Reading Your Way Through The Holidays
Need a book to get you through the holidays?
The first few lines of each…
What I Remember Most: I hear his voice, then hers. I can’t find them in the darkness. I can’t see them through the trees. I don’t understand what’s going on, but their horror, their panic, reaches me, throttles me. They scream the same thing: Run, Grenadine, run!
No Place I’d Rather Be: November, 1945. Kalulell, Montana.
Her hands shook as she held the cookbook. It was old, the leather cover cracked, the pages blackened by fire around the edges. Blood stains were splattered on more than one recipe, words smeared by tears and tea on others…the recipes within it had been handed down through five generations of women, starting with her great-great-great grandmother. They were written in four languages, across three countries.
The Language of Sisters: I was talented at pick pocketing. I knew how to slip my fingers in, soft and smooth, like moving silk. I was lightning quick, a sleight of hand, a twist of the wrist. I was adept at disappearing, at hiding, at waiting, until it was safe to run, to escape. I was a whisper, drifting smoke, a breeze.
