The Summer's End: Low Country Trilogy (Low Country Summer), by Mary Alice Monroe
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The Summer's End: Low Country Trilogy (Low Country Summer), by Mary Alice Monroe
Free Ebook PDF The Summer's End: Low Country Trilogy (Low Country Summer), by Mary Alice Monroe
In the powerful third installment in her Lowcountry Summer series, New York Times bestselling author Mary Alice Monroe returns to the sultry beauty of the Carolina coast and the Muir sisters-an unforgettable tale of family bonds as strong and steady as the tides.It is the last summer that Marietta "Mamaw" Muir and her three "summer girls" will ever spend at their beloved Sea Breeze before it is sold. As the end draws near, Mamaw and half-sisters Dora, Carson, and Harper struggle to find new places in the world. Harper intended to stay only a weekend, but a rift with her wealthy, influential mother left her without a home. Free from her mother's tyranny and encouraged by her family on Sullivan's Island, Harper has at last discovered her talents and independent spirit. Now, the historic beach house's fate hinges on her courage to decide the course of her own life. To do so, she must recognize her newfound strengths and accept love fully into her life-of her family, of the lowcountry, and, most of all, of ex-Marine Taylor McClellan, the wounded warrior who has claimed her heart.
The Summer's End: Low Country Trilogy (Low Country Summer), by Mary Alice Monroe - Amazon Sales Rank: #413031 in Books
- Published on: 2015-09-01
- Format: Large Print
- Original language: English
- Number of items: 1
- Dimensions: 1.20" h x 5.70" w x 8.70" l, .0 pounds
- Binding: Library Binding
- 500 pages
The Summer's End: Low Country Trilogy (Low Country Summer), by Mary Alice Monroe Review "Readers who enjoy Monroe's blend of fiction that weaves family drama by the seaside and environmental issues will want to pick up a copy." (The Chicago Tribune on The Summer's End)"It is hard to describe the beauty of Monroe's work.The words on the pages flow from the author's eyes to create a world of rareenchantment. Next, Monroe's brain assembles a plot that moves the charactersfrom one amazing event to another. Then from Monroe's heart comes the passionfor the story, one that is rich with love and depth.” (Jackie K. Cooper, The Huffington Post, on The Summer's End)"To describe Monroe’s books is like trying to describe the Lowcountry itself. There is warmth and beauty found on every page, and it is simple yet complex in its nature. Storms may rage in the night, but morning always follows." (Myrtle Beach Online on The Summer's End)"If you are searching for a great beach read—friendship, family, a touch of ecology and romance—well, then, this is the book for you... keep tissues by your side as you read this book." (Joan Leotta on The Summer's End)"Mary Alice Monroe is an exquisite author who blends the magnificent Lowcountry setting with human emotions...This is a must read for fans of Southern literature." (Ariesgrl Reviews on The Summer's End)"This is the perfect summertime beach read." (Maurice on Books, on The Summer Wind)"Pulls at your heartstrings." (Posting for Now on The Summer Wind, 5-star review)"Written with convincing Southern charm and thoughtfulness, The Summer Wind explores the bonds of sisterhood and the challenges of modern womanhood with warmth and genuine affection." (Amy Garvey, Bookpage.com, on The Summer Wind)"Monroe’s writing is as lean and elegant as the lovely young women who grace the beach... a cool, refreshing breeze of a read." (Joan Leotta, Recipes for Success, on The Summer Wind)"Mary Alice Monroe has a way with words when it comes to her characters and her locations. No other author has ever made me want to be sitting on the beach more." (Charming Chelsey's on The Summer Wind)"Once you get to know the sisters and Mamaw, you’ll want to follow their lives beyond the summer, and the beach." (Dawn Baumgartner Vaughan, The Herald Sun, on The Summer Wind)"The Summer Wind makes for an excellent beach read this summer." (The Literary Housewife, on The Summer Wind)"Mary Alice Monroe has taken the rich waters of the Atlantic Coast as her own field of dreams. In The Summer Girls,she sings a song of praise to the bottle-nosed dolphins that bring so much joy to the men and women who gaze at the creeks and rivers of the low country each evening. Like all her books, The Summer Girls is a call to arms." (New York Times bestselling author Pat Conroy)"The Summer Girls is more than just a beautifully written, moving portrayal of three sisters finding themselves and each other after years of separation. It's also an important book that deals head-on with significant issues so skillfully woven into the narrative that I often stopped to consider the import of what I'd just read. If you're a dedicated environmentalist, this book is a must-read. If you're just someone who enjoys a good story, you'll get that, too, and much more." (New York Times bestselling author Cassandra King)"The Summer Girls conveys sound environmental messages through a captivating story of how the ocean and a charismatic dolphin reunite sisters in the alluring ecological setting of the Lowcountry of South Carolina. The story resonates on a personal level and, moreover, delivers a powerful reminder of the importance of protecting dolphins and the environment in which they live." (Patricia Fair, Director, Marine Mammal Program, NOAA)“Monroe’s resplendent storytelling shines even brighter . . . [with] startling insights into the intimate connection between nature and the human heart.” (New York Times bestselling author Patti Callahan Henry)“In the bestselling tradition of Kathryn Stockett’s The Help, Mary Alice Monroe skillfully