Fresh Book Friday: The Complete Owen Family Saga

There's so much going on out my way, that I don't really know where to start. I guess Fresh Book Friday is a good Starting Place.

Title: The Complete Owen Family Saga
Author: Marsha Ward
Genre: Civil War and Western Historical Fiction
POD Publication Date: April 28, 2017
Promotional Price: $24.95

Purchase Links: CreateSpace | Amazon 

Book Description:
Marsha Ward did not write the five novels of The Owen Family Saga in order, but there is definitely an optimal reading order, and here it is in one grand box set collection.

The Complete Owen Family Saga is a chronological ordering for optimal reading pleasure and understanding of the five novels within: Gone for a Soldier, The Man from Shenandoah, Spinster's Folly, Ride to Raton, and Trail of Storms.

The Owen Family is headed by Rod Owen, with his wife Julia at his side to hand him a daily dose of love and humility. Their sons and daughters are fun-loving and a bit rowdy, but intensely loyal to God, Virginia, and family. Not even the Civil War and its hardships can quell their spirits, but in quiet times, the losses seem overwhelming.

Join Rod and Julia Owen, their sons, daughters, and neighbors in Colorado Territory and beyond for action, adventure and romance in 19th Century America.

Author's Note:
This box set was first published as an ebook collection, but I was persuaded that some people might like the set in print. Here it is, all 798 pages of it.

The Promotional Price will increase to the Regular Price of $34.95 on June 1, so get the collection while you can at a discount of over $50.00 off the cost of the novels purchased individually.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In other news, Western Stories: Four Tales of the West is now available in both ebook and print, with a brand new cover:

Purchase Links: Print: CreateSpace | Amazon | Barnes and Noble | E-Books: Smashwords (all formats) | Kindle | NOOK | Kobo | Apple iTunes Bookstore

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In addition, I'm in the process of changing the cover for Spinster's Folly due to re-numbering issues with the original print cover that I couldn't overcome. I hope you will like it when it trickles down through the system:

In the next few days I'll have a brand new book for writers available! Keep watch for THE CHECKLIST: Indie Publishing My Way.

From Julia's Kitchen is in Print!

That's right. I just pushed the "Approve" button to enable my POD printer to have the files ready when you order the print edition of From Julia's Kitchen: Owen Family Cookery.

In a few days, the print version will appear on Amazon.com and then on Barnes and Noble.com, but if you just can't wait, here's a link to CreateSpace. The paperback is priced at $6.99 plus shipping.

Here are comments from a couple of peer reviewers about From Julia's Kitchen: Owen Family Cookery.

"Marsha Ward delivers authenticity and charm with recipes used by her fictional character, Julia. It created a delight of memories of cooking with my grandmother--everything from fruit jelly to lye soap. Well done!"
~Jan Martin, author of Heir of Deceit

"Take a delightful trip back in time with From Julia's Kitchen, using recipes from character Julia Owen. Delicious, basic, and unique!"
~Debra Erfert, author of A Strange Twist of Fate

Go buy your print copy of From Julia's Kitchen right now!

Behind the Scenes: Discovery

by Marsha Ward @MarshaWard

I'm so relieved to discover that the Characters in My Head are not dead! They're talking to me again.

Maybe they aren't the characters for the book I thought I was supposed to write, but these are just as important.

I've also discovered some names in my pretend genealogy, revealed as I wrote this morning. Finding out the names of Rod Owen's parents is almost as exciting as finding my own ancestors!

Rulon Peter Owen married Nellie Marie Yancey. Their only surviving child is Roderick Owen. I don't know yet if he has a middle name, but his son, Rulon, does.

I knew the name began with S, for that was revealed to me as I wrote Gone for a Soldier, when Rulon signed his name in a letter to his wife, Mary. A couple of days ago, I learned that his middle name is Scow, the surname of his maternal grandmother, Phoebe Scow Helm.

I know. All this sounds really freaky. This is part of the discovery process of some writers when they dig deep into their characters' lives. It's really quite thrilling to us, and not spooky at all.

Now go read a good book this weekend. May I suggest my latest full-length novel, The Zion Trail? Someone just posted on my Facebook profile that she's finishing up reading it. Oh, she said such lovely things that make my knees quake and my heart beat faster! Here's a part: "Great read. Wonderful history. Endearing characters. Better and better with each turned page."

You may purchase The Zion Trail in ebook formats or in print:

The Zion Trail

$3.99 for ebooks; $12.99 for print books
Ebooks: Smashwords | Kindle | Nook | Kobo | Apple iBooks Store  

Print books: CreateSpace | Amazon | Barnes and Noble

Reading Order of Owen Family Saga Is Changed

by Marsha Ward @MarshaWard

I have gone ahead and changed the order of the books in The Owen Family Saga. From now on, the suggested reading order for these novels is:

Gone for a Soldier
The Man from Shenandoah
Spinster's Folly
Ride to Raton
Trail of Storms

There will be a bit of a disconnect in book order showing at Amazon.com until I can get them straightened out. It may take a while, so spread the word, please.
 
