Secrets of a Charmed Life by Susan Meissner - Review

Secrets of a Charmed Life
by Susan Meissner
Expected publication: February 3, 2015 by Penguin/NAL

The author of A Fall of Marigolds journeys from the present day to World War II England, as two sisters are separated by the chaos of wartime ...
  
She stood at a crossroads, half-aware that her choice would send her down a path from which there could be no turning back. But instead of two choices, she saw only one—because it was all she really wanted to see…

Current day, Oxford, England. Young American scholar Kendra Van Zant, eager to pursue her vision of a perfect life, interviews Isabel McFarland just when the elderly woman is ready to give up secrets about the war that she has kept for decades...beginning with who she really is. What Kendra receives from Isabel is both a gift and a burden--one that will test her convictions and her heart.

1940s, England. As Hitler wages an unprecedented war against London’s civilian population, one million children are evacuated to foster homes in the rural countryside. But even as fifteen-year-old Emmy Downtree and her much younger sister Julia find refuge in a charming Cotswold cottage, Emmy’s burning ambition to return to the city and apprentice with a fashion designer pits her against Julia’s profound need for her sister’s presence. Acting at cross purposes just as the Luftwaffe rains down its terrible destruction, the sisters are cruelly separated, and their lives are transformed… 

Goodreads * Amazon

My review:  

Isabel McFarland has never agreed to an interview about her experience living through the evacuation of children from London and the bombing that followed, but now she has agreed to an interview with Kendra. Isabel is ready to reveal she is not who everyone thinks she is and wants to tell the story of two sisters, Emmy and Julia, who became separated when the bombing began. Emmy blames herself and does everything she can to find her sister, but she lives for a long time not knowing what really happened to her.

I can't tell you much about Secrets of a Charmed Life for fear of giving too many spoilers, but I absolutely loved this book. Susan Meissner has a thoroughly engaging writing style, surprising details were revealed at just the right moments to keep you interested, and I was completely hooked from beginning to end. This is a story that really makes you think about life, family, and the concepts of guilt and blame. It is also a story about how people cope with life-changing situations beyond their control, and it makes you consider how small decisions on your part or by someone else can make such a difference in ways you don't realize.

I wish I could say more, but the impact of this book is much better if you don't have spoilers before you read. I don't think you will regret reading this. It is a powerful, emotional story of family, life and history. Susan Meissner is now one of my favorite authors, and I recommend Secrets of a Charmed Life wholeheartedly. 

I won a copy of this book. I was not required to write a review.

About the author:

Susan Meissner was born in San Diego, California, the second of three. She spent her childhood in just two houses.

Her first writings are a laughable collection of oddly worded poems and predictable stories she wrote when she was eight.

She attended Point Loma College in San Diego, and married her husband, Bob, who is now an associate pastor and a chaplain in the Air Force Reserves, in 1980. When she is not working on a new novel, she is directing the small groups ministries at The Church at Rancho Bernardo. She also enjoy teaching workshops on writing and dream-following, spending time with my family, music, reading great books, and traveling.   

Find out more at SusanMeissner.com.  

The Beautiful American by Marilyn Holdsworth - Guest Post & Kindle Fire Giveaway

The Beautiful American
by Marilyn Holdsworth

Abby Long is thrilled when she offers the winning bid for an antique desk at an auction. With its intricately inlaid woods and elegant style, the desk is perfect for Abby; it is the gift she promised herself to finally celebrate her thriving antique business. She has no idea that the antique desk holds a secret that will lead her on a fascinating, life-changing journey back in time.

When Abby discovers a hidden diary stuffed inside a secret compartment in the desk, she can hardly wait to read the spidery, faded script. As she carefully turns the tattered pages, she reads the captivating story of two remarkable women from opposite backgrounds who somehow manage to form an unforgettable bond against the backdrop of a fledgling America struggling to find its place in the world. Elizabeth Kortright Monroe, the wife of James Monroe, and Jasmine, a young slave girl, develop an extraordinary relationship as they are united by pivotal historic events, political intrigues, and personal tragedies.

From a bucolic Virginia plantation to the bloodied, starving streets of post-revolutionary Paris, this powerful tale follows the lives of two courageous women from the past as they quietly influence—and inspire—a woman of today’s world. 

Add on Goodreads, and buy on Amazon.

