“Even at this relatively early hour, there weren’t a lot of people out and about, the neat sidewalks and roads devoid of activity. Ezekiel turned down a side street a few blocks in, neatly labeled with a wooden sign that proclaimed it Hudson Street, then clip-clopped three more blocks to the crossroads of Hudson and Lincoln, where a whitewashed house sat with kerosene lanterns burning in its windows. Another carved wooden sign out front read Grandma Flannigan’s Boardinghouse. “Here we are, folks.... Grandma runs a nice, clean house, and she’ll take care of you right.” Jumping down from the buckboard, Ezekiel ran to the back to let down the tailgate. Everyone got out, and followed the boy up the concrete steps to the front door. He had just raised his hand to knock when the door swung open. “Guests at this hour? Welcome and come in, you all must be tired.” Grandma Flannigan, if this was her, didn’t fit the image Ryan had in his mind. She was a tall, whipcord thin woman with iron-gray hair and a stern demeanor who was dressed in a homespun cotton dress over which was an apron with several unidentifiable stains on it.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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