A Quilt for Christmas Read Online Melody Carlson

Categories Genre: Romance Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 42576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 213(@200wpm)___ 170(@250wpm)___ 142(@300wpm)

Christmas should be celebrated with family. But for Vera Swanson, that’s not an option this year. Widowed and recently relocated, she is lonely in her condo-for-one–until little Fiona Albright knocks on her door needing help. With her mother seriously ill and her father out of town, Fiona enlists Vera’s help, and when she finds out her new neighbor is a quilter, she has a special request–a Christmas quilt for Mama.
Vera will have to get a ragtag group of women together in order to fulfill the request. Between free-spirited artist Tasha, chatty empty nester Beverly, retired therapist Eleanor, and herself, Vera has hopes that Christmas for the Albright family will be merry, after all–and she may find herself a new family of friends along the way.

Bestselling and award-winning author Melody Carlson invites you to cuddle up this holiday season with this cozy story of giving, forgiving, and a little bit of romance.




Vera Swanson used to love Christmas. Back in her roomy Craftsman house in Western Oregon, she’d decorate to the nines, then welcome the season as family, friends, and neighbors popped in to admire the holiday décor and partake in homemade goodies. For more than forty years, Vera had played host to homemade storybook Christmases. Oh, they weren’t perfect, but what in life was?

Vera’s holiday to-do list had always been long and carefully crafted. By Halloween her spare room closet would be neatly stacked with gifts—mostly handmade. And every year on the Friday following Thanksgiving, which she never called Black Friday and never ventured out to a store, Vera would put on her favorite Christmas music and begin decorating her house.

She’d start with the grand oak staircase, artfully wrapping the handrail with evergreen garlands, trimmed with mini pine cones, plaid bows, and white fairy lights. In earlier days she never settled for anything less than aromatic cedar garlands for the stairs project, but as age crept up, along with a weariness of sweeping needle debris from the stairway runner, she switched over to a realistic fake. She’d regularly spritz it with a woodsy pine spray, and no one was the wiser. Her Christmas tree, which had to be real, was put in place exactly two weeks before Christmas. And the next day would find Vera carefully arranging those artfully wrapped gifts beneath it. Picture-perfect.

But Thanksgiving was five days behind her now, and Vera hadn’t lifted a finger in holiday preparations. Nor did she intend to. That life was over . . . and there was no turning back the clock. As her father would say, she’d made her bed and now she had to lie in it.

Vera sadly shook her head as she gazed out the window of her condo unit. The view here, even on a clear day, was a bit dreary. Oh, the common grounds had looked promising enough last summer, back when she’d relocated to Eastern Oregon. The leafy trees and grassy areas around the parking lot had seemed almost parklike. But today the browned grass and bare tree branches, draped in freezing fog, seemed to reflect her soul. Bleak and gray and cold.

As Vera turned around to stare blankly at her neatly arranged condo, she knew she had no one to blame but herself. Her son, Bennett, had questioned her abrupt decision to give up the beloved family home and move to Fairview. But after Vera’s husband, Larry, passed on, the big old house had grown bigger, emptier, and lonelier with each day. A downsize seemed the only answer, and when a condo unit became available in her daughter, Ginny’s, town, Vera had snatched it up. She’d looked forward to being close enough to spend more time with her two grandkids. She imagined attending school functions and keeping them overnight with her. Making cookies and craft projects—playing full-time grandma.

As much as Ginny had wanted her mother nearby, she, too, had questioned the sensibility of giving up the spacious family home that she and Bennett had grown up in. “What will we do for Christmas now?” Ginny asked Vera last summer while helping to sort and pack. “You know how the kids love your house for the holidays. It just won’t be the same.”

Vera had assured Ginny she was simply passing the torch on to her. “Your lovely home is perfect for family gatherings,” she’d said as she insisted Ginny take possession of Vera’s plastic bins of treasured Christmas decorations. “I’ll even come over to help you decorate.”

As it turned out, decorating Ginny’s house, or even spending Christmas together, became an impossibility. Ginny’s husband’s job was transferred to Southern California not long after Vera unpacked her last box. He left immediately, and less than a month later, Ginny and the grandkids followed. Vera vaguely wondered about her Christmas decorations. Had they gone to California too? Or had they wound up in Ginny’s castoff pile to be picked up by the Salvation Army?