Many Authors See Marketing as a Bind
Guest Post by Marilyn Holdsworth

Many authors see marketing as a bind. I believe that for a true artist, anything that takes time away from her art, in this case, creative writing, is lost time. That said, if she wants to become known as an author, she must take some time to promote her books. There is nothing that can substitute for personal involvement in the marketing. No one else has the intimate knowledge of her work needed to make a promotion successful. This is not to say she should not hire professional publicists, web designers and others to help. Indeed this is to be encouraged to the extent the budget permits. However, the author must maintain final say before any program is launched. It is important for authors to use all the media at their disposal. That includes email campaigns to properly targeted readers, radio interviews, book fairs, book signings, giveaways, direct advertising in newspapers and appropriate magazines.

In today's world, coverage in the social network is essential. Authors must use the social network judiciously, not merely as a forum to promote their books. They need to join groups, contribute to conversations and offer help and advice to others. It is important to select groups that will relate well to the author's topic. For instance, if she has written a horse story, she joins groups that favor horses. Find authors whose work you like and offer to review their books. Many times they will reciprocate. It is important to obtain as many review as possible.

While marketing is not what I love to do, I have learned that it is vital to a book's success, and for us indie authors, that means a lot of hard work. 

About the author:

Marilyn Holdsworth graduated from Occidental College, where she majored in literature and history. She has traveled extensively in France and currently is a Huntington Library Fellow. Marilyn is a descendant of James Monroe, has visited Monroe's Virginia residence, and conducted research at the James Monroe Museum. She currently lives in Southern California.

Connect with Marilyn on Facebook. 
 

Click here to find out more about the giveaway and the sponsors. 

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What Are Your Writing Goals - Suzanne Anderson, author of God Loves You. -Chester Blue

God Loves You. -Chester Blue
by Suzanne Anderson
Published: June 24, 2012
by Henry and George Press

What if when you most needed help, a blue bear appeared with a note from God? 

One night, Miss Millie of Blossom, Ohio turns her face to the stars and asks God for help. The next day, a package arrives on her doorstep containing a blue teddy bear and a special note. 

Over the course of a year, this remarkable blue bear travels across the country, showing up just when he’s needed most. 

During his journey, Chester Blue helps a young girl trying to impress her big sisters; saves a sailor caught in a terrible storm; reunites two constantly fighting brothers; helps a cowboy become a rodeo clown; and aids a father and daughter in bonding after divorce. 

If you ever needed a message from God, it's here... 

Add on Goodreads, and buy from Amazon.  

What Are Your Long-term and Short-term Writing Goals?
Guest post by Suzanne Anderson

One of the best books I’ve read on goal setting is by Debbie Macomber’s Knit Together: Discover God's Pattern for Your Life. In this short, readable book, Debbie outlines how she has used goal setting throughout her writing career to keep herself moving forward. This has been essential in times of obstacles to help her persevere, and in times of success, to raise the bar. It’s one of my all-time favorite motivational books.

What I’ve learned about goal-setting from this book and others like it are a few simple but crucial rules about effective goal setting: 1) write down your goals. It doesn’t matter whether you ever look at them again or not, but write them, get them out of your head and onto paper…this gives them a greater reality. 2) revise your goals. As you accomplish your goals, create new ones, so that you always have a sense of forward momentum and accomplishment.

With the publication of my second book, God Loves You. –Chester Blue, and my first children’s book, I find myself re-evaluating what my writing goals will be going forward. Writing Chester Blue has made me realize how much I enjoy children’s literature and wish to add it to the genres that I will continue to write in the future. Knowing how much books meant to me when I was a young girl, deeply motivates me to provide that joy for a future young reader. 

Short-term Goals: In the next twelve months…I want to re-write and self-publish the rest my unpublished ‘back list’, which includes five children’s books and two women’s novels. 

Long-term Goals: I’ve got the beginnings of a romance-foodie three book series I’d like to write next. And beyond that distant horizon (let’s say the next 12 – 36 months) I’d love to try my hand at historical romance since I’ve become such a big fan of the genre. 

Most of all, the ultimate achievement of all of these goals is to find readers who enjoy my work enough to keep reading each book that I produce. Which is exactly the other side of every writer’s coin….we come to this avocation because we feel a burning desire to share a story, or perform on the written page. But like any performance, an author finds their sweetest satisfaction in discovering that their story is enjoyed and shared by an audience of readers. And like any other performer, we are only as good as our last entrance onto the stage!

  
About the author:

Suzanne Anderson was born in Fort Lauderdale, attended the University of Michigan on an athletic scholarship for swimming and then worked on Wall Street. She left the bright lights of the big city fifteen years ago and traveled the world. She now lives in the mountains of Colorado, where she pursues her dream of writing novels. 

Suzanne is also the author of Mrs. Tuesday's Departure.

Find out more at SuzanneAnderson.net, on Twitter and Facebook.  

