"You know how she is," Dad said. "To poor to paint and too proud to whitewash,"

"She’s a strong-willed woman," Mama said.

"Independent as a hog on ice."

"Resourceful as a body can be."

"She’s so stingy," Dad fired back, "I’ll bet she unwinds her clock at night."

The quarreling had gone on since supper, mostly good-natured; Dad had been hitting the rhubarb wine he kept hid in the smokehouse. I smelled it on him.

"She’s your kin," Mama said. "At least go look at the furniture; Lord knows we need some."

"Cain’t trade nickels with her." Dad belched more rhubarb. "She’ll skin a flea for its hide and tallor."

They were still at it when I went to bed. I knew Mama always let Dad have the last word, but I knew we were at least going to look at the furniture. I hope they don’t get into it so Mama’s face has that hurt look or her chin quivers: them are the things I hate most in all this world.

Aunt Nica had sent word by the preacher that she wanted to sell some household goods. She told the preacher she would give Dad the rights to refusal.

We sure did need some, but we can only buy much of anything when our tobacco sells around the first of December. Most of that money goes for things like clothes and a few Christmas things. This year, it had rained a lot and the blue mold set the crop back more than two months. If it don’t stop raining Christmas may be only a few oranges again. I’m sure the way he was talking had something to do with Dad not wanting to get Mama’s hopes up.

The warmth from the wood cook stove, mixed with the smell of damp earth in the garden, made me sleepy even before the rain started on the roof. Next thing I knew, it was morning.