A TIME TO PUSH DAISIES by Marion Ueckermann
Not every woman is fortunate enough
to find her soulmate.
Fewer find him twice.
JoAnn Stanson has loved and lost.
Widowed a mere eighteen months ago, JoAnn is less than thrilled when her son
arranges a luxury cruise around the British Isles as an early birthday gift.
She’s not ready to move on and “meet new people”.
Caleb Blume
has faced death and won. Had it not been for an unexpected Christmas present,
he would surely have been pushing up daisies. Not that the silver-haired
landscape architect was averse to those little flowers—he just wasn’t ready to
become fertilizer himself.
To celebrate
his sixty-fourth birthday and the nearing two-year anniversary since he’d
cheated death, Caleb books a cruise and flies to London. He is instantly drawn
in a way that’s never happened before to a woman he sees boarding the ship. But
this woman who steals Caleb’s heart is far more guarded with her own.
For JoAnn,
so many little things about Caleb remind her of her late husband. It’s like
loving the same man twice. Yet different.
Or is it?
Extract:
CALEB BLUME SHUFFLED OUTSIDE ONTO
the wooden deck of his posh Camps Bay apartment, feeling three decades older
than his sixty-two years. Raising the glass of sparkling water clutched in his
hand, he toasted the African sun, slowly inching its way toward the watery
horizon of the Atlantic. The summer solstice having passed merely days before,
the golden ball wouldn’t set for a few more hours.
“Merry
Christmas, world.” Even those few words sapped his breath. But then he had just walked twenty meters from his living
room without stopping to rest.
He sank into
the comfort of the reclining patio chair, made of weather-resistant rattan and
topped with ivory-colored cushions. From his lofty home, Caleb narrowed his
gaze to stare at the azure ocean below, frothy waves lapping the white beach.
Would this be his last Christmas on earth? Or would he live to see another? Not
if a suitable donor heart didn’t become available soon, that much was certain
considering his declining health.
He pursed
his lips. His bitter snort resonated. How his life had changed. Pitiful.
Sitting here waiting for someone to die, so that he could live. Or at least
have a fighting chance at life.
Everyone had
thought it was the winter flu. But it wasn’t. Viral myocarditis a few months
ago had damaged his heart and turned his entire world upside down. Now instead
of spending his days getting his hands dirty in rich, compost-laden soil,
creating beautiful gardens, he was confined to his home with a live-in nurse
cum housekeeper as his only companion.
Gone was his
carefree bachelor lifestyle. Gone were the parties and “friends”.
He had never
felt so alone in his entire life. If only he didn’t live so far away from his
brother in England.
“Janine...”
Caleb barely had enough volume to call his nurse.
Thankfully
the forty-something woman’s ears were tuned to his every call. She hurried
through the frameless sliding-folding doors that gave security and shelter
during the night but were now pushed open wide, merging his home with his
garden deck.
“Yes, Caleb.”
“Could you
bring my cell phone to me, please? I need to…return my brother’s call,” he
sucked in a deep breath, filling his lungs, “before Christmas is over.”
When Joshua
had phoned earlier, Caleb had still been asleep. He’d put off phoning back,
knowing Joshua would be at church with his family, after which his brother and
his wife, Viola, would be frantically busy cooking their traditional Christmas
fare for the family. He would have loved to be spending this particular
Christmas with his brother and nieces, seeing as it could be his last, but
traveling was out of the question for him for quite a while. By now though, his
English family’s Christmas dinner should be finished, as should the washing of
the dishes and cleaning up—what with seven daughters there to help.
After first
making sure that Caleb was comfortably reclined, Janine hurried back inside,
soon reappearing with Caleb’s phone. She dialed the number and then handed the
device over.
“Caleb!”
Joshua’s voice boomed through the speaker. “Merry Christmas. I tried to call
you earlier.”
“I know.
Merry Christmas…to you…too.” Caleb gasped for a breath.
“How are you
doing, brother?” Concern edged Joshua’s voice. “Do you need help? I could fly
out, or one of the girls could—”
Caleb shook
his head, even though Joshua couldn’t see. “I’m…hanging on. Enjoying
the…sunshine.” The fresh, salty smell of sea air filled his nostrils as, once
again, he breathed in deeply. “How are the…girls?”
“They’re all
doing just fine. Getting married one by one. Oh, did I tell you I’m going to be
a grandfather again?”
“No. Who’s
expecting?” An ache formed in his chest. While life was flourishing for the
Blume’s in England, he was dying a slow death on the other side of the world.
