Sliding Across Mountains

By Trisha Maxine

Sliding Across Mountains is a book about the power of friendship. In a small town in Tennessee, a writer, a mother, a widow, and a parish nurse form an unlikely friendship and a curling team. These four ladies learn more than sliding rocks down a sheet of ice. They learn what they can accomplish with a team of support and love is not always on the rocks.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Mar 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9781035828531

Trisha Maxine

Trisha Maxine is a writer of poetry and prose. Sliding Across Mountains is her debut novel published by Austin Macauley Publishers, featuring both styles. When Trisha is not writing, you can find her in the garden, painting, or designing floral arrangements.

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About the Author

Trisha Maxine is a writer of poetry and prose. Sliding Across Mountains is her debut novel published by Austin Macauley Publishers, featuring both styles. When Trisha is not writing, you can find her in the garden, painting, or designing floral arrangements.

Dedication

To my family and everyone who has a mountain to slide across.

Copyright Information ©

Trisha Maxine 2024

The right of Trisha Maxine to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 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.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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

ISBN 9781035828517 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781035828524 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781035828531 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

The book that you are holding and the pages you are about to read did not happen by my efforts alone. I have been blessed with a support team who I want to extend a basket of blooming thank-yous in acknowledging.

The team at Austin Macauley Publishers: without you, this book would still be a stack of papers on my desk. It is now a dream come true.

My writing team: thank you for years of reading, writing, guiding and teaching.

My home team: thank you for your love and support.

My spiritual team: thank you God and Our Holy Mother for sustaining me.

Garden Clearing

Ivy overtook all that grew.

Seeds carried by wind, rabbits.

Whirligigs planted maple trees,

now rooted, stemming weeds.

Stinging nettles, thorny thistles,

poison oak growing abundantly,

a metaphor for internal pain

within my garden, within me.

I look into my backyard jungle

evidence of time elapsed

realising the depths

of total disconnect.

Standing barefoot

tea and rosary in hand

grounding to earth

collecting strength in breath.

Memories of warm breezes

from the lost summer inside,

I turn on the garden radio,

Vivaldi’s Spring, played.

I slip on my hat and boots

gloves, the protective armour

to rescue my believed plants,

my spirit, my soul, my goal.

Chapter 1

On a Sunday Morning…

Cool, crisp air slipped through a slight opening in Murphy’s window. The air tickled her nose which drew her from a sound sleep. Murphy slowly opened her eyes to enjoy the fresh breeze against her face. She inhaled the clean air deeply while the sound of a distant hoot owl awakened her mind. Murphy stretched, then relaxed again, still under the weight of a calico patchwork quilt that her grandmother hand-sewed for her until she heard rustling on the floor. As she ambled out of bed, her two kittens, Picasso and Monet, greeted her. They began to sing for their breakfast.

Good morning, babies! Hungry? Let me grab my sweatshirt and slippers. Okay! Follow me. Shhh. You guys are going to wake the kids, Murphy said in whispered tones.

Murphy manoeuvred down the dark hallway then descended the back staircase which led directly into the kitchen. She knew if she took the main staircase she would risk waking her husband who was still asleep on the sofa in the front sitting room. He slept, passed out is a better and more accurate description, there most nights in front of the TV. Which was just as well, she didn’t want him in the bed anyway.

Murphy entered the large butler’s pantry to look for a can of kitten food, coffee beans, and the French press. After finding them, she carried the armload to the counter. Murphy opened the can of cat food and scooped out the contents into the kitten’s pottery dish then placed it on the mat that read, You had me at Meow in the midst of swarming kittens.

Now, for my treat, Murphy whispered to her not so captive audience.

Murphy filled her kettle with filtered water and ground just enough of her favourite coffee beans from a little organic coffee shop in the city to make a perfect pot in the French press. A sense of cosy comfort came over her when she brewed this organic coffee naturally flavoured with hazelnuts. Murphy picked up the coffee and added four teaspoons of the ground beans. She counted the spoonfuls as she dropped the grounds into the glass pot.

…And one for the pot. That makes four scoops of coffee and one tablespoon of brown sugar, enough to wake the sleepiest of writers. She had learned this coffee making technique while working at a high end cafe in Boston. The aroma erupted memories and instantly transported her there. When the kettle began to whistle, her thoughts of the cafe ended as she was brought back to her kitchen in Riverbend, Tennessee. While this is brewing, I’m going to make a fire.

