Beth Trissel's Blog, page 108

Murder Mystery/Ghost Story Romance Novel Somewhere My Love and Ebook Giveaway~

It's the two-year anniversary of the release of my début novel Somewhere My Love which inspires me to do a post in its honor.  I loved writing this story, and it has received many enthusiastic comments and reviews. ~ Greatly appreciated.  If you would like to read the novel, leave me a comment to that effect.  I will choose a winner for a free digital download.  *Leave me an email.  Drawing on Nov. 1st.

"As I read Somewhere My Love, I recalled the feelings I experienced the first time I read Daphne DuMaurier's Rebecca long ago. Using deliciously eerie elements similar to that gothic romance, Beth Trissel has captured the haunting dangers, thrilling suspense and innocent passions that evoke the same tingly anticipation and heartfelt romance I so enjoyed then, and still do now."

~ Joysann, Publishers Weekly

Inspiration for Somewhere My Love

I've read that Virginia has more ghost stories than any other state in the Union, not necessarily because we have a more fertile imagination, but sadly because the Old Dominion has seen more bloody battles over the centuries than any other. Think back, Jamestown (1607) was the site of the oldest successful English settlement and its history is a violent one. And on we go to the many heart-rending wars fought with the usurped Indians, a number of them waged on Virginia soil. March on to the Revolution; anyone heard of Yorktown, to name just one famous battle? And let's not forget that horrific most uncivil of wars, much of it fought in, you guessed it, Virginia.

And yet, this multitude of hauntings doesn't only feature soldiers caught in an endless fray who haven't gotten word the war's over, although there are legions of tales that do and entire companies of ghosts said to battle on. Many tales feature the myriad of people, great and small, who dwelt in our richly historic state. The old Virginia homes and plantations have accumulated a wealth of such stories.

Thus, it was while touring some of these English styled manor homes with my dear mother that I conceived the idea for my paranormal romance, Somewhere My Love. Added to this meld of vintage Virginia is my own heritage, a vast source of inspiration from my childhood. On my father's side, I descend from old Southern gentry, now impoverished after the Civil War, Great Depression, and various other misfortunes, including the untimely death of my brilliant grandfather. But the gracious Georgian home his ancestor built (circa 1816) still stands outside the historic town of Staunton.

I was ever determined the family home place was haunted and wove stories through my fevered mind, along with my continual search for Narnia which entailed frequent treks into the old wardrobe. But I digress. The magnificent ancestral portraits in my family and on display in other Virginia homes held me transfixed, wondering. And it was just such a portrait of a striking dark-haired gentleman who embedded himself in my thoughts. Who was he? Why did he die so young? That other painting of the fair young lady…did she love him?

Often, the guides at these old homes are brimming with tales. But other times we are left to wonder…and ask ourselves are these folk who've gone before us truly gone, or do some still have unfinished business in this realm? And what of the young lovers whose time was tragically cut short, do they somehow find a way? Love conquers all, so I answer 'yes.'

The old family home place, Chapel Hill, pictured above.

*Somewhere My Love won the 2008 Preditors&Editors Readers Poll for Best Romance Novel ~ Available in Print and E-book from my publisher  The Wild Rose Press and various online booksellers.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: American Civil War, Arts, Ghost, Ghosts, Gothic fiction, Great Depression, Jamestown, Jamestown Virginia, light paranormal romance novel Somewhere My Love, Paranormal, paranormal romance, Places and Hauntings, Rebecca, Reincarnation romance novel, Romance E-book giveaway, Virginia

Faires and Planting A Fairy Garden

If you lack whimsy and magic in your life, consider enticing fairies to your yard by including the plants they find irresistible.  I found much useful information on planting a fairy garden at this herbal site.

Personally, Ive always been a big fan of fairies and they are more than welcome in my garden.  I expect most of them are heading farther South at this time of year, with winter on its way, but they may linger a while yet.

Until quite recently, my youngest niece, Cailin, just turned six, aspired to be a fairy when she grew up and often checked her back in the mirror for signs of  sprouting wings.  To her disappointment, none are forthcoming.

Older sister, Sara, told her that you are either born a fairy or you're not, you can't become one.  Bummer.  Cailin was most put out.   She is now contemplating being a person who sings on stage.  However, her favorite movies are those with fairies and princesses in them.  When I was a child, that's all I drew.  But I never actually thought I could grow up to be a fairy when I grew up.  A princess, sure.

