By Marie Bostwick
Marie Bostwick weaves the unforgettable tale of 4 very various ladies whose paths move, altering their lives eternally . . . it is a good distance from castle worthy, Texas, to New Bern, Connecticut, but it basically takes an afternoon within the fascinating Yankee city to make Evelyn Dixon become aware of she's came across her new domestic. The abrupt finish of her marriage used to be Evelyn's warning call to get busy chasing her dream of commencing a cover store. discovering a storefront is simple adequate; beginning a brand new existence isn't really. Little does Evelyn think it's going to deliver a trio like Abigail Burgess, her niece Liza, and Margot Matthews via her door . . . bothered and offended after her mother's demise, Liza threatens to embarrass her Aunt Abigail all over the place city except she joins her for quilting periods. A sufferer of downsizing on the top of her occupation, Margot hopes an occasion hosted by way of the cover store can be a nice likelihood to network-and retain from demise of boredom . . . As they sew their certain creations, Evelyn, Abigail, Liza, and Margot shape a sisterhood they by no means sought-but one who they are going to be thankful for while the unforeseen offers a poignant reminder of the one thread that binds us all . . . compliment for the Novels of Marie Bostwick Fields of Gold "A touching story"-Patricia Gaffney "Gripping, heartwarming"-Dorothy Garlock On Wings of the Morning "Will set your middle to hovering" -Debbie Macomber
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He asked. ” “I did. Meet me at the courthouse in seven minutes. At the side entrance. I don’t want anyone to see us come in. ” I was in luck. The judge was Harry Gulden. He and my late husband, Woolly, were college roommates. I’ve known Harry and his wife, Judy, for years. He agreed to hear Liza’s case in his chambers. This is one of the advantages of living in a small town. When people know you personally, they’re more willing to put aside strict formalities and procedures that could serve no purpose but causing you embarrassment.
And it’s a nice place you’ve got here. Small. ” I looked around at the apartment and sighed. “Small” was the word, all right—just one bedroom and bath with a tiny closet, and this room, the living-sewing-dining-kitchen area. But it had a real woodburning ﬁreplace, which I’d always wanted but never had, exposed brick walls, the perfect backdrop to display my favorite quilts, and two tall windows that let in plenty of sunlight and looked out onto the cobbled courtyard. There was just enough room for everything I needed: my sofa, the easy chair with my standing quilt hoop, a scarred oak table and four chairs I’d found in one of the antique stores, and, most importantly, my sewing machine and cutting table, tucked neatly into a well-lit corner.
But if you’re ever going to make anything of yourself in the restaurant business, Jason, you’ve got to grow a spine. Get this lady a ginger ale. And a glass of chardonnay while you’re at it, on the house. She’s going to need it. ” He marched off, jaw set and eyes steely, ready to do battle with the kitchen king. Within a minute, Jason was back, carefully balancing two glasses on his serving tray. “Oh,” I said, gesturing toward the wine glass, “I don’t need this. ” “Maybe,” he said, putting both glasses on the table, “but you can’t always tell if Charlie is joking or not.