Once, long ago, she was soft, trusting. She trusted Mrs. Garner and her husband too. She knottedthe earrings into her underskirt to take along, not so much to wear but to hold. Earrings that madeher believe she could discriminate among them. That for every schoolteacher there would be anAmy; that for every pupil there was a Garner, or Bodwin, or even a sheriff, whose touch at herelbow was gentle and who looked away when she nursed. But she had come to believe every oneof Baby Suggs' last words and buried all recollection of them and luck. Paul D dug it up, gave herback her body, kissed her divided back, stirred her rememory and brought her more news: ofclabber, of iron, of roosters' smiling, but when he heard her news, he counted her feet and didn'teven say goodbye.

　　"Don't talk to me, Mr. Sawyer. Don't say nothing to me this morning.""What? What? What? You talking back to me?" "I'm telling you don't say nothing to me." "Youbetter get them pies made."Sethe touched the fruit and picked up the paring knife.

　　When pie juice hit the bottom of the oven and hissed, Sethe was well into the potato salad. Sawyercame in and said, "Not too sweet. You make it too sweet they don't eat it.""Make it the way I always did.""Yeah. Too sweet."None of the sausages came back. The cook had a way with them and Sawyer's Restaurant neverhad leftover sausage. If Sethe wanted any, she put them aside soon as they were ready. But therewas some passable stew. Problem was, all her pies were sold too. Only rice pudding left and half apan of gingerbread that didn't come out right. Had she been paying attention instead ofdaydreaming all morning, she wouldn't be picking around looking for her dinner like a crab. Shecouldn't read clock time very well, but she knew when the hands were closed in prayer at the top ofthe face she was through for the day. She got a metal-top jar, filled it with stew and wrapped thegingerbread in butcher paper. These she dropped in her outer skirt pockets and began washing up.

　　None of it was anything like what the cook and the two waiters walked off with. Mr. Sawyerincluded midday dinner in the terms of the job — along with $3.4o a week — and she made himunderstand from the beginning she would take her dinner home. But matches, sometimes a bit ofkerosene, a little salt, butter too — these things she took also, once in a while, and felt ashamedbecause she could afford to buy them; she just didn't want the embarrassment of waiting out backof Phelps store with the others till every white in Ohio was served before the keeper turned to thecluster of Negro faces looking through a hole in his back door. She was ashamed, too, because itwas stealing and Sixo's argument on the subject amused her but didn't change the way she felt; justas it didn't change schoolteacher's mind.

　　"Did you steal that shoat? You stole that shoat." Schoolteacher was quiet but firm, like he was justgoing through the m............