Ana of California Read online

  She expected roosters, but it was too early even for the birds. Awake for hours, Ana checked the clock at 4:18 and decided to get out of bed. Worried she might wake Abbie, she was afraid to shower, so she threw a clean sweatshirt over her T-shirt and jeans.

  It was dark outside except for the moonlight bathing the grounds. She parted the gauzy white curtains. There was a large tree just outside the window and beyond it flat land. It was like staring at an alien landscape, everything slightly foreboding and new. She shut the curtain and caught her reflection in the armoire’s mirror. Her eyes were still rimmed in dark circles—“raccoon smiles” she used to tell her sort-of siblings—and her hair was its usual mess of curls.

  “The bane of my feral existence,” she whispered to the mirror while sweeping the last strands back into a low ponytail. The alarm wailed. Ana leaped for it, and her stomach moaned in unison. She opened the door and was greeted by dim light, the scent of something savory beckoning her downstairs. Hung on the bathroom door directly across the hall was a straw hat lassoed with leather. She ran her fingers over a snag in the brim, assuming Abbie had left the hat for her. Remembering Emmett’s explicit instructions, she took it and headed for the stairs.

  “Sleep all right?” Abbie asked as Ana peeked through the doorway into the kitchen.

  “Sort of.”

  “I’m sure it’s strange being in a new place. Come and have a seat. I’m making eggs Benedict, but please help yourself to coffee or juice on the table.”

  Ana sat in the same chair as the night before and sipped a glass of orange juice. Abbie was right. The first morning was always difficult, she reminded herself, thinking back on all of the first mornings over the years. Though Ana’s inclination was to fill the silence, Mrs. Saucedo had warned her over and over again that this was part of a pattern she needed to change. She watched as Abbie tended to a skillet on the stove and wondered if she cooked like this every morning.

  “I took the hat on the door,” Ana said. “I hope that’s okay.”

  “I left it for you. It’s my old gardening hat, a bit worn, but it’ll keep you shaded in the sun.”

  The frying pan sizzled.

  “Canadian bacon is Emmett’s favorite,” Abbie said, scooping the circular pieces of ham out onto a paper towel–lined plate. “He doesn’t care for my French toast or anything else ‘shellacked in syrup,’ so I thought I’d make us all something special this morning.”

  She composed a plate and set it down in front of Ana. It was heaped with English muffins topped in ham, poached eggs, and a slathering of hollandaise sauce, a small bowl of berries off to the side. It was the opposite of Ana’s usual breakfast, which is to say it was something instead of nothing.

  “I hope you don’t mind if I join you,” Abbie continued. “I usually eat after Emmett and the gang start their work, but I thought you might like the company.”

  “Sure,” Ana answered, filling her mouth with another gulp of juice, careful not to show any sign of discomfort.

  Abbie sat down next to her and poured a cup of coffee from a ceramic coffeepot. Her fingernails were short, Ana noticed, as if periodically chewed or meticulously clipped, and she thought she glimpsed a small tattoo of a heart in the crease of Abbie’s ring finger. There was something about her controlled expression, something about Abbie’s arrowed posture, that seemed forced, as if kicking back might come more naturally to her.

  “How’s everything?”

  “Good,” Ana said, swallowing a few berries. She didn’t know where to begin with what she thought must be eggs covered with lemon sauce.

  Abbie sensed Ana’s discomfort and worried she’d chosen the wrong first-day breakfast. She was delighted to have company in the house but wondered if she’d gone overboard.

  “We have toast and cereal if you’re not that hungry . . .”

  “I’m okay,” Ana said and continued to chew.

  “Not a fan of eggs Benedict?”

  “Never really had it before, but it kind of looks like a deconstructed Egg McMuffin.”

  “I’ve never thought about it that way, but you’re right, it does.” Abbie smiled. “You don’t have to force yourself to eat it if you don’t want to.”

  Ana didn’t want to be rude, especially on her first day, so she cut an edge off and gave it a try.

  “Holy wow,” she said, taking another bite.

  “Not really what you’ve been used to?” Abbie asked, then wished she hadn’t asked it.