In addition, I'm calling a halt to The Owen Family Saga. I've covered the first seven children, including baby John, in the five novels of the Saga.  I have ideas for Clay and Albert, and I'm waiting for Julianna to reveal her tale, but they have to grow older and mature a bit. These future stories don't fit comfortably into the Saga.

The Saga has been continuous, with no time gaps (okay, there is a timeline overlap in two books, Spinster's Folly and Ride to Raton), and I see a gap of several years between Trail of Storms and other novels down the road. Therefore, I'll call those future novels, novellas and short stories An Owen Family Novel... or Novella... or Story, depending on length.

As I envision the next batch of tales about members of the Owen family, they will be stand-alone stories without any particular suggested reading order.

Other stories about all those neighbor families from the Shenandoah Valley will be tagged as "Shenandoah Neighbors". I have a multitude of ideas for these spin-off stories. Did Ned ever catch up with Miss Maggie? Will Charity Bingham ever remarry? Will Robert and Hannah go to Zion to raise their son in their new faith? What are George and Heppie up to? Does Max Bingham have an interesting story?

A current WIP, Mended by Moonlight, will fall under this series canopy.

I've even wondered about other characters who have appeared or been mentioned in the Saga. When did Jonathan Helm go to Colorado and what did he do there? What is Don Pedro doing?  Neither of these men are from the Shenandoah Valley, so I'll have to come up with another tag for such stories. Just pray that my health and strength holds up long enough for me to empty the Characters out of my Head.

Thank you.
---

Sample Saturday - Ride to Raton

Welcome back to Sample Saturday!

Some writers plan out everything they will ever write. When I finished The Man from Shenandoah, I thought I had written the only full-length novel I would ever write. I thought that was it for these people, and any further long-form fiction.

But evidently I had more to tell. I left James Owen sorely wounded in heart and mind, and he demanded that I give him a chance to work through his pain.

Accordingly, I wrote Ride to Raton (It probably should have been called Ride to Raton Pass, but I liked the sound of the three words, and totally forgot the fact that there is a town in New Mexico named Raton). I thought this novel would finish up my account of the Owen family from Virginia.

Boy, was I wrong! The two books have grown to five, with offshoots and spinoffs going in all directions, and more to come.

