Chapter Ten
Union Hall

The kerosene lamp burns low in the Union Hall of Lafayette, 
casting long shadows on the wooden floor. Ortega, Beranek, and 
Bell stand around a stack of papers. They're deciding who will 
lead the next day's chants, who'll check the crowd for weapons, 
and who will be cooking. 

Bell stretches his arms out and yawns. The wall clock reads half-
past midnight on November 21st. Bell resolves to work for another 
hour.

"Who's making the soup tomorrow?" asks Bell.

"Bertha has it in the pot right now," says Beranek. She's 
finishing the last of her donation requests to local 
organizations: the Odd Fellows, the Order of the Eastern Star, the 
Pythian Sisters, the Rebekas, the Macabees, and the Lignite Lodge 
of the Knights of Pythias.

"Right," says Bell, "the Polish chili." They're all too tired to 
laugh.

"I need to get back to the camp," says Ortega. "Mary is looking 
after the little ones. My youngest has *la tos ferina*, the 
whooping cough."

Beranek thanked God every day that she hadn't lost one of hers to 
whooping cough. It was a dark, hollow cough that kept children in 
bed for weeks. She remembers the hours spent at a bedside, holding 
a damp cloth to her child's forehead. How many mothers did she 
know who had seen all of their children live through childhood? 
She needed no Thanksgiving to be thankful for that.

There is a loud knock at the door. The three of them bolt upright. 
Beranek is closest. She heaves her tired body up from the table 
and opens the door. 

Jerry Davis is standing under the cold electric streetlight, 
panting hard.

"Mrs. Beranek," Davis wheezes out.

Bell looks over Beranek's shoulder. "Whaddaya know, Davis? I heard 
you were hunting up more rabbits tonight."

Davis regains his breath. "I was hunting up in the hills and 
passed by the Columbine. The gates--the gates were locked."

Beranek looks at Bell and Ortega, and back at Davis. "You--you 
mean the gates were *closed*."

Davis shakes his head. "No, locked up with big, heavy chains. When 
I came closer, they turned the floodlight my way. The rangers 
pointed their guns at me. I ran back here."

Bell steps away from the door, and Beranek can see his eyes 
darting here and there, thinking hard. 

Bell turns back to Davis. "Run down to the company store. Tell me 
if it's locked up; not closed, locked up. Understand?"

Davis nods and runs off down Simpson street.

Bell leaves the open door and paces the Union Hall. In his head, 
he calculates that it will take Davis a good minute to run back 
down to Iowa Avenue, and a little longer to come back uphill. "No, 
they wouldn't do that..." he mumbles to himself, "...but the 
Sheriff, he said 'It's not your day.'"

Ortega crosses the room to face Bell. In the kerosene light, 
Ortega's face is painted in dark shadows. The orange flame catches 
the first whispers of something desperate in his eyes.

"Adam, my family is inside that camp," says Ortega. "They're in 
that camp with the Rangers and their guns."

Bell rests a hand on Ortega's shoulder. "Johnny, they're just 
trying to provoke us."

"Then they're doing a damn good job!"

They hear footsteps outside. They turn around to see Davis back at 
the door.

"Well?" snaps Ortega.

"There's a padlock on the door," says Davis, "big as my fist. All 
the windows are barred, too."

Ortega steps away from Bell, staring out past Davis with blank 
eyes. 

"They're trapped," Ortega whispers. "They've caged my family..."

Ortega makes a run for the door, and Davis spreads his limbs 
across the doorjamb to block him. The boxer grabs a fistful of 
Davis' shirt to hurl him aside, but Beranek and Bell pull him 
back. It takes the strength of all three to bring Ortega down into 
a chair.

"Get off me!" roars Ortega. "I'll rip those bastards in two!"

Bell grabs Ortega's shoulders. "That's just what they want us to 
do! Back in the Long Strike, the strikers used guns and arson to 
fight the mine companies. All that did was give the companies an 
excuse. When the company thugs sent a miner to the morgue, 
sometimes the miners returned the favor. Then, when the guards set 
fire to Ludlow, they called it self-dense. That's why we can't 
make it easy for them!"

Ortega rocks back and forth in the chair, holding his head in his 
hands.

Bell straightens up, speaking to Beranek and Davis. "We march for 
the Columbine before dawn. They have no legal basis for locking us 
out." He turns to Ortega. "Johnny, I'm sure you want to split the 
heads of every Ranger up there, and a good deal of me wants to 
join you. It's why I'm going to ask you to stay here with Mrs. 
Beranek."

"And why am I staying here?" asks Beranek.

"I don't want any women or children there when we march," says 
Bell. "It's just a precaution."

Beranek's eyes narrow on the old Wobbly. "Mister Bell, do you 
think my womanhood makes me unfit for the front lines? I've 
brought sixteen children into this world, Adam. It will take more 
than a few company thugs to stop me."

Bell sighs. Ortega looks up at his friends. "Go, then," he says. 
"I won't make it easy for them. But you had better promise me 
it'll be the last easy day they have."

Bell doesn't answer Ortega. There's no point in lying. He points 
to Beranek. "Wake everyone up, tell them what's happened. I'll 
make sure the cars are ready."

Bell leaves with Davis. Beranek pulls the telephone receiver from 
its cradle. "Operator," she says, "get me the Spanudakhis house on 
Cleveland Street."

In his fighting days, Ortega had taken on the best boxers in the 
Rockies, but tonight he feels true helplessness. The thought of 
his wife and children trapped in that coal camp, his youngest sick 
with whopping cough, will stay with him for the rest of his life.

The story of the miners is almost over. The first rays of sunlight 
will soon rise over the roofs of the Columbine.