Her aunt got a letter from Ma that made Jinny tsk with disapproval. Ma, it seemed, had lost faith in Jinny’s potions, and was now relying on patent medicines from the Company store, since they eased Pa’s cough and the “potions” didn’t. “Thet’s on account o’ they’s opium in thar,” Jinny said darkly, but said nothing more, and Anna dismissed it from her mind. They still sent the baskets anyway, since Ma hadn’t said a thing about not wanting the potions to sell on anymore, and Jinny added what she thought would slip by Pa’s eye in the way of foodstuffs.

The summer came to an end. The summer vegetables had all ripened and been harvested, and all but one of the pigs and the sow—now almost large enough for slaughter—had been driven down to the Holcrofts’ farm, where they joined others in a larger sty until it was cold enough to slaughter them. Jinny planned to slaughter their own pig, and of course the sow would be kept for breeding next February. All the autumn vegetables were nearly ripened. And frost was on the grass and leaves nearly every morning, except in Jinny’s garden, where her magic (and Anna’s) kept it off, lengthening the growing season for as long as they possibly could, because fresh vegetables were so much better than preserved.

Jolene continued to appear at irregular intervals, teaching Anna bits of this and that.

In her turn, with Josh as the example at the front of her mind, she was trying to be kind and befriend Jolene, who surely could not have many woman-friends. It had occurred to her that the one thing Jolene probably wasn’t able to provide for herself was . . . baked treats. Remembering the greed of the Little People, the piskies, and all, Anna took to carrying a carefully wrapped square of honey-soaked cornbread or a bacon sandwich with her. It wasn’t as if this was in vain—if Jolene didn’t happen to intercept her, Josh was always going to welcome a gift of food. Jolene certainly did respond to the homely gifts—and to Anna’s other overtures of friendship.

She began teaching things to Anna that not even Great-Granpappy had mentioned in his book. The oddest of all, in Anna’s mind, were the illusions, which, to both their surprise and delight, she was particularly good at. “What d’ I need them fur?” she asked, astonished. “They ain’t real!”

“Because, silly girl, illusions take less power to make and hold than the real thing—and you might not be able to get the real thing when you need it,” Jolene said lazily, creating the illusion of a massive, copper snake that rose above them, then vanished into sparks. “What if, despite what the Ravens say, there was a bear?”

Anna no longer feared bears, thanks to the Ravens, but she held her tongue.

“You create the illusion of something the bear fears, and while it is staring at it, you flee. What matters is not if it is real, but if you persuade someone or something else that it is real.”