weaves together issues of class, women’s rights, and domestic abuse set in the tumultuous South during the 1970s. . . . Beautifully wrought, and rich with keen insight . . . an unforgettable tale of marriage, resilience, and one woman’s private strength.” (Bookreporter)“Magical! Mary Alice Monroe's writing is always sensitive and true, and as inspiring as the natural wonder about which she writes. This luminous tale—set in the South Carolina Lowcountry that we both love so deeply—was hard to put down.” (Dorothea Benton Frank)“Monroe brings authenticity and a sense of wonder to the plight of the endangered sea turtles and their miraculous capacity for survival.” (Publishers Weekly)“Monroe utilizes her signature combination of informative storytelling wrapped in the relatable sagas of her protagonists.” (Charleston City Paper)“An exquisite, many-layered novel of an unsolved mystery, an obsession, a reconciliation, and a little romance.... Treats readers to lush descriptions of nature." (Booklist)"An author of power and depth." (RT Reviews)"A consummate storyteller." (The Best Reviews)"A master storyteller." (Southeastern Charm magazine)"A strong, warm voice that brings the South to life." (Powell's Book Review)"Mary Alice Monroe has written another novel that is helping to redefine the beauty and magic of the Carolina Lowcountry. Every book she has written has felt like a homecoming to me and...she has succeeded in making the marshes and rivers of the Lowcountry her literary home.... Haunting." (New York Times bestselling author Pat Conroy)"Monroe makes her characters so believable, the reader can almost hear them breathing." (Booklist)"Mary Alice Monroe has become one of the premier voices contemporary women's fiction today. Her lyrical, emotional, and gripping stories make for superb reading experiences." (RT Book Reviews)"A soaring, passionate story of loneliness and pain and the simple ability of love to heal and transcend both. Mary Alice Monroe's voice is as strong and true as the great birds of prey of whom she writes." (Anne Rivers Siddons)"Mary Alice Monroe writes from her heart to the hearts of her readers." (Charleston Post & Courier)"Such a wonderful, exciting new read! Very well written and addicting! Looking forward to the next book in the series. Mary Alice--hurry up!" (Books Unlimited)"Mary Alice writes the most readable books with important environmental story lines, but "The Summer Girls"might be my favorite. It's about family, finding yourself, getting through bad issues that could weigh you down, and enjoying the ride with the warm embrace of family. And there's a wild dolphin who helps heal the pain but finds his own. This book has everything--sense of place, family, strong characters, romance,a love of dolphins and more. This is BETTER than a beach read; this is a great book club book to discuss! Can't wait for the next in the trilogy. thanks, Mary Alice!" (First Reads)"How wonderful it is to be able to dig into a summer novel and not only get so much pleasure from the awesome story, but to learn, learn, learn...[S]he brings new awareness to those of us who need enlightening." (Maurice on Books)"[A] beautifully written and thought provoking work of fiction. Mary Alice Monroe once again delivers on her promise to write books that explore the beauty in nature and the complexity of human relationships as she delves into the human psyche." (Linda Hitchcock of Booktrib)
About the Author Mary Alice Monroe is the New York Times bestselling author of more than a dozen novels, including The Summer Girls, The Summer Wind, The Summer’s End, Last Light Over Carolina, Time Is a River, Sweetgrass, Skyward, The Beach House, Beach House Memories, Swimming Lessons, The Four Seasons, and The Book Club. Her books have received numerous awards, including the 2008 South Carolina Center for the Book Award for Writing, the 2014 South Carolina Award for Literary Excellence, the 2015 SW Florida Author of Distinction Award, the RT Lifetime Achievement Award, and the International Book Award for Green Fiction. An active conservationist, she lives in the lowcountry of South Carolina. Visit her at MaryAliceMonroe.com and at Facebook.com/MaryAliceMonroe.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. The Summer’s End
Chapter One
The dawn of another summer day. Mamaw tightened the soft cashmere throw around her thin shoulders. Slivers of light pierced the velvety blackness over the Cove, and pewter-colored shadows danced on the spiky marsh grass like ethereal ghosts. Mamaw sat huddled on an oversize, black wicker chair on her back porch, her legs tucked beneath her. The fog was moist on her face and the predawn chill seemed to penetrate straight to her bones. She couldn’t seem to get warm with Lucille gone. Since her dear friend’s death, many nights she’d awakened from a fitful sleep and come outdoors hoping the fresh air would settle her. She’d found scant warmth or peace in the chill of predawn. In the distance, the Atlantic Ocean, her mercurial friend, roared like a hungry beast. The waves were devouring the dunes in a relentless rhythm. Echoes reverberated over Sullivan’s Island. Over a week had passed since Lucille’s death. Yet she still felt her old friend’s presence around her, hovering in death as she had in life. Dear Lucille. Death came to us all. She knew that. Mamaw was no stranger to death. At eighty years of age, she could hardly have been spared the loss of loved ones. She’d buried her parents, and, too early, her son and husband. Tonight she felt the past was more alive than the present. Memories of her loved ones played vividly in her mind. Mamaw drew a long, ragged breath. From far away, she heard the mournful bellowing of a ship’s foghorn. From a nearby