Free Legend of Buddy Bush (9781439131824) by Shelia P. Moses Page B

of the truck, I notice a new woman with us. She is sitting in the front with Randy. She can’t be his girlfriend. Randy is Miss Blanche’s middle boy, but he ain’t old enough for a girlfriend. I believe he is about sixteen. He shoo ain’t old enough to be driving. But Ole Man Taylor don’t care as long as we get to the field every day. I try to get a good look at her, but that is not going to happen with the Edwards blocking the window like sardines in a can.
    I touch my friend Chick-A-Boo, Randy’s youngest sister, on the shoulder. “Who’s the new lady in the inside of the truck?”
    Chick-A-Boo is mad about her being in the inside. “She is some city lady named Nora and she thinks she is too light skinned and pretty to sit back here with us. She came back to Rich Square a while ago and according to Ma, she went to work at the sewing factory Saturday morning and theytold her she didn’t work there no more. So I guess she going to have to get off her high horse now, working with us in the fields.”
    â€œNora! That’s Uncle Buddy’s friend.”
    â€œWe all know that,” Chick-A-Boo snaps.
    â€œThat’s the reason she got fired.”
    I’m not about to tell Chick-A-Boo that I saw Uncle Buddy give Miss Nora worms, because she is still fussing about Miss Nora riding in the front with Randy. I didn’t get a good look at her face on Saturday because I was so busy looking at Uncle Buddy’s hand on her tiddies.
    Finally I said, “Don’t worry. When she finishes chopping and pulling weeds, she will be black like the rest of us.” I try to assure Chick-A-Boo. But no one is as black as Chick-A-Boo, who we called “Skillet.” Now, Uncle Buddy calls her “Pretty Lady.”
    Uncle Buddy says it must be a dead cat on the line, because Chick-A-Boo is the only dark Edward. On Rehobeth Road “dead cat on the line” means you don’t have the same daddy that your sisters and brothers do. Ma told Uncle Buddy he don’tknow who that girl daddy is and he best stop talking to me about Miss Blanche’s business. And she says it don’t matter what color you are if you that pretty. As a matter of fact, she said it don’t ever matter to God what color you are, just to the crazy folks around here. And everybody says Chick-A-Boo is the prettiest girl on Rehobeth Road. Maybe in all of Rich Square. Right now she’s just being jealous. So I’m not going to pay her any attention while she talks about Miss Nora. She know better than to talk about folks anyway. When she does, I tell her she sounds like Sylvia. A nasty two-faced little gossip. I tell her that Grandpa says, “Never worry about the bone, just the dog that’s carrying it.”
    When the truck turns onto the dirt path, all I can see is cotton plants with weeds that don’t suppose to be in them, all mixed in together, waiting for us to chop out. Our hoes lie at the end of field where Randy left them last Thursday, before the big rain came.
    When the truck stops, I jump off first, trying to get a better look at Miss Nora. Everyone runs to the field, trying to get the row that has less weedsand grass on it. I don’t budge. I want to see the city lady. I saw that mess she was doing with Uncle Buddy, but never did see her face. I wonder where her worms are. What is she like, the one Uncle Buddy likes enough to take to the picture show? Why would she give up the city life to come back to Rich Square? I will ask her sooner or later. What about the movie theaters and all the stores I see on Grandpa’s TV? Don’t she want to go to the Chinese restaurant on Saturday nights and the Savoy? I hear that they dance all night there.
    When she steps out of the truck, I want to laugh. But Grandma and Ma would skin me alive for laughing at anyone. I want to laugh because I had never seen anyone dressed up going to chop cotton before. Miss Nora has on a