The evening came, and the work went on. And now the men were beyond weariness. Their faces were set and dead. They worked jerkily, like machines. When it was dark the women set lanterns in the car doors, and kept pots of coffee handy. And the women ran one by one to the Joad car and wedged themselves inside.
The pains were coming close now, twenty minutes apart. And Rose of Sharon had lost her restraint. She screamed fiercely under the fierce pains. And the neighbor women looked at her and patted her gently and went back to their own cars.
Ma had a good fire going now, and all her utensils, filled with water, sat on the stove to heat. Every little while Pa looked in the car door. “All right?” he asked.
“Yeah! I think so,” Ma assured him.
As it grew dark, someone brought out a flashlight to work by. Uncle John plunged on, throwing mud on top of the wall.
“You take it easy,” Pa said. “You’ll kill yaself.”
“I can’t he’p it. I can’t stan’ that yellin’. It’s like—it’s like when—”
“I know,” Pa said. “But jus’ take it easy.”
Uncle John blubbered, “I’ll run away. By God, I got to work or I’ll run away.”
Pa turned from him. “How’s she stan’ on the last marker?”