Arnia Watson stared from the window of the train as it sped along the Eastern Seaboard. Actually, sped was gross exaggeration. The train felt as if it was meandering and that wasn't a bad thing. Arnia had just turned thirty-eight and was going home. She had to. She received a telegram of all things, telling her Ava, her godmother passed and not only was Ava a woman who loved her dearly; she was also the midwife who delivered her and the woman who...