Biking Across America

May 25th, 2013

Biking Across America

9780800721787

By Paul Stutzman

For those who long for adventure, who love travel and stories of travel and who love this place called America, Paul Stutzman offers an invitation to join him on his next challenging adventure in  Biking Across America..

After Stutzman finished hiking the Appalachian Trail, he found himself longing for another challenge, another adventure. Trading his hiking boots for a bicycle, Paul set off to discover more of America. Starting at Neah Bay, Washington, and ending at Key West, Florida, Paul traversed the 5,000-mile distance between the two farthest points in the contiguous United States. Along the way he encountered nearly every kind of terrain and weather the country had to offer-as well as hundreds of fascinating people whose stories readers will love. Through cold and heat, loneliness and exhaustion, abundance and kindness, Paul pedaled on.  His reward – and the readers’ – is a glimpse of a noble yet humble America that still exists and inspires…

ISLAND BREEZES

Paul Stutzman has done two things that I would have liked to have done. He’s hiked the entire Appalachian Trail and biked across the United States from the two farthest points in this country.

Can you imagine the adventures he’s had and the people he’s met? He shares some of them with us. He ran across some very interesting people.

You can hop on you bike and join him in a journey across the States. Or maybe, just curl up in a cozy chair and read about his exploits. It’s an adventure either way.

Even if you think you don’t care much for non-fiction, you’ll still really like this book.

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

Paul Stutzman is the author of Hiking Through. A former restaurant manager who left his career after his wife’s death from breast cancer, Paul hiked the Appalachian Trail in search of peace, healing, and freedom. He continues to seek out adventure in new ways every day. When he is not hiking or on a cross-country bike ride he makes his home in Berlin, Ohio. Find out more at www.paulstutzman.com.

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

Diamond in the Rough

May 24th, 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 authors are:

 

Jennifer AlLee

and

Lisa Karon Richardson

 

and the book:

 

Diamond in the Rough
(Charm & Deceit Series Book 1)
Whitaker House (May 1, 2013)
***Special thanks to Cathy Hickling for sending me a review copy.***

 

ABOUT THE AUTHORS:

Veteran authors Jennifer AlLee and Lisa Karon Richardson have combined their considerable skills to create the action-packed historical romance series, Charm & Deceit, for Whitaker House.

 

Jennifer AlLee is the bestselling author of The Love of His Brother (2007) for Five Star Publishers, and for Abington Press: The Pastor’s Wife (2010), The Mother Road (April 2012), and A Wild Goose Chase Christmas (November 2012). She’s also published a number of short stories, devotions and plays. Jennifer is a passionate participant in her church’s drama ministry. She lives with her family in Las Vegas, Nevada.

Visit the author’s website.
Lisa Karon Richardson has led a life of adventure — from serving as a missionary in the Seychelles and Gabon to returning to the U.S. to raise a family—and she imparts her stories with similarly action-packed plot lines. She’s the author of Impressed by Love (2012) for Barbour Publishing’s Colonial Courtships anthology, The Magistrate’s Folly, and Midnight Clear, part of a 2013 holiday anthology, also from Barbour. Lisa lives with her husband and children in Ohio.

Visit the author’s website.

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

Grant Diamond is a professional gambler on the run from his past. When he comes across a wagon wreck, the chance to escape his pursuers is too good a gamble to pass up, so he assumes the identity of the dead wagon driver. His plan takes an unexpected turn, though, when heiress Lily Rose mistakes him for the missionary she had asked to come to Eureka, California to work with the local Wiyot Indians. Seeing Eureka as a promising place to lay low, Grant plays along. Before he knows it, he’s bluffing his way through sermons and building a school. But with a Pinkerton on his trail and a rancher rousing fresh hatred against the Indians, Grant fears the new life he’s built may soon crumple like a house of cards.

Genre: Historical Christian Romance

Product Details:

List Price: $12.99

Paperback: 256 pages

Publisher: Whitaker House (May 1, 2013)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 1603747427

ISBN-13: 978-1603747424

ISLAND BREEZES
Can a gambler turn into a preacher over night? You bet he can! Especially if his life depends on it.
The question is, can he fool the Pinkerton detective who has been after him for three years? Especially i they’re staying in the same house.
Is it possible for him to build a new life? Especially since he has fallen in love with the town’s young heiress.
A gambler and fugitive, a Pink, a drunken preacher, a young woman and a bunch of Indians. These two authors have come up with an enjoyable story including all these and more.

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

April 1861Eureka, California

“They’re dying, Hodge!” Lily burst through the door of the general store. “I don’t know what’s wro—oomph.” She jerked to a stop as her hoopskirt caught in the door. Again.

A handful of choice phrases leaped to mind, but she settled for inarticulate grumbling as she reached back with one hand to wrench the flexible metallic hoops free. As she staggered forward, her skirts belled out, knocking over a display of stacked baking soda tins. She stooped to prevent the cans from rolling willy-nilly across the floor, only to have the back of her skirt swing in the opposite direction and make contact with something solid.

Hodge wiped his hands on his apron as he hurried around from behind the counter. “Just leave it, Miss Lily.”

Lily straightened, shifting the cumbersome flowerpot she held in the crook of one arm. With her free hand, she swept the loose tendrils of hair from her eyes and tucked them behind her ear. “You really need to widen that door.”

Hodge cocked his head and planted his hands on his hips. “You really need to wear skirts that don’t endanger life and limb.”

Lily narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to correct him, but she snapped it shut again when she noticed a man leaning against the counter. His dark hair stood up in spiky patches, as if he’d run his fingers through it repeatedly since removing his hat. His craggy complexion was saved from severity by the quirk of a dimple at the corner of his mouth and the glint of humor in his green eyes.

With a barely perceptible nod, Lily turned away from the stranger’s amused glance and squared her shoulders. She wasn’t above arguing with Hodge, but she couldn’t afford to antagonize him right now. She needed his help.

She thrust the flowerpot she carried at the shopkeeper. A feathery purple peony drooped listlessly over the side, its leaves marred by irregular black spots. “Can you tell me what’s wrong with this thing?”

Hodge plucked off one of the saddest-looking leaves and rubbed it between his fingers, then lifted it to his nose and sniffed. “You’ve got blight.” He tossed the leaf back into the pot.

“Blight?” That sounded bad. And pervasive. Whatever it was hadn’t afflicted just this particular plant. Half the peonies in the greenhouse looked the same. Mama was going to have a fit when she got back from San Francisco. “What did I do?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. It’s caused by a fungus.”

“Oh.” That was some small consolation. “Is there any cure?”

“Sure, there is.”

Lily tamped down her irritation, forcing a smile instead. Getting information out of Hodge was more tedious than pulling weeds from the garden. “And what might that cure be?”

