But the second decree had started the fight. The President had instituted a labor draft to provide this aid. Every male Indian in the highlands would be rounded up tomorrow and taken to the Piedmont to save the coffee. Anyone caught ducking the draft would be whipped and forced to work anyway like the others, but in shackles.
âHow can we possibly keep this running now,â Mother said, not like a question. Seated at the table, Evie studied her work, trying to come up with something more than horns on the President that would make them both laugh.
âOh,â Father mused, âthere are ways.â
Turning to the second page, Evie found a picture of the Catholic church, which had collapsed hours after theyâd been sitting under its protection. What had happened to the orphan girls? Only the steps remained, perfectly intact, leading up to a pile of grainy black-and-white rubble.
âThere is no way to run a farm without workers, Robert.â
It had never occurred to Evie that a building could collapse, let alone a church. All this time, she had felt protected somehow, living in their little chapel on the mountain. Now she stared up with fear at the lumpy walls, the pitched ceiling.
âWe could sell some things, maybe. It says any Indians indebted to a farmer are exempt. It says here, any Indian five hundred pesos or more in debt. We could loan them money to keep them here.â
Evie began to color in the church ruins with a dark blue pencil. She would have used white, but experience had taught her that she needed bold, dark colors when filling in the newspaper. Anything less would just smear the ink and make everything gray.
âWhat do we have to sell, Robert?â Motherâs tone caused Evie to pause, unable to color well and listen at the same time. âOf course, something of mine.â
âWell, Mattie,â Father joked, feeling her out with his playful blue eyes, âyou have such nice things.â
âHow convenient for you.â Mother regained her composure just as quickly as sheâd lost it, though her cheeks remained two scorched circles.
âI would if I had anything, if I came from rich folksââ
âI have an idea!â Mother clapped. âHow about Evie?â
Evie looked up from not drawing.
âSheâs half yours. We could hire out Evie! Hey, why not? Sheâd bring in a good price.â Motherâs gaze glittered with possibility. âThe coffee plantations would take her, for sure. Or one of the new banana farms. You like bananas, Evie.â
Father chuckled with horrifying lightness. âNow, thatâs an idea.â
Evie dropped her pencil and choked on the sob in her throat. It had been a long time since sheâd wanted to work on a banana plantation, didnât they know that? She had learned what it was actually like from Judas, who had worked on the coast for years. Whippings, rotten beans to eat, yellow fever. And the coffee plantations were no better, according to Ixna. Evie stood up from her chair, shaking, with tears in her eyes.
Mother drew her in, embracing her roughly with a little, harried laugh. âWeâre just joking, sweetie. Weâre not going to sell you to anyone. How could you think that? Youâre old enough to know when your father and I are teasing.â
âThatâs a nice picture, Evie,â Father commented, turning the newspaper back to the front page. The President of Guatemala with horns and gold peso eyes. âYou understand the situation here more than anyone I know.â
â
They sent Evie to the kitchen, so they could argue in earnest. There, she tried to feed Magellan. He was not doing well. Evie had yet to convince himto eat anything. She had tried worms and flies, berries, beetles, and bread. Everything she pushed into the slats of the chicken crate rotted or crawled away.
How do you force food on someone? He must be starving.
No one cares about bread