Lord of California Read online

  It was two days before Katie got back to me. When I called the county ag office, I managed to disguise my voice enough that they believed I was Mama checking in on the balance of our deposit, which, as it turned out, had remained untouched these past eighteen years. For one reason or another, Daddy had seen fit not to burden us with his debts. That bit of relief came on Monday morning, but it wasn’t until Tuesday evening that the rest of the situation was revealed.

  I’m sorry for keeping you all on pins and needles down there, Katie said, but it took longer than I expected to get everything sorted out.

  But everything is sorted, right?

  As well as it can be. The bad news is, it looks like Dawn got singled out for the big screw job. None of the other farms have any record of Elliot borrowing against the deposit. In fact, right up to the day he died, he’d never so much as been late on the rent.

  Well, I said. If that’s the bad news, then things certainly could’ve been much worse. What’s the good news?

  We reached an agreement, Katie said. And as it stands, it looks like we’re okay to let Dawn have a stake in the co-op, no down payment required.

  That’s great. But how much did you have to give up?

  Give up?

  I figured we’d have to make deals to get Jennifer and Claudia to go along with it.

  Right. Actually, it didn’t take as much as you might think. Claudia surprised me with how understanding she was of Dawn’s plight. Think she felt partly responsible for Elliot’s shady dealings since she was married to him at the time. Jennifer was less gracious at first, but I got her to come around.

  How’d you manage to accomplish that?

  I heard Katie sigh and then laugh through the earpiece. That woman, she said. She tried dodging me at first, acting indecisive so I’d let up on pushing for Dawn to have an equal share. Finally I threatened to come up there and work it all out with her face to face. That’s when she let the cat out of the bag.

  She’s been keeping secrets. I could’ve guessed as much.

  I doubt you’d have guessed right. First off, she’s been hiding the true size of the farm in Madera from us this whole time. I always thought it was strange that Elliot never tried to grab more than twenty acres per parcel. Turns out he had her fixed up on a farm sixty acres square.

  I backed away from the stove and leaned my hands on the kitchen counter. You’ve got to be kidding me, I said. He bought up all those extra acres just for her?

  A moment’s silence on the line. Apparently, Katie said, sixty was what they started with when they got married.

  I set the receiver down and took a deep breath. Jessie came running in with pouty lips and crocodile tears in her eyes. One look at my face sent her shuffling back into the living room. She tried to cheat us, I said. At the barbecue. She wanted us to go our separate ways so she could walk off with the biggest piece of the pie.

  That’s more or less what I accused her of myself.

  Tell you right now. If she thinks those sixty acres are going to win her a controlling interest in the co-op, she’s got another thing coming.

  Hold on now, honey. I don’t think we should antagonize her anymore than we have to. She’s already backed into a corner.

  Bullshit. She thinks she’s got leverage over the rest of us, and someone needs to set her straight. She can try to write off her blessings on the grace of God, but it’s the grace of Elliot Temple that’s left her feeling high and mighty. And that shouldn’t count for anything.

  We’ve got our own leverage at play here, Katie said. That’s the other thing I wanted to talk to you about.

  What? Did Elliot give her ten children instead of the two we know about?

  No, but she does have more dependants than we thought. Her parents are still alive. Both of em. They’ve been living with her on the Madera farm these past several years, and now she’s fixing to have them come and stay with us at the new place.

  How old are they?

  Not sure. In their seventies, I’d imagine.

  That’s pretty old for this area.

  They’re not from here originally. Jennifer grew up in Irvine.

  Right. Coastal money, higher life expectancy. That makes sense.

  Since her parents weren’t part of our plan, and they’re not even Temples, we agreed they cancel out whatever burden Dawn might pose by not being able to pay in to the deposit. It all evens out in the end.

  Don’t see how that math works, I said. Dawn’s only one person, and she’s young and healthy enough to contribute. Can Jennifer say the same about her folks?

  I’m not going to ask her that. Besides, it’s only two more than we expected. They won’t be any trouble.

  We can hope. Personally, I’ve never cared for old timers. They smell bad. And some of them make racist comments.

  Katie laughed heartily. God bless you, honey, she said. You’re all right.

  I know I’m coming across as an icy bitch right now, and I don’t like it anymore than you do. But this is what my situation has led me to. You have no idea what it’s like to have to take care of everyone, manage the farm, and go through puberty all at once.

  No laughter this time. You’re right, honey. It’s not fair, the lot you’ve been handed. That’s why I’m working so hard to lighten the load. For all of us.

  I backed away from the counter. Through the window I watched Dawn lead the girls around the side of the house and out onto the grass in front of the packing shed. And I appreciate everything you’ve done, I said. Lord knows if you hadn’t taken the trouble to track Elliot down, we’d still be waiting around for him to call.

  I know I’ll never be a real mama to you, honey, she said. You’ve already got a mama, and I wouldn’t try to step over that line. Same time, if you ever need anything, even if it’s just to talk, I’m always here for you.

  Thank you, I said. I’ll be in touch.

  Please do.

  Goodbye.

