SURFNETKIDS GROWN-UP FICTION BOOK CLUB Got shopping? Get discounts! Visit Surfnetkids: Coupons, Deals and Bargains for hundreds of discounts from dozens of online stores. This week's book: WHITETHORN WOODS by Maeve Binchy *New to the book club? Just click on the Missing Read link below for any emails you may have missed. Go to: (Today's book starts after the "Dear Reader" column.) Dear Reader, Writing keeps me honest. Every day I hold up a mirror and force myself to look in it--sometimes I try to resist what I see. It's not that I don't like myself, I do, very much. But some days I think the joke's on me. Maybe I'm the last one to get to know Suzanne. After writing a daily column for eight years you'd think I'd know the real me by now, but when I looked in the mirror today I realized I've become everything I set out not to be. This small town girl wanted to be a big city girl, but in truth I'm a little bit sappy, (rolling my eyes this very minute), a girl who likes to bake cookies and give them away, someone who likes to surround herself with memories of the past--even though she has to rewrite some of them. The girl who everyone thought was a loser, but look at her now; she's found a way to pay the bills. This small town girl likes to wear an apron around the house and I wear one sometimes when I'm writing, too. My grandma used to wear two aprons, one was for cooking and one was for company. When a neighbor knocked on the door, Grandma would take off her cooking apron and the one underneath was neat and clean. One of my aprons is for writing and the one underneath is when I take a break to cook-- when I'm looking for inspiration. "Thank you very kindly," this small town girl uses that expression because I think it emphasizes what seems to be lacking in the world these days. I don't use it hoping other people will notice, it's there for me, so I don't get lost, so I don't forget who I want to be. There's still a little girl inside of me who likes to carry a bubble machine down Main Street, like I did the other day, and I hope she never leaves. I move easily between two worlds. I know what's expected of me in the grown up, get ahead world and I do what I need to do, so I don't look out of place. And then there's Suzanne's small town world and I like to share it with people whenever I get the chance. Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends. Suzanne Beecher *Author Barbara Bretton reads along with us every day at the book club. Sample her book "Just Desserts" and enter the free book giveaway. Go to: And she's at our Book Forum this week *Read the Classics: THE OUTSIDERS by S. E. Hinton and enter the free Penguin Classic's Drawing. Go to: Surfing the Net with Kids: Email me: Missing an email? Go to: =====TODAY'S WHITETHORN WOODS by Maeve Binchy (fiction) Published by Alfred A. Knopf ISBN: 9780307265784 Copyright (c) 2006 by Maeve Binchy To reference this email: WOODS (Part 5 of 5) (continued from Thursday) "But anyway, Father, I know people are always seeing moving statues and holy pictures that speak, and all that kind of nonsense, but there was something, Father, there really was something." He was still without words but nodded so that she would continue. "There were about twenty people there, all sort of telling their own story. A woman saying so that anyone could hear her, 'Oh, St. Ann, will you make him not grow any colder to me, let him not turn away from me any more...' Anyone could have heard her and known her business. But none of us were 'really' listening. We were all thinking about ourselves. And suddenly I got this feeling that Teresa was fine, that she had a big twenty-first birthday party a couple of years ago and that she was well and happy. It was as if St. Ann was telling me not to worry anymore. Well, I 'know' it's ridiculous, Father, but it did me a lot of good, and where's the harm in that? "I just wish that poor Aidan could have been there when she said it or thought it or transferred it to my mind or whatever she did. It would have given him such peace." Father Flynn escaped with a lot of protestations about the Lord moving in mysterious ways and even threw in the bit of Shakespeare about there being more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamed of in your philosophy. Then he left the little house and drove to the edge of Whitethorn Woods. As he walked through the woods he was greeted by people walking their dogs, joggers in tracksuits getting some of the exercise he obviously needed himself, according to his sister-in-law. Women wheeled prams and he stopped to admire the babies. The canon used to say that a playful greeting of "Who have we here?" was a great get- out when you came across a child in a pram. It covered both s exes and a failing memory for names. The others would fill you in and then you could take it up from there--grand little fellow, or isn't she a fine little girl? He met Cathal Chambers, a local bank manager, who said he had come up to the woods to clear his head. He had been flooded by people wanting to borrow money to buy land around here so that they could sell it at a huge profit once the new road was given the okay. It