The Inspiration Behind Cinder Bella by Kathleen Shoop

She never had anything and he lost everything, but together they create a Christmas to remember.

 

She never had anything.

He lost everything.

Together they create a Christmas to remember.

December, 1893–Shadyside, Pennsylvania

Bella Darling lives in a cozy barn at Maple Grove, an estate owned by industrialist Archibald Westminster. The Westminster family is stranded overseas and have sent word to relieve all employees of their duties except Margaret, the pregnant maid, James the butler, and Bella. Content with borrowed books and a toasty home festooned with pine boughs and cinnamon sticks, she coaxes the old hens to lay eggs–extraordinary eggs. Bella yearns for just one thing—someone to share her life with. Always inventive, she has a plan for that. She just needs the right egg into the hands of the right man.

Bartholomew Baines, a Harvard-educated banker, is reeling in the aftermath of his bank’s collapse. With his friends and fiancé ostracizing him for what he thought was an act of generosity, he is penniless and alone. A kind woman welcomes him into her boarding house under conditions that he reluctantly accepts. Completely undone by his current, lowly position, and by the motley crew of fellow boarders who view him as one of them, Bartholomew wrestles with how to rebuild.

With the special eggs as the impetus, the first meeting between Bella and Bartholomew gives each the wrong idea about the other. And when the boarding house burns down a week before Christmas it’s Bella who is there to lend a hand. She, Margaret, and James invite the homeless group to stay at the estate through the holidays. But as Christmas draws closer, eviction papers arrive. Maple Grove is being foreclosed upon. Can Bella work her magic and save their Christmas? Is the growing attraction between Bella and Bartholomew enough for them to see past their differences? 

Read a sample.

Cinder Bella is available at Amazon, Apple Books, Barnes & Noble & Kobo. 

Book Excerpt

Chapter 4

Bartholomew

He didn’t know how long he’d been daydreaming before excited murmurs drew him back to the line he was standing in and his assigned errand. So distracted by his childhood memories, he hadn’t even noticed the egg girl arriving and fitting her bin into the table space the bread lady had cleared. But he did watch as the bread lady hugged the egg lady and though he could see her only from behind, he could tell the egg girl was much younger. A scuffle in the line drew his attention to two women in front of him, one shouldering ahead of another for the “best selection of the special eggs.”

The dustup died down when the bread lady huddled up to referee. The egg girl was prancing away looking like she had the world on a leash, like he used to feel every day. Imagine feeling like that in such dire times. He watched those ahead of him gently place eggs in their baskets, only permitted to select twelve at most. None of them picked up eggs and weighed them in their palm. Choosing in the hopes of winning a double yolk was apparently only the desire of Mrs. Tillman and as he inched closer to his turn he was growing more self-conscious about what he had been commissioned to do.

When it was his turn he followed his orders, picking up each egg, closing his eyes and feeling the weight or whatever in his palm before either placing the egg back in the box and selecting another or putting it into the basket.

When he’d gotten to egg number six the woman behind him pinched the back of his arm. Not that it hurt through layers of clothing, but it startled him. “What?”

“What is right, all right. Think I got all day and night to wait for you to court each egg like it’s the princess you’re taking to the Christmas ball?”

He flinched and stared at the woman. Sooty cheeks and raw hands gave her station in life away. And her treatment of him caused him to lose any chance of responding. How dare she?

“Cat got your tongue, fancy pants? Let’s go or I’ll butt right in front of you.”

“Yeah, get the lead out,” another voice came from farther down the line.

“Ain’t got all day, sailor,” a third heckler joined in.

He lifted his basket. “I’ve been issued specific instructions for—”

A snowball smacked into his back, shutting him up. He spun around and scanned the crowd for who’d thrown it.

“See, even people not in line with us are tired of your mouth. Move it.” The woman behind him held his gaze.

He’d never felt so… he didn’t even know how to describe how this treatment made him feel. He tried to stop himself from rattling off the specifics of his resume and instead went with the general query of, “Don’t you know who I am?”

Another snowball thwapped his back.

“A regular jackass,” someone said from down the line.

He turned again to see who’d hit him with the snowball and the woman behind him used the opening to slide in front. He turned back and stuck his hand into the box, blocking her out. “I’ll hurry. Just let me get the other six.”

