Camy Tang's Blog, page 148
August 12, 2011
Green smoothie
Captain's Log, Stardate 08.12.2011
So, this requires a little explaining.
On the advice of my friend Tosca Lee, who was Mrs. Nebraska, I read the book Fast Track One-Day Detox Diet by Ann Louise Gittleman
.
I did not do the one-day detox, but I was fascinated by her explanation of liver function (yes, my geeky biologist side is coming out) and the foods that help the liver out. Apparently in order to break down toxins, the liver uses a two-step process (which I vaguely remembered from my college biology classes).
The first step sometimes creates a compound even more toxic than the original, but that's so that the liver can then go to the second step and break down the compound entirely into a form that can be eliminated from the body. It's a common thing that I remembered from organic chemistry. Sometimes you need to make a more complex-looking compound in order to use a certain catalyst and break the compound down into what endpoint you want.
Anyway, the body needs certain things for both steps of the process, but if you're lacking in things for the second step, you're stuck with a toxic compound in your body that your liver can't break down. That's why you get headaches and stuff when you're in detox.
For the detox diet, the author recommends eating certain foods the days before the detox so that your liver isn't lacking in anything. Which makes logical sense. I didn't do the detox, but I try to eat the foods that she recommends so that I have a happy liver.
Some things are harder to eat than others. Like beets. There are other things in the list that I can eat besides beets, but since we've been getting lots of beets in our organic co-op basket each week, I figure I should eat them rather than going out to buy some of the other veggies in the same list just so I can avoid eating beets.
But then I was looking at a raw foods website and saw a recipe for a green smoothie that didn't seem too bad. The woman added a lot of fruit to her smoothie as opposed to having it be all green.
And since Captain Caffeine bought his nifty super-duper Blendtec blender, I figured I'd try a green smoothie in order to get my beets and other veggies.
I put in a chopped raw beet, a chopped raw carrot, 6-8 stalks of chopped Swiss Chard with the stems cut off, about 1.5 cups of frozen strawberries, and an overflowing tablespoon of honey. I also added a bit of water.
Can I just say, the Blendtec blender is totally awesome!!!!!! The consistency is very smooth and the blender is incredibly easy to clean, as opposed to my old KitchenAid blender (that thing was at least 15 years old).
And the smoothie tastes okay. There's a slight "green" smell of the raw beets/chard that I'm not nuts about, but the flavor is good, nicely sweetened by the honey and strawberries. I have to admit it looks a bit repulsively mold-green, but it tastes fine as long as I don't stare at it.
Another benefit is that it's a great smoothie for me to drink in the morning when my stomach is usually a bit nauseated. The smoothie is no-fat and easy on my stomach, and it has greens in it, and they say that you should try to eat veggies with breakfast somehow anyway for a well-rounded meal.
We'll see how this goes. Any thoughts?
So, this requires a little explaining.
On the advice of my friend Tosca Lee, who was Mrs. Nebraska, I read the book Fast Track One-Day Detox Diet by Ann Louise Gittleman
.I did not do the one-day detox, but I was fascinated by her explanation of liver function (yes, my geeky biologist side is coming out) and the foods that help the liver out. Apparently in order to break down toxins, the liver uses a two-step process (which I vaguely remembered from my college biology classes).
The first step sometimes creates a compound even more toxic than the original, but that's so that the liver can then go to the second step and break down the compound entirely into a form that can be eliminated from the body. It's a common thing that I remembered from organic chemistry. Sometimes you need to make a more complex-looking compound in order to use a certain catalyst and break the compound down into what endpoint you want.
Anyway, the body needs certain things for both steps of the process, but if you're lacking in things for the second step, you're stuck with a toxic compound in your body that your liver can't break down. That's why you get headaches and stuff when you're in detox.
For the detox diet, the author recommends eating certain foods the days before the detox so that your liver isn't lacking in anything. Which makes logical sense. I didn't do the detox, but I try to eat the foods that she recommends so that I have a happy liver.
Some things are harder to eat than others. Like beets. There are other things in the list that I can eat besides beets, but since we've been getting lots of beets in our organic co-op basket each week, I figure I should eat them rather than going out to buy some of the other veggies in the same list just so I can avoid eating beets.
But then I was looking at a raw foods website and saw a recipe for a green smoothie that didn't seem too bad. The woman added a lot of fruit to her smoothie as opposed to having it be all green.
And since Captain Caffeine bought his nifty super-duper Blendtec blender, I figured I'd try a green smoothie in order to get my beets and other veggies.
I put in a chopped raw beet, a chopped raw carrot, 6-8 stalks of chopped Swiss Chard with the stems cut off, about 1.5 cups of frozen strawberries, and an overflowing tablespoon of honey. I also added a bit of water.Can I just say, the Blendtec blender is totally awesome!!!!!! The consistency is very smooth and the blender is incredibly easy to clean, as opposed to my old KitchenAid blender (that thing was at least 15 years old).
And the smoothie tastes okay. There's a slight "green" smell of the raw beets/chard that I'm not nuts about, but the flavor is good, nicely sweetened by the honey and strawberries. I have to admit it looks a bit repulsively mold-green, but it tastes fine as long as I don't stare at it.
Another benefit is that it's a great smoothie for me to drink in the morning when my stomach is usually a bit nauseated. The smoothie is no-fat and easy on my stomach, and it has greens in it, and they say that you should try to eat veggies with breakfast somehow anyway for a well-rounded meal.
We'll see how this goes. Any thoughts?
Street Team Book List excerpt - The One Who Waits for Me by Lori Copeland
Camy here: Here's another book I added to my Street Team book giveaway list! You can win this book by joining my Street Team--Click here for more info!
Today's Wild Card author is:
Lori Copeland
and the book:
The One Who Waits for Me
Harvest House Publishers (August 1, 2011) ***Special thanks to Karri James, Marketing Assistant, Harvest House Publishers for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Lori Copeland is the author of more than 90 titles, both historical and contemporary fiction. With more than 3 million copies of her books in print, she has developed a loyal following among her rapidly growing fans in the inspirational market. She has been honored with the Romantic Times Reviewer's Choice Award, The Holt Medallion, and Walden Books' Best Seller award. In 2000, Lori was inducted into the Missouri Writers Hall of Fame. She lives in the beautiful Ozarks with her husband, Lance, and their three children and five grandchildren.
Visit the author's website.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
This new series from bestselling author Lori Copeland, set in North Carolina three months after the Civil War ends, illuminates the gift of hope even in chaos, as the lives of six engaging characters intersect and unfold with the possibility of faith, love, and God's promise of a future.
Product Details:
List Price: $13.99
Paperback: 320 pages
Publisher: Harvest House Publishers (August 1, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0736930183
ISBN-13: 978-0736930185
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Joanie?"
Beth's sister stirred, coughing.
Beth gently shook Joanie's shoulder again, and the young woman opened her eyes, confusion shining in their depths.
"Pa?"
"He passed a few minutes ago. Trella will be waiting for us."
Joanie lifted her wrist to her mouth and smothered sudden sobbing. "I'm scared, Beth."
"So am I. Dress quickly."
The young woman slid out of bed, her bare feet touching the dirt-packed floor. Outside, the familiar sound of pond frogs nearly drowned out soft movements, though there was no need to be silent any more. Ma had preceded Pa in death two days ago. Beth and Joanie had been waiting, praying for the hour of Pa's death to come swiftly. Together, they lifted their father's silent form and gently carried him out the front door. He was a slight man, easy to carry. Beth's heart broke as they took him to the shallow grave they had dug the day before. Ma's fever had taken her swiftly. Pa had held on for as long as he could. Beth could still hear his voice in her ear: "Take care of your sister, little Beth." He didn't have to remind her that there was no protection at all now to save either of them from Uncle Walt and his son, Bear. Beth had known all of her life that one day she and Joanie would have to escape this place—a place of misery.
It was her father's stubborn act that started the situation Beth and Joanie were immersed in. Pa had hid the plantation deed from his brother and refused to tell him where it was. Their land had belonged to a Jornigan for two hundred years, but Walt claimed that because he was the older brother and allowed Pa to live on his land the deed belonged to him. Pa was a proud man and had no respect for his brother, though his family depended on Walt for a roof over their heads and food on their table. For meager wages they worked Walt's fields, picked his cotton, and suffered his tyranny along with the other workers. Pa took the location of the hidden deed to his grave—almost. Walt probably figured Beth knew where it was because Pa always favored her. And she did, but she would die before she shared the location with her vile uncle.
By the light of the waning moon the women made short work of placing the corpse in the grave and then filling the hole with dirt. Finished, they stood back and Joanie bowed her head in prayer. "Dear Father, thank You for taking Ma and Pa away from this world. I know they're with You now, and I promise we won't cry." Hot tears streaming down both women's cheeks belied her words.
Returning to the shanty, Joanie removed her nightshirt and put on boy's clothes. Dressed in similar denim trousers and a dark shirt, Beth turned and picked up the oil lamp and poured the liquid carefully around the one-room shanty. Yesterday she had packed Ma's best dishes and quilts and dragged them to the root cellar. It was useless effort. She would never be back here, but she couldn't bear the thought of fire consuming Ma's few pretty things. She glanced over her shoulder when the stench of fuel heightened Joanie's cough. The struggle to breathe had been a constant companion since her younger sister's birth.
