Read Online Farmerettes by Gisela Sherman - Free Book Online

dampened her body. Mosquitoes buzzed and bit. The sun blazed. Oh, for a drink of water.
    The others looked equally uncomfortable—Peggy rubbed her legs, Rita scratched mosquito bites, and Helene looked ready to collapse. Only Jean whistled cheerfully as she stacked full wooden carriers of berries on a wagon shaded by an elm tree.
    The sun climbed higher. Binxie filled another basket and stood up to stretch.
    â€œLet’s take a break,” Jean suggested. “There’s a pump by the barn and shade under the trees.”
    The girls hurried to the pump and took turns drinking eagerly. Binxie gulped large mouthfuls of water, splashed some onto her hands and face, laughing with the cool joy.
    â€œHurry. I want some too.” Peggy bumped her from behind.
    â€œHere you go!” Binxie turned and sloshed water at her.
    Peggy grabbed the tin cup hanging by the pump and splashed her back. She threw another cupful at the other girls. They screeched with delight. Everyone took turns pumping and spraying each other, ducking, laughing, until finally—soaking wet but cool—they flopped onto the grass to rest.
    Too soon it was time to head back to the field.
    Binxie’s mouth soon felt dry again. Her stomach rumbled. Lunch seemed far away. She watched Peggy twist a large red berry from its stem and pop it into her mouth. Binxie ate one too. It was beyond delicious—sweet, juicy, and warm. She picked another basketful, ate another berry.
    Helene also dropped one into her mouth, closed her eyes, and savored it. “So this is how food tastes fresh from the fields.”
    â€œGirls, we’re trying to make a living here. The berries cost twenty-five cents a basket,” Jean called over.
    â€œI’m sorry.” Helene blushed. “I’ll pay for them on payday.”
    â€œJust don’t do it again,” said Jean. She studied the field. “We’ll be finished in time for lunch. Then we’ll hoe vegetables.”
    Feeling guilty, the girls resumed picking, slapping mosquitoes, picking, moving stiffly to the next position, picking.
    â€œToo, too boring,” said Peggy. “Are we going to do this another six hours, five days a week for the rest of the summer? How many hours is that?”
    â€œWay too many,” answered Rita.
    But there was a certain rhythm to this work. Arm out, pick a berry, place in basket, arm out, pick a berry, place in basket. Peggy began to hum. Binxie recognized it as the Hebrew slave chorus from Nabucco , which seemed fitting—and surprising. This girl knew opera. When Peggy switched to “Whistle While You Work,” the others joined in. Halfway through, a yowl of pain pierced the air. Another cry. A cow! Something was wrong. Jean raced to the pasture.
    Binxie ran after her. “Can I help?”
    â€œFind Gus or my father.”
    Binxie raced back to the farmhouse. Nanny answered the door, her apron and forearms covered with flour. “Mr. and Mrs. McDonnell went to market, won’t be back till supper. Gus is plowing at another farm.” Seeing how upset Binxie looked, she added, “Jean will manage fine.”
    Binxie raced back to the pasture where Jean comforted a distraught young cow. Jean felt her underside with experienced hands as a thin ribbon of thick white mucus and blood oozed from under the tail. Repulsed yet fascinated, the farmerettes watched.
    â€œWe’re on our own,” Binxie panted.
    With a bellow, the cow sank to her knees and rolled sideways onto the ground. For an instant, Jean looked as scared as the animal pushing and grunting below her. Then she knelt just behind the cow and cooed, “Good, Tessie. You’ll do fine.” Jean reached her right arm up into the birth canal.
    â€œThe calf is alive. The position feels fine. She should be ready, but it’s just not coming.” She withdrew her arm, wiped the bloody slime on the grass, and sat back.
    Tessie’s sides heaved, her