The Wilderwomen by Ruth Emmie Lang EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Ruth Emmie Lang
- Language: English
- Genre: Paranormal & Urban Fantasy
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Nora Wilder was supposed to be a bird. At least that’s what she thought
when she looked at herself in the mirror and saw arms where wings should
be. The closest she actually came to flying was when her younger daughter,
Finn, slipped from her grasp and sprinted toward a busy street. Nora
swooped down on the toddler, and Finn’s tiny body began to tremble in her
arms. As her daughter anxiously kneaded her chest, Nora stroked her softspun curls and wished she didn’t have to scare her baby to keep her safe.
Although her wings were imaginary, Nora felt an almost continuous
desire to stretch them, to unclench the knot in her back that tied them down
and with one powerful flap, lift off into a cloudless sky. Their being
imaginary also didn’t mean that her wings weren’t so blue they were almost
black, the kind of blue you wade into and disappear. That’s what Nora saw
when she walked out her front door for the last time: the tips of two inkblue wings fanning her peripherals, one for each of the daughters she would
leave behind.
Nora’s elder daughter, Zadie, must have been part bird because she
knew how to squawk. When Zadie was a baby, Nora was convinced that she
must have swallowed bagpipes filled with broken glass, because that was
the sound that came out of her mouth every time she cried. It sometimes
lasted for hours at a time, and Nora did everything she could think of to get
her to stop. She would try rocking her, feeding her, changing her. When all
else failed, she’d play one of her favorite cassettes in hopes it would soothe
her daughter to sleep.
It wouldn’t. Zadie would only wail harder. Nora would look at the
phone on the wall and wish she had someone she could call, someone
who’d rush over and recommend a kooky home remedy like rubbing
smashed bananas on her baby’s chest while counting to one hundred. That
wouldn’t work, either, but at least she’d have someone to talk to and hug
when she started crying, too.
She was alone in a town she barely knew with a screaming baby who
had terrible taste in music, but something outside of herself was telling her
this was the place she was supposed to be.
One morning, after a sleepless night and four Tom Waits albums, Zadie
was particularly ornery. “Hey! I don’t make fun of your music,” Nora joked
feebly and stopped the tape.
Out of ideas, Nora crossed the room and opened a window to let in some
fresh air. “Feel that breeze?” she said to the writhing, red-faced creature in
her arms. “Isn’t it nice?” Zadie’s bleating abated a little and she cautiously
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