Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Special Offer: The Owen Family Saga Sampler

It's been a tough couple of months, trying to move and keep life going at the same time. I'm into my new home, but there's still a lot of stuff in the old one. Winter came and brought a couple of snowfalls, which makes it difficult to move things.

Anyway, as a reminder that I'm still here, I'm making a special offer:

From now until December 31, 2011, The Owen Family Saga Sampler is free at Smashwords.com. It contains three chapters each from the first three novels in The Owen Family Saga, plus a bonus look at the forthcoming Book 4: Spinster's Folly.

One reviewer says about my work: "Marsha Ward really does write Westerns with heart. And her Owen family saga is among the best you'll ever read. Learn what our ancestors did to build this land. Like the Man from Shenandoah. Highly recommended." ~Chuck Tyrell, author of The Prodigal

To get the free e-book, create a free membership at Smashwords.com, then use Coupon Code QL37G at checkout.

I'm still alive

It's been a tough couple of months, trying to move and keep life going at the same time. I'm into my new home, but there's still a lot of stuff in the old one. Winter came and brought a couple of snowfalls, which makes it difficult to move things.

Anyway, as a reminder that I'm still here, I'm making a special offer:

From now until December 31, 2011, The Owen Family Saga Sampler is free at Smashwords.com. It contains three chapters each from the first three novels in The Owen Family Saga, plus a bonus look at the forthcoming Book 4: Spinster's Folly.

One reviewer says about my work: "Marsha Ward really does write Westerns with heart. And her Owen family saga is among the best you'll ever read. Learn what our ancestors did to build this land. Like the Man from Shenandoah. Highly recommended." ~Chuck Tyrell, author of The Prodigal

To get the free e-book, create a free membership at Smashwords.com, then use Coupon Code QL37G at checkout.

Saturday, December 17, 2011

Sweet Saturday Sample: Excerpt Eight from Ride to Raton

This is our last Sweet Saturday Sample of the year; we’ll return for the second weekend in January 2012. Watch here for new samples beginning on January 14.

In this excerpt from Ride to Raton, we get a glimpse into Amparo's thoughts on the matter of marrying a replacement for her dead bridegroom.
~~~

When the men had gone, Amparo sat alone in the chapel once more, letting the events of the last half hour flood over her. Her bridegroom was dead—another had taken his place. A shudder shook her frame, and she bit her lip.

Madre de Dios, he is Anglo. He does not speak my language.

Amparo fingered the smooth wooden beads of her mother’s rosary. Yet...he has a kind aspect. There is strength in the shape of his face, but there is gentleness in his eyes. She held the cross to her cheek, then brought it to her lips and kissed it. Beloved Mother, if I must marry a stranger—and that is my vow—can there be some little hope for tenderness? Can he come to care for me?

The girl clasped her hands under her bowed head, slid forward to kneel on the hard wooden prayer bench, and whispered several “Ave Marías”. When she had finished, she rose from the bench and left the pew.

Amparo looked for the priest in his room at the back of the chapel. He was not there, but she found him at the front door, looking out into the square with a troubled look on his face. She touched his robe, and he turned to her.

“My Father, the Anglos are gone.”

“Yes. They will come again later. Little daughter, the young one has agreed to kneel beside you this evening and become your master. I will bless this union with him only if you wish it.” Father Gallegos pursed his lips. “There is rebellion in his soul.”

Amparo bowed her head so the priest could not see her eyes. Dearest Mary, I think it is pain.

The priest lifted her chin. “You do not agree? Tell me your heart, little one.”

Amparo looked up into the kind brown eyes of the padre. “He seems to be a good man, my Father. Although he is a stranger and an Anglo, he felt obligation to tell me of Señor Rodríguez’s death. He does not want me to be alone in a strange place. These things are good.”

“I wonder if he will accept the burden of marriage for long, my child.”

The girl looked at the priest for a long time. Without my sacrifice my papá will suffer for eternity, she thought. She looked out at the dusty square, at the women disappearing into their adobe houses, carrying their clean laundry in baskets on their heads. They all have homes, husbands, families. Amparo straightened her shoulders.

“I have come a long distance, my Father. There is nothing for me at home. I will give myself to the Anglo and pray that I will not be a burden to him.”

The priest touched Amparo on the forehead. “You are young, my child. He is young. Where there is youth, there is hope. Go now and prepare.”

Amparo bent her head and kissed the priest’s hand. Then she walked toward the tiny storage room that had become her refuge. She closed the door behind her and leaned on it.

Holy Mother, there is a stirring within me. Almost, I feel happy, almost, I feel at peace. Let this feeling lift me up and sustain me, Blessed Mary, for this night I must go to the Anglo’s bed.
~~~

