“No, ma’am,” Willie said. “They ain’t gonna be no trouble.”
“None at all,” said Tom. “Well, I’ll come ’long. See you at the dance, Ma.” The two young men walked quickly away toward the main gate. Ma piled the washed dishes on a box. “Come on out,” she called, and when there was no answer, “Rosasharn, you come out.” The girl stepped from the tent, and she went on with the dish-wiping. “Tom was on’y jollyin’ ya.”
“I know. I didn’t mind; on’y I hate to have folks look at me.”
“Ain’t no way to he’p that. Folks gonna look. But it makes folks happy to see a girl in a fambly way—makes folks sort of giggly an’ happy. Ain’t you a-goin’ to the dance?”
“I was—but I don’ know. I wisht Connie was here.” Her voice rose. “Ma, I wisht he was here. I can’t hardly stan’ it.” Ma looked closely at her. “I know,” she said. “But, Rosasharn don’ shame your folks.”
“I don’ aim to, Ma.”
“Well, don’ you shame us. We got too much on us now, without no shame.” The girl’s lip quivered. “I—I ain’ goin’ to the dance. I couldn’Mahe’p me!” She sat down and buried her head in her hands.
Ma wiped her hands on the dish towel and she squatted down in front of her daughter, and she put her two hands on Rose of Sharon’s hair. “You’re a good girl,” she said. “You always was a good girl. I’ll take care a you. Don’t you fret.” She put an interest in her tone. “Know what you an’ me’s gonna do? We’re a-goin’ to that dance, an’ we’re a-gonna set there an watch. If anybody says to come dancewhy, I’ll say you ain’t strong enough. I’ll say you’re poorly. An’ you can hear the music an’ all like that.”
Rose of Sharon raised her head. “You won’t let me dance?”
“No, I won’t.”