The coffin box was carried into the front room and placed head and foot upon chairs before the cold hearth. Uncle Jolly opened the windows and swung the door ajar, saying the room must be kept cool as could be got. “Fotch spirits to put on Ma’s face,” he told Father. “I’m bound to rest a minute.” He raised arms and yawned. A great weariness shook him, joggling his knees, jerking shoulders, flexing his mouth. His eyes watered. “Three eternal nights I been awake,” he said.

Father brought a washpan, cloth, and soda jar. “Not a drap o’ spirits in this house,” he said. “Alpha says to use soda water. Hit’s freshening.”

Old Bartow stuck his head inside the door and meowed.

Uncle Jolly ran fingers along the coffin lid. The rio lamp shone full upon it from the mantel, and lamp fry and clock tick pitted the air. On the walnut sides of the box there was not a saw mark, not a grain bur. A good sawyer had built it. The box lid was raised an inch. I dreaded to look, though Fletch stood close and unafraid, and I believed he did not know Grandma was inside. Uncle Jolly balanced the lid on the joints of his fingers. “Want these chaps to see now?” he asked.

“They’d better take out the mule,” Father said. “He oughten to stand harnessed all night.”

“He’s not a court-day plug,” Uncle Jolly warned. “He was bred at Mt. Sterling. Feed him ten ears.”

“Corn hain’t raised in a mine patch. We got not a cob. Loose him in the yard and I’ll borrow feed, come morning.”

Fletch tarried. He wanted to look under the lid. “If they’s pennies needed,” he told Uncle Jolly, “thar’s some in the clock. I got me four a-saving.”

When the mule was unharnessed we went into the house and saw Grandma. Her face was like a mold of tallow, quiet, and unbreathing. Mother sat beside the box, my red coat about her shoulders, combing Grandma’s hair. Nezzie Crouch bent over her uneasily. The metal comb crackled among the gray strands. The hair was parted, reparted, strands divided between middle finger, forefinger, and thumb, and the comb caught back into it and drawn through. Two balls of hair were wound behind the crown of the head. A high comb was set into the balls, holding them poised and tight. Mother arose and her face was nearly as pale as Grandma’s. She went back into the far room, and Nezzie Crouch followed.

I stayed awake during the long night. Fletch and Euly slept upon a pallet on the kitchen floor. Uncle Jolly unlaced his boots and stretched across the front-room bed, sleeping in all his clothes. He tossed and spoke words aloud. The chill of night air came through the open door. Father and I buttoned our pea jackets. I scrunched in a rocker, cold and wide awake, having no thought of sleep.