monday's excerpt

And Gertie just knelt in the dirt and wiped the seven cold foreheads, soothing them, offering peace when no deeper peace could be had.

From that day forward, Gertie slept in the house.

Not well—seven restless souls frequented her bed, unaware of the hour, caring not that she required peace of her own. And she would walk the earth in a stupor, empty and unseeing, a slave unable to pick, or fetch, or serve even herself.