Georgia Miller Quotes

And thank you, Oskars, for the State Department recordings. All of us especially liked the discussion about our espionage tactic regarding the tank transfers out of Georgia into Syria. It was amusing, to say the least.

Mama, is that Aunt Eula’s chicken recipe?” Emily tore into a drumstick with enough fervor for both of them. “Sure is.” Her aunts had been up since before dawn cooking. The sweets table was piled with pies and sponge cake with fresh berries and Aunt Marline’s divinity fudge. She picked at her chicken, feeling her appetite improving with each bite of familiar cooking. “Can I have seconds, Mama?” “Of course. let me get some for you.” Alaine took Em’s plate to the buffet, still loaded with more food than an army could do away with. She chose a drumstick from the plate of chicken, then froze. “Now, Stella, it’s quaint,” Mrs. Mark Grafton, Pierce’s mother. Alaine stiffened. “They’ve done the best they can— and I think they rather expected us to enjoy a country luncheon.” “But chicken fricassee? For a wedding luncheon? Are they going to have us dance a reel next?” A woman younger than Mrs. Grafton, but bearing the same sharp dark eyes, tittered quietly. “I told Pierce they should have a fish course, at least. And a consommé. Of course I knew an aspic would be asking far too much.” “Pierce always did have an independent streak.” Stella said this as though it were a blight. “Marrying some country nobody when the Harris girls or Georgia Lawson would have—” “Not polite to speak of it now, dear,” Mrs. Grafton said with a tone that told Alaine it was only propriety keeping her from joining. Alaine seethed. Delphine wasn’t a nobody— she was better than any of these Perrysburg ninnies. “Pierce has his career to consider, that’s all I’m saying. She can’t go blundering about, mucking that up. After all, we stand to catch the ill effects of any mistakes she makes.” “I’ve advised Pierce how to handle himself, and he’ll make sure she knows her place. You needn’t concern yourself with your brother’s affairs.” Mrs. Grafton swept away in a wake of heady perfume, but not before Alaine heard her add in a sharp whisper, “He didn’t listen to me about marrying the girl, why do you think he’d listen about a fish course?” Neither Grafton woman had noticed Alaine; they were, Alaine presumed, well practiced in ignoring anything that didn’t benefit them specifically. Country nobody, indeed— Del would show them all up before Christmas. If the best chicken in the county wasn’t good enough for the Graftons, she would enjoy it double.


But within two years, seeing an opening with a conflicting patent, South Carolina refused to make the three installment payments and sued for recovery of the initial $20,000; it eventually backtracked and rescinded the suit, but not before Whitney was made to feel like a “felon, a swindler, and a villain.” While this was going on, Miller died, never getting the full satisfaction of the final settlements. The state of Georgia went even further. It accused Whitney’s patent rights of being the device of Yankee “extortion.” Whitney’s interests would be litigated in Georgia courts for the better part of a decade.

Beneath were the dates that enclosed her life like brackets:BORN SEPTEMBER 13, 1824,DIED JUNE 17, 1870. It seemed a travesty to Angus, the mere attempt to confine so much beauty, so much love and laughter and vitality—all the vast configuration of traits that had been his Georgia—to a handful of vanished years.

Beneath were the dates that enclosed her life like brackets:BORN SEPTEMBER 13, 1824,DIED JUNE 17, 1870. It seemed a travesty to Angus, the mere attempt to confine so much beauty, so much love and laughter and vitality—all the vast configuration of traits that had been his Georgia—to a handful of vanished years. - High Country Bride

Special Agent John Lang was a former marine and Georgia state trooper before he joined the Georgia Bureau of Investigation and became a top criminal profiler. At six foot four, he's imposing, with thick hair, chiseled features, and a swagger like a winning football coach. He's a commanding good ol' boy, a Georgia native who cracks f-bombs like peanut shells and makes no apologies for taking up space in the world.