Night Crossing by Mary E. Martin Shares Suspenseful, Surprising Ending to Excellent Trilogy

Later, on the train, he brought his
drawings of her to her cabin and
made a curious confession. She was
his muse. Although greatly flattered,
she was unsure just what such a
relationship entailed. Was it love or
something more complicated?
~~~

 Putting my umbrella up, I plodded on my way. Actually, I was pleased with the direction of my thoughts--and myself. I am not usually given to philosophic pondering and this, for me, was quite a dissertation.

You can't expect an
artist like Alex to limit
his talent to one source
of inspiration.
But it hurt...
!!!

I began thinking more about Alex and Daphne. When they first met on his trip to Venice, Alex was enchanted. His muse--he called her! After meeting her, he produced that stunningly evocative painting, The River of Remembrance, in which he painted twelve human figures resplendent in his numinous light. Each one of them represented a person he had met on his travels--including Daphne,  who was at the very centre of the composition. On his canvas, Alex was creating the human being as a portal for his divine light. Just think how difficult that might be! Human being? Divine light? Now wonder he had trouble...

Walking freed her mind, which wandered back to her first meeting with Alex on the Orient Express. By chance he had been seated at her breakfast table. His gaze upon her had been so intense that she had resented the intrusion. But his eyes reflected a rare kindness and attentiveness. A peculiar restlessness stirred within and she became attentive...
But now, she was afraid she had been supplanted by another. No longer was she an inspiration to him--or so it seemed. In his studio, Alex showed her beautiful drawings of a willowy, young woman lifeless like a store mannequin wearing a stupid floral hat! His eye was cool, critical and professional in assessing his own work. Never once did he express any emotion about the woman--this new muse. And he seemed oblivious to the pain he was causing her, the rejected muse. At first, she felt jealous fury boiling up inside, but then felt foolish. She tried to reason...
Memories came flooding back. Days later, when they made love in Venice she realized that his art was his true mistress. He had already made love to her with his drawings made in his cabin after dinner. Could such a man ever lie--flesh and blood--beside her as her lover? She had no answer and suspected neither did he. After that, they parted for a time...

~~~

Night Crossing

Third in Trilogy of Remembrance

By Mary E. Martin

After two such intriguing books, The Drawing Lesson and The Fate of Pryde, (Click over for my reviews if you haven't read), I was almost prepared for what happens in the final book.What I didn't expect, however, was that the last book brought the total Trilogy into such an illuminating and, yes, I have to say, inspirational conclusion.

While readers met Rinaldo, a jealous artist and Pryde, a deceiving patron of the arts in the first two novels, the third brings, you might say, the fate of Wainwright into his own special light...

And it all comes about by a fantastic set of characters Alex was fated to meet...

Do you believe in fate--or. what I call God Incidents? Could this story have ever been true in this world? I don't know, but I like to think so.... The key thing is that, for Alex, he had always been looking for, and open to his light. I've had moments of being open to it...but never really chose to constantly be aware--to search for it... Perhaps there is still time for all of us...