  “Are you kidding?” Ana said. “I usually get a square of sprinkled cardboard from the toaster or yogurt squirted from a tube. Or, you know, nothing at all.”

  Abbie couldn’t tell if Ana was joking or not. She wanted to get her talking more and let her know that Garber Farm was a safe place, and not at all like the situations Mrs. Saucedo had described.

  “I heard from your caseworker that it’s been a busy few days,” Abbie said. “I want you to know that you are welcome here. I’ll make you anything you’d like.”

  It didn’t seem real, this room, this food, this woman, Ana thought, and that raised a caution flag. She’d rarely been around adults who were interested in what she might desire, even for breakfast. She’d learned there was no point in asking for anything. She’d read Oliver Twist at the library, and laughed grimly about how some things never change. Why this solitary woman in a lonely farmhouse was going above and beyond to please her seemed suspect. All the times she had allowed herself to be taken in before had resulted only in having to give up something much more in return.

  “This sauce is ridiculous,” Ana said, finishing the last few bites left on the plate. “I seriously thought it was going to be lemon flavored, which would be weird. I hardly ever eat eggs, but my abuela used to cook them in chile sauce for me.”

  Abbie decided not to mention that the hollandaise was indeed made with lemons. “Who is your abuela?”

  “Oh, um, my grandma. She was the best cook on the planet. She was big on breakfast, always telling me, ‘Mija, you have to start the day right.’ But it’s been a while since, you know, since I’ve eaten anything like this. It’s hotel style, right? Not that I’ve ever stayed in a hotel. But if I did, this is what I’d imagine.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” Abbie said, noticing the clock. “I should send you out there. You’ll be working all morning until lunch, and then run deliveries with me this afternoon. I want to make sure we’re making this transition easy for you . . .”

  “So far, so good,” Ana said, taking the last gulp of juice.

  Ana picked up her plate.

  “You can leave it there, hon.”

  “I’d like to put it where you need it to go if that’s all right.”

  “You’re welcome to set it in the sink,” Abbie said. “I appreciate the help.”

  Ana took the plate over to the sink and looked out the window into the garden outside. “Don’t screw it all up,” she reminded herself again.

  • • •

  It was brisk and dark outside, the air thick with a tingling mist. Ana did as Abbie told her and followed the gravel path through the fenced garden, light from the house rippling across the bushes and rows of vegetation. There were rows and rows of crops, raised stripes of earth and foliage that stretched as far as she could see. Ana continued walking toward the white domes in the distance, where a few people gathered around a tractor silhouetted against the charcoal sky.

  It was quiet. She listened to the sound of her breath as her sneakers sank into the damp earth. She thought she heard a second set of feet mimicking her footsteps. She told herself not to turn around and instead quickened her pace, but the steps multiplied behind her, becoming louder as they broke into a gallop.

  “Dolly!” someone yelled in the distance.

  Ana whipped around at the exact moment a blur of golden fur leaped toward her, catapulting her to the g
round. The dog’s rough, wet tongue found her face, hot breath blanketing her ear. She made a move to reach over and introduce herself, but the dog ran around her in circles, barking happily.

  “You all right?” Emmett said, out of breath, as he approached her.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” Ana said.

  “Manny, let’s take Dolly over to the barn. You sure you’re all right?”

  Ana took a moment to glance around at several faces watching her and nodded her head. She stood up and brushed off her jeans.

  “I should have warned you about the dog,” Emmett said with a disconcerting frown.

  “Am I late?”

  “You’re early. This is Manny Lavaca, manager here at Garber Farm.”

  “Hello,” Manny said, tipping the brim of his hat in her direction while holding the panting retriever by its collar. Manny had a weathered face, an overgrown mustache, and kind eyes that made her feel more at ease. “No need to worry about this one, she won’t bite—just excited to see someone new.”

  “I’m not scared or anything; she just startled me.”

  “Good ol’ Dolly,” Emmett said, patting the dog’s head. “Always wanting to say hello.”

