Jessie's Mountain—an excerpt

Chapter One, Dear Grasshopper (cont'd)

Forty’s the most money I’ve ever had in the world, but somehow fifty sounds better for Nashville. I go back to reading Emily Dickinson, but I don’t get more than a few stanzas read when Grandma Horace looms up behind me, casting an impressive shadow on the wall. Hands on her hips, she hisses, “Olivia Hyatt Weems! They Lord!�?

My heart beats fast at being sneaked up on, but I try to be sweet. “Can’t sleep. Say, let’s pretend we’re old friends who like to sit up late together and swap stories.�?

“Swap stories? What are you getting at?�?

“Not a thing. Just don’t be mad, please? For once?  I’m sorry to say this, Grandma Horace, but don’t you ever get tired of getting riled up all the time?�?