Many nights Beth lay tense and fearful, certain that come light Joanie would be gone. Now that Ma and Pa were dead, Joanie was the one thing left on this earth that held meaning for Beth. She put down the lamp on the table. Walking over to Joanie, she buttoned the last button on her sister's shirt and tugged her hat brim lower.
"Do you have everything?"
"Yes."
"Then go outside and wait."
Nodding, Joanie paused briefly beside the bed where Pa's tall frame had been earlier. She hesitantly reached out and touched the empty spot. "May you rest in peace, Pa."
Moonlight shone through the one glass pane facing the south. Beth shook her head. "He was a good man. It's hard to believe Uncle Walt had the same mother and father."
Joanie's breath caught. "Pa was so good and Walt is so…evil."
"If it were up to me, he would be lying in that grave outside the window, not Pa."
Beth tried to recall one single time in her life when Walt Jornigan had ever shown an ounce of mercy to anyone. Certainly not to his wife when she was alive. Certainly not to Beth or Joanie. If Joanie was right and there was a God, what would Walt say when he faced Him? She shook the thought aside. She had no compassion for the man or reverence for the God her sister believed in and worshipped.
"We have to go now, Joanie."
"Yes." She picked up her Bible from the little table beside the rocking chair and then followed Beth outside the shanty, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Pausing, Joanie bent and succumbed to a coughing spasm. Beth helplessly waited, hoping her sister could make the anticipated trip through the cotton fields. The women had planned for days now to escape if Ma and Pa both passed.
Beth asked gently, "Can you do this?"
Joanie held up a restraining hand. "Just need…a minute."
Beth wasn't certain that they could wait long; time was short. Dawn would be breaking soon, and then Walt would discover that Pa had died and the sisters were missing. But they had to leave. Joanie's asthma was getting worse. Each gasping breath left her drained and hopeless, and Walt refused to let her see a doctor.
When Joanie had mentioned the notice in a discarded Savannah newspaper advertising a piece of land, Beth knew she had to buy the property and provide a home for Joanie. Pa had allowed her and Joanie to keep the wage Uncle Walt paid monthly. Over the years they had saved enough to survive, and the owner was practically giving the small acreage away. They wouldn't be able to build a permanent structure on their land until she found work, but she and Joanie would own their own place where no one could control them. Beth planned to eventually buy a cow and a few setting hens. At first they could live in a tent—Beth's eyes roamed the small shanty. It would be better than how they lived now.
Joanie's spasm passed and she glanced up. "Okay. You…can do it now."
Beth struck a match.
She glanced at Joanie. The young woman nodded and clutched her Bible to her chest. Beth had found it in one of the cotton picker's beds after he had moved on and given it to Joanie. Her sister had kept the Bible hidden from sight for fear that Walt would spot it on one of his weekly visits. Beth had known, as Joanie had, that if their uncle had found it he'd have had extra reason to hand out his daily lashing. Joanie kept the deed to their new land between its pages.
After pitching the lighted match into the cabin, Beth quickly closed the heavy door. Stepping to the window, she watched the puddles of kerosene ignite one by one. In just minutes flames were licking the walls and gobbling up the dry tinder. A peculiar sense of relief came over her when she saw tendrils of fire racing through the room, latching onto the front curtain and encompassing the bed.
"Don't watch." Joanie slipped her hand into Beth's. "We have to hurry before Uncle Walt spots the flames."
Hand in hand, the sisters stepped off the porch, and Beth turned to the mounds of fresh dirt heaped not far from the shanty. Pausing before the fresh graves, she whispered. "I love you both. Rest in peace."
Joanie had her own goodbyes for their mother. "We don't want to leave you and Pa here alone, but I know you understand—"
As the flames licked higher, Beth said, "We have to go, Joanie. Don't look back."
"I won't." Her small hand quivered inside Beth's. "God has something better for us."
Beth didn't answer. She didn't know whether Ma and Pa were in a good place or not. She didn't know anything about such things. She just knew they had to run.
The two women dressed in men's clothing struck off across the cotton fields carrying everything they owned in a small bag. It wasn't much. A dress for each, clean underclothes, and their nightshirts. Beth had a hairbrush one of the pickers had left behind. She'd kept the treasure well hidden so Walt wouldn't see it. He'd have taken it from her. He didn't hold with primping—said combing tangles from one's hair was a vain act. Finger-picking river-washed hair was all a woman needed.
Fire now raced inside the cabin. By the time Uncle Walt noticed the smoke from the plantation house across the fields, the two sisters would be long gone. No longer would they be under the tyrannical thumb of Walt or Bear Jornigan.
Freedom.
Beth sniffed the night air, thinking she could smell the precious state. Never again would she or Joanie answer to any man. She would run hard and far and find help for Joanie so that she could finally breathe free. In her pocket she fingered the remaining bills she'd taken from the fruit jar in the cabinet. It was all the ready cash Pa and Ma had. They wouldn't be needing money where they were.
Suddenly there was a sound of a large explosion. Heavy black smoke blanketed the night air. Then another blast.
Kerosene! She'd forgotten the small barrel sitting just outside the back porch.
It was the last sound Beth heard.
It is time for a
FIRST Wild Card Tour
book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
Lori Copeland
and the book:
The One Who Waits for Me
Harvest House Publishers (August 1, 2011) ***Special thanks to Karri James, Marketing Assistant, Harvest House Publishers for sending me a review copy.*** ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Lori Copeland is the author of more than 90 titles, both historical and contemporary fiction. With more than 3 million copies of her books in print, she has developed a loyal following among her rapidly growing fans in the inspirational market. She has been honored with the Romantic Times Reviewer's Choice Award, The Holt Medallion, and Walden Books' Best Seller award. In 2000, Lori was inducted into the Missouri Writers Hall of Fame. She lives in the beautiful Ozarks with her husband, Lance, and their three children and five grandchildren. Visit the author's website.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
This new series from bestselling author Lori Copeland, set in North Carolina three months after the Civil War ends, illuminates the gift of hope even in chaos, as the lives of six engaging characters intersect and unfold with the possibility of faith, love, and God's promise of a future.
Product Details:
List Price: $13.99
Paperback: 320 pages
Publisher: Harvest House Publishers (August 1, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0736930183
ISBN-13: 978-0736930185
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Joanie?"
Beth's sister stirred, coughing.
Beth gently shook Joanie's shoulder again, and the young woman opened her eyes, confusion shining in their depths.
"Pa?"
"He passed a few minutes ago. Trella will be waiting for us."
Joanie lifted her wrist to her mouth and smothered sudden sobbing. "I'm scared, Beth."
"So am I. Dress quickly."
The young woman slid out of bed, her bare feet touching the dirt-packed floor. Outside, the familiar sound of pond frogs nearly drowned out soft movements, though there was no need to be silent any more. Ma had preceded Pa in death two days ago. Beth and Joanie had been waiting, praying for the hour of Pa's death to come swiftly. Together, they lifted their father's silent form and gently carried him out the front door. He was a slight man, easy to carry. Beth's heart broke as they took him to the shallow grave they had dug the day before. Ma's fever had taken her swiftly. Pa had held on for as long as he could. Beth could still hear his voice in her ear: "Take care of your sister, little Beth." He didn't have to remind her that there was no protection at all now to save either of them from Uncle Walt and his son, Bear. Beth had known all of her life that one day she and Joanie would have to escape this place—a place of misery.
It was her father's stubborn act that started the situation Beth and Joanie were immersed in. Pa had hid the plantation deed from his brother and refused to tell him where it was. Their land had belonged to a Jornigan for two hundred years, but Walt claimed that because he was the older brother and allowed Pa to live on his land the deed belonged to him. Pa was a proud man and had no respect for his brother, though his family depended on Walt for a roof over their heads and food on their table. For meager wages they worked Walt's fields, picked his cotton, and suffered his tyranny along with the other workers. Pa took the location of the hidden deed to his grave—almost. Walt probably figured Beth knew where it was because Pa always favored her. And she did, but she would die before she shared the location with her vile uncle.
By the light of the waning moon the women made short work of placing the corpse in the grave and then filling the hole with dirt. Finished, they stood back and Joanie bowed her head in prayer. "Dear Father, thank You for taking Ma and Pa away from this world. I know they're with You now, and I promise we won't cry." Hot tears streaming down both women's cheeks belied her words.
Returning to the shanty, Joanie removed her nightshirt and put on boy's clothes. Dressed in similar denim trousers and a dark shirt, Beth turned and picked up the oil lamp and poured the liquid carefully around the one-room shanty. Yesterday she had packed Ma's best dishes and quilts and dragged them to the root cellar. It was useless effort. She would never be back here, but she couldn't bear the thought of fire consuming Ma's few pretty things. She glanced over her shoulder when the stench of fuel heightened Joanie's cough. The struggle to breathe had been a constant companion since her younger sister's birth.
Many nights Beth lay tense and fearful, certain that come light Joanie would be gone. Now that Ma and Pa were dead, Joanie was the one thing left on this earth that held meaning for Beth. She put down the lamp on the table. Walking over to Joanie, she buttoned the last button on her sister's shirt and tugged her hat brim lower.