She crossed her arms, the baskets resting in the crook of each bent elbow. “Six seconds for six eggs. Get on with it, moneybags.”

“Thank you,” he said. He reached for an egg and lifted it in his palm as he had the others.

The woman started counting one, two, three and the rest of the line joined in. They were serious about him moving quicker. Mrs. Tillman would just have to understand. He didn’t doubt they’d toss him out of line if he didn’t just pluck eggs from the box and move on. And so he did. The last thing he wanted was to break eggs and have to shovel coal or something to make up for it when he got back to Mrs. Tillman’s.

“I have things to do, too, you know,” Bartholomew said. “You folks aren’t the only ones with obligations and—”

“Yeah, whada you have to do today, change into other pairs of fancy pants another three times before burrowing into a bed laid with golden goose feathers?” the woman who’d pinched him asked.

His tongue tied, but he didn’t stop himself from responding. “Uh…”

“Uh? Smoke a pipe of the finest tobacco? Yeah, what else? Sit all day with the paper while someone shines your shoes?” another voice from down the line said.

He straightened, face burning hot, blindly plucking eggs from the pile and placing them into his sack. All of those things would have been fairly close to his daily life before. Before it all crashed around him. “No. Newspapers, yes, but for the market reports and…” Suddenly his studying the news of the day seemed like a luxury instead of the work it was when pronouncing the task to the particular crew waiting in line. Suddenly, he had no words at all. “Forget it.” It was as though none of them knew he was a nice guy. It was as though they assumed he’d done something awful—that it was written across his forehead. He hesitated before moving to pay, considering whether to give them an education in all his achievements and good works. But the woman muscling past him sapped the last bit of energy he had that morning.

He paid and stalked away having been saturated with enough degradation to last the day, to last a century.

– Excerpted from Cinder Bella by Kathleen Shoop, Independent, 2021. Reprinted with permission.

The Inspiration Behind Cinder Bella

Cinder Bella was a really fun story to write and the concept for the novel emerged through layers of ideas and inspiration. The first iteration came when I wrote something I refer to as a Tiny Story. I share these little literary snippets online or as part of collections like the book called Holly and the Christmas Tree. They give me the chance to play with characters and plots that I don't think of as seeds for book-length works at first. These slender bits also give my readers something new to enjoy in between bigger projects. But Bella Darling and her chickens were first inspired by a TikTok friend of mine, Cinda Kukas, who refers to people as her chickens. It always tickled me when she used that term.

That was in my head when I bought an antique postcard of a young woman with an armful of chickens and the tiny tale of Bella saving a wealthy man's life (circa 19^th century) was born. When it came time for me to write my yearly holiday book I'd been researching about Christmas in the old days. I came across articles that reported that people knitted mittens and emptied eggs and slipped messages inside of them to send halfway across the country. They even received replies and sometimes gifts. What an amazing concept! Those articles, my tiny story of Bella, the man she saved, and the postcard sparked an idea. Turns out Bella Darling was book-length worthy! Bella and the odd historical facts were perfect to build a holiday book around.

One thing I love about storytelling—books and movies—is a raucous ensemble cast of characters. It gives the main characters so many opportunities to develop and be seen by "others" in various ways. This provides the reader with a robust view of who they truly are. I knew I would set Bella's story in Pittsburgh during the Gilded Age. At that time the Steel City was home to more millionaires than anywhere else in the country including New York City. Shadyside, a suburb of Pittsburgh was where many of the steel, glass, iron, and engineering magnates built their homes to enjoy fresher air than was available in the city center. 1893 brought a bank collapse, panic, and a depression that destroyed the lives of many. This was the perfect time and place to set a Christmas miracle!

I can't remember exactly what inspired Bartholomew Baines' character but it didn't take long before I was writing a debonair man who'd lost it all in the collapse, into the story. Though this is historical fiction it does have a romantic thread (it won a Next Generation Indie Book Award for romance) that somewhat draws on classic Cinderella elements. However, I didn't want Bella to be rescued, just scooped out of the ashes because she was beautiful. She's resourceful, funny, kind, and her wide-open friendliness (think golden retriever energy) compliments the magic she shares with all. That doesn't mean everything comes easy for her, but she is absolutely loveable, especially in the face of someone like Bartholomew (who she insists on calling Bart) who until he lost it all, had everything. She's got nothing compared to him, yet she's the teacher.

