Congratulations to Debbie F!! You are the winner of "Heartbroken Promises 2" by Sherry Shumard.
I have emailed you. :)
Monday, June 21, 2010
Winner of "Heartbroken Promises 2"
Congratulations to Debbie F!! You are the winner of "Heartbroken Promises 2" by Sherry Shumard.
I have emailed you. :)
Thursday, June 17, 2010
FIRST Wildcard Tour & Review: "Ransome's Crossing" by Kaye Dacus
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:
and the book:
Harvest House Publishers (June 1, 2010)
***Special thanks to Karri James of Harvest House Publishers for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Kaye Dacus, author of Ransome’s Honor has a Bachelor of Arts in English, with a minor in history, and a Master of Arts in Writing Popular Fiction. Her love of the Regency era started with Jane Austen. Her passion for literature and for history come together to shape her creative, well-researched, and engaging writing.
Visit the author's website.
Product Details:
List Price: $13.99
Paperback: 336 pages
Publisher: Harvest House Publishers (June 1, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0736927549
ISBN-13: 978-0736927543
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Portsmouth, England
August 17, 1814
Ned Cochrane, first lieutenant, HMS Alexandra, stepped out of the jolly boat onto the stone dock and glanced around at the early morning bustle of the dockyard crew. Only nine days remained to fill the crew roster and fit out the ship with the supplies needed for the first leg of a transatlantic voyage. With yesterday lost in celebrating Captain—no, Commodore Ransome’s wedding—and since the commodore’s attention would be necessarily split between distractions on land and his duties to his ship, Ned would shoulder the burden of preparing the ship and crew.
“Sir, look out! Lieutenant Cochrane!”
Ned spun—and fell back just in time to save himself from being swept off the quay by a net full of barrels swinging at the end of a crane. His hat wasn’t so fortunate.
The cargo swayed menacingly overhead. Ned scrambled backward, out of harm’s way. Once clear, he leapt to his feet. “You, there! Watch what you’re about. Secure that crane,” he yelled at the negligent dock crew.
“Are you all right, sir?”
The voice—an odd timbre in the chorus of tenor, baritone, and bass tones usually heard in the dockyard—matched the one which had called the warning. He turned.
A young man, not really more than a boy in a worn, ill-fitting midshipman’s uniform, stood holding Ned’s dripping hat. Sure enough, the lad’s right sleeve was wet to the shoulder.
“Nothing injured but my pride.” Ned took his hat and studied the midshipman. The boy’s tall, round hat concealed most of his dark hair, but…Ned squinted against the bright glare of the sun off the water and surrounding gray stone. “Do I know you, lad?”
The boy touched the brim of the shabby hat. “Charles Lott, sir. We spoke last week. You said there might be a place for me aboard your ship.”
“Ah, yes.” Ned now recalled meeting the midshipman, who’d answered Ned’s questions when the boy had first approached him about a position aboard Alexandra last week, even the question Ned had missed the first time he’d stood for his lieutenancy examination. “I’m sorry, but we have filled the positions on Alexandra.”
Shocked disappointment filled the boy’s elfin face.
“However, I have recommended you to the captain of Audacious.” Ned struggled to keep the smile from his face.
“Audacious? Captain Yates, then?”
Ned sighed. He liked Commodore Ransome’s friend extraordinarily and had looked forward to the fun to be had on Jamaica station with two such commanders. “Alas, I am afraid to say Captain Yates has resigned his commission. Captain Parker is taking command of Audacious.” Ned glanced around the quay. “There is his first officer. Come, I shall introduce you.”
“Thank you, sir.” Midshipman Lott straightened the white collar and cuffs of his too-large coat.
Ned caught his counterpart’s attention and met him near the steps to the upper rampart. He made the introduction and stood back as the first lieutenant of Audacious, Montgomery Howe, put a series of questions to the lad. Lott answered each quickly and with near textbook precision.
“Well done, Mr. Lott. You are ordered to present yourself day after tomorrow to begin your official duties.”
The boy’s face paled. “Sir, may I have until next Thursday?”
“The day before we sail?” Howe crossed his arms and glared at Ned and then at Lott.
Ned ground his teeth at the boy’s impertinence, which was casting him—Ned—in a bad light. He’d recommended the lad, after all.
“Yes, sir. I am aware it is an inconvenience, but my mother is a widow, and I must see that she is settled—that our business affairs are settled—before I could leave on such a long journey.”
“And it will take a sennight?” Ned asked.
“We live in the north part of the country, sir. ’Tis a three days’ journey by post, sir.” Lott spoke to the cobblestones below his feet.
Aye, well should he be ashamed to make such a request…though many years ago, a newly made captain had let a newly made lieutenant have four days to see to his own widowed mother and sister.
Apparently, from the expression that flickered across Howe’s face, he had also received a similar mercy some time earlier in his career. “Very well, then. You are to present yourself to me on deck of Audacious no later than seven bells in the morning watch Thursday next. If you are late, your spot will be given to someone else. Understand?”
“Aye, sir!” Lott touched the brim of his hat again. “Thank you, sir.”
“Dismissed—oh, and Mr. Lott?”
The boy, a few paces away already, halted and turned, at attention again. “Aye, sir?”
“Make yourself more presentable by next week if you can. You can find plenty of secondhand uniforms available in the shops in much better condition than yours. And get a haircut. I do not allow midshipmen to tuck their hair under their collars.”
Lott’s hand flew to the back of his neck, eyes wide. “Aye, aye, sir.”
“Dismissed.”
Ned moved to stand beside Howe as the boy ran down the quay. “Sorry for the inconvenience, Monty, but I have a feeling that boy will do well by you.”
“I’ve never heard a lad recite the answers so perfectly. He’s slight. Says he’s fifteen? Can’t be more than thirteen or fourteen.”
“Some boys don’t mature as quickly as others. You should remember that quite well.” Ned bumped his shoulder against his former berth mate’s.
Howe shoved him back. “Just because you gained height and a deeper voice before I did doesn’t mean you matured faster, Ned. In fact, you could probably learn manners in decorum and respect from little Charlie Lott.”
Ned guffawed and bade his friend farewell. He wasn’t certain if he could learn anything from the young midshipman, but he would certainly look out for him and do whatever he could to promote the boy’s interest. He had the feeling Charles Lott would make a good officer some day.
Charlotte Ransome dived behind a large shrub and held her breath. Footsteps crunched on the gravel garden path, coming toward her closer and closer.
Had he seen her?
Keep walking. Please, Lord, let him keep walking.
When he reached her shrub, Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut, fearful of blinking. If the gardener had seen and recognized her, he would report her to the Yateses, who would in turn report her to her mother and brother—and all would be lost.
A gust of wind rustled the verdure around her. Her heart thundered against her ribs, and she feared she might be sick.
But the gardener did not stop. Long after his footsteps faded, Charlotte kept to her hiding place. Quiet descended until only the noise of the streets and alleys beyond the garden walls filtered in around the enclosure behind the enormous townhouse.
Peeking around the shrub, she found the path clear once again.
Sneaking into the garden through the servants’ entrance in the rear had proven risky but successful. She hadn’t been sure she’d avoid being spotted by any of the servants, busy with their early morning duties, but Providence appeared to be with her.
She cautiously made her way across the garden to the back of the house. She peeked through the window of Collin Yates’s study and, finding it empty, slipped inside, relieved no one had discovered that she’d left it unlocked when she sneaked out of the house near dawn. She stuck her head out into the hallway, and, hearing no movement, made her way upstairs as quietly as she could. She paused on the landing and looked around the corner, down the hallway on which all of the bedrooms opened. No stirrings, no sounds. Heart pounding wildly and trying to keep her feet from touching the floor, she made her way along the thick carpet to the bedroom at the end of the hall and slipped inside, pushing the door closed with a soft click.
Movement across the room caught her eye. Turning to face the intruder, she found herself looking at a bedraggled boy in an oversized coat and britches, a tall, round hat jammed on his head almost down to his eyes.
She laughed, and the bedraggled midshipman in the mirror did likewise. Yes, her disguise was convincing enough to startle even herself. With a sigh she unbuttoned the coat and pulled it off, dropping it to the floor. When Lieutenant Cochrane had looked at her with recognition in his gray eyes, she was certain her entire plan would crash like a ship against a rocky shore. She sent up a quick prayer of thanks that he hadn’t connected her appearance as Charles Lott with her true identity.
Sinking into the chair at the dressing table, she yanked off the hat and pulled her long thick hair out from under the high collar of the uniform coat. She’d tried pinning it flat to her head, but the cumbersome length of it—past her waist when unbound—created too much bulk for even the oversized hat to conceal.
The small porcelain clock on the mantel chimed once. Half-past eight. Panic once again rising, Charlotte peeled out of the uniform—picked up for mere pennies the first time she’d been able to sneak away from her mother’s and Mrs. Yates’s chaperonage a few days ago—stuffed it in the bottom of her trunk, threw her sleeping gown over her head, and jumped into the bed, still trying to find the sleeves with her hands as the bedroom door swung quietly open.
At the thump of the water pitcher on the commode, Charlotte sat up as if awakened by the sound.
Her maid curtsied. “Good morning, miss. I brought you fresh water for washing.”
“Thank you.” Charlotte grabbed her dressing gown from the end of the bed and shrugged into it, and then she stepped behind the screen in the corner. The scent of lilacs drifted up from the warm water as she poured it into the porcelain basin in the top of the exquisite dark-wood cabinet.
After running most of the way back from the dockyard, the wet cloth felt good against her skin, especially on her neck and back where her thick braid had been pressed against her by her uniform coat.
With the maid’s assistance, she soon stood before the mirror where Midshipman Charles Lott had been reflected less than an hour ago, now looking upon a fashionable young lady. Fear that she wouldn’t be able to pull off her plan swirled in her stomach, but she pushed it aside.
“The irons are ready, miss.”
Charlotte sat at the dressing table, sipped the coffee which had been delivered while she dressed, and reviewed her plans for the next eight days as the maid twisted and twirled and pinned her hair.
Anticipation, anxiety, and excitement danced within her veins. In just over a week, she would leave Portsmouth on a grand adventure. A grand adventure that would culminate in arriving in Jamaica, being reunited with Henry Winchester, and marrying him.
“Your new rank suits you, Commodore Ransome.”
William met Julia’s green eyes in the mirror’s reflection. Sitting in the middle of the bed in her white sleeping gown, her coppery hair cascading in riotous curls around her shoulders and back, she looked as young as when he’d made the gut-wrenching decision to walk away from her twelve years ago.
Now she was his wife. His knees quaked at the thought.
He returned to the examination of his new uniform coat, delivered from the tailor just this morning. “I am indebted to your father for arranging the promotion. There are many officers more deserving. All will say I received special favor because I am now his son-in-law.”
“As you should know by now,” Julia said, climbing off the bed and crossing to her dressing table, “my father does nothing unless he thinks it best for the Royal Navy.” Drawing her hairbrush through her fountain of hair, she ambled across the colorful carpet toward him. “He secured your promotion before he knew of our engagement, so that did not have any bearing on his decision.” She pulled the mass of her hair over her left shoulder and continued pulling the soft bristles of the brush through it. “And when have you ever worried about rumors going around about your being favored by my father?” A mischievous grin quirked the corners of her full lips. “Isn’t worrying about rumors and gossip what got us here in the first place?”
