My Grandmother said she prays for me every day. Which was funny, because I'd only ever heard Mamie pray, "Dear Lord, give me strength." That sure sounded like a prayer for herself...
No. No. I was nothin'. And I'd been bad. But I paid. Paid and paid before Wallace save me.
Our upstairs is hot as the hinges of Hades... I kinda hoped when Mamie got home late this afternoon, she'd find me passed out from heatstroke.
The colored don't choose to live here. It's where they're allowed to live.
I was horrible thirsty, but I didn't take it; Mamie had made it clear: no matter even if we're about to expire from thirstiness, we don't drink after negras.
Remeber when we was bakin', and what I say about overworked crust? You and me, we done pushed our luck 'bout as far as a body dare. We overworked crust.
Working Title
Whistling Past the GraveyardBook Snack?
Puffed corn snacks (Mike-Sells Puff Corn Delites, Natural White Chedder Cheetos, etc.) Many, many bags. I even rated them on my blog.Publisher: Gallery Books
Category: Fiction, Historical Fiction
Release Date: 01/01/1970
Format: Hardcover, Paperback, eBook
Pages: 320ISBN: 978-1476707723
Copyright © 2013 Susan Crandall
“Whistling Past the Graveyard, by Susan Crandall is the perfect mid-summer read for the beach or poolside reader wanting to escape back to Mississippi, 1963.”
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‘”We family; they ain’t all about blood, you know. Families is people lookin’ out after each other, not hidin’ behind secrets.” (Thank you baby Jesus.)’
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“It is tender, and funny and well written. Southern literature at its best.”
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