Goodnight, Brian

April 7th, 2013
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old…or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today’s Wild Card author is:
Steven Manchester
and the book:
Goodnight, Brian
Story Plant, The; Reprint edition (January 8, 2013)
***Special thanks to Steven Manchester for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Steven Manchester is the published author of the #1 best seller, Twelve Months, as well as A Christmas Wish (the holiday prequel to Goodnight, Brian). He is also the author of Pressed Pennies, The Unexpected Storm: The Gulf War Legacy and Jacob Evans, as well as several books under the pseudonym, Steven Herberts. His work has appeared on NBC’s Today Show, CBS’s The Early Show, CNN’s American Morning and BET’s Nightly News. Recently, three of his short stories were selected “101 Best” for Chicken Soup for the Soul series.
Visit the author’s website.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
Fate was working against little Brian Mauretti. The food that was meant to nourish him was poisoning him instead, and the doctors said the damage was devastating and absolute. Fate had written off Brian. But fate didn’t count on a woman as determined as Brian’s grandmother, Angela DiMartino – who everyone knew as Mama. Loving her grandson with everything she had, Mama endeavored to battle fate. Fate had no idea what it was in for.



An emotional tale about the strength of family bonds, unconditional love, and the perseverance to do our best with the challenging gifts we receive, Goodnight, Brian is an uplifting tribute to what happens when giving up is not an option.

Product Details:

List Price: $15.95

Paperback: 308 pages

Publisher: Story Plant, The; Reprint edition (January 8, 2013)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 1611880610

ISBN-13: 978-1611880618

ISLAND BREEZES

The DiMartino and Mauretti families are special in many ways. Brian triggered some of them. A heartbreaking disease process was begun in infant Brian secondary to the ingestion of the formula that was prescribed for him.

It was a struggle just living with Brian and trying to find out what was wrong with him. After he was diagnosed, other struggles began.

Mama Angela believes in miracles and she isn’t going to rest until Brian’s doctor has a reason to eat his words. Mama became the captain in her family of crusaders working on Brian’s behalf.

You will come to love Brian and Mama as you cheer them on towards their miracles. I wish I knew them in real life.

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Winter 1976

Two streets from a choppy Narragansett Bay, Frank pulled the station wagon in front of his mother-in-law’s cottage and shut off the engine. Joan grabbed her swollen belly and turned to face the backseat. Ross wore a bulky snowsuit and was strapped in to an even bulkier car seat. “We’re at Mama’s house,” she announced to the small boy. From beneath a wool hat, he stared at her but never uttered a sound. Then—jumping into some choreographed fire drill—Frank grabbed the boy, Joan grabbed her worn purse and, braving the angry biting winds, they hurried for the front door.
Mama lived on the low end of a very affluent community; a row of summer cottages that had been winterized and converted into year-round dwellings. Her place started out as a tiny summer cottage, but had evolved into something much greater over the years. To combat the lack of space, there were three additions made to the house. Each one was smaller than the one before it, creating a telescopic effect. Long and narrow, the exterior was stained a weather-beaten white with teal blue shutters. It looked odd, but it was heaven—containing so much more than the massive houses that sat down near the shore.
The name HORIZON was carved into a wooden board and nailed to the front of the house. A brick pathway, now covered in salt and patches of black ice, led past a statue of St. Jude that welcomed all guests. As the front door flew open and a blast of heat spilled from the house, the distinct smells of sweet Italian sausages and fresh baked bread hit the young family.
Angela DiMartino—all 4’10” of her—stood in the doorway, waiting. She had a crop of curly gray hair that added at least two inches to her stature. With pencil-thin lips, her subtle smirk revealed her mischievous sense of humor. She was heavyset and well endowed, and wore her usual flowered smock. She smelled like a mix of garlic and dryer sheets. Her dark brown eyes, illuminated by a strong inner light, shined when she saw her grandson. After pinching Ross’ cheek, she turned her own cheek to the little boy and asked, “You gotta big smack for Mama?”
“Okay, but just a kiss,” he said, “No biting this time!” Tentatively, he kissed her cheek.
“I don’t bite,” she whispered in his ear, “I only nibble.” As she helped him off with his jacket, she gave his neck a loving chomp.
Tickled to laughter, he fled toward the living room.
Chuckling, she turned her attention to her daughter. “So when am I gonna be able to nibble on my new grandbaby?” she asked, rubbing Joan’s massive mid-section without permission. “You look like you’re ready to pop.”
“Soon…I hope,” Joan said, still trying to catch her breath from the short jaunt to the cottage.
After running her blotchy, gnarled hands over Joan’s belly one last time, Mama leaned into it—until she was an inch from it—and whispered, “Enough stalling already. It’s time to come home, little one.”
Joan exhaled deeply. “You’ve got that right,” she said.
In Mama’s cucina—the family hub—the obnoxious red wallpaper offset the worn linoleum. The kitchen table had a yellow Formica top, surrounded by five faux leather-bound chairs. While Joan contemplated sliding into one of them, Mama gestured that she take a seat. “Get off your feet, while I finish the gravy,” she said—above Dean Martin crooning in the background.
As Mama headed for the large pot of red sauce, Frank playfully teased her. “And that’s gonna be son number two, Ma,” he boasted, pointing toward Joan’s large belly.
“Well, isn’t that something, Frank,” the old lady teased, “already calling your unborn child a boy.”
“These genes are too strong to produce a girl,” he said.
“You may be right, Frank,” she said with a shrug. “The good Lord knows what He’s doing, and I suppose He’d never let you ruin a little girl.”
Joan laughed aloud. Frank shot her a look, but didn’t dare consider a comeback in front of her sharp-tongued mother. Instead, he stepped into his mother-in-law’s bedroom and dumped their coats onto her bed, careful not to disturb the trays of spinach pies that were covered with dish towels and cooling on top of a plastic tablecloth. As he turned to leave, he noticed a silver tray filled with pill bottles that sat on the nightstand. “So that’s what’s keeping her alive,” he snickered, and headed for the living room to be alone with the T.V.
While Mama worked away at the stove, Joan pointed at the hideous porcelain rooster—with wooden spoons sticking out of its head—sitting among the many bottles of olive oil and spices on the counter. “You need to throw that ugly thing out, Ma,” Joan said, “or donate it to the Salvation Army.”
Mama shook her head. “Can’t do it,” she said, with her back to her daughter. “He wakes me up every morning.”
“Yeah, right. You’ve gotten up every morning at five o’clock for as long as I can remember.”
“And you’ve never gotten up earlier than 6:00, so how could you have ever heard my rooster crow?”
They both laughed.
Mama turned from the stove to face her daughter. “So you think Ross is ready for a new brother or sister?” she asked, beginning their weekly tradition of getting caught up on every detail of each other’s lives.
“Well, we’ve definitely talked a lot about it.” Joan shrugged. “He’s become very clingy, but I have this sense…” She paused.
“Go on,” Mama said.
“It’s gonna sound strange, Ma, but it’s like he’s more protective of the baby than jealous.”
Mama smiled. “Now that doesn’t sound strange at all.” She nodded. “That just sounds like the love of a big brother to me.”
As if on cue, Ross walked into the kitchen and approached his mother. After giving her belly one quick rub, he headed back to the T.V.
“Well, isn’t that something,” Mama said.
Joan smiled proudly. “He watches over me like a hawk,” she whispered. “He’s always by my side, trying to pat my stomach or talk to the baby.”
Mama nodded again. “He’s going to be a good brother. The baby’s very lucky.”
There was a loud knock at the door. Mama wiped her hands on her apron and answered it. It was her son, Bob, and his wife Bev, along with their two daughters, Steph and Heidi. No sooner had the door opened when the girls shot through, excited to visit with their Aunt Joan’s big belly.
Steph had the dark eyes of a gypsy—Mama’s eyes—which lit up like Christmas when she smiled. With olive skin and full lips, she was beautiful. Her raven-black hair was curly and pulled back in a pony tail. Though her mom dressed her in frilly dresses, she hated it and everyone knew it.
At seven years old, Heidi was one year younger than Steph—almost to the day—but they could have easily passed for twins with their matching hair and eyes. Heidi was a bit heavier, with the olive skinned face of a Mediterranean angel. Unlike her big sister, she was a girlie-girl who loved to wear nice things—lacey dresses and ribbons in her hair.
Wrestling off their coats and hats, the girls paid their grandmother a respectful kiss before speaking gibberish to their unborn cousin. Bob waited in line to greet his mother with a peck on the cheek. Bev followed suit.
Once the usual greetings were exchanged, Mama headed to the living room to change albums. Within seconds, Frank Sinatra was singing Summer Wind and Mama was swinging Ross around in his first dance lesson. The living room walls were covered in dark wood paneling, but it was tough to tell. There were framed photos of family and friends covering every inch of the place. While their dead ancestors watched on, Ross squirmed and fidgeted, trying desperately to escape his grandmother’s arthritic grip. “Please, Mama,” he pleaded. “I’m too tired to dance.”
Without missing a step, she laughed so hard she nearly launched Frank from the worn gray armchair. She had a distinct laugh that started from her diaphragm and worked its way up until it escaped in a roar. It was larger than life and startled those who weren’t used to it. Frank looked up at her and shook his head. It was shocking to hear something so loud coming out of someone so tiny—not to mention, she was blocking the T.V.
The girls watched Ross and Mama’s dance and considered joining the pair. They decided against it when Heidi spotted two stained cardboard boxes—marked CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS—sitting off in the corner. She elbowed her sister and pointed toward the great find.