  Bye, honey.

  I hit the end call button and secured the phone to the wall charger. Invoking my hormones felt like a desperate move—I was already kicking myself for stooping to it. I paced the kitchen floor with my hands on my lower back, trying to ride through the shame and anger like I did with the pain of a sore tooth. A rare summer cloud moved in front of the setting sun, and as I was looking outside I noticed Dawn sitting crosslegged on the grass with Jessie and Gracie playing beside her. I tried slipping my sneakers on without undoing the laces, but I couldn’t get one to fit over my heel. So instead I kicked them both behind the trash bin and left the house with my feet unencumbered.

  Walking toward her, I could see that Dawn was fiddling with something in her lap. It wasn’t until I was standing over her, though, that I saw clearly what it was. She had picked several blooming dandelions from different spots around the lawn, and was in the process of weaving their stems together to make a braided bouquet of sorts. Noticing the shadow that had fallen over her work, she looked up at me and smiled.

  Hey, she said. What’s up?

  I plopped down on the grass and crossed my legs in the same style as hers. Katie called, I said. It all worked out. You’ll be coming with us to the new place.

  Dawn’s face went suddenly blank. For real?

  It’s true. You’re entitled to a stake in the co-op even if you can’t pay into the deposit. That’s what we all agreed on.

  She sprang up onto her knees, spilling the flowers to the ground, and wrapped her arms tight around my back. Thank you, thank you, she whispered, and I could feel her tears trickling down my neck. This never would’ve happened if you hadn’t stood up for me.

  You’re welcome, I said. There’s no way I would’ve let them cheat you out of your claim.

  Dawn slid her hands to my shoulders and pulled her head back. She stared into my eyes. What’s wrong? Why are you so angry?

  It’s nothing, I said. Just some stuff I don’t understand.

  Tell me. Maybe I can help.

  I glanced sidew
ays to check on Jessie and Gracie. They were playing out beyond the edge of the grass, hitting a partially deflated beach ball back and forth off their fingertips. I don’t understand why you ever agreed to marry my father, I said. I don’t understand why any of you did. I hate him. I hate his memory, his blood inside me. If he had one, I’d hate his soul.

  Where’s all this coming from?

  I told her everything, about Jennifer and the sixty acres, about her richie rich parents from down on the coast. The whole time Dawn kept nodding and listening calmly even as I worked myself into a bigger and bigger stink. By the time I’d told her all there was to tell, I wasn’t sure if I was more likely to punch something or break down and sob.

  I know you have a lot of hate in your heart right now, she said. You’ve got as much right to it as anyone ever did. But my hope is that eventually you’ll learn to let go of the anger. Nothing good’ll come of it. That’s what I believe, anyway. All the rage I had inside of me, I’ve tried to give it up.

  How could you? After everything he did?

  He’s gone now, Ellie. Hating him would only mean giving him more time and energy than he already took from me while he was alive.

  You don’t still love him, do you?

  Dawn laughed and stretched her legs out over the grass. Honestly, Ellie, I’m not sure I ever loved him.

  Then why did you marry him?

  Lord, she said. I don’t know if I should be talking with you about this. You’re still young. I wouldn’t feel right if I made you cynical about romance all together.

  My father had five wives, I said. You think I’m not already soured on Prince Charming?

  Fair enough, girl. Fair enough.

  Just tell me the truth. Was it like Katie said? Was his money the only draw?

  No, Ellie. Money helped, but it wasn’t the only thing. If money was all I was after, I could’ve made it a lot easier as a sex worker.

  You mean a whore?

  I don’t like that word, but yeah. If I’d played it smart, I could’ve had a lot more fun than I did being married to your dad, and I’d have had control over my own income.

  They why didn’t you? Be a sex worker, I mean.

  Dawn sighed. Like I said, money wasn’t the only thing your dad had to offer. Sex worker or not, there was still a chance I’d have wound up raped if I’d kept on living like I was.

  My mouth fell open before I knew what it was doing. Couldn’t be helped. Rape wasn’t a word that Mama used herself, and she wouldn’t have tolerated hearing it used inside the house. On the TV news, they used violated instead. As in, Unidentified woman found violated and murdered in tavern restroom outside of Clovis. All over the valley, in the country dives and back roads between towns, there was always some fresh violation going on.

  You were homeless, weren’t you? Before you met him?

  I wandered for a long time, she said. These days lots of people have to wander to find work. The single men have it easier than the women. They can land jobs as pickers or fruit packers on farms like this. But for a young girl without a family, and without any money, there’s not much this valley has to offer. Besides the hope of finding a man and settling down.

  I know what you mean, I said. Before Mama was married, she wandered for two whole years starting when she was seventeen. She met Elliot at a state-run gas station near Willows. She was hitchhiking south and he was the first person to offer her a ride.

  That sounds like him.

  She wasn’t always homeless, though. My grampa was in the American Army before disbandment. I never got to meet him, but Mama says he was an important officer who was stationed in Alaska and Poland. She used to travel around with him when she was little, before my grandma died. Then they moved back to Chico, and grampa got cancer too. I don’t think Mama knew what to do after they were both gone, when she was all alone for the first time.

