Montgomery - The Awakening Part 23

"I can handle this, Whitey," Hank said, doing his best to keep the fear out of his voice. "Go back to where you came from."

Whitey stepped out of the circle of light made by the car headlamps. "Sure, Doc. I'll leave as soon as I see there're no problems. As soon as I see that my people are treated right, first by Caulden then by the other hop ranchers, I'll go home. I won't cause no problems." His voice began to fade as he moved farther away from the car. "And you say h.e.l.lo to that Miss Caulden for me. What's her name? Amy, is it? No, it's Amanda. You tell her Whitey Graham says h.e.l.lo to her." There were footsteps, then it was quiet.

Hank stood where he was, and in spite of the heat even at night, he felt cold. He didn't speak to Amanda as he started the car and got back into it. He went from being cold to sweating, so that by the time he reached the Caulden Ranch he was sweltering.

He stopped the car and turned to Amanda. "I don't want any argument from you, but tomorrow I want you to stay home. In fact, don't even go outside. Have Taylor give you some lessons and spend the day in your room."

Amanda didn't bother to answer his patronizing tone. "Do you think they mean to kill my father?" she whispered.

Hank just wanted her safe. He cursed himself for allowing her to work at the Union Hall, for exposing her to what could be a violent situation. "Whitey isn't really sane. He believes himself to be on the side of the workers, but I think it's an excuse to justify violence. Last year in Chicago he beat up an eighty-year-old-" He stopped abruptly. He was so upset at Whitey's threats to Amanda that he wasn't thinking clearly. "I don't think he means to kill your father. More likely it will be innocent people who get killed, some man who has six kids to support. Whitey just wants blood to flow so the newspapers will write about it. It doesn't matter whose blood it is." He lowered his voice. "Not even yours, Amanda."

"Innocent people," Amanda said. "My father may not be killed, but 'innocent' people might. Does this imply that my father is guilty."

"Amanda, I don't want to get into this. Your father is out to make a profit any way he can. He doesn't care what he has to do to make a profit. I told you that he'd advertised in three states for his pickers. That's so thousands will show up. Maybe two thousand of them will agree to a union and will walk out of the fields if the conditions are intolerable, but there will be thousands more who are so hungry they'll work no matter what the conditions."

"My father isn't an inhumane man," Amanda said softly.

Maybe it was having been near Whitey's intense emotions, but Hank felt his own rising. "Your father shunned his own wife for years because before they were married she danced on a stage. He turned his only child over to a cold machine of a man who withheld food from her if she didn't obey his every whim. I wouldn't say Caulden is a man who is capable of putting himself in the place of others. Caulden decides what he wants and goes after it. It doesn't matter how many people get knocked down on his way to obtaining his goal. He wants profit from the hops and the hops have to be picked. I don't imagine he ever considered that those are people in his fields. They are profit-making machines to him."

"My father isn't like that," Amanda said. "You don't know him like I do." She remembered their meals together for the last few days. She refused to remember his words that he couldn't abide her. That was her fault, not his. She got out of the car, not waiting for Hank to offer his hand.

Hank jumped out of the car and ran after her. He stepped in front of her, his hands on her shoulders. "Amanda, whatever you feel about your father, that doesn't matter. What matters to me is your safety. I want you to promise me that you'll stay home tomorrow and not come to the Union Hall."

"What would you do if Reva were threatened?"

"Reva?" he asked. "What has she got to do with this? You still jealous of Reva and Taylor leaving the carnival together?"

Amanda walked away from him but he moved in front of her.

"I want your promise, Amanda."

"If Reva's life were threatened you'd probably think she was courageous enough to stand up to it. But me, I'm supposed to hide in my room because I'm just a silly little society girl, is that right?"

Hank gaped at her. No man could ever live long enough to understand women. "If Reva's life were threatened I'd want her to stay someplace safe too."

"But Reva's poor and I'm rich and that makes all the difference in the world."

Hank felt as if he'd just drunk a quart of whiskey and jumped on a merry-go-round. "The unionists want you because you're Caulden's daughter. Amanda, promise me you'll stay home tomorrow."

She walked past him. "Do not concern yourself with me, Dr. Montgomery, I can take care of myself. If not, I'm sure I can buy my way out of any situation." She hurried ahead into her house.

Hank stood outside, his fists clenched in anger. If he had to tie her to the bed in her room, he'd not let her expose herself to the fanatics' violence. He didn't understand just what she was so angry about but he wasn't going to let some little feminine snit of hers endanger her life. He went back to his car.

Amanda leaned against the front door of her house for a few moments. She knew she hadn't made any sense, but lately it seemed that her emotions were always ruling her brain. Those union men had scared her, scared her a great deal. The man named Whitey had a voice that quivered with emotion and it grated on Amanda like a metal file on her skin. The man talked of murder the way a person would speak of reading a book. Today when bloodshed in connection with the union was mentioned it had seemed like something remote and not possible. But this man Whitey made violence seem not only possible but likely.

