Faye Gibbons

An Excerpt

..."I'm tired of berry picking," I said after the third deer fly bit me, "I wish something would happen."

Hazel sniffed and tossed her curls. "I think we've had enough going on around here today. Nothing more is going to happen."

She was dead wrong. A few minutes later, a brightly painted box of a wagon bounced around the far end of our pasture, headed for our house. It was pulled by a gray mule, and the driver wore flashy town clothes. We all dropped our berry buckets and tore out running.

Mama came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron, and Papa hurried from the barn. By the time the wagon pulled up by the hollow leaning oak at the edge of our front yard, they were waiting alongside us
and the barking dogs.