Today we welcome Patti Lacy to my blog for focus on Christmas. This will be the last post as I am on holidays at present. I want to wish you all a very happy Christmas.
Firstly, thanks for coming back to my blog this time we are focusing on Christmas. What do you most associate with Christmas where you live?
Whistling winter winds, steel-gray clouds dumping piles of snow—in my driveway! Sub-zero temperatures! Hey, it’s happening RIGHT NOW—while you Aussies bask in the sun!
2. Do you have any special family traditions you do at Christmas time?
Hushed candlelit church sanctuaries on December 24 top our tradition list, as does unpacking our precious Italian manger scene that has twenty-one-year-old teeth marks. When our children were young, we drew hand-sewn symbols from an Advent calendar and enjoyed a daily treat. Now our focus falls on how best to adore the Child in the manger. Prayer? Fasting?
“Oh, come, let us adore Him…Did I mention that we love singing carols?
3. Do you have a favourite Christmas Carol and if so do you know why?
Was that a lead-in or WHAT? “Silent Night” lends the wonder and emotion of the participants in that first sacred Christmas. Oh, how I hear the cattle lowing, the angels singing, the shepherds sighing with awe…
4. If you could spend Christmas any way you could, how would you celebrate?
Just like we do, in the bosom of our family. We’ve had beach Christmases and Disney World Christmases, but what I like best is gathering before our own hearth and eating at our own table.
5. Do you have any special memories of Christmas?
Growing up in the South, I didn’t understand the meaning of White Christmas until we traveled to Colorado. Suddenly the glittery Christmas cards took on meaning!
6. What is a typical Christmas Eve and or Christmas Day for you?
We attend a Christmas Eve service. How I love the candlelit ones that end with singing…”Silent Night.” Then we prepare a Tex-Mex dinner and have a White Elephant party. Often gifts get recycled in different forms! Yeah, the Santa Claus outfitted baby alligator lurks in the most inauspicious boxes!! On Christmas Day, we gather around the tree, open gifts, and spend time just being together. It’s pretty low-key.
7. Do you have any Christmas movies or Christmas books you like to see or read each year?
My son adores “The Christmas Story.” I gravitate toward “How the Grinch Stole Christmas.” A precious gem that many don’t know about is Truman Capote’s “A Christmas Memory.”
8. Do you have a Christmas message for my readers? Let the expectations of the world fall away as you turn your eyes upon Jesus. Look full in that wonderful Infant face, yet let the shadow of the cross remain in your view…
Here are some recipes from some of our favourite authors.
Auhor Sandra Glahn released Kona with Jonah and Frappe' with Philippians in 2009. These Bible studies are part of her Coffee Cup Series.
From the kitchen of Sandra Glahn
CHEESY BROCCOLI CASSEROLE
Serves 6
2 heads fresh broccoli
1 can cream of mushroom soup
1 c. grated sharp, cheddar cheese
1 t. dry minced onion
2 egg whites, well-beaten
1 c. mayonnaise
Salt and pepper to taste
Crushed potato chips
Cut flowers off broccoli. (You can shred the spears for slaw later). Chop broccoli flowers into bite-sized pieces. Microwave on high in 2 T. water for 3 minutes (or steam for 5 minutes on stove). Drain. Mix everything together except broccoli. Add broccoli and mix gently. Put in Pam-sprayed casserole (1-1/2 qt. size). Sprinkle with crushed potato chips. Bake at 350 for 20 to 30 minutes.
Virginia Smith's January 2010 release of Third Time's a Charm is the much anticipated conclusion of the Sister to Sister Series.
Virginia Smith’s Favorite Christmas Recipe
My grandmother made this every year before she passed away. I’ve continued the tradition.
Mono's Lemon Cake
3/4 cup oil 1 cup canned apricot nectar 4 eggs 1/2 cup sugar 1 Lemon cake mix
Combine ingredients with mixer. Pour into greased, floured Bundt pan. Bake at 350 for 25 minutes. Reduce heat to 325 for another 25 minutes. Turn hot cake onto cake stand and poke with toothpick. Pour on a mixture of:
1 1/2 cups powdered sugar 1/4 cup lemon juice
Cover with the cake stand lid and wrap tightly with several layers of plastic wrap. Let stand for 2-3 days before serving.
Kathy Carlton Willis, owner of the same named communications firm, can’t get enough Christmas. She takes the star off the top of the tree and makes it shine in the lives of her clients all year long. They aspire to reflect the true star of Christmas, Jesus Christ, every day.
Cafeteria Carrot Souffle' Serves 8
2-3 15 oz cans sliced carrots, mixed or blended until mashed/pureed 1/2 cup melted butter (I melt in the microwave—use REAL butter) 1 cup white sugar (I use a tad less, this is SWEET) 3 tablespoons all-purpose flour 1 teaspoon baking powder 1 teaspoon vanilla extract small amount of spices of your choice (I use cinnamon) 3 eggs, beaten (I go ahead and beat this with a mixer so that it makes the casserole really pouf) 1 teaspoon confectioners' sugar for dusting
DIRECTIONS 1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C).
2. Mix all ingredients except the confections’ sugar, and transfer to a 2-quart casserole dish.
3. Bake in preheated oven for 30-60 minutes (Recipe says 30 minutes, but because I puree the carrots, it takes longer to solidify in the oven.)
4. Sprinkle with confectioners' sugar, optional.
With the hustle and bustle of the Christmas season, Gina Stinson, publicist assistant for KCWC, enjoys the special opportunity to spotlight fiction and non-fiction authors who reflect the light of the Savior all through the year.
Ready, Set, Bake with Gina
These are fast becoming a favorite with family and friends....ooey, gooey goodness!
Caramel Bars
32 individually wrapped caramels, unwrapped (or you can use one package of caramel chips) 5 tablespoons heavy cream 1 cup all-purpose flour 1 cup rolled oats 3/4 cup brown sugar 1/2 teaspoon baking soda 1/4 teaspoon salt 3/4 cup butter, melted 1/2 cup semisweet chocolate chips 1/2 cup chopped walnuts
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). In a medium saucepan over low heat, melt together the caramels and heavy cream, stirring occasionally until smooth.
In a medium bowl, stir together the flour, oats, brown sugar, baking soda and salt. Stir in the melted butter until well blended. Press half of the mixture into the bottom of a 9x13 inch baking pan. Reserve the rest.
Bake the crust for 8 minutes in the preheated oven. Remove and sprinkle with chocolate chips and walnuts. Pour the caramel mixture over the top and then crumble the remaining crust mixture over everything.
Return to the oven and bake for an additional 12 minutes, or until the top is lightly toasted. Cut into squares while it is still warm.
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!
***Special thanks to Cathy Hickling of Whitaker House for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
A prolific writer, Loree Lough has more than seventy-one books, sixty-three short stories, and 2,500 articles in print. Her stories have earned dozens of industry and Reader’s Choice awards. A frequent guest speaker for writers’ organizations, book clubs, private and government institutions, corporations, college and high school writing programs, and more, Loree has encouraged thousands with her comedic approach to “learned-the-hard-way” lessons about the craft and industry. Loree and her husband split their time between Baltimore suburbs and a cabin in the Allegheny Mountains.
List Price: $9.99 Paperback: 400 pages Publisher: Whitaker House (January 2010) Language: English ISBN-10: 1603741674 ISBN-13: 978-1603741675 :
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Magnolia Grange, south of Richmond, Virginia
1866
Chapter One
“It’s hard to believe you’ve been with us four years, Bridget.”
Winking one thick-lashed blue eye, the maid grinned. “Aye, Mr. Auburn.” She blew a tendril of flaming red hair away from her eye and secured a gigantic white satin bow to the railing. “Time has passed like a runaway engine.”
Fumbling with his collar, Chase chuckled. “You’ve always been a joy to have in the house, and your way with words is but one of the reasons.”
Bridget slid the ribbon up and down until it exactly matched the height of the decoration on the other side of the porch. In response to the great gulp of air he took in, she straightened from her work. “Were you this nervous the first time you were a bridegroom, sir?”
He leaned a shoulder against the pillar nearest him. “To tell the truth, I don’t recall.” And, raising both brows imploringly, he pointed at the lopsided knot at his throat. “Would you mind…?”
She stepped up to the man who’d been more of a big brother than an employer to her these past years. “Wouldn’t mind a bit.” And to think that during her long sea voyage from Ireland to Virginia, she’d envisioned him a brute and a monster!
Standing on tiptoe, Bridget repaired the damage he’d done to his black string tie. “There, now,” she said, brushing imaginary lint from his broad shoulders, “that’s got it.”
His hand trembling, he dug a gold watch from his pocket. “The guests will begin arriving soon. Is everything—?”
“All’s well, Mr. Auburn, so I pray ye’ll relax. Else ye’ll need another bath!” Gathering her bow-making materials, Bridget hustled through the front door. From the other side of the screen, she said, “I’ve a few things to see to in the kitchen, and then I’ll be lookin’ in on yer bride-to-be.” She started toward the parlor, then stopped and faced him again. “Mr. Auburn, sir?”
