When the water finally ran clean from her hair, she dried herself on the sacking and began to comb her hair out. That was when Aunt Jinny emerged and handed her a shapeless white garment.

Shapeless—but not ugly. There were pretty little ruffles all around the hem, at the ends of the sleeves, and around the drawstring neck. When she slipped it on, it was softer than anything she had ever worn, and although there was a darned spot where it had been ripped a little, it was almost as good as new. There were ribbons at the wrists to draw the sleeves closed, and another ribbon threaded around the neck, so you could gather it tighter, or let it looser.

“Tha’s a nightgown, an’ it belonged t’y’all’s Granny, my Ma,” said Aunt Jinny. “Reckon I got some more pieces of her close, an’ y’all are about her size. Yore stuff ain’t fit t’wear till it’s been give a good wash.”

Anna opened her mouth to object, then closed it again. The dirt on the rag and in the water didn’t lie. Her clothing was probably just as filthy as she’d been.

“Now y’all’re fit t’come in,” Jinny continued, and turned and went back into the cabin. Anna followed, still combing the knots out of her wet hair. Without any drawers or petticoat on, being in the loose nightgown, which came down to just above her ankles, felt like being naked. It was disconcerting, but also cool and comfortable at the same time.

It was a one-room cabin, although the room was surprisingly large, with a pair of lofts. And the very first thing that caught Anna’s attention was the fireplace—because it didn’t look like any fireplace she had ever seen in her entire life.

It absolutely dominated the room and took up most of the back wall. It was made of stone that had been plastered over and whitewashed, so it really stood out in the dimly lit room. It stuck out into the room at least six feet. It was at least five feet tall! There was a hearth with a fire in it—but it was set deep into the fireplace, at about waist-high, and not directly under the chimney, a big alcove with a hearth large enough for three pots, and the fireplace deeper in that.

It occurred to her using this kind of fireplace—if you could even call it a fireplace—would be as easy as cooking on the Jones’s coal stove, if not easier. No getting down on your hands and knees, no real bending over.

There was another deep place to the right and directly under the chimney that looked as if it could be a hearth—or maybe it was an oven—and several more niches along the side to the left. Did the whole big construction keep things constantly warm? There was a ladder going up to the flat top, which must have been about five feet off the ground and big as Ma and Pa’s bed. And there was, in fact, bedding up there. As if—well, if someone slept up there in the winter, it would keep them mighty warm and comfortable.