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New Orleans, a city of mystery and magic, of secrets and dreams, and a history drenched in both love and the deepest of heartache.
When ballet dancer Clara Campbell arrives in New Orleans, lonely and homesick, she is immediately captivated by the story of Windisle Plantation and the tragic tale that is said to have transpired beyond its gate. Legend has it that it is abandoned by all living souls, but to Claraโs great surprise, it is not a ghost she hears through the stone wall surrounding the property, but a flesh and blood man. A scarred stranger with a pain deeper and darker than the churning waters of the Mississippi river that flows beside his self-imposed prison.
The ruined man behind the wall hides himself from the world. The last thing he expects is to find a friend in the selfless girl who speaks to him through the cracks in the rock. The girl who keeps returning week after week. The girl who makes him wish for things he has long since given up on. The girl who strikes both fear and hope within his wounded heart. But there can be no future for them, no life beyond Windisle, for no one knows better than him that monsters only live in the dark.
The Wish Collector is the story of shame and triumph, of loneliness and love, and the miracle of two hearts connecting despite the strongest of barriers between them.
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ISBN-10
1731153503
ISBN-13
978-1731153500
Print length
466 pages
Language
English
Publisher
Independently published
Publication date
November 23, 2018
Dimensions
5.25 x 1.05 x 8 inches
Item weight
1.06 pounds
We must never choose safety over right. Safety is the blanket under which cowards sleep. Safety smothers hope and extinguishes all fight.
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Once upon a time, he had been a man used to the spotlight and now he was a man who danced between moonbeams.
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Love canโt just disappear when this life is through, can it, Jonah? Even if our bodies turn to dust, the love we feel must go somewhere.
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B07KVKJ4KC
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5368 KB
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This is one gorgeous, sweeping, epic American love story. -- Katy Regnery, NYT bestselling author
The characters are also real, fleshed-out people who leap off the pages. -- Jessica Moro, Happy Ever After, USAToday
The Wish Collector has stolen my heart and is easily one of my new favorites. The unique storyline, the wonderful characters, and the depth of emotion create a stunning story about choices people make, the regret, grief, and guilt they live with, and the forgiveness and second chances that heal the aching hearts. Jam-packed with all the feels, this is one story you do not want to miss. -- Escapist Book Blog
The Wish Collector is beautifully written, a story within a story. An emotional journey filled with hopes, dreams, despair, regret, and the magical pull of love. -- Stephanie, Blushing Babes Are Up All Night
If you're looking for something different- something that will capture your heart and tease your mind and whisk you away to another place and even, for a bit, another time? The Wish Collector is exactly what you're looking for. It's lovely. It's captivating. It's both a tale as old as time, and a uniquely told story you've never read before. -- Shelly, Bookgasms
This book is so much more than a romance. It is a touching story about shame and redemption, forgiveness, hope, friendship, passion, second chances and the miracle of love... absolutely another BEST BOOK OF 2018! -- AC Book Blog
6 stars! This book has left me with a huge hangover! This is a gorgeous, intriguing, intricately woven story where tragedy and heartbreak eventually lead to the sweet promise of hope, healing, and a chance of redemption.-- Reviews by Tammy & Kim (Rachel & Jay)
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PROLOGUE
Jonahโs whistle echoed off the marble walls as he strode purposefully down the empty courthouse hall. Glancing at the domed ceiling, he inhaled deeply, appreciating the timeless smell of law and order. God, I love it here, he mused, satisfaction filling his chest.
Heโd been coming to the Orleans Parish Criminal District Court since he was just a boy, trailing behind his father and hoping someday to be looked at in the same way others had eyed his dadโwith respect, but also laced with a hint of fear.
โIf others donโt fear you a little, son, youโre not doing it right.โ Of course, his dad applied that same theory to his parenting as well. If anyone ruled his home with an iron fist, it was Edward Chamberlain.
โHave a good day, Mr. Chamberlain,โ said the blonde attorney in the pencil skirt as she passed through the metal detector. She was entering on the other side and looked over her shoulder as she passed, running her eyes quickly down his body and biting her full bottom lip. Sheโd been sending him come hither signals for weeks, and although heโd been too busy to indulge in extracurricular activities, as soon as this case was over, he was going to take her up on her โoffer.โ The thought of peeling that conservative suit off her shapely body and finding out what she wore beneath caused a pleasant twitch between his legs.
He jogged down the stone steps outside, swinging his leather briefcase by his side. The world is my goddamned oyster, he thought with a grin.
Applegate, Knowles, and Fennimore was less than a mile from the courthouse and he chose to walk, whistling againโthat damn song that had been stuck in his head since Palmer Applegateโs retirement party two days before.