He stopped rubbing his temples to say, “Yes?”
“I set aside a pitcher of lemonade. Might be just the thing to calm your nerves. Now, why don’t you settle down there while I fetch you a nice tall glass?”
As she made her way toward the kitchen, she heard the unmistakable squeak of the porch swing. “Hard to believe you ever thought that dear, sweet man capable of beating his servants bloody.”
“What’s that?”
Scissors, ribbons, needles, and thread flew into the air, then rained down upon her at the sound of the rich, masculine voice. “Goodness gracious, sakes alive!” she gasped, hands flattened to her chest. “You just shaved ten years off m’life!”
“Sorry,” said the tall intruder. “Didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Rolling her eyes, Bridget stooped to retrieve the fallen articles. “No harm done, I suppose.” Then, narrowing one eye, she sent him a half smile. “Provided you help me clean up the mess ye’re responsible for.”
Immediately, he was on his hands and knees, and once they’d untangled the ribbon, she put it all in the linen cupboard. “Don’t recall seein’ you around here before.”
“Just arrived last evening.” He nodded toward the barn. “I’m bunking in the loft. Chase…uh, Mr. Auburn is hoping I can improve the lineage of his quarter horses.”
“Ah,” she said, returning the sewing supplies to their proper shelf, “so you’re the new stable hand we’ve all been hearing about.” Dusting off her hands, she started up the stairs, stopping on the bottom step to give him a quick once-over. “Don’t know why, but I thought you’d be older.”
Leaning both burly arms on the newel post, he frowned slightly. “The proper title is ‘stable master’.”
“Is that a fact, Mr. Big-for-His-Britches?” Grinning good-naturedly, she added, “Tack whatever fancy name ye choose to the work. You’re still the hired help, same as me, ’cept you’re likely more at home with a muck shovel in your hand than a mop or broom.”
For a moment, a look of embarrassment darkened his handsome face, but, to his credit, he shook it off. “It’s honest work, and the horses are my full responsibility, so they might as well be my very own.”
She scrutinized him carefully. “All right, then, so you’ve got the master’s horses, but have ye the horse sense to go with ’em?” Halfway up the curving staircase, she leaned over the landing banister. “And what might your name be, Mr. I’m-So-Sure-of-Myself…just so I’m sure to address you properly next time we meet?”
Another nod. “But only half.” The frown above his gray eyes deepened. “Why do you look as though you’ve just smelled something unpleasant? Is there something wrong with being English?”
Only if you’re a poor tenant farmer in County Donegal, Ireland, she thought, continuing up the stairs. Since they both worked for Mr. Auburn, she’d likely run into this fellow often, and she had no intention of behaving like one of those uppity town girls who were so difficult to get along with. “Well,” she said coolly, “I suppose we all have to be something, now, don’t we?”
Her peripheral vision told her he hadn’t budged as she reached the next landing. Bridget would not allow herself to look at him. What, and give him the satisfaction of knowing an Englishman had humiliated yet another Irishman? Not in a million Sundays!
Bridget hurried up the remaining stairs and set her mind on seeing what, if anything, Drewry might need, because in no time at all, she’d become Mrs. Chase Auburn. No doubt she’d be at least as fidgety as her bridegroom.
Funny, she thought, how folks tend to pair off at weddings. Most of the servants had spouses to accompany them to the shindig. All but Bridget and the hired hands’ children. More’s the pity the stableman has the blood of those thievin’ English flowin’ in his veins, she thought, ’cause he’d make a right handsome companion….
***
Bridget watched as the servants and hired hands of Magnolia Grange raced around, putting the finishing touches on the wedding preparations. How handsome they all looked dressed in their regal best, thanks to Chase Auburn’s generosity.
She remembered the day, not so long ago, when he’d stood beside the big buckboard, ushering every member of his staff into the back of the vehicle, oblivious to their slack-jawed, wide-eyed protests. “Magnolia Grange has survived locusts and storms and the Civil War, so I hardly think our little trip into town will cause its ruination.” Grabbing the reins, he’d added, “When we get to Richmond, every last one of you will choose a proper wedding outfit. And remember, money is no object.”
The wagon wheels had ground along the gritty road, drowning out the shocked whispers of his hired help. “Been with that boy since he was born,” Matilda had said behind a wrinkled black hand, “an’ I ain’t never seen him smile so bright.”
“I do believe he done lost his mind, Matty,” Simon had said. “This is gonna cost a fortune.”
“You just worry ’bout tending the fields,” she’d shot back, “an’ let Mistah Chase worry ’bout what he can afford.”
In town, the maid, the housekeeper, the foreman, and the field hands had quickly discovered that every Richmond shopkeeper had been instructed to put the suits, gowns, shoes, and baubles chosen by Auburn employees on Chase’s personal account. At first, they’d shied away from quality materials, picking through the bins for dresses of cotton and shirts of muslin. Until Chase had gotten wind of their frugality, that is.
“You’ll not attend my wedding dressed like that!” he’d gently admonished them, snatching a pair of dungarees from Claib’s hands. Holding some gabardine trousers in front of the tall, thin man, he’d said, “You’ve earned this.” Then, looking at each employee in turn, he had said, “You’ve all earned this. Why, Magnolia Grange wouldn’t be what it is without you!” With that, he’d disappeared into the bustling Richmond street.
Now, Bridget stepped into the full-skirted gown she’d chosen that day at Miss Dalia’s Dress Shop. Ma’s cameo would have looked lovely at the throat, she thought, buttoning its high, lace-trimmed collar. But the pin had long ago been handed over to the ruthless landlord Conyngham when he’d raised the rent yet again.
Slipping into slippers made from fabric the same shade of pink as the dress, Bridget recalled that in one of her mother’s leather-bound volumes—before Conyngham had demanded those, too—she’d seen a pen-and-ink sketch of a ballerina. According to the book, ballet originated in Renaissance Italy, where, as the nobility began to see themselves as superior to the peasantry, they rejected the robust and earthy steps of traditional dance. Emulating the slower, statelier movements of the ballerinas, they believed, accentuated their own elegance. Her arms forming a graceful circle over her head, the beautiful lady’s torso had curved gently to the right. Her dark hair had been pulled back tightly from her face, and on her head had been a tiny, sparkling crown. Long, shapely legs had peeked out from beneath a gauzy, knee-length gown, and on her feet had been satin slippers.
Smiling at the memory, Bridget stood at the mirror. Gathering her cinnamony hair atop her head, she secured it with a wide ribbon that matched her shoes. Lifting her skirt, she stuck out her right foot and, looking about to see if she were truly alone, grinned as mischief danced in her eyes. How long had it been since she’d struck this particular ballerina pose? Five years? Six? Then, feeling both giddy and girlish, Bridget covered her face with both hands and giggled. Ye’d better count yer blessin’s that nobody can see you, Bridget McKenna, for they’d cart y’off to the loony bin, to be sure!
The big grandfather clock in the hall began counting out the hour. Goodness gracious me, she thought, hurrying to the door, how can it be midday already? And with only an hour till the weddin’!
When Bridget entered Drewry’s room, she found the bride standing in front of a big, oval mirror like the one in her own room, smiling as Matilda pinned a white poinsettia in her long, dark hair. “You do make a lovely bride,” said the housekeeper. “Mistah Chase be one lucky fella, gettin’ a wife as fetchin’ as you.”
Blushing, Drewry hugged the woman. “Thank you, Matilda. But I’m the lucky one.”
“Not lucky,” Bridget said, closing the door behind her. “Blessed.”
The curious glances exchanged by the bride and housekeeper told Bridget that her interruption had stunned them. True, she’d never been overly chatty, but lately….
Several months ago, Mr. Auburn had walked into the kitchen as she’d been ciphering. When she’d admitted that she’d saved almost enough to send for her family, he’d promised to find work for her father and four siblings. And just this morning, a little more ciphering told Bridget that in six months, maybe eight, she’d finally have what she needed to bring them here from Ireland. If that didn’t put her in a chatty mood, a wedding was sure to do it!
“You’re so right,” Drewry said, grasping Bridget’s hand. “Luck had nothing to do with it. It was the good Lord who brought Chase and me together.”
“And He’ll keep you together, too.”
“Seems our gal here know as much about the Good Book as anyone,” Matilda said.
Bridget remembered another day, not long after her arrival at Magnolia Grange, when Mr. Auburn had invited her to join the family in prayer. “How many times must I tell you, Bridget McKenna,” he’d thundered, “that it’s not a sin to read the Scriptures!” He’d picked up the large, leather-bound Bible and opened it for the household’s morning devotions. On the other side of the big, wooden table, Bridget had begun to weep. It had been Drewry, the children’s nanny, who had passed her a lace-edged hanky.
“But Mr. Auburn, sir,” she’d cried, “my ma taught us that readin’ the Holy Scriptures is a sin and a crime. Learnin’ like that…it’s only for the clergy, who are blessed by God to understand what they read.” Trembling, she’d hidden her face in Drewry’s hanky. “Oh, please, sir…I don’t want to go to hell!”