"Do you have everything?"
"Yes."
"Then go outside and wait."
Nodding, Joanie paused briefly beside the bed where Pa's tall frame had been earlier. She hesitantly reached out and touched the empty spot. "May you rest in peace, Pa."
Moonlight shone through the one glass pane facing the south. Beth shook her head. "He was a good man. It's hard to believe Uncle Walt had the same mother and father."
Joanie's breath caught. "Pa was so good and Walt is so…evil."
"If it were up to me, he would be lying in that grave outside the window, not Pa."
Beth tried to recall one single time in her life when Walt Jornigan had ever shown an ounce of mercy to anyone. Certainly not to his wife when she was alive. Certainly not to Beth or Joanie. If Joanie was right and there was a God, what would Walt say when he faced Him? She shook the thought aside. She had no compassion for the man or reverence for the God her sister believed in and worshipped.
"We have to go now, Joanie."
"Yes." She picked up her Bible from the little table beside the rocking chair and then followed Beth outside the shanty, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Pausing, Joanie bent and succumbed to a coughing spasm. Beth helplessly waited, hoping her sister could make the anticipated trip through the cotton fields. The women had planned for days now to escape if Ma and Pa both passed.
Beth asked gently, "Can you do this?"
Joanie held up a restraining hand. "Just need…a minute."
Beth wasn't certain that they could wait long; time was short. Dawn would be breaking soon, and then Walt would discover that Pa had died and the sisters were missing. But they had to leave. Joanie's asthma was getting worse. Each gasping breath left her drained and hopeless, and Walt refused to let her see a doctor.
When Joanie had mentioned the notice in a discarded Savannah newspaper advertising a piece of land, Beth knew she had to buy the property and provide a home for Joanie. Pa had allowed her and Joanie to keep the wage Uncle Walt paid monthly. Over the years they had saved enough to survive, and the owner was practically giving the small acreage away. They wouldn't be able to build a permanent structure on their land until she found work, but she and Joanie would own their own place where no one could control them. Beth planned to eventually buy a cow and a few setting hens. At first they could live in a tent—Beth's eyes roamed the small shanty. It would be better than how they lived now.
Joanie's spasm passed and she glanced up. "Okay. You…can do it now."
Beth struck a match.
She glanced at Joanie. The young woman nodded and clutched her Bible to her chest. Beth had found it in one of the cotton picker's beds after he had moved on and given it to Joanie. Her sister had kept the Bible hidden from sight for fear that Walt would spot it on one of his weekly visits. Beth had known, as Joanie had, that if their uncle had found it he'd have had extra reason to hand out his daily lashing. Joanie kept the deed to their new land between its pages.
After pitching the lighted match into the cabin, Beth quickly closed the heavy door. Stepping to the window, she watched the puddles of kerosene ignite one by one. In just minutes flames were licking the walls and gobbling up the dry tinder. A peculiar sense of relief came over her when she saw tendrils of fire racing through the room, latching onto the front curtain and encompassing the bed.
"Don't watch." Joanie slipped her hand into Beth's. "We have to hurry before Uncle Walt spots the flames."
Hand in hand, the sisters stepped off the porch, and Beth turned to the mounds of fresh dirt heaped not far from the shanty. Pausing before the fresh graves, she whispered. "I love you both. Rest in peace."
Joanie had her own goodbyes for their mother. "We don't want to leave you and Pa here alone, but I know you understand—"
As the flames licked higher, Beth said, "We have to go, Joanie. Don't look back."
"I won't." Her small hand quivered inside Beth's. "God has something better for us."
Beth didn't answer. She didn't know whether Ma and Pa were in a good place or not. She didn't know anything about such things. She just knew they had to run.
The two women dressed in men's clothing struck off across the cotton fields carrying everything they owned in a small bag. It wasn't much. A dress for each, clean underclothes, and their nightshirts. Beth had a hairbrush one of the pickers had left behind. She'd kept the treasure well hidden so Walt wouldn't see it. He'd have taken it from her. He didn't hold with primping—said combing tangles from one's hair was a vain act. Finger-picking river-washed hair was all a woman needed.
Fire now raced inside the cabin. By the time Uncle Walt noticed the smoke from the plantation house across the fields, the two sisters would be long gone. No longer would they be under the tyrannical thumb of Walt or Bear Jornigan.
Freedom.
Beth sniffed the night air, thinking she could smell the precious state. Never again would she or Joanie answer to any man. She would run hard and far and find help for Joanie so that she could finally breathe free. In her pocket she fingered the remaining bills she'd taken from the fruit jar in the cabinet. It was all the ready cash Pa and Ma had. They wouldn't be needing money where they were.
Suddenly there was a sound of a large explosion. Heavy black smoke blanketed the night air. Then another blast.
Kerosene! She'd forgotten the small barrel sitting just outside the back porch.
It was the last sound Beth heard.
It is time for a
FIRST Wild Card Tour
book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book! You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
August 11, 2011
Nookie love - BN came through
Captain's Log, Stardate 08.11.2011
So remember how I was complaining about how if I wanted to download a backup ebook file from BN.com, it would automatically download .pdb files for Mac users when the new Nook doesn't even read .pdb files? At the time I mentioned that it might be a glitch they'll fix eventually either on the website or the Nook itself.
Well, they've fixed it on the BN.com website. Now when I download a backup copy of my purchased Nookbooks, they download as .epub files. Yay!
I did complain about it, but now I miss the .pdb files a little because if I read ebooks on my computer, I vastly prefer using the eReader app rather than Adobe Digital Editions or the Nook for Mac app. ADE is too limited--I can't change font size or style, for example--and Nook for Mac takes forever to load on my computer.
However, now that I have my Nook touch, I can just read the books on my Nook anyway, so I don't know why I'm missing the .pdb files. I'm such a whiner.
So remember how I was complaining about how if I wanted to download a backup ebook file from BN.com, it would automatically download .pdb files for Mac users when the new Nook doesn't even read .pdb files? At the time I mentioned that it might be a glitch they'll fix eventually either on the website or the Nook itself. Well, they've fixed it on the BN.com website. Now when I download a backup copy of my purchased Nookbooks, they download as .epub files. Yay!
I did complain about it, but now I miss the .pdb files a little because if I read ebooks on my computer, I vastly prefer using the eReader app rather than Adobe Digital Editions or the Nook for Mac app. ADE is too limited--I can't change font size or style, for example--and Nook for Mac takes forever to load on my computer.
However, now that I have my Nook touch, I can just read the books on my Nook anyway, so I don't know why I'm missing the .pdb files. I'm such a whiner.
August 7, 2011
Street Team Book List excerpt - Embers of Love by Tracie Peterson
Camy here: Here's another book I added to my Street Team book giveaway list! You can win this book by joining my Street Team--Click here for more info!
Embers of Love
by
Tracie Peterson
The logging industry in eastern Texas is booming, and Deborah Vandermark plans to assist her family's business now that she's completed college. Unexpectedly, her best friend, Lizzie Decker, accompanies her back home--fleeing a wedding and groom she has no interest in.
Deborah, the determined matchmaker, puts her sights on uniting her brother and dear friend in a true love match. Deborah soon meets Dr. Christopher Clayton, a much-needed addition to the town. As their lives intersect, Deborah realizes that she has a much greater interest in medicine and science than the bookkeeping she was trained in.
But when typhoid begins to spread and Lizzie's jilted fiance returns, Deborah wonders if true love can overcome such obstacles...for those dearest to her, and for herself.
Excerpt of chapter one:
Embers of Love
Embers of Love by
Tracie Peterson
The logging industry in eastern Texas is booming, and Deborah Vandermark plans to assist her family's business now that she's completed college. Unexpectedly, her best friend, Lizzie Decker, accompanies her back home--fleeing a wedding and groom she has no interest in.
Deborah, the determined matchmaker, puts her sights on uniting her brother and dear friend in a true love match. Deborah soon meets Dr. Christopher Clayton, a much-needed addition to the town. As their lives intersect, Deborah realizes that she has a much greater interest in medicine and science than the bookkeeping she was trained in.
But when typhoid begins to spread and Lizzie's jilted fiance returns, Deborah wonders if true love can overcome such obstacles...for those dearest to her, and for herself.
Excerpt of chapter one:
Embers of Love
Street Team Book List excerpt - Out of Control by Mary Connealy
Camy here: Here's another book I added to my Street Team book giveaway list! You can win this book by joining my Street Team--Click here for more info!
Out of Control by Mary Connealy
Julia Gilliland has always been interested in the natural world around her. She particularly enjoys her outings to the cavern near her father's homestead, where she explores for fossils and formations, and plans to write a book about her discoveries. The cave seems plenty safe--until the day a mysterious intruder steals the rope she uses to find her way out.
Rafe Kincaid has spent years keeping his family's cattle ranch going, all without help from his two younger brothers, who fled the ranch--and Rafe's controlling ways--as soon as they were able. He's haunted by one terrible day at the cave on a far-flung corner of the Kincaid property, a day that changed his life forever. Ready to put the past behind him, he plans to visit the cave one final time. He sure doesn't expect to find a young woman trapped in one of the tunnels--or to be forced to kiss her!
