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Katie asked, watching Tess load a jar of pickles into a big basket.
"Because no one would eat my cooking," she answered easily. "Savannah, honey," Tess said over her shoulder. "Go get your daddy out of the barn. Tell him to hitch up the team."
"Why?"
"We're going on a picnic."
Savannah and Katie gasped.
"Daddy won't wanna go on no picnic," Savannah said.
"He won't want to go on any picnic," Tess corrected.
"I know. That's what I said."
Tess turned around, wiping her dusty hands on her apron. "He'll go."
"But, Mama, Daddy won't go?"
The door swung open suddenly. "Where won't I go?"
Savannah jumped guiltily and crammed her hands together. Katie froze in the middle of the room.
"Oh, hi, Jack," Tess said brightly. "You're just in time to hitch up the wagon. We're going on a picnic."
He laughed sharply. "No we're not."
Tess walked over to him, smiling broadly. "I guess you didn't hear me. The work week is over, and this family is going on a picnic."
He crossed his arms. "It'll be a long walk."
"No it won't. We're taking the wagon."
"Oh?" One eyebrow cocked derisively upward. "You know how to hitch it up?"
"No. I don't need to. You will. Or else." She squared off with him, toe to toe.
He laughed again. "Or else what?"
"Ever heard of a strike?"
He stared at her in disbelief. "You'd hit me?"
"Of course not." She tried to remember when strikes had been invented. Apparently sometime after 1873. "A
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strike," she informed him, "is a refusal to work until you get what you want."
"And the relevance of this fascinating bit of trivia is . . ."
"The girls and I won't work this week unless you hitch up the team and take us on a picnic. Today." The girls gasped.
Jack's head jerked up. "Are you two in on this?" There was a long silence.
Tess crossed her fingers. Come on girls, come on ... "Are you?" he yelled.
"We?" Savannah's voice was a squeak. She cleared her throat and tried again. "We are."