The fact she’d forgiven him, that she could now joke about the past, both thrilled and humbled him. He did not deserve her.
She set the brush down and came to stand behind him, looking around him at the reflection. She ran her hand along his sleeve to the braid-laden cuff. His arm tingled in reaction. He did not want to respond to her like this—every time she spoke, moved, breathed, he lost track of everything but her. He had to conquer it; otherwise, her presence aboard ship would be detrimental to his command.
A knock on the door roused both of them. The maid Lady Dalrymple had assigned to Julia entered on Julia’s entreaty.
“I will leave you.” William inclined his head and made for the door, and then he stopped as soon as he reached it. He turned and smiled at her. “Do not be long.”
“I will join you for breakfast shortly.”
He stood in the hallway a few moments after the door closed, separating him from Julia for the first time since their wedding yesterday morning. Pleasure and regret battled within him. Marrying Julia Witherington had, in less than twenty-four hours, brought him more joy than he could ever have dreamed or deserved. Yet when he thought of his duty, of his commitment to the Royal Navy, to king and country, he couldn’t help but fear he’d made his life more difficult by marrying at such a time.
The east wing of the manor house at Brampton Park, home to Lady Dalrymple, rang with emptiness. While William appreciated the privacy afforded them by the dowager viscountess’s invitation to stay in the unused section for their wedding night—with hints she would like them to stay even longer—the grandeur of it made his skin crawl, and he could not wait until he could deposit Julia at her father’s house and return to his ship.
After two wrong turns, he managed to find the small breakfast room, unused for nearly a century according to Lady Dalrymple, since the new wing and the much larger dining room had been completed.
The small room, paneled with dark wood, set him somewhat more at ease. By ignoring the narrow, tall windows, he could almost imagine himself aboard a ship in this room.
He paced, waiting for Julia, pondering how he could recover his good sense around her. When she entered the room a little while later—queenly in a purple dress, her hair the only crown she would ever need—he realized the only way he would be able to regain control of his mind would be to limit his contact with her.
Trying not to watch her serve eggs, sausage, and toast onto her plate, nor admire the curve of her neck above the lace set into the neck of her gown, William piled food onto his own plate, held Julia’s chair for her, and then took his place at the head of the small table.
“I must return to my ship today.”
Julia stirred sugar into her coffee. “Of course. I knew you would need to spend your days preparing Alexandra for the voyage.”
He cleared his throat of the bite of egg that wished to lodge there. “What I mean is that I must return to reside aboard my ship.”
Julia’s spoon clanked against her cup. Her face paled, and the light which had danced in her eyes all morning vanished.
William’s innards clenched. Perhaps he should have eased into the idea instead of blurting it out. He blamed it on her. He could not think clearly in her presence.
“Have…have you received word from your crew that there is trouble?” Her voice quavered.
“No. It is nothing like that.” Unable to stop himself, he reached across the corner of the table and took her hand in his. “My duty is to my ship, to my crew. I am needed there. Here, my attentions and loyalty are divided.”
For a brief moment, Julia’s chin quivered. But she pressed her lips together and drew in a deep breath. “I understand. And I have no desire to draw you away from your duties. I have already created too much inconvenience and upheaval in your life. I do not wish to generate more. However, I have promised Lady Dalrymple we would join her tonight for her dinner and card party as her honored guests. If we were to abdicate from her hospitality today, how would that reflect on her?”
Though well masked, the pain in Julia’s expression made William want to retract his words, to promise her he would stay here with her the remainder of the time they had in England. Any other woman would have been offended by his blundering, unreasonable demand. Julia apologized for inconveniencing him.
He raised her hand and kissed the back of it. “Aye. We will stay one more night.” Then, giving in to impulse, he leaned over, cupped that quivering chin, and claimed her lips in a searing kiss. “And I will not have you thinking yourself an inconvenience to me.”
His action resulted in the desired effect—the spark rekindled in her green eyes. She ran her finger along his jaw. “You lie too well, Commodore Ransome.”
“You start off our marriage ill, Mrs. Ransome, if you believe I would ever lie to you.” He squeezed her hand and then tucked in to his breakfast.
“Conceal the hard truth, then,” she said, cocking her head and sending the spiral curls at her temples dancing, “for the last few days have not been a convenience to you.”
“An upheaval, certainly.” He feigned a close interest in the piece of sausage speared on his fork. “However, any inconvenience I have suffered has been more than adequately recompensed not just by gaining a wife, but by finally receiving the complete approbation of my admiral.”
Julia’s gasp preceded a gale of laughter.
A surge of contentment washed away the morning’s anxieties. Perhaps being married would not interfere with his duty to the navy as severely as he’d feared.
August 17, 1814
Ned Cochrane, first lieutenant, HMS Alexandra, stepped out of the jolly boat onto the stone dock and glanced around at the early morning bustle of the dockyard crew. Only nine days remained to fill the crew roster and fit out the ship with the supplies needed for the first leg of a transatlantic voyage. With yesterday lost in celebrating Captain—no, Commodore Ransome’s wedding—and since the commodore’s attention would be necessarily split between distractions on land and his duties to his ship, Ned would shoulder the burden of preparing the ship and crew.
“Sir, look out! Lieutenant Cochrane!”
Ned spun—and fell back just in time to save himself from being swept off the quay by a net full of barrels swinging at the end of a crane. His hat wasn’t so fortunate.
The cargo swayed menacingly overhead. Ned scrambled backward, out of harm’s way. Once clear, he leapt to his feet. “You, there! Watch what you’re about. Secure that crane,” he yelled at the negligent dock crew.
“Are you all right, sir?”
The voice—an odd timbre in the chorus of tenor, baritone, and bass tones usually heard in the dockyard—matched the one which had called the warning. He turned.
A young man, not really more than a boy in a worn, ill-fitting midshipman’s uniform, stood holding Ned’s dripping hat. Sure enough, the lad’s right sleeve was wet to the shoulder.
“Nothing injured but my pride.” Ned took his hat and studied the midshipman. The boy’s tall, round hat concealed most of his dark hair, but…Ned squinted against the bright glare of the sun off the water and surrounding gray stone. “Do I know you, lad?”
The boy touched the brim of the shabby hat. “Charles Lott, sir. We spoke last week. You said there might be a place for me aboard your ship.”
“Ah, yes.” Ned now recalled meeting the midshipman, who’d answered Ned’s questions when the boy had first approached him about a position aboard Alexandra last week, even the question Ned had missed the first time he’d stood for his lieutenancy examination. “I’m sorry, but we have filled the positions on Alexandra.”
Shocked disappointment filled the boy’s elfin face.
“However, I have recommended you to the captain of Audacious.” Ned struggled to keep the smile from his face.
“Audacious? Captain Yates, then?”
Ned sighed. He liked Commodore Ransome’s friend extraordinarily and had looked forward to the fun to be had on Jamaica station with two such commanders. “Alas, I am afraid to say Captain Yates has resigned his commission. Captain Parker is taking command of Audacious.” Ned glanced around the quay. “There is his first officer. Come, I shall introduce you.”
“Thank you, sir.” Midshipman Lott straightened the white collar and cuffs of his too-large coat.
Ned caught his counterpart’s attention and met him near the steps to the upper rampart. He made the introduction and stood back as the first lieutenant of Audacious, Montgomery Howe, put a series of questions to the lad. Lott answered each quickly and with near textbook precision.
“Well done, Mr. Lott. You are ordered to present yourself day after tomorrow to begin your official duties.”
The boy’s face paled. “Sir, may I have until next Thursday?”
“The day before we sail?” Howe crossed his arms and glared at Ned and then at Lott.
Ned ground his teeth at the boy’s impertinence, which was casting him—Ned—in a bad light. He’d recommended the lad, after all.
“Yes, sir. I am aware it is an inconvenience, but my mother is a widow, and I must see that she is settled—that our business affairs are settled—before I could leave on such a long journey.”
“And it will take a sennight?” Ned asked.
“We live in the north part of the country, sir. ’Tis a three days’ journey by post, sir.” Lott spoke to the cobblestones below his feet.
Aye, well should he be ashamed to make such a request…though many years ago, a newly made captain had let a newly made lieutenant have four days to see to his own widowed mother and sister.
Apparently, from the expression that flickered across Howe’s face, he had also received a similar mercy some time earlier in his career. “Very well, then. You are to present yourself to me on deck of Audacious no later than seven bells in the morning watch Thursday next. If you are late, your spot will be given to someone else. Understand?”
“Aye, sir!” Lott touched the brim of his hat again. “Thank you, sir.”
“Dismissed—oh, and Mr. Lott?”
The boy, a few paces away already, halted and turned, at attention again. “Aye, sir?”
“Make yourself more presentable by next week if you can. You can find plenty of secondhand uniforms available in the shops in much better condition than yours. And get a haircut. I do not allow midshipmen to tuck their hair under their collars.”
Lott’s hand flew to the back of his neck, eyes wide. “Aye, aye, sir.”
“Dismissed.”
Ned moved to stand beside Howe as the boy ran down the quay. “Sorry for the inconvenience, Monty, but I have a feeling that boy will do well by you.”
“I’ve never heard a lad recite the answers so perfectly. He’s slight. Says he’s fifteen? Can’t be more than thirteen or fourteen.”
“Some boys don’t mature as quickly as others. You should remember that quite well.” Ned bumped his shoulder against his former berth mate’s.
Howe shoved him back. “Just because you gained height and a deeper voice before I did doesn’t mean you matured faster, Ned. In fact, you could probably learn manners in decorum and respect from little Charlie Lott.”
Ned guffawed and bade his friend farewell. He wasn’t certain if he could learn anything from the young midshipman, but he would certainly look out for him and do whatever he could to promote the boy’s interest. He had the feeling Charles Lott would make a good officer some day.
Charlotte Ransome dived behind a large shrub and held her breath. Footsteps crunched on the gravel garden path, coming toward her closer and closer.
Had he seen her?
Keep walking. Please, Lord, let him keep walking.
When he reached her shrub, Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut, fearful of blinking. If the gardener had seen and recognized her, he would report her to the Yateses, who would in turn report her to her mother and brother—and all would be lost.
A gust of wind rustled the verdure around her. Her heart thundered against her ribs, and she feared she might be sick.
But the gardener did not stop. Long after his footsteps faded, Charlotte kept to her hiding place. Quiet descended until only the noise of the streets and alleys beyond the garden walls filtered in around the enclosure behind the enormous townhouse.
Peeking around the shrub, she found the path clear once again.
Sneaking into the garden through the servants’ entrance in the rear had proven risky but successful. She hadn’t been sure she’d avoid being spotted by any of the servants, busy with their early morning duties, but Providence appeared to be with her.
She cautiously made her way across the garden to the back of the house. She peeked through the window of Collin Yates’s study and, finding it empty, slipped inside, relieved no one had discovered that she’d left it unlocked when she sneaked out of the house near dawn. She stuck her head out into the hallway, and, hearing no movement, made her way upstairs as quietly as she could. She paused on the landing and looked around the corner, down the hallway on which all of the bedrooms opened. No stirrings, no sounds. Heart pounding wildly and trying to keep her feet from touching the floor, she made her way along the thick carpet to the bedroom at the end of the hall and slipped inside, pushing the door closed with a soft click.