“Mama!” Steph gasped. “Christmas stuff?”
The old matriarch paused for a moment and smiled. “Mama starts decorating for Santa Claus next week,” she confirmed with a nod.
Ross took the opportunity to break free and hurry off to his mother to make sure she was okay. The girls quickly followed their young cousin.
While the women talked over each other at the kitchen table, Steph took a sip of Kool-Aid and spilled the red drink all over the front of her yellow dress. Bev rushed toward her. “I saw that, Steph! You did it on purpose,” she said through clenched teeth.
“No I didn’t, Ma,” Steph swore.
Concealing her smile, Mama hurried to the rescue. “It was an accident, Bev,” she testified and shot Steph a secret wink. “I’ll get some dry play clothes for her.”
In the safety of her grandmother’s bedroom, Steph threw on the faded pair of dungarees and long-sleeved shirt, while Mama handed her a warm spinach pie. “Mama, I didn’t…” Steph began.
The old woman placed a finger to her lips. “Shhhh… it’s fine. Just eat your pie before it gets cold.”
Finally comfortable, Steph smiled—and meant it.
Upon returning to the kitchen, Bev gawked at her clumsy daughter with a suspicious eye until Mama slapped her on the backside. “Let it go,” the old woman whispered. “There are greater tragedies—trust me.”
Halfway through a feast of cheese raviolis, sweet Italian sausages, meatballs and Mama’s famous spinach pies, Joan excused herself to go to the bathroom. Ross started to get up to join her. “Finish eating, honey,” Joan told him. “Mommy doesn’t need her helper right now, okay?”
He nodded and stuffed another bite of ravioli into his mouth.
Mama entertained the children by daydreaming aloud. “When you kids get a little bigger, you know that Mama’s going to take you to Italy, right?”
The adults exchanged skeptical grins. The kids, however, were hypnotized by her descriptive tales.
“Fall is the season of sagre, with food festivals throughout the province. During mid-September, they have a giant wine festival in the town square of Greve in Chianti. And in October, they gather all the grapes for winemaking. This is known as the vendemmia.”
“You like wine?” Steph asked between chews of bread.
“I sure do and Tuscany is world famous for its wines. Chianti is probably the best known, but they make every kind.”
“What kinds of food will we eat when we’re there?” Heidi chimed in, speaking just as fluently with her hands.
Mama clasped her hands together and took a deep breath. “Oh, just imagine tomatoes ripened under the Mediterranean sun, freshly picked basil, cold pressed extra virgin olive oil, black truffles and pecorino cheese…”
“Huh?” the girls wondered.
Mama smiled. “They have the most delicious ice cream in the world. It’s called gelato.”
“Gelato,” Ross repeated. “Gelato. Gelato. Gel…”
“That’s enough,” his dad warned. “Just finish your dinner.”
As Joan returned to the table and reclaimed her seat, Mama stood and announced, “I just finished two more photo albums that I want to show you guys.” She wasn’t two steps from the table when she turned back to the kids. “And we also need to plan our Christmas visit to Boston,” she added, and hurried off to retrieve her picture books.
For Frank, this was the perfect cue to excuse himself. Throwing his napkin into his empty plate, he looked at his brother-in-law, Bob. “Join me on the porch for a cigar and a game of pitch?”
Grinning, Bob stood and started for the porch.
Frank looked at Ross. “Want to join the men?”
Ross shook his head, and slid his chair a few inches closer to his mother.
“Suit yourself,” Frank muttered, and left the room.
Mama returned to the table and wasn’t even seated when Heidi and Steph dove right into the new photo albums, excited to hear whatever vivid stories their grandmother cared to share.
The afternoon whipped by and, after devouring a warm batch of Cornflake cookies and some cappuccinos, Mama interrupted the card game on the porch. With Joan and Bev in tow, she pointed to a spot out in the front yard. “That’s where the new baby’s tree will be planted in the spring…right between the girls’ trees and Ross’. This way, I can see all four of them when I’m sitting in Papa’s glider.”
~~~
Nausea and cold air that caused goose bumps on her arms yanked Joan from her sleep. She opened her eyes to obnoxious fluorescent lighting. Where am I? she wondered. It took a few moments. She could tell by the occasional moan that other women shared the maternity ward room, separated by white curtains that ran from the ceiling to the shiny linoleum floor. She coughed once and winced from the sharp pain in her abdomen and crotch. Her entire face felt dried out; her mouth, nose and throat were caked in dried mucous. She gagged again and looked up to find the young candy striper shoving a straw into her mouth. She sucked once and gagged some more. Her tongue was heavy with a metallic aftertaste and the nausea became worse. She tried to sit up, but it felt like a razor blade shot across her lower torso. She collapsed back into the pillows. “Where’s my…”
An older nurse approached and took the cup of water from the candy striper. She pointed the straw toward Joan’s lips. “Here, just take a small sip.”
Joan tried to sit again, this time ignoring the pain in trade for some relief from her desert-chapped throat.
“How do you feel?” the smiling nurse asked.
“Huh?”
“How are you feeling, Mrs. Mauretti?”
“My baby?” Both words came out in a rasp between sips.
“He’s fine, Mrs. Mauretti. You have a healthy baby boy.”
Joan smiled. “My husband? Has anyone..?”
“Yes. I believe he’s in the waiting room handing out cigars to anyone who will take one. I’ll send him in.”
“And my baby?”
“He’s with the pediatrician now. I’ll bring him in just as soon as they’re done.”
“Thank you.” She took another sip and gagged.
At two hours old, Brian Francis Mauretti was wheeled into Joan’s room. He wore a light blue knit cap and was wrapped tightly in a white receiving blanket with alternating pink and blue stripes. The nun lifted him out of the glass bassinette and gently placed him into his mother’s arms. Joan felt overwhelmed with joy. “Good morning, Brian,” she whispered and removed his soft cap. He had his dad’s black hair and plenty of it, but his head was cone-shaped. Before the nun left the two alone to bond, Joan looked up for an explanation.
“Oh, he’s fine…stubborn, but fine,” the nun teased. “Your son liked it so much in the birth canal that he stayed there for as long as he could. The doctor had to use forceps. His head will return to a normal shape within a day or two. No need to worry.”
“Thank you,” Joan said and kissed Brian on the point of his head.
As the kind woman departed, Joan unwrapped the tight swaddling and counted ten fingers and ten toes. She kissed each one. “Mommy’s been waiting a long time to meet you, Brian,” she whispered. The baby squinted to look at his mom. “And you have your brother’s chocolate brown eyes,” she said, excited over the new discovery.
The white curtain parted and her husband walked in, wearing a giant smile. “How’s my new boy?” Frank asked, swollen with pride.
“Perfect, Daddy.” She kissed Brian’s tiny face again. “Just perfect.” She patted the bed for Frank to sit. “Come meet your son.” Together, they smothered the newborn in hugs and sobs of joy.
Allowing his wife to rest, Frank cradled the boy in his arms and took a seat in the chair beside Joan’s bed. Searching his new son’s eyes, he told him, “Just wait ‘til your brother gets a look at you. We’re gonna go fishing together and play baseball and…”
It felt like seconds had passed when one of the meaner looking nuns entered the room to escort Frank out. “It’s time for you to go, Dad,” she announced. “Mom needs to feed your son and they need time to get to know each other.”
Frank’s puppy dog eyes pled for more time, but he had no shot. He was dealing with the maternity warden. Shrugging, he turned to Joan. “I’ll be back this afternoon,” he promised, and smiled. “Great job today, Mommy. I love you.”
Joan kissed him. “I love you, too. Can you please call my mom and let her know that she’s going to have to wait a little while longer for another little girl?”
He laughed. “Oh, don’t you worry about that. I plan to go by the cottage just as soon as I leave here and let her know in person,” he said with a grin, and headed for the door. As he reached it, he turned and smiled at the nun. She never smiled back.
Under the warden’s eye, Joan tried several times to get the baby to latch onto her nipple. He had difficulty, losing his grip each time. She shifted to get comfortable. It was no use. Her body throbbed in pain. Finally, the little one got the nipple positioned to where he wanted it and began to suckle. While he fed, Joan sighed in relief and rocked him back and forth. The nun continued her watch. Brian fed for three full minutes, but Joan was unsure whether he’d gotten enough. She questioned the old nun.
“Trust me, he’ll let you know if he’s still hungry. Is he your first?” the woman asked.
“No. We have another boy at home.”
“You didn’t nurse your first?”
“I did, but it’s been a while. I just want to make sure that I’m doing it right.”
“Give it a few feedings. It’ll come back to you. It’s been shown by many studies that breastfed infants are healthier. They can get the occasional cold, but they generally stay healthier.” For the first time, the woman smiled. And with an approving nod, she left Joan and Brian to figure out the rest together.
When Brian finished suckling, Joan placed him in her lap, unwrapped the receiving blanket again and took another inventory. Thrilled with the results, she quickly wrapped him back up and lifted him up until they were face-to-face. “I can’t wait to show you everything, Brian,” she whispered into the newborn’s ear. “You’re going to love it.” She kissed his plump, rosy cheek and then placed him on her chest to sing him his first lullaby.

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Mountain Homecoming

April 7th, 2013
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old…or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today’s Wild Card author is:
Sandra Robbins
and the book:
Mountain Homecoming
Harvest House Publishers (March 1, 2013)
***Special thanks to Ginger Chen for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Sandra Robbins and her husband live in the small college town in Tennessee where she grew up. They count their four children and five grandchildren as the greatest blessings in their lives. Her published books include stories in historical romance and romantic suspense. When not writing or spending time with her family, Sandra enjoys reading, collecting flow blue china, and playing the piano.
