Sample Saturday - Mended by Moonlight

Hi! Welcome back to Sample Saturday. I've been able to get my main character, Ella Ruth Owen, to talk to me again. Good thing! Mended by Moonlight is on my publishing schedule for this year.

Ella Ruth has gotten herself a paying position at a convalescent hospital in Charlottesville, Virginia, and she starts the job today!
~~~

"What on earth have I gotten myself into?" Ella Ruth whispered to herself the next morning as she debated on what a "Matron" would wear in a Yankee hospital. She began to pace the room, attired only in her shift. Nothing came to mind. The doctor had given her no instructions, no advisement at all except for an arrival time. If she didn't solve her attire dilemma soon, she would be late. She was already cold. Heaven forbid she should start to shiver before she even left the house.

Lula stood patiently at the open door of the wardrobe, silently awaiting her direction.

Ella Ruth turned and strode toward Lula, whose eyebrows had raised expectantly in the last few moments. The girl would soon give an exasperated huff and adopt a less restrained attitude. Ella Ruth threw up her hands.

"What do I wear," she asked. "I have no experience of Yankee hospitals."

"Your uncle, Doctor Allen, he didn't complain none when you wore your ordinary dresses," Lula said, her expression starting to harden.

"All right. All right," Ella Ruth conceded. "Find me something."

When Lula touched the skirt of the gingham dress Momma brought into her room last week, a purple gingham dress sprigged with white flowers, Ella Ruth burst out, "No!" and then took a breath and thought better of railing at her servant. "It's not warm enough," she said in a more moderate tone. That was true enough. Momma meant for her to wear it come spring.

Lula had the temerity to grin. "I's joking with you, Missy. Here's your old wool skirt, plenty good for the Yankees and with wear enough in it for the whole winter."

Ella Ruth nodded, not sure whether she should be outraged or thankful that Lula could dredge up a sense of humor for the occasion. The black skirt would suit. She could wear the black bodice from yesterday, as well.

"I reckon you'll want this apron, Missy," Lula said as she held up a very large white number that surely came out of Cook's wardrobe.

"Where did you get that?"

Lula chuckled. "Cook has three. She won't miss this one."

Ella Ruth felt her nerves settling. Of course she should wear a protective garment over her clothing. Who knew what she would encounter at the hospital? Soiled bandages always made a mess, and if any of the Yankees suffered from illness instead of wounds, there might be more unpleasantness to face.

"Thank you, Lula," she said, and her shoulders relaxed. She gave her head a tentative shake. No pain. Perhaps hard work was to be the cure for her headaches.
~~~

While you're waiting to find out how Ella Ruth's first day on the job goes, be sure to pick up a copy of my latest novel, The Zion Trail:

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

And here's the newest piece to read, my novella, Blood at Haught Springs:

Available as an Ebook only
$2.99 at the following online retail outlets:
Smashwords all formats | Kindle | Nook | Kobo | Apple iTunes Bookstore

Sample Saturday - May 7, 2016, Mended by Moonlight

Welcome to Sample Saturday. I'm sharing this week from my work-in-progress (WIP), Mended by Moonlight.

Ella Ruth's mother has arranged a consultation for Ella Ruth with a physician at the new soldier's hospital to investigate the cause of her persistent headaches. Unfortunately, Momma delayed telling Ella Ruth about the appointment until the day she was to appear.

Of course, this has resulted in "words" being exchanged between the two women.
~~~

Mended by Moonlight

"It will do you good to take a drive in the fresh air," Momma said.

"The cold air, you mean."

"Bracing air. You've been indoors too much, my dear."

"All right. I'll go, if Thomas may drive me. There's no need for you to put yourself out to accompany me," Ella Ruth said, and went to get her heavy cloak without waiting for her mother's agreement.

During the buggy trip, Ella Ruth sat stiffly beside the elderly servant, glad for the lap robe that prevented him from seeing how tightly her hands were clasped together. Where are my steady nerves? Did they leave me when Ben died? So far today, her head had not tormented her. She hoped the physician would conclude that if she were allowed to mourn in peace, the headaches would disappear.

When Thomas turned the horse into the drive to the hospital, Ella Ruth saw that a comfortable sum of money had been expended to construct the buildings. Where did they get the money? she wondered. Surely the Union is as bankrupt as we are from the expenses of the war.

Thomas drove up to the largest building, halted the horse, and carefully alighted from the seat to help Ella Ruth down from the buggy. She told Thomas to stay with the horse, took a deep breath to steel herself, and walked through the front door.

Inside, light played on white walls of a small, empty vestibule. She pulled a bit of paper from her reticule and pushed through another door to encounter a hallway where a young man with no arm to fill his pinned-up left sleeve strolled past the door.

"Excuse me," she said, embarrassed to hear how timid her voice sounded.

The young man turned toward her and inclined his head slightly. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Might you inform me where Doctor . . ." She consulted the paper in her hand. "Where I might find Dr. Marshall?"

"Are you the new Matron?"

"Um, I-- I have a consultation arranged with the doctor." She twisted the paper between her hands, disconcerted by the man's direct gaze.

"Ah. He'll be in the wards this time of day." He gestured toward a set of double doors on the right. "It would be more proper if you waited in his office. That's down the other way, the last door on the left."

"Thank you, you're most kind," she said to the first Yankee soldier she'd seen since Ben died. "I'll wait."

She turned away and fled down the corridor. She badly needed to sit.
~~~

I hope everything will go well at the consultation for Ella Ruth. Do you think the doctor will be able to discover the cause of the headaches?

