Until Winter Comes Again: (An Inspirational Contemporary Romance) (Cane River Romance Book 6)

by Mary Jane Hathaway

  The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms

  But which will bloom most constantly?

  The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring,

  Its summer blossoms scent the air;

  Yet wait till winter comes again

  And who will call the wild-briar fair?

  Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now

  And deck thee with the holly’s sheen,

  That when December blights thy brow

  He still may leave thy garland green.

  BIOGRAPHY

  Mary Jane Hathaway is an award-nominated writer of Christian fiction and a home schooling mom of six young children who rarely wear shoes. She holds degrees in Linguistics and Religious Studies from the University of Oregon and lives with her habanero-eating husband, Crusberto, who is her polar opposite in all things except faith. They've learned to speak in short-hand code and look forward to the day they can actually finish a sentence. In the meantime, she thanks God for the laughter and abundance of hugs that fill her day as she plots her next book. She also writes under the pen name of Virginia Carmichael.You can find her on her facebook author pages of Mary Jane Hathaway or Virginia Carmichael, on the cooking blog Yankee Belle Café, on her personal blog The Things That Last, or at Huffington Post where she blogs about all things books.

  OTHER TITLES by Mary Jane Hathaway

  Pride, Prejudice and Cheese Grits

  Emma, Mr. Knightley and Chili-Slaw Dogs

  Persuasion, Captain Wentworth and Cracklin’ Cornbread

  The Pepper in the Gumbo

  These Sheltering Walls

  Only Through Love

  A Star to Steer By

  The Boundless Deep

  Until Winter Comes Again

  OTHER TITLES by Virginia Carmichael

  All The Blue of Heaven

  Purple Like the West

  Leaving Liberty

  Season of Joy

  Season of Hope

  A Home for her Family

  Novels, illustrators, poetry, and poets which play a role in this story:

  The friends and employees of By the Book insert poetry and literature into their conversations as casually as we mention facebook or Pinterest. Since every couple made their own personal appearance in this book, there were a lot of genres of books! Paul and Alice are fans of the romantic poets, specifically the Brownings. Gideon and Henry love Sara Teasdale, Charlie and Austin like to read fantasy and science fiction, Roxie and Andy love ancient classic literature, Rose and Blue like mysteries and thrillers. Flannery and Remington are fans of children’s literature, but they also enjoy poetry.

  Authors and works mentioned are the Narnia Chronicles by C.S. Lewis, The Wizard of Oz, Pippi Longstocking, Leviathan by Scott Westerfeld, Barter by Sara Teasdale, Robert A. Heinlein, Jules Verne, Other by Sara Teasdale, Emily Bronte Until Winter Comes, Winnie the Pooh, Baum Wizard of Oz, The Jabberwock, Where the Sidewalk Ends, Dr. Seuss.

  The cats of By the Book

  Mr. Darcy ― Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

  Elizabeth Bennet ― Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

  Mrs. Bennet ― Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

  Van Winkle ― Rip Van Winkle by Washington Irving

  Mr. Rochester ― Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte

  Jane ― Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte

  Mrs. Gaskell ― author of North and South

  Music mentioned in Until Winter Comes Again

  L’anse aux pailles ― traditional Creole song Gideon remembers his mother singing, you can watch a video of the song here

  Beaux Bridge Waltz ― traditional zydeco waltz Gideon requests at the festival when he dances with Henry, you can hear it here

  Louisiana Creole glossary

  According to the last census, a quarter of a million people speak French in the home in Louisiana. Most of these speakers use Cajun French, Louisiana Creole, or Creole French. These dialects are similar, but distinct. The Creole people of the Natchitoches region speak Louisiana Creole and that is the dialect that appears in the story. There isn’t an official writing system but I found the online dictionary at LouisianaCreoleDictionary.com very handy. The Louisiana Language Fan Page on facebook was also helpful. This page has an active community that answers questions and creates memes for sharing. You can find it at https://www.facebook.com/Kourivini/. As always, all mistakes are my own!

