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kind of appearance, but Carl is one of them.
    Caroline was wondering whether you had a Bible. I took the liberty of saying I thought you did.
    With kind regards,
    Amy Harris

A Tourist in Their Town
    IF SARA HAD known just how much talk she was causing in the town, she would have been surprised. She wasn’t interesting. She wasn’t exotic. She definitely wasn’t pretty.
    She would have been the first to admit she was unremarkable. As young as seven, she had been forced to accept that her hair was mousy. There was no escaping it. Not even with the best will in the world could you call it
strawberry blonde
or
chestnut brown
or any of those other colours used to describe the hair of heroines in the books she read. Besides which, she had never had even the slightest sense of style. The nicest thing her mother had ever said about it was that she was, at least, clean and tidy.
    In reality, her eyes were her greatest asset. They were big and expressive, when they weren’t wide with fear or hidden behind a book.
    But Broken Wheel had never had a real tourist before.
    The day after Sara’s visit to Amazing Grace, she was the main topic of conversation between two of the town’s elderly inhabitants. They had gone to the diner for a quick cup of coffee purely so they could find out the latest gossip about the newest addition to town.
    â€˜She definitely came at the right moment,’ one of them said. From a distance, it was hard to make her out, sitting there at one end of the counter – partly because her slight frame had shrunk with age and partly because she seemed to be surrounded by a constant cloud of smoke. Despite appearances, smoking in public spaces had been prohibited for years, but while Grace made an exception for herself, Gertrude refrained as a courtesy to Grace. But even when Gertrude wasn’t smoking, it never really left her. Gertrude drank, too. Neither that nor her cooking (she was fond of additives and fat, ideally a combination of both) had managed to kill her yet, to the despair of her two husbands. Until the food and the passive smoking had put a stop to them. She had been widowed twice.
    â€˜A funeral,’ Gertrude continued. ‘A town’s always at its best at a funeral. Always nice when something happens.’
    Her friend, May, waved her hand to break up the smoke.
    â€˜And so neat,’ she said. ‘Everyone in smart, black clothes. And so much food.’
    â€˜I took my corn casserole,’ Gertrude said. ‘With extra bacon, of course.’
    Both women looked expectantly at Grace.
    Grace leaned forward against the counter. ‘Nice woman,’ she said. ‘She came by yesterday, stayed at least an hour. I met her when she’d just arrived, too.’
    â€˜Oh?’ said Gertrude, which was about as much encouragement as Grace needed to tell a story.
    â€˜Nice, but probably a bit weird. She was clutching a book when she came in. Hugging it like it was her only defence in the world. I saw her first, so I should know. What in hell is a book meant to be able to protect you from? A good shotgun, on the other hand …’ She let her voice trail off knowingly, but both Gertrude and May knew better than to provoke yet another of her anecdotes. ‘Well, I’ll say nothing about that,’ Grace continued when no response came. ‘Us Graces have had our own obsessions. One of the first Graces was even obsessed with a sheriff. Didn’t end well, that one, but anyone could’ve worked that out. She ended up being chased out of town.’
    May made no comment. Instead, she said: ‘But is she going to stay?’
    â€˜Why wouldn’t she?’ Gertrude asked in an irritated tone, since she herself hadn’t thought of any other eventuality.
    May had thin white hair, fastened up in a loose bun. She looked like a sweet old grandmother and had done for the past fifty years. She wasn’t married – one of