Visit the author’s website.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
In the second book in the Smoky Mountain Dreams series, acclaimed author Sandra Robbins spins a tender tale of God’s faithfulness throughout the generations.
Rani Martin, Simon and Anna’s only daughter, is a beautiful and spirited young woman living deep in the heart of the Smoky Mountains. She has plenty of ideas about the man she’ll marry someday, but none of them could have prepared her for the return of Matthew Jackson.
Matthew left Cades Cove as a child after his father’s death. Now he’s come back to build a new life for himself, and it’s his dearest wish that Rani be a part of that life. But the people of the Cove won’t let him forget the sins of his father, and Matthew can’t forget the darkness of his own past.
Is there a place for Matthew in the Cove? And can the light of Rani’s love overcome his pain?

Product Details:

List Price: $13.99

Paperback: 304 pages

Publisher: Harvest House Publishers (March 1, 2013)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 0736948864

ISBN-13: 978-0736948869

ISLAND BREEZES

It’s good to be back in Cades Cove. We get to catch up with Anna, Simon and Granny, but this story is about the next generation.

Rani is fiercely protective of their mountain and it’s trees. Any one who works for or is associated with the Little River logging company is suspect.

Matthew is deemed part of the enemy camp when as an adult he returns to his old home place. So why does Rani feel attracted to him?

She finds she can run, but she can’t hide. Will she finally give up and give in?

Cades Cove sounds like a place where I could lose my heart to the community and the mountains. Since I can’t physically go to the Cove, I hope Ms Robbins continues to bring the Cove to us.

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Cades Cove, Tennessee

June, 1914

Rani Martin stared through the cabin window at the Smoky

Mountains rising above the valley she loved. Usually the sight of the foggy mists curling around the hills made her happy. But try as she might, she couldn’t find anything to cheer her up today.

There had to be something that would take away the misery gnawing in the pit of her stomach. Poppa always told her she could do anything she set her mind to, but she didn’t know how she could be happy about losing the best friend any girl could ever have.
After today, there would be no reason for her to visit this cabin. Tomorrow Josie Ferguson and her husband, Ted, would load their belongings in their wagon, take their baby, and do what many of their friends and neighbors had already done—move out of Cades Cove. Josie, the one she’d shared secrets with all her life, would be gone, and Rani would be left behind with only memories of her best friend since childhood.
She didn’t understand what any of the folks who’d left the Cove were thinking. How could they leave the most beautiful place on God’s good earth?
It was springtime, the best time of year in the Cove. The winter snow had melted and the mountain laurel was in bloom. It wouldn’t be long before rhododendrons dotted the mountainsides and azaleas reappeared on Gregory’s Bald. This year, however, Josie wouldn’t be with her to share the wonder of the Cove coming back to life after a hard winter.
To Rani the prospect of living anywhere except the mountain valley where she’d been born scared her. She’d had an opportunity to see what existed in the outside world when she spent a year attending school while living with Uncle Charles in Maryville. It had been enough to convince her that life wasn’t nearly as good anywhere else as it was in the Cove. But others didn’t share her thoughts, and they’d left. And now Josie was going too.
With a sigh she turned back to the task she’d abandoned moments ago, helping pack up the kitchen utensils. Her throat constricted as she pulled the cake plate she and her mother had given Josie from the kitchen cupboard. She wrapped her fingers around the pierced handles and stared down at the hand-painted red and yellow roses on the delicate china dish. She’d thought it the most beautiful plate she’d ever seen when she first spied it at the store in Pigeon Forge.
Tears filled her eyes, and she loosened her grip with one hand so she could trace the gold band on the fluted rim. “I can’t believe it’s been three years since your wedding.”
Josie Ferguson bit down on her lip and nodded. “Ted’s always said this was his favorite of all our wedding gifts. It reminds him of the molasses cake your mother let him and his sister help make the day George was born.”
“I’ve heard Mama tell that story so many times. But she has one about every baby she’s helped deliver.”
“She’s been a blessing to the women she’s helped birth their babies. Everybody loves Anna Martin.” Josie’s eyes grew wide. “And of course your father too. I don’t think I can ever love another pastor like I do your pa. I’ve listened to him on Sundays ever since I can remember.”
“But you won’t be there anymore.” Rani set the plate down on the table and glanced at the baskets and tubs scattered across the kitchen floor. Pots, pans, and cooking utensils protruded above their sides. The tears she’d been holding back poured down her face, and she covered her eyes with her fingers. “First my brother decides to spend the summer at Uncle Robert’s farm in Strawberry Plains instead of coming home from school, then my cousin Annie gets married and moves to Townsend. Now you’re going too. What will I do with all of you gone? I’m going to feel so alone.”
“No, you won’t.”
Rani dug her fists into her eyes to stop the tears and gritted her teeth. “Why couldn’t Stephen have come home when school was out at Milligan College instead of spending the summer on Uncle Robert’s farm?”
Josie propped her hands on her hips and tilted her head to one side. “You know why.”
“Yeah,” Rani sighed. “He didn’t want to hear Poppa talk to him all summer about following in his footsteps. I don’t know why Poppa can’t see that Stephen doesn’t feel led to preach even though he agreed to that year at Milligan College. He wants to go to medical school. Of course that’s what Mama wants too. I’m glad they don’t have that problem with me. I don’t want to live anywhere but right here in Cades Cove…even if I am going to be alone.”
Josie rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Like I said, you won’t be alone. You’ll have your ma and pa, and Stephen will be here for a visit in July.” Josie wrapped her arms around Rani’s shoulders and hugged her close. “I’m the one who’s going to be alone. I won’t know anybody over at Townsend. You know Ted never has taken to farming, and there’s nothing else for him in the Cove. His new job pays real good. They’re going to furnish us a house too.”
Rani drew back in shock and gaped at Josie. “House? Have you seen what that high and mighty Little River Logging Company calls houses? I went with Poppa to Townsend last month, and I couldn’t believe what the workers were living in. They call them setoff houses because they bring them in on railroad cars and set them off on the hillsides or even right next to the railroad. They’re nothing more than one-room shacks with tar paper roofs. When the lumber company gets through cutting all the trees in one place, they load the houses onto a train and ship them to the next spot for their workers.”
Josie’s lip trembled, and her forehead wrinkled. “I know.” Her voice was almost a whisper. “But what can I do, Rani? Ted is my husband. We have to go where he can find work.”
Rani gazed past Josie to the cradle in the next room. “I can’t stand to think about you living in one of those things, especially now since you have a baby. Can’t you convince Ted to stay in Cades Cove? This is the only life you know.”
Josie pulled the corner of her apron up and wiped her eyes. She took a deep breath. “We’ll be fine. I’ll come back to visit, and you can come to Townsend to see me.”
Rani snorted and shook her head. “No thanks. I have no desire to share a one-room setoff house with you and your husband, not to mention your baby. I can’t believe Ted would be so disloyal to the Cove to go work for a company that’s trying to destroy our mountains.”
“Are you accusing my husband of turning his back on his friends?” Josie’s eyes flared and grew dark with anger.
Rani had seen that look before and realized she’d gone too far. She really needed to follow her mother’s advice and not be so outspoken about the company she thought was using the Smokies as a quick way to make money. Her opinion of Little River Lumber differed from that of many who’d left to work for the logging company. Now she had sounded like she believed Ted to be a traitor to his friends.
She reached out and grasped Josie’s arm. “I’m sorry, Josie. I didn’t mean to criticize Ted. It’s just that I’ve been so upset over what Little River’s doing to our mountains. Colonel Townsend has bought 86,000 acres of forest land all the way from Tuckaleechee to Clingman’s Dome. I don’t care if he does own the company, he’s a foolish man. They’re cutting every tree in their path. If somebody doesn’t stop them, the Smokies will end up as barren hillsides.”
Josie waved her hand in dismissal. “As usual, you’re being overly dramatic. That’s not going to happen. Like I said before, they pay well, and we need the money. End of discussion.”
Rani opened her mouth to respond, but the set of Josie’s jaw told her it would be useless. With a sigh, she picked up the cake plate from the table and handed it to Josie. “I hope you’ll think of me every time you use this.”
Josie took the plate and clasped it in her hands like she held a priceless treasure. For the first time Rani caught a glimpse of fear in Josie’s eyes, and the truth struck her. Josie didn’t want to leave Cades Cove, but she had no choice.
“I will,” Josie whispered. “I wanted this to be the last thing I packed. After all, you’re my best friend.”
Rani burst into tears and threw her arms around Josie. “We’re more than best friends. I think of you as the sister I never had. ”
“Me too.” Josie pulled back and wiped at the corner of her eyes. “But you know we could really be sisters.”
Josie’s words shattered the mood of moments ago and swept all the sadness from Rani’s mind. She took a step backward and wagged her finger in Josie’s direction. “Oh no. Don’t start that again.”
“Why not? George is crazy about you. All he talks about is how he wants to marry you, and you won’t give him any encouragement. If you married him, we’d be family. Sisters-in-law.”
Rani couldn’t believe they were having this conversation again. “I’ve told you at least a hundred times that George is a good friend, but I don’t love him. Even if I did, I don’t think I’d marry him.”
A skeptical expression crossed Josie’s face. “What’s the matter? Isn’t he good looking enough for you?”