While we're waiting to find out, pick up a copy of my new novel, The Zion Trail:

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

Sample Saturday: Mended by Moonlight 2

Welcome to Sample Saturday. This tidbit is from my work-in-progress (WIP), Mended by Moonlight. Ella Ruth has suffered a nightmare.
~~~

"I'm not subject to nightmares," she protested, brushing her hair away from her face. Her muscles ached from struggling. Her head ach-- No, it felt fuzzy, but did not ache at present. She slipped off the edge of the bed, wanting no more of it for now.

The cold air in the room raised goose flesh along her arms. She hastened to the fireplace and tried in vain to stir the dead embers to life.

"I'll get Thomas to build a fire, Missy," Lula said, and started to leave the room.

"Wait." Ella Ruth held up her hand. "Is it night? How long did I sleep?"

Lula turned in the doorway. "It be cloudy outside, Missy. You slept about a hour. Do you want a fire?"

Ella Ruth began to pace, rubbing her bare arms. She had to get out of this confining room.

"No. Help me dress. I will take a walk in the garden to warm me."

"The garden pretty bare this time of year," Lula protested. "Nuthin' to see out there."

"Nevertheless, I need the air." She paused and looked at her servant. "Did Momma leave?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You will say nothing of this . . . bad dream to anyone. Do you understand?"

Lula nodded, a baffled look on her face.

"No one. Tell me you understand."

Yes, ma'am. Missy, I don't tell tales."
~~~

While you're waiting to see what situation Ella Ruth will get into next, I'd like to suggest that you pick up a copy of my new novel, The Zion Trail, available at all major online retailers. $3.99 for ebooks; $12.99 for print books.

ebooks:
Smashwords | Kindle | Nook | Kobo | Apple iBooks Store
print books:
CreateSpace | Amazon | Barnes and Noble

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: Mended by Moonlight

Welcome to Sample Saturday! In this scene from Mended by Moonlight, which I expect to release in July of this year, Ella Ruth Allen has been obliged by her mother to accompany her on a social visit. Ella Ruth is a widow, who thinks never to marry again.
~~~

Mended by Moonlight

Ella Ruth sat in Mrs. Patience Costain's parlor, wondering if she was expected to say anything to the woman, or if Momma would carry the burden of the conversation.

So far, all she had been required to do was nod and attempt to smile, and drink sweet tea as she nibbled on a cookie. Then Mrs. Costain turned her body slightly in Ella Ruth's direction.

"Have you been widowed for long, my dear?"

Ella Ruth's hand shook and she hastened to set down her tea cup. "More than six months, ma'am."

The woman smiled brightly at her. "Oh. Isn't it about time you looked for another husband?"

The woman's words sent shock cascading through her body until it left her numb. Ella Ruth attempted to subdue the anger that followed. She drew in a large volume of air, then answered slowly. "I do not feel haste is in order, ma'am."

"But six months! If you wait much longer, all the eligible men will be snapped up."

"Many of our men have died, ma'am," Ella Ruth pointed out, her back so stiff that pain radiated into her.

"Oh, but I expect many a young man from the North to arrive presently, seeking a new place to make a start. My husband has several excellent properties to offer. Who else can afford to buy them?"

Although she tried to master it, Ella Ruth's outrage must have been apparent to her mother, for she quickly gave an answer.

"I'm sure my daughter will seek a husband when she is ready, Mrs. Costain." She set down her own cup and brushed at her lap. "I thank you for the pleasant visit. We must be on our way." She rose and beckoned to Ella Ruth. "Come, my dear. We have other visits to make."

Departing as rapidly as she could, Ella Ruth waited on the stoop for her mother to bid Mrs. Costain farewell, then accompanied her to the buggy.

"The nerve of that woman," Momma said, tossing her head with enough force to make the feathers on her hat dance.

Ella Ruth took her hand and pressed it. Momma had some sympathies for her after all.
~~~

Thank you for visiting. My next novel, The Zion Trail, will be published in February, 2016. The initial release will be as an ebook. If my Readers show there is sufficient demand, I will create a print edition. See below how to let me know. *

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* Contact me using the Contact Form in the right sidebar to tell me you'll purchase The Zion Trail as a print book. I look forward to hearing from you!

Sample Saturday Mended by Moonlight

Welcome to Sample Saturday. This snippet is from my new Work-in-Progress (WIP), Mended by Moonlight.
~~~

Dr. Alexander Marshall opened the door to his small office, thrust his fingers through the front of his straight black hair, and stopped abruptly. A woman dressed in black clothing from tip to toe sat in the chair facing his untidy desk. She turned her head at the sound of his entrance. The skin of her face was pale as the pallor of death, but her features were fashioned with exquisite symmetry. Pale blonde hair peeked out from under her black bonnet, and he drew in his breath, startled by the unexpected sight of such beauty in these dismal circumstances.

She was a young woman, scarcely old enough to put up her hair, although he could see signs of wartime privation in the hollows of her cheeks. He noted the lack of a companion, and wondered who she could be, come here so boldly, so alone.

He let go of the doorknob and allowed the door to swing shut behind him, enclosing the two of them together—alone—in his crowded office.

The woman had shifted the paperwork that had previously occupied the chair to the floor. He felt the annoyance, no, the embarrassment of having put her to undue labor because of his untidiness.

Suddenly aware that a bloody apron still covered his clothing, he removed it with haste, balled it up, and flung it into a corner. Then he dipped a hand into the pocket of his trousers and took out the unread note he'd received that morning from Dr. Clark, the hospital director.

The only response from his guest came from her large blue eyes, which followed his every move. Otherwise, her rigid posture and tightly-clasped hands indicated uncertainty—or fear.

"Miss . . ." he began, then realized she wore the attire of a widow. He glanced at the note. Please attend to Mrs. Allen before noon. She suffers headaches. "Mrs. Allen, I am Doctor Marshall." He dropped into the chair behind his desk and laid the note on the surface before him.

"I am Mrs. Benjamin Owen," the widow said, her voice firmer than he supposed it would be.

"I beg your pardon," he answered, looking at the note again.

"My mother, Mrs. Theodore Allen, arranged for this visit. I am Mrs. Owen." Again, her voice conveyed her statement with firmness.

He inclined his head. "Mrs. Owen. How may I be of service?"
~~~

Thank you for visiting my blog.

My latest novel, The Zion Trail, will be published in 2016 as an ebook, and if there is sufficient demand, in print. To keep up-to-date on when The Zion Trail will be published, along with other new releases, and to learn of special offers and sales, click here to join my Readers email list. In your inbox, you will also receive instructions on how to download a free ebook of my last novel, Gone for a Soldier.