Click here to see the rest of the stops on the tour.

 

The Golden Pathway by Donna M. McDine - Review

The Golden Pathway 

by Donna M. McDine

Illustrated by: K.C. Snider

First Published: August 2010

Publisher: Guardian Angel Publishing

Raised in a hostile environment where abuse occurs daily, David attempts to break the mold and befriends the slave, Jenkins, owned by his Pa. Fighting against extraordinary times and beliefs, David leads Jenkins to freedom with no regard for his own safety and possible consequences dealt out by his Pa. Suggested age for readers: 8-12

Darian's Review:

The Golden Pathway is about a young boy, David, in a time when having slaves was commonplace.  Almost every night, David hears the screams of Jenkin's coming from the barn, as his Pa in another drunken stupor beats the poor sixteen-year-old slave boy.  While David knows he could catch a beating from his alcoholic father, he takes the risk and sneaks into the barn to help treat Jenkin's wounds.  But just trying to heal wounds doesn't feel enough to David, he knows that being beaten every night is no way for a person to live - black or white- and sets out to help Jenkin's be free.

To say this was a touching story wouldn't do it justice.  It brings back to life part of America's shameful past, and the hero's within it.  You're on edge as the two boys journey toward freedom for Jenkins, hoping every second that they're not caught by David's hateful Pa.  But through determination, strength they didn't know they had, and compassion, they press on to The Underground Railroad; the golden pathway to Jenkins freedom.

The author was masterful at touching upon an era that should not be forgotten, yet in a simple enough manner for kids to not only understand, but feel.  Through this book they can learn what true compassion means, and that anyone can be a hero if they have the courage to stand up for what's right.

The water-color illustrations in this book are beautiful, mirroring the essence of the scenes impeccably. 

Overall this was a fantastic read.  It amazed me how a children's book could bring so many emotions to the surface as I read; fear, anger, shame, hope, strength, compassion.  The author did a superb job handling such a dark subject on a level for both kids and adults alike - instilling the memories of our past into you, showing you what a true hero looks like, and that those traits can be found in anyone.  I would recommend this to anyone with children over 8, and I would recommend that the parents read it as well.  It's a beautiful, touching story sure to hold onto your heart and breath through every page.

A copy was provided by the author for review.

About the Author:
Donna McDine is an award-winning children's author, Honorable Mention in the 77th and two Honorable Mentions in the 78th Annual Writers Digest Writing Competitions. Her stories have been published in many print and online publications and her interest in American History resulted in writing and publishing The Golden Pathway. Donna has two more books under contract with Guardian Angel Publishing, The Hockey Agony and Powder Monkey. She writes, moms and is the Editor-in-Chief for Guardian Angel Kids and Publicist for the Children's Writers' Coaching Club from her home in the historical hamlet Tappan, NY. McDine is a member of the SCBWI and Musing Our Children."

You can find out more about Donna McDine on her website. 

Hearts that Survive by Yvonne Lehman - Guest Post

Hearts that Survive: A Novel of the Titanic 

by Yvonne Lehman

Published: February 12, 2012 by Abingdon Press

In April 1912, Lydia Beaumont is on her way to a new life with a boundless hope, against all that Craven Dowd desires for her and himself. Her friendship with Caroline Chadwick deepens as they plan Lydia’s wedding on board the “grandest ship ever built.” Then both women suffer tragic losses when the “unsinkable” Titanic collides with an iceberg and there are only 20 lifeboats for 2207 passengers. They struggle to keep their families and dreams together.

Decades later, Caroline’s granddaughter, working at the museum in Halifax, Nova Scotia, plans for the 50th memorial for the sinking and contacts survivors and descendants of survivors. Alan Morris feels like a failure until he discovers he is the descendant of an acclaimed novelist who lost his life when the Titanic sank. He becomes caught up in finding his identity in the past and must come to terms with his present and the meaning of true success.

Characters struggle to answer whether love is more powerful than the pain of loss and learn what it means for a heart to survive.

Guest Post by Yvonne Lehman:

… and you thought the Titanic sank?

Well, so did I. My novel about the Titanic, that is. But here’s how it began to surface.

       Way back in 2006, because of her first-hand knowledge of Nova Scotia and the important role there after the sinking of the Titanic, my novelist friend Peggy Darty suggested she and I write two novellas each for a collection and set it in Nova Scotia. We brainstormed and shared possibilities. However, life and other writing projects took precedence and the collection never materialized. (Well, nothing about writing “materializes.” Have to work at it!!!) We abandoned the idea.