Rani’s mouth gaped open at the ridiculous suggestion. “Oh, Josie, you know I would never think that. The truth is George is the youngest child in his family, and he’s spoiled rotten. If he doesn’t get his way, he sulks for days. I wouldn’t want a husband that I have to coddle and give in to all the time.”
Josie dropped her gaze to the cake plate she held and wrapped a burlap sack around it before she tucked it in the side of one of the baskets. “I have to admit you’re right. As a matter of fact, Ted told me George had an awful argument with his pa the other night. It seems he’s upset because he’s going to be left behind in the Cove after we leave.”
Rani held up her hands in exasperation. “You see what I mean. George can only see what he wants. He doesn’t realize what a great opportunity he has to work with his father on one of the best farms in the Cove.”
“But, Rani, you know he’s in love with you. That ought to be enough to make him a good husband.”
“Maybe it would be for somebody else, but not for me. I’m just eighteen years old. I have plenty of time to think about getting married. When I do, it’s going to be because I love a man so much my heart aches when I’m away from him.”
Josie turned to Rani and propped her hands on her hips. “Yeah, you’ve always had those romantic ideas. I think it must come from all those stories about how hard it was for your pa to get your mother to marry him.” She leaned closer to Rani. “Well, for those of us who don’t have a great love like that happen in our lives, we have to settle for the next best thing. It’s not like there’s a lot of men to choose from in the Cove. Being married to George is better than ending up an old maid.”
Rani flinched at Josie’s words. She remembered how Josie had cried four years ago when Charlie Simmons left the Cove, bound for California. At the time she’d thought it was because he was Ted’s friend. Now she wasn’t so sure. “Is that what you did, Josie? You settled for the next best thing?”
Josie’s face drained of color, and she put her hand to her throat. “Rani, I didn’t mean…”
“What’s goin’ on in here?”
At the sound of her husband’s voice at the back door Josie’s body stiffened, and she glanced over her shoulder. Rani’s heart lurched at the lack of expression on Josie’s face. She might very well have been looking at a stranger who’d come to her door instead of her husband. “I need to check on the baby,” she said, and hurried from the kitchen.
Ted Ferguson frowned and gazed after his wife as she hurried into the next room. His eyes darkened, and the look in his eyes told Rani he longed for something he would never have from Josie. After a moment he took a deep breath and smiled at her. “You two havin’ another one of your friendly arguments?”
Rani forced a laugh from her throat and wiped her eyes. “No argument. We’re just a little emotional over the two of you leaving the Cove. It seems all my friends are taking off for different places. My family may be the only one left before long.”
Ted shook his head. “Naw, you won’t be. They’ll have to drag my pa out of the Cove to get him to leave. He says he intends to be buried at the church he’s gone to all his life.”
“That’s what my pa says too.” Rani picked up the empty basket sitting on the table. “I left you some fried chicken and a fresh loaf of bread that Mama sent. She thought you might get hungry on your way to Townsend tomorrow.”
“She always thinks about other folks. Tell her I’m mighty obliged, and I hope I see her soon.”
“I will.”
Ted followed Rani into the next room where Josie was holding her son. No one spoke for a moment, then Josie swallowed and handed the baby to Ted. “Take care of Jimmy a minute while I walk Rani out.”
As Rani stepped onto the front porch, she glanced down at her dog lying next to the door. She snapped her fingers, and he jumped to his feet. He shook his shaggy body, wagged his tail, and awaited her command. It was so easy to communicate with animals. Give them love, feed them well, and reward them for good behavior, and they’d do anything you asked. Too bad people weren’t like that.
Josie had a husband who did all that for her, but today Rani had discovered the secret Josie had kept so well hidden—she would never be able to return Ted’s love. Rani didn’t want to end up like that.
With a sigh, she reached down and stroked her dog’s head. “Good boy, Scout. You did what I said. Now let’s go home.”
With Scout at her heels, she and Josie walked to the road that ran in front of the cabin. As they neared the edge of the yard, Rani turned to Josie. “I’m going to miss you.”
“I’m going to miss you too. We’re leaving early in the morning. So I guess I won’t see you again. I hope you will come visit me in Townsend. We’ll make room.”
Rani nodded. “We’ll see. You take care of yourself. And Ted and little Jimmy too.”
Josie smiled, but Rani could see the tears she was fighting to control. “Goodbye, Rani.”
Rani started to speak, but the words froze in her throat. She pressed her lips together and hugged her friend before she turned and started the long walk home. Scout trotted along beside her, and she didn’t look back. She wanted to, but she didn’t think she could stand the sight of Josie watching her walk away.
She glanced down at the dog and smiled. “Well, Scout, it’s a two-mile walk home. Do you think you can make it?”
The dog stared up at her and yelped a reply without breaking his stride.
“I think I can too.”
She didn’t mind walking. It had always been her way of getting around the Cove, and it gave her time to think. Today she had a lot to mull over. Her discovery about Josie’s feelings that she had settled for the next best thing still bothered her. She’d never imagined that Josie might have been in love with someone else.
Now that she thought back to four years ago, she remembered Josie seeming happy all summer. At the time, all she would say was that she’d had her first kiss and was in love. Rani thought it had to be Ted because he had been in love with Josie for years. But it must have been Charlie Simmons, and things hadn’t worked out. And soon after Charlie’s departure from the Cove, Josie had agreed to marry Ted after putting him off for so long.
Today she had learned the truth. Josie had settled for something—someone—she didn’t want. How could she have done that? She must have thought she was doing the right thing, but she’d been wrong. And she was wrong about something else. Being an old maid wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to a woman. To Rani’s way of thinking, being married to someone you didn’t love was far worse.
She squared her shoulders, clenched her fists at her side, and looked down at Scout. “I promise you, Scout, I will never settle for second best, even if it means I never get married.”
From the moment he rode into Cades Cove a peace like he hadn’t experienced in years came over Matthew Jackson. He pulled his horse to a stop and breathed in the sweet scent of mountain laurel drifting on the air. It smelled like home. He was back where his heart had remained.
Had it really been twenty years since he left the Cove? He closed his eyes and tried to recall every memory of the days following the death of his drunkard father. Even now the thought of the life he, his mother, and his little brother had endured made the old anger he’d tried to bury resurface. With his father drunk most of the time, survival had been hard. But his mother had seen to it that there was always food on the table. Then their lives had taken a turn for the worse when a tavern brawl had ended with his father lying dead of a gunshot wound.
Matthew had been almost ten years old at the time, but overnight he became the man of the family. He’d turned to a newcomer in the Cove, Anna Prentiss. Of course she was Anna Martin now. But to him she’d always be the angel who’d found a place for his family to live and had seen they were taken care of.
He even remembered the last words he’d spoken to her the day they left the Cove. She stood beside the wagon loaded with his family’s few belongings, and he’d said, “I’ll be back here someday.” And now, thanks to the money he’d saved working for the Little River Company, he had returned with the deed to his old homestead in his pocket.
But would the people of the Cove welcome the return of Luke Jackson’s son? His father had been a troublemaker and a bully, not to mention an abuser of his wife and children. The sturdy mountain folks didn’t have time for a man who didn’t take care of his family. As his mother used to say, people have long memories, and he was sure they could recall every one of his father’s misdeeds. Now he was about to see if those memories had labeled him a ne’er-do-well like his father.
He could count on one hand the folks who would welcome him back. Simon and Anna Martin. Granny Lawson. They were the ones who made his childhood bearable, and he could hardly wait to see them. But first things first. He had to go to the place where he was born and fulfill a promise he’d made to his dying mother fifteen years ago.
He’d leaned close to her frail, fever-ridden body to catch her last words spoken in that familiar mountain twang: “When you git back to the Cove, see if????’n my mountain laurel bush is still there, the one yore pa planted for me when we was first married.”
After all the heartache his father had put her through, she still held to the memory of the early days of her marriage when she’d been so happy. Even now the thought of how her eyes had sparkled for a moment, reliving a happier time, made him feel as if a hammer had crushed his heart. His mother and little Eli, his brother. Gone too soon.
He cleared his throat and swiped at his eyes. No need to think about those things now. This was homecoming day, but it was different from what he’d dreamed about when he was a boy. He’d come back alone.
Straightening in the saddle, he spurred the horse forward and concentrated on the road twisting through the valley he loved. All around him were the sights and sounds he’d longed for, but he focused on getting home and seeing the place he’d left twenty years ago.
When he pulled the horse to a halt at what had once been the cabin where he’d lived, his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. It was worse than he’d expected. The skeleton of a cabin sat near the tulip poplar tree he’d climbed as a boy—bigger now than he remembered. The house’s roof had long ago succumbed to the forces of nature and had caved in. A few timbers marked the spot where it had once been. Weeds grew across what had once been a yard.
Even in its best days the cabin hadn’t been much, but it could have been if his father had concentrated on making a life for his family instead of spending his time in a drunken stupor. The old hatred welled up in his heart, and he whispered the plea he’d prayed every day since he could remember. “God, don’t let me be like him. Make me a better man.”
The promise he’d made his mother flashed into his mind, and he climbed down from the horse and tied the reins to a sapling. Taking a deep breath to slow his racing heart, he headed around the side of the house. Had the mountain laurel plant survived the years?
His gaze drifted to his feet, and a warning flickered in his head. The weeds along what used to be a path had been trampled. Someone else had passed this way not long ago.
