A Big Brother's Role

I'm skipping back to Chapter 3 of Spinster's Folly to explore the role of a big brother in a girl's life. Here's a fragment where Marie's oldest brother, Rulon, fills his role perfectly:

After she had eaten and cleaned up, Marie prepared her bed at the foot of a tree, and then sat on her quilt for a while, her back against the trunk. Rulon strolled over and squatted beside her.

"You all set here?" He picked at his teeth with a flayed willow twig.

"Yes sir. Almost as comfy as my bed at home." She hugged herself. "I reckon I'll sleep after a bit. I can't bring myself to close my eyes yet."

"It's a pretty night," he said, looking at the stars. When he looked at Marie again, he tilted his head to one side. "Are you sore, Sis? You've been in the saddle for a long stretch, and you're not used to the sort of work you've been doin' today."

Marie smiled wryly. "You caught me out, didn't you? I'm also burned and windblown and flybitten. I'll make a handsome prize for Tom Morgan."

"No, Sis," Rulon said, drawing out the initial vowel as he shook his head. "You're a beauty despite a tad bit of sunburn. Tom Morgan's a fool if he won't see that tomorrow."

Marie rolled her eyes. "Big brothers always say such dainty things."

"The truth ain't a dainty thing." Rulon smiled. "Granted I'm your big brother, and I might be a mite partial to you, but there's no denyin' you're a gem of a woman, Marie. You stand the competition on their noses, girl."

Marie couldn't help but laugh.

"There now." He patted her hand. "That's what I like to hear."

"Rulon, who do you reckon is my competition?"

"Just a figure of speech, Sis. There is no competition that stands up to you."

"There is no competition at all. I'm the only girl left single hereabouts." Marie ducked her head so Rulon wouldn't see hopelessness in her eyes.

He put two fingers under her chin, raised her face, and looked at her for a long time. "Marie. That is an unfortunate circumstance. You are worth more than any three girls back home. Don't forget that. Not ever."

Marie hoped the deepening darkness prevented Rulon from seeing the tears that suddenly caused her vision to swim. "That's sweet of you to say," she whispered, catching his hand. "No wonder Mary thinks the sun rises and sets on you."

Now Rulon ducked his head. "Go on!"

"I reckon I think that, too, Big Brother." She pushed him on the shoulder. "I'm sleepy now. You needn't watch over me tonight."

He touched her on the tip of her nose. "That's what big brothers are for." He got to his feet. "Good night, Sis."

"Good night, Rulon."

If you have a big brother or big brother surrogate who has always protected you in a pinch, what have you done to pay back his affection and concern? If you haven't made that overture yet, isn't it time to do so?

Awesome August Blog Hop!

Welcome to the Awesome August Blog Hop, where bloggers from all over the Internet have come together to throw a summertime party!

Every blog on this hop is offering a fun prize, and entering is quick and easy. Simply follow the instructions on each blog, leave a comment, and bop right along to the next blog. You can win multiple times, so be sure to check out all the participating blogs!

On my blog, you can win an extremely rare autographed copy of best-selling YA author Janette Rallison's second novel, Dakota's Revenge! The book has never been read, so it's in brand-new condition. (I have my own personalized, autographed copy, so yes, I have read the novel.)

To enter:

1. Become a follower of my blog. If you're already a follower here, go follow my other blog at The Characters in Marsha's Head. A new window or tab should open up, so you don't have to leave this blog.

2. Fly on over to Amazon and click "like" on my first novel, The Man from Shenandoah.

3. Leave me a comment and tell me that you've done both things. If your e-mail isn't available through your profile, I'll need you to leave that, too - I can't tell you if you've won if I can't contact you!

This blog hop runs through Wednesday night (August 31) at midnight, so be sure to enter before then! The winner will be notified by e-mail.

Now that you've entered my contest, come meet all my other blog friends and see what fun things they are offering!

