Free Farmerettes by Gisela Sherman

Scranton slammed a pitcher of milk onto the table. “Drink up. Five more minutes, then back to the field. You’ll have to work a lot harder this afternoon if you want to get paid.” He pulled a toolbox from his tractor and headed for a nearby fence.
    All through the long hot afternoon Isabel worked, sometimes so dizzy only the hoe kept her from falling. Her arms and lower back were in agony. Blisters formed on her hands. She felt hot, but her skin was clammy. She was hungry, but the idea of food made her feel sick. How would she last the rest of the day, never mind the whole summer? Isabel was disappointed with herself. The others grumbled about the heat and the work, but they were getting it done. By four o’clock, she could barely lift the hoe and had chopped several dollars’ worth of seedlings. Would she ever be good at anything?
    At long last, Mr. Scranton drove up with his wagon, clouds of brown dust billowing behind like a demon emerging from the mist. He collected the hoes, threw them to the floor of the wagon, and then waited impatiently as the girls climbed in.
    â€œAre you okay?” asked Kate as she helped Isabel up.
    Isabel whispered, “I’m fine, thank you,” and collapsed onto the wooden bench. With a lurch, the wagon clattered back to Highberry Farm.
    As they climbed from the wagon, the girls politely called good-bye to the grizzled farmer. He grunted in reply. But as he watched Kate help Isabel step down, he said, “You’re the worst bunch of girls who ever pretended to work for me. Don’t come back tomorrow.”
    For the first time in her life, Isabel wanted to shout something rude. The other girls were angry too. As they stormed across the barnyard, Kate muttered, “How dare he fire us! I wanted to quit first!”
    They walked to the lawn in front of the dorm, where some farmerettes sat cheerfully licking ice-cream cones. Isabel sank into a chair beside them.
    â€œWhere’s ours?” shouted Kate.
    â€œThree miles down the road,” a sunburned girl replied. “Mr. Belding stopped at the dairy and bought these on our way home. Said we did a great job thinning his cherries.”
    â€œBut we’re so hot,” moaned Ruth. “We hoed a million miles of potatoes today.”
    The girls looked sympathetic, but no one offered a lick. Peggy pointed to the pump at the side of the barn. “Go get a drink. You look like you could use one.”
    â€œAnd how was your day?” a chubby girl asked Kate, taking a long, slow lick of frosty white ice cream.
    Isabel, Kate, and Ruth looked at each other, ready to spew complaints. Isabel surprised herself by answering first. “We had quite a time. Mr. Scranton is unbelievable. Hoeing potatoes is much easier than crouching in the dirt for strawberries or climbing up cherry trees. We want to go there again.”
    Her coworkers looked at her and quickly nodded in agreement. Tomorrow, let these girls hop onto Scranton’s wagon first, so they could race to the ice-cream farmer’s truck.
    Isabel smiled weakly, got up, and went inside. If she could just get to bed and sleep, she’d be fine.
    Binxie
    When the dinner chime rang, Binxie followed the stampede into the dining room. Girls ladled serving spoons of mashed potatoes, turnips, something green, and slabs of meatloaf onto their plates, then into their mouths faster than they ever did at home.
    â€œI’ve never been so ravenous,” said a slim, pretty girl named Shirley. She mumbled through a mouthful of turnip, “This is yummy.”
    Binxie noticed the gravy was almost as lumpy as the potatoes, and the vegetables were so mushy it was hard to tell if they were peas or beans.
    â€œI could eat a horse,” declared a plump girl, reaching for another slice of meatloaf.
    â€œGood, because I think that’s what this is,” said Peggy, who always seemed to end up near Binxie. Peggy poked her meatloaf