by Anita Higman
“See? I have a superb taste in gowns, don’t I?” Mother donned a smug grin. “Maybe I should have been a wedding planner.”
“It’s never too late, Mother. But I would have been happy in a clown costume as long as I get to take home the prize.”
We all laughed.
As if on cue, the four of us turned to face the mirror. What a sight that was. Three generations of Grays—smiling, laughing, and attached to each other like brand-new strips of Velcro. I looked upward. Oh, Lord, You really are good to me.
Yes, many times through the years I’d walked away from life, too afraid to journey into the hidden places. But once inside, I found there were still mysteries to unfold, secrets to marvel over—some wonderful and some not so wonderful—but there was always love to be discovered.
While reflecting over my long journey, Mother did something I could only have imagined in a dream. She cradled my face in her hands and said, “You are one of my two precious mustard seeds, and because of you and your faith, we are all reunited. I am proud of you. And now you have been blessed with Marcus. You were wise enough to know that the Irish saying is true. ‘Níl aon leigheas ar an grá ach a phosadh.’ It means, ‘The only cure for love is marriage.’”
She smiled. “I will pray God’s love enfolds you, and that you and Marcus will know joy all of your days.” She kissed my cheek and then turned to Camille and to Julie, christening them with more words of affection.
When Mother concluded her tributes, we huddled amidst the gossamer tulle. I could feel it in my spirit—we four had become a special delight to the Almighty—we were a family in love.
Later when everyone in the chapel was seated and more than ready for a wedding, my mother offered her arm, since she was going to be the one to give me away. We walked up the aisle to the recorded sounds of The Highland Bagpipes. It had become one of my favorite instruments—right along with the guitar, and the flute, and the piano.
Spring had come and a good portion of it had been brought inside the chapel. Sprays and baskets of every blossom imaginable filled the sanctuary with a profusion of colors and scents. Some of the flowers arrived from a local florist, but the prettiest and biggest blooms—the white lilies—came from Mother’s solarium. I whispered to her, “Your lilies stole the show.”
“We only need one Lily to do that,” she whispered back.
I grinned. After giving Julie and Camille—my two bridesmaids—a wink, I took my place by Marcus’s side.
My groom gave me his signature smile and snuggled his hand into mine.
When the vows were repeated, the unity candle had been lit, and the holy seal of matrimony was upon us, the pastor said an Irish blessing over us.
“May God be with you and bless you.
May you see your children’s children.
May you be poor in misfortunes and rich in blessings.
May you know nothing but happiness from this day forward.”
Sniffles could be heard all over the chapel, but this time, no tears came from me. I was too busy kissing the groom.
Summer came and Mother and I found ourselves standing next to a taxicab—the one that held our Camille. Mother clung to a little Irish flag while I clutched a wad of tissues. Marcus had wanted to be with us for our goodbyes, but he’d had a previous engagement—a signing in Austin for his latest picture book. He’d wanted to cancel his event, but I wouldn’t hear of it. Mother and I would have enough tears for all of us.
“You should see yourselves.” Camille grinned. “You’re about to make this poor cabdriver tear up.”
The man turned around and winked.
“Lily, you found your destiny in Australia,” Camille said. “In more ways than one. Maybe I’ll find mine in Ireland. It’s our homeland. Good things are bound to happen there.”
“But it’s quite a leap to travel there just from a letter,” I said. “Are you sure you want to go all that way because of some sweet words from a man you knew years ago?”
“But you took a chance,” Camille said, “a big one, because of a letter.”
“Yes, I guess that’s true.” Hard to argue with that.
“And a man named Hugh O’Callaghan may change my life. He did once a long time ago in small ways.” Camille grasped the edge of the cab window. “Now I have to find out if he’s the one who can change my life in a bigger way. If he’s the one.”
“I wish you’d at least let us drive you to the airport,” Mother said.
“I’ll take good care of her,” the cabby said.
“You’d better.” Mother gave the man a fierce glint like she meant business. “Or you’ll be answering to me,” she added in an Irish brogue.
The man chuckled.
“I cry too easily these days,” Camille said. “I don’t want to make a scene at the airport.”
I crossed my arms. “I’ll tell you right now that if you don’t find what you’re searching for, and you don’t come back home … well, I’ll be traveling to Ireland to find you.”
“I believe you, Lils.” Camille grinned. “I do.”