Alone. He envied Joshua having a legacy to leave behind. Caleb, on the other
hand, would leave nothing. No wife or children to mourn his passing. He would
have loved to have a son, a wife. Perhaps he should’ve sought someone to share
his life decades ago. Too late now—for children and for love.
“Maggie. Sometime
in April.”
“And you’re
only…” He sucked in a breath. Maybe he should ask Janine to bring his oxygen
bottles. “…telling me now?”
“We only
just found out. Maggie and Davis have managed to keep it a secret for five
months. They wanted to get way past the first trimester, and then it wasn’t
that long until Christmas, so they decided to save the big news for
today—thought it would be more special.”
“A wonderful
gift. Congrats to…you all.”
“I’d best
not keep you,” Joshua said. “I can hear you’re weary.”
Caleb closed
his eyes and swallowed hard. His lip quivered and he clamped it between his
teeth, holding it in place. “I–I am. Send my love…to the girls.”
“I will.”
There was a pause before Joshua continued. “Caleb, I’m praying for you—for that
new heart.”
No doubt
Joshua didn’t only mean the actual organ. He’d been preaching to Caleb about
getting his heart right with God for years. Maybe if he had listened, the one
that beat so sluggishly in his chest wouldn’t be dying a slow death.
Was it too late
to try a little prayer too? It surely couldn’t hurt. He raised his gaze
heavenward.
Oh God, if You save me, if You get
me a new heart, I will spend the rest of the days You give me on this earth,
living for you. Somehow, I’ll learn how to.
“Caleb? A–are
you still there?”
“Yes.
Sorry…wandering mind.”
An incoming
call beeped in his ear, and his heart thumped against his ribs—just as it
always had in the past few months every time the phone rang. Every time he’d
been disappointed. No doubt this call would be no different.
“Josh,
incoming call. I…must go.”
They said a
hurried goodbye before Caleb answered the interrupting call. “Caleb Blume.”
“Mr. Blume.
Are you sitting down?” If Dr. Le Crouse, his cardiologist, was excited about
something, he didn’t show it, his voice a monotone as always. And for sure, the
use of his surname was merely for effect. His doctor had called him by his
first name from the moment Caleb had insisted, and only used his last name when
he wanted to make a point.
“Lying down.
Doctor’s orders.” Caleb managed a soft chuckle.
“Well, I’m
glad to hear that you’re an obedient patient, but you might want to get up and
hurry over to Christiaan Barnard Memorial Hospital. You’re being given the best
Christmas present of all.”
Caleb eased
forward. He swung his legs around, and his feet fell to the deck with a soft
thud. “W–what?” Could it really be that he was finally getting the one thing he
wanted? Needed? A new heart.
“A perfect
match, at last. Your new heart is being harvested as we speak and will be flown
to Cape Town. You’ll be on the operating table within four hours.”
“Th–that’s
wonderful news.” Caleb choked, surprised to be this emotional.
“Are you
able to get to the hospital, or must we arrange for an ambulance transfer?”
“I–I can get
there.” This was one of the reasons he had 24/7 care. Janine could drive him
wherever he needed to go.
“Good. And,
Caleb, I know it’s Christmas, but don’t eat or drink anything from now on.
Please.”
“I won’t,
Doctor. See you…soon.”
Caleb paused
for a moment after cutting the call. He bowed his head, first in thanks to God
for answering his prayer so swiftly, and then out of respect for the one who
had lost their life. Did they have a husband, a wife, children, whose
Christmases would never be the same again? For them, the sun had set. For him,
it was about to rise!
DREAMS COME TRUE by Mary
Manners
Naomi
Taylor is putting her life back together following the sudden death of her
husband, when eldest son Austin shows up at her doorstep with grandson Max. The
troubled teen wants nothing more than to escape the cozy little town of
Serenity and get back to his friends in the city. But Naomi’s not giving up on
him, and hopes next-door neighbor Ben can help her find a way to reach him and
turn things around—before it’s too late.
Ben Miller
lost his wife to a long and ruthless battle with Alzheimer’s. Coming to terms
with the loss has shown him he still has much to live for. When his needs
intertwine with Naomi’s, their long-time friendship blossoms into something
more.
Can
the two discover a way to move into the future and love again, without
betraying memories of the past?
Excerpt:
“HEY, NAOMI, WILL YOU RUN away with me?” Ben asked
as he strode into Blooms and Blessings later that afternoon.
“What?” She looked up from the
flower seedlings she’d arranged along with an assortment of greenery into a
hanging basket. Deep violet blooms spilled over the rim, their sweet fragrance
weaving into the musky scent of potting soil and rustic homemade soaps for
gardeners.