tree, a bird began calling out his strident dawn whistles . . . a cardinal, she thought. She listened, stirred from her lethargy by the dawn song. She watched as the morning light, in degrees, brightened the skyline, revealing the ragged tips of green sea grass, palm trees clustered on a hammock, and the towering Ravenel Bridge, appearing as two great sailing vessels, in the distance. Slowly, the rising sun illuminated the darkness, peeling away the shroud from her heart. She felt her despair dissipate with the mist. Mamaw said a prayer of thanks to the rising sun and took a deep breath of the cool, mud-scented air. Another day was dawning. The worst was over. Foolish old woman, she chided herself as the gray sky shifted to blue. Look at yourself, sitting in the dark, mourning your friend. Wouldn’t Lucille give you what for if she spied you moping like this outdoors in the damp chill, still in your nightclothes? Who had time to lollygag? Their plan for the summer was not finished! She’d invited her three nearly estranged granddaughters to Sea Breeze in May—and they’d come. The first time they’d been together in over a decade. True, it had so far been a tumultuous summer of change and growth, ups and downs, joys and heartaches. But it was her triumph that they’d weathered the vicissitudes together. Eudora, Carson, and Harper had rediscovered the sisterly love they’d shared as children when they played together during the summers here on Sullivan’s Island. Howling at the moon? She should be crowing like a rooster! Yet, much was still to be done and she was running out of time. It was already August. The sea turtles were finishing another season, the children would be heading back to school, the ospreys would soon head south with the other migrating birds and butterflies. Summer’s end was fast approaching. Soon, too, her Summer Girls would be leaving. Mamaw felt a twinge of loss at just the thought. She would miss them—their sweet faces, their chatter, tears, laughter. The footfalls in the house, the drama, the hugs and kisses liberally offered. What a summer it had been! Her smile slipped. Not only would her granddaughters leave in the fall. She, too, would be leaving Sea Breeze. Moving to a retirement home when Sea Breeze was sold. With her granddaughters and Lucille gone, she would, she thought with a shudder, be utterly alone. Mamaw lowered her cheek to her palm. She at least knew where she would go at summer’s end, but where would her girls go? Each of the women was unsure of what her next step would be when she left the safe embrace of Sea Breeze. Dora’s divorce was pending, Carson was pregnant, and Harper was, for lack of a better term, completely adrift. “Ah, Lucille,” she said aloud to the presence she felt hovering in the pearly light. “You were the one who always rallied me in my dark moments. We lured them here. And there is still much yet to do to finish our plan.” She sighed. “I don’t know if I can do it alone. But I must try.” Mamaw’s eyes rose to the sky, where great shafts of pink and blue continued to break through the horizon. A smile eased across her face. The moon might be gone, she thought. But the sun was rising on another day. In another room of Sea Breeze, Harper lay on her bed in the steely light, her hands tucked beneath her head, listening to the mighty roar of the ocean. How loud the sound of the waves was this morning, she thought. The echoes reverberated in the still night. She thrilled to the sound, so different from what she was accustomed to in the city. In New York, Harper awoke to the blare of police sirens, honking horns, and banging garbage trucks. So much was different here. She was different here. Over the past few months since she’d arrived on Sullivan’s Island, her body had slowly acclimated from the fast pace and sense of urgency she experienced in the city to the slower, quieter rhythm of the lowcountry. She no longer went out to parties or bars until late at night, nor did she charge out of bed in the morning at the sound of an alarm. At Sea Breeze her days were ruled by the sun. Early to bed, early to rise. Harper smiled, wondering if she’d ever foreseen how much she’d enjoy this lifestyle. No, she didn’t think she had. In fact, initially she had quite dreaded the prospect of spending time at Sea Breeze this summer. She recalled her outrage when, only a few days after her and her sisters’ arrival, Mamaw had announced her true intentions: that the women stay the entire summer. Harper stretched languidly while the light brightened to give the room a pearly glow. As she turned to her side to look out the window, her hand brushed against something. Surprised, she sat up to investigate. Sheets of paper lay strewn across her bed and scattered on the floor. She rubbed her eyes as understanding took hold. Her book . . . She must’ve fallen asleep while reading her manuscript, she realized, yawning. She rose from her bed and gathered the two-hundred-some sheets into a pile, taking her time to put the pages in order. As she did, her eyes reread a sentence here and there. Not bad, she thought to herself. The emotions in the words felt true. Then again, she was a biased judge. Her mother had made it brutally clear when she was just a girl that she didn’t have talent. Just like her father, her mother had said dismissively, waving away Harper’s fledgling attempts at short stories and poems. Her mother was a renowned editor, so Harper had taken her words as fact. Those fateful words still stung, even after decades. Since then, Harper hadn’t shown her writing to anyone. She’d pursued a career as an editor, discovering she had a talent in assisting others with their stories, with taking their innermost thoughts and putting them onto the page. Yet