Return to Marsh Hollow

"The past doesn't always stay in the past. Painful memories, dysfunctional family relationships, love, hope, and much more are found in this amazing story."~Melissa

"This might be one of my favorites. I loved the story which includes many secrets, murder, mystery, betrayal and a touch of romance. Even better, the wonderful Blossom arrives to help guide our main character on her return to Marsh Hollow. Wonderful read!"~Sandy

"Love this book! It starts off really spooky and gets better with all twists and turns of story ! Love That Blossom came to help out ! I need a Blossom in my life ! Ashley writes the best stories can’t wait for next one." ~Diane

"Once I read the last page I couldn’t put into words my thoughts that had kept me captivated as I read. It has taken me a while to find my words.
The story is beautifully written, was so intriguing, inspirational, that putting it down became impossible.
A multi-layered, multi-generational mystery with so many secrets, lies, deceptions it left my head spinning. A story that I still can’t stop thinking about.
This book is not to be missed! If you loved Blossom don’t miss out on her return!" ~Amy

SPECTACULAR START FOR NEW SERIES!
Bestselling author Ashley Farley has launched a new series titled Soul Seekers and her first release, Return to Marsh Hollow is spectacular! I highly recommend this book. Farley’s signature style of writing dynamic plots centered on family drama shines through. She also stretches her skills by incorporating a multilayered mystery filled with multigenerational secrets, deceptions, lies, and the betrayal between sisters.

The characters are memorable and intriguing, keeping you invested in the story. The setting of Marsh Hollow feels almost like a character itself, featuring a beautiful marsh, a home filled with painful memories but also vast potential, and a family cemetery that not only holds the remains of generations past but also conceals the key to one of the darkest chapters in local history.
BONUS: Beloved character Blossom is back!~ Lisa

Chapter 1
2008
Tears well in my eyes as I raise my glass to toast the only true friends I’ve ever known. “To Giorgio and Carmela—wishing you Godspeed as you ride off into the sunset to live out your golden years in Maui.” My voice wavers. I lower my gaze, swiping at my eyes dangerously close to an ugly cry.
I’ve been fighting back emotion throughout this bon voyage lunch. After twenty-two years of waitressing at Bella Tavola, I’m going to miss my friends as much as I’ll miss the job.
Our staff of ten has polished off countless bottles of champagne, yet no one wants to leave. It’s nearly four o’clock, but we’re delaying the inevitable—the final goodbye. We’ll part with promises to visit, but we know the truth. Frequent visits don’t happen when an ocean and an entire country lie between you.
Giorgio and Carmela searched for months for a buyer for the business. But trendy new spots with craft cocktails and small plates have taken over, leaving old-school Italian restaurants like ours in the dust. Nostalgia doesn’t stand a chance against modern dining trends.
When someone suggests moving the party to a hot spot down the street, I take it as my cue to leave. I push back from the table. “I’m out! I need to get home.”
To my empty house and bleak future.
“I’ll help you get your things,” Carmela says, rising slowly and walking with me to the break room.
I empty my locker into a canvas tote bag—an old order pad, a crumpled box of peppermint tea, a flattened protein bar, and my favorite cashmere scarf. “I thought I’d lost this,” I say, wrapping the scarf around my neck.
I close the locker and turn to face Carmela. “I hate goodbyes.”
“Me too.” She cups my cheek. “But this isn’t goodbye, sweetheart. You’ll come for a visit as soon as we get settled in Maui.”
I smile, but a strange ache tells me I might never see my beloved friend again.
Carmela presses an envelope in my hand. “This is for you.”
“What’s this?” I ask, staring at it.
“A farewell bonus,” she says, casting a nervous glance toward the dining room. “We didn’t do this for the others, so keep it between us. We got an offer on the building last night, and we wanted you to have a little cushion . . . in case you decide to pursue your art career.”
“I can’t take this. I’m too old to be starting over. And you need the money for Hawaii.” When I try to give the envelope back, Carmela gently pushes it away.
“You’re never too old to chase your dreams, Lydia. Whether it’s art lessons or a trip around the world, do something nice for yourself for a change.”
The stubborn set of her jaw tells me not to argue. “Thanks,” I murmur, tucking the envelope in my pocket. I wrap my arms around her in a tight hug. “Be safe, my friend.”
My throat closes, and I rush out the kitchen’s back door before I lose it completely.
A burst of invigorating spring air greets me as I step outside. I pause on the concrete delivery platform, inhaling deeply, exhaling slowly—steadying my breath. Digging through my tote, I find a tissue, blow my nose, and follow the brick-lined alley around the building to the sidewalk.
The sun warms my face as I stroll through Richmond’s quaint Fan District toward home. Summer will be here soon, bringing the long, sultry days I both anticipate and dread. It’s the only time I let myself think about my childhood on the Chesapeake Bay—the salt-kissed air, the marshes. But even those memories are shadowed by my tyrannical mother.
I’m a block away from the restaurant when Brandy catches up to me. “Lydia! Wait! You left without saying goodbye.”
I dab at my eyes. “Sorry. I’m so emotional today. I had to leave before I turned into a blubbering mess.”
“I know what you mean. It’s a full-on cryfest in there now.” She glances back toward the restaurant. “We haven’t worked together long, but thank you . . . for being a good friend to me when I needed one.”
Carmela had refused to hire the runaway teen when she first showed up, looking for a job. But I saw something of myself in her and convinced Carmela to give Brandy a chance.
I squeeze her arm. “I’m so proud of you for overcoming your problems.”
“I’m not there yet,” Brandy says, her eyes brimming. “But I’m trying.”
I pull her in for a hug. “Oh, honey. Just take it one day at a time.”
“But I can’t find a job,” she sobs. “And my rent’s due soon.”
I rub slow circles on her back. “Have you thought about going home?”
Brandy nods against my shoulder. “Do you think my parents will forgive me?”
“You never know until you try. I imagine they’d be thrilled to see how far you’ve come.”
“Maybe,” she whispers. “I was such a mess back then. I wouldn’t blame them if they never speak to me again.” She steps back, wiping her tears with her jacket sleeve. “Can we stay in touch?”
I smile. “I’d love that. You know where to find me if you need anything.”
“Bye, Lydia,” she says, her head low as she turns to walk away.
“Bye, Brandy,” I call after her. “Chin up!”
I watch Brandy disappear into the crowd at the bus stop before continuing toward home. When I reach my front steps, I dig through my tote for my keys, too distracted to notice the gentleman sitting on my front porch swing—until he speaks.
“Afternoon.”
“Oh!” I clutch my chest, my heart pounding. “I didn’t see you there.”
He rises off the swing, unfolding his long limbs with an easy grace. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you Lydia Meyer?”
“I am,” I reply, eyeing him warily. He’s attractive, his hair more salt than pepper, his suit impeccably tailored—a stark contrast to my weather-worn porch. “Can I help you with something?”
He steps down off the porch to the sidewalk, offering his hand. “Arthur Pendleton. I’m an attorney representing your mother’s estate.”
I blink, confused. “Did you say my mother’s estate? Is she . . .” The words catch in my throat.
“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news. She passed away several months ago. We had the devil of a time locating you.”
I swallow hard, the news knocking the breath from my lungs. “What happened to her?”
“The medical examiner’s report lists the cause of death as natural. Old age, in other words.”
“Old age?” I blink. “But she was only sixty-four.”
Mama had me when she was twenty-six. I’m thirty-seven. The numbers add up. The medical examiner’s report doesn’t.