CFBA Tour Simple Secrets by Nancy Mehl

This week, the


Christian Fiction Blog Alliance


is introducing


Simple Secrets Barbour Books (June 1, 2010)


by


Nancy Mehl


ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Nancy Mehl lives in Wichita, Kansas with her husband Norman and her son, Danny. She’s authored nine books and is currently at work on her newest series for Barbour Publishing.

All of Nancy’s novels have an added touch – something for your spirit as well as your soul. “I welcome the opportunity to share my faith through my writing,” Nancy says. “It’s a part of me and of everything I think or do. God is number one in my life. I wouldn’t be writing at all if I didn’t believe that this is what He’s called me to do. I hope everyone who reads my books will walk away with the most important message I can give them: God is good, and He loves you more than you can imagine. He has a good plan especially for your life, and there is nothing you can’t overcome with His help.”

CREATING FICTION FULL OF FAITH, HOPE AND HEART…

Nancy Mehl is a mystery writer who loves to set her novels in her home state of Kansas. Her three-in-one book, COZY IN KANSAS, contains the first three Ivy Towers’s mysteries: IN THE DEAD OF WINTER, BYE BYE BERTIE, and FOR WHOM THE WEDDING BELL TOLLS which was nominated for the 2009 American Christian Fiction Writers Book of the Year Award in mystery.

She and her husband attend Believer’s Tabernacle in Wichita.

ABOUT THE BOOK

Graphic designer Gracie Temple wants it all: the big city lifestyle and a successful job in advertising. And it looks like her life is on the right track when she takes a job at a struggling, midsize firm in Wichita.

But Gracie Temple's uncle left her a house in a rural Mennonite community. She soon learns he secluded himself for years to protect a secret about her own father. Now it's up to Gracie to decide if she'll keep the secret or if she can afford to expose it.

Sam Goodrich loves his fruit farm in Harmony, Kansas. But when he meets city-girl Gracie, he begins to wonder if he could leave it behind for a woman who makes him feel things he's never felt before.

When someone tries to keep Gracie from discovering the truth behind the town's collection of secrets, will Sam and Gracie cling to their faith to help them decide what's most important...before it's too late.

If you would like to read the first chapter of Simple Secrets, go HERE.

My Review:
I enjoyed this book. I have read a couple of Nancy's cozy mysteries so was excited to read this book. Nancy has a way of writing a mystery that really draws you in. I loved watching the story unwind and wondering who was causing behind the happenings in Harmony. Gracie befriends some of the locals and sees how they have been hurt by a church and how sometimes churches seem to forget about there members in looking to reach out to others. I found the comments very relevant and agree yes we do want to bring others into the Christian fold but we also need to make sure we care for the members already in the fold. Gracie uncovers a secret from the past that brings up lots of emotions from many people and its interesting what happens from here.
I really enjoyed the story and cant wait for the next book in the series.

First Wildcard tours Victory Song by Jeri Doner

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:

Jeri Doner

and the book:

Victory Song

Three Paths Publishing; 1st edition (May 7, 2007)

***Special thanks to Ruth Doner O'Neil for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Jeri Doner was an active member of the North-South-Skirmish-Association for over twenty years. This sparked her interest in the 149th NYVI of the Civil War. She is the mother of four children and has seven grandchildren. She was an avid seamstress often making reproduction gowns and uniforms from the Civil War time period. Her love of writing and history led to the novel Victory Song.





Visit the publisher's website.



Product Details:



List Price: $14.95

Paperback: 284 pages

Publisher: Three Paths Publishing; 1st edition (May 7, 2007)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 0978933737

ISBN-13: 978-0978933739



AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

It was not a good time to be leaving that was certain. His mother said so often enough. She never missed a chance to remind him of the harvest, that it was a monumental task at best. It would be almost too much for one aging farmer and a sixteen-year-old boy. He half listened. There was always too much work, and that was not going to change. He knew his father was not getting any younger, and his brother, Peter, was not doing well in school. He knew that his mother’s work had increased since his big sister, Lydia, had married and moved to her husband’s home.



