Chapter 17
Hollis.
Sometimes the memory of her was faded, an old and brittle sheet of paper.
I remembered her long dresses, calicos with lace trim, and the rambling wave of her hair when it hung loose. My sister had dark lashes, enviably dark, and slanted brooding eyes that could sweep silence over a conversation. She would take me by the hand and drag me along to the barn, through the garden, deep into the forest path where we hunted for mushrooms, truffles, and paw-paws big as pillows. When I misbehaved, she’d lightly slap me on the wrist or cheek. When she outgrew her clothing or decided she didn’t like a certain hat or pair of mittens, I acquired them. When she needed a pair of hands to lift sections of her hair when braiding it, I was the one. Hollis ordered me to walk straight, si
