{"product_id":"as-bright-as-heaven-isbn-9780399585975","title":"As Bright as Heaven","description":"\u003cb\u003eFrom the acclaimed author of \u003ci\u003eThe Last Year of the War \u003c\/i\u003ecomes a novel set during the Spanish flu pandemic of 1918, telling the story of a family reborn through loss and love.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn 1918, Philadelphia was a city teeming with promise. Even as its young men went off to fight in the Great War, there were opportunities for a fresh start on its cobblestone streets. Into this bustling town, came Pauline Bright and her husband, filled with hope that they could now give their three daughters—Evelyn, Maggie, and Willa—a chance at a better life.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut just months after they arrive, the Spanish Flu reaches the shores of America. As the pandemic claims more than twelve thousand victims in their adopted city, they find their lives left with a world that looks nothing like the one they knew. But even as they lose loved ones, they take in a baby orphaned by the disease who becomes their single source of hope. Amidst the tragedy and challenges, they learn what they cannot live without—and what they are willing to do about it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eAs Bright as Heaven\u003c\/i\u003e is the compelling story of a mother and her daughters who find themselves in a harsh world not of their making, which will either crush their resolve to survive or purify it.\u003cb\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eAs Bright as Heaven\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A story of one family’s heartbreak and hope. Strong [and] resilient, Meissner’s characters step off the page and into history.”—Lisa Wingate, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eBefore We Were Yours\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A family saga, coming-of-age tale, and riveting historical fiction all in one. A must read!”—Pam Jenoff, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Orphan's Tale\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A thoughtful examination of life...somber, gripping, and illuminated with hope.”—Kate Quinn, \u003ci\u003eUSA Today \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Alice Network\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Traces of \u003ci\u003eLittle Women\u003c\/i\u003e in the trials and fortitude of the Bright women. An affirmation of the power of love and duty.”—Helen Simonson, author of \u003ci\u003eMajor Pettigrew’s Last Stand\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eThe Summer Before the War\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A fascinating historical novel and a beautifully written story of love, loss, and family. A gorgeous, unforgettable book.”—Jillian Cantor, author of \u003ci\u003eMargot \u003c\/i\u003eand \u003ci\u003eThe Lost Letter\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eSusan Meissner\u003c\/b\u003e is a former managing editor of a weekly newspaper and an award-winning columnist. She is the award-winning author of \u003ci\u003eA Bridge Across the Ocean\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eSecrets of a Charmed Life\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eA Fall of Marigolds\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eStars Over Sunset Boulevard\u003c\/i\u003e, among other novels.Chapter 1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJanuary 1918\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Pauline\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Morning light shimmers on the apricot horizon as I stand at the      place where my baby boy rests. Stouthearted chickadees are singing      in the day, just like they have done every other winter's dawn,      but when this same sun sets tonight, I will be miles away from      them, and inside an unfamiliar house. There will be no reminders      anywhere that Henry was ever mine. Not visible ones, anyway.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I kneel on the dead grass, brittle with icy moisture. The fabric      of my skirt draws in the chilled damp, as if it is parched with      thirst. The growing wetness at my knees is unhurried and easy,      like a clean, slow blade. I look at the little marble slab that      bears Henry's name and the carving of a sweet lamb curled up among      lilies, and I'm reminded again that he was my angel child, even      before he flew away to heaven.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e From the moment I held my boy, glistening and new, I knew that he      wasn't like the other babies I'd given birth to. He wasn't like my      girls. They'd slipped out annoyed by the noise and chill and sharp      edges of this world. Not Henry. He didn't cry. He didn't curl his      tiny hands into fists. He didn't shout his displeasure at being      pulled out of the only safe place he knew.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e When the doctor placed him in my arms, Henry merely looked at me      with eyes so blue they could've been sapphires. He held my gaze      like he knew who I was. Knew everything about me. Like he still      had the breath of eternity in his lungs.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He didn't care when I parted the folds of his blanket to look at      his maleness and marvel at the pearly sheen of his skin against      mine. I could scarcely believe I'd given birth to a boy after      three girls and so many years since the last one. I just kept      staring at Henry and he just let me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e When Thomas was let into the room, he was as astonished that we      had a son as I was. The girls were, too. They followed in right      after their father, even though it was the middle of the night,      and we all gazed and grinned at the little man-child, the quiet      lad who did not cry.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My father-in-law came over the next morning, as did Thomas's      brothers and their wives, all of them smelling of dried tobacco      leaves and spice. My parents came, too, and my sister, Jane, who      was newly pregnant with her own child after several years of      hoping and praying for a baby. They all marveled at how beautiful      Henry was, how calm, how enchanting his gaze and how sweet his      temperament. My mother and Thomas's sisters-in-law stared at him      like I'd done the night before, amazed as I had been at how serene      this baby was. They had known, too, without knowing, that      something wasn't right.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The few months we had with Henry were wonder filled and happy. He      did all the things a baby does that make you smile and laugh and      want to kiss his downy head. When he needed something, like my      breast or a clean diaper or affection, he didn't wail; he merely      sighed a sweet little sound that if it were made of words would      have started with \"If it's not too much trouble . . .