Category: books

Christmas Eve #bookexcerpt

It’s Christmas Eve in 2020, and well, this year is a bit of an unprecedented one for many of us. A number of you may be spending Christmas alone or far away from family members this year for the first time in a long time. It’s not exactly the Christmas we hoped for, but here it is.

I realize that a number of family sagas portray heartwarming scenes at Christmas, like something out of a Hallmark movie. But whether it’s 2020 or not, Christmas for a number of people is anything but a Hallmark movie. Many face grief and sadness, and a sense of loss at a time that’s supposed to be so joyful.

One of my favorite Christmas programs is A Charlie Brown Christmas, and the reason I think I love it so much is because it deals with that subject head on. Charlie Brown is depressed because he’s supposed to feel good at Christmas, but he doesn’t. He is looking for meaning or something to bring him joy. He learns that Christmas can be found in the smallest of things.

So in spirit of that, and in of 2020, my present to you in this unprecedented year is an excerpt from my latest novel, Out of Night. It’s Christmas Eve 1968, and Lydie is waiting for a visit from her family whilst being a patient in a psychiatric hospital. I won’t give any spoilers, but perhaps Lydie and her family will find enough light to make it through a difficult situation.

From my house to yours, I wish you peace and hope this holiday season and a brighter year to come next year.

Excerpt from Out of Night by Kellie Butler. Copyright 2020, all rights reserved.

On Christmas Eve, Lydie took out a new frock from her wardrobe. She’d found the long-sleeve red wool sheath dress in a shop in downtown Topeka right after Thanksgiving. She’d seen it a couple of times as she had passed the brightly lit window whilst on her way to her regular pilgrimages to the yarn shop to buy wool.

Normally, Lydie didn’t get so dolled up since she’d arrived at the hospital.  No one really cared what you wore. But today was special because Henry and the kids were coming.

Lydie’s fingers glided along the jewel neckline of the garment, encrusted with large green stones sewn on like a necklace. She hadn’t brought any jewelry except for her wedding band. Henry had her emerald and diamond engagement ring at home. To help with her recovery, he had sent a couple of photo albums with pictures dating back to their engagement on New Year’s Eve of 1948. Edward and Velma had taken a photograph of a smiling Lydie and Henry on that night as they rang in the new year to ‘Auld Lang Syne.’

It would only be a few more hours until visiting time. She told Henry she would meet them in the visitor’s lounge located just outside of her ward, where they could sit comfortably in chairs. She hoped he would like her dress. The kids probably wouldn’t care. She went to the hair salon yesterday and had her hair set for today. She wanted Henry to see she looked well. Not because she wanted him to take her home, but to show him she had made great progress so far.

Back at that other place, they had helped her put on a shapeless cotton shirtdress and a wool coat. She imagined that she had appeared frumpy. The kids hadn’t been there, and she had been glad they hadn’t seen her in such a state. Lydie had always tried to keep up her appearance until she just couldn’t anymore. Something had died within her after Cole went to his school.

As she lay the frock on the back of her desk chair, someone tapped on her door. A nurse came in and set her breakfast tray and medication on the desk.  Lydie sat down at her desk, and picked up the cover off her breakfast tray. Today it was eggs, bacon, hash browns, and toast with a cup of fruit and orange juice. She picked up her little paper cup with meds.

Lydie normally didn’t have meds in the morning, but this week she was nervous about Henry’s visit, and had requested something to help calm her nerves today. Dr. Sletter was the one who usually ordered her medications, and after some persuading, he had obliged.  Lydie had taken a sleeping aid Thanksgiving night, although why, she wasn’t sure. The turkey and stuffing at dinner that evening had done the job.

She finished her breakfast and then dressed. This one had a zippered back, and Lydie lowered the zipper with ease. She wondered if it would zip up as easily. She didn’t have Henry’s long limbs, and sometimes she cursed when her short arms couldn’t reach her neck. Someone needed to do something about that. Ladies like her mother or grandmother never had that problem because they had a maid waiting on them. Lydie hadn’t had someone dressing her since she was twelve. One day, they need to make zippers that were a little larger or something so women with short arms won’t have to ask someone to do it, or else contort their bodies trying to zip it themselves.

As she put on her slip, Lydie realized it fit a little tighter than it had when she had arrived. She had gained weight. Not that she was overweight, but she was squishier than she had been before. She hoped the frock would fit, otherwise, she’d have to wear an everyday one.

Lydie slid into the dress as it grazed the curves of her hips and hugged her body. It wasn’t form-fitting, but it wasn’t as loose as she’d like for it to be. On the mannequin in the shop, it was supposed to be a bit looser than this. She took a deep breath and zipped up the back. Well, at least she didn’t feel like a stuffed sausage. Lydie could breathe in it. It would do.

After slipping into her shoes, she glanced down at her gold wedding band. Maybe Henry would bring her engagement ring so she could wear it during the visit. She put on her robe to protect her clothes as she took out her makeup case. Since she’d arrived, Lydie hardly ever wore makeup. Today was a special occasion, though. She applied just rouge on her cheeks to give her porcelain skin some color.

Taking a comb off her desk, she glided it through her straightened shoulder-length hair before combing the fringe. On a whim, she told the hairdresser yesterday to flatten her usually wavy hair. Staring at her stick-straight tresses, Lydie scrunched her nose and bit her lip. She’d never had straight hair before. What was the word for it? Mod. Yes, definitely mod. Maybe too mod for her family. Sighing, she pulled it back into an updo.

She set her comb down and made herself smile.

At three, she gathered her courage and headed downstairs into the lobby to head for the Christmas Eve reception over in the Hopkins building. She caught up with Imogene and Nola Faye as they headed out the door with a throng of other patients.

“Is your family coming to visit, Lydie?” Imogene asked. “Are they able to make the trip?”

Lydie nodded. “Yes, they’ll be in sometime today. I’m afraid they’re only staying a couple of days because Henry has to get back to work.”

“It’s supposed to snow tomorrow,” Nola Faye said. “The kids might like that. At least one of us getting to see family. Mine don’t care about me anymore.”

“We’re your family, honey,” Imogene said. Lydie nodded.

Nola Faye’s eyes misted as she reached over and squeezed their hands. “I see neither of you ladies joined the patient choir. They are performing today.”

Lydie shook her head. “I can play the piano, but I cannot sing. As my kids say, I make a joyful noise. How joyful that is to other people, well, that’s another story.”

Imogene giggled. “That’s exactly how I feel. Caterwauling sounds better than what comes out of my mouth. At least we’ll have refreshments”

“Christmas cookies and punch.” Nola Faye nodded. “I bet that’s what they’ll have. Is your husband bringing you dinner, Lydie?”

“I don’t know. He’s arriving after five. Maybe he will, or maybe we’ll head down to the cafeteria for dinner.”

“Blech. I hope he brings something,” Nola Faye said. “You’d better not load up on those refreshments.”

“What about you, Imogene?” Lydie asked. “Do you have anyone coming this weekend?”

Imogene waited until they passed through the front door before she answered. “Well, I have a sister in St. Louis, but they hardly ever come to visit. I imagine with them having Christmas Eve mass tonight, they’ll wait until tomorrow to drive over, if they do at all. There’s always something going on with her.”

“How far is it to St. Louis?” Lydie asked.

“Oh, a few hours.”

“I hope they come and see you, Imogene,” Lydie said.

“Well, with this flu stuff going around, I don’t know. At least they’re allowing visitors,” Imogene said. “You know, I don’t understand something. Back in the old days, when you had things like this, your family took care of you. You had to be seriously ill to go to a hospital. It seems like some of these places are more like babysitters for families who don’t want to have to take care of their loved ones. I’m not saying that’s the case for everyone. Take you and your memory loss from that other place, Lydie. That needs special care. But people like me and Nola Faye, well, at one time, our families would have taken care of us instead of paying all this money to have people look after us.”

“I hear they’re moving to where places like this won’t be long term anymore,” Nola Faye said. “I don’t know what my family will do with me. I’m too young for an old folks’ home, and I’m too old for anything else. I guess they’ll find somewhere they can put me and not have to lift a finger,” she said as they walked down the drive together. “No, it’s not like how it used to be. Be glad you girls at least have families that pretend to care. Mine stopped, and I know it.”

“Now, don’t you be down like this on Christmas Eve, Nola Faye. We’re here for you,” Lydie said.

Nola Faye sniffled, and her voice caught as she took Imogene and Lydie’s hands, “Thank you, kindly. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

For the last bit, the trio walked in silence until they reached the reception building. They eyed the tables full of food, and Nola Faye’s eyes lit up like a kid in a sweets shop. Lydie and Imogene nodded their heads, and took their positions near one of the Christmas decorations so they could hear the choir, and keep a good eye on Nola Faye. Just a couple more hours, and Henry and the kids would be with her. Please don’t let them miss that flight.

At four-thirty, Lydie made her way back to her room. Touching up her lipstick and powder, she grabbed the bag of gifts she’d place on her neatly made bed and headed for the visitors’ lounge. She hoped upon hope that she got there before Henry so she could scout out the best table.  She knew from chatting with some other patients it would be packed. Selecting a table away from the blaring noise of the television sets, she placed her shopping bag full of gifts down to mark her spot.

Smoothing her frock, she inspected the surrounding area again, making sure it was perfect. Waving at a few patients she recognized, Lydie grabbed a deck of cards from a nearby table, sat down, and started dealing her first game of solitaire to calm her nerves. She hoped her kids wanted to see her.

Patty spotted her from across the room and came over. “So, you’re getting visitors today, huh?” She leaned over and said, “Well, don’t get your hopes up. Don’t you know that the ones who come to visit on holidays are the ones who don’t really care? They show up because they have to. They’d rather be at home, not spending time with crazy people in a hospital.”

“Patty, that’s an unkind thing for you to say,” Lydie said.

Patty scoffed. “Look at you in that number like you are hot stuff. I bet you hope you can get your husband away in a corner somewhere for a little action, huh? You’re so desperate, it’s flashing from you like a neon sign. Look at those gifts. Hah! You brought them your little paintings and your knitting. They’ll toss it into the garbage can the moment they leave. You just watch.”

“Patty, stop it! Stop it right now!”  She would not let the girl ruin today for her.

“Oh, are we angry? I’m sorry to have spoiled your little  holiday.”

Patty cackled so loud that a nurse and an attendant came over. “That’s enough, Patty. Just because you don’t receive visitors doesn’t mean others can’t. Now come on. You’re headed back to your room if you can’t get along.”

Patty stuck out her arms and put her wrists together. “Lock me up! Go ahead! Put me in the cold wrap today! That’s what you want to do! Better yet, put me in the hydrotherapy room!”

Not giving in to Patty’s behavior, they escorted her away. The girl turned around and flashed a wicked grin. “They’re visiting because they pity you! What a bunch of losers!”

When Patty was gone, peace gradually came over the room again. Eventually, everyone returned to playing cards, watching television, or reading their books. Lydie reshuffled her deck and started a fresh game of solitaire. She had to reframe her mind so her family wouldn’t see her upset.

She had played three hands of solitaire, and she began to wonder if they were coming at all. What if he had been called back in to work? Patty would never let her hear the end of it. She started on her fourth hand when out of the corner of her eye, she spotted them:  a group of three kids teenagers followed by a tall, lanky man with golden brown hair at the door. He was holding a bouquet of white and red roses, and a large green box tied with twine she knew well. The kids were holding presents, too. They made their way through the crowd towards Lydie, who wanted to wrap her arms around them, but was afraid she might frighten them. She held her arms wide open when they reached her.

