The Grapes of Wrath(226)

“Wisht I had a box a Cracker Jack. There ain’t nothin’ to do. Ain’t no fun.”

“They’ll be fun,” Ma said. “You jus’ wait. Be fun purty soon. Git a house an’ a place, purty soon.”

“Wisht we had a dog,” Ruthie said.

“We’ll have a dog; have a cat, too.”

“Yella cat?”

“Don’t bother me,” Ma begged. “Don’t go plaguin’ me now, Ruthie. Rosasharn’s sick. Jus’ you be a good girl a little while. They’ll be fun.” Ruthie wandered, complaining, away.

From the mattress where Rose of Sharon lay covered up there came a quick sharp cry, cut off in the middle. Ma whirled and went to her. Rose of Sharon was holding her breath and her eyes were filled with terror.

“What is it?” Ma cried. The girl expelled her breath and caught it again. Suddenly Ma put her hand under the covers. Then she stood up. “Mis’ Wainwright,” she called. “Oh, Mis’ Wainwright!”

The fat little woman came down the car. “Want me?”

“Look!” Ma pointed at Rose of Sharon’s face. Her teeth were clamped on her lower lip and her forehead was wet with perspiration, and the shining terror was in her eyes.

“I think it’s come,” Ma said. “It’s early.”

The girl heaved a great sigh and relaxed. She released her lip and closed her eyes. Mrs. Wainwright bent over her.

“Did it kinda grab you all over—quick? Open up an’ answer me.” Rose of Sharon nodded weakly. Mrs. Wainwright turned to Ma. “Yep,” she said. “It’s come. Early, ya say?”

“Maybe the fever brang it.”

“Well, she oughta be up on her feet. Oughta be walkin’ aroun’.”

“She can’t,” Ma said. “She ain’t got the strength.”

“Well, she oughta.” Mrs. Wainwright grew quiet and stern with efficiency. “I he’ped with lots,” she said. “Come on, le’s close that door, nearly. Keep out the draf’” The two women pushed on the heavy sliding door, boosted it along until only a foot was open. “I’ll git our lamp, too,” Mrs. Wainwright said. Her face was purple with excitement. “Aggie,” she called. “You take care of these here little fellas.”

Ma nodded, “Tha’s right. Ruthie! You an’ Winfiel’ go down with Aggie. Go on now.”

“Why?” they demanded.

“’Cause you got to. Rosasharn gonna have her baby.”

“I wanta watch, Ma. Please let me.”

“Ruthie! You git now. You git quick.” There was no argument against such a tone. Ruthie and Winfield went reluctantly down the car. Ma lighted the lantern. Mrs. Wainwright brought her Rochester lamp down and set it on the floor, and its big circular flame lighted the boxcar brightly.

Ruthie and Winfield stood behind the brush pile and peered over. “Gonna have a baby, an’ we’re a-gonna see,” Ruthie said softly. “Don’t you make no noise now. Ma won’t let us watch. If she looks this-a-way, you scrunch down behin’ the brush. Then we’ll see.”

“There ain’t many kids seen it,” Winfield said.

“There ain’t no kids seen it,” Ruthie insisted proudly. “On’y us.”

Down by the mattress, in the bright light of the lamp, Ma and Mrs. Wainwright held conference. Their voices were raised a little over the hollow beating of the rain. Mrs. Wainwright took a paring knife from her apron pocket and slipped it under the mattress. “Maybe it don’t do no good,” she said apologetically. “Our folks always done it. Don’t do no harm, anyways.”

Ma nodded. “We used a plow point. I guess anything sharp’ll work, long as it can cut birth pains. I hope it ain’t gonna be a long one.”

“You feelin’ awright now?”

Rose of Sharon nodded nervously. “Is it a-comin’?”

“Sure,” Ma said. “Gonna have a nice baby. You jus’ got to help us. Feel like you could get up an’ walk?”

“I can try.”

“That’s a good girl,” Mrs. Wainwright said. “That is a good girl. We’ll he’p you, honey. We’ll walk with ya.” They helped her to her feet and pinned a blanket over her shoulders. Then Ma held her arm from one side, and Mrs. Wainwright from the other. They walked her to the brush pile and turned slowly and walked her back, over and over; and the rain drummed deeply on the roof.

Ruthie and Winfield watched anxiously. “When’s she goin’ to have it?” he demanded.

“Sh! Don’t draw ’em. We won’t be let to look.”