When the boarding house where Bartholomew is forced to stay after losing his money burns down, Bella brings all the tenants to stay at the estate where she's been living since she saved the owner's life. This found family scrapes together money and food (the wealthy owners are overseas, escaping their own financial losses) and more than that, they create a holiday season that exceeds expectations. As one reviewer said, "Enchanting and uplifting, Cinder Bella is big screen-worthy while filled with lyrical prose at the same time." –Lisa McCombs.

Christmas markets, a homemade ice skating rink, "magic" eggs, unexpected deliveries, a cameo by Henry Heinz, and a blend of softness and grit, Bella's story will put you in the Christmas spirit. It's amazing how much of the past is relevant in current times and bringing this story to life was so much fun. So far readers have felt that joy in this warm-hearted tale. Get yours now and let me know what you think!

About the Author

Bestselling author Kathleen Shoop, PhD writes historical fiction, women’s fiction, and romance. Shoop’s novels have garnered awards in the Independent Publisher Book Awards (IPPY), Eric Hoffer Book Awards, Next Generation Indie Book Awards, and more. You can find Kathleen in person at various venues. She’s on the board of the Kerr Memorial Museum, teaches at writing/reader conferences, co-coordinates Mindful Writers Retreats and writing conferences, and gives talks at various book clubs, libraries, and historical societies.

Sign up for her newsletter at www.kshoop.com. 

Visit her website at www.kshoop.com or connect with her on X, Facebook, Instagram, BookBub, TikTok and Goodreads.

Cinder Bella is available at Amazon, Apple Books, Barnes & Noble & Kobo. 

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Book Review: The Thursday Murder Club by Richard Osman

 

I watched The Thursday Murder Club movie before reading the book. Had I read the book first, I might not have watched the movie. Therein lies the difference… I won’t rehash the plot too much – a quartet of senior citizens at luxury retirement home Cooper’s Chase amuse themselves by ‘solving’ cold case murders. Imagine their shock when two real murders happen that relate directly to the fate of their beloved Cooper’s Chase and could signal them losing their home. They take on the role of real-life detectives and maybe they need to because the police don’t seem to have a clue where to begin.

I love any kind of cosy murder mystery and am a big Agatha Christie fan. The sleuth team idea works well, and their backstories draw the reader into the lives of the four senior citizens. However, the movie is the only reason I continued reading. Let’s do the pluses first: the movie characters totally do justice to the book characters, thanks to inspired casting and brilliant acting. The scriptwriters ingeniously teased out the main characteristics and idiosyncrasies of each person so that when I read about Ibrahim, I could see Ben Kingsley in my mind’s eye, giving a masterly performance. The same can be said for the rest, save for Ron in the movie. Alas, I felt Ron was miscast in the movie but on the page, I could imagine him perfectly. The movie actually made the book come to life as I read. Without those visuals already in my mind, I would not have finished the book.

The main issues are writing in the present tense; the constant shifting of POV from first to third person; the huge number of chapters, some of which are only one page, to change POV; and the unbelievable and turgid backstories for just about every character, important or not. It was like being on a roller coaster, but not a pleasant ride. Who still writes in the present tense? This is for YA novels and not for the average reader who likes to settle into the story as events unfold. It is also technically very hard to do this and then refer to past events without getting the tenses muddled. I was surprised Richard Osman chose this path. However, perhaps he did this thinking that present tense coupled with first person POV (Joyce’s) would give more immediacy. Sadly, Osman included Joyce’s propensity to write in a stream-of-consciousness fashion in her diary. Unless one is James Joyce, not TTMC Joyce, this can fall flat and it did. The reader is subjected to her ‘wittering on’ (no other way to describe it) and it ends up being the demented chatter of a slightly senile old biddy who keeps repeating herself. The change in POV was also very jarring as we go from Joyce’s vague mental meanderings to Elizabeth’s third-person POV as she strides about, picking up clues and putting it all together. She was with MI5, you know, or was it MI6? No matter, she is a force to be reckoned with.