  Sha = dear, sweetie

  Avan= before

  Merci (spelled a variety of ways) = thank you

  Misye = monsieur, sir

  Bonmatin= good morning

  Manzelle = mademoiselle, miss

  Bonswe = good evening

  Donne moi un p'tit bec = give me a kiss

  asi-vu= sit down (plural)

  asi-twa= sit down (singular)

  Mais = well

  Mamere= grandma

  Belle calas, tout chaud= traditionally the cook will call this out when there are fresh sweet rice fritters, ‘beautiful fritters, very hot’

  Sont belles = they’re beautiful

  Li t’komprenn= she understands you

  Li ay belle osi= she’s pretty, too

  Wé, mon parl kouri-vini.= Yes, I speak Louisiana Creole.

  Ifo pa démanjé shak démanjézon. =You don’t have to scratch every itch.”

  Je croix qu’oui= I think so

  Recipes

  Calas Rice Fritters

  The fried sweet rice fritters that Blue enjoys from Sunshine Bakery are often called Calas Rice Fritters. They were traditionally sold in the streets and the call of “Belle calas, tout chaud,” announced the delicious delivery of sweet rice fritters. These treats have taken a back seat to the beignet but they’re making a comeback.

  1/2 cup warm water

  1 Tbsp. sugar

  1 pkg active dry yeast (about 2 ¼ tsp)

  3/4 cup cooked white rice

  2 large eggs, beaten slightly

  3/4 cup flour

  1 dash of salt

  1/4 tsp pure vanilla

  1/8 tsp nutmeg

  oil for frying, enough that the calas are covered and can be turned easily

  Some love calas with cane syrup but you can use a dusting of powdered sugar

  Preparation starts the day before! Combine the water and sugar in a small bowl, add the yeast and let sit, about ten minutes. Add the rice and stir. Cover and leave at room temperature for 12-24 hours. Some recipes don’t use yeast and don’t let it sit overnight, but then the distinctive flavor is gone.

  In the morning, stir the rice mixture together and mash it a little with the side of the spoon. Some like it creamier, some like individual grains of rice. Add the eggs, flour, salt, vanilla, and nutmeg and mix thoroughly. Cover and let rise in a warm place for 1 hour. Don’t skip this step because it gives the calas a light, fluffy texture.

  Drop the batter by the spoonful into the hot oil. Fry until golden brown. Call out, “Belle calas, tout chaud,” to let everybody know they’re ready (if they’re not hovering in the kitchen, like my family does) and serve with powdered sugar or cane syrup. Enjoy!

  Ruby’s Pineapple Cheese Salad

  Poor Bix didn’t love this dish but I know plenty of people who do!

  1 package gelatin

  1 cup cold water

  1 can crushed pineapple

  1 cup sugar

  1 cup cheddar cheese, grated

  pinch of salt

  little lemon juice

  1 pint whipping cream

  Dissolve the gelatin in the cold water. Combine the sugar and pineapple in a pot. Cook for ten minutes until sugar is dissolved. Add the cheese and a pinch of salt, then the gelatin and splash of lemon juice. Remove from the heat and let it cool for about 20 minutes. It should begin to solidify. Fold the whipped cream into the mix and place in a fancy mold that’s been sprayed lightly with cooking oil for easy removal. Chill in the fridge for several hours and remove from the mold, turning it out onto a plate. Garnish as desired and slice!


  Excerpt of The Pepper in the Gumbo

  Book One of the Cane River Romance series

  Chapter One

  If we continue to develop our technology without wisdom or prudence,

  our servant may prove to be our executioner.

  ―Omar N. Bradley

  “Van Winkle, scoot. You’re taking up half the desk.”

  Alice Augustine brushed aside piles of receipts and set down her steaming cup of coffee, but the sleeping gray cat didn’t budge from his spot in the sun. Alice gently slid the kitty to the left and angled into her chair. She loved Mondays, loved the pale light of early morning illuminating her workspace, loved the way her little bookstore creaked and rustled like an old lady waking up from a long winter’s nap. Or at least, she loved every Monday other than the last Monday of the month. Then it was sixteen kinds of terrible.