  Nosy and eager with wriggling ears and a goofy, wide-mouthed grin, the dog strained against Manny’s grip and whined desperately in Ana’s direction. Though her inclination was to let Dolly sniff the back of her hand before reaching out and smoothing the fur on the dog’s enormous head, Ana remained still. She wanted to tell all of the men standing there that she knew about dogs because she’d had one once. But she stopped herself and stuffed her hands into her pockets instead. None of them cared about her past, she told herself. Emmett hadn’t even wanted her there in the first place.

  “I’ll take her, Boss. Let you get started,” Manny said, pulling Dolly in the direction of the barn. Once they were far enough away, he let her go and released something from his pocket high up into the air. Dolly jumped and caught it, her cheerful barking nudging the farm’s only rooster awake, the fields igniting with their usual morning song.

  “Let’s get to work,” Emmett said.

  The workers continued to stand nearby waiting for direction. They all wore variations of the same uniform: jeans, sweatshirts, caps or cowboy hats, boots or sneakers. Some had a bandanna covering their ears or neck. None of them acknowledged Ana, but a couple glanced her way. Emmett cleared his throat and began his sermon, punching certain words for dramatic effect.

  “All right, guys, we’re ramping up Community Supported Agriculture and farmers’ market next week. It’s been a great month, but we need to finish up strong without any distraction. We’ll split up as usual. René and Hector are on field duty again; Joey is with me back at the houses where we finished off yesterday.

  “Vic and Rolo,” he said, pointing to a slender man who kept his eyes trained on the ground and a shorter, squatter man standing nearby wearing a Fanta sweatshirt, “you’re doing the usual. Ana, I want you to join them and grab a bucket from Manny. You’ll be picking blackberries to start. I want to remind everyone that Manny’s inspecting throughout the day, and I’ll be on watch, so don’t forget to drop off as you go, especially the berries. We had a considerable amount rendered unusable last week, so don’t let your buckets get too full before coming in for packaging.”

  This last bit of information was directed at Ana’s group, who were wearing large cans strapped around their waists. They continued their expressionless stare in Emmett’s direction.

  “¿Comprende, amigas?” Emmett said, attempting some Spanish. Ana tried not to giggle. She was sure Emmett hadn’t meant to call them “girlfriends.”

  “Sí, señor.” They both nodded with straight faces.

  Manny approached the group and mumbled something Ana had difficulty hearing, but all of the workers nodded in unison before quickly dispersing across the fields. It reminded her of the games of touch football she’d been forced to play in gym class. How the teacher had gathered everyone around before barking out a bunch of plays only the boys seemed to understand. She’d listened, but somehow managed to score for the other team.

  “We’re good to go,” Manny said to Emmett. “I’ll get her set up.”

  “Ana, I want you to listen to everything Manny says,” Emmett continued. “Do exactly what he tells you to do. I know it’s your first day, but it’s best if you jump right in. Do you have a hat?”

  “Yes, sir. I mean, it’s right here.” Ana turned around to show him Abbie’s gardening hat, which should have been dangling from the cord around her neck.

  “Is there something I’m supposed to be seeing?”

  Ana clutched her collar.

  “I thought I had it. I mean I put it on before I left the house, but maybe I left it at the table . . .”

  “¡Aquí! ¡Aquí!” one of the workers shouted as he jogged over clutching the crumpled hat.

  “There it is,” she said. “I probably dropped it.”

  “Nah,” Manny interjected as he approached, thanking the much older worker he called René. “This is Dolly’s work, no? I bet she grabbed it when you were down.” He smiled and dusted the hat off before handing it back to her.

  El Perro de Peril, Ana wanted to say to him, imagining them all laughing along to the “crazy ol’ dog” sentiment before going back to work and patting her on the back.

  “Good to go then?” Emmett asked.

  “Yeah. Yes, sir, Emmett.”

  He clenched his jaw and shook his head before walking toward the tall white tunnels floating above a section of the fields. Ana turned to Manny and extended her hand.

  “Mucho gusto, señor,” she said.

  “Mucho gusto,” he responded, shaking her hand and smiling. “¿Habla español?”

  “Not really. I mean, my abuela used to speak it to me, but that was forever ago.”

  “You from L.A.?” he asked.

