“I can’t believe you’re a grandfather!” Sarah Wakefield-Mayne said to her son, Ted.
“I can’t believe you’re a great-grandmother,” Ted countered with a smile.
“What I can’t believe is that everybody came all this distance for the holidays,” said Hannah, bouncing her infant son on her knee.
Ted swooped the baby from Hannah’s arms and held him high in the air. Little Ned laughed with delight. “Well, we Edward Wakefields have to stick together!”
Hannah glanced at her husband, a soft smile touching her lips. Robert looked so happy. She knew nothing gave him more pleasure than to see how much his father and his son enjoyed each other. This is what life is all about, Hannah thought. The continuity of generations. Parents loving and caring for children so they can grow up and have children of their own.
As if she’d read her daughter’s mind, Lise Weiss sat down on the couch next to Hannah to give her a hug. “We have a wonderful family, don’t we?”
“I feel so lucky,” Hannah told her mother. “It’s great to have everybody finally together in one place at one time.”
“Right. And it’s about time, too. You and Robert cheated us out of having a family reunion at your wedding,” her mother teased.
Hannah smiled. “We just couldn’t wait. Did you really mind that we didn’t have a traditional wedding?”
“Of course not. What mattered most to your father and me was that you came home safely. And that you decided to live in California, near us.”
“I love living close enough to visit a lot. I only wish Robert’s relatives weren’t so far away.” Ted was still living in New York, and Robert’s grandmother Sarah and her husband, Joe, lived in Chicago.
Hannah looked across the living room to where her older brother, Sam, and his wife, Ruth, were playing with their baby, Rachel, who was the same age as Ned. “I think Ned and Rachel will have a lot of fun growing up together.”
“We’re lucky to have them,” her mother said, a sad note in her voice.
Hannah thought she knew why. “Are you thinking about Uncle Karl and Aunt Berthe, Mom?” she asked softly.
Hannah’s Austrian-born mother had come to America as a young woman. But her older brother Karl, a university professor, had raised his family in their homeland. During World War II, his entire family had been sent to Nazi concentration camps. Miraculously, Karl and his wife had survived, but their children, Hannah’s cousins, had perished at Auschwitz.
Taking a handkerchief from her pocket, Hannah’s mother wiped her eyes. “I hate to think of them growing old alone, with no children or grandchildren.”
Hannah bent to kiss her mother’s cheek. “Maybe that’s why these babies seem especially precious to us. Someday I hope Karl and Berthe can come to America for a visit. I would love Ned to know his great-aunt and great-uncle.”
At that moment, Hannah’s father, Larry, emerged from the kitchen carrying a chocolate-frosted cake. “Come to the table, everybody!”
At the table, the two babies grabbed for the cake with eager fists. Robert laughed as his young son smeared frosting all over his face. “What a mess!”
Hannah looked up and met her husband’s eye. For a moment, they gazed at each other, communicating silently. Hannah had a feeling Robert was thinking the same thing she was—how lucky they were to have such a wonderful life.
After returning to the States as newlyweds, Hannah had gone to school to become a registered nurse. Robert had gotten a job with the telephone company and was taking night classes at the nearby College of Southern California. They had a lovely home in Sweet Valley, an idyllic town right on the Pacific Ocean. Best of all, they were raising a happy, healthy son.
Robert lifted his glass. “I’d like to make a toast.”
The other adults lifted their glasses as well. Little Ned and Rachel, in imitation of their elders, lifted small chocolatey fists.
“To peace and prosperity throughout the world,” Robert began.
“Cheers!” the others cried.
“And to the best family a man could have.” Just then, Ned took a tiny handful of chocolate cake and hurled it at his cousin. With a gleeful squeal, Rachel retaliated in kind.
Hannah grinned at Sam and Ruth. “I have a feeling these two are going to keep us on our toes for years to come!”
Thirty
Early 1960s. Sweet Valley, California.
