The reid came gentle—Nona’s signature. A porch swing. A younger Nona, maybe thirty, holding the stone. She was crying. Not sad. Relieved. A man’s voice, off-camera: “They dropped the charges. We can go home.” The stone had been clutched in Nona’s hand the day she learned she wouldn’t be arrested for helping runaway miners’ families cross state lines.
: Having the subject tell the story of what happened in their own words. learning how to reid
That was the first lesson Elara never forgot: The reid is a wound. The reid came gentle—Nona’s signature