Andy had always been the bright one, the strong one, and the reliable one. He was tired of it. He had listened eagerly to the army recruiters, and read all the patriotic articles in the newspapers. They had promised much in the way of adventure, glory, and victory. They had called for the people to sacrifice for the good of the country. While the war might seem remote and irrelevant to the rest of the Richardson family, it was very real to Andy. He wanted a part in it. He had heard all the colorful words until they circled continually in his mind. Adventure. Glory. Victory. Sacrifice. He admitted only to himself that the most prominent and appealing word of all was none of those. It was the word that had become the theme of his existence, his prayer and constant desire. Escape.



He did not feel guilty about leaving the milking chores on this last day of boyhood. His father did not approve of his enlisting in the army, but he had given permission for him to have this time for himself. If they could get by without him tomorrow, they could just as easily begin managing today, the old man had said. It was his stern way of expressing that, though he disapproved, he was trying to understand.



Andy wandered along the windbreak at the edge of a field, enjoying for the last time the peacefulness of the land, which had been his lifelong home. He let the slope of the ground carry him down toward the brook where the cattle were watered. Many a summer day had been spent fishing in that stream. Through a tangle of brush, he located the well-worn path, which led to the swimming hole. A stout rope was still suspended from an overhanging branch. It had been the most important thing in his world the year he and his best friend, Eddie, had hung it there. The water was still now, for Eddie had moved away to distant Auburn, and Andy had grown up. Not many splashes were heard in the old swimming hole these days. This summer of 1862 had been an uncommonly dry one, and the water level was low.



Childhood was a thing of the past, Andy told himself. Only one day separated him from manhood and a life of his own. In the morning he was leaving for Syracuse to be mustered into the 149th New York Infantry Regiment, and the farm boy life would be over. For now he could afford to stop resenting the confines of the farm, the dullness of life here, and the everlasting chores. He could simply meander about enjoying his surroundings.



There were things to enjoy here. September in central New York was a brightly busy time. The heat of summer was, for the most part, past. Though there was still an occasional hot day or two, the air more often than not held a chill that warned of winter’s inevitable approach. The southwest breeze blew about industrious honeybees as they salvaged the last useful specks from brilliant goldenrod blossoms. Gray squirrels that had been summer-sleek were now fall-fluffy, romping with their abundance of hickory nuts and black walnuts. The stately maples had not yet reached their peak of color, but lacy sumac fairly blazed from every neglected hedgerow and patch of wasteland. Fruit trees were heavy with spring promises kept. Pale Queen-Anne’s lace and blue chicory cushioned the fall of ripening apples, pears, and plums. The hills lay in gentle folds, no longer green, but gold and brown awaiting the scythe.



Andy had circled back toward the house, and could see a horse saddled and hitched to the fence in the side yard. He felt a sudden excitement upon recognizing it as his Aunt Jen’s. She was one of the few people he would miss. As he neared the door, he mentally braced himself, anticipating that because of Aunt Jen’s presence he was about to walk into a roomful of tension.







“He’s leaving, Callie, and there’s nothing more to be done about it. You’ll have to face the fact.” The voice was raspy with age, edged with impatience.



Callie Richardson looked up from the pot of apple butter she had been stirring, and eyed her sister-in-law across the steamy summer kitchen. “I’m trying to make the most of this, Jen, and I don’t need you to tell me what I already know. I just can’t feel the way you do about it. I think he’s making a big mistake.”



“Don’t you read the papers, girl?” Jen asked. “There’s a war going on in this country. The worst kind of a war. Tearing the country apart. And your son is going for a soldier in Mr. Lincoln’s army. Can’t you be proud of him?”



“I am. In my own way. But he’s needed here at home. He never gave that a thought when he signed up.”



“Pete is sixteen. It’s time he did his share around here. Andy did at that age.”



“Pete is not Andy,” the mother replied. “He needs more time with his school work. He tries his best, but he can’t keep up like Andy did.”



“That’s not Andy’s fault,” Jen pointed out. “He’d be leaving home one of these days, no matter what. If it weren’t for the war it would be for something else. You know I’m right, Callie.”



Callie’s brow was moist, and so were her eyes. She wiped her face on her apron. “I know, Jen. But you really can’t understand. He’s not your son.”



