Then Hazel looked toward the old freezer room.
She remembered her grandmother's strange answers.
The careful records.
The way she insisted every package had a place.
And the question she'd been unable to answer all summer.
How much food did Pearl keep?
Hazel looked toward her grandmother.
Then whispered, "Grandma, what are you thinking?"
Pearl smiled faintly.
"Maybe it's time I showed you something."
That evening, after the three farmers left, Pearl asked Hazel to come inside.
Wy was still working in the shed.
The sun was beginning to fall behind the hills, and the farmhouse smelled of supper cooking on the stove.
Pearl walked toward the small storage room behind the kitchen.
Hazel followed.
The room was narrow and cool, with shelves holding jars, boxes, and household supplies. Against the back wall stood a large chest freezer, its white surface scratched from years of use.
Hazel had opened it many times.
She knew it contained vegetables.
But Pearl had always insisted that the lower baskets remain arranged exactly as she'd placed them.
Now her grandmother stood beside the freezer with a small notebook in her hand.
For a moment, she seemed nervous.
Hazel noticed.
"Grandma?"
Pearl looked toward her.
Then smiled sadly.
"I've been meaning to talk to you about this."
She lifted the lid.
Cold air rose from the freezer.
Inside were rows of neatly packaged vegetables.
Purple-hull peas.
Green beans.
Corn.
And carefully labeled containers arranged in separate sections.
Hazel leaned closer.
At first, she didn't see anything unusual.
Then Pearl removed a shallow basket.
Beneath it were smaller packages labeled with dates and initials.
Hazel frowned.
"Whose initials are those?"
Pearl didn't answer immediately.
She opened the notebook.
Then placed it on the nearby shelf.
Hazel looked down.
The pages contained names.
Addresses.
Delivery dates.
And small notes written in her grandmother's careful handwriting.
Some entries stretched back decades.
Others were recent.
Hazel turned a page.
Then another.
For several seconds, she stared.
Finally, she looked up.
"Grandma..."
Pearl's eyes filled.
She nodded slowly.
"Yes, sweetheart."
Hazel looked toward the freezer again.
Then toward the notebook.
For the first time, she understood that her grandmother hadn't been preserving food only for the two of them.
She had been keeping track of other people.
People whose names Hazel recognized.
Families from the hollow.
Widows.
Retired workers.
Parents who'd lost jobs.
And elderly neighbors who couldn't always afford the groceries they needed when winter arrived.
Hazel looked toward Pearl.