The Four Winds

by Kristin Hannah

I came west in search of a better life, but my American dream was turned into a nightmare by poverty and hardship and greed.

A man’s got to fight out here to make a living, they’d say to each other. A man. It was always about the men.

To damage the earth is to damage your children. —WENDELL BERRY, FARMER AND POET

There was a pain that came with constant disapproval; a sense of having lost something unnamed, unknown. Elsa had survived it by being quiet, by not demanding or seeking attention, by accepting that she was loved, but unliked.

He’d been the only Wolcott besides Elsa who loved reading, and he’d frequently taken her side in family disagreements. Don’t worry about dying, Elsa. Worry about not living. Be brave.

Suzanna was wearing a blouse made from Elsa’s red silk. Charlotte wore a red silk scarf at her throat. Elsa stopped; the sight of her sisters in that red silk made her heartsick.

They took apart her dress :(

A pretty, dark-haired girl clung to his arm.

Oh no..

Rafe looked over, saw her. He didn’t smile; worse, his gaze cut worriedly to the girl standing next to him.

Jerk

She longed to touch him, taste him, tell him where she wanted—needed—to be touched, but fear of humiliation kept her silent.

Girl no you are going to get pregnant

Elsa kept dry-heaving long after there was nothing left in her stomach. Finally, she wiped her mouth and straightened, feeling shaky.

Nooooo

“Me?” Elsa said. Expecting? It couldn’t be true. She and Rafe had only been together a few times. And each coupling had been so fast. Over almost before it began. Surely no child could come from that.

Oh you sweet summer child

I know about growing up in a household where love is withheld. I won’t do that to my child.”

For this child, Elsa would marry a man who didn’t love her and join a family who didn’t want her. From now on, all her choices would be thusly made. For her child.

Mrs. Martinelli looked up. The small woman was a study in contradictions: she moved with the fast, furtive motions of a bird and looked fragile, but Elsa’s overwhelming impression was of strength. Toughness.

“Beginnings are only that, Elsa. When Rosalba and I came here from Sicily, we had seventeen dollars and a dream. That was our beginning. But it wasn’t what gave us this good life. We have this land because we worked for it, because no matter how hard life was, we stayed here. This land provided for us. It will provide for you, too, if you let it.”

“Believe me, Elsa, this little girl will love you as no one ever has … and make you crazy and try your soul. Often all at the same time.”

I see one-third of a nation ill-housed, ill-clad, ill-nourished.… The test of our progress is not whether we add more to the abundance of those who have much; it is whether we provide enough for those who have too little. —FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT

Although she hadn’t seen her parents for years, it turned out that a parent’s disapproval was a powerful, lingering voice that shaped and defined one’s self-image.

There was something she hadn’t known when she went into marriage and became a mother that she knew now: it was only possible to live without love when you’d never known it.

A family can only bury so much.

Clearly, if God was watching the people of the Great Plains, He wanted them to either leave or die.

How could Mom smile at a time like this? It was irritating. “You know your teeth are brown with dirt?” Loreda said. Her mother flinched and instantly stopped smiling.

Jesus Christ Loreda you brat

Apparently you couldn’t stop loving some people, or needing their love, even when you knew better.

“It’s her fault he left. She wouldn’t go to California.” “In your vast experience with men and love, you decide this. Thank you for your genius, Loreda. I’m sure it’s a comfort to your mama.”

“What damage I did to Raffaello by loving him too much, I fear your parents did to you by loving you too little.”

“Elsa, I don’t know about your youth or your illness or what your parents said or did. But I know this. You have the heart of a lion. Don’t believe anyone who tells you different. I’ve seen it. My son is a fool.”

“Remember, cara, hard times don’t last. Land and family do.”

“You know there’s been no rain, friend. I’m here to tell you it’s more than that. What’s happening to your land is a dire ecological disaster, maybe the worst in our country’s history, and you have to change your farming methods to stop it from getting worse.” “You sayin’ it’s our fault?” Tony said. “I’m saying you contributed,” Bennett said. “Oklahoma has lost almost four hundred and fifty million tons of topsoil. Truth is that you farmers have to see your part in it or this great land will die.”

And now people don't believe in climate change.

“You are the daughter I always wanted,” Rose said. “Ti amo.” “And you are my mother,” Elsa said. “You saved me, you know.” “Mothers and daughters. We save each other, sì?”

“Anthony,” Elsa said. “Where are your shoes?” “They broke.” “You have no shoes?” Ant shook his head. Elsa closed her eyes so he wouldn’t see her emotion. Going west with no shoes. “What’s wrong, Mommy? Don’t worry. I have tough feet.”

Omg 😭

This was it. They were leaving. It was up to Elsa now, her alone, to keep them alive.

She almost said, I’m scared, but what kind of mother said those words to a child who counted on her? “I’ve never been on my own,” Elsa said. “You’re not on your own, Mom.” Ant popped his head out of the window of the cab of the truck. “I’m here, too!” he chirped. “Don’t forget me!”