“Steep a handful of elder leaves in hot water with some Castile soap, then rub it on the leaves.”

“Castile soap?”

“Yep. I’ve got some in the back.” Hodge held up his hand, halting her attempt to follow him. “Oh no, you don’t. You’ll leave another trail of destruction in your wake.”

Lily sniffed and raised her chin. Hodge didn’t know the first thing about fashion. Granted, she hadn’t quite gotten the hang of these hoops yet. But, when she did, the whole town would be impressed with her grace and style. And Mama would finally be happy.

With great care, she glided across the room, mindful not to knock over anything else. No use proving Hodge’s point. She halted at the counter and picked up a seed catalog. Maybe Mama need never know. Lily could order replacement seeds, or bulbs, or whatever these plants came from. Only, how long did they take to grow?

The black-clad stranger stood only a few feet away, studying a sheaf of paper in his hands. For some reason, his dimple showed. Lily made a pointed flip of the catalog page. If he thought she’d come over here to speak with him, he was sorely mistaken.

“You’ll need root cuttings to plant peonies.” The stranger turned his head and offered her a roguish smile.

Lily nodded once. They hadn’t been introduced, but a lady wasn’t rude without reason.

“I don’t think they’ll carry them in that catalog, though.”

“Where might I get some?” The question crossed her lips before she could frame it in her mind. Her hand jerked to her mouth, as if she could catch her words and snatch them back before they reached his ears.

“Special dealers, horticultural friends, botanical gardens.” The words rolled effortlessly off his tongue.

Lily blinked. He looked so
rough. What did this sort of man know about frivolities like flower gardens?

He pushed away from the counter and turned to face her fully, giving her an accurate picture of just how tall he was. At eye level with her was his neck, which, she now noticed, was encircled by a clerical collar. Her jaw dropped a notch. A clergyman? Mindful of Mama’s opinions on good breeding, she pressed her lips together again, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from that stark white square.

Hodge bustled back in from the storage room. “Here you go, Miss Lily. Had to open a new crate.” He held out a bar wrapped in paper.

“Thank you.” Lily accepted it, then glanced at the stranger again. The way he looked at her made it feel as if the room were ten degrees warmer. Resisting the urge to press her palms against her cheeks, she fumbled with the clasp of her reticule. “How much do I owe you, Hodge?”

“A dime’ll do it.”

The preacher put on his hat, tipped it at her, and headed outside.

Lily found the coin and handed it over without bothering to quibble about the outrageous price.

“See you were talkin’ to Reverend Crew. He’s fresh from out East. Sent by some missionary society, think he said.”

Lily’s head jerked up. “Missiona—oh, no!” Snatching up her flowerpot and bar of soap, she whirled around and strode toward the door, heedless of the destruction she wrought in her pursuit of the stranger.

***

The smell hit him first. Pinkerton Detective Carter Forbes covered his mouth and nose with his handkerchief. His trusty mare, Friday, hesitated, and he patted her neck. “It’s okay, girl. Whatever caused this should be long gone by now.”

She whickered softly in response, then moved forward with cautious, delicate steps, her muscles bunched and ready to gallop if necessary.

Around the next bend in the trail was a covered wagon toppled on its side. Carter scanned the area. The horses that had been hitched to it were nowhere in sight. Enormous redwoods stood like sentinels protecting the smaller denizens of the forest. One wagon wheel had caught against a tree. Leaves covered the chassis and littered the torn canvas. Nothing moved.

Senses jangling, Carter dismounted and looped Friday’s reins over a nearby tree limb. The birds overhead ceased their chattering, and even the breeze stilled, as if the whole forest held its breath in anticipation. The rustle of his footsteps through dry leaves sounded remarkably loud in the hush. His fingers grazed the butt of his pistol.

He twitched aside the flap of the canvas. The stench redoubled nearly knocked him off his feet. He staggered back, letting the fabric fall closed again. Gagging, he sucked in a gulp of relatively pure air, but the foulness refused to be purged from his lungs. Over and over he inhaled, pressing his nose against his shirtsleeve in a futile attempt to mask the disgusting odor. At last, he clamped one hand over his mouth and, with the other, wrenched the canvas away with a terrible rip.

The dead man lay on his back. Carter swore under his breath. Why did he always give in to his infernal curiosity? A prudent man would’ve ridden on by. Minded his own business. But not Carter Forbes. Oh, no; he had to see. The quality made him a good Pinkerton, but it could be downright inconvenient.

He squatted and moved closer to the man. The scurry of tiny, clawed feet against the wood made him flinch. The corpse had lain exposed to the elements and scavengers long enough to make identifying the fellow impossible. Carter shook his head. The poor man hadn’t had anyone on hand to mourn his loss.

Sighing, he backed away. The least he could do was dig the man a decent grave. A shovel was still tied to the outside of the wagon. He grabbed it and began digging. The rhythmic thump of the blade biting into the earth sounded a primitive lament.

By how much would this set him back? He had made up a lot of time by riding hard. Still, Diamond probably had almost a day on him.

At last, the hole was large enough. Panting, Carter put aside the shovel and scrabbled out of the pit. He removed his coat and vest and slung them over Friday’s accommodating back. Now for the worst of it.

He ducked inside the wagon again. He couldn’t bring himself to touch the body’s decaying limbs, so he grabbed a fistful of pant fabric and another of jacket. The corpse was heavier than he’d expected it to be as he dragged it to the edge of the makeshift grave.

Lord, keep me from such an end. Carter rolled the corpse over so that it lay facedown. A small round hole penetrated the back of the jacket at about the level of the heart. The area around the hole was stained with blood, but death must have been nigh instantaneous.

Murder.

He stood and pushed his hat back from his forehead. Why hadn’t he passed on by when he’d had the chance? Blast. Maybe God was punishing him for leaving his sister alone for so long.

He maneuvered the body so that it was face-up again and then methodically searched the pockets. He needed to figure out who the victim was. Then he would ride to the nearest town and turn the matter over to the local sheriff.

When he reached his hand inside the inner breast pocket of the jacket, his fingers found something hard. He plucked out the item—a locket on a gold chain. Could it be? He opened the tiny silver clasp to reveal the serious-eyed gaze of a striking young woman.

Triumph tasted bitter—too tangled up with the scent of death. Could it be that he’d finally found Grand Diamond, the infamous murderer?

His search intensified, as though the evidence might begin to vanish if he wasted any time. He turned up a pocketknife, a handkerchief, a twist of string, a pencil stub, and a thin packet of letters. No gun. Carter frowned. A man wanted for murder wasn’t likely to travel unarmed. Whoever had killed him had probably stolen his weapon.

Carter sat down on an overturned bucket and took up the packet of letters. He pulled on the end of the faded satin ribbon that bound them together. The pages were fragile and scarred with soft, fuzzy creases, as if they’d been folded and unfolded with great frequency.

