September Dove

This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

© 2010 Pat Calfee. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 7/2/2010

ISBN: 978-1-4184-5811-9 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4184-5810-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4259-1825-5 (hc)

………dedicated to the spirit of ‘soul-deep’ love, the kind of love that enables even a wounded dove to rise and fly again…..

….A fate worse than death…

September is the beginning of dove-hunting season in Texas. Doves mate for life; when one of a pair is killed or dies the surviving dove remains near its mate for days holding a pitiful vigil. Knowing this Farley reluctantly participated in a hunt and much to her distress mortally wounded one of a pair. As she knelt by the soft, lifeless body she was acutely aware of its mate on a nearby Mesquite limb sorrowfully cooing. Deeply saddened, she wept and silently prayed that the surviving dove also be killed. Clearly, in her heart, ‘winging’ it alone without its mate was a fate worse than death. From that day on, whenever she saw a lone dove regardless of the month, she called it a September Dove, convinced it most likely had lost its mate to the hunt.

Contents

PART I

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

PART II

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

About The Author

PART I

SOUTH TEXAS - BORDER

COUNTRY – SUMMER - 1949

Chapter One

Lice! Farley Marie Sebastian, you have lice again! If you don’t stop goin’ to those wetback camps and coming home with lice and ringworms, I don’t know what I’m gonna do with you.

Ruth scooted Farley out of the shade and into the bright sunlight, now both of them were propped uncomfortably on the weathered steps of the small frame house. With an aggressive jerk she tilted her daughter’s head downward in order to inspect the nape of her neck, she parted off sections of her thick, black hair and dug vigorously at her scalp.

Ouch, that hurts, don’t scratch so hard!

You’re gonna think hurt! I’ve a good mind to shave that mop off slick, then maybe I ‘d get all the nits and find the ringworms I’ve missed.

Oh Mama, you wouldn’t do that would you? Farley whined, as she winced in pain. If you cut all my hair off, I might be like Samson in the Bible. I might lose my strength and get sick or sumthin’. She automatically quoted scripture whenever she got in trouble, hoping for divine intervention. Grandpa Sebastian’s constant preaching and Bible thumping had taught her that.

Guess you know we’ll have to disinfect the bedding again, Ruth moaned. That’s a lot of work and you’re gonna do it this time. Forgetting her daughter’s hair for the moment, she pulled up Farley’s blouse and twisted her around to get a better look at her small, brown rib cage. Let me see if that ringworm is ‘bout healed. If it’s not one thing to doctor on you, it’s another, After a quick inspection Ruth rolled her eyes upward. Now git in that bathtub and wash that filthy hair. I’ll be in there in a minute to douse you with citronella.

Citronella burned scalps and eyes and the awful smell was always dreaded. Thank goodness it was July and school was out, because if you went to school reeking of citronella, everyone knew you had lice. It was common knowledge the first-graders had more lice than the older kids and Farley would be in the sixth grade when school started, she was far too mature for such humiliation.

All the border schools had regular lice inspections, and regardless if half the room was dismissed for the same problem, and they often were, it was still degrading to be a white kid sent home with lice. Everyone knew it was the dirty Mexicans who infected the schools with the crawling, biting parasites. To avoid the tell-tell scratching Farley devised a method of slapping at her head where it itched, but Ruth always knew anyway.

With spirit still intact, Farley shook her head to rearrange her tousled hair then headed in the direction of the newly added bathroom. A section of the back porch had recently been converted into a bathroom. The walls were thin plywood panels, and a muslin curtain served as the door. The only light was a naked forty-watt bulb with a pull-chain, which hung from an extension cord secured to an exposed beam by two bent nails. She never really liked baths, but this fancy new bathroom with the enameled tub was pure luxury compared to the old galvanized washtub placed in the kitchen floor.

Farley hung her head under the faucet and commenced to wet her long, thick hair. She scratched and dug at her scalp vigorously as the water aggravated the lice into movement. Her head itched all over now as if covered with a bonnet of stinging nettle.

Mama! Mama! I’m ready, she yelled, and under her breath mumbled, I’m ready for the stinky ol’ citronella. She knew Ruth was in no mood for any lip.

######

Like the cobbler’s kids going barefooted, Dalton Sebastian, carpenter, cabinetmaker and builder of fine and wonderful things, and his family lived in a dilapidated rent house with a small concrete block garage. The garage had been fabricated into a crowded shop where he and his mortgaged tools and machinery managed to work. It was a struggle to merely get by and sometimes they didn’t.

For as long as Farley could remember every conversation in the Sebastian household was dominated with worrisome fretting about money, the lack of it, and/or the need of it to furnish life’s necessities. Hence, with all the income problems, she was determined to earn extra money and was industrious enough to make a stab at anything. Houses were few and far between in the rural farming area; however, Farley walked or rode her bike to all the dwellings within pedaling distance, and offered to clean house or work in the yard. Lazy she wasn’t. At age eleven a town job would have been hard to find, besides the old worn out ‘41 Ford, which Dalton worked on endlessly, was all the transportation they had. In spite of the obstacles she weighed every possibility.

Tess, or Her Majesty, as Farley called her sister, was four years older and miserable with the family living conditions and was acutely aware of what the Sebastians didn’t have. She had a job in town selling tickets at the movie-theater contributing to the bottomless family deficit. Of course, getting Tess to and from work was a constant struggle and required creative manipulation on her part. Her ‘well-off’ friends, Sue and Debra, each had a car and she regularly conned them into rides. Since Ruth didn’t know how to drive Tess was forced to inflict her problem on Dalton, or a passing aunt or uncle from time to time.