was very hard to know what to do. Head Office said he was the man on the ground so he should have a feel for what was going to happen. But how could you have a feel for something like that? He said that Myles Barry, the solicitor, was exactly in the same predicament. Three different people had come in to him asking him to make an offer to the Nolans for that farm they had. It was pure greed, speculation and greed, that's what it was. Father Flynn said it was refreshing to meet a banker who thought in such terms, but Cathal said that was not at all the way they looked at things at the Head Office. Skunk Slattery was walking his two greyhounds and came up to sneer at Father Flynn. "There you go, Father, coming up here to the pagan well to hope that the gods of olden times will do what today's Church can't do," he taunted the priest, while his two bony greyhounds quivered with what seemed like annoyance as well. "That's me, Skunk, always one for the easy life," Father Flynn said through gritted teeth. He nailed the smile to his face for the few minutes it took before Skunk ran out of rage toward him and moved the trembling dogs onward. Father Flynn also went onward, his face grim as he headed for the first time ever on his own to visit St. Ann's Well. He had been here as part of parish activities, always resentful and confused but never voicing his opinion. A few wooden signs carved by pious local people over the years pointed to the well, which was in a big, rocky, cavernous grotto. The place was damp and cold; a little stream ran down the hill behind and around the well and it was muddy and splashed where many of the faithful had reached in to take scoops of the water with an old iron ladle. It was a weekday morning and he thought that there would not be many people there. The whitethorn bushes outside the grotto were festooned, yes, that was the only word Father Flynn thought suitable, literally festooned with bits of cloth and notes and ribbons. There were medals and holy cures, some of them encased in plastic or cellophane. These were petitions to the saint, requests for a wish to be granted; sometimes they were thanks for a favor received. "He's off the drink for three months, St. Ann, I thank you and beg you to continue to give him strength..." "or" "My daughter's husband is thinking of getting the marriage annulled unless she gets pregnant soon..." "or" "I'm afraid to go to the doctor but I am coughing up blood, please, St. Ann, ask Our Lord that I be all right. That it's only some kind of an infection that will pass..." Father Flynn stood and read them all, his face getting redder. This was the twenty-first century in a country that was fast becoming secular. "Where" did all this superstition come from? Was it only old people who came here? A throwback to a simpler time? But many of the people he had met even this very morning were young, and they felt the well had powers. His own sister was coming back from England to pray here for a husband, the young Polish couple wanted their babies baptized here. Lilly Ryan, who thought she heard the statue tell her that her daughter was all right, was only in her early forties. It was beyond understanding. He went inside the grotto, where people had left crutches and walking sticks and even pairs of spectacles as a symbol of hope that they would be cured and able to manage without them. There were children's bootees and little socks--meaning who knew what? The desire for a child? A wish to cure a sick baby? And in the shadows, this huge statue of St. Ann. It had been painted and refurbished over the years, making the apple cheeks even pinker, the brown cloak richer, the wisp of hair under the cream-colored veil even blonder. If St. Ann existed she would have been a small dark woman, from the land of Palestine and Israel. She would "not" have looked like an Irish advertisement for some kind of cheese spread. And yet kneeling there in front of the well were perfectly normal people. They got more here than they ever did in St. Augustine's Church in Rossmore. It was a sobering and depressing thought. The statue looked down glassily--which was a bit of a relief to Father Flynn. If he had begun to imagine that the statue was addressing him personally, he would really have given up. Hardcover: Today's read ends on page 17. Monday we begin the book FAMILY ACTS by Louise Shaffer. *Share your thoughts and comments about this week's book with other readers at Book Club Forum. Go to: Distributed By: DearReader.com, 1002 S Orange Ave, Sarasota FL 34236 =========BUY Use this link to get the best price on this week's book: To locate or purchase OTHER BOOKS use this link: =======SHARE THE You can forward this email to your friends and relatives. Encourage them to join our book clubs. It's a great way to stay in touch even if you live thousands of miles apart. Questions, comments or book suggestions? Contact me, Barbara J. Feldman, at: Inc., 991C Lomas Santa Fe Dr. #415 Solana Beach, CA 92075 You are currently buy onlined to as: To purchase send a blank email to To join any of the free Surfnetkids Book Clubs, visit:

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