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Avalee's Gift
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Table of Contents
Excerpt
Praise for Linda Apple
Avalee’s Gift
Copyright
Dedication
Dear Readers,
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Epilogue
Miss Cladie’s Fried Green Tomatoes
Molly Kate’s Cheese Straws
Molly Kate’s Orange Rolls
Lexi’s Chocolate Espresso Martini
A word about the author…
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Occasionally, vivid red cardinals sang out,
cheer, cheer, cheer, from evergreen boughs blanketed in white. When we walked through the gate, I marveled at the scene before me. The park looked enchanted. The swings, slides, and the grounds were sparkling and pristine. So much so, I hated marring the surface. We brushed off the seats and sat on the rubber slings. Rocking back and forth, I enjoyed the moment.
“Avalee?” Ty turned his swing around toward me. “Remember the morning I carried you across the swinging bridge over Moon Creek?”
“Remember? I still have nightmares.” I didn’t mention the other dreams of desire related to that particular day while suspended thirty feet in the air.
“Don’t I know it? You nearly strangled me holding on so hard.” Snow laced his beanie and caught on his ridiculously long lashes. I swear, Mother Nature did prefer her boys. No woman I knew had lashes like that unless they were fake. “But when I realized you actually were afraid of heights, I was sorry for putting you in that position. That’s when I knew I wanted to protect you and care for you the rest of my life.” He leaned forward and kissed my nose. “I already knew that I loved you.”
“It was then I realized I had fallen in love with you, Tyler Jackson.”
He reached into his pocket. “We aren’t on the swinging bridge, so these swings will have to symbolize that day.” Ty held up a small red satin box and opened it. Nestled in black velvet was a ring sparkling with diamonds.
Praise for Linda Apple
“Linda Apple’s writing style is charming and down to earth. Her books are well written and heart touching.”
~Jodi Thomas, New York Times and USA Today
Best Selling Author
Avalee’s Gift
by
Linda Apple
Moonlight Mississippi Series, Book 2
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either 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.
Avalee’s Gift
COPYRIGHT © 2017 by Linda Apple
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by RJ Morris
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Mainstream Women’s Fiction Rose Edition, 2017
Print ISBN 978-1-5092-1307-8
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1308-5
Moonlight Mississippi Series, Book 2
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
For my mother, Freddie Mae Diehl,
who taught me to be a southern lady
and whose personality inspired
many of the characters in my book.
Dear Readers,
After Women of Washington Avenue was published, many of you expressed the desire to know more about each of the women in my novel. Therefore, I decided to create the Moonlight Mississippi Series. Avalee, Lexi, Jema, and Molly Kate will each get their own book. But you won’t miss out hearing from all the ladies in each book because, as we say in the south, they are always up in each other’s business.
I had one reader comment, “There is a lot of eating and drinking in your book.” My answer was simply, “Yep. That’s what we do.” You see, in the south, food is our elixir for everything. If you’re sad, we will comfort you with food. Sick? We will feed you. Lonely? Food’s on the way. Angry? Eat and you will feel better. Happy? Let’s eat! Holiday or special event? Let’s celebrate with food. And as far as drinking goes, well, we do enjoy our nip on the porch and with friends.
Many of you have requested recipes for the dishes mentioned in Women of Washington Avenue. Therefore, in the back of Avalee’s Gift are the four most requested recipes from the book.
In Avalee’s Gift, we pick up the week after Ty proposed to Avalee at Molly Kate and Stan’s wedding reception. All the girls plan and pull off a quick and fabulous wedding for Jema. But when it is Avalee and Ty’s turn, as the old saying goes, life has other plans.
I hope you enjoy Avalee’s Gift. I love hearing from my readers and as you can see, I listen to you. Please feel free to email me at [email protected].
Magnolia blooms, sweet tea, and porch swing blessings to you all!
~Linda
Prologue
Life is truly strange—both unfair and beyond generous.
~Avalee Preston
After Marc Jackson proposed, I wasted no time buying the perfect wedding gown.
I never wore that dress.
We set the date for the week after we graduated. I know, it was crazy to set the dates so close, but after a short—very short—honeymoon, Marc was to start medical school and I had to find a job.
We finished our final exams at Ole Miss and were preparing for our graduation ceremony and the wedding. Life was crazy-busy, but I kept up with the pace. That is, until my suspicions brought everything to a jolting halt.
I thought I was pregnant.
You have no idea how much I dreaded telling him. Sure, we wanted children, but not until he finished school and had a practice. Even so, I had to admit, when I thought about the possibility, I couldn’t help but run my hand over my stomach and smile.
I planned to take a test the following morning and not say anything until I knew for sure. But when Marc came to my sorority house after his frat brothers threw him a bachelor party, I changed my mind. He was in such a good mood—and pretty inebriated—so I decided to take a chance at his understanding. Maybe, he might even be happy?
