Anna wanted to just inhale that pie at the first bite, but she went slowly, carefully savoring every bite—because it was obvious at this point that Aunt Jinny didn’t use a lot of wheat flour, preferring to make baked goods with the corn meal she herself could raise. So when she did make something with wheat flour, it was a special occasion.

“C’n I go with?” she asked timidly, expecting the usual answer. But this time, Aunt Jinny paused.

“We’ll see,” she said, surprising the heck out of Anna. “Y’all took t’ usin’ th’ Glory faster nor I’d’a thunk. An’ y’all hev it powerful strong. So . . . mebbe. Iffen y’all hev larned how t’ pertec’ yoreself. We’ll be a-crossin’ thet thar bridge when we gits to’t.”

Well that actually drove all thoughts of the book out of her head for a moment. She might finally get to see Ducktown, and see for herself if it really was the hellscape her aunt described. And she’d get to go to at least one store! And they’d be getting cloth—or at least flour or chicken feed in matching flour or feed sacks—to make her something new!

“Y’all’s gonna need a wool skirt fer winter,” her aunt continued. “They don’ put up flour an’ feed in wool. Wool coat, too. An’ wool stockin’s. Ain’t a-gonna hev y’all freeze, an’ a shawl ain’t gonna be enuff.”

That—sounded alarming, to someone who was used to not having so much as a rag to spare. “Won’t thet be dreadful dear?” she asked timidly.

“Y’all’s a-gonna be wearin’ thet there skirt fer a long time,” her aunt pointed out. “Twenny years, iffen y’all takes good care, don’ let th’ moths git to’t, an’ don’t tear it up.”

But her eyes filled with tears when she realized how much this was going to cost Aunt Jinny. “But—all I done since I come here is et up y’all’s food an’ use up yore Ma’s close—” she choked. “I don’ know how ter—”

“Oh, hush,” Jinny cut her off brusquely. “Yer my kin. An’ what else’m I a-gonna spend money on? Y’all pulls yore own weight now, an’ I’m a-spectin’ y’all ter take care’a me when I’m old an’ jest sit ’round an’ complain!”

“I’ll do thet!” she pledged. “I promise!”

“I’ll hold y’all t’thet,” Jinny replied. “Now le’s clean up.”

“I c’n knit,” she offered, as she dried dishes. “I c’n make m’own stockin’s.”

“Good, tha’s somethin’ y’all c’n make a start on now.” Aunt Jinny nodded. “All th’ more reason ter go ter Ducktown. Iffen we go when Matt’s takin’ his wagon home with room t’spare, he won’t mind if we brung back a bit more than I usually does. So, wool fer a skirt an’ a coat, an’ wool yarn fer stockin’s. What’d y’all do ’bout shoon an’ stockin’s afore this?”

“Ma wrapped m’feet in rags,” she confessed. “An’ I didn’ go out, so I didn’ need shoon.” She sighed. “’Cept fer th’ Methodist Christmas Party. Then Ma wore Pa’s broke shoon, an’ I wore hers.”