“Hi, Mom.” Suzy was the first to approach. Her long, silky black hair hung in a ponytail that came just below her shoulders, and her frame was as slender as it had always been.

Lydie threw her arms around her and enveloped her in a hug. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, Mom,” Suzy nodded and squeezed her tight.

Lydie let go briefly and took Nora into her arms next. “Goodness, Nora! You’ve grown so much. How are you, darling?”

“I’m okay, Mom. You look, well, you look great.” Nora said. “You look more like yourself.”

Lydie knew what Nora meant by that. She had seen how apprehensive they had been as they entered the room. She exchanged glances with Henry, who shrugged his shoulders.

She released Nora and was preparing to wrap her arms around Bobby when she took a step back, her eyes wide open in amazement. “Bobby, you are nearly as tall as your father!”

It was Bobby who flung his arms around his mother. “Hey, Mom. Yeah, I’m going to be as tall as him and Baba one day.”

“But you’re only fourteen, my little boy. What are you eating back at home?”

“Just the stuff the other ballplayers eat.”

Lydie released Bobby, but had her hands around his arms. “Ballplayer? When did you start playing sports?”

“I got on the junior varsity baseball team last year, Mom. Next year I’m trying out for varsity.”

“What position do you play?”

“Oh, I’m third base. I’m a good hitter, too. Ask Dad.”

“My little boy is growing up.” Her eyes welled up with tears.  Bobby moved over so his father could step forward.

“Henry!” Lydie flung her arms around him, and he enveloped her in his arms, pecking her softly on the temple. She pecked him on the cheek. “I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to come with you working so hard and the flu going around. Thank goodness you’re here.”

“Wild horses couldn’t drag me away from seeing you, Lydie.”

Turning to her kids, she said, “Why don’t we all sit down? I got a good table for us.”

Her kids sat down awkwardly in the chairs, while Henry took his place beside her. “We brought you a few things, sweetheart.”

“Thank you, darlings. I’m so grateful just to see you! I have some things for you, too. Granted, they’re things that I made. I wasn’t sure what you might like this year.”

“Your dress is pretty, Mom,” Suzy said.

“Thank you, sweetheart. I bought at a shop downtown, close to the yarn shop where I purchase my wool. I usually do that on days I’m going to adjunctive therapy.”

“What’s that, Mom?” Bobby asked.

“Oh, it’s a posh word for doing things that help you heal, things that bolster your spirits. There’s a nice building not far from here where we paint, draw, sculpt, make ceramics, knit, design floral arrangements, and all sorts of things. Your mommy has been painting and knitting up a storm these past few months.”

“I like it, Mom,” Nora said. “Your dress, I mean.  How long are you staying here this time?”

“Nora, remember what we talked about?” Henry sent her a reproachful glance.

“Oh, sorry, Mom.” Nora looked down at the table.

“It’s all right, darling. I’m going to be here for a few more months, probably until the end of summer. At least that is what the doctors say. I’m getting much better, though. It’s peaceful here, and it’s helping me heal greater than that other place I went to. I’ll be back with you before you know it. Enough about me, though, I want to hear about you.”

Suzy took out a memory book and passed it to her. “Dad said you can have photographs in your room, so we made you this album of stuff we’ve done over the last year or so. That way you can look at it.”

“You did this for me? And I can keep it?” Lydie gasped and put her hand over her mouth.

“Yes, Mom.” Suzy nodded her head.

Lydie caressed the dark blue album gingerly. “Thank you so much, darling. That is one of the best presents you could give me, other than being here.” She opened it up and started devouring the pages.

“There’s Bobby’s ballgames and trophies, Nora’s art things, and my piano recitals. We took a lot of pictures around the house, so you can even see we’re taking care of things at home for you.”

“Thank you,” Lydie whispered. “Oh, thank you so much.”

Nora pushed over a scrapbook. “Here, Mom, I put a lot of my drawings and a couple of watercolors into a scrapbook, like Dad did of all the drawings you sent him from Paris.”

Lydie opened the scrapbook and marveled at the abstract drawings and watercolors. “You’re even more talented than I was at your age, Nora. I will cherish these. You will probably be a better artist than I am.”

“Oh, no, Mom. These are my best ones. I threw a lot of them away.”

“I’ll have them on my desk with pride,” Lydie said. “I would like to hang all of them up in my room to see every day. Don’t lose your gift, Nora. You have it.”

“Thank you, Mom. One day I’m going to study in Paris, just like you.”

“Did you know that one of Mommy’s doctors worked in Paris for a while? He worked with the Public Health Service. Your father worked with them during the war.”

“Did Dad work in Paris?” Nora grew wide-eyed.

Lydie laughed. “No, he didn’t. My doctor worked for the Health Service here in the US too, though.” She winked at Henry.

“Really, Lydie?” Henry asked. “You haven’t told me that.”

“Well, I see him to sort out my medication. He’s on-call occasionally, too. Nice young man.”

Bobby took out a bag. “I have nothing to give you as far as that kind of stuff, Mom.  I told teammates you were sick, and we all signed a baseball for you.” He passed it over. “That way you can look at it and know we’re all rooting for you.”

“I thought you might be angry with me for not remembering when I was home.”

“We’re not angry, Mom. Dad explained about your memory, and that you’re here to get better. So, we’re trying to help you.”

“Thank you, darlings.” Lydie leaned over and kissed each one. “I can’t thank you enough.”

They held onto her for a while until finally their legs grew restless and they sat down at the table.

“Well, it’s going to be hard for me to top that,” Henry said. “But I brought you flowers and a cake from Edinger’s.”

Lydie’s nose crinkled up in delight as she opened the green box tied with string.  A Brooklyn blackout cake, her favorite. “I thought I recognized that box. Norma used to bring some to the dorm back at Barnard when she came back from visiting her parents.”

“Speaking of Barnard, I can see you’re eating well here, Lydie. You have the figure you used to have in college.”

“Henry Bainbridge, are you saying that I’ve put on weight?” Lydie raised her eyebrow and put her hands on her hips.

“You have, but it looks beautiful on you.” He winked. “Kids, when I met your mother in college, I found out she was a magnificent cook. I was smitten the moment I ate her roast chicken. I’m going to see if the nurse can give me a hand in slicing this cake. Maybe they’ll have some napkins.”

As Henry left, an uneasy silence fell over the table.

“I suppose it’s not what you expected, is it?” Lydie asked.

“Well, Dad said it would be different,” Nora said weakly. “Why are these people just getting up and not saying anything before they leave?”

“Well, people do odd things. Best to not judge them.”

Bobby nodded, and Lydie opened the book that Suzy gave her. “I know this must be awkward for you. I just want to thank you for coming. That’s the best present you can give me.”

“Dad gave us a big lecture last week,” Nora said.

“Did he? What about?”

“Nora,” Suzy warned. “You know not to start anything. You were the one who really got in trouble last week.”

Lydie turned from Suzy to Nora. “I take it that it was the boy trouble you were in?”

“Gee, thanks, Suzy. You’re such a tattletale.” Nora rolled her eyes. “Great, you just ruined it. You know we’re not to upset Mom.”

“Well, given that I saw that look your father gave you earlier, something happened last week.” Nora remained silent. “Mhm. I may have lost some of my memory, Nora, but I haven’t lost my senses completely.”

“Then you wouldn’t be in here,” she muttered.

“What was that?” Lydie sat straight up.

“Nothing,” she mumbled.

Henry returned with napkins and cake on paper plates. He saw Lydie’s tense posture and how Nora’s attention was turned towards the television sets. Bobby and Suzy shifted in their chairs. “What’s going on here?”

“Ask Nora,” Suzy pouted. “She has ruined everything.”

Henry set the plates down and sighed as he sat down beside Lydie. “Sweetheart, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, darling. Thank you for bringing the cake. Now, why don’t we all enjoy it, hmm?” Lydie shot Henry a warning glance.

He leaned over and whispered, “What is it?”

“I’ll tell you later,” she murmured, and dived into the decadent slice of chocolate cake with chocolate filling and even more chocolate icing with a crumb coating. “Norma gave this to me for my twenty-first birthday. I remember that because I was so full of cake that I could hardly eat a thing when Henry and my friends surprised me by taking me to the Hawaiian Room that night for dinner. I hardly ate a thing off that Pupu platter.”

Lydie finished her cake, and the kids were done with theirs.

“Mom, can we go watch television?” Bobby asked.

“Sure, darlings. Just mind that other people are watching it, too. Don’t ask them to change the channel.”

“Okay, Mom,” Suzy said. All three kids rose from the table. “See you in a bit.”

Lydie’s gaze followed them until they sat down in front of one of the televisions. Assured they could speak privately, she turned to Henry. “What happened last week?”

Henry groaned. “This was not supposed to come up during our visit.”

“Maybe it’s just too much for them.”

“Which is why they were supposed to keep this pleasant so we could all get adjusted.” He frowned. “We can’t even get through Christmas Eve without something.”

“Are you going to tell me what happened? It’s something, because Nora is still cross.”

Henry shook his head and groaned. “Very well, Nora cut class with a boy named Cal and ended up in Staten Island. A ferry worker thought they looked out of place and called the police. I called Doris, who had Norma with her. I went and got her. By the way, Norma and Doris send their regards, and Doris gave me a pan of lasagna.”

“You’d better send her some cake, along with her pan.”

“She won’t take anything. Nora is having an attitude lately. She’s probably doing this today to get back at me.”

“I don’t know. I think she’s upset I left her alone there. To think I used to get mad at Alistair because he wouldn’t let me go to dancing lessons.”

“You never snuck off with a boy, though,” Henry said, and took a bite of his cake.

“No, there was no chance of that. Not even when I was in Blackpool. Too many people around. I’m glad the girls stepped in.”

“Yeah. The kids hate me right now, Lydie. I didn’t want today to be like this. I wanted this visit to be wonderful for you. For all of us.”

“Well, we’ve spent several years bottling things up to where everything would be smooth and look where it got us. Maybe by tomorrow things will have settled down.  I could tell they were shocked when they walked in.”

“Yes, I tried to prepare them, you know.”

Lydie reached over. “Well, I know what I looked like at the other place. I wanted you to see I’ve made progress. After they get over this hurdle, maybe things will be easier. Fourteen was a rotten age for me.”

Henry cleared his throat and changed the subject. “You look well, Lydie. Much better than I had hoped.”

“Good.” Lydie smiled. “You look pretty well, yourself. I see JoAnn takes good care of you.”

“Sort of. I get by,” he said. “Aidan and Amy said hi, too, by the way. So did Francine.”

“Tell them hi for me.”

“Since it’s just us, how’s your memory, sweetheart?”

“Getting better every day. I still have months of treatment left, but we’re going to work on that come January. You know, the real work. We’ve already started on some of it, but my doctors have an idea of how to help me.”

“Mhm. Have they mentioned what those might be?”

“Well, things that will help me be able to stay well after I leave here, whenever that will be.” She glanced around the cheerful room. “I like it here, much more than I thought I would. I fought tooth and nail the last time, you know. I did what I had to so I could get back home to you.  Granted, I didn’t want it to be in the shape that I was. Losing my memory wasn’t my idea of a release. This time, though, it’s different.”

Henry cocked his head. “How so?”

“Because I need to be here. Not for you or the kids, although I love you dearly, but I need to sort things out for myself. I had become a shell of myself, depleted of anything left to give. I was growing bitter and afraid. Afraid I’d be put away like Cole. I suppose I had so many feelings that surged up from my parents leaving me money to take care of me for life. I realized they probably knew I was sick in some way, and they wanted me to be taken care of. I got scared. I took it out on you, and I was thinking more of myself than what you wanted. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have thrown things at you. You were going through just as much as me, but I focused inward because I was so frightened.”

