Winter Garden: A Novel by Kristin HannahWinter Garden: A Novel by Kristin Hannah

Winter Garden: A Novel

byKristin Hannah

Paperback | January 4, 2011

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Mesmerizing from the first page to the last, Kristin Hannah's Winter Garden is one woman's sweeping, heartbreaking story of love, loss, and redemption. At once an epic love story set in World War II Russia and an intimate portrait of contemporary mothers and daughters poised at the crossroads of their lives, it explores the heartbreak of war, the cost of survival and the ultimate triumph of the human spirit. It is a novel that will haunt the reader long after the last page is turned.

1941. Leningrad, a once magical city besieged by war, cut off from aid, buried in snow. A city full of women desperate to save their children and themselves.

2000. Loss and old age have taken a terrible toll on Anya Whitson. At last, she will reach out to her estranged daughters. In a halting, uncertain voice, she begins to weave a fable about a beautiful Russian girl who lived in Leningrad a lifetime ago.

Nina and Meredith sit spellbound at their mother's bedside, listening to a story that spans more than sixty years and moves from the terrors of war-torn Leningrad under siege to modern-day Alaska.

In a quest to uncover the truth behind the story, Nina and Meredith discover a secret so shocking, so impossible to believe, it shakes the foundation of their family and changes who they believe they are.

"Another powerful story of family love, and strong women.a fascinating story that weaves fairy tales into reality, fairy tales that don't always have the expected endings."-The Herald-News

".a gripping read. Hannah's audience will find plenty to discuss in this enthralling entry."-Booklist

Kristin Hannah is the New York Times bestselling author of novels including Night Road, Firefly Lane, and True Colors. She was born in Southern California and moved to Western Washington when she was eight. A former lawyer, Hannah started writing when she was pregnant and on bed rest for five months. Writing soon became an obsession, a...
Title:Winter Garden: A NovelFormat:PaperbackDimensions:448 pages, 8.24 × 5.55 × 1.25 inPublished:January 4, 2011Publisher:St. Martin's PressLanguage:English

The following ISBNs are associated with this title:

