by Lois Lenski
“It’s jest a little bitty thing like Barney was,” said Joe Bob, his eyes shining. “I named him after Uncle Barney—I’ll name this un Barney too. He’s hurt—he limps, likely a car bumped him. But there was nobody around, so he’s jest a stray and nobody wants him but me.”
“Git in the car,” said Papa. “We can’t park on a narrow bridge like this.”
They rode on and came to a place where they could pull off the road and stop.
“I’ll put his leg in a splint,” said Judy, digging into the back of the car and bringing out her First Aid kit. “He’s been scratched too—his leg’s bleeding,” she said.
Joe Bob found a stick and borrowed Papa’s knife and whittled it. Judy put the splint on and bandaged the dog’s leg.
“Oh Papa! You’ll let me keep Barney, won’t you?” cried Joe Bob. “I wouldn’t mind losin’ Uncle Barney’s dog if I can only have this un.”
“Son, you know you’ve forgot Uncle Barney’s dog long ago,” said Papa.
“No, Papa. I’ll never forgit, never …”
“And you know we can’t even buy grain for the goat, ’cause we got to save every penny for gas and oil. Do you want to keep this dog if we don’t have enough food for him?”
“He’d starve all alone there on that big bridge,” said the boy.
“A dog can eat a lot of food, son.”
“I’ll find a way,” said Joe Bob. “I’ll give him my own dinner.”
“You can’t do that, son,” said Papa sternly. “We must go on now. You can keep the dog until we find some good folks to give him to—folks that will feed and take good care of him.”
The boy cuddled the dog in his arms and the jalopy moved on.
It was at a roadside stand that the Drummonds met the Darnells. The Darnells hauled a home-made house-trailer behind their car. It did not take long to get acquainted. There were Mr. and Mrs. Darnell and five children—Loretta and Jenny, fourteen and twelve, Quincy and Jess, the boys, ten and eight, and little Myrtle, six.
“We been all over everywhere,” said Tom Darnell, “but we started out first from Arkansas. They call us ‘fruit tramps’ out west. We’ve picked potatoes in Kansas and Minnesota, cotton in Texas and Oklahoma. In Michigan we picked cherries and apples and peaches. More cherries in Wisconsin, and tomatoes in Indiana. And oh yes, strawberries in Kentucky. We’ve been in over thirty-three states.”
Judy brought out her Geography and she and Loretta found all the places on the map of the United States.
“How long have you been on the go?” asked Mama.
“Let’s see,” said Mrs. Darnell. “We started out when Loretta and Jenny were four and two—that’s ten years ago. Quincy was born in cherries, Jess in cotton and Myrtle in strawberries!”
Everybody laughed.
“My, it’s nice to meet you folks,” said Mrs. Darnell. “We meet people from all over, at different places. We make so many friends—and then lose ’em.”
“You don’t git tired from bein’ on the go?” asked Mama.
“Law no, we’re used to it—we could never be contented stayin’ all the time in one place. Now we got the house-trailer, we got our home right with us. It’s easier than when you got to pack and unpack all the time.”
She showed the Drummonds through the trailer. It had a tiny sitting room with pretty curtains and couches that were used for beds at night, a kitchen with sink and cupboards, and a bedroom with double bunks’ each side. Judy gazed at all its wonders, speechless.
Then she listened to the men talking. Papa told about Florida and how he was planning to get work in New Jersey for the summer.
“Heard about the new cotton-picker?” asked Darnell. “They’ve got machines to dig potatoes and pick hops and pick corn. Next thing will be the cotton-picker.”
“The tractor put the mule and the horse out of business,” said Papa. “Next thing, the pickin’ machines will do away with the men. I’m shore glad I ain’t a cotton sharecropper—I got out jest in time.”
“I used to handpick peas ten years ago,” said Darnell. “Then that stopped and I tended a ‘viner’ machine which turned out more peas with two men than two hundred used to pick.”
“Our pickin’ days are numbered,” said Papa. “I shore will have to git me that little farm and settle down.”