The backstories dragged the main plot down and it’s a pity because all the to-ing and fro-ing and things that happened twenty years ago were immaterial. I know some Big-Name authors say they have detailed backstories for everyone, from the gardener to the supermarket checkout girl, but it is not necessary to burden the reader with that. It is enough for the author to know this for themselves, and their writing can reflect in a line or two here and there enough information to flesh out a minor character. Osman chose to give the baddies wildly complex backstories of crime and perhaps murder, since all the people involved seemed to have disappeared rather oddly without a trace. Thank heavens, the scriptwriters were skilled enough to give the movie viewers just enough information and not drown the main story. Osman has made a poor choice here and his editors should have picked up on it.

Bottom line: see the movie and skip the book. My glowing review of the movie is here. Make popcorn.

 

10 Things You Might Not Know About NightBorn by Theresa Cheung

 

When a brilliant dream psychologist begins appearing in thousands of strangers’ nightmares, she must confront a terrifying truth…

 

What if the line between your waking life and your darkest dreams disappeared forever?

Alice Sinclair, a driven psychology professor, is about to find out. When thousands of people begin experiencing terrifying, vivid nightmares … all centered around her, Alice’s quiet academic life is shattered. Haunted by the question of why she’s become the subject of these shared dreams, Alice embarks on a desperate search for answers, uncovering a chilling secret: someone – or something – hungry for global power has discovered a way to manipulate consciousness itself. The world is fast becoming a playground for those in control of the dreaming mind.  In a heart-stopping race against time, Alice must navigate a treacherous web of deception, where nothing – and no one – can be trusted, not even herself.

Read a sample.

NightBorn is available at Amazon US and Amazon UK.

Book Excerpt

Florida, USA—Sometime soon

Alice saw the wave. It was a beast.

It rose slowly at first, the way a predator prepares to strike—silent, inevitable. It quickly gained speed, swelling into a towering monster, a force of nature, as if the ocean itself had decided to swallow her whole. The wave surged, easily 30 feet high, dark and roaring with a ferocity she could feel in her bones. It moved toward her with the relentlessness of fate.

She turned, panic seizing her as she raced up the beach, her bare feet slipping in the wet sand. The ocean was closing in—the world was closing in on her. Her breath came in jagged gasps, but the wave, too quick, slammed into her, yanking her under.

Her body twisted through the water, eyes stinging, lungs burning, desperate for air, clawing at the debris swirling around her—plastic, broken wood, seaweed, dead fish—but there was no solid ground to cling to. The current pulled her deeper, its

grip tightening like cold fingers around her throat.

She gasped for air, choking on the water, the world a dark, crushing void. She couldn’t see. Every nerve in her body screamed for release, but the ocean kept pulling, tumbling her in every direction, turning her body like a puppet with broken strings. She was drowning. No—she was going to die.

Something in her snapped.

Her feet hit something solid. Hard. Stone? She couldn’t tell.

All she knew was that she had to rise. She shoved upward, throwing her weight toward the surface with every ounce of strength she had left. Her body screamed, but she pushed

harder, until her head broke through to air. For one split second, she inhaled—but the water dragged her down again, relentless, hungry for her life. She fought the instinct to panic.

She couldn’t let it win. Not today.

Just breathe. Just breathe, Alice. Instinctively she let herself float, stilling her body, letting the sea carry her, accepting the weight of the water around her. She couldn’t fight it anymore—but maybe she didn’t have to.

Her feet found solid ground again. She shoved upward, defiant, gasping as she broke through. Sunlight blinded her.

Alice jerked awake, the sharp taste of salt lingering on her tongue, her body tangled in the sheets. The echo of the wave still thundered in her ears. The sunlight slanted through the bedroom window, blinding. Her pulse thrummed in her neck as if the sea still had its grip on her.

“You’re okay. You’re okay. It was a dream. Just a nightmare.”

What if it wasn’t just a nightmare?

Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, Alice’s feet hit the cold floor. Had Swiss psychiatrist and dream analysis pioneer, Carl Jung ever felt this unsettled after one of his dreams? Had his own night visions ever made him question his grasp on reality?

Her eyes flickered to the bedside table and her Red Book: the dream journal she’d named after Jung’s own. Ever since she was young, she’d written down her dreams. But this one felt radically different from the rest.

It was too real, though it clearly wasn’t literal. She lived more than an hour from the nearest beach and had never been to it. Was the dream a symbolic glimpse into her own future? A warning? Or something darker, deeper?