“He’s my brother’s. And since I never had a family of my own, he’s as close to being mine as anyone can be. It’s not a secret Andy was always my favorite. I’ll miss him something awful, but I’d never try to keep him from going. He’s nineteen. He’s not a child.”



Callie decided the apple butter had cooked long enough, and lifted the heavy kettle from the stove. She moved to the wooden table in the middle of the room and set it down a little harder than necessary. “I suppose I wouldn’t mind so much if he just wasn’t going with that Henry Birch. That boy worries me.”



“Oh, they’ll be all right!” Jen tried to assure her. “I thought you liked Mrs. Birch. Don’t they go to your church?”



“They did years ago. They’ve been to all different churches since then. Never satisfied. I don’t see Henry’s mother any more. But hear plenty about him. He’s a wild one. I don’t like Andy with him.”



“It’s time you started trusting Andy. He’s a grown man, and your job of raising him is over. You’ve given him a proper Christian upbringing, and that’s all you can do. Besides, I hear that Captain Townsend that was recruiting in Elbridge was some kind of a preacher in civilian life. He was a chaplain in the cavalry before he resigned to raise a company for the Fourth Onondagas. That’s whose company they’ll be in, isn’t it?”



“Yes…that gives me some comfort,” Callie admitted. “But I still worry that he’ll turn out like that good-for-nothing Henry.”



“Or like me?” Jen asked.



Callie let the exasperation show on her face. Something was wrong here. She was a Godly woman, but it was Jen’s total honesty that made her the most uncomfortable. It was hard enough making polite conversation after all the differences they had suffered over the years. She did not know how to respond to this. Jen was the undisputed black sheep of the Richardson family, having rejected the strict moral standards of the rest of the clan. She was a painfully honest woman, and occasionally used some colorful language to tell her relatives what she thought of the way they pressured their children to conform. She was a true non-conformist, dressing as she pleased, coming and going bareheaded in the streets at all hours. She commonly hung laundry out on Sunday, read scandalous novels, and it was said she used alcohol to relieve a chronic cough. Callie wondered once or twice if the cough could have been the result of the use of tobacco, but that seemed rather outrageous, even for Jen. It was true she found it easy to disapprove of the old woman, and the more she gave voice to her disapproval, the more Andy seemed to admire his aunt. Perhaps he would turn out like her, a religious agnostic and a social outcast. There was nothing wrong with wanting more for him than that.



Before Callie had a chance to think of anything to say, the front door banged and loud footsteps came through the house toward the summer kitchen.



“What’s cooking?” Andy’s voice called. “It smells great in here!”



Both mother and aunt turned toward the doorway as he entered. His gray-green eyes blinked as he tried to hurry the adjustment from outdoor sunlight to the dimness of the room.



“Aunt Jen! Glad you came over,” he said, looking with satisfaction at the old woman sitting near the table. “I figured on coming over to your place tonight to say good-bye.”



“You’re a fine one!” Jen scolded playfully. “I come visiting and you’re off someplace!”



“I just went for a walk in the woods and down by the old swimming hole. Wanted to see it once more before I leave. Water sure is low this year.” Having discovered the apple butter, he cut a generous slice of bread from a loaf on the sideboard and sat down on the edge of the table to dip it into the steaming kettle.



“Get out of there!” Callie chided, swatting him on the thigh with a dishtowel to remove him from the table. “You know better than that!”



“How come you’re making this stuff when it’s so hot out?” He asked with his mouth full. “Apples ‘ll keep till cold weather.”



“Because it’s your favorite, and what I made last year is all gone,” the mother replied.



“Mom, you didn’t have to do that.” He tried to sound grateful, but suspected that she was too busy or too tired to notice.



“When you were gone so long I thought you walked into Canton to good-bye to somebody,” she said.



“I said all my farewells Sunday,” he told her. “And it’s Memphis, not Canton.”



It seemed he was forever correcting her about that. The nearest village was always called Canton, short for Canal Town, and that word best described the little settlement. A year ago, for some obscure reason, the name had been changed to Memphis. Andy had no trouble recalling the new name, and thought his parents should have been able to keep it in mind, too coming as it did from the Bible. He would never understand how older people could bring to mind lengthy passages from their favorite book, quoting chapter and verse without error, and not recall that they were members of the First Baptist Church of Memphis, not Canton. The inconsistency baffled him; if that was a characteristic of old age, he hoped never to reach it.