Palmer was the senior of all the senior partners at the firm, who, by the way, wasnโt anywhere close to a jolly good fellow. The old guy was a โStodgy, Lifeless Bore,โ but Jonah supposed a tune by that name might not have gone over quite so well at an honorary event. In any case, he would now be boring his new trophy wife on a full-time basis rather than the rest of the employees at the firm Jonah had been hired at six months ago.
The prestigious law firm occupied the entire top two floors of the brick building Jonah entered, whistling a few bars yet again as the door swung shut behind him.
That nobody can deny!
The elevator ascended smoothly, dinging as the doors slid open.
โGood afternoon, sir,โ his secretary, Iris, greeted.
โIris. Anyโโ His words cut off abruptly when the man sitting in a chair in the small waiting room to his left stood. Justin.
โSir, I told this gentleman your schedule was packed butโโ
Jonah gave her a nod, concealing a grimace. โItโs okay, Iris. This is my brother, Justin.โ
โOh,โ Iris said. โI didnโt realize . . .โ
It spoke to how little anyone at the firm really knew himโthough he spent the majority of his time thereโthat they didnโt know Justin Chamberlain was his brother. Justin was a lawyer as well, though the law firm Justin worked for was in a far different zip code, and from what Jonah could tell, took on more pro bono cases than paid clients. It was a wonder they could afford office space at all.
He gripped his brotherโs hand, smiling as they shook. โWhatโs up, bro? Long time no see.โ
Justin gave him a thin smile. โDo you have a minute?โ
โNot reallyโโ
โItโs important.โ Justin shoved a hand through his dark brown hair, exposing the Chamberlain widowโs peak before his hair flopped over his forehead again.
Jonah glanced pointedly at his Rolex as Justin continued. โIโve been calling you for weeks now. I even stopped by your apartment a couple of times.โ
Jonah sighed. Heโd received the messages. He just hadnโt had time to call his brother back. What the hell could be that important anyway?
He signaled Justin to follow him to his office down the hall. โIโve been slammed. You know Iโm in the middle of this big case. Iโm preparing to cross-examine the victim tomorrow. This could beโโ
โThatโs what I want to talk to you about.โ Justin shut Jonahโs door, and Jonah felt a moment of pride as he watched his brother take in the small but luxurious office with a glimpse of the New Orleans skyline out the window. But when he turned his eyes back to Jonah, Justinโs expression was grim.
โDonโt do this, Jonah.โ
โDo what exactly?โ
โThis case.โ He shook his head, his bleeding heart making his eyes glisten in a way that made Jonah want to roll his eyes. โMurray Ridgley committed this crime and you know it.โ
Jonah leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms. โThe partners took on his case because they believe in his innocence, Justin. True, it doesnโt look good. The circumstantial evidence is . . . extensive. But he deserves a fair trial and good representation just like any other citizen.โ
โIโm not arguing with that. All Iโm saying is let someone else talk to the news cameras from here on out. Let someone else cross-examine the victim. I know you, Jonah. Youโre a damn good attorney. Youโll crush her if thatโs your aim. But please donโt, I beg you. Donโt be tied to this. Donโt have this case be the one youโre remembered for. This is not something you want to hang your legacy on.โ
โJesus, listen to yourself. Are you telling me not to win?โ In the last few weeks, heโd become the face of this caseโthe partners had designed it that way and he hadnโt needed to ask why. He was handsome, and he had the smile of a golden boy. Women liked looking at him; men respected him. The jury trusted him.
โIโm telling you not to be like Dad.โ
That stopped Jonah like a punch to the gut. He knew that Justin, being the oldest, had taken the brunt of the discipline in their house. The lionโs share of the pressure Edward Chamberlain pressed upon his sons had landed on Justinโs shoulders. As a little boy, Jonah had watched and learned. He knew what brought about his fatherโs wrath and what gained his approval, and he strove always for the latter.
โDad wasnโt all bad.โ
โIs anyone?โ
Good question.
Maybe Murray Ridgley if he had in fact committed the crime. Jonah had plenty of doubts himself. And he had this notion that there was something the partners werenโt telling him. But he had no proof of that, just some whisperings behind closed doors as heโd walked past.
And this case . . . this case was the one that could catapult him to the next level. If he impressed the partners, it could literally make his career.
One of the junior partners was taking Applegateโs vacancy, but one of the other two remaining original partners, Knowles, was practically a walking corpse. In the next couple of years, heโd retire or die, and if Jonah played his cards right, he could make junior partner and then partner thereafter. Partner! Even his dad hadnโt made junior partner until he was thirty.
Jonah had worked his ass off to graduate college in two and a half years, had attended an accelerated law school program, passed the bar on the first try, and had received a job offer at one of the most prestigious firms in New Orleans immediately after that. He was on the fast track. He couldnโt afford a stumble.