“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, Hank.” Sixteen-year-old Rachel Weiss put her hands on her hips and gave Hank Patman her most disgusted look. “I do not want to go out with you!”
Hank had cornered her after school in the parking lot of Sweet Valley High. She didn’t like to be so blunt, but he’d been pestering her for weeks. She hoped he’d finally get the message and leave her alone.
Instead, Hank stepped closer. Rachel backed up and found herself pressed against the trunk of one of the leafy shade trees bordering the lot. “I like your style,” Hank said with a nauseatingly smug smile. “I like a girl who speaks for herself.”
“Well, I like a guy who actually listens when a girl speaks,” Rachel retorted. “Don’t you ever take no for an answer, Hank?”
“Sometimes,” he said. “But I usually get what I want eventually.”
Rachel wasn’t sure why Hank was pursuing her with so much determination. They had absolutely nothing in common—they hadn’t had a single pleasant conversation in all the years they’d been going to school together! And she certainly wasn’t rich, like the debutante types Hank hung around with at the country club.
“I’ve got to go,” Rachel said, trying to sidestep Hank. “I’m meeting Ned and Seth—”
“I can’t believe you waste your time hanging out with those deadbeats,” Hank drawled.
“Deadbeats!” Rachel’s eyes flashed with in dignation. “Ned happens to be my cousin, and Seth is my friend. And they’re both a million times nicer than you’ll ever be!”
“Well, nice just doesn’t make it in this world. You deserve better than that.” Hank cast a disdainful eye toward Seth’s battered jalopy, which was parked nearby. “I could really take you places, Rachel. I know how to show a girl a good time.”
“Well, you’ve shown this girl that it’s a good time to say goodbye!”
Rachel tried to push past Hank. He grabbed her arm. “Say yes instead, Rachel. I like that word a lot better.”
Pulling her toward him, Hank tried to kiss her. “No!” Rachel exclaimed.
At that moment, someone gave Hank a hard shove. “Lay off her, Patman,” Ned Wakefield warned.
Rachel breathed a sigh of relief. Hank was an athletic guy himself, but he knew better than to mess with tall, broad-shouldered Ned.
Recovering his balance, Hank glared at Ned, his eyes cool with anger. “Mind your own business, Wakefield. We were just talking. I’ll see you around, Rachel,” he said to her.
“Unfortunately,” she replied.
Hank sauntered off. Ned turned to his cousin. “Rachel, are you OK?” he asked, his brown eyes warm with concern.
She gave herself a shake. “I’m fine. Just fuming! Hank Patman is so arrogant, it’s beyond belief!”
“Forget about that rat,” advised Seth, walking up to them. He opened the door of his jalopy so she could climb in. “Think good vibes. Think about the perfect wave. It’s out there somewhere, and I’m going to catch it!”
“Nope, it’s gonna be mine,” Ned vowed as he jumped in after Rachel, squeezing her between him and Seth.
As Seth revved the engine Rachel relaxed. The old jalopy, surfboards stashed in the back, sputtered to life. “Can’t you share the perfect wave?” she wondered aloud.
Ned laughed. “Good old peacekeeping Rachel!”
“That’s not such a bad role to play, is it?”
“As long as you don’t let people push you around,” Ned said.
“I just try to be fair and give everybody a chance, everybody but Hank Patman, that is. He just had his last chance with me!”
“Too bad you always have to see him and his jerky friends at student council meetings,” remarked Seth as he turned onto the road heading for the beach.
Rachel grimaced. “Tell me about it,” Ned said with feeling. The cousins had a lot in common. Having grown up together, they were more like brother and sister. And one thing they shared was a hearty dislike for their snobby classmate Hank. But Seth was right—they had to deal with Hank Patman whether they liked it or not. All three served on the Sweet Valley High student council, Rachel as secretary, Ned as vice president, and Hank as treasurer.
“Hank and his friends are the worst,” Rachel said. “At the meeting during lunch today, we argued the whole time about what kind of music to play at the next dance.”