"What on earth's wrong?" I asked.
Alex groaned. "Good God! There's a message
from Daphne. She was coming  to my studio to
go out for dinner." Again he slapped his fore-
head, a gesture becoming all too frequent.
"And I completely forgot! What an idiot I am!"
Rapidly he called her number. No answer.
He left his message. "Daphne! Forgive me! I'm
so stupid. I'm at Jamie's looking at a fantastic
painting...no...no that doesn't matter. I should
have remembered. Please call me back and I'll
meet you wherever you are right now..."
He shook his head and spoke sadly, "It's
not the first time, Jamie...She deserves someone
much better than me...I get so wrapped up
in this world of mine that I forget the most
important people..."
~~~

Alex and Daphne had become close but two things happened that caused confusion, for both of them...

Alex had been so excited about heading out on one of his adventures and wanted to include Daphne--taking her to Paris with him... But, as always, Alex had not been able to gets his words right with her... He had talked of their going to Paris, of togetherness, only to then announce it was a business trip. Daphne was crushed for she had been hoping for exactly what Alex had presented at first--a romantic trip and perhaps more...

Daphne withdrew and later left the message she had to return to New York. As an aside, while she was there, her partner began telling her of his feelings--feelings she'd never known he'd had... But, she decided it was maybe time for her to consider what he was offering. 

For Alex, the adventure started, first from just watching the skies...

The jewels in the sky seemed to be forming, taking on a shape...


"Do you ever wonder, Mr. Waitwright, what's in those empty spaces?...You know, in a painting, you think there's nothing but air between a horse in a meadow and the barn but is that really true? Is it really empty?"

His art was renowned for its light. A magical sense of the beyond enthralled his viewers. Sure some marvelous secret of life must lie just on the other side of his fields and streams. With his brushstrokes, he transported viewers into the beyond where they could imagine eternity upon eternity. Quickly, he painted over the farmer who seemed angry at being awakened into existence. Satisfied with his handiwork, Alexander thought, Can the light shine through something new--not physical objects or people?
In his tiny kitchen, he put on a pot of coffee. From the corner of his eye, he caught some movement--a shadow or shifting shape dancing on the wall. As he turned toward the shadows, his mouth grew slack. His breath deepened and a blissful, innocent smile spread across his face. His legs grew weak and he staggered toward his vision as if drawn by irresistible but unknown forces.

As presented by Jung

Against the tall windows, now blackened in the night, a golden egg rose up, shimmering with beautiful gems--diamonds, rubies, sapphires and emeralds which sparkled like the purest sunlight. Turning slowly, this marvelous object throbbed with life as if it contained all the energy in the world. His lips parted and he spoke three words--"the cosmic egg."
It was perhaps three feet in height and, at its widest point, two feet in breadth. It rotated majestically several times and then drifted upward toward the ceiling. Although stunning, it was as insubstantial as a rainbow and began to dissipate before his eyes.
Awe struck, he stood motionless. The cosmic egg was the seed heralding new creation. Everything necessary was at hand and contained within that egg. For eons, it had tantalized humankind with the secret mystery of creation, life and death and the promise of immortality...

!!!

 

Of course, Alex immediately began to sketch the egg that had appeared in his vision... But not too long after, Jamie called about something he'd found in Pryde's files. Alex was astounded and then greatly excited to see that it was a picture of exactly what he'd seen as The Cosmic Egg. If somebody else had seen it, Alex just had to meet him... You know, if I had been Alex in such an exciting situation, I, too, would have forgotten about a dinner date... You can see where my sympathies lie...

Another jolt caused the old
woman to topple directly
onto the seat across from
Alex. He hoped it was not her
place...His first impression
was that she was ever so
slightly unkempt. A hem lung
down and a coat button was
loose. Under her arm, she
clutched a ragged, rolled up
newspaper leading him to
speculate that she was a
reader of the more
sensational tabloids. He
opened his own newspaper and
tried to concentrate.
"Sir?"
~~~

The first  encounter with fate was when he received a confirmation for a ferry trip in his name...which he had not scheduled... At this point, I have to stop and say that the steps which followed had me totally enthralled. I'm still not sure whether somebody was actually behind things, but it was very clear that there was a guiding force...

For the next thing that happened was that he met a woman on the train as he began his planned trip to Paris... Or, I should say, two women and one child. The mother and child he had helped when the child had hidden and was lost in a place where there were bats! The second was an older woman who sat down opposite Alex's seat on the train.

By now readers know that, instead of ignoring the woman, Alex kindly responded to Miss Trump's overtures. What he didn't realize, though, that he would soon be so engrossed in her story, that she soon presented him with strong feelings for her...
The young woman provided entertainment on the ferry and had done a Tarot read for the old woman, while Alex had asked, instead, for a song and listened to her wonderful voice singing Barbara Alan...