“We don’t have to discuss that now, Lydie.” His gaze left hers and traveled around the room as he shifted in his chair. “Let’s just spend time together, huh?”

She smiled. “Okay.”

“Your dress is beautiful.”

Lydie blushed. “I splurged a little on it. I wanted something special for your visit. You look pretty good yourself. I have presents for you and the kids.”

“You don’t need to give us anything.”

“You haven’t even seen it.” She picked up a tube out of the shopping bag and gave it to him. “That one is yours.”

Henry eyed it and unfastened the lid off the cardboard tube.  “Where did you get this tube?”

“A place in town.”

“Mhm.” He pulled out a large roll of watercolor paper tied with twine. Rolling the twine down, he unrolled the paper and placed it in front of him on the table and gasped.

“It’s a replica of the painting I entered the art exhibition the foundation hosted recently. It garnered a lot of attention. Mary loves it.”

He studied the ball painted with many colors. “This differs from your earlier work, Lydie. More abstract.”

“Yes. I just paint what flows out. No understudies or drawings. Just pure expression. It’s proving to be a fruitful period, like nothing I’ve never painted before.”

“Well, I wish I could have the original, but I’m going to take this and get it framed. It’s going in my study or near my workbench at the hospital. What did you make the kids?”

“An afghan for Cole, and some jumpers for Bobby, Nora, and Suzy, if they will wear them. I just got the latest pattern to make frocks for the girls, but I don’t know if they will want them.”

“Will you have time for that?”

“Darling, you have plenty of time in a hospital.”

“True, sounds like you might be busy coming up, though.”

“I will have time to knit and paint. I just don’t want to waste a lot of yarn on something the girls won’t wear.”

“Nora is more fashion-conscious. Suzy won’t care,” Henry said rather matter-of-factly.

“Nora has a bit too much of her mother in her,” Lydie conceded and winked. “What have we created?”

“I don’t know, but they are giving me a run for my money right now.”

She leaned over and caressed his cheek. “I love you, darling.”

“I love you, sweetheart.” He took her hand and grazed his lips on her soft skin. “Hey, can you leave the hospital tomorrow?”

“I don’t see why not. Check with the nurse about it. It’s supposed to be frightfully cold tomorrow, with snow possible.”

“I was thinking we could spend some time together after breakfast. We could look at Christmas decorations or something.”

“I love that idea. If it’s too cold, we could always visit here. I don’t want you or the kids getting sick.”

“Well, we have had very little of the Christmas spirit back home, although I see the hospital is all decorated. Look at the snowmen on the tables and the greenery. Who all did that?”

“Oh, some patients got together in the greenhouse and made them, including the big display out on Sixth. I had a nasty cold the day they’d organized it, otherwise I would have helped out. Well, we’ll make the best of it tomorrow, whatever it’ll be.”

“Agreed, sweetheart.” He raised her hand to his lips again and brushed it softly. When a nurse walked by, he sheepishly released it.

Oh, Henry. You and your sheepish grin. At least he had said nothing bad about her hair.

Henry and the kids stayed for dinner, and then they strolled over to the chapel as a family for Christmas Eve. Henry left Lydie at the entrance to the hospital, and he and the kids returned to their rental car. Visitor hours were over, and they needed to get back to the hotel.

That night as Lydie returned to her ward, she heard the crew of the Apollo 8 mission broadcast live from space as they orbited the moon. They read from scripture. Lydie hoped Henry and the kids had heard it. Bobby would be heartbroken not to hear a live broadcast from space.

Lydie floated on air as she returned to her room. She carefully set her presents and the vase of flowers on her desk before she undressed. Today had gone better than she had ever planned.  Just across town, she imagined her family was nestling into their hotel beds. Well, if Bobby could sleep.

She imagined Henry had turned over on his side to block the glare of the television set. Bobby probably would stay up until they played the anthem at midnight, unless Henry made him turn it off.

Lydie would love to be there with them, but she had a lot of work ahead of her.

Pulling her nightgown from behind her pillow, she slipped it on, and grabbed the photo album from her desk. Glancing at the clock next to her bed, she reasoned she had half an hour before lights out. As she slowly flipped through the pages, Lydie marveled just how fast her kids were growing up, and regretted just how much she’d missed out. It broke her heart to have been absent for some of these memories.

Yet today she’d said something true to Henry: she had bottomed out. In retrospect, she wished things could have gone differently.

Maybe tomorrow things would be better. Lydie couldn’t ask much from the kids. She hoped they would understand.

As she continued to commit each page to memory, the night nurse knocked on her door and entered. “Good evening, Lydie. I’ve got your evening meds.” She brought it around to her. “What’s that you got?”

“My kids made a memory book for me, so I’m looking at the pictures. They made a scrapbook, too.”

“Well, lights out in a few minutes.” She handed Lydie the small cup with a tablet and a glass of water. “Now, take this. Want me to put that up for you on your desk?”

Lydie downed the pill and water quickly. “Thanks, but I’ll do it. I can see from the moonlight.”

“Don’t harm your eyes. Those are some beautiful flowers on your desk. I love roses.”

“Henry gave them to me.” Lydie beamed.

“Well, that was sweet of him. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Lydie would sleep with that photo album if she could. It was the closest thing to having her babies tight with her. She opened once more and committed each photograph to memory, trying to replace the ones she had missed.

Season’s Greetings! It’s time for a holiday #bookexcerpt!

To kick off this holiday season, I thought I’d bring a little bit of joy and happiness through a full chapter excerpt from Before the Flood set on Christmas Eve 1947. It features a very special Christmas song, Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas, featured in and written for the 1944 classic Meet Me in St. Louis starring Judy Garland and Margaret O’Brien.

People during the Second World War and well into the postwar era identified with the song so well because it was meant to be cheerful during a time of uncertainty. A time when people were missing loved ones away at war or missing family members that never came home. Many of us are missing loved ones either through lockdowns and social distancing restrictions, and a number of families across the globe are missing loved ones who have passed. The lyrics back then were “We’ll have to muddle through somehow” and gosh, if that doesn’t describe this year, I don’t know what does.

But enough of that. Pour yourself a glass of eggnog like the Bainbridge clan does or your favorite mug of cocoa, cider, or wine and enjoy a trip back in time.


From Before the Flood, Book Two of the Laurelhurst Chronicles saga. All rights reserved. Copyright Kellie Butler

Lydie was a bundle of nerves Christmas Eve morning. She was making toffee as a hostess gift for the Bainbridge family gathering.  She hoped she remembered everything Sister Clara had taught her. Sugar had been in short supply during the war, but they made treats like toffee at Christmastide. Henry had said it would be just them and a few friends, but she wondered how many were a few? He hadn’t quantified it. Hopefully, the batch of toffee would be enough for two tins: one for the Bainbridge house and one for the Millers downstairs.

Hours later they hailed a cab to St. Paul’s chapel for Christmas Eve candlelight mass. Lydie wore a simple green wool frock by Claire McCardell and Edward wore his best suit from Papa’s old tailor back in London. Lydie loved how the chapel’s warm colors that reminded her of an old church in Florence.

After the mass, they rode in another cab back to the Bainbridge’s townhouse.  She clutched the tin in one hand and tried to readjust her coat with the other.

“Stop fidgeting, Lydie.” Edward glanced over at her and she stopped.

Edward turned away and glanced out the window, as if steeling himself for the evening. Lydie knew he had reservations about attending tonight, but he was doing it for her. She reached over and clasped his hand to show her appreciation for his gesture.

Upstairs in the house, Hyacinth Bainbridge was having reservations of her own. She’d hoped to have a small gathering this year, just the family with Kate’s recovery, but Henry surprised her by inviting guests. The last time he brought people over to a family gathering, he was dating that girl back in medical school with the crooked teeth that drove her crazy.  She loved her boy, but sometimes he needed to learn that he couldn’t rescue everyone.

“I’m not sure why we had to invite all these people. I’m not in the mood for it tonight. Not after that child in front kept crying in church. Why couldn’t the parents take it out?”

“Hyacinth, it’s just the Mortons and the Caverts. May I remind you that Jesus was born in a manger? I’m sure he was crying too.”

“I can’t stand the Mortons. I only tolerate them because they make me look better. Why do we invite them every year?”

“Such charity on Christmas Eve. And the Caverts?”

“Who are they?”

“Friends of Henry. I understand they’re from England.”

“Oh, how charming. Are they husband and wife?”

“Brother and sister. Dr. Cavert works with Henry.”

“I don’t know why I chose this dress tonight. It makes me look frumpy.” Hyacinth readjusted her long black velvet frock. She wasn’t sure why they still had this gathering. It used to be fun when children were smaller, but now every time their friends come they brought pictures of their grandchildren and she couldn’t bear it.

Downstairs Henry and Kate waited for their guests to arrive.

“Do you think I look pretty, Henry?” Kate fingered her red wool dress.  She’d turned down all invitations this autumn, trying to stay on the wagon. It was hard for her because the old Kate wouldn’t have needed an excuse. Her friend Gwen had been bitterly disappointed. She had never imagined her best friend of several years could have turned so cold towards her.

“You always do, Katie.” Henry straightened his bow tie and checked his hair. He hadn’t felt this excited about a girl in ages.

“I hope so. I’d like for Edward to like it. Lydie will be here too.”

“Yes, she’s quite a girl, isn’t she?”

“Yes. I’m sorry about what I did to her. I was atrocious.”

He shook his head. “I hope Mom is on her best behavior tonight.”

“Me too. It’s going to be hard not to have a drink tonight. If she acts out, I don’t know how I will handle it.”

“You can do it. We’ll be here to support you, Katie.”

“What do you think would happen if we arrange our own affairs? Would it send Mom off her rocker?”

“Who knows? Let’s focus on the positive.” Henry walked over to the sideboard and checked the eggnog. He put a small tipple of rum in and stirred with a crystal ladle that matched the large punch bowl before dipping some into a cup for Kate.

“Here, have a taste and tell me what you think.”

Katie took it and smacked her lips after taking a sip. “Did you put anything in it?”

“Just a bit of rum. It isn’t too strong, is it?”

Kare took another sip. “No, it’s wonderful. I’ll have to nurse this cup tonight.”

“We have cider as well. Uncle Mike’s orchard had a great crop this year.”

“Sometimes I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Don’t get too sentimental, Katie.”

“Henry, I wish you would smile like you used to. I suppose that’s my fault.”

“How?”

“I dashed both our chances for romance. I should thank you for being so good to me after I wrecked your date with Lydie. I’m sorry I’ve only thought of me all these years. I stopped you from being happy, too.”

“Well, maybe that’ll change. You never know.” He winked as he stirred the eggnog again, waiting for their guests to arrive.

Outside, Lydia and Edward waited with a middle-aged couple holding a bottle of wine. Lydie should have thought to bring wine. The older couple broke the ice. “I’m George Morton and this is my wife, Miriam. A pleasure to meet you.”

“Pleasure to meet you as well. Edward and Lydia Cavert. We’re friends of Henry and Kate.”

“Well, isn’t that wonderful? Henry’s a good boy. His father and I went to Cornell together. Our daughter Frances recently had a baby. Sweetest as she can be. We’re so proud.”

“As you should be. One of my school friends is a midwife.” Lydie smiled.

“Is she now? Great profession. My daughter loves children. I suppose you’ll be having some of your own soon?”

“Well, perhaps  when I meet a nice man of my own.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I assumed you’re married with the same name. You are siblings then?”

