Apple Lake Series - Book two
The Christmas Stocking
I had a great time writing this book. Children make Christmas, and this story is no different.
Ellie Newsome’s marriage is crumbling, and she’s gone through a few rough weeks. She desperately needs to talk to her mother. But her mother has Alzheimer’s and is in a nursing facility.
All twenty-four-year-old Ellie Newsome ever wanted was a happy home, a trustworthy husband and the sound of pitter-patter dancing across her floors.
She’d never wanted to settle for less…but she had. Had she known Ryan had only married her to give him babies, she’d not have said yes. But she had. Now, her hopes and dreams were gone. Gone as quickly as her husband had taken the coward’s way out, and deserted her a week after the second miscarriage and
two weeks before Thanksgiving.
Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y5fp2ass
The Christmas Stocking
I had a great time writing this book. Children make Christmas, and this story is no different.
Ellie Newsome’s marriage is crumbling, and she’s gone through a few rough weeks. She desperately needs to talk to her mother. But her mother has Alzheimer’s and is in a nursing facility.
All twenty-four-year-old Ellie Newsome ever wanted was a happy home, a trustworthy husband and the sound of pitter-patter dancing across her floors.
She’d never wanted to settle for less…but she had. Had she known Ryan had only married her to give him babies, she’d not have said yes. But she had. Now, her hopes and dreams were gone. Gone as quickly as her husband had taken the coward’s way out, and deserted her a week after the second miscarriage and
two weeks before Thanksgiving.
Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y5fp2ass
Prologue
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Excerpt Chapter Two: Ellie visits her mom in the nursing home.
Ellie sat in her car a full fifteen minutes before pushing open the door to the Memory Center. She turned corners down each hallway toward her mom’s room, avoiding walkers, wheel chairs and patients in search of their rooms or fighting to take up residence in someone else’s room. Orange cones lined one section of the hall and the entrance to a room two doors from her mom’s room. A weary housekeeper pushed a wide heavy mop across the floor, then plopped it into the lavender scented water to rinse and begin again. She looked up as Ellie approached. “Watch your step, ma’am, the floor is wet.” She shoved a strand of hair from her face and blew upward with her bottom lip. “Wouldn’t want you to fall.” “Thank you, I’ll be okay.” The scent was pleasant and reminded Ellie of the cut flowers her mom always arranged in a beautiful bouquet in the hallway of her home. Viola Rand had the same green thumb all the Rand women had inherited. Ellie had also inherited the Rand’s green thumb. Her mom had taught her the pleasure of growing flowers and vegetables. Memories of her mom in the garden were vivid and bittersweet. How easy it would be to turn and run out the door, never to return. But then her mom would be in the same situation as many of the other patients were. There were plenty of lonely and forgotten souls, and she refused to allow her mom to become another statistic. As she approached her destination, the thought she was fortunate to still have her mom, racked her saddened state of mind, and the more anxious she became. The visits always filled her with dread too. That dread included what condition her mom would be in today. She wanted her mom back, but realized she couldn’t change the past or see into the future. The tiny figure she called mom, sat enveloped by a lavender blanket in a recliner, her legs crossed in front of her and next to her heart, she embraced a baby doll wrapped in the same color blanket. The devastating separation hit Ellie all over again as she reminded herself her mom no longer recognized her as a daughter. The blank stare on her mom’s face and the empty eyes…her once beautiful, sparkling hazel eyes, was more than she could endure. For once, she was glad her dad wasn’t here to witness his beloved wife’s condition. Ellie squeezed back tears, walked to her mom, wrapped her arms around the thin shoulders, then hugged her tight, unable to let her go. Her mom shrugged her aside. In sorrow, but yet still hopeful, Ellie gazed into those dull, vacant hazel eyes, searched for recognition, but found none. Nothing. It was as though Ellie no longer existed in her mom’s memory. No. It wasn’t as though her mom recognized her. She didn’t. Sadly, once her mom’s Alzheimer’s advanced to a certain stage, Ellie’s existence and her mom’s memory had deteriorated. Again, Ellie bit back a sob and covered her mom’s hands with hers, then slowly turned them over and memorized each vein and crease. Those hands, that had with love, accomplished so many tasks for her family…those hands that had protected her from harm. One day they would be no more. Her mom focused on the door with a longing and spoke in a monotone expression without acknowledging Ellie. “I’m waiting for my daughter.” She tilted her head and stared up at Ellie. “Do you know my daughter?” Ellie wrapped her arms around her mom’s shoulders again. “Mom, it’s me. It’s Ellie…your daughter. I miss you,” she whispered into her soft silver hair. Oh, Mom. Where are you? Where have you gone? I need to talk to you. Grief stricken tears trickled down Ellie’s face and onto her crisp white blouse for the mom she’d already lost. For the mom who would never recover from her horrendous disease. Yet deep inside her mom’s brain, Ellie knew she somehow recalled she had a daughter. She simply couldn’t position reason enough together to pull up the memory. |
Copyright ©2022 by Carol DeVaney
All rights reserved. These novels, stories and any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author or publisher except for the use of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.
All rights reserved. These novels, stories and any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author or publisher except for the use of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.