With hesitant steps, he inched forward. The knee-high weeds swished against his legs. He caught sight of his mother’s plant that now towered higher than his head, and he stopped in amazement. It wasn’t the bloom-covered bush that made his breath catch in his throat. It was a young woman who appeared unaware of his presence. With her arms outstretched and her face turned up to the sun, she whirled in circles in front of the mountain laurel bush while saying something in a language he didn’t understand.
Her bare feet hammered the hardened earth around the plant in a pounding rhythm. Pink blooms from the mountain laurel bush ringed the top of her head and several more protruded from the mass of black hair that reached below her shoulders.
She moved with the grace and elegance of a queen, and he thought he had never seen anyone more beautiful. He tried to speak, to alert her she wasn’t alone, but he felt as if he had come under her spell and had been forbidden to move.
Suddenly the air crackled with frantic barking, and a dog emerged from the other side of the bush. His hackles raised, he positioned himself between Matthew and the girl. She jerked to a stop and stared at him, wide-eyed. The dog snarled and inched forward.
Her dark eyes narrowed, and with one snap of her fingers she quieted the dog. She didn’t move, and her arched eyebrow told him his company wasn’t welcomed. “Stay back, mister, or I’ll sic my dog on you.”
He glanced down at the dog, whose body still bristled as if he was ready to attack. “I don’t mean you any harm, miss.”
“Then why did you sneak up on me?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t. I stopped when I heard your voice. What were you saying?”
“Just some words I learned from a Cherokee woman.” She frowned and glanced past him. “Are you alone?”
“I am. I just rode into the Cove from Townsend.”
Her body stiffened, and her lips curled into a sneer. “Townsend? Are you with the Little River Company?”
“I have been.”
“It figures.” She spit the words at him as if they were distasteful. “We get a lot of Little River workers checking out the Cove. You people are always searching for another stand of timber to cut down, aren’t you?” She bent down, grabbed her discarded shoes, and slipped them on her feet. Then with her arms rigid at her sides and her fists clenched, she took a step toward him. “Well, you can go back and tell your bosses we don’t sell our land and our trees to outsiders who want to clear cut their way through the Smokies.”
The defiant look in her eyes shot daggers at him, and they felt as if they poked deep holes in his heart. This girl’s words echoed the fierce pride shared by all the Cove residents for this valley, his valley, the place he called home. He wanted to tell her he agreed with her, that all he wanted was to live again among the people he remembered. Instead, other words emerged from his lips. “I worked for their railroad, not the logging company.”
She shook her head, and one of the blooms tumbled to the ground. Her eyes widened, and she glanced up as if she’d forgotten she wore a crown of flowers. A flush covered her cheeks, and she yanked the blossoms from her thick hair. “They’re the same to me. Maybe you didn’t cut our trees, but you carried them away.”
Matthew swallowed hard. There was something so familiar about this girl. Her brown eyes, dark complexion, and the high cheekbones reminded him of someone. It wasn’t possible he could have met her before. She probably hadn’t even been born when he had left the Cove. But still, there was something. He took a step closer, and the dog growled. With a smile he stopped and held up his hands. “I’m not coming closer.”
“Good.” She sniffed and snapped her fingers again. “Let’s go, Scout. It’s time we got home.”
He didn’t move as she strode past him, her head held high and her dog at her side. He turned and watched her disappear around the side of what had once been his home. Her straight back and determined stride reminded him of the spirited mountain women he’d known. They attacked the harsh life in the Cove and planted the seed of unyielding loyalty to the land in their children. Just like his mother had done with him.
Someone had instilled that same devotion in this girl. He hoped he’d get to meet the person who had done that, for he had just encountered the fierce mountain pride that had ruled his life. And it thrived in the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

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So Shines the Night

April 7th, 2013
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old…or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today’s Wild Card author is:
Tracy L. Higley
and the book:
So Shines the Night
Thomas Nelson (March 12, 2013)
***Special thanks to Tracy L. Higley for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Tracy L. Higley started her first novel at the age of eight and has been hooked on writing ever since. She has authored nine novels, including Garden of Madness and Isle of Shadows. Tracy is currently pursuing a graduate degree in Ancient History and has traveled through Greece, Turkey, Egypt, Israel, Jordan and Italy, researching her novels and falling into adventures. See her travel journals and more at TracyHigley.com
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
On an island teetering at the brink of anarchy, Daria finds hope among people of The Way.
She escaped a past of danger and found respite in beautiful Ephesus, a trading center on the Aegean coast, serving as tutor to Lucas, the wealthy merchant who rescued her.
But the darkness she fled has caught up with her.
The high priests of Artemis once controlled the city, but a group of sorcerers are gaining power. And a strange group who call themselves followers of The Way further threaten the equilibrium. As Daria investigates Lucas’s exploits into the darker side of the city, her life is endangered, and she takes refuge in the strange group of believers. She’s drawn to Paul and his friends, even as she wrestles with their teachings.
When authorities imprison Lucas for a brutal crime, Daria wonders if even Paul’s God can save him. Then she uncovers a shocking secret that could change everything—Lucas’s fate, her position in his household, and the outcome of the tension between pagans and Christians. But only if she survives long enough to divulge what she knows.
“Meticulously-researched, spellbindingly written with luscious prose and compelling and complex characters.” —Tosca Lee, New York Times best-selling author of Havah: The Story of Eve
Product Details:
List Price: $15.99

Paperback: 416 pages

Publisher: Thomas Nelson (March 12, 2013)Language: English

ISBN-10: 1401686826

ISBN-13: 978-1401686826

ISLAND BREEZES

Lucas comes to Daria’s rescue when she literally had no where to turn except to the sea.

He tries to become her protector, but will she listen? No, she wants to be independent – not an easy thing for a woman in AD57.

She puts her life in danger more than a few times, but believers in The Way give her refuge.

Even though Daria resents Lucas and doesn’t really trust him, her heart draws her to him. Eventually his life rests in her hands and the information she finds.

I’m really enjoying Tracy L. Higley’s books. She really brings the Bible to life.

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Prologue

I am an old man, and I have seen too much.
Too much of this world to endure any more. Too much of the next to want to linger.
And though I have nearly drowned in the glorious visions of those last days, yet I know not when it shall come, nor how many years I must tread this barren earth before all is made new.
There is a Story, you see. And we are still in the midst of it, ever striving to play our roles, battling on for the freedom of hearts and souls and minds yet enslaved by darkness.
But I have seen a great light. Oh yes, I have seen it. Even now it is breaking through, as it did on that grassy hillside so many cool spring mornings ago, when Moses and Elijah walked among us and my Brother shone with the glory He had been given from the beginning and will rise up to claim again at the end.
You will wonder, perhaps, at my calling Him brother. And yet that is what He was to me. Brother and friend, before Savior, before Lord. In those days when we wandered the land, going up and down from the Holy City, we shared our hearts, our lives, our laughter. Oh, how we laughed, He and I! He had the irrepressible joy of one who sees beyond the brokenness, to the restoration of all.
I loved him. And He loved me.
But I speak of beginnings and of endings, and these are words that have no meaning, for the day of His birth was both the beginning of the Kingdom and the end of tyranny, and that magnificent Day yet to come—it is the end-which-is-a-beginning, and my eyes have seen such glory in that New Jerusalem, my very heart breaks to tell of it.
And yet they come, young and old, to this tiny home in Ephesus that is to be my last dwelling outside that New City, and they beg me to tell the Story again and again.
And I do.
I tell of seals and scrolls, of a dragon and a beast and a Lamb. Of music that makes you weep to hear it and streets that blind the mortal eye. Of a Rider on a White Horse with eyes of blazing fire, whose name is Faithful and True. It is a great Story, and greater still to hear the final consummation of it, for how often we forget that we are living it still.
But I have another tale to tell. A smaller story within the One True Story that began before the creation of this world and is echoed at its end, as all our stories are. It happens here, in this port city of Ephesus but many years ago, when the darkness lay even heavier than it now does upon the people, and their souls cried out for relief from anyone who could give it.
This smaller story does not begin here in Ephesus, however. It begins a day’s sail away, on the sun-kissed shores of the Isle of Rhodes, where the light first began to break upon one woman and one man, even as they walked in darkness . . .
Chapter 1
Rhodes, AD 57
In the glare of the island morning sun, the sea blazed diamond-bright and hard as crystal, erratic flashes spattering light across Daria’s swift departure from the house of her angry employer.
She carried all she owned in one oversized leather pouch, slung over her shoulder. The pouch was not heavy. A few worn tunics and robes, her precious copy of Thucydides. She clutched it to her side and put her other hand to the gold comb pinning the dark waves of her hair, her one remaining luxury.
The bitter and familiar taste of regret chased her from the whitewashed hillside estate, down into the squalid harbor district. Why had she not kept silent?
Along the docks hungry gulls shrieked over fishy finds and work-worn sailors traded shrill insults. The restless slap of the sea against the hulls of boats kept time with the anxious rhythm of her steps against the cracked gray stones of the quay.
She had run once, haunted and guilty to a fresh start in Rhodes. Could she do it again? Find a way to take care of herself, to survive?
“Mistress Daria!”
The voice at her back was young and demanding, the tenor of a girl accustomed to a world arranged to her liking. And yet still precious, still malleable.
“Mistress! Where are you going?”
Daria slowed, eyes closed against the pain, and inhaled. She turned on the sun-warmed dock with a heaviness that pulled at her limbs like a retreating tide.
Corinna’s breath came quick with exertion and the white linen of her morning robe clung to her body. The sweet girl must have run all the way.
“To the School of Adelphos, Corinna. I will seek a position there.”