Awesome August Blog Hop Participants

1. Tristi Pinkston, LDS Author 2. Karen Hoover 3. Michael Young 4. Kristy Tate 5. cindy Hogan 6. Julie Bellon 7. Margot Hovley 8. Laurie Lewis 9. Mandi Slack 10. Melanie Jacobson 11. Joyce DiPastena 12. Renae Mackley

13. Debbi Weitzell 14. Donna Hatch 15. Carolyn Frank 16. Marsha Ward 17. Stacy Coles 18. Bonnie Harris 19. Danyelle Ferguson aka Queen of the Clan 20. Diony George 21. Lisa Asanuma 22. Susan Dayley 23. Christine Bryant @ Day Dreamer 24. Stephanie Humphreys

25. Ranee` Clark 26. Tamera Westhoff 27. I Am A Reader, Not A Writer 28. Heather Justesen 29. Rebecca Talley 30. Jennifer Hurst 31. Aimee Brown 32. Cheryl Christensen 33. Rachelle Christensen 34. Imaginary Reads 35. Andrea Pearson

Learn more about Awesome August Blog Hop here.
View More Awesome August Blog Hop Participants
Get The Code

Powered by... Mister Linky's Magical Widgets.

From Chapter 13, Spinster's Folly

A bit more for your enjoyment:

It seemed to Marie to be a shameful thing that she kept nodding off, but she couldn't help it. Bess's gait was most easy, and she was so tired. The strain of the day's events, not to mention the blow to her face when she fell, had built up a great lethargy, and she kept giving in to the need to sleep.

She awoke with a jolt when a chill wind hit her cheek. She shivered. The moon's light had diminished due to an obscuring bank of clouds. With the wind picking up, she feared it would soon rain, so she urged Bess to overtake Mr. Alderson once more.

"Will we camp before the storm comes?" she asked him, a note of anxiety making her voice sound high and thin to her ears.

Mr. Alderson looked up at the sky and tilted his head. "I imagine we do need to seek shelter. Look for any trees, or a butte we can camp beside." He patted her hand. "We'll be safe. Don't worry."

"I can't help a bit of nerves."

"So you can't. Let me relieve your mind. I'll do the worrying from now on." He smiled in the dim light and gave her hand a final pat before turning away.

Marie heaved a sigh and let Mr. Alderson take the lead again. Perhaps all would be well with Mr. Alderson doing the thinking. After all, she was entrusting her entire life and future to him. She felt a bit of her burden lifting from her shoulders. Yes, all will be well.

After a while, she heard a laugh from Mr. Alderson.

"See there? I believe we've come upon a stream. We'll have good shelter there."

Soon they were dismounting near the bank, and found the wind was cut somewhat by a stand of oak trees that lined the creek.

"I'll water the horses. You find wood and build a fire," Mr. Alderson said.

Marie nodded, grateful that the rain hadn't yet started. She'd still be able to find dry kindling for her fire. She hurried to her task, and gathered enough kindling, sticks, and branches for a small fire. Mr. Alderson could search out more wood later, if they needed to keep the fire going for long. She hoped he had a hand ax in one of his saddlebags, in case he needed to cut a large branch.

After arranging her wood to her satisfaction on a patch of earth she had scraped bare, she put a piece of cotton wool underneath, and struck flint and steel together until the resultant sparks set the tinder to smoldering in a couple of places. She carefully blew on the best spots, then pulled back when they burst into flame. She pushed the tinder together so the flames would intensify, and soon the kindling was ablaze. It didn't take long until her sticks were also afire, and she rocked back on her heels to admire her work.
~~~

Have you ever built your own campfire? When and where?

Sweet Saturday Sample: Excerpt from Trail of Storms

This week's snippet for Sweet Saturday Samples (clean fiction excerpts from authors) is an excerpt from Chapter Two of Trail of Storms. The setting is Mount Jackson in Virginia's Shenandoah Valley just after the American Civil War, the genre is historical Western fiction, and the rating is G. Please note that I've skipped a raw scene. Sorry. But you want to buy the book anyway, right?
~~~

Robert ran down the Pike, his heart thudding in his chest. Where would the man take Hannah? If he was intent on doing her harm, he’d want a private place, like a barn or a grove of trees, even though the occupation soldiers and cavalry were doing pretty much as they liked these days. He’d have to ask if Hannah and the rider had been seen passing by. That might be useless—folks were staying out of each other’s business. His breath rattled in his throat. His side burned with pain. His legs seemed made of lead. No matter, he thought, and continued his headlong dash. Hannah needs me.

When he stumbled and fell, Robert lay with his face in the dust for a moment, then raised his head and eyed the road. The marks of horses’ hooves mocked him. I don’t know how to track. I don’t know what’s fresh and what might be five days old. He scrambled to his knees, got to his feet, and looked around. He was outside of town and had passed two farms already. Have I gone too far? He took a steadying breath. No. Those farms had been burned out by the Yankees. Their barns hadn’t been rebuilt yet and the woodlots were gone. No privacy there. Robert began to run again. George Heizer’s dairy farm was next. He had a barn.