Ben snatched a mint from the dispenser
Naomi kept near the register and added a five-dollar bill to the charity pot
for Serenity Children’s Hospital. “I said, let’s close up shop and run away
together…just for the afternoon.”
Her mouth rounded into a surprised
little oh. “Sounds dangerous.”
Her reaction encouraged him to
proceed. “Only if the boat sinks, and then I’d carry you to shore.”
He unwrapped the mint and tossed it
jauntily into his mouth.
“Now, you’ve really lost me.” Naomi
swiped a lock of hair from her forehead, leaving behind a smudge of dirt at the
corner of one eye as she laughed. “English, please.”
He placed his hands on the counter
and leaned in. The scent of Naomi’s perfume mingled with the mint and coffee
that swirled from the mug at her elbow.
“I met Max as he was heading into
the ice cream shop with Becky Carpenter. He handed me the keys to my truck and
said driving lessons will have to wait until tomorrow. He’s heading over to the
church to meet with some of the kids, then having homemade fried chicken with
Becky and her parents.”
“That’s right.”
“He also told me you’re overdoing
it here, and that your foot is hurting, but you refuse to take a rest. He
mentioned that you’re as stubborn and hardheaded as his father.”
Her cheeks pinked. “He did not.”
“Well, maybe not in so many words,
but the idea was there.” Ben winked conspiratorially. “He asked me to try to
talk some sense into you, though I’d probably get nowhere.”
“His exact words?”
“Yep, pretty much. But, I figured
I’m up for the challenge so I stopped by Connor’s Deli and stocked my cooler
with a couple of their hoagies and that mustard-based potato salad you like so
much, hoping you’d see things my way and close up shop a little early. I’d like
to take a ride with you.” He used the pad of his thumb to brush away the dirt
at the corner of her pretty blue eyes, and then a dab that clung to her cheek.
“It’s a beautiful day for a ride, Naomi.”
“That it is.” She gazed out the
window longingly. He figured she was just as eager for a little fresh summer
air as he was, since she’d been cooped up in the shop all day. And he’d heard
Martha Cruetzinger had made an appearance this morning—something that was sure
to put a wrinkle in anyone’s day. “Sunny and what—about eighty?”
“A pleasant seventy-eight.”
“Oh…perfect.” She gave the
arrangement a sprinkle of water and then handed him the finished basket to hang
from a shepherd’s hook in the display window. “Where were you thinking of
taking this ride?”
“I hoped you might enjoy a little
treasure hunt along Serenity Lake.”
“A treasure hunt?” Her eyes widened
in amusement. “What sort of treasure are we talking about here?”
He lowered his voice to a murmur.
“How long has it been since you’ve been out on the lake?”
“Too long.” She squirted sanitizer
into her hands to clean them and then wiped them with a paper towel. “A couple
of years.”
“That’s a shame.” He clicked his
tongue as his head wagged. “Do you miss the caress of a breeze, the shimmer of
sun-dappled lake water?”
“Hugely.” She lobbed the paper
towel into the trash can. “More than you know.”
“In that case, I’d say it’s time to
stretch those sea legs of yours.” He reached for her hand. “Come with me and
I’ll explain our mission as we go.”
CARAMEL KISSES By Cecelia Dowdy
Childless, Michael Gray longs to find the daughter
his deceased wife gave up for adoption years ago. His search takes a detour
when he meets candy maker Dara Greene.
Dara is also widowed and she’s determined to make
her business, Caroline’s Candy Shoppe, a success. But Dara suffers from stage
fright and due to a recent traumatic event, she seeks Michael’s assistance.
Can he help her win the Annual Cruise Ship Candy Competition
and convince her to take a chance on love?
Extract:
MIMI DIDN’T DESERVE THIS. HECK, nobody did, but
especially not Mimi…not his Mimi.
Michael Gray fingered the crisp white sheet before sliding his hand underneath
and grasping her wrinkled fingers. He gripped the railing of the hospice bed
with his other hand. He sniffed. The vivid scents of rubbing alcohol and
antiseptic filled the air as he studied her small chest barely moving. She
breathed from the oxygen tubes through her nose. He briefly glanced at their
wedding picture which was displayed beside her bed. They’d been in love, young
and he’d just joined the Navy.
He focused on Mimi again. Her
vitals were no longer stable and hospice had called him, letting him know that
she didn’t have much time left. That’s why he’d rushed over as soon as he
could. He eased into the chair beside the bed and continued holding her hand.
Her eyes fluttered open. Her dark brown eyes focused on him with unusual
clarity. “Michael.” Just hearing his name softly uttered from her sweet lips
made his heart skip.
