“The Committee’ll call on you purty soon an’ fix you up.
We take care of folks that jus’ come in.
Now, if you want a ladies’ toilet, you jus’ go on the other side of the building.
That side’s yourn.”
Ma said uneasily,
“Ya say a ladies’ committee—comin’ to my tent?”
He nodded his head.
“Purty soon, I guess.”
“Thank ya,” said Ma.
She hurried out, and half ran to the tent.
“Pa,” she called. “John, git up!
You, Al.
Git up an’ git washed.” Startled sleepy eyes looked out at her. “All of you,” Ma cried. “You git up an’ git your face washed.
An’ comb your hair.”
Uncle John looked pale and sick.
There was a red bruised place on his chin.
Pa demanded,
“What’s the matter?”
“The Committee,” Ma cried. “They’s a committee—a ladies’ committee a-comin’ to visit.
Git up now, an’ git washed.
An’ while we was a-sleepin’ an’ a-snorin’, Tom’s went out an’ got work.
Git up, now.”
They came sleepily out of the tent.
Uncle John staggered a little, and his face was pained.
“Git over to that house and wash up,” Ma ordered. “We got to get breakfus’ an’ be ready for the Committee.” She went to a little pile of split wood in the camp lot. She started a fire and put up her cooking irons. “Pone,” she said to herself. “Pone an’ gravy.
That’s quick.
Got to be quick.” She talked on to herself, and Ruthie and Winfield stood by, wondering.
The smoke of the morning fires arose all over the camp, and the mutter of talk came from all sides.
Rose of Sharon, unkempt and sleepy-eyed, crawled out of the tent.
Ma turned from the cornmeal she was measuring in fistfuls.
She looked at the girl’s wrinkled dirty dress, at her frizzled uncombed hair.
“You got to clean up,” she said briskly. “Go right over and clean up.
You got a clean dress.
I washed it.
Git your hair combed.
Git the seeds out a your eyes.” Ma was excited.
Rose of Sharon said sullenly,
“I don’ feel good.
I wisht Connie would come.
I don’t feel like doin’ nothin’ ’thout Connie.”
Ma turned full around on her.
The yellow cornmeal clung to her hands and wrists.
“Rosasharn,” she said sternly, “you git upright.
You jus’ been mopin’ enough.
They’s a ladies’ committee a-comin’, an’ the fambly ain’t gonna be frawny when they get here.”
“But I don’ feel good.”
Ma advanced on her, mealy hands held out.
“Git,” Ma said. “They’s times when how you feel got to be kep’ to yourself.”
“I’m a-goin’ to vomit,” Rose of Sharon whined.
“Well, go an’ vomit. ’Course you’re gonna vomit.