\" We didn't      know he didn't have the physical strength to exert himself. His      perfectly formed outsides hid the too-small, too-weak heart that      my body had made for him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And yet had God asked me ahead of time if I wanted this sweet      child for just shy of half a year, I still would have said yes.      Even now, eight weeks after Henry's passing, and even when I hold      Jane's sweet little newborn, Curtis, I would still say yes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I don't know if Thomas feels this way, and I know the girls don't.      Evelyn is still sad, Maggie is still angry, and Willa is still      bewildered that Henry was taken from us. I can't say why I am none      of those things anymore. What I feel inside, I'm not sure there      are words to describe. I should still be sad, angry, and      bewildered, but instead I feel a numbness regarding Death that      I've told no one about. Not even Thomas.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I no longer fear Death, though I know that I should. I'm strangely      at peace with what I used to think of as my enemy. Living seems      more the taskmaster of the two, doesn't it? Life is wonderful and      beautiful but oh, how hard it can be. Dying, by contrast, is easy      and simple, almost gentle. But who can I tell such a thing to? No      one. I am troubled by how remarkable this feeling is.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e This is why I changed my mind about moving to Philadelphia. I'd      said no the first time Thomas's uncle made his offer even though I      could tell my husband was interested. Back then I couldn't imagine      leaving this sleepy little town where I've lived all my life,      couldn't imagine leaving my parents, though I've never been      especially dependent on their subtle shows of affection. I didn't      want to move to the city, where the war in Europe would somehow      seem closer, didn't want to uproot the girls from the only home      they've ever known. Didn't want to tear myself away from all that      was familiar. Uncle Fred wrote again a couple months after Henry      was born, and Thomas had said we needed to think carefully before      turning down a second invitation.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Uncle Fred might take his offer to one of my brothers,\" Thomas      had told me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I truly would have given the matter more serious thought if Henry      hadn't begun his slow ascent away from us right about the same      time. When my son's fragile heart finally began to number his      days, nothing else mattered but holding on to him as long as we      could. Thomas didn't bring up the matter again when the third      letter from Uncle Fred arrived last week. My husband thinks I      cannot leave this little mound of grass.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But the truth is, I have come out from under the shroud of sorrow      a different person. I no longer want to stay in this place where      Henry spent such a short time. I don't want Thomas shading a view      of the wide horizon with hands calloused from binder leaves. I      don't want the girls to end up mirroring this life of mine, in a      place where nothing truly changes but the contours of your heart.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e More than that, I want to know why Death seems to walk beside me      like a companion now rather than prowling behind like a shadowy      specter. Surely the answers await me in Uncle Fred's funeral      parlor, where he readies the deceased for their journeys home.      Thomas would've gone to his grave rolling cigars for other men to      smoke, but now he will one day inherit Uncle Fred's mortuary      business and then he won't be under the thumb of anyone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I don't know what it is like to be the wife of an undertaker. I      only know that I need to remember how it was to keep Death at a      distance.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I kneel, kiss my fingertips, and brush them against the H carved      into the cold stone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And I rise from the wet ground without saying good-bye.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Chapter 2\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Maggie\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I will miss the curing barn in autumn, when the tobacco leaves      hang from the laths like golden skirts in a wardrobe. I've always      loved how in October the papery leaves smell like cedar, molasses,      and tree bark. There won't be anything like them in Philadelphia.      And we'll be long gone by the time October comes around again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The curing barn is my favorite place because it's either as busy      as a beehive or as still as a painting. After that first killing      frost it's like the painting, so still and quiet you can forget      there's a changing world outside. No one has to do anything in the      curing barn in the fall except have a look-see now and then to      make sure none of the tobacco leaves are getting moldy. In the      fall, we're all in the rolling room. I'm twelve but I've the      delicate hands of a young woman, Grandad says, so I roll a nice      cigar. Evie just turned fifteen and doesn't like rolling; she'd      rather be reading under the locust tree when the weather's nice,      but she likes to buy books with the money she earns. Our younger      sister, Willa, is only six. It would've been a long while before      Grandad told her she had hands as graceful as a dancer and rolled      a cigar better than a man did.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I don't usually spend much time in the barn when the tobacco      leaves are finished with their curing, but that was where I was      when Mama told Papa she'd seen Uncle Fred's letter. I'd come home      from school, done my chores, and then walked across the snowy      field from our house to lie among the few remaining wooden slats      that still held their toast-colored leaves. I'd been going to the      curing barn a lot since my baby brother died, but Papa had      forgotten I was there.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I've been thinking about Philadelphia,\" Mama said. Papa had been      checking the empty laths for rot and weak spots. He was a couple      rows over from me, and I was on my back on the dirt behind a      crate, looking up at the leafy ball gowns. The last time Mama had      been to Philadelphia was when Henry was still alive. She and Evie      had taken him to see a doctor, and they'd come home with the awful      news that he wasn't going to get better. There was no doctor in      the city or on the face of the whole earth who could cure Henry.