15 Jul  Carrie Hayes The Making of Marigold McGrath #HistoricalFiction #WartimeFiction #WomenInHistory #ReaderReach #TheCoffeePotBookClub #YardeBookPromotions #BlogTour @cathiedunn @maryanneyarde

FEATURED AUTHOR: CARRIE HAYES

I’m delighted to welcome Carrie Hayes as the featured author in the The Coffee Pot Book Club Blog being held between July 1st – 22nd, 2026. Carrie Hayes Is the author of the Historical Fiction, The Making of Marigold McGrath, published by HTPH PRESS on April 29, 2026 (332 pages). 

Below are highlights of The Making of Marigold McGrath, the author bio of  Carrie Hayes, and an excerpt from the novel.

Tour Schedule Page: https://thecoffeepotbookclub.blogspot.com/2026/06/blog-tour-the-making-of-marigold-mcgrath-by-carrie-hayes.html

HIGHLIGHTS: THE MAKING OF MARIGOLD MCGRATH

 

The Making of Marigold McGrath
By Carrie Hayes

Blurb:

New York City, 1937. Seventeen-year-old Marigold McGrath is coming undone.

Her mother is dead. Her father is drawn to dangerous politics. The only place she feels joy is behind a camera — where she can frame the world on her own terms.

After a series of her own missteps, she reinvents herself in London: mentored by a celebrated émigré photographer, photographing Kindertransport children, working alongside Edward R. Murrow. She falls in love with Joop, a charming Dutch student, and shrugs off the war gathering around her.

Then the Blitz begins.

Joop vanishes into the Dutch Resistance. And Marigold — who has always preferred to photograph the world as she wishes it were — must finally decide what kind of woman, and what kind of witness, she is willing to become.

A sweeping WWII coming-of-age novel set in wartime London.

For readers of Kristin Hannah, Kate Quinn, and SL Beaumont’s The War Photographers

Praise:

“I read a lot of historical novels … this one was one of my favorites. From the characters to the setting to the actions depicted I thoroughly enjoyed the journey—I really didn’t want it to end!” ~ Netgalley Review 5*

“The Making of Marigold McGrath by Carrie Hayes is the tale of a well to do American seventeen year old sent to Europe just prior to World War II. The book is exquisitely written with a well paced dialogue. The characters are well formed and interesting. Sprinkled throughout the book are bits from news outlets that help set the larger context for the reader – they are well timed and helpful. Great read, well worth it!” ~ Goodreads Review 5*

“The Making of Marigold McGrath explores a rarely examined aspect of WWII: the complex journeys to maturity of young adults in war-torn Europe as they seek human connection and meaning. Marigold finds both, using her skills as a photographer to document the stories of refugee children. With gobs of historical references and vivid imagery, interlaced with intrigue and romance, The Making of Marigold McGrath is a great read!” ~ Goodreads Review 5* 

Any Triggers: grief, war, loss

Buy Links:

Universal Buy Link: https://books2read.com/u/388dyw

This book is available to read on #KindleUnlimited.

AUTHOR BIO: CARRIE HAYES

 

Carrie’s first two novels, Naked Truth or Equality and Well Dressed Lies, follow the lives of the iconoclastic suffragist sisters, Victoria Woodhull and Tennessee Claflin.

Carrie lives with her husband and two spoiled dogs in a rambling Victorian house just outside of New York City.

Author Links:

Website     Facebook     Instagram     Book Bub

Amazon Author Page     Goodreads     Substack Infrequent Newsletter

EXCERPT: THE MAKING OF MARIGOLD MCGRATH

 

Running through Central Park, ice skates flopping on her shoulders, Marigold slowed to catch her breath. She studied the bridge and the frozen pond. Tall buildings framed the naked trees. Sunshine shone low behind them, casting deep shadows on the snow. She pulled at her left mitten with her teeth and unbuttoned her coat. Inside was her Brownie. It was one of the new ones, with a bellows that folded. She fumbled with its case, groaning at the other mitten hindering her efforts. At last, at last, she looked down into the lens. She moved the aperture slowly to the left and then dialed it back a fraction to the right. The trees, the light, buildings and snow.

She pressed the button and wound the film.

“Gotcha!” Pink mittens wrapped around her eyes.

Marigold staggered forward. “Trude!” She laughed and turned. “Say cheese.”

Trude put her arm in the air, a teasing coquette bundled in scarves with a pompom hat tied under the chin. Marigold blew on her fingers and moved the aperture a fraction one way, then she moved it the other. The light had changed, and Trude was in shadow. Marigold took the picture.

Then as quickly as she’d appeared, Trude ran over the bridge toward the pond. “Last one there’s a rotten egg!”

A dozen other skaters moved across the ice. Girls and boys about their own age, mostly from the neighborhood. Marigold hopped on one foot and then the other. Her earmuffs just weren’t doing the trick and inside the mittens her fingers felt frozen. Trude spread a small blanket onto the snow and patted the spot next to her. “Come on, Mari, you’ll feel so much better when you’re skating.”

Marigold doubted that very much. Lacing up her skates felt like torture and she willed her knees to stop shaking. She watched Trude expertly wrap the laces around her own slim ankles then tie a knot, tucking the laces inside the socks peeping above her skates. Trude clambered onto her knees and stood to make her way to the pond. In a single move she was gliding across the ice, and then crowed, “Haha!” Somehow Trude’s fluid grace made everything seem effortless.

