Excerpt from Fonseca by Jessica Francis Kane, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Day of the Dead

In 1952 November 2 fell on a Sunday, and that afternoon a mother and son stood in front of the Delaney house in Fonseca, Mexico, poised to knock. They had traveled a long way, were quite stunned, mainly from the last leg of their journey through the American South, and now it was late afternoon the day after the day they were supposed to have arrived. The season was warm, and in the square behind them people were wearing calaveras and the air smelled of smoke and marigolds. In the distance and also quite nearby they heard the pop and spray of fireworks. A band was playing in the square, the music brassy and bright, punctuated by shouts. It was all very disconcerting, and even though he didn't know who or what was behind the door, the boy wanted to go inside. In all his six years, he had never entered a house that did not have someone making or about to make tea. But his mother would not knock.

"This isn't a holiday," Valpy said, turning to sit down on the front step. A young woman passed chewing a large sugar calavera with the name Pedro across the forehead. She was sobbing and laughing at the same time.

Penelope sat down next to him. "How can you tell?"

"I've never had new clothes for a holiday before."

"That's not true. What about your bathing costume last summer?"

He didn't say anything. They both knew bathing costumes didn't count.

"And this is a very strange house." The gray stone with wood shutters in the French style was at odds with all the buildings around it, every one stucco in the colors of sunset. The house stood right up against the pavement, three gabled sections around a shallow front courtyard. Five steps led up from the front wall to what looked like the door of a castle keep, old oak with iron bolts and bars. Above and to the left was a heavy, rounded balcony that reminded Penelope of a pulpit. There were several tall chimneys, two dormers, and a number of mullioned windows in various sizes, all shuttered. Old, twisted pecan trees on the street further darkened the front.

"Yes, but there's nothing to be afraid of," Penelope said.

This was an error. Valpy had not said he was afraid, and now Penelope saw that he was looking at the trees and the heavy little balcony and wondering if he should be. "We were invited," she reminded him quickly.

"But why were we invited?"

"The Delaneys are old friends."

"But why do they want to see us?"

Later, when the house in Southwold was emptied, and even later, when their houseboat Grace went down, Penelope would remember this moment on the step of the house in Fonseca. Everyone has a point to which the mind reverts naturally when it is left on its own. This was hers.

"It's hard to explain," she said.

This was not untrue. The Delaneys, two wealthy old women, had written to Penelope more than half a year ago to say they were alone in the world, all their relations in Ireland were gone, and because of some distant friendship between their families, they hoped to meet Valpy. Indeed, if Penelope had understood their letters correctly, they suggested they might leave him all their money. This possibility was tantalizing for a number of very pressing reasons. She stood and knocked quickly, pecan shells cracking underfoot.

"Dios mío, two of you!" the housekeeper exclaimed, pulling open the heavy door. "Have you just come from the bus?" She was about fifty, with wide, bare arms under a red apron. Her dark hair was pulled into a middle part, the length of it braided and wound on top of her head, a yellow marigold tucked behind one ear, heavy cheeks flushed under blue eyes. Penelope, who was not particularly tall, towered over her.

Valpy bravely cleared his throat. "Yes, but first we were on the Queen Mary, then the bus. It was a long and terrible ride. Actually, first we were on a train, but that wasn't part of the adventure because it was still in England."

Excerpted from Fonseca by Jessica Francis Kane. Copyright © 2025 by Jessica Francis Kane. Excerpted by permission of Penguin Press. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.