Chapter 16: Making the case

For the fourth time that November day, Allie Henderson stood outside a holly wreath-maker's home and said, "This is Mr. Turner of the Labor Department."

She hoped this was the right thing, introducing the investigator to Pop's suspicious suppliers. Pop was home from the hospital, but she knew he couldn't shut down the business on his own. Helping Turner might be the only way to keep Pop alive.

Tammy Lewis glared down from her porch, arms crossed. Her daughter peeked at the visitors from behind her mother's skirt.

"I heard all about him, Allie," she said. "I've got nothing to say."

"I'd just like to ask you a few questions," Turner said.

"What for?" Tammy said, eyeing his notebook. "To get Pop in trouble?"

"No, Tammy," Allie interrupted. "To get him out of trouble. Somebody told the government Pop wasn't doing right by his wreath-makers."

"That's stupid," Tammy said indignantly. "If it wasn't for Pop, I don't know how we'd make it."

"That's all well and good," Turner said. "But I need proof you're getting minimum wage."

Suddenly the door swung open. A wreath sailed through the air, landing at Turner's feet. "There's your proof," Tammy's husband yelled. "She gets next to nothing for making these stupid things." The door slammed shut.

"Maybe this is a bad time," Allie said.

"No!" Tammy said, red-faced, hoisting the child to her hip. "My husband's wrong. Without Pop, my kids might go hungry. And come Christmas," she said carefully, glancing at her daughter. "Santa Claus might never make it to this farm."

"All I want to know is how much he pays you an hour. And please," Turner said wearily, "don't tell me it depends."

"Turner, you just don't get it," Allie insisted. "She's telling you what you've heard all day."

"I know," Turner said. "And what I'm hearing is they don't get minimum wage."

"Honey, Daddy needs a hug," she said, pushing the child gently toward the door. She walked down the porch steps and faced Turner.

"Mister, what you're saying doesn't make any sense," she said. "Sure, I might be able to make a wreath in 20 minutes, but I can't time it. My daughter wants me to fix her dolly, I stop. My neighbor comes by for coffee, I stop. You come, I stop. It can take all day to finish one."

"Exactly," Turner said.

"Who's the government to tell me that I can't work in my own home, on my own time, at my own speed," Tammy shot back. "Pop pays me, but I'm my own boss."

"Not the way the law sees it," he said.

"Then maybe the law's wrong," Allie chimed in.

"Right," Tammy said. "I couldn't do any of this if I punched a clock in town. I'd need a car, and a baby-sitter. Subtract that from minimum wage, and tell me, what's left?"

Turner closed his notebook and turned to Allie. "I've got everything I need," he said.

"This isn't going to hurt Pop, is it?" Tammy said anxiously.

"Don't worry," Allie said. "I'd never let that happen."

IN A NEARBY FOREST, a pickup bumped along an unpaved road cut through thick stands of pine and holly trees. Around a bend, the surface changed suddenly to a ribbon of asphalt winding in a figure-eight pattern. It was the beginning of a neighborhood. Only the houses were missing.

"This is Holly Estates Phase One," developer Hank Pritchard said.

"And Phase Two?" Pop Henderson said. "That's what my land is for, isn't it?"

Pritchard stopped the truck. "This hasn't been made public yet," he said confidentially. "But DuMar Plastics is planning to locate a new factory just outside Wilford. Engineers, chemists — they're going to want nice houses here in the country."

"Do you know how long it takes to grow the holly trees you're cutting down?" Pop asked.

"A long time," Pritchard acknowledged. "That's what the future's for."

Pop glanced at a wooden sign by the roadside — "Holly Estates: Living at Its Finest" — and shook his head. "I'm glad I won't be around to see it."

Pritchard put the truck in gear. "You're doing the right thing," he said. "That grandson of yours, he's going to want to go to college. You can't pay for that with holly wreaths." Pritchard stuck out his hand. "You watch, he'll thank you for this."

"Not anytime soon he won't, so let's keep this between us for now," Pop said. He hesitated and then shook Pritchard's hand.

Next chapter: Making amends