Marigold watched her turn a flawless figure eight as boys skated around her and everything sparkled. “Come on, Mari!” Trude waved her over.

Marigold muttered under her breath, come on, come on, chiding herself not to be so awkward, then responded, “I’m coming!” She took a deep breath and imagined herself the world-renowned figure skating movie star Sonja Henie. She extended her arms as she stepped onto the ice. But her left leg slowly slid out from her while her right leg began to move forward. Marigold’s top half suddenly felt heavy. She waved her arms, her skates stepping forward and backward, her ankles wobbling.

“You can do it,” Trude pirouetted beside her.

“I know, I know I can do it,” Marigold’s heart began thumping. The other skaters danced along the ice.

Trude whispered, “Bend your knees.”

But Marigold’s knees collapsed, pulling her bottom as if by a magnet. “I’m falling though, I am.”

“No, you’re not.” Trude held out her hand, waiting.

“I am, oh my goodness.” It was difficult to breathe, and she was suddenly warm. Her hands met the ice and her feet surrendered.

Trude still waited. “Come on, I’ve got you.” She pulled Marigold up and placed her arm around her waist, then said, “Oh look. There’s Will Carrington with a swishy, dishy friend.”

Marigold froze in horror. Why was she such a klutz?

The boys called from across the ice. “Hello, Fräuleins.”

Trude smiled and called, “Morgen, Herr Carrington. Wie gehts? Why don’t you introduce us to your friend?”

Eagerly the boys skated over. Will said, “This is Chip.” 

Chip stopped in front of her, the edge of his skates making a smooth spray of ice. He held his hand out to Marigold. “You can hang on to me if you want. I’ll teach you to skate.” He placed an arm round her waist. She leant against him and he led her across the pond. Perhaps she’d be Sonja Henie after all.

“What grade are you in, Marigold?” Chip’s eyes were heavily fringed and he had a cleft in his chin.

“I’m a senior.”

Smiling, he picked up speed. “Me, too. Is this your first time on the ice?”

“Kind of.” She thought it best not to say that despite years of lessons, she was just a lousy skater. “Where do you go to school, Chip?”

“I’m at Lawrenceville. You know, in New Jersey. It’s a good place, not as many…” He gestured to a couple arguing in Yiddish. “People like that. As in New York.”

Marigold looked up at him again. She hoped he didn’t have the same lapel pin as her dad. Well, she thought to herself, at least he was handsome. Soon the streetlamps were lit. It was time to go home.

“Let’s go to my place,” Will offered. He lived in a brownstone only a block away. Everyone agreed and they went to his house, dumping their coats and skates upon ancient Chinese chairs just inside the door.

The half dozen guests traipsed upstairs, and Will procured some cocoa and cups on a tray from the housekeeper.

“Where is everybody?” Trude asked, by which she meant Will’s younger brothers.

“At the movies with Nanny.” He smiled wickedly. “Come on, let’s play a game.”

Out came a box from under the bed, inside of which was a bottle of rum. Shouts of approval went around as he generously poured it into the cups of hot chocolate. Some of the boys skipped the hot chocolate and drank the booze neat, laughing as it burned their throats and rendered them speechless.

“Let’s play records,” Trude said. Will agreed and she chose the very latest from his collection. A trumpet opened the refrain, soulful and longing, echoed by the orchestra. A man began to sing,

I’ve flown around the world in a plane,
I’ve settled revolutions in Spain, and the North Pole I have charted,
Still, I can’t get started with you . . .

Chip took Marigold’s hand. “May I?”

She moved toward him. His shoulders were square and he swayed as he danced, brushing against her. Marigold stepped closer, sensing the rise of his chest, the flatness of his stomach. She forgot having been frozen and grew toasty from the rum and Chip’s handsome touch. Resting her head upon his shoulder she saw a mouse scurry across the floor. She stifled a gasp. If there was a time not to mind the mice at Will’s house, this was the time. But the mix of the rum, her desire, and the mouse made her woozy.

“’Scuse me!” She squirmed away and stumbled to the powder room. She ran the water and rubbed her face, then looked at herself in the mirror. There was a knock on the door.

“Can I come in?” It was Trude, who promptly lifted her skirt and sat on the toilet. “Did you see the mouse?”

Marigold shuddered. “You know I did.”

Trude finished and joined her at the mirror. “That Chip seems to like you.”

Marigold flicked some water at her friend. “How would you know?”

“Because I have eyes in the back of my head.” Trude refreshed her lipstick and handed it to Marigold. “I’m a regular spy.” She then dropped her voice, “You know, like Mata Hari.”

Marigold studied her now vibrant mouth. “I can’t believe you’re leaving me.”

“Oh, you’ll be fine.”

“I won’t be able to go skating.” The thought of days without Trude felt intolerable.

“Yes, you will.” Trude gestured to Marigold’s lower lip. “You need a bit more.”

Obediently, Marigold reapplied it.

Trude said, “Ask Chip. It’ll be the Ice Capades before you know it.”

Marigold decided not to share what she thought about Chip, murmuring, “And my only model will be my mother.”

“But’s she’s a wonderful model.”

“It’s not the same.” Movies without Trude, skating without Trude, soda fountains without her. Marigold gave herself a little shake. The fresh lipstick would look terrible if she began to cry.

Trude took off her glasses and wiped them with a handkerchief. “You’ll just have to come and visit.” She gave Marigold a cheesy smile in the mirror and held out her hand. “Come on. Back to the party.”

“I don’t want to go out there.” Marigold sighed. “I really hate mice.”

 

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