         A few years ago at the Blue Ridge conference an editor mentioned that I might consider writing a book about the Titanic for their company to be published in 2012 in time for the April 15 memorials of the 100^th anniversary of the sinking. A novella collection wouldn’t work and I wouldn’t proceed without Peggy. Later, she decided not to proceed with her ideas. I presented ideas to the company, but not a proposal, and continued with other projects.

          Since several books and movies have been done about the Titanic’s sinking, I thought my book should be about survivors after the sinking and worked on a proposal. That didn’t go over at all. Editors wanted another sinking. Feeling like that’s what I was doing, I continued on. Since it’s hard (impossible?) to throw away characters who have come to life, I had to have the afterlife as well as the sinking, so I worked on a proposal that would cover fifty years—before, during, and after the sinking.

           Ah! A proposal. By this time, several editors already had accepted Titanic books from other authors, and another editor kept the proposal for awhile considering it. By the time the “return” (don’t like the word “rejection”) came, I thought my ship had sunk for good. There wouldn’t be time for a company to publish my book before 2012.

           So, as a failure and a reject in May of 2011, I walked down the aisle to the front row of the conference room at Blue Ridge to be introduced with other faculty. I sat by someone whose head was turned in the other direction talking to someone. I was alone, sunken. Then Abingdon editor, Ramona Richards, turned her head and looked at me.

            “Do you have a Titanic book?” I said.

            “No,” she said.

            “You want one?”

            “Yes.”

            “Okay.”

            Then she clarified the yes. “If you can write it by June 15.”

            “Sure,” I said, which meant that’s impossible but I’m already dead in the water with this book, so this is sink or swim and I’ll write it or drown trying.

            Guess what I did that night? Ran home (Well, I drove. Live only a mile or so down the road from Ridgecrest). Printed a hard copy, emailed a copy, emailed my agent. By the next morning Ramona had two emailed copies and a hard copy of the proposal. Don’t think we were anxious or anything!

            The next day, she said, “I like it.”

            What?
            Hey, it’s too late. I can’t write 90,000 words (minus about a 50-page proposal) in four weeks. Ah, no problem. She gave me ‘til July 1. Fortunately, a long time ago God planned a Fourth of July celebration on a weekend so editors wouldn’t be in their office on Friday and the fourth was on Monday, so I had a whole weekend to write thousands and thousands more words. I even got permission to get it there by the 6^th of July.

            And I did. With about 30,000 more words than needed and a disclaimer that my ending still needed work (I didn’t mention the whole thing needed work) but I could do that in the revision part.

            Now, how does one write so many words in such a short period of time? The way I’ve done most things. I never had enough sense to know I couldn’t. So I wrote. And wrote. And wrote. Fortunately, I’d already done a lot of research about the Titanic, had books marked up and watched the movies over and over. My characters began to do their thing. I didn’t have time to think a lot.

            I learned the secret to writing a lot of words in short period of time. And that’s to keep the fingers moving on the keyboard. No editing. When I was tempted to stop and think, I didn’t stare at that screen. Instead, I jumped over the clutter in my office floor, waded through the dirty clothes in the hallway, struggled into my bedroom and fell on my knees at my unmade bed and prayed for my characters.

            Now… don’t blame God for some of the things my characters do. He’s divine, but they’re still human. And so am I, so some things will strike some readers the wrong way. He doesn’t write my books. I have to do that, which means they aren’t perfect (shock, shock).

             My characters became composites of many people and many experiences, some mentioned in the acknowledgement section of the book. Since one of my characters is a poet, I asked Dr. Donn Taylor to write a poem for me the way my character would and he graciously did that. I included a poem written by my son-in-law, the faith experience of my son David when he was six years old. I included the experience of a young boy who swam out of the baptistery after being baptized.

            My office is upstairs where I can gaze out the window at the neighborhood and the mountains in the background. That’s a great way to leisurely pass the time without writing, but know everything going on in the neighborhood. But, not having time to gaze, my eyes lit upon the dog next door, so I included my neighbor’s experience of that hurting dog jumping into her car.

            Since much of the “after” section of the book takes place in Nova Scotia, I researched writers groups there and eventually found Janet Burrell who answered questions for me almost daily about places in Nova Scotia that would make my book realistic and authentic.

            Fortunately, I did get the opportunity to edit, change, re-write, fix the ending. Had two weeks to do that and whittle down 20,000 too many words. Another impossible task, but it’s amazing what one can do when one doesn’t have time to… gaze out the window.

About the author:

Hearts that Survive – A Novel of the Titanic is Yvonne Lehman’s 50th novel. She is a best-selling, award winning author who founded and directed the Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers Conference for 25 years and now directs the Blue Ridge “Autumn in the Mountains” Novelist Retreat held annually in October.