In an oversized fleece sweatshirt sporting the Tennessee Titans, blue and white plaid flannel pants with Riverbend High School across the tush, and blue variegated socks she hand knitted last winter, Murphy curled up in her favourite spot on the sofa in her beloved solarium with her hands cradled around her coffee mug. She inhaled the aroma emitting from the mug, enjoying the smell as much as the taste along with the quiet stillness of the house in the early morning hours.

Simply heaven, she thought to herself, enjoying as well as needing this moment of peace on her red leather sofa with a beautiful fire glowing in the fireplace of her dream office; a solarium built as an extension on the south side of her farm house on the outskirts of town. This glass room was the exclamation point on the decision to move back home to Tennessee. She enjoyed Boston, the faster paced energy, the creative outlets, poetry readings, and her curling team; but this solarium surrounded by the quiet healing of her gardens with deep roots of home was what her soul needed. She also knew that she was led back home to the south for many reasons. Her heartstrings were connected to her deep roots. They both pulled hard for the move to get her back home. Even with this powerful force, the move did not come without its challenges. She knew this too.

Murphy reached for the carafe on the side table to top off her mug with the warm brew.

Before she stopped pouring, Picasso jumped on her lap, almost spilling her coffee while Monet chased a ball of yarn between the pots of plants. It’s never a dull moment with you two. Did you kitties eat enough breakfast?

The grey tabby whispered a soft meow then drifted to sleep.

You are lazy like me this morning, Picasso. One more cup then I need to write. Murphy spent the next few minutes watching the small calico kitten run back and forth between the large terracotta pots of herbs, the tree-sized plants, and blooming flowers in ceramic pots.

Monet has more energy than I do, said Keith as he walked into the solarium carrying a mason jar full of milk. He sat on the sofa with his mum to enjoy the fire.

Good morning, Love. Did you and the twins have fun last night?

Yeah, it was really fun.

I heard some mean guitar coming from the basement.

Jimmy is writing a tune for the band. It’s cool. I hope I didn’t make Dad mad by being too loud.

No, he passed out. He didn’t hear a thing.

Good! Hey, did you know that Jake and Jimmy’s father was killed last year?

What? No! Keith. I had no idea. I have spoken briefly to their mother in the library, but that’s it. When? How?

A farm accident about a year ago. I think, before we moved here. I guess their mum saw it happen. Jimmy talked about it last night.

Oh my dear Lord, that is just horrible. Gosh, I think we are about the same age, but I do not remember her from high school. No wonder she always seems so forlorn. Well, that must explain it. I hope the twins are all right. It must have been devastating for them.

Yeah, but they only started telling me stuff last night.

I am happy you are becoming such good friends with them.

Yeah, me too.

Do you like your new school? I know the decision and the move here was a huge stress on you.

Yeah, but it has turned out. I have met some great friends. The band is good.

I am so thankful. They are welcome whenever.

Thanks, Mum. I’m still tired, I’m goin’ back to bed.

Okay, use the back staircase. Don’t wake your father, I need to write.

Yeah. Sure thing. Keith said as he walked out of the solarium.

Ok, Pablo Picasso, this chick better get to writing. The sun is going to be up soon. Murphy scooted the sleeping kitten off her lap onto the warmed sofa to continue its peaceful dreams. Murphy shuffled to the laptop on the desk a few steps away and pushed the power button of her MacBook. While the computer was waking up, she poured herself the last bit of coffee left in the carafe then began her ritual writing meditations.

*

Hey Mum, are you awake? Jimmy knocked softly on his mother’s bedroom door.

It’s almost 8:00. Don’t you have to open the coffee shop today?

Oh Crap, Jane muttered as she tried to open her eyes, holding her head. Jimmy?

Yes, Mum.

Did you guys eat? When did you get up?

Yeah, Jake and I got up at about 7:00. We grabbed cereal. Playing video games now.

Thanks for getting me up. I didn’t sleep.

That’s fine, Mum.

