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The Memory House
Linda Goodnight
New York Times bestselling author Linda Goodnight welcomes you to Honey Ridge, Tennessee, and a house that's rich with secrets and brimming with sweet possibilitiesMemories of motherhood and marriage are fresh for Julia Presley—though tragedy took away both years ago. Finding comfort in the routine of running the Peach Orchard Inn, she lets the historic, mysterious place fill the voids of love and family. No more pleasure of a man's gentle kiss. No more joy in hearing a child call her Mommy. Life is calm, unchanging…until a stranger with a young boy and soul-deep secrets shows up in her Tennessee town and disrupts the loneliness of her world.Julia suspects there's more to Eli Donovan's past than his motherless son, Alex. There's a reason he's chasing redemption and bent on earning it with a new beginning in Honey Ridge. Offering the guarded man work renovating the inn, she glimpses someone who—like her—has a heart in need of restoration. But with the chance discovery of a dusty stack of love letters buried within the lining of an old trunk, the long-dead ghosts of a Civil War romance envelop Julia and Eli, connecting them to the inn's violent history and challenging them both to risk facing yesterday's darkness for a future bright with hope and healing.
New York Times bestselling author Linda Goodnight welcomes you to Honey Ridge, Tennessee, and a house that’s rich with secrets and brimming with sweet possibilities
Memories of motherhood and marriage are fresh for Julia Presley—though tragedy took away both years ago. Finding comfort in the routine of running the Peach Orchard Inn, she lets the historic, mysterious place fill the voids of love and family. No more pleasure of a man’s gentle kiss. No more joy in hearing a child call her Mommy. Life is calm, unchanging…until a stranger with a young boy and soul-deep secrets shows up in her Tennessee town and disrupts the loneliness of her world.
Julia suspects there’s more to Eli Donovan’s past than his motherless son, Alex. There’s a reason he’s chasing redemption and bent on earning it with a new beginning in Honey Ridge. Offering the guarded man work renovating the inn, she glimpses someone who—like her—has a heart in need of restoration. But with the chance discovery of a dusty stack of love letters buried within the lining of an old trunk, the long-dead ghosts of a Civil War romance envelop Julia and Eli, connecting them to the inn’s violent history and challenging them both to risk facing yesterday’s darkness for a future bright with hope and healing.
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The Memory House
A Honey Ridge Novel
Linda Goodnight
www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)
I had no way of knowing when I first imagined this book with its theme of grief that I would become intimately acquainted with that excruciating emotion during the writing. With a shattered heart and endless love, I dedicate this book to the memory of Travis Goodnight, the finest son any mother could ever have.
Contents
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“The Child is father of the Man…”
—William Wordsworth
Nashville, Tennessee
Present Day
Freedom was its own kind of prison.
These were the thoughts of Eli Donovan as he scraped drywall mud from his elbow and watched a familiar bronze Buick pull to the curb outside the remodel. With a tug in his gut, Eli tossed the trowel to the ground and straightened. What had he done now?
A man stepped out of the Buick and adjusted his blue tie before squinting toward the house. Their eyes met, held for a fraction of a second until Eli looked down. Once upon a time he would have challenged anyone in a staring contest. Hard time and maturity had changed him. He didn’t want to fight anyone anymore. Certainly not his parole officer.
Saying nothing, Eli started across the greening lawn, past the scattered remains of lumber and construction junk. He was no longer arrogant and proud, but the jitter in his belly shamed him just the same.
“Eli.” Mr. Clifford spoke first, broke the impasse. “How’s it going?”
“Fine.” He stopped two feet from the fortysomething officer of the court, taking in the slight sheen of sweat on the other man’s balding head. Anxious, afraid of tripping himself up, he waited for Clifford to speak his business.
“I had a phone call this morning.”
Still Eli waited, not knowing what to ask or say. If he misspoke, Clifford would get the wrong idea or ask questions Eli couldn’t answer. There were always questions.
The parole officer pulled a paper from his pocket and pushed it toward him. “A woman name of Opal Kimble tracked you down through the warden. She wants to talk to you. Says she has something urgent to discuss. Mentioned the name Mindy.”
Eli stared at the yellow Post-it note, the dread deepening. He licked dry lips, tasted drywall mud. “Mindy?”
“Is there anything I need to know? If you’re into something—”
Eli interrupted. “I’m not. Mindy is an old friend. Did Opal say anything else?”
“No, she just left that number and insisted I contact you. I thought it might be important.”
“Doubtful.” Mindy was a sweet soul. She probably felt sorry for him and wanted to be sure he was all right. He refused to consider the other issue, certain she was better off not hearing from him.
“You could use a friend.”
The comment took Eli aback. In the six months he’d known Pete Clifford, the man had shown him nothing but suspicion, as if he couldn’t wait for the ex-con to step out of line so he could send him back to that stinking rat hole.
“I’m all right.”
“Do you have a phone yet?”
“No.”
Clifford extracted his from a belt holster. “Call her.”
Eli considered only a moment before accepting the offer. No point in riling the man. He could make a call to an old woman he’d never met. Find out what she wanted and then get back to work. He needed the payday.
