Judy's Journey (4 page)

It did not take them long. Entering Georgia, the first thing they noticed was the absence of cotton. Cotton fields gave place to pine woods and they passed several turpentine camps. Cows and hogs grazed on the grassy banks on both sides of the highway. A sign said: LOOK OUT FOR CATTLE AND HOGS. They saw a dead hog lying in the ditch.

“We better not drive too fast. We don't want to run over none of these-here Georgia critters,” said Papa. “They might git the law on us.”

They passed small villages of tiny Negro houses. At one country store, a large fish sawed out of wood was mounted on a post, and the sign said: FISH FOR SALE. Negro children played on porches or waded and fished in streams. Now and then they passed dark, dank cypress swamps where the Spanish moss hung in gloomy clusters and cypress knees poked up out of stagnant black water. This was Georgia.

Once they stopped at a small country store to get gas and water. A colored woman came up carrying a basketful of eggs.

“How much for your eggs?” asked Mama. But Papa shook his head.

“We must watch our pennies. Gotta have gas to take us where we're goin'.”

“Goin' a long way?” asked the woman.

“To Florida,” said Papa. “You live around here?”

“Yassir,” said the woman. “Jest over yonder in that field a couple o' miles. Lawzy, my feetses hurts from walkin' so fur. Soon as I gits home I's gonna take off my shoes and rest my feetses good. Shoes is a heavy cross to bear.”

The children had climbed out of the car to stretch. “You got shoes?” asked Joe Bob, wide-eyed. “Our'n wore out long time ago.”

“Wisht I had
me
some shoes,” said Judy softly.

She looked at the shoes on the woman's feet. They were men's old shoes, badly worn and broken out at the sides. But still they were shoes.

“You-all ain't got no shoes?” the woman asked. “And you come from Alabam'? I went there once to visit my daughter and I like to froze to death. Slept under eight quilts, and one featherbed under and another'n on top. You shore need shoes to keep your feetses warm in Alabam'.”

“Don't need none where we're goin',” laughed Papa. Then he added, “Nice country you got round here.”

“No sir, 'tain't,” said the woman. “This -here's bad country. Bad people live here. A man travelin' through here was robbed of all his money last week. Soon as I gits home I locks my door tight and takes off my shoes and rests my poor feetses.”

“Know any place where we can camp for the night?” asked Papa.

“Five miles out is a creek,” said the woman, going into the store. “But I tells you this is bad country, bad country.”

They started on and came to the creek, but whether because of the robbers or not, Papa did not stop. When it was nearly dark, they turned off on a dirt side road.

“I'm tard,” complained Cora Jane.

“Where do we sleep?” asked Joe Bob.

“We'll have us a picnic supper,” said Papa, trying to be gay. “We'll camp out for the night and count the stars!”

Only Judy laughed. The others were too tired. Judy helped Papa rig up a shelter out of Mama's quilts against the side of the car. They ate their meager supper and stretched out on bedding spread on the ground. The ground was hard but they slept heavily.

In the middle of the night Joe Bob woke up. Out of the stillness came a weird cry:
A-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo! A-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo!
He heard a rustling in the bushes.

“Papa!” shrieked the boy. “They're comin'—the bad men, to rob you!”

Papa was awake at once. “How can they rob me, son, when I got nothin' for 'em to take?”

Joe Bob could not stop crying. “Wisht I had my little ole puppy dog to sleep with me,” he sobbed.

“Cryin' won't bring him back, son,” said Papa.

The next morning Papa got up early and disappeared. By the time the others woke up, he was back with a large fish. He built up a campfire and Mama fried fish and made hushpuppies out of corn meal. Breakfast tasted good and they forgot the fears of the night before.

That day they passed many miles of pine forest and cypress swamp. Even after they left Georgia and came into Florida, there was little change in the landscape. Lonnie was fretful and Mama had to fuss with him. She did not talk much, but once she asked a question.

“Where we headin' for, Jim?”

“We'll go down through the center of the state—the lake country,” said Papa. “We might stop there if I can git me a job in the citrus. Big orange country round them lakes. If not, we'll go on down to South Florida where it's good and warm. Feller I met back home told me there's money to be made down there in beans, tomatoes and celery—cash money!”

“Cash money?” asked Mama, a little frightened at the sound of the two words. It had been so long since she or Papa had seen more than a handful at cotton settling time.

“Yes
ma'm
!” said Papa.

“What doin'?” asked Mama.

“Pickin' beans,” said Papa. “They grow more beans to the square inch down there than anywhere else in the U. S. A. Need thousands of pickers, the man said. Even young uns can pick.”

“Oh Papa,” said Judy, “can we help earn cash money?”

“I can pick beans,” said Joe Bob. “I've picked cotton.”

“I can pick too,” said Cora Jane. “Faster'n you, Joe Bob.”

“Well, me and Mama'll do the pickin',” said Papa, “and you-all can go to school every day. But that feller said that a man with his wife and a few young uns to help him could mop up a whole week's wages for one day's pick.”

“They give a week's pay for one day?” asked Mama.

“Yes
ma'm
!” said Papa.

“But Jim, you said we was goin' where you could make a crop' o' your own.”

“We'll work in beans for a while if it brings in cash money,” said Papa. “We'll save enough to make the down payment on a little farm of our own.”