It's been quite a while since I've posted any scenes or samples from Ride to Raton. This never-before-posted scene occurs after James is shot in Pueblo, Colorado Territory, by a disgruntled former Union soldier. Randolph Hilbrands, a friend of James's father, has taken him into his home to recuperate.
~~~

“Mister James, Mister James, wake up, please? You must be hungry.”

Surprised to hear his name, James rolled over, grinning at the soothing touch of the water on his naked body, and swam upward from exploring the bottom of the pond behind the flour mill on a creek feeding the Shenandoah River. He tried to shrug off the hand that gently touched his right shoulder, but the movement brought such a flood of pain to his side that he moaned before he could catch himself.

“Please, Mister James. Ma said I wasn’t to come back to the kitchen without feeding you. If you don’t wake up soon, your food’ll be stone cold.”

He thrust his head and shoulders above the water, opened one eye, then immediately shut it against the sunlight that streamed through an open window between muslin drapes and hit his face. His body felt bloated, invaded by aches and twitches. And although he was still naked, he seemed to be lying half covered by a sheet and quilt on a bed inside a room, instead of treading water in the millpond.

Someone besides himself was in the room. “Six little beans!” he grunted, trying to shade his eyes with his left hand, remembering that a girl’s voice had addressed him. “It’s brighter than noon day in here. Can you shut them curtains?”

A young girl put the tray of food on the washstand and ran to the window to pull the drapes together. She returned to stand beside the bed, and James blinked his eyes as she drew near.

The girl was about fifteen, he judged, slender and blonde. She wore a white bib apron with a full skirt over a light weight gingham gown patterned with sprigs of lilacs on a white background. Her wavy hair hung below her shoulders, tied back with a white ribbon. The girl smiled, tentatively, and one dimple appeared in her cheek.

“Who’re you?” he asked, wondering how he came to be between the sheets. The last thing he remembered, he had been lying atop the coverlet, enduring the sting of a thousand hornets as Amanda Hilbrands’ needle pierced the flesh of his side. Now he looked around. The tub was gone from the room, and the towel had disappeared from around his hips. James blinked twice, and reached down to draw the sheet over his chest, grateful that the quilt masked his nakedness from the girl.

“I’m Sylvia. My pa runs the hotel. Don’t you recall he brought you here?”

James shut his eyes for a moment, less to remember his arrival than to recall where he had heard the girl’s voice before. He gave his head a shake, then opened his eyes.

“Yeah,” he sighed, a long drawn out sound, and fingered the bandage around his chest. “Your ma put this thread into me a couple of hours ago.”

“That was two days back!” the girl exclaimed. “You’ve been asleep since then.”

“Six little beans! Did I take a fever?” James got himself onto his elbows, and the girl bent forward to put a pillow behind his back so he could sit partway up. As the sheet slipped and gathered in creases about his waist, the girl’s hair brushed his shoulder.

The blonde hair—he could see it on another head, arranged in tumbling ringlets behind a face twisted with fury. A voice—with the same timbre as this girl’s voice—batted at his ears: “You never came around, Carl Owen. Cecil was here. I have a right to marry a man I can trust!”

James shuddered.

“No.” A frown furrowed Sylvia’s forehead. “I reckon you’re just wore out. You been through a lot of woe since you came to Pueblo City.” She turned away to bring the food tray, then sat gingerly on the edge of the bed with the tray on her lap. “This is a good room, though. Pa let Ida use it for her wedding night.”

A wrenching pain invaded James’s gut. Ida Hilbrands had breathed this air, her body had lain on this bed. The body that should have quieted Carl’s lusts was given to an English dandy—on this bed, beneath this quilt. James swallowed. His throat closed on cotton.

The girl touched his wrist. James’s arm twitched under the cool fingers.

“Are you all right, Mister James?”

He cleared his throat. “You sound like your…older sister.”

“You mean Mary?” The girl’s face brightened. “How is her little baby doing? We all want to see her.” Sylvia picked up a spoon and a bowl and stirred the contents.

James again eased the sheet up to cover his chest. “The little gal’s growing, but no, I wasn’t speaking of Mary.” The sheet bunched in his lap again, and James jerked it upward and pinned it underneath his arm.

“Oh. You mean—”

“Ida! I mean Ida.” His voice rasped in his throat as he said the name.

The girl looked puzzled. “Are you angry with Ida?”

James felt his face settling into ridges as he scowled. Angry? The word was wrong. Wrong and far too weak. I hate her. I despise her wide blue eyes and her lying, cheating heart. He cleared his throat again. “I have reason.” His breath left his lungs in a lengthy shudder.

Sylvia looked at him for a moment, puzzlement crinkling the skin around her eyes. Then she picked up a spoon.

“Here, have a taste of porridge. Ma made it fresh for you today.” Sylvia held the spoon to James’s lips, and he accepted the morsel. “What did Ida do to you? I thought it was Carl she threw over.”

For a moment, he could only chew, then swallow. He sensed no taste, no savor. Before he had a chance to speak, Sylvia put another spoonful of mush into his mouth. He swallowed that down, then, as Sylvia brought up another bite, James shook his head.

They’ll know sooner or later. Pa will come in for supplies, or Ma will send a note to Mrs. H. by a passing stranger. He turned his head to look at the doorway. Will I be gone, first? Or will Danny O’Brien shoot me in the back? He looked at the girl and squeezed his hands into fists. The pain forced his mouth open.

“You didn’t hear, I reckon. Carl got over being mad at Ida. He wed Ellen Bates about a week past.”

“Oh, Mister James! She was pledged to you!” Sylvia dropped the spoon into the bowl, and it clanked against the side.

Instantly, he repented of his burst of words. “Forget I said that. Just forget it!”

“I’m sorry.” Sylvia held her hands tightly together in front of her mouth.

James snorted. “It’s done and over.”

“How could that happen?” The girl moved the tray from her lap to the bed and leaned forward.

Bitterness rose in James’s throat, and he turned his head to swallow it down.

Sylvia bounced once on the bed. “Ida caused it. She sure is mean.”

James shuddered anew, slumping against the pillow. “Go away,” he said.

“What?”

“Take your gruel and leave me be. I’m weary.”

“But you didn’t finish.”

“Tell your Ma I fell asleep again. It won’t be a lie. Look. I’m nodding off now.” James shut his eyes.

He heard her get to her feet and pick up the tray. “I reckon I tired you out, talking so much.”

“It’s not you. I’m wore out, like you said.” James twitched the quilt higher on his chest. Suddenly he bolted upright, winced, then lay down again. “You’d better get your papa, girl. I got to put myself deeper in his debt.”
~~~

If you haven't yet read Ride to Raton, here are links for print and ebook copies:
Print books $15.95: Amazon | Barnes and Noble
ebooks $3.99: Smashwords all formats | Kindle | nook | Kobo | iTunes Bookstore

Please remember that in this new world of publishing, YOUR reviews are vital to authors. Go post a review on any of my books, novellas, or short stories you have read. They don't have to be long. You only need to express what you thought about the work, and perhaps why. Did you like the characters? Did the history of the period excite you? Was the story enjoyable? Would you recommend the work to your friends? Writing a review is your chance to do just that.

Thank you!

Sample Saturday: Blood at Haught Springs

Welcome to Sample Saturday! A new, prosperous-looking customer has walked through the door of Haught's General Store and Commercial Emporium, and Wesley Haught has turned to be of service. He's had a busy morning, and his mood has been soured from an encounter with his younger brother, but now perhaps things were looking up.. 