Study Questions for Book 0

I know it's Sample Saturday, but I'm substituting something different for a sample today. Now that you've had a while to purchase and read my novels, I've got a couple of "Study Questions" to throw at you. Today's questions are for Book 0, Gone for a Soldier. If you're brave enough, please post your answers in the comments.
~~~

As you read the first chapter of Gone for a Soldier, did you guess correctly what was going on in Rulon's town? What did you think he would do about it? How do you think you would react if a crisis occurred that impacted your community?

Julia Owen makes Rulon a uniform for him to wear to war. Have you ever tried to keep a gift project a secret from someone else? What did you do to hide what you were doing? Did you successfully surprise the intended recipient?
~~~

I hope this exercise was interesting to you, because, well, I'm going to throw out more study questions in weeks to come. Have a great day!

Sample Saturday - Book 3

Today's sample is from Book 3 of the Owen Family Saga, Trail of Storms. The Bingham family has fled their home in Mount Jackson, Virginia. Jessie Bingham has been persuaded to ride on a wagon seat with a long-time friend from the Shenandoah Valley, Ned Heizer.
~~~

“Hi! Get up there!” Ned called to the horses. Once they were on the road, he turned to Jessie. “Your ma’s walkin’ back there with Robert and Miz Hannah. You can call me Ned now.” He watched a pink glow light her cheeks.

“I haven’t seen you for so long,” Jessie said, ducking her head to one side.

“Yup.” Ned moved his foot onto the brake lever. “I’m sorry I let some years get between us.”

Jessie didn’t reply.

“Do you remember that time I brought you a peck of mulberries, and we climbed the tree behind Miller’s barn and ate the whole thing?”

Jessie smiled but said nothing.

“Our hands got all purple, and my belly ached something fierce, but the company was fine.”

Jessie laughed. “As I recall, you threw up all over my skirt, and I had to hide it from Ma and wash it myself.”

Ned grinned. “I don’t remember that.”

“It happened.”

“Nah, it couldn’t have. I was always a model citizen around you.”

“It did.”

“It didn’t!”

“Did too!”

“Did not!”

Jessie gave Ned’s arm a gentle shove as her laughter filled the road. “The purple stain never did come all the way out of my skirt. I had to cover it with an apron until I outgrew it.”

“It does my heart good to hear you laugh, Jessie. I don’t reckon you’ve had much to laugh about the last few years.”

She shook her head. “Ma always tells us life ain’t meant to be fair.”

“But a fine-lookin’ girl like you should have little things that give you pleasure, like fancy trinkets and good memories.” He looked over at Jessie. She was blushing again. “Memories are precious gifts. I have a store of them I could share.”

Jessie said nothing. After a while, Ned began to whistle a tune, and she turned to him, her face a picture of delight.

“That’s the firefly song. You made it up.”

“I made it up for you.” Ned avoided looking at Jessie. He hadn’t told her that, before now, and couldn’t predict how she would react.

“You did?” A low chuckle escaped Jessie’s throat. “I never knew.” She tried out the tune, then laid her hand on his arm. “You never told me. What other secrets are you keeping from me?”

“Oh, lots and lots.” Ned grinned, relieved. “Like the time I shut the Owen boys in the Bates’s cellar for teasing you. Remember, I took you and Ellen Bates and Marie Owen into town on the buckboard to get candy at the store? That’s so you wouldn’t hear them rascals fussin’ to be let out.”

Jessie snatched her hand from Ned’s arm. He looked at her. She had turned her face away again.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“Nah, no,” she said, stumbling on the word.

“Are you in pain?” he asked. “This road ain’t too smooth.”

“Um, I’m a little tired,” she said.

“I don’t wonder,” he said. “That shotgun sent you flyin’. Fear is mighty fatiguin’, as well.”

Jessie said nothing in return, and Ned lapsed into silence.

* * *

Jessie hadn’t thought about James Owen for more than a week, but Ned’s remembrance of secrets he’d kept had reopened the wound that never quite seemed to heal. Precious mercy! Will I never stop thinking about him! A cold chill ran through her body, and she shivered, fighting tears that she wouldn’t be able to explain away.

Ned Heizer. Big-brother substitute Ned. Protector and friend while her own big brother, Max, played beau to the girls. Ned was acting like he wanted to court her.

That can’t be. Ned is my friend. How can he possibly want more than that?
~~~

Thanks for visiting. You can purchase Trail of Storms in your chosen version from the vendors below.

Trail of Storms: Book 3 - in print and ebook formats
Print: Amazon | Barnes and Noble | ebooks: Smashwords all formats | Kindle | nook | Kobo | iTunes Bookstore

You may purchase an autographed print copy at this site.

Sample Saturday - Book 0

Before I get too far removed from the beginning of the story of the Owen Family, here's a sample from Book 0, Gone for a Soldier.

How did this novel become Book 0 in The Owen Family Saga? That happened mainly because I'd already marked The Man from Shenandoah as Book 1, and it's a bit difficult to change the numbering scheme at all the online vendors, not to mention on the covers. So Book 0 it is. Perhaps that's fitting for an origin story like Gone for a Soldier.