Papa liked to talk about Florida. “All them rich Yankee millionaires come down there and lie in the sun on Palm Beach and forget how cold it is up north .…”

“They have snow
up north
,” said Judy. “Did you ever see snow, Papa?”

“I'd like to see snow jest once,” said Joe Bob. “Is it like cotton?”

“I never saw snow,” said Papa. “Your Mama and me was born in Alabama and we never been up north where them Yankees live. Never wanted to go neither, 'cause one of them killed my Great-Grandpap long years ago in the War Between the States. They come down here, that Yankee army, and stole our crops and killed our men and freed the slaves and brung sorrow and destruction on us all. No-sir-ree, we-uns don't have no truck with them biggety Yankees, we don't.”

“My Great-Grandma used to tell how hard they had it after that war,” said Mama, “and how her and her young uns nigh starved to death.”

“But I betcha snow is fun,” said Joe Bob.

“It looks like sand, but it's cold as ice,” said Judy. “Teacher told us that at school.”

“We used to play like cotton was snow,” said Joe Bob.

“Yes,” added Judy, “you and me and Pinky and Daisy and Porky and Arlie—in the cotton field, instead o' pickin' cotton.”

They laughed—but already it seemed a long time ago.

Papa was so busy dreaming about the future he didn't notice a lazy cow suddenly rise to her feet in the ditch and start to cross the road. The jalopy was bearing down hard before he saw her. He turned the wheel and swerved to the left to avoid hitting the animal, then turned quickly back into the road again.

“Danged ole critter!” exclaimed Papa. “Mighty close shave. We almost had roast beef for dinner that time!”

Cora Jane, standing in front of her mother's knees, was knocked against the windshield and began to cry lustily.

“Why didn't you bump her gentle-like and git us a cow?” asked Judy. “Got to have a cow on our farm, don't we?”

“Yes, but we don't want to pay damages and go to jail,” laughed Papa.

“This-here one was a Florida cow,” said Joe Bob. “She was skinnier than them Georgia critters.”

“Not much difference that I can see,” said Papa. “They leave 'em run in the woods to take care of themselves. Never feed 'em, and it don't look like there's much green grass for 'em to eat, pore things. That un we come nigh hittin' was so skinny, you could hang your hat on her hip-bone, it stuck out so fur.”

Judy laughed. “Papa …” she began. “Papa …”

“What is it, sugarpie?” asked Papa.

“Thought you said it would be summer in Florida,” Judy went on. “The grass ain't green nor nothin'.”

“Just you wait, honey!” Papa promised. “Where we're goin', it'll be summer all year round.”

Pine trees, their trunks close together like a million standing toothpicks, with palmetto thickets at their base, lined the roadside for hours. But at last there was a change. It was Judy who saw the first orange tree.

“Looky! Looky! Oranges growing on
trees
!” she cried.

“Mama, I want one to suck,” said Joe Bob.

“Me too,” said Cora Jane.

“What! You-all think it's settling time?” asked Judy

Judy had not forgotten settlement time. The family always went to town when the cotton crop was sold. Even when the crop wasn't very good, it was a time to celebrate with something good to eat—maybe a few oranges to suck. When the crop was good and there was some cash money left over, it meant new clothes for everybody. Once, long ago, Mama got her sewing-machine and another time the iron bed—but Papa never got his new wagon. Judy remembered how few oranges there had been in the little house in the cotton field.

“Let's stop and pick and suck,” begged Joe Bob.

Orange groves with their rich dark glistening leaves and golden balls of fruit lined the road now for miles, with the occasional break of a stretch of pine woods or a clear blue lake. The grass began to grow greener and the sky bluer. It began to feel more like summer. The children threw off their ragged coats and their bare legs were no longer cold.

All of a sudden the car began a queer knocking sound and Papa had to stop. He stopped by an orange grove and there on the ground lay ever so many good ripe oranges. While Papa got out his tools and fixed the engine and Mama tended Lonnie, the children ran into the grove and picked up oranges.

That night they had oranges for supper. The food they had brought from Alabama was all gone but a little flour and cornmeal. They sat on the grassy bank and sucked oranges—more oranges than they had ever had in their lives before. Mama squeezed some juice in a cup and offered it to the baby. It was Lonnie's first taste—and he spat it out. He did not like it.

“Let's find us a lake to camp by,” said Papa when the engine was fixed.

“A lake all our own,” added Judy.

They left the main road and turned off on a network of sandy side roads. Papa always liked to explore. They passed farmhouses with wide verandahs and shade trees clustered close. The houses had house plants growing in large tin buckets on the verandahs, and one had a front yard full of blooming flowers.

“Looky!” cried Judy. “Flowers! It
is
summer! Summer in January!” She squeezed Papa's arm. “It's summer jest like you said it would be, Papa.”

“Shore!” answered Papa, smiling.

T
HE LAKE WAS BEAUTIFUL.
It was a perfect circle. The water was so clear and blue and glistening, they could see the fish swimming many feet below. All the Drummonds got out of the Ford and looked at it. All but Mama. She laid the sleeping Lonnie on the rose carpet on the front seat, took a carton from the back of the car and handed out soap.

“You're all as dirty as pigs,” she said. “Git in that water and wash yourselves.”

Judy remembered the muddy creek down below the cotton field where they used to wash in the summertime. Now they had a whole lakeful of clear, clean water and it was not cold at all.