My mother stands facing me, waiting to see what I’ll do, or say.
Again, like a flood of icy water, I see her not staying by me, not watching my body grow tall alongside hers, not measuring my head as it comes to her shoulder, her chin, her eyes. I see my hungry body fitting itself against my brother’s. I see the long dark corridors where I ran as a child with Kate’s stories flapping at my heels. I see the body of a dead man break into flower, and the trees of home swaying like arms that have laid down their burdens. I see Miss Gallagher’s lips moving in greedy speech and my brother hurling a hard-boiled egg like an arrow against death.
The wind howls but my mother is near to me, next to me, her eyes only inches from mine.
Table of Contents
Cover
About the Author
Title Page
Copyright Page
A Spell of Winter
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Spell of Winter Page 30