Rafe is more intrigued by Julia than any woman he's ever known, but how can he overlook her fascination with the cave he despises? And when his developing relationship with Julia threatens his chance at reconciliation with his brothers, will he be forced to choose between the family bonds that could restore his trust and the love that could heal his heart?
Excerpt of chapter one:
Out of Control
Out of Control by Mary ConnealyJulia Gilliland has always been interested in the natural world around her. She particularly enjoys her outings to the cavern near her father's homestead, where she explores for fossils and formations, and plans to write a book about her discoveries. The cave seems plenty safe--until the day a mysterious intruder steals the rope she uses to find her way out.
Rafe Kincaid has spent years keeping his family's cattle ranch going, all without help from his two younger brothers, who fled the ranch--and Rafe's controlling ways--as soon as they were able. He's haunted by one terrible day at the cave on a far-flung corner of the Kincaid property, a day that changed his life forever. Ready to put the past behind him, he plans to visit the cave one final time. He sure doesn't expect to find a young woman trapped in one of the tunnels--or to be forced to kiss her!
Rafe is more intrigued by Julia than any woman he's ever known, but how can he overlook her fascination with the cave he despises? And when his developing relationship with Julia threatens his chance at reconciliation with his brothers, will he be forced to choose between the family bonds that could restore his trust and the love that could heal his heart?
Excerpt of chapter one:
Out of Control
Street Team Book List excerpt - THE HOMECOMING by Dan Walsh
Camy here: Here's another book I added to my Street Team book giveaway list! You can win this book by joining my Street Team--Click here for more info!
The Homecoming by Dan Walsh
A reluctant war hero returns home and encounters a new chance at love.
No sooner has Shawn Collins returned home from the fighting in Europe than he is called upon to serve his country in another way—as a speaker on the war bond tour. While other men might jump at the chance to travel around the country with attractive Hollywood starlets, Shawn just wants to stay home with his son Patrick and his aging father, and grieve the loss of his wife in private. When Shawn asks Katherine Townsend to be Patrick's nanny while he's on the road, he has no idea how this decision will impact his life. Could it be the key to his future happiness and the mending of his heart? Or will the war once again threaten his chances for a new start?
Dan Walsh does not disappoint in this tender story of family ties and the healing of a broken heart.
"Dan Walsh is a born storyteller . . . definitely a writer to watch."—Deborah Raney, author, Almost Forever and Beneath a Southern Sky
Dan Walsh is the author of The Unfinished Gift and a member of American Christian Fiction Writers. He is a pastor and lives with his family in the Daytona Beach area, where he's busy researching and writing his next novel.
Click here to download an excerpt of Chapter One (.pdf)
Print book:
The Homecoming by Dan Walsh
ebook:
The Homecoming by Dan Walsh ebook
The Homecoming by Dan WalshA reluctant war hero returns home and encounters a new chance at love.
No sooner has Shawn Collins returned home from the fighting in Europe than he is called upon to serve his country in another way—as a speaker on the war bond tour. While other men might jump at the chance to travel around the country with attractive Hollywood starlets, Shawn just wants to stay home with his son Patrick and his aging father, and grieve the loss of his wife in private. When Shawn asks Katherine Townsend to be Patrick's nanny while he's on the road, he has no idea how this decision will impact his life. Could it be the key to his future happiness and the mending of his heart? Or will the war once again threaten his chances for a new start?
Dan Walsh does not disappoint in this tender story of family ties and the healing of a broken heart.
"Dan Walsh is a born storyteller . . . definitely a writer to watch."—Deborah Raney, author, Almost Forever and Beneath a Southern Sky
Dan Walsh is the author of The Unfinished Gift and a member of American Christian Fiction Writers. He is a pastor and lives with his family in the Daytona Beach area, where he's busy researching and writing his next novel.
Click here to download an excerpt of Chapter One (.pdf)
Print book:
The Homecoming by Dan Walsh
ebook:
The Homecoming by Dan Walsh ebook
Street Team Book List excerpt - The Nanny's Homecoming by Linda Goodnight
Camy here: Here's another book I added to my Street Team book giveaway list! You can win this book by joining my Street Team--Click here for more info!
The Nanny's Homecoming
by
Linda Goodnight
After her fiancé calls off their wedding, Brooke Clayton has nowhere to go but home.
If she can survive in the tiny Colorado town for a year, she'll fulfill the odd terms of her estranged grandfather's will. Turns out the wealthy businessman next door, handsome single father Gabe Wesson, needs a nanny for his sweet toddler—and Brooke needs a job. But Gabe sees Brooke as a reminder of the young wife he lost. Given their pasts, do they dare hope to fit together as a family…forever?
Excerpt of Chapter One:
Gabe Wesson was a desperate man.
Inside the aptly named Cowboy Cafe, a hodgepodge of western types and various other townsfolk gathered at the long, Formica-topped counter for homemade pie and socializing. Gabe joined the counter crowd, his toddler son perched on his knee.
In a few short weeks, he'd discovered that if a man wanted to know anything or spread any news in the town of Clayton, Colorado, the Cowboy Cafe was the place to do it. Today, what he needed more than anything was a nanny for his son, A.J. Funny that he could run a corporation with dozens of employees but he'd hit a brick wall when it came to finding suitable child care in this tiny Rocky Mountain town.
He was a gambler of sorts, a speculator. Some would even call him a troublemaker, though he always left a place better than he'd found it.
He'd found Clayton to be a sleepy community time had forgotten. With an abandoned railroad track slicing through town and an equally abandoned silver mine perched in the nearby hills, the town was just about dead.
It was the "just about" that had brought Gabe here. He had a knack for sniffing out near-dead businesses and bringing them back to life. This gift—and he was convinced it was a gift from God—had taken him from a scrappy kid stocking groceries to the head of his own Denver corporation by the age of thirty-three.
But unless he found a nanny soon, he would be forced to move back to Denver, something he did not want to do. At least not now, not when the weight of the past two years was starting to lift.
The friendly young waitress, Kylie Jones, sailed past with a slice of hot pie oozing cherries and drowning in vanilla ice cream. Gabe's mouth watered. He ordered the pie and a coffee for himself and a grilled cheese with milk for his son.
Filled with the smell of home-baked cakes and cinnamon, the long, narrow cafe was warm, welcoming and always busy. Square wooden tables with chunky, straight-backed chairs crowded every space. The Denver Post, well-read and refolded, lay next to the old-fashioned cash register and a credit card machine. From a jukebox beside the door, George Strait sang about the best day of his life.
On the stool next to Gabe a cowboy type in boots and Wranglers angled a fork toward the street. A white hearse crept past. "They're planting old George today."
"Cody Jameson, show some respect." Red-haired Erin Fields, the surprisingly young cafe owner, took a swipe at the worn counter with her bleach rag. "This town wouldn't exist without George Clayton and his family."
Kylie, carefully filling a salt shaker, looked up. "Nobody liked him that much, Erin, even if he was the only lawyer in town. Or maybe because of it."
"Still. Speaking ill of the dead doesn't seem right. His grandkids are here for the funeral and they're good people." She propped a hand on one hip and gazed at the street. "Brooke came in yesterday and bought burgers to take over to Arabella's. That girl is still sweet as that cherry pie."
"I'd love to see Brooke again," Kylie said wistfully. She'd moved on to stuffing paper napkins into tall, metal holders. "We played basketball together in high school. She was a terrific point guard."
Erin tossed the bleach rag into the sink behind the counter and ran her hands under the faucet. "Then see her, Kylie. None of the Clayton kids have been in town for ages, but she'll probably stick around for a couple of days."
Kylie's pretty face tightened. "You know how Vincent feels about that side of his family."
Erin's lips thinned but she didn't say anymore. She took a pair of roast-beef-laden platters from the order window, grabbed an iced tea pitcher and moved toward a couple seated at one of the square tables.
Gabe listened with interest, gleaning the facts and the undercurrents. He'd returned to Clayton this morning after a three-day trip to corporate headquarters in Denver. Between then and now, the former owner of the Lucky Lady Silver Mine, George Clayton, had passed away. He wondered if George's heirs knew he'd sold the mine to an outsider.
While he contemplated what the unexpected death could mean to his company, Kylie stopped in front of A.J. A trim brunette, she was the fiancée of one of his new employees, Vincent Clayton. She always made a fuss over A.J.
"What a big boy you are. You ate up every bite of that sandwich." She felt A.J.'s muscles and received a giggle in return.
Fork paused at half-mast, Gabe said, "My job offer is still open."
"Sorry, no. I'd love to nanny A.J., but I'm getting married soon."
Gabe didn't know what getting married had to do with his offer, but he let the comment pass. "Got any other ideas for me? I need to find someone soon." Like yesterday.
Her brown ponytail swung side to side. "I've been asking everyone who comes in. So has Erin, and your sign is still up." She pointed to the fancy graphic-enhanced poster stuck to the front door. "So far, no luck. Who's looking after him now?"
"Me, mostly." That's what made the situation desperate. A job site, especially a construction zone, was no place for a curious toddler. Gabe sweated bullets every time he had to go to the mine. As work progressed, he'd need to be there more and more.