Mother stepped forward. “Let us know the second you land. I’ll be worried until we get that text.” She reached out to Camille, clasped her hand, and kissed it soundly. “I know you girls must be getting tired of my Irish sayings, but I do have one that is a favorite. ‘Is é níos fearr iarracht a dhéanamh na dochas a bheith agat.’ It means, ‘It’s better to make a try at it than to just have hope.’ I’d rather lose you for a while to pursue this dream than keep you here and have you always wonder what could have been. I can’t do that to you.”
“Thanks, Iris, for understanding and not trying to talk me out of it … like Lils has been doing.”
“Oh, I’ve wanted to talk you out of it quite a few times,” Mother said. “But I also know you can be as headstrong as I am when you set your mind to something.” She sighed. “But I’m fiercely proud of you for it.” Mother handed Camille the little Irish flag. “Dia duit … God be with you.”
“I’ll be back … Mother,” Camille said softly. “No worries, okay?”
“Okay.” Mother’s voice trembled.
It was the first time Camille had used the word Mother, and I knew the endearment would be enough to keep her going for a long time.
I handed Mother my wad of tissues. She would need them now.
“Take good care of yourself.” Mother tried to sound like a fortress of strength, but it was no use. She raised the tissues to her face.
I held out my right palm to my sister, and then Camille reached out her left to me. We met palm to palm as we had grown accustomed to doing. But this time I laced my fingers around her hand and didn’t want to release her. Moments later, though, I did. I knew I had to let her go.
Mother—who was such a lover of all things Irish—wasn’t the only one who knew a saying or two. As the cabdriver whisked Camille away I thought of a phrase that fit her journey well. “It takes time to build castles.” But even though love did take time—as I’d learned from Marcus and my family—it was always a castle worth building.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Many thanks to my editor, Deborah Keiser, at Moody Publishers, for her kindness and her wonderful editorial expertise in making this book a finer read.
Also thanks to editor Cheryl Molin for her wise assistance.
Cheers go up to my husband, Peter, for his thirty-three years of love and support.
Much appreciation goes to Sandra Bishop at MacGregor Literary Agency for praying for me and believing in what I do.
In addition, I’m grateful to Debby Hartzell for her valuable input, and to Faber McMullen for his knowledgeable advice concerning the Gaelic language.
Lastly, appreciation goes to the fine folks of Melbourne, Australia, who were so helpful and welcoming. I fell in love with your enchanting city.
Any errors in the text are solely the fault of the author.
A NOTE TO READERS
They say art reflects life. In fact, life and art are like two v
ines on a trellis, getting so tangled that you can barely tell which bloom comes from which stalk.
The idea for Winter in Full Bloom started when I took a trip to Melbourne, Australia. I traveled across the globe to stay with my husband who on a work assignment there. When I departed from Houston to the Land Down Under, I had to leave my daughter, Hillary, behind during her first days of college. The heart-trials of my empty nest and saying goodbye were as traumatic for me as it was for my heroine, Lily. By the way, Hillary, who was getting a music major and later switched to English, just like in the story, attended the same university as my heroine’s daughter.
In addition to other similar life/art elements not mentioned here, I too like Lily had a fire-breathing fear of flying. I hadn’t flown in fifteen years. I eventually got over those anxieties as did Lily, and I now travel with my husband domestically and internationally. I just wish there had been a real Jenny on that maiden voyage to Australia to talk me out of my crazies, especially when the captain announced that we’d be flying around a tropical storm while over the Pacific!
One major difference in my story versus real life was that my husband and I had to cut our stay in Melbourne short because Hurricane Ike had hit Houston. We rushed home when we found out that our house had sustained internal as well as external damage. It was a mess, but with God’s help and the efforts of some kindhearted neighbors, we got through it.
So, does art reflect life? Most definitely. And you, the reader, are truly appreciated in taking that art-life journey with me!
ANITA HIGMAN
Bestselling and award-winning author Anita Higman has thirty-three books published (several coauthored) for adults and children. She’s been a Barnes & Noble “Author of the Month” for Houston and has a BA in the combined fields of speech communication, psychology, and art. Anita loves good movies, exotic teas, and brunch with her friends.
Please visit Anita online at anitahigman.com. Feel free to drop her a note by clicking on the “Contact Me” button on her website. Or visit Anita on her Facebook Reader Page at https://www.facebook.com/#!/AuthorAnitaHigman.
Some of Anita Higman’s more recent books
Texas Wildflowers
A Merry Little Christmas
Where God Finds You
