Ties That Bind. Marie Bostwick

      KENSINGTON BOOKS

       www.kensingtonbooks.com

      Contents

      Prologue

      1 Margot

      2 Margot

      3 Margot

      4 Margot

      5 Margot

      6 Philippa Clarkson

      7 Margot

      8 Margot

      9 Margot

      10 Philippa

      11 Margot

      12 Philippa

      13 Margot

      14 Philippa

      15 Philippa

      16 Margot

      17 Margot

      18 Philippa

      19 Margot

      20 Margot

      21 Margot

      22 Margot

      23 Philippa

      24 Philippa

      25 Margot

      26 Philippa

      27 Philippa

      28 Philippa

      29 Margot

      30 Margot

      31 Philippa

      32 Margot

      33 Margot

      34 Margot

      35 Margot

      36 Philippa

      37 Margot

      38 Philippa

      39 Margot

      40 Philippa

      41 Margot

      42 Margot

      43 Philippa

      44 Margot

      45 Margot

      46 Margot

      47 Philippa

      48 Margot

      49 Philippa

      50 Margot

      51 Margot

      52 Margot

      53 Margot

      54 Margot

      55 Margot

      56 Margot

      57 Philippa

      58 Margot

      59 Margot

      60 Margot

      61 Philippa

      62 Margot

      A Reading Group Guide

      Discussion Questions

      With thanks …

      To my editor, Audrey LaFehr, and my agent, Liza Dawson, who never allow me to settle for less than my best; to my husband and family, for putting up with my crazy schedule and many moods; to my sister, Betty, who offers encouragement with liberality and criticism with grace; to my Very Sparkly Assistant, Molly, who keeps my books, calendar, and life pretty balanced, considering; and to Anne Dranginis, whose friendship I value and whose insights regarding courtroom drama and family law made this book more interesting; and to the readers whose appreciation and encouragement are the greatest rewards of writing.

      Prologue

      Margot Matthews

      “People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light from within.”

      Elisabeth Kübler-Ross said that, and I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. Maybe that surprises you. Most of the people I know, apart from my close friends, would be surprised to know I can quote from Kübler-Ross, and for one simple reason: I am nice.

      I am. That’s how people describe me, as a nice person, a nice girl. That wasn’t so bad when I was a girl, but when you move beyond girlhood into womanhood, people tend to confuse niceness with lack of intellectual depth. And if that nice person is also a person of faith, they think you’re as shallow as a shower, incapable of introspection or academic curiosity. But mine is an examined faith, composed of inquisitiveness, discovery, and introspection. However, it didn’t begin with me.

      I have known and loved God for as long as I can remember. It was as natural to me as breathing. As I’ve grown older and met so many people who struggle with the meaning and means of finding God, I have sometimes wondered about the validity of my faith. Could something so precious truly come as a gift?

      I can’t answer for anyone else and don’t presume to, but, for myself, over and over again, the answer has been yes. I don’t understand why the searching and finding should be so simple for some and so arduous for others. I only know that I have been blessed beyond measure or reason. But while peace with God came easily to me, peace with myself has been elusive.

      From adolescence onward and with increasing anxiety as the minutes and years of my biological clock ticked on, I waited for the missing piece of myself to arrive, the better half who would make me whole: a husband. And with him, children, a family. That’s what I’d always wanted, and that, I was sure, was what would make me happy. But after reading and meditating on Kübler-Ross, Brother Lawrence, the apostle Paul (“I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation”), I finally realized that I was not happy with myself because I had never learned to be happy by myself.

      And so, more than a year ago, I broke it off with my boyfriend, Arnie Kinsella. It was hard, but it was for the best. I like Arnie, but I wasn’t in love with him any more than he was in love with me. Even so, if he’d asked me to marry him, I’d have said yes in a heartbeat. I know how terrible that sounds, but it’s the truth.

      My friends—Evelyn, Abigail, Ivy, Virginia, everybody from my Friday night quilt circle—applauded my decision. They said I deserved the real thing—head-over-heels, candy-and-flowers, heart-throbbing, heart-stopping L-O-V-E.

      A nice thought, but it’s never going to happen, not to me. And if finally acknowledging that didn’t quite make my windows blaze with light, at least it saved me from further humiliation and the weight of impossible dreams. I was over all that and I was over Arnie Kinsella.

      Or so I thought. Until today.

      1

      Margot

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