"Let me know if you hear anything, okay?" He took out his wallet and tossed a bill on the counter. "Keep the change."
Kylie's eyes widened at the size of the bill. "Wow, thank you, Mr. Wesson. I'll keep asking."
With a nod toward the cowboy and a wave toward the redhead, Gabe and A.J. pushed out into the summer sun as the last of the funeral cars crawled by. A pretty woman with wavy blond hair gazed bleakly through the passenger window. Something in her expression touched a chord in him. He knew he was staring but couldn't seem to help himself. A.J., tired of standing still, yanked at his father's hand. The woman, stirred by the motion, looked up. Their eyes met and held. Sensation prickled Gabe's skin.
The car rolled on past and she was gone. But the vision of those sad blue eyes stayed behind.
Brooke Clayton gazed around at the collection of Clayton grandchildren gathered in the conference room of the Clayton Christian Church like a bunch of errant schoolchildren sent to the principal's office. Not one of them wanted to be here at the reading of their grandfather's will. Yet, five of the six had come out of blood loyalty, not for Grandpa George Clayton, but for their cousin Arabella. It was her phone call, her need, that had brought them together again after more than four years.
Brooke's gaze rested on each beloved face. Her intense cop brother, Zach. Her sophisticated sister, Vivienne. Mei, the adopted sister of the only absent grandchild, rebel Lucas, and of course, darkly pretty Arabella. With a clutch of emotion, Brooke acknowledged she'd missed them, though she hadn't missed the painful memories of living in the tiny town that bore her family name.
Only family and a few close friends had attended Grandpa George's funeral services, although plenty of townspeople had stared at the procession on its journey to the cemetery. She wondered what they were thinking. Good riddance? Was there anyone who'd miss George Clayton, Sr.? None of the grandchildren had it in them to pretend what they didn't feel, and silly as it sounded, the lack of grief had made Brooke sad.
As they'd driven down Railroad Street, a man had stepped out of the Cowboy Cafe. A tall, handsome stranger with a very small boy.
That's when she'd begun to weep. Small children had that effect on her.
She'd once known everyone in this town of less than a thousand, but she hadn't recognized the man. They'd made eye contact, and something— some indefinable something—had passed between them. She'd thought about him and his beautiful brown-haired son off and on during the graveside service. Who was he? Why had that particular stranger's image been stamped on her memory?
"We need to begin." Pencil thin in an appropriately black suit, attorney Mark Arrington had already waited more than an hour for the sixth and final grandchild to arrive.
Calls had been made and letters sent, but no one was certain their rebellious cousin had received the summons. Even if he had, only one person in the room was confident of Lucas's attendance. His sister.
Brooke wiggled her feet inside the confining heels. With a broken pinky, pinching heels and her wounded pride, she hurt everywhere. A few days ago, she was planning a wedding. Now, she had no plans at all beyond getting through today.
"I don't think Lucas is going to make it," she said.
"If Lucas was coming, he'd be here," Zach added with coplike frankness.
"A few minutes longer." The quiet steel of Mei Clayton's voice drew every eye to her round, delicate face. Of all her kin, Brooke understood Mei the least. As she'd grown older Mei had pulled away from all of the Claytons except her adopted brother, Lucas.
"What makes you think he'll show?" Zach asked.
Mei sat up straighter in the cushioned chair, quietly insistent. Her gleaming black hair swung softly around her Asian features. "If he's needed, my brother will come."
The lawyer cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, everyone. I have another appointment in thirty minutes." With a gesture Brooke found overdramatic, the attorney pointed toward a flat screen. "If I may direct your attention to the TV. Mr. Clayton himself would like to address you first, and then I have the task of setting out the rules of the will."
Brooke exchanged frowning glances with her brother. What in the world? Zach lifted an eyebrow but offered no response. Whatever his thoughts,
he'd keep them to himself until all the evidence was on the table.
The screen flickered to life and the face of Grandpa George appeared, looking a little too hearty to have been buried a few hours ago. Dressed in his usual dark business suit, he was seated behind the desk at his law offices. An uncomfortable hush fell over the five assembled Claytons.
"If you're watching this, I'm dead." George chuckled at his own morbid joke. "You're all wondering why I've dragged you back here. I haven't been the best grandfather. I haven't always done right by you, or by anyone, for that matter. But before the deaths of my two sons changed everything, we were a family. Not as close as we should have been, but we spent Christmas and Thanksgiving together."
"Then because of issues I hope you never know about, I lost my daughter, too. Kat won't even speak to me, and five of you grandkids have scattered across the country. Clayton, Colorado, might not be much, but it's your home, your history. My daddy started this town. My wife started the church. Claytons belong here." He pointed a bony finger toward the camera. " You belong here."
The cousins exchanged uncomfortable glances.
Brooke knew they were all thinking the same thing. Having a dead man point at you was weird.
"I want you to come home," Grandpa said. "All six of you—for at least a year. Be a family again. Revive this dying town. Find your hearts and souls right here where you left them."
Zach pushed up from his chair and paced to the window.
"Sit down, Zach. You always did pace like a tiger when upset." Grandpa George chuckled. "If you didn't get up, you wanted to."
Zach returned his attention the video, arms folded, mouth quirked in wry amusement. Goose bumps shimmied up Brooke's back. Zach's philosophy might be "Never let 'em see you sweat," but Brooke was all for sweating. Grandpa George's video bordered on creepy.
"You may think Clayton is your past, son," Grandpa George went on. "But I know a thing or two about your present. Miami holds nothing but bad memories for you. Clayton and this county need you. Even dead, your old grandpa can pull a few strings, and you'd do mighty fine as Clayton County sheriff. Think about it, Zach."
Zach as county sheriff? Now there was an outrageously interesting and laughable idea. After what Zach had been through in Clayton? No way.
"As incentive, because I know none of you will willingly come home, I've left something for each of you." Grandpa George paused. Brooke refused to even ponder an inheritance. The old miser had probably left them all a pile of debts just for or-neriness. "Two hundred fifty thousand dollars each, plus five hundred acres of Colorado real estate right here in Clayton County."
A clamor broke out in the room.
"How could he have had that much money?"
"I thought he was broke."
"I can't believe this."
Mark Arrington lifted a long hand. "Ladies. Zach. There are stipulations to the inheritance. You need to hear the rest."
Vivienne rolled her thickly lashed blue eyes. "Stipulations. That figures."
The clamor subsided, but Brooke's heart clattered wildly in her chest until she could barely hear her grandfather's voice. A quarter of a million dollars? She could…she could do anything she wanted to. If she knew what that was.
"Arabella."
Her cousin jumped. How many times in the past months had kind-hearted Arabella jumped up to do their sick grandfather's bidding?
"You're the only one who's stuck with your old Grandpa. That's why I'm leaving you the house, too, as long as your cousins cooperate and stick out their year. Without you, I wouldn't have made my peace with God. Leastways, Reverend West says the Lord forgives my sins, and though that doesn't make up for the wrongs I've done, perhaps this legacy of good I'm leaving behind will make a difference."
Arabella dabbed at her eyes. She'd worried a tissue into a ragged mess. Mei reached into her handbag and pulled out a handful of tissues, offering them to her cousin without a word.
"So there you are, children," Grandpa George said. "An inheritance that can change your lives if you choose to accept it. But the will is ironclad. No exceptions. All of you have to spend a year in Clayton. And you have to come home by this Christmas. Hear that, Lucas?" He rapped twice on the desk. "No later than Christmas.
"This is my chance to leave a legacy—a good one—for the town that bears my name. I know what you're thinking—too little, too late—but I ask that each of you look in your hearts and find one happy memory of me. It might take a while, and you might be reluctant, but you'll find at least one. And maybe it'll help."
The television screen flickered and went dark. The conference room was so quiet Brooke could hear her finger throb.
Mark Arrington cleared his throat. "So there you have it. Spend one year in Clayton and inherit a fortune."
Vivienne, elegant and classy in black and white, was already shaking her dark blond head. As a renowned New York chef, she had worked hard to shed her rural ways. She loved the city. She loved her life. "I can't just walk away from my career. What am I supposed to do in Clayton? Flip burgers at The Cowboy Cafe?"
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The Nanny's Homecomingby
Linda Goodnight
After her fiancé calls off their wedding, Brooke Clayton has nowhere to go but home.
If she can survive in the tiny Colorado town for a year, she'll fulfill the odd terms of her estranged grandfather's will. Turns out the wealthy businessman next door, handsome single father Gabe Wesson, needs a nanny for his sweet toddler—and Brooke needs a job. But Gabe sees Brooke as a reminder of the young wife he lost. Given their pasts, do they dare hope to fit together as a family…forever?
Excerpt of Chapter One:
Gabe Wesson was a desperate man.
Inside the aptly named Cowboy Cafe, a hodgepodge of western types and various other townsfolk gathered at the long, Formica-topped counter for homemade pie and socializing. Gabe joined the counter crowd, his toddler son perched on his knee.
In a few short weeks, he'd discovered that if a man wanted to know anything or spread any news in the town of Clayton, Colorado, the Cowboy Cafe was the place to do it. Today, what he needed more than anything was a nanny for his son, A.J. Funny that he could run a corporation with dozens of employees but he'd hit a brick wall when it came to finding suitable child care in this tiny Rocky Mountain town.
