walk down the aisle by herself. She looked so wistful that for a moment, Lucy wished that she had done everything differently.
But Jay had toasted Lucy with his coffee mug. “Don’t be ridiculous. Your mom can give you away. Can’t you, Mrs. T?”
And so it was Lucy who walked with Patty today, holding tightly to her daughter’s arm, unsteady in her satin shoes, trying to ignore the people staring at her. The altar seemed a mile away. I can, I can, I can, Lucy repeated in her mind, just like a hundred other times, and before long they arrived.
* * * * *
Acknowledgments
This story began the way so many of my favorites do: on the road with Juliet Blackwell. Over the years, many a boring stint on a plane or in a rental car have been enlivened by conversations with Julie, who I’m convinced knows a little something about every subject on the planet. “Just enough to be dangerous,” I imagine her saying, but it was idle musing on the subjects of Japanese internment and Victorian taxidermy that inspired this book.
Barbara Poelle, my cherished agent, didn’t even bat an eye when I told her what I wanted to attempt. Without her unflagging support, I doubt I’d have had the courage to imagine this story.
I am very grateful to Adam Wilson, my intrepid editor, for embracing this project, advocating for it and guiding me through the early stages. Then, when new adventures called Adam elsewhere, Erika Imranyi was entirely gracious about inheriting not just an author but a manuscript that needed serious attention. Erika and I went through several bruising rounds of revisions, and it means the world to me that she didn’t give up until it was right. It is a privilege to work with her.
A few more thanks are in order: Leonore Waldrip for the brainstorming; Rachael Herron, Nicole Peeler, Mike Cooper and Bob Littlefield for the early reads and encouragement; Dave Madden, for writing a wildly entertaining book that changed the way I view research forever; The Pens Fatales and Murder She Writes for their friendship and support.
Special thanks to William Wiecek, Judy Hamilton and Kristen Wiecek. You are there when I need you, and I will never be able to thank you enough.
A Conversation with Sophie Littlefield
Garden of Stones is very different from other books you’ve published. What led to your decision to write something new, and what inspired your ideas for the story and characters in the book?
When I began writing several decades ago, I found I loved the freedom of moving between genres—crime fiction, young adult, dark fantasy—trying to craft the most compelling story possible. There is great excitement in treading on unfamiliar ground, and I think risk-taking can lead to captivating and unforgettable stories.
Garden of Stones came about over a series of conversations I had with my dear friend, author Juliet Blackwell. She is a native Californian, and knew much more about the Japanese internment camps than I did, having grown up in the Midwest. I found this chapter of our nation’s history engrossing and horrifying, so I started thinking about how to explore it through fiction. My own novels often feature women—specifically mothers and daughters—at the heart, which led me to focus on their experience during this troubling era. Other story elements came about serendipitously, even small details like the Nancy Drew mysteries mentioned in the book—I’d unearthed an old copy of The Mystery at Lilac Inn, and I kept it on my desk as I wrote.
You’ve written about a very specific—and difficult—period in U.S. history. What drew you to this time and setting? What kind of research did you do, and what were the challenges you faced writing a historical novel?
When I began this project, I knew I had a daunting research challenge ahead of me. I read everything I could get my hands on: dozens of books, first-person accounts, journals, newsletters. I pored over photographs and covered the walls of my office with maps and illustrations.
I made the trip to Manzanar and spent a day at the restored camp, talking to the staff and viewing the exhibits. Walking among the ruins of the blocks and gardens I’d read so much about was inexplicably moving. I felt as though I was standing with the spirits of those who had lived there. I also visited a small museum in the town of Independence that had a wonderful collection of ephemera and memorabilia: letters, handicrafts, school photos, newspapers, dishes, clothes and furniture made by