Contents
Copyright
Author’s Note
Forever Finley Detailed Table of Contents
Forever Finley (Title Page)
Come December (Title Page)
Come December
January Thaw (Title Page)
January Thaw
Forget February (Title Page)
Forget February
Dearest March... (Title Page)
Dearest March
April's Promise (Title Page)
April's Promise
Mayday Mayday Mayday (Title Page)
Mayday Mayday Mayday
Chasing June (Title Page)
Chasing June
A Hundred Julys (Title Page)
A Hundred Julys
Under the August Moon (Title Page)
Under the August Moon
Song for September (Title Page)
Song for September
October Omen (Title Page)
October Omen
Pale November (Title Page)
Pale November
December Bells (Title Page)
December Bells
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Author Bio
Forever Finley
Published by Holly Schindler, LLC
Copyright © 2016 by Holly Schindler
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Holly Schindler
Cover images by Volokhatiuk and visoook,
both courtesy of iStock
Rainy Day and Angelova Script by littlebigcrafter, courtesy of Etsy
Interior design by Holly Schindler
Author’s Note – About Forever Finley – How to Read the Collection:
In November of 2015, I wrote a short story called “Come December.” I’d been a hybrid author for several months (meaning I’d released four books through traditional publishing houses, and two novels independently, through channels like Kindle Direct Publishing, iBooks, Kobo, and Nook Press). What I loved about indie publishing was that the door was literally wide open: I was free to go where my heart wanted to take me in terms of subject matter and style, and even length. The ultimate writer’s playground.
I’d been writing full-length novels solidly for years, and wanted to get back to an old love: the short story. It would be a joy to sit down and write a shorter piece—something I could draft from beginning to end in a single sitting. As busy as we all are, I thought my readers would feel the same way—happy to be able to sit down and devour a story from beginning to end all in one gulp.
“Come December” took off during the holiday season, finding its way onto the e-readers, tablets, and laptop screens of readers who were being introduced to my work for the first time. I was absolutely delighted to hear from so many of them, who were taking time from their own holiday hustle and bustle to shoot me e-mails. The response was so positive (and I’d had such a great time with it) that I was convinced I needed to continue telling the tale. I decided I’d offer a new installment once a month throughout 2016, and that each new story would be titled after the month of its release.
…But in what way did I want to continue? Did I want to follow along with the adventures of Natalie, the new girl who rolled into town in “Come December?”
Well—not exactly. It was the town itself I found the most intriguing. Already, I had depicted a kind of mystical place in “Come December.” Like my readers (and Natalie), I had only just crossed the city limits. I wanted to learn more about this new place.
In “January Thaw,” I introduced two new characters (Natalie took on a supporting role), but the central focus was on the town itself. Finley had become the main character of my ongoing short story series. “Forget February,” the third installment, allowed me to dive into its history. To relate the legend of Amos Hargrove, the town founder. A new question arose: was Amos simply a town-wide superstition? Or were the stories about him true? Could Finley be not just a quaint town, a lovely town, but a place that was literally fueled by something—well—otherworldly? Was it enchanted? Did the spirit of Amos Hargrove have a hand in manipulating the events that took place? I couldn’t wait to return every month.
As the series progressed, I wove together historical and contemporary scenarios. In addition to the legend of Amos Hargrove, the Civil War soldier desperate to reunite with the spirit of his sweetheart (who died before Amos’s return from battle), we have stories of modern-day relationships: new loves, old loves, friendships, engagements, couples who have been together decades, couples who are still learning about each other. We see Finley through the eyes of some of the younger residents, and through the eyes of the oldest.
Essentially, Forever Finley is a short story cycle. Which is just a fancy way of saying each story is a stand-alone. Individually, they create one picture of the town of Finley. Read together, they create another.
Forever Finley can be enjoyed in the same way you can enjoy an album by your favorite band: you can read it front to back (the same way you can either press “play” or drop the needle and listen to an entire record), or you can bounce around, reading individual stories in random order, even reading one story repeatedly before moving to another (in the same way you can listen to songs out of order on an album, even listen to one song over and over before listening to a different track). For those who would like to bounce through the book, I’ve provided a Detailed Table of Contents, which includes a brief synopsis of each story. You can use the Detailed Table of Contents to pick a read, then flip backward to the Contents page (which is in front of the Copyright page), where clicking on the title will take you to your chosen story. For those who would prefer to read front to back, I’ve also included a title page with brief synopsis in front of each new tale; you’ll get a little preview of what’s about to come as you progress straight through.
If I can make one suggestion, though, I’d say that if you want to read the monthly episodes out of sequence, you might make it a point to save “December Bells” for last, as all the pieces come together in that tale. Saving that story for the end helps preserve the sense of mystery I’ve created for Finley and its residents.
Throughout 2016, Finley honestly become my favorite place to visit—and I hope you’ll enjoy your own journey through its borders as well.