In this sample, second brother Ben is waiting for his sweetheart, Ella Ruth, to meet him.
~~~

Ben waited in the darkness of the lane that led up from the north fork of the river. Before him on a rise stood the grand house, the centerpiece of the prosperous farm owned by Miss Ella Ruth Allen’s father. Behind him, tied to a low-hanging tree limb, his horse nickered softly and stamped a hoof.

Ella Ruth was late in arriving to their tryst, but that was to be expected. Ella Ruth was late for every occasion.

He smiled momentarily at her habitual tardiness, and then adjusted his leaning position against the smooth tree trunk. If he had his wish, he would scoop her up and run away to the nearest place he could marry her, but she hadn’t yet agreed to elope with him. He hoped his powers of persuasion would be sufficient to the task tonight. If not, he only had a few more days to win her over to the idea.

Hearing footfalls on the lane, he pushed away from the tree and straightened.

“Ben?” Breathless. Timid. Hopeful.

“I’m here,” he called, keeping his voice low.

The footsteps slowed. Hesitant. “Where? I cannot see you.”

She was close, so close to him that he could smell the scent of the rose water she wore. He moved forward. “Here,” he said, bringing the girl into his arms.

“Oh Ben,” she sighed, snuggling against him, her head fitting into the hollow beneath his chin. “I worried you wouldn’t come.” Her anxiety showed itself in a constrained giggle.

“You can depend on me,” he told her, repeating a phrase he’d said many times before in his attempts to woo and win her.

“You always say that,” she said, a bright little chuckle in her voice.

“I want you to remember it. I want you to know I am true to you. There is no one in my heart but your dear person.”

“Oh Ben,” she repeated. “It’s Poppa you need to convince, not me.”

He sighed. “Don’t I know it.” He held her, rocking her slightly. “What’s the secret? How do I make him see my worth?”

“I cannot advise you on that point.”

He heard the despair in her voice. “Ella Ruth, what does your ma think? Does she influence him?”

“Oh no! Momma doesn’t meddle in Poppa’s affairs. She wouldn’t dream of telling him to let you—” Her voice choked.

No help in that direction. Ben sighed again. “There has to be a remedy. Does your brother have influence?”

“Merlin keeps out of Poppa’s business.”

Gall rose in his throat, and he couldn’t speak until he had cleared it away. “My pa always told me life wasn’t fair, that I should buck up and realize it for truth. I reckon I didn’t know what he meant until now.”

“Don’t you get disheartened, Ben. I adore you. Poppa will have to see, sooner or later, that you are not merely a farmer’s son, but a person of real substance, real importance. Like I do.” Her voice rose to a squeak.

Marveling at her remarkable speech, he patted her hair, then stroked her cheek. “I won’t lose heart, but time is growing short. War is coming, the papers say. I expect I’ll go fight for the Confederacy.”

“Oh no. You can’t. You would have to leave me.” She snuggled tighter against him.

“That’s the way it is with war. All the more reason to redouble my efforts. When can I talk to your pa again?”

“Not for days. He’s on a trip for business.”

“Humph.” Ben pondered on the problem, still stroking Ella Ruth’s cheek until she stayed his hand.

“Ben.”

“Hmm?”

“How much do you care for me?”

He shook his head, drew all his focus together to answer the question. “There ain’t a measure large enough, girl.” Moonlight fell upon her brow. It gave him an idea. He took her chin between fingers and thumb and gently turned up her face so he could gaze directly into her eyes. “You are the sun, the moon, the stars to me. No man ever loved a woman more.”

Ella Ruth giggled. “I wish Poppa had a romantic soul. He couldn’t help being moved by such tender words.” She shivered. “He’s a businessman.”

“A very wealthy businessman.”

“Yes.” She sighed. “Can’t you make a pretty speech about business, Ben?”
~~~

Thanks for visiting. You can purchase Gone for a Soldier in your chosen version from the vendors below.

Gone for a Soldier: Prequel (Book 0) - in print and ebook formats
Print: Amazon | Barnes and Noble | ebooks: Smashwords all formats | Kindle | nook | Kobo | iTunes Bookstore

If you want an autographed print copy, click here to purchase one.

Sample Saturday - Something Fresh

Here's something fresh and new, written early this morning:
~~~

"You needn't think to spend your entire life mourning for that Owen boy."

Ella Ruth Allen Owen hunched over the black bonnet she held on her lap with whitened thumbs and first fingers.

"I simply cannot allow it. Black makes your skin appear so sallow."

What does the color of my complexion matter? Ella Ruth thought as her mother continued to express her cutting opinion. Ben is gone. Dead. I'd gladly join him if I could do so.

It hardly seemed possible that six months had passed since that dreadful day on which Roderick and Julia Owen had paid her a visit and given her the awful news. Ben dead at Waynesboro!

She put a hand to her forehead. "Mama, please stop.  My head aches so. I cannot go with you today." With that, she got to her feet and stumbled out of the parlor, blinking back tears of rage.

When she was safely behind the locked door of the strange bedroom she doubted would ever feel like home, she threw the bonnet to the floor and collapsed into tears.

Her maid Lula, having entered through the unlocked dressing room door, found her there, crumpled atop the bedspread, an hour later.

"There, there, Miss Ella Ruth. Your mama, she's gone off on her visits. Let me turn down the covers and bring you a nice cold cloth for your head."
~~~

That's all for now. Buy a book. Read a book. How about Gone for a Soldier. (Links to other vendors on the "Books" tab at the top of the page.)

See you next week!

Sample Saturday & Fourth of July

Fourth of July. Celebrate safely. Remember why we have this holiday.

I'm going to start writing and see what comes out of my fingers.
~~~

Alex clicked his tongue at the horse and flipped the lines on its rump. It started off, pulling the buggy into a jerky progress down the lane.

He looked sideways at Ella Ruth. She sat stiffly on the seat, hands clasped so tightly together that he could see the white skin stretched over her knuckles.

"You don't need to go," he said. "If you'd rather not--"

"Mama would be mortified if I didn't attend," she whispered. She glanced in his direction, although she didn't meet his eyes before she faced forward again.

This was a bad idea. He clenched his teeth to prevent a reply he would regret. Only recently had the girl begun to wear deep lavender-colored attire instead of black. Against her wishes. How he ached to take her into his arms and give her comfort. That wasn't possible. Not now. Not yet. He had to bide his time until Ella Ruth came to know him better, to trust him.

That's going to take a long time, boy, he told himself. Working side by side at the surgery doesn't mean she'll forgive Yankees any time soon.

Ella Ruth cleared her throat as they turned into the road. He looked at her, expecting her to say something, but nothing came.

They rode in silence toward Charlottesville, toward the celebration of American Independence the city fathers had reluctantly approved, after much discussion, which was faithfully reported in the newspaper.

"My mother does love me, you know." Ella Ruth finally spoke her mind. "She wants me to be in society again."

Even if it's Yankee society, Alex thought. He wondered why her parents were so desperate to get her to see people other than patients that they allowed her to be seen in public in the company of the Yankee doctor. The Yankee military doctor.

Thank the Lord for whatever bent their minds in that direction.

"Mama says I've pined long enough." Ella Ruth bent her head and picked at one of the pleats in her skirt.

Something in the brokenness of her voice and her carriage told him she hadn't yet mourned long enough, hadn't finished grieving for her dead husband.

Alex looked at the roof of the buggy overhead. I'm sorry you're not here, Ben Owen. I mean to take good care of her in your absence. But only when she'll let me.
~~~

Okay, that's enough of that. Have a wonderful holiday weekend! Buy a book. Read a book.
marshaward.com

Aaaaaaa! He's back!