Grant, my love, I will wait for you in the conservatory at midnight.

More confirmation that the dead man was Diamond. After three years of near misses, Carter finally had his man. Now he could collect his bonus, return to Emily, and get her started on her new treatments.

Yet he didn’t feel any sense of accomplishment. His fingers caressed the worn paper. These letters would be enough proof for anybody. But it was wrong—all wrong. The body was damp, as if it had been out when it had rained two days ago. The letters weren’t. They were almost entirely dry.

And the body was too far decomposed to have been dead only a day or two. This man must have been killed at least a week ago.

Carter pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d been after Diamond for so long, and he wanted nothing more than to close the case and go home. But he couldn’t. Not yet. There was more to this thing than met the eye, and Carter had to see it through, no matter where it led.

In the Belly of the Beast

May 24th, 2013

First posted September 4, 2008

That is where our travels today will take us.  The beast is a cruise ship.  I’m sure many of you have taken cruises and are aware of all the food available.  It’s everywhere you look, day and night.  You don’t even have to leave your cabin.  But there’s a secret you don’t know.  The best food isn’t always topside.  Sometimes it’s in the belly of the beast.

As a sea person, I had access to every dining area that you as a guest on board the ship had.  I did have to have special permission to eat in the main dining room, but I could eat in all of the other areas at any time as long as I was in proper uniform.  You all had very good food as well as atmosphere on my ships, but you didn’t necessarily have the best.

Down in the belly of the beast were our mess halls.  The captain’s mess was where the master and staff captains took their meals.  It was always an honor to be invited to dine with the captain and his guests.  Those meals were top notch.  The dining room I was supposed to eat in was the officer’s mess.  We had all the fancy extras in there such as the cappuccino/espresso machine.  The food was always good there as well, but sometimes it got a little stuffy.  Unless, of course, you worked at it.

On one of my ships, the captain decided we had to eat in the “proper” mess hall.  That just wasn’t my idea of fun.  Most of the bridge and engine officers were Italian.  They were very nice, but they had a bit of an attitude about women in general.  They tended to sit at the same seat, at the same table every meal.  I got a little tired of the unofficially assigned tables, so I decided if I had to eat there, I was going to provide myself with a little entertainment.  Every meal I sat in a different place.  It was so funny to see one of the Italians come in and see me in “his” seat.  He’d stand there for a few seconds trying to figure out where to sit down.  Eventually, I told one of them that it really was okay to go ahead and sit at the table with me.  The guys started loosening up, laughing and talking with everyone.  It wasn’t a very large room.  Small enough to lob one of the dinner rolls towards the other side of the room and hit your target.  You guessed it.  A couple meals lobbing the rolls back and forth to a guy we called “ponytail,” and one evening it turned into a full fledged food fight.  Not only did we all have a great time, even the Italians helped the waiters and bus boys clean up the room.

The next mess hall down in the pecking order was the staff mess.  That’s usually where most of the people I hung with liked to eat.  Officially, it was for the category of ship’s employees who were neither officers nor crew.  These were mostly people in the cruise department, Steiner salon, casino, photographers, shoppies and shore side employees who happened to be sailing.  This was a bigger, busier mess hall where you always found something interesting being discussed at meals.  Sometimes the something interesting was planning a get together; sometimes just something nonsensical and fun.

The next mess hall was the largest.  It was the crew mess.  Technically, we were all crew, but commonly, everyone who was neither an officer nor a staff member ate here.  The only time I ate in the crew mess was when we were in Finland or Italy setting up a new ship.  We all ate in the crew mess at the beginning  of the set up and then later during the two week Atlantic crossing, all the officers and staff ate in the main passenger dining room so the waiters could practice on us.  We usually carried new employees over with us.  The training of the waiters and bus boys began in the staff mess and progressed through the officer’s mess.  When we got them trained really well, they went upstairs to the passengers.  Of course, we moaned and groaned when we lost the good ones, but knew they needed to leave us in order to make better tips.

The absolute best place to eat on the ship was in the Chinese laundry.  Part of their contract was to have their own kitchen and mess hall.  But it was a very exclusive dining establishment.  If you were Chinese and working in another department, you were usually invited.  That’s it.  Until Ramon came along.

The ship’s infirmary was down on deck three, just down the hall from the laundry.  Boy, did it ever smell good down that hallway! Ramon was our new Mexican doctor.  Never at a loss for words, the day I met him, the first words out of my mouth were, “You don’t look Mexican.”  Glad he has a good sense of humor.  Ramon is a native Mexican from Monterrey, whose parents just happen to be Chinese.  The guys from the laundry don’t come to the infirmary very often, but the word got out that the doctor was Chinese and the laundry manager dropped in to welcome him to the ship.  Is wasn’t too long before Sam invited the doctor to a meal in the laundry.  I think I only got invited because Sam was polite and thought I might like a good Chinese meal.  Or maybe it was because I said something to the effect that I liked Chinese food, too.  Anyway, Ramon and I became regular diners in the laundry.  When it was my turn to keep the infirmary open during dinner hour, the cook delivered Chinese take out.  None of the passenger food could beat the real deal Chinese meals and being invited to stay after to watch Chinese soap operas.  Priceless.

The Offering

May 23rd, 2013

The  Offering

By Angela Hunt

After growing up as an only child, Amanda Lisandra wants a big family. But since she and her soldier husband can’t afford to have more children right away, Mandy decides to earn money as a gestational carrier for a childless couple. She loves being pregnant, and while carrying the child she dreams of having her own son and maybe another daughter…

Just when the nearly perfect pregnancy is about to conclude, unexpected tragedy enters Mandy’s world and leaves her reeling. Devastated by grief, she surrenders the child she was carrying and struggles to regain her emotional equilibrium.

Two years later she studies a photograph of the baby she bore and wonders if the unthinkable has happened-could she have inadvertently given away her own biological child? Over the next few months Mandy struggles to decide between the desires of her grief-stricken heart and what’s best for the little boy she has never known.

ISLAND BREEZES

This was a very interesting book. I wasn’t really sure what the offering was at the beginning of the book, although I thought I knew.

The real offering comes closer to the end. You are going to need that box of tissues for this one. Some of it is heart wrenching.

This is the story of three families. It’s filled with sacrifice, misunderstandings and most of all, love.

There’s one event in this story that I kept anticipating, but the timing was a major surprise, but yet still heartbreaking.

This story takes place in my neck of the woods. I would love to drop in at Mama’s store for a visit with her and maybe her nudist. I would also enjoy taking the gringa for lunch at the Frog Pond. It’s been much too long since I’ve eaten there.

I don’t think I’m quite ready to let this family go yet. Do you have plans to include them in another book, Ms. Hunt?

