CHAPTER 11 The Mexican Camp

QUESTIONED by Veve and Connie, Eileen related what had occurred on the return trip from the canning factory.

After Miss Gordon had cleaned the mud from the little girl’s clothing, she and the Brownie leader had waited quite a while for the Wingate truck.

The trucker had been very willing to give them a lift back to the Hooper farm. However, on the way to the orchard, he had chosen a shorter side road instead of taking the main highway.

Not far from the canning factory, the truck had passed a camp where the Mexican cherry pickers lived.

“Several Mexican blankets hung on a clothes line strung up between two trees,” Eileen revealed. “And guess what I saw on another?”

“What?” demanded Veve.

“I saw the missing quilt! Our crazy quilt!”

“Did you stop to look at it?” Connie asked, deeply troubled.

“Oh, no! The truck driver was in a hurry. We didn’t dare ask him to stop.”

“How close were you to the Mexican camp?”

“Oh, fairly close,” Eileen said vaguely. She never could estimate distances.

“Close enough to really see that it was our crazy quilt?”

“Well, it looked like it to me. The quilt was made up of a lot of colors and pieced blocks of all sizes.”

“But all crazy quilts are like that,” argued Veve. She did not want to think that any of the Mexicans had taken the coverlet.

“That’s what Miss Gordon said,” Eileen admitted. “All the same, the quilt looked like ours. Another thing, Mexicans don’t usually have quilts. Every other coverlet on the line was a woven blanket.”

“There’s one way we could tell for certain if the quilt is ours,” said Connie thoughtfully.

“How?”

“Don’t you remember? Miss Gordon stitched in the Brownie troop name in one corner.”

“That’s right!” Eileen agreed. “Let’s get the girls together now, and hike over to the camp. We’ll find out if that quilt is ours. If it is, we’ll have all the Mexicans arrested.”

Pa Hooper had been listening to the conversation of the three girls.

“I hope you don’t have all the Mexicans arrested,” he said, speaking for the first time. “If you do, we’ll never get our fruit picked.”

“At least we’ll have the one who stole the quilt put in jail,” Ellen insisted. “I’ll bet it was Juan. I’ve seen him around here more than the others.”

Veve went quickly to the defense of her little friend.

“I’m sure it couldn’t have been Juan,” she declared. “He seemed very honest to me.”

“As long as I had Mexican pickers on my place, I never had anything taken,” Pa Hooper added. “This year, though, they seem more restless and dissatisfied. Can’t figure it out.”

While Eileen, Connie and Veve talked, Jane and Rosemary came into the shed with filled pails. They too heard about the quilt, and were all for taking action at once.

“Let’s go to the Mexican camp this minute!” Jane urged.

“Hold on,” interposed Pa Hooper. “Who’s staying here to pick cherries? This afternoon I’m not getting ’em stripped fast enough to keep the truckers busy.”

Miss Gordon arrived just then and she too was in favor of the girls continuing with their picking.

“If the quilt really is ours, it will be at the camp later on,” she advised. “We can finish our picking, and stop there on our way home.”

“Will we have the Mexicans arrested?” Eileen demanded.

“That remains to be seen,” Miss Gordon answered. “The important thing is to be certain that the quilt is ours before we say any more about the matter. It would be dreadful to accuse someone and then learn that we had been mistaken.”

The Brownies were willing to be guided by the teacher’s suggestion. All returned to the orchard where they picked steadily for the next two hours.

During the afternoon, however, they could talk of little except the missing quilt.

“If we get it back, we’ll have a truly grand quilt show!” Sunny Davidson declared gaily. “Has it been decided for sure when we’re to have the display?”

From the next tree, Miss Gordon herself answered the question.

“How about this Saturday night at the church? I’ve already arranged to have the parlor for the affair if we want it.”

“Oh, fine!” approved Rosemary. “Let’s make it Saturday night for sure.”

“Can everyone have her quilt on hand by that time?”

