Three Titles: A Trifecta of Novellas

By Ginette Therrien

Three Titles will captivate and entertain you. It will also make you feel.
'Written from Heaven' will take you to a country church where you will find Wren trapped within its walls, forced to face all truths about her life before she can be truly free, in every sense of the word.
'Sanctuary' will introduce you to Dr Pascale Miner, a retired psychiatrist, who has moved her life miles away from the familiar, alone. But will she stay in her loneliness very long?
'The Stories Live On' is a must read for the stories to live on. Carolyn has experienced the pain of rejection and has survived the truth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Feb 28, 2020
• ISBN: 9781528973052

Ginette Therrien

Ginette is a French-Canadian woman who lives in a small coastal town in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, with her cock-a-poo, Bijou. This is Ginette’s third book, in which she shares her passion for words that can easily touch your heart. She believes that words come easily from the heart when you live so close to paradise.

Book preview

On

About The Author

Ginette is a solitary person who resides in Cape Breton, Canada, God’s country. Ginette is retired, happily divorced woman, whose love of nature is second only to her love for animals. She believes in the power of words and uses them wisely and respectfully.

Dedication

I dedicate this book to my daughter, Lily, who is my true gift to the world. I also dedicate this to my companion, Glen.

Copyright Information ©

Ginette Therrien (2020)

The right of Ginette Therrien to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781528951272 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781528973052 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2020)

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd

25 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5LQ

Synopsis

This story is written in first person perspective. It begins with the main character, whose name is not yet revealed, introducing herself to the reader as if she were telling this story directly to him/her. She is a solitary person with many painful memories that prevent her from trusting people, though she walks with God.

One day, while going for a drive as it was her usual habit, she came upon an old church set out in a very rural area, next to a small graveyard. She decided to stop in and see if the doors were unlocked so she could take a look around inside. The doors were unlocked and she easily entered and began to soak in the atmosphere.

While there, she discovered an old and faded looking letter written to a child from a departed parent, offering comfort for her grief. Moved by the gentleness of the words in the letter, she returned it to its previous hiding spot and decided it was time to leave the church, only to find that she had been locked in and her car was no longer visible out the window. Even more mysterious were the sounds she followed inside the church, leading her to find a little girl who knew her but kept running away before she could find out who she was.

As she frantically searched the church for a way out, she saw a man in jeans, outside digging with a pickaxe but he doesn’t seem to hear her calls for help. She searched more and came across another faded letter and was shocked when she read a traumatic event from her own childhood involving a relative who molested her. It became clear that the letters were written to her from her deceased father. She tried to cope with a rush of buried emotion as she relived some of the truly horrific memories of her uncle Charlie.

The mysterious little girl appeared again and led her behind the altar curtain of the church to discover a beautiful, multi-coloured fountain in which flowed every tear she had ever cried. Here she also found many old photos of herself from infancy onward which was surprising as she had not seen most of them before this. There was also another letter from her father, this time speaking to her as a grown up about to be married and offering encouragement for her through a loveless marriage.

The little girl then spoke more about the main character’s past, reminding her of her friend Jasmine who had an abortion. Though her method of gleaning the confession was a bit harsh, she later helped her get counselling and support to deal with it. The conversation had greatly upset her mother however but she did not know why.

The little girl then gave her a conch shell within which she could hear all of her prayers. By now, the protagonist was feeling very overwhelmed and wished to leave and not see any more but the girl pressed her to stay and drew her attention to two books, one of which was ‘Acts of Kindness Given’ and the other ‘Acts of Kindness Received’. While reading these books, she remembered some of the good she had done for others and realised that she had been protected by an angel during one event that could have been disastrous as well as reminding her of other people who had offered her kindness and support in her life.

The little girl then revealed the reason her mother was so upset when she got Jasmine to confess about the abortion was because when her father was killed suddenly, her mother was actually pregnant but chose to have an abortion because being widowed with children was very difficult but seemed impossible with a new born as well. The little girl was actually named Robin and would have been the main character’s sister had she lived. She felt a new rush of love for the girl who she now knew as her sister.

As the tide of emotion ebbed and she began to feel calmer, she looked out the window again to see the man in jeans smile at her after unearthing a box. He beckoned her out to see him. She tried the previously locked door of the church only to find it open easily and she met the man. Upon seeing his face, she saw it was her father and was joyfully reunited with him. All of these happenings had made her wonder if she had died as well. As she enjoyed her father’s and sister’s company, he urged her to open the box. Inside was a letter addressed to her and it was revealed her name was Wren. The letter was from her mother who had only passed away recently. It was an admission of guilt and an apology for her lack of support and thanked God for the opportunity to be able to write it.

As she made peace with her mother, a voice broke the mood, asking what she was doing there. The ethereal quality was lifted and her car was again visible. A man was berating her for trespassing and when she looked at the church, it was boarded up and a sign said it was scheduled for demolition.

Wren got into her car and left, grateful for the experience and revealed that she had told this story to hopefully help another who was suffering and was looking for the redemption of God.