  Being orphaned when you’re young is never easy, Dawn said. Now imagine it happening at the same time your country is coming apart, when there are no jobs to speak of and everyone you know is going bankrupt.

  I know it was hard, I said. I can see the toll it took on her all these years later. Still, it just seems like a bad reason to marry somebody.

  It is. As bad as any. But until you’ve walked these dusty roads for miles at a time, and fallen asleep clutching the knife in your pocket, there’s no way you can know what you’d do if you found yourself in the same spot.

  I get it. She did what she had to to survive. But what about after that? She was married to him eighteen years. Eighteen years and all she could think to do was hide away in bed with her sadness. Never once tried to leave him, never told him to stay away. She even stood up for him against us girls, any time we got upset that he was gone. Your daddy has to travel to make money for us, she’d say. Right up until the day she found out about his other wives.

  You talk like she had so many other choices, like she’s weak for not leaving him a long time ago.

  She’s my mama, I said. I know she’s weak.

  I think I surprised her with that. Dawn opened her mouth like she was going to say something, but instead closed it again and looked down at the grass. It’s easy for me to forget you’re still a child, she said finally. Until you go and say something like that.

  It’s not childish to call it like I see it. If it’s not weakness that’s kept her here all this time, then what is it?

  Love. Love for her babies. Fear, of what would happen if she had to try to support you all on her own, knowing how she gets when the depression takes over.

  Love and fear. Is that all I have to look forward to when I get older?

  I wish I could tell you it’s easy to pick up and leave when the situation turns ugly. But there’s a whole lot of people in this state who’d try to make things difficult for a single mother and her children. You and your sisters might never fully appreciate just how much worse women have it nowadays than in my mother’s day, or in my grandmother’s, even. We’re well into the twenty-first century now, but for the women of San Joaquin it might as well be the 1950s. My mom used to talk about birth control like it was a carton of milk, like when the time came she could walk into any drugstore and get whatever she needed to protect herself. These days you could probably find it on the coast easy enough, but here in the valley you’d be more likely to get arrested than to find a pharmacist who’d be willing to help you out.

  In that instant it was too much to feel Dawn’s eyes on me, scolding me silently for making judgments about things I could only grasp secondhand. I started thinking about the pills Mama used to take to even out her moods, and how it became harder and harder for her to find them until finally she was forced to do without. And all the while the women at church said it was lack of faith that made her sad all the time. They laid hands on her and prayed that she’d take Jesus into her heart, as if that organ hadn’t been hurt enough by the other man in her life.

  I’m never getting married or having kids, I said. Not even if I fall in love.

  Dawn nodded slowly. That’s your right, she said. But folks’ll make you pay a price for it all the same. They’ll call you a spinster and a dyke.

  I don’t care. People can say what they want.

  They will. And if you’re half as strong as you think you are, you’ll have to build up a wall against their b.s.

  I know. I’ve already started.

  I figured as much. Just be careful. Walls keep out more than just the bad. Day might come when you wish you’d let in more of the good.

  We’ll see.

  That’s right we will. In the meantime, don’t fault your mama for what she didn’t do. She’s lost so much already, she doesn’t deserve to lose your respect as well. Besides, she might surprise you one of these days.

  You mean she might get out of bed for good?

  Maybe. And if not, well, there’s more than one way to be strong.

  She picked the yellow flowers up off the ground and resumed her careful work of weaving
the separate, hollow stems into a single dense braid. After sitting quietly for a while, I stretched my body out over the grass and rested my head on Dawn’s leg. I listened to her soft humming, to the frenzied slapping of Jessie and Gracie running through the yard in their sandals. We didn’t say anything for what felt like a long time, and then I told her I was sorry. It’s okay, she said, and nothing more. It made me anxious to leave it like that, with her moving on from the topic and me wondering whether I’d tainted her feelings toward me forever. I was all set to apologize again when she sang out a note of pride and pinned the finished wreath to my hair.

  After so many weeks of thinking about the new place in the abstract, it felt strange come August when it finally became real. The co-op papers went through at the end of July, and by the start of the new school year we were all set to relocate to a hundred and twenty-acre spread northeast of Orosi—half nectarine orchards, half apricot, with a small pasture at the center for grazing livestock. The tract had been cobbled together from a half dozen smaller parcels whose previous owners had either cashed out or been forced out by the county for failure to make rent. There were quite a few failed farms in that part of the state, such that the minute we arrived we were greeted with envy and suspicion from nearly every neighbor in a twenty-mile radius. Most went out of their way to avoid us. Others erected brand new barbed wire fences along the property lines and posted signs warning SOLICITORS NOT WELCOME, as if we aimed to expand out further like a cancerous growth and swallow up all the land we could get our hands on. Our first and only visitor that summer was an elder from a local LDS congregation. He drove up unannounced in a refurbished Buick, asked to speak to the man of the house, and left in a state of confusion after Katie came out to meet him.