Robert approached the Heizer place. From the lane he could see two men standing by a wagon in the barnyard, talking. They seemed calm, not looking over their shoulders or fidgeting. No Yankee’s been there, he decided, and continued down the pike. I’ll try at McNeely’s.

Robert ran another two hundred yards, turned into McNeely’s farmyard, skidded to a stop at the door of the house and rapped. His windpipe wheezed and his lungs burned as he sucked breath into them. After a moment, Mistress Maude moved the curtain to one side and peered out. She opened the door a crack, her white face telling of her fear.

Before he could say a word, the woman began.

“Mr. Fletcher! Oh, please, can you look? My Patrick won’t be home until after dark.”

“Look where, Mrs. McNeely?”

“Oh my! Out in the stable. There’s been the most horrid sounds coming from out there for such a long time. Screams, very terrible sounds, they were.”

He ground his teeth. “Do you have a gun?”

“A gun? Oh, no, Mr. Fletcher. We had to give it up.”

“A knife, then. Lend me your butcher knife.”

Her gasp told Robert how she felt about that idea as she closed the door in his face. He heard the lock snapping into place.

He found a stout stick of firewood he could wrap his fingers around, not thinking what he would do with it, but somehow needing to feel the wood’s heft, needing to have a weapon. He strode toward the stable.

~~~

Trail of Storms is available at Amazon US as a print book: 
http://www.amazon.com/Trail-Storms-Marsha-Ward/dp/1440126046/
As a Kindle Edition in the US: 
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/55714
~~~
Now find another sample to read:

More from Spinster's Folly

Here's a bit more from my forthcoming novel, Spinster's Folly, for your enjoyment:

Marie slid from the saddle into Mr. Alderson's arms. She stumbled a bit, but with his aid, she recovered herself.

Mr. Alderson clasped her tightly, pressing kisses on her brow, her cheeks, then finally, on her lips. Marie responded, relief at getting away clean feeding her fervor. At last, they broke apart and looked at each other.

“I am so gratified that you came,” Mr. Alderson said. “We really should be on our way.” He hugged Marie again, then whispered, “My companions may miss me. I'm not sure they were asleep when I left the camp.”

A tingle of fear swept down Marie's spine. “Let's leave now,” she agreed.

Marie remounted with a boost from her swain, then he got up on his horse, signaled with his head the direction they would take, and they left the meadow for the path through the trees and out of the Owen claims. Soon they found the well-traveled road, and made their way north.
~~~

It appears that Marie's feeling of relief at being free of her odious situation is mixed with fear of being caught. What situation in your own life could be akin to Marie's?

Don't be shy in commenting about anything else you wish. You don't need to answer the question posed above.

Sample Saturday: Trail of Storms, Excerpt 3 from Chapter 1

Today's Sample for the Sweet Saturday Samples blog hop follows the scene in last week's sample from Trail of Storms. The setting is Mount Jackson in Virginia's Shenandoah Valley just after the American Civil War, the genre is historical Western fiction, and the rating is an intense G.
~~~

Jessie shoved open the door of the bank with such force that it banged against the wall. Several customers turned to gaze at her in surprise. The clerks and tellers looked up from their work.

Jessie located Hannah’s husband, Robert Fletcher, in the teller’s cage at the end of the row. She ran across the tile floor and pushed aside the woman standing opposite him.

“You must come, now!” Jessie said to the man, gasping as she struggled to draw air into her burning lungs.

“Miss Jessica—” He turned to his customer. “I’m sorry, Miz Addison. I’m sure she didn’t mean—” He broke off and faced Jessie again, frown lines deeply creasing his face and sweat breaking out on his forehead. “What happened to you? You’re quite … untidy.” Robert took out a handkerchief and dabbed at the brow on both sides of his pronounced widow’s peak.

“Mr. Fletcher—Robert—Hannah’s been taken!” Jessie put out a shaking hand and grasped the counter to support herself. “We’ve got to get help.”

Robert took in a sharp breath. He stuffed the handkerchief in his pocket as he turned and leaped over the gate separating the teller’s cages from the customer area.

Before Jessie could blink, he grasped her by the elbow and shook her arm. “What do you mean, ‘Hannah’s been taken’?”

