By Donna Milner
Sooner than River, every little thing used to be excellent. . . . growing to be up on a Canadian dairy farm below miles from the yank border, fifteen-year-old Natalie Ward understands little of the skin international. yet her loving, close-knit relations is the envy of old and young alike within the close by city of Atwood. Natalie adores her 3 brothers—especially Boyer, the eldest, whom she idolizes. yet every little thing adjustments one scorching July afternoon in 1966 while a long-haired stranger seems at their door—a soft-spoken American, a Vietnam conflict resister, who will attempt the family's morals and ideology, and set in movement catastrophic occasions that might shatter Natalie's relationships with these she so much dearly loves.
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Extra info for After River: A Novel
I think this little tic adds to, rather than takes away from, his rugged good looks. I can see that I’m not the only one who finds him attractive. Sometimes, when we meet women, or even men, for the first time, I catch that flicker, that what’s-he-doing-with-her look in their eyes. Sometimes I wonder myself. Vern says it was my independence he was attracted to. Now he calls it stubbornness. He leans over the sink to spit. As he straightens up he catches me studying him in the mirror. ’ I open my mouth, a word or two away from giving into the temptation to accept his offer.
As I wove my way through the crowd towards them I heard my name. I was torn between the curiosity of what Mr Atwood thought of Boyer’s poem, and wondering why my name had been spoken. I peered over the heads of my classmates and spotted Mrs Royce, the wife of the pharmacist, talking to our neighbours, Ma Cooper and Widow Beckett. ‘Yes, that’s right,’ Ma Cooper said. ’ The bun at the back of her head, the size of a cantaloupe, bobbed up and down as she spoke. She was a huge woman, Ma was, 46 AFTER RIVER the kind of woman who left a wake when she walked out of a room.
Boyer a priest? I knew very little about priests, but I did know they lived alone and had no family. ’ He jabbed Carl in the ribs. Carl rolled on the couch, holding his side, ‘What a dummy,’ he hooted. ’ Mom leaned forward in her recliner. ‘Boys,’ she said and shook her head at them. I couldn’t read the expression on her face as she chastised Morgan and Carl. Beside her, Dad sat in his recliner, a stream of blue smoke rising from the cigarette hanging from his lips. He stared straight ahead at the television, as if the conversation and all the commotion my brothers were making was not happening.