If only there was something she could do!

Suddenly she stopped slumping against the door. All the talk of bloodshed was based on the a.s.sumption that her father was going to force the pickers to work under hideous conditions. If there was some way she could persuade the unionists that her father was not the monster they seemed to think he was, she could prevent violence before it started.

Even at this hour of the night her father was in the library. She had never before dared to disturb him, but lately she seemed to be doing many things she'd never dared before. She knocked on the library door, and when he told her to come in she slid the door open.

When he looked up at her, a scowl on his face, she was ready to turn and flee. J. Harker Caulden was not a man who liked surprises, and his daughter's unexpected appearance was obviously unwelcome. Amanda braced herself.

"Father, I would like to speak to you about an important matter," she said, trying to still her pounding heart.

"If it's about your marriage to Taylor-"

"No, it's not," she said quickly. Did all men think that women only concerned themselves with emotions like jealousy and romantic love? "I have been working with the unionists, and the people seem to think you're a... a tyrant and I would very much like to rea.s.sure them that you aren't. I want them to know that you do care about your fellow man."

J. Harker put down his pen, leaned back in his chair and studied her. Things were changing in his household and he didn't know what was causing the changes. Some of them he liked and some he didn't like at all. He liked his wife flirting with him and he liked his daughter showing a little s.p.u.n.k. But he didn't like her thinking she had the right to ask what he was doing when he ran his ranch. In the last few days Taylor had been giving him problems too. What did people like Amanda and Taylor know about running a ranch? They'd had their noses in books all their lives. Harker was beginning to doubt his wisdom in choosing Taylor as a son-in-law. Maybe he should find someone else for his daughter to marry.

But now Amanda stood before him looking like a scared rabbit who was putting on a brave little face and demanding to know how he was running his own ranch. He was tempted to tell her to get the h.e.l.l out of his office, but then he thought he'd be wiser to use his daughter's connections to that unionist rabble. Perhaps he could help prevent any trouble. Not that it mattered much to him. Bulldog was deputizing half a dozen more men and they were going to be all over the fields during the picking. They'd stop any trouble before it started.

"Have they told you that all I care about is profit?" J. Harker asked.

"Why, yes."

"That I don't care about the people in the fields?"

Amanda was beginning to lose her feeling of terror. "Yes, they have."

"I do hope, Amanda, that you didn't believe them. That you didn't side against your own father."

"No, sir, I didn't. But I did want to hear the truth from you."

"I'm glad you came to me. It's time you learned a little about the ranch that supports you. You see, this isn't the first year I've had problems. For the last eleven years there have been rumblings of strikes and shootings and I've borne it all without ever defendin' myself. Everyone thinks I make an enormous profit on this ranch, but the truth is I barely pull through.

Those union men only think of what I sell the hops for, they never consider the expense I have to put out. Amanda, it costs twenty-four dollars to grow a bale of hops and twenty dollars of that goes to pay unskilled labor. h.e.l.l, it cost nine thousand dollars a year just for the string to trellis the hops. n.o.body ever thinks of string, do they? I guess they think I get it free somewhere. And then there's the cost of dryin' and s.h.i.+ppin'. And this year it's been so dry I have two thirds the crop of last year. All these things add up." He stopped and stared at her.

"I'd like to pay these people twenty dollars a bale," Harker continued. "I know they're poor and I know they think I'm rich, but I pay them as much as I can. This year the price of hops is down so low that I'm havin' to cut corners everywhere-but I'm not cuttin' in wages, Amanda. I'm cuttin' everywhere else so I can still pay these poor workers top wages. For instance, every year I've let the Kingman store owners set up little satellite stores out in the fields. The workers spend their money with the Kingman merchants while I provide the land as well as the opportunity, but I don't mind-I share wherever I can. But this year I can't afford to be generous. Taylor's settin' up stores full of supplies I've bought. That way, through the stores, I'll be able to make a little profit, but I won't have to cut the wages of the poor worker."

Amanda was feeling jubilant. Her father wasn't a monster as everyone said. They just didn't understand. "If the union leaders came to you asking for things such as water delivered to the fields, you'd listen to their requests?"

J. Harker smiled at his daughter. "I've already arranged for lemonade to be delivered to the fields. And food. And gla.s.ses of cool well water."

"Oh," Amanda said, smiling. She felt as if her whole body were smiling. There'd be no need for the unionists to demand anything. The workers would know they had a right to protest but they wouldn't have anything to protest against. Who could get angry at a man who had lemonade delivered to the fields? "Thank you," she said, smiling. "I shall tell the unionists." She started backing toward the door. "Goodnight, Father," she said and left the room.