Best wishes in reading—
Holly Schindler
Forever Finley
Detailed Table of Contents
Come December - Natalie is new to town, and feels invisible and painfully alone...until a mysterious stranger in a cemetery changes everything.
January Thaw - Annie Ames returns to her small hometown of Finley to celebrate her newfound success as an up-and-coming young NYC artist...only to come face-to-face with Justin O’Dell, who is both her childhood friend and a journalist who recently penned a scathing review of her work. Can an artist and her biggest critic find common ground—or have Justin's words destroyed their friendship for good?
Forget February - The legend of Amos Hargrove’s enduring love is a silly fairy tale. Just ask Kelly and Nathan, arguably the two most anti-Valentine’s Day residents of Finley. His spirit does not still exist, and he does not play matchmaker or bring luck to those who need it…or does he?
Dearest March… - At fifty-five, Jo, the proprie
tor of Jo March Books: Depository for the New & Used, still clings to the idea of finding her very own Mr. Darcy, the star of her beloved Pride and Prejudice. When her ex-husband returns to town (at the same time gifts begin to appear from a “secret admirer,” no less), she begins to wonder if she’s pegged him all wrong…
April’s Promise - Patricia and her husband Timothy have participated in the April’s Promise Couples Race every year of their three-decades-long marriage. This year, though, they find themselves facing a slew of new challenges that steal their second winds and force them to question whether they’ll make it past the finish line together.
Mayday Mayday Mayday - Engagement should be a happy time in a young woman’s life, but for Natalie (the heroine of “Come December”), it’s plagued with doubts. She’d only known Damien four months when she accepted his proposal. On occasion now, when the two are together, she hears a distinct Mayday distress call. Where is the voice coming from? Does it have anything to do with the enigmatic figure she encountered in the cemetery last winter? Or is Natalie afraid she’s about to go down in flames?
Chasing June - Annie Ames steps from the pages of “January Thaw” to return again to her childhood hometown, hoping to start a new project: a book documenting the romantic folklore surrounding the legend of Amos Hargrove, the town founder. But no one likes the fact that she’s “disturbing the dust”—rifling through old memories and a more than century-old legend. Hoping all is not lost, Annie pays a visit to Mary, the town’s oldest resident. Opening an old trunk in Mary’s attic, she discovers a treasured antique wedding shawl as well as a few life-altering truths about an old friend…and about the legend of Amos Hargrove and his sweetheart, Finley.
A Hundred Julys - Norma Johnson, owner of Finley’s only antique store, has always felt she was mysteriously drawn to the small town she now calls home. Forced to host the July vintage car show, she bumps headlong into the legend that has surrounded Finley for a century—and in so doing, gains a new perspective on the far-reaching effects of love…
Under the August Moon - Two couples—one just beginning a relationship, the other a legendary pair wandering Finley in a relentless attempt to reunite—find their paths have suddenly intertwined like wild Midwestern vines under the red August Heart Moon. Will that moon allow Mark and Jo find common ground in the midst of their late-in-life romance? And how will the fabled Finley’s search for her beloved Amos be impacted by the planting of enchanted moon seeds?
Song for September - Michael is a failed musician at heart and a coffee shop barista by day. Once the most promising songwriter in the area, he now plays backup at another musician’s weekly gig, avoiding any chance of further defeat. Will the century-old legend of his hometown provide the magic he needs to finally succeed? Will Michael have the power to assist in the long-awaited reunion of Finley’s first sweethearts?
October Omen - Kelly Marx, Finley’s premiere wedding planner and dress designer, is on a mission to gain access to a Civil War-era shawl that will provide the finishing touch to her latest original gown. But Mary, the elderly owner of the shawl, isn’t the only force to come between Kelly and her goal. When the shawl goes missing, Kelly finds herself in the midst of disturbing events—faced with omens of danger. After encountering two mysterious strangers, where will Kelly’s skeptical heart lead her?
Pale November - Recently retired Patricia Steele has always been strong enough to start and complete any task she’s taken on—including the April’s Promise Couples Race last spring. But the discovery of a lump reminds her, in stark brutality, that she is, in fact, human—and mortal. While Patricia prepares herself to hear the bad news that her tumor is malignant, a mysterious young nurse steps in, with plans of her own.
December Bells - Winds of change touch both the past and the future of a town called Finley.
Forever Finley
Holly Schindler
Come December
Open yourself up to magical possibilities.
Natalie is new to town, and feels invisible and painfully alone...until a mysterious stranger in a cemetery changes everything.
Leaves are a lot like people, Natalie caught herself thinking as she sat, the first car at the intersection, in a long lane of coming-home five o’clock traffic. Leaves were all clustered when they were young and green—they danced happily together, rustling in the wind on the branches of maples or pin oaks. But once they turned colors, showing signs of their age, they pulled free from the tree and they tumbled willy-nilly. They landed detached from the safety they’d always known, wet and cold on gray cement sidewalks. November, Natalie thought as she watched the leaves continue to fall on the opposite side of the intersection, had never looked lonely to her before.
