“He must a foun’ a girl.”
“Go on to sleep,” she said softly. “Over under the window.”
He found his place and took off his clothes to the skin. He lay shivering under his blanket. And his torn face awakened from its numbness, and his whole head throbbed.
It was an hour more before Al came in. He moved cautiously near and stepped on Tom’s wet clothes.
“Sh!” said Tom.
Al whispered, “You awake? How’d you get wet?”
“Sh,” said Tom. “Tell you in the mornin’.”
Pa turned on his back, and his snoring filled the room with gasps and snorts.
“You’re col’,” Al said.
“Sh. Go to sleep.” The little square of the window showed gray against the black of the room.
Tom did not sleep. The nerves of his wounded face came back to life and throbbed, and his cheek bone ached, and his broken nose bulged and pulsed with pain that seemed to toss him about, to shake him. He watched the little square window, saw the stars slide down over it and drop from sight. At intervals he heard the footsteps of the watchmen.
At last the roosters crowed, far away, and gradually the window lightened. Tom touched his swollen face with his fingertips, and at his movement Al groaned and murmured in his sleep.
The dawn came finally. In the houses, packed together, there was a sound of movement, a crash of breaking sticks, a little clatter of pans. In the graying gloom Ma sat up suddenly. Tom could see her face, swollen with sleep. She looked at the window, for a long moment. And then she threw the blanket off and found her dress. Still sitting down, she put it over her head and held her arms up and let the dress slide down to her waist. She stood up and pulled the dress down around her ankles. Then in bare feet, she stepped carefully to the window and looked out, and while she stared at the growing light, her quick fingers unbraided her hair and smoothed the strands and braided them up again. Then she clasped her hands in front of her and stood motionless for a moment. Her face was lighted sharply by the window. She turned, stepped carefully among the mattresses, and found the lantern. The shade screeched up, and she lighted the wick.
Pa rolled over and blinked at her. She said, “Pa, you got more money?”
“Huh? Yeah. Paper wrote for sixty cents.”
“Well, git up an’ go buy some flour an’ lard. Quick, now.”
Pa yawned. “Maybe the store ain’t open.”
“Make ’em open it. Got to get somepin in you fellas. You got to get out to work.”
Pa struggled into his overalls and put on his rusty coat. He went sluggishly out the door, yawning and stretching.
The children awakened and watched from under their blanket, like mice. Pale light filled the room now, but colorless light, before the sun. Ma glanced at the mattresses. Uncle John was awake. Al slept heavily. Her eyes moved to Tom. For a moment she peered at him, and then she moved quickly to him. His face was puffed and blue, and the blood was dried black on his lips and chin. The edges of the torn cheek were gathered and tight.
“Tom,” she whispered, “what’s the matter?”
“Sh!” he said. “Don’t talk loud. I got in a fight.”
“Tom!”
“I couldn’ help it, Ma.”
She knelt down beside him. “You in trouble?”
He was a long time answering. “Yeah,” he said. “In trouble. I can’t go out to work. I got to hide.”
The children crawled near on their hands and knees, staring greedily. “What’s the matter’th him, Ma?”
“Hush!” Ma said. “Go wash up.”
“We got no soap.”
“Well, use water.”
“What’s the matter’th Tom?”
“Now you hush. An’ don’t you tell nobody.”
They backed away and squatted down against the far wall, knowing they would not be inspected.
Ma asked, “Is it bad?”
“Nose busted.”
“I mean the trouble?”
“Yeah. Bad.”
Al opened his eyes and looked at Tom. “Well, for Chris’ sake! What was you in?”
“What’s a matter?” Uncle John asked.
Pa clumped in. “They was open all right.” He put a tiny bag of flour and his package of lard on the floor beside the stove. “‘S’a matter?” he asked.
Tom braced himself on one elbow for a moment, and then he lay back. “Jesus, I’m weak. I’m gonna tell ya once. So I’ll tell all of ya. How ’bout the kids?”
Ma looked at them, huddled against the wall. “Go wash ya face.”
“No,” Tom said, “They got to hear. They got to know. They might blab if they don’t know.”
