She told herself desperately they were just wild things, mice, chipmunks, that sort of thing. She didn’t believe what she told herself, however, and just as she started feeling relaxed, she’d see one of them again, and get unnerved all over again.

She and Jinny came back to the cabin, hung the herbs to dry, washed up, and sat down to supper. Aunt Jinny had warned her that “she’d better get used to bean soup,” but the truth was, she never really got tired of it. And she doubted she’d get “used” to it, either.

Even after almost two weeks of eating well, it still seemed like something of a miracle to have three solid, satisfying meals every day—and to end the day with a soup that was substantial enough to be called a “stew” put the cap on days that were mostly good, and often excellent. Besides, her aunt would “tinker” with the soup a little each morning, so that by evening, the taste was always a bit different from the day before.

“I reckon y’all should start on thet book ternight,” her aunt said, as they did the dishes. “I’ll be a-workin’ with the potions t’ strengthen ’em up with the Glory.” She glanced over at Anna, amused. “Thet’s one good thang ’bout finally tellin’ y’all. I ain’t gotter wait till y’all goes up t’bed no more.”

So that was what Aunt Jinny had been doing late at night! Another mystery solved . . .

“Y’all wanter read on th’ porch or inside?” she continued.

“Wall . . .” she hesitated. “I wanter read in bed.”

“I ain’t a-gonna let y’all take a candle up there, fall asleep, an’ burn th’ house down,” her aunt replied, but with a slight smile that took the sting out of the words. “I’ll let y’all use th’ stove so’s I c’n keep one eye on y’all an’ th’ candle iffen y’all nods off. Climb up.”

Astonished that her aunt was permitting her to do this, she took the book and climbed up the ladder to the top of the stove. As she had thought, there was a featherbed up there, covered with a beautifully quilted coverlet. It was warm and exceptionally cozy. But dark.

That is, it was dark, until her aunt handed her up a lit candle in a holder with a reflector in the back of it, and showed her where to put it. There was a place made right into the stove, a kind of shelf at the head of the bed before the stonework rose to form the chimney proper, that ensured that even if the candle burned down and guttered into the holder there was no chance of catching anything on fire.

Anna curled up and opened the book.

The first thing she noticed was that Aunt Jinny had almost certainly learned her penmanship from her Granpappy. The words looked almost identical to the ones in the receipt book.

But the moment she started to read, she was transported elsewhere in a way that nothing in the Bible save a very few books, like Esther, and Solomon, had ever done.