I discovered Sandra Dallas last year when I read her newest book Whiter Than Snow. I have since read two more: Tallgrass and Prayers For Sale.
I like Sandra's unique voice and the way she makes all her characters come alive. They remind me of people I know. Ms. Dallas is a talented writer who writes about issues to which we can all relate. I am looking forward to her next book which comes out on May 1 of this year.
Prayers For Sale, Sandra’s eighth novel, is an unforgettable tale of a friendship between two women, one with surprising twists and turns, and one that is ultimately a revelation of the finest parts of the human spirit. In 1936, Hennie Comfort, eighty-six, meets Nit Spindle, seventeen, just as the old woman learns she must leave the Colorado mountains that have been her home for seventy years. Nit has lost her baby, and Hennie takes the girl under her wing, telling her stories about mountain life, stories that are as much about Hennie as they are about the historic people of the high country. The harsh conditions of life that Hennie and Nit have suffered create an instant bond, and an unlikely friendship is formed, one in which the deepest of hardships are endured and the darkest memories are confessed.
And here is an exerpt from Prayers For Sale:
The old woman peered past the red geraniums in her deep front window at the figure lingering in the moon-white snow at the gate. In the gloom of the late winter afternoon, Hennie Comfort did not recognize the woman, who stood like a curious bird, her head cocked to one side as she looked at the fence, then the front door, and back at the fence again. Hennie watched, thinking it odd that anyone would wait there, mute as the snow itself. Why would a body stand in the cold when she could come inside by the stove?
Hennie had gone to the window to read her letter in the winter light, because the heavy snow had weighted down the wires, causing the electric to go out. It was too dark inside now to read, although Hennie knew the words wouldn’t be any different from what they were when she read the letter at the post office that morning.
“How much for what?”
“A prayer.” The girl tightened the triangle of plaid wool scarf that covered her head before she thrust her hands into the pockets of her thin coat.
Hennie was confused for a moment, and then realizing what had confounded the girl, she laughed. “That sign’s been there so long, I forget about it.”
“It says, Prayers For Sale. I’m asking how much do you charge, and is it more if you’re in need than if you’re wanting just a little favor? Do sinners pay more than the righteous? And what if the Lord doesn’t answer? Do you get your money back?” The girl asked all this in a rush, as if she didn’t want to forget any of the questions she had pondered as she stood frozen-still in the cold.
“That sign’s older than God’s old dog.”
“How come you to sell prayers?”
“The sign says so. I’ve seen it three times now. I came back because of it,” the girl persisted. “I can pay, if that’s what you’re thinking. I can pay.”
Hennie chuckled. “That sign’s a story. I’ll tell it to you if you’ll come inside.”
“I’ve got a nickel. Is that enough for a prayer?”
“Lordy, are you needing one? No money will buy a prayer, I tell you, but I’ll give you one for free, if you’re in need of it.” Hennie put her arms tight around herself to squeeze out the cold, for she had gone into the storm without her coat.
“I need it. I do.”
“Just you come inside then and tell me why.”
“I can’t. I’ve got to get home and fix Dick’s supper. But I’d be obliged to you if you’d say a prayer—a prayer for Sweet Baby Effie, sweet baby that was, that is. Maybe you could ask that wherever she is, she’s not taken with the cold—I never knew it to be so cold--but just any words will do.”
“I’ll ask it,” Hennie said, turning and gesturing toward the house, but the girl wouldn’t follow. Instead, she took a step backward.
“I thank you,” she said, carefully laying her nickel on the cross-piece of the fence. Then she turned and fled. Rubbing her arms now against the cold, Hennie watched until the little thing disappeared into the storm. Then she picked up the five-cent-piece and went inside, placing the coin in a mite box that she kept for Bonnie Harvey to take to church. Hennie herself didn’t attend services, hadn’t in a long time.
As she sat down in a kitchen chair, Hennie picked up the letter but instead of holding it up to the window to read again, she pondered the young girl. Something about her was familiar, although Hennie was sure she’d never seen her before. It might have been the way she said her words, which told Hennie she was from the South. Or perhaps it was because the girl was new in Middle Swan and appeared to be not a day older than Hennie herself when she’d arrived long years before.
I highly recommend Prayers For Sale. I give it 5 out of 5 stars.
Sandra Dallas is the author of eight novels, including Tallgrass and New Mercies. She is a former Denver bureau chief for Business Week magazine and lives in Denver, Colorado. For more on the author and her books, visit Sandra's website.
(I received this book from Authors on the Web. I received no monetary compensation. All opinions expressed are completely my own.)