she’d found editing others’ words didn’t bring her the same satisfaction as writing her own. So she’d continued writing—in her room, in coffee shops, on trains—in secret. Like a sinful pleasure she could indulge in when she wanted to dish out her anger or amusement. Not until this summer, this block of time she’d given herself without interruption—or rather, the time that Mamaw had thrust upon her, not taking no for an answer—had Harper decided to write a book. A whole body of work with a beginning, a middle, and an end. She would never know whether she could actually write a book until she’d finished one. And, she thought, picking up the papers in her hands, she was nearly done. Harper rose and placed the manuscript on her desk, resting her hands on the pile of papers, overcome with a sense of ownership and pride. Her book. Her sisters thought she’d been taking the summer off, shamelessly idle while they scrambled to find jobs and apartments. True, she’d been enjoying her break at Sea Breeze, gardening, swimming, talking with her sisters, and roaming the far ends of the island. But she’d been privately working, too. She didn’t dare tell anyone about it, because if she did, she knew they’d want to read it. No, she thought, slipping the manuscript into the desk drawer. She would keep her manuscript all to herself. She wasn’t as outgoing as her sister Carson, who was quick-witted and clever. Nor was she as bold as her eldest sister, Dora, who had strong opinions on every subject, even when unasked. Harper expressed herself best on paper. And, she thought with a rueful smile, her sisters wouldn’t be pleased to learn that she was writing about them. Outside her window she heard the strident dawn whistles of a bird singing in a nearby tree. She paused to listen, wondering what kind of bird it was that awakened her most mornings. She vowed to find out. She wanted to learn the names of the birds and the trees and the plants of this island that she’d come to love. She’d spent all of her twenty-eight years in beautiful places—her mother’s fashionable apartment overlooking Central Park in New York City, the house in the Hamptons, and her grandparents’ manor house in England. Not to mention the exclusive boarding schools and Ivy League college she’d attended. But nowhere did she feel so at home or content, or as much herself, as she did here in the lowcountry, by the ocean, at Sea Breeze. She’d be leaving soon. The thought came unbidden and struck a chord of sadness in the morning’s sweet music. Harper went to the window and opened the wooden slats of the plantation shutter to peer out. Pale gray light illuminated the shadows. Carson was always nattering on about how glorious it was to be out on the water when the dawn exploded over the ocean. How it was her favorite time of the day. Carson could be so passionate about anything connected to water. Harper suddenly felt a stirring to witness that sight for herself. Why not now? she asked herself. Before it was too late. What was she waiting for? She quickly slipped into a swimsuit and denim shorts. Laced up her running shoes. As quietly as the mouse she was nicknamed after, she slipped open the sliding door that separated her bedroom from her grandmother’s. It rattled on the track, and grimacing, she paused. She didn’t hear Mamaw stir in her dark bedroom. Harper tiptoed quickly across the carpet, closing the door behind her. The house was quiet, everyone still asleep in the wee morning hour. Even Carson, who, for all her talk, had begun sleeping in after announcing her pregnancy. Making good her escape, Harper flew out the front door, aware that the sun waited for no man or woman. She was met with cool and sweet-tasting morning air. The wind that had roiled the ocean all night had chased away the humidity and heat, leaving the morning air unusually refreshing for August. In the quiet, all sounds were amplified. Above her, the leaves of the great oak tree rustled in the breeze and the palm fronds rattled. Beneath her feet the gravel crunched loudly as she hurried across the driveway to the garage. The rusty, trusty old bicycle leaned against the wall. She pulled it out from the garage, swung her leg over the seat, and took off. Despite her twenty-eight years, Harper felt no older than thirteen as she pedaled furiously along the streets. The neighboring houses appeared blanketed in the shadows, their occupants still asleep in the hush over the island. Only a few feral cats darted soundlessly across the roads. She hadn’t seen as many of them clustering on the island this summer as she remembered from her girlhood summers spent at Sea Breeze. People said it was the coyotes. She kept her eyes peeled as she pushed on along the muted street. Past Stella Maris Catholic Church, with its hallowed steeple. Past the ominous, giant molelike burrows of Fort Moultrie. Past the tight cluster of restaurants, shuttered now and deserted. Only a few joggers and an occasional automobile shared the road with her. At last she reached the northern tip of the island, where Carson had told her the surfers gathered. She turned off Middle Street toward the sea. Several cars, all with roof racks for surfboards, crowded the narrow side streets. Harper pushed the wheels of her bike through the soft sand of the path past the tall barrier of shrubs. The surf was unusually loud this morning. When at last the path opened up to the beach, she stopped to catch her breath. The dusky blue sky and gray sea came together to form one infinite horizon line. The sun did not rush to her glory. She rose at her own pace, imperious, radiant, bursting in her display of achingly beautiful pastels that were reflected on the water. Harper felt small in the presence of a view so