Where the Last Rose Blooms (Heirloom Secrets) , livre ebook

Baker Publishing Group - Ashley Clark

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157 pages

English

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"Tender and true, this novel draws you in from the first page."--SUSAN MEISSNER, bestselling author of The Nature of Fragile ThingsAlice runs a New Orleans flower shop alongside her aunt, but thoughts of her mother, who went missing during Hurricane Katrina, are never far from her mind. After getting off on the wrong foot with a handsome yet irritating man who comes to her shop, Alice soon realizes their worlds overlap--and the answers they both seek can be found in the same place.In 1861 Charleston, Clara is known to be a rule follower--but the war has changed her. Unbeknownst to her father, who is heavily involved with the Confederacy, she is an abolitionist and is prepared to sacrifice everything for the cause. With assistance from a dashing Union spy, she attempts to help an enslaved woman reunite with her daughter. But things go very wrong when Clara agrees to aid the Northern cause by ferrying secret information about her father's associates.Faced with the unknown, both women will have to dig deep to let their courage bloom.Praise for Heirloom Secrets"Readers will be enchanted by Ashley's authentic portrayal of Charleston and its rich history and beautiful charm."--AMANDA DYKES, author of the 2020 Christy Book of the Year, Whose Waves These Are"This book moves seamlessly between timelines, stitching together a story of love, hope, and courage amidst prejudice and loss."--HISTORICAL NOVELS REVIEW