Corinna closed the distance between them and caught Daria’s hand in her own. Her wide eyes and full lips bespoke innocence. “But you cannot! Surely, Father did not mean what he said—”
Daria squeezed the girl’s eager fingers. “It is time. Besides”—she tipped Corinna’s chin back—“you have learned your lessons so well, perhaps you no longer need the services of a tutor.”
Corinna pulled away, dark eyes flashing and voice raised. “You do not believe that, mistress. It is you who says there is always more to learn.”
They drew the attention of several young dockworkers hauling cargo from ship to shore. Daria stared them down until they turned away, then circled the girl’s shoulders, pulled her close, and put her lips to Corinna’s ear. “Yes, you must never stop learning, dear girl. But it must be someone else who teaches you—”
“But why? What did you say to anger Father so greatly?”
Only what she thought was right. What must be said. A few strong phrases meant to rescue Corinna from a future under the thumb of a husband who would surely abuse her.
Daria smiled, fighting the sadness welling in her chest, and continued her trudge along the dock toward the school. “I am afraid discretion is one of the things I have not yet learned, Corinna. Your father is a proud man. He will not brook a mere servant giving him direction in the running of his household.”
Corinna stopped abruptly at the water’s edge, her pretty face turned to a scowl. “You are no mere servant! You are the most learned tutor I have ever had!”
Daria laughed and looked over the sea as she walked, at the skiffs and sails tied to iron cleats along the stone, easy transportation to the massive barges that floated in the blue harbor, awaiting trade. Papyrus and wool from Egypt, green jade and aromatic spices from far eastern shores, nuts and fruits and oils from Arabia. Her eyes strayed beyond the ships, followed northward along the rocky Anatolian coast to cities unknown, riddles to be unraveled, secrets and knowledge to be unlocked. More to learn, always. And somewhere perhaps, the key to redeeming the past.
They approached and skirted the strange symbol of the isle of Rhodes, the toppled Helios that once stood so proud and aloof along the harbor and now lay humbled, its bronze shell speckled to an aged green, reflecting the impenetrable turquoise sky. The massive statue had lain at the quay for gulls to peck and children to climb for nearly three hundred years since the quake brought it down. Daria found it disturbing.
“May I still visit you at the school, Mistress Daria?”
She smiled. “One challenge at a time. First I must convince Adelphos that he should hire me.”
Corinna’s tiny sandals scurried to keep pace. “Why would he not?”
“It is not easy to be an educated woman in a man’s world of philosophy and rhetoric. There are few men who appreciate such a woman.”
“How could anyone not appreciate someone as good, as brave, as you?”
The child gave her too much credit. She was neither good, nor brave. She would not be here in Rhodes if she were. Though she was trying. The gods knew, she had been trying.
Corinna lifted her chin with a frown in the direction of the school. “I shall simply explain to Adelphos how very valuable you are.”
And how outspoken? Interfering? But perhaps the girl could help in some way.
“Will you demonstrate some of what I have taught you, Corinna?”
The girl’s eyes lit up. “Just wait, mistress. I shall amaze and delight that crusty old Adelphos.”
Daria studied the impetuous girl and bit her lip. But it was a chance she must take.
The School of Adelphos lay at the end of the docks, its modest door deceptive. Daria paused outside, her hand skimming the rough wood, and inhaled determination in the sharp tang of salt and fish on the breeze. Who would believe that such distinguished men as the poet Apollonius and Attalus the astronomer had studied and written and debated behind this door? Sea trade had kept Rhodes prosperous for centuries, but in the two hundred years under Roman control, the Greek island had grown only more beautiful, a stronghold of learning, of arts and sciences and philosophy.
Inside its most famous school, she blinked twice and waited for her sun-blind eyes to adjust.
“Daria!” Adelphos emerged from the shadows of the antechamber with a cool smile and tilt of his head. Tall and broad-shouldered, he was several years her senior, with the confident ease of an athlete, a man aware of his own attractiveness.
She returned the smile and straightened her back. “Adelphos. Looking well, I am pleased to see.”
He ran a gaze down the length of her, taking in her thin white tunic and the pale blue mantle that was the best of her lot. “As are you.”
“I have come to make you an offer.”
At this, his eyebrows and the corner of his mouth lifted in amusement and he gave a glance to Corinna, still at the door. “Shouldn’t we send your young charge home first?”
She ignored the innuendo. “My employ as Corinna’s tutor will soon come to an end, and I desire to find a place here, in your school. As a teacher.” She swallowed against the nervous clutch of her throat.
Again the lifted eyebrows, but Adelphos said nothing, only strolled into the lofty main hall of the school, a cavernous marble room already scattered with scholars and philosophers, hushed with the echoes of great minds.
She gritted her teeth against the condescension and beckoned Corinna to follow, with a warning glance to keep the girl quiet, but the child’s sudden intake of breath at the fluted columns and curvilinear architraves snapped unwanted attention in their direction, the frowns of men annoyed by disruptive women.
Adelphos disappeared into the alcove that housed the school’s precious stock of scrolls—scrolls Daria had often perused at her leisure and his generosity.
Daria spoke to his back. “Do you doubt my abilities—”
“What I doubt, my lady, is a rich man’s willingness to pay a woman to teach his sons.”
Daria waved a hand. “Bah! What difference does it make? I can do a man’s work just as well. And if they learn, they learn!” But a cold fear knotted in her belly.
Adelphos traced his fingertips over the countless nooks of scrolls, as if he could find the one he sought simply by touching its ragged edge. “And you, Daria? Do you want to live a man’s life as well as do a man’s work? What woman does not long for love and family and hearth?”
Her throat tightened at his words, too close to the secrets of her heart. Yes, she longed for those comforts. For a love that would accept her abilities, complement rather than suppress. But for now, for now she had no one and she must assure her own welfare.
She coughed to clear the dryness of her throat and stepped beside him, examined the great works of philosophy and literature, their tan Egyptian papyri wrapped in brown twine, sealed in waxy red.
Adelphos reached past her to a nook above her head, and his muscled arm brushed her shoulder.
The touch was intentional, clearly. Manipulative. Even so, his nearness left her breathless and her usual sharp-tongued wit failed. When she spoke, it was a harsh whisper, too raw with emotion, though the words emerged falsely casual. “And why should I not have both?”
At this, Adelphos huffed, a derisive little laugh, and turned to lean his back against the shelves and unroll the scroll he had retrieved.
“A woman of ambition. Does such a breed truly exist?” His gaze darted to hers. “But what am I saying? You have already wedded a husband, have you not?”
Daria pulled a scroll from its recess and pretended to study it.
“You are interested in the work of Pythagoras? That one is newly arrived from Samos.”
Daria shrugged. “I find his work repetitive. What new has he added to Euclid’s previous efforts?”
“Indeed.” Adelphos pulled the scroll from her hands and replaced it in its nook. “But you have not answered my question.”
“I am a widow, yes.”
“A widow with no sons. No dowry.” He glanced at Corinna, clutching the doorway. “And no employment. Is there anything more desperate?”
Daria lifted her chin and met his gaze. “It seems you are in an enviable position, then, Adelphos. You have found a skilled teacher, available for a bargain.”
Adelphos circled to Corinna, an appreciative gaze lingering on her youth and beauty. “And this is your prize specimen? The pupil of whom I have heard such wonders?”
The girl straightened and faced Adelphos with a confidence borne of knowledge. “Shall I demonstrate the superior skill Mistress Daria has given me with languages?”
Daria silently cheered and blessed the girl. “Corinna has been working hard to master the tongues of Rome’s far-flung empire.”
Adelphos’s brow creased and he opened his lips as if to speak, then sealed them and nodded once. No doubt he wanted to ask what use there might be for a girl who could speak anything but common Greek. As Daria herself was such a girl, the implicit question struck a nerve. She turned a shoulder to Adelphos and nodded encouragement to Corinna. “Let us hear Herodotus in the Classical first, then.”
The girl grinned, then gushed a passage of Herodotus in the proud language of her Greek forebears, the language of literature and poetry, before Alexander had rampaged the world and equalized them all with his common koine.
“And now in Latin, Corinna.”
The girl repeated the passage, this time in the tongue of the Romans, the new conquerors.
Adelphos tilted his head to study the girl, then spoke to her in Latin. “Anyone can memorize a famous passage in a foreign tongue. Few can converse in it.”
Corinna’s eyelashes fluttered and she glanced at her hands, twisted at her waist. When she answered, it was not in Latin, but in Persian. “Fewer still can converse in multiple languages at once, my lord.”
Adelphos chuckled, then glanced at Daria. “She does you proud, lady.”
A glow of pride, almost motherly, warmed Daria’s chest. “Indeed.”
Corinna reached out and gripped Adelphos’s arm, bare beneath his gleaming white tunic. “Oh, it is all Mistress Daria’s fine teaching, I assure you, my lord. I wish to be an independent woman such as she someday. There is nothing she cannot do.”
“Corinna.” Daria smiled at the girl but gave a tiny shake of her head.
Corinna withdrew her hand and lowered her eyes once more. “I have told my father this, but he does not understand—”
“Her father has been most pleased with her progress.” Daria tried to draw Adelphos’s attention. “He saw a superior mind there from an early age and was eager to see it developed.”
He waved a hand in the air. “I have seen enough. You may go.”