“Yes.”

Edward barely kept a smile on his face. Was it a mistake to come here tonight? He was saved by Agatha opening the door. The Mortons entered first with Lydie and Edward trailing behind.

“Hello, Henry. Hello, Katie. Don’t you look lovely tonight?”

“Thank you, Mr. Morton.” Kate blushed.

“We’ve brought our usual holiday offering. Where are your parents?” George continued. Lydia wondered if Miriam ever got a word in with him..

“They’ll be down shortly,” Kate said.

“Good evening, Kate. You look radiant,” Edward said as he followed the Mortons into the parlor.

“Thank you, Edward.” Kate smiled and twirled around. “Do you like my dress?”

“It’s lovely.”

Edward and Kate moved towards the punch bowl, and Henry offered his hand as he greeted Lydie. “Good evening, Lydie. Don’t you look lovely.”

“Good evening, Henry. I like your tie.” Lydie blushed.

“Why, thank you.” Henry winked.

They stood there for a few moments before Robert and Hyacinth interrupted.

“This must be the Cavert siblings. We’re so glad to have you here. Henry, pass around the eggnog,” Robert said.

“Yes, Dad. Would you like some, Lydie?”

“I would love some, thank you.”

“Pour some for the young lady, Henry.” Robert smiled.

“Here you are. Mrs. Foster’s famous recipe.” Henry handed Lydie a cup.

“Thank you.” Lydie takes a sip. “It’s delicious.”

“Good evening, Dr. Cavert. I’m Henry’s mother.” Hyacinth offered her hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Bainbridge. Thank you for inviting us.”

Kate smiled. “Edward and Henry are colleagues, Mother.”

“Yes, I’ve heard. How fascinating. I should greet the rest of my guests,”  Hyacinth turned away quickly.

The others exchanged glances, stunned at Hyacinth’s rudeness.

“My wife isn’t feeling her best tonight, Dr. Cavert. Please excuse her. We’re glad you and your sister are here.” Robert shook  Edward’s hand.

“We all have those times. It’s a pleasure to be here.”

Hyacinth turned to the Mortons. “Good evening, George and Miriam. How are you?”

“Doing well, Hyacinth. Your family is looking lovely as always.”

“I suppose you have more pictures of your granddaughter?” Hyacinth feigned a polite smile.

“Yes, we do. Would you like to see them?”

“I’m sure you are beaming with joy. Thank you, but no. At least your child gives you grandchildren.”

“There’s still plenty of time for that, Hyacinth.”

Henry offered his mother some eggnog. “Mother, would you like a cup?”

“Thank you for considering me, Henry. I see you gave that young lady one first.”

“I’m serving our guests first. You taught me that.”

“Yes, I did. Thank you, my darling boy. I see one of my children behaves.”

“Eggnog, Mr. and Mrs. Morton?” Henry turned to his parents’ old friends. His eyes diverted quickly towards Kate as he checked on her, then fastened his gaze on his guests.

“Yes, please. How’s the medical world, Henry?” George asked.

“Never a dull moment. They keep us busy, don’t they Edward?”

“Oh, that’s for certain.” Edward agreed.

“You know, we should have some music,” Robert said.

“That’s like a lovely idea, Robert. Kate, why don’t you sing for us? You took all those voice lessons,” Hyacinth said as she settled onto the sofa with her cup.

“I don’t think I remember anymore.” Kate frowned.

“Surely you can think of something to entertain our guests?”

Sensing Kate’s apprehension, Henry turned to Lydie. “Do you remember me asking you to play the piano for me the night we went to the Philharmonic? I’d love to hear you play now.”

“Oh, I suppose I could,” Lydie said brightly and she went to the piano and sat down.

“You will find our piano is well-tuned, Lydia,” Hyacinth said. “Kate,  why don’t you sing with her?”

Kate shook her head no, so Lydia sat on the tufted bench and played a few bars of ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’. Gaining her confidence, Kate joined her and began to sing. Soon everyone else joined in except Henry.

“Not singing, son?” Robert leaned over and asked.

“I’d rather listen,” Henry whispered as Lydie played.

“That was lovely, Kate. Let’s have something else,” Robert said as the song ended.

“Maybe I should play for a while,” Lydie offered.

“Henry plays, you know. Let’s see if I can get him up here.” Kate whispered in Lydie’s ear while glancing over at her brother.

“I don’t want to put him on the spot.”

“Nonsense. Watch.”

On a mission, Kate went over to her brother.  “Go play with her.”

“In front of everyone? Are you kidding? I’m better off where I am.”

“Someone else needs to get up there and I can’t keep singing. Go impress her! Now’s your chance.” Kate pushed him forward.

“All right, we’ll call ourselves the Bainbridge Family Quartet.” Henry quipped as he slid off the sofa,  went to the punchbowl, and filled another cup. Strolling over to the piano, he sat down next to Lydie on the bench.

As he pressed the cup to her lips, he whispered, “Something for the pianist. I thought you might be thirsty.”

“That’s so sweet of you, Henry,” Lydie took a sip and continued to play.

“You didn’t tell me played this well. Keep it up, and we’ll book you for every family gathering from now on.” He chuckled and she giggled.

Setting the cup down on the piano, Henry flexed his hands, found a moment where he could come in, and began playing the bass clef. The cuff of his dark jacket brushed against her bare arm. Grinning, he winked at her before he sang in a lovely tenor voice. Lydie’s eyes widen in surprise and she let him take the lead.

“What a nice evening. Henry hasn’t played or sang for us since high school.” Hyacinth shook her head in amazement.

“A man will do many things when he’s in love,” Robert said.

“I think you may be right. I haven’t seen him this happy in years,” Hyacinth agreed.

“We used to look at each other that way. Do you remember?”

“Yes, we did.” Hyacinth looked down.

“It must be off between Katie and the young Englishman,” Robert observed.

“It’s on between Henry and the young lady. What is her name again?”

“Lydia.”

“I always liked that name. I think my great-grandmother was named Lydia.”

Robert shook his head and watched the pair at the piano.

Kate stood next to Edward. “It must be the mistletoe I hung up in the front entryway that has them like that.”

He shook his head. “Henry is good for Lydie.”

“Listen, I know I ruined things between us, and I spoiled everything for them. I was a mess, and I want to tell you I’m sorry. I wish I could go back and be a different girl for you. Something like that.”

“Well, it’s all done now. I’m sure you’ll be a lovely lady for someone.”

“I am getting better, Edward.”

“I hope you continue to improve.”

“Thank you for not putting me down. You’ve been nicer to me than I’ve been to myself.”

“You’re welcome.”

They sat in silence for a while.  Kate wished she could be with Edward the way Henry was with Lydie. “It’s adorable the way he holds the cup to her lips as she plays so she won’t get thirsty.”

He shrugged.“Henry is an excellent chap. I’ve known that since day one. Why do you think I let him around her?”

At the piano, Henry leaned over and whispered to Lydie, “Why don’t you rest? I can play. Relax and enjoy yourself.”

She smiled. “I’m happy where I am.”

“Me too, but you’ve been playing for a while now. Why not get yourself another cup of eggnog?”

“If you insist.” Lydie was enjoying playing a duet with Henry so much she didn’t want to leave his side. It brought back her feeling from that date to Carnegie Hall again.

“I do. Rest. I’ll play for a while. Besides, my mother is stunned and I’m rather enjoying it.” He winked at her again.

That twinkle could make Lydie do a lot of things, so she got up and filled a cup of eggnog for Henry. She reciprocated his gestures by returning to the piano and held the cup to his lips. Their eyes were twinkling when they met, the kind of special smile that eyes have when two people are in love.

Over on the sofa, the Mortons and Robert and Hyacinth observed this exchange.

“Robert, I think you ought to see if the church is free back in Ithaca. I’ve got a feeling about those two,” George said.

“Why Ithaca?” Hyacinth demanded. “A well-bred girl like Lydia would most likely want a city wedding. The bride gets to choose, after all.”

Robert raised his eyebrows. “Are you merely looking after her wishes or your own, dear?”

“Well, I can’t fathom her wanting to get married in Ithaca. She hasn’t even seen the place yet. No, she’d much rather have a wedding here in the city. Much easier on planning, too.”

“Don’t put the cart before the horse, Hyacinth. Just let the couple enjoy this evening.” Robert reproached her and she turned away.

Close to midnight, they left the piano and stood next to a tall fir tree trimmed with red and gold ornaments.

“It’s getting late,” Henry said.

“I suppose it is.” Lydie agreed.

“Did you take a cab?” He inquired.

Lydie nodded.

“I’ll drive you and Edward home.”

“I’d hate for you to go out of the way. Aren’t you staying here tonight?”

“No, it’s a holiday and I’m on call. I need to be closer to home. My home.”

Lydie was about so say something when Hyacinth joined them. “I hope you won’t mind Henry’s long hours at the hospital. Don’t let him neglect you, my dear. You work too much, Henry. Take care of this young lady.”

“I’m used to that, Mrs. Bainbridge. My brother is a doctor and so was my father.”

“A family of doctors! Well, you have more fortitude than me.”

Henry glanced at the clock. “Lydie, it’s about time to head back, isn’t it? Edward’s on call too.”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. Not everyone gets to stay home for Christmas,” Edward said as he overheard the exchange.

“Lydia, it was a pleasure meeting you, my dear. Come back and visit.” Hyacinth kissed her lightly on the cheek.

“Thank you, Mrs. Bainbridge. I had a wonderful time.”

“Lydia, you’re booked to play from now on.” Robert nudged Henry a little as he joined them.

“Thank you, sir. I had a lovely partner tonight that made it easier.”

“Well, shall we go?” Edward asked.  Between Kate’s attempts to ingratiate herself and Mrs. Morton’s medical inquiries he’d had enough. The goal had been to keep his sister’s mind away from that Reggie fellow and it had worked.

Donning their coats, Henry, Lydie, and Edward prepared to venture out into the night.  Lydie and Henry stood underneath the doorway as he took his hand. “Shall we go?”

“Henry, you’re forgetting something!” Kate pointed to the mistletoe above them.

Henry shook his head, bent down, and kissed Lydie on the nose before he helped her down the slippery steps frosted with snow to his car parked right outside with Edward right behind them. Henry helped Lydie into the backseat and the two men climbed into the front.

“It’s already coming down. I’ve got a feeling we won’t be enjoying Christmas dinner at home tomorrow night,” Edward said.

“Yeah, I think you’re right,”  Henry agreed. “Although this is nothing compared to the kind of snow we get in Ithaca. We’re used to two feet easily.”

“I can’t imagine what Londoners would do with that much snow.”

“They would carry on like they always do,” Lydie replied.

“Quite right. I’m speaking badly of my native city.”

“They’ll forgive you this once,” Lydie teased.

“Lydie, there’s a blanket back on the floorboard if you need it, although I think Edward might need it more. You’re rubbing your hands a good bit, my man.”

“Thank you, Henry. Pass it this way, please, dear sister,” Edward said. “I forgot my gloves because Lydie took too long getting ready this evening. I had to hurry her out the door.”

“Thank you, Henry. You’re such a gentleman. Blaming it on me, are you, Neddy?”

“But you’ll forgive me, won’t you?”

“Just this once,” Lydie teased. “Isn’t it lovely? We’re going to have Christmas snow.”

“It will be lovely if I don’t have to get out in it tomorrow,” Edward complained.

“Spoilsport.”

“You get out in it then,” Edward said.

“You get to wear trousers. What are you complaining about?”