Movement across the room caught her eye. Turning to face the intruder, she found herself looking at a bedraggled boy in an oversized coat and britches, a tall, round hat jammed on his head almost down to his eyes.
She laughed, and the bedraggled midshipman in the mirror did likewise. Yes, her disguise was convincing enough to startle even herself. With a sigh she unbuttoned the coat and pulled it off, dropping it to the floor. When Lieutenant Cochrane had looked at her with recognition in his gray eyes, she was certain her entire plan would crash like a ship against a rocky shore. She sent up a quick prayer of thanks that he hadn’t connected her appearance as Charles Lott with her true identity.
Sinking into the chair at the dressing table, she yanked off the hat and pulled her long thick hair out from under the high collar of the uniform coat. She’d tried pinning it flat to her head, but the cumbersome length of it—past her waist when unbound—created too much bulk for even the oversized hat to conceal.
The small porcelain clock on the mantel chimed once. Half-past eight. Panic once again rising, Charlotte peeled out of the uniform—picked up for mere pennies the first time she’d been able to sneak away from her mother’s and Mrs. Yates’s chaperonage a few days ago—stuffed it in the bottom of her trunk, threw her sleeping gown over her head, and jumped into the bed, still trying to find the sleeves with her hands as the bedroom door swung quietly open.
At the thump of the water pitcher on the commode, Charlotte sat up as if awakened by the sound.
Her maid curtsied. “Good morning, miss. I brought you fresh water for washing.”
“Thank you.” Charlotte grabbed her dressing gown from the end of the bed and shrugged into it, and then she stepped behind the screen in the corner. The scent of lilacs drifted up from the warm water as she poured it into the porcelain basin in the top of the exquisite dark-wood cabinet.
After running most of the way back from the dockyard, the wet cloth felt good against her skin, especially on her neck and back where her thick braid had been pressed against her by her uniform coat.
With the maid’s assistance, she soon stood before the mirror where Midshipman Charles Lott had been reflected less than an hour ago, now looking upon a fashionable young lady. Fear that she wouldn’t be able to pull off her plan swirled in her stomach, but she pushed it aside.
“The irons are ready, miss.”
Charlotte sat at the dressing table, sipped the coffee which had been delivered while she dressed, and reviewed her plans for the next eight days as the maid twisted and twirled and pinned her hair.
Anticipation, anxiety, and excitement danced within her veins. In just over a week, she would leave Portsmouth on a grand adventure. A grand adventure that would culminate in arriving in Jamaica, being reunited with Henry Winchester, and marrying him.
“Your new rank suits you, Commodore Ransome.”
William met Julia’s green eyes in the mirror’s reflection. Sitting in the middle of the bed in her white sleeping gown, her coppery hair cascading in riotous curls around her shoulders and back, she looked as young as when he’d made the gut-wrenching decision to walk away from her twelve years ago.
Now she was his wife. His knees quaked at the thought.
He returned to the examination of his new uniform coat, delivered from the tailor just this morning. “I am indebted to your father for arranging the promotion. There are many officers more deserving. All will say I received special favor because I am now his son-in-law.”
“As you should know by now,” Julia said, climbing off the bed and crossing to her dressing table, “my father does nothing unless he thinks it best for the Royal Navy.” Drawing her hairbrush through her fountain of hair, she ambled across the colorful carpet toward him. “He secured your promotion before he knew of our engagement, so that did not have any bearing on his decision.” She pulled the mass of her hair over her left shoulder and continued pulling the soft bristles of the brush through it. “And when have you ever worried about rumors going around about your being favored by my father?” A mischievous grin quirked the corners of her full lips. “Isn’t worrying about rumors and gossip what got us here in the first place?”
The fact she’d forgiven him, that she could now joke about the past, both thrilled and humbled him. He did not deserve her.
She set the brush down and came to stand behind him, looking around him at the reflection. She ran her hand along his sleeve to the braid-laden cuff. His arm tingled in reaction. He did not want to respond to her like this—every time she spoke, moved, breathed, he lost track of everything but her. He had to conquer it; otherwise, her presence aboard ship would be detrimental to his command.
A knock on the door roused both of them. The maid Lady Dalrymple had assigned to Julia entered on Julia’s entreaty.
“I will leave you.” William inclined his head and made for the door, and then he stopped as soon as he reached it. He turned and smiled at her. “Do not be long.”
“I will join you for breakfast shortly.”
He stood in the hallway a few moments after the door closed, separating him from Julia for the first time since their wedding yesterday morning. Pleasure and regret battled within him. Marrying Julia Witherington had, in less than twenty-four hours, brought him more joy than he could ever have dreamed or deserved. Yet when he thought of his duty, of his commitment to the Royal Navy, to king and country, he couldn’t help but fear he’d made his life more difficult by marrying at such a time.
The east wing of the manor house at Brampton Park, home to Lady Dalrymple, rang with emptiness. While William appreciated the privacy afforded them by the dowager viscountess’s invitation to stay in the unused section for their wedding night—with hints she would like them to stay even longer—the grandeur of it made his skin crawl, and he could not wait until he could deposit Julia at her father’s house and return to his ship.
After two wrong turns, he managed to find the small breakfast room, unused for nearly a century according to Lady Dalrymple, since the new wing and the much larger dining room had been completed.
The small room, paneled with dark wood, set him somewhat more at ease. By ignoring the narrow, tall windows, he could almost imagine himself aboard a ship in this room.
He paced, waiting for Julia, pondering how he could recover his good sense around her. When she entered the room a little while later—queenly in a purple dress, her hair the only crown she would ever need—he realized the only way he would be able to regain control of his mind would be to limit his contact with her.
Trying not to watch her serve eggs, sausage, and toast onto her plate, nor admire the curve of her neck above the lace set into the neck of her gown, William piled food onto his own plate, held Julia’s chair for her, and then took his place at the head of the small table.
“I must return to my ship today.”
Julia stirred sugar into her coffee. “Of course. I knew you would need to spend your days preparing Alexandra for the voyage.”
He cleared his throat of the bite of egg that wished to lodge there. “What I mean is that I must return to reside aboard my ship.”
Julia’s spoon clanked against her cup. Her face paled, and the light which had danced in her eyes all morning vanished.
William’s innards clenched. Perhaps he should have eased into the idea instead of blurting it out. He blamed it on her. He could not think clearly in her presence.
“Have…have you received word from your crew that there is trouble?” Her voice quavered.
“No. It is nothing like that.” Unable to stop himself, he reached across the corner of the table and took her hand in his. “My duty is to my ship, to my crew. I am needed there. Here, my attentions and loyalty are divided.”
For a brief moment, Julia’s chin quivered. But she pressed her lips together and drew in a deep breath. “I understand. And I have no desire to draw you away from your duties. I have already created too much inconvenience and upheaval in your life. I do not wish to generate more. However, I have promised Lady Dalrymple we would join her tonight for her dinner and card party as her honored guests. If we were to abdicate from her hospitality today, how would that reflect on her?”
Though well masked, the pain in Julia’s expression made William want to retract his words, to promise her he would stay here with her the remainder of the time they had in England. Any other woman would have been offended by his blundering, unreasonable demand. Julia apologized for inconveniencing him.
He raised her hand and kissed the back of it. “Aye. We will stay one more night.” Then, giving in to impulse, he leaned over, cupped that quivering chin, and claimed her lips in a searing kiss. “And I will not have you thinking yourself an inconvenience to me.”
His action resulted in the desired effect—the spark rekindled in her green eyes. She ran her finger along his jaw. “You lie too well, Commodore Ransome.”
“You start off our marriage ill, Mrs. Ransome, if you believe I would ever lie to you.” He squeezed her hand and then tucked in to his breakfast.
“Conceal the hard truth, then,” she said, cocking her head and sending the spiral curls at her temples dancing, “for the last few days have not been a convenience to you.”
“An upheaval, certainly.” He feigned a close interest in the piece of sausage speared on his fork. “However, any inconvenience I have suffered has been more than adequately recompensed not just by gaining a wife, but by finally receiving the complete approbation of my admiral.”
Julia’s gasp preceded a gale of laughter.
A surge of contentment washed away the morning’s anxieties. Perhaps being married would not interfere with his duty to the navy as severely as he’d feared.
My Thoughts:
"Ransome's Crossing" is the second book of the Ransome Trilogy. Without reading the first book, I wasn't sure how lost I'd be. I was delighted to find that this could be read as a stand alone, but there were references made back to what happened in the previous book that made me wish I had read it - not so much because I needed to, but because it sounded like I really missed a good book!
This was an exciting and delightful story. Charlotte Ransome is a young woman who is determined to sail from England to Jamaica to marry a man she was forbidden to see. She disguises herself as a teenage boy and ends up becoming a midshipman in a fleet of ships that her brother commands.
Charlotte is a strong woman who holds her own with a crew of tough men. She is smart, exciting, and very determined. She finds herself growing and maturing with each challenge she faces. I loved her character and her attitude!!
Kaye Dacus has a masterful way with spinning a tale. She touched on problems and challenges that I would never have considered a midshipman would deal with. She pulls you into the story, and holds you there until the very last page. My only complaint is that I NEED to get the next book to see what happens next, and the first book ("Ransome's Honor") to see what started this all.
I highly recommend this book!!
Book was supplied by FIRST for me to honestly review.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
FIRST Blog Tour & Review: "Fatal Loyalty" by Sue Duffy
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:
and the book:
Kregel Publications (April 23, 2010)
***Special thanks to Cat Hoort of Kregel Publications for sending me a review copy.***ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Sue Duffy is an award-winning writer whose work has appeared in Moody magazine, The Presbyterian Journal, Sunday Digest, and The Christian Reader. Her first novel Mortal Wounds was published in 2001 and she has also contributed to Stories for a Woman’s Heart (Multnomah). She and her husband, Mike, have three grown children.
Product Details:
List Price: $12.99
Paperback: 256 pages
Publisher: Kregel Publications (April 23, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0825425948
ISBN-13: 978-0825425943
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Prologue
In an instant, his world collapsed, and no one knew it but him. The giddy chatter of students rushing to and from the cafeteria swirled about him as he felt blindly for something to lean against.
Eyes locked on the overhead television screen, Evan Markham backed slowly toward a post in the crowded student union. Just moments ago, he’d been one of them, a Florida State student preparing for exams and the long-awaited summer break. But what he’d just heard ended it all.
He had only glanced at the News at Noon anchorwoman with the glossy lips as he hurried to class. He caught something about a shootout in Tampa, but kept going. As he reached the door, though, he heard a name that stopped him cold.
“. . . Leo Francini.”
Evan turned suddenly and stared at the screen as the woman switched the broadcast to an on-the-scene reporter. A cold sweat sprang from his brow as he moved quickly toward others gathering before the monitor.