I led him to a private area in the sorority house common room. It was a walled off, quiet nook. My sorority sisters and I used the area to study when there was too much distraction in our suites.
“Marc,” my voice barely registered a whisper, “I have something to tell you.”
He flopped down in an overstuffed floral chintz chair and pulled me onto his lap. “What, doll?” The smell of whiskey on his breath hovered around my face like a fog.
“I think I’m pregnant.”
“Take care of it? What are you saying?” Of course, I had a pretty good idea.
“You know…get rid of it.” He pressed his booze-pickled lips against my neck. He must have felt me stiffen because he pulled back and looked me in the eyes. “Hey, babe, we can have a kid, I promise. But later, when it’s more convenient.”
Get rid of it? Have a kid? Convenient? I glared at him noting the alcohol induced flush on his skin. For an instant, I despised him. “Absolutely not.” I vaulted to my feet. “We won’t get rid of it. A child is not a piece of trash.”
Marc’s mood turned from jovial to frustration in a nanosecond. “Avalee, now isn’t the time to be parents. I’ll be in school, and you’ll be working. You have to think about this logically. It wouldn’t be fair to the kid. We’ll be too busy.”
“Then I suppose we will be too busy for each other, too?’
He furrowed his brow and stood rather unsteadily. His voice grew hard and loud by degrees. “Don’t take that tone with me, A. You know what I meant.”
There is no need to go into detail about the conversation from that point, only to say it deteriorated into a screaming match. My sorority sisters peeked around the corner then quickly shrank back. Thank goodness our housemother wasn’t around. The argument came to an abrupt end when he blurted out, “Mother was right when she warned me about you. She said I should have never proposed, because you’d be nothing but a distraction. Now you’re knocked up just when I’m about to start med school.”
His confession shocked me silent. In a cold, calmer voice, he leveled his gaze at me. “We are through, Avalee.”
Tears gathered in my eyes. This couldn’t be happening. Marc speared the air with his finger. “One more thing. If you decide to keep it, don’t expect anything out of me. I’ll pay to get rid of it, but I’m not paying any kind of child support. Just try and say it’s mine, I’ll swear you are lying.”
His words were like hot needles piercing my heart. How could he?
I tugged my ring. “Get out. Go home to your momma. Maybe she will stick this diamond pacifier in your mouth to suck when she tucks you in at night.” I yanked the solitaire off my finger and threw it in his face.
He snatched it from the floor, stuck it in his pocket, and stormed out. I followed him as far as the door and watched him stumble to his car, yank the door open, then fall onto the front seat. His screeching tires sent up a plume of smoke as he sped away.
All night, I replayed our fight in my mind. He couldn’t have meant what he had said. He was drunk. He was frightened. This had not been in his plans. It was something he couldn’t control which made him angry. Surely, he’d sober up and think logically. He wasn’t the kind of guy who would throw a life in the trash because it was inconvenient.
After hours of tossing in my bed, I threw the blankets off and went to the window. Wisps of dark clouds slipped by in front and behind the pearl moon. The thin thread of dawn divided earth from sky. I touched the pane with my fingers. “Oh, Marc. Call me and say you love me. Tell me how sorry you are and say we can keep our child, if there is one.”
A soft rap sounded on my door. Marc? I threw it open only to see my housemother hugging her chenille robe.
“Avalee, honey, you have a call.”
By her frown, I suspected it was Marc and she was none too happy to be getting a call at this hour of the morning.
“Who is it?”
Her frown smoothed into compassion. “Someone from the Jackson family.”
“Marc?” I hurried past her, ran down two flights of stairs, and grabbed the receiver in the common room. “Hello?”
“Avalee. This is Mr. Jackson, Marc’s father.” His voice was tight and low. “I’ll get right to the point. Marc is dead.”
“Wha…” I sank to the floor. “No.” I glanced at my finger, still indented where my engagement ring had been just hours before. “No, no, no, no…” The room blurred and hot tears ran down my face. “What happened?”
“The officers said he missed a curve and ran into a tree at a high rate of speed.” He paused. “I suppose you should come home as soon as it is…” His voice broke. “Convenient.”
A click sounded, but I continued to hold the phone to my ear listening to the disconnect hum in stunned silence.
“Sugar?” The housemother took the phone from my hand. “I’ve called your parents. They will be here soon.” She helped me to my feet. “Now go pack your things, honey.”
The days before the funeral blurred into each other. Voices, faces, soft touches, filled my days. During the visitation, Marc’s parents guarded his casket like sentinels. Whenever I came close, I picked up on their air of hostility, which confused me. Had he found a pay phone and told them about our argument, about my suspicions, before he wrecked his car? Tyler, Marc’s little brother, sat alone on a pew. The Jacksons didn’t even seem aware their youngest son was in the room. The loneliness and despair on that ten-year-old’s face broke my heart and fed my guilt.
