They had to keep Percival McGann's casket closed for the wake. And nothing the mortician did – not the airtight sealing of the gold-embellished pine box or the wreaths made from woven palm fronds, hibiscus and hydrangeas – could mask the stench of the burnt corpse inside. Scores of mourners, mainly old cronies, distant relatives and current plantation workers in their wide-brimmed hats and stained overalls, stood in line to cast their eyes on what would be the last trace of the McGann way of life.

From the moment Ana saw Isabel slip into Mama’s favorite dress, she knew that her sister wasn’t planning to return. Stealing that dress was like cutting Mama’s heart open with a toothpick. Isabel was tired of Mama controlling their lives and wasn’t about to let anyone get in her way from being with el guardia, the man Isabel called- El amor de su vida.