A huge, rogue wave roared up like an angry
tongue lashing the ferry broadside. For long
moments, the vessel seemed suspended in a
silent mid-air space, threatening to capsize.
A deathly groaning and an eerie whistling
came and they were flung downward. Water
rushed onto the deck nearly sweeping the
tables and chairs overboard. But then the
ferry heaved upward finally righting itself...
~~~

That was when the four of them all found themselves on the same ferry and in neighboring cabins... At least until the storm! The location was on a low deck. Alex quickly took action to save them, first carrying the young child to the top and handing him over to be placed in the lifeboat.

Going back down under protest, he first tried to save Miss Trump, but the woman refused,
indicating that Alex should save the mother so that her child would not become motherless...

Miss Trump was the only casualty...but her death set up the main story that will thrill and delight readers. One that is both memorable and heartwarming...one surely designed just as it should be by fate...???

I loved this one and added it to my new list of personal favorites for 2015! Do check out this Trilogy of Remembrance. It will surely stir your own memories, your inner life's thoughts, and provide inspiration to see and acknowledge what fate might have in store for you... Highly recommended. Mary E. Martin has presented a brilliant trilogy which could not have been anticipated by blurbs, front covers... Readers must experience it! Kudos For an Incomparable Conclusion!


GABixlerReviews

Enjoy a Taste of the Ending Wonders...

Mary E. Martin is the author of two award-winning trilogies: The Osgood Trilogy and The Trilogy of Remembrance. She grew up in Toronto, Canada, where she lives with her husband. They have three children and two grandchildren.

Fate: Four Co-Incidences, Latest Poetry By Adolph Caso

Fate: Four Co-Incidences

By Adolph Adolfo Caso

1.

It is difficult to forget

The image of my aunt

In the back section of the house

Enclosed such that

Entering was easier than exiting

Through the ancient steel-gates,

Confining her to within the walls

And her soul to within her body

With no possibility

Of either one escaping.

Her white hair, disheveled,

Revealed a bald spot to the rear,

Her clothes, in dark shades,

Extended to the ground,

Concealing her feet,

Much as the loose kerchief was ready to hide her face.

Her arm and hand, drawn across her brow,

Covered less the blue in her eyes

Than keeping the light coming from the sun:

“What are you asking, dear nephew?”

She said, in a withdrawn voice.

“Are you hungry? She continued,

Referring those words to me

As she had done so many times

To her son,

Killed by a run-away automobile

In front of our house

While inattentively

Running to the other side of the street.

Why did it happen to him?

Not that it should happen to another mother,

She had reiterated in a previous conversation.

Her heart-wrenching words

Continue to tighten around my own heart

Then, as they do now--

That He,

Should have chosen her son

Or that of any other mother

Believing in the same God!

With no words worthy of consolation,

I withdrew in recoil

Into the inner chamber of my psyche

Without the possibility of extirpation

Or the ability to understand

Or,

Worse,

To give a plausible answer

To her, “Why!”

Or, to,

Why not me

Instead of him!

2.

An octogenarian

Having survived

Direct air and ground attacks

In World War Two,

Not to mention a helicopter crash

That should have killed me and fellow-soldiers,

I remember the day,

As a young boy,

When the Americans liberated my village:

Endless columns of tanks and trucks

Rushing tumultuously from West to East,

With thousands of soldiers marching

On both sides of my street,

Receiving loud cheers and flower-offerings

From our young women, and children alike.

In front of the same house of my future cousin,

I suddenly ran to cross the same street,

Without looking,

And no thought in mind

Except for the frightful look,

On the face of Nina

On the other side of the street,

Which became concomitant

With a whiff of air on my left side.

On plunging foreword, face down,

I felt the heel of my foot barely touching

The churning rubber of the truck’s front tire

Amidst the terrifying shouts of my friends.

Nina, eyes full of tears, picked me up

And held my head to her breast

Much as my mother did in quieter times.