Part 1

Written from Heaven

(1)

Before I get into recounting this journey to you, I feel I have to tell you a bit about myself. My name is Valerie and I am a retired social worker. I hope that you won’t expect the grammar to be perfect, or the sentences to be in proper English. English is after all not my first language, French is, and I don’t always use proper grammar there, too. Nonetheless, you will be able to follow my story with no problems that is a fact. Maybe, I should just get right into it and let you follow me, if you can, if you dare. Your spirit might be stirred up to the point that you will have to read every word in trepidation. The unknown has been revealed to many through generations, all over the globe, yet, we know nothing, so we admit, about the other side of life, or better said, the other side of death. I know I have many questions left unanswered by any sermon I have ever heard or book I have ever read. Even after this life changing experience, I cannot answer most questions that I still have about the subject, and I lived it.

I remain curious about why we’re here, alive, on this planet, living our lives in confusion, searching for the answers to peace, wealth, acceptance, cruelty, injustice, religion, God and every other wonderment we can throw in the mix. Lives ruined by greed and those lavished by it on the backs of others. Crimes committed in the name of love and wars in the name of God. We’re all at the mercy of life as it happens with death coming at any time to claim our lives, our wealth, and our dreams. I live in a tortured mind, full of unanswered questions which will only rest in peace when I do.

I’m a loner, by rejection you might say. I’ve been shunned, rejected, mocked and humiliated to the point of being alone by choice now. I arrived at this conclusion when I rescued myself from drowning in an ocean of tears. I now enjoy the safety of my own company. I am so okay with myself that I know of no one I would rather be with. Though alone, I am far from lonely. I have my freedom, my health and no illusions to get in my way. My simple life within my solitude brings me pleasure but mostly, it brings me peace.

I speak to people that I meet in the course of a day, if I meet them that is. When I am in the presence of people, I have gotten to know, in a public setting, I am quite engaging and leave them with a smile and a brightening of their day. Though I tend to shy away from where people are. I am not unfriendly, though I am more aloof than before my epiphany. My deep-rooted hatred of what human beings are capable of, has brought me to a state of mind and heart I had been fighting against all of my life with. Now, I have no will to fight, and I accept defeat. I am better alone within the dark walls of my hatred where I bother no one and allow no one to bother me.

I listen to music with an eclectic ear and sing with the songs which compliment my voice. I go out in all kinds of weather, taking pictures, which I frame and share my art with my walls. My routines are simple pleasures which vary from day to moods. I love to see God’s hand in my travels out and about and take solace in a long walk on a deserted beach. My favourite being the beach at Point Michaud in Cape Breton. As you can see, I have it pretty good now.

The pastime which I enjoy the most is driving. I relax behind the wheel of a vehicle. I go out of my way to travel on back roads mostly. I drive my hearse, Victoria, during the summer and my pick-up truck the rest of the time. Victoria draws attention to herself with her vanity license plate which reads, ‘ALIVE.’ I get a kick out of the fact that she gets photographed by many when we’re out. She serves to demystify and shock. All who know her refer to her by name, Victoria.

When I’m around people that I personally know, I find my spirit is fragile. It gets hurt easily when strife is shared or gossip and judgments are voiced. I sometimes believe, I haven’t survived the life I’ve led this far. I often look back analytically or try to, and wonder where it all went wrong. I know I shouldn’t dwell on the past but I am after all a product of it. If I had lost a leg, would my limp not be accepted and understood? Yet, we are expected to forget what innocence we’ve lost or irreparable damage was done to our hearts and souls which we have succumbed and not dwell on what we have lost. I’m not dwelling in a self-pity wallow but more in a perpetual questioning. Why, what, how and who did I kill to deserve it? Not that the answers would change who I’ve become and who I had remained all through it. The one question I do want answered is, Is God pleased with me? It’s after all the only opinion which truly matters and ultimately, our only real goal in life.

My mind is in a constant philosophical frame of thinking. I believe that I’m the deepest person I know. Then again, I am dysmorphic and could very well see an entirely different distorted reality. We all fool ourselves when we self-appraise or examine our worth and character. For whatever reason, we are blind about some parts of ourselves. This is just me being deep. I live within the walls of my mind regardless.

(2)

On this particular average day, with nothing going on, I took myself out for a drive heading towards Point Michaud beach, to find sand dollars for the fundraiser I had going on at work. We were raising money for Fur Family Connection. I finally found a cause worthy of my time and efforts. They served the elderly in making it possible for them to keep and care for their animals for as long as possible. If the animal dies before the aged owner, they provide counselling, they make themselves available to help the person go through such a painful and important loss. If the elderly person passes away and leaves their fur babies behind, this non-profit animal rescue-find-foster homes which resulted in later finding a new permanent home for the grieving fur babies. I sincerely believe that to be a true and worthy cause.

So, on this uneventful day with leisure on my hands, I decided to stop at the church in Framboise to see if the door was to be found unlocked again. I have been inside this church many times sitting in peaceful silence and prayer. I parked Victoria at the edge of the cemetery near the ramp to the back door. Like always, there wasn’t a sign of life near the church or in its adjoining cemetery. I got out of the hearse and made my way to the back door, tried the handle, announcing my presence at the same time in case the door would open and that there might indeed be someone there. Odds were in my favour that I was alone, seeing as this church was miles away from everything and no other vehicle was to be seen. As