“I know. But I cannot risk Natalia’s health for my own dreams. We will go to California, and I will get a job picking fruit.”
“You read Téodoro’s letter,” Papá said. “It’s not as easy as it sounds.”
“It’s the only thing I can do,” Tío said. “Lots of Mexicans work in California. They have been picking fruit for a long time.”
“That’s true,” Papá agreed. “But now people are coming from Oklahoma and Kansas and other places where their farms have dried up and blown away. There are too many workers and not enough jobs.”
“We cannot stay here,” Tío insisted. “Isabella is starting to cough again, as well. I must take care of my family. If the drought breaks, we can come back.”
“Hermano,” Mamá said, “we came here from Mexico to be together with you.”
“Perhaps we should all go to California,” Tío suggested.
Rosa held her breath. She did not want to go to California! Didn’t Téodoro’s letter say that many children did not go to school? She would be twelve on her next birthday. Mamá and Papá would expect her to work.
“The government is stepping in,” Papá said. “They are paying farmers in the dust bowl to use soil-conservation methods. It’s going to get better.”
“Perhaps. But I cannot wait that long. Besides, you do not own the land that you farm. And you are not a citizen of this country. They will pay the owner, not you.”
“If they pay the owner and the soil gets better, then I can grow a crop on his land. And I will learn these new methods for myself. Life will be better for all of us.” Papá paused, and Rosa pressed her hands together in hope.
“We are a family, Pedro,” Tío said. “My sister is your wife. I don’t want to split up, but Natalia cannot stay here.”
After a long while, Papá said, “I will have to think about it.”
CHAPTER 16
Good-Bye, Jalopies
Tía Natalia stayed in the hospital for three weeks. Tío went to visit every day. Sometimes Mamá went with him and took some of Tía’s favorite beans. Day by day, Tía was getting better.
Isabella still called for her mamá, especially at night. Rosa hardly went anywhere without Isabella. She held her little cousin on her lap while she read a book outside in the shade. She held Isabella on her hip while she set the table for supper. She kept Isabella close to her while she studied with Mrs. Madden. Isabella snuggled up to Rosa in bed at night. Isabella started to say a few simple words: down, me, no, go. Rosa wished Tía could be there to see her daughter changing.
Finally, Tía came home. Isabella clung to Rosa’s neck at first, but Rosa put the child in her mother’s arms, and Isabella lit up. “Ma–ma–ma–ma–ma–ma.”
“Mamá is home!” Tía said as she squeezed her daughter.
Tía was not coughing any longer, but she was weak. The doctor told Tío that Tía should not travel for a few more weeks. The trip to California would require strength that Tía Natalia did not have yet.
“Take care of her, and be patient,” the doctor said, “but moving away from here is a good idea.”
Tío was not the only one with the idea of moving to California. It seemed to Rosa that every week another family from town packed up and left. Some families were Mexican, and some were white. The drought was hurting everyone: landowners and workers, townspeople and farmers.
Men and boys stuck their heads under hoods to fix cars that were not running. Some people had cars but did not plan to move. They sold these cars at high prices. Families paid all the money they had for a vehicle without knowing if the car would really run well. If they had no money, they traded their most valuable possessions. Then they loaded up and headed for California.
Whenever she walked to Mrs. Madden’s house, Rosa could not help noticing who was packing a car or which house was already empty. One day while she was walking home after her lessons, Rosa saw Sally Furman, the girl who had been in her class. Sally’s sad eyes stared out a car window at Rosa. They did not wave to each other, because they were not really friends. But Rosa felt sorry for Sally because her family had given up.
The Furmans’ car was packed so full there was hardly any room for Sally and her brothers to sit inside. Outside, a rope around the top of the car tied together pieces of furniture piled high. Once Sally read an essay to the class about the rocking chair that her greatgrandfather had made. Her great-grandmother had rocked her grandmother in that chair, and her grandmother rocked Sally’s mother, and Sally’s mother rocked her children. Someday, Sally wanted to rock her own children in that chair. Now the rocking chair was strapped to the roof of the car with blankets wrapped around it. Rosa was not sure the chair was going to make it all the way to California. Maybe that was one of the reasons Sally looked so sad.