This tidbit is from my forthcoming novella, Blood at Haught Springs.
~~~

Wes scraped up a smile for the new customer. “I'm sorry for the wait, sir. I'm Wesley Haught. What can I do for you?”

“My name is Ferrell Badger. I was informed that this is the place to lease property in town. Is that correct?” The man's voice held a no-nonsense note.

Wes's smile broadened. I thought that suit meant money. “Yes, sir. Haught Enterprises handles such transactions. I'm at your service.” He wouldn't bother calling Lonnie to take on the job like he was supposed to do, since he'd been acting like a jerk this morning. It would serve him right if Wes brought in the business instead. Maybe Dad will spare me a little praise, for once.

“I was given the name of Grove Haught.” The man pursed his lips. “Is he here?”

“He's my father,” Wes replied. He shook his head. “He's home mending from a broken leg.” Dad's injuries were somewhat more serious than merely a broken leg, but the stranger didn't need to know that. “I can help you, sir.” Much better than Lonnie can. “Does this concern a house?” He hoped it did. His glance shifted briefly to the girl, who was presently occupied in inspecting a bolt of lavender-colored cloth, feeling the texture of the fabric as she ran her fingers over the surface.

When Mr. Badger made a sound, Wes pulled his attention back to the man.

“A house, yes, but also a building. I noticed the brick structure at the corner appears to be vacant.”

Wes felt his pulse quicken. Two leases! “Ah. That was the bank, but the crisis a few . . .” His words trailed off as he realized he wasn't putting the town's best foot forward. “Yes, that building is available, Mr. Badger. I can show it to you right away.” I hope Lonnie swept it out this week.

He stooped to rummage for the key in a box beneath the counter, and ran the housing possibilities through his mind. The same financial downturn that had forced Banker Pierce from his business had left his large house empty, as well. The no-nonsense set of Mr. Badger's shoulders, combined with his fine suit, spoke of wealth and privilege. The man wouldn't look twice at the rundown Peterson homestead, but the banker's home was a much grander affair, well suited to a rich gentleman's needs.

Wes remembered the place well. After all, his father had built it for his mother when times had been better. Before she and his little sister had died. Before the pain of living in an empty house had become too overwhelming. Before Dad had sold the mansion to Mr. Pierce.

He straightened, holding two tagged keys in his palm. “We can also lease you a fine house, Mr. Badger. You may have seen it as you drove into town. The large white house beside the river?” He gestured in the direction of the site out of town.

The man seemed to consider his recall of the property for a moment. “That could fit my requirements,” he said, frowning a bit, as though he must inspect every inch to be sure.

“Since we can walk over to the bank building, I'll show you around that first, then I'll hitch up the buggy and take you out to see the house,” Wes said, his eyes wandering toward the daughter. “The young lady might like to give her thoughts on the habitation.” He hoped his voice held the same firm note of confidence that his father's always had as he tended to land and property affairs. Wes very much wanted to make the girl's acquaintance, as soon as he could.

“Yes, I suppose Nina should approve of the house,” Mr. Badger said.

Nina. That was her name. Wes's toes tingled. That hadn't happened over a female since Mary Beth Cockrum threw him over in favor of Calvin Greenwood six months before. Now the sensation had returned. Woo-eee! Nina!
~~~

While you're waiting to see what's next for Wes Haught, I suggest you pick up a copy of my new novel, The Zion Trail:

$3.99 for ebooks; $12.99 for print books
ebooks: Smashwords | Kindle | Nook | Kobo | Apple iBooks Store
print books: CreateSpace | Amazon | Barnes and Noble

The Final Launch for The Zion Trail

At last! The Zion Trail is available in a print edition!

I know it's been a long wait, but the print book should be readily available for purchase at the following sites for $12.99:

CreateSpace  |  Amazon  |  Barnes and Noble

The book is sized at 5.5 by 8.5 inches, features a silky matte cover, and contains a lively tale of old-fashioned romantic adventures and derring-do, set in the early period of the LDS (Mormon) Church.

Here's the novel's description:
On a hot summer day, young Elijah Marshall stops plowing to give a drink of water to two strangers and invite them to lunch with his family. His neighborly act sets in motion events that will drastically change his future.

The strangers share a new religion, which the family embraces. But the neighbors want no part of Mormons. Multiple acts of unkindness and starvation drive the Marshall family to flee to the Mormon city on the banks of the Mississippi River, Nauvoo.

Then the path of Elijah's life takes perilous detours, with twists and turns he never expected to make.

In a 19th century coming-of-age story ranging from Pennsylvania to the Great Salt Lake Valley, Elijah plunges into harrowing adventures filled with sorrow, danger, and romance.

I quickly let you know that Elijah goes by the nickname of 'Lije' and that his family consists of father, mother, older sister, younger brother, and little sister. They live in a rural area of Pennsylvania, tilling the soil and raising the usual crops and livestock for the times.

From there, it gets complicated.

I hope you will enjoy reading The Zion Trail as much as I enjoyed writing it.

