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    Carnations in January
    Carnations in January
    Carnations in January
    Ebook148 pages1 hour

    Carnations in January

    By Clare Revell

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    About this ebook

    After Grace Chadwick receives a surprise inheritance from her aunt—a house and a florist shop—she moves in after the funeral. While she doesn't know the first thing about flowers, she sees this an answer to her prayers—the new start she desperately needs. When Elliot Wallac drops by his new neighbor's house with casserole, he finds the house next door has problems. Damp walls and a sagging floor set his builders senses on alert. But this house needs more than a cosmetic fix, inspection reveals more extensive issues. Like Grace's spiritual life, the house is suffering from neglect at the very foundation. With God's guidance can Elliot help Grace repair her home and her faith before both are condemned?
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPelican Book Group
    Release dateDec 11, 2015
    ISBN9781611164725
    Carnations in January

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      Book preview

      Carnations in January - Clare Revell

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      Carnations in January

      Clare Revell

      This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

      Carnations in January

      COPYRIGHT 2015 by Clare Revell

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Pelican Ventures, LLC except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

      eBook editions are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. eBooks may not be re-sold, copied or given to other people. If you would like to share an eBook edition, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.

      Contact Information: titleadmin@pelicanbookgroup.com

      All scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version(R), NIV(R), Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com

      Cover Art by Artist

      White Rose Publishing, a division of Pelican Ventures, LLC

      www.pelicanbookgroup.com PO Box 1738 *Aztec, NM * 87410

      White Rose Publishing Circle and Rosebud logo is a trademark of Pelican Ventures, LLC

      Publishing History

      First White Rose Edition, 2015

      Electronic Edition ISBN 978-1-61116-472-5

      Published in the United States of America

      Dedication

      For Patricia Johns, a fellow awesome author.

      What People are Saying

      Tuesday's Child

      Clare Revell...puts the EEP in creepy! Tuesday's Child has it all--deaf heroine, cop hero, orphaned child, and terrifying killer. This book kept me reading late into the night (with the doors locked and the brightest light on!). ~B. Norris (Amazon review)

      Thursdays Child This is the best one yet. What a great story! Ms. Revell keeps you on the edge of your seat either emotionally or in suspense throughout the story. Every emotional tug between Jared and Niamh will pull at your heartstrings. Your heart will break for them, hoping she will recover fully and he can reclaim her heart.

      The suspense, the mystery, the danger — it’s all as hot as the worst fire he battles. You won’t want to put this one down! Oh, and keep those tissues handy. ~ Donna B Snow

      Carnations in January shake the foundations,

      Violets in February are an aid to salvation,

      Daffodils in March bring betrayal and loss,

      Sweet peas in April consume all the dross,

      Lily of the Valley in May brings danger untold,

      Roses in June show a heart filled with gold,

      Water lilies in July a town will submerge,

      Gladioli in August love from the ash will emerge,

      Forget-me-nots in September are on the front line of fear,

      Marigolds in October will test her career,

      Mums in November show the burden of choice,

      Holly in December lets a family rejoice.

      1

      But everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell with a great crash. ~ Matthew 7:26-27

      It was raining. Grace Chadwick sighed. It had seemed to do nothing else since the phone call came. Even the weather was in mourning.

      The constant rain, which had lasted the entire funeral, had at least eased to a drizzle as she left the church hall. There was nothing sadder than a funeral in the rain. Especially at the graveside burial, where water thudded against black umbrellas, almost drowning out the pastor’s words.

      The tarmac shone like silver where street light hit puddles of the chill, saturnine December rain water, as Grace walked across the car park with her parents, her brother, Rick, and sister, Faith.

      A pool of oil lay on top of the largest puddle, its rainbow out of place in the grey, wet murk surrounding it. Stepping into the puddle, she watched as the rainbow twisted, fractured and vanished. Quite apt. Hope, her baby sister, had run away nine years ago, leaving her family torn apart by shattered dreams and fractured rainbows, as four siblings became three.

      Ironic, if she thought about it, the way losing Hope had destroyed them. No one had been the same since—just as they’d never be the same again now.

      She took a deep breath.

      Yes, she’d lost her favorite aunt, but the way she was thinking made it sound like the loss was a husband or boyfriend. Or even that they’d just buried Hope—although in some ways that would be a relief as at least they’d know what happened.

