The Traveller’s Daughter
A secret hidden for fifty years is about to be brought to light in Michelle Vernal’s dazzling new novel The Traveller's Daughter!Her mother’s secret…For fifty years Rosa kept the secrets of her past hidden from her beloved daughter, Kitty. The hurt and pain, the guilt over what she’d done, was something she could never face. But now the time has come to share the truth of Kitty’s heritage…Her daughter’s discovery…Kitty never knew anything about her mother’s early life. But after her death, the discovery of Rosa’s journal opens Kitty’s eyes to a whole new world—a family she’s never known and a love she’s never dreamed of…The fate of a family…Now Kitty must travel to her mother’s homeland, but after fifty years, can the sins of the past be forgiven? Or will history repeat itself? With a decades-old family feud threatening her future, can Kitty put right what once went so wrong?Join Kitty on her journey as she follows in her mother’s footsteps from the south of France to Ireland, discovering who she is along the way in this beautiful tale of forbidden love and fancy cupcakes.What readers are saying about ‘The Traveller’s Daughter’:‘A lovely, feel-good read’ Katie’s Bookends‘If you like family sagas and romance, then look no further…at the end you feel like you are leaving behind new friends’ Lorraine, Goodreads‘A beautiful and thought-provoking book’ Artistic Bent Book Blog
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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2017
Copyright © Michelle Vernal 2017
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Ebook Edition © March 2017 ISBN: 9780008226510
Version 2017-07-24
Table of Contents
For my sister Rachel for being so brave
The older the fiddle, the sweeter the tune - Irish Proverb
Rosa’s Journal
Kitty, if you are reading this, my darling girl, then we have come full circle. Oh, I’ve sat down so many times and picked up a pen sure that this time I will write my story down for you. The problem was that I could never find a place in which to start. The thought of writing down all those words, well it would overwhelm me. So then I would think perhaps it would be better if I just got on a train and came to see you instead.
Yes, Rosa old girl, that’s what you should do, I’d tell myself. I’d sit you down with a nice, strong cup of tea and give it to you straight. Face to face before it was too late. But then I’d come back to what stopped me writing it all down in the first place. Where should I begin? I think perhaps, at last, I have realized that therein lies the answer, but I’m not ready, not just yet, and so I’ll digress.
My past was my Pandora’s Box, and while I kept the lid firmly shut on it, I found that I could keep moving forward. Perhaps I shouldn’t have done so, but I had my reasons, or at least I thought I did. It’s strange the way we humans can twist and turn our actions until they fit inside that box just the way we want them to. I am learning though that this getting older is a funny business and not in a laughing sort of a way either. Its finiteness puts a different perspective on the things we’ve done, and the choices made when one finally stops and looks back at the complicated pattern they’ve weaved throughout life.
I imagine that writing this and getting it off my chest will be cathartic for me. There’s a nice lady, Sandy something or other who, works at the hospice I will go to when it’s time, who told me she thought it was a grand idea. She makes a cup of tea the way it should be made, so I trust her judgment. Life is like a cup of tea; it’s all in how you make it.
It was over tea and one of those chocolate biscuits – you know the ones you always loved as a child? – that I told her I wasn’t ready to let go. The time wasn’t right, not when I still had things sitting so heavy on my heart. She patted my hand and told me that some people find it easier to write down what needs to be said. It’s easier to be honest with the written word.
She’s a woman of good sense, so that’s what I have decided to do because this time I shall just have to get on with it. I don’t have the luxury of procrastination any longer. Sandy’s a kind soul and a brave one too, volunteering the way she does at the hospice, and the next time I popped my head in the door to see her she had this book for me. She knows I love roses, so she chose the cover of it well. I think it makes it look a bit more special, like something you might want to keep hold of. She told me I had no excuses to leave anything left unsaid now. That’s another thing about Sandy; she doesn’t mince her words, and she tells you it like it is. I like that about her because what’s the point in someone dressing things up and saying, ‘sure, it will all be fine’ when you know full well it won’t be.
Yes, she’s a fine woman, and I am glad she will be there holding my hand when my time comes. She’s promised me that, and I know you will feel it should have been you there with me. I hope when you’ve read all that I have to say though you’ll understand why I couldn’t do that to you. Know this though Kitty: while Sandy will have been of great comfort to me at the end, my thoughts will have been with you. Mothers hold their children’s hands for just a little while and their hearts forever.
