He set her down on her feet and held onto her.
Uncle John carried Ruthie and followed.
Ma slid down into the water, and for a moment her skirts billowed out around her.
“Winfiel’, set on my shoulder.
Al—we’ll come back soon’s the water’s down.
Al —” She paused. “If—if Tom comes—tell him we’ll be back.
Tell him be careful.
Winfiel’! Climb on my shoulder—there!
Now, keep your feet still.”
She staggered off through the breast-high water.
At the highway embankment they helped her up and lifted Winfield from her shoulder.
They stood on the highway and looked back over the sheet of water, the dark red blocks of the cars, the trucks and automobiles deep in the slowly moving water.
And as they stood, a little misting rain began to fall.
“We got to git along,” Ma said. “Rosasharn, you feel like you could walk?”
“Kinda dizzy,” the girl said. “Feel like I been beat.”
Pa complained,
“Now we’re a-goin’, where’ we goin’?”
“I dunno.
Come on, give your han’ to Rosasharn.” Ma took the girl’s right arm to steady her, and Pa her left. “Goin’ someplace where it’s dry.
Got to.
You fellas ain’t had dry clothes on for two days.”
They moved slowly along the highway.
They could hear the rushing of the water in the stream beside the road.
Ruthie and Winfield marched together, splashing their feet against the road. They went slowly along the road.
The sky grew darker and the rain thickened.
No traffic moved along the highway.
“We got to hurry,” Ma said. “If this here girl gits good an’ wet—I don’t know what’ll happen to her.”
“You ain’t said where-at we’re a-hurryin’ to,” Pa reminded her sarcastically.
The road curved along beside the stream.
Ma searched the land and the flooded fields.
Far off the road, on the left, on a slight rolling hill a rain-blackened barn stood.
“Look!” Ma said. “Look there!
I bet it’s dry in that barn.
Le’s go there till the rain stops.”
Pa sighed.
“Prob’ly get run out by the fella owns it.”
Ahead, beside the road, Ruthie saw a spot of red.
She raced to it.
A scraggly geranium gone wild, and there was one rain-beaten blossom on it.
She picked the flower.
She took a petal carefully off and stuck it on her nose.
Winfield ran up to see.
“Lemme have one?” he said.
“No, sir!
It’s all mine.
I foun’ it.” She stuck another red petal on her forehead, a little bright-red heart.
“Come on, Ruthie!
Lemme have one.
Come on, now.” He grabbed at the flower in her hand and missed it, and Ruthie banged him in the face with her open hand.
He stood for a moment, surprised, and then his lips shook and his eyes welled.