Though Jinny proclaimed that this was the day for the weekly full bath. “I allus takes mine on Sunday, so y’all might as well too.” They both took their baths at the well, Anna doing her best to avert her eyes from her aunt’s nakedness.

Then it was a full day of chores, and writing down a new receipt—this one for “coughs and croup” that featured comfrey and “Indian tobacco,” which, her aunt explained, was not tobacco at all, but a kind of bellflower. They sat down to supper. There had been a second nightgown on the line next to Anna’s, and that was what Jinny was sporting at supper. Well, now she knew what her aunt wore to sleep.

Then they both took stools out to sit on the front porch in the last of the light. Anna read her Bible. But Jinny didn’t have a Bible, or, indeed, any book. Instead, she stared fixedly at what looked like a black glass or ceramic plate that she had taken down from the shelf where she kept her receipt book.

Anna could not understand what she was doing . . . but . . . maybe it was a way of praying? Certainly Jinny wasn’t doing anything else but staring into the shining surface.

When it got too dim to see the letters clearly, Anna shut her Bible and went back into the cabin. She felt a little guilty, because she actually hadn’t been reading anything improving, like out of the New Testament. Instead, she’d been reading some of her favorite parts about King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba. No morals, nothing “sacred” about it, just beautiful words. And . . . secretly she had kind of been wishing for one of those books like Missus Sawyer had. Those stories had been scary—but they’d been exciting and fascinating too. And she wished she could read more of them.

Her aunt followed and put that black plate back on the shelf. “I’m hankerin’ fer tea,” she said aloud. “Iffen y’all ain’t sleepy, jest put by yore book an’ set a spell. Happen y’all might hev some more questions by now.”

Well, actually . . . she did. She put her Bible up on the same shelf as the receipt books and accepted a sweetened mug of tea from her aunt. “All this,” she said, waving her hand at the cured meat overhead, and vaguely out at the garden. “Is thet all y’all need fer a year?”

“Prolly more’n a year, but I allus put by plenty in case somethin’ happens,” her aunt replied. “Hailstorm, wet spring, early frost—iffen what I put by is older’n a couple years, I takes it down t’Matt Holcroft ev’ six months, an’ he an’ Maddie take their extrees, an’ makes up boxes fer widders in Ducktown. I got money put by, too, from sellin’ potions, but I try not t’spend it iffen I kin he’p it. I got trade-deals a-goin’ with Matt an’ Old Raven. Matt’s got a water mill; he grinds my corn. Thet was part’a the bargain Granpappy made with his Pa for helpin’ build it. I tans my own leather, makes my own shoon. With y’all here, I reckon I’m a-gonna hev t’buy some cloth, on account of yore gonna fatten up iffen I hev anythin’ t’say ’bout it, an’ Ma’s close ain’t gonna fit y’all fer long; other than thet, I jest buys a liddle flour now’n agin, salt, bakin’ soda.” She thought a moment. “Vinegar. Some other trifles. Pots an’ jars fer preservin’. Could make m’own, an’ I useter, but I cain’t make glass. When I gets a hankerin’ fer butter or cheese, I go trade with Matt. Don’t go t’town much; iffen y’all think Soddy’s done been pizened, y’all’s got no ideer what Ducktown’s like.”