Denver knew that her mother was through with it — for now anyway. The single slow blink of hereyes; the bottom lip sliding up slowly to cover the top; and then a nostril sigh, like the snuff of acandle flame — signs that Sethe had reached the point beyond which she would not go.
"Well, I think the baby got plans," said Denver. "What plans?""I don't know, but the dress holding on to you got to mean something.""Maybe," said Sethe. "Maybe it does have plans."Whatever they were or might have been, Paul D messed them up for good. With a table and a loudmale voice he had rid 124 of its claim to local fame. Denver had taught herself to take pride in thecondemnation Negroes heaped on them; the assumption that the haunting was done by an evilthing looking for more. None of them knew the downright pleasure of enchantment, of not suspecting but knowing the things behind things. Her brothers had known, but it scared them;Grandma Baby knew, but it saddened her. None could appreciate the safety of ghost company.
Even Sethe didn't love it.
She just took it for granted — like a sudden change in the weather.
But it was gone now. Whooshed away in the blast of a hazelnut man's shout, leaving Denver'sworld flat, mostly, with the exception of an emerald closet standing seven feet high in the woods.
Her mother had secrets — things she wouldn't tell; things she halfway told. Well, Denver had themtoo. And hers were sweet — sweet as lily-of-the-valley cologne.