“I don’ know. Says he’ll catch fish.”
Ma was silent a long time. “Family’s fallin’ apart,” she said. “I don’ know. Seems like I can’t think no more. I jus’ can’t think. They’s too much.”
Tom said lamely, “He’ll be awright, Ma. He’s a funny kind a fella.”
Ma turned stunned eyes toward the river. “I jus’ can’t seem to think no more.”
Tom looked down the line of tents and he saw Ruthie and Winfield standing in front of a tent in decorous conversation with someone inside. Ruthie was twisting her skirt in her hands, while Winfield dug a hole in the ground with his toe. Tom called, “You, Ruthie!” She looked up and saw him and trotted toward him, with Winfield behind her. When she came up, Tom said, “You go get our folks. They’re sleepin’ down the willows. Get ’em. An’ you Winfiel’. You tell the Wilsons we’re gonna get rollin’ soon as we can.” The children spun around and charged off.
Tom said, “Ma, how’s Granma now?”
“Well, she got a sleep today. Maybe she’s better. She’s still a-sleepin’.”
“Tha’s good. How much pork we got?”
“Not very much. Quarter hog.”
“Well, we got to fill that other kag with water. Got to take water along.” They could hear Ruthie’s shrill cries for the men down in the willows.