I loved the movie, Fairy Tale, A True Story.   And I was no kid when I saw it.  Charming film for all ages.  And it's true.

From the above herbal site:  "Some herbs are associated with fairies, the most important one being thyme. In Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream, Titania, the fairy queen, sleeps in a bed of wild thyme growing on a bank.

Foxgloves are essential for fairy gardens. According to legend, fairies sleep in the bell-shaped flowers, and wear them as gloves. Other common names for the plant include fairy fingers, fairy thimbles, and fairy cap.

The purple foxglove is a biennial. Its blooms range in color from white and cream to pink and purple. There may be attractive dark spots in the throats of the bell-shaped flowers. There are perennial foxgloves as well, including the yellow foxglove.

Foxgloves often self-sow and prefer cool weather. Those in warm climates may want to grow the quick-blooming variety, called 'Foxy.' This will produce flowers the very first year from seed.

Another herb that is essential in the fairy garden is saffron. Fairies are especially fond of this culinary herb/spice for flavoring cakes and dyeing cloth. Other recommended plants are rosemary and roses. Roses are much loved by fairies for their beauty and fragrance."

Clap if you believe in fairies~

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: A Midsummer Night's Dream, art, enticing fairies to your garden, Fairies, Fairy, Plant, Plants for a fairy garden, Tinker Bell, Tinker Bell and the Great Fairy Rescue, Titania

Old Time Mennonite Apple Dumplings

Autumn is the season of apples, all kinds, colors, sweet, tangy, mild, or full of flavor, and it's the perfect time of year to make apple dumplings.  This is an old recipe from The Mennonite Community Cookbook.

6 Medium Sized Baking Apples, 2 cups of flour, 2 1/2 tsps. baking powder, 1/2 tsp. salt, 2/3 cup shortening,  1/2 cup milk.

Sauce:  2 cups brown sugar, 2 cups water, 1/4 cup butter, 1/4 tsp. cinnamon or nutmeg

Pare and core apples.  Leave whole. To make pastry sift flour, baking powder and salt together. Cut in shortening until particles are the size of small peas. Sprinkle milk over mixture and press together lightly, working dough only enough to hold together. Roll dough as for pastry and cut into six squares and place an apple on each. Fill cavity in apple with sugar and cinnamon. Pat dough around apple to cover completely. Fasten edges together securely on top of apple.  Place dumplings 1 inch apart in a greased baking pan.

Pour the sauce over them made as follows:  Combine brown sugar, water and spices in stove top pan.  Cook for five minutes.  Remove from heat and add butter.

Bake at 350 for 35 to 40 minutes. Baste occasionally during baking. Serve hot with rich milk or cream.  Savor.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Apple, Apple dumpling, Baking, Baking powder, Brown sugar, Dough, Flour, Mennonite, Milk, Shortening

The Lore of the Jack O'Lantern

We love our pumpkins, the goal each year being to grow as big a pumpkin as possible and revel in its great orange glory.  And, of course, to carve a ghostly grin in this triumph of pumpkinhood.  Sometimes we win the battle with the vine borers and succeed.  Sometimes we don't.  Our favorite looking pumpkin is the wonderfully ribbed heirloom Cinderella variety.  But we like most anything that achieves an impressive size.  Next year we will grow the biggest pumpkin ever.  And we have the most sincere pumpkin patch too.  *Pics of some of this year's Cinderella Pumpkins~

The following bit of Halloween lore is from the Pumpkin Nook, an online source of info for all your pumpkin needs and one I highly recommend:

The Irish brought the tradition of the Jack O'Lantern to America. But, the original Jack O'Lantern was not a pumpkin.The Jack O'Lantern legend goes back hundreds of years in Irish History.
As the story goes, Stingy Jack was a miserable, old drunk who liked to play tricks on everyone: family, friends, his mother and even the Devil himself. One day, he tricked the Devil into climbing up an apple tree. Once the Devil climbed up the apple tree, Stingy Jack hurriedly placed crosses around the trunk of the tree. The Devil was then unable to get down the tree. Stingy Jack made the Devil promise him not to take his soul when he died. Once the devil promised not to take his soul, Stingy Jack removed the crosses and let the Devil down.