Softening his tone, Chase had said, “I hate to disagree with your sweet mother, but I’m afraid she was mistaken.”
His comment had only served to cause a fresh torrent of tears, inspiring Drewry to scoot along the bench and drape an arm around Bridget. “Mr. Auburn is right, Bridget,” she’d said, her dark eyes shining and sweet voice soothing. “Our reading the Scriptures pleases God. Why else would He have given them to us?”
Bridget stopped crying and studied Drewry’s face. “But…how d’ye know for sure that it’s true, ma’am?”
“Because the Lord Jesus Himself said, ‘Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God.’ “You see, going to church on Sunday and hearing about Jesus is but one way of growing closer to the Lord. Reading His Word for ourselves, why, there’s no better way!” And from that moment on, life at Magnolia Grange had changed for Bridget. Having access to the comfort of God’s Word was a key that unlocked a world of hope.
“So, what you think, li’l Miss Bridget?” Matilda said. “You knows the Bible as good as anybody?”
“Hardly!” she said, laughing. “The more I learn,” she admitted, “the more I realize how little I know.” Then she wagged a finger at the bride. “Now, you’d best be gettin’ yourself downstairs, Miss Drew. Pastor Tillman has arrived, and the guests are gatherin’ in the chapel. It’s a mighty pretty day for a wedding, ’specially for December!”
“I have God to thank for that, too,” Drewry admitted, tugging at the long snug sleeves of her white velvet gown. With arms extended, she took a deep breath as Matilda fastened the tiny pearl buttons on each cuff. After fastening her mother’s cameo at the high, stand-up collar, Drewry picked up the bouquet fashioned of red roses, white poinsettias, and greenery from Chase’s hothouse, which he had delivered at dawn.
“You gonna carry that to the altar, Miss Drew?”
“I most certainly am, Matilda. Perhaps Chase and I will start a trend…bridegrooms delivering flowers to their brides, and brides carrying the bouquets to the altar.” She punctuated her statement with a merry giggle. “Well, I’m as ready as I’m ever going to be, so I suppose we should get this wedding started!”
With Matilda leading the way, the women walked down the wide, curving staircase and onto the porch. Bridget saw that Claib had parked the carriage out front. He’d polished its chassis until the enamel gleamed like a black mirror. The farmhand cut quite a dashing figure in his long-tailed morning suit, and Bridget planned to tell him so the minute they returned to the kitchen to serve the guests at the reception. Bending low at the waist, Claib swept a gloved hand in front of him. “Your carriage awaits, m’lady,” he said, mimicking Pastor Tillman’s English butler.
The sounds of laughter and chatter grew louder as the buggy neared the chapel. “They’re here!” a woman shouted.
“Start the music!” hollered a man.
As the four-piece string ensemble began to play Beethoven’s Ninth, Drewry stood beside her Uncle James at the back of the chapel. Such a lovely bride, Bridget thought. And this little church in the woods is lovely, too. The red holly berries trimming the roof winked merrily, and a soft garland filled the air with the fresh, clean scent of pine. Massive arrangements of red and white poinsettias, along with evergreen boughs, flanked the altar, where Mr. Auburn waited alone.
But not for long.
Bridget and Matilda, in their new store-bought frocks, stepped importantly down the aisle in time to the music and took their places in the Auburn family pew. Chase’s daughter, Sally, stepped up in front of Drewry, one hand in her basket, prepared to sprinkle rose petals along the path that her new mother’s high-topped white boots would take. Behind Sally, her brother, Sam, held the white satin pillow that cushioned the wedding band. Bridget smiled as he tugged at the collar of his shirt and smiled adoringly up at Drewry.
The children love her so, and so does Mr. Auburn, Bridget thought. And it’s plain to see she loves them, too.
Just then, the throbbing strains of the “Wedding March” poured from the organ’s pipes, filling the chapel as Pastor Tillman took his place at the altar. Bridget watched Chase, resplendent in his black suit, as he focused on Drewry, the object of his hopes and dreams and promises soon to be fulfilled. “I love you,” he mouthed to her.
Bridget turned in her seat just in time to see the bride answer with a wink and a smile. Will I ever know love like that? she wondered, facing front again. Sighing, she felt her shoulders sag. Not likely, since all I do is work, work, work and save, save, save…. A feeling of guilt washed over Bridget, and she chastised herself for allowing such self-centered thoughts to enter her head. She had much to be grateful for, and this was Drewry and Chase’s day, after all!
Still, the bride and groom’s for-our-eyes-only communication made her yearn for a love like theirs—a love that reached beyond the bounds of family, binding man to woman and woman to man, cloaking them in trust, friendship, and companionship forever.
A chilly wind blew through the chapel, making Bridget shiver. Hugging herself, she focused on the rough-hewn cross that hung above the altar and, closing her eyes, prayed silently. Dear Lord, if it’s in Your plan, I wouldn’t mind havin’ a bit of love like that, for I’m weary of being cold and alone.
***
Drewry’s Uncle James and his lady friend, Joy, had arrived two days earlier. In many ways, the handsome couple reminded Bridget of Chase and Drewry.
Bridget and Joy had chatted while decorating the mansion. Joy, Bridget discovered, had been raised up north, near Baltimore. “Why, there’s a Baltimore, Ireland, too!” she’d said, excited at all she had in common with her new friend.
Bridget hadn’t had as many opportunities to talk with Drewry’s uncle, so when she saw him during the reception, standing alone under the willow tree, she didn’t know quite how to approach him. His grief was raw and real, that much was plain to see. And she knew precisely what had destroyed his previous high-spirited mood. For as she’d been gathering plates and cups nearby, she’d overheard the conversation….
James had dropped to one knee and taken Joy’s hand in his, then looked deep into her eyes and whispered hoarsely, “Miss Naomi Joy McGuire, will you do me the honor of becoming my bride?”
So romantic! Bridget had thought. She’d been taught better than to eavesdrop, but if she’d made any attempt to move just then, she would have alerted them to her presence, and what if that destroyed the whole mood? Then Joy had blinked, swallowed hard, and stiffened her back. “I can’t, James,” she’d said. Then, snatching back her hand, she’d lifted the billowing blue satin of her skirt and raced across the lawn to the house.
Hours passed before Bridget returned to collect the last of the dishes and glasses scattered about by the guests. Yet he still stood alone where she’d last seen him. “Is there anything I can do for you, sir?”
Without looking up, James shook his head.
“Won’t you come inside and let me brew you a cup of tea?”
But he only shook his head again.
“But sir, ye’re pale as a ghost, and I can’t in good conscience leave you here alone. I’ll make a pest of myself, if I must, to get you inside, where it’s warm.” She gestured toward the yard. “Ye’ll catch yer death if you stay out here.”
When he gave no response, she linked her arm with his and led him to the house, chattering nonstop the whole way about the way Pastor Tillman had nearly choked on a wad of tobacco before pronouncing Drewry and Chase husband and wife; about the perfect weather, the delicious food, the pretty decorations…anything but the ceremony itself. “My name is Bridget, sir,” she said as they approached the front porch. “Bridget McKenna.”
The way he climbed the steps, Bridget couldn’t help but picture the tin soldiers lined up on the shelf at McDoogle’s Store back home. The poor man had found the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his days with, and her refusal had broken his spirit. Surely, Joy had a good reason for saying no, but that didn’t stop Bridget from feeling sorry for him.
Once inside, she stopped at the parlor door. “Why not have a seat there by the fire? I’ll fetch you a nice hot cup of tea.”
“I think I’d rather just go to bed.”
As she opened the door to his room, she said, “If you need anything, anything at all, just ring for me.”
Though he nodded as he stepped into the room, Bridget had a feeling he wouldn’t ring. In fact, something told her she might not see him at all before he returned to Baltimore. “Well,” she muttered as he closed the door, “I don’t suppose all matches are made in heaven….”
“Like Drewry and Chase, you mean?”
A tiny shriek escaped her lungs. “Land sakes, man,” she said, recognizing Lance. “Ye’ll be the death of me, sure!” Bridget regarded him with a wary eye. “Ye’ve got cat’s paws for feet. How else can I explain how you slink around without making a sound?”
Chuckling, Lance pocketed both hands. “I wasn’t slinking. You were so deep in thought, a herd of cattle could have thundered through here, and you wouldn’t have noticed until the dust cleared.”
Bridget raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I might’ve noticed a wee bit before then.” Pointing at his feet, she said, “There’d have been the stink of the stuff you’ve tracked across my clean floor to bring me around.” Planting both fists on her hips, she met his eyes. “Perhaps you have been raised as fine as those fancy airs you put on, Mr. York, for no self-respecting stable hand would enter the master’s house without first puttin’ his soles to the boot scrape by the servants’ entrance!”
