Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
advised Shaman to breathe through his mouth. Then he noted that the cold tissue was no longer a person. “Whatever it was that made this man alive—some call it his soul—has left his body.” Shaman’s face was pallid but his eyes were alert. “Is that the part goes to heaven?” “I don’t know where it goes,” Rob said gently. As he weighed the organs, he allowed Shaman to record the weight, a help to him. “William Fergusson, who was my mentor, used to say that the spirit leaves the body behind like a
against him. She looked at the wound without blanching, but helped him return his arm to the sling and made him lie back on the bed while she took charge of everything, and when they made love Rob J. cried out loud several times, once because his arm hurt. There was joy, not only in returning to his wife but also in going to the barn to feed dried apples to the horses and noting that they remembered him; and in coming up to Alden, who was mending fences, and seeing terrible gladness in the old
fishpole, and when she dropped the flapping fish back into the water, Shaman could see from Hattie’s stance and expression that she was angry about something. He turned Boss off the road, toward them. “Hello, there.” “Hello!” Hattie said. “She doesn’t let us keep any of the fish,” Joshua said. “I’ll bet they were all catfish,” Shaman said, and grinned. Rachel hadn’t ever been allowed to bring catfish home because they weren’t kosher, lacking scales. He knew that for a child the best part of
and wonderfully encouraging. My wife, Lorraine, helped me prepare the manuscript and, as usual, gave me her love and total support. My daughter Jamie Beth Gordon, a photographer, eased my fear of the camera during a special and hilarious shoot, when she took my pictures for use on the book’s jackets and in publishers’ catalogs. She buoyed me with her notes and cards. And the frequent long-distance calls from my son, Michael Seay Gordon, invariably came when I needed the lift he always brings.
do understand that,” Tom had said, and the oncologist had blocked out a treatment regimen that combined radiation and chemotherapy. R.J. had liked Elizabeth at sight. Her husband’s ex-lover was a full-bodied, round-faced woman who dressed as wisely as a European but who had allowed middle age to make her comfortably heavier than was fashionable. She wasn’t prepared to give up; she was a fighter. R.J. had helped Betts find a one-bedroom condominium on Massachusetts Avenue, and she and Tom saw the