The guests were moving in through the gateway, families from the farms, migrants from the ditch camps. Children straining to be free and quiet parents holding them back.
Jule said, “These here dances done funny things. Our people got nothing, but jes’ because they can ast their frien’s to come here to the dance, sets ’em up an’ makes ’em proud. An’ the folks respects ’em ’count of these here dances. Fella got a little place where I was a-workin’. He come to a dance here. I ast him myself, an’ he come. Says we got the only decent dance in the county, where a man can take his girls an’ his wife. Hey! Look.”
Three young men were coming through the gate—young working men in jeans. They walked close together. The guard at the gate questioned them, and they answered and passed through.
“Look at ’em careful,” Jule said. He moved to the guard. “Who ast them three?” he asked.
“Fella named Jackson, Unit Four.”
Jule came back to Tom. “I think them’s our fellas.”
“How ya know?”
“I dunno how. Jes’ got a feelin’. They’re kinda scared. Foller ’em an’ tell Willie to look ’em over, an’ tell Willie to check with Jackson, Unit Four. Get him to see if they’re all right. I’ll stay here.”
Tom strolled after the three young men. They moved toward the dance floor and took their positions quietly on the edge of the crowd. Tom saw Willie near the band and signaled him.
“What cha want?” Willie asked.