***
Lance glanced down at his boots and the telltale clumps of mud and horse manure that showed the path he’d taken since entering the foyer. Feeling strangely like an errant child caught sneaking cookies before dinner, he was about to inform her that although this was indeed a grand mansion, it sat upon fertile pastureland. Did she really expect everyone who entered to wipe his boots? And who did she think she was, anyway, scolding him as if he were an ordinary—
Yet the moment he looked into her eyes to deliver his rebuttal, Lance’s ire abated. She was perhaps the loveliest creature he’d ever seen, tiny and feminine and just scrappy enough to be reckoned with. A mass of shining brick-red waves framed her heart-shaped face, and even after a long day of tending to and tidying up after wedding guests, her milky skin glowed with healthy radiance, making the pale freckles sprinkling her nose even more noticeable.
And those eyes! He’d seen her before, both up close and from a distance. Why hadn’t he noticed how large and thickly lashed they were?
“So, there’s another lesson yer ma obviously didn’t teach you. First, you thoughtlessly mess up the floors, and then, you stare like a simpleton.”
Lance blinked, then frowned in response to her anger. “What? I—I wasn’t—”
“You were, and you still are,” she interrupted him, crossing her arms over her chest as she lifted her chin.
If he didn’t know better, he’d say she was daring him to disagree!
Lance had no earthly idea where the thought came from, but, suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to grasp the narrow shoulders she’d thrown back in defiance and kiss her square on those full, pink lips. Sweet Jesus, he prayed, keep me true to my vow….
Newly resolved and strengthened, he straightened to his full five-foot eleven-inch height. “I didn’t mean to track dirt into the house,” he said at last. “If you like, I’ll help you clean it up. And you have my word, it won’t happen again.”
Grinning, she wiggled her perfectly arched brows. “Oh, that won’t be necessary.” Then, “I suppose I could have been a mite gentler with you, now, couldn’t I?” On the heels of a deep breath, Bridget added, “It’s been a long, hard day, not that that’s a good excuse for my harshness.” With one hand up to silence his denial, she continued, “I set aside a bit of cake and lemonade. Will you let me get it for you, as a peace offerin’?”
Truth was, he’d stuffed himself at the reception and had no idea where he’d put another bite of food, so his answer surprised him. “Only if you’ll share it with me.”
She turned on her heel and, wiggling a finger over her shoulder, said, “Then follow me, English.”
He did, too, like a pup on his boy’s heels. As they made their way down the stairs, she said, “What you said earlier….”
Lance fell into step beside her. “In response to your ‘not all matches are made in heaven’ comment?”
Rounding the corner into the kitchen, she nodded. “How’d you know that’s what I meant?”
He straddled a stool and leaned both elbows on the table. No woman had ever willingly served him before, unless he counted roadside tavern maids. Lance rather enjoyed watching Bridget bustling about, preparing the snack that had been her idea. “I overheard what went on between Drewry’s uncle and his lady friend, too,” he said. His smile became a frown. “Sad, the way she treated the bloke.”
Bridget laid a neatly folded napkin near his left elbow and unceremoniously plopped a silver fork atop it. “Now, let’s not be too quick to judge, English. We have no way of knowing why she said what she did.”
By the time she set the tall goblet of lemonade near the tines of his fork, he was all but scowling. “It’s been my experience,” he began, “that women don’t need a reason to be cruel.” He sat up straighter and feigned a dainty pose. “You’re such a darling man,” he sighed in a high-pitched falsetto. “Is that your heart?” he asked, pointing a dainty finger at his imaginary tablemate’s chest. Then, his hand formed an ugly claw as he pretended to tear into the invisible man’s rib cage. “I’ve got it!” he all but shouted, pretending to stuff it into his mouth.
Bridget stood gawking with one hand on her hip and then wrinkled her nose. “After ye’ve learned to wipe yer feet,” she said, sliding the cake plate in front of him, “we’ll have a go at teachin’ you how to make interesting table conversation.” After taking a sip of her own lemonade, she sat down across from him. “A body could only guess from that sorry demonstration that you’ve been wounded a time or two by love.”
“Not really,” he said around a bite of frosting. “And I’m sorry for the outburst.”
Smiling, she pressed a hand to his forearm. “You can apologize for scarin’ the soul from m’body, for dirtyin’ my floor.” Leaning closer, Bridget narrowed her eyes. “But don’t ever let me hear you say you’re sorry for what you feel, English.”
Resting his elbow on the table, Lance let the empty fork dangle from his hand. “What have you got against the English, if you don’t mind my asking?” Slicing off another hunk of cake, he added, “Keep in mind, I’m English only on my father’s side….”
Sighing, Bridget sat back. “Have you ever been to Ireland?”
Lance shook his head.
“And what do you know about the way your people dealt with the Irish during the famine?”
In place of an answer, Lance only shrugged.
She folded her hands on the tabletop. “Now, I’ll warn ye, ’tisn’t a pretty story.” Winking, she looked from side to side, as if in search of a spy. “And there’s a good chance you’ll dislike your folks as much as I do when I’ve finished.” Pausing, she said, “You sure you want me to go on?”
“I’m sure,” he said with a grin.
And for the next hour, she held him spellbound with her tale.
I have to appologize here as I thought this tour was January. I haven't had time to read this 3 in one yet but plan to the beginning of January and will post as soon as I finish the book. I am looking forward to reading it.
Welcome Cecelia Dowdy to my blog today for focus on Christmas. I am loving seeing how others celebrate and remember Christmas and learning the different foods also.
1. Firstly thanks for coming back to my blog this time we are focusing on christmas. What do you most associate with Christmas where you live?
The food! Christmas is a time for goodies! Eggnog, apple cider, cookies, cakes and pies! During the holidays, everybody seems to forget their diets as they feast on delectable creations!
2. Do you have any special family traditions you do at Christmas time? Christmas is when we usually bake tons of cookies. My son and I do this together. We'll usually do this for a few weekends (so we'll be starting soon). We'll make oatmeal-raisin cookies, peanut butter cookies, and chocolate chip.
3. Do you have a favourite christmas Carol and if so do you know why? I'm afraid I don't have a favorite Christmas carol. I do listen to Christmas music in my car during the holiday season, and I also have an assortment of Christmas CDs by various artists, but I don't have one favorite song. The music artists I listen to over the holidays are: Nat King Cole, The Jackson Five, Vanessa Williams, Kenny G., The Temptations, and I also listen to The Nutcracker.
4. If you could spend Christmas anyway you could how would you celebrate? I'd go away to a hot, tropical place and spend the holiday sipping drinks and getting the hotel staff to serve me and my family our breakfast, lunch, and dinner!
5. Do you have any special memories of Christmas? I mostly remember my father making turkey and stuffing and cranberry sauce on Christmas. My mom usually did most of the cooking, but on Christmas (and Thanksgiving), my dad would usually cook the meal! The food was excellent! I also recall my dad doing things at the last minute, and it would be Christmas day where I'd be addressing Christmas cards to our friends and relatives!
6. What is a typical Christmas eve and or Christmas day for you. I wasn't big on shopping and holidays...never have been, but all that changed last year. Our son was three last year and he's now four. He expects Christmas gifts because he hears his friends at school talking about them. Last year, I went shopping for our son via the internet, and we also went to a few stores to shop. I HATE shopping anytime of year, so shopping at Christmas is very trying for me. My husband and I usually tell one another what we want and then purchase the gift from our wish list. We'll spend Christmas day with my family or my husband's family.
7. Do you have any Christmas movies or Christmas books you like to see or read each year? I like those old Christmas cartoon/claymation shows that came on when I was a child: Santa Claus Is Coming To Town, The Year Without A Santa Claus, Rudolf The Rednosed Reindeer. I also like How The Grinch Stole Christmas - the original cartoon, NOT the movie with Jim Carey! I also enjoy The Polar Express.
8. Do you have a Christmas message for my readers? Focus on Jesus and his birth this holiday season! Think about the ultimate gift of eternal life that Jesus provided to us sinners!
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!
***Special thanks to Angie Brillhart of Barbour Publishing for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Award-winning author Susan Page Davis is a mother of six who lives in Maine with her husband, Jim. She worked as a newspaper correspondent for more than twenty-five years in addition to home-schooling her children. She writes historical romances and cozy mysteries and is a member of ACFW. Visit her Web site at
List Price: $10.97 Paperback: 320 pages Publisher: Barbour Books (December 1, 2009) Language: English ISBN-10: 1602605629 ISBN-13: 978-1602605626
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Fergus, Idaho
May 1885
Gert Dooley aimed at the scrap of red calico and squeezed the trigger. The Spencer rifle she held cracked, and the red cloth fifty yards away shivered.
“I’d say your shooting piece is in fine order.” She lowered the rifle and passed it to the owner, Cyrus Fennel. She didn’t particularly like Fennel, but he always paid her brother, the only gunsmith in Fergus, with hard money.
He nodded. “Thank you, Miss Dooley.” He shoved his hand into his pocket.
Gert knew he was fishing out a coin. This was the part her brother hated most—taking payment for his work. She turned away. Hiram would be embarrassed enough without her watching. She picked up the shawl she had let fall to the grass a few minutes earlier.