Jonah met his brotherโs gaze. โDad was respected.โ
Justinโs eyes narrowed. โDad was a sonofabitch who cared about power far more than he cared about people. He ruined lives as easily as he buttered toast. Thatโs not you, Jonah. Iโm your brother. I knowโ"
โAll right, listen, I appreciate this whole do-gooder speech, but let me assure you that my conscience is perfectly clear where my job is concerned. Murray Ridgley may very well have committed this crime.โ Murray Ridgley may very well be a monster. โBut Iโm not going to ask to be removed from his case. It would ruin me.โ
Justin studied his brother for long moments before moving his eyes away again, toward the picturesque view. โI just have a feeling . . . youโre choosing a path here, Jonah.โ He looked at him again, and this time Jonah detected sadness in his brotherโs eyes before he gave him a small smile. โQuitting this case . . . youโre right, it would probably mean your career at this firm was over, but you always have a job with me.โ
Jonah chuckled. โFighting injustice for little more than pocket change? Thatโs your calling.โ
Justin released a laugh that contained more breath than levity. โI could use a little help. Thereโs a lot of injustice in the world, bro.โ
โSome might say itโs worthless to try to fight against it.โ
โSome might.โ
As he looked at the person he loved most in the world, something pressed on his chest, some weightiness he wasnโt sure how to explain. A feeling thatโ His phone rang, breaking the strange sort of trance that had descended upon Jonah. โI really gotta get back to work. Can we talk later?โ
Justin nodded, his smile sad again as he moved past Jonah. He laid a hand on his brotherโs shoulder. โSure, Jonah. Letโs talk later.โ And with that, he turned and walked out of Jonahโs office, shutting the door behind him.
The phone continued to ring, but Jonah didnโt answer it. Instead, he walked to the window and stared out at the sweltering summer day, that feeling returning to his chest againโpressing. I miss my brother, Jonah realized. He had been avoiding him. But after this case was over, he would make it a point to see Justin more often.
Absentmindedly, Jonah brought his hand to the place where his heart lay and massaged lightly.
Youโre choosing a path here, Jonah.
But heโd already chosen it. There was nothing to be done now.
Two weeks later, as Jonah lay in a pool of spreading blood, the charred smell of his mutilated flesh heavy and rancid in his nostrils, his brotherโs words would come back to him, flowing lazily through his mind like the misty wisps of a forgotten dream.
Youโre choosing a path. Letโs talk later.
But there would be no talking to his brother later.
His brother was dead.
The screaming dimmed enough for Jonah to register the high-pitched expulsion of air rasping from his smoke-drenched lungs.
He was whistling again.
Only this time, there was no tune.
CHAPTER ONE
Present Day
โExtend your arm. Clara, you are supposed to look like a swan but you look like a duck. Begin again.โ The music came to a sudden halt and there was a collectiveโthough quietโgroan from the other dancers. Heat rose in Claraโs face as she noticed the disdainful glares shot in her direction. Being the new girl in the New Orleans Ballet was proving to be everything sheโd feared. And more.
โYes, Madame Fournier.โ Clara returned to her mark, positioning her body as the music began again. I am a swan. I am a swan, she chanted in her mind.
The problem was, despite her focus on a gracefully extended arm, Clara felt like a duck. One very much out of water.
As practice ended and the other dancers began gathering their things, Clara walked to her duffle bag, putting her foot on the bench and untying the silken ribbons of her pointe shoes.
โA girl I know went to the Goddard School with her,โ Belinda Baker whispered from behind Clara, clearly referring to her. โShe was the recipient of that Dance For Life Scholarship, otherwise she never would have gotten in.โ Clara swung her duffle bag over her shoulder, glancing back at Belinda, who obviously hadnโt realized she was there, her eyes widening in surprise as their gazes met. Clara turned and quickly walked out of the theater.
It was true what Belinda had said: Claraโs father had sacrificed in every way possible so she could follow her dream of becoming a professional ballerina. But he never could have afforded that school without assistance. Clara was proud of that scholarship, and she wouldnโt let a couple of gossipy girls make her feel differently.
Still, thoughts of her father caused that familiar ache to take center stage in her chest and she had to force herself not to tear up. Her recent move to New Orleans had been hard, the fact that her reception in the ballet had been less than . . . warm only compounded that hardship, and this feeling of melancholy seemed to be her constant companion.
She spotted the bus rounding the corner and speed-walked to make it to the bus stop a block away, fumbling for her phone. โThanks,โ she said breathlessly as she scanned her mobile ticket, and the bus driver gave her a wide, welcoming smile. She smiled back, grateful for what felt like a little sunshine on a cloudy day.