She lives in Black Mountain, amid the panoramic views of the Blue Ridge. She mentors students for the Christian Writers Guild. She earned her Master’s Degree in English at Western Carolina University and has taught English and Creative Writing on the college level.

You can visit Yvonne Lehman on her website.

 Click here to see the rest of the stops on the tour.

Cover Reveal: My Super Sweet 16th Century by Rachel Harris & Excerpt

My Super Sweet Sixteenth Century by Rachel Harris

Expected publication: September 11, 2012 by Entangled Publishing

YA Magical Realism/Historical

Now, on to the COVER REVEAL:

On the precipice of her sixteenth birthday, the last thing lone wolf Cat Crawford wants is an extravagant gala thrown by her bubbly stepmother and well-meaning father. So even though Cat knows the family’s trip to Florence, Italy, is a peace offering, she embraces the magical city and all it offers. But when her curiosity leads her to an unusual gypsy tent, she exits . . . right into Renaissance Firenze.

Thrust into the sixteenth century armed with only a backpack full of contraband future items, Cat joins up with her ancestors, the sweet Alessandra and protective Cipriano, and soon falls for the gorgeous aspiring artist Lorenzo. But when the much-older Niccolo starts sniffing around, Cat realizes that an unwanted birthday party is nothing compared to an unwanted suitor full of creeptastic amore.

Can she find her way back to modern times before her Italian adventure turns into an Italian forever?

Pre-order at Barnes & Noble or Amazon and add it on Goodreads.

Excerpt:

Alessandra jerks back like I just suggested she prance around the square naked or something. “No! I believe I understand your meaning, and Lorenzo is certainly not my suitor. He is like a brother to me—the three of us grew up together.” She resumes walking and I fall in step beside her, understanding there has to be more to the story. And as we near the end of the row, I finally ask, “If you’re not into the guy, then what’s the problem?” At that same moment, a rich, deep chuckle hits my ears. My stomach involuntarily clenches and my gaze sharpens on the back of this mysterious Lorenzo. Alessandra sighs. “That is the problem.” She places her hand on my arm and solemnly looks me in the eyes. “You must be careful. Lorenzo is beautiful, and it is not uncommon for a girl to walk away from meeting him with a piece of her heart left behind. But he is just eighteen, and not yet ready for marriage.” I roll my eyes and laugh, then realize she’s serious. “Yeah, I assure you, there’s no danger on my end. I’m not exactly looking for marriage myself.” Because that would be crazy-town. Alessandra wrinkles her nose as if she doesn’t believe me, but she removes her hand. We close the distance and Cipriano flashes me an open, honest to goodness, lighthearted smile. “Lorenzo, this is the cousin I was telling you about.” Slowly the guy turns and I fall head first into the richest chocolate-brown eyes I’ve ever seen. He blinks and long, luscious lashes feather across his bronzed cheeks. I can feel myself gawking, but I physically can’t drag my eyes away. Lorenzo doesn’t smirk or act all conceited, either. He simply stares back, his eyes casually skimming over me, causing my skin to warm and break out in a whole body tingle. Time seems to stop, and the sounds of the market mute. Alessandra was right. This boy is beautiful. And he’s looking at me.

About the author:
As a teen, RACHEL HARRIS threw raging parties that shook her parents’ walls and created embarrassing fodder for future YA novels.

As an adult, she reads and writes obsessively, rehashes said embarrassing fodder, and dreams up characters who become her imaginary friends.

When she's not typing furiously or flipping pages in an enthralling romance, you can find her homeschooling her two beautiful princesses, hanging out with her amazing husband, or taking a hot bubble bath…next to a pile of chocolate.

MY SUPER SWEET SIXTEENTH CENTURY is her first novel. She did have her own fantabulous Sweet Sixteen in high school. Sadly, it wasn’t televised.

You can find Rachel on her website, Twitter and Facebook.

I would love to know your thoughts. What do you think about the cover and the excerpt?

Review: Deed So by Katharine A. Russell - Blog Tour

Deed So by Katharine A. Russell
Published: November 2010

Welcome to 1962, one year before the world would witness President John F. Kennedy assassinated, and a time before civil rights, women’s rights, and the Vietnam War changed everything. Deed So by Katharine Russell chronicles the coming-of-age of brainy twelve-year-old Haddie Bashford, a sensitive young girl who wants nothing more than to leave the close-minded world of her home in Wicomico Corners. When Haddie witnesses the killing of a black teen by a down-on-his-luck white farmer, her family becomes embroiled in a web of hatred that threatens to engulf the whole town. Tempers flare and prejudice heats to a boiling point, even as Haddie struggles to fully comprehend what is going on, especially the dark consequences within her own family. When the murder case goes to trial, neighbor is pitted against neighbor, and the violence escalates to a dangerous level. As the case drags on, arson erupts, paralyzing the community. Can the town—and Haddie—survive?