Jane Oliver rolled over in bed to find an empty carton of Blue Bell ice cream with her spoon still stuck in the carton, her romance novel, two self-help books, which only made her want to eat more ice cream, and a journal with LIFE STINKS as the only entry.

Oh, my head! Jane collapsed back onto her pillow. She turned over to her side and attempted to sit up. A little dizzy, she reached for her robe then stumbled on the empty wine bottle on the floor. That explains the headache, she mumbled.

Jane leaned over to pick up the bottle but the room began to spin as she grasped her head in both hands leaving the remnants of the night before as evidence. Slowly, she ambled across the hallway to the bathroom then carefully propped herself on the edge of the tub to start the water for the shower. She awkwardly stood then disrobed which happened to be in front of the bathroom vanity. As she disrobed she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her eyes locked on her reflection, unable to look away. Is that really me?

Tears started streaming down her cheeks with her breath and spirit shallow. Jane pushed back the shower curtain then situated herself under the hot water streaming from the antique shower head, letting the water hit her face. She reached for the soap and washcloth. As she ran her soapy washcloth over the rolls and creases that have grown since her life of living ended, the death of her husband and best friend, she realised that she barely felt the sensation of touch on her skin. The connection of mind and body in communication was no longer there, not only when she had too much to drink but all other times as well. She realised this was the saddest part.

After a few minutes, remembering her time constraints, she shut off the shower, towelled off, picked up her bed clothes then returned to her bedroom. She found her pull-on khaki pants and the black long sleeve t-shirt with the coffee shop’s logo on the floor then began dressing with her body still slightly damp. She realised her pants needed to be pressed but quickly talked herself out of it while sitting on her bed to put on her black socks and tennis shoes. She would have been further disgusted with herself for being hardly able to reach her shoes due to the increased weight and stiffness but time didn’t allow for it. She stood, balanced herself, then headed for the door, tripping over the empty wine bottle, again. Ugg, I’ll get that later.

Her pace, now out of neutral, carried her down the stairs to the living room where her twin boys were nested in bean bag chairs in front of the Xbox.

Hey, guys! I am so sorry I slept so long. I am in a rush to work. I’ve got to get there before the church-goers get out. If you need anything, call me there, or Grandma and Grandpa.

Yes, Mum, we know. It is fine, said Jimmy.

Get your homework done. I will be home by 4:00 to fix dinner.

Why don’t you just bring sandwiches home from the coffee shop, suggested Jake.

I have the smartest boys. That idea might just happen. Okay then, gotta go.

Bye Mum, the boys shouted in unison.

Jane hit the button for the garage door and climbed into her Ford SUV. She backed out of the garage and headed down the long rock driveway lined with the pine trees she and her husband planted. Jane barely missed hitting a flock of pheasants running across the end of her driveway before she stopped at the mailbox to get the Sunday paper which is hardly ever read.

I need to remember to cancel this. It would save me fifty bucks a year! Goodness, that is an entire Sunday’s salary minus the occasional large tip, Jane told herself out loud.

She turned left onto the country lane, following her ingrained route a mile until she reached the paved road. She stopped at the intersection and realised her headache started to return. She looked for cars then made a poor right turn, almost taking out the stop sign. A few minutes later she found herself in the parking lot of Riverbend’s Expresso Cafe and Diner.

The autopilot has kicked in. I hope it gets me through the day. I have got to stop the Jesus juice and ice cream in the same sitting. Jane thought to herself as she unlocked the back door.

She continued her opening procedures without much thought due to the four years of seniority that she had built up. Being the longest employed person at Expresso Cafe, she would have advanced from working Sundays except it was the perfect excuse to get her out of going to church. The inside of the church was something she just couldn’t face again. The last time she tried to set foot into that building was the Sunday after her husband’s funeral but left immediately. She remembered the day she walked through those doors when she met her husband at five years old, their wedding, their children’s baptisms, and countless other events. That life was certainly gone. Now, Sunday mornings are for sleeping in and making sticky buns and coffee for the farmers and church goers.

*

Honey, please shut your alarm off. It has been buzzing for five minutes, Richard said as he gently nudged his wife’s back then began to run his hand over her side outlining her figure.

Catherine reached for the alarm and flipped the off button. She then slid her hand back under the covers. Oh, just a few more minutes.

