The manager squatted down in front of her. “Look!” he said.
“Listen to me. I know them too. They were too hungry and too tired. And they worked too hard. And they rode on a truck over bumps. They were sick. It wasn’t their fault.”
“But she said—”
“Don’t worry. That woman likes to make trouble.”
“But she says you was the devil.”
“I know she does. That’s because I won’t let her make people miserable.” He patted her shoulder. “Don’t you worry. She doesn’t know.” And he walked quickly away.
Rose of Sharon looked after him; his lean shoulders jerked as he walked. She was still watching his slight figure when Ma came back, clean and pink, her hair combed and wet, and gathered in a knot. She wore her figured dress and the old cracked shoes; and the little earrings hung in her ears.
“I done it,” she said. “I stood in there an’ let warm water come a-floodin’ an’ a-flowin’ down over me. An’ they was a lady says you can do it ever’ day if you want. An’—them ladies’ committee come yet?”
“Uh-uh!” said the girl.
“An’ you jes’ set there an’ didn’ redd up the camp none!” Ma gathered up the tin dishes as she spoke. “We got to get in shape,” she said. “Come on, stir! Get that sack and kinda sweep along the groun’.” She picked up the equipment, put the pans in their box and the box in the tent. “Get them beds neat,” she ordered. “I tell ya I ain’t never felt nothin’ so nice as that water.”