Thirty minutes later, she stepped off the air-conditioned bus, the heat hitting her and causing a physical jolt. If she were living a story, the New Orleans summer heat would be a character all its own. A large, corpulent fellow with sleepy eyes and steamy breath. Intense and all-consuming.
A lock of blonde hair fell loose from her bun and Clara tucked it behind her ear, as the smell of something savory and delicious met her nose, wafting from the house on the corner and distracting her from the mugginess. Comfort food. What was it about almost all the Louisiana cuisine sheโd sampled that seemed to minister not only to the palate but to the soul?
The smooth, plaintive sound of a saxophone from an open window somewhere nearby wound through the tree branches and seemed to penetrate Claraโs skin.
Is there anything lonelier than the distant sound of a singular instrument floating on the wind? she mused.
But then another sound joined that lonesome melodyโa sweet, rich voice accompanying the notes, weaving, growing louder, clearer. The musicโboth distant and close by and yet somehow still a seamless duetโfilled Clara, causing her skin to feel charged and her heart to lighten. She knew that voice. It sounded like smoke mixed with molasses and so often carried hymns along the street where Clara lived.
The voice halted. โWell hello, darlinโ.โ
Clara smiled even before she looked up at Mrs. Guillot rocking in her rocking chair at the end of the block where Clara rented a small garden apartment.
โYou looked so deep in thought I hardly wanted to disturb you,โ the old woman said with a smile.
Clara opened Mrs. Guillotโs black, wrought iron gate and slipped inside, climbing the brick steps and sitting on the second wooden rocking chair that usually sat empty. โJust going over the moves from practice today.โ
โAh. How is it going with the other swans?โ
โAll right. I just wish . . . โ What did she wish? That they didnโt act so petty? That sheโd make a friend? Feel more accepted and not as if she were being judged and found lacking? Clara shook her head. โI wish I knew at least one person here. Starting from scratch is harder than I imagined it would be.โ
Mrs. Guillot smiled kindly. โWell, you do know one person. You know me.โ
โOh, Mrs. Guillot, I didnโt meanโโ
โNonsense, child.โ She laughed. โI know what you meant. I was only teasing you. A young woman like yourself needs other young people. Youโll find them. Donโt you worry your pretty little head now.โ
Clara released a breath. โI know. And that will be nice. But Iโm grateful for you too.โ It was true. Mrs. Guillot had been so kind to Clara since sheโd moved to New Orleans two months before, offering up her knowledge about the city, giving her directions when she needed them, and sitting and chatting when Clara had a few minutes now and again.
โI know, darlinโ.โ She paused. โHowโs your dad? Have you spoken to him?โ
A stab of pain pricked at Claraโs insides as she shook her head. โI wish. His moments of clarity are so few and far between now.โ
Mrs. Guillot studied Clara for a moment, her gaze filled with the sincere sympathy of someone who knew the pain of loss. Of course she did. How many times had Mrs. Guillot grieved in her lifetime? โWell now, sweet thing, thatโs two wishes. Go give one of them to Angelina.โ
โAngelina?โ
โMm-hmm. Youโve been in New Orleans for a couple of months now. You havenโt heard of the weeping wall?โ
The weeping wall. A strange tremble went down Claraโs spine. โNo. Where is it?โ
โWhy, itโs at Windisle Plantation.โ
Windisle Plantation. Clara took the duffle bag from her lap and placed it on the ground next to her chair, leaning forward slightly. โWill you tell me about it, Mrs. Guillot?โ
Mrs. Guillotโs gaze moved away from Clara, out to the ancient magnolia tree that grew in the yard next door, its giant white blossoms and glossy green leaves shimmering in the last rays of the summer sun.
She settled herself back in her chair, the old wood squeaking as her eyes met Claraโs once more. โItโs a sugar plantation that was built more than two hundred years ago.โ Clara realized she was holding her breath. She released it slowly so as not to distract Mrs. Guillot from her story. โOh, some call it sacred. And some call it cursed. But everyone does agree that itโs haunted.โ
Mrs. Guillotโs brown, gnarled hands gripped the arms of the rocking chair, the wedding ring she still wore glinting in the final vestiges of daylight. โYou see, darlinโ, a young woman named Angelina Loreaux, broken-hearted by her loverโs betrayal, took her own life in the rose garden, and that is where her restless spirit lingers still, along with the ghost of the man who rejected her, denied eternal peace by the tragic results of his worldly actions.โ Mrs. Guillot smiled ruefully. โThough Iโve always thought if such a thing were trueโif people are destined to haunt the earth because of their selfish human choicesโwhy, there wouldnโt be any souls in heaven at all.โ Mrs. Guillotโs lips tipped, and internally, Clara agreed. No, in that case, she suspected heaven would be quite empty.