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The Dance

April 3rd, 2013

The Dance

By Dan Walsh & Gary Smalley

The Restoration Series Pairs Bestselling Relationship Expert Gary Smalley with Celebrated Novelist Dan Walsh
Combining the literary talents of bestselling author Dan Walsh and the relationship expertise of bestselling author Gary Smalley, The Dance is the first novel in The Restoration Series. Readers will get caught up in these flawed but sincere members of the Anderson family as they rediscover genuine love and start a transformation that ultimately affects all of them. Based on the principles behind Smalley’s bestselling The DNA of Relationships, Walsh expertly weaves proven relationship advice to restore a marriage into this powerful novel.

In The Dance, readers will meet the Anderson family amidst crisis. Jim Anderson is a successful businessman, and his wife, Marilyn, is the perfect wife. Jim never expected to come home one day and find Marilyn gone. What will it take to restore their marriage before their problems shatter the entire family?

Smalley previously collaborated with New York Times bestselling author Karen Kingsbury on the wildly successful Redemption Series introducing her readers to the beloved Baxter family. After seeing the impact those characters continue to have with readers, Smalley partnered with Walsh to create powerful storylines that transcend words on a page and begin to impact readers’ marriages and relationships.

ISLAND BREEZES

Sometimes a person has to walk away from a marriage before the spouse can look at what was rather than what it was perceived as at the time.

Marilyn allegedly had it all and gave it up to get a job and become a roommate in a tiny apartment. She fad finally reached the “fed up” point.

Jim can’t believe she actually left and wants nothing to do with him (don’t look for me; don’t call). They’ve been married 27 years, have three children and Jim still doesn’t have a clue.

It takes an older widow lady to open his eyes. Jim begins to heal, but wonders if his marriage ever can. After all, marriage is a dance that needs two partners.

***A special thank you to Donna Hausler for providing a review copy.***

Dan Walsh is the award-winning author of several books, including The Discovery and The Reunion. A member of American Christian Fiction Writers, Dan served as a pastor for 25 years. He lives with his wife in the Daytona Beach area, where he’s busy researching and writing his next novel. For more information about Walsh and his books, visit his web site at www.DanWalshBooks.com and follow him on Twitter at @DanWalshAuthor.

Gary Smalley is one of the country’s best known authors and speakers on family relationships. He is the bestselling and award-winning author or coauthor of more than 60 books. He has spent over 40 years learning, teaching and counseling, speaking to over 2 million people in live conferences. Smalley has appeared on national television programs such as Oprah, Larry King Live, Extra and TODAY, as well as numerous national radio programs. Gary and his wife, Norma, have been married for 48 years and live in Branson, Missouri. They have three children, all in full time ministry to families, couples and orphans, and they enjoy their wonderful relationships with their ten grandchildren.

Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group, offers practical books for everyday life.  For more information, visit www.RevellBooks.com.

Available April 2013 at your favorite bookseller from Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group

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Love in the Balance

April 3rd, 2013

Love in the Balance

By Regina Jennings

Handsome Cowboy or Debonair Tycoon.
How’s a Girl to Choose?

Molly Lovelace dreams of a life without cares in Lockhart, Texas. She also dreams of handsome wrangler Bailey Garner, her ardent but inconsistent beau. The problem is, with Bailey’s poor prospects, she just can’t fit the two dreams together.

Then mysterious stranger Edward Pierrepont sweeps into town-and her life-and for the first time Molly wonders if she’s met the man who can give her everything. But he won’t be in Lockhart long and while it certainly seems like he talks about their glorious future together, she can’t quite get Bailey out of her mind.

ISLAND BREEZES

It’s amazing just how messed up Molly’s life can get. Her romance with Bailey stalled after a shout down in church. Love and hurt feelings seem to be going hand in hand with these two.

Then the suave and debonair Mr. Pierrepont comes to town and life begins to get really interesting and much more confusing.

Molly’s choices aren’t always the best and at times you’ll find yourself just wanting to grab her and give her a good shake.

This may have been the first book I’ve read by Ms Jennings, but it won’t be the last. I’m definitely looking forward to the next one.

***A special thank you to litfuse for providing a review copy.***

Regina Jennings is a graduate of Oklahoma Baptist University with a degree in English and a history minor. She has worked at The Mustang News and First Baptist Church of Mustang, along with time at the Oklahoma National Stockyards and various livestock shows. She now lives outside Oklahoma City with her husband and four children.

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Scent of Lilacs

March 24th, 2013
Scent of Lilacs

scent-of-lilacs
By Ann H. Gabhart
After the summer of 1964, life for Jocie Brooke will never be the same.Life-changing events rarely happen in quiet Hollyhill, Kentucky, and when they do, they are few and far between. But for young Jocie Brooke and her family, they happen all at once during the humid summer of 1964. Though on the surface things are just fine, it seems like everyone in Jocie’s life has something they’re not saying, something they’re hiding from her-and from themselves. As Jocie digs into her family’s past, she stirs up a whirlwind of discoveries. Will she find the answers everyone so desperately needs? Or will her questions lead to truths better left hidden?

Combining unforgettable characters, true-to-life struggles, and the perfect dose of humor and nostalgia, this riveting story from bestselling author Ann Gabhart explores the very essence of new life and love.

ISLAND BREEZES

The summer of ‘64 was a good time to be a thirteen year old girl. The late fifties and early sixties were a time of innocence that young girls no longer have in 2013

Life in small town mid-America can seem boring and humdrum – even when it isn’t.

Jocie’s sister Tabitha returned from California after being gone six or seven years. Then the secrets started coming out. Can Jocie deal with all of them? Some people are still trying to hide their secrets.

Sometimes secrets tear families apart. Sometimes they draw family bonds tighter. Sometimes they even create families.

I hate to tell you this, but I really didn’t like the way this book ended. My heart got tangled up with all these people in Hollyhill. I don’t want to be left with only assumptions. Ms Gabhart, please tell me you’re going to follow up with at least one more book set in Hollyhill. How will I know if Jocie ever popped Ronnie Martin a good one?

***A special thank you to Donna Hausler for providing a review copy.***

ann-gabhart

Ann H. Gabhart is the bestselling author of several novels, including Angel Sister, Words Spoken True,
The Outsider, The Believer, The Seeker, The Blessed, and The Gifted. She lives with her husband a mile
from where she was born in rural Kentucky. Find out more at www.annhgabhart.com.

Available March 2013 at your favorite bookseller from Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group.

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Newness of Life

March 17th, 2013

Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death?

Therefore we have been buried with him by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glor of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life.

Romans 6:3-4

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Love in a Broken Vessel

March 16th, 2013

Love in a Broken Vessel

 

By Mesu Andrews

Combining in-depth research and masterful storytelling, Mesu Andrews brings to life a complex and fascinating biblical story of the power of love and forgiveness in the face of utter betrayal.

Hosea has been charged by God with a difficult task–marry a prostitute in order to show God’s people the nature and depth of his love for Israel. When Hosea goes to Israel to proclaim God’s message, the prostitute God tells him to marry turns out to be his childhood friend Gomer. He finds her broken and abused, unwilling to trust Hosea or his God. But when marrying Hosea becomes her only choice, Gomer does what she’s good at–she survives. Can Hosea’s love for God and God’s love for Israel heal Gomer’s broken spirit?

ISLAND BREEZES

She certainly is broken and it appears that she’s never going to be put back together.

Hosea forgives Gomer over and over, but she just won’t let him into her heart. I honestly find it difficult to see how he manages to put up with all her nonsense. Even a prophet of God has to feel despair over a marriage like his.

Sometimes it appears that Gomer just might straighten up after all only to disappoint us. Have that box of tissues handy.

You can read Hosea and Gomer’s story in Scripture, but it will never have the same impact as this book. Thank you, Mesu Andrews for bringing this story to life. I’m looking forward to your next book.

***A special thank you to Donna Hausler for providing a review copy.***

Mesu Andrews is the author of Love Amid the Ashes and Love’s Sacred Song. She is an active speaker who has devoted herself to passionate and intense study of Scripture. Harnessing her deep understanding and love for God’s Word, Andrews brings the biblical world vividly alive for her readers. She lives in Washington.

Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group, offers practical books that bring the Christian faith to everyday life.? They publish resources from a variety of well-known brands and authors, including their partnership with MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) and Hungry Planet.

Available March 2013 at your favorite bookseller from Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group.

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I Met Him in the Ladies’ Room

March 16th, 2013

It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old…or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!

Today’s Wild Card author is:

 

Michelle Stimpson

 

and the book:

 

I Met Him in the Ladies’ Room
CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform (January 17, 2013)
***Special thanks to Michelle Stimpson for sending me a review copy.***

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

 

Michelle Stimpson is a national bestselling, multi-published author. She lives just outside Dallas with her husband, one kid left in the nest, and their weird dog.

Visit the author’s website.

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

Kerri Dalee didn’t grow up in a religious family. In fact, the last time Kerri went to church, she only attended for the cool door prizes and food served at Vacation Bible School. But when her wealthy roommate, Stephanie, gets engaged, Kerri’s finds that her only hope for financial survival is an editing job at a Dallas area mega-church. While waiting for her interview, Kerri makes a quick, desperate decision to meet Christ – in the ladies’ room, of all places – so she can fulfill every aspect of the stated criteria for employment. But can she fake her faith long enough to make it through the 90-day probationary period? How will her family respond? And, more importantly, will Kerri get more than she bargained for at this new job?

I Met Him in the Ladies’ Room is a fun, faith-filled novella that revisits the foundations of Christianity with humorous, light-hearted wisdom and wit.

