Ivory Darts, Golden Arrows

Miss Kisseal, the postmistress, has little time for romance or love. There’s a letter addressed to the peak, and she must deliver herself with it.

  • Excerpt

    Miss Kisseal had already touched the oranges and smelled their oil on her skin. The post office was fragrant with them, and that was enough to make her deliver the mail to them. It wouldn’t do to let them spoil. Besides, the new address was up there too, above the ladies. That was how she knew it couldn’t possibly be real.

    In the kitchen, though, the ladies ladled stew into a bowl, and told her it was true.

    “Someone’s moved in up there, they have,” said the eldest sister, and pointed to the peak. Steam rose from her fingertip like she was working a spell.