“All the kids at school want to hear the cool stuff,” Ned told Seth, “the Beach Boys and the Beatles. But Hank and his drippy, out-of-date, conservative—”
“Uncool, unhip,” Seth contributed.
“—uptight, totally square friends want to play this hideous old music. You know, the kind of stuff our parents listen to. Count Basie and his orchestra, that sort of thing. And there might actually be enough of them to outvote us.”
“Man, I’m boycotting the dance if they play Perry Como or something like that!” Seth declared.
“I hope we’ll be able to strike a compromise,” said Ned. “Rachel the peacekeeper’s working on it.”
Rachel wrinkled her nose. “Lucky me!”
There were lots of perfect waves that afternoon, and Ned was pretty sure he and Seth caught them all. After a few hours of surfing, they rejoined Rachel on the beach.
Halfway home, Seth pulled the jalopy over to the side of the road. “I’m starving. Let’s pick up something to eat at this farm stand.”
The three hopped out. While Seth and Rachel picked through bins piled high with oranges and grapefruits, Ned rested his suntanned arms on top of a fence. He watched as a couple of migrant workers unloaded bushels of fruit from the back of a pickup truck. Those guys don’t look any older than me, he thought.
The workers hauled the baskets toward the stand. “Want some help?” Ned offered to one of them.
“No, I can manage,” the boy answered.
When the truck was empty, the workers sat down in its shade to rest for a few minutes. The boy Ned had spoken to perched on the fence not far away. Ned tried again, but this time he addressed the boy in Spanish, having guessed that the boy was Mexican. “My name is Ned Wakefield. I’m sixteen. How old are you?”
“Sixteen, too.” The boy smiled shyly. “I’m Salvador.”
“Where do you live, Salvador?”
Salvador pointed to some dilapidated shacks on the far side of a melon field. “That’s my family’s home for now. Until they run out of work for us here.”
Ned was pretty sure he’d never seen Salvador at Sweet Valley High. “Do you go to school around here?”
Salvador seemed surprised by the question. “I don’t go to school.”
“You don’t go—” At that moment, Ned heard a loud whistle from Seth, who was trying to get his attention. “Well, see you,” Ned said.
Salvador lifted his hand. “See you.”
Back at the jalopy, Rachel was already peeling an orange. She doled out sections. Ned took a piece. “Hey, do you guys know anything about why migrant worker kids don’t go to school? That guy back there was our age. He shouldn’t be working all day—he should be getting an education.”
“I bet he’s supposed to be in school, but his family needs the money so they have him work instead,” Seth guessed.
Ned thought about this as Rachel played with the radio dial. She found a Beach Boys song and she and Seth started singing along. Ned joined in, but only halfheartedly. Somehow, his joy in the perfect afternoon had been tainted. It didn’t seem fair that kids like Seth and Rachel and him should be having so much fun, while other kids like Salvador had to work all day in the hot sun.
Hannah Wakefield placed the steaming casserole on the kitchen table. “How was the surfing today?” she asked her son.
Ned shrugged. “It gets boring after a while.”
His father pretended to be shocked. “Don’t tell me you’re abandoning your sacred quest for the perfect wave!”
“It’s just starting to seem like a silly way to spend my time, that’s all,” said Ned.
The three sat down at the table. Hannah studied her son’s face as she served the casserole. “Did something happen at school today, honey?”
“Actually, something did happen, but not at school.” Ned told his parents about his encounter with Salvador. “Do the migrant workers really earn so little money that they can’t afford to let their kids take time out to go to school?”
Robert considered the question. “To tell you the truth, Ned, I don’t think it’s by chance that someone like Salvador isn’t in school. I believe the children of migrant workers are forbidden to attend the Sweet Valley public schools.”
Ned was amazed. “But why? They live here, don’t they?”
“Yes and no,” said Robert. “From what I understand, even though the migrant workers spend a large part of the year in the area, they aren’t considered legal residents. They’re allowed into the country to work, but that’s all.”
