Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Forgive the River, Forgive the Sky
    Forgive the River, Forgive the Sky
    Forgive the River, Forgive the Sky
    Ebook65 pages2 hours

    Forgive the River, Forgive the Sky

    By Gloria Whelan

    5/5

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    After her father’s death, a girl adjusts to life away from the river she loves

    The river is where Lily’s father taught her to fish; it is where she played all summer; it is what sang her to sleep at night in their cabin. But when her father dies while fishing, it is the river that Lily blames. Unable to make ends meet, she and her mother sell their cabin and move into town to live above the family hardware store. Even though she’s angry, the river keeps calling her home.

    With a pair of wire cutters she borrowed from the store, Lily snips the fence that’s keeping her out of their old property. Living in their cabin is a mysterious man named T. R. Tracy, a veteran who lost his legs in the war. Together they bond over the river, and together they will learn to forgive. 
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOpen Road Media
    Release dateOct 21, 2014
    ISBN9781497673892
    Forgive the River, Forgive the Sky
    Author

    Gloria Whelan

    Gloria Whelan is the bestselling author of many novels for young readers, including Homeless Bird, winner of the National Book Award; Fruitlands: Louisa May Alcott Made Perfect; Angel on the Square; Burying the Sun; Once on This Island, winner of the Great Lakes Book Award; and Return to the Island. She lives in the woods of northern Michigan.

    Read more from Gloria Whelan

    Related to Forgive the River, Forgive the Sky

    Related ebooks

    Children's For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      All By Myself

      Apr 28, 2020

      All By Myself
      6 min read

    • Article

      The Best Fiction Reads Of 2018: The Monitor's Picks

      Dec 5, 2018

      A reimagining of 'Beowulf' and Anne Tyler's latest are two of the works of fiction that made the cut for our list.

      2 min read

    • Article

      Ghoulies and Ghosties

      Oct 1, 2022

      Ghoulies and Ghosties
      7 min read

    • Article

      Intelligent Creatures

      Jul 6, 2023

      Intelligent Creatures
      19 min read

    • Article

      Natural Habitat

      Jun 24, 2021

      Natural Habitat
      5 min read

    • Article

      Crawling Around In The Dark

      Dec 1, 2023

      Crawling Around In The Dark
      4 min read

    • Article

      Little House

      Jun 5, 2023

      On Monday nights our mother made popcorn and served it to us in mugs with milk poured over. My younger sister and I carried our mugs into the family room and ate the popcorn with spoons, like cereal. We were five and seven. Until we were allowed to s

      21 min read

    • Article

      Ribs, Muscle, Bone

      Jan 7, 2020

      Ribs, Muscle, Bone
      10 min read

    • Article

      In the Grass

      Jun 3, 2019

      In the Grass
      23 min read

    • Article

      Penny

      Jul 2, 2020

      Penny
      6 min read

    • Article

      The Red-Tailed Hawk

      Apr 4, 2023

      The spring of 1954 in the mountains of East Tennessee brought forth a renewal of life. I was 12 years old and given the responsibility of watching over a brood of newly hatched chicks. They were very important to our family. Once grown, we could eat,

      4 min read

    • Article

      Isn’t It Romantic

      Apr 1, 2024

      Isn’t It Romantic
      4 min read

    • Article

      Drawer of Memories

      Apr 19, 2022

      Drawer of Memories
      5 min read

    • Article

      Drawer Full of Memories

      Apr 20, 2021

      Drawer Full of Memories
      5 min read

    • Article

      My Old Kentucky Store

      Sep 12, 2019

      My Old Kentucky Store
      5 min read

    • Article

      Blue Mountain Summers

      Dec 27, 2018

      Blue Mountain Summers
      5 min read

    • Article

      Water Under The Bridge

      Nov 10, 2022

      The sound of water coursing over rocks filled my ears. The creek banks reached out with lush green vegetation as if to grab and hold me, and the warm June air was sweet with the smell of honeysuckle. The creek was small. Four good jumps and I could g

      26 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Forgive the River, Forgive the Sky

    5/5

    4 ratings1 review

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

    • 5/5
      This story follows the life of a young girl who has lost her father to the river. Her solstice was traveling up and down the river and observing all the wildlife around her. This book was an amazing read that introduced the reader to many new creatures and flora that live around rivers. I would use this book for older elementary students that enjoy novels rather than straight informational texts.