Mrs. Madden showed Rosa an article from a magazine about the migrant workers, people who moved to California to go from farm to farm with each harvest. The article showed pictures of a family who ran out of gas on the highway. Another one had a flat tire and no money to buy a new tire, so they camped in the same spot for five weeks. More pictures showed cars with quilts hanging out the back and pots and pans hanging from a rope wrapped around the car. Travelers strapped suitcases and boxes to running boards on the sides of the car. If they had any food, it hung in burlap bags from a rope tied to the car. Most families on the road took with them only what they would need to camp along the side of the road on the way to California, Oregon, or Washington. They slept on the ground or in the car and cooked over a fire.
“Who took these pictures?” Rosa asked Mrs. Madden.
“A photojournalist named Dorothea Lange. She takes pictures of the migrant workers for the government so people can know what life is really like for them.”
Rosa wondered if Dorothea Lange would ever take a picture of Téodoro.
All through the summer, jalopies rolled through the streets of town to the highways heading west. Tía Natalia got stronger. After the Black Sunday storm in April, no more big dust storms blew through north Texas—but because there was no rain, the air still was always clouded with dust. Mamá still spent whole days trying to keep dust out of the house so Tía could breathe clean air. Without more storms, Papá began to be more hopeful that the soil could recover.
Mamá sent Rosa into town with eggs every morning to sell or trade. Today, Rosa was supposed to come home with ten pounds of flour so Mamá could make some tortillas. Rosa hefted the bag in her arms as she left the store. Another jalopy rumbled by with pots clanging and suitcases piled high on top.
Rosa’s eyes widened. “Mrs. Briggs?”
The teacher heard Rosa call out and asked her husband to stop the car for a moment.
“Where are you going?” Rosa asked, although she knew the answer.
“I wanted to tell you,” Mrs. Briggs said. “The farm my husband works on is like all the others. No crops, no money. We need to find work.”
“But you have a job at the school,” Rosa said.
Mrs. Briggs shook her head. “The school board doesn’t have any money to fix the building, Rosa.”
“My papá and my brothers would help fix the hole in the roof,” Rosa offered.
“The inspector says the whole building is unsafe, Rosa. You know that.”
“Where will we go to school?” Rosa asked, her anxiety rising. “No one tells me.”
“I don’t know, Rosa. Two members of the school board have already moved away. Even if they find a place for school, with so many families gone, they won’t need as many teachers. My contract was not renewed.”
“They can’t do that!” Rosa exclaimed.
“I’m afraid they can,” Mrs. Briggs said quietly. “If they reopen the school, they will give the teaching jobs to women with no husbands to take care of them.”
“But you’re the best teacher,” Rosa insisted. “Don’t they want the best teachers?”
Mrs. Briggs shrugged. “I’m glad I ran into you, Rosa. I wanted to give you something
.” She reached beside her on the seat and lifted a stack of books.
“You’re giving me books?” Rosa asked.
“You deserve them more than anyone I know.”
Rosa looked at the titles: Tom Sawyer, Moby Dick, Uncle Tom’s Cabin.
“Thank you, Mrs. Briggs,” she said softly.
“I’ll miss you, Rosa.” The car rolled forward as Mr. Briggs pulled back onto the road.
Tío started talking to people about how he could buy a car. Téodoro had hitchhiked to California, but Tío did not want his family to do that. Even if Rosa’s family went to California also, they could not all travel in Papá’s truck. Every time Rosa heard Papá and Tío talking about California, her stomach got tight.
One night, Papá announced that the Sanchez family would stay in Texas. Papá was convinced that the government projects for taking care of the soil were going to work, and he wanted to learn about them. Rosa jumped out of her chair and screamed with glee. She could hardly wait to tell Mrs. Madden that the Sanchez family would take their chances with the land for another year.
