“We can be there when it gets light.”
“Maybe it’s wet.”
“Didn’ rain enough. Come on now, drink your coffee. Al, soon’s you’re through, better get the engine runnin’.” She called, “You near ready, Mis’ Wainwright?”
“Jus’ eatin’. Be ready in a minute.” Outside, the camp had come to life. Fires burned in front of the tents. The stovepipes from the boxcars spurted smoke. Al tipped up his coffee and got a mouthful of grounds. He went down the cat-walk spitting them out. “We’re awready, Mis’ Wainwright,” Ma called. She turned to Rose of
Sharon. She said, “You got to stay.” The girl set her jaw. “I’m a-goin,” she said. “Ma, I got to go.”
“Well, you got no cotton sack. You can’t pull no sack.”
“I’ll pick into your sack.”
“I wisht you wouldn’.”
“I’m a-goin’.” Ma sighed. “I’ll keep my eye on you. Wisht we could have a doctor.” Rose of Sharon moved nervously about the car. She put on a light coat and took it off. “Take a blanket,” Ma said. “Then if you wanta res’, you can keep warm.” They heard the truck motor roar up behind the boxcar. “We gonna be first out,” Ma said exultantly. “Awright, get your sacks. Ruthie, don’ you forget them shirts I fixed for you to pick in.”
Wainwrights and Joads climbed into the truck in the dark. The dawn was coming, but it was slow and pale.