James Owen, I mean. Here I haven't even finished the current novel, or the novella, or the short story, or the novel-not-from-this-series, and he's jumping in with both feet!

"¿No me amas?"

James Owen sat bolt upright and looked over at his sleeping wife, Jessie. She didn't, to his knowledge, speak in her sleep. Besides, the voice wasn't like hers. Not at all. He shivered in the July night air, heavy with heat.

Jessie's Spanish wasn't as fluid as that of the voice that had awakened him. He pondered a moment, rubbing the scar tissue in his side that sometimes pained him into wakefulness. Nothing hurt tonight. He looked at Jessie again, curled in a ball around her ripe belly.

A chill went down his spine. Six little beans! Amparo!

He slowly lay back, careful not to touch Jessie. "Not fair," he whispered, then repeated the thought in Spanish for his dead wife's benefit. "My livin' wife needs me now," he added.

"I live," she told him. "Solamente you cannot see me."

He let out a stuttering breath that seemed to come from his toes. "Te amo siempre." Afraid to wake Jessie, he moved the conversation back into his thoughts. I'll love you forever. You know that.

Here I am not your wife. I am soltera. Alone. Did you not make a promise to yourself? To me? To your God?

That's all I've got. Now leave me alone for a while, James. I have to sleep!

Mary Owen Comes to Call

* I knew I should be writing, but I had borne up through a hard week and found myself nodding over my computer keyboard.

That changed when the doorbell rang.

I went to answer it, and saw a young girl standing outside my screen door, wringing her hands. I saw immediately that she was not from my time. She wore a long skirted outfit, complete with a frilly scarf draped down the front of her bodice to below her waist.

Me: Hello?

Her: Are you "Mom?"

Me: Several people call me that.

Her: Rulon says that's what you agreed would be acceptable.

Me: Rulon said so? Are you Mary? (I certainly should have recognized her right away, but sometimes there things are tricky.)

Mary: Yes, I am Mary . . Owen.

Me: Come in, dear. You look a mite agitated.

Mary: Yes. (Her voice is so soft I have to strain to hear it.)

I opened the door and let her in, went through the amenities, and admired her scarf. She blushed.

Mary: It is to confuse to eye, you know. So folks won't . . .

Me: Won't?

Mary: Won't condemn me for being, you know, for increasing.

Me: Who would be so impolite as to cast aspersions on you? You're married, yes?

Mary: Some folks believe I'm too young for that.

Me: Isn't that between you and Rulon?

Mary, brightening: Rulon. Yes. (She rests a hand on her abdomen, smiling shyly.) But he is gone, you know.

Me: Off fighting. I do know.

Mary (hastily): But you won't make him die?

Me (shaking my head emphatically): No.

Mary, sighing: Thank you.

Me (not knowing what else to say): Are you well?

Mary: Yes. Very. Thank you. Except that . . .

Me: Yes?

Mary: I have lost something. (She is hanging her head now.)

Me: Rulon's letter?

Mary: Yes. I cannot find it anywhere. Please let me find it.

Me: Mary. Look at me. (She glances up.) You will come upon that letter in a while. Not tomorrow, but after a while.

Mary: But I will be able to read it?

Me: Of course. It will please you to do so.

Mary (rising) I don't know how to reward your generosity, ma'am.

Me: There's no need, dear. Just go play out your role and have a happy life. (I give her a hug)

Mary: Thank you, ma'am. Mom.

I watch as she moves cautiously away, down the ramp and onto the road, and then out of sight.

Copyright © 2014 Marsha Ward

*This is a work of fiction. I don't really talk to time-traveling characters from my novels. I do like them a lot, though, and am glad they pass under the rainbow from time to time to visit me in my own time and place. To order autographed copies of my novels, The Man from Shenandoah, Ride to Raton, Trail of Storms, and Spinster's Folly, visit my website at marshaward.com or Westward Books.

Ella Ruth is Contrite *

After working in a hot office all afternoon, I sat with my front door open and a fan circulating the cooler outside air as I caught up on recorded reruns of The Closer. When my security light went on, I looked over to see if a deer was crossing my lot, but nothing was apparent, so I went back to the episode.

A few moments later, a movement caught my eye, and I glanced over to see the figure of a young woman standing in the light. She was dressed in an outfit with a long, bell-shaped skirt, so I knew immediately that one of my characters had come to visit.

Turning off the TV, I approach the door. The blonde girl with the anguished features appears to be Ella Ruth Allen, whom I had chased away previously after her outrageous behavior toward me. I'm not sure I want her in my house again, so I hesitate before greeting her. After a long moment, I succumb to Christian principles and speak.

Me: Yes? (I know. A bit short, but at least I sound half-way civil.)

Ella Ruth (in a shaky voice): Ma'am. I know I behaved badly on our previous acquaintance, and I am sorry for my ill-mannered comportment. May I come in? I am so worried.

Me (unlocking and opening the screen door): Worried? With a rich, influential pappa?

I perform the usual ceremonies of getting her seated and asking if she requires anything to eat as she dithers, making polite replies and little gasping noises. I understand the mental electrical storm that creates a condition of dithering, and become more kindly disposed toward her.

Me: What brings you to my door, Miss Ella Ruth?