“This quiet residential street in Tampa was the scene today of a bloody standoff between FBI agents and members of a drug cartel run by Miami racketeer Leo Francini,” the somber-faced young man announced. “Before the violence ended about nine o’clock this morning, two FBI agents and Francini’s son, Donnie Francini, were killed. It is believed that Leo Francini was in the area, though not involved in the shootout. An intense manhunt by the FBI and local police is now underway. A house-to-house search is being conducted in . . .”
Steadying himself against the post, Evan turned to see if anyone was watching him. How could they know? No one knows.
Then another name caught him.
“Florida Attorney General Tony Ryborg, visibly shaken by the deaths of the two FBI agents, just moments ago issued what he calls an iron-clad promise to the people of this state, saying, ‘Leo Francini will be brought to justice and pay the severest penalty for these deaths.’”
Two hours later, Evan was packed and ready to leave. For where, he didn’t yet know. He’d removed all his belongings from the apartment and left a note for his roommate, whom he hardly knew. He hadn’t allowed himself to get close to many people, switching roommates often during the three years he’d been enrolled. Still, the guy deserved an apology for the sudden departure.
Evan returned to the student union to close his checking account and put a hold on his mail, evading inquiries about why he would do so before final exams.
As he left the building, he saw her. As usual, she didn’t notice him. Andie Ryborg seemed as absorbed in a private world as he was. Only hers hadn’t just ended in a gunfight.
One last time, he hung back and watched her. Dark hair fell loosely about her face as she sketched beneath a tree, focused on the gurgling fountain in the center of the green.
They’ll find you. Get away!
In an instant, his world collapsed, and no one knew it but him. The giddy chatter of students rushing to and from the cafeteria swirled about him as he felt blindly for something to lean against.
Eyes locked on the overhead television screen, Evan Markham backed slowly toward a post in the crowded student union. Just moments ago, he’d been one of them, a Florida State student preparing for exams and the long-awaited summer break. But what he’d just heard ended it all.
He had only glanced at the News at Noon anchorwoman with the glossy lips as he hurried to class. He caught something about a shootout in Tampa, but kept going. As he reached the door, though, he heard a name that stopped him cold.
“. . . Leo Francini.”
Evan turned suddenly and stared at the screen as the woman switched the broadcast to an on-the-scene reporter. A cold sweat sprang from his brow as he moved quickly toward others gathering before the monitor.
“This quiet residential street in Tampa was the scene today of a bloody standoff between FBI agents and members of a drug cartel run by Miami racketeer Leo Francini,” the somber-faced young man announced. “Before the violence ended about nine o’clock this morning, two FBI agents and Francini’s son, Donnie Francini, were killed. It is believed that Leo Francini was in the area, though not involved in the shootout. An intense manhunt by the FBI and local police is now underway. A house-to-house search is being conducted in . . .”
Steadying himself against the post, Evan turned to see if anyone was watching him. How could they know? No one knows.
Then another name caught him.
“Florida Attorney General Tony Ryborg, visibly shaken by the deaths of the two FBI agents, just moments ago issued what he calls an iron-clad promise to the people of this state, saying, ‘Leo Francini will be brought to justice and pay the severest penalty for these deaths.’”
Two hours later, Evan was packed and ready to leave. For where, he didn’t yet know. He’d removed all his belongings from the apartment and left a note for his roommate, whom he hardly knew. He hadn’t allowed himself to get close to many people, switching roommates often during the three years he’d been enrolled. Still, the guy deserved an apology for the sudden departure.
Evan returned to the student union to close his checking account and put a hold on his mail, evading inquiries about why he would do so before final exams.
As he left the building, he saw her. As usual, she didn’t notice him. Andie Ryborg seemed as absorbed in a private world as he was. Only hers hadn’t just ended in a gunfight.
One last time, he hung back and watched her. Dark hair fell loosely about her face as she sketched beneath a tree, focused on the gurgling fountain in the center of the green.
They’ll find you. Get away!
My Thoughts:
First, let me say, when a novel takes place in present time, I think I expect more realism out of it and I'm a bit more critical of the storyline and the characters. With that said, this story takes place in present day Florida and centers on a drug cartel and politics. When dealing with these subjects, I expected a more "gritty" type of novel. Instead, the storyline seemed far-fetched at times, and a little too goody-goody.
The characters were likable, but I wanted more development and realism. Andie was portrayed as a strong woman, but there were a number of times I felt she was just down-right dumb with her decisions, which frustrated me. Evan's character was interesting and his mission was noble, but seemed a little weird to put so much on the line for someone that he thought didn't even know he existed.
Although I enjoyed this book, I found it slow and hard to "get into" in the beginning. As it continued, it really picked up, and became not only interesting but exciting and developed into a real page-turner. I think with a bit more realism, this could have been a great book. With all that said, I still found it to be a good and entertaining read.
Book was supplied by FIRST for me to honestly review.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
The Double Blog Dare Tour: Alison Dare
Today is Day #7 of "The Double Blog Dare Tour" with Alison Dare. Alison is a 12 year old girl who is the star of three exciting adventures: "Alison Dare: Little Miss Adventures", "Alison Dare: The Heart of the Maiden" and Alison Dare: Secrets of the Blue Scarab". We were lucky enough here at "Just One More Paragraph" to catch Alison between adventures, and after a bit of persuading, she agreed to an interview. Our reporter, Miss B., being somewhat of an adventure nut herself, suggested going on a hike with Alison and enjoying the day while having a nice chance to talk.
Miss B. and Alison spent some time looking over the map and decided what would be the best trail to take.
They hiked through dense forest.
Look! Alison found a 4-leaf clover. It must be her lucky day!
They found a cute little toad house. Looks like it might be in use... Be careful Alison.
Wonder what kind of creatures live in here?
What?!! Alison found another 4-leaf clover? Wonder why she would need all that luck?!
Speaking of lucky - look at that luscious strawberry Alison found! Mmmmmmmm.......
Wonder if these things are dangerous. They certainly look like they are mutants of some sort!
OH NO!!! Look out Alison! That shadow looks really, really dangerous!!!!
RUN!!!
Alison climbs a huge bush....
And sneaks behind a fence.
She peeks through a hole to find the elephant on the other side!
With grace and stealth, she makes it to the top of the tower.
She then shimmies along the high wire in attempt to escape the elephant.... Meanwhile, Miss B. searches all over for Alison, but finds no trace of her anywhere.
Leaving Miss B. without her interview and a long walk home alone.
Would you like to visit more blogs that are participating in this tour? You can them all listed HERE.
About the books (and Alison, too!)Alison Dare: Indiana Jones meets Lara Croft in fabulous, graphic adventures.Alison Dare is not your typical twelve-year-old. She's the daughter of an archaeologist/adventurer and the masked hero known as the Blue Scarab. To top it off, she's also the niece of an international super-spy; it's no surprise that a craving for danger is in her blood! Unfortunately, her parents have locked her away at the prestigious St. Joan's Academy for Girls, hoping that this would lead to a more "normal" life for their daughter.
But despite all the strict rules at the school, Alison and her best pals - Wendy and Dot - somehow manage to find themselves involved in adventures that rival those of Alison's globetrotting, planet-saving relatives. Whether it's magic genies, super-powered bank robbers, or a dastardly baron bent on world domination, Alison Dare delivers the best thrills since Indiana Jones and more action than Lara Croft!
Books were supplied by Tundra for this tour.
FIRST Wildcard Tour with Review: "Love On A Dime" by Cara Lynn James
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:
and the book:
Thomas Nelson (June 1, 2010)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Cara Lynn James is a debut writer who has received numerous contest awards from Romance Writers of America chapters and the American Christian Fiction Writers. She resides in northwest Florida with her husband Jim. They have two grown children, Justin and Alicia; a grandson, Damian; and Papillion named Sparky.
Visit the author's website.
Product Details:
List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 320 pages
Publisher: Thomas Nelson (June 1, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1595546790
ISBN-13: 978-1595546791
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
P rolo g u eN e w Y o r k C i t y , M ay 1 8 9 3
Jack slowed his pace, his courage once more waning at
the sight of the Westbrook home across the way. Anxiety
twisted his stomach in a knot. But in the dusky light,
Lilly’s glow of confidence reignited his own flame. She
understood her parents far better than he did. Since she believed her father
would agree to the marriage, why should he hesitate?
Arm-in-arm they strolled across the road. Among the row of
fine brick townhouses facing them, the Westbrook house stood
three stories tall like all the rest, with long, paned windows overlooking
Washington Park.
Mr. Ames, the ancient butler, opened the front door. Jack and
Lilly entered the dimly lit foyer.
“Where is my father this evening?” Lilly asked the butler.
“In the back parlor, miss.”
“Shall I go with you, Jack?”
“No,” he whispered, squeezing her hand, “I’d rather do this
on my own. Say a prayer all will go well.”
Jack strode toward the parlor, determined to plead his case.
Every nerve ending in his body fired with life—and more than
a few with apprehension. He’d calm himself and then ask Mr.
Westbrook for Lilly’s hand in a respectful tone, solicitous, but
not fawning. He’d restrain his usual brash attitude and hope Mr.
Westbrook would consent to a marriage most would deem unsuitable.
If he weighed the odds of success, he wouldn’t even try.
Jack inhaled a steadying breath and increased his pace down
the narrow hallway leading to the back of the house. Gas sconces
threw a pale light along the Persian runner that muffled his footsteps
to a soft shuffle. The house lay silent except for the noise of
a sledge hammer beating against his chest.
Lord, I need a large dose of Your strength. Don’t allow me to cower.
I’ve never been a quitter and I don’t want to start now.
He hadn’t asked God for much in the past, but this was too
important to rely on his own untested powers.
Jack paused before he came to the door of the back parlor,
straightened his bow tie, and squared his shoulders. Voices stopped
him before he moved forward. He recognized Mrs. Westbrook’s
high, girlish tone. He’d wait for a lull in the conversation, excuse
his entry, and then ask to speak to Mr. Westbrook. Jack waited for
several minutes before he heard his name.
“Thomas, I noticed Jackson Grail seems especially fond of
Lilly. You don’t suppose he wants to marry her, do you?”
Jack winced at the worry in her voice. With his back to the
wall he stepped closer to the parlor.
Mr. Westbrook chuckled. “No, my dear, he’s George ’s friend,
not Lilly’s. She ’s hardly more than a child.”
“For goodness’ sake. Lilly’s nineteen, certainly old enough to
catch the eye of a young man.”
“All right, she ’s not my little girl anymore. But ready for marriage?
No, Nessie, I don’t believe so. She has lots of time to choose
a mate. There ’s no rush.”
“Hmm. I wouldn’t want her to delay too long. I’ve given considerable
thought to her future.”
“I’m sure you have,” Mr. Westbrook murmured. Jack pictured
his wry smile.
“Well, it’s my duty as her mother to guide her. Oliver Cross
or Pelham Mills come to mind as possible suitors. Maybe Harlan
Santerre. He’s such a polite young man and his mother and I have
been friends since childhood. Yes, he’s most definitely my first
choice.”
Jack let out the breath he’d been holding, knowing he should
break away, cease his eavesdropping—
“They’re all acceptable to me. But what about young Grail?
You say he might be interested in her. He’s got a good head on his
shoulders.”
“But no money in his pocket. Need I say more?”
Jack frowned and tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry.
Mr. Westbrook sighed. “No, my dear. You’re absolutely right.
