“Why, God Awmighty, we aim to be in California in ten days or less.”
Al broke in, “I dunno, Pa. With that load we’re packin’, we maybe ain’t never gonna get there. Not if they’s mountains to go over.”
They were silent about the fire. Their faces were turned downward and their hair and foreheads showed in the firelight. Above the little dome of the firelight the summer stars shone thinly, and the heat of the day was gradually withdrawing. On her mattress, away from the fire, Granma whimpered softly like a puppy. The heads of all turned in her direction.
Ma said, “Rosasharn, like a good girl go lay down with Granma. She needs somebody now. She’s knowin’, now.”
Rose of Sharon got to her feet and walked to the mattress and lay beside the old woman, and the murmur of their soft voices drifted to the fire. Rose of Sharon and Granma whispered together on the mattress.
Noah said, “Funny thing is—losin’ Grampa ain’t made me feel no different than I done before. I ain’t no sadder than I was.”
“It’s just the same thing,” Casy said. “Grampa an’ the old place, they was jus’ the same thing.”
Al said, “It’s a goddamn shame. He been talkin’ what he’s gonna do, how he gonna squeeze grapes over his head an’ let the juice run in his whiskers, an’ all stuff like that.”
Casy said, “He was foolin’, all the time. I think he knowed it. An’ Grampa didn’ die tonight. He died the minute you took ’im off the place.”
“You sure a that?” Pa cried.