Her aunt yawned and covered it with the back of her hand. “Not ternight. I do a passel of ’em t’gether an’ I ain’t got ’nuff t’trouble with yet. I’m a-thinkin’ bed would be good fer both of us. Don’ ferget t’ take yore hair down an’ put them pins somewhere’s safe till mornin’.” She paused as if to say something, but didn’t. Instead she made a shooing motion with her hands.

Anna pulled the pins out of her hair, counting them carefully to make sure she got them all out—though the beads made that a lot easier. There was an empty pottery jam pot that she had washed out earlier sitting on the counter next to the sink. “Aunt Jinny, kin I hev this jam pot fer my pins?” she called, as her aunt sat down on the edge of her bed.

“Take’t,” her aunt said. “Iffen I need more, I kin trade fer ’em or make ’em. I’ll show y’all later. They’s good clay at the stream, an’ th’ Domovoy’ll he’p.”

Assured by this, she fetched the pot, put the pins in it, and put both safely with her great-granpappy’s book and her Bible. Could she claim Pavel as her great-granpappy even though he wasn’t strictly her blood? But they shared the same power. It felt right that she should.

Then she blew out the candle, felt her way up the ladder to her bed, and although the bed was extremely tempting, took the time to say her prayers.

But tonight, they ended a little differently.

Thenkee, Lord Jesus, fer givin’ me thet sign. This feels right an’ good.

Then she paused a moment, and added—

An’ please let me not get acrost of Jolene.

Then, prompted by an impulse she couldn’t resist, she added one more thing. Iffen she’ll let me—I’d like t’be her friend. Amen.

9

THE cabin shook with a mighty thunderclap that sent Anna catapulting out of her dream with a shriek. It was still dark out, but a flash of lightning followed by an immediate crash of thunder lit up the loft. Rain made its own muted roar on the roof.

“Aunt Jinny?” she called in alarm, not knowing whether or not the next lightning bolt was going to hit the cabin and set it afire.

“Jest a thunderstorm.” The sound of the door being opened, followed by a cold gust of wind, sent her scrambling on her hands and knees across the loft to close the window. It was wet, but not too wet, and fortunately she hadn’t left anything under it. “I gotta lightnin’ rod an’ I put th’ Glory on th’ house so it ain’t gonna get hit, there ain’t hail, an’ the rain ain’t so bad it’s gonna flatten the crops none. Ac’chully, it’ll do ’em some good, it’s been a mite dry.”

The door closed again. Anna peeked over the edge of the loft and saw her aunt poking up the fire. “This’s jest a good, soakin’ rain—” She was interrupted by another peel of thunder that shook the house. “’Cept fer th’ noise. Reckon it’ll rain most’ve th’ day. Good day fer bakin’. When it gits light, y’all run t’ the chicken house an’ feed ’em there, an’ give ’em a pan o’ water. They ain’t a-gonna come out in weather like this.”