My thoughts:
Deed So is a novel about Haddie, who is growing up in a time of turbulence. Gideon, who she secretly loves, has come back from the Vietnam War. However, the war has greatly affected him. Haddie tries to be there for him, but she cannot begin to understand how the war has changed him or what he is led to do. On top of everything else, Haddie witnesses a white farmer shoot an African American young man who is beating his mentally challenged son. She then sees, first hand, the racial tensions and the demonstrations during the trial. Of course, the shooting and its aftermath affects just about everyone in town. Family secrets begin to be revealed. Everyone in the town begins to take sides. An arsonist emerges, which leads to more heartache for the town and for Haddie.

My biggest complaint about this novel is that Haddie's friend goes back and forth from "Elise" to "Elsie." There are a few other typos in the book that make you stop and think about what is truly meant since it changes the context of the sentence. Otherwise, I enjoyed reading this. Katharine Russell has done an excellent job of describing life during this time and what it was like living in a small town during all of the turmoil and tension. While reading this, I was reminded of To Kill a Mockingbird. Russell has taken a controversial part of our history and put her own spin on it. Deed So forces you to think about the social issues during that time and what it would have been like for a young girl coming of age in the middle of it.


Excerpt:

Chapter 1 I was a waitress for Christ. Recruited into the legions of church supper servers, who answered the call across the South every fall, I reported to our parish hall and delivered platter upon steaming platter of artery-choking victuals to appreciative suspender-slapping locals and city folk who came down in sleek motor coaches. I started when I was six. Child labor laws could not stand up to the will of Dixie’s God. We were Episcopalians and our specialties, offered for generations at our fall festival, were old ham, fried oysters and beaten biscuits. The Methodists did fried chicken and double-crust peach pie. The Catholics were famous for fried perch, new potato salad and deviled eggs. I do not know what the Baptists served because I was a white girl not allowed to go to their church suppers. In Wicomico Corners, everybody knew everybody. Heck, you only needed to go up three rungs on your family tree to claim relation to half the county. People attended the same church their great-grandfathers had and dealt at the same general store. The county boasted two stoplights, one near the courthouse across from the war memorial and one at the main gate of the navy base. Doors were left unlocked. Chickens, dogs, children and the occasional escaped milk cow ran free. This is the story of the year I graduated from Calvert Elementary, entered Chesapeake High, and nearly died. Chesapeake was a grade seven through twelve institution. In those days, Boards of Education approached schooling as one big swimming lesson: when you completed grade school, they threw you directly into high school, the social and sexual deep end, and you sank or swam under the predatory eye of upper classmen. My name is Agnes Hayden Bashford, but since my great aunt Agnes was very much alive and using her moniker back then, everybody called me Haddie. I was twelve and a half and the brightest girl in my class. It was 1962 and the high school opened a new wing to accommodate the spit-polished offspring of the WWII victors. We were not yet called boomers, nor were we aware of our economic power or any other peculiar qualities apart from our ability to duck and cover. My father, a naval aviator during the war, instructed me in leadership, ham radio operation and ramrod posture, although my erect stature was impaired at the time by an ill-fitting training bra handed down from a cousin. That summer I took catechism in the kitchen of the parish hall. Our class consisted of four of my cousins, the daughter of the head of the Altar Guild (to whom I was distantly related) and one black kid, Tiny Barber. Parishioners called Tiny the diocesan guinea pig, because he was the first in our parish to participate in an integrated catechism class. Chances are, I was related to Tiny too, but this was a subject discussed rarely by adults and only in whispers. A precocious child, I fired questions at Reverend Harrison during those catechism lessons. For example, when Eve bit that apple and discovered Adam’s nakedness and a bunch of other skinny she was not supposed to know, God considered her act so disobedient she deserved banishment. My beef was this: If the incident was so terrible wasn’t Eden changed by her behavior? How could the place be the same with the principal residents shamed and in exile? As far as I could see, the garden of perfection was as tainted as our vegetable patch the year of the blight. Paradise with a crack, a damaged porcelain plate pushed to the back of the china cabinet. Because I was an Eve apologist, I pointed out that flaws might make Eden more fun and a heck of a lot more exciting than Wicomico Corners. It