And it felt, as she whispered the word amen, that a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Really tired now, she climbed back into the featherbed and sank down into its softness.

And she opened her eyes again, without ever being aware that she had fallen asleep, to find that it was morning.

And a little critter seemingly made of oak leaves, twigs, and earth, with an acorn for a head, was staring at her from its perch on her pillow, not three inches from her nose.

Before she could move, or even take a startled breath, it giggled, and vanished with a tiny pop.

She stared at the pillow for a very long time.

Wall . . . I reckon thet’s a sign . . .

8

JINNY had made hoecakes and bacon for breakfast, and Anna had noticed a pattern about breakfast. Whenever Jinny felt pleased, she made hoecakes, and cut into the bacon. When Jinny was preoccupied or annoyed, it was mush, or fried mush. So—she must be feeling pleased about the way the conversation had gone last night.

She’s a-gonna be happier’n a dead hog in the sunshine in a moment. “I reckon y’all better teach me how t’use the Glory, Aunt Jinny,” she said, trying to sound like something other than “resigned.” Truth be told, it wasn’t too hard, not with hoecakes and bacon in front of her.

Aunt Jinny just smiled—the self-satisfied smile of someone who is refraining from saying “I told you so”—and drizzled maple syrup over Anna’s hoecake. “Good, we kin start ternight,” was all she said out loud. “Plenty to do till sundown.”

Oh, good. Anna was a little relieved that they weren’t going to jump straight into this. She was entirely sure that she wasn’t ready for getting all wound up in witchery, no matter that Jesus had granted her a sign, and she’d much rather put it off entirely for a while until she got used to the idea. She finished her breakfast, helped Jinny with the dishes, then went to collect the eggs while Jinny mucked out the pigs.

From there, Jinny sent her down into the bottom of the vegetable garden, near where the lane ended and the fence around the huge garden plot began, to weed. Knowing what was coming next when a human went into the garden—tasty weeds uprooted for them with no effort, and bugs picked off the plants and tossed within easy reach—the chickens followed her down.

The garden was surrounded by a rail fence, which looked deceptively crude and weak, but was strong enough to climb and jump on. There wasn’t a gate in it—there was a stile that you used to climb over it. Knowing what she knew now, Anna suspected that this fence was witched in some way to keep critters out of the garden, because Aunt Jinny never seemed to have any trouble with anything but a few persistent bugs and the usual weeds, even though there were plenty of succulent vegetables to tempt deer, rabbits, possums, and raccoons. And the chickens never strayed outside that fence, either, and they certainly could have gotten over it with no effort at all. More witchery?