“There’s some crops the machines can’t handle—yet,” said Darnell. “It still takes eyes to tell when strawberries are red enough, and fingers to reach in and grab the right ones. Then there’s green beans. And fruit—peaches, for instance. They need human hands. The growers can’t get along without pickers—yet.”
“How do you like Florida?” asked Papa.
“Sorry wages,” said Darnell, “but nice place to make the winter. I been goin’ up to Michigan for three-four summers now, but I thought I’d try the Atlantic coast for a change.”
“Where you headin’ for now?” asked Papa.
“We’re jest explorin’,” said Darnell. “Been thinkin’ about tryin’ New York State. My young uns would like to stop off in New York City and see the sights, if we go that far.”
“We’re goin’ to New Jersey,” said Papa. “Hope we’ll meet up again.”
They passed the Darnells several times along the road, and once they all ate a picnic supper together and camped side by side. It was there that Judy noticed Jenny’s and Loretta’s shoes. They were brand new. They wore new dresses too.
“We bought our shoes in Charleston with Papa’s potato money,” said Loretta. “Papa was foreman in a potato packing house there.”
“We got our new dresses in Florida with Papa’s grapefruit money,” added Jenny.
“Do you wear your shoes when you go out in the field to pick?” asked Judy.
“Oh no, we pick barefooted and save our shoes for dressing up.”
“Do you work or go to school?”
“Both,” said Jenny. “We go to school unless it’s easy picking. Or summer vacation—we pick all summer.”
“I don’t care how much school we miss,” said Loretta. “Pop says we learn a-plenty just travelin’ around.”
Judy sighed happily. How nice it was to have friends again!
It was Papa who suggested that Joe Bob give the dog to the Darnells. The dog’s leg was well now and the splint and bandage had been taken off.
“Them two boys would take Barney,” said Papa, “and always have plenty to feed him. Their father makes good money. They dress well and he says he’s never out of a job. He’s learned the tricks of this crop migration business.”
“Quincy and Jess don’t like Barney as much as I do,” said Joe Bob.
“But they would feed him well,” said Papa.
“O. K.,” said Joe Bob bravely.
So the next morning when the Darnells started out, a dog sat in the front seat between Quincy and Jess.
All the way through North Carolina, Joe Bob and Judy kept their eyes open for a dusty house-trailer bouncing along behind a big old red Reo with seven people in it. Each time they stopped, they inquired, but nobody had seen it. They began to wonder if the Darnells had turned off and given up the idea of going to Norfolk.
It was late at night when they reached a small town in the Norfolk area, which had a trailer park on its outskirts. When Papa asked if he could put up his tent, the owner took him over to a tent section, and there they camped for the night.
The next morning, who should walk into the tent but Barney! He ran briskly over to the pallet bed, jumped on Joe Bob’s chest and began to lick his face. Joe Bob opened his eyes and laughed. Everybody was glad to see the dog again, even Papa.
“The Darnells are in the park somewhere,” cried Judy happily. “I’m going to find them.”
She came back with Loretta on one arm and Jenny on the other. The house-trailer was parked only a stone’s throw away. Soon Mrs. Darnell strolled over to see Mama.
“They’re havin’ Sunday meetin’ out under the trees,” she said. “Don’t you folks want to
come with us? It’s mostly for the young uns, they give ’em story papers to keep, but there’s prayin’ and preachin’ and singin’——”
“Oh Mama,” cried Judy, “just what you been wishin’ for ever since Florida!”
“Bless goodness!” exclaimed Mama, astonished. “Here, in a trailer camp, right under the trees, without no meetin’-house?”
“Sure,” said Mrs. Darnell. “A preacher comes here every week, they tell me. They have meetin’ for the migrants in lots of camps in California, and in the Middle West too. It’s for everybody—it don’t matter what church you belong to.”
“But what’ll I wear?” wailed Mama. “I ain’t been to meetin’ since we left Plumtree Creek.”
Mama’s old Sunday dress was badly mussed and so was Judy’s feed-sack dress, but nobody noticed. They all went to the inter-faith service and sat on plank benches in the shade. There were all kinds of other people there. The preacher played a portable organ and when they sang What a Friend We Have in Jesus, the tears rolled down Mama’s face.
