By Liz Curtis Higgs
“A amazing tale of redemption and recovery that would hot your center in the course of the Christmas season—or any time of year!”
—Francine Rivers, best-selling writer of Redeeming Love
Wrapped in a cloud of steam, the engine rolled to a cease, the screech of steel opposed to steel filling the frosty air. Snow blew around the railway platform and round Meg’s calfskin strolling boots. the elements certainly used to be now not bettering.
She ordered tea with milk and sugar, eying the currant buns and candy mincemeat brownies displayed underneath a bell jar.
Later, might be, whilst her urge for food lower back. in the meanwhile her belly used to be twisted right into a knot.
“Anything else for you?” the cashier requested as she passed over the tea, steaming and fragrant.
Meg was once stunned to discover her arms trembling whilst she lifted the cup. “All i need is a secure trip home.”
“On an afternoon like this?” the round-faced lady exclaimed. “None however the Almighty can promise you that, lass.”
“A Wreath of Snow glows with heat, appeal, and charm. an excellent read.”
—BJ HOFF, writer of The Riverhaven Years series
Christmas Eve 1894
All Margaret Campbell desires for Christmas is a secure trip domestic. whilst her plans for a festive vacation along with her relatives in Stirling fall apart underneath the burden of her brother’s bitterness, the younger schoolteacher desires not anything greater than to come back to the scholars she loves and town residence she calls domestic.
Then an unforeseen detour locations her within the direction of Gordon Shaw, a good-looking newspaperman from Glasgow, who struggles lower than a burden of regret and disgrace.
whilst the key in their shared background is printed, will it depart them tangled in a knot of remorse? Or may their previous carry the threads that might bind their destiny together?
As hot as a woolen shawl on a chilly winter’s eve, A Wreath of Snow is a young tale of affection and forgiveness, wrapped in a party of all issues Scottish, all issues Victorian, and, in particular, all issues Christmas.
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Additional resources for A Wreath of Snow: A Victorian Christmas Novella
She tended them when they were sick. One, “Grandma Hettie,” had been retired for years, living in leisure and health, visited daily by Miriam before she died last year at the age of eighty-two. It seemed to Annie that their servants were better treated and cared for than the factory workers in the North, many of whom were immigrants, 39 paid next to nothing and then cut off and cast aside to starve in city slums once age or illness or injury made them useless to the rich factory owners and merchants.
The Rebel yell. The Union cavalry horses reared and bucked in reaction to the sound. Only a few of their riders managed to fire off shots before they, too, turned their mounts and fled, catching up with the soldiers running on foot. Crack-crack-crack. Little puffs of smoke popped atop the corn as whatever was hidden answered fire. Something glinted in speckles of hot silver. Sabers. The Southern cavalry was coming. “It’s our boys, Mother. ” BOOM-BOOM-BOOM. An ancient maple tree guarding the corner of Aunt Molly’s lawn sparked, lit up, and shattered, hurling shards and beam-sized pieces of wood into the air.
Annie paced, running her hands along the shelves that held dozens of canning jars filled with peaches and blackberry preserves. The apple crates were empty, awaiting the fall picking, but the sweet smell of dried apples still lingered from the winter. She thought of home and the wealth of stored food there, and couldn’t help but feel a little bit superior and sorry for her aunt and her cousins. They had to work so hard to scratch out a living. The soil around Manassas was poor and overtilled. Her uncle John had a good job as a supervisor in one of the nearby grain mills, but the garden and orchard they kept on 23 their thirty acres was small.