Rosasharn’s sick. Jus’ you be a good girl a little while. They’ll be fun.” Ruthie wandered, complaining, away.
From the mattress where Rose of Sharon lay covered up there came a quick sharp cry, cut off in the middle. Ma whirled and went to her. Rose of Sharon was holding her breath and her eyes were filled with terror.
“What is it?” Ma cried. The girl expelled her breath and caught it again. Suddenly Ma put her hand under the covers. Then she stood up.
“Mis’ Wainwright,” she called. “Oh, Mis’ Wainwright!”
The fat little woman came down the car. “Want me?”
“Look!” Ma pointed at Rose of Sharon’s face. Her teeth were clamped on her lower lip and her forehead was wet with perspiration, and the shining terror was in her eyes.
“I think it’s come,” Ma said. “It’s early.”
The girl heaved a great sigh and relaxed. She released her lip and closed her eyes. Mrs. Wainwright bent over her.
“Did it kinda grab you all over—quick? Open up an’ answer me.” Rose of Sharon nodded weakly. Mrs. Wainwright turned to Ma. “Yep,” she said. “It’s come. Early, ya say?”
“Maybe the fever brang it.”