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I think we should go,\" Mama had said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e At first I thought Willa must be sick now, and that was why Mama      wanted to go to Philadelphia again. Or Evie. Or maybe I was the      sick one and I didn't even know it yet. But then Mama added she'd      seen Uncle Fred's latest letter asking Papa to come work for him      in Philadelphia, and now she was thinking it was a good idea after      all.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"What made you change your mind?\" Papa sounded surprised.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A second or two went by before Mama answered him. \"Everything.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Papa paused a moment, too, before he said, \"If we do this, I don't      think we can undo it.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I know.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"We won't be able to get back here that often, Pauline. Not at      first.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I know that, too,\" Mama said. \"If I can bring the girls back to      see the family for a week or two in the summer, I can be content      with that.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I don't suppose your parents will be too keen about this.      Especially your mother.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"No, maybe not. But you know how she is. She'll quietly stew on it      a bit, and then she'll be done. I think in the end she wants us to      be happy. I know that's what I'd want for us if I were her.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A funny, spirally feeling had started to wind its way inside me as      my parents talked to each other. Papa and Mama were talking about      moving to the city to live with Uncle Fred, a man I had only met      once. He came out to Quakertown when Granny died. Not Mama's mama,      Papa's. When I was eight.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Papa had said, \"Are you sure now? Are you sure this is what you      want to do?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"It's what you want to do, isn't it?\" Mama replied.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"It will mean a good life for you and the girls. A much better      life than what I'm giving you here.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"You've given us a good life, Tom,\" Mama said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I want to give you a better one.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Then Papa said he needed to tell Grandad and break the news to the      family and they'd need to sell the house. They talked for a few      more minutes, but I wasn't listening to everything they said. I      was thinking about leaving my friends and the other family members      and the curing barn. I couldn't remember what Uncle Fred's      business was, but I was positive it wasn't growing tobacco and      rolling cigars. Not in the city. It was so strange to me that my      parents could just decide we were leaving and we'd leave. How      could we move away from where we'd buried Henry?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e When Mama left, I stood up slowly so that I would see Papa before      he saw me. But he was looking my direction and he saw my head      clear the laths. I'm not afraid of my father. He doesn't yell or      curse or storm about when he's angry, but he can look like he      wants to. He's tall like Grandad and has the same coffee brown      eyes that glitter like stars both when he's happy and when he's      sad. And I guess when he's surprised, too.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I didn't know you were still in here,\" he said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I know.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Did you hear everything?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I nodded.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He gave me a very serious look. \"You can't say anything to      anybody, not even your sisters, until I talk to Grandad first. You      understand?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Are we moving to Philadelphia?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He hesitated a second or two before answering, like he almost      couldn't believe it was true himself. \"Yes,\" he said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Why? What's wrong with where we live right now?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Papa moved from his row to mine. \"There's nothing wrong with where      we live right now. I just have a chance to give you girls a much      better home. Better schooling. Better everything. My uncle Fred      doesn't have any children. He has no one to leave his home and      business to. He wants to leave them to me when he dies. To us. He      has a very nice house, Mags. Electric lights in every room. Hot      water from the tap.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"And so just like that, we're going?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Mama and I've been thinking on it awhile.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"All my friends are here.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"You will make new ones. I promise you will.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Henry's here.\" My throat felt hot and thick as I said Henry's      name. I looked away from Papa, and in the direction of the      cemetery, even though I couldn't see it from inside the curing      barn.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Papa put his hands gently on my shoulders so that I would turn my      head to face him again. \"Henry's in heaven. He's not in the      graveyard here-you know that. We're not leaving him; we're taking      him with us in our hearts.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I reached up to flick away a couple tears that wanted to trail      down my face.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I need you to promise you won't say anything. Not yet,\" Papa      said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I didn't answer.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Maggie, I want your word now.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I promise,\" I finally whispered.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"All right, then.\" He took one hand off my shoulders, but left the      other one as he began to lead us toward the big door that led      outside. \"When I tell your sisters, that's when you'll know it's      okay to tell other people. Not until then.\"","brand":"Berkley","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46302203674853,"sku":"NP9780399585975","price":18.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780399585975.jpg?v=1767721835","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/as-bright-as-heaven-isbn-9780399585975","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}