***A special thanks to litfuse for providing a review copy.***

With over four million copies of her books sold worldwide, Angela Hunt is the bestselling author of more than one hundred books, including “The Nativity Story.” Hunt is one of the most sought-after collaborators in the publishing industry. Her nonfiction book “Don’t Bet Against Me,” written with Deanna Favre, spent several weeks on the New York Times bestseller list. Angela’s novel “The Note” (with sales of over 141,000) was filmed as the Hallmark Channel’s Christmas movie for 2007 and proved to be the highest rated television movie in the channel’s history.

Angela’s novels have won or been nominated for several prestigious industry awards, including the RITA, the Christy Award, the ECPA Christian Book Award, and the Holt Medallion. She often travels to teach writing workshops at schools and writers’ conferences, and she served as the keynote speaker at the 2008 American Christian Fiction Writers’ national conference. She and her husband make their home in Florida with mastiffs. In 2001, one of her dogs was featured on Live with Regis and Kelly as the second-largest dog in America.

Bette’s The Best

May 22nd, 2013

First posted August 5, 2008

That’s my aunt, Bette Killion.  She’s the best aunt a person could want.  Please don’t tell the whole world, but she’s always been my favorite.  Aunt Bette’s house was a magical place to be.  For one thing my favorite cousin, along with her brothers and sisters lived there.  I lived out in the country on one acre, but Aunt Bette had the whole outdoors at her house, including a creek and woods out back.  One year I got to spend the summer at Aunt Bette’s.  Nancy Jeanne and I spent hours playing out in the woods and the stream with nothing but each other and our imaginations.  Inside the house was magical, too.  There was a piano and I got to “play” it.  I’ve always loved pianos and still want to learn to play.  I finally took lessons while in Bible College, but that’s another story.

One of the most precious gifts Aunt Bette gave me was the love of writing.  She talked to me like I was a grown up person instead of a kid who wasn’t even close to being a teen yet.  She talked to me about her writing and encouraged me to become a creative person.  Aunt Bette was writing and selling stories to magazines at the time.  She progressed to a newspaper column of her own.  Then on to writing stories and poetry for children.  Today she is an author of children’s books.  I have three of her books here in front of me, Treasury of Fairy Tales, Just Think! and The Same Wind.  That’s what was available at my local library.  Check out your library and see part of why she’s so special.

Aunt Bette and I both have writing roots in the Brazil High School newspaper, The Student. I’m working at it, Aunt Bette.  Some day, God willing, I’ll be published.  You started me out a long time ago, and you’re still my inspiration.  I’m so lucky to have Aunt Bette in my life.  Do any of you have an Aunt Bette in your life?  Share her with us.

Travel Tips From a Cruise Ship Nurse

May 21st, 2013

First posted July 31, 2008

There are many tips about travel that I can give you, but today we are going to focus on traveling when you have a chronic medical condition or are on medication for a short term problem.  The first thing to do if you have a chronic condition is to plan thoughtfully.  Does this vacation or holiday you are planning fit your needs and abilities?  If you have difficulty with shortness of breath and walking/climbing, rethink going to Tulum to visit the ruins or Ocho Rios to climb the falls.  If you are traveling to a foreign country, please consider travel insurance.  Even if you are in good health, accidents can happen.  Even traveling on a cruise ship with a doctor, nurses and well stocked infirmary, you may need to be airlifted out for medical care.  Cruise ships are not equipped the same as a hospital, but they are able to stabilize you and get you to where you need to be to have the treatment you need.

The second thing to do is have a check up about one month before you plan to travel.  At this appointment, you and your physician can discuss any concerns regarding your upcoming trip.  Will you need any vaccinations before you go to that interesting out of the way spot?  Do you need to take a short medical history with you?  If you take medication (by mouth or by injection) be sure to have a prescription for the medication, syringes, etc that not only tells what you take, but why you take it.  If you have any surgical implants such as a joint replacement, orthopedic pins or rods, or a pacemaker, have that information on a prescription blank from your doctor.  The same is true if you need portable oxygen. You may need this documentation to get you past airport and cruise ship terminal security both in the States and in other countries.

Be sure to take an adequate supply of medication in the original bottles and other medical supplies with you.  Never assume that you can purchase this somewhere along the way if you run out.  Also, do not pack any necessary medicines in the luggage you will be checking through.  Keep ALL this in your carry on bag.

Another consideration is the climate at your destination.  Some places are hot and humid.  This can greatly limit your activities and mobility if you have any kind of respiratory or cardiac problems.  This weather as well as a location that is extra cold can put a strain on your body.  High altitudes can also create problems.  You might need to go slowly to reach your high altitude destination.  Allow for extra time.

Will you need accommodations in order to fit your wheelchair, walker, scooter or what have you through the door not only into your room or cabin, but also into the bathroom.  Is the bathroom large enough?  Will you be needing a shower chair or any other adaptations to the bathroom?  This all needs to be arranged before you book.  Make no assumptions that what you need will be available upon your arrival.

If you are in your last trimester of pregnancy, please do not take a cruise.  Yes, the doctor and nurses can deliver your baby, but the ships do not have the capability of caring for the needs of a baby who is born prematurely or with immediate health care needs.  If the pregnant mother or new mother has unexpected needs, the ship is not always going to be able to handle that either.  Also, it is impossible for a ship to carry blood for transfusions.  Once again, it is an infirmary, not a hospital.

If you have a terminal illness and want to fulfill a dream of taking a cruise, please let the cruise line know when you are booking your cruise.  They will do everything to accommodate you and make your dream cruise happen.  If you have a living will, please be sure you take that along with your health care  surrogate papers.  Take advantage of the ship’s library if you do not feel well enough to go out in port.  The one thing you do not want to do, is to try to hide your condition from the cruise line.  What can happen in that case is you become too ill to continue the journey and end up in a hospital in the Bahamas or a medical clinic in Cozumel.

May your journeys be safe and enjoyable.

Follow the Heart

May 21st, 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:
Kaye Dacus
and the book:
Follow the Heart:
A Great Exhibition Novel
B&H Books (May 1, 2013)
***Special thanks to Laurel Teague for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Kaye Dacus is the author of humorous, hope-filled contemporary and historical romances with Barbour Publishing, Harvest House Publishers, and B&H Publishing. She holds a Master of Arts in Writing Popular Fiction from Seton Hill University, is a former Vice President of American Christian Fiction Writers, and currently serves as President of Middle Tennessee Christian Writers. Kaye lives in Nashville, Tennessee, where she is a full-time academic advisor and part-time college composition instructor for a local university. To find out more about Kaye and her books, please visit her online at kayedacus.com.