It was just a dream. Maybe it was just all the energy she’d poured into teaching Jungian dream analysis spilling out cathartically in a nightmare.

The feeling of drowning clung to her.

She grabbed her journal and scribbled out every detail of the dream. The ocean. The wave. The suffocating terror. Jung had called the act of recording dreams an act of self-analysis—so why did this one feel more like a clear and present danger than an analysis? Was it the forbidden mystery Jung had hinted at in his Red Book—that thin line between genius and insanity where revelation could be found?

Was her obsession with dreams driving her mad?

It was her calling, her passion. Perhaps, as director of the new program in Jungian Studies at the University of Central Florida, she could teach her students what she had dreamt and encourage them to analyze it; maybe it would be cathartic for

them and for her.

What if her students were the key to unlocking the deeper meanings of her own dream? She could see herself standing before the class, scrawling on the blackboard, her voice filled with energy as she taught them about using their dreams to peer into possible futures, even to shape reality. Inception—she would reference that for sure, the perfect movie fix to illustrate how the subconscious could manipulate perception and even reality.

What better way to introduce her students to the power of their own dreaming minds?

Alice pushed herself out of bed as the sinking feeling of the dream still clung tight. Blinking rapidly in front of her bedroom mirror, she forced herself to take deep breaths. Her long dark hair framing the mismatched eyes staring right back at her: one

blue, one brown. She had always hated this difference. Always hidden it behind a pair of blue lenses.

A perfect illusion of normalcy, her blue lenses. They always worked—ever since she was 14, when her mother had taken her to the ophthalmologist to prevent the cruel teasing at school.

Alice slipped them on, as though the simple act could shield her from her nightmare.

The rhythm of her repeated blinking to help the lenses settle helped bring a semblance of calm.

Something was coming, though; she could feel it. Something was drawing her, pulling her into the unknown. Could she rise above and survive it?

Alice dressed the part for her day ahead and stepped out into the bright light of the day.

Was the drowning nightmare a message? A warning? And if so, a warning about what?

– Excerpted from NightBorn by Theresa Cheung, Collective Ink, 2025. Reprinted with permission.

10 Things You Might Not Know About My Debut Novel NightBorn

Writing NightBorn has been one of the most transformative and daring experiences of my career. Many readers know me for my dream dictionaries and spiritual nonfiction, but stepping into fiction opened up an entirely different world - one full of surprises, detours, and hidden meanings.

1. The idea came from a single question my daughter inspired and a real life dream hacking campaign.

My daughter devours dark, gothic fantasies but refuses to read my nonfiction. One day I wondered: What if I taught dream decoding through a story she’d actually want to read? That question unlocked the entire novel. I'd also long been fascinated by a 2006 marketing hoax called thisman.org where a sketch of a man was posted online with the question have you dreamed of this man and thousands of people said they had.

2. Every major character is rooted in Jungian psychology.

Alice Sinclair and the other key characters are intentionally shaped around Jungian archetypes. Their choices and conflicts mirror the symbolic themes I’ve studied for decades even if readers don’t immediately notice.

3. The book doubles as a “hidden” dream manual.

Beneath the thriller plot, the conversations and dream scenes contain real dreamwork techniques. If readers follow the symbols closely, they’ll find authentic guidance on interpreting their own dreams.

4. The tagline“Some dreams must be set free. Nightmares, after all are dreams too”—came to me in a dream.

I woke one morning with those words in my mind, and they became the soul of the story. It captured both the emotional arc of Alice and the message I wanted to share about the subconscious.

5. The cover was designed by my son-in-law.

We had no budget for a designer, so he offered to try. What he created is striking, eerie, and unforgettable. Readers often tell me it triggers dream recall which delights me to no end.

6. My traditional publishers didn’t want me writing fiction.

After decades of nonfiction success, they were hesitant about me stepping outside the genre they associated me with. Their gentle “no” became the push I needed to take an indie route and trust my creative instincts.

7. The book took nearly five years to complete.

I wrote NightBorn in the spaces between my nonfiction deadlines. There were rewrites, pauses, self-doubt, and moments I wondered if it would ever be finished. But the story simply refused to be abandoned. It quite literally haunted me and often felt like it was a message from the future.