I know what we could do for a few minutes, Richard whispered in his wife’s ear as his hand gently roamed over her body.

Honey, we need to get ready for church, Catherine said as she rolled over to face her husband.

They can wait.

We really must get going. We’re hosting this morning.

Geez, didn’t we do this last week?

Yes Richard, but the Donovan’s couldn’t make it this morning. Mr Donovan went into the hospital on Friday. They think he had a stroke.

Oh, that is too bad. I like that old dude but I love you more.

Richard, I love you too. I really do. I am sorry.

Yes, I know. You go get ready. I will shower downstairs. Do you remember when we would shower and get ready together?

Yes. I do. We were much younger then.

We are not that old now.

Honey, this forty-nine-year-old body feels like ninety most days. We have got to get moving.

Catherine struggled to sit up, rubbed the tightness in her shoulders as Richard grabbed his robe to head downstairs to shower. She knew how she continually disappointed her husband but the romantic urges never peeked through her pain levels. Catherine stood but almost lost her balance from the pain and stiffness in her hips. She fell against the wall then slowly straightened herself to walk a few steps to their ensuite bathroom. Catherine was barely able to bend down to start the shower without shooting pain going up her arm but she did manage to get into the shower.

The hot water with massaging pulses from the new shower head Richard installed for her was a dream come true. It only took a couple of minutes but she could feel her muscles relax with the pain decreasing. Did she thank her husband properly? She couldn’t remember but she knew she should again. Out of nowhere the tears welled up in Catherine’s eyes with a flood of emotion and deep thankfulness for her husband. Then he appeared in the bathroom to shave.

Richard, would you help me put soap on my back?

I am going to get wet, he replied jokingly.

Then join me.

Are you sure?

I never thanked you properly for this shower.

We will be late for church.

I guess we will just make an entrance.

Richard slipped off his bathrobe and joined his wife in the shower. Catherine felt the love for her husband deep inside, but it was all she could do to physically get through it.

*

Henry, honey, eat your toast.

What’s this goo on it? Henry said as he wrinkled his nose.

It’s almond butter. It’s very good for you. Here sprinkle some cinnamon on top, as Samantha passed the cinnamon to her son while she held the beginnings of a braid in her daughter’s hair.

I like that goo, Mummy. chimed in Dani as she was wincing slightly from her hair being pulled into the braids.

You would, Henry said as he stuck out his tongue directed at his sister.

Both of you stop it. I have to get Dani’s hair done or we are going to be late for church. Henry, are you finished? Go get your father, have him help you finish getting ready.

Henry jumped down from the island barstool, put his Pokémon plate in the sink, and headed upstairs to find his father.

There, Princess. Your hair is fabulous for church.

Thank you, Mummy, Dani said as she jumped down from her stool.

Go get your shoes and remind the boys upstairs that we are going to be late.

Samantha leaned against the counter looking at herself in the reflection from the glass on the microwave. As she took the last sip of her green tea, she turned to see her family barrelling down the stairs.

Last one in the car is a rotten egg, yelled Sage as all of them raced for the garage. Mummy is the cutest rotten egg ever. Sage leaned over the middle console and gave his wife a kiss. They backed out of the garage and headed five blocks East to Our Lady of Peace Catholic Church.

That commute was exhausting, smiled Sage at his family. The kids giggled at his comment.

Sage, why does everything have to be a joke?

Geez honey, lighten up. What’s wrong?

I don’t know. Let’s just go in.

Sage started walking into church.

Sage! Help me. Dani needs help with her car seat. Never mind. I got it. Here you go, Princess.

Dani leaned up and kissed her mama on the cheek then grabbed her hand while Henry ran to catch up with his father. Samantha and Dani were lagging behind, but they all managed to get through the double doors of the narthex. Dani pulled on her mother’s dress. There’s Mrs Carter.

Catherine and Richard Carter raced through the front doors of the church knowing they were about twenty minutes late to start greeting parishioners. Catherine met the church secretary.

You are late but here are the programs. You can take over now. I need to go check on Father.

Well, dear, we just got scolded.

Well, dear, it was well worth it, whispered Richard with a pleasing smile.

Why Dani, How pretty you look this morning, said Catherine as she gave Samantha and Sage programs.

My mummy braided my hair.