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

Set during the Industrial Revolution and the Great Exhibition of 1851, Follow the Heart is a “sitting-room romance” with the feel of a Regency-era novel but the fashions and technological advances of the mid-Victorian age. Kate and Christopher Dearing’s lives turn upside down when their father loses everything in a railroad land speculation. The siblings are shipped off to their mother’s brother in England with one edict: marry money. At twenty-seven years old, Kate has the stigma of being passed over by eligible men many times—and that was before she had no dowry. Christopher would like nothing better than to make his own way in the world; and with a law degree and expertise in the burgeoning railroad industry, he was primed to do just that—in America. Though their uncle tries to ensure Kate and Christopher find matrimonial prospects only among the highest echelon of British society, their attentions stray to a gardener and a governess. While Christopher has options that would enable him to lay his affections where he chooses, he cannot let the burden of their family’s finances crush his sister. Trying to push her feelings for the handsome—but not wealthy— gardener aside, Kate’s prospects brighten when a wealthy viscount shows interest in her. But is marrying for the financial security of her family the right thing to do, when her heart is telling her she’s making a mistake?

Product Details:

List Price: $14.99

Paperback: 320 pages

Publisher: B&H Books (May 1, 2013)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 1433677202

ISBN-13: 978-1433677205

ISLAND BREEZES

What a mess! Christopher and Kate have been sent to their wealthy uncle in England. Their father gambled on the railroad and lost. Now the two have to find someone wealthy to marry in order to pay off the family debts and to support them.

Of course this brother and sister can’t manage to find and fall in love with someone with money. Christopher falls in love with the governess while Kate falls in love with the gardener.

Now the question is who will marry for love and who will sacrifice for money and family. Be sure you have that box of tissues handy. You’ll need a few before you finish this book.

Thank you, Kaye Dacus. I enjoy your books and am looking forward to the next one in The Great Exhibition series.

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

SS Baltic

Off the Coast of England

February 9, 1851

You should come back down to the saloon, where it’s warm.”

Kate did not turn from the vista of gray, choppy water in front of her at her brother’s voice. The last fourteen days seemed as nothing to Christopher—a lark, an adventure, not the exile Kate knew it to be.

An exile that came with an edict: Find someone wealthy to marry.

“I do not see the point in sitting in the grand saloon, pretending as though everything is fine when I know it is not. I have no talent at pretense.” Kate wrapped her thick woolen shawl closer about her head and shoulders at a gust of icy wind. “If any of those other passengers knew we were being sent to England as poor relations, they would shun us.”

Just as everyone in Philadelphia had. Word of Graham Dearing’s financial misfortune spread like last summer’s great fire that consumed the Vine Street Wharf—quickly and with almost as much destructive force. Kate and Christopher’s stepmother had been too embarrassed to come down to the train station to see them off to New York two weeks ago—too afraid she would see someone she recognized on the street and not be acknowledged. Only Father had come with them to New York to say good-bye. And to remind Kate why she was being sent to her mother’s brother: to find and marry a fortune that would save their family. The memory of their argument on the platform before she joined Christopher to board the ship burned through her like the coal that powered them closer to her destiny.

“What’s wrong with enjoying the trappings of money while we can?” Christopher sidled up beside her and leaned his forearms against the top railing. “Besides, from Uncle Anthony’s letter, it doesn’t sound like he plans to treat us any differently than his own children, just because we’re ‘poor relations,’ as you put it.”

“But they’ll know. Sir Anthony and his daughters and whatever house staff they have—they’ll know that we’re completely dependent upon their charity. It will be written in their eyes every time they look at us. Every time we sit down at a meal with them. Every time they take us to a ball or party. We will be creating additional expense for them.” Kate trembled, not just from the cold.

“You had no problem with our creating additional expense for Father when we lived at home. Why start worrying about it now?”

Kate finally turned to look—to gape—at her brother. Certainly he was younger than she, but only by three years. However, he was a qualified lawyer, a man full-grown at twenty-four years old. How could he speak so juvenile? Did he not realize what Father and Maud had done to afford to send them abroad? Had he not noticed the missing paintings, carpets, and silver—sold so Father could afford their passage? Kate had a suspicion that much of their stepmother’s heirloom jewelry had met the same fate. Not to mention Father’s sacrifice of pride in begging his first wife’s brother, the baronet Sir Anthony Buchanan, to take them in.

Christopher’s light-brown eyes twinkled and danced. “Come on, Kate. I’ve heard that wealthy men can be plucked up on every corner in England, so you’ve nothing to worry about. They will take one look at you and be lining up at Uncle Anthony’s door to court you.”

Heat flared in her cheeks. “You can stop that nonsensical flattery right now, Christopher Dearing. It will get you nowhere.” But she couldn’t stop the smile that forced its way through her worry.

“It got me exactly what I wanted.” He put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze, then turned and forced her to walk back toward the stairs leading down to the grand saloon on the deck below. “We will be docking in a few hours, and you’ve been sulking the entire voyage. I insist you come below and enjoy yourself, just for a little while. Or pretend, on my account.”

Tiny snowflakes floated down and landed on Kate’s shawl and the mittened hand holding it to her chin. “Oh, all right. I will come. But only to get warm before we dock.”

It took her eyes several moments to adjust to the darkness of the stairwell. Reaching the grand saloon, Kate slowed and waited for Christopher to regain her side. Though not yet noon, the candles in the hanging lamps and wall sconces had been lit against the gloomy gray skies outside. The large, etched-glass columns in the middle of the room, which connected to the skylights above, brought in little light to reflect from the mirrors lining the walls between the doors to the sleeping cabins.

Several younger men, playing cards in the corner near the foot of the stairs, called out to Christopher, entreating him to come join the game.

He waved them off with a laugh and then offered Kate his arm. “Come, there are a few people who would like to speak to you.”

At the opposite end of the long room, partially hidden by one of the glass pillars from the card players near the stairs, sat a group of middle-aged women and a few men. The rest of the men, she assumed, were in the smoking room.

“Ah, here is your beloved sister, Mr. Dearing.” An older lady patted the seat of the settee beside her. “Do, come sit, Miss Dearing.” Mrs. Headington’s clipped British accent made Kate more nervous than she usually felt before strangers. That, and learning the woman had been governess to their cousins many years ago. Mrs. Headington was so particular and exacting, Kate worried she and Christopher would disappoint their extended family at every turn.

Kate removed her mittens and shawl and perched on the edge of the sofa. “Thank you, Mrs. Headington.”

“We were just speaking of the Great Exhibition.” The plump former governess waved a fan in front of her flushed, moist face, her more-than-ample bosom heaving against her straining bodice with each breath.

“The Great Exhibition?” Kate folded the shawl and set it on her lap, where she rested her still-cold hands on it.

