Mistletoe, Midwife...Miracle Baby
Книга "Mistletoe, Midwife...Miracle Baby", авторами которой являются Литагент HarperCollins EUR}, Anne Fraser, представляет собой захватывающую работу в жанре Современная зарубежная литература. В этом произведении автор рассказывает увлекательную историю, которая не оставит равнодушными читателей.
Автор мастерски воссоздает атмосферу напряженности и интриги, погружая читателя в мир загадок и тайн, который скрывается за хрупкой поверхностью обыденности. С прекрасным чувством языка и виртуозностью сюжетного развития, Литагент HarperCollins EUR позволяет читателю погрузиться в сложные эмоциональные переживания героев и проникнуться их судьбами. EUR настолько живо и точно передает неповторимые нюансы человеческой психологии, что каждая страница книги становится путешествием в глубины человеческой души.
"Mistletoe, Midwife...Miracle Baby" - это не только захватывающая история, но и искусство, проникнутое глубокими мыслями и философскими размышлениями. Это произведение призвано вызвать у читателя эмоциональные отклики, задуматься о важных жизненных вопросах и открыть новые горизонты восприятия мира.
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Table of Contents
About the Author
ANNE FRASER was born in Scotland, but brought up in South Africa. After she left school she returned to the birthplace of her parents, the remote Western Islands of Scotland. She left there to train as a nurse, before going on to university to study English Literature. After the birth of her first child she and her doctor husband travelled the world, working in rural Africa, Australia and Northern Canada. Anne still works in the health sector. To relax, she enjoys spending time with her family, reading, walking and travelling.
CHAPTER ONE
ELLEN stopped her car at the top of the steep drive and surveyed the icy track to her grandmother’s house with dismay. Even if she could navigate the car down the slope she would never be able to reverse it back up without the danger of sliding into the deep ditches on either side.
She climbed out of the driver’s seat and into the bitter wind and lightly falling snow. She’d been driving solidly for over ten hours and every muscle ached from hunching over the steering wheel as she’d raced north in an attempt to beat the snow that was predicted to engulf Scotland. Huddling into her ski jacket and cursing the high heels of her leather boots, she decided to leave her large suitcases in the boot for later and to walk down the drive.
Taking a deep breath, she filled her lungs with the sharp, fresh air of the Highlands and felt some of her exhaustion and doubt slip away. She had been right to come. This is where she needed to be right now—the only place she had ever truly known as home.
The farmhouse roof peeked above the tops of evergreen pine and elder, smoke from the chimney curling into the grey afternoon sky. Ellen could already visualise Gran stoking up the fire, a batch of scones or bread rising in the oven, the kettle on the stove ever ready to make a warming cup of tea. A twist of anxiety knotted in Ellen’s ribs and for a second she faltered. Was she being selfish coming back? She hadn’t told Gran the true reason why she was coming to stay, only that she had been ill and needed time to get her strength back. If Gran knew the truth it would only upset her and she couldn’t bear to do that to the woman who meant the world to her.
Puffing out her cheeks, Ellen swallowed hard. Her emotions were still all over the place; for a moment—a split second—she would forget, then the reality of her situation would hit her again, threatening to crush her.
Needing a few moments to compose herself, Ellen thrust her hands in her parka pockets, her eyes straying over the countryside until she picked out the Jamieson house. Memories rushed back: sitting in their large farmhouse kitchen drinking in the atmosphere of laughter and love pretending, if only for a short while, that she was part of a large and caring family. But the Jamiesons had moved away. And so had Sean. Where was he now? Gran had said that he planned to renovate the house his parents had left behind. Why? Was he planning to put down roots? Had he met someone and was preparing a home for them to share? Maybe even start a family?
Something she would never have.
Grabbing her overnight bag, she set off down the track, picking her way carefully in her three-inch-heel boots. Twice she nearly went over on her ankle, and twice she just managed to stay on her feet. Breaking a leg was the last thing she needed right now. Ellen suppressed a wave of self-pity that threatened to crush her. There was no point giving in to it. She had to look to the future—however bleak it seemed right now.
She was halfway down the drive when she became aware of a rhythmic banging noise cutting through the air. Glancing in the direction of the sound, to the side and rear of her grandmother’s house, she saw a tall figure swinging an axe, making short work of splitting logs. For goodness’ sake, whoever it was had to be freezing. He was wearing only a T-shirt and jeans in the sub-zero temperatures as he swung the axe over his shoulder.
There was something primitive about the way he worked, his muscles bunching with each lift of the axe, that made her pause to watch him. He seemed lost in his own world, oblivious to the snow falling around him, settling on his dark head.
Suddenly, as Ellen moved off again, her legs went completely from beneath her. She had been so intent on the figure in front of her, she’d taken her eyes off the slippery track. She yelped as she struggled to remain upright and the man turned. For a second their eyes held and then she was hitting the ground with a thump that forced the breath from her lungs. Even as she lay there, staring up at the sky, wet snow sneaking down the collar of her jacket, Ellen couldn’t help thinking that there was something achingly familiar about those clear, pale eyes.
