If you don't think by this time that my mother was the beatenest woman alive, I'll prove it to you.

When the supper bell rang there was strawberry preserves instead of the apple butter, biscuit, fried chicken, and mashed potatoes.
She must have slapped those chickens into the skillet before they knew their heads were off.

When Shelley came to the table, for the first time since she'd been home, had pink in her cheeks, and talked some, and ate too, mother forgot her own supper.

She fumbled over her plate, but scarcely touched even the livers, and those delicious little kidneys in the tailpiece like Leon and I had at Sally's wedding.

When we finished, and it was time for her to give the signal to arise, no one had asked to be excused, she said: "Let us have a word with the Most High." Then she bowed her head, so all of us did too.