Kate turned from the dishwasher to take the stack of plates from Gwen. "Well, you have to remember they haven't had any contact with what you and I think of as civilized things. All they know is the slum and its values… so nothing else means much to them."

"My folks tried to warn me… I guess that's why I want to do well here."

Suddenly there was music coming from the living room, gay guitar music, Mexican music. Gwen and Kate went running in, drying their hands on towels, to find Angel strumming and picking away on Cole's big golden guitar. He held the instrument as though it were alive and sensuously female.

"Angel… that's wonderful!" Kate cried out appreciatively.

Immediately he stopped and looked up sullenly.

"Don't… please."

He drew himself up and leaned the guitar against the piano in the corner of the room. "It was for myself… not for anglos." Without another word he brushed past them and went outside.

"Oh, dear," Kate sighed in spite of herself.

"That's the kind of defensiveness I can't seem to get used to with the children," Gwen retorted, somewhat angrily. They went back to the dishes.

"Well, we just have to work it out, that's all," Kate answered determinedly. She was going to make it work. She had to. She loved Cole dearly but there came a time when a woman had to have a child too.

There was a shrill screech of tires on the gravel driveway and a squeal of brakes. "I think you've got more company, Kate. Here, let me do those pots."

Kate blew the stubborn strand of hair from her eyes and shook her head. "No. Frank's out there. Probably someone to see him anyway." She scrubbed the pots harder. "How's the coffee doing? They'll be bellowing for a cup soon, even in this heat."

A few minutes later the sound of heavy feet on the steps coming up from the office caused Kate to twist around from the sink, her hands still immersed in the soapy water.