Come on, Natalie, she told herself. Snap out of it. She reached for the knob of her radio. She needed music. Or some call-in show with people who were worse off than she was.
The car behind her honked, startling her away from the dial. Natalie glanced up at the green light and eased her own car forward, chastising herself again for being so woebegone. Nothing tragic had happened; she’d simply moved from her tiny Missouri hometown to a slightly bigger Missouri town—all in order to chase after her lifelong dream, her love of the lens. Videographer for Channel 27 News.
Following one’s dreams had always seemed so triumphant at the movies, accompanied by soaring background music and fist-pumping. Natalie’s own dream-following had not involved a Rocky-esque soundtrack. On her tight budget, it had involved moving into an apartment across the street from a cemetery.
In all fairness, this was no Halloween night cemetery with crooked gray stones, a distant Victorian-era caretaker building, and bats whizzing about in the moonlight. Instead, it had been designated a national cemetery, populated with neat rows of pristine white marble markers and filled with the peace and noble aura of being selected as the final resting place for so many distinguished, courageous soldiers. Still, though—a cemetery. A dead end. A last stop. No hope for anything better. It filled Natalie with an overwhelming sense of sadness that was as gray and heavy as concrete.
Natalie shook her head at the stone walls and the wrought iron gate that enclosed the more-than-a-century-old burial ground as she steered her car into her apartment lot and dragged herself inside.
She tossed her keys onto the table, her throat feeling tight and dry. And it suddenly occurred to her that she had not heard her own voice all day. Natalie’s main task at the station was to make herself as inconspicuous as possible so that the world could forget that she was standing there with a camera, allowing the journalist with the mic and the perfect hair to get a better on-scene interview. Sometimes, she actually caught herself thinking that the real world stretched before her lens, and she was on the opposite side, in some strange foggy area where her own existence was up for debate. What kind of life was this? Getting up and putting in eight hours of invisibility and then coming home to an apartment with chairs enough for six and a need only for one. It was neither triumphant nor fulfilling. She glared at her own framed art photographs, years’ worth of work decorating her apartment walls. Some dream.
Natalie put her dinner in the microwave, but the carousel tray didn’t fit right, and it rubbed as it turned, letting out a wail so close to the sound Natalie’s own heart was making that she slammed her thumb against the Stop button.
She hated her unending funk—her downturned mouth and the way she tucked her chin into her chest to avoid eye contact and shuffled past everyone as quickly as possible. And she hated that her new surroundings were doing everything they could to keep her from crawling out of her blues and into the happiness she’d expected to find—the happiness she was certain she could still find, if she could only figure out how to quit her incessant moping.
She wasn’t hungry. At least, not for food. She threw her long brown hair in a ponytail, her feet in her running shoes, and her phone in the pocket of her sweats, but only for safety—she certainly didn’t expect to be receiv
ing any calls.
Outside, the evening traffic had yet to slack off. She sighed with disappointment; the only place to avoid the throb of engines and the acrid smell of exhaust was the cemetery across the street. The wrought iron gates towered over her as she slipped inside.
Her cathartic run stopped before it had a chance to really get started; someone close by was whistling a vaguely familiar tune. She stood frozen in place, squeezed the phone in her pocket, and waited for the whistler to step into view.
“Don’t see too many joggers this time of year,” he said. A label on the breast of his coveralls designated him “Caretaker.”
Natalie stared, startled by the fact that someone had spoken directly to her. She was growing accustomed to her invisibility—a fact that disturbed her, embarrassed her, made her feel like withdrawing even more. Sometimes, a downward spiral could spin as quickly as a tornado, and was just as easy to outrun.
“You are jogging, aren’t you?” the caretaker asked, shaking messy gray hair from his eyes. “Or are you here to decorate? If you are, you need to mark who the arrangement’s for. So much wind lately. Blows the flowers to kingdom come. You write your soldier’s name, I’ll always make sure it gets back to the right spot.”
“Not—decorating.” She had to force the words out, like her throat had started to rust shut.
“Well. Be careful in the fog. Tends to show up at twilight this time of year. Gates close at sundown.” And he began to whistle again as he shuffled across the cemetery in an arthritic limp.
Natalie jogged, mounds of leaves rattling beneath her feet. She made up military cadences to hear the sound of her own voice. She ran until her legs burned and her lungs burned and the cold November air even made the tip of her nose burn. That caretaker was nice, she tried to tell herself, breathing in the smoky smells of autumn and exhaling in long steamy streams. But it had been an empty conversation with a stranger. And it couldn’t keep her eyes from burning, too. She swiped a tear away and pressed forward.
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