Oh, how I remember that tender moment—

When,

In the single instant,

Fate saved my life.

Or,

Was it my aunt’s God that wanted me alive

So as to tell this and many other stories

Wherein fate and faith intersect?

On looking at the horizon at sunset,

Reflecting on the existence of our Creator,

My father revealed his inner secret:

“I am of You, not You of me,” he said,

To a consternation

That remains hermetically sealed

In my inner being,

As though I were my aunt--

My eyes are welling up!

3.

On stepping onto the deck,

A sudden thump on the window pane   

Caused my eyes to look down;

There, stunned,

With its eyes and legs quivering,

This young Robin lay,

Lifelessly,

Waiting for help.

“God!” I invoked,

As I bent to pick it up.

Its head to one side,

I placed it with its back

In the palm of my left hand,

Its breast toward the sky,

Its feet still twitching,

And,

Its eyelids,

Uncontrollably closing and opening

And seeing nothing.

I brought my finger to its breast

Caressing its soft feathers

And holding its head up

With its beak aimed toward heaven,

I beseeched him, in a low voice,

To respond to my caresses--

To come back to life.

Instead,

Not a minute later,

Its anguish ceased.

The two thin legs stopped twitching;

Its eyes closed as the head fell to one side.

“No!” I yelled uncontrollably,

Knowing the futility of my words.

On placing my right hand over its body

As if giving blessing of the Last Rites,

I walked to the red-mulched ground

At the corner of the house;

After making a slight impression on the ground,

I gently placed the Robin in its bed--

Its beak pointing to the sky.

That evening, light from the full moon ablaze,

I spied from the window:

A short beam of light grew behind the Robin’s beak,

And,

In an instant,

It shot forward into the sky

Quickly disappearing into the horizon.

In the morning, I rushed to the corner

And saw no trace of the Robin

Ever having been there!

     

4.

In a similar incident,

In my garage, sometime ago,

A thump at the window

Revealed the lifeless body

Of a red-neck Hummingbird

On the cement floor.

Never having been so close to one

Was my first great surprise,

As,

Amazingly,

To touch one,

Let alone hold one

In the palm of my hand

Even in death!

The sensation of lightness,

The luminosity of colors,

Shimmering as they do

With every slight positional move

Were more than any other experience

In my entire life—

Greater than anything

Including consummated love

Of the highest order between two beings,

As though,

Its spirit had entered my body

As light permeates air.

Its  body, needing re-generation,

To preserve its soul,

I moved my little finger, caressing the plumage;

My welling tears

Accompanied my anxious words

As a planctus on behalf of Mary

Seeking the Resurrection for her Son.

I was seeking a response

That was not coming.

Yes!

God!

Please!

In holding its long beak,

I moved it to the center

In the direction of the sun,

Beseeching to open its eyes.

On extending my inducing hand,

Suddenly and without warning,

And in one instant of rapture for me,

This little thing without weight

Rocketed itself

Out of my hand and in the direction of the sun

At the same time,

To my immediate and everlasting joy

Gratefully lasting

Henceforth

And sharing it with you,

Now,

As it is flying into your life.
                             ~~~

Adolfo Caso, 

Friend, Author, Photographer, Poet, Publisher

is a regular contributor to

Book Reader's Heaven...

Amanda Brooke's Yesterday's Sun Available in U.S. February 12th!

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:STOKESAY_CASTLE_GATEHOUSE.jpg
"She carefully typed the name of the moon goddess into the
search engine and was immediately presented with pages of
hyperlinks, some of which provided immediate dead ends,
others only tiny snippets of information. It was only when she
added Charles Hardmonton's name to the search that she hit
pay dirt. She found a research site that not only gave more
detail about Lord Hardmonton's last expedition, but it also
disclosed information about his fall from grace, information
that would have been seen as libelous in its day and wouldn't
be found in any physical book...
"Lord Hardmonton's last recorded expedition had indeed been
in search of the temple of Coyolxauhqui in Central Mexico...
"The missing item was never recovered. He became a recluse
and lived out the rest of his life in Hardmonton Hall...
~~~