In case you prefer reading fiction in ebooks, here are those purchase links:
Kindle | Nook | iTunes | Kobo | Smashwords (all ebook formats)

Sample Saturday: Mended by Moonlight

Welcome to Sample Saturday. Today's tidbit is from my forthcoming work, Mended by Moonlight. Ella Ruth Allen Owen is not faring well in the aftermath of the American Civil War. She's been struggling with headaches, but now, a new malady is plaguing her.
~~~

Momma did not press Ella Ruth to accompany her on the day's visits, and Ella Ruth retired to her room. Lula had a cold cloth waiting, and Ella Ruth sank into slumber, fending off the painful headache until she remembered no more.

Bye and bye she found herself struggling in the candle-lit parlor with a bolt of lavender cloth that unwrapped above her head, swirling her into its folds until she was caught tight, arms pinioned to her sides. She tried to fight, to wriggle out of the binding fabric, but it held her fast, until she fell in a heap and dissolved into tears.

She awoke then, screaming and thrashing against her encumbering bedclothing.

Lula bent over her, trying to sooth her with soft words as she tugged at the bedspread and sheet.

When she felt the bedclothes release her, Ella Ruth sat up, panting and whimpering, until the her panic subsided.

"Missy, it was a bad dream, no more. You be fine soon."
~~~

Will Ella Ruth really be all right, as Lula promises? She has vowed to remain in mourning in honor of her husband, Ben Owen, but will her parents force her to abandon the secluded life she wants to live?

Stay tuned. While you wait, be sure to pick up a copy of my new novel, The Zion Trail, available at all major online retailers.

The Zion Trail - currently in ebook formats

(Print coming March 25):
ebooks: 

Smashwords | Kindle | Nook | Kobo | Apple iBooks Store 

Sample Saturday: Blood at Haught Spring 3

Welcome to Haught Sp-- Sample Saturday! In this sample from Blood at Haught Springs, a novella I'll be publishing later this year, Wesley Haught is taking his new clients out to see the house they will be leasing.
~~~

As soon as he could get the buggy hitched, Wes drove it around to the store and halted the horses. He swung down and handed the girl up into the rear seat, although he would have preferred having her beside him. It was the father's place to sit up front, so he could see the house straight away as they approached it. That was more important than Wes being able to make a pitch for the daughter's attention. Even so, his toes tingled slightly.

As Wes drove out of town, he endeavored to make light conversation in order to save his sales push for when Mr. Badger saw the place.

“Have you folks come a long way to reach Haught Springs?”

“Montana,” Mr. Badger replied.

Wes kept quiet, hoping the man would expand on the one-word explanation. When he said no more, Wes asked, “Brutal winters?”

“Very.”

“You'll find the winters to be moderate in our area. You've made a good choice, coming here.”

“My sister, little Annie, couldn't get used to the cold,” Nina said from the back seat. “It made her ill.”

Wes envisioned a small girl shivering in a threadbare coat, like a character in a Dickens story, and then figured that was foolish. This man had enough money to keep his family warm.

He tried again. “What sort of commerce are you in, Mr. Badger? The bank building will need renovations, I imagine.”

“Not so. It suits as it is.”

“It does?”

“I'm opening a bank.”

“Well, that's good news. We could use a bank hereabouts. Business has picked up lately.”

“So I hear.”

And that was as far as the conversation stretched. Wes wondered what his father would have done to prod more responses from Mr. Badger. He hoped Miss Nina was more of a conversationalist. He could scarcely wait to get her alone to find out.

The silence continued as he drove the horses at a sprightly rate down onto the river road, thoughts of the lovely girl behind him filling his mind.

Miss Nina laid a hand on his shoulder and asked, “Is the house much farther? I’m so anxious to see it.”

He swung his head to look toward her, his toes tingling so much he could scarcely respond to her question. “It’s not so much farther on,” he finally managed to say. Her hand lay so softly upon him that he wondered if it was really made of flesh and bones.

“I’m glad. We’ve traveled so far in anticipation of arriving at a good place.”

“Haught Springs is the best place hereabouts to settle, Miss,” he replied. “We have abundant water from the river, and good weather. Your family has made a good choice.”

“Father is quite astute,” she murmured, and patted his shoulder.

He thought he would melt. The skin around her huge blue eyes crinkled a bit as she smiled at him.
~~~

Discount pricing for Read an Ebook Week lasts through tonight, March 12, 2016, at 11:59 p.m. Pacific Time.

Click here to go to my Profile Page at Smashwords.com, where you will find a list of my books and stories.

Use the coupon code RAE25 at checkout for the following discounted items:

The Zion Trail
Gone for a Soldier
The Man from Shenandoah
Ride to Raton
Trail of Storms
Spinster's Folly
Western Stories: Four Tales of the West

The following items are regularly FREE:

The Owen Family Saga Sampler
Thumps and Losers: Two Short Stories
Rapid Recipes for Writers . . . And Other Busy People

Use coupon code RAE25 at checkout.

Sample Saturday: Blood at Haught Springs 2

Welcome to Sample Saturday! I'm continuing this week with another tidbit from Blood at Haught Springs, a novella I'll be publishing later this year.

