That night as we began to stack the folding chairs, a car pulled up on the road, and I went to the door to see who was arriving at such a late hour. From the passenger side of the car, the old midwife emerged with a quart-sized jar in her hand. She struggled up the embankment, removed the lid from her jar, and began to sprinkle a liquid into the yard as her voice rose in a shrill chant. “What is that?” Mama asked, coming to stand beside me. She glanced down, saw the midwife, then staggered back the entire length of the hall. I turned to see her standing in the corner that was reserved for the
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