“Oh, Kate, I’ve told you all about it. Prince Albert’s Great Exhibition. It’s to be the largest display of industry and arts from all over the world.” Christopher’s eyes took on the same gleam as when he talked about laws governing the railroads. “Imagine—delegations are coming from as far as India, Algiers, and Australia and bringing displays of their industry and manufacturing, their artwork. Some are even bringing wild animals.”

He lost the dreamy expression for a moment. “And I have heard there will be agricultural exhibits, Kate. You may find some exotic plants for the garden.”

She smiled at the memory of her garden, her favorite place in the world—but melancholy and reality struck down the moment of joy. She might never see her garden again. For either she would marry some wealthy Englishman and stay in England for the rest of her life, or Father would be forced to sell the house.

Talk continued around her, rumors of fantastical exhibits and inventions supposedly coming to this great world’s fair, which would open in just under three months.

What would she be doing by then? What about Father and Maud and the girls? She shook her head, trying to stave off the unwanted visions of her father, stepmother, and little sisters begging on the streets of Philadelphia.

The steward entered the saloon and called everyone to follow him in to luncheon. Christopher offered Kate his hand. When she gained her feet, he bent over, placing his mouth close to her ear, as if to place a kiss on her cheek.

“I know what you’re thinking about. Don’t let it get you down. Everything will be all right. You’ll see.” He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and led her through the steward’s pantry, where the beautiful silver trays and chargers displayed there winked in the candlelight, mocking her with their opulence.

Mrs. Headington invited them to sit at her table for the meal, and Kate sank gratefully into the chair Christopher held for her. Though her brother knew almost all of the hundred or so first-class passengers traveling with them, Kate had kept to herself most of the voyage, unable to laugh and flirt and pretend the way Christopher could.

“You appear sad, Miss Dearing.” Mrs. Headington gave Kate a knowing look. “Is it a young man you have left back home who occupies your thoughts?”

Kate latched on to the question. “I had—have a suitor, ma’am. He courted me for over a year. I believed he would propose before . . . before Christopher and I left for England. But alas, he did not.”

Christopher’s jaw slackened, and Kate felt a kindling of amusement at his astonishment over her ability to spin the story in such a manner. Perhaps she did share some of his abilities, buried deep within.

“I do not know what the fellow could have been thinking, allowing a woman like you to slip away with no firm commitment. Does he realize how easily he could lose you to one of our fine English gentlemen?”

If only Mrs. Headington knew what Devlin Montgomery knew.

“If the blighter is not man enough to propose before you left, you should consider yourself free to accept other suitors, Miss Dearing. Though you must allow me to caution you against those wicked men who want nothing more than to ruin virtuous young women like you.” Mrs. Headington raised her teacup in emphatic punctuation to her warning, though speculation filled her gaze. “There are plenty of lords who will look beyond the lack of a title when it comes to a pretty face, so long as she has a substantial dowry.”

Kate hoped one of them would also look beyond the lack of a dowry. Rather than let Mrs. Headington’s unintentional disparagement send her back into the doldrums she’d been in since that awful discovery on New Year’s Eve, Kate continued smiling and trying to engage in conversation with Mrs. Headington and the other travelers who joined them at the marble-topped table.

It would do her no good to show up on England’s shores dour-faced and hung all around with melancholy. She had little enough to work with as it was—being too tall, with average looks, and angular features. Oddly enough, for Kate, the Old World meant a new life. Here, where no one knew her, where no one could recount the names of the men who had courted her and then decided not to marry her, she could forget the past, forget her failure to find a husband. In England, she could become Katharine Dearing, the woman who could not only carry on a conversation about botany or politics with any man, but who could dance and flirt as well.

For ten years, since her debut at seventeen, she’d turned her nose up at the young women who simpered and giggled and flattered all the young men. Well, most of those young women were now married with families of their own.

She glanced around the table and studied the interactions between married couples and among the few unmarried young women and men. Could she remake herself in the image of the debutante across from her with the blonde ringlets, whose coy, soft eyes and sweet smiles drew the men’s attention like bees to nectar?

To her right, Mrs. Headington argued with Christopher about the politics surrounding the Great Exhibition and the worry of many that Prince Albert would bankrupt the country with the lavish display of agriculture and industry.

Kate Dearing would have joined in the conversation of politics. Katharine Dearing, however, turned to the balding, middle-aged man on her left. “What part of England are you from, Mr. Fitch?”

She lowered her chin and blinked a few times, trying to imitate the blonde’s batting eyelashes. The man beside her almost choked on his wine before setting down the goblet to answer, obviously no more accustomed to being flirted with than Kate was to flirting.

Dowry or no dowry, she must and would find a wealthy husband. And as her stepmother was so fond of saying, practice makes perfect.

~

Andrew Lawton drew his coat collar higher around the lower part of his face and pulled his hat down, wishing it would cover his ears, exposed as they were to the frigid winter air. Beyond the inn’s small front porch, snow blew and swirled on the indecisive wind—first toward, then away; left, then right. White dust skittered this way and that on the cobblestone street.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, longing for spring and the orderliness and discipline he would bring to the gardens at Wakesdown Manor. He had the plans all laid out on paper and was prepared to begin construction of the new gardens so they would be ready to burst into bloom when warm weather arrived. But instead, he was in Liverpool. And on a Sunday, no less.

Who would choose to travel by steamship in the middle of winter?

He’d only just managed to get away from Mr. Paxton and the Crystal Palace in time to catch the train from London to Liverpool yesterday. Eleven hours on an unforgiving wooden seat in the unheated third-class car—not wanting to part with his hard-earned wages in order to ride in the warmth and comfort of second class or the luxury of first—followed by a night on a lumpy bed in a freezing inn had done his back and his temper no favors.

Rather than go to the expense of a hiring a cab for the mile walk back to the train station, Andrew adjusted his collar again, hooked the handle of his valise over his left wrist, stuffed his gloved hands into his coat pockets, and leaned into the swirling wind with a brisk pace. The inn’s distance from the station had made it economically attractive for the overnight stay—half the cost of those within a block or two of both the train station and the Mersey River ports, where everything and everyone came in and out of Liverpool.

By the time he reached his destination, the swirling white dust had turned to hard, pelting ice. According to the timetable written on the board in the ticket office, the Baltic had docked ten minutes ago, shortly after one o’clock.

If he caught the two o’clock train, he would arrive in Oxford near eleven tonight. He desperately wanted to sleep in his own bed after so many nights away. He purchased three first-class tickets, as per his employer’s instructions, tucked them into his waistcoat pocket, then went to the telegraph office and wired Sir Anthony so he would know to be expecting his guests to arrive tonight.

Back out on the platform, he noticed the ferry from the steamship had landed at the far end. Passengers disembarked while crew unloaded baggage through a lower-deck portal.

He scanned the passengers coming toward him, looking for a young man and young woman traveling together. Americans. That was all Andrew knew. Dismissing several older people and a couple of women traveling alone, Andrew released his breath in frustration.