Many years later, when Jack finally died, he went to the pearly gates of Heaven and was told by Saint Peter that he was too mean and too cruel and had led a miserable and worthless life on earth. He was not allowed to enter heaven. He then went down to Hell and the Devil. The Devil kept his promise and would not allow him to enter Hell.

Now Jack was scared and had nowhere to go but to wander about forever in the
darkness between heaven and hell. He asked the Devil how he could leave as there was no light. The Devil tossed him an ember from the flames of Hell to help him light his way.

Jack placed the ember in a hollowed out Turnip, one of his favorite foods which he always carried around with him whenever he could steal one. For that day onward, Stingy Jack roamed the earth without a resting place, lighting his way as he went with his "Jack O'Lantern.
On all Hallow's eve, the Irish hollowed out Turnips, rutabagas, gourds, potatoes and beets. They placed a light in them to ward off evil spirits and keep Stingy Jack away. These were the original Jack O'Lanterns. In the 1800′s a couple of waves of Irish immigrants came to America. The Irish immigrants quickly discovered that Pumpkins were bigger and easier to carve out. So they used pumpkins for Jack O'Lanterns.~

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Cinderella pumpkin, Devil, Halloween, Jack-O-Lantern, Pumpkin, Saint Peter, Stingy Jack, Turnip, United States

Autum Along The Blue Ridge Parkway~

Believe in yourself, your neighbors, your work, your ultimate attainment of more complete happiness. It is only the farmer who faithfully plants seeds in the Spring, who reaps a harvest in Autumn. ~ B. C. Forbes

Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop off like autumn leaves.

~John Muir

"The mountains are calling and I must go." ~John Muir

There is a harmony

In autumn, and a lustre in its sky,

Which through the summer is not heard or seen,

As if it could not be, as if it had not been!

~Percy Bysshe Shelley

"But I remember more dearly autumn afternoons in bottoms that lay intensely silent under old great trees." ~C.S. Lewis

"On the motionless branches of some trees, autumn berries hung like clusters of coral beads, as in those fabled orchards where the fruits were jewels . . ."~ Charles Dickens

"I've learned that everyone wants to live on top of the mountain, but all the happiness and growth occurs while you're climbing it." ~Author unknown

Climb the mountains and get their good tidings.  ~John Muir

"Men trip not on mountains, they trip on molehills" ~Chinese Proverbs

"Great things are done when men and mountains meet." ~William Blake

"Autumn burned brightly, a running flame through the mountains, a torch flung to the trees." ~

"If you wait for the perfect moment when all is safe and assured, it may never arrive. Mountains will not be climbed, races won, or lasting happiness achieved." ~

"From inaccessible mountain range by way of desert untrod by human foot to the ends of the unknown seas, the breath of the everlasting creative spirit is felt, rejoicing over every speck of dust that hearkens to it and lives"

~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

"Doubly happy, however, is the man whom lofty mountain tops are within reach, for the lights that shine there illumine all that lies below"

~John Muir

"Over every mountain there is a path, although it may not be seen from the valley." ~Theodore Roethke

*Pics taken by my mom and husband.  Mom and niece in pic above.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: B. C. Forbes, Charles Dickens, Faith Baldwin, images of the Blue Ridge Mountains, John Muir, Maurice Chevalier, Percy Bysshe Shelley, The Skyline Drive, United States, William Blake

Finding Gold In Herbal Lore

Calendulas wink cheerily in the flower bed that stretches along the road like a colorful island in the middle of a grassy sea. These calendula are special with their dark eyes dotting the centers of orange, saffron, yellow, and apricot flowers. A wealth of lore is invested in these simple plants, also known as "pot marigold," and the blooms Shakespeare had in mind when he spoke of marigolds. The Old English called them golds and ruddes.

From Discovery Health:

"Calendula has a long history of use as a wound-healing and skin-soothing botanical. This lovely marigoldlike flower (although called pot marigold, it is not a true marigold) is considered a vulnerary agent, a substance that promotes healing. Calendula also has anti-inflammatory and weak antimicrobial activity. It is most often used topically for lacerations, abrasions, and skin infections; less commonly, it is used internally to heal inflamed & infected mucous membranes."

Interesting and informative site that sells Calendula Cream.

From The Tree of Knowledge: Add calendula to baths to win respect and admiration. Scatter under your bed for protection & prophetic dreams. Carry for justice in court.

An ancient herbalist states: "Golde is bitter in savour. Fayr and yellow in his flowur. Ye golde flowur is good to sene. It makyth ye syth bryth and clene."