“I can,” laughed Veve. “My autograph one is right here now. It needs washing though, but that won’t take long.”

The other Brownies were fairly certain they could obtain the promised coverlets in time.

Miss Gordon urged them to busy themselves that very night on the telephone, letting all their friends know about the coming affair. She said she would make additional posters to put in store windows, advertising the quilt show.

“How much admission will we charge?” Connie asked. She wanted to make a great deal of money for the Brownie organization.

“I don’t think we should charge anything,” Miss Gordon decided. “However, we certainly will auction off the crazy quilt—if we’re lucky enough to get it.”

“Anyway, we don’t need money as badly now as we did,” Veve said. She reached on tiptoe to strip an especially heavily laden branch. “After we finish here at the orchard, the Brownies will be rich!”

Excitedly, the girls chattered about what they would do with so much money.

“We ought to make a thousand dollars at least!” Veve declared grandly.

Her remark made the other Brownies laugh, for they knew that even if they picked night and day, they could not earn that much.

“We’ll be lucky if we make a hundred dollars,” Connie said. “The cherries won’t last much longer.”

As the girls talked, she noticed that Miss Gordon had very little to say. The teacher was picking fruit rather slowly now.

Quite frequently she would raise a hand and press it to her forehead.

“Don’t you feel well?” Connie asked her after awhile.

Miss Gordon admitted that she had a slight headache.

“I forgot to wear dark glasses today,” she confessed. “The bright sun must have strained my eyes.”

As the afternoon wore on, Miss Gordon felt increasingly miserable. Mrs. Williams, who was helping the Brownies pick, noticed the strained expression on the teacher’s face.

“You really shouldn’t be here,” she declared. “Let me drive you home.”

“I don’t like to be a quitter—”

“Nonsense,” said Connie’s mother firmly. “You should be in bed. I’ll drive you home now, and return for the Brownies.”

Miss Gordon allowed herself to be persuaded. “Now don’t worry about me, girls,” she said, noticing the troubled faces of the Brownies. “It’s only a headache. I’ll be on hand again early tomorrow morning.”

After Mrs. Williams and Miss Gordon had gone, the Brownies picked steadily for a long while. They kept watching the road, thinking that Connie’s mother soon would return.

The trip seemed to take a very long while. Eileen began to worry lest something had happened to the car.

“What if we shouldn’t get to the Mexican camp before dark?” she fretted. “Then we might not find our crazy quilt.”

“Shouldn’t we go there right away?” Veve proposed impatiently. “Miss Gordon didn’t say anything about it when she left.”

“She was feeling too ill,” Connie said. “But I’m sure she expected us to go on to the Mexican camp the way we planned.”

“Is it too far to walk?” asked Veve.

Eileen was certain that the camp was not more than a mile away.

“Let’s ask my mother to take us there now,” she urged, climbing down from her low step ladder. “It’s late and we can’t pick many more cherries anyway.”

The other Brownies were tired from their work and so favored the proposal.

Seeking Eileen’s mother, who also had driven a car to the orchard, they asked her if she would take them to the Mexican camp.

“Without Miss Gordon?” she asked reluctantly. “I hardly think—”

“We don’t dare wait until tomorrow!” Eileen cut in. “The quilt may be gone if we do.”

“But dear, you might have been mistaken. If the quilt shouldn’t belong to the Brownies, I would feel so embarrassed.”

“Miss Gordon said she wouldn’t want us to accuse anyone wrongfully,” Connie recalled. “We could be real careful though! Couldn’t we sneak up on the camp and look around without letting the pickers know what we were doing?”

“Well—”

“Oh, please!” coaxed several of the Brownies. And Sunny added: “After all our work on the quilt we just have to get it back.”

In the end, Mrs. Webber agreed to drive the girls to the Mexican camp. She disliked to take the responsibility, however, in Miss Gordon’s absence.

Eileen sat with her mother in the front seat, pointing out the side road which the Wingate driver had taken a few hours before.