“What the hell is this?” Pa demanded.
“I’m a-gonna tell. Las’ night I went out to see what all the yellin’ was about. An’ I come on Casy.”
“The preacher?”
“Yeah, Pa. The preacher, on’y he was a-leadin’ the strike. They come for him.”
Pa demanded, “Who come for him?”
“I dunno. Same kinda guys that turned us back on the road that night. Had pick handles.” He paused. “They killed ‘im. Busted his head. I was standin’ there. I went nuts. Grabbed the pick handle.” He looked bleakly back at the night, the darkness, the flashlights, as he spoke. “I- I clubbed a guy.”
Ma’s breath caught in her throat. Pa stiffened. “Kill ‘im?” he asked softly.
“I- don’t know. I was nuts. Tried to.”
Ma asked. “Was you saw?”
“I dunno. I dunno. I guess so. They had the lights on us.”
For a moment Ma stared into his eyes. “Pa,” she said, “break up some boxes. We got to get breakfas’. You got to go to work. Ruthie, Winfiel’. If anybody asts you- Tom is sick- you hear? If you tell- he’ll- get sent to jail. You hear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Keep your eye on ’em, John. Don’ let ’em talk to nobody.” She built the fire as Pa broke the boxes that had held the goods. She made her dough, put a pot of coffee to boil. The light wood caught and roared its flame in the chimney.
Pa finished breaking the boxes. He came near to Tom. “Casy- he was a good man. What’d he wanta mess with that stuff for?”
Tom said dully, “They come to work for fi’ cents a box.”
“That’s what we’re a-gettin’.”
“Yeah. What we was a-doin’ was breakin’ strike. They give them fellas two an’ a half cents.”
“You can’t eat on that.”
“I know,” Tom said wearily. “That’s why they struck. Well, I think they bust the strike las’ night. We’ll maybe be gettin’ two an’ a half cents today.”
“Why, the sons-a-bitches-”
“Yeah! Pa. You see? Casy was still a- good man. Goddamn it, I can’t get that pitcher outa my head. Him layin’ there- head jus’ crushed flat an’ oozin’. Jesus!” He covered his eyes with his hand.
“Well, what we gonna do?” Uncle John asked.
Al was standing up now. “Well, by God, I know what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna get out of it.”
“No, you ain’t, Al,” Tom said. “We need you now. I’m the one. I’m a danger now. Soon’s I get on my feet I got to go.”
Ma worked at the stove. Her head was half turned to hear. She put grease in the frying pan, and when it whispered with heat, she spooned the dough into it.
Tom went on, “You got to stay, Al. You got to take care a the truck.”
“Well, I don’ like it.”
“Can’t help it, Al. It’s your folks. You can help ’em. I’m a danger to ’em.”
Al grumbled angrily. “I don’ know why I ain’t let to get me a job in a garage.”
“Later, maybe.” Tom looked past him, and he saw Rose of Sharon lying on the mattress. Her eyes were huge- opened wide. “Don’t worry,” he called to her. “Don’t you worry. Gonna get you some milk today.” She blinked slowly, and didn’t answer him.
Pa said, “We got to know, Tom. Think ya killed this fella?”
“I don’ know. It was dark. An’ somebody smacked me. I don’ know. I hope so. I hope I killed the bastard.”
“Tom!” Ma called. “Don’ talk like that.”
From the street came the sound of many cars moving slowly. Pa stepped to the window and looked out. “They’s a whole slew a new people comin’ in,” he said.
“I guess they bust the strike awright,” said Tom. “I guess you’ll start at two an’ a half cents.”
“But a fella could work at a run, an’ still he couldn’ eat.”
“I know,” said Tom. “Eat win’fall peaches. That’ll keep ya up.”
Ma turned the dough and stirred the coffee. “Listen to me,” she said. “I’m gettin’ cornmeal today. We’re a-gonna eat cornmeal mush. An’ soon’s we get enough for gas, we’re movin’ away. This ain’t a good place. An’ I ain’t gonna have Tom out alone. No, sir.”