By Melody Carlson
For Colleen, existence is spinning uncontrolled. She simply misplaced her husband, and her courting along with her younger grownup son Jamie is crumbling. should still she confess to him the key that has been haunting her for 20 years? Jamie has a couple of secrets and techniques of his personal. while he proclaims his plans to affix the army, Colleen makes a decision it is time for the 2 of them to make a journey together--to eire. the reality they become aware of there may satisfy either their desires in a fashion neither ever suggestion attainable. An Irish Christmas is an enthralling tale of affection, deception, and mystery passions, from renowned and prolific writer Melody Carlson.
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Extra info for An Irish Christmas
I wondered if Scott’s had gotten in something new and amazing—maybe a color TV with stereo. But the small crowd was simply staring at an ordinary black-and-white television that was playing inside, and as usual, the sound was being piped through an outdoor speaker to the sidewalk. But I noticed the elderly woman had her hand clasped over her mouth and her eyes were wide with terror. ” Mr. ” “It can’t be,” a woman next to him gasped. ” I asked, but the small crowd was rushing into the shop. ” the elderly woman called over her shoulder.
She handed me a cup of coffee, setting the cow-shaped porcelain creamer on the table. “But that’s when Sally called and told me about the shooting. ” She sighed. “Yes. Then we all just stood there in the family room and watched it. It was the strangest thing, Jamie. I’d only just met this couple and suddenly we were all sobbing and holding on to each other, like it was the end of the world and we were all we had. And then just as abruptly, they left, they wanted to go and get their children.
And finally, when I couldn’t take it anymore, I started to play my piano. I played and played. And, although I knew it was senseless and would probably matter to no one but me, I dedicated my playing to President John Fitzgerald Kennedy and his two children and beautiful wife Jackie. My heart ached for all of them. How could something like this have happened? It was about four o’clock when I finally remembered my own mother. I suddenly wondered how she would be taking all this—and realized that it might have hit her as hard as it hit me—and so I rushed home to find her sitting in front of the television with her hands in her lap and her big brown eyes all swollen and red from crying.
An Irish Christmas by Melody Carlson