Rose of Sharon spoke huskily. “I was in there when a lady come in an’ done it. Know what you do? You get in a little stall-like, an’ you turn handles, an’ water comes a-floodin’ down on you—hot water or col’ water, jus’ like you want it—an’ I done it!”
“I’m a-goin’ to myself,” Ma cried. “Jus’ soon as I get finish’ here. You show me how.”
“I’m a-gonna do it ever’ day,” the girl said. “An’ that lady—she seen me, an’ she seen about the baby, an’—know what she said? Said they’s a nurse comes ever’ week. An’ I’m to go see that nurse an’ she’ll tell me jus’ what to do so’s the baby’ll be strong. Says all the ladies here do that. An’ I’m a-gonna do it.” The words bubbled out. “An’—know what-? Las’ week they was a baby borned an’ the whole camp give a party, an’ they give clothes, an’ they give stuff for the baby—even give a baby buggy—wicker one. Wasn’t new, but they give it a coat a pink paint, an’ it was jus’ like new. An’ they give the baby a name, an’ had a cake. Oh, Lord!” She subsided, breathing heavily.
Ma said, “Praise God, we come home to our own people. I’m a-gonna have a bath.”
“Oh, it’s nice,” the girl said.
Ma wiped the tin dishes and stacked them. She said, “We’re Joads. We don’t look up to nobody. Grampa’s grampa, he fit in the Revolution. We was farm people till the debt. And then—them people. They done somepin to us. Ever’ time they come seemed like they was a-whippin’ me—all of us. An’ in Needles, that police. He done somepin to me, made me feel mean. Made me feel ashamed. An’ now I ain’t ashamed.
These folks is our folks—is our folks. An’ that manager, he come an’ set an’ drank coffee, an’ he says, ’Mrs. Joad’ this, an’ ’Mrs. Joad’ that—an’ ’How you gettin’ on, Mrs. Joad?’” She stopped and sighed, “Why, I feel like people again.” She stacked the last dish. She went into the tent and dug through the clothes box for her shoes and a clean dress. And she found a little paper package with her earrings in it. As she went past Rose of Sharon, she said, “If them ladies comes, you tell ’em I’ll be right back.” She disappeared around the side of the sanitary unit.
Rose of Sharon sat down heavily on a box and regarded her wedding shoes, black patent leather and tailored black bows. She wiped the toes with her finger and wiped her finger on the inside of her skirt. Leaning down put a pressure on her growing abdomen. She sat up straight and touched herself with exploring fingers, and she smiled a little as she did it.
Along the road a stocky woman walked, carrying an apple box of dirty clothes toward the wash tubs. Her face was brown with sun, and her eyes were black and intense. She wore a great apron, made from a cotton bag, over her gingham dress, and men’s brown oxfords were on her feet. She saw that Rose of Sharon caressed herself, and she saw the little smile on the girl’s face.
“So!” she cried, and she laughed with pleasure. “What you think it’s gonna be?”