“That’s mighty fine shooting, Gert,” said Hiram’s friend, rancher Ethan Chapman. He’d come by earlier to see if Hiram would help him string a fence the next day. When Cyrus Fennel had arrived to pick up his repaired rifle, Ethan had sat down on the chopping block to watch Gert demonstrate the gun.
“Thank you kindly.” Gert accepted praise for shooting as a matter of course. Now, if Ethan had remarked that she looked fine today or some such pretty thing, she’d have been flustered. But he would never say anything like that. And shooting was just work.
Fennel levered the rifle’s action open and peered at the firing pin. “Looks good as new. I should be able to pick off those rats that are getting in my grain bins.”
“That’s quite a cannon for shooting rats,” Gert said.
Ethan stood and rested one foot on the chopping block, leaning forward with one arm on his knee. “You ought to hire Gert to shoot them for you.”
Gert scowled. “Why’d I want to do that? He can shoot his own rats.”
Hiram, who had pocketed his pay as quickly as possible, moved the straw he chewed from one side of his mouth to the other. He never talked much. Men brought him their firearms to fix. Hiram listened to them tell him what the trouble was while eyeing the piece keenly. Then he’d look at Gert. She would tell them, “Come back next week.” Hiram would nod, and that was the extent of the conversation. Since his wife, Violet, had died eight years ago, the only person Hiram seemed to talk to much was Ethan.
Fennel turned toward her with a condescending smile. “Folks say you’re the best shot in Fergus, Miss Dooley.”
Gert shrugged. It wasn’t worth debating. She had sharp eyes, and she’d fired so many guns for Hiram to make sure they were in working order that she’d gotten good at it, that was all.
Ethan’s features, however, sprang to life. “Ain’t it the truth? Why, Gert can shoot the tail feathers off a jay at a hundred yards with a gun like that. Mighty fine rifle.” He nodded at Fennel’s Spencer, wincing as though he regretted not having a gun as fine.
“Well, now, I’m a fair shot myself,” Fennel said. “I could maybe hit that rag, too.”
“Let’s see you do it,” Ethan said.
Fennel jacked a cartridge into the Spencer, smiling as he did. The rag still hung limp from a notched stick and was silhouetted against the distant dirt bank across the field. He put his left foot forward and swung the butt of the stock up to his shoulder, paused motionless for a second, and pulled the trigger.
Gert watched the cloth, not the shooter. The stick shattered just at the bottom of the rag. She frowned. She’d have to find another stick next time. At least when she tested a gun, she clipped the edge of the cloth so her stand could be used again.
Hiram took the straw out of his mouth and threw it on the ground. Without a word, he strode to where the tattered red cloth lay a couple of yards from the splintered stick and brought the scrap back. He stooped for a piece of firewood from the pile he’d made before Fennel showed up. The stick he chose had split raggedly, and Hiram slid the bit of cloth into a crack.
Ethan stood beside Gert as they watched Hiram walk across the field, all the way to the dirt bank, and set the piece of firewood on end.
“Hmm.” Fennel cleared his throat and loaded several cartridges into the magazine. When Hiram was back beside them, he raised the gun again, held for a second, and fired. The stick with the bit of red stood unwavering.
“Let Gert try,” Ethan said.
“No need,” she said, looking down at her worn shoe tips peeping out beneath the hem of her skirt.
“Oh, come on.” Ethan’s coaxing smile tempted her.
Fennel held the rifle out. “Be my guest.”
Gert looked to her brother. Hiram gave the slightest nod then looked up at the sky, tracking the late afternoon sun as it slipped behind a cloud. She could do it, of course. She’d been firing guns for Hiram for ten years—since she came to Fergus and found him grieving the loss of his wife and baby. Folks had brought him more work than he could handle. They felt sorry for him, she supposed, and wanted to give him a distraction. Gert had begun test firing the guns as fast as he could fix them. She found it satisfying, and she’d kept doing it ever since. Thousands upon thousands of rounds she’d fired, from every type of small firearm, unintentionally building herself a reputation of sorts.
She didn’t usually make a show of her shooting prowess, but Fennel rubbed her the wrong way. She knew he wasn’t Hiram’s favorite patron either. He ran the Wells Fargo office now, but back when he ran the assay office, he’d bought up a lot of failed mines and grassland cheap. He owned a great deal of land around Fergus, including the spread Hiram had hoped to buy when he first came to Idaho. Distracted by his wife’s illness, Hiram hadn’t moved quickly enough to file claim on the land and had missed out. Instead of the ranch he’d wanted, he lived on his small lot in town and got by on his sporadic pay as a gunsmith.
Gert let her shawl slip from her fingers to the grass once more and took the rifle. As she focused on the distant stick of firewood, she thought, That junk of wood is you, Mr. Rich Land Stealer. And that little piece of cloth is one of your rats.
She squeezed gently. The rifle recoiled against her shoulder, and the far stick of firewood jumped into the air then fell to earth, minus the red cloth.
“Well, I’ll be.” Fennel stared at her. “Are you always this accurate?”
“You ain’t seen nothing,” Ethan assured him.
Hiram actually cracked a smile, and Gert felt the blood rush to her cheeks even though Ethan hadn’t directly complimented her. She loved to see Hiram smile, something he seldom did.
“Mind sharing your secret, Miss Dooley?” Fennel asked.
Ethan chuckled. “I’ll tell you what it is. Every time she shoots, she pretends she’s aiming at something she really hates.”
“Aha.” Fennel smiled, too. “Might I ask what you were thinking of that time, ma’am?”
Gert’s mouth went dry. Never had she been so sorely tempted to tell a lie.
“Likely it was that coyote that kilt her rooster last month,” Hiram said.
Gert stared at him. He’d actually spoken. She knew when their eyes met that her brother had known exactly what she’d been thinking.
Ethan and Fennel both chuckled.
Of course, I wouldn’t really think of killing him, Gert thought, even though he stole the land right out from under my grieving brother. The Good Book says don’t kill and don’t hate. Determined to heap coals of fire on her adversary’s head, she handed the Spencer back to him. “You’re not too bad a shot yourself, Mr. Fennel.”
His posture relaxed, and he opened his mouth all smiley, like he might say something pleasant back, but suddenly he stiffened. His eyes focused beyond Gert, toward the dirt street. “Who is that?”
Gert swung around to look as Ethan answered. “That’s Millicent Peart.”
“Don’t think I’ve seen her since last fall.” Fennel shook his head. “She sure is showing her age.”
“I don’t think Milzie came into town much over the winter,” Gert said.
For a moment, they watched the stooped figure hobble along the dirt street toward the emporium. Engulfed in a shapeless old coat, Milzie Peart leaned on a stick with each step. Her mouth worked as though she were talking to someone, but no one accompanied her.
“How long since her man passed on?” Ethan asked.
“Long time,” Gert said. “Ten years, maybe. She still lives at their cabin out Mountain Road.”
Fennel grimaced as the next house hid the retreating figure from view. “Pitiful.”
Ethan shrugged. “She’s kinda crazy, but I reckon she likes living on their homestead.”
Gert wondered how Milzie got by. It must be lonesome to have no one, not even a nearly silent brother, to talk to out there in the foothills.
“Supper in half an hour.” She turned away from the men and headed for the back porch of the little house she shared with Hiram. She hoped Fennel would take the hint and leave. And she hoped Ethan would stay for supper, but of course she would never say so.
My Review:
I really enjoyed this book. I cant wait to read the next one in the series. Gert is a great character
and almost an accidental hero. After a murder one of the women ask Gert to teach her to shoot to defend herself and this leads to more ladies wanting to learn also.
Ethan becomes sheriff and finds he needs the ladies help also. The book also teaches about looking after others and caring for neighbours which is a great reminder. I love how as the women want to learn to shoot the men try to stop them saying that women should be home looking after them or doing the chores.
Welcome Bonnie Leon to focus on Christmas. I have also included her latest book which would be a great gift. Welcome Bonnie.
Bonnie Leon is the author of sixteen novels, including the popular Queensland Chronicles and the Sydney Cove series, plus the bestselling Journey of Eleven Moons. She’s presently in the midst of a new Alaskan series set during the 1930’s about a woman named Kate who loves to fly. Bonnie stays busy speaking for women’s groups as well as teaching at writing seminars and conventions. She and her husband Greg live in the mountains of Southern Oregon. They have three grown children and four grandchildren.
1. Firstly thanks for coming back to my blog this time we are focusing on Christmas. What do you most associate with Christmas where you live?
Hi Jenny, thanks so much for inviting me back. Christmas is one of my favorite holidays so this is especially fun.
Here in Southern Oregon we make the most of the holidays. Roseburg is a growing community, but like many small towns we have our “older part” of town. Residents work hard to dress it up with decorations and lights. I always make sure to do some of my shopping downtown. It feels like I’ve stepped back into the 1940’s. I love it!
This time of year the mountains usually have had heavy snow falls so it’s great fun to trek up the highway and spend time enjoying the sounds and smells of the snow-covered forests. We love to pick out our own tree—there are lots of beautiful choices.