I hope you have enjoyed these excerpts from Ride to Raton. The novel is available from Smashwords.com in many electronic book formats, and from Amazon.com in print and Kindle editions. Also available at Amazon.co.uk, Amazon.de,  Amazon.fr, Amazon.es and Amazon.it.  Use the search term "Marsha Ward"
~~~
Click this link to choose Sweet Saturday Samples from other Authors.

Saturday, December 10, 2011

Sweet Saturday Sample: Excerpt Seven from Ride to Raton

Sorry, I used the new blogger interface to do this post, and it clearly did not like me, so I've had to re-do it. Good thing I stayed up late!

The time has come to see what happened at the mission church when James met Amparo. Enjoy this excerpt from Ride to Raton. I surely did enjoy writing it.
~~~


            Six little beans! James said to himself when he saw the girl. She IS prettier than Tom’s wife.

            Tom engaged the priest in conversation at the front of the mission chapel while James lingered in the side aisle, arms folded, glancing over his shoulder at the girl in a pew toward the middle of the chapel.

            His belly felt heavier than ever as he looked at her, sitting so shy and quiet in the corner of a pew, dressed in a simple white blouse and brown skirt, her shoulders covered by a black shawl. She was slight of build compared to Rosalinda, but well proportioned. Because she was sitting, James couldn’t easily guess her height. He waited, scuffing his boot toe against a rough‑hewn bench leg while Tom explained to the priest why James wanted to bother the señorita. Once he understood the problem, Padre Gallegos clucked “pobrecita” to himself and led Tom over to meet her. Tom made a “come along” gesture with his hand, and James slowly joined them to stand in the main aisle beside the pew where she sat.

            While the girl talked to Tom and the priest, James examined her face. Her skin was smooth, nearly as brown as that of a bay horse, and her hair, black as a bay’s mane is black, was slicked back into a heavy coil at the nape of her neck. Her eyes were the outstanding feature, darkest brown, almost black, with long straight lashes, and they sat in the proper place alongside her straight little nose. She had a woman’s mouth. The sight of it—so full, and waiting for a husband’s kiss that would never come—made him swallow several times.

            Between the three of them, they made Miss Amparo Garcés y Martínez understand why Julio Rodríguez y Guzmán was not coming for his bride.

            “¿Muerto? ¿Él está muerto?

            Her whisper came from deep in her throat. The horror in her pale face made a chill finger run up James’s back, and he reached down to pat her hand. It was cold, and he wondered how he could warm it and take that awful look out of her eyes.

            “I’m sorry he died,” James said, and she looked long at him with those black, deep eyes.

            “¿Y qué de mí?” She didn’t turn away or blink, but asked James straight out, like he was the one with the answer to her question. He wished he knew what she had asked, but doubted that he knew the answer.

            Tom came to his rescue. “She wants to know what she’s to do.”

            “What do I say?” James wondered if his wild feeling of helplessness was coming through his eyes.

            “Why don’t you give her the ear bobs while you think about it?” Tom gestured with his head toward the girl.

            James fumbled in his pocket for the jewelry and held all of it out to the girl. She shrank back, shaking her head. “This was meant for you,” he said. “Take it.” She didn’t. James looked at Tom.

            “What did I do wrong? Can you find out? Wait. Tell her I’ll take her back to her mama in Santa Fe. That’s the least thing I can do.”

            Before Tom said a word, the girl whispered something in Spanish. Tom didn’t catch it, but the priest did, and told Tom what she’d said. He turned to James.

