They were very quiet. Rose of Sharon looked at the fire and her eyes glistened in the firelight. The potatoes hissed sharply in the frying pan. The girl sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
Pa said, “Connie wasn’ no good. I seen that a long time. Didn’ have no guts, jus’ too big for his overalls.”
Rose of Sharon got up and went into the tent. She lay down on the mattress and rolled over on her stomach and buried her head in her crossed arms.
“Wouldn’ do no good to catch ’im, I guess,” Al said. Pa replied, “No. If he ain’t no good, we don’ want him.” Ma looked into the tent, where Rose of Sharon lay on her mattress.
Ma said, “Sh. Don’ say that.”
“Well, he ain’t no good,” Pa insisted. “All the time a-sayin’ what he’s a-gonna do. Never doin’ nothin’. I didn’ want ta say nothin’ while he’s here. But now he’s run out—”
“Sh!” Ma said softly.
“Why, for Christ’s sake? Why do I got to shh? He run out, didn’ he?” Ma turned over the potatoes with her spoon, and the grease boiled and spat. She fed twigs to the fire, and the flames laced up and lighted the tent. Ma said, “Rosasharn gonna have a little fella an’ that baby is half Connie. It ain’t good for a baby to grow up with folks a-sayin’ his pa ain’t no good.”
“Better’n lyin’ about it,” said Pa.
“No, it ain’t,” Ma interrupted. “Make out like he’s dead. You wouldn’ say no bad things about Connie if he’s dead.”