“Yeah? How’ll we cook—how’ll we eat?”
“Well, it’ll keep our stuff dry.”
The light grew stronger outside, a gray metallic light. The second little stick floated away from the cat-walk. Pa placed another one higher up. “Sure climbin’,” he said. “I guess we better do that.”
Ma turned restlessly in her sleep. Her eyes started wide open. She cried sharply in warning, “Tom! Oh, Tom! Tom!”
Mrs. Wainwright spoke soothingly. The eyes flicked closed again and Ma squirmed under her dream. Mrs. Wainwright got up and walked to the doorway. “Hey!” she said softly. “We ain’t gonna git out soon.” She pointed to the corner of the car where the apple box was. “That ain’t doin’ no good. Jus’ cause trouble and sorra. Couldn’ you fellas kinda—take it out an’ bury it?”
The men were silent. Pa said at last, “Guess you’re right. Jus’ cause sorra. ’Gainst the law to bury it.”
“They’s lots a things ’gainst the law that we can’t he’p doin’.”
“Yeah.”
Al said, “We oughta git them truck sides tore off ’fore the water comes up much more.”
Pa turned to Uncle John. “Will you take an’ bury it while Al an’ me git that lumber in?”