First she summoned Lionel to find the washing board, a piece of wood shaped like a table top, on which the body would be prepared for burial. “The board will be wherever the last death was,” Sara told Lionel, for it was community property, used by a family as it was needed, then put away to await the next death. “That’d be the Peele family, over by the swamp. Mistah Durwood, he passed on a few weeks ago. Ain’t heard of nobody dyin’ since.” “Well, go along and get it,” Sara said wearily. “Knowin’ your mother, she wouldn’t like to be washed on a board what ever’body else gets washed on, but they ain’t time to make another. I reckon she should’a thought o’ that ’fore it was too late.” From the kitchen doorway, Julie spoke. “You are right, Sara. Mother would not want to be washed and dressed on a board used by just anyone. She was very prim about such things, you know.” Sara looked at the girl with the gray-shadowed eyes whose stringy hair hung wildly about her gaunt face.