She went up the stairs as if her feet weren't touching ground. Everything was settled. There would be no violence. Actually, there would not even be a need for a union. If every employer were like her father and delivered lemonade to the fields, the workers would have no need to form a union.

Amanda undressed and went to bed still smiling. Tomorrow she'd be able to tell that smug Dr. Montgomery that he could eat his words. And wouldn't that awful man Whitey be disappointed? It wouldn't do any good to draw the newspapers' attention to a man who paid his workers top wages and delivered food and lemonade to them in the fields. And there would be no need to fear going to the Union Hall tomorrow. She was safe, made safe by her father, who was, in spite of what others said, a good man.

She went to sleep, never once giving a thought to Taylor. Nor did she wake when, at three a.m., he came creeping up the stairs, his shoes in his hand.

"Lemonade!" Hank yelled at her. "You risked your life by coming in here today because of lemonade?"

As soon as she'd walked into the Union Hall, Hank had grabbed her arm and pulled her into the cleaning closet. Now he stood glaring down at her, his eyes on fire with rage, cords in his neck standing out from the force of his shouting.

"Why bother to try for privacy?" she said coolly. "When you shout like that everyone can hear you."

"I don't give a good G.o.dd.a.m.n who hears me. Just where do you think you're going?"

Amanda was trying to open the closet door but he'd locked it. "I won't stay here and listen to such language."

He grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face him. "What your father said to you was worse than any language I know. He lied to you, Amanda. Out and out lied. If he were good to his workers there wouldn't be any need for us to be here."

"That is what I have been trying to tell you. There isn't going to be any violence. You can tell your friend, that awful man Whitey, to go home. He can find some other rancher to hara.s.s."

Hank dropped his hands and his face changed. "Do you really believe that, Amanda?" he asked softly. "Do you really see us as the villains? Do you think the governor sent me here for no reason? Do you believe we are just out to cause an innocent, loving man like your father problems?"

"I think you have misjudged him. I'm not saying other ranchers aren't persecuting their workers, but my father is a good man. He does the best he can. He has enormous expenses, and no one takes those expenses into account. He-" She broke off when Hank pushed past her and unlocked the door.

He held the door open. "Go home, Miss Caulden," he said tiredly. "This is no place for you. You are merely a recording device and nothing more. If I wanted to hear Caulden's plat.i.tudes, I'd have asked him. Now go home and stay hidden inside until the hops are picked and what's going to happen has happened."

Amanda walked past him into the hall. "You have made up your mind and I can't change it," she said stiffly. "But you will see. I just hope you're man enough to admit when you're wrong. Good day, Dr. Montgomery." She turned away from him and left the Union Hall.

On the drive back to the Caulden Ranch, her anger rose to the boiling point. The union organizers wanted to believe something was wrong, wanted to sing their union songs, wanted to believe they were the equivalent of slaves building a pyramid for a power-mad pharaoh. Today the picking started and by tomorrow they would have had time to see that at the Caulden Ranch human beings were treated as such.

She smiled to herself as she thought of how Dr. Montgomery would react. Would he be disappointed when there was no reason for his union? He wanted to present a pet.i.tion for water to be delivered to the fields. She'd like to see his face when he found water, food and cool, delicious lemonade was being handed out to the workers. Perhaps she'd ask her father if she could distribute the lemonade. She had a vision of offering Dr. Montgomery a tall, frosty gla.s.s and smiling at him graciously. She doubted very much that he would admit he was wrong.

She left the limousine to go into the house, and the first person she encountered was Taylor. His eyes looked a little tired but he compensated for it by holding his spine especially rigid.

"Amanda," he said sternly, "I was just coming to get you. Your job at that place is now ended. The picking began today, and I see no reason for you to further expose yourself to those people."

"They are not 'those people'; they are human beings. If you do not have the courtesy to think of them as such, at least my father does."

"I will not be spoken to in such a manner, Amanda."

Amanda started to contradict him but she closed her mouth. In a few more days Dr. Montgomery would go home, defeated, and she would be left here alone with Taylor. She had better do what she could to placate him. "I apologize. It's the heat. It makes me on edge. I have already quit my job and I won't be returning."

"Good," he said quickly. "Now I think you'd better stay in your room until this is over. You've been involved more than enough."

"Of course," she murmured and started for the stairs, but she paused and turned back. "Taylor, I wonder if it might be possible for me to go to the fields and help. I would like to distribute the lemonade, perhaps."

Taylor's eyes widened. "Distribute the-" He calmed himself. "The men will be in the fields and I do not believe it's a place for a lady."

"But I worked with those men at the Union Hall."

