conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about Clair, Wally's, Danny with the genre: Teen & Young Adult, Literature & Fiction?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'Whippoorwill'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the first five paragraphs for this book?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Whippoorwill
  Through my father's people, I am part Cherokee. While some of my ancestors were native to this wonderful land we now call the United States of America, others came from Ireland, from France, and from England and Germany. They were brave, strong-willed men and women who left the familiarity of one life for the uncertainties of another. Some left willingly. Others were given no choice. They lived and they died, owing no one but God the explanations for the way they did it. Their names are long forgotten, but the paths they struck still guide us from sea to sea.
  Sleeping with men for money was not something Leticia Murphy had planned on doing when she grew up, but then, neither had she planned on being orphaned at twelve, or winding up in a god-forsaken place in the Kansas territories like Lizard Flats. But here she was, like most of the other lost souls who'd come West, looking for something better, and in her case, wishing for a second chance. She knew the odds were against her, but it didn't stop her from yearning.
  There was a ritual from her childhood that she performed each evening as the sun was going down, just as she was doing tonight. She stepped out onto the balcony off her bedroom above the saloon, looked to the heavens for the Evening Star, then stood quietly in the growing shadows to listen for the whippoorwill's call.
  The routine came from a memory of her mother who had died when she was ten. She was always sitting in her mother's lap outside their clapboard house, watching night come over the land. They were on the bottom step with their bare feet planted firmly in the still-warm dirt, waiting for the first cool breeze of the evening. As they sat, they looked up, searching for the Evening Star and waiting for the whippoorwill to announce its presence. Her mother had always told her the bird was searching for its mate, but Letty had yet to meet a man who was worth the search.
  However, the memory was one of the few good ones she had left. Two years after her mother's untimely death, her father was killed by a Comanche hunting party. Letty survived by hiding in a hollowed-out badger hole and that was the last time fate had showed her any kindness. At twenty-seven, she was well past the marrying age and nearly too used up to care—even if she had never stopped dreaming about a different sort of life.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is three more paragraphs? Start with the sentence 'The storekeeper was in the back room weighing Minna Jessup's flour into a sack'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The storekeeper was in the back room weighing Minna Jessup's flour into a sack. "Mr. Calley, I'll be gettin' myself two of these here candies," Pearl shouted.
  While Baby looked on, Pearl plunked down a penny and dug two of the biggest sticks of candy out of the jar. To Baby's surprise, Pearl shoved the biggest stick in his face.
  Baby wasn't giving in this easy. Not after what Pearl had put him through. "Why are you bein' so nice?"
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the last five paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: It had been close to morning when she'd finally heard it—off in the distance and almost too faint to be sure. At that moment, something happened that had never happened before. Right above her head, she'd heard an answering call. Startled, she had leaned so far out of the window that she'd almost fallen as she'd searched the night sky for a glimpse of the mate.
  For a few moments, she'd seen nothing but the outline of rooftops and the faint glow of a lantern in the sheriff's office down the street. Then the call had come again, and this time when the second bird answered, she saw it take flight.
  Her hands were shaking as she went back to her bed, but her heart was light and ready for what lay ahead. Even before daybreak, she was up and packed, waiting for the new day. Now her life had purpose and her future was bright. Maybe one day she would find someone who would love her for who she was and not who she'd been, but until that day came, she was satisfied with what she'd become.
  If she was ever blessed with children of her own, she was going to teach them what her mama had taught her—how to listen for the whippoorwill. She could picture it all now, cradled by darkness and safe within the shelter of her arms, they would sit on the front steps of their home and feel the warmth of the dirt between their toes, maybe even smell the dampness as dew settled on the grass.
  And maybe—just maybe—while they were waiting for the bird to call, if they were quiet long enough and old enough to know the difference—they would be able to hear their own heartbeats and know the truth of their own minds before it was too late.