Something had made her cheeks turn
a strange yellowish color. And she wasn't laughing like she had
been that day she told me and Mama how a long time ago she
smeared hog lard on Miss Ophelia's seven-year itch.
"Nannie," Papa whispered as he started out, "soon's you get
time, ask what clothes Ophelia wants us to use."
As soon as Mama went over to Miss Ophelia's chair and began
talking to her, she started crying again.
"Them things in the big trunk is all. They're all he's got,
Miss Nannie."
I didn't know what trunk or what things she was talking about
till a few minutes later when I followed Mama and Miss Lida Belle
into the far side room. There we found two trunks over against
the back wall, one flat on top, the other humpbacked-both dusty.
Mama lifted the lid of the humpbacked one.
"It smells terrible, Mama! Just like Grandma Ming's big old
trunk! That one with all them little white balls in it."
"'Course, hon. All trunks have to have camphor balls in them,
else the moths will get in."
There wasn't a thing in the tray of the trunk except a
handful of dry, shriveled-up roses.
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