It was so big, the man-work! Behind the big fight lay its purpose. Not only to save the homes of that far-reaching valley, but to make room for the homes of the future. Always a thrill in that, the work for those yet unborn!
Still sleeping that land was, land that would feed a nation. Stretching north to the strange new sea, that made this one with the age of fable, reaching over into Mexico, its lateral boundaries the distant unreal mountains, here was a magic soil that piratical rains had not filched of its wonders. Here tired out men, from their tired out farms, would find homes, here the sick would find healing in its breath, safety and succor in its spaces—that dredge-arm swinging across the channel would make all that come true!
It was a week later before she remembered to speak of the Mexican woman “who could wash.” The two women were on their way to their tents from the mess-breakfast. Señora Maldonado was leaving MacLean’s tent with a large bundle of used clothes held under her arm.
“She washes for the men. I’m going to ask her to do my khakis for me. It’s too much to keep asking those busy men to see that my bundle of wash is sent out and brought back.”
“More impossible,” she added, following Gerty into her tent, “is it to do it myself. It’s too hot. And khakis are stiff rubbing. Perhaps this woman would be willing to do all our laundry?”
Gerty had been wondering what she would say to Innes. The speech which needed only an introduction was stirred into the open.
“You must not,” her voice trembled with anger, “you must not ask that woman.”
Innes was staring out of the tent door, watching the arm of the dredge as it dipped and rose from the river. She did not see the flag of rage flung in her sister’s cheeks.
“I don’t care at all how she mangles them, so they are clean, and I do not have to make them so!” She interpreted the counsel from experience. She knew the fastidiousness of Mrs. Hardin. She had no ruffles to care about. “It’s a blessed miracle to find some one who will wash for you.”
“I don’t mean that.” Each word was curt and icy. “She is not to be spoken to.”