“Don’t talk, Mimi.” She barely
nodded and closed her eyes. Her nut-brown skin looked a bit waxy and laugh
lines fanned from her eyes. Up until a few months ago, his Mimi was always
laughing, happy, talkative. She loved running the bakery with him, and she made
a mean batch of candy. They’d often sold her candies, right beside their baked
goods, in their privately-owned bakery. Although they’d been married forty
years, she still shooed him from the kitchen whenever she made her candy. She
still kept her recipe a secret from him after all these years. At sixty-eight,
his Mimi would be breathing her last breath, passing on into heaven, within the
next few hours, according to hospice.
“Michael?” she struggled to open
her eyes again. The staff had warned him over the last few weeks that his Mimi
would not be herself due to the level of medications that they were giving her.
“Honey, don’t talk.” Thankfully,
her eyes closed again. He studied her, the memories rushing through his mind
like warm sunshine. He recalled the first time he met Emilia Rose Sanderson. It
was back in 1963 during the March for Civil Rights in Washington. They’d only
been sixteen years old and he’d been enamored with her smooth brown skin and
deep, soulful eyes. With her sultry voice, full of courage, she’d told him she
was called Mimi. As they’d fought for civil rights, he’d thought of her as his Mimi. They’d married two years later
and had been together ever since.
So many years…so many memories.
They’d shared so much. He continued clutching her hand. Salty wetness slid down
his cheeks. So many good years. He stood on his shaky legs and kissed her
cheek. Yes, he’d spent most of his life with his Mimi. It had been a good
marriage. His only regret was that they’d never been blessed with any children.
He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to stop the stream of tears. He’d imagine his
grief wouldn’t be as raw if he’d had children and grandchildren who’d loved
Mimi, too.
“Michael.” She mumbled his name
again. “Listen…to…me.” He lowered his ear toward her lips. “Baby…I have baby.”
A baby. What in the world was she
talking about? They’d never had any children so maybe she was confused. She was
probably thinking of all the time and effort they’d put into trying to have a
child. “Mimi, it’s okay. You’re confused. Just close your eyes and get some
rest.”
“No.” She grabbed his hand with
surprising strength. “Baby. Make sure baby is okay. Bank. Safe deposit at the
bank.” She then dropped his hand and closed her eyes.
She had a baby? How could that be?
As his Mimi stopped breathing, tears slid down his cheeks. Lord, I’m
so hurt and confused right now. Please help me with this pain. Amen.
Moosed
The Boat By Jan Elder
Clare Evans,
church secretary, Malamute breeder, and single lady of a certain age, resides
in Moose Creek, Maine, where men are men and moose are enormoose. Her life is
full to the brim, or almost. There’s only one thing missing—one of those manly
men with a desire to love, honor, and protect her.
Travis Gibbs,
forest ranger and recent widower, is grieving a broken heart. With his son off
to college, he’s tired of being alone and ready to rejoin the living. When Clare
invites him to a dinner dance and follows up by sending him home with a puppy,
his interest is piqued.
Next, the two senior citizens win a
cruise in a bowling tournament. But will they make it to the ship on time? Or,
moose the boat and their chance at true love?
Excerpt
The scent of chocolate and
coconut—with a smattering of chopped almonds, Clare’s own personal
touch—tickled Travis’s nose with delight. She plucked out a chocolate and
gripped the rounded morsel between her fingertips. She drifted closer to him,
tantalizing him, her face full of promise, and … then she popped the tasty
treat into her own generous mouth. In a flash, she made a grab for the box of
candy, and quickly moved to the other side of the kitchen table, taunting him
with a smirk of challenge. He dodged right while she minced left, and round and
round the mulberry bush they went.
Oh, she was a slippery thing. He
changed his strategy. Feigning a left, he planted his feet and stayed stock
still. It worked. She plowed right into him. With lightning-fast reflexes, she
slipped the hands holding that coveted container behind her. Backing her up
against a wall, Travis captured her in a bear hug and reached both arms around
her, his goal to rip the candy from her hands, and perhaps start another merry
chase.
And then he gazed at her face, her
parted lips laughing, her eyes doing that sparkly thing again. Before he had
another conscious thought, his lips were on hers, sampling chocolate, coconut,
almonds … and an inexpressible joy that tasted like sweet heaven.
Just one delicious kiss, but that’s
all it took. He was well and truly smitten with the amazing woman who made his
senses soar. She relaxed in his arms and tucked her head under his chin. They
fit together as if made for each other. He relaxed and pulled her closer,
handling her with great care as his nose enjoyed the floral scent of her silky
hair.
Heart lifting to the sky, he held
her tight and they stood wrapped together in awe, like two people who’d
rediscovered what love was all about.