"It is said, only to look on marigolds will draw evil humours out of the head and strengthen the eyesight. The petals may also be ingested in a conserve of sugar to be taken during times of plague and pestilence, or dried and added to broths. And if you've been robbed, marigold will give you a vision of the thief. But it must be taken "only when the moon is in the sign of the Virgin and not when Jupiter is in the ascendant, for then the herb loses its virtue. And the gatherer, who must be out of deadly sin, must say three Pater Nosters and three Aves."

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Arts, Calendula, Essential oil, Flower, Health, Jupiter, Literature, Old English, Shakespeare, World Literature

People and Places From The History That Inspires Me~

Click to view slideshow.

 

 

Filed under: Uncategorized

Step Into the Garden With Meriwether & Jeremiah from Colonial American Romance Novel Enemy of the King

Stone lions the size of wolfhounds sat on either side of the imposing front door as if to devour unwanted guests. Perhaps Jeremiah enjoyed their significance. He seldom entertained and seemed happier seated astride a horse than in the company of most ladies and gentlemen. He turned the marble knob and led Meriwether out onto the crescent-shaped balcony.

He leaned momentarily on the iron railing. "Feel that breeze."

"Delightful." The cool wind fanned her hot cheeks. Lifting her skirts, she walked arm in arm with him down the brick steps of the gracious Georgian-style home.

Pleasant Grove had been built by his grandfather on a bluff above the Santee River and fashioned after the manor in Kent that Lord Jordan had been forced to flee in 1647 after fighting with Charles I, who lost his kingdom and his head. Fortunately Jeremiah's Royalist ancestor had fared better than the ill-fated king and escaped to America with his young wife and her jewels. But his near capture by Cromwell and the loss of everything else had given him a wariness he'd passed to his descendents.

Was Jeremiah secretly opposing a different king?

She cocked her head at him a little apprehensively. "Is there anywhere in particular you're taking me?"

He smiled as if to reassure her. "Just farther in."

"As you wish." Being out here alone with him was like being in a glistening Eden. A thrush warbled from high above them in the live oak. Green-gray moss hung from its far-reaching branches and blew in the breeze, reminding her of the McChesney, her father's largest ship, its sails billowing.

Jeremiah held her back, the warmth of his hand radiating through her sleeve.  "You'll spoil those fine shoes."

He led her around the sprawling puddle she hadn't noticed and onto the green mat creeping over the path.

The fragrant thyme scented the air as they trod on the tiny leaves and wound deeper into the garden. Newly washed hollyhocks, rosy balsam, and wine-red salvia gleamed. The glowing colors, heady fragrances, her arm tingling at his touch…stirred a pulsing awareness in Meriwether that she'd never felt in the house. There was so much she wanted to say, to ask, but couldn't, and she darted glances at him.

He caught her eye. "What are you thinking?"

"Nothing of consequence," she almost stuttered.

He quirked his left eyebrow at her; the narrow scar gave it a slightly crooked rise. "And earlier in the parlor?"

She glanced away from his searching gaze and focused on the toe of his boot. "Just chatter."

"Are you truly worried?"

"Only as much as anyone these days." Still evading his scrutiny, she bent and plucked a sweetly-scented nicotiana blossom.

He took the white flower from her hand as she straightened, setting her skin afire, and tucked it behind her ear. "I sense there's much left unsaid. Why won't you speak?"

Still battling the near irresistible draw of those blue eyes, she stared at his open neckline. "I prefer to listen."

"Yet I would know what fills your fair head."

"Perhaps you already do," she said, hastily shifting her inspection from his bronzed chest back to the snowy blossoms.

His voice lowered even further. "No. You are not so easily read."

Jeremiah grew silent and led her into the avenue, as he called it, strolling with her between rows of English boxwood that reached up over their heads. The clipped shrubs exuded the warm Old World scent Meriwether remembered from childhood.

"Stay a moment," he said, stopping beside the fish pool. The statue of his father's favorite spaniel sat on the pebble path beside the water, a whimsical touch. The brown stone was flecked with moss, as was anything that sat out of doors too long, but the cocker seemed as if he really were intent on the water.

She patted his granite ears and sighed. How could she confide her deepest longing and her fears?

"Such a weighty sigh. Has our walk overtaxed you?"

She lifted her gaze to his, bracing herself under the force of his study. "No. I'm much stronger now."

