Tiffini Johnson: Whisperroot, Kartoniert / Broschiert

Klappentext

Every silence has its echo

We didn't ask for this to happen. What else were we to do? It was for the protection of our sons, our souls, our traditions, our survival. The girls-- well, they were wayward. Ainela, she knew better than to wear the Devil's color, better than to sneak out after dark. And there were whispers of witchcraft, of rebellion. We didn't want them hurt, but something had to be done.

You say you did not ask for this. But we heard the votes whispered behind closed doors. There was no witchcraft, there was no rebellion. They were children-Ainela cried for her sister when she was broken. We felt the shovels strike when you buried your secrets. You tied ribbons and called it remembrance. It was silence.

Don't judge us. They were our daughters. We told ourselves they'd gone to safer places-cousins in Krakow, a convent, anywhere but here. We wanted to believe that. Zosia stopped speaking because it was dangerous. In Myreska, silence kept us alive.

In Myreska, silence kept you comfortable. We carry their names in our soil. We ache with daughters you surrendered. Our roots pulse with their songs, our bark itches with their tears, our branches hold their ribbons. Zosia remembers. You can silence a girl, but you cannot silence her roots.