Jessie’s trembling almost overcame her. She forced herself to find her voice, still breathing with difficulty as Robert’s grip tightened. “You know those Yankee riders? One of them grabbed her and took her off. Oh, Mr. Fletcher, Heppie’s in such a state I had—”

An oath escaped Robert Fletcher’s lips as he dropped her arm. “Take me there,” he grunted, barging through the door to the street. She caught up to him and led off at a run, lifting her skirts out of the way of her feet.

They cut across the street, darting between vehicles and horses, bumping without apology into passersby, their silent haste fed by adrenaline and fear.

When they arrived at the street where Hannah had been abducted, Heppie bolted out of Mrs. Wiggins’s door, crying into her handkerchief. “Oh, Mr. Fletcher, I’m so glad to see you.”

Robert nodded briefly to Heppie, then turned and asked Jessie, “Which way did he go?”

Jessie pointed south on the Valley Pike. “It’s the redheaded one.”

Robert thrust Jessie into Heppie’s arms, saying, “Go to your ma’s. I’ll bring her there,” and ran down the street.

“Jessie, did you see his face?” Heppie wailed.

Jessie shook in her sister’s embrace as new fear enveloped her. “Yes. I’m afraid he’ll kill that Yankee.”

~~~

Trail of Storms is available at Amazon US as a print book: 
http://www.amazon.com/Trail-Storms-Marsha-Ward/dp/1440126046/
As a Kindle Edition in the US: 
http://www.amazon.com/Trail-Storms-Owen-Family-ebook/dp/B004Z1L266/
At Amazon UK as a print book: 
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Trail-Storms-Marsha-Ward/dp/1440126046/
As a Kindle Edition in the UK: 
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Trail-Storms-Owen-Family-ebook/dp/B004Z1L266/
At Smashword.com in many ebook formats: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/55714
~~~
Now find another sample to read:

A Productive Day

I can't complain about a day when I get to meet with other writers, or one where I write 374 words in half an hour, or one where I store away six boxes of books so I can get more elbow room around here. I own hundreds, if not thousands, of books. They tend to take over in 740 sq. ft.

Because eventually I will have a new novel in the Owen Family Saga series, I'm trying to make a list of all you all (I know I spelled it wrong, you Southerners) who are avid readers of my work and who are very likely to buy Spinster's Folly. I want to make sure you get the news when it comes out. Please drop me a line or make a comment here so I know you're seriously interested, and I'll put you on that special list of folks who get the word first.

I'm Writing!

Today I pushed to write the final scene in Spinster's Folly. No, that doesn't mean I've finished the book, just that last scene. There's still a lot to put between where I left off and the ending. However, this scene is powerful! Here's a tidbit from the draft:

"I reckon I love you," Bill said. "I reckon my affection for you began to growin' that first day we met, with you all shocked and discombobulated, with leaves and dirt and such on your dress. Despite your dishevelment, I knew that underneath, you were the most beautiful girl in the world."

"Don't mock me!"

"I'd never do that."

Marie bent her shoulders forward and hugged herself. "I don't want your pity."

Bill sat for a long time, looking down at the hatful of fire. Finally he lifted his head and gazed at Marie. He swallowed, then spoke, his voice steady, but with a marked gentleness. "I bear you no pity. Only the devotion of a revived man who's heart was tore out when you left. It was bruised and battered when your pa told me he was marryin' you to the farmer, but it shattered in pieces when you left with Alderson. I thought never to see you again."

Marie turned her head aside, unwilling to see the hurt in his eyes. "Going with him was my great folly," she said, her tone bitter. "He bore me no love, as he had led me to believe."

