“When did you look up my mother’s records at the Joliet library, Michelle?” Lucy asked, trying not to incriminate herself by sounding confrontational. "I cannot sign it," returned Trenchard. She was a lone white woman, therefore marked. “Not home yet, miss,” the young man replied. Now then. They shall hear of me no more. No amount of scrubbing could remove the stains, the blood of an unknown man she had stolen from the scene of a car accident, a stupid drunk with no license who had wrapped his Chevy truck around a very large oak tree. " "And you want me to find a minister?" she asked, with ready comprehension.
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