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Publié par	Baker Publishing Group
Date de parution	01 février 2022
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781493436118
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	2 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0384€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Half Title Page
Books by Ashley Clark
The Dress Shop on King Street
Paint and Nectar
Where the Last Rose Blooms
Title Page
Copyright Page
© 2022 by Ashley Clark
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Minneapolis, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2022
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4934-3611-8
Unless otherwise noted, Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
Scripture quotations labeled NIV are from THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
This is a work of historical reconstruction; the appearance of certain historical figures are therefore inevitable. All other characters, however, are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Cover design by Kathleen Lynch / Black Kat Design
Cover image by Lee Avison / Arcangel
Author is represented by Spencerhill Associates
Baker Publishing Group publications use paper produced from sustainable forestry practices and post-consumer waste whenever possible.
Dedication
To Amy Norton— a precious friend in every season.
Contents
Cover
Half Title Page
Books by Ashley Clark
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
A Note on Historical Accuracy
A Note to Readers
Book Club Questions
Acknowledgments
An Excerpt from another book in the H EIRLOOM S ECRETS series
About the Author
Back Ads
Back Cover
Epigraph
We went through fire and water, but you brought us to a place of abundance.
—Psalm 66:12b NIV
Prologue
Charleston, 1860
Ashle y
Mama thought I was asleep the night ’fore I was sold. I wasn’t. I was looking at the patterns of the shadows on the wall, but she couldn’t see my eyes from where she sat.
That was a year ago now. Well, roundabouts. Maybe half a year. Guess I don’t know the day, just that it was fall and still warm outside, and summer seem like it was gonna take forever to get here.
Not a minute goes by, I’m not thinkin’ about her. I’ll never forget what she said when she put my best dress inside the satchel, along with some pecans and a braid of her hair.
“It be filled with my love always,” she said, and when Mama said always she meant it. Problem was, always wasn’t ours to give.
She put her favorite buttons inside the satchel too. Those butterfly buttons I had always loved. But the buttons fell out when the men took me. And I saw that look in Mama’s eyes—tryin’ to tell me she gonna find me and bring the buttons with her. I just know she will. And I remind myself of that look every night when I close my eyes.
Only she’d better hurry. Because the dress Mama gave me ain’t gonna fit much longer.
One
New Orleans, Modern Day
Alice
Alice always had loved flowers.
There was something about the blend of colors, the hidden roots, the twisting petals as they unfurled in the sun one by one. A symbol of femininity—how that which is delicate can also be strong.
Whiskey in a teacup , as her aunt always said. Well, her aunt and Reese Witherspoon, but honestly, Aunt Charlotte had been saying that way back when Reese was still filming Sweet Home Alabama .
Alice swept petals from the floor, beautiful yet fragmented evidence of the fullness the day had brought. She’d been running The Prickly Rose, a customizable bouquet shop on Magazine Street, alongside her aunt for several years now, and Valentine’s Day always left plenty of cast-off remnants.
She was sweeping the last of the petals into the dustpan when she heard a knock at the door. A quick glance at the clock confirmed they were a quarter past closing time, and if she didn’t leave now, she would be late for her date.
Not that she was particularly excited about a blind double date on Valentine’s Day, but her friend Harper had insisted, so she’d acquiesced.
Still, it was the principle of the thing. No self-respecting person thought so little of his date that he’d buy flowers at closing time. Let alone fifteen minutes after.
Alice was just about to check the bolt on the door when her aunt buzzed past, placing a hand on each side of her own face to get a better look through the wrought iron. She glanced at Alice over her shoulder. “He’s handsome.”
Alice stepped down to open the trash can, then dumped the petals. “They always are.”
Aunt Charlotte turned to face her. “But this one looks like a young Clooney.”
“I don’t care if he looks like Milo Ventimiglia.” Okay, that was an exaggeration. But her aunt probably didn’t even know who Milo was, so she wasn’t too concerned about the woman calling her bluff. Alice tapped one stubborn petal until it fell into the trash. “We’re closed.”
Aunt Charlotte hurried closer, glancing behind her as though he could hear them. “But the poor boy needs flowers. It’s Valentine’s Day, Alice. Couldn’t you have a little heart?”
“I see what you did there with the pun.” Alice planted her hands at the hips of her knee-length skirt. “But the answer is no. I cannot. He can abide by the store hours just like everyone else managed to.”
“I didn’t want to have to do this . . .” But before Aunt Charlotte could finish the words, she began racing toward the door.
Alice followed two steps behind but did manage to slam her hand on the door before her aunt could shimmy it open. “What are you, four years old?” she whispered. “He’s probably seen us through the door.”
“And whose fault is that, hmm?” Aunt Charlotte peeled Alice’s hand from off the doorway.
Alice balked. “Why, I have never—”
But Aunt Charlotte was already busy opening the door. She smiled a warning sort of grin at Alice. “What if it is Clooney?” she whispered. Her eyes went wide.
“You think everyone is Clooney,” Alice murmured as the man stepped inside. She managed a smile despite his tardiness because, after all, she was just the kind of person to be polite.
The bell at the front of the shop jingled as he entered.
Definitely not Milo, but—dare she say it—even more attractive.
He was tall and seemed even taller because of the way his presence filled the room. His smile revealed straight teeth, his jaw was strong but not sharp, and his shoulders, broad. He wore a relaxed T-shirt over properly fitting jeans, and faintly smelled of cedarwood.
He had on trendy tennis shoes that made him look ready to run . . . both literally and figuratively.
But despite his obvious appeal, he was a customer . And it was well past closing time. At this point, Alice was so exhausted that Clooney really could’ve walked into the shop, and she would’ve pointed to the Closed sign.
“How may I help you?”
One strand of the man’s trimmed brown hair fell askew as he looked at her.
Their gazes locked, and Alice caught herself drawn in by a blend of curiosity and attraction. His eyes were the color of sea glass and the wild waves that made it strong.
Alice blinked, her mind foggy with the memory of waves.
After the slightest moment’s pause, he pulled out his wallet. “I need some red roses.”
Alice frowned. She looked at Aunt Charlotte, then back at the man.
“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Alice said matter-of-factly.
He set his debit card on the counter and pushed it forward, as if the gesture would make a difference. “I am aware of that. Which is why I need them.”
Her aunt smiled sweetly, ready to accommodate him, but Alice wouldn’t be so easily swayed. She didn’t like his bullying tone, and handed the card back to him.
“We’re all out,” Alice said.
The man rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll take pink, then.”
“Out of those too.”
“White?”
Alice leaned forward, her elbows on the counter. “I’m sorry. Nope.”
The man sighed as he looked straight into her eyes once more, clearly not used to hearing the word no . He pocketed his hands. “Let me put it this way. What do you have?”
Alice kneeled beneath the register and chose another arrangement to set up on the counter.
The man touched the whimsical array of baby’s breath, berries, dried cotton, and pine cones as though it were a prickly cactus. He tapped the glass with his finger. “This is a mason jar.”
Alice cleared her throat. “It’s an antique. That’s something we pride ourselves in here at The Prickly Rose—no two of our items are identical.” She wouldn’t mention the flowers were two days old and half-off because the petals had begun to droop. That’s what he got for waiting until the last minute.
“This is stuff you could find in your backyard.”
Had he heard anything she’d just said?
“It’s organic.” She swallowed to fight the tide in his eyes, hating the amount of willpower it took to do that.
“I cannot bring her a jar of berries and squirrel seeds. I’m trying to leave a good impression here.”
I hope for your sake your impression on her is better than the one you’ve left on me.
“Sorry we can’t be of greater help.” Alice shrugged, thankful to soon be rid of him. Sometimes these after-store-hours customers could be equally insensitive to overstaying their welcome. “You’ve caught us after closing time, so it’s pretty picked over.”
He turned to the door with a wave over his shoulder. “Thanks anyway,” he mumbled, on the very edge of rudeness.
But as the bell above the door chimed, Alice realized her aunt was smiling a dangerous sort of smile.
“Well, he