There was no baby.
None of this would have happened if I had kept my mouth shut.
The morning of the service, I asked Pastor Dixon to unlock the church early so I could be alone with Marc without his parents’ laser glares following my every move. I stood alone in the front of the sanctuary. The polished cherry wood casket glowed under the soft light. Thick silence enshrouded me as I crept forward. With trembling hands, I opened the lid. He appeared as if he were simply asleep. No cuts or bruises. I brushed my fingers across his cold, waxy face while hot tears ran down my cheeks and dripped onto his coat lapel.
“Marc,” I swallowed and whispered. “I’m so, so sorry. I’m not pregnant after all. The doctor told me sometimes a woman’s cycle is thrown off by stress. And Lord knows we were burning the candle at both ends.”
I studied his still form before an emotional tsunami washed over me and my words rushed into each other. “Baby, you didn’t have to die. This was all my fault. I should have waited until I knew for sure if I was pregnant before I spoke with you. I should have known better than to try to reason with you while you were drunk. If only I’d done things differently we would be getting married instead of having your funeral.”
Clinging to the sides of the casket, I broke down. My legs grew weak and rubbery. I needed to sit. Before closing the lid, I kissed his unyielding cheek. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”
For a few moments, I sat on the pew and tried to gather myself. Today would be a long one. But I’d said my piece, for whatever good it did. Standing, I cast a last glance at the casket then left the church.
It seemed everyone from town showed up for his funeral. Pastor Dixon conducted the service with compassion and hope. I felt better than I had in days. Afterward, at the graveside, I hoped to have one last private moment with Marc. The crowd lingered, much to my chagrin, but finally started to thin. Eventually only Marc’s parents, his brother, and I remained. My impatience for them to leave, made me tense and on edge. Across the cemetery lawn, Mrs. Jackson turned her ice-blue gaze toward me. I felt pierced with white-hot anger. I wasn’t the only one on edge. She strode toward me stopping just inches from my face and held up her pinky.
“Avalee Preston, why was this in his pocket?”
I had to step back to see what she had on it. My engagement ring? Guilt bled through me, and I stammered, “We had…words.”
Seeing my ring brought back memories of that awful confrontation. I bit my bottom lip to hold back the surging grief threatening to explode.
Her expression steeled. “So, because of your childish tantrum, my son is dead?” She shook from the effort to control her rage.
Mr. Jackson eased up beside her and put his arm around her shoulder
s. “Come on. Let’s go home.” He glowered at me, shook his head, and nudged his wife to turn away.
“This thing is cursed.” She flung my ring across the cemetery lawn. Stunned, I watched them walk toward the waiting limousine.
Tyler ran across the lawn. Soon he returned. “Avalee?” He held up my ring. “Momma didn’t mean it. She’s just sad.”
I looked into his beautiful brown eyes fringed with thick lashes. They were windows into his deep sorrow. “Thank you, sweetie.”
“Are you sad, too?”
“Yes. Very sad.”
He hung his head. “Me, too.”
“Tyler Jackson.” Mrs. Jackson stood beside the limo with clenched fists. “Get in this car.”
“You better go, hon.” I patted his shoulder. “Thank you for finding my ring.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Tyler.” Mrs. Jackson stabbed the open doorway with her finger. “Now.”
He gave me a tiny wave and jogged toward his parents. I turned my back to them and waited until the sound of the car faded.
Slipping the ring back on my finger, I placed my left hand on the casket and rested my head on it. “Please, please, forgive me.”
A warm breeze brushed my hair against my face causing it to cling to the dampness on my cheeks. I smoothed my hair away and stared off at the graves. It was so quiet—an anomaly—peaceful and yet sorrowful. In a nearby tree, a robin broke out in song. Peek, peek, tut, tut, tut. How odd for such a joyful song to be sung on such a mournful day. I kissed my finger and pressed it onto the cherry wood then turned to leave with the heaviness of knowing it was too late. Marc would never be able to forgive me. And I would never be able to forgive myself.
The following three days, I canceled all the wedding arrangements. Explaining the situation to venders over and over left me drained and depressed. There was no way I could endure a graduation ceremony. Instead, I sold my ring, packed my bags, and fled to New York City where I could get lost in the crowd and hopefully find a successful career. And that is exactly what happened. Having been raised by generations of florists, I started in floral design for high-end clients. This led to me writing books on floral arrangement, herbal creations, and landscape tips, which led to speaking opportunities at floral events all over the world.
Avalee's Gift
Women of Washington Avenue