"He's nothing but a confidence man, a very practiced confidence man."
~~~

Have you ever been seriously betrayed? How did you feel about it?

Sample Saturday: Trail of Storms, Excerpt 2 from Chapter 1

Today's Sample for the Sweet Saturday Samples blog hop follows the scene in last week's sample from Trail of Storms. The setting is Mount Jackson in Virginia's Shenandoah Valley just after the American Civil War, the genre is historical Western fiction, and the rating is PG due to Jessie's attitude.

Jessie looked over her shoulder at Hannah and Heppie, who walked away from her toward the street corner, leaving Jessie to collect payment for a pie. Mrs. Wiggins, however, seemed inclined to chat.

Please just pay me, Jessie thought, looking the other way down the street. I don’t want us running into those Yankees again. She turned back to Mrs. Wiggins, anxious about the distance between her and her sisters. She didn’t want to be alone, even for the few seconds it would take her to catch up.

Mrs. Wiggins looked at Jessie expectantly. She must have asked a question.

Shrugging her shoulders to shake off her reverie, Jessie said, “I’m so sorry, ma’am, I fear I was woolgathering. What’s that you said?”

The stout little woman sighed. “Jessie dear, I was askin’ if your ma could bake me a loaf of sourdough bread for tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll need payment for the pie first, ma’am,” Jessie said, hoping it didn’t sound too rude.

“Can’t y’all wait to the end of the week?” Mrs. Wiggins looked flustered.

“Times are hard, ma’am. Ma needs to buy supplies.” Jessie glanced over her shoulder again. Hannah and Heppie were a half block away. A cold chill ran through her.

“That’s right, Jessie dear. Times are hard indeed, but Mr. Wiggins wanted an apple pie for his birthday.” Mrs. Wiggins sighed. “I’ll get your money.” She turned her back, left the door open, and took the pie into the house.

Jessie tapped her toe as she waited, watching her sisters grow smaller and smaller. Her stomach tightened on her breakfast and made her queasy. Hurry up! she thought, and mentally berated the twins for leaving her here. She was the “little sister.” More often than not, they stuck together and left her to do the more distasteful things like collect money from customers.

After what seemed like forever, Mrs. Wiggins returned with a few coins and counted out the price of the pie.

“Thank you, ma’am. I’ll tell Ma about your bread,” Jessie said as she put the money into her pocket.

Mrs. Wiggins closed the door forcefully, as if to protest Jessie’s insistence on being paid.

Jessie snorted. Silly old bat! Of course she has to pay Ma now. How does she expect— Jessie left the thought alone and went on to her more immediate worry. With one hand she scooped up the basket she’d put on the porch while she waited, and with the other she grabbed her skirt, racing off after her sisters. “Hannah,” she called out. “Heppie! Wait for me.”

Jessie had covered half the distance that separated her from the twins when she tripped on a root and fell, landing on the hard dirt with her forearms straddling the basket.

Pain lanced through her arms but was instantly supplanted by the smart of her embarrassment. Oh, what mortification! You’d think I was twelve years old instead of eighteen, trippin’ over a danged root.

Heppie had looked back in time to see the fall. “Jessie,” she cried out, and started toward her, motioning for her to get up—as if Jessie were perfectly content to lie sprawled across the path as she was. Hannah continued on to the corner, then turned and waited while Jessie scrambled to her feet and Heppie helped her brush off her skirts.

“Jessie! Are you hurt?”

She rubbed her sore arms, getting the dirt off. “I reckon I’ll be—”

Jessie saw the man at that moment, the rider the Yankees called Red. In what seemed only a few seconds, he jumped off his horse, grabbed Hannah around the waist, and was back in his saddle, having thrown Hannah over the front of his horse like a sack of grain. Her basket tumbled through the air, spewing loaves of bread onto the ground. Jessie cried out and pointed, unable to form words to describe what she was seeing. Heppie turned and began to scream. Jessie lifted her skirts and ran toward the corner as fast as she could. He can’t be takin’ her, she thought, her heart pounding in her ears.
~~~