profound. Yet at the same time, she felt connected to it. Empowered to be part of this godlike perpetuity. In that dazzling moment she felt the glistening light enter her soul to fill her with hope. Harper understood at last why Carson so loved this moment, had risen early to catch it day after day. It truly was spiritual. Harper clutched the handlebars of her beach cruiser tight. The new day was spread out before her like a blank page, ready for her to fill with her words, thoughts, feelings. She’d given herself this one summer to discover—at long last—what she wanted to do with her life. No longer would she continue meekly following what her mother had planned. She didn’t know what her future would bring. Standing in the glow of the rising sun, Harper was filled with a tingling sensation that her future was only just beginning. The sea was calling her. Carson lay in the dim light of her bedroom listening to the incessant roar of her old friend the ocean. It was rare for the waves to come in hard, as they were now. When they did, Carson had always grabbed her board and gone to the water. It was in her nature to do so. Salt water ran in her veins. Carson didn’t jump from her bed this morning, however. She continued to lie still, her palms resting on her abdomen. She no longer was free to follow her whims. No longer the fearless surfer or world traveler, able to pick up and leave when she wished. She let her fingers gently stroke her belly, still flat despite the life growing beneath the taut skin. So much for her womanly intuition. It had taken the echolocation of one very intuitive dolphin to tell her she was pregnant. “Oh, baby,” she crooned. “What am I going to do with you? I’m not married, I don’t have a job, I don’t even have my own place to live. How am I going to take care of you?” She brought to mind her last conversation with Lucille, the night she’d died. Carson had been struggling with what to do about the pregnancy and went to Lucille to sit at her knee, as she had so many times growing up, and once more ask for advice. Lucille hadn’t told her what to do. That wasn’t her style. Instead, the old woman guided Carson’s thoughts to find her own answer. Carson would never forget her words. You’ve got good instincts. Listen to them. Trust them. You’ll know what to do. Carson knew Lucille was right. When she was surfing, Carson had to trust her instincts on the wave, to know when to step left or right. It was all a matter of balance. She had to listen to her instincts now. It didn’t make sense for her to have a baby now. All her rational arguments were against it. But over the rational thoughts her instincts spoke loud and clear. That and her raging hormones, she thought with a snort. Lying on the bed, listening to the echoing sound of the waves rolling to the shore, Carson knew she had to ride this wave home. “Well, baby,” she said, patting her tummy, “it’s me and you now. I’m not running away.” Dora’s arm shot out to silence the alarm clock. She groggily opened one eyelid: 7:00 a.m. “Rise and shine,” she mumbled. Dora moved in a stupor, accustomed to the routine. She dressed quickly in running clothes, splashed cool water on her face, applied SPF moisturizer, then did a few stretches. This past summer she’d learned that she had to get her exercise done first thing in the morning, because if she waited, she’d slip into a thousand lame excuses why she didn’t have time. She’d learned to make time for the things that mattered to her. And nothing mattered more to her than her son. Dora swiftly walked down the hall and gingerly pushed open the door to Nate’s room. She wrinkled her nose at the stuffy, closed-in smell. Nate, unlike the rest of the inhabitants of Sea Breeze, did not like to sleep with his windows open. He was adamant about his likes and dislikes, quick to let you know if something was right or, more often, wrong. She went to the side of his bed and stood for a moment, staring into her nine-year-old son’s face. Her heart bloomed with love for him. Did a child ever look more angelic than when asleep? she wondered. Nate’s long, pale lashes fluttered against his cheeks. His lips were slightly parted as he breathed heavily. He was small for his age, but his thin frame had filled out this summer at Sea Breeze and his skin glowed with a tan. Sea Breeze had been so good for Nate, on many levels. He loved the water now. Dora smiled. She called him her little fish. As her eyes hungrily roamed his face, she noted that his shaggy blond hair needed a trim, and she made a mental note to take him to the barber. It would be a fight, she thought with a sigh. Nate hated to have his hair cut. Poor little guy, she thought as she reached out to gently stroke hair from his forehead. She felt the perspiration at his brow. Cutting his hair was the least of the changes he’d be facing soon. Her obstinate, fretful son who hated any change would soon transition from homeschooling to a classroom. It was a big decision, long and hard in coming. She’d found a private school that specialized in bright children with special needs, like his Asperger’s. The school offered highly individualized instruction and schoolwide positive behavioral support. Dora had to face the reality that Nate was older and needed more than she could offer. He needed to learn to communicate and socialize with his peers. Dora sighed. They both did. Isolation had not been good for either of them. On the heels of this decision was her intention to move to Mt. Pleasant, closer to the school. A new school . . . a new home . . . She bent to gently kiss Nate’s cheek, breathing in the scent of him. When he was awake, he didn’t like to be kissed. “We’ll be fine,” she whispered close to his ear. “Mama’s here. I won’t let you