was the only time I ever recall Reverend Harrison reduced to speechlessness. Despite my heretical postulations, I passed ecclesiastical muster and earned the right to sip wine every Sunday. I was almost an adult. Our rural county slumbered on through that last peaceable summer, its population still just a hair over the headcount it boasted during the American Revolution, but change was coming. Not just the building of new schools for the science project generation. Not just the clamour for the new stoplight at Helena to slow down the big rigs from up north. Change was disturbing the stately trees and chasing the ebbing tide. We sensed it stalking us, all sinew and ferocity poised on big cat’s paws, and believed it would saunter down our claustrophobic peninsula from the grand national beyond, trapping us between our two salty, unforgiving rivers. We did not see it crouching, claws sheathed, eyes slanted, waiting for its moment, in our own hearts. Chapter 2 Our church supper was well underway when I saw Gideon Albright for the first time in over a year. We had filled the tables in the parish hall basement twice over by the time he arrived. I paused with a platter of fried oysters in one hand and bowl of fatback-flavored green beans in the other as I drank in the sight of him. Gideon’s olive army slacks and khaki shirt set off his tanned skin and shoe-black hair, grown out slightly from its martial buzz cut. My old chess-playing pal was a man now. Sarah Jane elbowed me in the spine as she sidled by juggling three baskets of biscuits. “What are ya waiting for? Hades to freeze over? You drop those oysters, you’ll get what for.” I walked forward and placed the food on one of my assigned tables. “Haddie, we’re outta ham down here.” Delbert Parsons pointed at the empty platter with a half-eaten biscuit that dripped melted butter on his double-wide fingers. “Yes, sir. Right away.” I leaned over Mrs. Parsons and retrieved the plate. The All Saints parish hall would not be air-conditioned until 1975. The scent of perspiration mingled with talc wafted up from Mrs. Parson’s person, but could not cover the smell of her husband’s musty, sweat-stained and ancient Sunday-go-to-meeting suit. Sailing back to the pickup window where platters of steaming food were lined up neater than our high school marching band, I passed close to my father, who was pouring boiling water from one part of the coffee and tea machine to the other. Because he was an engineer, Dad was steward of the ancient, temperamental contraption. He was the only person able to keep the thing functioning. “Dad, Gideon’s home.” “Glad to hear it. Don’t get too close; the tea canister is threatening to boil over.” I grabbed a plate of old ham and a heaping dish of fried oysters, twirled on my sneakers and headed for the aisle, hoping Mr. Maxwell, our official seater, would place Gideon in my section. As I handed Mr. Parsons the ham, Mr. Maxwell gestured to Gideon, indicating an empty seat at one of Jessie Mae Bell’s tables. I waved, but neither Gideon nor our majordomo acknowledged me. How could Gideon even see me with the crush of people slapping the hero come home on the back? A determined patron yanked the oysters away from me. Gideon was six years older than I was, but we had spent plenty of time together growing up. His home was one farm over, and he liked to take advantage of my parents’ prodigious book collection. Besides, he enjoyed playing chess, and I was the only kid for miles who knew how to play. Unless it was the weekend and a grownup was free, he was stuck with me. He didn’t complain too much. I was good, even beat him on occasion. I longed to welcome him home and hear about the places he had been. As soon as I was able, I intended to leave Wicomico Corners, our impossibly boring, backward village, just as Gideon had done. He had been to Vietnam, a place I looked up on our atlas. I had a time finding it because people in the Corners called it “Veetnomb rhymes with bomb.” “Missy, we sure could use some more of them oysters.” I turned to the stranger tugging at my apron. He was as round as a rain barrel with a neck the diameter of a basketball. “Be right back, sir.” Walking toward the kitchen, I stole a glance at Gideon over my shoulder. He rose to shake another hand, his napkin balled in his left fist. My throat caught and my cheeks great warm. I was conscious of my ill-fitting hand-me-down black skirt and frayed white blouse, a drab contrast with the festive clothing of the diners. “Watch out, clumsy!” I turned and was nose to chin number three of Miss Thelma Bridges’ abundant prow. “Sorry, Miss Thelma.” I danced around her, brushing the large handbag dangling from her arm. Everybody knew she shoveled ham into her purse. Such behavior was strictly forbidden by the all-you-can-eat rules of Southern church supper protocol, but Reverend Harrison never stopped her. I guess he figured, the good Lord would put a halt to it soon enough, her being eighty-eight and all. Sarah Jane Jarboe and I arrived at the pass-through counter at the same time. “He sent me a postcard from Saigon.” I blushed the minute I said it. “What?” Sarah Jane pushed golden bangs