"The first thing was to get down to Addie Richardson's henhouse, and that was a goodish way, four or five miles. She found herself wondering if the Lord was going to send her an eagle to fly her those four miles, or send Elijah in his fiery chariot to give her a lift. Blasphemy," she told herself complacently. "The Lord provides strength, not taxicabs."

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I . . . hit him . . . elsewhere.” “Where?” “In his . . .In his inguine.” “Oh, dear God.” It was unclear whether Ralston’s words were meant as prayer or blasphemy. What was clear was that the woman was a gladiator. “He called me a pie!” she announced, defensively. There was a pause. “Wait. That’s not right.” “A tart?” “Yes! That’s it!” She registered her brother’s fists and looked to Simon. “I see that it is not a compliment.” “No. It is not.

— Sarah MacLean