Ella Ruth: Benjamin. (She begins to cry, and I bring out the box of tissue and hand it over. She wipes her eyes and begins to rush through a blubbering account.) He gave me an ultimatum and I rejected him. I did not think he was seriously planning to talk to my pappa so plainly and dash my dreams so rudely. I said some unkind words and turned on my heel and left him. Then he left me!

Her wail of distress seems genuine enough. I dredge through my memory, and recall that when Ben came to visit me, I had not finished writing the scene that occurred behind the mill. I did so later. The scene had indeed progressed as she outlined.

Me: Well. That is unfortunate. What does he write to you?

Ella Ruth: Ma'am, he does not write. Not a word. I do not know if he has been in a battle, or injured, or fallen prey to illness, like I hear other men have. He went in my own cousin's infantry company, but I hear nothing from George, either. Please ma'am, what am I to do?

Me (somewhat flummoxed): What are you to do? What do you want from him?

Ella Ruth: Oh ma'am, I want to know that he is well and sound. I bear him such a great deal of affection. My heart is sunk low to know that we parted on unfriendly terms.

Me: It sounds like you need to re-establish a connection with him. Have you asked his mother for news?

Ella Ruth (uncertainly): Mrs. Owen? Mrs. Julia Owen?

Me: The very one. If anyone has heard from Ben, it will be her.

Ella Ruth: Oh ma'am, she will not bear kindness toward me. I am sure of it.

Me: Then you have already approached her?

Ella Ruth (in a tiny voice): No. Ma'am. I am frightened of her.

Me: You're frightened by the kindest woman in the Valley?

Ella Ruth: She is formidable, ma'am.

Me: No she isn't. I've written her as a kind, giving soul. She is really very pleasant, very easy to know.

Ella Ruth: She will heed Ben's plight before my own, ma'am.

Me (feeling the disbelieving expression on my face): You really should talk to her, Miss Allen. Straight out.

Ella Ruth: May I not approach the new Missus Owen? The new bride at Hilbrands' store?

Me: Mistress Mary? What does she have to do with this?

Ella Ruth: Perhaps she will be amenable to asking Mrs. Owen for news of Benjamin.

Me (sighing): That way is quite roundabout, Miss Allen. I see that is your plan, however. Suit yourself. Ask Mary for help. You can only hope her happiness will color her response to you.

Ella Ruth: Her response?

Me: New brides often wish to share their happiness and help others achieve some for themselves, as well. You might find yourself fortunate. It just seems like such an involved and convoluted way of gaining news about Ben.

Ella Ruth: Miss, um, Mistress Mary is closer in age to me. I believe I can talk to her, persuade her to help me.

Me (rising and spreading my hands in acceptance): Like I said, suit yourself. Good evening, Miss Allen.

She leaves, and a bolt of lightning sears the sky. I wait for the thunder, but it rumbles in the distance, and I go back to my television watching, a tense feeling squeezing my abdomen. What will come of Ella Ruth's plan?

Copyright © 2013 Marsha Ward

*This is a work of fiction. I don't really talk to time-traveling characters from my novels. I do like them a lot, though, and am glad they pass under the rainbow from time to time to visit me in my own time and place. To order autographed copies of my novels, The Man from Shenandoah, Ride to Raton, Trail of Storms, and Spinster's Folly, visit my website at marshaward.com or Westward Books.

Ella Ruth is Furious!

The day was rainy, and since I'd been up late the night/morning before, I decided to take a little nap and enjoy the natural cool while the rain saturated the air and fell on the thirsty earth.

I awoke to a steady banging on my front door. Good grief, I thought. It can't be a wildfire with all this moisture. Not sure why else someone would make all that racket, I hurried to the door and flung it open.

Fuzzy as I was with sleep, I was confused to be confronted by a slight young woman dressed in 19th-century finery. I know I frowned, but her face already bore that expression, her mouth down-turned and her eyebrows drawn together, which made unflattering lines on her face.

Me (blurting the words): Who are you?

Her (angry, angry, angry): You know who I am! You said I'm spoiled. I never heard the like. I've half a mind to tell my father how to get here to deal with you, you wicked . . .(her voice peters out as she takes a breath.)

Me (half-offended, but stoic): Oh. Ella Ruth Allen. So Ben spilled the beans.

Ella Ruth: I do not know what that means.

Me: It means Benjamin told you about our conversation.

Ella Ruth (in a prissy tone): No. He did not have to do that.

Me: What do you mean?

Ella Ruth: I followed him last week, and learned his secret, his little rainbow trick. All I had to do was stand beside the rainbow and listen.

Me (speechless)

Ella Ruth (snorting at what must have been my astounded face): You writer people think you can keep us in the dark. Well, it did not serve you well to keep the rainbow entrance secret. I will let my father know about you and your vile ways.

Me: Your father hasn't made an appearance. He does not exist yet.

Ella Ruth (glares at me)

Me (narrowing my eyes at her.): Perhaps this writer person will not put him into a scene at all. Then he will never exist. How about them apples, missy?

Ella Ruth: Humph!

Me (pointing down the ramp): Get off my porch.

Ella Ruth swirls her skirts angrily and starts down the ramp to disappear into the misty rain.

Me (muttering): I'm going to get a lock for that rainbow!


Copyright © 2013 Marsha Ward

*This is a work of fiction. I don't really talk to time-traveling characters from my novels. I do like them a lot, though, and am glad they pass under the rainbow from time to time to visit me in my own time and place. To order autographed copies of my novels, The Man from Shenandoah, Ride to Raton, Trail of Storms, and Spinster's Folly, visit my website at marshaward.com or Westward Books.

Marie Owen is glowing now

I'm feeling a bit down today, with a crick in my neck and a chill starting up my back. I jump as the doorbell rings, then a sharp series of knocks begins on my door, and I pry myself out of the chair to answer it. Forgetting that I've hung a map on the inside of it and can't peep out, I start to get annoyed as I scramble around to find the knob to unbolt the door.

Me (opening the door and speaking in an annoyed voice): Yes? What is it?

