Our long- planned trip was no pipe dream, but my uncle and I never got to take that literary odyssey. By the time I turned twenty-one and graduated from college, Reg's wife, my aunt Elsie, wasn't well, and I'd gotten married and taken a teaching job in northern Vermont. Writing my way from book to book and decade to decade, I set most of my own fiction in my adopted Northeast Kingdom. I turned fifty. Then sixty. Approaching my sixty-fifth birthday, with regrets for the trip not taken, I began to feel that I had to do it now or never.
Then, in the late autumn of my sixty-fifth year, came the walk to the post office that would change my life forever.
Excerpted from The Great Northern Express by Howard F Mosher. Copyright © 2012 by Howard F Mosher. Excerpted by permission of Crown. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Blood at the Root
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