down.” As Harper pedaled back to Sea Breeze, her mind filled with words that could capture that glorious sunrise: iridescent, shimmering, glittering, ethereal, inspiring . . . Harper parked the bike in the garage and hurried toward the house, eager to slip quietly back into her bedroom and begin writing. She wanted to describe what she’d seen and her feelings that had swirled like brilliant colors. As she made her way across the back porch, a cough drew her attention. Harper turned her head to the back corner of the porch and was surprised to see her grandmother sitting tall and straight-backed in one of the large, black wicker chairs. In the dim light, wearing her long, white cotton nightgown, Mamaw appeared almost ghostly. “Mamaw!” Harper exclaimed. “What are you doing out here?” Mamaw smiled as Harper approached, but it was a tired smile. Her pale blue eyes were sunken and her arms were wrapped around her slender body as though she were chilled. “I couldn’t sleep. I woke very early and my mind kept wandering.” Mamaw shook her head. “It’s so exhausting when that happens. A curse of old age. I just gave up and came out here to sit a spell. I thought the fresh air might help.” On the glass-topped table Harper saw a line of playing cards. Her heart pinged. Mamaw was playing solitaire. The image of Mamaw and Lucille playing endless games of gin rummy together on the porch at all hours of the day and night flashed in Harper’s mind. Harper hurried to put her arms around her grandmother’s shoulders. “How long have you been out here?” she asked, alarmed. “You’re chilled to the bone.” She rubbed Mamaw’s arms briskly with her hands, trying to warm her. “Mmm . . . that’s nice. Thank you, dear.” Harper pulled up a chair and dropped into it. She leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees. “What’s got your mind wandering?” “Oh . . . I was thinking of Lucille,” Mamaw said wistfully. Of course, Harper thought. “It was a nice funeral, wasn’t it?” Mamaw asked. “It was. I’d never been to a Gullah funeral before. So much song, tears, and rejoicing.” “And amens,” Mamaw added wryly. Harper smiled in agreement. She’d been moved by the unrestrained calling out at the service, the passion, the strong sense of community. Mamaw looked back out over the water. “I was sitting here, looking across the Cove, and it brought to mind what the preacher talked about at Lucille’s service. How their ancestral spirits who came to the lowcountry—those by force and those who came after—lived, thrived, and died here. They worked hard, cooked rice, cast nets for shrimp, raised children, and now they’ve all moved on to the bounty of the afterlife. That’s what Lucille believed, you know. She was tired at the end, I daresay looking forward to crossing the water.” Mamaw sighed, remembering. “I confess, lately I might be ready, too.” Harper leaned forward to grasp Mamaw’s hand. “Don’t go yet. We still need you.” Mamaw’s lips slipped into a wobbly smile, briefly, then fell again. “I’m having a hard time believing she’s really gone.” “It all happened so fast.” Harper also felt deep sorrow at Lucille’s swift battle with cancer. Mamaw looked at Harper. “Do you believe in an afterlife?” she asked pointedly. Harper released Mamaw’s hand, leaned back, and scratched her head, thinking this was a heavy conversation to have before a first cup of coffee. She’d never warmed to the idea of a God that rewarded the good with heaven and the others with an eternity of brimstone and fire. It seemed so unforgiving. Still, after much soul-searching, she’d come to believe there was a higher being. She’d felt a connection to that infinite power this morning while staring out at the sunrise. “I guess so,” she said with hesitancy. “I don’t think much about it.” Mamaw smiled ruefully. “You’re young. You think you’re immortal. When you get to my age, you’ll think about it . . . a lot.” “I don’t like to see you out here alone, playing solitaire and thinking of death. It’s a tad morbid.” “I’m not feeling the least bit morbid. Quite the opposite.” Mamaw patted Harper’s hand with a weary smile. “Death is becoming an old friend.” Harper rose and tugged gently on Mamaw’s arm. “Come inside and I’ll make you a nice breakfast. Something warm.” Mamaw resisted, leaning back in her chair. “I’m not hungry. I’ve just got the dwindles.” “How about I bring you a nice hot cup of coffee?” Mamaw perked up at the suggestion. “Well, I wouldn’t say no to that.” “Coming right up.” Harper paused. Mamaw was always an elegant woman who took great care with her appearance. She had been a leading Charleston socialite known for her extravagant parties as much as her polished beauty. To see Mamaw sitting on the porch still in her nightclothes, her white hair flowing unbrushed, wrapped up in a coverlet like a bag lady, shook Harper to the core. This was an outward sign of the state of Mamaw’s mind. Harper made a bold suggestion: “Mamaw, while I make coffee, why don’t you get dressed?” Mamaw turned her head to deliver a stern face with a brow raised. “I beg your pardon?” Harper rushed on, “Don’t you remember, you used to tell us how Thomas Jefferson wrote his eleven-year-old daughter letters on deportment from France? He admonished her to always rise and dress promptly. Neat and clean and tidy.” Harper paused, pleased to see her grandmother was listening. “You told us your mother read you his letters, and you read them to us. Why, if you caught us lying about in our jammies, you sent us straight to our rooms to get dressed.” “I’m delighted to learn you paid attention.” Mamaw offered her hand in a regal manner. Harper took it and helped Mamaw to her feet. “Very well. The sun is up and so I should rise with it. It is, to paraphrase Scarlett O’Hara, another day.”