Henry chuckled as he listened to Edward and Lydie’s banter. He would love to get to know Lydie much better after tonight. Maybe the new year might bring another chance at love.


Thank you so much for reading. If you’re interested in reading the full novel, you can purchase it here (available in Kindle and paperback formats):

The Swinging Sixties: Ten Books Set in a Decade of Changing Times

I’ve been wanting to do a showcase on books set in the 1960s by other authors after writing my own novel, Out of Night. I asked an online community of authors and readers for their recommendations, and boy did they deliver! Here are ten books set in the changing times of the decade that we’ll always remember.

Story of a Country Boy by Val Portelli

A gritty saga set in 1960s London, it’s a perfect read for those that want to devour a story in one sitting.

Ridley Road by Jo Bloom

For fans of Maggie O’Farrell and Sadie Jones, amid the rise of fascism in sixties London, one woman searches for her lost love . . .
Summer, 1962. Twenty-year-old Vivien Epstein, a Jewish hairdresser from Manchester, arrives in London following the death of her father. Alone in the world, she is looking for Jack Fox, a man she had a brief but intense love affair with some months before. But the only address she has for him leads to a dead end.

Determined to make a new life for herself, Vivien convinces Barb, the owner of Oscar’s hair salon in Soho, to give her a job. There, she is swept into the colourful world of the sixties – the music and the fashions, the coffee bars and clubs.

But still, Vivien cannot forget Jack. As she continues to look for him, her search leads her into the fight against resurgent fascism in East London, where members of the Jewish community are taking to the streets, in and around Ridley Road. Then one day Vivien finally spots Jack, but her joy is short-lived when she discovers his secret.

For UK readers, this book is being adapted by BBC1 as a television series, and filming started in September 2020.No air date time announced as of yet.

Not the Life Imagined by Anne Pettigrew

A darkly humorous, thought-provoking story of Scottish medical students in the sixties, a time of changing social and sexual mores. None of the teenagers starting at Glasgow University in 1967 live the life they imagine. Beth Slater is shocked at how few female medical students there are and that some people, such as Conor Towmey, think they shouldn’t be there at all. Devastated by a close friend’s suicide, Beth uncovers a revealing diary and vows to find the person responsible for her death. Struggling with the pressure of exams while supporting friends though disasters, Beth charts the students’ changing, often stormy, relationships over two decades in a contemporary backdrop of Free Love, the Ibrox Football Disaster, the emergence of HIV and DNA forensics. In time, indiscretions surface with dire consequences for some. In Not the Life Imagined, retired medic Anne Pettigrew has written a tale of ambition and prejudice laced with sharp observations, irony and powerful perceptions that provide a humorous and compelling insight into the complex dynamics of the NHS fifty years ago.

The Girls from Greenway: A nostalgia saga perfect for fans of Daisy Styles and Rosie Clark by Elizabeth Woodcraft

A dramatic and nostalgic saga of two sisters coming of age in 1960s Essex.

Angie Smith lives in Greenway, Chelmsford, with her elder sister Doreen, their struggling mother and their drunk, violent father. Bored of her job, and of her dull, ordinary boyfriend, Angie dreams of bigger and better things.

But then she meets boutique owner Gene Battini. He is older, handsome, charming – and married. She is completely swept off her feet. But little does she know that Doreen is falling for Gene, too, and that their affair will have disastrous consequences.

As things at home go from bad to worse, Angie and Doreen must struggle to fight for what they want.

Can the girls from Greenway ever achieve their dreams?

‘[A] beautifully written saga which brims with the spirit of youth and is rich in period detail.’ Lancashire Evening Post

Kanyakumari by Hazel Manuel

Written during three separate trips to India and is set in that country. It is an unusual and powerful tale of friendship, danger and loss as three women find themselves alone in India, each facing some of her deepest fears and challenges.

When close friends and seasoned travellers, Rachel and Gina, take a trip to India, Rachel expects the usual round of sight-seeing and collecting experiences, but she is not prepared for the secret that Gina is harbouring. Interwoven with this unfolding drama is the story of Sandrine, who writes letters home to her brother as she travels around India in the late 60s.

In a tense narrative that moves between two periods, we take a journey that is both sumptuous and dark. Has Rachel placed herself in danger? What is at the root of Gina s anxiety? And what is Sandrine s place in this story of three women making interior journeys as they travel?

Mrs. Murray’s Ghost by Emily-Jane Hills Orford

It’s 1967 and Mary’s family has moved into a huge Victorian mansion. She loves her gigantic new house, especially her room. But then she begins to meet the house’s other residents. Mrs. Murray was murdered in Mary’s new house. At first she tries to scare the new residents away, but there seems to be a force connecting the ghost to Mary. Even the stranded Brownies, the little people who live between the walls, feel that connection. When Mary becomes deathly ill, the Brownies and the ghost team up to try to rescue her, only to encounter a witch and her evil dragons and minions. Time is running out. They must rescue Mary from a fever-induced dream world before she is trapped there forever.

Storm Clouds Gathering by Pauline Barclay

Storm clouds are gathering, silently and slowly, too far away to worry about. Or so it seems. But ignoring what is brewing will have dire consequences for the people caught up in the maelstrom.

Shirley Burton is too busy cheating on her husband, having a laugh and looking for fun to alleviate the boredom of her childless marriage. Kathleen Mitchell is too wrapped up in running around after her beautiful family to worry about her health. Anne Simpson has two things on her mind: her forthcoming marriage to Paul Betham, who seems to want to control her, and her career, which she does not want to give up.

Can Shirley really expect to deceive her husband and get away with it? Can Kathleen hold it all together, and is Anne able to have the best of everything?

Storm Clouds Gathering is a story of human emotion, passion and heart-rending grief. Set against the backdrop of the mid-sixties, these three families will be tested to the limit as betrayal, loss and love threaten to change their lives forever.

Living in the Shadows by Judith Barrow

Sequel to the acclaimed Changing Patterns and Pattern of Shadows. It’s 1969 and Mary Schormann is living quietly in Wales with her ex-POW husband, Peter, and her teenage twins, Richard and Victoria. Her niece, Linda Booth, is a nurse – following in Mary’s footsteps – and works in the maternity ward of her local hospital in Lancashire. At the end of a long night shift, a bullying new father visits the maternity ward and brings back Linda’s darkest nightmares, her terror of being locked in. Who is this man, and why does he scare her so? There are secrets dating back to the war that still haunt the family, and finding out what lies at their root might be the only way Linda can escape their murderous consequences.

Her Mother’s Secret by Jane Baynham

A wonderful sixties saga from a promising new talent. Highly recommended.

It’s 1969 and free-spirited artist Elin Morgan has left Wales for a sun-drenched Greek island. As she makes new friends and enjoys the laidback lifestyle, she writes all about it in her diary. But Elin’s carefree summer of love doesn’t last long, and her island experience ultimately leaves her with a shocking secret …
Twenty-two years later, Elin’s daughter Alexandra has inherited the diary and is reeling from its revelations. The discovery compels Alexandra to make her own journey to the same island, following in her mother’s footsteps. Once there, she sets about uncovering what really happened to Elin in that summer of ’69.

To Brighton and Back and A Little Drop of Moonshine by Deirdre Palmer

One weekend in Brighton. And nothing will ever be the same again.

Four young Londoners – Carol-Anne, Jeanette, Terry, and Mark – head to Brighton for a weekend of seaside fun. Dancing, drinking, and a whole lot of lovin’ are high on the agenda, not necessarily in that order. It’s the Swinging Sixties, a time of freedom, so why not?

But behind the bravado lurk more insecurities than there are pebbles on Brighton beach. Each of the weekenders has a secret. Nobody is quite what they seem, especially Jeanette, whose problems run deeper than anyone could begin to imagine. When she disappears on a night out, tensions rise as her friends struggle to work out what to do.

They agree on two points: no parents, no police. Where they come from, people sort out their own problems. But can Carol-Anne, Terry and Mark really handle the situation without help, or is this too big, even for them?

A hot summer’s night when anything seems possible, no dream out of reach. Then everything changes.

As Apollo 11 hurtles into space and Neil Armstrong sets foot on the moon, young Londoners Carol-Anne, Terry, and Mark join the celebrations at an all-night party in a holiday camp in Devon. But as the cheers go up for the astronauts, one of their group is missing: Carol-Anne’s teenage sister, Beverly.

When Beverly is discovered in tears back at their caravan, she has a story to tell that knocks the moonwalk into second place. But is she telling the truth?

The special night falls into chaos as loyalties are tested to the limit, with accusations hurled about like beach balls.

With Beverly becoming more of a liability by the minute, the best plan is to return to London. But once they’re back home, each of the group is forced to confront the troubles they thought they’d left behind.

A Little Drop of Moonshine is the sequel to To Brighton and Back but can equally well be enjoyed on its own.

Out of Night is out now!

You’ve been waiting for it, and the day is finally here! Out of Night is out now! To celebrate, I’m hosting two giveaways!

Want to win a signed copy of Out of Night and a $25 Amazon gift card? Then head on over to my Facebook author page! I’m hosting a giveaway all week long, and I’ll draw the lucky winner at random on June 29th!

As Covid-19 is affecting all of us right now and signings are impossible, I’m also giving away free book swag! Send me an email with your mailing address to kellierbutler@gmail.com, and I’ll send you a signed bookmark! Hopefully one day we can meet again in person, but until then, this one way to stay connected!

Best of luck and have a great week!

Book Review: The Sun Will Always Shine by John R. McKay

Not long ago I featured author John R McKay on my Northern Reads series. I was so fascinated with his WWI novel, The Sun Will Always Shine, that I had to read it.

Oh, friends, I’m glad that I did. I was introduced to McKay’s work with his WWII novella, V for Victory, so I was hoping for great things, and he delivered.

What I love about McKay’s writing is his ability put you into the shoes of the characters, and he did it straight away. His characters are nuanced and I felt I was in the middle of the dysfunctional Davenport family with man about town but abusive father Alfie, his cowering wife, sympathetic but abused daughter, and two sons, Charlie and Harry, that have a love/hate relationship with their father.

It’s a tale that sucker-punches you from the beginning until the heartbreaking end. Brothers Charlie and Harry have different ways of coping with life and conflict, and their actions after their father mysteriously disappears, including their reasons to join up in the Great War are prime example.

Every character in The Sun Will Always Shine is so well-developed that just like in life, while we think we have someone figured out, we truly never know them.

McKay’s evocation of the time and place beautiful and his local knowledge of his native Lancashire is on full display. While I’m not a huge fan of battle scenes, it’s clear that the author’s research is impeccable. What drives this story, however, are brothers Charlie and Harry. Their experiences during the war set against the lives they are trying to leave behind will keep you reading.

I was so hooked into this novel that I read it easily in a day or two. Well recommended. Five stars.

The Sun Will Always Shine by John R. McKay

To purchase on Amazon, click here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01IVBN25E/ref=dp-kindle-redirect?_encoding=UTF8&btkr=1

Author Spotlight: KT King

Today on my blog, I welcome author KT King as she introduces her Little Eden series and the inspiration behind it, and two lovely excerpts! Welcome KT!

The Little Eden Series

Little Eden – A Magic Book – Book One

Released 2018 eBook and paperback

A Magic Book opens the heart and expands the mind.

2012. Little Eden, London, England.

The beautiful sanctuary town of Little Eden is under threat.

Human greed, selfishness and disregard are about to turn the last 1,000 years to dust.

Robert Bartlett-Hart must make a choice.

With the help his friends (plus plenty of tea and cake), Robert learns that there is more at stake than just Little Eden.

Something lies at the heart of Abbey; something that stands between mankind and Armageddon.