Soon the car came to a grove of trees. From the roadside the girls could see the tents of the Mexican cherry pickers.

“Stop here, Mother!” Eileen directed.

As the car halted just off the road, Connie heard an interesting sound.

“Listen!” she commanded.

Mrs. Webber switched off the car engine and everyone listened.

From amid the trees came the strumming sound of a guitar. The girls also could hear someone singing in Spanish.

“Where’s our quilt?” Veve demanded, jumping out of the car. “I don’t see it anywhere.”

“It was hanging between the trees only a few hours ago,” Eileen insisted. “Some of the Mexicans must have taken it down.”

Mrs. Webber advised the girls not to approach the camp too boldly. She did not know how they might be received by the Mexican pickers.

“Why can’t Eileen and Connie and I go on ahead and see if we can find the quilt,” Veve proposed. “If it’s there, we’ll signal for the rest of you to come on.”

“I want to go too,” announced Jane. She was afraid she might be cut out of some of the excitement.

“Four would be too many,” Veve insisted. “We’d be certain to attract attention.”

Mrs. Webber said she could see no point in all of the Brownies descending upon the camp. The girls were so excited, she feared they might make remarks which would offend the Mexicans.

Favoring Veve’s proposal, she gave the three girls permission to go on ahead.

“Now remember, it hasn’t been proven that the quilt belongs to the Brownies. Or that it actually was stolen,” she cautioned the trio. “Don’t make any trouble. Just notice if the quilt is anywhere in camp. And if it is, signal.”

“I’ll hoot like an owl,” Veve promised.

“I think a simple wave of the hand would be better,” Mrs. Webber said, smiling. “But don’t signal unless you are certain the quilt is there, and that it belongs to the Brownies.”

Veve, Connie and Eileen were very pleased with the arrangement. The other Brownies, who must wait at the car, were less happy. They did not want to miss anything.

The three girls set off through the woods. A narrow trail wound in among the trees and led directly to the camp.

Drawing fairly close, Veve, Connie and Eileen paused to see what was ahead.

In the camp, Mexican children were romping over the grass, having a happy time. Near one of the tents, a Mexican woman with a bright orange apron was cooking supper. She seemed to be making cakes from ground corn and meat.

“Oh, that smells good,” declared Eileen, sniffing the air.

Nearby, another woman sat at a loom, weaving a black and white woolen blanket. The pattern was very beautiful.

“Wouldn’t that one look lovely in our quilt show,” Veve whispered.

“We’re not having any Mexican blankets!” Eileen replied firmly. “I should say not! The pickers took our quilt!”

“I don’t see it anywhere,” Veve said, her gaze sweeping the camp. “Maybe you were wrong about it.”

Eileen shook her head. “Miss Gordon saw it too,” she insisted. “It must be somewhere in the camp.”

The three girls walked on a few steps. Coming to a clump of bushes, they halted there.

Without being seen they could view everything that went on in the camp.

Everyone seemed to be very happy. Several of the little boys and girls were playing with a shaggy dog. Veve saw Juan sitting with his back to an oak tree. The little boy was carving a figure from a block of wood.

“I don’t believe the crazy quilt is here,” Veve announced.

She was ready to turn around and return to the parked automobile.

Eileen, however, insisted that she had seen the quilt.

“It’s probably been taken inside one of those tents,” she declared. “Let’s walk into camp and look.”

“Miss Gordon warned us not to make any trouble,” Connie reminded her friend. “And so did your mother.”

“We don’t have to make any trouble or accuse anyone. Can’t we just wander in and peep around?”

Veve and Connie were not too pleased over the proposal. Nevertheless, they followed their friend as she walked on.

As the three girls stepped out from amid the trees, several of the Mexican children saw them. Juan put aside his whittling knife and sprang to his feet.

“Chiquita! Carmen! Raul!” he called. “We have visitors.”

Two little Mexican girls and a small boy who looked like Juan, came running.

