larger view of cover
buy the book
read the first chapter >>>
book details

cover art and interior graphics
by Joyce Wright
www.artbyjoyce.com

THE CHRISTMAS COTTAGE
Author: Mignon Ballard
Original Title from Bella Rosa Books
5.5"x8.5" Trade Paperback
Retail $9.95US
ISBN 978-1-933523-22-4
LCCN 2007937987

It was happening again.
     Christmas had turned its back on her. And she, it. At the airport, strangers laughed and chatted with one another before boarding separate planes for family and home. Arriving passengers were hugged, kissed, and sometimes even cried over, then rushed away in a happy frenzy. No one was there to meet her.
     Beaming carolers sang of reindeer, angels, joy to the world. Merry felt no joy, only the fear that lay like a lump of dirty snow beneath her heart. Maybe it would have been easier if she didn't love Christmas so. Wasn't she born on Christmas Eve? Meredith. Our own Merry Christmas gift, her mother had called her, and except for that time long ago, the holiday had always had a special significance for her.
     When the call came that morning she had just taken her jam cake from the oven; its spicy aroma blended with the fresh green scent of the nine-foot fir that brushed the ceiling. Merry was ready for Christmas. Swags of evergreens scalloped the banisters, a wreath of pine cones surrounded a fat red candle on the table by the telephone. Merry picked up the tiny snow globe beside it and turned it as she answered, watching white flakes swirl over a miniature cottage.
     After she replaced the receiver, Merry stood, still clutching the small globe, as if staring at it might make the awful news go away. Years ago she had bought the quaint little globe with the tiny cottage inside at a garage sale, and as always, it made her think of Lucinda.

Now the gladness of the season evaded her, but Merry couldn't escape from Christmas. Later at the hospital the fiber optic Christmas tree in the lobby mocked her in swirling colors of red, gold, and blue, and the receptionist wore a Santa hat that swung crazily over one eye. Even the nurses' station in the intensive care wing was festooned with plastic holly and Merry had to peer between two huge poinsettias to see the woman behind the counter.
     Only a few short hours ago she had been getting ready for the holidays, putting last minute touches on her centerpiece, finding just the right candles for the table. Things she considered important. Now nothing mattered except that her husband of thirty-two years lay close to death in this Atlanta hospital. She had flown over three hundred miles from Greens-boro, North Carolina, to be here, not knowing what she would find. Just tell me—tell me now-is my husband still alive? Merry couldn't bring herself to ask.
     "Excuse me . . ." Her voice came out in a croak.
     The nurse behind the counter frowned, studying someone's chart. "Yes? Can I help you?" She adjusted purple-framed glasses with one finger and clutched the chart to her chest.
     "My husband . . . They called this morning and I came as fast as I could. Brian Enright . . . is he . . . ?"
     "Oh, Mrs. Enright. I'm glad you're here." Her voice softer now, the nurse set the chart aside. "There's no change, I'm afraid. You can see him if you like, but only for a few minutes. The disease was caused by an internal infection so he isn't contagious.
     "Now, don't be surprised if he doesn't respond. He's a very sick man." The nurse touched Merry's arm as she led her through the swinging doors to the intensive care unit.
     Only a few days ago this man had laughed as he teetered on a ladder to top their tree with a star, galloped around the block pulling their two-year-old grandson in his wagon, sung tenor in the church cantata. Tonight he lay pale and restless, eyes closed, with tubes going into his body.
     Now and then he tossed his head and moaned, and a sheet was tied to the railings of his bed to cover his body because, the nurse said, he couldn't stand the touch of fabric against his skin.
     Merry covered his hand with hers. He didn't respond. She leaned down to lay her cheek against his and whispered his name. "Brian, I'm here, honey. I love—love—love you." She kissed his cheek, his forehead. "Don't you leave me . . . I need you. We have things to do, places to go."
     Did his eyelids flicker? She couldn't be sure. "Christmas is almost here, and our new grand-baby's due any day—a girl this time. Won't it be wonderful to hold a baby again?" Merry pressed his fingers. "We have Little League games to go to, dance recitals—and don't forget the beach trip we planned!" They had already reserved a house for the whole family for a week in July. She couldn't imagine going there without him.
     In spite of his illness, he was a handsome man. Brian's thinning hair was more gray now than sandy, and the laugh lines were deeper around his eyes, but his mouth, even in repose, looked as if it might break into the familiar wide smile.
     He didn't. Merry sensed, more than saw, someone in the doorway behind her and turned to see her husband's nurse standing there. His name was Charles and he wore a green smock and a small gold ring in one ear. "He's holding his own," he said. "We're giving him the strongest antibiotic possible."
     His manner was kind, but she knew by the sound of his voice that there was nothing more they could do.
     "When will we know?" she asked.
     "If it's going to take hold we should know something by morning."
     Charles waited while Merry stroked her husband's forehead. "I'll be close by," she said, kissing him once again. "See you in the morning." She tried to sound positive, upbeat, but this time she was glad he couldn't see her face.
    "When can I see him again?" she asked Charles on her way out.
     "You'll hear the doors buzz open at six in the morning," he said, "then the doctors make their rounds around seven. Dr. Pierpont should be able to tell you something then." He smiled and touched her shoulder. "Try to get some sleep," he said as she hesitated at the door. Merry wondered if she would ever see her husband alive again.
     Seeing Merry's tears, Charles grasped her hand. "Hey, meningitis is treatable if we catch it in time—and he has one of the best neurologists around."
     If we catch it in time.
     A sweet-faced woman in the gray uniform of a hospital volunteer walked past, softly humming a carol: "Silent Night," Merry's favorite. At her smile Merry felt the tears well up and turned away. What good would tears do now?
     The nurse with the purple-rimmed glasses, whose last name, according to her badge, was Luther, showed her to the waiting room. "There's a telephone in here," she said, "and restrooms and snack machines just down the hall."
     The room was dark. Several people were asleep in recliners lining the walls. Others had shoved two chairs together to make a place to stretch out. In the light from the hallway Merry could barely make out an empty chair in the far corner and stumbled over legs and bundles to reach it. The luminescent dial of the clock on the wall said it was 11:43.
     The plastic cushion creaked as Merry sank into it and she let herself lean back and close her eyes. To her surprise the chair was comfortable and she spread her coat about her like a blanket and felt the gray leaden numbness seep from her middle into her head and limbs. But sleep wouldn't come. It was three days before Christmas, she was alone in a strange city, and she wasn't sure her husband was going to make it through the night.

Excerpt from the book THECHRISTMAS COTTAGE by Mignon Ballard
©2007 Mignon Ballard

To purchase from your local independent bookseller click here:

Purchase at amazon.com

Purchase at barnes&noble.com

Purchase at booksamillion.com:

Or you may order direct from Bella Rosa Books using PAYPAL.
$15.00 Includes shipping & handling worldwide.
Click the button below to begin the order process.

BOOKSELLERS:
All Bella Rosa Book titles are available through
Ingram, Baker & Taylor, Brodart Company, Book Wholesalers, Inc. (BWI),
The Book House, Inc., and Parnassus Book distributors.

Booksellers, Schools, and Libraries can also purchase
direct from Bella Rosa Books.
For quantity discounts contact sales@bellarosabooks.com .