But Judy did not cry—she was too happy. Her happiness lighted up her face as she listened to the music and all the things the preacher said. His text was Do Unto Others, and he talked about how to get along with strangers. One thing he said, Judy remembered: “There’s only one way—be kind to others first. Don’t wait for them to be kind to you.”
While they were singing Shall We Gather at the River, Barney jumped out of Quincy Darnell’s arms and ran up to the front and barked at the organ. Everybody laughed as Joe Bob ran to pick him up. As the meeting closed, the people were friendly and stayed and talked together. Each of the children was given a different story paper, so Judy spent the rest of the day reading stories aloud to the little ones.
On Monday morning Tom Darnell came to take Papa away and see about jobs for both families. When the men returned, they said there was work for everybody. Papa laughed and said his luck had turned, but Mama and Judy knew it was because Tom Darnell put new life in him by his energetic example.
“Papa, can I keep Barney?” begged Joe Bob, holding the dog up in his arms. “The boys say I can have him again.”
“You shore can, son,” said Papa, “now I’ve got me a good job.”
They all stayed in Virginia for two months, May and June.
Strawberries were ripe first. The men worked in the packing sheds and everybody else went out in the field to pick. The grower had truckloads of pickers brought out every day from Norfolk, crowds of Negro families. He also sent a truck to the trailer camp to transport the workers there. The road back and forth to the fields was very rough, so the two families decided to save gas and tires by riding in the grower’s truck. It was always so crowded with pickers, they had to ride standing.
They had great fun picking. They laughed and joked as they filled the baskets. They ran races to see who could pick the most in the shortest time. Loretta always won. Her fingers were nimble from years of experience. At eleven each morning the picking stopped, so the berries could be shipped before night. The rest of the day the children played.
Strawberries lasted three weeks, then beans came on, but beans were a different story. The crop of beans was heavy and the rows were long. The Darnell children were experienced pickers, and try as hard as she could, Judy always fell behind. Joe Bob got tired by noon and skipped off in the shade of a woods near by, to play with his dog.
But potatoes, which followed beans, were the worst of all. It meant crawling all day long in the dirt, as they had done back in South Carolina. After a week, Mrs. Drummond had to stop. She stayed at the tent and cooked the meals, keeping Cora Jane and Lonnie and Myrtle Darnell with her. Judy was the only Drummond left in the field.
She thought of Loretta’s and Jenny’s new shoes, and of the Darnells’ house-trailer. Tom Darnell had four children and his wife, all experienced pickers, to help him. He himself was a big strong man, twice the size of Jim Drummond. It was easy to see why he got ahead so much better than Papa did. If only Joe Bob would help more, but all he wanted to do was play with his dog. And Mama had to stop picking so she would not get sick again. Papa had only Judy to help him.
Potatoes—potatoes—nothing but potatoes. Judy was sicker of potatoes than she had been of beans. The sun got hotter and hotter. Her ragged overalls stuck to her, and she was red with sunburn and prickly heat. Her straw hat made her head too hot, so she tossed it off. Her back ached badly—she must rest for a minute. She stretched out full length in the dirt.
Lying there, Judy remembered her Geography. School had faded away. She could hardly recall her teacher at Plumtree Creek or Miss Norris at Bean Town. Long ago in Alabama, Papa had bragged that his children were not going to pick, they were going to school to learn things. She had finished the Third Reader … or was it the Fourth .… She tried to remember.
She raised her head and saw that she was being left behind. The Darnells were always ahead in their rows. She roused herself and began to pick up potatoes again. There was no one else to help Papa.
Potatoes, sun and dirt. Potatoes, sun and dirt. But when the day ended, there would be a bath … plenty of water at the trailer camp … a tap of running water .… She didn’t have to wash in the molasses bucket the way she did at Bean Town. They could have all the water they wanted without paying a nickel a bucketful, as people had to do in some places. She would sit in the washtub and Mama would pour several bucketfuls over her for a shower when she got back. How good it would feel!
She kept on putting the potatoes into the basket. She shoved the basket along—it was too heavy to lift.
