Silent Night in Dry Creek. Janet Tronstad

      Barbara turned to Edith. “Do raspberries grow wild around here at all? I know the chokecherries do and I’ve heard of some wild strawberries over by the Redfern place.”

      Wade knew he was in trouble. Edith had been inside his grandfather’s house. The top of the stove had always been piled high with empty liquor bottles. She must know the stories of cake and turkey dinners had been false. His grandfather could barely make toast. Wade had lived on peanut butter sandwiches and the bruised apples his grandfather bought by the case from a wholesale place in Washington.