  “I am.”

  “I have family down there. Came from San Ysidro myself, but spent some time in L.A. Couldn’t take all those cars. The clean air up in these trees is worth all that it takes to get up here, so enjoy it. And don’t worry about Emmett, okay? He’s serious out here and he’s gonna be the boss because that’s his job. We work hard and with respect. Not just for each other, but the land,” Manny said, patting his jacket over his heart. “Something tells me you can handle it. I recognize the look. So, listen. Everyone gets a break in the morning, but if you need another, you come find me. I’ll give you some water to carry along while you work. Drink it, mija, okay? Even if you’re not thirsty.”

  Ana couldn’t help it. The tears were there, pushing at the edges. Mija was what her abuela used to call her.

  “You’re gonna pick blackberries and fill these cans. If you focus and try not to think about it, time will pass like that.” He snapped his fingers and smiled again before offering a homemade contraption of an old belt with two oversize coffee cans attached to it. “Café?” he asked in a silly voice, assuming the stance of a daffy waiter. Ana couldn’t help but smile, the workers nearby laughing along with him. “Pick the ripe berries carefully but firmly, and fill these—not all the way to the top or the weight will squish the ones at the bottom. Fill ’em a little more than halfway, okay? And then come see me at the station out in the field. We’ll sort ’em then pack before sending you back out. Oh, and we pay per container. You’ll be getting the same as everybody.”

  “I’m getting paid?” Ana asked, which seemed like a joke.

  “Of course! You sixteen?”

  “No, sir, but I will be soon.”

  “Well, let me know, because we’ll save your wages and pay you then. Something to look forward to.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “You’re working for us, right?”

  “Yes . . .”

  “Well, then you’re getting paid!”


  “Is this what I’ll be doing every day?”

  “Más o menos, yes and no. We’ll try a few different crops this week and see how it goes, okay? Not to worry,” he added with encouragement. “You’ll be with Victor and Roberto, but you can call them Vic and Rolo. The bushes are just past the hoops near the woods.”

  “So I’ll be out there with just the two of them?”

  “Yep. Emmett will check on you, and I’m just over there,” he said, pointing to a large truck and a series of tables in the fields along the road. “There’s nothing to worry about, just keep busy. We’re all out here together.”

  • • •

  Ana Cortez didn’t need anyone to explain it to her; she understood the rhythm of repetitive work, knew all about aligning oneself to the synergy of tedium. She was aware of all of the orphan clichés—the Pips, Pollyannas, and Ponyboys whose optimism triumphed over difficult circumstances. She’d read all the books. That’s why standing in a thicket of tall bushes, with rolled-up sleeves, she found it easy to get lost in the process of plucking berries the way Manny instructed.

  She’d labored in laundry rooms, served time in backyards littered in animal feces. She was good with a sponge, and good with a brush too, be it for scrubbing, cleaning, or detangling—teeth or hair, hers or otherwise. And if the labor ever became rough, in that way where a bandage wouldn’t do, every inch of her, inside and out, knew the right way to callus, the secrets to hiding a bruise.

  If there was anything Ana had learned in all of the years she’d been put to work, it was—as Manny alluded to—to focus and keep her thoughts to herself. Why this seemed a punishment for adults to dole out to young people continually confused her. Why wouldn’t anyone want to luxuriate in his or her own imagination all day?

  The first few hours flew as she softened her eyes and zeroed in on the dark berries, carefully pulling them from the branches, layering them delicately one by one into the cans around her waist. But it took everything not to pop one or two into her mouth. She watched as the man called Vic—the slimmer of the two—took care with his pickings in a similar way, how his thumb and forefinger reached up and pulled delicately from underneath the bush. Rolo plucked with rapid abandon, picking and holding a few in his hand before tossing them into his rusted cans. His eyes met hers from time to time, so she returned to her daydreams. Ana couldn’t believe how she had escaped the streets of L.A., literally, just the day before, how she’d ended up in Mrs. Saucedo’s office, then the airport, and now here, on the edge of a Northern California redwood forest with her fingers periodically squashing blackberries. “Wild,” she thought to herself. “Literally.”