            “She says it’s bad luck for her to have the ring without a husband.”

            “That’s all right. I’ll hold onto it until I get her home.”

            Tom told her she was going home. James watched the look on her face, her little brown face, change from fear to stubbornness. Her hands went white from holding them so tight together, and she said something right out loud. Tom looked shocked as he turned to James.

            “She says she came to be a bride, and she ain’t leaving without a bridegroom. She won’t go a step until she’s married.”

            “Maybe she thinks I’m taking her to my home. Make her clear on that.”

            Tom and the priest talked to her again, and there were some words repeated over and over.

            “She knows you mean Santa Fe, but she ain’t budging. She says she has to take a husband.” Tom took a piece of linen from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his face.

            The girl whispered, “Hize un convenio sagrado.”

            Tom looked pained, his eyebrows drawn together in a black line. “She says she made a holy vow. That’s trouble aplenty, James, boy. These young gals take their religion to heart. She’ll never budge now.”

            James stood next to the pew, looking from time to time at the girl. He rubbed his ear and stroked his chin, feeling how soft his beard was getting with some length to it. He looked at her hands, still white from squeezing them together. Strong little hands. Chapping a mite from the cold. Is she used to hard work, or was her life in Santa Fe an easy one?

            Tom broke into the quiet. “No two ways about it. She’s got to go back where she come from. I got a wife, and the padre ain’t looking for one.” He stared up at the ceiling.

            James looked down at the ring and ear bobs in his hand. He thought back to his recent experience with a wedding: the whole Owen family standing in the meadow before the priest, and James cursing to himself and wishing he was in Carl’s place. He thought of Tom, and what he’d said about Rosalinda chasing away the lonesome. I am lonesome....

            No, he told himself, I’m more than lonesome. I’m hurting like all the cattle in Texas ran me down and stomped me into the dust, then dragged me through a ten‑mile patch of prickly pear.

            James’s rate of breathing increased to match his agitation, and, uncomfortable, he looked at the girl to distract himself. She held her chin high, looking toward the front of the church. Somehow, the sight of her calmed him, and his breathing slowly returned to normal.

            She’s just a bit of a thing, he thought. And she’s all alone here.

            The girl turned her head, raising it at the same time, and her eyes made contact with his. For a moment he was motionless, staring into the dark brown depths, sensing extreme anguish. After a time, the girl looked away, biting her lip.

            Hush my mouth, she’s got a load of pain, James thought. But it ain’t likely she’s mourning that Rodríguez fellow. She never even met him. There’s some other grief weighin’ down her soul.

            James looked at his hands, surprised to see that they were boxed into fists, one tightly curled over the metal ornaments. Her burden must be mighty heavy, he thought, to make her give her word to marry Rodríguez. He looked at the girl again, and thought, A little girl pretty as she is should of had six or seven young swains lined up outside her door at home.

            He took a deep breath, suddenly angry. She should of picked one of them, instead of traveling all the way up here to wed a stranger. Hush, I should of married Ellen Bates before we left Virginia. By now I’d of had my own hearth and home, and maybe some young’uns like Tom’s, instead of running around the countryside getting shot to pieces and burying strangers in a creek bed.

            But the chance for him to make that choice had got away from him. Maybe the same thing had happened to this girl.

            James put a fist to his belly to press against a sudden sharp pain that joined the leaden lump in his gut. His movement brought the girl’s eyes around to his once more, and he wondered if her pain was anything like his.

            She took a deep, quick breath, unconsciously drawing James’s attention from her face to her form.

            Six little beans! A man could forget a multitude of pains if he was cuddled up in a snug cabin next to a girl the likes of this one.

            Hold up, James, he told himself, pulling his runaway thoughts down to a trot with a short rein. Don’t you cheat this little girl. She’s far from home, and sitting in a mighty worrisome place. Don’t you add to her troubles by taking advantage. You said you’d see her home to her mama, and that’s where she’s going, with a second chance to get a husband from that crowd of young men outside her door.

            James bit his lip, tasting warm blood as his teeth sliced through the smooth inside membrane of his mouth. He stemmed the slightly salty flow with his tongue and swallowed hard.

