When she ran away in 1947, Jasmine Holmes was young and beautiful. Now she's home again: sick, broke, divorced, her life in ruins—a perfect project for her aunt Emma Madison, master meddler. But small-town secrets live long in darkness, and the ones Jasmine guards may be the darkest of all.
Lovers from a decade ago appear, then a new suitor. Soon emotions of desire, jealousy, spite and fear roil the once-peaceful community. During her brief stay, Jasmine sets the lives of many on trajectories they never could have expected. And although her own journey may be long and arduous, love and joy wait at the end, thanks to an elderly lady with the remarkable ability to take things gone wrong and set them to rights. Subtly influencing the course of events—watching, waiting, and then pulling the strings with perfect timing—is Jasmine's sage and savvy aunt, the redoubtable Emma Madison
Dear reader:
Have you ever heard of something and thought: "Wow! What a story!" or, "Wouldn't this make a good story?"
In “Emma Madison, Master Meddler", I've stitched together many such stories from a long and interesting life. Fame and fortune are not the reason I wrote this novel. It was because, after bits, pieces and then large chunks of it assembled in my mind, the two main characters - Emma Madison and her niece, Jasmine Holmes - nagged me endlessly to do it! So, it was not so much a project as an itch that needed scratching, with the result being a book.
My background is journalism. You'll laugh when you hear the name of my first employer once I graduated from university! It was a nation-wide newspaper for teenagers called "Canadian High News". After some gentle persuasion they changed the name, and I changed jobs. It was clear that working on newspapers or magazines was not for me because, for a newbie, there was little money in it. I switched to public relations (called "the dark side" by reporters and editors, both of which I was formerly).
After some years learning the ropes, I started Toronto corporate communications firm MarketLink Communications with a business partner. Our firm had a successful run for 25 years, with major clients and many small firms we helped to grow. And during all this time I wrote and wrote: speeches, magazine and newspaper articles, employee and consumer communications, videos, reports and more, most every working day. You can see how it might get to be a habit!
When I wrote "Emma Madison" I was guided by a quote from author/journalist Mark Bourrie. He wrote, “I see no point in writing a book that doesn’t tell a good story, or one that is not driven by fascinating characters.”
So I have done my very best to ensure that “Emma” is not only a novel strong on plot and full of memorable characters, but a good and satisfying read. And as the reader, you will be the final judge of that.
I have three amazing and talented adult children, Carl, Greg and Julia, and live happily on a 65-acre farm overlooking Georgian Bay where I am at work on my next novel.
Read an excerpt
It was 10:20. The social worker from Children’s Aid had
arrived at ten. The doctor and head nurse were there
with her to observe the mother and daughter reunion.
Afterward they absented themselves to the office to
review last moment details before the discharge, or in
cases involving a dependent child, what was commonly
referred to as, “the hand over”.
“What are your thoughts?” the doctor inquired. The
head nurse was a 20-year veteran of the institution.
He was her junior by ten years and had come to value her
opinion
“She hasn’t een a model patient,” the nurse said, in
her first major understatement of the day.
“However, she’s as well as we can get her and
she’ll do better on the outside. As we discussed, so
far as we know the manic episode was a one-time
occurrence. There’s a good chance it might never
happen again.”
The doctor fanned the sheaf of papers in the patient’s file.
“I see it’s the aunt who’s taking her and the child.
I hope she’s not too elderly. It says
here she used to be a librarian.”
“I hope she’s got some physical strength,” said the
nurse, and then they exchanged looks that
expressed doubt about the physical strength of
librarians.
Had Emma known about this conversation, it
would have explained why, when she walked into
the reception room used for discharge
purposes, with its sickly green walls and stick
chairs, she noticed that the doctor and nurse
seemed visibly relieved
Was it possible they thought she wouldn’t come?
In fact, they were cheered to see that although her
hair was iron-grey, the aunt seemed to be a strong
physical specimen with no apparent handicaps, at
least half a head taller than the patient. And as
they spoke with her in private, before bringing in
their patient and her daughter who were waiting in
an anteroom, they found she had an equally strong,
no-nonsense personality.
“Now tell me everything I need to know,” she
demanded authoritatively, then took notes and
asked for explanations as needed. She requested a
repeat of the medications. “I don’t want to use our
local pharmacy. Too many nosy people working
there.” The doctor willingly obliged.
She didn’t cringe or complain when the final invoice
was presented by the secretary but simply pulled
out her chequebook and wrote a fat cheque. So,
although the aunt was in her sixties, the doctor and
nurse concluded that her vitality and seeming
intelligence boded well for the continued recovery
of their patient. And that was a relief because,
unless medicated, the patient had wreaked havoc
in the wards once she started to improve, and now
they could discharge her into capable hands with a
more or less clear conscience.
A door opened. Emma turned as soon as she heard
the familiar sweet, melodious voice.
“Hello, Auntie.”
Emma had carefully composed her face into a
cheerful expression of greeting. Now she was glad
she had. At the very instant she saw her niece she
was overwhelmed by emotions: sorrow and pity and
a sudden urge to cry.
She stood up from her chair.
She embraced Jasmine, feeling her skeletal
thinness, and held her close for a minute while she
swallowed the lump in her throat. Memories surged
up, bringing tears she suppressed inside tightly
closed eyes.
“Why Jasmine Holmes!” she exclaimed, as she held
her out at arm’s length. “Just look at you, so skinny!
I’m going to take you right home and fatten you
up!”