 

Product Details:

List Price: $6.49

Paperback: 102 pages

Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform (January 17, 2013)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 1482002337

ISBN-13: 978-1482002331

ISLAND BREEZES

You met him where? Who is this guy in the ladies’ room? What’s he doing in there?

She prayed the sinner’s prayer, but didn’t really understand or believe it. She was desparate for a job and being a Christian was a requirement for this job – the last one left on her list.

Kerri will make you smile. She will also make you think. A person’s life as a new Christian can be very confusing if she’s never even attended a church service before.

Kerri really did meet Jesus in the ladies’ room eventually.

 
AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Christmas was the only “religious” thing we did as a family, if you could call what we did religious. Somehow, a six-pack of beer and a stolen Atari system under the tree seemed to detract from the sacred nature of the celebration.

How did I know it was sacred? They cancelled school for it. We also got out for Thanksgiving and Good Friday, but those two never quite caught on in my family.

So, years later, when my roommate Stephanie printed off a vacancy announcement from a local church which stated one of the requirements for employment was Applicants must have accepted Christ as personal Savior and be committed to continuous spiritual growth I yelled at her, “Did you read this part?”

“What part?” Stephanie asked, plopping herself down on my bed. Snatching the paper back from me, she pushed her jet-black hair behind both ears and took a second look at the post.

“This part right here,” I punched the paper to point out criteria number six, “about being a Christian.”

She grabbed my hand and inspected my fingers instead of the job description. “You need a manicure.”

In protest, I folded my hands beneath my armpits. “Get serious. I’ve got less than a year to get a job and get myself established.”

“What kind of job do you expect to get with nails like these?” She smirked. “Gardener, maybe? Ditch-digger?”

I returned her smirk with what I thought was one of my own, but I’m sure it looked more like a smile. Stephanie, ever-cheerful, had jokes for everything. She also had good looks and a rich, functional family—attributes that totally escaped me. No wonder people like her were in love and engaged. The only wonder was how we ended up best friends and how she’d all but supported me since we graduated from junior college. Now that she was getting married to Ricardo, I had to be a grown-up. We’d both have to be grown-ups, we gathered. For her: no more running to Daddy. For me: no more running to Stephanie. Hence, my dire need for steady employment.

Stephanie re-read the requirements and then announced, “Kerri, you can so be a Christian. It’s not that big a deal from what I can tell. You believe in God, right?”

“Yeah, me and every other heathen,” I joked.

Stephanie smacked the papers on the bed, straightened her back, and walked me through her rationale. “Didn’t you, like, go to church when you were little?”

“Nnnnnope,” the word slid out of me.

“Okay,” she said with a clap of her hands, “Did you ever say bedtime prayers?”

“Aaanck.”

“Get baptized?”

“Strike three, Stephanie, I’m out. You can’t just be a Christian. You gotta, like, take all these classes and stuff. You remember Danny?” I referenced an ex-boyfriend of mine who wasn’t necessarily spiritual but was definitely a repository of useless information. “He said you have to get this kit and memorize volumes of prose and drink wine before you can become a confirmed Christian.”

Stephanie’s perfectly shaped eyebrows shot up an inch. “You’ve had wine! And remember that Catholic wedding we went to? We drank wine there.”

“I am not a Christian, and I am not going to fake like one just so I can get a job. I might as well be…a politician or something,” I said.

Fourteen days and six job rejection notifications later, I found myself running for the office of “Writer/Editor” at one of the largest churches in the Dallas area. Sure, my conscious bothered me. Actually, it did more than bother me, it harassed me. So much that I’d added “Become a Christian” to the top of my list of “Things to Do Today” every day for the last week. I never quite got around to it though, since I couldn’t get in touch with Danny for the books or the wine to get the job done.

When the lady from the church called to confirm the interview, all I could do was hope like crazy I wouldn’t have to take some kind of Christian-test as part of the screening process.

As I waited for my potential boss to call me beyond the reception area, I browsed the church’s magazine rack. Each issue boasted the picture of a distinguished, deeply brown-skinned man with the salt-and-pepper hair one only gets with years of wisdom. His wife, clad in an elegant dress suit, was equally impressive. Stephanie would say she was quietly wealthy.

They were, upon further inspection, pastor and wife of Wesley Street Bible Fellowship; Pastor and Mrs. Scott. I had done some research about the church online, but the picture on the webpage didn’t do them justice.

I flipped through one of the magazines, still awaiting my interview, and came across a brief clip entitled, “How to Accept Christ as your Personal Savior.” My heart screeched to a halt. Yes! I’d found it! I breezed to the bottom of the article to find the kit-ordering information. There was no time to lose. If I could order the kit before the interview, I would only have to tell a partial lie about this whole “being a Christian” thing. As long as my Christian kit was on the way, I was half-way home.

I jumped from the cushy chair and approached the office secretary. She slung her floppy bangs away from her eyes and asked, “Yes?”

“Sorry to bother you, but where’s the ladies’ room?”

She pointed to the left. “Around this corner – two doors down.”

“Thanks.”

With the magazine still in hand, I entered the bathroom and rushed into the first stall, determined to break this secret code and find out how I could get my hands on the information. There had to be an 800-number or something! I re-read the clip in its entirety, slowly this time. Was it really that simple? Say this prayer and then – POOF! –bad stuff be gone, you’re a Christian?

It cannot be this simple.

Whatever. If this is what they wanted, this is what they would get. I searched the bathroom with my ears, and when I determined there was no one else around, I whispered the printed prayer:

Jesus, I come to you as a sinner, confessing my sins, and asking for your forgiveness. I believe you died on the cross for my sins, you rose again, and you are now seated at the right hand of God. I invite you to come into my heart and be my personal savior. Amen.

Then I waited. I don’t really know why or what for, I just waited. After a few minutes, I realized I was probably waiting to be struck by lightning for doing such a bad deed. I didn’t know much about God, but I figured it was pretty safe to say that He didn’t like phonies. Who was I kidding? I couldn’t take this job. Not like this. Not if I didn’t really mean what I’d said.

I guess that was the part that got me – how could I believe in something I didn’t really understand? Who exactly was this Jesus dude? If he died and then got back up again, did that make him an angel like Grandpa Skeeter? When Grandpa Skeeter died, everyone said he turned into a guardian angel. In life, he always carried a .45, which, I supposed, made him a prime candidate to be guardian of something or another.

Who said I was a sinner, anyway? Okay, I had bad credit, but that was all thanks to a former boyfriend who convinced me to add him to my cell phone plan and co-sign for a Nissan. Never mind that I couldn’t even drive it because it had manual transmission. No, I wouldn’t classify my credit score as sin. I’d just been plain old stupid.

I heard the bathroom door swing open and listened as a pair of pumps stomped two steps inside. “Miss Dalee?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“Are you okay?”

My mind scrambled back to reality. “Yes, I’m okay. I’m just…finishing up.” I reached behind myself and flushed the toilet for effect. Not quite sure what effect I was going for.

“Mrs. Trenton will see you now.”

“I’ll be right out.”

Time to lie? Or not? I stepped out of the stall and into a forced meeting with myself because the wall-length mirror was now directly across from me. My deep brown hair swung low at my cheekbones, accenting a sharp V-chin and nearly overpowering my face.

Stephanie always said my hair was too big for me, as were my feet. Everything in between the two hadn’t changed much since the seventh grade. Makeup helped to bring out my hazel eyes a little, but Maybelline and Max Factor can only do so much. My only “interview” suit swallowed me and probably would have overcome me if I hadn’t pinned the skirt at the waist.

The woman staring back at me was…well, I didn’t really think of myself as a woman. A woman has confidence. Wisdom. Girth. This girl in the mirror felt as insecure and silly and painstakingly skinny as I had ever been, only now I could safely add dishonest to my list descriptors.

“No,” I said out loud to myself. This was as good a time as any for a pep talk. I stepped up to the glass and gave myself a what-would-Stephanie-say? lecture. “You prayed the prayer, you wanted to mean it…you just don’t know what it means. They can’t count off for that. You’ll find out what it means later. Now, build a bridge and get over it ‘cause you need this job, girlie.”

I didn’t know what to say next, so I quoted my favorite line from The Lion King. “It is time.”

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Win a $250 “Swept Away” Vacation Prize Pack and RSVP for 3/28 Facebook Party!

March 16th, 2013

Mary Connealy is celebrating the release of Swept Away by giving away a $250 “Swept Away” Vacation Package and hosting a Facebook Author Chat Party!

Swept-Away300

One fortunate winner will receive:

  • A $250 Visa Cash Card (Get away for the weekend or use it to buy an eReader for a relaxing ‘Staycation’!)
  • A copy of Swept Away (For you AND a friend!)

Enter today by clicking one of the icons below. But hurry, the giveaway ends on March 27th. Winner will be announced at the “Swept Away” Author Chat Party on March 28th. Connect with Mary, get a sneak peek of the next book in the series, try your hand at the trivia contest, and chat with readers just like you. There will also be many fun giveaways — gift certificates, books, and more!

So grab your copy of Swept Away and join Mary on the evening of the March 28th for a chance to connect and make some new friends. (If you haven’t read the book, don’t let that stop you from coming!)

Don’t miss a moment of the fun, RSVP today. Tell your friends via FACEBOOK or TWITTER and increase your chances of winning. Hope to see you on the 28th!

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