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"Only today the padrone, he come to my people asking who will pick the cranberry. And that Jersey air, it will bring the fat and the red to these Jimmie's cheeks and to the bambina's!" Mrs. Albi wheezed as she ran out of breath. The Beechams stared at her. Many Italians and Americans went to the farms to pick berries and beans.
"For one thing, I have a horse and a handkerchief of yours." "Star! Is he still alive? Oh, tell me about it. But, no tell me about yourself first." That evening, long after dinner, they finished their stories. Marjorie had come North six months before; the Beechams had never suspected her of having given him her horse. "The people," she said, "went mad scurrying about the country after you.
The nurse on duty found that the sore on Dick's hand was scabies the itch picked up in some other camp, and she treated and bandaged it carefully. Every day the men went out hunting jobs, taking others with them to share the cost of gasoline; and every day they came back discouraged. Even in the fine camp, money leaked out steadily for food. At last the Beechams gave up hope of finding work.
There the "Centerers" left the Beechams in a restaurant, but only to come back in a few minutes, beaming. "We got them on long distance, and it's all right!" they told Grandpa and Daddy. "What's all right?" asked Grandma, beginning to be more like her old self once more. "A real nice place to stay in the grape country," Grandpa said quickly.
Now Farmer Lukes went through the Beechams' acres, lifting the beets loose by machine. Rose-Ellen could not believe they were beets-great dirt-colored clods, they looked. Not at all like the beets she knew. Topping was a new job. With a long hooked knife the beet was lifted and laid across the arm, and then, with a slash or two, freed of its top.
The Beechams looked down at pear orchards, tule marshes and ranch houses. Everything was so lushly wet that moss grew green even on tree trunks and roofs. Like Holland, Daddy said, it had dikes to keep the water out. One day they stopped at a fish cannery between highway and river and asked for work.
Grandma said she was perfect, from the ribbon bows on her shining hair to the socks that matched her smart print dress. But it was surprising to see Vicente come from the cluttered, dirty Garcia rooms, almost as clean and sweet as Nico, though with nails more violently red. The Beechams found it a problem to dress at all in their chicken-apartment.
Two feather beds, a trunk, pots, pans, dishes and the Beechams were piled into the space left by some twenty-five other people. The truck roared away, with the neighbors shouting good-by from steps and windows. Grandma kept her eyes straight ahead so as not to see her house again.
It may be that he has not spoken to us on account of his financial failure, and it may be that I made a mistake," said aunt Helen when she was bidding me good night. I held my peace. Boast Not Thyself of Tomorrow We felt the loss of the Beechams very, very much.
It made her ache to think that five Beechams must take out these extra thousands of three-inch plants; and after that, hoe them; and after that. . . . Her knees were so sore that night that Grandpa bought her overalls. He got her and Dick big straw hats, too, though it was too late to keep their faces from blistering. All the Beechams but Grandma wore overalls. She couldn't bring herself to it.
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