"Amanda! Do not defy me. I cannot allow you to go into the fields. You would be horribly in the way. Do you want to cause everyone more work?"

"No," she said and realized her hand was tightly clutching the banister. It didn't seem that she was needed anywhere. They didn't need her at the Union Hall and they didn't need her in the fields.

"I have written out a schedule for you and put it on your desk. I cannot stay to test you as I am needed in the fields. And, Amanda, when the hops are in, you and I are going to talk about your dismissal of Mrs. Gunston. I could not persuade her to remain." He stood there and watched as she climbed the stairs.

Once inside her room, Amanda realized that her jubilant mood was gone. She held up the new schedule and remembered Taylor telling her there would be no more schedules. She also remembered his talking about their being lovers. But the Taylor who she had just seen was as formal and cold as she had ever seen him.

She tossed the schedule, unread, on the desk and flopped across her bed. It was so hot and she felt so restless. She tried to recapture her good mood by imagining Dr. Montgomery when he realized how wrong he had been, but she couldn't quite conjure the vision.

She stood, looked at the schedule, saw she was to translate Caesar's Campaigns from Latin and groaned. Out the window she could see her mother sprawled on a lounge chair under the shade of a tree, reading and eating what looked to be chocolates. Amanda grabbed her writing materials, her Latin book and went to join her mother.

She spent a very pleasant afternoon lazing about in the shade in the company of her mother. Her mother gave her a fascinating novel written by a woman named the Countess de la Glace. It was all about romance and pa.s.sion and a woman suffering over the love of a man who wasn't worth suffering over. Amanda read it avidly and put away a pound and a half of chocolates.

The next day her father and Taylor were too busy to notice that she wasn't where she was supposed to be, doing what she'd been told to do, so she spent more time with her mother. Amanda, feeling that she was greatly daring, asked her mother about the time she'd danced on stage. Grace talked for hours, and Amanda began to realize that what her mother had done sounded more like hard work than sinful.

"But you had courage," Amanda said. "I wish I had courage."

"I think perhaps you do," Grace answered. "You just haven't found what you need courage for."

"You mean like Ariadne?" Amanda asked, motioning toward the Countess de la Glace's novel. "To decide I love a man and fight for him?"

"Who do you love, Amanda?"

"Taylor, of course," Amanda answered quickly, but her face turned red. Her time with Dr. Montgomery had been an experiment, nothing more. But part of her imagined how he'd act when he found out he was wrong about the workers on the Caulden Ranch. Would he be so contrite that he'd propose marriage? "I was wrong, Amanda, my darling," she imagined him saying. "I want to spend the rest of my life with a woman as wise as you are." She loved the idea of his admitting that she wasn't stupid-the way he always made her feel. But did she love him? Would she marry him? Leave Taylor and the parents she loved to travel about the world in his little yellow car?

"Amanda," Grace said, interrupting her daughter's daydreaming, "is that possibly your Dr. Montgomery?"

Amanda turned to look. It was he, coming from the direction of the fields. This was it, she thought. He was coming to apologize and to... Dare she hope for more?

"Amanda," Grace said, and there was concern in her voice, "I don't know Dr. Montgomery personally, but it's my guess from the way he's walking that he's angry."

Amanda smiled. "Angry at himself, perhaps. I think he's found out his coming here was useless. He's a very proud man and I'm sure he'll hate admitting he was wrong."

Amanda stood and smoothed her skirt. "I hope you won't mind if I invite him to tea. I think I'll order lemonade. It's a little joke we share."

"Whatever you say, dear, but Dr. Montgomery looks to me to be-"

"There you are!" Hank yelled when he was several feet away. He was in s.h.i.+rt sleeves and he was so soaked with sweat he looked as if he'd been caught in a rainstorm. "I told you to stay inside for safety's sake but here you are for anyone to see. You believe anyone who lies to you but you can't believe me when I tell you the truth."

Amanda blushed crimson and refused to look down at her mother. She opened her mouth to reply but Hank's hand clamped down on her forearm and started pulling her. "Stop it!" she managed to say. "This is my mother and-"

"How do you do, Mrs. Caulden. Amanda is coming with me. I am going to show her how her father treats the people who work for him."

"By all means, do," Grace said, looking at this man with interest. No one had told her Dr. Montgomery was such a handsome, virile young man.

"I do not want to go with you," Amanda said.

"You go on your feet or bottom end up." His eyes were blazing and he hadn't shaved in days. He looked almost frightening.

"I will not-"

Hank bent, put his shoulder to her stomach and heaved her over his shoulder.

"Release me!" Amanda yelled, beating his back with her fists.

Hank slapped her behind. "I'm too tired to be beaten."

"Mother, help me!" Amanda cried.

"Cookie, Dr. Montgomery?" Grace Caulden asked, holding out the plate.