ISBN - 10:0312663153

ISBN - 13:9780312663155

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Rated 5 out of 5 by from Lovely!! Cant get enough of Kristian Hannah's work! Each book is just better than the previous one! A beautiful creative and truly gifted author!
Date published: 2018-03-13
Rated 5 out of 5 by from LOVED Loved the Nightingale, and loved Winter Garden as well, finished it in 2 days! Highly recommend, and am going to read the rest of her work.
Date published: 2018-01-29
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Loved it ! I love all of Kristin Hannah’s books but this is my favourite so far. Never before has a book brought tears to my eyes. I recommend to everyone and anyone I meet even strangers at the book store. I usually bring my books to a used book store after reading but this one is not leaving my house !!
Date published: 2018-01-17
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Another GREAT one Another brillian story by Kristin! Definitely a must read! #plumreview
Date published: 2018-01-12
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Absolutely love it This is an amazing book. I love it. Couldn't put it down. Cried - yes! Cheered by the resilience of the human spirit - heck, yes, for sure!!
Date published: 2017-12-18
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Pleasantly surprised! I was skeptical as to whether or not I was going to enjoy this book, but wow once I started reading it - I couldn't stop! Such an amazing story. I was definitely in tears by the end of it (make sure you have a box of kleenex nearby)! Another great read by Kristin Hannah.
Date published: 2017-12-06
Rated 5 out of 5 by from excellent find truly compassionate Very descriptive and in depth detail is what makes this book so kindly unique in every way! #plumreview
Date published: 2017-11-07
Rated 5 out of 5 by from LOVED IT! Each and every book that I have read by Kristin, I have fallen in love with! The way she tells the story in just enough detail really lets you make your own vision, and just in general the storyline is always captivating!
Date published: 2017-11-01
Rated 4 out of 5 by from Great find This novel makes you realize how little you might know about the people closest to you.
Date published: 2017-07-24
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Excellent book! I love Kristin Hannah's books. This one made me cry, especially as a mom imagining the hardship of war and keeping her children safe. It was hard to read yet even harder to put down.
Date published: 2017-05-30
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Very moving read I loved this book...very well told. I could picture this as I read it. I would highly recommend this book...I had a few tears throughout the book. Made me really think after I was finished...this book stuck with me long after I was finished reading it.
Date published: 2017-05-20
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Another success! Another wonderfully written book by Kristin Hannah. This story shows up another side of war and how it can affect a person and change this outlook on life. The story of the two sisters and their attempts to get to know their mother after their fathers death will bring you through a roller coaster of emotions.
Date published: 2017-05-16
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Loved this I loved this story, it was a great read. But it did make me cry a little.
Date published: 2017-04-01
Rated 5 out of 5 by from I loved this Fantastic book, highly recommend.
Date published: 2017-01-21
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Made me cry! All I can say is wow, Kristin Hannah did it to me again, first the Nightingale and then this book. Again, war from a different aspect. But I loved it, it was heartwarming to see how they all came together in the end
Date published: 2017-01-11
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Beautiful, heart wrenching story I love Kristen Hannah's books! She takes you back in time, and on a roller coaster ride of emotions. Couldn't put it down. Sat up one night until 2:30 because I had to finish reading it.
Date published: 2017-01-04
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Definitely recommend! Fabulous book, highly recommend it!
Date published: 2017-01-03
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Beautiful Story Winter Garden was my first experience with a Kristin Hannah novel, and I can promise you that it definitely won't be my last. I found myself completely immersed in this beautiful story about two sisters who discover a whole different side of their mother after their father passes away, and they start digging into her past. I was blown away by many of the plot twists, and I literally couldn't put it down. This is a much recommended women's fiction pick from me, and I am definitely looking forward to reading more of this author's work in the future.
Date published: 2016-12-18
Rated 2 out of 5 by from The ending was awful I love Kristin Hannah - and truly, I loved this book - until the last 5 chapters. I found the ending to be SO far fetched, that it just completely ruined the entire book for me. While I loved the overall concept of the story - I think if she hadn't taken us to Alaska and all that went on there, it would have made for a much better novel. It was too much of a happily ever after ending for the story.
Date published: 2012-11-19
Rated 5 out of 5 by from One of my favourite Kristin Hannah books! Winter Garden is THE book that made me fall in love with Kristin Hannah. As soon as I finished it, I raced to the library and promptly checked out every book by her I could find. The book centers around Meredith and Nina, two sisters with very different lives. When their father falls ill, they travel to their childhood home to say their goodbyes to their father, alongside their cold Russian-born mother, Anya. One thing the girls remember from their childhood is Anya telling them bits and pieces from a Russian fairytale. Meredith and Nina always thought it was a work of fiction, but after their father’s last wish is for Anya to tell the girls the whole fairytale, the girls realize that this is no fairytale—it’s the story of their mother’s life. Anya’s story is moving, powerful, and unthinkable. Meredith and Nina come to know the mother they never really knew during the years they spent with her in their childhood. I can’t even imagine, as a reader, how I would process hearing a story like this from my own grandparents. Call me naïve or lucky, but I have a hard time thinking about how people have had to go through such horrible times. Winter Garden is a book about relationships, uncovering emotions, forgiving, and healing. It will make you cry and it will make you want to ask your parents and grandparents to tell their stories. Kristin Hannah is an amazing writer and Winter Garden is a fast and engaging read—something I’ve come to expect from Hannah.
Date published: 2012-01-13
Rated 5 out of 5 by from One of My Favourites! Winter Garden is one of the best books I've read in a very long time!! I laughed, I cried, and I couldn't put the book down! I strongly recommend this book! Honestly, when my mom bought me this book, I hadn't expected much to come from the pages, but within the first couple chapters... I was hooked. It's been a few monthes since I've read it... and I still think about the wonderous words and images that came from inside!
Date published: 2011-09-18

