“What are you two squabbling about?” Will asked sleepily, pushing up on one elbow.
“Nothing, Daddy. I'm sorry we woke you.” Laurel smoothed the blankets and tucked them in. She buttoned her coat. “We need more wood. I wonder where we can get some?”
“I'm sure we'll find out soon enough.” Will sat up, rested his feet on the cold floor, and leaned his arms on his thighs. For a few moments he stared at the wood slats running beneath his feet, then ran his hands over his face and brushed back unruly blond hair. He smiled at his children. “Good morning. It's a great morning, isn't it?”
“Morning, Daddy.” Laurel kissed her father's cheek. “There's coffee on the shelf, but there's nothing to cook it in.”
“Don't worry about that. I'm sure there'll be some at breakfast. Last night they told us we'd all eat together in the mess tent—wherever that is.” Turning his back to his children, he grabbed blue jeans lying across the foot of the bed and pulled them over long johns. He lifted his shirt off his bag where he'd draped it the night before, sniffed it, then pushed his arms into the sleeves. “I'll be glad to get the washing machine hooked up and running. I'm beginning to have trouble tolerating myself.” He grinned and buttoned the shirt.
“Me too. I look awful. I might as well be a hobo.” Laurel smoothed her skirt.
Laurel opened the doorway flap and peeked outside. A man and three children walked past. The youngest, a girl, skipped ahead. They didn't notice Laurel. Smoke rose from round metal chimneys, and a woman in the tent straight across from them was hanging diapers on a makeshift clothesline. She smiled at Laurel, then returned to her work.
Ducking back inside, Laurel said, “I don't see any mosquitoes, and people are up. Plus, I can smell coffee. I suppose if we follow the aroma, we'll find breakfast. I'm hungry.”
“I'm starved.” Will finished lacing his boots, then walked to the doorway and stepped outside. Luke and Laurel followed. Taking a deep breath, he scanned the compound, then the clear sky. “Another nice day. Just as it should be.” He gazed at the nearby mountains. “This is a real beautiful place.” For a moment he seemed lost in thought, and then he looked at Luke and Laurel. “So, you two ready for some breakfast?”
“Long past ready,” Luke said.
“All right then,” Will said. “Let's get to it.”
After a breakfast of flapjacks, bacon, and coffee, families gathered in a clearing where a temporary platform had been erected. A map with numbered lots had been nailed to a wooden pole, and several colonists were gathered around it, hoping to get a clearer picture of the valley's layout and the plots available. Laurel tried to get close, but it was no use. From a distance she could see numbers and lines but couldn't make out what any of it meant. Finally, in frustration, she stepped away.
“I wonder which one we'll get?” Luke asked.
Will rested a hand on his son's shoulder. “The one God means us to have.” A breeze caught at his blond hair. He smiled, and creases laid down by years of sun and wind deepened. Yet his blue eyes looked young and were alight with anticipation. “I expect we've already looked at it.”
First, a lottery was held to determine in what order the men would draw for their lot numbers. Will was number twenty and took his place in line. Laurel and Luke stood beside him. “I'd say we're pretty lucky to have drawn number twenty,” Will said. “We won't have to wait long to find out which piece is ours.”
“Hey, Robert,” Luke called to their new friend who stood just five people behind them.
“Hi, Luke,” Robert said with a smile and nodded at Laurel. His eyes settled on Will. “Maybe after the drawing we can go out and look over our places together?”
“Sounds good to me.”
Laurel swatted at a mosquito and hoped the hordes weren't about to descend. She'd left her netted hat at the tent. The pest buzzed her again, and she swiped at it but missed. Finally it moved on to someone else.
Laurel glanced down the row of men. “I'd hate to be number 204.” Another mosquito winged its way around her. She watched it land on her arm, then slapped it. Lifting her hand, she grimaced. All that remained was a splotch of red and an insect skeleton. “I hate mosquitoes,” she mumbled and flicked it away. She heard the click of a camera and looked up to find Adam with his Kodak trained on her.
He lowered it and smiled. “Just recording the story.” He moved away, seeking out other interesting shots.
“What's taking so long?” Luke asked, shifting his feet. “I wish they'd hurry.”
“Be patient. We'll know soon.” Will grinned. “The only time I can remember feeling this eager was the morning I married your mama, and she was worth the wait. When she walked down that aisle, I knew I'd never seen a more beautiful woman.” He winked. “And I still feel that way.”
Ed Ketchum and Felix Pettersson stood together at the end of the line. They'd been such trouble on the ship that Laurel was pleased to see they'd be the last to draw. Serves them right, she thought.
Felix lit a cigarette with the butt of another, then threw the butt to the ground. He didn't bother stomping it out. He caught Laurel's eye but acted as if he hadn't seen her and said something to Ed.
The thin young man with straggly hair grinned at Laurel. Unwilling to be rude, she smiled at him and hoped he wouldn't decide to be friendly and join her. Ed Ketchum was repulsive, dirty, and unkempt. She turned her back to the two men and watched a heavyset man climb the steps to the platform.
Facing the colonists, he yelled, “Quiet!” He raised his arms over his head. “Quiet everyone, and we'll get started!” He looked at the crowd, and a hush settled over the group. All eyes were on him. “Good morning.” People pressed in. The man removed his hat, wiped sweat from his brow, and replaced it. “It's pretty warm out here for May. Should make for a good growing season.”
The people cheered. “Come on, get on with it!” someone shouted.
Laurel noticed a group of men standing off to one side. They looked angry, and Laurel wondered who they were. A tall, broad-shouldered man with a full beard and brown hair that hung in wild curls around his head seemed to be the leader of the group. Gray eyes lit with hatred swept over the crowd. Laurel had never seen him before. He couldn't be a colonist, or she would recognize him. Their eyes met and locked for a moment. Laurel could feel herself shrivel beneath his gaze. Then, as if he hadn't even seen her, his eyes moved on. With a shiver, and hoping she would never have to deal with him, she turned back to the man on the podium.
“I want to welcome you all to our beautiful valley,” he said. “As I'm sure you all know by now, there's no place like it on earth.”
“I'll say,” Alex Pettersson said derisively. “Nothing like living in a mosquito swamp.”
“Put a lid on it,” another man said. “Go on. We're waiting,” he encouraged the speaker.
The man cleared his throat. “I know you're here with high expectations, and you should be. The United States Government has put a grand plan into place, and I'm proud to be a part of it. This day will go down in the history books.” He studied a sheet of paper Laurel guessed was his written speech.
She glanced at the man who'd been angrily watching the proceedings. He had his arms folded over his chest and glared at the speaker. “Daddy, do you know who he is?” she asked, nodding at him.
Will followed her gaze. “Ray Townsend. Tom Jenkins told me he's the leader of a group of homesteaders who want us to leave. Those are settlers with him.”
“What is he going to do? Can they make us leave?”
“No.” He gently took hold of Laurel's forearms and turned her to look at him. Smoothing back a strand of her hair, he said, “There's something more important going on here than those men. Don't let them spoil the moment.”
Laurel nodded and returned to watching the speaker, hoping her father was right.
“You all know there's a lot of hard work ahead of you,” the spokesman said. “There's no other way when it comes to farming. But I've been told you have what it takes, and I believe if you and the government work together, we'll make this one great farming community!” His voice boomed. People clapped and cheered.
“Now, then,” he continued. “I won't make you wait any longer. I have 204 slips of paper in this box.” He held up a cardboard shoebox. “Let's begin.”