Wes Haught has just negotiated not one, but two leases to a newcomer in Haught Springs, a frontier town in west Texas.
~~~

Wes stuck his head into the back room and said, “I have an errand, so I’m leaving you in charge of the store.”  He didn't bother to explain to Lonnie where he was going before he shepherded Mr. Badger and his fascinating daughter toward the door. Let his lazy brother think what he wanted.

He opened the door wide, and Mr. Badger took the lead, stalking out onto the porch. Wes smiled covertly at Miss Nina behind her father's back. She returned the smile with a little arching of her eyebrow, which Wes took to be a good sign.

Showing the building to Mr. Badger seemed to take no time at all, even though Lonnie clearly had ignored the weekly maintenance. As Wes took him through, the man nodded at the features: the railing that divided the customer area from the working space, the teller cages, the banker's office, the back room, and the rear entrance. Mr. Badger agreed to the lease conditions and price without hesitation, and they shook hands on the matter.

“I'll draw up the paperwork and bring it to you at the hotel,” Wes said, exiting the building. “While I put the horses into harness, you and your daughter can sit in the shade of the awning in front of the store. I won't be long.”

Miss Nina lagged slightly behind her father, glancing back over her shoulder and wiggling her fingers in temporary farewell. Wes felt as though she had planted a kiss on his cheek.

After she turned away, he punched the air in elation. Let Lonnie gnash his teeth with rage. If Wes got ahead, it was Lonnie's own fault for being a lazy lout. Dad couldn't quibble over Wes’s management of the business if he pulled off making two leases in one day. He hurried around the block to get the buggy hitched.
~~~

I hope you have purchased your copy of The Zion Trail by now. If you haven't, here are the purchase links:

Kindle | Barnes and Noble (Nook)
iTunes (Apple iBook Store) 
Kobo | Smashwords (all formats)

See you next week! 
 

Sample Saturday - Blood at Haught Springs

Although I hate to leave The Zion Trail behind, I will share a tidbit from a new work that will launch later this year. Here's the description:

Wes Haught wants his brother to grow up and take on his share of the chores at the family's general store. Lonnie Haught dreams of the day he can leave home and use his gun. Both brothers resent the added work their father's recent accident has laid on them.

When a new family arrives in Haught Springs, Wes falls for the fair-haired daughter, while Lonnie seizes upon the father's offer of a job as his chance for escape. But lies unravel and lives hang in the balance as brother fights against brother.

Fiery emotions clash in a new Western adventure from the author of the acclaimed Owen Family Saga.
~~~

Wesley Haught opened a barrel of beans, set the wooden top aside, and prepared to sack up ten pounds for his waiting customer, Mrs. Slonaker. The bell over the door of the store jangled, and he looked up. A tall, bearded man came through the door. Wes was sure he hadn't visited Haught's General Store and Commercial Emporium before. Perhaps he was just passing through town. Wes appraised the dark suit the man wore, made of expensive fabric and nicely cut. He must have money. Maybe he’ll spend some of it today. He smiled at the thought.

“Morning,” Wes said. “I'll be with you shortly.”

“Take your time,” the stranger replied, but with a terseness to his voice that indicated he was not in the habit of waiting his turn. He stroked a nicely trimmed yellow beard that had two streaks of gray. His hair—that is, what Wes could see below the man’s bowler hat—was a lighter color of yellow, as though it had faded over the years.

Wes bagged and weighed the beans, then tied the sack closed with a bit of twine. He'd just turned to add the beans to Mrs. Slonaker's order piled on the counter, when the door's bell jangled again as it opened. A rustle of skirts told him he had another female customer.

“Lonnie,” he called over his shoulder into the back room. Lazy lay-about, he thought, his mood turning sour. At nineteen, Lonnie was three years younger than Wes, and he was the worst brother in town. In his mind's eye, he saw Lonnie sitting at the work table, feet propped on the top. Playing with a pistol. As usual. The fact that Dad didn’t seem to see Lonnie’s shiftlessness was like a knife in Wes’s guts.

“Lonnie! Get out here. Folks are lining up.” He hated using a brusque tone of voice in front of customers, but Lonnie wouldn't move unless he thought Wes meant it.

“In a minute,” Lonnie hollered.

From the sounds coming from the back room—the clicks of rotation and soft swishes of metal seating into metal, Wes knew his brother was fitting cartridges into the cylinder of his pistol. “Humph.” Wes turned back in time to see the new arrival close the door, sashay toward the man in the suit, and take his arm.

“Father,” she said. “Annie and the driver are at the hotel.”
~~~

I hope you got your copy of The Zion Trail by now. If you haven't, here are purchase links for you:

Kindle | Barnes and Noble (Nook)
iTunes (Apple iBook Store) 
Kobo | Smashwords (all formats)

I received the proof for the print book edition yesterday. When I finish reading through it yet another time to check for any possible errors, I'll take whatever action I need to, and the book will proceed on its path toward actual printing. I'll let you know when it's available as a print edition.

Fresh Book Friday - The Zion Trail

It's Friday!!! Can't stop dancing around the room. I get to feature my own novel today for Fresh Book Friday, so here are all the details:

Title: The Zion Trail
Author: Marsha Ward
Genre: Western Religious Fiction
Publisher: WestWard Books
Date of Publication: February 19, 2016
Price: $3.99 (ebook formats)
Print edition (March 25) $12.99

Book Description:
On a hot summer day, young Elijah Marshall stops plowing to give a drink of water to two strangers and invite them to lunch with his family. His neighborly act sets in motion events that will drastically change his future.