“You look lost, young man.” A woman in a dress too tight and juvenile for her ample form and age stopped in front of him.

Andrew doffed his round-crowned bowler hat—and the woman frowned at it a moment. If Andrew had known he would be making this side trip when he left Wakesdown, he would have packed his top hat, since the more serviceable bowler served to emphasize his working-class roots.

“Good afternoon, ma’am.” Andrew tucked the hat under his elbow. “I am supposed to be meeting a Mr. and Miss Dearing. You do not, perhaps—”

“Christopher and Kate. Of course I met them. It is hard not to get to know all the other passengers on a two-week voyage.”

Andrew inclined his head in relief. “Would you mind pointing them out to me?”

“No, not at all.” She squinted at the ferry. “Yes, there they are. Good-looking fellow in the indigo coat. The young woman is, alas, much plainer than her brother.” The woman leaned closer and dropped her voice. “And if what I heard in Philadelphia is true, their father, wicked man, just lost all his considerable fortune in a railway speculation that failed. Poor dear. Only way she would have caught a husband at her age and with her lack of beauty would have been with a substantial dowry.”

Andrew scanned the passengers coming off the boat. There—a young man in a dark blue overcoat. But that could not be Christopher Dearing. For the woman beside the man in the blue coat was anything but plain. Not beautiful like Sir Anthony’s daughters—but far from plain. A straw-brimmed bonnet hid her hair, but her brown cloak and shawl emphasized her bright blue eyes, even from this distance.

“Now, if you will excuse me, I must arrange my travel to London.”

Andrew gave the older woman a slight bow, then stepped forward to meet the Dearings.

Andrew stepped into the man’s path. “Are you Mr. Dearing?”

A smile replaced the look of consternation. He stuck out his gloved hand, which Andrew shook in greeting.

“Christopher Dearing.” He pulled the arm of the young woman in the brown cloak, who’d stopped a full pace behind him. “And this is my sister, Kate—I mean, Katharine.”

Katharine gave a slight curtsy, red tingeing her cheeks.

“Andrew Lawton.” He inclined his head, then dragged his gaze from the woman—whose face was, perhaps, a bit too square for her to be considered truly handsome—back to her brother. “Sir Anthony sends his apologies for not coming to meet you personally. But his youngest daughter fell ill two days ago, and he did not want to leave her.” He glanced back at Katharine Dearing, to keep her from feeling excluded from the apology.

Concern flooded her striking blue eyes. “I hope it isn’t a grave illness.”

Andrew reminded himself that Miss Dearing was Sir Anthony’s niece and, therefore, no one who should garner his interest in any capacity other than as one of the masters—fortune or no. “When last Sir Anthony wired, he did not believe it to be more than a fever due to the wet winter we are having and Miss Florence’s insistence on riding every day no matter what the weather.”

“I am sorry she’s ill, but it is good to know it isn’t dire.” Katharine looked as if she wanted to say more, but at the last moment lost her nerve.

“So . . . did I hear you correctly?” Christopher asked. “The name is pronounced Antony and not Anthony?”

“Yes, Mr. Dearing, you heard correctly.”

Miss Dearing transferred a tapestry bag from one hand to the other.

“May I take that for you, miss?” Andrew pushed his hat back down on his head and reached for her bag.

“Oh, you don’t—” But she let the protest die and handed him the bag with a sudden doe-eyed smile. “Why, thank you, Mr. Lawton. We arranged with the steward to have our trunks transferred directly to the Oxford train. The schedule they had aboard ship indicated there is one that leaves at two o’clock.”

“Yes, that is our train.”

Katharine looked up at her brother. “We should get our tickets now so that we are ready when it’s time to board.”

“No need.” Andrew shifted her bag to his left hand, along with his own, and patted the waistcoat pocket through his frock and overcoat. “I have already taken care of the tickets. The train arrived just moments ago, so we can go find a compartment.” He motioned with his free hand for Christopher and Katharine to join him, and he led them down the platform.

“My, but you have already thought of everything, haven’t you?” Katharine’s flirtatious expression seemed odd, like a daisy growing from a rosebush.

And the look of confusion on her brother’s face only added to Andrew’s. Surely she realized from his humble attire he wasn’t anyone who could offer her the wealth she apparently needed in a husband. So why would she overtly flirt with him?

“How long a trip is it from here to Oxford?” Christopher asked.

“Almost nine hours, so long as the tracks are clear.” Andrew looked past the roof of the station. Snow mixed with the icy precipitation from half an hour before, and it looked to start piling up quickly. Hopefully, traveling south and inland from here would mean away from the snow.

He found a compartment in the first-class car, set his and Katharine’s valises on the seat, and turned to assist her in. She thanked him profusely. Once she was settled, he and Christopher lifted the small valises onto the shelf over the seat opposite Katharine, and then sat, facing her.

Katharine wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders and arms. Christopher leaned over and opened the grate of the small heater and stoked the glowing red coal. “I’d hoped maybe to see one of those new heaters I’ve been reading about—where steam heat is pumped from the fire in the locomotive throughout the cars in the train.”

“Have you an interest in the railway, Mr. Dearing?” Though he had no desire to make the sister feel left out of the conversation, Andrew was in great danger of allowing himself to stare at her now that she was in such close proximity. Upon second thought, the squareness of her jaw did not detract from but added to the symmetry of her face. And above all else, Andrew appreciated symmetry.

“Yes—my apprenticeship was with a firm that specializes in railway law. It’s fascinating to see how, in a matter of just ten or twenty years, the railroad has changed our way of life.” Christopher stretched his lanky frame into a position of repose, obviously accustomed to the comforts of first-class accommodations.

“I was twenty years old when the railroad came to Derby—my home—in the year ’40. It has quite changed the way of life for everyone there.” Andrew removed his hat and gloves and set them on the seat beside him.

Christopher’s eyes—brown, rather than blue like his sister’s—flashed with curiosity. “Really? I hardly remember when the first railroad opened in Philadelphia in 1832.”

“That’s because you were not quite six years old when it came.” Katharine’s soft voice reminded them of her presence—as if Andrew needed reminding. “I remember it well. Father took us to the parade and to see the locomotive take off. It was the first time we were all happy since Mother and Emma died.” Katharine’s focus drifted far away along with her voice.

Andrew stared at her. In the space of mere minutes, she had changed entirely. No longer did she seem a vapid flirt, but a woman one might like to converse with.

Katharine’s eyes came back into focus. “I do apologize. I didn’t mean to cast a melancholy pall over the conversation.” The strangely foreign flirtatious smile reappeared. “What is it that you do for Sir Anthony, Mr. Lawton? You must hold quite the position of importance for him to have sent you to meet us and escort us to Wakesdown.” Her long eyelashes fluttered as she blinked rapidly a few times.