โWhat a heartbreaking story.โ
Mrs. Guillot nodded solemnly. โOh yes.โ
โWho was she? Angelina, I mean. Was she the daughter of the plantation owner?โ
โWell, yes. Robert Chamberlain was his name. But she was also the daughter of Mama Loreaux, a kitchen slave who bore his illegitimate daughter. Mama Loreaux was a striking woman with dark, perceptive eyes, they say, and known among her fellow slaves to practice a West African form of voodoo passed down by her mother and her grandmother. She used herbs and charms to provide relief from every ailment under the sun. Their daughter, Angelina Loreaux, was a beautiful, spirited child, beloved by her mother and her father. Itโs said that Robert Chamberlain was enchanted by his little girl and would rock her on his knee on the front porch of the plantation house . . . much to the chagrin of his wife and legitimate children, who tolerated Angelina though not much more.โ
Intrigued, Clara tilted her head in wonder, soaking in every word of the story. How utterly tragic. It stole her breath.
โAngelina grew up in the Chamberlain kitchen under the careful watch of her mother, charming her own family of slaves and visitors to the plantation alike. Quick to laugh, possessing kindness as warm as sunshine, a spirit as delicate as the wings of a hummingbird, and the rare beauty of an exotic flower, she was very easy to love. Or so itโs been said.โ
โWhere does all this information come from, Mrs. Guillot?โ
โOh, the other slaves who lived at Windisle, I imagine. Itโs been passed down through generations. Why, my own grandmother told me the story of Angelina Loreaux and John Whitfield when I was knee-high to a mosquito.โ She laughed, the sound melodic and sweet.
โAnyway, the way the story goes, when Angelina was seventeen, she met John Whitfield, a young southern soldier from an extremely wealthy family, who was at the plantation. They spent only a short time together but John became enchanted by the beautiful Angelina.โ Mrs. Guillot frowned. โItโs said they both fell in love, but I find it hard to believe due to what occurred later.โ
โHe betrayed her,โ Clara whispered. โAnd she took her own life.โ
โYes.โ Mrs. Guillot nodded. โBut before that, they became lovers in secret.โ
In secret. Of course, Clara thought. What a completely different world they lived in. Her own problems, her own sadness suddenly seemed . . . well, not minor exactly. But how terrible would it be to fall deeply in love with someone and have to keep it hidden like a shameful secret? It would be unbearable, wouldnโt it? โHow did he betray her?โ Clara asked, almost afraid to know.
โWell, oh I guess itโd be in 1860 or โ61, John was called to serve in the Civil War. He left Angelina, making promises to return to her. Angelina waited, loving him unendingly, her pure and tender heart filled with hope for the future they'd somehow create together. She must have been a dreamer, that one.โ Mrs. Guillot looked thoughtful for a moment. โPerhaps it seemed to her that she'd finally found a place to belong in a world where she felt part of nothing at all.โ Mrs. Guillot smiled. โBut thatโs just my own supposing.โ
โIt makes sense,โ Clara murmured.
Mrs. Guillot frowned. โHowever, John's heart was not as true, and he sent a note through his family telling Angelina he no longer loved her, and she should forget him as he'd already begun to forget her.โ
She started to rock again, the squeaking of the chair breaking the silence that had descended upon the street. The saxophone player had put away his instrument at some point and Clara hadnโt even noticed. โAngelina was shattered and she fled to the rose garden. It was there, the place where she'd first met her beloved, that she took one of her father's razors to her wrists.โ
Clara gasped, sorrow flooding her heart, though sheโd already been told the outcome.
Mrs. Guillot nodded as if sheโd perfectly understood Claraโs small intake of breath. โYes, I know. Mama Loreaux found her daughter, and they say her keening cry of horror carried on the wind to every corner of Windisle Plantation and far beyond. She held her daughter's sweet head in her arms and cursed the love that had taken her precious girl, calling to the spirits that John never find true love, in this life or the next.โ
Mrs. Guillot sighed. โJohn came home from the war and lived alone until his death, indeed never finding love at all. He was rarely seen in public, and it was said he suffered frequent flashbacks from the war. He contracted tuberculosis in his late thirties and died of the disease shortly thereafter.โ
Good! Clara was tempted to say. But she didnโt. It seemed wrong to curse someone who was already dead. And already cursed.
