“I ain’t had no milk,” Rose of Sharon said sullenly. “I oughta have some.”
“I know, but you’re still on your feet. This here little fella’s down. Is that mush good an’ thick?”
“Yeah. Can’t hardly stir it no more.”
“Awright, le’s eat. Now here’s the sugar. They’s about one spoon each. Have it on ya mush or in ya coffee.” Tom said, “I kinda like salt an’ pepper on mush.”
“Salt her if you like,” Ma said. “The pepper’s out.” The boxes were all gone. The family sat on the mattresses to eat their mush. They served themselves again and again, until the pot was nearly empty. “Save some for Winfiel’,” Ma said.
Winfield sat up and drank his milk, and instantly he was ravenous. He put the mush pot between his legs and ate what was left and scraped at the crust on the sides. Ma poured the rest of the canned milk in a cup and sneaked it to Rose of Sharon to drink secretly in a corner. She poured the hot black coffee into the cups and passed them around.
“Now will you tell what’s goin’ on?” Tom asked. “I wanta hear.” Pa said uneasily, “I wisht Ruthie an’ Winfiel’ didn’ hafta hear. Can’t they go outside?”
Ma said, “No. They got to act growed up, even if they ain’t. They’s no help for it. Ruthie—you an’ Winfiel’ ain’t ever to say what you hear, else you’ll jus’ break us to pieces.”
“We won’t,” Ruthie said. “We’re growed up.”
“Well, jus’ be quiet, then.” The cups of coffee were on the floor. The short thick flame of the lantern, like a stubby butterfly’s wing, cast a yellow gloom on the walls.