Read from the Book

One2000 Was this what forty looked like? Really? In the past year Meredith had gone from Miss to Ma’am. Just like that, with no transition. Even worse, her skin had begun to lose its elasticity. There were tiny pleats in places that used to be smooth. Her neck was fuller, there was no doubt about it. She hadn’t gone gray yet; that was the one saving grace. Her chestnut-colored hair, cut in a no-nonsense shoulder-length bob, was still full and shiny. But her eyes gave her away. She looked tired. And not only at six in the morning.She turned away from the mirror and stripped out of her old T-shirt and into a pair of black sweats, anklet socks, and a long-sleeved black shirt. Pulling her hair into a stumpy ponytail, she left the bathroom and walked into her darkened bedroom, where the soft strains of her husband’s snoring made her almost want to crawl back into bed. In the old days, she would have done just that, would have snuggled up against him.Leaving the room, she clicked the door shut behind her and headed down the hallway toward the stairs.In the pale glow of a pair of long-outdated night-lights, she passed the closed doors of her children’s bedrooms. Not that they were children anymore. Jillian was nineteen now, a sophomore at UCLA who dreamed of being a doctor, and Maddy—Meredith’s baby—was eighteen and a freshman at Vanderbilt. Without them, this house—and Meredith’s life—felt emptier and quieter than she’d expected. For nearly twenty years, she had devoted herself to being the kind of mother she hadn’t had, and it had worked. She and her daughters had become the best of friends. Their absence left her feeling adrift , a little purposeless. She knew it was silly. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have plenty to do. She just missed the girls; that was all.She kept moving. Lately that seemed to be the best way to handle things.Downstairs, she stopped in the living room just long enough to plug in the Christmas tree lights. In the mudroom, the dogs leaped up at her, yapping and wagging their tails.“Luke, Leia, no jumping,” she scolded the huskies, scratching their ears as she led them to the back door. When she opened it, cold air rushed in. Snow had fallen again last night, and though it was still dark on this mid-December morning, she could make out the pale pearlescence of road and field. Her breath turned into vapory plumes.By the time they were all outside and on their way, it was 6:10 and the sky was a deep purplish gray.Right on time.Meredith ran slowly at first, acclimating herself to the cold. As she did every weekday morning, she ran along the gravel road that led from her house, down past her parents’ house, and out to the old single-lane road that ended about a mile up the hill. From there, she followed the loop out to the golf course and back. Four miles exactly. It was a routine she rarely missed; she had no choice, really. Everything about Meredith was big by nature. She was tall, with broad shoulders, curvy hips, and big feet. Even her features seemed just a little too much for her pale, oval face—she had a big Julia Roberts– type mouth, huge brown eyes, full eyebrows, and thick hair. Only constant exercise, a vigilant diet, good hair products, and an industrial-sized pair of tweezers could keep her looking good.As she turned back onto her road, the rising sun illuminated the mountains, turned their snowcapped peaks lavender and pink.On either side of her, thousands of bare, spindly apple trees showed through the snow like brown stitches on white fabric. This fertile cleft of land had belonged to their family for fifty years, and there, in the center of it all, tall and proud, was the home in which she’d grown up. Belye Nochi. Even in the half-light it looked ridiculously out of place and ostentatious.Meredith kept running up the hill, faster and faster, until she could barely breathe and there was a stitch in her side.She came to a stop at her own front porch as the valley filled with bright golden light. She fed the dogs and then hurried upstairs. She was just going into the bathroom as Jeff was coming out. Wearing only a towel, with his graying blond hair still dripping wet, he turned sideways to let her pass, and she did the same. Neither one of them spoke.By 7:20, she was drying her hair, and by 7:30—right on time—she was dressed for work in a pair of black jeans and a fitted green blouse. A little eyeliner, some blush and mascara, a coat of lipstick, and she was ready to go.Downstairs, she found Jeff at the kitchen table, sitting in his regular chair, reading The New York Times. The dogs were asleep at his feet.She went to the coffeepot and poured herself a cup. “You need a refill?”“I’m good,” he said without looking up.Meredith stirred soy milk into her coffee, watching the color change. It occurred to her that she and Jeff only talked at a distance lately, like strangers—or disillusioned partners—and only about work or the kids. She tried idly to remember the last time they’d made love, and couldn’t.Maybe that was normal. Certainly it was. When you’d been married as long as they had, there were bound to be quiet times. Still, it saddened her sometimes to remember how passionate they used to be. She’d been fourteen on their first date (they’d gone to see Young Frankenstein; it was still one of their favorites), and to be honest, that was the last time she’d ever really looked at another guy. It was strange when she thought about that now; she didn’t consider herself a romantic woman, but she’d fallen in love practically at first sight. He’d been a part of her for as long as she could remember.They’d married early—too early, really—and she’d followed him to college in Seattle, working nights and weekends in smoky bars to pay tuition. She’d been happy in their cramped, tiny U District apartment. Then, when they were seniors, she’d gotten pregnant. It had terrified her at first. She’d worried that she was like her mother, and that parenthood wouldn’t be a good thing. But she discovered, to her profound relief, that she was the complete opposite of her own mother. Perhaps her youth had helped in that. God knew Mom had not been young when Meredith was born.Jeff shook his head. It was a minute gesture, barely even a movement, but she saw it. She had always been attuned to him, and lately their mutual disappointments seemed to create sound, like a high-pitched whistle that only she could hear.