Mom, thats not at all how the Puritans saw it, Melody said.
No, Im afraid they werent at all accepting of others, and they certainly wouldnt appreciate anyone pointing out the fact that Easter came from Eostre, Jake said. Mrs. Tarleton, this stew is absolutely delicious. Thank you very kindly.
Oh, Mona said, enrapt with her guest. Thats so kind of you. Its just a Crock-Pot stew. Im so glad youre enjoying it! And Im fascinated with what youre saying, of course, because its just terrible to think of the wonderful and kind people who practiced old forms of medicine just to wind up burned at the stake in Europe and Scotland and hanged in England for witchcraft. They were often midwives, or people working with herbs, and as we all know now, many of the natural ingredients cured people.
Mom, Melody pointed out, just because something is natural, doesnt always mean that its good for you. Hemlock is natural.
Mona waved a hand in the air. My dear, youre missing the point.
What is the point? Keith asked, grinning.
Melody kicked him beneath the table again.
Ouch! Stop that, he told her.
What is going on there? George demanded.
She kicked me, Keith said.
Mother, hes being obnoxious, Melody said.
Children! We have a guest, Mona said, shaking her head. Honestly, George, how old are they now? How can this still be going on?
Mom, I know the point, and our college genius keeps missing it, Melody said. What matters is not always the truth, but rather, peoples perception of the truth. And fear is something that often sways our perceptions. When youre afraid, you may see something that is entirely innocent as something evil. And in the old days, science was often seen as evil, as well.
Was that a dig at me? Keith asked.
Never. Science is something wonderful, Melody said.
Melody stood. Jake jumped to his feet. Please, Jake, sit, youre a guest. Im just clearing the table so we can bring out the dessert, Melody said.
Keith stood, too. Mom, Melody and I will handle this. You sit for a change.
All right, thank you, Mona agreed.
Melody glared at Keith. He frowned, cocking his head. She hurried to the kitchen, carrying the used plates. When he had entered behind her and the connecting door had swung shut, she turned on him. Whats the matter with you? You just left Jake in there alone with Mom and Dad!
Jakes doing just fine. Hey, hes a cool crazy, Mel. I like him, Keith said.
Get back out there, Keith! Melody said, piling the plates in the sink to rinse for the dishwasher. Please, come on, please? Hey, Im the one who fought for you to keep Cleo, remember?
Hes not a cat, Mel, Keith said.
Get out there!
Going, goingIll grab the pie and plates. You bring the coffee.
All right, go. Oh, Keith?
Yeah?
Thanks.
He grinned. Her brother left with the fresh-baked blueberry pie Mona had made for dessert and a stack of plates. She quickly rinsed the dinner plates and put them in the dishwasher, then unplugged the coffeepot and headed into the dining room.
To her dismay, her brother was having some kind of exchange with her father; Jakes head was lowered and he was listening, fascinated, to her mother.
They all looked up when she arrived.
The cups are in the cabinet, dear. Do you want your old Disney mug? Forgive us, Mr. Mallory, Mona said. We all have our favorite cup. What would you like? Traditional, a mugor a Princess cup?
Any cup will do, thank you, Jake said.
Mona passed out mugs and poured the coffee while Melody served the pie.
Seen any good movies lately? George asked.
A piece of pie nearly slipped onto the table. Melodys gaze flew to Jake.
Im afraid Ive not seen anything I could recommend, sir, he said.
Ive got some DVDs up in my room Im going to show him, Keith said. Hey, I brought a documentary for you, too, Dad. Its on radio frequencies. Youre going to love it.
Wonderful, George told him.
Mona rose. Jake rose. She hesitated, and smiled. Its really all right, Jake. Please, Im just going to go get that diary that I found in the attic. I swear that that authors last name was Malloryand that her brothers first name was Jake. What a coincidence that would be if you were related! Of course, to be honest, throughout the centuries, who knows who is really related to whom? You know, people didnt always steer the course of the higher road.
What? Keith asked.
She means that women fooled around, so your father may not have been your father, Melody said.
Oh, dear, thats putting it so crassly, Mona protested, waving a hand in the air as she went to one of the bookcases.
This diary is amazing. I probably could sell it for a mint on eBay. Its authentic. And sad, reallyit doesnt have an ending. Ive been meaning to go to the hall of records, though, I believe, a lot was probably lost during the Revolution. And young men died in different places, so
Melody sank into her chair. Mona produced an old leather-bound book from a bookshelf.
Melody started to reach for it. Mona held back. Its extremely delicate, she said.
Id be honored to handle it quite gently, Jake said.
Mona opened the book. Serena Mallory wrote most of the diary here, in Gloucester. And it ends with her heading to New York City, aware that her brother had been captured and was about to be executed. The diary is absolutely charming. Theres so much of the day-today in itand so much about the feelings of the general public during the Stamp Act, and then the Boston Tea Party. She has all kinds of wonderful herbal recipes in thereand reference to the fact that she intends to use all her powers to save her brothers life. She paused, glancing up from the pages. Oh look, I remembered correctly. Serenas brothers name is Jake, too. Jake Mallory. What a pity there isnt an ending to the story!
Praise for the novels of Heather Graham
Home in Time for Christmas is one of those novels that really touches you.
