“We ain’t a-gonna need t’muck out th’ pigs, at least,” Anna observed from above.

“They’s a-gonna stay in their house too, I reckon. Mebbe come out fer a bath. Pigs like a bath. Go back ter bed; ain’t no use gettin’ up till they’s light ’nuff t’see by.”

Another lightning strike, but this time it was far enough away that Anna was able to count to “seven-Mississippi” before the thunder came. Then it was just the rain on the roof, which was always soporific, and she drifted right off, only to be awakened again by her aunt tapping on the ladder with a broomstick.

She opened her eyes on thin, gray light; it was enough to see by but just barely.

On the other hand, the enticing aromas of fresh cornbread and bacon came from below, which was more than enough for her to climb out of bed and down the ladder.

“Breakfus’ fust,” Aunt Jinny told her. “Then git yerself dressed, give them chickens feed and water, come back ter the porch, an’ I’ll hev a pail of slops fer the pigs.” She set to her breakfast, but her aunt didn’t seem in any great hurry for her to go, so she took her time over it.

When she went to get dressed, however, her aunt frowned for a moment, then got some twine. She passed the twine under Anna’s skirt and up through the waistband on the right side, hiked the skirt up with the twine, and tied it off, then did the same on the left side. “Now y’all got yer hands free,” she pointed out, as Anna blushed at her exposed legs. “An’ yore skirt ain’t gonna draggle in th’ mud. Consarned stupid thangs, skirts,” she added, crossly. “It’s why I got m’self rid of ’em as soon as I could. Won’t even wear one t’town.”

“But don’t people talk?” Anna asked, taking the square of oilcloth with a hole in the middle that her aunt unfolded and handed to her, and pulling it over her head.

“An’ gi’ me one good reason why I should care?” Aunt Jinny countered. “What’re they gonna do? Ruint my marriage prospects?” She laughed sardonically. “I be old ’nuff thet I c’n do what I wants, an’ nobody burns ol’ wimmin as witches no more. Asides, they need me more’n I’ll ever need them. They knows it. Now skedaddle.”

Anna skedaddled, scuttling off to the chicken coop where some very hungry chickens assessed the weather and grumpily settled down to eat and then go back to their nests. The pigs, however, were perfectly happy in the rain. She was perfectly happy to get back inside, and then, at Jinny’s suggestion, change out of her damp clothing back into her dry nightdress.

“I’m a-gonna bake, an’ I don’ want y’all underfoot,” Jinny told her. “Y’all been pretty good ’bout chores, an’ I reckon y’all deserve a rest-day. So jest broom up th’ floor, then climb up on th’ stove with yore Great-Granpappy’s book an’ have a read till dinner.”