I finished this some time ago:

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Beautiful work. Somehow the mountains of Oregon are more foreign to me than I would have expected. When I want to picture rolling plains throws a mountain in front of my view. Is that world claustrophobic? Coplin doesn’t describe it as such but I can’t help but think of it that way. Her descriptive ability is reason enough to pick up the book. Then the story steps in and keeps you interested. Some death. Some hardship. A little kidnapping. A little murder plot. A baby. Good stuff all around. At least for the first 350 pages. Maybe it was my own cabin fever as the winter wore on but those last eighty pages got to me.
Still I would recommend it.

My apologies for the delayed and brief review.

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