The Nightspinners

Chapter One

Chapter 1

shoo fly. that was what my mother called me. shoo Fly Pie. Shoo,Flyódon't bother me, I belong to somebody. I can hear her still in the southern nights of my childhood, nights that never seemed clear and clean like they do farther north but were instead heavy and alive with fireflies, and nightjars, and all of the things that move and wind through the dark.
When I think of those nights now, I hear my mother's voice. She is standing in the kitchen, the soles of her Keds firmly planted on the linoleum floor. Her hands, narrow and long-fingered, move rhythmically and without thought, like something programmed. She is canning. She ladles whole peaches, squishy and bright yellow, into jars, pours syrup that will stick to you and burn if it spills. She spoons piccalilli that is red and green and hot with peppercorns. And while she does this, she sings.

Her thin, hopeful soprano threads its way through our house. Sharp and not quite right, her voice ... read full excerpt from The Nightspinners ebook