Rose of Sharon struggled and pushed herself up. “Ma!”
“You couldn’ he’p it.”
The girl lay back again, and covered her eyes with her arms. Ruthie crept close and looked down in awe. She whispered harshly, “She sick, Ma? She gonna die?”
“’Course not. She’s gonna be awright. Awright.”
Pa came in with his armload of packages. “How is she?”
“Awright,” Ma said. “She’s gonna be awright.”
Ruthie reported to Winfield. “She ain’t gonna die. Ma says so.”
And Winfield, picking his teeth with a splinter in a very adult manner, said, “I knowed it all the time.”
“How’d you know?”
“I won’t tell,” said Winfield, and he spat out a piece of the splinter.