Tess’ employment at the ‘movie-house’ was a source of distress for Farley; and of course, for Grandpa Sebastian, movies were wantonly sinful. Tess ignored the warnings of the certain damnation visited on moviegoers, and made no bones about her motion picture addiction. Her beloved silver screen was the escape-hatch from her reality. Movie sagas furnished the fodder necessary to sustain her fantasy world. The family and even her friends considered her moody.

Farley was content with country living and rural work. Many a day, armed only with determination, she headed out to old man Franks’ field behind the house to pick cotton. She was willing to tolerate the sultry combination of heat and humidity, so prevalent in the Lower Rio Grande Valley, in order to work the fields. However, common labor in pressure-cooker conditions was unacceptable to Tess.

The field owner, who was always a white man, furnished the sacks; the Mexicans called him ‘El Patron’, each field also had a Jefe, or crew boss. El Jefe was usually a Mexican who knew how to write. He was in charge of sack distribution and the weighing and recording of pounds picked. Hopefully, she would not be given a sack infested with lice nits or ringworms, with the wide strap over the left shoulder and the opening under your right armpit, you and your sack were up-close-and-personal with any contamination it bore. At first she picked rapidly, but as the day grew hotter and the sack heavier her paced slowed down considerably.

The cotton fields teemed with bent-over, pitifully dressed, sweaty pickers, all of them Wetbacks from Mexico. Farley, small and thin for her age, was brown as a coffee bean and blended right in with the Mexican kids scattered up and down the rows. Between hanging out on the banks of the irrigation canal and fishing in the Gulf with her daddy, clad only in a swimsuit, she was beyond tan, she was plum black. At least that’s what Dalton’s sister, Aunt Agnes, Farley’s greatest critic, always told her. Her young niece’s coloring perplexed Agnes for some reason. Farley never quite understood why it was such a big deal to her Aunt that the entire family was fair, and blonde except her, nor did she grasp the slur, ‘there must have been a Meskin in the wood-pile’.

Picking cotton was a less than a perfect way to make money, it was backbreaking work, even for a young back. By midday conditions were about as miserable as it gets, for starters gnats, and other biting things, swarmed the perspiring, smelly pickers. About then Farley was sure her sack weighed at least a hundred pounds and never failed to be disappointed when she dragged her burden to the scales. With a smirk El Jefe would dutifully jotted down her measly twenty or so pounds. Pickers were paid by the pound, a dollar seventy-five, to two dollars per hundredweight. The pay fluctuated depending on the threat of rain. Before her mother graduated to a packing-shed job, she was known to be a fast picker. She often picked over a hundred pounds a day, and a two-dollar day was considered really good.

Everything about picking cotton was distasteful; the swarming gnats transmitted ‘sore-eyes’, a crusty eye infection, from person to person. The water-can, located at the cotton trailer by the scales, had one dipper carelessly submerged in not so cool water. The community-drinking situation offered equal opportunity for everyone to pass on, or get, whatever contagious malady any of them had. Ruth never failed to warn Farley about the nasty dipper, but she used it anyway. Aunt Agnes told horror stories about infantile paralysis, or polio as most people called it, and tuberculosis, declaring that Farley would surely bring some affliction into the entire family. Fortunately, they didn’t see Aunt Agnes very often.

If El Jefe wasn’t looking Farley and the dirty camp waifs tumbled around in the big, wooden, cotton trailer loaded with freshly picked cotton. Farley caught every transmittable infection they had, and only by the grace of God did not contract something as horrible as polio. Ruth was constantly treating her for ringworms, sore-eyes and lice. ‘Charming child, Tess would say, in a snide tone in reference to her sister’s lifestyle.

#######

There had to be a better way to make money. Farley came up with the idea that she could collect old clothes and wares and sell them to the Wets hidden in the orchard camps. To procure her inventory she devised a word of mouth plan, to contact friends and relatives, about needing old clothes, shoes, and other used items. When she shared her idea with her mother, Ruth was less than enthusiastic. Farley planned to call her venture El Tienda de Ropa, translated it would be The Store of Clothes, actually it was tienda de ropa usada, meaning store of used clothes. As Farley lapsed in and out of Spanish Ruth declared that she looked and sounded just like the Meskins, but other than that she paid little or no attention to her daughter’s brainstorm.

Laundry day Ruth was held captive to the rub-board and washtubs, the perfect time for Farley to approach her mother with this great idea again, and see if the Sebastians had anything they didn’t need. Farley watched Ruth as she pressed her waist against the cabinet and rubbed away at the dirty clothes. The common housedress did not hide her mother’s well-shaped body, which spited the six pregnancies it had endured. Farley thought her mother to be really pretty, except for her corrugated brow and solemn, almost sour, look. Her vinegar countenance was not at all softened by her blonde hair, pulled back at the nape of her neck and fastened with a clip. Ruth’s blue eyes were intense and melancholy. Farley sometimes wondered, but didn’t dare ask, if perhaps her mother had a happier face before losing four babies. She also speculated what it would have been like to have two brothers and two more sisters. Money was so scarce; Farley felt it might have been even harder on her mother if all of the babies had lived, cruel as that thought was. The only information she had about her dead brothers and sisters was what she had gathered from Maw Sebastian, or overheard when the adults spoke of it.

Through the rasp of shirt buttons scraping the rippled tin of the rub-board, Farley began her pitch. Ruth did listen once more to Farley’s tienda de ropa idea, but still with only mild interest. Farley explained that they could ask Sue and Debra, Aunt Agnes and Uncle Dan and perhaps even her daddy might have some old pants or shoes he had worn out. Farley knew better than to ask Ruth if she had something she didn’t need. Ruth neither encouraged nor discouraged her enthusiastic daughter.

