They looked at her, all of them, and Pa asked, “When?”
“Before they stopped us las’ night.”
“So that’s why you didn’ want ’em to look.”
“I was afraid we wouldn’ get acrost,” she said. “I tol’ Granma we couldn’ he’p her. The fambly had ta get acrost. I tol’ her, tol’ her when she was a-dyin’. We couldn’ stop in the desert. There was the young ones—an’ Rosasharn’s baby. I tol’ her.” She put up her hands and covered her face for a moment. “She can get buried in a nice green place,” Ma said softly. “Trees aroun’ an’ a nice place. She got to lay her head down in California.”
The family looked at Ma with a little terror at her strength. Tom said, “Jesus Christ! You layin’ there with her all night long!”
“The fambly hadda get acrost,” Ma said miserably.
Tom moved close to put his hand on her shoulder.
“Don’ touch me,” she said. “I’ll hol’ up if you don’ touch me. That’d get me.”
Pa said, “We got to go on now. We got to go on down.”
Ma looked up at him. “Can—can I set up front? I don’ wanna go back there no more—I’m tar’d. I’m awful tar’d.”