“What?” she said.“Nothing.”“You didn’t shake your head over nothing. What’s the matter?”“I just asked you something.”“I didn’t hear you. Ask me again.”“It doesn’t matter.”“Fine.” She took her coffee and headed toward the dining room.It was something she’d done a hundred times, and yet just then, as she passed under the old-fashioned ceiling light with its useless bit of plastic mistletoe, her view changed.She saw herself as if from a distance: a forty-year-old woman, holding a cup of coffee, looking at two empty places at the table, and at the husband who was still here, and for a split second she wondered what other life that woman could have lived. What if she hadn’t come home to run the orchard and raise her children? What if she hadn’t gotten married so young? What kind of woman could she have become?And then it was gone like a soap bubble, and she was back where she belonged.“Will you be home for dinner?”“Aren’t I always?”“Seven o’clock,” she said.“By all means,” he said, turning the page. “Let’s set a time.”Meredith was at her desk by eight o’clock. As usual, she was the first to arrive and went about the cubicle-divided space on the ware house’s second floor flipping on lights. She passed by her dad’s office—empty now—pausing only long enough to glance at the plaques by his door. Thirteen times he’d been voted Grower of the Year and his advice was still sought out by competitors on a regular basis. It didn’t matter that he only occasionally came into the office, or that he’d been semi-retired for ten years. He was still the face of the Belye Nochi orchard, the man who had pioneered Golden Delicious apples in the early sixties, Granny Smiths in the seventies, and championed the Braeburn and Fuji in the nineties. His designs for cold storage had revolutionized the business and helped make it possible to export the very best apples to world markets.She had had a part to play in the company’s growth and success, to be sure. Under her leadership, the cold storage ware house had been expanded and a big part of their business was now storing fruit for other growers. She’d turned the old roadside apple stand into a gift shop that sold hundreds of locally made craft items, specialty foods, and Belye Nochi memorabilia. At this time of year—the holidays—when train-loads of tourists arrived in Leavenworth for the world-famous tree-lighting ceremony, more than a few found their way to the gift shop.The first thing she did was pick up the phone to call her youngest daughter. It was just past ten in Tennessee.“Hello?” Maddy grumbled.“Good morning,” Meredith said brightly. “It sounds like someone slept in.”“Oh. Mom. Hi. I was up late last night. Studying.”“Madison Elizabeth,” was all Meredith had to say to make her point.Maddy sighed. “Okay. So it was a Lambda Chi party.”“I know how fun it all is, and how much you want to experience every moment of college, but your first final is next week. Tuesday morning, right?”“Right.”“You have to learn to balance schoolwork and fun. So get your lily-white ass out of bed and get to class. It’s a life skill—partying all night and still getting up on time.”“The world won’t end if I miss one Spanish class.”“Madison.”Maddy laughed. “Okay, okay. I’m getting up. Spanish 101, here I come. Hasta la vista . . . ba-by.”Meredith smiled. “I’ll call on Thursday and find out how your speech went. And call your sister. She’s stressed out about her organic chemistry test.”“Okay, Mom. I love you.”“Love you, too, princess.”Meredith hung up the phone feeling better. For the next three hours, she threw herself into work. She was rereading the latest crop report when her intercom buzzed.“Meredith? Your dad is on line one.”“Thanks, Daisy.” She picked up the call. “Hi, Dad.”“Mom and I were wondering if you could come to the house for lunch today.”“I’m swamped here, Dad—”“Please?”Meredith had never been able to deny her father. “Okay. But I have to be back by one.”“Excellent,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice.She hung up and went back to work. Lately, with production up and demand down, and costs for both export and transportation skyrocketing, she oft en spent her days putting out one fire after another, and today was no exception. By noon, a low-grade stress headache had crawled into the space at the base of her skull and begun to growl. Still, she smiled at her employees as she left her office and walked through the cold warehouse.In less than ten minutes, she pulled up in front of her parents’ garage.The house was like something out of a Russian fairy tale, with its turretlike two-story veranda and elaborate fretwork trim, especially this time of year, when the eaves and railings glittered with Christmas lights. The hammered copper roof was dulled today by the gray winter weather, but on a bright day it shone like liquid gold. Surrounded by tall, elegant poplar trees and situated on a gentle rise that overlooked their valley, this house was so famous that tourists oft en stopped to photograph it.Leave it to her mother to build something so absurdly out of place. A Russian dacha, or summer house, in Western Washington State. Even the orchard’s name was absurd. Belye Nochi.White Nights indeed. The nights here were as dark as new asphalt.Not that Mom cared about what was around her. She got her way, that was all. Whatever Anya Whitson wanted, her husband gave to her, and apparently she’d wanted a fairy-tale castle and an orchard with an unpronounceable Russian name.Meredith knocked and went inside. The kitchen was empty; a big pot of soup simmered on the stove.In the living room, light spilled through the two-story rounded wall of windows at the north end of the room—the famous Belye Nochi turret. Wood floors gleamed with the golden beeswax that Mom insisted on using, even though it turned the floors into a skating rink if you dared to walk in stockinged feet. A huge stone fireplace dominated the center wall; clustered around it was a grouping of richly upholstered antique sofas and chairs. Above the fireplace hung an oil painting of a Russian troika—a romantic-looking carriage