They were both silent for several moments as Clara let the story filter through her mind. She felt somehow taken over by the sad tale, as if it had not only piqued her interest but had wrapped itself around her bones, her very being. โHow is the weeping wall tied to the story? And why do people make wishes there?โ
Mrs. Guillotโs deeply lined forehead lowered in thought. โFrom what I remember, itโs believed that John and Angelina's spirits wander the rose garden, even still, unable to find rest, unable to find peace, always seeking the thing that will free them of the burden of their earthly sins. The locals believe that Angelina, somehow tangled up in the curse in a way no one truly knows, will grant a wish to those who slip one through the cracks in the wall surrounding Windisle.โ
Mrs. Guillot smiled. โAngelina grants wishes, they say, to encourage more people to come, hoping that one special someone will be able to solve the riddle and break the curse.โ
โWhat riddle?โ
Mrs. Guillot frowned again. โWell now, I donโt think I remember exactly how the riddle goes, but I do believe it was spoken by a voodoo priestess at some time or another. You could ask Dory Dupre at the neighborhood library. Sheโd probably remember or be able to look it up for you.โ
Clara smiled, happy to be given a direction in which to learn more about the mystery. โI will. Do you know why itโs called the weeping wall?โ
โItโs said that the wall weeps tears for the heartbreak and tragedy that came to pass behind it, for the spirits still trapped within. Now I donโt know about that as the few times Iโve been there, I never witnessed it, but itโs said that it will only stop weeping when John and Angelina's spirits are set free.โ
โWho lives there now, Mrs. Guillot?โ
โI donโt believe anyone does. Itโs been empty for years.โ
Claraโs thoughts were interrupted by the squeak of the gate as it opened. An old man holding a cane walked through, removing his hat and smiling bashfully up at Mrs. Guillot. โBernice, fine evening, isnโt it?โ
Clara glanced over at Mrs. Guillot, and though her skin was a beautifully deep mahogany, she swore there was a blush glowing on her wrinkled cheeks.
โHarry.โ
Harry glanced at Clara, inclining his head. โI didnโt realize you had company. I was just on my evening stroll and thought Iโd drop in and say hi.โ
Clara stood, grabbing her bag. โActually, I really should go. I have an early morning.โ She leaned over and kissed Mrs. Guillotโs cheek, her papery skin as soft as velvet. โThank you so much for telling me the story.โ
โI donโt have a lot left, but Iโm full to the brim with stories.โ Mrs. Guillot laughed. โYou go slip a wish or two through the cracks in that wall,โ she said softly. โAnd say hi to Angelina for me.โ
Clara nodded and shot a grin over her shoulder as she walked down the steps. โI will.โ
โOh and Clara dear,โ Mrs. Guillot called. โIโll have some more of that homemade liniment for you next time you stop by.โ
Clara suppressed a grimace, smiling back at the sweet old woman. โThank you, Mrs. Guillot.โ She nodded at Harry as she moved past him, noting that he was looking pretty dapper in his pressed shirt and fedora for a simple evening walk. โHave a good evening, you two.โ
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Mia Sheridan
Mia Sheridan is a New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal Bestselling author. Her passion is weaving true love stories about people destined to be together. Mia lives in Cincinnati, Ohio with her husband. They have four children here on earth and one in heaven. Mia can be found online at www.miasheridan.com or www.facebook.com/miasheridanauthor.
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A HAUNTINGLY BEAUTIFUL TAPESTRY OF EMOTIONS
Reviewed in the United States on December 12, 2018
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โ๐๐ฐ๐ท๐ฆ ๐ค๐ข๐ฏโ๐ต ๐ซ๐ถ๐ด๐ต ๐ฅ๐ช๐ด๐ข๐ฑ๐ฑ๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ด ๐ญ๐ช๐ง๐ฆ ๐ช๐ด ๐ต๐ฉ๐ณ๐ฐ๐ถ๐จ๐ฉ, ๐ค๐ข๐ฏ ๐ช๐ต, ๐๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ข๐ฉ? ๐๐ท๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ช๐ง ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ณ ๐ฃ๐ฐ๐ฅ๐ช๐ฆ๐ด ๐ต๐ถ๐ณ๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ฅ๐ถ๐ด๐ต, ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ท๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ฆ ๐ง๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ญ ๐ฎ๐ถ๐ด๐ต ๐จ๐ฐ ๐ด๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ.โ
What a rare gem of a story! With an almost dreamlike, fairy-tale quality to her every word, Mia Sheridan weaves a hauntingly beautiful tapestry of darkness and light, love and loss, pain and atonement, with a tale that transports the reader to a place where true love never dies, and where a spark of hope can find its way through even the smallest of cracks in an old, stone wall. Set against the vivid background of the mystical city of New Orleans, this is the story of two lonely hearts who find safe harbour in each otherโs arms, but as they work together to unlock a mystery from the past, they begin to discover that the greatest battles sometimes lie within us, and that is where they must be fought. As always, Mia Sheridanโs storytelling is exquisite, transcendent, soulful, and just stunning.