      Aunt Tilja, her father’s oldest sister, was the last of her aunts. The only family members she had left were walking with her, her brother and sister by her side, her mother and father lagging behind. Her aunt died on December twentieth. Holding the funeral during the week between Christmas and the New Year seemed to make the occasion even more somber, but there was no point putting off the service.

      Aunt Tilja was the one person who’d listened to her. The one person she could rely on who would be there for her. The only person…and now, she was gone.

      Faith squeezed her arm as they reached the cars. Are you sure you don’t want us to come back to the house with you?

      Grace nodded. This was something she had to do alone in case she broke down again. Make that when she broke down, and she didn’t need another audience for that. She hugged her sister tightly. Yes, I’m sure. You guys have a long drive home. Never mind the fact that both you and Rick have to work in the morning. I’ll be fine. I promise.

      OK, if you’re sure. Faith didn’t look convinced as she returned the embrace as best she could with her arm in a sling.

      I’m sure. Now was not the time but she couldn’t bear to lose anyone else, and Faith’s boyfriend was dangerous. Faith, promise me you’ll leave Damien. He’ll only hurt you again. She whispered low only for her sister and brother’s ears.

      Faith bit her lip. I can’t leave him, you know that. But, to coin a phrase, I’ll be fine. I promise.

      Grace turned to her brother in desperation. Rick, you’re a cop. Can’t you do something?

      Rick shook his head. Unless she presses charges, which she won’t, there’s nothing I can do. You know that I’d have to catch him in the act, and either he’s far too clever for that or these are, indeed, accidents.

      Grace sighed and turned to her parents. I’ll keep in touch. And I’ll ring either New Year’s Eve or New Year’s Day.

      Several hugs and love yous later, Grace stood in the rain and waved as the car drove away. She opened her bag and rummaged for her keys on the way to her vehicle. Hmmm, they weren’t where she usually put them. She dumped the bag on the bonnet of the car and, heedless of the wet surface, emptied out the contents. No keys.

      She pushed a hand through her long hair, which from the reflection in the windows, now resembled dark rat’s tails more than the soft, pale brown curls she’d spent ages doing that morning.

      Now what? She turned, but her parents’ car was out of sight. She rummaged for her phone...but could see it was in the passenger seat of her car. Everyone had left. She was alone, with no way of getting across town, other than calling a taxi. And even if she did, the house keys were on the same key ring as the car keys. While that had been such a good idea at the time—only having the one set of keys to worry about—it now seemed not so good in hindsight. She shoved everything back into her bag.

      Breaking into her new home had not been on the agenda that morning, but it didn’t look as if she had an alternative.

      Excuse me. A very deep, almost chocolate smooth male voice spoke behind her. Are these keys yours?

      Grace turned.

      She raised her eyes from chest level, up past the black suit and tie, into the bluest eyes she’d ever had the good fortune to look into. Carelessly brushed brown hair framed his face. Her breath caught in her throat, while her mind screamed wow over and over.

      Then she caught herself and anger briefly flared. This was her aunt’s funeral. She was here to grieve and say goodbye, not to ogle up the local men. Especially when she wasn’t interested in anyone. Her new start definitely did not include a relationship. She was single and that was the way she’d stay.

      These were on the floor in the church hall. He held out a set of keys.

      Grace recognized the personalized GR4CE keychain hanging on them. Yes, they are mine, thank you.

      His eyes sparkled as he handed the keys over. You’re welcome. His hand stayed extended. Elliott Wallac. I’m one of the church members.

      She shook his hand. His touch was warm, but his hands were a little rougher than she expected. Grace Chadwick.

      I’m really sorry for your loss. Your aunt was a great lady and a good friend.

      Her eyes blurred, and she blinked hard. She’d cried enough today and really didn’t want to cry anymore, especially in front of someone she’d only just been introduced to. She was. I’m going to miss her.

      We all will. His phone rang. Excuse me. It was nice to have met you.

      And you. Grace unlocked the car and began the three-mile drive from the church to Aunt Tilja’s house.

      Her house, she corrected.

      She still wasn’t sure why Aunt Tilja had left the house, shop, and all the contents solely to her in the will.

      Carnation Street Florist, named after the road on which it was situated, sold flowers for all occasions, including by post. Grace had taken a six-month sabbatical from the accountancy job she hated to take over the florist. If things worked out in Headley Cross, she’d hand in her notice.

      This was intended to be the new start she’d wanted. A chance to be her own boss. After all, at thirty it was a long time coming, but she wanted to do something useful with her life. The problem was, however, she knew nothing about flowers—whether growing

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