Category: Young Adult/Teen Pages: 200
Copyright: December 16, 2010
Two sisters, Julie and Bridgette search for clues to piece together a memory of their parents who were killed in a fatal head on collison.
With Crow; The Tale of Two Sisters is a middle grade novel laced with Native American themes, adventure, and a story driven narrative. Karen Devaney is an author known for her storytelling talents for both children and adults. Julie and Bridget, the main characters in this gripping tale, are modern adventurers as they seek to find remnants of their past. They are on a mission to find the people who knew their parents before they perished in a head on collision. The deadly crash causes, Julie and Bridget, to be condemned to live in San Francisco with the two meanest people on the planet, Aunt Rosie and Uncle Sam.
When the girls are old enough to plot their escape, they receive a mysterious letter from a W.C. who happens to be the last person to see their parents alive. The sisters encounter danger, new friends, and a crow they name Angel as they bike, bus, and train their way back to Wyoming to find W.C.. Along the way, Julie and Bridget meet a host of characters; an old man named Ernie, a migrant worker, and a Sioux Indian Tribe. These and others play a critical role in leading the girls to the knowledge they have longed for. Angel becomes just that-- a winged guardian that watches over the girls and leads them to W.C. and the person responsible for their parent’s death.
Although this novel is intended for middle grade readers, it will warm the hearts of all ages. With Crow; The Tale of Two Sisters whisks readers on a journey as Karen Devaney explores the innate yearning for people of all generations to know their familial past. The travels of this tale end full circle and leaves readers with a startling conclusion.
Excerpt
WITH CROW; A Tale of Two Sisters
I am in the mountains, lost on an old country road. Mud sloshes under my boots and slaps the bottom of my jeans. Somehow, like a cloud disappearing, I became separated from my parents and my sister. It is raining hard and the day is fading into a dark gray mist. I can see vague headlights in the distance, as if they are emerging from clouds. I start running towards them hoping to find help and to be reconnected with my family. My steps are heavy from the drain and thickness of wet clothing. Out of nowhere, I hear my mother and father calling but I cannot determine from what direction they are coming. The pelting rain is blinding my vision I turn around to look for them, their voices are muted and off in the distance. I become confused and panic and as I turn back around to flag the car down, it disappears. How can this be happening? Screaming and waving my arms, I am now frantic. I turn back towards the voices of my parents and sister, but they have faded into silence. Finally out of the fog the car reappears—driving towards me, I feel relieved as I can see it is my family. But just before it reaches me the car hits a huge bump and explodes; shards of metal burst around me. My sister walks out of the smoke, choking and crying. Then I wake up coughing and heaving for breath. I have had this reoccurring nightmare for as long as I can remember.
The last time I saw my parents, I was six, my baby sister, Bridget, was four. We were in Wyoming with friends of theirs. I remember kids playing in a basement, for it had been raining. There was a ping pong table and piles of sheets we had arranged to make a fort. I remember that night my parents snuggled on either side of my sister and I in an old wooden bed that squeaked. My father listened while my mother told a story; it was a silly story about a fictitious character we had grown to love, a pig she called Ralph. After the story, they kissed us good night, tucked us in, and said they’d see us in the morning.
I awoke to the smell of breakfast; pancakes, bacon, coffee. Bridget and I stumbled out to the table and the friend cooking breakfast explained that our parents had run to the store for orange juice. No big deal-- little trip to the store. When a policeman came to the door to tell us there had been an accident, the no big deal became an enormous life slap in the face.
The next thing I remember, Bridget and I were at a funeral. There was a Native American man with a bird of some sort chanting a song or prayer. People were crying and looking at my sister and I as if we were pathetic orphans, which as it turns out, we were. There was a woman dressed in white, she had a name that sounded like a state, Carolina or Georgia…I can’t remember exactly. I just remember her eyes; they were warm and caring eyes that you could dive into and land in a cuddly place, like an old wooden bed.
“Julie and Bridget, you are just going to have to deal with the fact, your parents are dead. They were at the wrong place at the wrong time. Your uncle Sam and I have to bear their burden now.” My aunt Rosie said to my sister and I as we headed to the airport. “We don’t like this anymore than you do.” It didn’t sink in at that moment—the permanency of our doom.
Flying to California I recall being fascinated by the world below while my sister was petrified. I remember looking at the clouds outside of the window; clouds that floated in limbo. I wondered if my parents were on those clouds, on their way to heaven. I imagined they were. Then, I imagined they were out there waving, telling me not to be frightened. It was then I heard my mother whisper, “Julie, take care of your baby sister…”
Bridget was crying, I put my arms around her and she nuzzled into my shoulder. The plane landed and out we stepped into a foreign land called San Francisco
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