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Advances in Guidance, Navigation and Control: Proceedings of 2022 International Conference On Guidance, Navigation and Control Liang Yan Full Chapter
Advances in Guidance, Navigation and Control: Proceedings of 2022 International Conference On Guidance, Navigation and Control Liang Yan Full Chapter
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All the cotton had been picked except scraps in the tip-top of the
stalks. When these were gathered, the last chance for the women to
make a little money would be over until early next spring when the
stables were cleaned out and the black manure put in piles for them
to scatter over the fields.
The sultry day was saturated with heat. The swollen sun shone white
through a fog that brought the sky low over the cotton field. The
cotton pickers swarmed thick, sweat poured off faces and hands and
feet. Slowly, steadily they moved, up and down the long rows of tall
rank stalks, carefully picking every wisp of staple out of the wide-
open brown burrs.
Everybody was barefooted, most of the boys and men wearing only
shirts and overalls, and the women had their skirts tied up almost to
their knees.
Not the smallest gust of wind stirred the steamy air. Sweat blackened
sleeves and shirts and dresses, yet the talk stayed bright and chatty.
Breeze had picked all morning except for one little while when he
stopped to eat a piece of cold corn-pone and drink a few swallows
out of his bottle of sweetened water. He wanted to pick a good
weight, but the cotton was light and sparse. April was paying a whole
cent a pound instead of the half a cent he paid when the cotton was
green and heavy.
If Big Sue would pick faster instead of talking so much, together they
ought to get a hundred pounds. Maybe even a hundred and twenty-
five.
Side by side they trudged along, but too often Big Sue stopped and
straightened up her bent shoulders and stretched her arms for a rest.
Leaning over so long had her all but in a cramp. Yet when Breeze
stopped to eat she scolded him. This was no time for lingering. Every
pound picked meant a cent.
“Wha’ de news f’om Joy?” Leah called across the rows.
“Joy wa’n’t so well when I heared last.”
“Wa’n’t Joy kinder sickly all last summer?”
Big Sue admitted it grumly.
“I hear-say Joy have changed e boardin’ place since e went back to
school.”
Big Sue took her time to answer. After picking several stalks clean
she said Joy had changed, fo’ true. She was staying right on the
campus now. Right with the teachers and the professors and all the
high-up people.
Leah spat on the ground. “Lawd, Joy must be know ev’yt’ing by now,
long as e’s been off at school. How much years? Five or six?”
“Joy do know a lot, but ’e ain’ been off but four years. You know it
too, Leah.”
“Joy’s a stylish gal, Big Sue. Even if e is puny.” Zeda was plainly
siding against Leah.
“Joy ought to look stylish, much money as I spent on em. When e
went back to school dis fall, Joy’s trunk looked fine as a white lady’s
trunk. Not a outin’ gown in em! Not a outin’ petticoat! Even to de
shimmys, Joy had ev’yt’ing made out o’ pink and blue and yellow
crêpe. Joy is a fine seamster, if I do say it myse’f. Joy’s clothes is
fine as any store-bought clothes.”
“Wha’s Joy gwine do when e finish college?” Leah asked presently.
Big Sue was uncertain. Joy was working to get a depluma. When
she got that she could be anything she liked. Joy was sickly last
summer because she had so much learning stirring around in her
head. Leah laughed—innocently. There was no need to worry, as
long as a girl was sickly from things stirring in her head.
“Wha you mean by dat, Leah?” Big Sue stopped short and her
narrowed eyes gazed fixedly at Leah who went on picking.
“I ain’ say nothin’ to vex you, Big Sue! You’s too touchous! Joy ain’
gold neither silver.”
“You keep Joy’s name out you’ mouth, Leah!” Big Sue snapped the
words out in a stinging tone that cut through the heat.
Zeda stood still and gave a wide-mouthed yawn and a lazy laugh.
“Do hush you’ wranglin’. When it’s hot like dis, I can’ stan’ to hear
nobody tryin’ to start a brawl. You womens ain’ chillen! Joy’s a nice
gal. Fo’ Gawd’s sake, le’ em ’lone!”
She looked up at the sun hanging low in a whitish glow, then down at
the short shadows and the heat wilted leaves. Not a bird chirped. Not
a locust or grasshopper spoke.
“I bet Joy’ll marry some o’ dem fine professors or either preachers,”
Bina drawled.
“Joy might, fo’ true,” Big Sue bragged.
Zeda said nothing, but her eyes darted a sharp look at Big Sue, then
turned toward the rice-fields where the river crept up without a
murmur or a shimmer of light on its surface.
Breeze picked on and on long after his back was tired and his fingers
sore from the sharp points of the stiff burrs. The crocus sheets
spread out along the road at the side of the field were piled higher
and higher with cotton which was heaped up, packed down, running
over. The last picking yielded more than anybody expected.
Thank God, the sun was setting at last. Wagons were rattling in the
distance, coming to haul the cotton to the big gin-house! This year’s
crop was done.
XVI
PLOWING