Children from local schools visit shopping malls, nursing homes and hospitals where they sing carols. A lot of churches take part in caroling as well. And we can usually count on a special performance at our local college.
Just outside of town at a local park we have an event called The Festival of Lights. People can visit all through the month of December. It’s really lovely.
2. Do you have any special family traditions you do at Christmas time?
We have a number of traditions. The season begins with a trip to the mountains or a tree farm to pick out and cut the “perfect” tree. If for some reason I have to go to a tree lot I’m truly disappointed.
My husband and I still go out a week or so before Christmas to admire the myriad Christmas displays put up by local residents. It’s extra fun when our grandchildren join us.
When my children were young I’d take each one shopping. We’d spend a day choosing gifts for other family members, share lunch together and enjoy just being the two of us for a day. These days, I do this with my grandchildren.
We’ve started a new tradition this year. We set out a large jar and throughout the year drop in left over coins and an occasional one, five, or ten dollar bill. Everyone in the family contributes. By Christmas there’s a goodly sum of money. A week before Christmas we tie a pretty bow around the jar and anonymously set the jar on the porch of a needy family. It feels good to help in a personal way.
For us church is a big part of Christmas. Our church has a special service on Christmas Eve that we take part in. Afterward the family gathers for a quiet Christmas Eve at home. We usually read a Christmas story and sometimes sing carols and watch a favorite movie.
I like to stay up late after everyone else has gone to bed. I turn out the lights, except for the Christmas lights and enjoy the quietness of the house. Sometimes I watch a Christian service on television. Other times I simply contemplate special memories and the meaning and love of the season.
3. Do you have a favourite christmas Carol and if so do you know why?
This is a tough question because I have lots of favorites. A few are O Holy Night, The Little Drummer Boy and Carol of the Bells. But my favorite is Mary Did You Know. Every time I listen to it it’s like the first time I heard it. I feel the wonder of the Christ child and think of his mother Mary and what she must have felt when she looked down at God’s Son in her arms.
4. If you could spend Christmas anyway you could how would you celebrate?
Now, this is fun!
I’d love to spend the day before Christmas with my husband, just the two of us warm and snug in a mountain cabin. Of course it would be snowing and there’d be a crackling fire in the hearth. While our favorite Christmas tunes played, we’d have a candle light dinner, then spend time reading about our Lord’s birth, share communion together, pray and then snuggle down for one of our favorite Christmas movies. In the morning we’d hear a knock at our cabin door and be surprised by all our children and grandchildren. We’d spend the day playing games, telling stories and eating lots of goodies.
5. Do you have any special memories of Christmas?
My goodness, there’s not enough room here to share them all. My life has been blessed with wonderful Christmas traditions and special moments. It’s difficult to choose. However, an especially poignant Christmas comes to mind.
It was many years ago and would be the last Christmas the family spent with my father. He was in the final stages of cancer. We knew it would be our last Christmas together (here on earth). Although weak and weary from the battle, he still wore his usual smile and he hadn’t lost the mischievous sparkle in his blue eyes. My father savored life, and loved Christmas.
As always he placed the star on the top of our tree and on Christmas morning he handed out gifts, taking joy in his family’s jubilance. There were no words of complaint, no self pity. He was a picture of courage and inspiration. My father believed in living every moment and he wasn’t going to waste any of them. A few months later, he passed away, but his spirit and his wonderful example of how to live while dying has remained with me.
6. What is a typical Christmas eve and or Christmas day for you.
Christmas morning is always fun. The children are allowed to get up early and dig into their stockings, but they are not permitted to even touch the gifts under the tree. The adults stumble out of bed, find a cup of coffee and have a bite to eat. We always eat chile rellenos and sweet rolls. Each stocking contains an orange so oranges are always part of our morning feast.
Coffee mugs in hand, the adults finally join the kids around the tree and the gift opening begins. One of the men hands out presents, one at a time. It is always our hope to keep things orderly but more often than not things get chaotic—wrapping paper flying, squeals of delight and children trying out new toys.
The rest of the day is spent leisurely—visiting, playing games and eating. We have a large meal late in the afternoon and traditionally the older kids (now adults) go to the theater to take in a movie while us older folks visit.
7. Do you have any Christmas movies or Christmas books you like to see or read each year?
I love all the classic movies such as It’s a Wonderful Life, A Christmas Carol, Miracle on 34th Street, and The Waltons—Homecoming, but I also enjoy some of the newer movies like Scrooged and The Santa Clause. They’re great fun.
Every year we find a new book to read, but we always read the Biblical account of Christ’s birth as well.
8. Do you have a Christmas message for my readers?
Don’t lose the wonder of Christmas. A miraculous event occurred 2,000 years ago and it changed the world forever. In the midst of the fun and celebrations remember Christ, the ultimate gift to the world.
Enduring Love Just when things seem to be looking up for John and Hannah Bradshaw, their world is turned upside down. Years ago, when John was in prison, he was told his first wife, Margaret, died. So how is it that she shows up in Sydney Town looking to pick up where they left off? Hannah is distraught. Her marriage is now null and void, and she and John feel they must separate to allow John's first marriage to continue. But is Margaret hiding something after all? And just what will she do to get what she wants? The suspenseful, romantic conclusion to the Sydney Cove trilogy.
I've always loved reading, history, and horses. These things come together in several of my historical books. My young adult novel, Sarah's Long Ride, also spotlights horses and the rugged sport of endurance riding, as does the contemporary romance Trail to Justice. I took a vocational course in horseshoeing after earning a bachelor's degree in history. I don't shoe horses anymore, but the experience has come in handy in writing my books.
Another longtime hobby of mine is genealogy, which has led me down many fascinating paths. I'm proud to be a DAR member! Some of Jim's and my quirkier ancestors have inspired fictional characters
For many years I worked for the Central Maine Morning Sentinel as a freelancer, covering local government, school board meetings, business news, fires, auto accidents, and other local events, including a murder trial. I've also written many profiles and features for the newspaper and its special sections. This experience was a great help in developing fictional characters and writing realistic scenes. I also published nonfiction articles in several magazines and had several short stories appear in Woman's World, Grit, and Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine.
My husband, Jim, and I moved to his birth state, Oregon, for a while after we were married, but decided to move back to Maine and be near my family. We're so glad we did. It allowed our six children to grow up feeling close to their cousins and grandparents, and some of Jim's family have even moved to Maine!
ABOUT THE BOOK
Gert Dooley can shoot the tail feathers off a jay at a hundred yards, but she wants Ethan Chapman to see she's more than a crack shot with a firearm. When the sheriff of Fergus, Idaho, is murdered and Ethan is named his replacement, Gert decides she has to do whatever she can to help him protect the citizenry. So she starts the Ladies Shooting Club. But when one of their numbers is murdered, these ladies are called on for more than target shooting and praying. Can Gert and the ladies of Fergus find the murderer before he strikes again?
Viriginia Smith's upcoming release, Third Time's a Charm, releases January 2010.
My Favorite Family Christmas Tradition
by Virginia Smith
On Christmas Eve my family will gather together to celebrate the first coming of the King of Kings. The evening will be full of traditions – food, games, caroling. But the best part comes when we hold hands in a big circle around the kitchen table. Someone will douse the lights. In the center is a birthday cake with a candle for every century since the birth of the Child in whose Name we gather. We’ll lift our voices together singing Silent Night, then without pause, we’ll launch into a joyful rendition of “Happy Birthday to Jesus!” I guarantee you, there will not be a dry eye in the house.
Shelly Beach's 2009 release of The Silent Seduction of Self-Talk helps readers understand the importance of godly thoughts and scripture in the Christian life.
Guessing Gifts
by Shelly Beach
One of our favorite Christmas traditions is “guessing gifts.” To stave off “Can-we-open-one-present-early?” pressure, Dan and I began buying one gift for our now-adult children and each other. Beginning two weeks before Christmas, we’re allowed two yes-no questions per night. If we guess the gift, we can open it. Q & A on Christmas Eve lasts until we guess correctly. When guessing gets frustrating, family members help out. (When our son was eight, Dan bought him a soldering gun.) Recent gifts have included “The Clapper,” kitchen gadgets, and dashboard sticky pads. The goal is to create laughter and anticipation.
Sandra Glahn's 2009 releases included Jonah with Kona and Frappe' with Philippians- 2 Coffee Cup Series Bible Studies.
Sandi's Favorite Christmas Traditions
by Sandra Glahn
Wherever we travel, we buy an ornament to remind us a place we’ve visited together.
We wait till Epiphany to place the wise men in the crèche. Throughout the season they inch their way across the living room toward the manger.
On Christmas we gather around the table and work on a jigsaw puzzle after the big meal.
Dessert between Christmas and New Years always includes my great grandmother’s recipe for steamed pudding cooked in a #1 coffee can, just like she made it during the Depression.
Kathy Carlton Willis, owner of the same named communications firm, can’t get enough Christmas. She takes the star off the top of the tree and makes it shine in the lives of her clients all year long. They aspire to reflect the true star of Christmas, Jesus Christ, every day.