He was a gambler of sorts, a speculator. Some would even call him a troublemaker, though he always left a place better than he'd found it.
He'd found Clayton to be a sleepy community time had forgotten. With an abandoned railroad track slicing through town and an equally abandoned silver mine perched in the nearby hills, the town was just about dead.
It was the "just about" that had brought Gabe here. He had a knack for sniffing out near-dead businesses and bringing them back to life. This gift—and he was convinced it was a gift from God—had taken him from a scrappy kid stocking groceries to the head of his own Denver corporation by the age of thirty-three.
But unless he found a nanny soon, he would be forced to move back to Denver, something he did not want to do. At least not now, not when the weight of the past two years was starting to lift.
The friendly young waitress, Kylie Jones, sailed past with a slice of hot pie oozing cherries and drowning in vanilla ice cream. Gabe's mouth watered. He ordered the pie and a coffee for himself and a grilled cheese with milk for his son.
Filled with the smell of home-baked cakes and cinnamon, the long, narrow cafe was warm, welcoming and always busy. Square wooden tables with chunky, straight-backed chairs crowded every space. The Denver Post, well-read and refolded, lay next to the old-fashioned cash register and a credit card machine. From a jukebox beside the door, George Strait sang about the best day of his life.
On the stool next to Gabe a cowboy type in boots and Wranglers angled a fork toward the street. A white hearse crept past. "They're planting old George today."
"Cody Jameson, show some respect." Red-haired Erin Fields, the surprisingly young cafe owner, took a swipe at the worn counter with her bleach rag. "This town wouldn't exist without George Clayton and his family."
Kylie, carefully filling a salt shaker, looked up. "Nobody liked him that much, Erin, even if he was the only lawyer in town. Or maybe because of it."
"Still. Speaking ill of the dead doesn't seem right. His grandkids are here for the funeral and they're good people." She propped a hand on one hip and gazed at the street. "Brooke came in yesterday and bought burgers to take over to Arabella's. That girl is still sweet as that cherry pie."
"I'd love to see Brooke again," Kylie said wistfully. She'd moved on to stuffing paper napkins into tall, metal holders. "We played basketball together in high school. She was a terrific point guard."
Erin tossed the bleach rag into the sink behind the counter and ran her hands under the faucet. "Then see her, Kylie. None of the Clayton kids have been in town for ages, but she'll probably stick around for a couple of days."
Kylie's pretty face tightened. "You know how Vincent feels about that side of his family."
Erin's lips thinned but she didn't say anymore. She took a pair of roast-beef-laden platters from the order window, grabbed an iced tea pitcher and moved toward a couple seated at one of the square tables.
Gabe listened with interest, gleaning the facts and the undercurrents. He'd returned to Clayton this morning after a three-day trip to corporate headquarters in Denver. Between then and now, the former owner of the Lucky Lady Silver Mine, George Clayton, had passed away. He wondered if George's heirs knew he'd sold the mine to an outsider.
While he contemplated what the unexpected death could mean to his company, Kylie stopped in front of A.J. A trim brunette, she was the fiancée of one of his new employees, Vincent Clayton. She always made a fuss over A.J.
"What a big boy you are. You ate up every bite of that sandwich." She felt A.J.'s muscles and received a giggle in return.
Fork paused at half-mast, Gabe said, "My job offer is still open."
"Sorry, no. I'd love to nanny A.J., but I'm getting married soon."
Gabe didn't know what getting married had to do with his offer, but he let the comment pass. "Got any other ideas for me? I need to find someone soon." Like yesterday.
Her brown ponytail swung side to side. "I've been asking everyone who comes in. So has Erin, and your sign is still up." She pointed to the fancy graphic-enhanced poster stuck to the front door. "So far, no luck. Who's looking after him now?"
"Me, mostly." That's what made the situation desperate. A job site, especially a construction zone, was no place for a curious toddler. Gabe sweated bullets every time he had to go to the mine. As work progressed, he'd need to be there more and more.
"Let me know if you hear anything, okay?" He took out his wallet and tossed a bill on the counter. "Keep the change."
Kylie's eyes widened at the size of the bill. "Wow, thank you, Mr. Wesson. I'll keep asking."
With a nod toward the cowboy and a wave toward the redhead, Gabe and A.J. pushed out into the summer sun as the last of the funeral cars crawled by. A pretty woman with wavy blond hair gazed bleakly through the passenger window. Something in her expression touched a chord in him. He knew he was staring but couldn't seem to help himself. A.J., tired of standing still, yanked at his father's hand. The woman, stirred by the motion, looked up. Their eyes met and held. Sensation prickled Gabe's skin.
The car rolled on past and she was gone. But the vision of those sad blue eyes stayed behind.
Brooke Clayton gazed around at the collection of Clayton grandchildren gathered in the conference room of the Clayton Christian Church like a bunch of errant schoolchildren sent to the principal's office. Not one of them wanted to be here at the reading of their grandfather's will. Yet, five of the six had come out of blood loyalty, not for Grandpa George Clayton, but for their cousin Arabella. It was her phone call, her need, that had brought them together again after more than four years.
Brooke's gaze rested on each beloved face. Her intense cop brother, Zach. Her sophisticated sister, Vivienne. Mei, the adopted sister of the only absent grandchild, rebel Lucas, and of course, darkly pretty Arabella. With a clutch of emotion, Brooke acknowledged she'd missed them, though she hadn't missed the painful memories of living in the tiny town that bore her family name.
Only family and a few close friends had attended Grandpa George's funeral services, although plenty of townspeople had stared at the procession on its journey to the cemetery. She wondered what they were thinking. Good riddance? Was there anyone who'd miss George Clayton, Sr.? None of the grandchildren had it in them to pretend what they didn't feel, and silly as it sounded, the lack of grief had made Brooke sad.
As they'd driven down Railroad Street, a man had stepped out of the Cowboy Cafe. A tall, handsome stranger with a very small boy.
That's when she'd begun to weep. Small children had that effect on her.
She'd once known everyone in this town of less than a thousand, but she hadn't recognized the man. They'd made eye contact, and something— some indefinable something—had passed between them. She'd thought about him and his beautiful brown-haired son off and on during the graveside service. Who was he? Why had that particular stranger's image been stamped on her memory?
"We need to begin." Pencil thin in an appropriately black suit, attorney Mark Arrington had already waited more than an hour for the sixth and final grandchild to arrive.
Calls had been made and letters sent, but no one was certain their rebellious cousin had received the summons. Even if he had, only one person in the room was confident of Lucas's attendance. His sister.
Brooke wiggled her feet inside the confining heels. With a broken pinky, pinching heels and her wounded pride, she hurt everywhere. A few days ago, she was planning a wedding. Now, she had no plans at all beyond getting through today.
"I don't think Lucas is going to make it," she said.
"If Lucas was coming, he'd be here," Zach added with coplike frankness.
"A few minutes longer." The quiet steel of Mei Clayton's voice drew every eye to her round, delicate face. Of all her kin, Brooke understood Mei the least. As she'd grown older Mei had pulled away from all of the Claytons except her adopted brother, Lucas.
"What makes you think he'll show?" Zach asked.
Mei sat up straighter in the cushioned chair, quietly insistent. Her gleaming black hair swung softly around her Asian features. "If he's needed, my brother will come."
The lawyer cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, everyone. I have another appointment in thirty minutes." With a gesture Brooke found overdramatic, the attorney pointed toward a flat screen. "If I may direct your attention to the TV. Mr. Clayton himself would like to address you first, and then I have the task of setting out the rules of the will."
Brooke exchanged frowning glances with her brother. What in the world? Zach lifted an eyebrow but offered no response. Whatever his thoughts,
he'd keep them to himself until all the evidence was on the table.
The screen flickered to life and the face of Grandpa George appeared, looking a little too hearty to have been buried a few hours ago. Dressed in his usual dark business suit, he was seated behind the desk at his law offices. An uncomfortable hush fell over the five assembled Claytons.
"If you're watching this, I'm dead." George chuckled at his own morbid joke. "You're all wondering why I've dragged you back here. I haven't been the best grandfather. I haven't always done right by you, or by anyone, for that matter. But before the deaths of my two sons changed everything, we were a family. Not as close as we should have been, but we spent Christmas and Thanksgiving together."
"Then because of issues I hope you never know about, I lost my daughter, too. Kat won't even speak to me, and five of you grandkids have scattered across the country. Clayton, Colorado, might not be much, but it's your home, your history. My daddy started this town. My wife started the church. Claytons belong here." He pointed a bony finger toward the camera. " You belong here."
The cousins exchanged uncomfortable glances.
Brooke knew they were all thinking the same thing. Having a dead man point at you was weird.
"I want you to come home," Grandpa said. "All six of you—for at least a year. Be a family again. Revive this dying town. Find your hearts and souls right here where you left them."
Zach pushed up from his chair and paced to the window.
"Sit down, Zach. You always did pace like a tiger when upset." Grandpa George chuckled. "If you didn't get up, you wanted to."