  Balancing the accounts was becoming an unpleasant task. That far column of red numbers was growing at an alarming rate. She pulled her cardigan tighter against the unseasonable late-summer chill, and reminded herself that the store survived the last ten years of economic downturn and it wasn’t going to fail now. Not on her watch. Not after Mr. Perrault kept it afloat for fifty years and made it one of the most famous bookstores in Louisiana.

  Opening her laptop, she took a slow breath, letting gratitude for the place win over the nagging worries that fought for her attention. Her store was in the National Historic Landmark District, a local treasure at the very end of the thirty-three block stretch along Cane River. The rows of tidy shelves showcased the best in rare and vintage volumes. Customers traveled from around the state to spend the day in By the Book, sharing stories of the eccentric former owner, Mr. Perrault, and his wife, Angeline. Alice was proud to be the owner and so very grateful for every day she came to work. Usually.

  Mr. Perrault. Alice paused, waiting for the ache in her chest to ebb. Mr. Perrault, the man who didn’t snap at a surly teen girl who wandered into his bookshop and argued that Elizabeth Barrett Browning should not be placed next to her husband Robert just because they shared a name. He didn’t laugh, even when she said Robert Browning was an overeducated blowhard whose collection should be used as a doorstop. No, Mr. Perrault spoke to her as if she were a poetry expert and a person. He took notes, offered her coffee, and asked her to come back to chat. Alice had spent so long being angry that she didn’t even notice for the first six months of Saturday literary debates that she’d made a friend. She wasn’t just the annoying little sister of four boys, all being raised by their grandmother and haunted by the accident that took their parents.

  She could never get away from the pitying glances of the people of her small town. Natchitoches was one of the oldest communities in the south, and the people made it their duty to never forget anything, good or bad. Alice was not just Alice. She was “poor, sweet Alice, whose parents are dead.” But not to Mr. Perrault and not to his wife. With them, Alice felt like she was someone apart from all of that, someone who had read more widely than anyone she knew. To them, she was a reader and a friend.

  Mondays always made her pensive and she slipped the fragile chain out from her shirt, touching the two gold rings that hung there. Those simple, plain gold bands had once signified the marriage of her parents and the unity of her family.

  “Darcy, come on down. You’ll get all dusty,” she said more from tradition than any real expectation that he would listen. Darcy didn’t answer to anyone. The large black cat stayed high up, his perfect pink nose in the air. He came down to eat only after the other cats had wandered away. He was happy there, far above the fray, and there was no reason to coax him down. Her employees poked fun at Darcy’s antisocial habits, but Alice felt a secret kinship with him.

  A bright tinkle sounded from the little brass bell that hung from a faded red velvet ribbon on the door.

  “Good morning,” Alice called out. She added a wave although old Bix Beaulieu was so nearsighted he wouldn’t know the difference. In fact, he shouldn’t be driving himself to work. Somehow he kept passing his renewal test. Alice harbored a strong suspicion that had something to do with Bix’s great niece working at the DMV. The people of Natchitoches had learned to watch out for Bix and his bright green Cadillac of Doom. Like a moving landmark, it had been the cruel end of nativity scenes, award-winning Rose bushes, and too many pink flamingos to count.

  “Mornin’, sha,” he called back. It made her smile to hear him use the endearment her Papa used. Alice was always “dear” to Bix. Stark white bristles sprouted from under his old straw hat, and his World War II, Navy-issue raincoat was buttoned to his chin. It hardly ever rained, but Bix hated to be unprepared. “I thought I’d come in early and rearrange those bottom shelves of paperbacks.”

  “Would you like some coffee?” Alice could think of ten things more worthwhile than rearranging the paperback section. Customers sorted through them like folded T-shirts on sale at the mall. It was a waste of time to even put them on the shelves. She should just shovel them in mountains labeled Romance, Thrillers, and Mysteries, and not worry any more about it. But Bix did what he liked, when he liked. It could be aggravating, but Alice loved it a little bit, too.

  “Thanks, but I got a cup at The Red Hen.” Bix placed a paper bag on the desk and Alice inhaled the heavenly scent of fresh beignets. The Red Hen served hot Beau Monde coffee and the area’s best bakery items. Bix’s dark brown eyes crinkled at the edges, his face creased with a grin. “I figured you’d appreciate a little pick-me-up while you crunch the numbers.”