"Good. You seem so. You were as weak as a newborn kitten when I first found you."

"I only remember that you brought me here in your boat."

He scooped up a pebble, tossing it into the pool. Goldfish scattered, and a little green frog plopped in among the lilies. "Charles Town is a graveyard. Thank God yours has not swelled the family plot."

The intensity in his voice took her by surprise.

"Are you content at Pleasant Grove, Miss Steele?"

"Yes," she answered in growing confusion.

"Entirely?"

She shied away from his inquiry and watched goldfish rippling through the water like orange silk. "Why doubt me?"

"I must know."

His earnestness made her stomach churn. "For my part,

I am content. I trust you don't find my presence burdensome?"

"Not yet," he said gravely.

Her eyes startled back to his. "Do you think I will become so?"

"Quite possibly."

****

1780 South Carolina, spies and intrigue, a vindictive ghost,  the battle of King's Mountain, Patriots and Tories, pounding adventure, pulsing romance…ENEMY OF THE KING.

'Enemy of the King is an amazing and vibrant look into the American Revolutionary War and tells the story through the eyes of a remarkable woman. While Jeremiah Jordan himself is a strong soldier and heroic patriot, it is Meriwether Steele who makes such a great impression in this epic novel. Her dedication to the man she loves, the lengths she must go to defend herself and others, and the unstoppable force that she is makes Meriwether one heck of a heroine. Ms. Trissel brings the countryside and its people alive with her fascinating and at times gory details. This sexy historical book is a must read!'

~ Danielle

Reviewer for Coffee Time Romance & More~

Colonial American Romance Novel ENEMY OF THE KING, a fast-paced Adventure Romance, is my version of THE PATRIOT.  The novel is available in print and/or digital download  at: The Wild Rose Press, Amazon, Barnes & Noble and other online booksellers~

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Adventure Romance Novel, Backcountry South Carolina, Cavalier, Charles I of England, Cromwell, Excerpt from Colonial American historical Romance Novel Enemy of the King, Historical Romance, Kent, Old World, Oliver Cromwell, Santee River, The Battle of King's Mountain, The Patriot, United States

Herbs Flavor My Historical and Light Paranormal Romance Novels

The question was asked, which of my novels has the most herbal references.  That's tough to say because herbs and herbal lore enter into all of my novels, more or less.  Following are some excerpts from various stories where herbs add flavor, fragrance, or embolden the scene in some way.  The first novel that comes to mind is light paranormal, murder mystery/ ghost story romance Somewhere My Love which has many herbal references.

The following excerpts are from Somewhere My Love:

~Remembering the penlight on his keychain, Will pulled it out of his jean's pocket and skimmed the small beam over the ground as he ran. Every rock and furrowed trunk took on an unearthly appearance, even age-old herbs. The flowering spikes of monkshood seemed especially sinister. Normally the blue-capped flowers struck him as beautiful. Not tonight, perhaps because it was poisonous, also known ominously as wolf's bane.

He shook off the morbid mood that had gripped him and bore down on Julia. Sweet perfume scented the night shadows. The white bells glistened in his miniature light. He spotted her sunk down among the lilies.~

****

Hamlet parallels are woven through Somewhere My Love in addition to parts of the play being enacted during the story~a play within a play. The following excerpt is from that scenario:

~Trumpets sounded for the third and final bout. Lyle reached for his sword and Paul shifted it into his grasp. He strode toward Will with the end of his blade dipped in greenish-black dye to resemble the deadly poison called wolf's bane. Supposedly, the same toxin had permeated the pearl, and consequently, the wine. Queen Nora was about to enact her death scene.~

****

~Will discovered Julia in the herb garden conducting her first tour. Her hair reflected the sunshine like polished copper and was pulled back in an adorable pony tail. The resident cat, Mr. Tibbs, had also found her and rubbed orange and brown calico fur against her bare legs. Seemingly unaware of the abbreviated length of her skirt, Julia bent down to pluck a handful of lavender blossoms from the purple ribbon outlining the culinary bed.

Several men in the assembly tilted their heads to the side for a better glimpse of her curvaceous thighs, then colored and glanced away at Will's disapproving stare. Honestly, didn't the girl have any idea the sensation she was causing? Apparently not. She straightened with an expression of pure innocence.

