“Yeah! I can do that awright,” said Tom.
Ma said apprehensively, “They ain’t no trouble?”
“No, ma’am,” Willie said. “They ain’t gonna be no trouble.”
“None at all,” said Tom. “Well, I’ll come ’long. See you at the dance, Ma.” The two young men walked quickly away toward the main gate.
Ma piled the washed dishes on a box. “Come on out,” she called, and when there was no answer, “Rosasharn, you come out.”
The girl stepped from the tent, and she went on with the dish-wiping.
“Tom was on’y jollyin’ ya.”
“I know. I didn’t mind; on’y I hate to have folks look at me.”
“Ain’t no way to he’p that. Folks gonna look. But it makes folks happy to see a girl in a fambly way—makes folks sort of giggly an’ happy. Ain’t you a-goin’ to the dance?”
“I was—but I don’ know. I wisht Connie was here.” Her voice rose. “Ma, I wisht he was here. I can’t hardly stan’ it.”
Ma looked closely at her. “I know,” she said. “But, Rosasharn—don’ shame your folks.”
“I don’ aim to, Ma.”
“Well, don’t you shame us. We got too much on us now, without no shame.”
The girl’s lip quivered. “I—I ain’ goin’ to the dance. I couldn’—Ma—he’p me!” She sat down and buried her head in her arms.
Ma wiped her hands on the dish towel and she squatted down in front of her daughter, and she put her two hands on Rose of Sharon’s hair. “You’re a good girl,” she said. “You always was a good girl. I’ll take care a you. Don’t you fret.” She put an interest in her tone. “Know what you an’ me’s gonna do? We’re a-goin’ to that dance, an’ we’re a-gonna set there an’ watch. If anybody says to come dance—why, I’ll say you ain’t strong enough. I’ll say you’re poorly. An’ you can hear the music an’ all like that.”
Rose of Sharon raised her head. “You won’t let me dance?”
“No, I won’t.”
“An’ don’ let nobody touch me.”
“No, I won’t.”
The girl sighed. She said desperately, “I don’ know what I’m a-gonna do, Ma. I jus’ don’ know. I don’ know.”
Ma patted her knee. “Look,” she said. “Look here at me. I’m a-gonna tell ya. In a little while it ain’t gonna be so bad. In a little while. An’ that’s true. Now come on. We’ll go get washed up, an’ we’ll put on our nice dress an’ we’ll set by the dance.” She led Rose of Sharon toward the sanitary unit.
Pa and Uncle John squatted with a group of men by the porch of the office. “We nearly got work today,” Pa said. “We was jus’ a few minutes late. They awready got two fellas. An’, well, sir, it was a funny thing. They’s a straw boss there, an’ he says, ‘We jus’ got some two-bit men. ’Course we could use twenty-cent men. We can use a lot a twenty-cent men. You go to your camp an’ say we’ll put a lot a fellas on for twenty cents.”’
The squatting men moved nervously. A broad-shouldered man, his face completely in the shadow of a black hat, spatted his knee with his palm. “I know it, goddamn it!” he cried. “An’ they’ll git men. They’ll git hungry men. You can’t feed your fam’ly on twenty cents an hour, but you’ll take anything. They got you goin’ an’ comin’. They jes’ auction a job off. Jesus Christ, pretty soon they’re gonna make us pay to work.”
“We would of took her,” Pa said. “We ain’t had no job. We sure would a took her, but they was them guys in there, an’ the way they looked, we was scairt to take her.”
Black Hat said, “Get crazy thinkin’! I been workin’ for a fella, an’ he can’t pick his crop. Cost more jes’ to pick her than he can git for her, an’ he don’ know what to do.”
“Seems to me —” Pa stopped. The circle was silent for him. “Well—I jus’ thought, if a fella had a acre. Well, my woman she could raise a little truck an’ a couple pigs an’ some chickens. An’ us men could get out an’ find work, an’ then go back. Kids could maybe go to school. Never seen sech schools as out here.”
“Our kids ain’t happy in them schools,” Black Hat said.
“Why not? They’re pretty nice, them schools.”