8. Alice Sinclair’s academic background mirrors a path I almost took.

I considered becoming a university academic before choosing writing full-time. Exploring that path through Alice let me revisit a version of myself who took a different route in life.

9. Early readers reported remembering their dreams more vividly.

This was the most magical surprise of all. Many readers and reviewers said the book triggered detailed dream recall for the first time in years. For someone who has devoted her life to dreamwork, that feedback was a dream come true, if you forgive the pun but dreams love to pun.

10. NightBorn is only the beginning.

This novel opened a creative door I never intend to close. I’m already exploring ideas that go even further into consciousness, symbolism, and the shadowy spaces between waking and dreaming. Writing NightBorn was my leap of faith - a novel born out of passion, intuition, and a lifelong love of the dreaming mind. I hope you enjoy discovering its layers as much as I loved weaving them. Wishing you wild and wonderful dreams.

About the Author

Theresa Cheung is an internationally bestselling author and public speaker. She has been writing about spirituality, dreams and the paranormal for the past 25 years, and was listed by Watkins Mind Body and Spirit magazine as one of the 100 most spiritually influential living people in 2023. She has a degree in Theology and English from Kings College, Cambridge University, frequently collaborating with leading scientists and neuroscientists researching consciousness.

Theresa is regularly featured in national newspapers and magazines, and she is a frequent radio, podcast and television guest and ITV: This Morning’s regular dream decoding expert. She hosts her own popular spiritual podcast called White Shores and weekly live UK Health Radio Show: The Healing Power of Your Dreams.

Her latest book is the paranormal thriller, NightBorn, available at Amazon US and Amazon UK.

You can visit her website at www.theresacheung.com or connect with her on X, Facebook, Instagram or Goodreads.

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Book Spotlight: Christmas in Newfoundland 3 by Mike Martin

Christmas traditions, old and new from Sgt. Windflower and his family and friends.

 

Sgt. Windflower loves Christmas and we’re happy to share what he and his family and friends do at Christmastime in Grand Bank or Marystown or Ramea, Newfoundland. Some of the stories feature Windflower and Sheila’s adorable daughters and of course Eddie Tizzard and his family make several spotlight appearances. Other stories take you back to Christmas seasons of many years long past and there’s even a return of a fabulous Newfoundland tradition, the Mummers. Christmas is a time to celebrate but it is also a time to reminisce and remember. We hope that it will bring back pleasant memories for you and your family to share at Christmas and throughout the year. Come celebrate Christmas in Newfoundland with Sgt. Windflower Mysteries.

Read sample here.

Christmas in Newfoundland is available at Amazon.

Book Excerpt

A Christmas Wish

Richard Tizzard gazed out at the ocean from his small home in Grand Bank, Newfoundland. The wind was high, and the waves were crashing against the shore, sending spray up into the air. Already, his house had a thick coating of the stuff on the side facing the water and he could hear it creaking and groaning against this relentless onslaught.

But inside, with the wood stove piled high, Richard and his old dog, Rusty, were perfectly comfortable and content. Both of them were coming to the end of their lives and Richard had accepted that almost completely. His children were trying to keep him hanging on as long as possible, but he was fine with what he knew was an inevitable outcome. 

He loved the quote by the great Bengali poet, Rabindranath Tagore that his friend, Doctor Vijay Sanjay had shared with him. He smiled to himself as he repeated it to Rusty. “’Death is not extinguishing the light; it is putting out the lamp as dawn has come’.” Rusty seemed to smile, too, at this saying. 

It wasn’t that he wanted to go, but Richard Tizzard was getting himself ready. In the meantime, he planned to enjoy his family to the upmost. His two daughters, Margaret and Brenda lived in Grand Bank with their almost grown-up families. His son, Eddie, lived in Marystown now with his wife Carrie and their two children. Little Hughie was almost two and the joy of Richard’s life while the baby, Sophie, was quickly overtaking her brother as his favourite. 

He smiled again when he thought about Eddie and his young family. It reminded him of when he had a young family of his own back in the tiny community of Ramea. Ramea is and was a small village off the southwest coast of Newfoundland that was only accessible by ferry. It did, however, have a rich fishing ground nearby and for many years provided a good livelihood for Richard and his four brothers, all of whom fished the abundant waters for many years.