drawn by matching horses—sailing through a field of snow. Pure Doctor Zhivago. To her left were dozens of pictures of Russian churches, and below them was her mother’s “Holy Corner,” where a table held a display of antique icons and a single candle that burned year-round.She found her father in the back of the room, alongside the heavily decorated Christmas tree, in his favorite spot. He lay stretched out on the burgundy mohair cushions of the ottoman bed, reading. His hair, what he had left of it at eighty-five, stuck out from his pink scalp in white tuft s. Too many de cades in the sun had blotched and pleated his skin and he had a basset-hound look even when he was smiling, but the sad countenance fooled no one. Everyone loved Evan Whitson. It was impossible not to.At her entrance, his face lit up. He reached out and squeezed her hand tightly, then let go. “Your mom will be so glad to see you.”Meredith smiled. It was the game they’d played for years. Dad pretended that Mom loved Meredith and Meredith pretended to believe him. “Great. Is she upstairs?”“I couldn’t keep her out of the garden this morning.”Meredith wasn’t surprised. “I’ll get her.”She left her father in the living room and walked through the kitchen to the formal dining room. Through the French doors, she saw an expanse of snow-covered ground, with acres of dormant apple trees in the distance. Closer, beneath the icicle-draped branches of a fifty-year-old magnolia tree, was a small rectangular garden defined by antique wrought-iron fencing. Its ornate gate was twined with brown vines; come summer, that gate would be a profusion of green leaves and white flowers. Now it glittered with frost.And there she was: her eighty-something-year-old mother, bundled up in blankets, sitting on the black bench in her so-called winter garden. A light snow began to fall; tiny flakes blurred the scene into an impressionistic painting where nothing looked solid enough to touch. Sculpted bushes and a single birdbath were covered in snow, giving the garden a strange, otherworldly look. Not surprisingly, her mother sat in the middle of it all, motionless, her hands clasped in her lap.As a child it had scared Meredith—all that solitude in her mother—but as she got older it had begun to embarrass, then irritate her. A woman of her mother’s age had no business sitting alone in the cold. Her mother claimed it was because of her ruined vision, but Meredith didn’t believe that. It was true that her mother’s eyes didn’t process color—she saw only white and black and shades of gray—but that had never struck Meredith, even as a girl, as a reason for staring at nothing.She opened the door and went out into the cold. Her boots sank in the ankle-deep snow; here and there, crusty patches crunched underneath and more than once she almost slipped. “You shouldn’t be out here, Mom,” she said, coming up beside her. “You’ll catch pneumonia.”“It takes more cold than this to give me pneumonia. This is barely below freezing.”Meredith rolled her eyes. It was the sort of ridiculous comment her mother always made. “I’ve only got an hour for lunch, so you’d better come in now.” Her voice sounded sharp in the soft ness of the falling snow, and she winced, wishing she had rounded her vowels more, tempered her voice. What was it about her mother that brought out the worst in her? “Did you know he invited me for lunch?”“Of course,” her mother said, but Meredith heard the lie in it.Her mother rose from the bench in a single fluid motion, like some ancient goddess used to being revered and adored. Her face was remarkably smooth and wrinkle-free, her skin flawless and almost translucent. She had the kind of bone structure that made other women envious. But it was her eyes that defined her beauty. Deep-set and fringed by thick lashes, they were a remarkable shade of aqua flecked with bits of gold. Meredith was sure that no one who had seen those eyes ever forgot them. How ironic it was that eyes of such remarkable hue were unable to see color.Meredith took her mother’s elbow and led her away from the bench; only then, when they were walking, did she notice that her mother’s hands were bare, and turning blue.“Good God. Your hands are blue. You should have on gloves in this cold—”“You do not know cold.”“Whatever, Mom.” Meredith bustled her mother up the back steps and into the warmth of the house. “Maybe you should take a bath to warm up.”“I do not want to be warm, thank you. It is December fourteenth.”“Fine,” Meredith said, watching her shivering mother go to the stove to stir the soup. The ragged gray wool blanket fell to the floor in a heap around her.Meredith set the table, and for a few precious moments there was noise in the room, an approximation of a relationship, at least.“My girls,” Dad said, coming into the kitchen. He looked pale and slight, his once-wide shoulders whittled down to nothing by weight loss. Moving forward, he put a hand on each woman’s shoulder, bringing Meredith and Mom in close. “I love it when we’re together for lunch.”Mom smiled tightly. “As do I,” she said in that clipped, accented voice of hers.“And me,” Meredith said.“Good. Good.” Dad nodded and went to the table.Mom brought a tray of still-warm feta cheese corn bread slices, drizzled with butter, put a piece on each plate, and then brought over bowls of soup.“I walked the orchard this morning,” Dad said.Meredith nodded and took a seat beside him. “I guess you noticed the back of Field A?”“Yep. That hillside’s been giving us some trouble.”“I’ve got Ed and Amanda on it. Don’t worry about the harvest.”“I wasn’t, actually. I was thinking of something else.”She sipped her soup; it was rich and delicious. Homemade lamb meatballs in a savory saffron broth with silken egg noodles. If she didn’t exercise extreme caution, she’d eat it all and have to run another mile this afternoon. “Oh, yeah?”“I want to change that field to grapes.”Meredith slowly lowered her spoon. “Grapes?” Excerpted from Winter Garden by Kristin Hannah.Copyright © 2010 by Kristin Hannah.Published in 2010 by St. Martin’s Press.All rights reserved. This work is protected under copyright laws and reproduction is strictly prohibited. Permission to reproduce the material in any manner or medium must be secured from the Publisher.