            Then his mouth was open and he was speaking out, and his words surprised himself as much as they surprised Tom. “She came to marry a stranger. I reckon I’m as good a stranger as the next man, and better than some. Tell her I’ll stand as her bridegroom.”

            Tom’s face came down in a hurry from gazing at the ceiling, and he looked hard at James, peering into his eyes. The young man stared back, standing his ground, so Tom turned to the girl and spoke.

            James watched her face while Tom talked, and his message seemed to bring peace to her soul. She lowered her tight‑kept shoulders, and her hands returned to their normal color as she loosened those clenched fingers.

            Then James wondered why it worried him to feel the pain leaving and the lump of lead dissolving out of his belly.

~~~


Ride to Raton is available from Smashwords.com in many electronic book formats, and from Amazon.com in print and Kindle editions. Also available at Amazon.co.uk, Amazon.de,  Amazon.fr, Amazon.es and Amazon.it.  Search term: "Marsha Ward"
~~~
Click this link to choose Sweet Saturday Samples from other Authors.

Wednesday, December 07, 2011

December 7, 1941

President Franklin D. Roosevelt called it a date which will live in infamy:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W6ScDXwYjWA&feature=related

*The Presidential Address to Congress of December 8, 1941 was delivered at 12:30 p.m. that day to a Joint Session of Congress by United States President Franklin D. Roosevelt, one day after the Empire of Japan's attack on Pearl Harbor Naval Base, Hawaii. The name derives from the first line of the speech: Roosevelt describing the previous day as "a date which will live in infamy".

Within an hour of the speech, Congress passed a formal declaration of war against Japan and officially brought the U.S. into World War II.

Remember Pearl Harbor!

Enough said.


* Thanks, Wikipedia.

