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A Christmas novella featuring family, forgiveness, and love...
Ashley
Moore’s life forever changed the day her mother died, and she was sent
to live with relatives. Now, ten years later, Ashley returns home,
hoping to connect with her estranged father. When she learns he’s
decided to reopen the family’s Christmas lodge for the upcoming holiday
season, Ashley volunteers to help. While cleaning, she discovers her
mother’s journal detailing the last month of her life. Will the book
hold the answer as to why her dad sent her away? Who is the mysterious
Adam her mother keeps mentioning in the diary? Can the words of her
mother reconcile father and daughter in time for Christmas?
$.99 Ebook
Available through these popular eBook retailers & more!(Click to follow link)
EXCERPT
Copyright 2014 © Kimberly B Jackson
Dusting
furniture wasn’t the type of gratification Ashley Moore craved in life.
Since her return home, cleaning the old lodge had filled her days.
Today felt different. She’d foregone the lodge, instead choosing her
parent’s personal living quarters—a small cabin a short distance from
the lodge. Now, she faced the one room she’d dreaded—her parent’s old
bedroom.
As
she opened the door, dust particles floated in the air. Clearly, the
room sat untouched since her mother’s death. A layer of dust coated the
furniture—thick enough to write your name. A scent reminiscent of an old
musky basement hung in the air. Pulling the closet door back, she
realized her mother’s clothes still hung as they had ten years ago.
“I
can’t believe Dad hasn’t removed anything in here,” she said to herself
as she ran her hands through her mother’s clothes. Touching the
decade-old clothes somehow made her feel closer to her mother. A sneeze
escaped her.
Glancing
to the left, she spotted her mother’s jewelry box, something she’d
always loved to go through as a little girl. Lifting the top open, she
gently picked up several of her mother’s costume rings. How she’d loved
to play with them. Her eyes fixated on a silver cross necklace with a
twenty-four inch length chain that her mother wore practically every day
of her life. Unhooking the clasp, Ashley put on the necklace and looked
at herself in the dusty mirror that hung above the dresser. A younger
version of her mother’s face stared back, so much alike, but different
too. The same brunette hair and petite frame. The same small nose and
brown eyes. But Ashley had her father’s mouth.
Drawing
back the curtains released ten years of built-up dust that danced
around the room as she struggled to open the somewhat uncooperative
widows. The air outside was cold, but fresh, and necessary. It
circulated throughout the room, sweeping away the gloom. As she exited
the room, she closed the door.
Following
a tense lunch of take-out pizza her father brought, she continued to
choke on the questions she needed him to answer. She would surely gain
courage to ask them sometime. With a sigh, she took a stepladder from
the pantry, and returned to her mother’s room. Stepping on the ladder,
and with several forceful jerks, she pulled the curtains until she’d
unhooked the old, iron rod from the wall. Next, she collected the fallen
material and placed it in a box. Soon after, she focused on the bed and
with one pull, she yanked the bedspread and top sheet off, then removed
the fitted sheet and pillowcases. As she cleared away the last
pillowcase, something red caught her eye. Depositing the sheets and
bedspread into the laundry basket, Ashley then returned to the bed,
feeling the red, hard edge she’d noticed under the mattress. With both
hands she grasped the item, and with one great tug, an old, dusty red
book appeared in her hands. Sweeping her fingers across the hard front
revealed an imprint of a Christmas tree. Slowly, she opened the
notebook, revealing well-worn, dingy paper. Faded, blue ink covered each
delicate page, revealing her mother’s elegant handwriting. Her eyes
focused on the text, across the header of the first page. December 1,
2004. Exactly twenty-four days later, her mother died. Could she read
her mother’s personal thoughts? Tears welled in her eyes as she pulled
the journal close to her chest. Would she find the answers she’d always
yearned to know? Could she invade her mother’s privacy? Or was this her
mother’s way of communicating with her? December first, she read…
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