The strangers share a new religion, which the family embraces. But the neighbors want no part of Mormons. Multiple acts of unkindness and starvation drive the Marshall family to flee to the Mormon city on the banks of the Mississippi River, Nauvoo.

Then the path of Elijah's life takes perilous detours, with twists and turns he never expected to make.

In a 19th century coming-of-age story ranging from Pennsylvania to the Great Salt Lake Valley, Elijah plunges into harrowing adventures filled with sorrow, danger, and romance.

Excerpt:
I spent a nervous night under the wagon, anticipating my meeting with strangers. In truth, my family and I would be the interlopers, but that thought did not calm my anxiety. At last the dawn came, and with it, the Sabbath day. I ate the food Ma gave me, but it sat upon my stomach like a lump of rock: undigested and indigestible.

We left our camp nearly forty-five minutes before the appointed hour for the meeting, in case we should get lost. I had worked myself into quite an unsettled condition by the time I pulled the horses to a halt at the appointed street corner.

We had arrived in the center of the town. The streets were practically deserted, cloaked in an appropriate stillness for the Lord’s Day. However, I could see no building resembling a church.

“Are we there, Lije?” Mary Eliza called from the back of the wagon.

I groaned inwardly. She had asked that same question time and time again during our travels. I wondered how Pa stood her infantile questions.

“I’ll find out, Pumpkin.”

I looked from one building to the next, seeking to verify that we had come to the correct intersection in the city. Ma, who sat beside me on the wagon seat, looked as puzzled as I felt. She glanced at the paper in her hand, furrowed her brows, and nodded to me.

We were at the right location, but the directions we had been given had brought us to a saloon.

I stood and surveyed the four corners of the intersection. I was mistaken. I counted one, two, three, four saloons, each one firmly planted on its own corner.

“This cannot be correct,” I muttered, wrapping the lines around the brake handle. “I’ll go ask where the Mormon’s church house is to be found.” I vaulted to the ground and looked around for a friendly face I might approach for guidance.

A sandy-haired man dressed in his Sunday best, accompanied by a woman and four children, came into view from around a corner, walked past us, then stopped before the saloon closest to us. He pulled a ring of keys from his pocket.

Surely he wasn’t taking his family into that den of iniquity?

Sure enough, he unlocked the door, opened it, and headed inside.

Perplexed by his actions, I looked for another avenue for enlightenment, but none was at hand. Needing information, I sidled toward the man and his family, who were filing after him through the doorway.

I caught up to him inside the saloon. “I beg your indulgence,” I said. “Might you give me directions?”

“Certainly, brother,” he replied, which I thought was a strange greeting.

“I’m looking for the Mormon edifice.”

“Edifice?”

Perhaps I hadn’t imagined a grand enough structure. I tried again. “Cathedral?”

“Oh, you’re looking for their meeting place.”

“Yes, I—”

“You’ve found it, lad.”

“What? Here?” I looked around the bar room in confusion. A depiction of a wanton woman hanging behind the bar caused me to blush.

The man chuckled as the woman I presumed to be his wife handed him a covered basket. “Yes. We have no building of our own, so we rent the saloon. It’s closed on Sundays, you know.”

“You’re a Mormon?”

“Indeed, I am.” He stuck out his hand and grasped mine. “Ralph Peters, at your service. I’m the branch president here.”

“Branch president?” I shook his hand, wondering what the words signified.

He must have guessed at my confusion. “I’m the local leader. Are you of our faith?”

“Newly baptized,” I told him, and pointed toward the door. “My mother and my brother and sister are outside. The elders said we were to come here to meetings.”

He nodded and placed the basket upon the bar. As he took off his hat and coat and began to roll up his shirtsleeves, I shifted my gaze sideways at the bottles lined up behind the bar and noticed that a piece of cloth had been draped over the painting, thankfully covering the nakedness of the soiled woman.

I looked further around the room. A young man of about my age and his younger brother were engaged in stacking the tables in a corner. Bright red hair peeked out from under their caps. A girl nudged a chair into a row. Her braids were not red, but a pleasing yellow color.

Evidently ready to engage in more conversation, Mr. Peters said, “When they last stopped by, Elders Caldwell and Long mentioned they had made converts of several families out in the county. Did your father not come?”

“He’s laid up with injury,” I said. “My older sister is tending to him. He thought it important that we come.”

“And rightly so,” Mr. Peters said. “Saints must gather together for strength, particularly hereabouts.”

Remembering my manners, I gave my name, and that of my mother and siblings.

“Well now, young Brother Marshall, bring in your family and help us make the place decent. We’ll begin on the hour.”

Endorsements: 
“Once again, Marsha Ward has woven an exciting historical novel. Elijah Marshall's adventures, trials, and faith building experiences as he journeys on The Zion Trail will keep readers turning pages until the end!”
 ~Loralee Evans, author of The Shores of Bountiful, and other novels.

“Marsha Ward's genius rises to her highest peak in The Zion Trail, with spot-on period terminology and meticulous attention to detail. It pulled me back to that time when my fourth-great-grandfather converted to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and took that Zion trail, and beyond.” 
~Debra Erfert, author of Window of Time, Changes of the Heart, It Takes a Sleuth, and Relative Evil.