Ok bawling now

“When times is tough and jobs is scarce, folks blame the outsider. It’s human nature. And raht now, that’s us. In California it used to be the Mexicans, and the Chinese before that, I think.”

“Mom! You came back.” Loreda saw the pain flash across her mother’s face. “I will always come back. You two are my whole life. Okay? Don’t ever be afraid of that.”

Ant produced a local newspaper that was stained and torn. Across the top in bold black type was the headline: “Criminal Element Rampant in Migrants Flooding into State. One Thousand Enter California Per Day.”

Fearmongering in the news is no different in 2025.

Elsa hadn’t known until right then how much difference a friend could make. How one person could lift your spirit just enough to keep you upright.

Americans weren’t supposed to take handouts from the government. They were supposed to work hard and succeed on their own.

Yet the government has no problem with setting Americans up for failure.

“Unite! Don’t let them make you afraid. Come to the Workers Alliance meeting.” Elsa saw how people moved away from him, drew back. None of them could afford being seen with a Communist. A police car rolled up, lights flashing. Two officers got out and grabbed the man and started beating him. “You see this?” the Communist shouted. “This is in America. The coppers are hauling me away for my ideas.”

Poverty was a soul-crushing thing. A cave that tightened around you, its pinprick of light closing a little more at the end of each desperate, unchanged day.

One thing was left, as clear and perfect as a drop of rain—the desperate need to stand together … They would rise and fall and, in their falling, rise again. —SANORA BABB, WHOSE NAMES ARE UNKNOWN

“All across the state of California, the big growers are taking advantage of the people who work for them. The migrants coming into the state are so desperate to feed their families, they’ll take any wage. There are more than seventy thousand homeless people between here and Bakersfield. Children are dying in the squatters’ camps at a rate of two a day, from malnutrition or disease. It’s not right. Not in America. I don’t care if there is a Depression. Enough is enough. It’s up to us to help them. We have to get them to join the Workers Alliance and stand up for their rights.”

“Now is the time, comrades. The government won’t help these people. It is up to us. We have to convince the workers to stand up. Rise up. Use any means at our disposal to stop big business from crushing the workers and taking advantage of them. We must stand together and fight this capitalist injustice. We will fight for the migrant workers here and in the Central Valley, help them organize into unions and battle for better wages. The time … is now!”

“You are of me, Loreda, in a way that can never be broken. Not by words or anger or actions or time. I love you. I will always love you.” She tightened her hold on Loreda’s shoulders. “You taught me love. You, first in the whole world, and my love for you will outlive me. If you had not come back…”

“Believe me, Loreda, whatever the question is, communism is not the answer. We’re Americans. And we can’t get on the wrong side of the growers. We’re close enough to starvation as it is. So, no.” “But it’s the right thing.” “Look at this tent, Loreda. Do you think we have the luxury of fighting our employers? Do you think we have the luxury of waging a philosophical war? No. Just no. And I don’t want to hear about it again. Now, come, let’s get a little sleep. I’m exhausted.”

His leaving was still the worst thing that had happened to their family. The drought and the Depression would end. Daddy leaving them in the middle of it would hurt forever.

Loreda wanted to be like Jack, not like her faithless father. She wanted to stand for something and tell the world she was better than this, that America should be better than letting her live this way.

“People get scared when they lose their jobs and they tend to blame outsiders. The first step is to call them criminals. The rest is easy. You know about that,” she said, eyeing Loreda.

“How is it illegal to ask for better wages?” Natalia lit up another cigarette. “It isn’t, technically. But this is a capitalist country, run by big-money interests. After the state’s anti-immigration campaign, when they rounded up all the illegals and deported them back to Mexico, the growers would have had a real problem, but then…” “We started coming.” Natalia nodded. “They sent flyers across America, telling workers to come. And they came, too many of them. Now there are ten workers for every job. We’re having trouble getting your people to organize. They’re—” “Independent.” “I was going to say stubborn.” “Yeah. Well, a lot of us are farmers, and you have to be stubborn to survive sometimes.” “Are you stubborn?” “Yeah,” Loreda said slowly. “I reckon so. But more than anything, I’m mad.”

After all they’d suffered—the hardship, the loss, the disappointment—there they were, smiling and handing out food. Helping people. It gave her hope for the future.

“Why do you take the risk? Of communism, I mean. You must know it won’t work in America. And I see what it costs you.” “For my mother,” he said. “She came here at sixteen because she was starving and had been disowned by her family because of me. I still don’t know who my father is. She worked like a dog to support us, doing whatever she had to do, but each night, at bedtime, she kissed me good night and told me I could be anything in America. It was the dream that had brought her here and she passed it on to me. But, it was a lie. For people like us, anyway. Folks who are from the wrong place, or have the wrong color skin, or speak the wrong language, or pray to the wrong God. She died in a factory fire. All of the doors were locked to keep the workers from taking cigarette breaks. This country used her up and spit her out and all she ever wanted was for me to have opportunities. A better life than she’d had.”