way from Camp A to Camp B to the Darlingtons’ front porch. She’d noticed the way Walter checked up on her from time to time, coming by the dorms a couple of times each evening. She looked for Rex and spotted him once or twice, but he didn’t come around the dorms, and their interactions were limited toMurphy glimpsing him here and there and not getting glimpsed back.
On Wednesday afternoon she was meandering along her usual evening route when she noticed Poopie Pedraza placing a small statue on the railing of the porch. She knew Poopie had just been to the dump, but she didn’t make the effort to ask Poopie what it was or if that’s where she’d gotten it. The statue looked like some kind of tiny saint—it wore a red cape and had its hands pressed together in prayer. Murphy was staring at the statue and walking, and so she didn’t notice Walter Darlington until she was right in front of him.
“I was just coming to find you.” Walter was wearing a frayed straw hat with a leather loop around the front, which he tugged slowly as he spoke. “Judge Abbott called to check on your progress.” Murphy squinted up at him, her hands over her eyes, not replying. “I told him you have a couple of choices. You can start getting up on time with everyone else, or you can work the hours you miss at midday.” Walter paused, making sure his words were sinking in. “He offered to remove you to a road-cleaning crew instead.” Murphy continued to squint at him, but Walter didn’t seem bothered. “It’s your choice,” he said, and brushed on past her, his broad farmer’s back listing slightly left to right as he walked.
On Thursday morning Murphy crawled out of bed at dawn.
Through Thursday and Friday she spent most of each morning trying to look as busy as possible while doing very little. She stood in front of the farthest trees with her Walkman blaring, tugging occasionally at the peach nubs and then resting her arms. She liked to go back to the farthest trees of the row they’dbeen told to do that day, where she rarely saw another worker and could turn in a 360 and feel like there was nothing but peach trees leading off the edge of the earth.
Already she felt like the edge of the earth was exactly where she’d landed. Even in the dorms, but especially in the fields, Bridgewater felt like it had to be a thousand miles away. The orchard smelled thick: Scents of mud, buds, insects, and early-blooming flowers overlapped one another. Murphy had spent all her life breathing the aroma of fry grease and parking lot weeds. Squirrels darted up and down the trees, and rabbits and the occasional groundhog watched Murphy work, reminding her that the orchard was the world to them, that they’d never seen Taco Bell and would never be roadkill. It was actually comforting. It was still earth, but without the crap.
Occasionally she’d get a glimpse of one of the other workers down a row, peeping out and disappearing. She paid special attention to glimpses of Leeda, who did her own brand of shirking by picking one hard peach at a time, rolling it around in her fingers gingerly as if it were an exotic jewel, and then gently dropping it to the ground. Murphy watched her curiously, wondering why she looked so tired every day, a little bitter that Leeda was able to do her shirking so openly. Under their feet the piles of hard, raw peaches grew so that you could hardly step without your foot rolling on one. By Friday, Murphy felt her feet rolling in her sleep.
That night, like every night so far, the workers gathered in a group around the barbecue, talking and laughing. Getting up from her third nap of the day, Murphy tugged a pair of cords over her hips and went down to join them.
The air was slightly chilly, and Murphy walked up to the grill, placing her hands palm out. Everyone was still sitting around staring at the fire, talking. Emma and the other women made a place for her, albeit a little less enthusiastically than they had
On Wednesday afternoon she was meandering along her usual evening route when she noticed Poopie Pedraza placing a small statue on the railing of the porch. She knew Poopie had just been to the dump, but she didn’t make the effort to ask Poopie what it was or if that’s where she’d gotten it. The statue looked like some kind of tiny saint—it wore a red cape and had its hands pressed together in prayer. Murphy was staring at the statue and walking, and so she didn’t notice Walter Darlington until she was right in front of him.
“I was just coming to find you.” Walter was wearing a frayed straw hat with a leather loop around the front, which he tugged slowly as he spoke. “Judge Abbott called to check on your progress.” Murphy squinted up at him, her hands over her eyes, not replying. “I told him you have a couple of choices. You can start getting up on time with everyone else, or you can work the hours you miss at midday.” Walter paused, making sure his words were sinking in. “He offered to remove you to a road-cleaning crew instead.” Murphy continued to squint at him, but Walter didn’t seem bothered. “It’s your choice,” he said, and brushed on past her, his broad farmer’s back listing slightly left to right as he walked.
On Thursday morning Murphy crawled out of bed at dawn.
Through Thursday and Friday she spent most of each morning trying to look as busy as possible while doing very little. She stood in front of the farthest trees with her Walkman blaring, tugging occasionally at the peach nubs and then resting her arms. She liked to go back to the farthest trees of the row they’dbeen told to do that day, where she rarely saw another worker and could turn in a 360 and feel like there was nothing but peach trees leading off the edge of the earth.
Already she felt like the edge of the earth was exactly where she’d landed. Even in the dorms, but especially in the fields, Bridgewater felt like it had to be a thousand miles away. The orchard smelled thick: Scents of mud, buds, insects, and early-blooming flowers overlapped one another. Murphy had spent all her life breathing the aroma of fry grease and parking lot weeds. Squirrels darted up and down the trees, and rabbits and the occasional groundhog watched Murphy work, reminding her that the orchard was the world to them, that they’d never seen Taco Bell and would never be roadkill. It was actually comforting. It was still earth, but without the crap.
Occasionally she’d get a glimpse of one of the other workers down a row, peeping out and disappearing. She paid special attention to glimpses of Leeda, who did her own brand of shirking by picking one hard peach at a time, rolling it around in her fingers gingerly as if it were an exotic jewel, and then gently dropping it to the ground. Murphy watched her curiously, wondering why she looked so tired every day, a little bitter that Leeda was able to do her shirking so openly. Under their feet the piles of hard, raw peaches grew so that you could hardly step without your foot rolling on one. By Friday, Murphy felt her feet rolling in her sleep.
That night, like every night so far, the workers gathered in a group around the barbecue, talking and laughing. Getting up from her third nap of the day, Murphy tugged a pair of cords over her hips and went down to join them.
The air was slightly chilly, and Murphy walked up to the grill, placing her hands palm out. Everyone was still sitting around staring at the fire, talking. Emma and the other women made a place for her, albeit a little less enthusiastically than they had
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