Tío José still planned to go to California. Papá said he could take the truck if he could make it run again.
“I don’t understand this paragraph,” Rosa said, pointing to a magazine page. “What do people want the government to do?”
Mrs. Madden was gazing out the kitchen window of her house. Henry was banging on a pot on the floor.
“Mrs. Madden?” Rosa said.
Mrs. Madden turned her head toward Rosa. “I’m sorry, Rosa. I was thinking about something else for a moment. Where were we?”
Rosa asked again about the article, and Mrs. Madden explained it.
“So the government wants people to work together to solve the problems many people have,” Rosa summarized.
“That’s right, Rosa. The government is going to start programs to put people to work or teach them how to do new jobs. If everybody helps, the whole country will be better off.”
Rosa tilted her head and thought for a moment. “That gives me an idea,” she said.
Henry banged his pan, and Rosa laughed.
“Henry likes your idea already, but I think you’d better tell me what it is.”
“We can’t use the school building, and we only have one person left on the school board. It will take a long time for the state to do something about our school, so some of the teachers have left town.”
“That’s right,” Mrs. Madden said. “But I still don’t know what your idea is.”
“You used to be a teacher,” Rosa said. “Before you were married, you were a teacher. Why can’t you be a teacher again?”
“Me?”
“Yes, Mrs. Madden. You’re a wonderful teacher. Look how much I’ve learned from you. We could start a new school with the students who are left. You could be the main teacher, and I could be your helper. We could combine grades in one room. I’d help with the younger students. We could have school in your church. Reverend Madden would let us do that if we asked. I’m sure he would. He’s such a nice man.”
“That’s quite a speech, Rosa,” Mrs. Madden said quietly.
Rosa did not like the feeling in her stomach one bit. “What’s wrong, Mrs. Madden?”
Mrs. Madden reached over and took Rosa’s hand. “I’m afraid that I have to move away, as well.”
Rosa snatched her hand back. “No! You can’t! You’re a teacher. You can’t go pick fruit in California.”
“I’m sorry, Rosa. So many families have left that it’s hard for the church to meet expenses. Reverend Madden is no longer getting a salary. If he could find another job, he would stay on as pastor with no salary. But you know there are no jobs here, and we are not rich people.”
“You can’t leave!”
“My mother is ill, Rosa. I don’t know how much longer she will live. Reverend Madden and I have decided that the best thing is to move back to St. Louis and help take care of Mother. It will be good for her to have Henry with her, too. She’s only seen him one time.”
Rosa choked on a sob. “This can’t be happening.”
“It’s so hard to tell you this.” Mrs. Madden started to cry, as well.
Henry hit his pot three times. “Osa hope,” he said.
Rosa smiled through her tears. “Oh, Henry, I’ll miss you. I don’t know if I can keep hoping, though.”
Mrs. Madden took her hand again. “Of course you can. You’re trusting God, remember? We all take chances no matter what we decide to do. Your uncle is taking a chance on California. Your father is taking a chance on Texas. I’m taking a chance on St. Louis. Take a chance on God, Rosa.”
CHAPTER 17
Rosa’s Idea
Rosa gave Isabella a pot to bang. Her cousin was younger than Henry Madden, but Rosa thought she would have fun banging. And she did. She banged three times with a wooden spoon, then looked up at Rosa for approval.
“One, two, three,” Rosa said. “You’re a good banger, Isabella.”
The baby banged again.
“You know what, Isabella? When you bang a pot, people stop and listen. Maybe I should bang a pot of my own.”
Isabella giggled at the face Rosa made. Rosa continued talking to Isabella. She spent whole days with Isabella now. If she wanted to talk to anyone, it was going to be her baby cousin.
“I’m going to miss Mrs. Madden and Henry. I was hoping you and Henry could grow up to be friends. Henry’s favorite word is hope. So I can’t give up hope. Every time I think of Henry, I’ll have hope. And every time I have hope, I’ll think of Henry and Mrs. Madden.