“I am a landscape architect. I am redesigning all of the gardens and parks on Sir Anthony’s estate.”

At the mention of gardens, something miraculous happened. A warmth, a genuine curiosity, overtook Katharine Dearing’s blue eyes. Ah, there was the rose pushing the daisy out of its way.

“You’ve done it now.” Christopher sighed dramatically. “One mention of gardening, and Kate will talk your ears off about plants and flowers and weeds and soil and sun and shade.”

Katharine gave a gasp of indignation, but quickly covered it with the flirtatious smile again. “I am certain I do not know what you mean, Christopher. I would never think to importune Mr. Lawton in such a manner.” She crossed her arms and turned to gaze out the window.

The train lurched and chugged and slowly made its way from the station.

Andrew couldn’t tell if Katharine was truly angry at her brother or not, but he determined a change of subject might be in order. “Will you continue to read the law, Mr. Dearing?”

Christopher nodded. “I brought some books with me to study, yes. And I expect I’ll pick up many more on the British legal system while I’m here.”

Andrew opened his mouth to ask if Christopher were joking with him—but then pressed his lips together. Perhaps they had a different term in America for the pursuit of education in the legal system other than read. “Will you seek out a lawyer to apprentice with?”

“If Uncle Anthony doesn’t mind, I might do that just to keep myself busy.”

Katharine made a sharp sound in the back of her throat.

“Oh, right, I’m supposed to call him Sir Anthony until he gives us permission to call him uncle.” Christopher grinned at Andrew. “Though really, in this modern era, why anyone would stand on such formality is beyond me.”

Under the wide brim of her bonnet, Katharine rubbed her forehead with her fingertips, now freed from the mittens she’d worn earlier. Upon first seeing the Dearings, he’d assumed Christopher the older and Katharine the younger—from the way Katharine hovered behind her brother when they first met. Now, however, from Katharine’s memory of something that happened almost nineteen years ago, she was obviously the older sibling. And if Christopher had been six years old in 1832, that meant he was now around five-and-twenty. Meaning Katharine must be in her late twenties, if not already Andrew’s age of thirty.

That was what the woman he’d met at the station meant by “at her age.” Andrew was not certain how things were done in America, but here in England, Miss Dearing would be considered well past the prime marriageable age. And if the rumors that woman heard in Philadelphia were true, without a substantial dowry, Katharine had no chance of marrying well.

For the first time in his life, Andrew felt true pity for another person. The last thing he’d promised his mother before she died of lung rot was that he would not end up like her—condemned to live out her days in the poorhouse. He’d worked hard to get where he was today, and he would do whatever it took to continue bettering himself and his condition.

He thanked God he had not been born a woman.

Crawling Through St. Croix

May 20th, 2013

First posted July 24, 2008

I didn’t really crawl there.  That just sounded like a cool title.  A lot of cruise ships stop at St. Thomas, USVI, but as much as I liked St. Thomas, St. Croix had more of a draw for me.  I guess maybe that was because it didn’t have as much of a tourist feel.   I loved St. Croix.  Most of the time I was in port I just walked around the town, but once I rented a car and drove all the way around the island.  What a beautiful drive that is.  I would encourage you to do the same if you happen to be there for a day or two.  When you are get to Point Udall, the easternmost point of St. Croix, you’ve gone as far east as you can go and still be in the United States.

There are three things that make me think of St. Croix.  One is the Caribbean Hook Bracelet.  This first became popular on St. Croix as a way to celebrate love and good fortune.  If you wear the hook facing towards your heart, your heart is taken and good fortune will come your way.  If you wear the hook away from your heart, you are available and sharing your good fortune.  A good friend gave me my hook bracelet.  We both have one in the traditional horseshoe design. I have to admit that there are days when Consumer Man makes me want to wear my bracelet with the hook out.

The second thing that makes me smile and think of St. Croix is my slice of the ocean.  It’s actually a slab of Larimar, but I bought it because it’s like holding the ocean and it’s waves in my hand.  Larimar is an unusual gemstone mined from a remote mountain in the Dominican Republic.  The name Larimar was given to the stone by a Dominican, Miguel MĂ©ndez, who combined his daughter’s name LARIssa, with MAR, the Spanish word for sea.  I didn’t realize I was purchasing one of the world’s  rarest gemstones when this piece of Larimar became mine.  All I knew was that I felt as if I were holding the sea and it’s beauty in my hand.  It had to come home with me.

And what, you ask, is the third thing that brings back the memory of St. Croix?  It’s roti.  Actually, what I ate was a dish of stewed or curried ingredients stuffed in a roti skin.  The actual roti part is more of a flat Indian bread.  St Croix is the only place I’ve eaten that dish.  I’ve had the roti just as a bread here in the States.  I guess I’ll have to learn how to make my own.  Recipes, any one?

Transformation

May 19th, 2013

I appeal to you therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God which is your spiritual worship.

Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God – what is good and acceptable and perfect.

Romans 12:1-2

It’s a Jungle Out There!

May 19th, 2013

First posted July 17, 2008

I suppose by now you’ve figured out that my mind can travel down some paths not frequently traveled.

While in Walgreen’s last week something caught my eye as I was passing the cosmetic counter.  I had to turn around and go back and get a better look.  I really just couldn’t believe what I was seeing.  My first thought was, “Just look at that jungle.”

I can’t seem to avoid jungles.  I found myself looking at a display of nail polish.  Revlon’s Jewels of the Nile, to be more specific.  All I could see were jungle colors with innovative names such as Pink Orchard, Guava Glam, Primal Purple and Tropical Teal.  Don’t those names bring visions of tropical flowers and fruits?  And what about Exotic Ivory?  I’m thinking of all those wild elephants crashing through the jungle and trampling the gorgeous flowers and luscious fruits.  Smash!  Kaboom!  Oh, no!  It’s coming right at me.  I’m the next tropical bloom on the “let’s crush everything in our path list.”  Okay, I escaped that stampede.

Now I’m looking at Brazil Nut Brown and thinking about the mud at the edge of the Nile squishing up through my toes.  I wonder if this mud is as good as the Dead Sea Mud.  Maybe I should smear some all over my body and see if it beautifies me.

I really have trouble with the last color.  Lush Lime.  I don’t see trees with a bounty of limes for harvest when I look at that green.  I see maybe some moss, but mostly I see something rotten and molded.  Maybe those bananas I stepped in trying to get away from the elephants.

There’s a color Revlon forgot.  They could have called it Bold Bananas.  What’s a jungle without bananas?  I think I will  get on one of those tour boats going on down the Nile to see what else I can find to go with those nail colors.  Oh, look!  The tour company is named Jungle Jewels and my boat is called the Tropical Flower.