Where to Download The Summer's End: Low Country Trilogy (Low Country Summer), by Mary Alice Monroe
Most helpful customer reviews
17 of 17 people found the following review helpful. Great beach read! By Elissa Swicord The final installment of the "Summer" trilogy does not disappoint in any way! Just like an old friendship, the story picks up where we left off and the reader is laughing, crying, and rooting for these women like no time has passed at all. This book focuses on Harper, the youngest of the three sisters. She is trying to find her path in life but first she must break free from her controlling mother. As she sets out to follow her secret dream of becoming a writer, Taylor McClellan enters the picture. A handsome war vet, Taylor is facing problems of his own but he helps Harper see things in a new, clear way. Can their love overcome the obstacles in their path? Interwoven in Harper's story are the continuing stories of her sisters, Dora and Carson, and their beloved Mamaw. As the last days of summer wind down, Dora is becoming a strong, independent single mom who is finding new love with an old flame. Carson continues to struggle with her demons and her life moves back and forth like the waves on the shore. Mamaw grieves the death of Lucille, her friend of many years but wisely understands the passage of life. As she watches her summer girls continue to grow and change, she finds unexpected happiness right next door! The summer is ending but a new chapter is beginning for these vibrant women. Will each of them be strong enough to embrace what lies ahead? Mary Alice Monroe's characters step out of the pages and into your heart. The writing is so realistic, it's easy to believe that these sisters are truly sitting on the porch at Sea Breeze, loving, laughing and living each day. Although this is the end of the trilogy, I am hopeful that that the Summer Girls' story is still being written and we will meet these characters again to fall into that same comfortable friendship.
12 of 12 people found the following review helpful. Richly developed characters; Monroe skillfully weaves into her narrative significant environmental topics with life's lessons! By Judith D. Collins A special thank you to Gallery, Threshold, Pocket Books and NetGalley for an ARC in exchange for an honest review.THE SUMMER’S END (Lowcountry Summer #3) a powerful trilogy by Mary Alice Monroe, as she brings her much loved reunion of three half-sisters at the SC Lowcountry’s Sea Breeze, driven by matriarch Mamaw to a heartwarming conclusion, with much growth, wisdom, experience—with love, affection, and family bonds, derived from their summer visit.In THE SUMMER GIRLS (Lowcountry Summer #1) we met three-half sisters (Carson, Harper, and Dora), as they find their way back to one another with the help of their loving and aging grandmother, Mamaw and side kick Lucille, the housekeeper.The one link is the deceased son/father Parker, an alcoholic whose actions still affect the lives of all today. Mamaw is about to sale the home and move into an assisted living, and she informs all the girls if they do not come home for the summer, she will cut them out of her will. She hopes she can talk them in to returning full time to the south and to their roots.Brilliantly intertwined with real subjects of autism (Nate), alcoholism, enabling, abandonment, environmental issues, and the lovable and intriguing dolphins. A story of forgiveness, after years of secrets, silence, and enabling.In THE SUMMER WIND (Lowcountry Summer #2), we dig deeper into the emotional lives and challenges of the three grown step-sisters, from different walks of life, a grandmother, a wise housekeeper, and a charismatic dolphin who touches the lives of a troubled boy with autism, and his aunt.Guilt and healing are the constant themes of this poignant story, their experiences, their lives and the courageous Dolphin. A powerful theme of humans and animals – sharing a connection is evident throughout each of the books demonstrating a reminder of the importance of protecting animals, and the environment.THE SUMMERS END (Lowcountry Summer #3) brings a mixture of sadness and joy, tying up all loose ends, and reinvention. Lucille, Mamaw’s dear friend has passed on, and now Mamaw is lost without her. Everything was discussed with Lucille usually over a game of gin rummy. She knows Lucille would not like her mourning as her mission is ending, having brought the girls to the island to get to know one another,and embrace their roots. She has more work to do.It has been a tumultuous summer of change and growth, ups and downs, joys and heartaches. The girls had rediscovered the sisterly love they shared as children when they played together on Sullivan’s Island. Yet much had to be done and she is running out of time. Summer’s End is fast approaching and soon her girls would be leaving. She too would be leaving Sea Breeze moving to a retirement home when the house was sold.Everyone has to find their way in life, their purpose, their destiny. Who would buy the house and now they would have no place to gather. Would Sea Breeze be sold to strangers? Where would the girls