"Isn't lavender delightful," she said in her charming accent, holding out the small bouquet. The visitors sniffed appreciatively as she spoke. "To quote an old herbalist, 'Tis of especial good use for all griefs and pains of the head and brain.' I can vouch for its soothing properties in the bath," she added with a pensive note.

One gentleman coughed under his hand. Will could well imagine what he was envisioning.

Summoning a bright smile, Julia stepped in among the thyme. Again she bent to pluck a sprig, and again revealed more than she realized. But the men kept their eyes averted with Will looking on, arms crossed over his chest. She inhaled the aromatic leaves and spoke out with enthusiasm. "Thyme is an age-old emblem of activity, bravery, and energy. In the days of chivalry it was the custom for ladies to embroider a bee hovering over a sprig of thyme on the scarves they presented to their knights. How romantic."

Surrounding heads nodded. Several women sighed appreciatively. Julia didn't have to bend as far to pick a sampling of silvery sage. She extended the leaves, radiating a love of heirloom plants. "This is one of my favorites. It was said of sage among the Ancients, 'Cur moriatur homo cui Salvia crescit in horto?' or 'Why should a man die whilst sage grows in his garden?'"

A responsive murmur ran through the assembly. "Could you speak to my garden club?" asked one lady with bright red lipstick and an enormous navy blue handbag.

"Certainly, if it's convenient to my work schedule."

Will stepped forward. "I'm sure we can spare Miss Morrow, and if you would like to conduct your meeting here, the gazebo is available, weather permitting, at a modest fee. Proceeds go towards ongoing restoration."

"That would be ideal, Mr. Wentworth. You have a real treasure in this young lady," the woman gushed.

"Yes. We're quite fortunate," he said, wishing he could take Julia aside and speak to her about her skirt.

She cast him an entrancing smile. "Now, if you will all follow me to the medicinal garden," she said, and led her charges the short distance to the next circular bed.

Will let Julia conduct the tour. She was fascinating to watch and clearly in her element.~

****

Next are several herbal related excerpts from my NA Historical Fantasy Romance Daughter of the Wind.  This first one is from the old Scots-Irish woman, Neeley's, point of view.

~A brooding darkness hovered over the McNeal homestead. Of that, Neeley was certain. And she sensed from where it came. She needed all her wisdom now to prevail against it. She'd limped stiffly through the home sprinkling a sweetly aromatic decoction of angelica root into every corner, the most powerful herb for warding off spells and enchantment. Then she'd hung a bough of rowan wood above the doorway to lend protection from evil. The leafless branch dripped with clusters of orange-red berries, pleasant to behold as she sat by the hearth. ~

And later in the chapter, ~Her needle winking in the firelight, Neeley sewed the blue fringe on the cape collar and around the long hem. The fragrance of angelica, the most sacred of herbs, rose from the linen. She'd sprinkled a decoction of the holy root over the cloth to bring protection to the wearer.

Jack would need all the defense he could get.

As for Karin, her innate goodness would aid her, but Neeley wasn't taking any chances. An herbal bath of angelica mingled with the purifying power of agrimony, redolent of ripe apricots, awaited the girl. Jack too, if Neeley managed to coax him in.

****

This excerpt is from the heroine, Karen's, point of view.

~Neeley rose stiffly from her chair and shuffled forward, her stooped figure a head shorter than Karin's. "You'll want my help, John McNeal. Fetch the woundwort, Karin. Sarah, steep some comfrey in hot water and bring fresh linens. Joseph, the poor fellow could do with a spot of brandy," the tiny woman rapped out like a hammer driving nails. Old, she might be, and as wizened as a dried apple, but Neeley took charge in a medical emergency whether folks liked it or not.

Sarah dashed to the cupboard to take down the brown bowl. Karin flew beside her and grabbed the crock reeking of salve. Sarah snatched a towel and they spun toward the hearth as the men made their way past the gaping crowd. The stranger lifted his head and looked dazedly at both women. Karin met vivid green eyes in a sun-bronzed face stubbled with dark whiskers. A fiery sensation shot through her—and not just because he was devastatingly handsome.

****

The two following excerpts are from the hero, Jack's, pov.

"Thomas, see Sarah gets to bed and brew her a cup of betony. That'll calm her," Neeley directed.

Thomas helped his stepmother to her feet."Come on, Sarah. You'll do better with a rest and some tea," he said, and guided the unsteady woman from the room.