(I see a young woman on my step. She's wearing a long dark dress, and is hugging herself and bobbing up and down. I move my computer glasses around until I can focus, and recognize Marie Owen.)

Marie (squealing): Mom!

Me: Come in! It's chilly out there.

(I open the screen door, and she enters, then flings her arms around me.)

Marie: Oh Mom, Mom, you can't believe how happy I am.

Me (Trying to breathe within her tight grasp): I'm glad. Come sit down. What has you all excited?

Marie: I'm free of that brutish man! (She loosens her hold on me, then smiles brilliantly and sits on the chair I point to, bouncing a bit) You did that. You got your book about me to the readers, and now I'm out of his clutches.

Me: Mr. Thorne?

Marie (scoffing) Mister? He doesn't deserve the title. But it doesn't matter. He's gone now.

Me: I believe I know about that ending.

Marie: Yes. (She looks away briefly, then meets my gaze again.) My man is helping me forget that.

Me (starting to get over being grumpy as I feel the peace and joy radiating from her): Your man, huh?

Marie (suddenly shy): He's, he's the most wonderful man I ever met!

Me: You've changed your opinion, then?

Marie (giggling): Mom! He loves me. He suffered a mighty hard journey in order to find me. He never gave up, Mom. He came for me, and when he did, I was so frightened for him. (She starts to bite a nail.) He suffered more than the journey!

Me: He does care deeply for you.

Marie (her eyes lighting up): Yes. Thank you.

Me: For what?

Marie: For publishing the book at last.

Me: I'm sorry it took so long. You were in such distress when last you visited.

Marie: All that is over now, thanks to you.

Me: Do you love him?

Marie: What?

Me: Do you love him, or are you merely beholden to him?

Marie (She closes her eyes and takes in a slow, deep breath. I watch her, and when she lets out the air, she is smiling.) I love him.

Me (I nod)

Marie: At first, before I agreed to marry him, I worried that I didn't care for him, that he would smother me. Then it came to me, like a ray of sunshine through a cloud, that he was precisely the man I wanted. The man I wanted all along.

Me: Where is he?

Marie: He's out holdin' the horses. He's more shy than you know, considering.

Me: Considering what?

Marie: Considering we rousted a priest out of bed to have us a ceremony.

Me: A what? You don't mean--

Marie: Yes! The priest agreed that since we're not of his Catholic faith, we didn't need any delays to read banns or the like.

Me: How long ago did this happen?

Marie (suddenly very shy): Just now.

Me: When?

Marie: A few hours ago.

Me: You're kidding me! (I grin at her, maybe a bit too broadly) No wonder he's standing out in the cold.

Marie: Don't be a-teasin', Mom.

Me: I'm sorry. (I pause and look at this glowing creature I created.) I reckon you'd best be on your way. It's cruel to keep the man waiting.

Marie (standing): It was his idea to come here. He thanks you for publishin' the book.

Me (smiling as I rise to my feet): You go give him my love.

Marie (trying to keep her smile in check as she inches toward the door): I reckon not. At least, not tonight. He's only gettin' my love tonight. (She giggles.) I'll give him your love on another occasion.

Me: Butter.

Marie (stepping outside and turning to gaze at me): Exactly so.

And she's gone. I close the door slowly, feeling some of her glow myself. "Butter. Melting butter."

Spinster's Folly, Book 4 of "The Owen Family Saga," is available as an ebook and in print at online book sellers. Autographed copies available at http://marshaward.com.

Marie Owen visits me again

* Way back in 2009, some of my characters began to visit me, and I published accounts of those chats here. In fact, that was the reason I began this blog in the first place, as a location for me to write up those visits. First, some of the Owen boys came by, having slipped under the rainbow during a storm. We had a nice visit. Then their sister Marie knocked on the door in August, encouraging me to begin the book that would help her move on with her life. That, of course, is my forthcoming novel, Spinster's Folly. I guess she came by to check on the progress, because even though I've moved since her visit, she found me. It was after nightfall when I heard footsteps outside on the ramp up to my deck, and after a moment or two, I heard a rapping on the door. When I opened it, my security light came on and I knew Marie instantly, but I didn't know her clothing. It was nothing like what she'd worn before.

ME (flabbergasted to see her): Darling Marie! Come in, come in!

MARIE (Hiding her eyes from the bright light with her hand, then peering over her shoulder.): I have to hurry. I can't stay long.

ME: Whyever not? Let me just move these books off the chair. Sit down. What can I get you to eat or drink? (I move a pile of Civil War reference books onto the floor.)

MARIE (Moving hesitantly into the room, her hand still in front of her eyes.): I can't be gone long. He'll find out.

ME: Sit down, dear. (I feel my brow furrowing.) Who is "he"? You seem frightened.

(MARIE finally lowers her hand. We're both still standing.): Truth to tell, I am frightened, more than I've ever been.

ME (Gasping as I digest the fact that her face is mottled and colored with bruises.): What happened? Who's been beating you? Not your Pa!

MARIE: No, not Pa. He would never--

ME (Grabbing hold of her arms.): Who did this? He won't get away with it!

MARIE (Face crumpling.): I thought he loved me.

ME (Mumbling strong words under my breath.): I'll get a cold cloth.

MARIE: No. I can bear the pain a tad bit longer, if you'll just finish my book.

ME (Closing my mouth that's fallen open from amazement.): (Silence.)

MARIE: Please. (Her voice quivers, on the verge of losing control.)

ME: I'm-- I'm doing a final edit. It won't take lo--

MARIE: Now! You've got to publish it as soon as may be!

ME (Sinking into my chair.): Or . . . ?

MARIE: I'm obliged to stay in his power until folks can read the words. He won't release me until then. (She collapses into the chair beside mine.)

ME (My mouth is gaping open again. I close it with difficulty, knowing who "he" is, and what she's been through.)

MARIE: Please, Mom! (She's sobbing hysterically.)

ME (Shaken): I had no idea. I-- Some folks have read it. At least they've read the first draft. They said lovely things about it.

MARIE (Looking at me through teary eyes.): That must account for how I was able to get away for a spell. (She sniffs, somewhat less bereft.)