######

Just in case her tienda de ropa deal fell through, Farley continued to pick cotton in the fields day after day tallying up the pounds, awaiting the big payday. However, all the while she did as she had proclaimed, and spread the word about her needs. Within a week, she had a collection of old clothes, which she checked for tears, missing buttons or stains, assessing their value. She made little paper tags, and with a needle and thread tacked a price tag to each garment.

######

Somehow the entire family managed to supper together, this was unusual because of work schedules. Ruth was working the night shift at the packing shed, and Tess had early afternoon at the theatre. Ruth regularly brought home an abundance of free vegetables, culls from work. Farley was famished and fried pork chops were her favorite. There was plenty of cornbread, vegetables and gravy but only three pork chops for four people. Ruth claimed; that she didn’t want any pork, it was too rich. Life in the Sebastian family brimmed with little unnoticed sacrifices Ruth made on a regular basis.

Daddy, I’ve got enough clothes to start my tienda de ropa. Will you cut me a board so I can paint a sign to put in the yard? Talking around a mouth full of food she added, Also, do ya think you could rig me a board with a rope on it so I can use it to put a box on, that way I could drag it to los campos? You know, sort of a portable store?

Oh Mama, for God’s sake can’t y’all do something about Farley and her collectin’ old clothes like a rag merchant? It’s down right embarrassin’. Please don’t let her put a sign in the yard, we’ll look like white trash! Tess was genuinely distressed.

Shut-up Tess, you’ll see when I make lots of money, you’ll see. You’re just jealous you didn’t think of it first.

Tess hated it when Farley used her baby sister whine to make a point.

Girls, quit squabbling. Farley don’t tell your sister to shut-up, it isn’t Christian, and Tess, you watch your manners about your sister, Ruth said, lowly but firmly.

Demonstrating her displeasure, Tess pushed her plate back, leaving a plate full of food and a good bit of meat on the pork chop bone. Without permission, to leave the table, she stomped off towards the bedroom.

Dalton slapped the table with the palm of his hand, "Sister, don’t drag off poutin’, ya hear. And we are not white trash, your highness, just git off your high horse!" He barked.

It was both basic and primal to bring ample substance into his cave, and Dalton hated the implication that he wasn’t adequately providing. He had truly mastered the art of masking his insecurities by responding with what sounded like anger, and none of them wished to stir his anger. Christian or not, if Dalton Sebastian lost control of his ugly temper it was not pleasant. He was as stout as a mule and if he unleashed his anger it was something to behold. Or as Uncle Buz always put it, ‘If Dalton got mad enough he could tear up a steel ball, or an iron jackass.’ It mattered not that he stood no more than five-feet-ten, and weighed a lean hundred and sixty pounds; he was solid, wiry muscle. His shoulders were so broad and his hips so small the measurements seemed out of proportion. Invariably when buying his work shirts and khaki pants, the clerks questioned Ruth whether the clothing could be for the same man with such a vast difference in the shirt and pant size. Dalton’s countenance was stern like his father’s and he could cut steel with just the right glance from his gray-blue eyes. When he clamped his jaws tightly the slight cleft in his chin became more evident. Oddly, no one else in his family had the chin dimple, nor did either of his girls. His appearance had been compared to a young actor named Kirk Douglas. The comparison meant nothing to Dalton since he rarely went to movies. He often sang or whistled while he worked and everyone claimed his melodious voice rivaled, and even sounded much like, Bing Crosby’s. He did know about Crosby, and loved the singer’s music. Dalton had a great sense of humor, and could tell a joke better than Red Skelton, that is if he wasn’t on his preaching soapbox. It was Tess who had brought the movie and entertainment mentality and comparisons into the Sebastian family, and concocted that her father resembled Douglas, sang like Crosby, and could be funny like Skelton. Dalton thought it all foolishness.

Predictably, a reprimand followed the table scene. Dalton lapsed into one of his familiar sermons, sounding a great deal like his father, declaring that only the good Lord knew what was best for folks. He never failed to reiterate, that Sis just didn’t understand these hard times. Like a tent-evangelist his voice changed according to the point he was making. The Lord would provide if they were good Christians and He, meaning the Lord, would take care of them if they lived like the children of God. Dalton recited scripture often, and redundantly quoted the one about it being ‘harder for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven than for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle’. Tess invariably cringed at that particular bit of scripture; and had rather hear fingernails scratched across a chalkboard. Farley, on the other hand, never questioned scripture.

During Dalton’s Bible quoting and preaching, Ruth retrieved the pork chop bone, with the morsels of meat left on it from Tess’ plate, not because she didn’t have plenty to eat, she just liked the taste of pork, in spite of her earlier claim. She did not respond to the sermon, nor need to; they had heard it all before.

No sense wasting good food. Ruth said as she finished off the delicious pig meat. Still hoping for family harmony she added, Dalton, just leave Tess alone, she’ll be all right after a while; she’s just in one of her moods.

Daddy you will help me make my sign and fix a board to drag my box on, won’t you? Farley pleaded. If possible tonight, because I want to go to the camps tomorrow afternoon. It’s Saturday and payday, they’ll all have some money. Please, please. She whined... and did use a bit of her ‘baby-of-the-family’ voice.Farley had a way with her father, and everyone considered her his pet.

Yeah Pill, in fact I can do it tonight. I’ve gotta finish some cabinets that I’m supposed to set tomorrow. Distress returned to Dalton’s voice. I don’t know why Tess can’t be more like you, she was born with old-time ‘misery-of-the-spirits’. His facial expression reflected his obvious displeasure of the supper-table scene.

Ruth and Farley cleared the table barely in time for Ruth to catch her ride to the packing shed with Velma Rudder. The Rudders lived about eight miles down the road and Velma and Ruth managed the same shift, Ruth was grateful to have a ride. She liked Velma, although they didn’t have a lot in common. What they did have in common was their need for the pitiful wages paid at the packing-shed for the arduous labor.