But in the early 1990’s the inshore cod fishery collapsed and by 1992, when the cod moratorium was declared, all of them were out of work. The older brothers retired their boats and licenses and took the government support that was offered. Richard was too young for that, so he used the payout to move to Grand Bank. First, he worked in the fishing industry on a crew of a longliner operating out of Marystown. But when that work diminished, he went back to his true love, carpentry and woodworking.

He still did a little personal work on the side but his days of working for a living were over. He enjoyed all his family and the grandchildren tremendously, but the truth was that all he had left today were memories. Like many older people he spent a lot of time reminiscing and remembering these days. And as it was getting near Christmas, he thought a lot about Christmas from his past.

Growing up in his mom and dad’s saltbox house in Ramea. Christmas was a very quiet and peaceful affair. But he still remembered it fondly as one of the nicest times of the year. His father and older brothers were fishermen, so the winter was a slow season. They fixed their nets and did a few odd jobs around the house, but most of their time was spent cutting and splitting wood for the cast iron woodstove that heated their home and was action central for all cooking and baking.

About two weeks before Christmas his mother would start her Christmas baking. Shortbread cookies, mince pies and next year’s Christmas cakes. This year’s cakes were all ready to be unwrapped in a week or so and that would begin the ‘season of eating’ his dad called it. Richard loved the smell of the cookies and cakes as the days went by and to hear his mother singing, usually some old hymn or Christmas song like Angels We Have Heard on High or Away in a Manger. 

The men would continue their work as usual until a few days before Christmas Day. Then, his father would announce that it was time to get their tree and the whole family, except his mother, who was almost literally chained to the stove in the kitchen, would head out with their horse and sleigh to find a Christmas tree. They didn’t have to go far.

The houses in Ramea were built mostly around the harbour in sheltered nooks and crannies out of the constant wind. That meant almost all the land above them was still heavily forested with an abundance of Balsam firs that made the perfect Christmas trees. His father would lead the procession into the forest, but the tradition in the Tizzard family was that all the children would draw straws to see would pick their tree. The year Richard drew the shortest straw he was so excited he almost peed his pants.

As the others urged him on, making suggestions, Richard took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them and turned around, he saw it. A six-foot Balsam fir with many branches that spread out from top to bottom. “That’s it,” he cried, and everyone cheered. They cut it down and put it on the back of the sleigh to go home. When they arrived, their mom had made a pot of hot cocoa and while the tree was drying out in a corner they sat around and enjoyed their sweet, hot treat with some home-made cookies.

When Richard closed his eyes today, he could still smell that Christmas tree in their kitchen and taste that delicious hot cocoa. He remembered his mom sitting by herself next to the stove smiling. That was one of her last Christmas holidays with them, he recalled. She died like so many others at that time from complications in the birth of his youngest sister. Christmas was never quite the same in their household after that.

– Excerpted from Christmas in Newfoundland 3 by Mike Martin, Ottawa Press and Publishing, 2025. Reprinted with permission. 

About the Author

Mike Martin was born in St. John’s, NL on the east coast of Canada and now lives and works in Ottawa, Ontario. He is a long-time freelance writer and his articles and essays have appeared in newspapers, magazines and online across Canada as well as in the United States and New Zealand. He is the award-winning author of the best-selling Sgt. Windflower Mystery series, set in beautiful Grand Bank. There are now 16 books in this light mystery series with the publication of Friends are Forever. A Tangled Web was shortlisted in 2017 for the best light mystery of the year, and Darkest Before the Dawn won the 2019 Bony Blithe Light Mystery Award. All That Glitters was shortlisted for the LOLA 2024 Must Read Book of the year award. Some Sgt. Windflower Mysteries are now available as audiobooks and the latest Darkest Before the Dawn was released as an audiobook in 2024. All audiobooks are available from Audible in Canada and around the world. Mike is Past Chair of the Board of Crime Writers of Canada, a national organization promoting Canadian crime and mystery writers and a member of the Newfoundland Writers’ Guild and Capital Crime Writers. His latest book is Christmas in Newfoundland 3: Sgt. Windflower Holiday Tales. Visit Mike’s website at www.sgtwindflowermysteries.com. Connect with him at X and Facebook.

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