Zach returned his attention the video, arms folded, mouth quirked in wry amusement. Goose bumps shimmied up Brooke's back. Zach's philosophy might be "Never let 'em see you sweat," but Brooke was all for sweating. Grandpa George's video bordered on creepy.
"You may think Clayton is your past, son," Grandpa George went on. "But I know a thing or two about your present. Miami holds nothing but bad memories for you. Clayton and this county need you. Even dead, your old grandpa can pull a few strings, and you'd do mighty fine as Clayton County sheriff. Think about it, Zach."
Zach as county sheriff? Now there was an outrageously interesting and laughable idea. After what Zach had been through in Clayton? No way.
"As incentive, because I know none of you will willingly come home, I've left something for each of you." Grandpa George paused. Brooke refused to even ponder an inheritance. The old miser had probably left them all a pile of debts just for or-neriness. "Two hundred fifty thousand dollars each, plus five hundred acres of Colorado real estate right here in Clayton County."
A clamor broke out in the room.
"How could he have had that much money?"
"I thought he was broke."
"I can't believe this."
Mark Arrington lifted a long hand. "Ladies. Zach. There are stipulations to the inheritance. You need to hear the rest."
Vivienne rolled her thickly lashed blue eyes. "Stipulations. That figures."
The clamor subsided, but Brooke's heart clattered wildly in her chest until she could barely hear her grandfather's voice. A quarter of a million dollars? She could…she could do anything she wanted to. If she knew what that was.
"Arabella."
Her cousin jumped. How many times in the past months had kind-hearted Arabella jumped up to do their sick grandfather's bidding?
"You're the only one who's stuck with your old Grandpa. That's why I'm leaving you the house, too, as long as your cousins cooperate and stick out their year. Without you, I wouldn't have made my peace with God. Leastways, Reverend West says the Lord forgives my sins, and though that doesn't make up for the wrongs I've done, perhaps this legacy of good I'm leaving behind will make a difference."
Arabella dabbed at her eyes. She'd worried a tissue into a ragged mess. Mei reached into her handbag and pulled out a handful of tissues, offering them to her cousin without a word.
"So there you are, children," Grandpa George said. "An inheritance that can change your lives if you choose to accept it. But the will is ironclad. No exceptions. All of you have to spend a year in Clayton. And you have to come home by this Christmas. Hear that, Lucas?" He rapped twice on the desk. "No later than Christmas.
"This is my chance to leave a legacy—a good one—for the town that bears my name. I know what you're thinking—too little, too late—but I ask that each of you look in your hearts and find one happy memory of me. It might take a while, and you might be reluctant, but you'll find at least one. And maybe it'll help."
The television screen flickered and went dark. The conference room was so quiet Brooke could hear her finger throb.
Mark Arrington cleared his throat. "So there you have it. Spend one year in Clayton and inherit a fortune."
Vivienne, elegant and classy in black and white, was already shaking her dark blond head. As a renowned New York chef, she had worked hard to shed her rural ways. She loved the city. She loved her life. "I can't just walk away from my career. What am I supposed to do in Clayton? Flip burgers at The Cowboy Cafe?"
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Street Team Book List excerpt - The Heiress by Susan May Warren
Camy here: Here's another book I added to my Street Team book giveaway list! You can win this book by joining my Street Team--Click here for more info!
The Heiress by Susan May Warren
They can buy anything they want—fame, power, beauty, even loyalty. But they can't buy love.
The beautiful and wealthy heiress daughters of August Price can buy everything their hearts desire. But what if their desire is to be loved, without an enormous price tag attached? When one sister betrays another for the sake of love, will she find happiness? And what happens when the other sets out across the still untamed frontier to find it—will she discover she's left it behind in the glamorous world of the New York gilded society? What price will each woman pay for being an heiress?
Set in the opulent world of the Gilded Age, two women discover that being an heiress just might cost them everything they love.
Excerpt of Chapter One:
Heiress Part 1: Sisters
New York City, 1896
Chapter 1
With the wrong smile, her sister could destroy Jinx's world.
"Loosen your breath, Esme, and the lacing will go easier." Jinx sat on the ottoman,
watching Bette pull the stays of Esme's new corset as her sister hung onto the lacing bar.
The corset, silk damask with embroidered tea roses, pale pink ribbons along the heart-shaped
bust line and a polished brass busk, had arrived only yesterday in a shipment from Worth's of
Paris.
Esme didn't deserve something so beautiful, not with her gigantic twenty-one-inch waist,
the way she fought the corsetiere during the fitting, and now held her breath instead of exhaling
to lose yet another half-inch.
Jinx, still in her training corset, had long ago shaved her torso down to eighteen inches.
She deserved a damask corset, in the new S-shaped style, the way it erected the posture,
protruded her hips, and forced her body into the elegant shape of a society woman. But her
corset wouldn't arrive until her mother ordered her debut trousseau, hopefully after the end of
this year's society season. After all, she'd already turned seventeen, would be eighteen when the
season started next November.
She should have been born first.
Esme closed her eyes, as if in pain. "Mother, I can't breathe. I will faint during the
quadrille."
"Perhaps you will be recovered by someone of significance." Phoebe sat on a gold-foiled
Marie Antoinette chair, the red plush velvet like a throne as she perched upon it, surveying her
eldest daughter's preparations. "It wouldn't hurt your attention to be found swooning during a
waltz into the arms of the Astor heir."
Esme made a face. "More likely, I'll find myself discarded in the sitting room, one of
the Astor's maids fanning me to consciousness. Please, Bette, that is enough." She released the
lacing bar, letting her arms fall, and cast a look at their mother, who assented with a flick of her
hand.
Jinx bit back a huff of disgust. It simply wasn't fair that, despite Esme's almost militant
repulsion to securing a husband, men lined up to call on her during her at-home days, appeared
after church to walk her home, vied to be seated beside her at dinner parties, and begged her to
partner with them in golf and tennis. Most of all, they bedecked her with bouquets of dark red
Jacqueminot roses or deep pink Boneselline rosebuds before every ball.
Jinx blamed Esme's exquisite beauty—her straw-blonde hair, too-blue eyes, a form that
frankly, needed no corset to enhance—because Esme had interest in none of her suitors, despite
their pedigrees. Worse, her sister almost purposely confused the etiquette of dinner, refused the
language of the fan, and occasionally wandered out onto some dark balcony to view the stars
while the after-dinner German was called, leaving her suitors with no one to present their flowers
or party gifts to. Jinx had no doubt her sister wouldn't hesitate to attend Caroline Astor's January
ball with her uncorseted body loose in a tea dress, while she pressed her nose into some dime
novel.
God had been so unfair.
As if Esme could read Jinx's thoughts, she turned to her mother, even as Bette followed
her to fasten her stays. "Really, Mother, are you sure I must attend tonight's ball? I'm exhausted.
Tea today at the Wilson's, and last night dinner at the Fish's and the Opera the night before? I
am simply wasted to the bone—"
The Heiress by Susan May WarrenThey can buy anything they want—fame, power, beauty, even loyalty. But they can't buy love.
The beautiful and wealthy heiress daughters of August Price can buy everything their hearts desire. But what if their desire is to be loved, without an enormous price tag attached? When one sister betrays another for the sake of love, will she find happiness? And what happens when the other sets out across the still untamed frontier to find it—will she discover she's left it behind in the glamorous world of the New York gilded society? What price will each woman pay for being an heiress?
Set in the opulent world of the Gilded Age, two women discover that being an heiress just might cost them everything they love.
Excerpt of Chapter One:
Heiress Part 1: Sisters
New York City, 1896
Chapter 1
With the wrong smile, her sister could destroy Jinx's world.
"Loosen your breath, Esme, and the lacing will go easier." Jinx sat on the ottoman,
watching Bette pull the stays of Esme's new corset as her sister hung onto the lacing bar.
The corset, silk damask with embroidered tea roses, pale pink ribbons along the heart-shaped
bust line and a polished brass busk, had arrived only yesterday in a shipment from Worth's of
Paris.
Esme didn't deserve something so beautiful, not with her gigantic twenty-one-inch waist,
the way she fought the corsetiere during the fitting, and now held her breath instead of exhaling
to lose yet another half-inch.
Jinx, still in her training corset, had long ago shaved her torso down to eighteen inches.
She deserved a damask corset, in the new S-shaped style, the way it erected the posture,
protruded her hips, and forced her body into the elegant shape of a society woman. But her
corset wouldn't arrive until her mother ordered her debut trousseau, hopefully after the end of
this year's society season. After all, she'd already turned seventeen, would be eighteen when the
season started next November.
She should have been born first.
Esme closed her eyes, as if in pain. "Mother, I can't breathe. I will faint during the
quadrille."
"Perhaps you will be recovered by someone of significance." Phoebe sat on a gold-foiled
Marie Antoinette chair, the red plush velvet like a throne as she perched upon it, surveying her
eldest daughter's preparations. "It wouldn't hurt your attention to be found swooning during a
waltz into the arms of the Astor heir."
Esme made a face. "More likely, I'll find myself discarded in the sitting room, one of
the Astor's maids fanning me to consciousness. Please, Bette, that is enough." She released the
lacing bar, letting her arms fall, and cast a look at their mother, who assented with a flick of her
hand.
