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285 pages, Kindle Edition
First published March 8, 2016
"Pilate was a carnival of a man, a close family friend, and a Catholic priest. Kind of. He’d been a chaplain in the Sino, but he said the war shot most of the holy out of him.
Folks either loved him like biscuits or hated him like flour weevils.
Including me. Love and hate— that was Pilate."
"Since Mama was always so busy with ranching, she put Sharlotte in charge of Wren’s and my hygiene— bathing, hair-combing, teeth-brushing, that kind of thing. Wren must’ve been around eight years old, and she liked her hair princess-long, but didn’t like anyone combing it. Sharlotte had to wrestle her down to brush out the tangles, and Wren would shriek and shriek.
After one such episode, Wren took Sharlotte’s Betty knife out of her room, went into the bathroom, and used it to cut off all her hair. Down to the scalp. Mama said blood and hair covered the bathroom, and there was Wren, grinning, bald and bleeding. She’d rather scalp herself than let Sharlotte comb out her tangles."