Back in my youth, my Mom always called this holiday
Armistice Day. She spoke the words with reverence as if they were meaningful,
even sacred. I’ll admit, I never thought to wonder why. To me it was just
Veteran’s Day and—ignorant child that I was—mainly meant a day off from school.
My Mom, born and raised in the Republic of Newfoundland
before it became part of Canada, carried with her the remembrance of truths
that would only become apparent to me later in life—the significance of what
took place at the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of that eleventh month,
when an armistice was signed ending the war meant to end all wars.
The famed Royal Newfoundland Regiment bled heavily and paid
a daunting price during the First World War, sustaining wounds that still
impact hearts today. At Bowring Park in
St. John’s, there’s a statue of a caribou—symbol of the regiment—that stands in
proud tribute. But can any statue, however bright, match the courage of those
boys—many so young they’d lied about their ages in order to sign up—who answered
the call of honor at the battle of Beaumont Hamel and paid with their lives?
Now every year on November 11th, the words of my
Mom—who’s long lost to me—echo in my mind, solemn and magical. Armistice Day. We speak often of the
gratitude due our veterans because, sadly, that great conflict early in the
twentieth century did not end war. People still gather their courage just like
those Newfoundland boys who died in their hundreds, and step from figurative
trenches to do what we would not wish to, facing incredible, insidious and
impossible dangers.
For what am I grateful today? Even though I’m an author,
words cannot begin to express.
Can an old, sweet song teach them the true meaning
of love?
BLURB:
Brendan O’Rourke hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep since he
arrived back at the family home in St. John’s, Newfoundland. The famed Celtic
fiddler’s being haunted by the ghost of his great-grandfather, Charlie, who’s
bent on keeping Brendan from ruining his life with the same selfish choice he
made between music and the woman he loved.
Grace Dawe was finished with Brendan O’Rourke eight years ago when he chose music over their relationship. So why can’t she look at him now without going weak in the knees? And why, when he offers everything she’s ever wanted, is she considering his welfare above her own? Not until a beautiful old tune shows them the true meaning of love will they find a way to play their own song.
Grace Dawe was finished with Brendan O’Rourke eight years ago when he chose music over their relationship. So why can’t she look at him now without going weak in the knees? And why, when he offers everything she’s ever wanted, is she considering his welfare above her own? Not until a beautiful old tune shows them the true meaning of love will they find a way to play their own song.
EXCERPT:
How unfair could life be? Grace Dawe bit the inside of her
lip so hard it brought tears to her eyes. She’d been telling herself for
days—ever since she learned Brendan O’Rourke had landed back in St. John’s—she
could cope with seeing him. She’d resolved that she wouldn’t avoid her usual
haunts on his account, wouldn’t change her habits. And now here she stood in
Fitzgerald’s facing him and wishing she could fall through the floor.
He had no right to look so good—better in fact than he had
when they parted in a storm of tears and bitter recriminations eight years ago,
a break that had shredded her heart. She’d put that heart back together in the
intervening years—or thought she had. Yet here she stood with it bleeding in
her chest.
Because those intervening years had been kind to him, very
kind. No longer the boy with whom she fell so wildly in love, he’d become the
man she’d foreseen, his long, lanky legs clothed in a pair of faded jeans,
shoulders encased in a worn leather jacket that looked soft as butter, his
reddish-brown hair—full of wave—tumbling over his brow as it always had. The
beard was new, but it became him. The lean cheeks, marked by long dimples when
he smiled, remained the same, as did those hazel eyes, bright with intelligence
and a spark of devilry, set under level brows.
Oh, heaven help her, she still wanted him. And she couldn’t
let him see it. She absolutely could not let him see.
Buy links:
Amazon:
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Author Web site:
Author bio:
Born and raised in Western New York, Laura Strickland has
pursued lifelong interests in lore, legend, magic and music, all reflected in
her writing. She has made pilgrimages to both Newfoundland and Scotland in the
company of her daughter, but is usually happiest at home not far from Lake
Ontario, with her husband and her "fur" child, a rescue dog. Author
of Scottish romances Devil Black, His
Wicked Highland Ways, Honor Bound: A Highland Adventure and The Hiring Fair
as well as The Guardians of Sherwood
Trilogy consisting of Daughter of
Sherwood, Champion of Sherwood and Lord of Sherwood, she has also published
three Steampunk romances, Dead Handsome:
a Buffalo Steampunk Adventure, Off Kilter: a Buffalo Steampunk Adventure
and Sheer Madness: a Buffalo Steampunk
Adventure as well as two Christmas novellas: The Tenth Suitor and Mrs.
Claus and the Viking Ship, and a Valentine’s novella: Ask me. Her Lobster Cove Historical Romances include The White Gull and the novella, Forged By Love. Awake on Garland Street is her sixteenth book with The Wild Rose
press.
Thanks for this post--a reminder we all need to hear.
ReplyDeleteAnd on a lighter note, I love your writer's voice.
Thank you so much! It was an honor for me to write this one.
DeleteAngela, Thank you for giving me the opportunity to create this post! I LOVE thankful author.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful post! Thank you for sharing. Your latest release is on my TBR.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Charlotte!
DeleteBeautifully said, Laura. Thanks for sharing. :) And congratulations on your latest book. All the best!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Mary. And best of luck to you on your upcoming release!
DeleteLoved your post, Laura. It brought a tear to my eye. Like you, I'm a Canadian and Remembrance Day means a lot. I always think of my father who fought in WW2 and all the other brave men and women who joined battles far overseas. If only, their sacrifice had ended all wars forever. Good luck with your book. It sounds fascinating.
ReplyDeleteThanks, C.B. Just finished watching the Remembrance Day ceremonies from Ottawa. Oh, those bagpipes!
Delete