Farley skipped into the bedroom she and Tess were forced to share. She eased down onto the edge of the bed. Tess was lying on her stomach with her head buried in her folded arms. Tess, are you alright? Farley asked rather sheepishly. When Tess was miserable the whole world was miserable. No one was happy until Tess was happy.

Yeah, I’m okay. Sorry I yelled at you.

That’s okay Tess, but you really will be pleased when you see how much money I make with my tienda de ropa.

Tess propped herself up on her elbows and looked at the little brown, un-kept girl sitting on her bed. Her deep hazel eyes flashed with defiance. Her fetching smile was flanked by noticeable dimples, which could flash or fade quicker than a firefly’s blink. Tall, gangly, and thin for her age, Tess wanted desperately to fill out to appear womanly. Her hair was as golden blonde as Farley’s was black, and she was as regal and stately as Farley was open and earthy. The two girls didn’t remotely look like sisters or even appear to belong in the same family. They were as different in their personalities, dispositions and even their body language, as they were in looks. The contrast was noticeable.

"Oh Farley, it’s not just your clothing store crap, it’s this whole situation that gets me. It just kills me you even have to consider scrounging around to make money. Look at this house, Mama doesn’t even have a washing machine, or any decent clothes, or even the simplest things. We are white trash, maybe not in the sense we are bad or dirty, just poor." With Shakespearean drama, Tess’ feelings oozed from every pore as she spoke. Farley winced at Tess’ statements and shook her head, wordlessly demonstrating her disagreement. She tugged at her blouse on or about the location of her healing ringworm, as if something in Tess’ caustic words caused it to itch, or maybe it itched for no other reason than to simply make her acutely aware of their differences.

There is a better way to live, and I swear someday I’ll have it. When I graduate I’ll only be sixteen and I’m goin’ off to college, or maybe get a good job away from here, you’ll see. She raised her head defiantly. In fact, I might even move all the way to Hollywood and become a movie producer and director. True conviction came through in Tess’ words.

Most fifteen-year old girls would have said movie star, but not Tess, she wanted to produce and direct movies, or write scripts. That was one reason she haunted the theater until she got a job, she could see every movie that came to town free. She often watched them over and over; she studied camera angles and lighting, and then critique the scenes. She memorized parts of her favorite movies and knew all about every star in Hollywood, silent movies and all. It was as if she had been born knowing all there was to know concerning movies and movie making.

Farley politely listened to her sister’s proclamation, and then defensively added her own philosophy. Well, Tess, I’m not as book smart as you, I can’t skip grades like you have, I’ll be a full eighteen when I graduate. But I’m smart enough to know that we aren’t really and truly poor. Farley squirmed and twisted around a bit, And I don’t think we’re white trash. Daddy says you need to pray more and be more satisfied with what you’ve got. He says you aren’t grateful enough, and that God knows it too. He also says you run around with Sue and Debra with all their money and cars, and it gives you ‘misery-of-the-spirits’, cause they have money and stuff you don’t."

Farley, I can’t buy that hell-fire-and-brimstone, and that ‘God will provide if we are God’s children,’ crap. What kind of God wants you to be grateful for bein’ poor? That’s like tellin’ a guy who just had one leg cut off by a train or sumthin’ to be grateful it wasn’t both legs. If God cared, or if He could do anything about it, He wouldn’t have allowed one leg to be cut off in the first place and He wouldn’t, or shouldn’t, allow poverty of any kind. Anyway that’s how I feel, and for the record, Farley, I couldn’t stay with Grandpaw Sebastian like you do and listen to that constant preachin’ and Bible thumpin’ for a million dollars, as much as I want money.

Tess hated being preached to, especially about what God might visit upon you. She and Paw Sebastian could hardly get in the same room together much less spend time together. In her opinion, Paw was grouchy and unpleasant to be around, and furthermore, she didn’t want what he was selling. Quite the opposite, Farley, would stay days at a time with the radical old man and felt like no one really understood him. She frowned disapprovingly at Tess’ rendition of her religious beliefs, or lack of them. Farley was convinced prayer could solve anything. She was sure there was a burning Nazarene hell waiting for anyone falling short of the Christian life, whatever that really meant. Serving the Lord was apparently no fun and not serving Him was scary, at lease that’s how it seemed according to Paw’s convictions.

Well Tess, I’m sorry you are so down in the dumps, but when I make lots of money with my used clothes, I’ll share with you.

You just don’t get it, do you Farley? That kind of money doesn’t help matters. It takes big money to help, that dab is like spittin’ on the Chicago fire. Do you have any idea what it costs to go to college?

No, not really, but Daddy and Grandpaw say that only loose women and whores go off to college. That’s so their daddies don’t know what them and men are doing! So I betcha Daddy won’t let you go traipsin’ off to college, no matter how many grades you skip, or how good your marks are.

Lord, Farley, they’ve possibly ruined you already if you buy that shit.

Boy, you’d best not use that word around Daddy, he’ll pitch a fit, Farley snapped back with shock and disapproval at Tess’ rank word.

Feeling there was no chance of cheering Tess up Farley started out of the cluttered room, looking over her shoulder, she added, Like it or not, Tess, I’m doin’ the Tienda de Ropa, sign and all. You’ll just have to lump it.

######

An unpainted board with big, scribbled letters, ‘TIENDA DE ROPA USADA’ was planted in the yard, just as Farley had promised, degrading as that was. Her majesty hated it and sulked in her room when not in town at work, but so what, she sulked in her room anyway. To clinch the disgrace of all of this, Sue and Debra had a good laugh, at Tess’ expense, when they came to pick her up and saw the sign for the first time. Teasingly, they asked for the lingerie department. That didn’t help matters.