I see that. It looks lovely. Do you and Henry want kid’s bags today?

I do. He brought his book.

Ah, never a dull moment, Samantha said to Catherine as she began to guide the children through the stained glass doors entering the sanctuary. Samantha followed her family into a pew where they always sat. Samantha’s clan have occupied this same pew since she was a baby and probably her parents before that. It seemed to be a secret unwritten rule in the church but that is how it always has been, and always will be.

Can we sit with you?

Hi Mum, hi Dad, Samantha stood to greet her parents.

Grandpa, Grandma.

How’s my girl, Samantha’s father smiled from ear to ear as he picked up Dani.

Hi, Happy Sunday, Sage offered his hand to his in-laws as everyone shuffled around to make room in the long, walnut wood pew.

Hey, let’s go to the coffee shop after church. It’s our treat, Samantha’s mother offered.

Mum, they don’t really have anything healthy there for the kids.

Healthy? They are kids, Samantha’s father questioned. How about sticky buns? But you have to be good through church. Well, that got a smile out of our serious Henry.

That is nice of you. Yes, we would love to but I do have lessons at 2:00, explained Sage.

We will most certainly be done by then. Don’t you think Sam?

"Shhhhh, Mum the service is starting.

Transformation

I returned to a place I once called home

after many years away.

what I found I did not foresee,

there were no changes to be.

Does time stand still in this rural town?

I witnessed evidence of time passing,

the sunrise, sunset

the stars in their proper arrangement.

Where is the change?

The bandshell still stands with lighted pride

in the middle of the park

with sounds from the community band

playing the familiar march.

Change is not there.

The clarinettist’s wife with her large brimmed hat

still knits throughout the songs.

The town’s reporter scribbling notes, snapping pictures

as she walks along.

Change is not there.

The familiar scent of pork chops sizzling on the grill,

herbed aroma fills the air.

The ladies from the Catholic church baked rows of pies to share,

which one I take I do not care.

I am glad change was not found there.

I do know change is somewhere.

The children are still climbing on the monkey bars

swinging on the swings.

Higher! Higher! They laughingly scream

and plead.

Only a few inches of change were found there.

Where is the change, I came to find?

As the last pork chop and pie consumed

while the band played the last tune

I discovered where change was key

it was all along within me.

Chapter 2

Meet Me at the Café

Hello, Expresso Cafe. This is Jane!

Mum, it’s Jimmy. Do you care if Keith McMillen comes over to work on music?

No, that’s fine. I’ll bring him a sandwich too.

Cool! Thanks!

Oh, I got to run, the church goers are coming.

*

Keith, it’s Jimmy. Mum okayed you hanging out.

Cool!

She’s bringing home food too.

Really Cool! I’ll leave in a few, bringing both guitars and music.

Yep, see ya in a few.

Hey, Mum. Can I go over to Jimmy and Jake’s? Keith said as he entered the solarium.

Did their mother say it was okay? When are you coming home? Murphy replied but still focused on her laptop screen.

She’s working at Expresso, but she’s bringing food home for a late lunch.

Ok, but be home by 6:00. It is a school night and Sunday dinner.

Thanks, Mum, Bye.

Hi Mama, Luna said as she walked into the solarium and sat down on the sofa. How’s the novel coming?

It’s coming, but now I am working on a few poems. What are you up to?

Just getting ready to drive back to school.

I hate those words, said Murphy as she shut the lid on her laptop.

I’ll be back in less than two weeks for Thanksgiving break. Where did Keith go?

He went over to his friends. Hey, I have an idea. Liam is over at Grandma and Grandpa’s. Keith left to go to the twin’s house, and your father stated he wanted the house quiet. How about you and I sneak up to Expresso and have lunch before you head to school.

That sounds fantastic. I’ll finish getting ready. Maybe I should drop by and see Grandma and Grandpa before I go too?

When we are done eating, I need to pick up your brother anyway.

Girls day out, they both said together.

*

Jane Oliver took a deep breath after hanging up the phone from her son’s call peering out the window. The parade of cars from all five churches were headed directly to Expresso’s parking lot. I wish the churches would stagger their services. It would make it easier for us, Jane smiled and chuckled to one of the girls who was also working with her.

Only if. They both laughed.

*

Catherine and Richard found their way