And he laid them in the kegs as she had.
Only when he had finished a layer and covered it carefully and patted down the salt was she satisfied.
She dried her bleached and bloated hands.
Tom said,
“Ma, what stuff we gonna take from here?”
She looked quickly about the kitchen.
“The bucket,” she said. “All the stuff to eat with: plates an’ the cups, the spoons an’ knives an’ forks.
Put all them in that drawer, an’ take the drawer.
The big fry pan an’ the big stew kettle, the coffee pot.
When it gets cool, take the rack outa the oven.
That’s good over a fire.
I’d like to take the wash tub, but I guess there ain’t room.
I’ll wash clothes in the bucket.
Don’t do no good to take little stuff.
You can cook little stuff in a big kettle, but you can’t cook big stuff in a little pot.
Take the bread pans, all of ’em.
They fit down inside each other.” She stood and looked about the kitchen. “You jus’ take that stuff I tol’ you, Tom.
I’ll fix up the rest, the big can a pepper an’ the salt an’ the nutmeg an’ the grater.
I’ll take all that stuff jus’ at the last.” She picked up a lantern and walked heavily into the bedroom, and her bare feet made no sound on the floor.
The preacher said,
“She looks tar’d.”
“Women’s always tar’d,” said Tom. “That’s just the way women is, ’cept at meetin’ once an’ again.”
“Yeah, but tar’der’n that.
Real tar’d, like she’s sick-tar’d.”
Ma was just through the door, and she heard his words.
Slowly her relaxed face tightened, and the lines disappeared from the taut muscular face. Her eyes sharpened and her shoulders straightened.
She glanced about the stripped room.
Nothing was left in it except trash.
The mattresses which had been on the floor were gone.
The bureaus were sold.
On the floor lay a broken comb, an empty talcum powder can, and a few dust mice.
Ma set her lantern on the floor.
She reached behind one of the boxes that had served as chairs and brought out a stationery box, old and soiled and cracked at the corners.
She sat down and opened the box.
Inside were letters, clippings, photographs, a pair of earrings, a little gold signet ring, and a watch chain braided of hair and tipped with gold swivels.
She touched the letters with her fingers, touched them lightly, and she smoothed a newspaper clipping on which there was an account of Tom’s trial.
For a long time she held the box, looking over it, and her fingers disturbed the letters and then lined them up again.
She bit her lower lip, thinking, remembering. And at last she made up her mind.
She picked out the ring, the watch charm, the earrings, dug under the pile and found one gold cuff link.
She took a letter from an envelope and dropped the trinkets in the envelope. She folded the envelope over and put it in her dress pocket.
Then gently and tenderly she closed the box and smoothed the top carefully with her fingers.
Her lips parted.
And then she stood up, took her lantern, and went back into the kitchen.
She lifted the stove lid and laid the box gently among the coals.
Quickly the heat browned the paper.
A flame licked up and over the box.
She replaced the stove lid and instantly the fire sighed up and breathed over the box. *
Out in the dark yard, working in the lantern light, Pa and Al loaded the truck.
Tools on the bottom, but handy to reach in case of a breakdown.
Boxes of clothes next, and kitchen utensils in a gunny sack; cutlery and dishes in their box.