A Novel by William Connelly McCall

Copyright 2912, All Rights Reserved

Cover Illustration by Roberto Ball

Smashwords Edition


O Death, where is thy sting?

O grave, where is thy victory?

1 Corinthians

September 12, 2021

The phone rang . . . and rang . . . and rang. Apparently the caller was prepared to let it ring until someone answered.

"Damn!" June exclaimed. She had her hands deep in the rich Texas loam of her back yard, planting pansies. She continued, defiantly neglecting the insistent ringing. "Whoever it is can damn well wait if they're in that much of a hurry to talk," she said half aloud, then smiled as she considered the curious illogic of her words. She patted the dark earth around the plants firmly into place, stood and stepped back to survey her handiwork. Before her spread a large bed of blue and yellow pansies behind which was an antique Italian fountain carved from a single block of marble. Framing this intimate tableau was a faded brick wall partially covered with ivy so that if one's eye looked no further he might think himself in an English country garden. Although the back yard was over two acres of manicured lawn dotted with large oak trees, she was particularly devoted to this small plot.

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