Now that her morbidly obese sister, Agnes Sparrow, is comfortably dieting at the Greenbrier Nursing Home, Griselda learns to fly—literally—after a pilot makes an emergency landing and creates quite a ruckus in the otherwise sleepy town of Bright’s Pond. But Griselda’s newfound freedom—and her flight time with handsome pilot, Cliff—is hampered by other happenings in town. Like the gold digger who prances around town and is supposedly engaged to Stella Kincaid’s brother—the lottery winner who is in a coma. And there’s Ivy Slocum’s dog, Al Capone, whose adventures continue long after they should. When Chief of Police Mildred Blessing starts investigating the gold digger, however, things really heat up—for Griselda and all the residents of the unique Pennsylvania hamlet called Bright’s Pond! Miracles still happen in Bright's Pond! Joyce Magnin is the author of several books, including The Prayers of Agnes Sparrow , named one of the "Top 5 Best Christian Fiction Books of 2009" by Library Journal . Her short fiction pieces and articles have been published in such magazines as Relief Journal, Parents Express, Sunday Digest , and Highlights for Children . A member of the Greater Philadelphia Christian Writers Fellowship, Joyce is a frequent workshop leader at various writer s conferences and women s church groups. She has three children and one grandson, and is mom to a neurotic parakeet who lives with her in Havertown, Pennsylvania. Griselda Takes Flight A Novel of Bright's Pond By Joyce Magnin Abingdon Press Copyright © 2011 Joyce Magnin All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-4267-1157-2 CHAPTER 1 "Time does have a way of making hurts smaller. It's the distance. It's like being in the airplane and looking down at Bright's Pond with all that space between me and the town. Everything looks so small, even my troubles. From up there I had a sense that any problem could be solved. It's about perspective, I think." —Griselda Sparrow If you've seen one pumpkin, you've seen them all. Unless the pumpkin is named Bertha Ann. The gourd offspring of Nate and Stella Kincaid created quite a stir in Bright's Pond a few months back. Well, it wasn't all Bertha Ann's fault. As it turned out, Stella had some explaining to do. And Nate? Let's just say Nate had his own battle brewing to save Bertha Ann and not only control the mildew, a feared and dreaded malady to gourd growers everywhere, but his temper as well. Nate and Stella Kincaid had been growing prize-winning pumpkins for going on ten years, ever since my sister Agnes Sparrow prayed, and Nate's pumpkin took first place in the 1967 Tri-County Pumpkin Festival in Shoops Borough with a whopper of a squash weighing an astounding one hundred and fifty-seven pounds. That was back in the days when Agnes, who weighed just over seven hundred pounds, settled her massive girth onto our red velvet sofa and dedicated herself to a life of prayer. It had become nearly impossible for Agnes to venture outside any longer. I will confess that when Agnes prayed, things happened: several healings that we know of, a few incidents of lost objects being located miles from where they were last seen, and several other more minor miracles such as car engines starting when there was no earthly reason. Agnes lives over at the Greenbrier Nursing Home now, where she continues to pray, but no one has reported an actual bona fide miracle in at least eight months. Some folks claim it's because the nursing home doctors put her on a strict diet to make her lose weight and this has somehow weakened her powers. Agnes told me she's decided to welcome the diet and follow her doctors' orders, but I still find Baby Ruth wrappers and crusts from lemon squares in her trashcan. Folks can't help but feed her. I keep my eye out for ill-gotten food booty and confiscate what I can. Just a few days ago I found an entire rotisserie chicken in her closet. But even I've let Agnes eat some sweets and brought her a meatloaf special from The Full Moon Café a couple of times. For those of you who don't know, that's a big hunk of meatloaf with a side of mashed potatoes swimming in a pint of brown gravy with a small dish of green peas alongside for color. It's not about the veggies. It's about the gravy. "Does my heart good, Griselda," Agnes had said as she poured extra gravy on her potatoes. "A body can only eat so much lettuce without worrying she's going to sprout a cottontail and long rabbit ears." I remember I smiled that day because it made me see that it's the occasional sweet or savory indulgence that puts the curlicue on an otherwise plain existence. * * * Harvest Dance time—the town's annual celebration of cooler days and good friends— waited for us just around the corner of next month. I sat in a booth at The Full Moon along with the rest of the dance committee as we wracked our brains for this year's theme. That's when Stella rushed inside. She looked like she had seen a ghost. In a way she had. Stel