The friends must navigate past lives, other dimensions, and even Heaven itself, to find a way to save Little Eden and themselves.

Will Little Eden survive to usher in a new age, or will humanity perish with it?

Little Eden, Another Magic Book, Book Two

Released 2020 eBook and paperback

A Magic Book opens the heart and expands the mind.

The story continues…

2012. Little Eden, London, England.

The beautiful sanctuary town of Little Eden is still under threat of sale and demolition.

The friends must re-awaken the past to change the future. But when the spirit world comes closer to help them, there is a price to pay that no one could foresee.

Reviews for The Little Eden Series

Book Two has just come out so here is the very first review of Book Two by unseenwritings…

I loved reading Little Eden so much that I couldn’t put it down…It felt like KT was weaving a beautiful tapestry of magic rather than writing a novel…I enjoyed the mix of all types of spirituality and loved the way ME/CFS was presented. This book deserves all of the stars. Five just isn’t enough…

What readers are saying about Book One…

Magical…My heart is singing…Cosy and delicious….I literally couldn’t put it down…Quirky…Thrilling…  Captivating…Enchanting characters…A rollercoaster ride…I was always on tenterhooks…Charming…

A great escape…I opened it and blue sparkles flew out…It really is a magic book…

To purchase Book One and Two as Kindle or paperback just click on my linktree https://linktr.ee/ktkingbooks

Little Eden Books thrillingly combine the supernatural and spirituality in a magical mystery set in the cosy, idyllic and ancient sanctuary town of Little Eden. The hero, Robert Bartlett-Hart, goes on a journey of self-discovery and enlightenment with the help of his friends and plenty of tea and cake! The novels are a comical yet genuine look at the spirit world based on the work of psychic, healer and ascension coach, KT King.

Excerpt from Book One:

Chapter 1

~ * ~

   It was a sad beginning to 2012 for the residents of Little Eden, and as it would turn out, it would not be a good year for the rest of mankind either – but more about that later!

   First things first…

New Year’s Day was almost over as Robert Bartlett-Hart sat alone in his library sifting carefully through the mounds of newspapers which were strewn all over a capacious mahogany table. The sombre shadow of dusk began to seep into the clear blue January sky, and all at once multifarious reading lamps, scattered randomly amongst the furniture and piles of books, turned themselves on, in perfect unison. Robert poured another cup of tea from his Kyushu and sighed. He fought, ineffectually, with the oversized, dry, rustling broadsheets, trying to tame them by folding and flattening them the best he could. For posterity, Robert attempted to glue the numerous obituaries into the Little Eden archive (a huge, slightly musty, leather-bound book), but the scissors kept losing themselves amongst the unruly sheets and little scraps of paper kept sticking to his hands; no matter how much he tried to shake them off, they just re-stuck somewhere else!

Robert’s silent contemplation was suddenly shattered by the brusque opening of the library door and his mother’s voice slicing through the peaceful air.

“Did you find the obituary I asked Lancelot to put in the Kolkata Times?” Jennifer Bartlett-Hart asked him. She went straight to the large mirror which hung majestically over the sideboard and began adjusting her black, feather-laden hat. She caught sight of a picture of Lilly on the front page of Tatler magazine which lay amongst many others on the table. The magazine was running an old photograph of the glamorous stage star, Lilly Rose, from 1964. Lilly was posing in a ‘Vivienne Westwood’, wearing white go-go boots, long curling fake eyelashes, and her blond hair was peeking out from beneath a jaunty velvet cap.

The headline read:

“A celebration of the life of a Parisian Diva who became a very English Rose. Lilly Rose D’Or. Her life in pictures: pages 10 – 14.”

Jennifer turned away to look in the mirror again. “Lilly hasn’t been Lilly Rose, star of stage and screen, for decades!” she huffed.  “I doubt she even has any fans left who remember her! All this fuss and for what? She owned a Café for most of her life for goodness sakes and put on far too much weight eating all those afternoon teas. I don’t think that is much of anything to shout about.”

Robert sighed and ran his fingers through his brown tousled hair. “Thousands of people come every year to her charity concerts, Mother, you know that,” he replied. “And she has been a Trustee with us for over twenty-five years, and a friend to us – all my life at least. I don’t know what we would have done without her all these years.”

“I was the most beautiful woman in London once upon a time,” Jennifer replied, tilting the brim of her hat this way and that to make the most of her features. “I don’t suppose I will be on the cover of a magazine when I die. I had to give up any chance of fame to marry your father and have you boys.” Absently, Jennifer picked up a couple of newspaper clippings and added, “I hope you are nearly ready to go? Collins will be here any minute. Did you hear me Robert?” Jennifer looked admiringly at her long, manicured nails. “It’s just one funeral after another these days. It could just have easily have been me.”

“They say only the good die young,” Robert said under his breath, trying, in vain, to get the glue off his hands.

Jennifer took off her hat and rearranged her hair again, scowling into the glass. “I don’t see why your father insisted Lilly be buried with our family. Lillianna Rose D’Or or whatever she wants to be called this season is not family and never will be, and it is embarrassing for me! Your cousin Lancelot insisted on it. He can find a legal loophole when it suits him – but not when it suits me it seems.”

Robert sighed again. “It was in father’s will, Mother; you know there was nothing anyone could do. We have been over and over it.”

Jennifer grimaced, and wiggled her hips to prevent her black skirt from riding up her long, slender legs. “Your father went on about Lilly endlessly whilst he was alive; I never understood it. We always had to do whatever he wanted! What did he ever care about Little Eden? Off he goes to America with that floosy, Christabelle, without as much as a by your leave! Well! I am not going to go to this sham of a ceremony. The whole thing is just to embarrass me!” With that, she launched herself out of the room and slammed the door behind her.

Robert shrugged, and raised a resigned eyebrow as he dolefully drank the rest of his, now cold, cup of tea, and continued to cut and paste. 

After the stomping and the banging of doors had finished, he could hear the sound of his brother, Collins, calling jovially from the hall, “Are you ready?” he called, “Varsity says we’ll be late if you don’t hurry.”

“Varsity can wait!” Jennifer shouted down from the landing. She came tottering back down the stairs wearing a different hat and stiffly kissed her son on both cheeks. “Whoever thought of a memorial service in the evening? I ask you!” she complained.

Jennifer stood on the bottom step of the stairs and started to rearrange her son’s clothing, brushing fluff off his black suit. “This is off the peg!” she said, in disgust. “Where did you get it? The fit is terrible!”

“It’s ‘Lanvin’, Mother,” Collins replied. “Varsity picked it out.”

“I don’t care!” Jennifer replied, straightening his tie. “You have perfectly good bespoke suits. Go upstairs and change. You left an Anderson-Sheppard here last week. Go and put that on. If only Robert had your looks and you had his sense of style – I would be less embarrassed to be seen with you both!”

Collins smiled, and kissed his mother. “The fit is perfect, Mother. Only you would ever notice, no one else will.”

Jennifer snorted. “Well those Lawrence girls certainly won’t notice such details. Lucy dresses dreadfully! They were far too self-confident when they were little girls and I don’t see much improvement over the years.” Jennifer fussed with Collins’ mop of blond hair and he tried to get away from her, afraid she might pull out a hanky and start dabbing his face at any moment! “Robert tells me Sophie isn’t feeling well and is staying at the Café indefinitely. She has some sort of fatigue. I ask you! Tiredness is an illness now, apparently! As if we are not all tired all the time! They are as bad as Lilly and your father with their freedom of speech and their women’s liberation and all that environmental nonsense.  Robert’s in the library. There’s caviar on the sideboard – your favourite.”

Collins nonchalantly kissed his mother again, flung open the large panelled door into the library and headed straight for the champagne and canapés. Collins admired his appearance in the mirror and then, turning to the table, he poked at the papers whilst he munched his aperitifs.

“What’s all this?” he asked, in his usual casual manner.

“The obituaries,” Robert responded, without looking up.

“What all of these? Good god! You would think the woman was a saint.” Collins laughed, nearly choking on a piece of crostini.

“I think she was,” Robert mused. “Or she should be!”

Collins smirked, and looked at Robert in the mirror’s reflection. “I suppose I quite liked the old girl myself,” Collins admitted. “Baked a damn good cake! Shame she’s dead.”

“Shame?” Jennifer retorted, marching through the doorway whilst pinning her third choice of hat on her head. “It’s no shame!” she said, pushing her son aside with her hip. “Move, Collins, I need to look in the mirror! Now, perhaps we can have some of the family money to spend for a change?”

Collins downed another quick glass of champers and said, “Talking of money, Mother, I’m a bit short this month.”

“So am I, my dear. Ask your brother! He holds the purse strings around here. He is the one who won’t let us have our own money! Always spending it on the poor or giving it to a charity. Well! Charity begins at home!”

Wearily, Robert pulled on his long cashmere overcoat and replied soberly, “This is not the time to talk about money.”

“Oh come on Bobby, old boy!” Collins said. “With Lilly out of the picture you can hand out the family fortune a bit more. I promised Varsity she could…” Collins paused and grinned, “F**k! Varsity! I left her in the car. She is probably steaming by now!”

Jennifer surveyed herself in the full-length hall mirror. She smiled at herself again in the looking glass but only until she caught sight of Varsity, who was walking up the front steps wearing a magnificent silver fur coat and looking as if she had just finished a photo shoot for Vogue. Collins rushed out onto the porch, put his arm around his wife’s tiny waist and hastily ushered her back into the car.

Robert escorted his mother to the Bentley. Jennifer slid onto the leather seat and into her best finishing school position. She greeted Varsity with a ‘good evening’ and a ‘you look awfully nice.’ She couldn’t help pouting at Varsity’s youthful beauty. To comfort herself, she checked that her finger nails were still in perfect condition.

As the car passed by the end of Adam Street, the ice on the road was treacherous and Dyson, the chauffeur, was taking it slow. By the time they had reached the old Assembly Rooms, on the corner of Knight’s Walk, Jennifer had run out of things to say, so she began rooting about in her handbag for her hanky, pretending she was unable to find it, whilst Varsity occupied herself by refreshing her lipstick.

Eventually, the car pulled up outside the gates of the graceful gothic Sainte Chappelle. It was a dark winter’s eve, but the street lamps gave a cosy glow to Dovecote Street and softened the harshness of the icy chill in the air. As Jennifer stepped out of the car she cockled over on the curb. Robert caught her just in time before she landed face down on the cobbles! She had expected to see some famous guests outside the Chappelle, but looking anxiously around she was relieved that no one was there. She took Robert’s arm and paraded up the lantern-lined path, to be greeted by the singular Reverend Sprott, who was looking rather chilly, but who had been determined to wait outside, in the high and very ornate porch, to meet and greet the Bartlett-Harts. Robert gladly gave his mother over to the Reverend Sprott’s care.

The Chappelle was full of shadows – peppered with sudden bursts of flickering candle light. The glorious gold leaf of the majestic pillars seemed to be on fire, and the towering cobalt blue windows shimmered in a heavenly dance. The delicate, sweet scent of pale pink roses played amongst the deeper, muskier odour of beautiful bright white lilies. The melange of ancient church odours – a faint dampness of stone, wood polish, and carnal fresh flowers – invoked a shiver of ancient memories in the mourners.

Tonight, this holy and most sacred palace of light played host to the friends and family of Lilly D’Or. Not least, to her two beloved nieces, Lucy and Sophie Lawrence, who were standing by a small table which was covered in flowers, bottles of water and a mound of pink crystals. The sisters had been greeting the many mourners for at least half an hour already.