Yesterday's Sun

By Amanda Brooke


This novel will keep readers on the edge of their seats until the last few pages, even though it is a sad ending, it was also an amazing one...The plot is simple, but the story is so compelling that I got as edgy as the main character, wondering what was going to happen...

If you are a mother, make sure you have plenty of kleenex available! If you're not a mother, you may find it even harder to "play the game..."

Because it definitely was a game--a game that you could not win...

The original estate of Charles Hardmonton had included a large country home and a gate house. The gardens were extensive and beautifully maintained--and the moondial sat regally in the middle. But the main hall had burnt down many years ago, and the only family member left had moved as far away as possible... It had been Hardmonton who had stolen the Coyolxauhqui Stone and made it into a moondial which was then hidden openly there where he lived. And where his family later died...

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coyolxauhqui
"It was only in his last entry, the day before
the fire, that Edward finally accepted his fate:
"I had often wondered why my great-great-
grandfather had allowed the device for which
he had sacrificed his career and his reputation
to fall into wrack and ruin. Now I know what
Charles Hardmonton must have known on his
deathbed. We are not meant to meddle with
destiny. It is too heavy a burden for any man to
have the ability to see into the future...
~~~

Holly and Tom were still newlyweds when they moved into the beautiful gatehouse. Holly sculpted and they were having a shop built for her by a local carpenter, who soon became like a father to both of them. Tom was a journalist, but was concerned about his future--he had recently been sent out on assignment, reporting from various places around the world.

That meant Holly was alone much of the time...

Holly had a background of abuse in her childhood and had been alone most of her life, even when she was with people... She kept busy with making small sculptures which were selling good and she had been commissioned to create a large hallway sculpture of mother and child for an egotistical woman who had married into money. Holly not only did not like her client, she had been reluctant to take the commission, thinking she would not be able to envision the piece, given her own background and not now being a mother.

Tom was anxious to have a child or children and they often talked about it, but Holly was afraid that she was not "mother" material. It was very clear to everybody but her, however, that she was a loving individual, very much in love with Tom, and they knew she would make a wonderful mother. Convincing her was the problem...

And then they found the moondial, which had been given to the previous owner after the main hall had burned. Holly was intrigued and worked hard to put it together but was disappointed when the main orb seemed not to fit, or work any longer... But at least it looked good in the garden, as they were doing the cleanup there...

Jocelyn, a lovely older woman who came to welcome Holly, was quick to notice that they had found and started to use the dial...

As they became close, Jocelyn having another chance to mother this young woman and Holly finding the first real mother she'd ever really had, Jocelyn shared her own story about the moondial...one in which she felt she was guilty of her husband killing himself...and her separation from her own son...

But nothing prepared Holly for the first time she had learned, and then used, the moondial. For she learned that she would have a child some time in the future...and that she, Holly, would die in childbirth...

What would you do in that situation? Would you share everything with your husband? Holly did not. She did more and more research, to discover if, and how, the future that would leave her husband devastated really would come true...And she learned just how much Tom loved her, as she stood watching him taking care of their baby, after the baby was born, a beautiful little girl named Libby...

Be prepared for agonizing suspense as you read how Holly could not stay away from the moondial, which only worked with the full moon, and those few times she was able to see her daughter...

Not an easy book to read. But it is memorable, and one of the most provocative stories you may ever read. Does fate win? Can your life plan be changed? In some ways, this literary tale is almost a fable... And, oh yes, the moondial is still there in that little village, waiting for the next one, the one who will be foolish or brave enough to look into the future...

Highly recommended if you think you can stand to tempt fate and see your future as well???


GABixlerReviews

About the Author

Amanda Brooke lives in Liverpool with her teenage daughter, Jessica. When her three-year-old son died from cancer, Amanda was determined that his legacy would be one of inspiration. Yesterday's Sun is inspired by her experiences of motherhood. Check out this interview with author!