He’s not suitable, though I do like him.”
“I do as well. And now he’s as finely educated as our own
George. But he would have to strike it rich quickly in order to court
Lilly,” Mrs. Westbrook added. “And that’s highly unlikely.”
“Nearly impossible, I’m afraid. So I hope you’re wrong and
young Grail hasn’t set his heart on Lilly.” Her father sighed. “He’s
an intelligent boy. I’m sure he’d know better. Especially when she
has an ambitious mama anxious to make her the perfect match.”
Mrs. Westbrook laughed. “Thomas, do stop your teasing.”
Jack bumped his shoulder against the curlicues of a large gilt
picture frame. Turning to give it a hard shove, he stopped himself.
He wouldn’t let his temper get the better of him. Leaving the oil
painting crooked, he stumbled down the patterned runner, away
from the awful voices. When he came to the foyer he dropped into
a rosewood chair and ignored the curious stare from Mr. Ames.
Jack buried his head in his hands and tried to gather his wits
before he had to face Lilly. But the Westbrooks’ conversation
resounded through his mind. Poor. Unsuitable. Why had he ever
thought they’d accept him as a son-in-law? His love for Lilly had
banished all reason. He’d lived in a fog of hope these last several
months, but now it cleared.
At the sound of light footsteps he looked up. “What did Papa
say?” Lilly asked, grasping his hands.
He glanced at her without speaking and then saw his own
anguish reflected in her eyes. He so wished his answer could bring
her joy. She gently pulled him into the dimly lit sitting room. The
sheers and heavy velvet curtains blocked all but the final rays of
daylight from seeping through the windows overlooking the park.
They faced each other in front of the unlit marble fireplace, his arms
tight around her slim waist, her hands lightly touching his vest.
“Tell me,” she said in a rasping voice, barely audible.
“I never had the chance to ask, Lilly. When I got to the back
parlor your parents were already discussing appropriate husbands.
And my name wasn’t on the list.”
“That’s because they don’t know we love each other. Papa
has never refused me anything. It might take some persuasion, but
you can do it. We can approach him together.”
Lovely, pampered Lilly, who owned her father’s heart—
except when it came to marriage partners. And marriage among
the rich was certainly a business transaction. Their kind never
married Jack’s kind. He’d gone to St. Luke ’s and Yale with the
wealthy, but as a scholarship student, he didn’t belong to their set
no matter how hard he tried to fit in. Maybe he would’ve accepted
the impenetrable barrier if Lilly hadn’t swept into his life.
He gazed at her, drinking in her passion, memorizing her
large, expressive eyes and flawless skin, her tall, slender form and
thick brown hair framing her face.
Her eyes blazed like blue fire. “Come. We ’ll speak to Papa.
Right now.”
Jack caught her wrists. “No, I can’t. I’m so sorry. He won’t change
his mind. It’s pointless to even ask.” Save me the humiliation.
Her strangled cry pierced his heart. “You won’t even try? We
love each other. Isn’t that worth fighting for?” Lilly’s voice rose
with disbelief.
How could he explain he couldn’t abide her father’s rejection?
He refused to hear again that he wasn’t good enough to court
Lilly—once was enough. And he didn’t want her to elope with
him without her parents’ approval. Jack groaned. As much as he
adored Lilly, he wasn’t acceptable to the family. The daughter of
a prosperous banker, Lilly couldn’t marry a man without a family
fortune.
“We can marry without their consent. You’ll find a good job.
I know you will. Don’t you see, Jack, we don’t need my parents’
permission.”
“But I want their respect.” And he’d never gain their esteem
by stealing their daughter away. He turned from her, running a
hand through his hair. He ’d been fooling himself. How could
he provide for Lilly, care for her in a manner in which she was
accustomed? What could he promise her? A one room apartment
in a dingy part of town while he made his way in the world,
if he ever made it at all. How long before his beautiful, young
and idealistic bride would realize she ’d sacrificed too much for
an improbable dream? He ’d harm her if he stole her from her
family.
He glanced at her and could see in her face the stubborn, naïve
hope that lingered there. But he understood reality as she never
would. He ’d let his love blossom before he should have.
Jack slowly moved away, steeling himself for the hurt yet
to come. “Your parents are right. I’m in no position to marry. I
should never have proposed, because I have nothing to offer.”
Lilly rushed to him and flung her arms around his neck, tears
spilling down her cheeks. “What about our love? Why do you
need more than that?”
“Lilly, we can’t exist on dreams. I have to earn a living. And I
can’t support you on a clerk’s salary. You’d miss your old life.”
Her lovely, soft features hardened. “You must think my love
is too weak to withstand hardship. It’s strong enough to survive
anything. Why do you doubt me so?”
Jack shook his head. “I doubt myself, not you.” What if her
confidence in his abilities weren’t warranted? What if he never
rose above petty clerk, despite his fancy education? A girl from a
society family, proud and successful for generations, could never
be content washing laundry, cooking meals, and scrubbing floors
on her hands and knees. She ’d grow bitter and resentful.
“I can adapt to less. I don’t care about a beautiful home. I only
want you,” she said, her voice rising with frustration.
He wouldn’t argue about the effects of poverty and how it
wore on a person. She wouldn’t understand. “If we came from
the same background, I wouldn’t hesitate to speak to your father.
But we didn’t.”
“But you will. I know it. I’ll wait until you feel ready to marry
me. There’s no hurry. I’m patient. I can wait forever.” She pleaded
with beautiful eyes glistening with tears.
“No, please don’t wait for me.” Jack’s voice cracked like ice.
He wanted her to wait, but he couldn’t ruin her chances of
making a suitable, maybe even a happy marriage. The odds of
succeeding in the business world without connections were small.
If and when he’d proven himself, he’d return and hope she ’d still
want him. And forgive him. But he couldn’t ask her to wait.
He blotted her tears with his handkerchief, but they kept
streaming down her face. Her slender shoulders heaved with soft
sobs. He kissed her again gently and then retreated to his bedroom
before he was tempted to crush her in his arms and beg her to
elope. He’d planned to stay for the week as George ’s guest, but
now he needed to leave quickly.
Within ten minutes he was gone.
Jack’s heart slammed against his ribs. The past two weeks had
been a misery. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t eat. Go back, go back!
his mind and heart screamed. You’ve made a terrible mistake!
His stomach roiling, Jack fought to keep a dignified pace and
not run all the way to Washington Square. At last, he stood before
the Westbrook home and tapped the front door knocker against
the heavy wood.
He’d explain he couldn’t manage without her and his infernal
pride had blocked his common sense and their tender love. Would
she accept his apology? They’d work something out. He didn’t
know how exactly, but they would. He knew their union was sanctioned,
indeed designed, by God.
Mr. Ames pulled the heavy door open. “May I help you, sir?”
“Yes. Is Miss Westbrook at home?”
The hunched-over butler shook his head. “They’ve all gone
abroad. They sailed yesterday.”
Jack’s cautious optimism collapsed in a heap of despair. “And
when will they return?”
“Next spring.”
Next spring. Jack groaned. “G-Good day,” he mumbled, turning
from the door.
I’m too late. I’ve lost her.
On e
N e w p o rt , R h o d e I s l a n d — J u ly 1 8 9 9
Six years later
With a deep sigh of satisfaction, Lilly Westbrook
whipped the last page of her manuscript out of
the Underwood typewriter. Carefully she shredded
the carbon and threw the messy strips into the wastebasket. No
meddlesome
maid could possibly reconstruct her work and tattle
to Mama.
For a moment, a wave of sadness overshadowed the pleasure
she felt at finishing another story. How she longed to share her
secret with her mother, but as much as Lilly hated deception, she
knew Mama would never understand. Mama was proud of her for
dabbling in poetry, but this?
No. It was best to stay behind closed doors to write her dime
novels.
Lilly shuddered to think of the disgrace she ’d bring upon herself
and, even worse, upon her family, if her secret was revealed.
The very notion of social ostracism weakened her knees and left
her legs wobbly. A twinge of guilt pinched her conscience as it
often did when she considered her concealment. Yet why look for
trouble when her work was progressing so well?
Lilly scrubbed her hands until all evidence of the carbon paper
and inky ribbon disappeared into the washbasin near her bed, then
covered the typewriter Mama had given her as a birthday gift a
few years before. Mama thought a typing machine unnecessary
for a poet, but she wasn’t one to begrudge her children anything
within reason.
Lilly withdrew a letter from her skirt pocket and smiled as she
re-read the last lines.
My dear Lilly,
I want to again express my thanks for all you’ve contributed to
the Christian Settlement House of New York. We so value the time
and effort you have devoted to assisting our young ladies with their
sundry life skills and English fluency. Your exceptional generosity
and financial support have enabled us to continue our work in accordance
with the Lord’s purposes.
Sincerely,
Phoebe Diller, Director
Miss Diller’s kind words sent a rush of warmth to Lilly’s heart
and strengthened her resolve to continue writing. For without the
profits from her novels, she couldn’t afford to donate more than
a few dollars to her favorite charity. How could she possibly quit
writing when her romance novels provided so many blessings to
others?
Lilly locked the final chapter in the rolltop desk by the bay
window and hid the key beneath the lining of her keepsake box.
Time for a well-deserved walk by the sea. She removed her reading
spectacles and placed her straw hat decorated with bright
poppies squarely on top of her upswept hair. After a last furtive
glance toward the desk, she left her bedroom to the morning sunshine
that splashed across the shiny oak floor and floral carpet.
All the way down the staircase she congratulated herself for
typing “The End” of her story, though it was only a few days
before deadline. That was much too close for comfort. She sighed.
Too many social events had disrupted her normal writing routine
this summer. But she had no choice but to force a smile and
attend the functions, even though most of them bored her to
distraction.
She wouldn’t think of that now. At least she’d finished the manuscript
before the deadline and for that she’d treat herself to a few
minutes out of her room. With a light heart, she strolled through
the deserted foyer, past Mr. Ames, the butler, and out the front
door. A beautiful day greeted her with its sun-blessed smile.
As she crossed the veranda, her sister-in-law Irene Westbrook,
seated at the end of the porch, peered over a small, familiar book.
The lurid cover of Lilly’s latest novel, Dorothea’s Dilemma,
popped out in garish color. Lilly stopped short and pressed her
palm over her gyrating heart.
“Oh my,” she murmured. She’d never expected to see one of
her novels in her own home, let alone in the hands of her brother’s
wife.
Irene smoothed her halo of silky blonde curls caught up in a
loose pompadour. She laid the slim paperback on her lap, her eyes
gleaming with curiosity. “Why hello, Lilly. Where have you been
on this beautiful afternoon? Cooped up in your bedroom again?
My goodness, what do you do in there all day?”
“Sometimes I enjoy a few hours of solitude.” Lilly’s nerves
seized control of her voice and it rose like the screech of a seagull.
“I’m sorry I interrupted your reading.” Heat crept into her skin as
Irene watched her, face aglow with interest.
“Do sit down, Lilly.”
She slipped into a wicker chair opposite Irene. A gust of
salty air, typical of Newport’s summer weather, blew in from the
Atlantic and brushed its cool breath across her cheeks. She prayed
it would fade the red splotches that came so easily when embarrassment
struck.