The door banged again, and a familiar voice called, “Mom, we’re finally here. Where do you want the pies?”



“I’ll take care of them,” Andy offered, bounding into the dining room where his sister Lydia was unpacking her contribution to dinner.



“Not a chance, little brother,” she said. “Somebody else might like a taste.”



It was a joke they shared, her calling him a little brother, for she said it looking up into his face as she had been doing for years. Not all Richardsons were tall; when it came to height, Lydia favored Callie, but Andy had inherited all his father’s considerable size and more. While many youngsters experienced a winter of illness sometime during their growing years resulting in a slowed growth rate, Andy had always enjoyed excellent health and an unimpaired appetite for the abundance of good food with which the family had always been blessed. Besides his long, muscular arms and legs, he received from his father a distinctive face, which was easily recognizable in the locality as belonging to a Richardson. The forehead was broad and high, the nose a bit longer than most would consider becoming. The cheekbones were prominent and deeply tanned from exposure to sun and wind. The mouth was the most distinctive feature of all, and the one Andy liked the least. It had a tendency to turn down at the corners, producing a look of immovable sternness on his father’s face. On Aunt Jen the look was one of impudence. On Lydia it was just plain pouty. Andy, when he thought of it, smiled a lot in hopes that the effort would make him look less like the rest of the family.



Callie came in from the summer kitchen to greet her only daughter. The oldest of the three children, Lydia had married the son of a neighboring farmer less than a year ago. She was still much in evidence about the homestead, and especially on important occasions like today.



“Where’s Don?” Callie asked, referring to Lydia’s husband.



“He went down to the barn to meet Daddy and Pete,” the girl explained. “I hope they finish milking soon. I’m starved. Too bad SOME people don’t see fit to help with the chores any more.” With that she nudged Andy in the ribs.



“Before you barged in I was trying to have a nice visit with Aunt Jen.” He said.



Lydia made a face at the mention of the aunt, but dutifully went to the doorway and called, “Hello, Aunt Jen. I hope you’re staying for supper.”



The old woman got to her feet and replied, “No, I got my own food at home. Just came over to see Andy before he goes off tomorrow. Now if you’ll walk me out to my horse, boy, I’ll be on my way and out from under foot.”



They all politely tried to convince her to stay, but she would not be persuaded. Callie and Lydia did not seem overly disappointed when she insisted upon leaving, but Andy was reluctant to walk out into the yard with her.



“I hoped I’d get to see you in your uniform,” Aunt Jen said when they were outside and the commotion left behind.



“We have to go to Syracuse to get all our stuff issued. I don’t know how quick the government can supply us. You’ll have to come to the camp at the fairgrounds to see us in uniform.”



“I ain’t traipsing all the way to Syracuse!” Aunt Jen informed him. “You send me a picture.”



“I’ll try. But I won’t be gone forever. I’ll be over to see you when I get back, and that’s a promise.”



She did not respond except to shake her head sadly. “It won’t be the same here with you gone.”



Andy nodded. “I can’t say I’ll miss everything here, but I sure will miss you, Aunt Jen.”



They had been close, and he thought he knew her as well as anyone alive, but he was surprised when she did something uncharacteristic. She stretched to hug and kiss him. When he lifted her onto her horse she did something else he did not expect. She wept.



“Aunt Jen, I only enlisted for three years. And if we get the Rebels licked before then, I can come back earlier. Please don’t act as if it’s the end of everything.”



She wiped her eyes and cleared her throat as if to speak, but said nothing. She had the unladylike habit of riding astride, and had designed her skirts to accommodate the man’s saddle she used. Once sure of her seat, she slapped the horse on the withers and cantered off down the road.



Andy watched for a while after the dust settled. After a few moments he looked out across the field to see his father, Pete, and Don leaving the barn. They were weary, but walked quickly toward the house, for supper would soon be ready. Andy thought of the same thing, but waited for them to catch up to him so that they could all enter together.



