Book Four: The Wild

Two pairs of judgmental brown eyes rimmed in wrinkles glared at me where I sat. The weight of their stares pinned me to the musty fabric of the stiff and uncomfortable antique wingback. I wanted very much to squirm, to work my way free from the feeling I'd been jabbed through the abdomen like an insect on a corkboard.

Estelle-or was it Esther?-Lawrence lifted her gaze from me long enough to flicker her attention to my mother. At least Mom hadn't ...