Neeley set the white porcelain bowl on the washstand. She squinted down at Jack and then gestured with bent fingers at the girl peering from behind John's bulk. "Karin, come closer. You're my hands, lass."

Her eyes, too, Jack suspected.

****

And later in that scene, Karin dabbed his shoulder dry, then dipped her small hand into the pungent crock. Pursing rose-tinged lips, she smeared the aromatic paste on his wound. "I'll give the salve a while to work before I dig the ball out and stitch you up. Ever had woundwort, sir?"

"Dulls the pain right well," Jack managed, hiding a grimace. Even her soft touch stung like the devil, but he wouldn't push her away for anything.

****

I used willow bark tea in the following excerpt from my historical romance novel Through the Fire.

Blurb: At the height of the French and Indian War, a young English widow ventures into the colonial frontier in search of a fresh start. She never expects to find it in the arms of the half-Shawnee, half-French warrior who makes her his prisoner in the raging battle to possess a continent––or to be aided by a mysterious white wolf and a holy man.

Excerpt:

~For a moment, he simply looked at her. What lay behind those penetrating eyes?

Shoka held out the cup. "Drink this."

Did he mean to help her? Rebecca had heard hideous stories of warriors' brutality, but also occasionally of their mercy. She tried to sit, moaning at the effect this movement had on her aching body. She sank back down.

He slid a corded arm beneath her shoulders and gently raised her head. Encouraged by his unexpected aid, she sipped, grimacing at the bitterness. The vile taste permeated her mouth.

Weren't deadly herbs acrid? Dear Lord. Had he tricked her into downing a fatal brew? She eyed him accusingly. "'Tis poison."

He arched one black brow. "No. It's good medicine. Will make your pain less."

Unconvinced, she clamped her mouth together.

"I will drink. See?" he said, and took a swallow.

She parted her lips just wide enough to argue. "It may take more than a mouthful to kill."

He regarded her through narrowing eyes. "You dare much."

Though she knew he felt her tremble, she met his piercing gaze. If he were testing her, she wouldn't waver.

His sharp expression softened. "Yet you have courage."~

****

The following herbal excerpt is from my suspenseful Scottish Time Travel Somewhere My Lass:

~Tearing his eyes away from Mora, Neil squirted antibiotic ointment on the deep cut, as he'd often done before, only not to himself.  He closed the raw edges of the wound together with a butterfly band aide then covered that with a larger one.  "There.  That should hold it."

Aunt Margaret observed the proceedings over his shoulder.  "Ye know what yer about, I see.  No stitches wanted with that wee dressing.  There's naught like a healing salve fer wounds.  The ground berries of hemlock, yarrow root, and opium seeds mixed with lard make a fine unguent.  Yet yers will serve, I doubt not."

Pride in her shining eyes, Mora said, "Neil has much knowledge of healing."

He basked in her praise but suspected Margaret Mackenzie knew a great deal herself.

"Aye.  He does that.  And he'll have need of it."~

****

These two excerpts are from my newly released Colonial Native American Romance Novel Red Bird's Song:

~Where was Wicomechee, and why did she care? Only for protection, Charity reasoned, glad of Posetha's friendliness. Though not as tall as Wicomechee, he stood a handspan above her. He motioned her knee nearer the water to wet the bandage then carefully unbound the linen. The cut was closing well, though badly discolored with a purpling bruise.

"Wait." Posetha darted into the trees, returning with a handful of mitten-shaped leaves. "This kind brings healing."

The spicy scent of sassafras rose around her as he pressed the crushed leaves to her wound and bound the poultice in place with a strip of linen taken from the pouch at his waist.

"Thank you," she offered.

"Megwich."

Was he teaching her Shawnee? "Megwich, Posetha."

He watched appreciatively as she combed out tangles. "Your hair is colored like a red leaf. Pocoon sisqui. Your eyes are skipaki, the color of leaves in the planting moon."~

****

Rising a little giddily, Charity limped over the mossy stones. A bend in the stream revealed Wicomechee prying a root from a tall leafy plant.

Wicomechee beckoned her near. "This is good medicine." He mashed the tuber against a stone and licorice scented the air. "Lie down. Rest."

She sank onto the carpet of leaves beneath a golden sassafras tree. He squatted beside her and reached to her rebound knee then stopped. "Who tended this injury?"

"Posetha. Earlier today. He was very kind." A wave of fatigue engulfed her as the severe tension of the day faded and she felt herself collapsing under its weight.