Excerpt from Book Two

Chapter 8

~ * ~

Thunder rumbled over the Sainte Chappelle. As she became aware of her surroundings, Sophie was overwhelmed by the scent of damp earth and fresh roses. Oh crap, she thought. I’m in another time portal. Wake up before something horrible happens! But Sophie didn’t wake up

Five nuns stood, like sentinels, gazing into the stone font in silent prayer. An ivory talisman, carved with the scene of the crucifixion, shimmered beneath the holy waters. In the shadows Sophie couldn’t quite make out the faces of the sisters. She wondered if they were the ones in the photograph, or perhaps they were the saints from her vision dream, but she had a strong feeling this was a different time in history. A bolt of lightning flashed through the cobalt blue windows illuminating the hallowed scene with an unearthly aura. The nuns were unsettled and on edge. Sophie had an uneasy feeling that there was something clandestine about their gathering.

“There will come a time when Little Eden is under threat of being raised to the ground,” Mother Superior said softly to the others. “Not from plague, not from fire and not even from the Kings men, but from the Devil himself.”

A deafening thunder clap rumbled directly overhead and a flare of lightening was hard on its heels, flashing midnight blue, wildly through the Chappelle. The nuns crossed themselves. “The true faith is lost here in England,” Mother Superior continued. “Jesus Christ has replaced the protection of the Holy Mother. The spells of the crucifixion are used to perpetuate the evil men do. They build a false Heaven in the astral realms and it will be too late for those who follow the counterfeit God – they will find themselves trapped in an alternate spirit world instead of released into the arms of the Angels.”

The other nuns tried not to appear frightened, but as another thunderous roar rolled ominously overhead, a sharp fork of lighting pierced the gloom, and the fresco above them was thrown into sharp relief. The face of Jesus loomed down upon them from his cross – watching them with an evil eye. “One sacrifice to end all sacrifices,” one of the nuns muttered.

“If we deny our own sacrifices and follow blindly the King’s priests, we will never find our own way. The responsibility for our soul remains in our own hands, now and forever,” Mother Superior said as she rolled up the wide sleeve of her habit and plunged her hand into the icy water. She pushed aside the ivory plaque and delved deeper into the font. Pulling a leather bag out from the concealed central hole, she shook the water from it and placed it on the stone rim. “Even in our own church, if we do not have the courage to look the Devil in the eye, we will never see the truth,” she said. Thunder boomed as if it were in the room with them – rattling the towering glass and shaking the pillars. The full force of the following lightening fired up the Chappelle with an incandescent blue flame.

They all gasped in fright, including Sophie!

Raising awareness for National ME Awareness Week 2020

Imagine if the self-isolation and social distancing you have been experiencing these last few weeks was going to continue for the rest of your life?

That’s right, for the rest of your life – without let up, without reprieve, without end.

On top of being stuck inside, unable to shop, see your friends, go on holidays, go to the pub, a café or the supermarket, you feel as if you have the flu 24/7. Your body won’t function. Everything aches. You find even the smallest tasks, like taking a shower, cooking a meal or reading a chapter in a book take all your energy.

Millions suffer from this misunderstood illness worldwide but there is little research and no known cause or cure. The World Health Organisation has registered it as an epidemic but governments are still not helping those affected.

It can happen to anyone at any age.

Living in isolation, often bed and housebound, without an income or state support, without medical help or carers, sufferers of ME are forgotten by society and rely on family charity to survive.

We were never supported on TV, by our neighbours or communities, the NHS or carers, we were not given mental health support or had our wages paid at 80% when we had to give up work or lost our businesses. Most of us live in poverty, forgotten and blaming ourselves because no one believes us.

When you return to normal, we will still be in in lockdown without hope.


KT King has suffered for over 27 years with the chronic and invisible disability called Myalgic Encephalomyelitis also called Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. She is trying to help raise awareness for this terrible, debilitating and life destroying disease.

The main heroine of Little Eden, Sophie Lawrence, also suffers with CFS but she is still a heroine none the less.

You can follow the global campaign called MillionsMissing and/or KTKing on Twitter.

http://bit.ly/KTKingTwitter

For more information please visit the ME

Association website https://www.meassociation.org.uk/about-what-is-mecfs/

A bit about the author KT King

Many may wonder how I can write novels if I have ME/CFS. I am able to write when I don’t need to do  anything else. The fluctuation of the illness baffles everyone as does the resolve of those with it to battle on trying to make a living. I lost my home, my income and my independence in 2012 coming back to live with my elderly parents on whom I now rely for physical daily help and financial support. By age 40 I had lost the battle with ME.

Writing too much gives me migraines so I can only write a few days a week for about an hour at a time on what is called ‘a good day’. I write through chronic pain and fatigue but it keeps me alive and it keeps me sane.

Mental and emotional health deteriorate for all of us because we can rarely socialise or see friends. We feel we have no purpose or usefulness and many of us are in terrible pain 24/7 with Fibromyalgia which often accompanies ME.

We can either give up or we can try to do something even if it’s just a little thing on ‘a good day’.

Becoming a published writer is a lifelong dream come true and escaping into Little Eden helps keep the suicidal thoughts at bay. I hope it’ll be a beautiful escape place for you too. One of the main things readers say is that they would love to live in Little Eden which makes it all seem worthwhile!

I’m an indie author, using my savings from before 2012 to publish. I can’t meet deadlines of publishers or do the usual sales promotions.

I can spend months, even years unable to get out of bed so I need all the help I can get spreading the word about my books, especially from kind book bloggers like Debbie.

I find crafting is good for mental and emotional health so when I can I make handmade jewellery to give to friends and to sell in my Etsy shop where all the gifts inspired by Little Eden. I rarely have the energy to bake but now and again I manage to make a cake or some cookies! Some of my recipes have made their way into the novels.

Come and browse in my little Etsy shop http://bit.ly/KTKingShop

Both novels have recipes at the back based on the delectable delicacies served in the No.1 Daisy Place Café-Bookshop such as Strawberry and Cream Shortbreads, Late Night Cheesecake and Over the Rainbow Cake. The Ebooks have wiki-links and links to Utube for the soundtrack. You can find everything Little Eden on KT’s Blog www.ktkingbooks.wordpress.co.uk

Look out for…Little Eden, Book Three, Haunted or Not…Available (hopefully) 2021

Thanks for sharing with us, KT!

Northern Reads featuring Patricia M. Osborne

I’m pleased to welcome back Patricia M. Osborne to Northern Read again, this time discussing her new release, The Coal Miner’s Son.

Hi Kellie, thank you for inviting me back to ‘Northern Reads’, this time, to talk about The Coal Miner’s Son.  

The Coal Miner’s Son is a riches to rags story and the second book in family saga ‘House of Grace’ trilogy. It opens in 1962 and is set in a two-up and two-down terrace in Wintermore, a fictional coal mining village on the outskirts of Wigan in Lancashire.

            I was born in Liverpool and moved to Bolton in 1962. The experience of growing up in a two-up and two-down terrace with an outside toilet and bathing in a tin bath in front of the fire not only influenced my writing in The Coal Miner’s Son but was fabulous material to use.

After tragedy hits the small coal mining village of Wintermore, nine-year-old miner’s son, George, is sent to Granville Hall to live with his titled grandparents.

Caught up in a web of treachery and deceit, George grows up believing his mother sold him. He’s determined to make her pay, but at what cost? Is he strong enough to rebel?

Will George ever learn to forgive?

Step back into the 60s and follow George as he struggles with bereavement, rejection and a kidnapping that changes his life forever. Resistance is George’s only hope.

About Patricia:

Patricia M Osborne is married with grown-up children and grandchildren. She was born in Liverpool but now lives in West Sussex. In 2019 she graduated with an MA in Creative Writing (University of Brighton).

Patricia writes novels, poetry and short fiction, and has been published in various literary magazines and anthologies. Her first poetry pamphlet ‘Taxus Baccata’ is to be published by Hedgehog Poetry Press in Spring 2020.

Patricia has a successful blog at Patriciamosbornewriter.com where she features other writers and poets. When she isn’t working on her own writing, she enjoys sharing her knowledge, acting as a mentor to fellow writers and as an online poetry tutor with Writers’ Bureau.

Her debut novel, House of Grace, was published March 2017 and The Coal Miner’s Son, the second book in the ‘House of Grace’ trilogy was released 9th March 2020.

You can find Patricia on social media or the web here:

Facebook:

Twitter:

Instagram:

Website:

Email: patricia.m.osbornewriter@gmail.com

Patricia’s Books:

House of Grace

The Coal Miner’s Son

Contact for signed paperbacks direct  

Northern Reads featuring Clare Flynn

Today on my blog I’m pleased to welcome the lovely Clare Flynn as she discusses her novel Storms Gather Between Us, partially set in Liverpool.

Welcome, Clare! Please tell us all about your book and why you chose Liverpool as a setting.

The book is an indirect sequel to my first novel, A Greater World, which has its opening chapters in the North of England, including Liverpool, but then transfers to Australia. Storms Gather Between Us focuses on one of the secondary characters whose career in the merchant navy brings him to Liverpool – where he becomes involved with other characters who were in the back story of the first book.

It’s a book about loss, domestic violence, the oppressive nature of religious bigotry but most of all about the redeeming power of love. It’s set in the late 1930s up to the outbreak of World War Two. It’s possible that at some time I may return to the characters and write another novel to take them through the war. I always endeavour to make my books work on a stand-alone basis and to complete the story arc – but that doesn’t stop people asking for more though – sometimes quite forcefully!

I was born in Liverpool but left as a child. I came from a large extended family so throughout my childhood we went back frequently for holidays – something I kept doing even through my years at university, often escaping to the Pool for weekends. As someone born in the mid-fifties, my childhood memories were tinged by the relics of the war – there were still empty plots on street corners where bombs had fallen, lots of ruin and decay and smoke-blackened buildings. Yet it felt magical and exciting to me as a child. Some of my favourite memories were taking the ferry across the Mersey to Birkenhead and New Brighton from the Pier Head, shopping in the big department stores especially Lewis’s and going to the seaside at Crosby and Formby. I have been able to draw on these memories in my writing.

Yet Storms Gather Between Us isn’t all pre-war Liverpool – the book also pays brief visits to Naples, Lisbon and Zanzibar – I’ve never been able to resist the lure of romantic locations.

Fascinating! What’s it all about?

Since escaping his family’s notoriety in Australia Will Kidd has spent a decade sailing the seas, never looking back. Content to live the life of a wanderer, everything changes in a single moment when he comes face to face with a ghost from his past on a cloudy beach in Liverpool.

The daughter of an abusive zealot, every step of Hannah Dawson’s life has been laid out for her… until she meets Will by chance and is set on a new path. Their love is forbidden and forces on all sides divide them, but their bond is undeniable. Now, they will have to fight against all the odds to escape the chains of their histories and find their way back to one another.

About the Author:

Clare Flynn writes historical fiction with a strong sense of time and place and compelling characters. She is the author of ten historical novels and a collection of short stories. Her books often deal with characters who are displaced – forced out of their comfortable lives and familiar surroundings. She is a graduate of Manchester University where she read English Language and Literature.

Born in Liverpool she is the eldest of five children. After a career in international marketing, working on brands from nappies to tinned tuna and living in Paris, Milan, Brussels, London and Sydney, she ran her own consulting business for 15 years and now lives in Eastbourne where she writes full-time – and can look out of her window and see the sea.

When not writing and reading, Clare loves to paint with watercolours and grabs any available opportunity to travel – sometimes under the guise of research.

