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by Lissa Lee Book Opening: She watched the powerful mahogany hindquarters of the draft horse rise and fall, its heavy black tail switching from side to side in a rhythmic cadence.
Leaning over the side of the open wagon, she looked at the red earth swirl as Old Joe kicked up his heels. The dry dust of West Texas in late summer seared her nostrils. Lin wrinkled her small eleven-year-old nose and squeezed her eyes shut to stem the watering.
Amused by her playful inquisitiveness, the man driving the buggy leaned over the other side in imitation, winking at the girl. In between the two conspirators sat Margaret Todd, her spine rigid despite the commotion of the rutted road. The girl’s first memory of “the Mrs.,” as she would think of Mrs. Todd, was the ironclad grip that pulled at her arm as she clung to a mother she now only remembered as a lilting voice with long black hair, someone who smelled of sweet orange blossoms.
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NOTE: All material is copyright protected. No portion of this material may be copied or reproduced, either electronically, mechanically, or by any other means, for resale or distribution without the written consent of the author. All copy has been dated and registered with the American Society of Authors and Writers. Copyright 2007 by The Swetky Agency |