The sun was beginning to fade when he turned back to the old house. It was painted barn red, and looked dark in the shadows. It sat on a hillside, protected from the ferocity of the north wind, its front yard sloping down toward the road, which ran south of it. Light spilled from the kitchen window, along with mingled smells of roasting beef, fresh bread, and the apple butter. Behind the house the kitchen garden looked well used, offering the last of its beans and squash. The corn stalks were brown and dry, holding one another erect against the autumn winds. His eyes followed the road until it twisted out of sight among surrounding maples. It was edged by a split rail fence he had built with his father. Beyond that lay a field newly cultivated this year. Wrestling the stubborn sumac out of the ground had been an ordeal he would not soon forget. He came up to the house and pumped some fresh water up from the well he had helped to dig and keep clean. It was good water, and had proved sufficient for their needs. He took a last look around the place and sighed. While his parents took pride in the home and saw in it a testimony to achievement, Andy saw only backbreaking work—work that would never be done. It was not the sort of life he wanted for himself, and he was excited to think that his escape was only a day in the future.

My Review:
I found this book interesting. I have always been fascinated with the Civil war so found this book to be really good. I love the way Jeri devotes the book to one regiment the 149th from NY. The story centres around Andy Richarson and his experience in the war. We also see his faith journey as the war goes on. We are with Andy as this unit goes through the different engagements and also through the down times where life was hard and at times boring. We see what its like to be in the army and get just a glimpse of how hard life was as a soldier. It shows how boys went to war thinking it would be a bit of fun and would see some of the country have a couple of battles and the war would end but instead found they were in a war that lasted way longer than anyone could expect and that it wasn't the fun they expected. They returned as men.
Great read

CFBA Tour Chasing Lilacs by Carla Stewart

This week, the Christian Fiction Blog Alliance


is introducing


Chasing Lilacs FaithWords (June 17, 2010) by


Carla Stewart





ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Carla Stewart’s writing reflects her passion for times gone by. She believed in Jesus, the power of the written word, and a good cup of coffee. She's a country girl living now in a mid-sized city with her engineering husband who just happens to be her best friend and biggest fan.She and her husband have four adult sons and delight in the adventures of their six grandchildren.



FROM CARLA:



I grew up in the Texas Panhandle with two younger sisters and loving parents. Small town school. Great neighbors. Today, those small-town, fundamental things resonate within me -- the twang in people's voices, the art of being neighborly and just being a decent human being.



Growing up, I preferred the company of books over TV and playing outdoors. I imagined myself in many different careers, but given my down-to-earth raising, I settled on nursing. I didn't faint at the sight of blood and did well in science, so it seemed a natural choice.



I worked as a registered nurse off and on through the years, but primarily I stayed home with my four rambunctious boys and dreamed of the day when I could write the novels I loved to read. When our youngest son was in high school, I quit my job as a nursing instructor and settled in to pen my first novel. It's been quite a journey. One I wouldn't trade for anything.



I'm committed to writing the stories of my heart and am truly thankful to Jesus, my Savior, for allowing me this freedom. May all the glory be His.



Chasing Lilacs is her first book!





ABOUT THE BOOK

It is the summer of 1958, and life in the small Texas community of Graham Camp should be simple and carefree. But not for twelve-year-old Sammie Tucker. Sammie has plenty of questions about her mother's "nerve" problems. About shock treatments. About whether her mother loves her.



When her mother commits suicide and a not-so-favorite aunt arrives, Sammie has to choose who to trust with her deepest fears: Her best friend who has an opinion about everything, the mysterious kid from California whose own troubles plague him, or her round-faced neighbor with gentle advice and strong shoulders to cry on. Then there's the elderly widower who seems nice but has his own dark past.



Trusting is one thing, but accepting the truth may be the hardest thing Sammie has ever done.



If you would like to read the first chapter of Chasing Lilacs, go HERE.

I haven't received this book so haven't been able to put up a review if the book arrives I will put up a review. I am looking forward to reading this book.

First Wild Card Tour Ramsome'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:

Kaye Dacus

and the book:

Ransome’s Crossing (The Ransome Trilogy)

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.

CFBA Tour Maid to Match by Deeanne Gist

This week, the


Christian Fiction Blog Alliance


is introducing


Maid to Match Bethany House (June 1, 2010)


by Deeanne Gist





ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

After a short career in elementary education, Deeanne Gist retired to raise her four children. Over the course of the next fifteen years, she ran a home accessory and antique business, became a member of the press, wrote freelance journalism for national publications such as People, Parents, Parenting, Family Fun, Houston Chronicle and Orlando Sentinel, and acted as CFO for her husband’s small engineering firm--all from the comforts of home.



