If Trees Could Talk

If Trees Could Talk is a hybrid historical fiction/memoir that uncovers family secrets through the clues discovered by internationally-acclaimed sculptor Margot McMahon. Contains original artwork. "This is all they left to follow the breadcrumbs of their life story...As I discover my Northern Irish Catholic roots, I realize my adventurous life has been a quest to understand my past."-the Author "Irene winked in the photographs that ran in the Chicago Tribune, News Sun and Daily Herald. Mac attempted to calm the adrenaline triggered from the camera flashes. Only his eyes penetrated into the ter...

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If Trees Could Talk is a hybrid historical fiction/memoir that uncovers family secrets through the clues discovered by internationally-acclaimed sculptor Margot McMahon. Contains original artwork. "This is all they left to follow the breadcrumbs of their life story...As I discover my Northern Irish Catholic roots, I realize my adventurous life has been a quest to understand my past."-the Author "Irene winked in the photographs that ran in the Chicago Tribune, News Sun and Daily Herald. Mac attempted to calm the adrenaline triggered from the camera flashes. Only his eyes penetrated into the terror he squelched inside. The scapula hung under Mac's shirt; Irene's was in her clutch. All were celebrating the end of the war, rations, separation and coming together. Whoops and hoots, cascading rice as they ducked arm-in-arm through the gathered group of family friends on the Basilica steps. Irene's parents had been married here in quieter, but just as uncertain times. Mac was gazing into Irene's gray hazy-blue eyes. She had a solemn, warm, girl-like calm face. There was something ethereal about her, as if she always gracefully carried a bouquet of fresh flowers. Irene looked into his sky-blue wide and excited eyes. She handed him her suitcase. He had the keys to Bess's Buick. They were giddy with their plans for a road trip. She watched his agile, delicate hands, artist's hands, take the steering wheel. They drove to the Knickerbocker with tin cans rattling behind them. Only recently, tin had been rationed. Soap was flagrantly wasted to write Just Married on the back window. They passed the sound of waves on the outer drive. Combining food stamps, Mac's GI bill salary and a reduced- price reception hall, they celebrated a glorious wedding. Capturing every posed moment of cake cutting and feeding each other fork loads of Agatha's whipped cream frosted angel food cake, Bess' brown-sugar dipped figs, dark-chocolate macaroons and William's pineapples from California." --from If Trees Could Talk

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