Irene cocked her head. “Is something wrong? You look positively
ill.”
“No, I’m fine.” Though every fiber of her body continued to
quiver, Lilly steadied her breathing. She folded her hands in the
lap of her charcoal-gray skirt and willed them not to shake.
“You aren’t shocked by my novel, are you?” Irene smirked.
“Of course not.” Lilly squirmed around on the soft chintz
cushion and avoided Irene ’s skeptical stare. “Why should I be
shocked?”
Irene leaned forward. “Some people claim dime novels are
trash, and from your reaction I thought you might be one of those
faultfinders. Of course they’re wrong. These books are filled with
adventure and I love adventure.” She rolled the last word around
her tongue like a stream of honey.
Irene, the niece of Quentin Kirby, one of San Francisco’s
silver kings, fancied herself an adventuress, but Lilly inwardly
disagreed. Irene merely appreciated fun and frivolity more than
most. That hardly made her a woman like the heroines of Lilly’s
books. “I’m so sorry, Irene. I didn’t mean to criticize your choice
of books. I just wondered where you obtained your copy.”
“I discovered it in the kitchen while I was searching for a
blueberry tart.” Irene grinned as if Lilly ought to admire her
cleverness.
“One of the scullery maids must have left it there.”
“You took it without asking permission?” Lilly could scarcely
believe Irene had wandered downstairs to the basement kitchen,
the domain of servants who strongly disapproved of visitors,
even the family.
“Why yes. Well no, not exactly. I borrowed it. As soon as I finish
reading, I’ll give it back. Of course.”
Irene tapped the big, red letters spelling out the author’s name
across the cover. “Fannie Cole. She’s a splendid writer, the very
best. Have you ever read any of her books? I devour them like
chocolate.”
Lilly’s heart lurched. “Naturally I’ve heard of her. I believe
her stories are rather popular.”
“They’re enthralling.”
At the sound of the front door squeaking open, Lilly looked
away with relief.
Mama bustled onto the veranda, a frown knitting her eyebrows.
“What’s that about Fannie Cole? She’s quite infamous, I
hear.” Glancing from Lilly to Irene, Mama’s eyelashes fluttered, a
sure sign of agitation. “Oh, I see you have one of her books . . .”
Lilly knew her mother couldn’t let this breach of propriety
pass without comment. On the other hand, the kind and ever
tactful Vanessa Westbrook would hate to offend her new daughter-in-
law.
“Mama, Fannie Cole writes harmless fiction. You needn’t
worry.” Lilly smiled her assurance, hoping she’d veer off to
another topic.
Her mother sunk into a wicker chair beside Irene. “Perhaps,
my dear, but you must admit, there are so many more uplifting
novels.” She patted Irene ’s arm, which was robed in a cream silk
blouse that matched the lace of her skirt. “Lillian is a poet, you
know. Her work is delightful. You must read it. I’ll go fetch you
a copy.”
Lilly cringed. “No, Mama. I wrote those poems years ago. She
wouldn’t be interested in the meanderings of an eighteen-yearold
ninny. It’s sentimental tripe.”
“Nonsense, my dear. You’ve always been much too critical of
yourself.”
“Nevertheless, I’m sure Irene would prefer Fannie Cole.”
Who wouldn’t? Lilly thought. Still, she appreciated her mother’s
enthusiasm for her meager literary efforts.
Irene tossed her a wide, grateful smile. “There, that’s settled.”
Mama’s round, girlish face tightened with distaste. “I wish
you wouldn’t read dime novels because . . .” She looked toward
Lilly for support.
“Really, Mama.” Lilly softened her voice, not meaning to
scold. “While some of the dime novels are sensational, others are
written to help working girls avoid the pitfalls of city life. They’re
moralistic tales that encourage virtue. Nothing to be ashamed of
reading.” Or writing.
“Exactly.” Irene beamed. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.
Of course, I read for the story, not the moral lesson, but I’m sure
it’s beneficial for those who enjoy a good sermon.”
Lilly suppressed a sigh of resignation. “No doubt Miss Cole
hopes and prays her words touch the hearts of her readers and
bring them closer to the Lord.” Lilly looked at Mama and Irene,
hoping they’d somehow understand her purpose and approve.
But both looked puzzled over her words.
Irene ’s gaze narrowed. “An odd way to spread the gospel,
don’t you think?”
“Not at all. The Lord is more creative than we are.” Lilly
bristled and then glanced away when she found her mother and
sister-in-law still staring at her.
She’d spoken up much more forcefully than she intended.
With a sinking heart, Lilly realized Mama would never accept her
viewpoint; it flew in the face of beliefs and opinions ingrained
since childhood.
Irene picked up a sheet of paper resting on a small table between
two pots of ferns and waved it like a flag on the Fourth of July. Lilly
immediately recognized Talk of the Town, a gossip rag published
by that scandalmonger, Colonel MacIntyre, the bane of Newport
society. He shot fear into the hearts of all upstanding people and
others who weren’t quite so virtuous. Lilly swallowed hard.
Mama gasped. Her pale skin whitened. “Oh my dear, that’s
hardly appropriate for a respectable home.”
Irene shrugged. “Perhaps not. But if you don’t mind my saying
so, it’s great fun to read. I’m learning the crème de la crème
of Newport are up to all kinds of mischief.” She laughed with
pleasure.
“Listen to this.” Irene leaned forward. “One hears that Miss
Fannie Cole, author of wildly popular dime novels, has taken up residence
at one of the ocean villas for the season. The talk about town
claims this writer of sensational—some might even say salacious—
stories, belongs to the New York and Newport aristocracy. Which of our
fine debutantes or matrons writes under the nom de plume, Fannie Cole?
Speculation runs rampant. Would the talented but mysterious author of
Dorothea’s Dilemma, Hearts in Tune, and several other delectable
novels please come forward and identify herself for her public?”
Lilly’s throat closed. She clamped her hands down on her lap,
but they shook like a hummingbird’s wings. Had a maid or a footman
stumbled across her secret and sold the information? Colonel
Rufus MacIntyre of Talk of the Town paid handsomely for gossip.
No one was safe from his long, grasping tentacles, including some
of the most prominent people in society.
“The colonel has mentioned Miss Cole in his column for the
last two weeks, so I expect we’ll hear more about her during the
summer.” Irene grinned as she studied the sheet. “I wonder who
she is. I’d love to meet her.”
Mama’s mouth puckered into a small circle. “Undoubtedly
someone from the wrong side of the tracks. No one we’d know.”
She punctuated her words with a firm nod.
Irene persisted. “You must have an idea, Lilly. You seem to
know everything that’s going on in society.”
Lilly turned away, sure that a red stain had again spilled across
her pale skin. Her sister-in-law was right. She did listen to all the
tittle-tattle, but she prided herself on her discretion. The foibles
of her set provided grist for her novels, not for spreading rumors
and innuendo.
“You give me far too much credit, Irene.” She hated to dodge
questions to keep from lying, but what was her option short of
confessing? She twisted the cameo at the neck of her tailored
shirtwaist.
Mama wagged her finger. “Mark my words. By the end of
the summer someone will discover Fannie Cole’s true name and
announce it to the entire town. Oh, my. What humiliation she ’ll
bring upon her family. They’ll be mortified.”
“How delicious,” Irene murmured.
Lilly groaned inwardly. Her subterfuge gnawed at her conscience,
worsening day by day, but she couldn’t turn back the
clock and reconsider her decision to write in secret.
She rose. “Will you excuse me? I need to take my walk now.”
With her head held high and as much poise as she could muster,
Lilly descended the veranda’s shallow steps. She strode across
the wide, sloping lawn that surrounded Summerhill, the old
twenty-two-room mansion the Westbrooks rented for the season.
Once she reached the giant rocks that separated the grounds
from the ocean, she picked her way over to a smooth boulder that
doubled for a bench. As she ’d done every day since her arrival
three weeks ago, Lilly settled onto its cold surface. Instead of
watching the breakers pound against the coast and absorb the majesty
of nature ’s rhythm, she rested her head in her hands and let
the breeze brush against her face.
What would happen if her beau, Harlan Santerre, discovered
that she and Fannie Cole were the same person? The wealthy railroad
heir, a guest of the family for the eight weeks of summer,
miraculously seemed ripe to propose. Her mother kept reminding
her how grateful she should be that such a solid, upstanding man
as Harlan Santerre had shown interest in a twenty-five-year-old
spinster with no grand fortune and no great beauty. Mama and the
entire family would be humiliated if her writing became public
knowledge and Harlan turned his attention elsewhere.
Yet the Holy Ghost had urged her to compose her simple stories,
and as she wrote, her melancholy gradually faded. Her enthusiasm
never waned thanks to the joy she received from doing the Lord’s
work.
Why would He allow someone to ruin her and end the good
deeds she accomplished? He should smite her enemies instead. All
her life she ’d trusted the Lord to guide her and protect her, but
never had she needed His help more than now. But would He continue
to shield her?
Trembling, Lilly tossed a stone into the roiling surf and
watched it sink into the foamy white waves. What if the surge
of curiosity aroused by Colonel MacIntyre didn’t fade away and
everything she held dear was threatened?
My Thoughts:
What a lovely piece of historical fiction. I thoroughly enjoyed this book from beginning to end. The storyline was interesting - a woman of status who was secretly writing dime novels with a good Christian message to inspire young women. The main character, Lilly, was a strong and sometimes stubborn female, that I couldn't help but adore, but at times became frustrating.
"Love on a Dime" is one of those stories that you can get lost in. You will find yourself transported back to the Victorian era and can just imagine sitting alongside Lilly in her home or out to a social gathering wandering among all the "beautiful" people. It is also one of those great stories I can share with my teen-aged daughter. That's always a plus in my book!
Cara Lynn James has an amazing way of holding one's interest throughout the story. I'm really looking forward to her next book, "Love On Assignment" which is book 2 of the Ladies of Summerhill Series.
This book was provided by FIRST for me to honestly review.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Blog Tour & Review: Six-Liter Club by Harry Kraus, MD
Author: Harry Kraus, MD
Publisher: Howard Books
ISBN-13: 9781416577973
Genre: Christian fiction, fiction, medical fiction
About the Book: (from Glass Road):
Dr. Camille Weller is the first African American female attending in the trauma surgical department at the Medical College of Virginia (where Kraus earned his M.D.). On her first day, she joins the Six-Liter Club - a reference to an elite group of doctors who have saved a patient after the patient loses six-liters of blood. Exhilarated, she decides to do something about the antiquated "doctors" and "nurses" signs on the locker room doors and changes clothes with the "doctors." She'll also blow their prejudices about skin color out of the water. Yet Camille has far more to overcome than preconceived notions about her skin color or sex...she's having nightmares about her childhood in the Congo, a dark closet, whispered words, and strong arms holding her back.
Sneak Peek: Read an EXCERPT HERE.
My Thoughts:
This was a fascinating story of an African American woman who comes to terms with her past while dealing with her present. Camille Weller's mother was African, and her father was a white American doctor that was helping in the Congo. The storyline jumps between Camille's memories in the Congo in 1964 to her present time in Richmond, VA in 1984.
