Forty Days at Kamas Read Online Free PDF Page A

is still America, by God, and we have a right to use the roads like everyone else."
    "Is Kamas a labor camp?"
    Helen turned to Claire with a quizzical look.
    "Since you already seem to know about labor camps, yes, it is. And not one of the better ones. When I was your age, places like Kamas didn't exist in this country and none of us believed they ever would. But things have–"
    "They've sent my father to a labor camp," Claire interrupted. "They told my mom it was in Utah. I came here to find him."
    Helen reached out both hands and held Claire by the shoulders.
    "I don't know your father, Claire, but let me tell you something just between the two of us. People can say what they want, but it's nothing to be ashamed of to have a father who's been arrested. Camps like Kamas are filled with fine and decent men. My husband has been in Kamas for nearly five years and Alec is one of the best. These days it's the people outside the wire you have to watch out for."
    "Do you think maybe my dad came here on the same train as me? Maybe they took him to the same place where your husband is."
    As soon as she heard herself say it, something about the idea of her dad being in the Kamas camp made Claire feel more discouraged than ever. The corners of her mouth turned downward and quivered despite her best efforts to stay composed.
    "It's too late in the evening for thoughts like that, sweetheart. Save your worries for the morning, when you're stronger. Besides, there's something we need to do right now and we ought to have our wits about us to do it."
    She nodded toward the wicker basket.
    "Do you see this leftover bread? Sometimes I drop it where the convoy prisoners can pick it up. The guards don't like it but I do it anyway in the hope that perhaps one day somebody will do the same for my Alec. Here, stuff some of these in your pockets and watch me for the right time to drop them."
    Claire did as she was told and followed Helen along a wooded path that ran parallel to the road. Through the trees and falling snow she could see the light of kerosene lanterns and flashlights and hear deep–chested dogs barking. As they emerged from the woods she saw a parade of men in dirty orange coveralls trudging four abreast along the road. To her right she heard shouts and scuffling among the prisoners and saw a squad of black–uniformed guards run forward alongside the column.
    "Now! Follow me across the road and, when you reach the middle, empty your pockets!"
    Helen waited for a dog handler to pass, made the sign of the cross on her chest, then set off brazenly across the road. The prisoners were stunned to see a civilian, much less a woman, in their midst and cautiously broke ranks to give her space. She pretended to stumble and let a dozen or more hard–crusted rolls tumble onto the snow–covered road. The prisoners closest to her pounced on the bread like starving wolves, then those at the rear of the column rushed forward to claim the leftovers. Claire took this as her cue to empty her pockets.
    The last roll was gone when Claire saw the black German shepherd streaking toward her. Before she could think, Helen had seized her hand and pulled her back along the wooded path as fast as they could run. The two of them didn't stop running until they were completely out of breath. Only then did they pause to wonder why the dog had not pressed its attack.
    It was nearly an hour later when they reached Helen's cabin, a one–story frame cabin nestled among scrub oaks in a shallow ravine facing southeast over the Heber Valley. The road that had once led to the cabin was difficult to trace now, overgrown as it was with saplings and covered with two feet of fluffy snow.
    The moment they entered, Claire’s half–numbed cheeks felt the warmth left by the last smoldering coals in the wood stove. With stiff fingers she removed her snow–encrusted boots. Once Claire’s parka was hung up to dry, Helen promptly led her into a tiny bedroom with twin