Finally it was Saturday, her big day. Farley hurriedly dressed in shorts and sandals, and as usual, didn’t comb that mop of bushy hair. Before Ruth left for work, she herded her back into the bedroom and made an effort to comb through the tangled mess of tresses.

First things first, Farley ran down to the field to El Jefe to collect her cotton-picking money. It amounted to less than two dollars for a whole week’s work. She had only picked off and on that week, being too busy with her store idea and used merchandise procurement.

Tess and Farley were forced to share a chest-of-drawers, and the bottom drawer was Farley’s. Harbored, in a secret section, where her most prized possessions. The pocketknife that had belonged to Uncle Ray, who died in The War, that was a treasured item; the old Bible grandpaw had given her fell into the sacred category; the tin box for her money was important, but the most cherished thing of all was her diary. Farley had kept a diary since the day she learned to write. She made sure everyone knew she wanted a new one for Christmas. Carefully counting her cotton-picking money more than once, she put all but about a dollar of loose change in the tin. The change was for her clothes selling experience; she was about to become a businesswoman.

It seemed like a prudent idea to go ahead and take the box of clothes to the camps, on the makeshift, sled-like board Dalton had designed for her, rather than wait for the Mexicans to come to her. She decided they were safer from the Border Patrol if they remained in the remote camps anyway.

Velma Rudder and Ruth had managed the same shift at the packing shed once again, in order to continue to ride together. With Ruth at the shed, Dalton out on a job, and Tess spending the night at Sue’s, Farley was alone, however, Ruth instructed Farley to stay around the house until Tess returned. Anticipation got the best of her, in spite of Ruth’s orders, she decided to leave a note and go on to the camp. Besides they knew she went there all the time anyway. She left her note in plain view on the kitchen table. "Gone to the camps to sell my stuff. Be back before dark. Don’t worry...Farley."

The box sled was heavy and the two-mile trek hot. Farley trudged along the roadside to the canal bank, then down the edge of the citrus orchard, toward the back portion of the grove to the obscure location of the camp. Pulling the box was a lot harder than she thought, except when she was actually on the shoulder of the road. Will and determination pushed her and her load on. Hot and sweaty, she finally made it as far as the canal. She shucked her sandals and sat on the edge of the locks and dangled her feet in the cool, green water. She had been warned many times about the danger of the isolated, concrete gates. Disregarding the warning she spent most of her spare time on the canal, that is if she wasn’t trying to work. Born a bit of a dare devil she felt there was a difference in fear and in danger. In her opinion, a person should respect danger and fear nothing, the problem was she saw very few things dangerous enough to respect.

Farley had her own little world at the canal. She loved the fish trap Dalton made for her, and found it to be like opening a present when she drew the wire cage from the murky water. There was a foliage cave near the canal locks, the damp, cool, shady shelter was her secret hideout. Today there were more important things to do; she could check the trap later and investigate the cave on her way back.

Farley and her cool, wet feet proceeded on down the edge of the orchard, laboring to stay in the shade of the huge citrus trees. The plowed, black dirt made it difficult for her to manage the box-sled and she was forced to give up the shade, and climb back up the bank, and on to the tall Johnson grass, in order to slide her store along more easily.

The weeds were busy with a multitude of tropical insects, and always swarming with mosquitoes. Hidden in the flora was a plant called Stinging Nettle. Nettle, was to be avoided at all costs; Nettle was capable of inflicting painful, burning, itching whelps on bare feet or naked legs. Farley knew to watch for it, as well as listen for the scary buzz of a rattlesnake. Tall palms, with their fans stuck in bonnets of clouds, rimmed the edge of the ditch, offering only a pinstriped shade. Just before the camp was in sight, she parked her box, slid down the canal bank into the orchard. Crouched behind a grapefruit tree, she propped her fanny on a low limb and relieved herself. Alone most of the time she never considered doing her business outside, and behind bushes, to be questionable behavior.

She finally arrived at the camp hot, sweaty and emitting a scent that apparently attracted mosquitoes and gnats. In spite of her swatting, fanning dance she remained focused and excited about the possibility of the forthcoming sales.

The Mexican workers made their homes under the large citrus trees. Often entire families resided beneath nothing more than a canopy of leaves. The black earth beneath the trees was pounded hard and smooth, almost like a clay floor, it was even hard enough to sweep. There they arranged life’s necessities. Scavenging was a way of life for them; pieces of scrap tin and boards were collected and served multiple purposes in their orchard homes. Utensils amounted to mostly bottles or jugs for water, a few bowls, and some old vegetable cans and a pot or two for the campfire. Each camp had a central, open-pit fire for cooking, and it was kept burning no matter how hot the weather.

It was customary for the older women to tend the children too young to pick cotton, or harvest whatever crop was in season. The old women also attended the sick, and did the cooking. Farley was so accustomed to the camp scene, complete with dark, naked and dirty children running around, that she paid little attention to their nudity, or their gender. The little camp waifs all had multiple sores from mosquito bites, and many of them had crusty, sore eyes. Some of them had snotty noses, and some had lice and ringworm infestations, and a few of the most unfortunate had all of the maladies at once. Amazingly some of them were altogether hearty. They ranged in age from infants to about five or six years old. By the time they reached the age of six they were expected to start working either, gathering wood, hauling water or helping harvest.

The resourcefulness of the camp people was impressive to Farley. They made what they needed from what was available. Privacy amounted to palm fronds tied together as dividers under trees. The fronds and canal reeds were stripped into usable material and then woven into baskets, sleeping mats and even sandals. Branches tied together created a cube with a trick door and it was used to trap quail or rabbits. They fished and bathed in the canal, which was also their source of drinking water. Everything about the camp was a test of human endurance, rain made for miserable conditions and on the sunny days it was the frying, humid heat and biting insects. These people were masters of living off the land, and surviving extremely vexing circumstances. They certainly had Farley’s empathy. Still, it didn’t seem all that dismal to her; the kids laughed, sang and played just like any kids. Apparently they were conditioned to their discomforts, beings how they knew nothing else. From her first visit to the camp, she noted how loving they were to their children, and how they enjoyed the simplest things. Depressing, as the labor camps were, somehow Farley elected to focus on what was right instead of what was wrong. Although they had so little, they appreciated what they had, and bottom line they survived.