As the story unfolds, so do her memories and they become a huge part of the struggles she deals with, on top of being a woman surgeon in a man's profession. This makes for an interesting read. The profession is difficult enough, and she has to make some moral/ethical choices that put her job on the line.
I really enjoyed Camille's character. She is an amazingly strong woman, who has learned to cope with what she was given. She isn't a saint, and makes many mistakes, but that gives her character believability and depth.
This is a wonderful story about struggles and achievements, pain and healing, sadness and hope and most of all, forgiveness and love. There is a Christian message that runs throughout the book, but the mainstream fiction reader should have no problem with it. I found this book to be very realistic, and an great read. I'm looking forward to reading more books by Dr. Kraus. I enjoyed his style and he seemed to nail the female character perfectly.
About the Author:
Harry Kraus watched the Twin Towers fall on 9/11. He was at Ground Zero providing medical services to those who managed to escape the falling buildings. He saw firsthand the result of human relationships that lack love for fellow man. He determined to spend his life pouring love into human hearts. In Africa, he is often asked by Muslim patients why he would come halfway around the world to take care of them for no pay. Harry smiles. He tells them about the unconditional love He received from a Savior.
If you would like to learn more about Harry, make sure to visit his website at: http://www.harrykraus.com/index.html
This book was supplied by Glass Road for me to honestly review.
FIRST Wildcard Tour & Review: "Sins of the Mother" by Victoria Christopher Murray
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:
and the book:
Touchstone; Original edition (June 1, 2010)
***Special thanks to Mallika Dattatreya and Ashley Hewlett of Touchstone/Fireside Publicity Simon & Schuster, Inc. for sending me a review copy.***ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Victoria Christopher Murray always knew she would become an author, even as she was taking an unlikely path to that destination. A native of Queens, Victoria first left New York to attend Hampton University where she majored in Communication Disorders. After graduating, Victoria attended New York University where she received her MBA.Victoria spent ten years in Corporate America before she tested her entrepreneurial spirit. She opened a Financial Services Agency for Aegon, USA where she managed the number one division for nine consecutive years. However, Victoria never lost the dream to write and when the “bug” hit her again in 1997, she answered the call.
Victoria originally self published Temptation. “I wanted to write a book as entertaining as any book on the market, put God in the middle, and have the book still be a page-turner. I wasn’t writing to any particular genre – I didn’t even know Christian fiction existed. I just wanted to write about people I knew and characters I could relate to.”
In 2000, Time Warner published Temptation. Temptation made numerous best sellers list and remained on the Essence bestsellers list for nine consecutive months. In 2001, Temptation was nominated for an NAACP Image Award in Outstanding Literature.
Since Temptation, Victoria has written six other novels: JOY, Truth Be Told, Grown
Folks Business, A Sin and a Shame, The Ex Files, and Too Little, Too Late. She was a contributor to the first Christian fiction anthology, Blessed Assurance and the Contributing Editor for the Aspire Women of Color Bible published by Zondervan. All of her novels have continued to be Essence bestsellers. In addition, Victoria has received numerous awards including the Golden Pen Award for Best Inspirational Fiction and the Phyllis Wheatley Trailblazer Award for being the pioneer in African American Christian Fiction. In 2008, Victoria won the African American Literary Award for best novel (Too Little, Too Late) and Female Author of the Year.In 2008, Victoria’s first novels in her Christian fiction teen series - The Divine Divas – were published. “I was concerned with what our young ladies were reading. I decided to do something about that – give them stories full of drama, but with a message.” The Divine Divas has already been optioned to become a television series.
Victoria splits her time between Los Angeles and Washington D.C. In Los Angeles, she attends Bible Enrichment Fellowship International Church under the spiritual tutelage of Dr. Beverly “BAM” Crawford and in Washington, D.C., she fellowships at Metropolitan Baptist Church under Dr. H. Beecher Hicks, Jr. She is also a member of the Long Beach Chapter of Delta Sigma Theta Sorority.
Visit the author's website.
Product Details:
List Price: $15.00
Paperback: 379 pages
Publisher: Touchstone; Original edition (June 1, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 141658918X
ISBN-13: 978-1416589181
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
New York, New York November 2009
“Love Mama!”
Jasmine scooped her toddler into her arms. “You do love your mama, don't you?” She laughed.
Mae Frances rolled her eyes as Jasmine smothered her son's cheeks with kisses.
“Don't make no kind of sense, Jasmine Larson,” her best friend said. “Teaching that baby to say that.”
“What's wrong with him loving his mama?” But before Mae Frances could answer, Jasmine stood straight up and scanned the crowd that packed the new mall. In just seconds, her gaze locked on her daughter, crouched in front of the pet store window. “Jacqueline!”
The girl's brown curls bounced when she jumped up, startled, and skipped back to Jasmine and Mae Frances.
With a firm hand, Jasmine grasped her daughter's wrist. “I told you to stay where Nama and I could see you.”
Jacqueline bowed her head. “But Mama,” she sighed, “I could see you.”
“Well, I couldn't see you, so why don't you sit down for a moment and cool off,” Jasmine said as she wiped the thin line of perspiration that dampened her daughter's hairline.
“I'm not hot,” Jacqueline protested. It was the look on her mother's face that made Jacqueline wiggle onto the bench next to Mae Frances. With her eyes on Jasmine, she buried her head on the shoulder of the woman who, years before, had been nothing more than a friend of the family, but was now so close to the Bushes that Jacqueline thought of her as her grandmother. When Mae Frances put her arms around Jacqueline, the girl glared at Jasmine as if she never planned to love her again.
Jasmine shook her head, then her eyes widened when her rambunctious daughter rolled her eyes.
No, she didn't.
Jacqueline had never done that before, and Jasmine opened her mouth to scold her, then just as quickly changed her mind. When her daughter peeked back at her, Jasmine rolled her eyes. Jacqueline giggled, and Jasmine laughed, too. But when Jacqueline moved to get up again, Jasmine stared her back down.
Jacqueline pouted and bounced hard against the back of the bench, but the silent tantrum didn't faze Jasmine. She planned to let her four-year-old (or fourteen-year-old, depending on the day) sit and think about how she'd run off.
“Are you ready to go home?” Mae Frances grumbled.
As Christmas Muzak piped through speakers above, Jasmine realized this trip to the mall wasn't the best idea she'd ever had. But how could she have missed this day?
The new Harlem mall had been open for only two weeks, and this was the first big shopping day of the season; she had to make her own contribution to Black Friday. Now as she looked at Mae Frances and Jacqueline--a set of ornery twins, with their arms folded and their lips poked out--she wished she had thought this all the way through. Because if she had, she would have come alone.
“I wanna go home, too!” Jacqueline exclaimed, as if she was in charge of something.
Looking at her son, Jasmine shook her head. “You don't want to go home, do you, Zaya?” she asked, calling him by the name that Jacqueline had given to him two years ago when he had been born. Hosea had been too difficult for her to say, and no one wanted to call him Junior.
“No, no, no!” Zaya followed his mother's lead before he toddled over to his sister. “Yaki, Yaki, Yaki!” He called her by his own made-up name.
Mae Frances sucked her teeth and tightened the collar of the thirty-five-year-old mink that she loved. “Don't make no kind of sense, the way you manipulate that boy.”
“He's my baby. He's supposed to be manipulated.”
“Get away from me, Zaya!” Jacqueline exclaimed, and pushed the toddler away.
“Don't do that to your brother,” Jasmine scolded.
Jacqueline stood up, put one hand on her side as if she had hips, and, with the other, squeezed her nose. “He! Stinks!”
Jasmine sniffed, then hoisted her son up into her arms. “Your sister's right.” She grabbed the diaper bag from the stroller and reached for Jacqueline's hand. “Come on, we've got to change Zaya's diaper.”
Jacqueline folded her arms and sat back down next to Mae Frances. “I don't wanna go.” With a pout, she pointed toward the pet store. “I wanna see the puppies.”
“We'll see the puppies after,” Jasmine said, still reaching for her daughter.
“Leave her with me.” Mae Frances put her arms around Jacqueline. “No need for her to have to go with you when I'm here.”
Jasmine's hesitation waned after just a moment. “Stay right there next to Nama,” she demanded sternly. “And then we'll go see the puppies, okay?”
Jacqueline nodded as she scooted back on the bench. With wide eyes and an even wider smile, she blew Jasmine a kiss. “I love you, Mama.”
Jasmine laughed. Her precious little girl--always the drama queen.
Inside the restroom, Jasmine twisted through the long line of waiting women, and as she made her way to the changing station, her cell phone rang. But just as she pulled her phone from her bag, it stopped.
She glanced at the screen. “That was your daddy,” she told her son as she laid him on his back.
He giggled and reached for her cell.
“No,” she said, taking it from his grasp.
His laughter stopped. His bottom lip trembled. His body began to shake. And before the first shriek came, the phone was back in Zaya's hands.
“Love Mama,” Zaya cooed as he pushed buttons.
Jasmine laughed. God had blessed her with a drama queen and a drama king.
That thought made her pause in wonder. Who would have ever thought that she--Jasmine Cox Larson Bush--would end up in this place? She--the ex-stripper, ex-man stealer, ex-liar, cheater, thief. The jealous girl who'd done everything she could to sabotage the success of her best friend, Kyla. The unsatisfied wife who'd badgered her first husband until he'd finally left her.
The lonely woman who lived to tear husbands away from their wives. There was hardly a sin that she hadn't committed. But that life, those abominations, were far behind her.
Today, she was a proud wife and mother--the first lady of one of the most influential churches in the city. Today, her life was filled with leisure--it was difficult to call the work she did as first lady and the time she spent with the Young Adults Ministry a job. Today, each of her needs and every one of her desires were met. And she had a Central Park South apartment, a closet full of endless racks of designer clothes, and an upcoming New Year's family vacation in Cannes to prove it.
This life was God's reward for her having turned away from her transgressions. As she glanced at her reflection in the mirror, her lips spread into a slow smile. Bountiful blessings. All she could say was, “Thank you, Father.”
Seconds later, Zaya was back on her hip, her cell was back in her bag, and she was back in the mall. But then, her steps became measured as she moved toward Mae Frances. Her friend's head was down as she pushed buttons on her cell.
Jasmine's voice was as deep as her frown as she yelled, “Mae Frances?”
She looked up. “Did you just call me?”
Jasmine let the diaper bag slip down her arm. “Where's Jacquie?”
Mae Frances waved her hands. “She's right over there. With the puppies. Did you just call me?”
Before Mae Frances had finished, Jasmine's eyes were searching the crowd. With Zaya still in her arms, she pushed through the mass of men and women, arms filled with packages, children close at their sides.
“Where's Jacquie?” The question trembled from her lips to a young boy in front of the pet store. “The little girl who was here--where is she?”
His face was pressed against the glass as he answered, “She's gone.”
There was no time to question him further. A woman, two giant steps away, grabbed the boy's hand.
“Didn't I tell you not to talk to strangers?” the woman admonished as she dragged the boy from the window.
Jasmine's eyes were wide as she spun around, clutching Zaya to her chest, searching the space around her. It had been only a minute, but terror was already crawling up and down her skin.
“Jacquie!” she screamed through the holiday din.
