Spell of Winter

by Helen Dunmore

  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