She was immediately greeted by a couple of skinny, flea-ridden, mangy dogs happily wagging their tails in spite of their needs. Here, seemingly man and beast alike reveled peacefully in mere existence.

Buenos tarde, Farley called out to the old mamasita, bending over the campfire stirring a pot of beans. The old lady, humped and twisted from some left over, untreated disease, squinted in Farley’s direction. Black and gray braids hung down her back to her waist. Her dim, beady eyes twinkled and smiled, as did her wrinkled mouth, which sported several rotten teeth, and gaps where teeth used to be. She certainly could have used a few things from Farley’s wares; a dirty rag-like apron covered her dirtier brown, print dress. She had no shoes and her gnarled feet were as rusty and crusty as tough, old leather. Those pitiful feet had probably walked all the way to South Texas from somewhere in Mexico, over rocks, thorns, hot dirt and pavement. The old woman may not have had shoes, but her feet had soles, and her spirit had soul. The kind, old woman radiated simple wisdom.

Bienvenidos, nina, the old woman called out and motioned for Farley to come closer. Farley left her box under a tree and several little urchins ran over to look inside, careful not to touch the contents. Admirably, these needy children displayed inherent respect and consideration for the belongings of the camp visitor. The old ‘keeper of the flame’ and of all things ‘dirty and toddling’, patted out tortillas, and placed them on a piece of tin propped against the open fire, which was making hot conditions even hotter. She took a tortilla from the tin and bounced it back and forth in her wrinkled hands until it was cool enough to offer to her guest. Farley took it and proceeded to eat without fear of contamination. She had eaten in the camps many times before and never seemed to get sick from partaking. A floppy-eared, pitifully skinny dog sniffed the air towards Farley’s tortilla. Without thought, she tore off a piece and gave it to the hungry critter.

I have brought clothes and shoes to sell. She said in perfectly clear Spanish, as she swatted mosquitoes and fanned gnats from her nose and eyes.

Good, good. The old woman said. Sit down and have some food. She made no attempt to speak even a word of English; she knew Farley spoke her native tongue well. She fished some mashed leaves from her apron pocket and handed them to Farley. She demonstrated how to rub the gooey substance on the face and arms to help ward off some of the insistent insects. Farley did and the sticky substance worked quite well.

The ‘wets’ usually had vegetables from the fields; whatever was being harvested, and citrus when in season and even dates from the palms. Their meat mostly amounted to fish from the canal, and rabbits or fowl they managed to trap. Regardless of the abundant farm produce, a variety of wild herbs and roots constituted the balance of their diets. According to the wise old Mexican woman it was for health reasons, nutritional and medicinal. The starchy water from over cooked rice would slow down, or stop diarrhea. Why couldn’t Tess look at the camps and see how well off the Sebastian family actually was? Of course Tess had never been to the camps. Apparently poverty came in various degrees.

A few of the workers soon began to dribble in from the fields, which spread for hundreds of acres around the canal and citrus orchard. Two men arrived carrying a half-grown Javelina hog with the start of tusks. In order to transport the ugly thing, a tree limb had been run through its hobbled legs. Still dripping blood, the hog’s dangling head slung back and forth grotesquely exposing its slashed throat. Its tongue hung out, and to one side, and glazed, open eyes stared into eternity. It was a ghastly sight. Even from a distance the strong scent of the bore’s musk glands invaded the air. Javelinas are aggressive and dangerous and Farley wondered how they managed the kill with no gun. The beast had been circled, stoned and beat with sticks then its throat had met the sharp steel of a machete. The wild pig meat was a real treat for the camp; every morsel of the revolting, odious critter would be eaten. Strips of him would be salted and dried into jerky-type meat suitable to carry to the fields. The bore’s head would be boiled eyes, tongue and all. The cooked contents of the head, and the meat on it, would be scraped from the skull, seasoned and mashed together into a delicious meat mush. The cognition was used in tamales or spooned on to flour tortillas and eaten like a rolled up sandwich.

The pickers were weary, dirty and hot and they all wore threadbare clothing. Some of them wore sandals made from pieces of tires, and strips of twine, or whatever else they could find. A few of the men, and the women, had woven the canal reeds into makeshift sandals. Some kind of footgear was essential, bare feet, negotiating hot soil generously littered with things that gouge, bite or cut, was a hindrance to their work. They swarmed the ‘tree store’, all talking at once and grabbing the piece they liked the most. Shoes, whether they fit or not, were most coveted. Farley was slinging Spanish in every direction quoting prices and watching smiling, dirty faces each glad to have the chance to get a piece of clothing. She felt a bit better seeing how thrilled they were. Still it was hard to take their money, a nickel here, a dime there, and fifteen cents for something extra nice. The money was pouring in and the clothes were going fast. She knew right off that the second siege of customers was not going to have much to buy. ‘Oh, Tess,’ she thought, ‘I told you so, I told you so. I knew I’d make lots of money.’ Her business was a huge success. The needy camp situation caused Farley to consider how lucky she was to have plenty of food and all the clothes she needed. It was hard to imagine a life where you literally needed clothing to cover your nakedness, and to protect you from the elements, or to have a constant quest for enough food to sustain you. Here, there were certainly no glasses for dim eyes, or braces for crooked feet or teeth, or any hope of that changing.