๐๐ญ๐ข๐ณ๐ข ๐ฉ๐ข๐ฅ ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ค๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ ๐ค๐ข๐ฑ๐ต๐ช๐ท๐ข๐ต๐ฆ๐ฅโ๐ฑ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฉ๐ข๐ฑ๐ด ๐ฆ๐ท๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ข ๐ญ๐ช๐ต๐ต๐ญ๐ฆ ๐ฐ๐ฃ๐ด๐ฆ๐ด๐ด๐ฆ๐ฅโ๐ธ๐ช๐ต๐ฉ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ข๐ญ๐ฆ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ๐ต๐ฃ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฌ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ฎ๐ช๐ด๐ฆ๐ณ๐บ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ฉ๐ข๐ฅ ๐ฐ๐ค๐ค๐ถ๐ณ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ฏ ๐ข ๐ฉ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ง๐ช๐ง๐ต๐บ ๐บ๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ๐ด ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฆ.
Shortly after moving to New Orleans to pursue a career in ballet, Clara Campbell finds herself awash in loneliness and uncertainty, the company of an elderly neighbour becoming her only respite from the melancholy that threatens to overwhelm her daily. And it is during one of her visits to her elderly friend that Clara learns of a century-and-a-half-old legend held within the beautiful, broken structures of Windisle Plantation. From the moment Clara hears the story of a beautiful young slave who fell for a handsome southern soldier, and whose spirits are said to be still trapped in the very place where their love affair ended so tragically, she begins to feel a strange pull to Windisle, beckoning her to explore the secrets held within its shadows. But instead of finding ghosts there, Clara meets a mysterious stranger hiding behind its walls.
๐๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ธ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐บ ๐ธ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ซ๐ถ๐ด๐ต ๐ข ๐ฃ๐ฐ๐บ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ข ๐จ๐ช๐ณ๐ญ, ๐ด๐ช๐ต๐ต๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ฐ๐ฑ๐ฑ๐ฐ๐ด๐ช๐ต๐ฆ ๐ด๐ช๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ด ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ข ๐ธ๐ข๐ญ๐ญ, ๐ข ๐ญ๐ข๐บ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ค๐ฌ ๐ด๐ต๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฆ ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ต๐ธ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฎ, ๐ฃ๐ถ๐ต ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ช๐ณ ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ๐ต๐ด ๐ค๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ค๐ต๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ด๐ด. ๐๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ธ, ๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ญ๐ฅ ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ซ๐ฐ๐บ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต๐ด ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐บ ๐ฉ๐ข๐ฅ.
Jonah Chamberlain hasnโt stepped outside his old, crumbling family estate in eight long, grief-filled years. Holding himself responsible for the tragic events that led to his own scarred appearance, Jonah spends his days drowning in sorrow and loneliness, but from the moment he hears a young womanโs selfless wish whispered through the cracks in an old, stone wall, he becomes bewitched by her. They continue to meet week after week, spending time just talking, and sharing their innermost thoughts and fears with one another, even though that stone wall continues to stand between them.
โ๐ ๐ณ๐ฆ๐จ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ต. ๐ ๐ซ๐ถ๐ด๐ต ๐ณ๐ฆ๐จ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ต. ๐โ๐ท๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฅ๐ฆ ๐ข ๐ค๐ข๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ช๐ต, ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ, ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ฉ๐ช๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ด ๐ธ๐ข๐ญ๐ญ.โ
As they slowly begin to piece the past together, getting closer and closer to setting the star-crossed lovers free from the curse trapping them at Windisle, Clara and Jonah also begin to fall in love. But it soon becomes clear to Clara that her velvet-voiced โwish collectorโ might be living in a cage of his own makingโnever too far, but always far enough to be out of reach to her, their reality in so many ways echoing the very curse they are trying to break.
๐๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ข๐ฏ ๐ข๐ธ๐ง๐ถ๐ญ, ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ด๐ฐ๐ญ๐ข๐ต๐ฆ ๐ง๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ญ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ, ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ฌ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ธ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฏ ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ฐ ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฅ๐ฆ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ณ ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ๐ต ๐ด๐ธ๐ฆ๐ญ๐ญ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ณ ๐ฃ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ฃ๐ญ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ข๐ด ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ, ๐ด๐ฐ ๐ค๐ญ๐ฐ๐ด๐ฆ, ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐บ๐ฆ๐ต ๐ค๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฑ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ต๐ฆ๐ญ๐บ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ถ๐ต๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ๐ญ๐บ ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ต ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ข๐ค๐ฉ. ๐๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ต๐ฐ๐ณ๐ต๐ถ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ธ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ช๐ง ๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ช๐จ๐ฉ๐ต ๐ฃ๐ฆ ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ฌ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ต๐ฐ๐ฐ.