Clare’s latest novel, The Pearl of Penang, was published in late 2019.

Where can we buy your books and follow you on social media?

Website http://www.clareflynn.co.uk

Twitter – https://twitter.com/clarefly

Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/authorclareflynn

Amazon Author Page  http://www.amazon.com/Clare-Flynn/e/B008O4T2LC/

Instagram – https://instagram.com/clarefly 

Thanks so much for joining me, Clare! Always a pleasure!

Northern Reads featuring Mary Wood

Today I’m thrilled to welcome saga author Mary Wood (who also writes as Maggie Mason) to my blog as she discusses her Sangronian Trilogy series set in Blackpool by Maggie Mason. For those of you who have read my debut novel, you’ll know that Blackpool has a special place in Lydie’s heart. The Sangronian Trilogy Set in Blackpool by Maggie Mason.

Welcome, Mary! Tell us about how you chose Blackpool as your setting and how the north influenced your writing.

About the books – why I chose your setting – how the north influenced my writing.

The trilogy begins in the late 19th Century, in a Blackpool that is only just seeing its famous tower being built.

I have lived in, and around the outskirts of Blackpool for thirty-seven years. During my last ten years of my working life for The National Probation Service, I was posted in Blackpool, Fleetwood, Blackburn and Lancaster.

Working and living in the north has given my writing a depth, as even for my Mary Wood Books, which are set in many places from London – to France to Poland, I have always brought in a Northern Lass.

I love the north of England, for its down-to-earth people, its culture, its varying dialect and its beautiful countryside scenery.

Since living in Blackpool and surrounding area, I have come to discover that it is far more than the heart of its economy – The Golden Mile, its spectacular illuminations, and its accolade of being the most popular, British Holiday Destination.

It is home to a transient and cosmopolitan population.

And in its back streets and housing estates, the community spirit that was once the backbone of Great Britain, still thrives amongst the Sandgronians – those born in Blackpool, and the Blackpudlians – those who have made their home here, of which I proudly number myself.

Since beginning to set the books I write under a pen name of Maggie Mason in the town, I have also discovered that it has a fascinating history.

This trilogy spans a period of change both in Blackpool and the world as it takes us through life in the latter part of the 19th century through the 1920’s.

The Books, their availability and Blurb.

BOOK ONE:  BLACKPOOL’S ANGEL: Published by Sphere, 25th July 2019 available on kindle and to order in paperback from Waterstones, and all online stores

BOOK TWO: BLACKPOOL SISTERS: Published by Sphere, available on kindle now, and in paperback on June 25 2020 from Supermarkets, Waterstones, and online.

BOOK THREE: A BLACKPOOL CHRISTMAS Published by Sphere in all formats on November 12th 2020, available on kindle, Waterstones and Supermarkets as well as on all online outlets.

Tilly is a young wife and mother of six-year-old twin daughters, Beth and Babs. She is happy and very much in love with her husband, when suddenly tragedy strikes and she is left alone to care for her children, in a world where the only help is charity handouts.

A talented basket maker, Tilly collects willow and hedgerow material to craft her wares and trudges the streets of Blackpool and nearby St Anne’s on Sea trying to sell them. But she cannot keep the wolves from the door.

When she secures a job with the local greengrocer, she thinks her life will improve, but he wants more than help in the shop. A desperate Tilly gives into his demands sealing her fate of sending her life into a downward spiral and she loses everything.

Homeless and penniless, Tilly and her children are offered help by the local gypsies in exchange for her teaching them her craft.

Falling foul of the women, as her vibrant and voluptuous looks turn the eyes of their men, she is duped by them. One night they drug her. When she wakes in hospital, they and her twins have gone and she doesn’t know where to, or if she will ever see her children again.

The gypsies have introduced her to gin – loving the effects of drinking this fiery liquid, Tilly finds solace in the bottle setting off a series of events that leave her out of control of her life and in a deep pit of misery.

But friends she makes sustain and help her.

The twins grow up as gypsy girls, they love the couple who are now their parents, but never forget Tilly their real mother and yearn to be reunited with her.

They take different routes to try to achieve this, Babs, runs away when she is just fourteen years old, which leaves her vulnerable to predators and floundering alone, resulting in her losing her way.

Beth leaves much later, by which time she has learnt to manipulate the gypsy couple to get her own way in life.

As Tilly begins to prosper, having met a man who takes care of her and whom she adores and at last realizes her dreams to follow her talents – for both of her girls,The First World War is a turning point in their lives, bringing each a taste of happiness, and yet heartache as events unfold that change the course of their lives – through it all they always long to reunite with each other and with their true mother.

Will this ever happen? And if it does, will it bring the happiness all three desire? Or will hidden forces work against them making it impossible for them to live in harmony?

It is never easy to go back to a place in life you long for and yet, you are may be seeing through rose-tinted glasses.

  My bio

I am the author of 22 novels to date – as we go to press, four of those are in the pipeline. I write under my own name,

Mary Wood published by Pan Macmillan – Historical Saga Fiction

Maggie Mason published by Sphere, an implant of Little Brown Books and Hatchet –

Regional Sagas, set in Blackpool

Molly Kent – Self-published on kindle, writing Gangland Thrillers – to date, I have just one title – The Sweet Taste of Revenge on sale.

I like to think that my talent comes from my Great Grandmother, Dora Langlois, a late 19th century – early 20th century author, who in her day was not only known for her novels, but her informative books, her stage plays and as an actress, and also for her short stories in The People’s Friend. I am honoured to follow in her footsteps to be a contributor to that wonderful magazine – over a hundred years later.

Born the 13th child to a family of 15 children, life hasn’t always been easy, but I am lucky to say, it has been happy.

My education consisted of the four r’s – reading, writing, arithmetic, and religion, but I have since accumulated a wealth of knowledge from The University of Life.

I have a large family of my own now, children, grandchildren and great grandchildren and during the summer, live with my adored husband of 57 years in a beautiful lodge in a small village on the outskirts of Blackpool. In the winter months we head south to Spain – this is my writing retreat months, which I love.

If you want to check out my books, or interact with me on social media, where you will be so welcome, here are some links to point you in the right direction.

Amazon page for Maggie Mason – links to all ‘Maggie’ books can be found here:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Maggie-Mason/e/B07DCNXLNM/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

Amazon page for Mary Wood – links to all ‘Mary’ books can be found here:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Mary-Wood/e/B005D4UMGU/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

Amazon Link for Molly Kent – The Sweet Taste of Revenge

My web page: – https://www.authormarywood.com

Twitter: – @Authomary

Facebook: Books by Mary Wood and Maggie Mason https://facebook.com/HistoricalNovels

Fabulous, Mary! Thanks so much for stopping by! Tune in next week for another edition of Northern Reads.

Book Excerpt: Victorine by Drēma Drudge

As I always try to show support for my fellow art in fiction authors, it’s a pleasure to welcome historical fiction author Drēma Drudge to my blog today with an excerpt of her novel Victorine, releasing on March 17th by Fleur de Lis Press

Excerpt:

Chapter One: Portrait of Victorine Meurent, Paris, 1862

I am called The Shrimp, Le Crevette because of my height and because I am as scrappy as those little question-mark-shaped delights that I used to study when my father took me to Les Halles. I would stand before the shrimp tank and watch the wee creatures paw at the water, repeatedly attempting to scale the tank, swimming, sinking, yet always rising again. I hoped eagerly for one to crest the tank, not realizing until later that the lid was there precisely to prevent their escape.  

So why am I reminded of that tank today?

  Today, while I am giving a guitar lesson in my father’s lithography shop, the gifted yet controversial painter, Édouard Manet, enters the shop. He gives me the nod.

 I cover the strings of my guitar with my hand to silence them.

Pѐre has mentioned Manet’s recent patronage of his shop, of course, but I have never been here when the artist has come by.

            “M. Manet, this is my daughter, Victorine. I believe you’ve. . . .”

            “We’ve met,” I say. 

            “And where is it we have met, Mademoiselle?” he asks, wincing as he looks in the vicinity of my nose.

Is this a snub? I run my hand over the swollen, crooked lump of flesh on my face.

  “I must be mistaken.” I turn away, smiling bitterly at my quick temper, at my trying to turn up a nose such as this. Of course he doesn’t recognize me.

            I motion for my student to put her guitar away: “That’s enough for today, dear.” Though she looks at the clock with a puzzled brow, she does as I say.

            My father graciously allows me to give lessons in his shop, claiming he loves to hear young musicians learning to play, though I suspect it’s more because my mother hates allowing anyone into our house besides her regular millinery clients.

Manet moves toward me, puts his face close to mine; I don’t pull away, but only because that is the way painters see.  I would have punched another man for standing so close. He snaps his fingers. “Le Crevette?” he exclaims, backs away.

             I raise my chin to regard the posters on my father’s wall. The Compagnie Francaise de Chocolats et des thes declares my father’s fine sense of color, his signature mingling of coral and scarlet. The other posters reveal his repeated twinning of these colors.

            Manet grasps my hand with frank friendliness that I almost believe. Want to believe. “It is you; I’ve seen you model at Coutoure’s. But what has happened to your nose?”

            I rise on my toes, though the height it gives me is minimal. I motion for Gabrielle to gather her music, and she shuffles the sheets.

            I move closer to him while withdrawing my hand from his, take out my emerald green enamel cigarette case (a gift from a wealthy student at Coutoure’s studio) and light a cigarette. I empty my lungs straight at the yellowing ceiling, though my torso is not a foot from his.

            My father frowns and waves the smoke away; how many times must I tell him that I am eighteen and I will smoke if I please? He smokes a pipe sometimes. What’s the difference?

            “I give guitar lessons now. Obviously, I’m no longer a model.”

            Manet’s eyes graze on me. I stand straighter. When I realize it, I relax.

To continue reading, purchase your copy of Victorine here:

https://amzn.to/2TQkC0W

Blurb:

In 1863 Civil War is raging in the United States. Victorine Meurent is posing nude, in Paris, for paintings that will be heralded as the beginning of modern art: Manet’s Olympia and Picnic on the Grass. However, Victorine’s persistent desire is not to be a model but to be a painter herself. In order to live authentically, she finds the strength to flout the expectations of her parents, bourgeois society, and the dominant male artists (whom she knows personally) while never losing her capacity for affection, kindness, and loyalty. Possessing both the incisive mind of a critic and the intuitive and unconventional impulses of an artist, Victorine and her survival instincts are tested in 1870, when the Prussian army lays siege to Paris and rat becomes a culinary delicacy. Drema Drudge’s powerful first novel Victorine not only gives this determined and gifted artist back to us but also recreates an era of important transition into the modern world.

About the Author:

Drēma Drudge suffers from Stendhal’s Syndrome, the condition in which one becomes overwhelmed in the presence of great art. She attended Spalding University’s MFA in Creative Writing Program where she learned to transform that intensity into fiction.

Drēma has been writing in one capacity or another since she was nine, starting with terrible poems and graduating to melodramatic stories in junior high that her classmates passed around literature class.

She and her husband, musician and writer Barry Drudge, live in Indiana where they record their biweekly podcast, Writing All the Things, when not traveling. Her first novel, Victorine, was literally written in six countries while she and her husband wandered the globe. The pair has two grown children.

In addition to writing fiction, Drēma has served as a writing coach, freelance writer, and educator. She’s represented by literary agent Lisa Gallagher of Defiore and Company.

For more about her writing, art, and travels, please visit her website, www.dremadrudge.com, and sign up for her newsletter. She’s always happy to connect with readers in her Facebook group, The Painted Word Salon, or on Instagram, Twitter, and LinkedIn.