BunceAcknowledgments Weaving this tale was by no means a solitary endeavor. For their help and support along the way, I must thank my own Friendly Society: Barb Stuber, Christine Taylor-Butler, Diane Bailey, Judith Hyde, C. R. Cook, and the other amazing women of Juvenile Writers of Kansas City. Thanks to my parents, for never once uttering the phrase "fallback career," and to my first critique partner, my brother, Scott. Special thanks to Cheryl Klein and the team at Scholastic (especially for bearing with my affected period spelling). Extra-special thanks to Erin Murphy. And lastly, to my husband, Christopher, for always being there. If I wrote you into a story, no one would believe you were real.Chapter OneWhen my father died, I thought the world would come to an end. Standing in the churchyard in my borrowed mourning black, I was dimly aware of my sister Rosie beside me, the other mourners huddled round the grave. Great dark clouds gathered over the river, and I knew them for what they were: The End, poised to unleash some terrible wrath and sweep us all right out of the Valley.