Squeezed betwixt-and-between all this, she read romance novels by the truckload and even wrote a couple of her own. While those unpublished manuscripts rested on the shelf, she founded a publishing corporation for the purpose of developing, producing and marketing products that would reinforce family values, teach children responsibility and provide character building activities.



After a few short months of running her publishing company, Gist quickly discovered being a "corporate executive" was not where her gifts and talents lie. In answer to Gist’s fervent prayers, God sent a mainstream publisher to her door who licensed her parenting I Did It!® product line and committed to publish the next generation of her system, thus freeing Gist to return to her writing.



Eight months later, she sold A Bride Most Begrudging to Bethany House Publishers. Since that debut, her very original, very fun romances have rocketed up the bestseller lists and captured readers everywhere. Add to this two consecutive Christy Awards, two RITA nominations, rave reviews, and a growing loyal fan base, and you’ve got one recipe for success.



Her 2010 books, Beguiled and Maid To Match are now available for order.



Gist lives in Texas with her husband of twenty-seven years and their two border collies. They have four grown children. Visit her blog to find out the most up-to-the-minute news about Dee.







ABOUT THE BOOK

Falling in love could cost her everything.



From the day she arrived at the Biltmore, Tillie Reese is dazzled, by the riches of the Vanderbilts and by Mack Danvers, a mountain man turned footman. When Tillie is enlisted to help tame Mack's rugged behavior by tutoring him in proper servant etiquette, the resulting sparks threaten Tillie's efforts to be chosen as Edith Vanderbilt's lady's maid, After all, the one rule of the house is no romance below stairs.



But the stakes rise even higher when Mack and Tillie become entangles in a cover-up at the town orphanage. They could both lose their jobs, their aspirations...their hearts.



If you would like to read the first chapter of Maid to Match, go HERE.





Join this SPECIAL GETAWAY (Click on the Button):

Blog Tour The Plan A Woman in A Plan B Worls by Debbie Taylor Willams

Leafwood Publishing

Release Date: April 2010

ISBN-10: 0891126414

ISBN-13: 978-0891126416

Retail: $14.99

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

About the Book:






(Kerrville, TX) – From the beginning of time women have dreamt about their “Plan A” - the perfect husband, cute children, immaculate home, size six wardrobe, prestigious job, fabulous friends. But it doesn’t take much of real life to set in before compromises, changes and disappointments manage to cloud those dreams. The Plan A Woman in a Plan B World: What to Do When Life Doesn’t Go According to Plan encourages women to re-evaluate the Plan B route and discover the blessings of God’s Plan A.


Using nine landmines that often claim the God-given plan for women, author/speaker Debbie Taylor Williams helps women reclaim hope and teaches them how to manage those sabotaging thoughts that claim many minds. Sprinkled with humor, an obvious love for God’s Word, and discussion starters for small group study, The Plan A Woman promises to help woman believe that God does have special plans for her, even in this Plan B world.

Author Debbie

Taylor Williams

About the Author:


Debbie Taylor Williams is the founder of Hill Country Ministries, an organization dedicated to spreading God’s Word and ministering to women. Best known as a passionate biblical expositor, Debbie uses humor and practical illustrations to communicate spiritual truths to women throughout the nation. She is the author of Pray with Purpose, Live with Passion, Prayers of My Heart, and other books. She and her husband make their home in Kerrville, Texas. Learn more by visiting her popular Web site: www.debbietaylorwilliams.com


Interview Questions:

1. Your book focuses on living the Plan A life God designed specifically for you. What encouragement can you give for the woman who feels she's lived far too long on Plan B? Is there hope?