Kathy’s Christmas Memory Album by Kathy Carlton Willis
I imagine my fondest Christmas memories preserved in a family photo album. My mind recollects events and people who made each Christmas holiday an event to be cherished. As I leaf through this memory album, pages of special events appear before my eyes.
On the first page of my memory book, Grandma Mary makes chilled boiled custard served in punch cups with mounds of real whipped cream. She rolls the iced cakes in a choice of crushed peanuts or coconut to make the traditional blarney stones. Her gaudy Christmas tree light bulbs sag from mere size on the dried out pine tree. I can see her tree in my mind's eye, and it triggers another memory: Grandma Mary hoisting the decorated tree over the hillside, because she’s mad at Papa Pete. They argued over gift giving, and she showed him! After emotions cooled down, the tree is retrieved and propped up in the living room with more than a few pine needles missing.
On the second page I see my cousin, Keith, painting a Christmas scene on the picture window of their Missouri home, atop the sky lift hill. The window features the nativity scene, inspiring spectators to celebrate the blessed birth amidst the hectic pace of their busy schedule. On Christmas Day, the Kent home buzzes with excitement as cousins gather to catch up on important things like discussing their favorite schoolgirl crushes.
Turning the next page of the memory album, I see Mom working alongside our neighbor Elaine, cooking candies and nut breads. They dust off the gently used recipe cards with instructions for their annual specialties. Peanut brittle spreads across buttered wax paper, and the aroma of molasses oatmeal bread fills the kitchen. Mom and Elaine box up most of the treats for Christmas gifts, but samples remain to fill our tummies.
Next in the album, I see a group of carolers bundled up in sweatered layers, singing to shut-ins. As a youngster, I sing with my Girl Scout Troup, and later on, with friends. Our music fills the halls of nursing homes and hospitals. And just for kicks, we sing in our neighborhoods as well. Christmas means caroling!
On an adjacent page in the memory album I see another musical memory. Dressed in festive attire, my classmates and I sing Christmas choral arrangements for our school Christmas concert. Back when it could still be called a Christmas concert. Our school band performs several holiday tunes, and hearts are prepared for the holiday.
“Christmas Plays,” reads the headline of the next page. One photo shows me dressed as a princess, hand clasped in the hand of my prince. For our Christmas program at church, I memorize a Bible verse from the gospel of Luke. Trembling, I proudly quote God's Word to the packed sanctuary. Mom mouthed the words with me from her seat. I don't notice, but she trembles too.
Some of the favorite pages in my memory album feature our family sitting around the cut pine tree in our living room. With pride, we select just the right tree each year. The fragrant scent of pine fills the air. Mom reads 'Twas the Night Before Christmas. My brother's chest puffs with importance, as he distributes each gift. To top off the day, I perch on Daddy's lap, embracing my favorite dolly.
The memory album grows each year. There is always room in my heart for new Christmas adventures. But the fondest memories in the book will always be those from my childhood. The best gift of all was not a doll or toy, but being part of a family who loved me. They gave me the sense of belonging as a child, and as an adult, this sense of belonging is broader, encompassing the entire Family of God.
CureAfrica.org -- Four American authors team to provide medical care in Africa through the sales of their books.
The need for medical care for the 10 million people of Guinea, West Africa has reached desperate levels. In an attempt to help, four authors announce CureAfrica.org as one small way to combat that need.
CureAfrica.org is the brainchild of Bill Giovannetti, author and pastor of Neighborhood Church in Redding, California. After a trip to Africa last year and with the recession slashing donations to charitable organization, Giovannetti sought a way to help a region in Africa with very little medical assistance. Giovannetti asked authors at his church to join him: Christian living author Ken Jones, humor writer Dave Meurer, and novelist Cindy Martinusen Coloma. The writers chose several titles to be offered, and CureAfrica.org was officially launched.
Their website states the plan: · Buy 1 book, and you pay for a doctor visit, a vaccination, or the gift of sight. · Buy 10 books, and you pay for a surgery. · Buy 2 books, and you pay for a dental procedure.
CureAfrica.org supports two medical teams: Hope Clinic in Guinea, West Africa and the Timbi Mobile Medical Team that offers medical care in the remotest regions of Africa. Authors donate $5 for each book purchased. 100% is split equally between the two medical teams sent through CAMA Services.
“It’s amazing to know that for each book sold, someone’s life is drastically improved in a place of very little hope,” Giovannetti states.
To partner in the program, simply purchase books through the website at www.CureAfrica.org.
About the authors and featured books: · Ken Jones is a highly respected author, speaker and storyteller. His featured book The Climb of Your Life follows Christ’s descent from heaven and climb up to the cross. · Dave Meurer is the author of (how many) books and numerous articles. His books are filled with humor and inspiration: If You Want Breakfast in Bed, Sleep in the Kitchen and Mistake It Like A Man. · Bill Giovannetti is a popular pastor and author. Blending real-life theology with quick-witted humor, How to Keep Your Inner Mess from Trashing Your Outer World helps readers find the peace and happiness God created them. · Cindy Martinusen Coloma is the author of 9 novels. Her bestselling novel Orchid House and first young adult novel Ruby Unscripted are offered on CureAfrica.org.
Single mother and foster parent, Christina Berry carves time to write from her busy schedule because she must tell the stories that haunt her every waking moment. (Such is the overly dramatic description of an author's life!) She holds a BA in Literature, yet loves a good Calculus problem, as well. All that confusion must have influenced her decision to be team captain of a winning team on Family Feud.
Her debut novel, The Familiar Stranger, released from Moody in September and deals with lies, secrets, and themes of forgiveness in a troubled marriage. A moving speaker and dynamic teacher, Christina strives to Live Transparently--Forgive Extravagantly!
Her work has also appeared in The Secret Place, The Oregonian, and Daily Devotions for Writers.
ABOUT THE BOOK
Craig Littleton's decision to end his marriage would shock his wife, Denise . . . if she knew what he was up to. When an accident lands Craig in the ICU, with fuzzy memories of his own life and plans, Denise rushes to his side, ready to care for him.
They embark on a quest to help Craig remember who he is and, in the process, they discover dark secrets. An affair? An emptied bank account? A hidden identity? An illegitimate child?
But what will she do when she realizes he's not the man she thought he was? Is this trauma a blessing in disguise, a chance for a fresh start? Or will his secrets destroy the life they built together?
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!
***Special thanks to Lynnette Bonner for E-mailing me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
LYNNETTE BONNER, the daughter of missionaries, was born and raised in Malawi, Africa, graduated high school from Rift Valley Academy, a boarding school in Kenya, and attended Northwest University in Washington, where she met her husband, Marty. A few years after their marriage, they moved to Pierce, Idaho. While studying the history of their little town, Lynnette was inspired to begin The Shepherd’s Heart Series with Rocky Mountain Oasis.
List Price: $18.95 Paperback: 300 pages Publisher: OakTara (July 17, 2009) Language: English ISBN-10: 1602902143 ISBN-13: 978-1602902145
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Pierce City, Idaho Territory, August 1885
Evening shadows stretched long as Sky placed the last of the supplies onto his pack mule. The leather of the packs creaked as he settled them into place, cinching them down and making sure everything was in proper order. He stood in front of Fraser’s Mercantile for a moment scratching the mule behind its long gray ears, surveying Main Street.
A lone pine tree stood in the middle of the dusty street at the south end of town, its shadow falling due east. Summer crickets chirped lustily from the bushes nearby, and he could hear the occasional tink of bottle on shot glass emanating from Roo’s Saloon across the street.
From an upper story window in the Joss house, a Chinese woman emptied a pail of water onto the street, splattering mud on Gaffney’s Pioneer Hotel next door and leaving a small muddy patch in the alley between the buildings.
“Sky! You comin’ in here? Food’s gonna be cold ‘fore you ever set down to table!” A rough gravely voice interrupted his perusal of the town. He glanced up at the friendly, round face of Jed Swanson who leaned over the rail in front of his boarding house. “Food ain’t gonna be fit for hogs if’n you don’t get in here,” Jed complained, rubbing a plump hand down the front of his greasy, apron-clad belly.
A smile lit Sky’s face. Jed’s food always fell somewhere between cardboard and leather, but Jed invariably claimed that was because it had been left sitting too long.
“Your food? Fit for Hogs?” Sky asked sarcastically, unable to pass up the opportunity to tease his old friend.
“Hmmph!” Jed shook his wooden spoon at Sky and continued, “Mind your manners or you won’t be gettin’ any o’ my fine fixin’s.” He turned away, slamming the door as he went inside.
Giving the mule a friendly slap on the neck, and leaving him tied to the rail, Sky made his way up the steps to Jed’s Boarding House, the building next door to Fraser’s Mercantile. The rough wooden door opened on squeaking hinges as Sky entered, hanging his black Stetson on a peg in the wall. He ran his hands through blond curly hair as he scanned the room.