A little girl, about Farley’s age, stood peeking from behind a tree. She watched Farley as if she was in the presence of royalty. Apparently she was in awe that someone had so many things they didn’t need, and could sell these things for so much money. Farley took a red blouse from what was left in her box, and wordlessly handed it to the frail looking girl, who had been rubbing a red, infected eye and who slipped even further behind the tree trunk like a frightened deer. After some coaxing, she cautiously took the blouse from this person of means, and held it up to herself. Es bonita pero yo no tengo dinero, It’s pretty, but I have no money. She attempted to hand it back to Farley.

No, I want you to have it. It’s free.

Es gratis, es por nada? the little girl repeated and gave Farley a nervous but grateful smile. Under the dirt, red eye and matted hair was an extraordinarily beautiful child who was thrilled with her new, red, free blouse. They were now friends; it made Farley feel good, her name was Luz, which meant light.

Farley, her money and empty box was preparing to leave, for it was getting late. She noticed a commotion under some other trees and heard some crying and moaning. Curious, she left her box and money and trotted over to the woeful sounds. Beneath a big grapefruit tree an older lady knelt beside a young girl, who looked to be about fifteen. Another woman squatted near her head and was gripping her hand, rags and a pan of water sat nearby. The young girl’s stomach was distended with nine months of pregnancy. Her legs were spread open with knees bent, exposing her huge, brown belly, which rippled with pain and contractions. Farley moved in closer and no one tried to discourage her. Several other workers, men, women and children looked on from different vantage points. Some of the camp people had no interest in the event whatsoever, and simply continued to eat or compare their purchases, as if nothing was taking place.

Farley had seen kittens born but never a real baby and she wasn’t about to miss this opportunity. The young girl squinted her eyes as she moaned and strained. Farley noticed her dirty, bare feet and how she curled her toes in pain. One of the women took a rag from the pan and wiped the youthful, grimacing face, which was contorted in distress, and glistening with sweat. The other woman parted her legs even more and Farley gaped at the black nest of curly hair below her huge belly, and the oozing, bloody, slime seeping from between her legs. The cotton sack, the girl was lying on, was soaked with blood. The women spoke to the young girl, telling her what to do next. Farley understood everything, and was pushing right along with the girl. She had totally forgotten the box, the money and the time. This was amazing, although she was beginning to feel light-headed and queasy, she just had to see how it turned out. The woman, who seemed to be in charge, a ‘mid-wife’ Farley guessed, having heard the term before, apparently knew all about ‘birthing’ babies. The savvy woman massaged the opening where all the slime and blood was coming from and directed the girl to push. Both women hummed a kind of chant between instructions. Farley asked about the chant and was told the vibrating sounds calmed the spirit during pain. Finally, after much moaning and several outcries, a little, wet, gooey head appeared, followed by the shoulders and then the entire baby.

Awestruck, Farley stared at the slimy newborn still attached to its mother by a thick, white cord. The women proceeded to slap the infant into crying, then they tied the cord with some kind of twine and cut the baby loose into its new world, such as it was. The young mother’s brown belly was still big, and lots of blood ran from her privates. The ‘doctor-woman’ turned her attention once more to her patient and forced her to spread her legs even more. After much massaging, she pulled out what looked like a big piece of skin and more blood poured from the girl. Without even looking up she mumbled, "Mucho sangre, mucho sangre, muy peligroso, much blood, much blood, very dangerous. Farley knew that wasn’t good. The women took a small flour sack and filled it with freshly picked cotton, rolled it up and stuck between the bleeding girl’s legs. Blood soaked right through, but no one seemed overly concerned. Hungry, disgusting flies swarmed the bloody discarded tissue, and buzzed in zigzags around the miserably uncomfortable girl and her attendants. The same flea-ridden dog, she had earlier fed a piece of tortilla, sniffed the air towards the bloody pan and rags, and the disgusting looking skin-like substance, but it was shooed away by the doctor woman. Farley was absolutely drenched in a shower of thoughts, and sweat. Would the flies and the dogs share in the consumption and clean up of this mess?

Cleaning the baby was interesting, they rubbed all the slime into the baby’s skin and wiped very little of it off, except for the head of black hair. After wrapping the infant in a cloth, they handed it to the exhausted, weak, child-mother. Smiling weakly she bared a big, brown breast and after positioning the nipple and much coaxing, the baby nursed. Farley was worried about the bleeding. She knew Ruth had born babies in a clinic and at home, and four of them didn’t make it. She wondered about these conditions. The baby looked strong, and the mother looked fairly well, given the ordeal she had just been through. Maybe it was no big deal in the camp, but it was a big deal to Farley. The awesome miracle of life struggling to emerge, especially in such dismal conditions, was permanently etched in her mind. What quality of existence was in store for the little life, which began under a tree and on a dirty, canvas cotton sack? Oh, how she wished she had at least one item left to give to the new baby, but all her merchandise was gone. She told one of the onlookers to tell the new mother she would bring the baby some clothes, as a gift. Farley felt so special she knew she had witnessed something truly extraordinary.

She returned to her portable store and her box of money, nothing had been disturbed. Although, poor and destitute as people could be, they were apparently honest, and seemed to appreciate Farley and her little business endeavor. The camp people liked Farley, she didn’t intimidate them, and seemed to emit love and respect and they sensed it. Most importantly she was a Gringo or half-gringo that could speak Spanish. There was a kinship of a sorts created between them that day.

Evening shadows began to stain the orchard and the fields. There was a good deal of ground to cover, as the sun slid behind the trees throwing a puzzle of light and dark on the ground, and leaving a pink blanket in the sky. She, her sled-box and money, took off in haste, to get home before night fell, or she would be in a world of trouble. At least it was a bit cooler and the empty box was not so heavy.