With God nothing is impossible! The Spirit who moved over the surface of the deep and created light and life is the same Spirit who abides in every believer. We can live the Plan A life God has for us because Christ lives in us and He is our hope of glory. Col 1:2

2. In your book you talk about hazardous landmines. What are a few common landmines women fall into?

Bitterness, discouragement, being fixated on the past, fear, feeling shaken by our circumstances, having expectations of how others should act are but a few of the land mines we can experience in a Plan B world. Left unattended, these land mines can cause devastating harm to us and others. God's Plan A is not for us to ignore these land mines, nor is it His plan for us to tip toe around them. Rather, He directs us to address and de-mine them. When we do, we can walk in bold assurance, confident of the ground upon which we walk. We're able to carry out the good works and plans God has for us; those that bring purpose and joy.

3. Talk about your P.R.A.Y. conferences and how women can learn more about your prayer ministry.

April 2, 2008 God woke me up at 4 a.m. and told me that I wasn't doing all that He wanted me to do. He then directed me to one of His Plans for my life: to take the principles from my book, Pray with Purpose — Live with Passion, to a church in every state in the United States. He told me to waive my speaking fee and travel expenses; that He had freely given me the keys to prayer that can change women's lives; and that I was to freely take them to my sisters. P.R.A.Y. with Passion Conference was birthed as a ministry of my non-profit ministry. It has been a joy to see God powerfully open doors through women who hear about the conference and pass the word to their women's ministry leader or event planner. Women are coming to salvation. Spiritual breakthroughs and repentance is taking place among believers. A "pink hearts" club is spreading across America, one composed of women and men who come forward and receive a heart on which they write how God has spoken to their hearts. And God is speaking. If I haven't been to your church/state, contact lauren@debbietaylorwilliams.com ministries, call toll free 888.815.9412, or visit my web site for more information www.debbietaylorwilliams.com

4. In your spare time, what do you enjoy doing?

I love being with my husband. Whether we go for a walk, watch the sunset, take a hike in the country, travel, play golf (sort of...I'm a beginner :), or go for a drive and breakfast on Saturday mornings, he's my honi and love of 35 years. Our two adult children and their spouses are so much fun to be with; as is our 17 month old grandson. Family, friends, sharing the Lord - for what more could we ask?


Something Extra:

The Plan A Woman in a Plan B World, by Debbie Taylor Williams


“You’re Not the Only One Who Missed Plan A” Chapter 1 excerpt, pages 23-27.


God Has an A+ Plan for Your Life

“I know the plans that I have you for you,” declares the Lord, “plans for welfare and not for calamity to give you a future and a hope.”Jeremiah 29:11

If ever a convention were held for women who feel they’ve missed Plan A, the room


would be filled. You’d undoubtedly hear comments like these:

“My husband left me when our children were three and five,” one woman might say.

“I’ve always dreamed of being married and having children. But I’m single with no hope of marriage.”

“My Prince Charming turned into an abuser.”

“I was fired from the company I built from the ground up.”

“My child died of leukemia.”

Biblical Plan A Women in a Plan B World

Not only do we hear the voices of friends today, but we also can imagine the voices of those whose lives are recorded in the Bible. Perhaps if we caught each one at the moment she was hit with her Plan B, we might have heard something like the following:

“Adam and I were supposed to live happily ever after in Eden. My oldest son was not supposed to kill his brother.”—Eve

“I thought Abraham and I would have children when we were young.”—Sarah

“I thought I’d live a quiet life. I never dreamed I’d become a queen—or that the lives of so many people would depend on me risking mine.”—Esther

“My plan was to marry Joseph, then have children. Never did I imagine that I’d conceive a child by the Holy Spirit while a virgin. ”—Mary

As you can see, a long list of women in the Bible lived something other than what they must have considered their Plan A lives. No doubt, they appeared to be everyday women living ordinary lives: preparing meals; washing dishes and clothes; competing with other women; and experiencing problems with in-laws, children, infertility, sibling rivalry, and so on.

What they probably couldn’t see at the time, but what we have the opportunity to see now, is how God used them. Their lives counted for him and for eternity. Though at times some may have felt like appendages to their husbands and their husbands’ calling, while some may have felt lonely and isolated, God used each woman. Their names are recorded for eternity. God listened to these women’s prayers, intervened on their behalf, and met them where they were—in the desert, by a river, in a field, inside their homes. He met them in the midst of their daily responsibilities—drawing water, gleaning wheat, searching for infertility cures.