“Mrs. Madden told me to take a chance on God. Do you think that’s the same as having hope, Isabella? I think maybe it is. I don’t want to stop learning, not ever! How can I grow up to be a teacher myself if I stop going to school now? The school board doesn’t care. The state board of education doesn’t care. At least, that’s what I’ve heard some grown-ups say. But I care. We are going to have a school in the fall if I have to do it myself!”
Rosa thought about what she was saying while Isabella banged.
“That’s right,” Rosa said. “I’m going to bang some pots, and we are going to have a school. I’ll have to find out how many children are left and what grades they are in. Then we have to find a building to use. I still think Reverend Madden’s church is a good idea. They have that big room in the basement. We can get desks from the old school and put them in there. I just have to find out who to ask. When I say good-bye to Mrs. Madden tomorrow, I’m going to ask. Even if the church doesn’t have a minister, somebody has to be in charge.”
Rosa leaned forward and wiped Isabella’s running nose with a handkerchief from her dress pocket. Isabella squawked, but Rosa paid no attention.
“But we still need teachers,” Rosa thought out loud. “I could write a letter to the state board of education and ask them to send someone, but that will take too long. I must find teachers here.
“I know!” Rosa jumped up, startling Isabella. The baby stared at her with a face that looked as if she were about to cry. Rosa scooped her up. “It’s okay, Isabella. I just had a wonderful idea!”
Rosa ran to find something to write on. She used the back of an envelope and made a list of important things to do.
“Why, Rosa,” Mrs. Madden said the next day, “it’s a wonderful idea. But it will be a lot of work, and you are not even twelve years old. Are you sure you want to try this?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” Rosa answered firmly. “This is not just for me. It’s for all the children.”
“Well, all right. I’ll write down the name and address of the chairman of the church. I only have a few hours before we have to catch our train, so I won’t be able to tell him about you.”
“Don’t worry,” Rosa said. “If I have to, I’ll take Isabella with me and let her bang her pot. Then he’ll listen.”
Mrs. Madden laughed with tears in her eyes. “I’m going to miss you so much, Rosa. You have my new address, right?”
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“Yes, it’s safe in my secret box,” Rosa said. “I’ll write you letters all the time.”
“And I promise to write back.”
Little Henry was dressed in traveling clothes. Rosa picked him up and squeezed him and tickled his belly. Henry shrieked with laughter. Rosa kissed his cheek and said, “I’ll miss you, Henry.”
“Osa hope. Osa hope.”
Rosa laughed. “You have to teach him some new words, Mrs. Madden!”
“I’ll be sure to work on it. But I don’t want him ever to forget to have hope or to forget about you, Rosa.”
Rosa felt a knot in her throat, and it was hard to talk. “Mamá is expecting me for supper. I have to go now.”
She hugged them both one last time and then walked home without looking back.
Three days later, Rosa stood in front of the house at the address Mrs. Madden had given her. She wore the dress that Tía Natalia had cut down for her at Christmastime, her best dress. She had combed her hair carefully before she left the house. Today she wanted to look grown-up, so she took out her braids. She put one of Mamá’s pretty hair clips on the top of her head and let her thick, black, wavy hair hang loose around her shoulders.
“It’s time to bang a pot,” Rosa said aloud to herself. She marched up the sidewalk and rapped on the door firmly with her knuckles.
When a middle-aged woman opened the door, Rosa said the words that she had carefully practiced all day yesterday, making sure that her English sounded perfect.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Pherson. My name is Rosa Sanchez. I am a friend of Reverend and Mrs. Madden. I wonder if I might have a moment of your husband’s time.”
“Come right in,” Mrs. Pherson said.
Rosa stepped just inside the house.
“Have a seat,” Mrs. Pherson said as she gestured toward a chair. “I will let my husband know you are here.”
When Mrs. Pherson left the room, Rosa realized she had been holding her breath. She let her breath go loudly—then put her hand over her mouth and hoped no one had heard the sound. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, and Rosa kept looking at it every few seconds. It seemed like Mrs. Pherson was gone for quite a long time.
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