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trying to convince gang members to give up their lives of crime and become useful members of
society. In other words, give up the thousands of dollars they made running drugs or manufacturing
them to work behind a counter in a fast-food store for minimum wage.
Someone who had never seen the agonizing poverty that produced criminals had no idea how
difficult it was to break out of the mold. She d lost track of the number of poor mothers with absent
husbands trying to raise multiple children alone on a minimum wage salary, often with health
problems as well. The older children had to help take care of the younger ones. Frustrated by their
home lives, when they lacked attention there, they found it in a gang. There were so many gangs.
Many were international. Each had its own colors, tattoos, hand signals and methods of wearing
clothing to express their particular affiliations publicly. Most police departments had at least one
officer whose specialty was the gang culture. Glory knew the basics, because she d had to prosecute
gang members for drug peddling, homicides, burglaries and other felonies. She never stopped
feeling rage at the conditions that produced the crime.
She glanced at Consuelo. Is Marco your only child? she asked suddenly.
Consuelo hesitated, just for a heartbeat, before she turned. Yes, she replied. She noted Glory s
curiosity. I had health problems, she added quickly.
Glory smiled convincingly. He s a very nice young man, she replied. He doesn t seem the least bit
spoiled by being an only child.
Consuelo relaxed and returned the smile. No. He certainly wasn t spoiled. She went back to her
canning.
Glory filed the conversation away. She didn t know of one single family among the immigrants who
had less than three children. Many deplored contraception. Perhaps it was true that Consuelo had
health problems. But it was curious that she had only one child, and that she seemed so intelligent
when she was working at a job that didn t require much education.
That went double for Rodrigo, the educated bit. Glory couldn t figure him out. He seemed the least
likely person to be working as a manual laborer. It disturbed her that he d given jobs to men like
Castillo and Marco. Neither of the young men looked like farm hands. They were too savvy.
What if, she asked herself, Rodrigo was himself on the wrong side of the law? The question shocked
her. He seemed so honest. But, she recalled, she d prosecuted at least two people whose integrity was
attested to by a veritable parade of character witnesses. But the criminals were only adept at putting on
an act. A very convincing act, at that. Very often, people could be the exact opposites of their assumed
roles.
Rodrigo might even be an illegal himself. Glory s stepbrother, Jason Pendleton, was sympathetic to
all sorts of people. He might have felt sorry for Rodrigo and given him the job out of sympathy.
What if Rodrigo was illegal, and mixed up in drug trafficking? She felt sick inside. What would she
do? Her duty would be to turn him in and make sure he was prosecuted. She, of all people, knew the
anguish drug dealers could cause parents. She knew the source of the drug money as well
upstanding, greedy businessmen who wanted to make a fortune fast, without putting too much effort
into it. They didn t see the families whose lives were torn apart by the effects of crystal meth or
cocaine or methodone. They didn t have to bury promising children, or watch their loved ones suffer
through rehabilitation. They didn t have to visit those children in prison. The money men didn t care
about all that. They just cared about their profit.
Could Rodrigo be one of those businessmen? Could he be a drug dealer, using the farm as a cover?
Her heart sank. Surely not. He was kind. He was intelligent and caring. He couldn t be mixed up in that
terrible business. But what, her conscience asked, if he was? If she knew, if she had proof, could she
live with herself if she didn t turn him in? Could she do that?
My, what a long face! Consuelo chided.
Glory caught herself and laughed self-consciously. Is that how I look? Sorry. I was thinking about all
that fruit waiting for us in the warehouse.
Consuelo rolled her eyes. Isn t it the truth!
They returned to casual conversation, and Glory put away her suspicions.
THAT EVENING, SHE SAT in the porch swing listening to the musical sound of crickets nearby. It
was a sultry night, but not too hot. She closed her eyes and smelled jasmine on the night air. It had
been a while since she d been in a porch swing. She tried not to remember sitting beside her father on
long summer nights and asking him about days past, when he was a little boy going to local rodeos.
He knew all the famous bull riders and bronc riders, and often had invited them to the house for
coffee and cake. Her mother hadn t liked that. She considered such people beneath her station in life
and deliberately absented herself when they came to the house. She felt her father s sadness even now,
years later&
The screen door opened and Rodrigo came outside. He paused to light a thin cigar before he turned
toward Glory.
The mosquitoes will eat you alive, he cautioned.
She d already killed two of the pesky things. If they re willing to sacrifice their lives to suck my
blood, let them.
He chuckled. He walked toward her and paused at the porch rail, looking out over the flat landscape in
the distance. It s been a long time since I had time to worry about mosquitoes, he mused. Do you
mind? he indicated the empty place beside her.
She shook her head and he sat down, jostling the swing for a few seconds before he kicked it back
into a smooth rhythm.
Have you always worked on the land? she asked him conversationally.
In a sense, he replied. He blew out a puff of smoke. My father had a ranch, when I was a boy. I
grew up with cowboys.
She smiled. So did I. My father took me to the rodeos and introduced me to the stars. She grimaced.
My mother hated such people. She gave my father a bad time when he invited them to come and have
coffee. But he did all the cooking, so she couldn t complain that he was making work for her.
He glanced at her. What did your mother do?
Nothing, she said coldly. She wanted to be a rich man s wife. She thought my father was going to
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