“Marsha Ward has long been one of my favorite Western authors. She is a masterful storyteller who paints a picture so vivid, I feel as though I'm peeking back in time and catching a glimpse of life a hundred years before I was born. I highly recommend The Zion Trail.”
~Amelia C. Adams, author of the Kansas Crossroads series.

“A wonderful book with heartwarming characters. I enjoyed every moment of it.”
~Rebecca Shelley, author of the Dragonbound series.

“From an unexpected beginning in Pennsylvania, Elijah Marshall travels through heartbreak to claim his purpose in life. While the story illustrates the early history of the LDS church, the message is one of personal triumph through perseverance, culminating in a most satisfying resolution you won’t want to end.”
~Carolyn Steele, author of Soda Springs and Willow Springs.

Purchase Links for ebooks:
Kindle | Nook | iTunes | Kobo | Smashwords (all ebook formats)

Author Bio:
Amazon best-selling author Marsha Ward writes authentic historical fiction set in 19th Century America, and contemporary romance. She was born in the sleepy little town of Phoenix, Arizona, in a simpler time. With plenty of room to roam among the chickens and citrus trees, Marsha enjoyed playing with neighborhood chums, but always had her imaginary friend, cowboy Johnny Rigger Prescott, at her side. Now she makes her home in a forest in the mountains of Arizona. She loves to hear from her readers.

Find Marsha online:
marshaward.com
facebook.com/authormarshaward
marshaward.blogspot.com
twitter.com/MarshaWard
authormarshaward@gmail.com

Join Marsha's Readers Mailing List to be notified of new releases: Click here  

Sample Saturday: The Zion Trail

Welcome to Sample Saturday!

I'm pleased to report that formatting is finished for the ebook version of The Zion Trail, and it only lacks some "publisher" work before it is released next month. See that box over to the right? The one that says, "Enter your email address..." That is where you subscribe to my Readers Mailing List so you will be among the first to learn the Launch Date of this brand new novel.

Am I excited? Maybe not as much as when the house on the hillside behind my house burned to the ground on Tuesday night, but that's a different kind of excitement (more like terror).

Instead, I am excited in a good way.

I'm also excited that the final version of the ebook cover is finished. Here. It. Is:

See the tag line? Guess what that means.

Enough suspense. Here's the sample for today. The Marshall family is about to make a huge change in their lives:
~~~

Late one night I awoke to use the chamber pot and heard my mother sobbing to my father that she could no longer bear to live here. The next morning, he presented us with a plan: instead of continuing to figure out how to plant crops this season, at the end of March we would gather to Zion, which meant we would begin a journey to Nauvoo, Illinois, on the banks of the Mississippi River.

Oh, the fuss and feathers that flew over that scheme! Sarah refused to go, crying the night through and arising with swollen, red eyes and a severe attitude not much mended by sleep. I had no patience with her. Taxed by all that had occurred, even the thought of losing my field did not deter my hope that another place—any place—would be better than this one.

Pa and John and I bore the brunt of carrying out the plan in the limited time until March thirty-first. Ma was still too weak to participate in much of the work, Mary Eliza was too young, and Sarah refused to perform any labor having to do with our removal. Accordingly, Pa tasked me with many kitchen chores. I therefore learned to accomplish many housewifely chores, and didn’t regret a minute of it.

John found my cheerfulness in the kitchen to be strange, and ragged me about it unmercifully. I didn’t care. I was desperate to get to Zion. If cooking and cleaning up and doing whatever I could to make it possible was unmanly, I simply did not care. Who was to notice? We had no visitors, no nearby kin, no one to wonder at my unnatural education in kitchen skills.

Only one thing chafed me: sharing kitchen time with Sarah. Although I wondered where my former compassion for my sister had gone, I had grown impatient with her constant haranguing against my faith, and her adamant refusal to obey our father. In my mind, she lived under her father’s roof; therefore, she owed him obedience.
~~~

Okay, what do you think is going to happen next?

Go sign up for the Readers Mailing List over there at the top of the right sidebar. See you next week!

First Annual Payson Book Festival

Yes, the first annual Payson Book Festival takes place on Saturday, this Saturday, July 25, from 9 a.m. until 4 p.m. at Gila Community College, 201 N. Mud Springs Road, Payson, ARIZONA (because other states have a Payson, too).

I will be at Table 46 in Room 403 throughout the day, except when I am giving my presentation, “Literacy Begins at Home: Build Reading into Family Activities,” from 11:00 to 11:30 a.m. in Room 401.

All of my Owen Family Saga novels will be in the Bookstore in Room 402 for your purchase. I'll be happy to sign and personalize your books.

Here’s a map of the layout:

Come meet over 60 authors from Arizona who will be on hand to talk to you about their books. Their work represents many genres, including children's books; mystery, western, fantasy, and romance fiction; and non fiction. Entertainment and food vendors are a part of the fun.

I look forward to seeing you on Saturday! Please tell your friends about this family-friendly event.