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Alana Edmond grew up under a grey, forgiving sky in a coastal village where everyone knew each other's birthdays and misgivings. She was the sort of child who patched torn dolls, left extra loaves on neighbors' doorsteps, and learned the names of every stray cat that waited by the fishmonger's stall. People called her innocent and sweet, and she carried that label like a warm shawl — curious about the world, trusting to a fault, and certain that kindness could soften anything hard enough. Her mother taught her to bake bread and to read by lamplight; the sea taught her how to listen. In those early years Alana believed life was a simple ledger of small favors repaid in smiles. The ledger cra...