live? Will Harper change her mind about returning to New York? How would Mamaw say goodbye?Dora’s divorce is pending, Carlson pregnant, and Harper completely adrift. Harper has suffered from a controlling mother, wanting her to remain in New York, not in SC. However, Harper has been keeping a secret of her own - her writing and of course there is the love interest, Taylor McClellan the man who befriended Nate and Carson at the Dolphin Research Center in Florida.Harper pursued a career as an editor in New York, discovering she had a talent in assisting others with their stories, and putting them onto a page. Her book. Her sisters thought she was taking the summer off to lounge. She cannot tell anyone, after all her father never finished a book, a family joke. Everyone would have opinions so she wanted to keep it to herself.Carson has worries now that she is a single mother, pregnant with no place to live and how to take care of her soon to be baby. Lucille always told her to trust her instincts. She will not run again. And then there is Blake. He loves the low country, his family, his dog, dolphins, and her which frightens her.Dora the mother of son Nate has learned to let him live a little, and not be so strict and allowing him more fun –growing from the over protective and controlling mother she was when she first arrived on the island. He would soon go from homeschooling to a classroom, a private school that specialized in bright children with special needs, like his Aspergers. Of course, there is Devlin her ex-boyfriend we loved from the previous books, and he has an offer.Little did they know Mamaw, had been watching them carefully all summer since they were young girls, especially this summer. They shared their problems, struggles, their hopes and dreams with each other, together under the southern stars. The beginning of a new era a place where there would be joy again and possibly Parker had been wise after all in naming his daughters after great literary figures, giving them something to live up to. In her book, her granddaughters are her heroines.Over cocktails, games of canasta, parties, memories, grandmothers, old friends and new friends, porch swings, evening summer strolls and seaside summer days; a family, southern heritage, a home, rich with character and history, love and laughter in beautiful Sullivan’s Island, SC where dreams do come true. Mamaw may even have a new love interest at age eighty, and some surprises, and we get to revisit with a touching reunion with Delphine, the much loved dolphin once again. (Readers will enjoy the way the summer ends).With all Mary Alice Monroe’s stories she is a master at skillfully weaving into her narrative, significant environmental topics, blending them into the lives of her flawed characters---as they mature, learn, and find healing and acceptance from life’s lessons and experiences.Each book is unique with richly developed characters, connected to nature, ones you will not soon forget, even after the story ends. If you have not read Mary Alice Monroe, you are missing a rare treat as one of my favorite authors of the south for many years. Each can be read as a standalone; however, recommend reading them all!
9 of 9 people found the following review helpful. The Perfect Summer read! By sgalley This is the conclusion of the Lowcountry Summer Trilogy. We return to charming Sullivan’s Island, South Carolina, to explore the strength of family bonds and true love. This story features the youngest sister, Harper, who with the help of her half-sisters discovers who she really is, and what she is capable of. Intending to stay for only a weekend, after an altercation with her beast of a mother, Harper spends the summer on Sullivan’s Island. Here she meets Taylor, a wounded warrior.Sea Breeze, the family’s beloved estate on Sullivan’s Island, must be sold. It is an emotional time of transition as Mamaw and the three sisters each must face loss and find a new place in the world. From the first page to the last, Ms. Monroe had me captivated and lost in her beautiful, heartfelt, writing. I really enjoy an emotional story that I can fully lose myself in, to get to know and love the characters and share with them their happiness and despair, lows and highs, and that's exactly what I got with THE SUMMER’S END. I enjoyed every single word.Simply stunning, this is a spell-binding tale of romance and family dynamics. The author, Mary Alice Monroe is an artist in the way her words paint the picture of this story and the setting. You can hear the waves, feel the breeze, smell the salty air…This family drama filled with past sorrows and possible salvation tugs at the heartstrings. You will love spending time with these folks – especially the grandmothers. They are so much fun!This book is the perfect beach read! If you're looking for a beautifully told romantic story about loving, losing, healing and finding that second chance then you will want to read The Summers End. I guarantee you won't be disappointed.*An advance readers copy was generously provided by the publisher and NetGalley for an honest review.
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