She tried to keep herself in check as she gripped Zaya and barged through the pet store's doors. The stench of the animals did nothing to cover the fear that was already surging from her pores.
“Jacquie!” she shouted. She kept telling herself that this was nothing: Jacqueline had just wandered off.
Pressing up one aisle, then rushing down the next, she hunted through the crowd.
“Jacquie!” she yelled.
Jasmine grabbed a pink-apron-wearing teenager who was crouched down in front of the cages. “Please,” she said to the young man, obviously one of the store's employees. “Have you seen my daughter?”
The blond spiked-hair boy glanced at Jasmine and then looked around the store, his expression telling Jasmine that her question didn't make much sense to him. “There've been a lot of kids here today,” he answered before he returned to feeding the kittens.
“Jacquie!” she screamed one last time as she rushed back through the doors.
Outside, in the middle of the passing crowd, Jasmine turned slowly, exploring each face, searching every space.
“Jacquie!”
Her distress went unnoticed; the holiday shoppers were
buried under their own cares.
“Jacquie!” Now her heart banged against her chest.
Both she and Zaya were crying by the time she hurried back to the bench. In the eyes of the woman she called her friend, Jasmine saw the same unadulterated horror that was in her heart.
“Where's Jacquie?” she screamed at Mae Frances.
Mae Frances shook her head. “She . . . she was . . . right there,” she cried as she pointed back to the store.
But Jasmine didn't bother to turn around. She didn't need to look at the store or anywhere else in the mall. Because in the space inside of her where truth lay, she knew.
As “Joy to the World” squeaked out from the speakers above, Jasmine knew that her daughter was gone.
“Love Mama!”
Jasmine scooped her toddler into her arms. “You do love your mama, don't you?” She laughed.
Mae Frances rolled her eyes as Jasmine smothered her son's cheeks with kisses.
“Don't make no kind of sense, Jasmine Larson,” her best friend said. “Teaching that baby to say that.”
“What's wrong with him loving his mama?” But before Mae Frances could answer, Jasmine stood straight up and scanned the crowd that packed the new mall. In just seconds, her gaze locked on her daughter, crouched in front of the pet store window. “Jacqueline!”
The girl's brown curls bounced when she jumped up, startled, and skipped back to Jasmine and Mae Frances.
With a firm hand, Jasmine grasped her daughter's wrist. “I told you to stay where Nama and I could see you.”
Jacqueline bowed her head. “But Mama,” she sighed, “I could see you.”
“Well, I couldn't see you, so why don't you sit down for a moment and cool off,” Jasmine said as she wiped the thin line of perspiration that dampened her daughter's hairline.
“I'm not hot,” Jacqueline protested. It was the look on her mother's face that made Jacqueline wiggle onto the bench next to Mae Frances. With her eyes on Jasmine, she buried her head on the shoulder of the woman who, years before, had been nothing more than a friend of the family, but was now so close to the Bushes that Jacqueline thought of her as her grandmother. When Mae Frances put her arms around Jacqueline, the girl glared at Jasmine as if she never planned to love her again.
Jasmine shook her head, then her eyes widened when her rambunctious daughter rolled her eyes.
No, she didn't.
Jacqueline had never done that before, and Jasmine opened her mouth to scold her, then just as quickly changed her mind. When her daughter peeked back at her, Jasmine rolled her eyes. Jacqueline giggled, and Jasmine laughed, too. But when Jacqueline moved to get up again, Jasmine stared her back down.
Jacqueline pouted and bounced hard against the back of the bench, but the silent tantrum didn't faze Jasmine. She planned to let her four-year-old (or fourteen-year-old, depending on the day) sit and think about how she'd run off.
“Are you ready to go home?” Mae Frances grumbled.
As Christmas Muzak piped through speakers above, Jasmine realized this trip to the mall wasn't the best idea she'd ever had. But how could she have missed this day?
The new Harlem mall had been open for only two weeks, and this was the first big shopping day of the season; she had to make her own contribution to Black Friday. Now as she looked at Mae Frances and Jacqueline--a set of ornery twins, with their arms folded and their lips poked out--she wished she had thought this all the way through. Because if she had, she would have come alone.
“I wanna go home, too!” Jacqueline exclaimed, as if she was in charge of something.
Looking at her son, Jasmine shook her head. “You don't want to go home, do you, Zaya?” she asked, calling him by the name that Jacqueline had given to him two years ago when he had been born. Hosea had been too difficult for her to say, and no one wanted to call him Junior.
“No, no, no!” Zaya followed his mother's lead before he toddled over to his sister. “Yaki, Yaki, Yaki!” He called her by his own made-up name.
Mae Frances sucked her teeth and tightened the collar of the thirty-five-year-old mink that she loved. “Don't make no kind of sense, the way you manipulate that boy.”
“He's my baby. He's supposed to be manipulated.”
“Get away from me, Zaya!” Jacqueline exclaimed, and pushed the toddler away.
“Don't do that to your brother,” Jasmine scolded.
Jacqueline stood up, put one hand on her side as if she had hips, and, with the other, squeezed her nose. “He! Stinks!”
Jasmine sniffed, then hoisted her son up into her arms. “Your sister's right.” She grabbed the diaper bag from the stroller and reached for Jacqueline's hand. “Come on, we've got to change Zaya's diaper.”
Jacqueline folded her arms and sat back down next to Mae Frances. “I don't wanna go.” With a pout, she pointed toward the pet store. “I wanna see the puppies.”
“We'll see the puppies after,” Jasmine said, still reaching for her daughter.
“Leave her with me.” Mae Frances put her arms around Jacqueline. “No need for her to have to go with you when I'm here.”
Jasmine's hesitation waned after just a moment. “Stay right there next to Nama,” she demanded sternly. “And then we'll go see the puppies, okay?”
Jacqueline nodded as she scooted back on the bench. With wide eyes and an even wider smile, she blew Jasmine a kiss. “I love you, Mama.”
Jasmine laughed. Her precious little girl--always the drama queen.
Inside the restroom, Jasmine twisted through the long line of waiting women, and as she made her way to the changing station, her cell phone rang. But just as she pulled her phone from her bag, it stopped.
She glanced at the screen. “That was your daddy,” she told her son as she laid him on his back.
He giggled and reached for her cell.
“No,” she said, taking it from his grasp.
His laughter stopped. His bottom lip trembled. His body began to shake. And before the first shriek came, the phone was back in Zaya's hands.
“Love Mama,” Zaya cooed as he pushed buttons.
Jasmine laughed. God had blessed her with a drama queen and a drama king.
That thought made her pause in wonder. Who would have ever thought that she--Jasmine Cox Larson Bush--would end up in this place? She--the ex-stripper, ex-man stealer, ex-liar, cheater, thief. The jealous girl who'd done everything she could to sabotage the success of her best friend, Kyla. The unsatisfied wife who'd badgered her first husband until he'd finally left her.
The lonely woman who lived to tear husbands away from their wives. There was hardly a sin that she hadn't committed. But that life, those abominations, were far behind her.
Today, she was a proud wife and mother--the first lady of one of the most influential churches in the city. Today, her life was filled with leisure--it was difficult to call the work she did as first lady and the time she spent with the Young Adults Ministry a job. Today, each of her needs and every one of her desires were met. And she had a Central Park South apartment, a closet full of endless racks of designer clothes, and an upcoming New Year's family vacation in Cannes to prove it.
This life was God's reward for her having turned away from her transgressions. As she glanced at her reflection in the mirror, her lips spread into a slow smile. Bountiful blessings. All she could say was, “Thank you, Father.”
Seconds later, Zaya was back on her hip, her cell was back in her bag, and she was back in the mall. But then, her steps became measured as she moved toward Mae Frances. Her friend's head was down as she pushed buttons on her cell.
Jasmine's voice was as deep as her frown as she yelled, “Mae Frances?”
She looked up. “Did you just call me?”
Jasmine let the diaper bag slip down her arm. “Where's Jacquie?”
Mae Frances waved her hands. “She's right over there. With the puppies. Did you just call me?”
Before Mae Frances had finished, Jasmine's eyes were searching the crowd. With Zaya still in her arms, she pushed through the mass of men and women, arms filled with packages, children close at their sides.
“Where's Jacquie?” The question trembled from her lips to a young boy in front of the pet store. “The little girl who was here--where is she?”
His face was pressed against the glass as he answered, “She's gone.”
There was no time to question him further. A woman, two giant steps away, grabbed the boy's hand.
“Didn't I tell you not to talk to strangers?” the woman admonished as she dragged the boy from the window.
Jasmine's eyes were wide as she spun around, clutching Zaya to her chest, searching the space around her. It had been only a minute, but terror was already crawling up and down her skin.
“Jacquie!” she screamed through the holiday din.
She tried to keep herself in check as she gripped Zaya and barged through the pet store's doors. The stench of the animals did nothing to cover the fear that was already surging from her pores.
“Jacquie!” she shouted. She kept telling herself that this was nothing: Jacqueline had just wandered off.
Pressing up one aisle, then rushing down the next, she hunted through the crowd.
“Jacquie!” she yelled.
Jasmine grabbed a pink-apron-wearing teenager who was crouched down in front of the cages. “Please,” she said to the young man, obviously one of the store's employees. “Have you seen my daughter?”
The blond spiked-hair boy glanced at Jasmine and then looked around the store, his expression telling Jasmine that her question didn't make much sense to him. “There've been a lot of kids here today,” he answered before he returned to feeding the kittens.
“Jacquie!” she screamed one last time as she rushed back through the doors.
Outside, in the middle of the passing crowd, Jasmine turned slowly, exploring each face, searching every space.
“Jacquie!”
Her distress went unnoticed; the holiday shoppers were
buried under their own cares.
“Jacquie!” Now her heart banged against her chest.
Both she and Zaya were crying by the time she hurried back to the bench. In the eyes of the woman she called her friend, Jasmine saw the same unadulterated horror that was in her heart.
“Where's Jacquie?” she screamed at Mae Frances.
Mae Frances shook her head. “She . . . she was . . . right there,” she cried as she pointed back to the store.
But Jasmine didn't bother to turn around. She didn't need to look at the store or anywhere else in the mall. Because in the space inside of her where truth lay, she knew.
As “Joy to the World” squeaked out from the speakers above, Jasmine knew that her daughter was gone.
My Thoughts:
What draws me most to Christian fiction is the cozy and comfortable feeling I get when I read it. I know I am going to find uplifting messages throughout, and there will always been a good and happy ending to the story.
"Sins of the Mother" wasn't like that for me. It was edgy, and at times really pushed the limit of being what I'd call Christian fiction. It dealt with everyday people in everyday situations, that has a sinful past and a present that didn't really leave that old life behind.
I struggled with the sex scenes. They were kept clean but still didn't seem right reading about clothes ripping off. Mind you, I do read secular fiction, but I really thought it pushed the line in a Christian fiction book. I won't be handing this one to my daughter to read. It's definitely an adult book with adult situations.
Although I had a problem with the sex and some of the lack of commitment that Jasmine had toward her husband, I found the storyline quite real and very captivating. The characters were also real and struggled with real problems and nothing was glossed over.
This was a very good read, but I would be more apt to call it straight fiction.
This book was provided by FIRST for me to honestly review.
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