You finish reading it and immediately want to start again just to relive the whole experience. Christmas truly is a time for miracles.
Dont miss your chance for a bunch of holiday smiles and a book you will want to reread every Christmas season.
Bookreporter
One of the most heartwarming novels I have read in a very long time.
Romance Readers Connection on
Home in Time for Christmas
Graham plays the storys supernatural angle for both chills and chuckles.
Ringo is the best ghost to come along in ages.
RT Book Reviews on Nightwalker
Graham peoples her novel with genuine, endearing characters.
Publishers Weekly on The Séance
An incredible storyteller.
Los Angeles Daily News
Solidly plotted and peppered with welcome hints of black humor.
And the endings all readers could hope for.
RT Book Reviews on The Last Noel
Heather Graham knows what readers want.
Publishers Weekly
HOME IN TIME FOR
CHRISTMAS
HEATHER
GRAHAM
www.mirabooks.co.uk
For Aaron Priest, Lucy Childs,
Lisa Erbach Vance, Nicole Kennedy
and John Richmond,
with all the very best wishes for the season,
however it may be celebrated!
Prologue A Winters Day
New York City
Christmastide, 1776
Perhaps it was fitting that it should be such a cold and bitter, yet stunning, day.
Jake Mallory took a minute to appreciate the awesome glory of the morning. The heavens were an extravagant shade of blue. Light puffs of soft white clouds were slipping by. The sun, a golden orb, was en route to a high point in the sky as the early hours of the morning defied the darkness of the passing night.
It was, indeed, a beautiful day.
A fine day to die.
They had all known it, known they might be called upon to die, all of them who agreed that the colonies must break from Mother Britain. All those who had set pen to paper and signed the Declaration of Independence. All those who had led the armies. All those who had fought.
And spied.
Not that spying had actually been his intent. He was a soldier. Well, he hadnt exactly wanted to be a soldier, either. Such an enterprise had not been his intent in life. He was a newspapermanor, at least, that was what he had intended to be. Writing was his passion. His home was the small town of Gloucester, but even there, as in all the surrounding towns, the talk had been about politics. About breaking away. Then, there had been the Boston Tea Party.
Blood had been spilled.
He believed deeply in the freedom and equality of man. That and, of course, the editorials he had written regarding the need for the colonies to break free, were what had brought him to stand here today. In the taverns of Boston he had gotten to know many a man handy with a pamphlet, such as John Adams, who in turn had introduced him to another JohnHancock. He had become involved with men to whom the written word was a weapon. And handling such a weapon
Had led to his carrying a different kind of weapon. Andquite sadly, reallyto getting caught.
Ah, there was the rub. Getting caught. Men far too old to be soldiers knew that they would hang if captured by the British, if their cause failed.
So here he was today.
Upon the scaffold.
Truly, such a deplorable state of affairs.
Ah, well. He had written well, and sewn rampant seeds of rebellion. He had taken to the field, running missions; he had picked up a gun, as well. He was guilty of sedition, so they said. Words on paper could shout loudly, and his had been heard, far and wide.
There was a precedent for his death. He wouldnt be the first to die here, hanged for his loyalty to a fledgling nation. Nathan Hale had died just a few months back. Hale had died heroically. Jake could only hope now that he could do the same.
Looking at the sky, one could almost pray for a miracle. There was such awe and wonder in the beauty of the sky. But there werent going to be any miracles. The British were firmly entrenched in the city. No sudden horde of rebels was suddenly going to break through the ranks of Lobsterbacks and save him. Nor was it likely that Hempton, the British major in charge of his fate, would find any way to suggest that they pardon their captive for the holiday.
The holiday
It was almost Christmas.
Well, he was a God-fearing man, so maybe that was a good thing. He didnt blame God for his fate. Things were what they were. It was a war, perhaps an ill-advised one, considering the might and power of the British war machine and the truly pathetic manpower and munitions of the Patriots. It was being fought on dreams and ideals. This morning, especially this morning, he had to keep believing in the dream. He had been in over his head, cast into a desperate position, and he had chosen the high road.
Of course, hed be a liar if he didnt admit that it was just a wee bit difficult not to regret that choice right now.
Sorry! Captain Tim Reginald said to him. The British officer charged with the duty of slipping the noose around his neck had chafed his cheek with the coarse rope. He swallowed hard, his Adams apple bobbing. Tim was a good enough fellow; theyd played cards together and shared a few drinks during the last days. He was young enough himself, a true Brit, following the way of the British army as his family would have him do. He was a man willing enough to fight for king and country, strong, intelligent and brave.
But executions were not his forte.
Quite all right, good friend, Jake said.
Poor Tim. A good man, yes. War was so strange. Men became enemies when they did not know one another. If he and Tim did not give their hearts, souls and loyalties to different drummers, they might have been good friends in truth.
It almost looked at if Tim would give way to tears. Ah, a good British officer could never do so. Friend, he said kindly to Tim, dont fear. I do not hold you responsible for my impending demise, nor does God above.
Tim swallowed hard, just appearing more ill.
He could hear the Anglican minister droning on in prayer, advising him to pray, as well.
Jake prayed.
Jake did not pray for a miracle.
He did not waste prayers on what could not be. God helped those who helped themselves.