    Book preview

    Forgive the River, Forgive the Sky - Gloria Whelan

    1

    From halfway up the oak tree I watched the fence go up. The first section of the fence shut off the place where last year I found four different colors of violets growing all at once: white, yellow, lavender, and purple. It was our land the men were fencing off. Only we didn’t own it anymore. Someone named T. R. Tracy owned it. I told myself it still belonged to us. Like the time I spent weeks squeezing together a thousand tiny links to make a bracelet for my best friend, Laura. I know it’s hers because I gave it to her, but she’ll never know it like I do.

    The land that Mom sold had forty acres of woods and a little pond. That’s not all that unusual in this part of northern Michigan. Woods is about all there is. What made our land so valuable is the Sandy River. The Sandy is just about the finest trout river in the world. The cabin where I grew up sits right on a bend of the river. Mr. Tracy lives in the cabin now.

    When Dad died last year, Mom said we’d have to sell our land and move into town. I said I wouldn’t go. I’d run away and live in the woods and they’d never find me. I’d eat berries and roots until I starved. I said all that would be left of me was a bunch of white bones like the ones I once found next to a fox’s hole. Of course I gave in and moved to town with Mom. I told myself it would serve the river right if I deserted it. The thing is, angry as I am at the river because of what happened to my dad, I can’t stay away from it.

    The link fence the men were putting up was heavy duty. To cut it, which I planned to do, I’d have to snitch a good wire cutter. It wouldn’t really be snitching because we own a hardware store. Star Hardware. It’s been in the family for three generations. Someday I’ll run it. I borrow a lot of stuff from our tool rental. Hidden beside the oak tree I was sitting in was a bag with a crowbar and a claw hammer. I sneaked them out of the store for something I planned to do on my way home.

    I waited until the men putting up the fence had moved on, and then I climbed down from the tree, tearing my jeans. Somewhere in the tree was the band that holds my hair back so it doesn’t look like a frizzled cloud. There was a button off my shirt, too. Neatness is not my thing. I once heard a boy in school say I looked like I had been pulled through a hedge. My mother actually bought me a dress and insisted I put it on for church, but it showed my scabby knees and all the briar scratches on my legs, so I didn’t have to wear it after all.

    Picking up my bag with the tools, I headed back toward town. In the woods the early flowers, spring beauties and Dutchman’s-breeches and trout lilies, had all disappeared. The only things in bloom were the trillium and a few starflowers, like my name, Lily Star.

    I wove a wreath with the starflowers and the trillium. Kneeling beside the river, I laid the wreath on the water and watched the quick current snatch it and carry it away. In the year since my father died, I had made a wreath every week to send down the river. In the fall I used orange and red leaves and the spidery gold flowers of witch hazel; in the winter I wove the wreaths from pine and hemlock branches. When the snow cleared, I made my wreaths from pussy willows and moss. I knew every inch of the river and the speed of the current. I knew exactly when the wreath would be carried over the spot where my father died.

    There were people who said my father had a happy death. He died of a heart attack fishing in the river he loved. But he was wading the river late at night when a hatch was on. So he died all alone in the dark. I see it happening in my nightmares. Over and over. Much as I love the river, I can’t forgive it.

    Everything changed after Dad’s death. Dad had spent more time fishing than he had in our hardware store. I’d get up early in the morning and find him and his trout rod gone. I’d run down to the river and there he’d be. Bring me a hot cup of coffee, Lily, he’d call, and you can try a few casts. The trout are plenty hungry this morning. If the trout kept biting, Dad wouldn’t get to the store until afternoon.

    After he died, Mom spent a lot of nights shuffling papers and huddling with Betty Merker, the manager of our bank. Mom found

    Enjoying the preview?
    Page 1 of 1