The Grapes of Wrath

by John Steinbeck

She looked quickly about the kitchen. “The bucket,’’ she said. “All the stuff to eat with: plates an’ the cups, the spoons an’ knives an’ forks. Put all them in that drawer, an’ take the drawer. The big fry pan an’ the big stew kettle, the coffee pot. When it gets cool, take the rack outa the oven. That’s good over a fire. I’d like to take the wash tub, but I guess there ain’t room. I’ll wash clothes in the bucket. Don’t do no good to take little stuff. You can cook little stuff in a big kettle, but you can’t cook big stuff in a little pot. Take the bread pans, all of ’em. They fit down inside each other.’’ She stood and looked about the kitchen. “You jus’ take that stuff I tol’ you, Tom. I’ll fix up the rest, the big can a pepper an’ the salt an’ the nutmeg an’ the grater. I’ll take all that stuff jus’ at the last.’’ She picked up a lantern and walked heavily into the bedroom, and her bare feet made no sound on the floor.