Saturday, December 03, 2011

Sweet Saturday Sample: Excerpt Six from Ride to Raton

After exchanging news with Tom O'Connor, James Owen gets down to the business at hand in this excerpt from Ride to Raton.
~~~

James inhaled the spicy odor of the beans, put aside his thoughts, and finished his meal. Then he brought out the letter.

“What’s that you have there, James, boy?”

James recounted his adventure up the country and explained what he intended to do. “This letter was in the man’s jacket, and it’s writ in a clear hand, but it’s writ in Spanish. I can’t make it out,” he finished.

Tom put out his paw for the paper. “I read a little of the lingo, and if I can’t make it out, Rosalinda can. Or, we can take it to her pa.”

“I’m obliged,” James said, handing over the letter. “The fellow was decked out in his best clothes. Carried these, too.” He took out the leather sack and emptied the jewelry onto the table. The gold ring spun around on the polished tabletop with a whirring noise, then came to rest, and the ear bobs glittered in a heap nearby.

Rosalinda swooped down on the ring and held it to the light. “Es un anillo nupcial,” she said.

“It’s a wedding ring,” Tom explained. “Likely the man was on his way to get married. These here,” he lifted the ear bobs, “these here pretties look like the presents men folk around here give their brides.” He turned his attention to the letter.

Up to this moment the situation had seemed sad enough, but hadn’t overly disturbed James. Of a sudden a great wash of melancholy come upon him. That poor fellow he’d planted was stuck up there in the ground without tasting the happiness he’d planned for, and some little girl was waiting for him, all a flutter, like as not, never even knowing she should be mourning him and their lost life together. Pain came back, a mournful feeling down in James’s belly, compassion for two strangers.

Tom looked up from studying the letter. “Listen here. I can make out some of this note. ‘I have made arrangements to send Amparo Garcés y Martínez, the daughter of Catarina viuda de Garcés of Santa Fe, to be your bride.’ There’s something about meeting on the twenty sixth. That’s near a week past. It’s written to Julio Rodríguez y Guzmán—that ain’t anyone from town—and it’s signed by a lawyer.” He tapped a word on the paper. “‘Viuda’ means the mother’s a widow woman.”

James rubbed his forefinger back and forth over the smoothness of the tabletop next to his plate. “It sounds like the girl doesn’t know the fellow. How’d you say her name again?”

“‘Ahm-par-o’,” said the blacksmith slowly. “I’d say Rodríguez sent for a bride. Packing a daughter off like that is a common enough way out of money problems for a widow. One less mouth to feed, and a marriage payment, besides.”

James rubbed so hard at the tabletop that he about wore the polish off that patch of table. “You called him ‘Rodríguez.’ Ain’t he ‘Guzmán’?”

“They got a strange way of naming here, carrying both papa and mama’s last names. Mexicans set a lot of store by family. Their customs are a mite tangled, but you get used to them.”

Miss Amparo Garcés was coming to meet a stranger, and him dead. James’s finger moved faster as he wondered what would happen to the girl now. He laid his hand flat down on the table to save the finish, looked at his squared off fingernails, and asked Tom.

The blacksmith shrugged his large shoulders and answered, “The ink is smudged where the note tells their meeting place. Wherever she lands, I reckon the folk’ll have to ship her back to Santa Fe to Mama.”

James’s gut went dead cold as he felt the hair rise behind his neck. “The priest,” he whispered. “Your girl Rida said it’s his job to marry folks. Miss Amparo’s coming here.”

Tom sniffed. “I don’t recall hearing anything about a new girl hereabouts.” He paused and studied the paper, tracing the signature with his finger. “But then, I been away for a spell.”

James sat still, recalling the feeling of the bullet Danny O’Brien had shot into his side in Pueblo City. If it had lodged in his belly, he thought it would have felt the same as the cold, cumbersome lump now sitting in his innards. What if the young lady was here in town, waiting and wondering what kind of life she would have with Julio Rodríguez? He had taken upon himself a duty to close down that man’s life, a duty to tie up the loose ends left hanging when his horse pitched him into that rocky outcrop of sandstone. That duty, the way James saw it, now included talking to his intended bride, telling her the bad news.

Tom sat silent, working through the letter again. His wife placed the wedding ring beside the ear bobs on the table. Her skirt rustled as she returned to the fireplace and clanked pots together.

James shoved his plate to one side, put his two fists side by side and looked at them. There was dirt under his thumbnails, blisters where Rand’s mule team lines had worn against his bare fingers. Something bitter came up his throat, and he swallowed it down.

How can I tell Miss Amparo that no kind of married life awaits her in this town, that she’ll have to go back home, likely to poverty, and maybe even starvation?

“Ask your wife if the young lady’s here,” he said, slow and quiet.

Tom asked, and Rosalinda came back from the fire and answered in staccato fashion. She went on for a long time, sneering a time or two, and James marveled at Tom’s knack for sorting the sounds into words. Tom’s got the gift of tongues, I reckon, James thought. I’ve got to learn Spanish, too, if I’m going to live in this country.

When he turned back to James, Tom had a puzzled look on his face. “I’ll be whipped,” he snorted. “She’s here, all right. Been setting in the church for five days, never saying boo. Some fellow coming through on the way to visit his ailing father-in-law brought her on horseback, but he left soon as he gave her over to the priest.” Tom grinned. “She must be an eyeful, ‘cause Rosalinda badmouthed her something awful. My mujer can’t stand not being the prettiest woman around.”

James shook to his toes, and looked around the room, for what, he didn’t know. Maybe he was searching out the mournful shadow that pressed upon his soul.

“What am I going to tell her, Tom? How can I march up to a stranger and say ‘Go home. There isn’t a place for you here’?”

“Best leap right in and get it done,” he said.

“You don’t reckon she’ll cry, do you?”

“Let me get my shirt on, and I’ll take you over to the church and you can see for yourself, James, boy.”

James let loose a sigh. “I got a bad feeling, Tom. I wish I’d never found that Rodríguez fellow.”
~~~


Ride to Raton is available from Smashwords.com in many electronic book formats, and from Amazon.com in print and Kindle editions. Also available at Amazon.co.uk, Amazon.de,  Amazon.fr, Amazon.es and Amazon.it.  Search term: "Marsha Ward"
~~~
Click this link to choose Sweet Saturday Samples from other Authors.
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