As she made her way home, she gauged the time by the slant of the skinny shadows cast by the palms. Night was closing in on her and Farley was still a half a mile from home. She dreaded the flack she would catch for being out after dark. There was no darkness in her, she was totally illuminated with a profound experience; the emotion packed crescendo of birth. A deeper understanding of life settled in on her, and one thing for sure, she was totally aware of the obvious and incredible strengths of these simple and deprived camp people.

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July 29, 1949

Dear Diary,

Well, you wouldn’t believe what I saw the other day at the wetback camp. A real human baby born. The preg-nut girl was laying on a cotton sack under a grapefruit tree, and she screamed and cried and there was lots of blood and it was real intarestin. I saw her private parts to, and her big belly. I even saw her necked titty when the baby sucked. It made me late to get home and I was in a bunch of trouble for comin in after dark. I started to tell Mama and Daddy but then I was afraid to cause I’d be in more trouble for sure for seein the necked parts of that girl. I know how babies get in stomachs I think I do anyway. I think I’d be scared to have a baby in my stomach it looked like it hurt to come out down there between your legs. The meskin girl cried a lot like it hurt. I have seen kittens born, but the mama cats don’t cry much at all. By the way my Tienda De Ropa is doing really good, I have made close to $14.00 so far, (well $13.59 to be truthful) and that’s better than when I pick cotton.

Bye, Farley.

Chapter Two

July sizzled by like spit on a hot iron. Coming in after dark on her first ‘tienda de ropa’ trip caused a good deal of trouble, however, after much pleading she was allowed to continue her venture. Some weeks her merchandise inventory was very depleted, then items would miraculously appear, the grapevine of friends and relatives came through just in time. Occasionally she managed to locate a few baby clothes, which she gave to the old camp woman in charge of keeping the children, the old woman now kept the infant girl, Farley had witness emerge into the world. The young mother was back in the fields in a day or so, returning only to nurse the baby. As awful as it seemed, apparently all that bleeding was supposed to be.

The baby girl was named Paloma. Farley thought that was the prettiest name she’d ever heard, it meant dove. She eventually met the boy claiming to be the father. He was about sixteen. Who knew? He probably didn’t even know his true age. His high, Indian-like cheekbones were framed by thick, straight hair that hung shaggily from under his sombrero like black straw.

Farley reflected on what she thought took place between him and the girl to get that baby in her stomach. God forgive them! It was common knowledge that dogs did such. She knew that for sure because she constantly wagged a stray dog home for her own personal pet, they were usually stray bitch dogs hauled from town and dumped off because they were females. About the time she would get one all doctored up, and a little meat on its bones, it would come into what they called ‘heat’. It took Farley awhile to figure it out. She’d overhear Ruth and Dalton speak of the darn dog coming in heat and then soon they had a yard full of male dogs from out of nowhere. Dalton and Ruth pitched a fit if the girls accidentally caught the dogs doing it, or heaven forbid, hung-up as they called it. Shortly after the boy-dog-ordeal, her new pet would disappear. Cruel as it was, Dalton secretly hauled the pregnant female off because they couldn’t afford to feed a batch of pups. They always told Farley the critter ran away. She finally put two and two together and realized this heat thing meant she wouldn’t have a pet very long, unless by some quirk she found a male dog.

On Saturdays, which was payday, if Farley didn’t go to the camps, the workers came to her. It was risky for the Wets to cross any open road, but it was necessary in order to get to the ‘Rag Merchant’s house. However, since the Sebastian house was not located on a major highway, and the orchards and thickets offered cover, they were fairly safe from the Border Patrol. Several token folks were stationed at strategic vantage points to serve as ‘look-outs’ they constantly monitored the area, if ‘chotes’ were spotted each gave a code whistle and the wets scattered like flushed quail. In spite of the risk, the yard would often be full of wetbacks. Sometimes the rain foiled Farley’s efforts, but generally, week after week she was socking away a good deal of money. The downside was that she and her sister argued endlessly about the yard full of Mexicans and the offensive yard sign.

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Preparations for church were underway and it was miserably hot. Farley and Paw Sebastian were concerned about the family missing church quiet a lot lately because of work. Paw recruited Farley to help him pray for their souls. For sure they were breaking one of the Ten Commandments: ‘Thou shalt remember the Sabbath and keep it holy!’ They didn’t seem to have a choice, it appeared God provided better if they both worked all the time, including on the Sabbath. Of course, according to the scripture that wasn’t so, ‘Oh ye of little faith.’ Although Farley worried about their recent pattern of missing church, Tess was grateful. Every Sunday there was a fight about making Tess go to church; she usually tried to spend the night with Debra or Sue, or arrange her work schedule so she would have to work, especially since the ‘den-of-iniquity-movie-house’ was open for business even on the Sabbath. She’d do just about anything to keep from attending the Church of the Nazarene.

Ruth instructed Farley to put clean shorts and underwear in a sack if she intended to spend a few days with grandpaw. She also reminded her to take her bathing suit, as if she needed to be reminded, she wasn’t likely to forget that.

Farley arranged her bathing suit, clothes, her diary and some of the money from her tin in a brown paper bag. The diary was very important because she most likely would have a lot to record, especially if she got to pal around with Fay Ann, the preacher’s daughter.

Ruth entered the girls’ bedroom. Sister are you going or not?

Mama, Debra is gonna pick me up. Maybe we’ll go to her church, Tess knew that Debra and her family rarely went to church. She would gladly fib to get out of going to the staunch Nazarene church, and to escape the condemning looks from a congregation of grim reapers, as well as comments from Paw. In the presence of the pious, or whatever they were, she felt like queen of the sinners or at the very least first runner up.

Well, whatever, Ruth sighed, "I don’t feel like arguing with you, and you know your daddy gets so upset when you two