“That’s not fair!” Ned exclaimed. “They might live in a shack instead of a mansion like the Patmans, but they still live here. They should have the same rights as everybody else.”
“I agree,” his mother said.
“Can’t anything be done about this, Dad?” Ned asked.
“Of course, if people care enough to take action.”
“I think the case should be presented to the town council and the Board of Education,” Ned declared. “I know!” His eyes burned with sudden inspiration. “The student council can put together a petition. We’ll tell the mayor and everybody else that we want the migrant kids to be in our classes and clubs and on our sports teams. We want them to be treated just like us. Our voices should carry some weight, shouldn’t they?”
“They should, son,” Robert replied. “I hope they do.”
* * *
“If the whole student council doesn’t endorse the petition, it won’t carry nearly as much weight.” Ned pounded his fist on the conference table for emphasis.
Hank Patman leaned back in his chair, a smug smile on his face. “Maybe not. But the fact is, I don’t endorse it, and neither does Kent, Stan, or Shirley.”
“Can’t they speak for themselves?” Rachel demanded.
“Speak for yourselves,” Hank instructed his cronies.
“I agree with Hank,” announced Stan. He was echoed meekly by Shirley and Kent.
Rachel stifled a groan. It was absolutely sickening the way those three played up to Hank. Thanks to their spinelessness, the student council was in a deadlock over Ned’s proposal.
“Well, there are six of us and only four of you,” Ned pointed out. “Majority rules, right?”
“Not always, fortunately,” said Hank. “A student council endorsement has to be unanimous.”
Ned looked for help to Mary Baker, the student council president and one of his allies on the issue. Mary shrugged helplessly. “I’m afraid Hank’s right, Ned. We’ll just have to send the petition out over our individual names.”
Hank pushed his chair back, preparing to leave the after-school meeting. Stan, Kent, and Shirley followed suit. “Good luck with your petition,” he said snidely.
Rachel couldn’t restrain herself any longer. “What is wrong with you anyway, Hank?” she cried. “Life has given you so much. How can you begrudge some poor innocent children something so basic as a decent education?”
“Because those poor innocent children you’re suddenly so fond of don’t contribute anything to this town. Why should Sweet Valley spend money on them? They don’t pay taxes.”
“Neither do you!” Rachel countered.
“I don’t, but my father pays plenty,” said Hank. “Look, Rachel.” Hank leaned close to her, and Rachel took a giant step backward. Hank didn’t even seem to notice her repulsion. “If you want my advice,” he said, “don’t bother signing your nutty cousin’s stupid petition. It’s not going to get anywhere.”
“I think you’re wrong,” Rachel said hotly.
“We’ll see.” Hank sauntered from the room.
“You Patmans don’t own this town, you know!” Ned shouted after him.
Hank looked back, flashing another one of his insufferable smiles.
“I can’t believe it,” Ned said to Rachel a week later. “I can’t believe that rat Hank was right.”
They were sitting on stools at the ice-cream parlor. Hoping to cheer him up, Rachel had offered to treat her cousin to a giant root-beer float. But Ned just poked at the ice cream with his spoon, watching it melt into the soda. He didn’t have any appetite.
“I just don’t get it,” Ned went on. “You’d think the more well-off people are, the more generous they’d be. How can someone like Alexander Patman exert so much influence on the town council?” It seemed as if few town policies were made without the approval of Hank’s father, head of one of Sweet Valley’s founding families and president of both the town council and the Board of Education.
“Like father, like son,” Rachel said. “Blech!”
“Things just shouldn’t work that way,” Ned stated. “People like the Patmans shouldn’t determine what’s right and what’s wrong, what gets done and what doesn’t, just because they’re rich. And money shouldn’t be the only consideration when it comes to taking action! I’ll tell you, Rachel, they beat us this time, but I’m not giving up. Alexander Patman didn’t take us seriously, but a few of the other councilmembers did. And if you can reach people, you can teach people. Someday things are going to be different!”