Her eyes would not stay open. "He was bringing me to you. I need—your help." A huge yawn interrupted her.

"My aid you have. I will care for you."

Reassured, she began to drift. "Like a brother?"

"No. Not like a brother."

Wicomechee's throaty chuckle followed her down into the blessed oblivion of sleep.~

****

 

I have more stories with more herbal excerpts but this is enough for now.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Alternative, Ancients, Excerpt from Light paranormal time travel romance novel Somewhere My Lass, excerpts from Colonial Native American Romance Novel Through the Fire, excerpts from Historical Native American Romance Novel, Excerpts from historical Native American Romance Novel Red Bird's Song, Excerpts from light paranormal romance novel, Excerpts from murder mystery/ghost story Somewhere My Lass, excerpts from NA Historical fantasy romance Daughter of the Wind, Garden, Gardens, Health, Herb, Julia, Kitchen garden, Plant, Plants, Salvia, Shopping, Thyme

Cats

In our family, when the going gets tough, the tough get kittens.  Considering how this year has gone so far, it's about time for a new kitten.  We love our cats.  Well, most of the time.

Two of my favorite things are cats and books and the two seem to go together very well.  I also have a small dog who snoozes beside me as I read and write, but our gray tabby Percy is always at the ready for a good cuddle and a nap.   Our shy cat Minnie Mae is more likely to perch nearby.  We also have a number of barn kitties, but that's another story.  We used to have two oriental shorthair cats, Gabby and her son Pookah, who lived with us in the house for years until they died and I miss them.  Fascinating breed.  I'm partial to Orientals, and of course, tabbies and other down to earth cats~

A meow massages the heart. - Stuart McMillan

"You can't help that. We're all mad here." – The Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland

"No matter how much cats fight, there always seems to be plenty of kittens." – Abraham Lincoln

"Of all God's creatures, there is only one that cannot be made slave of the lash. That one is the cat. If man could be crossed with the cat it would improve the man, but it would deteriorate the cat." – Mark Twain

"You can keep a dog; but it is the cat who keeps people, because cats find humans useful domestic animals."- George Mikes

"Thousands of years ago, cats were worshipped as gods. Cats have never forgotten this." – Anonymous

"Cats are kindly masters, just so long as you remember your place."- Paul Gray

"One must love a cat on its own terms."- Paul Gray

Cats can be cooperative when something feels good, which, to a cat, is the way everything is supposed to feel as much of the time as possible. - Roger Caras

By and large, people who enjoy teaching animals to roll over will find themselves happier with a dog. - Barbara Holland

Cats are the ultimate narcissists. You can tell this by all the time they spend on personal grooming. Dogs aren't like this. A dog's idea of personal grooming is to roll in a dead fish. - James Gorman

As anyone who has ever been around a cat for any length of time well knows cats have enormous patience with the limitations of the human kind. -

There are two means of refuge from the miseries of life: music and cats. - Albert Schweitzer

There are few things in life more heartwarming than to be welcomed by a cat. – Tay Hohoff

Most beds sleep up to six cats. Ten cats without the owner. - Stephen Baker

There is no more intrepid explorer than a kitten. - Jules Champfleury

Cats are smarter than dogs. You can't get eight cats to pull a sled through snow." – Jeff Valdez

"You can not look at a sleeping cat and feel tense." –

"The really great thing about cats is their endless variety. One can pick a cat to fit almost any kind of decor, color, scheme, income, personality, mood. But under the fur, whatever color it may be, there still lies, essentially unchanged, one of the world's free souls." – Eric Gurney

"I found out why cats drink out of the toilet. My mother told me it's because the water is cold in there. And I'm like: How did my mother know that?" –

"An ordinary kitten will ask more questions than any five year old." – Carl Van Vechten

"If the pull of the outside world is strong, there is also a pull towards the human. The cat may disappear on its own errands, but sooner or later, it returns once again for a little while, to greet us with its own type of love. Independent as they are, cats find more than pleasure in our company."- Lloyd Alexander

Every life should have nine cats. – Anonymous

You are my cat and I am your human. – Hilaire Belloc

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Abraham Lincoln, Albert Schweitzer, Carl Van Vechten, Cat, Cheshire Cat, Cleveland Amory, George Mikes, God, Jane Pauley, Mark Twain, Pet, Recreation