The depth of emotion that Mia Sheridan is able to conjure on the page is breathtaking, her nuanced prose brimming with symbolism and sensuality, but her true gift lies in creating complex, fractured characters that have been bruised by life, but who find unexpected glimmers of hope and grace when they least expect it. The novel builds slowly with absolutely gorgeous language and setting, and with a dual timeline structure that sways gently from past to present, braiding the narratives together little by little, we unravel the past at the same time as the future unfolds before us. Both beautiful and tragic, this is the kind of story that sticks with you long after the final page.
โ๐๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆโ๐ด ๐ข ๐ฑ๐ญ๐ข๐ค๐ฆ ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ถ๐ด, ๐๐ฏ๐จ๐ฆ๐ญ๐ช๐ฏ๐ข. ๐๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ช๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ด ๐ธ๐ช๐ฅ๐ฆ, ๐ธ๐ช๐ฅ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ญ๐ฅ. ๐๐ฐ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ต๐ณ๐ถ๐ด๐ต ๐ฎ๐ฆ?โ
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15 people found this helpful
C. Lowery
5
Loved It!
Reviewed in the United States on April 20, 2024
Verified Purchase
Loved this beautiful story. Very well written from different character perspectives. Two different love stories from different times . Will be one I read again.
Stacie
5
Amazing Read
Reviewed in the United States on November 26, 2018
Verified Purchase
New Orleans, a city of mystery and magic, of secrets and dreams, and a history drenched in both love and the deepest of heartache.
When ballet dancer Clara Campbell arrives in New Orleans, lonely and homesick, she is immediately captivated by the story of Windisle Plantation and the tragic tale that is said to have transpired beyond its gate. Legend has it that it is abandoned by all living souls, but to Claraโs great surprise, it is not a ghost she hears through the stone wall surrounding the property, but a flesh and blood man. A scarred stranger with a pain deeper and darker than the churning waters of the Mississippi river that flows beside his self-imposed prison.
The ruined man behind the wall hides himself from the world. The last thing he expects is to find a friend in the selfless girl who speaks to him through the cracks in the rock. The girl who keeps returning week after week. The girl who makes him wish for things he has long since given up on. The girl who strikes both fear and hope within his wounded heart. But there can be no future for them, no life beyond Windisle, for no one knows better than him that monsters only live in the dark.
The Wish Collector is the story of shame and triumph, of loneliness and love, and the miracle of two hearts connecting despite the strongest of barriers between them. Once again another fantastic book by Mia Sheridan. This story was flawlessly written and heartfelt. It will take you on an emotional roller coaster in the best possible way. A must read
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8 people found this helpful
Amazon Customer
5
Loved every part of this book!
Reviewed in the United States on August 9, 2024
Verified Purchase
The characters. The intro. The plot. The magic. I loved it all. You won't regret reading this book and others by this author!
Rachel M
5
6 magical stars -- another favorite from Mia!
Reviewed in the United States on November 25, 2018
Verified Purchase
Clara Campbell is drawn to New Orleans by more than just her new appointment to the New Orleans Ballet Company. But though she is living her dreams, she feels alone and disconnected from everyone around her. In interest in a local legend finds her approaching the Weeping Wall at Windisle Plantation, an abandoned property with a ghost story attached. But as she places her wish in the wall, it is not a ghost that she hears beyond the walls.
Jonah Chamberlain hasnโt left the walls of Windisle in 8 years, long enough that the locals all believe the property abandoned. The walls are all he needs to keep himself apart from the judgement of the public, who watched his decisions lead to a tragedy for which he paid dearly.
Their interactions are separated by a wall, but connected by the story of the lost lovers from so long ago. The ghost story is a safe topic for Jonah, and though he isnโt sure why he is suddenly talking to one of the many visitors to the wall, he finds it impossible to ignore the woman who wonโt let him hide any longer.
These two are both so lonely that it doesnโt take much of a connection for them to find further intrigue. But what they find as Clara digs deeper into the plantationโs past keeps her coming back for more, as Jonah debates the merits of letting someone in to his safe-place. Both Clara and Jonah have personal character journeys to face over the course of the book, and for as much as the plot is tied to the past, it is also directly tied to these two characters growing and learning.
The Wish Collector combines contemporary with magic and the past. The historical thread isnโt enough to fully call this a split timeline, but the glimpses of the past are the perfect tie between the history and the present of Windisle Plantation. The legend of ghosts in the assumed abandoned building is intriguing as Clara does what she can to solve the century old mystery.
There were so many pieces to this story that I was still thinking of the connections and bits of magic days after finishing. Part Beauty & the Beast, part Phantom of the Opera, part New Orleans magic, this book is a fantastic mix of elements that inspires and enchants. Once again, Mia Sheridan has crafted a tale that takes my expectations and soars far beyond what I could have imagined.
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2 people found this helpful
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