Available at Amazon US as a print book: 
http://www.amazon.com/Trail-Storms-Marsha-Ward/dp/1440126046/
As a Kindle Edition in the US: 
http://www.amazon.com/Trail-Storms-Owen-Family-ebook/dp/B004Z1L266/
At Amazon UK as a print book: 
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Trail-Storms-Marsha-Ward/dp/1440126046/
As a Kindle Edition in the UK: 
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Trail-Storms-Owen-Family-ebook/dp/B004Z1L266/
At Smashword.com in many ebook formats: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/55714
~~~
Now find another sample to read:

July Kindle Sales

In keeping with my open and honest approach to sales figures from my venture into selling ebooks on Kindle, here are my sales figures for July. The numbers represent how many of each story or novel were sold from 7/01/2011 to 7/31/2011.

The US Kindle Store:
Cottonwood Cowboys - 1
Ride to Raton - 24
The Man from Shenandoah - 40
The Owen Family Saga Sampler - 6
The Usual Game - 1
Thumps & Losers - 1
Trail of Storms - 28
War Party - 3

That is 104 units sold!

The UK Kindle Store:
Ride to Raton - 2
The Man from Shenandoah - 3
The Owen Family Saga Sampler - 4
Trail of Storms - 2
War Party - 1

The UK sales totaled 12 units.

So far in August I have 29 units sold from the US store and 0 from the UK.

Please let your British, Scots, Irish and Welsh cousins and friends know about my books in their local Kindle store.

And, if you know anyone in Germany . . . let them know great Westerns are available for them (in English) at Kindle DE.

Thanks

I'm ready to write again

Yes, it's true. I'm feeling very good, and although I have a huge life project that will be going on for several months, I WILL WRITE. In the meantime, please enjoy this little tidbit from the upcoming Spinster's Folly.

Marie tiptoed across the plank bridge toward the stable. She still hadn't decided whether to take her black riding horse or Bess, the gentle mare she'd ridden on the Cuchara expedition. Both were good mounts, but the remembrance of Bess's easy gait and comfortable ride weighed heavily in her favor. Besides, the black could be uppity of a morning, and Bess never was. In the end, Marie chose the more comfortable horse, and led Bess from the darkness of the stable so she could tie her bundle behind the saddle.

Do I have all I'll need? she questioned herself before she mounted. She'd brought no trinkets or baubles, but only a change of clothes, the cooking utensils she'd selected earlier in the day, the poke weighing heavily where she'd hidden it inside her bodice, and food and water for the journey. She left behind a letter, written on the sly, saying she was heading north with "my own true love," and that the next time anyone from the homestead saw her, she would "be a married woman."

Once in the saddle atop Bess's broad back, she surveyed the meadow, with the embers of all the campfires scattered across it, looking for the surest route through them. If she bent her way south around the Bates's camp, then between the Campbells and the Hilbrands, she should soon be out of harm's way.

Gently putting her heels to the horse's sides, she sat forward, and Bess moved out into the night, nickering softly.

"Oh hush, Bess," Marie whispered. Perhaps she should have blindfolded the mare and led her? It's too late for that, she acknowledged to herself, and merely patted the mare's neck and whispered soft encouragement.

Once she heard voices, and froze, reining Bess to a halt. She listened, and located the sounds as coming from the far side of the meadow. A couple up late, romancing? She couldn't tell, as no clear words came to her ears. Judging the late-night chatterers to be no threat to her, she clucked to Bess, and got the animal moving again. In only a few moments more, she would be through the visitors' camps, and well away.

Book Review: The Assassination of Governor Boggs, by Rod Miller

I interviewed author Rod Miller on this blog in October of 2007. His list of works was quite impressive at that time, and he's added several new works since then, which you can read about on his website.

Today, I'm reviewing his new historical novel, The Assassination of Governor Boggs, which was recently released by Bonneville Books. If you read the interview, you'll note that at that time, he had just got his mind around how to tell this story. Well, tell it he does, and in a rip-snorting fashion!

From the back cover:

After an attempted assassination, Governor Lilburn Boggs couldn't prove who'd taken a shot at him, leaving the identity of his assailant a mystery. Twenty-five years later and after the passing of Gov. Boggs, Pinkerton Detective Calvin Pogue has been hired by the Boggs family to open this cold case and find out the truth about the assassin. From Missouri to California and into the heart of the Utah Territory, Detective Pogue relentlessly seeks clues that lead him to the legendary Mormon gunman Porter Rockwell--who still isn't making things easy for anyone!

Join Detective Pogue as he steps into this hair-raising mystery and tracks down Gov. Boggs's enemies and friends to a finale you won't believe.

This fast-paced historical mystery had me turning pages as quickly as I could to keep up with the story of a war-crippled Pinkerton detective traveling throughout the American West, seeking clues in this case gone cold. The folks he meets, many of whom are legends themselves, recount their memories of the events of the incomplete assassination, each in his own voice and way, whether they were a sheriff, an attorney, or a passer-by.

In that time, when the Mormon Church was getting its start and trying to survive among neighbors who didn't much like them--and vice versa--government on the frontier pretty much ignored the written law and took it into their own hands in order to shake loose an irritating burr under their saddle: a large, united body of folks with strange beliefs and ways. Governor Boggs hated the Mormons, and made no secret of that fact, acting on his hate in some pretty bizarre pronouncements and orders. In return, the Mormons, under his persecution, returned the emotion. No wonder everything came together with an attempt upon his life.

Rod Miller's decisive writing clearly illuminates this bitter period of the American experience. Anyone who wonders about the early Mormon Church, the Missouri period, or life on the frontier, should get a taste of that wild time from this novel.

The Assassination of Governor Boggs is available at LDS bookstores, and online at Deseret Book, as both a print book and in a Kindle edition at Amazon.com, and at Barnes and Noble.com. (The print book is on sale now at Amazon and BN.)