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eBook Category: Mystery/Crime Library of Virginia Literary Award Finalist
eBook Description: A young aspiring writer, Kate O'Brien, befriends a homeless woman with a mysterious past. As Kate learns more about her friend she begins to unravel the mystery, discovering that it intertwines with her life, too. Through their growing friendship, the young woman learns the power of simple kindness and unflinching love. Kate is finally challenged to come to grips with her own past so that she can move on, into an uncertain future. Set in modern-day Fredericksburg, Virginia, Caroline Rose is a story of mystery, murder, love, and overcoming the past to live freely in the present. Finalist for the 2004 Virginia Literary Award

eBook Publisher: Quiet Storm Publishing, Published: Hardcover, 2002
Fictionwise Release Date: May 2005

3 Reader Ratings: Great Good OK Poor

Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [1.6 MB], eReader (PDB) [311 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [293 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [271 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [315 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [291 KB], hiebook (KML) [719 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [389 KB], iSilo (PDB) [243 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [347 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [384 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [384 KB]
Words: 90062
Reading time: 257-360 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED
ISBN: 0-971429642

"Caroline Rose by Mary Triola is the adroitly written and attention engaging story of a destiny-tinged meeting between Kate O'Brien a female research assistant who dreams of becoming a writer, and Caroline Rose, a homeless woman with an unknown past. O'Brien must learn to accept and cherish precious lessons of kindness, hope and courage in this thoughtful and confidently recommended novel about pursuing our hopes while remaining mindful of the past and the present."--The Midwest Review

"Caroline Rose has the courage and the heart to cover territory seldom explored in fiction. Set against the sharply-observed backdrop of life in a small Southern college town, it offers in-depth insight into the fatefully intertwined lives of two, apparently very different, women: Kate O'Brien, a young aspiring writer, and Caroline Rose, an older homeless woman. Their friendship, though tentative at first, develops slowly and movingly toward long-hidden truths. It's a unique and compassionate story, told by a gifted new writer."--William Saffell, author of Kyushu Blues

"Brilliant characterization and a vivid eye for detail make Caroline Rosea worthy debut for Triola. Told in first person, the reader is drawn into a personal relationship with the titular character, experiencing Kate's reactions and actions as the story progresses from gentility to tragedy, then ultimately to hope. The mystery of Caroline's past is drawn out gradually, smoothly, and...makes for an engrossing read."--All About Murder

"Triola's deftly described scenes are beautifully provocative and trigger vivid mental images to underlie each piece of the action. She has created a sense of being there. Her rich phraseology accents this to-be-savored novel and makes the reader feel almost sorry to have turned the last page."--Liz Guarino, The Wave

"Caroline Rose is a page-turner. The characters are so vivid, I keep expecting to run into Caroline and her friend. The plot is so memorable; it really does have me seeing things differently. I'm full of admiration."--Jennifer Strobel, The Free Lance-Star

My father was murdered.

He went out to pick up a few things at a nearby convenience store when two guys in ski masks came in to rob the place. One of them shot him even though he had his hands raised. The killer had no idea my dad was a passionate husband, that he was a kind and funny father who had a new story for his little girl every night. What was that to him? He shot him and got away with it. I could never understand why someone would want to kill my dad. He was a good man. I couldn't figure it out at seven; twenty years later I still can't figure it out.

I survived. Mom and I continued living. My mother was strong. She learned to go on without her husband. She learned to cook for just the two of us. She learned to sleep by herself in that big bed. Well, sometimes when I was little, I would crawl in with her. Mom never found another man that she could love like she loved my father. I never found another man who could be my father. I've been looking all my life, but he doesn't exist.

I miss my dad. I always will.

One of my earliest memories of my father was riding on his shoulders as he and my mother hiked in the Catskill Mountains. I remembered his laughter as he trotted along, pointing out the different flowers and trees; he knew them all by their Latin names. I had even learned a few from him, though I was only five at the time.

I held his forehead and played in his hair, pulling the long, black strands through my tiny fingers. Suddenly he stopped and held up a hand. Mom hung at his side and looked along the creek, following Daddy's gaze.

"What is it?" I tried to whisper in my child's soprano.

"Shh, honey. It's a bear."

"Oh," I added in a reverent tone. I peered through the leaves and brush. A black bear made its way carefully to the creek. "I see it!" I whispered excitedly.

I tried to sit still on my dad's shoulders. I knew, even then, that wild animals would run away from humans. It was difficult to remain silent, but my efforts were soon rewarded by an unexpected sight. A smaller bear moved out of the brush and sidled up to the larger one. My mother stifled a gasp of delight. "A cub!" she whispered up to me.