Bookclub Guide

Can a woman ever really know herself if she doesn't know her mother? From the author of the smash-hit bestseller Firefly Lane and True Colors comes a powerful, heartbreaking novel that illuminates the intricate mother-daughter bond and explores the enduring links between the present and the past Meredith and Nina Whitson are as different as sisters can be. One stayed at home to raise her children and manage the family apple orchard; the other followed a dream and traveled the world to become a famous photojournalist. But when their beloved father falls ill, Meredith and Nina find themselves together again, standing alongside their cold, disapproving mother, Anya, who even now, offers no comfort to her daughters. As children, the only connection between them was the Russian fairy tale Anya sometimes told the girls at night. On his deathbed, their father extracts a promise from the women in his life: the fairy tale will be told one last time-and all the way to the end. Thus begins an unexpected journey into the truth of Anya's life in war-torn Leningrad, more than five decades ago. Alternating between the past and present, Meredith and Nina will finally hear the singular, harrowing story of their mother's life, and what they learn is a secret so terrible and terrifying that it will shake the very foundation of their family and change who they believe they are.

Editorial Reviews

"It's a tearjerker, but the journey is as lovely--and haunting--as a snow filled winter's night." -People magazine"Readers will find it hard not to laugh a little and cry a little more as mother and daughters reach out to each other just in the nick of time." -Publishers Weekly"Winter Garden is Kristin Hannah's best written and most deeply affecting novel yet." -The Huffington Post"This tearjerker weaves a convincing historical novel and contemporary family drama..." -Library Journal"A.searing story with a breathtaking, beautiful ending." -The Seattle Times