Judy's Journey Read Online Free PDF Page A

there’s money to be made down there in beans, tomatoes and celery—cash money!”
    â€œCash money?” asked Mama, a little frightened at the sound of the two words. It had been so long since she or Papa had seen more than a handful at cotton settling time.
    â€œYes ma’m !” said Papa.
    â€œWhat doin’?” asked Mama.
    â€œPickin’ beans,” said Papa. “They grow more beans to the square inch down there than anywhere else in the U. S. A. Need thousands of pickers, the man said. Even young uns can pick.”
    â€œOh Papa,” said Judy, “can we help earn cash money?”
    â€œI can pick beans,” said Joe Bob. “I’ve picked cotton.”
    â€œI can pick too,” said Cora Jane. “Faster’n you, Joe Bob.”
    â€œWell, me and Mama’ll do the pickin’,” said Papa, “and you-all can go to school every day. But that feller said that a man with his wife and a few young uns to help him could mop up a whole week’s wages for one day’s pick.”
    â€œThey give a week’s pay for one day?” asked Mama.
    â€œYes ma’m !” said Papa.
    â€œBut Jim, you said we was goin’ where you could make a crop’ o’ your own.”
    â€œWe’ll work in beans for a while if it brings in cash money,” said Papa. “We’ll save enough to make the down payment on a little farm of our own.”
    Papa liked to talk about Florida. “All them rich Yankee millionaires come down there and lie in the sun on Palm Beach and forget how cold it is up north .…”
    â€œThey have snow up north ,” said Judy. “Did you ever see snow, Papa?”
    â€œI’d like to see snow jest once,” said Joe Bob. “Is it like cotton?”
    â€œI never saw snow,” said Papa. “Your Mama and me was born in Alabama and we never been up north where them Yankees live. Never wanted to go neither, ’cause one of them killed my Great-Grandpap long years ago in the War Between the States. They come down here, that Yankee army, and stole our crops and killed our men and freed the slaves and brung sorrow and destruction on us all. No-sir-ree, we-uns don’t have no truck with them biggety Yankees, we don’t.”
    â€œMy Great-Grandma used to tell how hard they had it after that war,” said Mama, “and how her and her young uns nigh starved to death.”
    â€œBut I betcha snow is fun,” said Joe Bob.
    â€œIt looks like sand, but it’s cold as ice,” said Judy. “Teacher told us that at school.”
    â€œWe used to play like cotton was snow,” said Joe Bob.
    â€œYes,” added Judy, “you and me and Pinky and Daisy and Porky and Arlie—in the cotton field, instead o’ pickin’ cotton.”
    They laughed—but already it seemed a long time ago.
    Papa was so busy dreaming about the future he didn’t notice a lazy cow suddenly rise to her feet in the ditch and start to cross the road. The jalopy was bearing down hard before he saw her. He turned the wheel and swerved to the left to avoid hitting the animal, then turned quickly back into the road again.
    â€œDanged ole critter!” exclaimed Papa. “Mighty close shave. We almost had roast beef for dinner that time!”
    Cora Jane, standing in front of her mother’s knees, was knocked against the windshield and began to cry lustily.
    â€œWhy didn’t you bump her gentle-like and git us a cow?” asked Judy. “Got to have a cow on our farm, don’t we?”
    â€œYes, but we don’t want to pay damages and go to jail,” laughed Papa.
    â€œThis-here one was a Florida cow,” said Joe Bob. “She was skinnier than them Georgia critters.”
    â€œNot much difference that I can see,” said Papa. “They leave ’em run in the woods to take care of themselves. Never feed ’em, and it don’t look like