  Alice murmured her thanks as she opened the bag. She hated that Bix knew the bookstore was losing money. The man was pretty observant for being nearly blind.

  “Louis asked after you,” Bix said.

  Alice took a large bite of still-warm beignet and chewed slowly. Louis Guillorie was balding, short-tempered, twice her age, and most definitely not Alice’s idea of a romantic partner. The day she graduated high school, he’d asked her out by telling her he had a thing for green-eyed Creole girls. She’d almost cried, trying to let him down easy, afraid to bruise his ego. After nearly ten years of searching for the gentlest way to get through, she decided it wasn’t her problem if he wouldn’t face the facts. Now she just pretended the owner of The Red Hen didn’t exist. It was a whole lot easier than feeling guilty about hurting his feelings.

  “Wanted to know if you were still seeing that short Yankee with the horsey laugh.”

  “He’s not short. He’s three inches taller than I am.” Eric was a perfectly nice guy who made great money as the area’s only dentist. She didn’t argue about him being a Yankee or the laugh. Eric didn’t laugh much, so she could almost forget about his unfortunate affliction.

  “I told him to bide his time. Horse boy won’t last long. He don’t even take you out. A girl’s gotta get out of the house once in a while.” Bix took off his straw hat and unbuttoned his coat, as if he weren’t being rude in the slightest.

  “He’s lasted four months,” Alice said. “And I’m a homebody. I don’t mind.” Eric was more than a little boring, but she was no rock star herself. Her mamere called her curvy, but that was just a nice way for her grandmother to say Alice loved beignets a little too much and didn’t love exercise quite enough. Her hair was so curly it had a life of its own, her mouth was a little too wide, and she wouldn’t ever be called anything more than pretty. Add in the fact that she owned too many cats and a bookstore that was hemorrhaging money, and Alice figured she wasn’t one to point fingers.

  “You’ve got to get out more, especially since you’re up there all alone now. I felt better when that family was living in the other half. This is such a big old place. You could slip in that claw-foot tub, crack your head, and nobody would find you for days.”

  Alice tried to ignore the visual that popped into her mind. “A possibility, I suppose.” If she fell and hit her head while getting in the tub, she certainly wouldn’t want her neighbors to come rescue her. Then again, she couldn’t think of
a single person who would be really right for that job.

  A short-haired tabby crossed the floor toward the back door, sending a glance at Bix that seemed to say she was highly offended but would suffer silently, as usual. “Jane Eyre wanted one of those maple-cured bacon slices you brought last time,” Alice interpreted. “And Eric is a perfectly nice boy, whether or not he likes to go out.”

  “Boy. See? There’s your problem. You need a man,” Bix said, thumping his chest, his wrinkles magnified with a scowl. It would have been funny if he hadn’t been so serious. “Louis wants to take you to the zydeco festival this weekend. He sure is sweet on you.”

  Alice loved zydeco music and the festival ranked as one of her favorite parties of the year. Her parents had met at a dance hall, her mamere sang in a juke band when she was young, and Alice had been listening to zydeco all her life. She could probably dance the crazy combination of swing and foxtrot in her sleep. But although Eric vowed he’d rather drill his own teeth than go, Alice wasn’t about to accept Louis’s invitation. “Yes, I’m aware. Well, we better get ―”

  “You could do worse than Louis, you know. He makes a mean croissant, and he’s a morning person. My first wife was a bear in the morning. I love me some passion, and I gotta have a woman who puts a little pepper in the gumbo, but I didn’t make that morning mistake twice. When she passed away and I was ready to look again, I said to myself, ‘Bix, you get yourself a woman who won’t bite your head off if you talk to her before noon.’ Of course, Ruby is always real affectionate in the mornings so I had to adjust to―”

  “Oh my, look at that dust!” Alice swiped a hand over the bookcase next to her. She cringed at the awkward interruption, but didn’t want to hear any more about Ruby’s morning affections. Every Sunday morning, nine o’clock, Ruby and Bix sat in front of Alice at the cathedral. If she heard any more, she would never be able to look the woman in the eye again.