Books with author Kimberley Scott

How can a love so sweet and simple suddenly go so crazy and wrong? How can this love that frightens me feel so right and true? In the first dark hour of spring, when I was thirteen, I sat next to my mother on the tailgate of an ambulance while our home burned. We’d watched five firefighters hurl themselves into the flames in hopes of rescuing my father and my brothers. I knew they were too late. I turned to my mother and told her so. I also told her I knew what she’d done. Her reply: she’d had to do it, so she could take me back to my real father in North Carolina. She pulled it off, too—the ‘North Carolina’ part, anyway. Before the fire marshall had time to scratch his head, we’d crossed the country to Mom’s home town. Eighteen months later, she nearly killed the man I thought we’d come here to find. There were witnesses that time, though, and Mom was in jail within the hour. She’s been locked up ever since. That was four and a half years ago. And, once the dust cleared, I discovered how peaceful—even happy—life could be without my mother in it. I lived with my grandmother. I went to school and made friends I could actually bring home. I spent most of my free hours in the family owned dance studio (dance and gymnastics had been my ‘happy place’ since I was five). I even fell in love. I’m a senior now, nineteen years old and graduating in just a few months. My family thought I should get myself transferred to a school with a solid gymnastics team, a team college scouts make a point of watching. That meant moving to a different school district. My boyfriend and I leapt at the chance to live the dream we shared, a place of our own. Free to love each other. Maybe that was a bad idea. **AUTHOR’S NOTE: This Young Adult novel examines intimate partner abuse in ways that may be unexpected. While the content is not especially graphic, some of it is very ‘dark’ and may be difficult for people who have suffered any sort of abuse.

“The child who remains a child in her heart, who retains the sweet purity of spirit that only a child can possess, also retains a stronger connection to the other place. She shines with its light. Her reach into that bright place will give her an understanding none can fathom, will give her a knowledge she cannot begin to share until she speaks. Then she will be your oracle. Her voice will lead you along the way to the lost one, and her light will be the beacon that brings our sister home again.” My 4-year old daughter wrote those words over a hundred years ago—about herself as it turns out. It’s humbling, to say the least, to raise an ancient priestess disguised as a very small child with a speech impediment. It’s also an astonishing gift, a blessing more extraordinary than any dream I ever dared to dream for my life. In these sweetest years of her early childhood, Maebelle has taught us quite a lot. She’s been reconnecting us to our heritage and ‘helping our brightness grow’, as she promised—preparing us to welcome our lost sister home again. Even our little priestess does not yet know what sort of challenges we’ll face when the lost soul finds her way back to us. We last knew her as baby Anna, a child stolen from her bed 150 years ago. And somewhere inside me I’ve known all along that she’d return to us burdened by the sorrows of several lifetimes. What I didn’t know was that some of the sorrows she carried would be our own. Oh, baby girl, this is not gonna be good. ‘Who toed you it wud be good? I dint.’