From my tall perch I could see the two, mother and baby, as they drank from the stream. The cub slapped playfully at the water, splashing its mother. I remembered my television commercials. "Is that Smokey's family?" I wanted to know.

Mom's green eyes sparkled with amusement as she looked up into my face and smiled. "No, honey," she said, shaking her head so the brown locks swished across her face.

The bear cub caught sight of a butterfly and reached out to bat it with a paw. The insect easily evaded the swipe and fluttered tantalizingly just out of reach. Following its prey, the cub shuffled down the stream, stopping to bat at the creature now and again.

Finally, the butterfly flew out over the water. The cub lumbered into the stream, raising itself on its hind legs. As it reached overhead, the cub lost its balance and tumbled into the water. It moaned in frustration and rolled awkwardly to its feet. The mother bear, which had followed her infant's hunt with a watchful eye, now hurried to its side. It was a tender moment as the mother licked her cub and led it out of the stream.

Suddenly, the bear's head came up. We heard it, too--the sound of hikers on the trail ahead of us. As they approached, their talk and laughter grew louder in the still forest. The mother bear turned and padded into the woods, her cub following quickly and without complaint.

"Beautiful!" my dad whispered in awe. "Weren't they something?"

"I liked the cub," I answered, "but I'm glad he didn't catch the butterfly."

The group of hikers, probably in their twenties, passed us on the trail, waving and calling friendly hellos. We greeted them, still standing where we had watched the bears. After they moved out of sight, my parents turned and headed up the trail again.

"That baby bear was so cute, Daddy," I began. "Does he have lots of friends in the forest, like Bambi?"

"Maybe so," my daddy answered thoughtfully. "If he did, who might they be?" That was all I needed. I began to name all the cub's animal friends: raccoons, bunnies, foxes, deer, a skunk, and many more. I prattled on for at least another mile. My dad asked me questions about the cub's imaginary life and I spouted answers as if I actually knew what I was talking about.

We did that a lot. We always had a story about everything and everyone we saw. We shared a remarkable world of make-believe. And our real world seemed just as magical.

I was always fascinated by Dad's worn toolbox. All he had to do was open it, take out his tools and something wonderful appeared. He could make anything. He built chairs, a deck, a boat, and even a swing set for me. He often carved wooden animals and sold them in one of the shops in Providence. But that was just his hobby; by trade he was an accountant.

I wondered, when I grew a little older, why he didn't make his living with his woodworking skills. That's when I learned how much he enjoyed accounting. "I don't know how to describe it, Katy, but working with numbers can be so relaxing to me."

"Just make sure you don't get too relaxed and fall asleep," my mom commented wryly.

Dad reached across the dinner table and playfully ruffled her hair. "That's why I hear all that snoring from your office. I was wondering what that was."

Mom grabbed his hand and pretended to bite one of his fingers. "You!" She stopped and kissed it instead.

They held hands for a moment, gazing tenderly into each other's eyes. I knew, even then, that was the look that made our home so happy. My parents loved each other deeply and never seemed embarrassed to show it. Still, I was impatient with what I termed "the mushy stuff."

"Daa-aad! Are you still going to the store?" I stood next to them, my plate in my hands. "Are you going to get me chocolate ice cream?"

Mom and Dad both looked at me with mock exasperation for breaking the spell of the moment. They smiled. I always loved their smiles, especially when they did it together. Somehow it seemed more beautiful that way, like two rainbows in the sky.

Dad pushed his chair back from the table and rose, saying, "You're right, Katy. I do need to get to the store."

Mom hurried to check the list. Handing it to him, she paused. "Oh, and I forgot we're all out of tissues."

Dad tapped his temple, making a mental note. "Got it."

I put my plate in the sink with a clatter and ran over to my dad, almost dancing around him. "And ice cream. Chocolate ice cream!" I shouted gaily.

He stooped to give me a hug. "And chocolate ice cream for my little Katydid!"

"I'm not a bug!" I pretended to pout.

He patted me on the head. "I don't know about that. You seem just about the right size." I giggled.

Dad kissed my mom on the cheek and walked to the door. "Now, no wild parties while I'm gone!"

Mom grinned. "Of course not. We'll wait 'til you get back!"

He laughed and pulled the door shut behind him. I could still hear his laughter as he made his way down the walk to the car. That was the last time we ever saw him.

I thought he was home when the doorbell rang. Instead, a big policeman with a serious face was standing there when I opened the door. The smile froze on my childish face. Fear gripped at my throat when Mom called out to me. "Who is it, honey?"

I remember her nervous steps when I told her, "It's a policeman." I ran behind her and held onto her belt. She put her hand back as if to protect me from what the officer had to say. I think she knew what it was when he started with, "I'm sorry, Mrs. O'Brien..."