Within moments they were hard little nuggets, as dry as rocks and the color of dried blood, and the bucket beneath them had a couple of inches of water in it. Aunt Jinny tipped the tomato nuggets out into a basket and told Anna to quarter up some more tomatoes, while she poured the water into the water barrel next to the sink. “This here’s the purest water y’all ever will find,” Jinny said. “There jest ain’t nothin’ in it, ’cause I kept ever’thang else in the ’maters. It’s wuth savin’.”

“What’d y’all jest do?” Anna asked, industriously quartering fruit.

“Simplest thang we c’n do. I tol’ the water t’leave.” Her aunt chuckled at Anna’s expression. “Water don’ like earth. Wall, thet stands t’reason. Even mud, let it set even without usin’ th’ Glory, an’ th’ water’ll rise an’ th’ earth’ll settle. I jest made thet happen fast an’ completely. Same thing’d happen iffen we sliced them ’maters thin an’ left the slices t’dry in the sun, but these nuggets store easier, an’ nothing I make in th’ winter needs sliced ’maters.”

Anna watched her aunt repeat the action three more times before Jinny turned the task over to her. Jinny used the juice initially drained from the tomatoes as the base for their soup, then, when there was more than she needed, directed Anna to pour it into the slop bucket for the pigs.

“C’n we do this with ever’thang?” she asked.

Jinny nodded, her back to Anna while she cut up more vegetables for the soup. “Some thangs it don’t pay t’ waste th’ time an’ Glory, though,” she pointed out. “Most stuff might’s well let the sun do th’ work. Peas ’n beans. Corn. I like t’ sun-dry apples. Mostly, y’all wanter do this with anythang what’s real juicy an’ cain’t hold in a barrel or bag an’ cain’t be pickled—which ain’t much. Mushrooms, iffen y’all got ’nuff, though mushrooms mostly don’ last long ’nuff ’round me t’git dried.”

“Strawbs?” Anna asked hopefully.

To her regret, her aunt shook her head. “Naw, strawbs don’ hold up well t’dryin’. Most berries don’t, jest deerberry an’ blueberry. Some thangs we jest gotter enjoy in jam an’ in season.”

Mastering this drove most of that uncomfortable conversation out of Anna’s head, and the novelty of having wheat bread instead of corn bread for supper further distracted her. Her aunt had made up the dough into four little round loaves rather than one big one; when time came for supper, she sawed the bottom off two of the loaves, dug out the soft insides, set the pieces aside, and filled the bread “bowls” with soup, with the soft bits on the side to sop up the broth. The bottoms got spread with strawberry jam for dessert.

“Go sit on th’ stove an’ read yore book,” her aunt directed, when the little that needed to be cleaned was done. “I gotter go talk to some’un.” And she took down that piece of black glass Anna had seen her staring into once before.