Then she heard the field walker’s whistle.
The end of the day had come at last. The baskets were loaded and the pickers hurried to the trucks. The driver of the truck for the trailer camp honked his horn. Judy was the last one to get on. There was no place to sit down, and there was no tail-board on the truck. She clung tightly to the side, as the truck started off down the rough, bumpy road.
About halfway back to the camp, loud screams rang out. Over the noise of the engine and the rattle of the truck the driver heard, and put on his brakes. The truck stopped so abruptly, most of the pickers were thrown off their feet.
“Oh, the poor child!” cried Mrs. Darnell.
There in the dusty road lay Judy, thrown from the truck. Her face was deathly white and her eyes were closed.
Mrs. Darnell reached her first. The other pickers jumped down and crowded round. Joe Bob looked on with a scared, drawn face. The woman examined the girl carefully and saw that no bones were broken. Judy opened her eyes.
“Help me lift her, you,” said Mrs. Darnell to the driver. “Get those big boys out of the front seat. I’ll take her in there with me.”
The driver helped to lift Judy, and Mrs. Darnell climbed up. “If you’d a had a tail-board on your truck, this wouldn’t a happened.”
“’Tain’t my truck,” said the driver. “Belongs to the boss.”
“Poor kid,” said Mrs. Darnell. “The sun’s been too much for her. She’s half starved too—hasn’t had proper food for a coon’s age. The whole family work their heads off, but they’re poor, dirt poor.”
The truck bounced on again.
Everybody called it sunstroke. Judy had to stay in bed for a week The driver reported the accident to the boss, and a tail-board was put on the truck. The boss came around and was relieved when he learned that the girl had not been seriously injured and need not go to the hospital.
One afternoon when Judy woke up from a brief nap, she had a surprise. A pair of black shiny shoes sat on the box beside her pallet bed. She looked at them listlessly.
“Papa shouldn’t pay cash money for shoes,” she said. “We want to save up for a farm.”
“Papa didn’t buy ’em,” said Mama. “They’re a present from the Darnells.”
“Guess we don’t need their ole presents,” said Judy. “We’re makin’ out by ourselves. We’re makin’ out fine. When can I go back to the field?”
“You can’t go,” said Mama. “Potato crop’s over. Job’s over. We’re movin’ on.”
Judy did not pick up the shoes or touch them.
Shoes! New shoes! She remembered the two Welfare ladies in Florida and how she had expected them to bring shoes. You had to have shoes before you could go to a birthday party. How did the Darnells know what size to get? What if the shoes were not the right size?
“Don’t believe she wanted ’em, after all,” Mama whispered to Mrs. Darnell outside the tent. “She ain’t had shoes for years now, she don’t hardly know what they’re for, poor young un.”
“She don’t like ’em?” exclaimed Loretta and Jenny, disappointed.
“Let her rest, she’s not herself,” said Mama.
After a while Joe Bob peeped into the tent. He came back, his eyes shining.
“She’s pattin’ them shoes with her hand, the way I pat Barney,” he said. “She likes ’em all right.”
CHAPTER XII
Delaware
“YOU ARE MY SUNSHINE,
My only sunshine,
You make me happy
When skies are gray.
You’ll never know, dear,
How much I love you,
Please don’t take
My sunshine away …”
“Oh, stop your singin’, Judy,” said Joe Bob. “I’m tard o’ your singin’ and I’m tard o’ ridin’. Won’t we never git nowheres?”
“Purty soon, son,” said Papa. He hummed the tune of Judy’s song contentedly.
It seemed weeks since the Drummonds had put the jalopy on the ferry across Chesapeake Bay to Cape Charles. There was nothing to be harvested in Maryland but potatoes, so Papa would not stop. Whenever he thought of potatoes, he remembered Judy’s accident. He followed Route 13 on and on northward into Delaware. There a county agent told Papa of a grower who was hiring pickers for his apple and peach crops. He had a large orchard of thousands of trees and his early summer apples were ready for harvesting in July. Scores of pickers, black and white, native and foreign, women and children, were taken to the orchards each day.
