Free Next Spring an Oriole by Gloria Whelan Page A

was mixing corn cakes, I went off a little way, but not so far that I couldn’t see the wagon. Nighthawks were dropping out of the sky to catch the mosquitoes. The birds fell almost to the ground and then jerked themselves up as though someone were pulling them on strings. I looked down at my bare feet and saw that they were all red and sticky. At first I was scared, thinking it was blood, but when I looked closer I saw I had been walking in a field of wild strawberries. I hadn’t tasted fresh fruit since we left Virginia. I called to Mama and Papa. In a minute we were all down on our hands and knees picking the tiny sweet berries.
    There was still a little light left in the skywhen I had to climb into the wagon and go to sleep. Mama was sitting by the fire talking with Papa. She was unpinning her long hair, which fell to her waist and was the color of Virginia wheat fields. My hair is dark like Papa’s. I hope someday it will be as long as Mama’s; now it just comes to my shoulders.

    Even though Mama and Papa were talking to each other and not paying me any attention, I didn’t feel lonesome. I was excited. Our long journey was almost over.

II
    After we left Pontiac, the road led through a thick woods. Papa was pleased because there were so many trees. We startled deer and made the squirrels scold from the branches. Late in the morning it began to rain. Mama and I climbed into the back of the wagon. Papa put on his oiled leather jacket and big hat.
    The rain was everywhere. It poured off the brim of Papa’s hat so that he could hardly see. It lay in puddles on the top of the wagon’s canvas roof. If we brushed against the canvas, water dripped into the wagon. The rain slid down the backs of Ned and Dan and got into their ears so that they flicked them and shook their heads.
    The trail became soft and squishy. The wagon wheels sunk deeper and deeper. Papa jumped down from the wagon so it would be lighter. He pulled on the horses’ bridles and coaxed them along. After a little while Mama climbed down and walked alongside Papa. In minutes her dress and shawl were soaked through. Her wet skirt clung to her legs, and its hem was scalloped with mud.
    We came to a long hill so slick with mud that Papa had to tie a dead tree to the wagon. He and Mama climbed back into the wagon so it would be heavy and wouldn’t go sliding down the slippery hill. Ned and Dan kept pulling. They were tired and moving slowly, and their hoofs made an awful sucking sound each time they pulled them out of the mud.
    At the bottom of the hill we found a stream. The rain was letting up and we all got out of the wagon to see how deep the water was. Then the sun came out; a hot June sun. The banks on either side of the river began to steam with heat. Papa threw off his hat and jacket. “The river is swollen from the rain,”he said. “We’d better camp here. In the morning the water will be lower and we’ll make it across.” He looked at Mama, whose clothes and face and hair were plastered with mud. Papa began to laugh. Mama looked angry for a minute. Then she laughed too.

    “You look just as bad as I do, Rob Mitchell, and it’s time you had a bath.” With that she pushed him into the river and then waded in herself. In a minute I jumped in too. We splashed one another and scrubbed off the mud and washed our clothes. When we were clean, we waded out of the stream and lay down on the grass. Mama had washed her hair and spread it out in the sun to dry. When I touched it, it was so warm from the sun it seemed almost alive.
    Papa led Ned and Dan down to the river-bank and sloshed them with pails of water. While Papa was washing down the horses, Mama got out her sketchbook and drew Papa’s picture. I like to watch her draw. She catches her lower lip between her teeth and frowns a little, and she always finds more to put in her picture than I can see. I was watching Papa sluice down the horses, but I hadn’t seen the fond look he gave them or