Read Online The Persian Pickle Club by Sandra Dallas - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sandra Dallas
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Tom could have scooped it up with his slice of bread. “Not personally, I haven’t. I guess I can’t complain, since we’ve got a roof over our heads and something to eat. It could be a lot worst. I could be one of my creditors.”
“Yeah, things are so tight here, they ought to call this place Hardlyville.” I noticed that Grover’s napkin was still folded on the table. We never used napkins except for company. “Had any luck finding work here, Tom?”
“You bet. I’ve made all of fifty cents this summer.” He chuckled, but the rest of us didn’t. “Edgar Howbert hired me to do a day’s plowing for a dollar, but I finished in half a day, so all I got was fifty cents. If Rita sells this article of hers, she’ll make twenty times what I did, and she won’t have blisters, either.”
“You spend the fifty cents in one place?” Grover asked, which was so funny that we all burst out laughing.
“I thought about taking it over to that place at Blue Hill and putting down a bet with Tyrone Burgett. You know, easy come, easy go. But it’s too far to walk, so I guess I’ll buy a farm with the money instead.”
“It’s not fair,” Grover said, getting serious again. “Work like a nigger and what do you have?” He looked at me and said, “Negro.”
“Hell, those Negroes have got it even worse than we do,” Tom said. “Edgar offered Hiawatha Jackson fifty cents a day to do some work, and Hiawatha took it. I don’t know if I’m madder that Edgar cut wages ‘cause Hiawatha’s a colored or that he didn’t offer the job to me at the same price.” Hiawatha and his wife, Duty, lived on Ella’s farm and kept an eye on her.
“Edgar Howbert’s a cheap bastard,” Grover said.
“Hiawatha was glad for anything. He told me his oldest boy’s been all over the state looking for work and that western Kansas is so dry, you couldn’t grow a bone there. He came home with dust pneumonia.”
“I’ve heard some of those farmers out that way are packing up and heading for the Sahara Desert because it’s got more water,” Grover said. “How are you holding up, Rita?”
Grover meant did she want any more food, but Tom misunderstood and said, “She ought to take it easy. Little Agnes there doesn’t let her sleep.”
“Agnes?” Grover said. “You aren’t going to name it Agnes, are you, Rita?” I’d told Grover about the baby as soon as I’d gotten home.
“I’d rather eat goldfish.”
“Agnes sure can get on your nerves, all right. Maybe we should have let her drown that time she fell in the creek. I told Tom to let her lie,” Grover said.
“Aw, if I hadn’t pulled her out, Floyd would have, and I’d have gotten a licking,” Tom said.
“Why would Floyd do a thing like that?” Grover asked.
“He was sweet on her. Didn’t you know?”
“Floyd?” I asked, looking at Grover. He was just as surprised as I was.
“Sure, but Agnes had her heart set on going to college. She wouldn’t marry a farmer, and I guess that was just as well,” Tom continued. “If Floyd had married her instead of Ruby, Agnes’d be an Okie now.”
“Ruby and Floyd are not Okies!” I said fiercely.
“Call ‘em what you like. There are plenty of us who are fifty cents away from being Okies,” Tom replied. We were all silent for a minute, thinking that over. Then Tom said, “I was smelling the dirt in your east cornfield. I bet it’s dry all the way down to China. It hasn’t rained since we came here.”
“We had a cloud last week,” Grover said. “But I think it was just an empty on its way back from Kentucky.”
“This bourbon tastes like it came from there, too.” Tom swallowed the last little bit in his glass. “I sure miss the days when Rita and I spent Saturday nights drinking rye and playing cards.”
“Your dad would have a fit if we did that here.” Rita chuckled. “Sometimes, I feel just like that old lady in your club who lives off by herself without even electricity. What’s her
“Yeah, things are so tight here, they ought to call this place Hardlyville.” I noticed that Grover’s napkin was still folded on the table. We never used napkins except for company. “Had any luck finding work here, Tom?”
“You bet. I’ve made all of fifty cents this summer.” He chuckled, but the rest of us didn’t. “Edgar Howbert hired me to do a day’s plowing for a dollar, but I finished in half a day, so all I got was fifty cents. If Rita sells this article of hers, she’ll make twenty times what I did, and she won’t have blisters, either.”
“You spend the fifty cents in one place?” Grover asked, which was so funny that we all burst out laughing.
“I thought about taking it over to that place at Blue Hill and putting down a bet with Tyrone Burgett. You know, easy come, easy go. But it’s too far to walk, so I guess I’ll buy a farm with the money instead.”
“It’s not fair,” Grover said, getting serious again. “Work like a nigger and what do you have?” He looked at me and said, “Negro.”
“Hell, those Negroes have got it even worse than we do,” Tom said. “Edgar offered Hiawatha Jackson fifty cents a day to do some work, and Hiawatha took it. I don’t know if I’m madder that Edgar cut wages ‘cause Hiawatha’s a colored or that he didn’t offer the job to me at the same price.” Hiawatha and his wife, Duty, lived on Ella’s farm and kept an eye on her.
“Edgar Howbert’s a cheap bastard,” Grover said.
“Hiawatha was glad for anything. He told me his oldest boy’s been all over the state looking for work and that western Kansas is so dry, you couldn’t grow a bone there. He came home with dust pneumonia.”
“I’ve heard some of those farmers out that way are packing up and heading for the Sahara Desert because it’s got more water,” Grover said. “How are you holding up, Rita?”
Grover meant did she want any more food, but Tom misunderstood and said, “She ought to take it easy. Little Agnes there doesn’t let her sleep.”
“Agnes?” Grover said. “You aren’t going to name it Agnes, are you, Rita?” I’d told Grover about the baby as soon as I’d gotten home.
“I’d rather eat goldfish.”
“Agnes sure can get on your nerves, all right. Maybe we should have let her drown that time she fell in the creek. I told Tom to let her lie,” Grover said.
“Aw, if I hadn’t pulled her out, Floyd would have, and I’d have gotten a licking,” Tom said.
“Why would Floyd do a thing like that?” Grover asked.
“He was sweet on her. Didn’t you know?”
“Floyd?” I asked, looking at Grover. He was just as surprised as I was.
“Sure, but Agnes had her heart set on going to college. She wouldn’t marry a farmer, and I guess that was just as well,” Tom continued. “If Floyd had married her instead of Ruby, Agnes’d be an Okie now.”
“Ruby and Floyd are not Okies!” I said fiercely.
“Call ‘em what you like. There are plenty of us who are fifty cents away from being Okies,” Tom replied. We were all silent for a minute, thinking that over. Then Tom said, “I was smelling the dirt in your east cornfield. I bet it’s dry all the way down to China. It hasn’t rained since we came here.”
“We had a cloud last week,” Grover said. “But I think it was just an empty on its way back from Kentucky.”
“This bourbon tastes like it came from there, too.” Tom swallowed the last little bit in his glass. “I sure miss the days when Rita and I spent Saturday nights drinking rye and playing cards.”
“Your dad would have a fit if we did that here.” Rita chuckled. “Sometimes, I feel just like that old lady in your club who lives off by herself without even electricity. What’s her
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