, he knew who the men were and what they wanted. "Stay in the car, Amanda," he said softly. "Whatever you do, stay in the car. And don't tell them who you are. I don't want the Caulden name mentioned in front of these men. Understand me?"

Amanda realized that something serious was happening and now was not the time for petty private quarrels. She nodded at Hank.

The men had started running as soon as they saw Hank's car and they reached it just as he was getting out.

"h.e.l.lo, Doc," the taller one said. He had prematurely white hair and bright blue eyes that the car headlamps showed to be glittering. "You know Andrei, don't you?"

Hank didn't smile. "Your last partner was killed down in San Diego, wasn't he? Whitey, we don't want you here."

"That's no way to talk to an old friend," Whitey Graham said.

"We're forming a union," Hank said, "and we want no bloodshed."

Whitey put his palms on the back of the Mercer and leaned toward Hank. "Violence is the only way to get the world to look at us and you know it. Nothing will happen unless we spill a little blood-and Caulden's will be first. I've heard of the way he treats his pickers. This year we'll get the b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

Hank held his breath and hoped desperately that Amanda would sit silently in the car and not let these men know who she was. These men were fanatics, dedicated to a cause, and the cause meant more to them than their freedom or their lives or the lives of anyone else for that matter. They meant to show the world what was wrong with it and they had decided that the only way to do that was by first getting the world's attention. They believed that Americans would overlook a thousand stories about the sad plight of the migrant worker but they would listen to stories of death and violence and bloodshed. Whitey Graham and one partner after another had traveled around America inciting different groups of migrant workers to rage against the treatment they were receiving. The rages had cost the loss of property and lives but they had forced reforms to be made. Whitey believed the solution was worth the cost.

"Caulden has the local sheriff in his pocket," Hank said. "He's a treacherous little man named Bulldog Ramsey and he'll break you in half with his bare hands."

"If he catches me," Whitey said. He glanced at Amanda. "I hear Caulden's daughter works for you."

"She does and she's a good worker. She's helped a lot in forming the pickers into a union."

"Forming them into a union." Whitey laughed. "They have to take care of their bellies and Caulden knows it. Caulden holds all the cards. He can treat the pickers like sc.u.m and they can't afford to do anything but take it." Whitey's eyes burned in the lamplight. "Someday we're going to take the power away from people like Caulden. Someday a union will speak for the workers. But before that happens we have to light some fires."

"Your fires burn people!" Hank half shouted. "Go back to where you came from, Whitey. The ULW has sent half a dozen organizers and I'm telling the pickers what a union is. We don't need you and your guns."

Again Whitey turned to look at the back of Amanda's head. She didn't look as if she'd moved a muscle since the car had stopped. "I hear Caulden's daughter is real pretty. As pretty as this lady?"

Hank snorted. "Caulden's daughter is as pretty as he is. All she needs is a cigar in her mouth and she could be his twin. This lady is Miss Janet Armstrong."

"Too bad," Whitey said. "I'll bet Caulden would do a lot to protect his daughter."

As Hank looked at the wild, glittering eyes of Whitey, those eyes combined with the unnatural glow of his white hair, Hank felt chills along his spine. Amanda would be a prime target of their fanaticism. Kidnap her and they could blackmail Caulden into doing what they wanted. Kill her, Hank thought, and they would get the world to look at the problems of the migrant pickers.