away from her perspiring forehead. “Oh, you mean Gideon.” “It’s the capital of South Vietnam. That’s where they sent him.” “Good thing, since he’s a Southerner.” Sarah Jane turned and wedged her way through a crush of waitresses muscling toward the counter. Sarah Jane did not care a hoot for geography; if it wasn’t on a 45-rpm record, my friend didn’t pay it much mind. I grasped two plates, edged out of the way and swung toward the dining area. After depositing the food, I popped out the screen door onto the landing for a little fresh air. On the crest of the rise, I spotted Uncle Hayden directing cars into wavy columns on the parish hall lawn with the assurance of a catapult officer on a carrier deck. Hayden Kent was not my uncle but rather my double first cousin, what you get when a sister and brother marry a brother and sister. Since he was my father’s age and possessed the same heredity as an uncle, it was easier to call him that. The lot was almost full, tour buses blocked my view of the rectory, but I could see the line of waiting diners snaking along the shady side of the hall. In reaction to the unseasonable warmth of this October day, the men shed their jackets, and someone had brought fans from our ample supply donated by local funeral homes and distributed them to the ladies. I hoped Dad’s tea-brewing apparatus was holding up, because the iced beverage was going to be much in demand. We had our work cut out for us. I returned to the interior and peeped through the back entrance to the kitchen. Cleo, the Maddox’s Negro housekeeper, sat under a ceiling fan patting oysters, her bosom undulating as she tossed the encrusted bivalves from palm to expert palm. My mother, auburn hair pulled back in a net, hovered behind her, waiting for Cleo to place one more oyster on her wax-papered pan before returning to the deep fryer. Farther down the table Aunt Olivia, Uncle Hayden’s war bride from London, arranged thin slices of the rich, salty smoke-cured ham known locally as old ham. The natives were impressed at how quickly Olivia had mastered the traditional Maryland recipes. She was a bastion of the parish kitchen, the Sunday school and the Altar Guild. I thought, not for the first time, what a letdown it must have been to come here for a magical place like London, but despite my urgings, she rarely spoke of her home. I scanned my tables to see what was needed. The nearest was being cleared by my pimply cousin Lawrence. Beyond Lawrence’s Icabod frame, I saw Gideon stand and squeeze his way toward the exit. I gasped a bucket of air. I wanted to sprint to his side, but I knew I could not reach him before he gained the stairs, and I could not leave my post. Shoulders drooping, I loaded a tray of glasses and silverware from the idle table. Balancing the teetering stack, I waltzed toward the dishwashing alcove. As I deposited my burden, I glanced out the window to the parking area. Gideon was advancing up the slope toward Uncle Hayden in a determined fashion. My uncle held another man by the arm, a stern expression marring his usually cheerful countenance. One look at the Camels rolled in the T-shirt sleeve, and I knew it was Farley Dalton. Farley was a classmate of Gideon’s but had dropped out in tenth grade. He and Gideon had been friends from childhood, but something happened to Farley when he entered his teens. My mother said Farley had a difficult home life. His father worked at odd jobs in construction, and his mother took in laundry. We saw Mrs. Dalton at Wathen’s General Store from time to time and, when I was younger, I used to wonder how a woman could get so many bruises from washing clothes. Farley turned, staggered, and responded to my uncle. I could not hear his words, but his sneer and burning eyes told the story. Gideon reached the two men and took Farley’s other arm. As he removed the beer bottle from his friend’s hand, he spoke to my uncle. Hayden nodded, relinquished Farley, and Gideon led his inebriated companion away. Everybody knew liquor was not allowed, but rules of any kind angered Farley, as did most things society threw at him. I could just barely picture the gentle boy whom this surly, glaring apparition had replaced, the boy who loved fishing and marbles. “I cleared your front table again,” Lawrence said as he passed me juggling an overloaded tray. I looked at Mr. Maxwell’s station. The pressing crowd of impatient diners was as dense as ever. Our parish would do well this year, but my hope of talking to Gideon today was as dashed as an egg yolk in a bowl of biscuit batter.

About the author:

Katharine Russell is a former executive in the healthcare industry. She has a bachelor's degree in history from Northwestern University, a master's degree in journalism from Boston University, and a certificate in creative writing from UCLA's Writers Program. A descendant of Maryland colonists, who grew up in Southern Maryland, Russell divides her time between Baltimore, MD, and Palm Desert, CA. Under the pen name Kath Russell, the author writes the Pointer Mystery Series. The author also wrote Buddy's Tail under the pen name of K. Anne Russell.

This book was provided by the author for review.