ME (Digging out a tissue and handing it to her. On second thought, I give her the entire box.): I'll get a hold of Linda on Monday. Tuesday at the latest.

MARIE: Who is Linda? (She blows her nose and drops the tissue into the waste basket beside her chair.)

ME: She's the very helpful lady who will arrange my words all pretty for the inside of the book. Can you hold out until she's finished with it?

MARIE (Blowing her nose again.): I'll venture to do it, Mom. Ask her to hurry, please.

ME: You hang on! I'll get a hold of Deirdra and we'll figure out what to put on the back cover, too.

MARIE (Brightening a bit.): Some of them lovely things the folks said?

ME: You may be sure of that!

MARIE (Letting out a gusty sigh and dabbing at her eyes.): It won't take long?

ME: Oh sweetie, we'll go as fast as we can! I promise you, as soon as Spinster's Folly is published, he won't be a-worryin' you no more.

MARIE (Slightly chuckling.): You sound like Ma. (Sniffs)

ME: You'll see her soon. It will be a favorable reunion. I promise.

MARIE: It makes my heart glad to hear that. (She suddenly turns her face toward the door.) Did you hear that? I'm obliged to leave! (She gets up and kisses me on the cheek.) Mind you, hurry! (She's out of my arms, out the door, and running off my deck before I can move a muscle.)

ME (My shoulders slump.): Oh my gosh! (I try to get my mind around the idea that characters remain in dire situations until their books are published. I turn to the laptop.) Oh my gosh. (I look at the words swimming before me.) I promise you won't be in pain very long. (My voice is hushed. I had no idea!)


*This is a work of fiction. I don't really talk to time-traveling characters from my novels. I do like them a lot, though, and am glad they pass under the rainbow from time to time to visit me in my own place and era. To order autographed copies of my novels, The Man from Shenandoah, Ride to Raton, and Trail of Storms, visit my website at marshaward.com.

Coming soon

I think I am close enough in the process of finishing to post a teensy bit of the front cover for my forthcoming novel, Spinster's Folly. You can see it over there in the sidebar:

The cover is progressing

Although I'm not ready to do a "reveal" yet, I'm delighted at the progress of the cover for Spinster's Folly. It won't be too much longer before I can show it off.

Something more to enjoy from Spinster's Folly

The course of writing a novel doesn't always progress on one continuous, straight path. Sometimes, you might be running along, working on Chapter 14, and a character speaks up with a tidbit of information that has to go into Chapter 2. That means a detour is in order, so you must jog over to a trail that takes you back to that place in the story so you can put it in. Then, while you're returning to the place where you left off, you might notice a character waving his arms at you to get your attention for a scene that has to be written in Chapter 9.

It doesn't always happen this way, even to the same author writing another novel, but it happens often enough that one has to be prepared to accept the delay, instead of being dismayed when such a thing does occur.

With that explanation, let me offer part of a scene that Julia Owen demanded that I write for Chapter 2.
~~~

Feeling the overwhelming fatigue brought on by two days of mourning, Julia Owen only half listened to her husband tell her his plan to leave early Thursday morning on a three-day journey to sell beeves. Getting to sleep was of higher importance than staying awake until Rod ran out of steam, turned on his side, and began to snore. She hoped this was not a night when Rod felt amorous. She had barely been able to go through the motions of her chores today, and had no strength left to spare for her husband's needs.

Then a question worked its way into the forefront of her mind. She opened one eye, waited for Rod to take a breath, and asked, "Why are you herding cows down to Chester Bates this week? I recall his letter made an offer to trade them for wheat. He won't be harvestin' for a month or more."

"I have a pressing matter to take up in that country, and I reckon it won't wait until then." Rod scratched his chest above the neck of his nightshirt. "I figure I may as well make one trip as two. Chester will bring us the wheat."

She whispered, "If you're goin' after James, that's entirely the wrong direction." Pain at the unexpected loss of her son made her body quiver.

"I know that, woman." Rod's voice had taken on the soft gruff tone he used in tender moments when he felt vulnerable.

Annoyance that he didn't expand his answer drove Julia to shift her weight, rise on her elbow, and open both eyes to stare down at him. "What aren't you tellin' me?"

After a long moment, Rod turned his eyes away and said, "I have an errand."

"Roderick Owen, don't you be speakin' nonsense to me. What errand takes you away from work at this season?"

When his hand flew to his head, she barked at him, "Don't be a-worryin' that scab or it won't never heal. What's the truth?"

"It's a little errand for Marie," he admitted, tucking his hand under the covers.

"Marie?" Surprised, Julia almost missed Rod's failure to explain himself further. When she had gathered her wits sufficiently to notice his silence, she poked him in the ribs. "What business does the girl have in the Cuchara country?"

Rod sighed. "She accused me of neglecting her welfare. She wants a husband."

"No!" Julia sat up.

"She made it plain she's woman-grown and expects me to get her one."

She looked at Rod. "You're not--"

Rod cut her off. "She said young Tom is twenty. I had no notion he'd got to that age."

Julia shook her head and sighed in turn. "Your matchmaking has an ill reputation." She sank back onto the bed. "Does she have her cap set for Tom Morgan?"

Rod shifted one of his legs. "I've had him in mind for years."

"I asked does Marie want him?"

He shifted the other leg. "She didn't say me nay." After another long pause, he continued, "I'll know more when I get the two in the same room."

"What?" Julia sat up again, her back stiff.

"Julie, shh."

"You're takin' my daughter down country with a passel of cows?"
~~~

Copyright 2012 Marsha Ward

I hope you enjoyed this little digression. The novel is coming along well, with over 75% written. I'm lining up "beta readers," who will each give the finished manuscript the once over, and offer me suggestions for places that need beefing up, or toning down, or deleting altogether. In the meantime, I have a cover designer working with me on the novel's cover, which is going to be spectacular. When it's all put together, I'll launch Spinster's Folly with a Book Blog Tour and other fun stuff.

Thank you for visiting. If you wish, please leave me a comment. Every writer needs feedback!