Anthology on Fate Surprises, Amuses, Encourages...

Bas relief of Atropos. Greek Goddess,
 cutting the thread of life.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Atropos

"Coincidence is God's Way or remaining anonymous.--Albert Einstein


The Mystery of Fate:


Common Coincidence
 Or Divine Intervention?


Edited by Arlene Uslander
 and Brenda Warneka




No matter how learned you become, there are certain things that continue to happen in life for which, sometimes, there is just no answer to the "Why?" When you add the "How?" it becomes even more a question that seems to have no answer. Sometimes the questions remain unanswered. Sometimes people say that what happened was just a coincidence...

But for many of us, we just can't accept that... especially when you hear or read stories about incidents that have occurred in the lives of people we know. Arlene Uslander and Brenda Warneka have had incidents in their own lives. Not only did it affect each of them, but it led to their agreeing to gather true stories from others  that may not have been similar in content, but ultimately always led to the question of "coincidence or Intervention." Personally, I'm quite willing to state I believe in Divine Intervention. But if you don't, I challenge you to read these stories and provide a valid explanation. Oh, and in my opinion, coincidence is not really a valid response...although I do believe in the word, coincidence, for many events...just not those where you can clearly see that an intervention must have taken place...


The cover is a beautiful photo collage representing some of the stories you'll find in this excellent book. If you're like me, I chose to read the book over a series of days, reading one or two stories, responding to them, admittedly many times in an emotional amazement of wonder. But for this review, I thought I'd spotlight the individual who initiated the planning for this anthology...Arlene Uslander.

And what better way to share her own stories is through a taste of her own words, first, from God Writes Straight Lines in Crooked Letters:

"My mother used the expression 'God writes straight lines in crooked letters.' often when I was a child, only I never knew what it meant. I think I do now.


"It all started with a rock--an ordinary, flat rock. My husband and I, both Chicagoans, were in Arizona visiting our friends Brenda and Dick Warneka. Little did I realize that God was going to lead me along a path (literally) that eventually would save, or at the very least, prolong, my life..." (p. 125)

From Some Kind of Miracle..."I saw Callie at the end of the hall, a look of amazement on her face. 'It's some kind of miracle!...Your mother's eyes are open!'


"Hurrying into my mother's bedroom, I was shocked to see that her eyes were open. She was propped up in the rented hospital bed, staring straight ahead. At first I thought she was dead, and my heart started racing. But then she shifted her gaze and looked straight at me. She had a puzzled, questioning look on her face, as if to ask 'Where am I?" Or perhaps 'Where am I going?'...


"I held her frail body gently and spoke to her softly, telling her how much I loved her. And then I could feel and see that she was gone..."  Thinking about...[everything that had just happened] I suspect that Callie was right. It was some kind of miracle." (p. 199)

http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:
Humpback_whale.jpg

I marked so many of the stories as I read...nearly all held my attention to ponder...and, yes, comfort me... but my personal favorite was called The Guide by Mary-Alice Boulter who shares a story that happened to her father and his friend in 1954, about getting lost in the fog, at sea and being saved...by a whale...

"Now, old feller," Paul said to the giant quietly floating just ahead of the boat. "You're the navigator." He saluted loosely. "I'll follow you."

"The great creature's carnacle-spotted body began to move slowly into the fog. Paul started the engine once again and pushed open the throttle enough to match the whale's speed. He glanced at the compass. The needle was still swinging erratically, useless...

"Together, the whale and the small craft advanced into the thick shroud of fog. Paul thought they must look like a toy following along..." (p.102)

It's interesting that the editors gathered stories through writers' sites...Just imagine the number of tales they might have received had they been able to solicit responses more broadly. These "Real Stories ~ Real People" are wonderful to read. Admittedly, we still have no answer as to why there are not stories such as these in everybody's lives. That is, indeed, the Mystery of Fate.


Highly recommended for those seeking answers or those who enjoy reading personal stories that amaze and thrill!

Book Received Via
Facebook's Reviewers Roundup


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