Tempted to continue what they’d
started, he stepped back and let her go instead. A bit dazed, he made a
conscious choice to rein himself in and be a gentleman. Besides, they had the
rest of the afternoon and into the evening to enjoy each other’s company, and
there was always tomorrow.
Oh, he was so looking forward to a
lazy Sunday afternoon with his … girlfriend?
Girlfriend. Yes. What an amazing
concept.
He tumbled the word in his brain,
loving the idea.
OCEANS
APART By Clare Revell
A romance 48 years in the making...
Dragged half way across the world by his parents, the
only contact Oliver Voight has with his native England is his friend Matt’s kid
sister, who keeps him up to date with her rambling, winsome letters.
When Connie Falcon promises her brother’s best friend
she will keep in touch, she has no idea where that assurance will lead. But
Connie always keeps her promises, so forty-eight years later, she is still
writing.
As the years have flown past, both of them have been
transformed into different people by what life has thrown at them. When they
finally meet face to face, everything begins to change. Forever.
Southampton. 30th July
1971.
Dear
Oliver,
You don’t
want to know how many times I crossed out and started over writing you this
letter. Technically you’re not my dear anything cos you’re Matty’s friend and not
mine. I’m just the little kid who tagged along with the big boys and drove you
nuts. You probably won’t even reply, never mind read this, but I’m keeping my
promise and writing to you. Once a month or thereabouts.
Oh, and I
apologise now for my spellings. Never was any good at it and you probably can’t
read my handwriting either. But oh well. This is a special air letter that
comes already franked and I just have to seal the edges and shove it in a post
box. Mum got me a pack of six from the post office when she got the family
allowance on Tuesday.
Oh, and
the reason there aren’t any crossings out on here is cos I already wrote it out
once and I’m copying it out.
We played
Battleships yesterday. Matty insisted on doing a sheet for you, although I
reckoned that wasn’t fair as he knew where both yours and his ships were at the
same time. I still managed to win. Not sure how. And he also insisted on using
your call sign when you made your shots. Oscar Sierra Victor. Still not sure
what the S stands for as you never did tell me.
Can I
guess? Simon. Shaun. Shane. Simone (yes I know that’s a girls name )
We’re
going to Scotland tomorrow on holiday. The weather looks colder there than
here. We’re staying with my aunt and her foster kids. Think she has five right
now, so that will be a laugh. Bit of a crowded house though.
The new
people in your old house aren’t very friendly. The kids are posh and stuck up.
There are four of them—all boys, mind you. Ezra is 16 like Matty (and you),
Malachi is 13 like me, Joel is 11 like Sandy, and the other one, Amos, is 9.
Their parents have Biblical names too. And we’re guessing very religious as all
the kids are all named after Old Testament prophets. They’re Solomon and
Esther. They must be rich as they have a bike each! And a new car. A brand new
car, not an old one like ours.
Better go
as out of space and Mum wants to go to Nanna’s. I can post this one the way.
From
Connie Annabelle Falcon.
New
York. 30th August 1971.
Dear Connie,
I promised to write didn’t I? And as Dear Whoever is
the correct way to start a letter, unless you’re really mad at the person
you’re writing to, Dear Oliver is fine.
You know something? School has already started over
here! It’s so weird, and so unfair. I hardly got a summer break at all.
Sometimes it’s September and sometimes not. Apparently it depends when Labour
Day is. Or rather Labor Day—if I have to spell it correctly. And it’s nothing
like in England. Here you need a hall pass simply to leave the classroom during
a lesson and everyone is sport crazy. Oh and they call proper football
‘soccer’. What they call football is actually rugby but played in armour. They
have rests or time outs, every few minutes and what should be a ninety minute
game takes several hours. Seriously, it’s ridiculous. The entire country’s
obsessed with it. That and baseball.
No one plays cricket. Which is a shame, as I love
cricket.
Mind you, I did get to play basketball the other day.
The teacher reckons I’m good at it. So I guess my long legs are good for
something. Haven’t made any friends yet.
Dad’s new job is going okay. He’s working really long
hours. The house is huge. Way too big for just the three of us, but then
everything is big here. The roads, the cars—oh and I get to go to school on a
yellow bus. No one walks anywhere.
I ought to go. I have an essay to write. Or an
assignment as they call it. Either way, it’s simply homework under another
name.
Your friend, Oliver S Voight.
PS. No it’s not Shane or Shaun or Simon (or Simone.) I
would say keep guessing, but you’ll never guess. It’s an old family name. First
male of every generation gets it somewhere (that’s Mum’s side, not Dad’s).
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