“My brothers and sisters,” Juan introduced them to the Brownies. “They are very pleased to meet you.”

The three children bowed politely and smiled.

Veve, Eileen and Connie scarcely could think of anything to say in return. The children were so friendly they knew it would be awkward to say anything about the quilt.

Connie noticed that the boys and girls were rather thin as if they did not have enough to eat. Some of them were barefoot, while others wore huaraches or straw sandals.

Nearly all of the men in the camp had sarapes thrown across their shoulders. The sarapes really were colorful blankets with a slit in the middle.

Excited to have visitors, Juan escorted them about the camp, showing them everything. He introduced the girls to his mother, to his father and to his aging grandmother.

Everyone was so friendly that the Brownies began to think they had made a serious mistake ever to believe they would find their missing quilt in the camp.

“Veve was right,” Connie whispered to Eileen. “Juan and the Mexicans are nice—just like other people. You must have been mixed up.”

“Well—maybe,” Eileen admitted unwillingly. “But I didn’t think so at the time. I was sure I saw the quilt or something that looked exactly like it.”

Juan next took the girls to see his goat, Peter, who was staked down near one of the tents. The animal had nibbled away so much grass that the ground was bare all around him.

“Did you make much money today picking cherries?” Veve asked her little friend.

He shrugged his shoulders, replying briefly: “Enough.”

A moment later, he added: “What do I need of money? The sun is la capa do los pobres.”

“The sun is what?” Veve demanded, for she knew Juan had spoken in his own language.

“‘The sun is the poor man’s coat,’” the little boy translated.

The Brownies were somewhat puzzled and did not understand Juan’s meaning. Seeing their expressions, he went on:

“If a Mexican has a sun to warm his back, he does not need fine clothing to be happy.”

Juan said no more just then. However, later, as he was showing the girls the figure he had carved, he remarked that he might not see them again.

“Why, aren’t you staying with the other pickers until the crop is harvested?” Connie asked quickly.

Again Juan shrugged. “Who knows?” he questioned. “All of the pickers may leave.”

“Is it because you don’t like to work for Carl Wingate?” Veve asked. She recalled how the boy had been hit with a stick.

“He has been very ugly,” Juan replied. “He cheats on weight and does not pay us all he owes.”

“But the other orchard owners aren’t like that,” Eileen insisted.

“The picking here is nearly finished. My people are tired of the place. So we may move farther north.”

“Surely you wouldn’t leave until Mr. Hooper’s cherries are picked!” Veve said in dismay.

“Who knows?”

“But that wouldn’t be fair,” Connie interposed. “Mr. Hooper would lose at least half of his fruit harvest if the pickers left without coming to his place.”

“He has been expecting the crew for several days,” added Eileen. “The fruit is too ripe now. We heard the canning factory man say it would have to be picked fast, or it will be rejected.”

“Then the orchard people should treat us better. If we move on, it is only themselves they have to blame.”

“Mr. Hooper wouldn’t mistreat anyone,” Veve insisted. “He isn’t a bit like his cousin, Carl Wingate.”

“You tell your people that,” Connie urged. “It just wouldn’t be fair to Mr. Hooper not to pick his cherries.”

“I will tell them,” Juan promised soberly. “We do not have anything against Mr. Hooper. But the townspeople have no liking for us. At the stores they charge us more for food. We cannot use the beaches or have any pleasures.”

The Brownies knew that the boy’s complaint was a just one. That very day, he had been driven away from the same beach where they had been permitted to wade. They hardly knew what to say.

“But you are my friends,” Juan finished warmly. “Come, I will show you some of the beautiful lacework my mother brought from Mexico.”

He led the three girls to a nearby tent. Veve was the first to peer inside as he pulled back the flap.

The little girl drew in her breath sharply. A brown Mexican baby was playing on the floor of the tent. The infant lay upon a quilt of many colors—unmistakably, the lost Brownie coverlet!