For Emily Baxter, life is simple. Her world is made up completely of school, church, and the community in the small farming town she calls home. All that changes one fateful Sunday, when a new girl shows up at Pleasanton Baptist—a girl unlike anyone Emily has ever seen. A girl with long red hair, crystal green eyes, and style and posture like royalty.
A girl named October.
The months that follow are filled with magic—the magic of ordinary things, of finding pictures in the stars, of imagination and a new sense of beauty. But as time goes by, Emily begins to sense that her enchanting new friend may have secrets that could break the spell. Is October really all she seems to be?
About the Author
J. Grace Pennington has been telling stories since she could talk and writing them down since age five. Now she lives in the great state of Texas, where she writes as much as adult life permits. When she's not writing she enjoys reading good books, having adventures with her husband, and looking up at the stars.
Grace has generously offered a paperback book of her new book as her giveaway prize. You can enter at this link or the widget below.
The first time I saw October Blake, I was sitting in the front right pew of the Pleasanton First Baptist church, where we always sat, watching as people filed into the sanctuary. The rich organ tones of 'Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus resonated through the chamber under the magic of Ms. Hendrix's wrinkled fingers. Soft chatter and friendly greetings mingled with the tune. Stained-glass windows cast rainbows across the scene.
October fit the setting better than anyone I had seen enter. She didn't walk in, she glided, moving over the gray carpet with a grace that held the eye. Her thick red hair was piled up on her head like something out of an Anne of Green Gables movie, her skin almost porcelain, her eyes a pale, crystal green visible from across the sanctuary. A ruffled cream blouse left her arms bare, and a floor-length green skirt swished as she slipped down the aisle.
I watched—stared is a better word—as she found her way to the third pew from the front center. She laid a hand on the back of it, then turned to look at the people behind her. I hadn't noticed until then that Mr. and Mrs. Rivers were there, shuffling to adjoining seats. She didn't seem to belong to them. But then, she didn't seem to belong to anything about Pleasanton. Pleasanton consisted of farms, fields, and stores reluctant to move into the twenty-first century, with a little brick high school and long, hot summers. This girl seemed more fitted to lilac and lace and the smell of old books with long, beautiful words in them.
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