The light in the gloomy confines of the rugged log building emanated from a small oil lamp set in the middle of the dining table and a brightly burning fire in the fire place on the back wall. The stone and mortar hearth, stacked high with logs on one side, held the wrought-iron hook by which the coffee pot could be swung into the heat of the fire. Off to the left, on the back wall, he could see the dark shadow of the doorway that led to the rooms Jed rented out. As Sky turned to the right he could see several men already seated around the coarse plank table, shoveling food into their mouths as though it might disappear before their eyes, their forks clanking loudly against tin plates. Sky’s dark brown eyes glinted as he noticed his cousin, Jason, sitting in the dim light at the end of the table, his back to the wall. Jason looked as surly as ever.
Sauntering casually to an empty chair Sky sat down, his back to the room, and began to serve his plate listening to the conversation around him.
Fraser was speaking. “This boy is a lunatic, I tell you and he wants to court my Alice. She’s only fifteen and I sent her down to Lewiston to get an education not to court boys. So I just told him straight out, when I was down to Lewiston last, that he had better stay away from her. Now, with her being over seventy-five miles from here, that in itself wouldn’t give me a whole lot of comfort, since I wouldn’t trust that boy as far as I could throw him. But I also told Judge Rand that the boy was not to come around anymore and if anyone will make sure he don’t, it’ll be the judge.”
Sky’s mind wandered to the face of Sharyah, his blonde little sister back home. He wondered if the boys were coming to call on her already. She was just about the same age as Alice Fraser. Sky smiled to himself. Knowing Sharyah and her beautiful sunny smile, the boys were lined up for a mile outside of the little white farmhouse back in Shilo. Sharyah had me wound around her little finger for years. What would be different with the boys her own age? I’ll have to write Dad to keep a special eye on her for me.
Coming out of his reverie he tuned into the conversation around him, realizing that Fraser had moved on to a new subject.
“So I went to Chang and confronted him about this bogus gold.” He paused to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, chewing for a moment. He glanced around the table, knife and fork held vertically by his plate in suspended animation. “Do you know he had the gall to admit to the whole thing? No remorse whatsoever!” He shrugged, speaking around the food in his mouth. “I just don’t know what else I can do.” He looked back down at his plate and continued to saw through the black slab that passed as a piece of meat.
Sky listened thoughtfully as he ate. He knew Lee Chang. His character was questionable at best and downright despicable at worst.
“Hmmph,” growled Jed, “that there Chinese is one man this here town could do ‘thout. He shorly is a cussed buzzard, that’n.”
A low snort came from the other side of the table and Sky looked down to the shadows at the end. The sound had come from his cousin Jason, a large man with unwashed blond curls covering his round head. A large belly, the result of his love of beer, protruded over his huge silver belt buckle, bumping the table. He belched loudly, then spoke. “This town would be better off if we got rid of all the Chinks. I tell you, I’ve never met a respectable Celestial. Not one. Always sneakin’ and spyin’. Lazy cusses, too.” He swiped his greasy mouth on his shoulder, the stain there proof that he did so often. Max, the miner sitting next to him, made no sound but nodded his head emphatically as he shoved a huge forkful of potatoes into his mouth.
“This town wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t for the Chinese, Jason.” Sky’s voice was nonchalant. He picked up his glass and took a drink of water, his dark eyes looking over the rim fixed on his burly cousin.
Jason snorted again, blowing through his nose. “You always were too partial to them Celestials, Sky. If you had any sense you’d realize the type of scum they really are.”
Sky changed the subject. “How have you been, Jason? Haven’t seen you for awhile.” His tone was friendly but Jason glared at him.
“You been pinin’ away for information on your beloved cousin?” he asked, his expression caustic.
Sky, accustomed to his cousin’s recent foul moods, shrugged his shoulders and turned back to his food, praying silently that one day his relationship with Jason would be restored.
Jed looked back and forth between Sky and Jason. He had known both men for a number of years and still couldn’t see how they could possibly be related. Jason was slovenly and rude, always ill-tempered and crass, but Jed had never known Sky to be any of those things. Sky had moved into the area five years ago and had been coming to Jed’s place faithfully ever since. Jed’s mind wandered back to the first time he met Sky.
While out hunting, he had shot and wounded a large cow elk. The cow had run off and Jed had followed the trail for several miles before he lost it. He was wandering about in the brush trying to recover the trail when he looked up and saw Sky standing before him. Never in all his born days had he been so surprised. Jed prided himself on being a woodsman with ears as keen as a fox, but he hadn’t heard Sky’s approach.
Clean shaven, Sky wore buckskin pants, soft leather moccasins and a beaded rawhide vest over a white, open-collared shirt. In one hand he held a long-barreled rifle. The hilt of a large knife protruded from a leather sheath at his hips, its polished deer-horn handle glimmering in the sunlight.
Sky grinned and tipped his black Stetson back on his head, revealing clean-cut curly blond hair. His dark, twinkling eyes scanned Jed for a moment before he spoke. “Lost it huh?” Switching the rifle to his left hand, he held out his right in Jed’s direction. “Name’s Skyler Jordan.”
Jed took his hand. “Jed Swanson.” Gesturing to the brush, he said, “She bled for quite a ways, but now,” he shook his head glancing around, “cain’t seem to pick up the trail.”
Sky nodded settling his hat back on his head. “Heard your shot. I was coming to lend a hand with the packing. Mind if I have a look around?”
Jed shook his head, his hand sweeping the area around them. “She’s all yours.” He figured Sky wouldn’t find anything, but he had been wrong. Within an hour they had gutted and skinned the cow and were headed back to town. Each of them packed a quarter of the animal with the other half strapped to Jed’s mule.
Jed shook his head at the memory. He had never met as skilled a woodsman as Skyler Jordan.
Bringing his mind back to the present, Jed fixed his eyes on Jason. “Ain’t you gonna tell ol’ Sky here about yer plans?” he asked sweetly, knowing full well that Jason didn’t want Sky to know what he was talking about.
The venomous look that Jason sent Jed piqued Sky’s interest. A smile twitched the corner of Jed’s mouth as Sky looked at his cantankerous cousin, one blond eyebrow raised in question.
Jason ignored him and went back to shoveling food into his mouth.
Sky turned his questioning eyes on Jed, continuing to eat calmly.
Jed spoke around a mouthful of meat. “Your cousin is soon gonna be married. Or so he’s been boastin’ all over town.”
Sky’s fork stopped half way to his mouth and he turned his brown eyes back to his cousin. What woman in her right mind would marry Jason?
Jason growled, throwing his fork onto his plate with a clatter. “Jed, some day I’ll teach you to keep yer yap shut.” He turned belligerent eyes on Sky. “That’s right. I got me a mail-order sweetheart comin’ in on tomorrow’s stage to Greer’s Ferry. I’m going to have me a purtty little wife to cook for me...and keep me warm at night.” He jabbed his elbow into Max’s ribs, a dissolute leer on his face.
Sky set his fork down quietly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Pushing away from the table, he stood and walked over to the blackened coffee pot that sat near the fire, pouring himself a cup, movements deliberate and casual. His heart went out to the poor girl. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so surprised.
“You got a picture of this woman?” His voice was nonchalant. He hooked a thumb through his belt loop, and watched Jason through the steam drifting up from his mug as he took a sip of coffee.
Jason gave his habitual snort. “Like I’d show it to the likes o’ you. Purtty little thing though. And young, too. Means she probably ain’t never been had before.” The lewd grin was back for a moment before he stuffed a large piece of meat into his cheek.
Sky’s expression did not change but he said, “Well, let me be the first to offer you my congratulations.” He lifted his coffee mug in a toast. “To the happy groom.” No one in the room responded; he had not expected them to. Turning back he looked into the fire, its reflection dancing in his dark eyes. The silence in the room was palpable, only the crackling of the fire and the clatter of silverware disturbed the stillness.
Quietly Sky prayed. Lord what should I do? I wouldn’t give a dog I liked to Jason. You know I care for him, Lord, but.... His prayer trailed off as he tried to think of a solution. Nothing came to mind. Remembering that he still had to travel home tonight, he set his cup down.
Turning to Jed he placed a hand on his stomach and grinned, “Best hog swill I’ve had in a long time, Jed.”
Jed glared at him, waving his fork in dismissal.
Turning to Fraser he said, “Been a pleasure, Fraser. See you again soon.”
Fraser turned to him with a friendly smile as he wiped the corners of his mouth with long slender fingers. “Sky, always good doing business with you.” Sky nodded his head and Fraser’s eyes held Sky’s for a moment, questioning what he was going to do about the situation before he turned back to his food.
Sky spoke to the rest of the men at the table. “Goodnight, gentlemen.” He pulled his hat from the peg by the door and pushed it back on his head as he exited onto the now-darkened street.
His boots making no sound in the soft dust of the road bed, he walked over to the rail in front of Fraser’s Mercantile and untied his mule, leading it further down the street toward the livery. Retrieving his stallion, he mounted up and cantered the horse out of town, leading the mule behind