Did they know they weren’t rocking mere infants but future kings? Did they realize they weren’t just dressing babies but grooming leaders? Not simply singing psalms to toddlers but planting scriptures in the minds of prophets?

God had an A+ plan for these women even though they didn’t know it at the time. God has an A+ plan for your life too.

-Used by permission Leafwood Publishers

Getting to know you Thursdays with Jillian Hart.

Please join me in welcoming Jillian Hart to my blog today. I have enjoyed getting to know Jill on the Love Inspired Histroical group at goodreads. We have had fun on the group.

1. Can you tell us a little about yourself?

I grew up in rural Washington State in beautiful country in the foothills of the Cascade Mountain Range. I think that’s where my imagination really developed. Our house was surrounded by forests where I played—I could be a princess in her kingdom, a scout charting new territory, a pioneer, a soldier or an outlaw, when my brother played along. I learned to do all sorts of things—riverboat, fish, swim, ride horses, herd cattle, handle a gun, hike, camp, ride dirt bikes, build a fire with a stick and how to track animals. It was the perfect background for an author, as it turns out. I grew up, went to college, moved to Seattle, worked in travel and then advertising before I sold my first book. Although I now live in a suburb, the early days of my life are the ones I draw on the most when I’m writing.

2. When you were a child did you have a favourite book or books?

So many books! My very favourites were the Little House series and Anne of Green Gables. I also adored the Hardy Boys.

3. Do you have a favourite Genre to both read and right write?

Romance, hands down. I love everything about it, especially since I think there’s nothing more important than love.

4. Did you have favourite authors growing up who have influenced you?

Yes—Laura Ingalls Wilder. Her books have a sense of right and wrong, of morals and the importance of being a disciplined and a good-hearted person that always impressed me, even as a child, and helped shape the person I am today.

5. When did you know you wanted to be an author?

When I was old enough to understand that books were written by people. . I was very young. LOL.

6. How did you go about becoming an author?

After I decided to try writing with the goal of publication, I did three things: I increased my daily reading time, I wrote every day and I didn’t give up. It took me six long years of submitting and being rejected. I had to figure out where my voice and stories naturally fit and once I did, I sold soon after. My first manuscript was accepted by Harlequin Historicals and published in 1998.

7. If you were not a writer what would you like to be?

A pianist.

8. Outside reading and writing what do you like to do?

I love watching movies, knitting, going for walks and having good long talks with my friends.

9. Do you have a place you love to visit or would love to visit?

I would like to visit Hawaii. Every time I’ve planned a trip, something has happened to intervene. I’m determined to put my feet on a Maui beach—one day! : ) (Jenny here I would love to be with you when you get to Maui thats one of my goals too. I loved Hawaii the whole 3 days I was there and vowed to return.)

10. If you could have a meal with 3 living people who would you choose and why?

Nora Roberts, because I would love to talk writing with her.
J.J. Abrams because I loved his Star Trek movie—and maybe he’d give me dish on the next one.
Rachael Ray, because I love her cooking shows and she looks like she would be fun to meet.

Finally can you tell us about your current books and/or any that will
be coming out soon. Also where we can find you on the web.

I have a few books coming out this summer.

In May, I have a novella in the Harlequin Historical anthology Mail-Order Brides. It’s the final Brooks brothers story—older brother Gabe is about to be conveniently married.

In June, I have a new release in my Granger Family Ranch series, The Rancher’s Promise. I love this reunion story between a rancher and his small-town girl. The ties that bind the Granger family are ones I hope readers will be touched by, too. 

In July, Klondike Hero is the first book in Love Inspired’s multi-author continuity set in Alaska. It was a wonderful place to write about, and I hope readers fall in love with the series. 






 


In August, I have a historical coming out from Love Inspired, the second in my Buttons & Bobbins series, Patchwork Bride. Meredith Worthington has her sight set on becoming a schoolteacher until true love rides into her life in the form of dashing horse trainer, Shane Connelly. I hope readers come to love this coming of age romance as much as I did writing it.

My website is www.jillianhart.net/

First Wildcard tourLove 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:

Cara Lynn James

and the book:

Love on a Dime

Thomas Nelson (June 1, 2010)

***Special thanks to Katie Bond of Thomas Nelson for sending me a review copy.***

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 e



N 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?