Chapter Eight“You must work faster, Rosa. Mr. Quincey expects this field to be planted by dark.”
“I’m sorry, Allison. I’ve worked in gardens all my life. I didn’t think it would be this difficult.” Rosa waved her arm across the landscape. “It’s so overwhelming. I can’t see the end of Mr. Quincey’s fields.”
She brushed her tangled hair away from her face with a calloused hand then stretched. Needles of pain shot through the muscles in her lower back. Two weeks plugging potato eyes, and she still couldn’t keep up. The other workers were nice enough, but she saw the criticism in their eyes. Her slow pace meant they had to work harder. And longer.
“Your problem is you look up too often. Focus on the ground. Dig the hole. Poke the potato chunk into the ground. Cover it up. Move on. It’s tha