Jinx bit back a huff of disgust. It simply wasn't fair that, despite Esme's almost militant
repulsion to securing a husband, men lined up to call on her during her at-home days, appeared
after church to walk her home, vied to be seated beside her at dinner parties, and begged her to
partner with them in golf and tennis. Most of all, they bedecked her with bouquets of dark red
Jacqueminot roses or deep pink Boneselline rosebuds before every ball.
Jinx blamed Esme's exquisite beauty—her straw-blonde hair, too-blue eyes, a form that
frankly, needed no corset to enhance—because Esme had interest in none of her suitors, despite
their pedigrees. Worse, her sister almost purposely confused the etiquette of dinner, refused the
language of the fan, and occasionally wandered out onto some dark balcony to view the stars
while the after-dinner German was called, leaving her suitors with no one to present their flowers
or party gifts to. Jinx had no doubt her sister wouldn't hesitate to attend Caroline Astor's January
ball with her uncorseted body loose in a tea dress, while she pressed her nose into some dime
novel.
God had been so unfair.
As if Esme could read Jinx's thoughts, she turned to her mother, even as Bette followed
her to fasten her stays. "Really, Mother, are you sure I must attend tonight's ball? I'm exhausted.
Tea today at the Wilson's, and last night dinner at the Fish's and the Opera the night before? I
am simply wasted to the bone—"
Street Team Book List excerpt - Love Finds You in Amana, Iowa by Melanie Dobson
Camy here: Here's another book I added to my Street Team book giveaway list! You can win this book by joining my Street Team--Click here for more info!
Love Finds You in Amana, Iowa
by
Melanie Dobson
With a backdrop of the community of The Amana Colonies, the Civil War, and a great love story, Melanie Dobson's new historical fiction title LOVE FINDS YOU IN AMANA, IOWA both enlightening and entertaining.
The novel is set in the United States during the turmoil of the 1860s. As the rest of the nation is embroiled in the Civil War, the Amana Colonies have remained at peace with a strong faith in God and pursuit of community, intertwined with hard work, family life and the building of their colony.
Amalie Wiese is travelling to the newly built village of Amana in 1863. When she arrives in the colonies she finds that her fiancée, Friedrich has left to fight with the Union Army. Amalie fears for his safety as she also struggles with his decision to abandon the colony's beliefs. Matthias, Frederick's friend, stays back in Amana to work in the colonies. But there is something wrong with Matthias; he always seems angry at Amalie when there is no simple explanation for him to act that way.
The goods that colonies manufacture are much needed supplies for the war effort and Matthias decides to deliver the goods to the soldiers. When he leaves, Amalie realizes that her fear for Matthias's safety is equally as strong. What will become of Friedrich, will Matthias return safely, and will Amalie marry Friedrich? LOVE FINDS YOU IN AMANA, IOWA is a richly told story of life in the Amana Society and the people who live and love there.
Excerpt of chapter one:
Chapter 1
July 1863
Wagon wheels rumbled over the hard earth and stones along the Ohio trail before dipping down to splash through a creek. Rain clouds swathed the hot sky, pacifying the intense sunrays for seconds and sometimes minutes at a time. Nature's game of hide-and-seek was welcome relief from the heat that had trailed the Inspirationists since they left New York. Two long weeks ago.
Water seeped through Amalie Wiese's boots as she stepped into the creek. The coldness bathed her stockings and chilled her toes. If only she could take a bath tonight. Clean the dust and sweat off her skin and soothe the aches that rippled up her legs and back and settled into her shoulders.
Beside her Karoline Baumer picked up her skirt and stepped into the creek. She squealed with delight as the cold water soaked her bare toes and splashed on her legs. Her friend's pale yellow hair was hidden under a lilac-colored sunbonnet, the same sunbonnet all of the women in their community wore. Even with the head covering draped over her ears and shoulders, hiding her cheeks, Amalie could see the freckles that dotted the nose of the lively girl who'd been working beside her for the past two years.
Karoline was barely twenty, but she was one of the hardest workers Amalie knew. And there was nothing Amalie respected more than a man or a woman who worked hard.
For the past ten of her twenty-four years, Amalie had cooked and cleaned six and a half days a week as a helper and then as the assistant baas in one of the colony's communal kitchens. She didn't mind the cooking or cleaning. It was the wilderness she hated. The dirt and the bramble and the vicious mosquitoes that liked to feed on her skin. Her kitchen was clean. Controlled. With a bit of scrubbing, she could eradi¬cate any sign of disorder in the kitchen, but out here on the trail, there was no way to keep the dirt off her clothes, her skin, or her dishes.
She wouldn't grumble about the long journey through the trees and hills, at least not with her lips, but it comforted her to know that the elders would never ask any of them to travel the states between New York and Iowa again. Once they reached the new Kolonie, they would be home.
"How are your feet?" Karoline asked.
"Blistered."
Karoline actually giggled. "Mine too."
"I wish I could laugh about it."
"You should take off your shoes," Karoline said, but Amalie shook her head. Even if she could hide her bare feet under her long dress, she didn't want her toes to touch the dirt.
"It's all part of the adventure," Karoline insisted.
"I'm having enough of an adventure with my shoes on."
Copper boilers, kettles, and skillets clanged in the wagon beside the women, and behind them was another wagon filled with barrels of flour and sugar, flatware, tablecloths, and ceramic jars to start the new Kolonie kitchen. The barrels and crates rattled together as they forged the creek.
They were going to replenish their food supply in the town of Lisbon tonight with meat from the butchery and fresh fruit and vegetables. And if they made it to Lisbon before dark, she was secretly hoping for a hot meal as well, along with a bath at a hotel instead of another night in a tent.
The hooves of two oxen beside them plodded back onto dry ground, and she and Karoline both hopped up onto the bank as another wagon rode into the water. In front of them were two wagons with nine other wagons following behind, all of them filled with supplies and clothing and family heirlooms. On their way to paradise.
The elders had written in great detail about the twenty-six thou¬sand acres they had purchased in the Iowa River Valley. They wrote about the timberland and pastures for their animals and plenty of sandstone and clay to build their villages. They described the lush hills and pristine river and rich soil in the land.
Amana is what they named the land, from the Song of Solomon. To remain true. It would be the perfect place for their community, the Community of the True Inspiration.
And it would be the perfect place for her and Friedrich to begin their marriage.
In her dreams, she imagined a private reunion with Friedrich away from the crowds in the new Kolonie. Friedrich had never kissed her before, but in the darkness of her tent, on the long nights when she couldn't sleep, she imagined what it would feel like to finally be in his arms.
She wouldn't care then about the sweat and dirt and the endless walking on this journey. The three years of waiting would melt away in his embrace, and if God blessed them with a long life, their bond would be strong sixty or even seventy years from now as they told the story of their move to grandchildren and perhaps even to great-grandchildren. The Inspirationists had been migrating slowly to the new Kolonie for eight years now. Friedrich and several hundred other men had built six villages on the land, and the elders purchased a seventh village two years ago—a railroad town named Homestead. Their Kolonie was a harbor from the rough world around them, a protected place far removed from the cities in this big country and the strains of materialism that tempted their people. The community would keep all of them from falling away from their devotion to the spiritual life. They would be bound together as a people who promised to remain true to God and to each other.
Amalie and Karoline were the only two women on this journey west—the rest of the women and children remained at the Inspiration¬ist colony in New York called Ebenezer. If she and Karoline had waited, they would have been able to travel by steamship across Lake Erie and then by iron train with Friedrich's family and the rest of the group coming to Iowa in the autumn months. Instead, Amalie had convinced the elders that the men escorting the dozen wagons with supplies to Iowa needed a couple of women to cook for them.
At the time, traveling by wagon seemed like a good idea. She and Karoline had both been excited to see a bit of America, and she was ready to take a respite from her parents' influence. Her mother was a midwife in Ebenezer and assisted the doctor whenever he needed her. Amalie's father was one of the elders helping secure the sale of the property in New York. They would leave Ebenezer with the final group moving west, probably in a year or two.
More than anything else, though, Amalie had chosen to go with the wagon train because she would see Friedrich two months earlier than if she had waited.
The Wiese name was one of strength, of men and women who escaped persecution in Germany and traveled the rough seas from Europe so they and their families could worship God in freedom. Herancestors and even her parents faced many more trials than she ever had. Surely she could finish this journey to Iowa.
Karoline looked up at the trees above them. "Isn't God's creation beautiful?"
Amalie glanced up. Light filtered through the web of branches and leaves and spilled over them, but her toes were too cold to appreciate the beauty.
"I'm hot one minute and then freezing the next."
Karoline laughed. "You don't like nature much, do you?"
"It's not that," she started but then caught herself. There was no reason for her to be untruthful with Karoline. "I just miss my kitchen."
"That's why you will make such a good kitchen baas," Karoline replied. "You actually enjoy the work."
"You'd make a good kitchen baas if you wanted to do it."
Karoline shook her head. "I'd much rather plant the food than cook it."
"Maybe one day you will work in the gardens," Amalie said. "But you're not allowed to start gardening until next year."
She needed Karoline's capable hands to help her start the new kitchen in Amana.
"Not until next year," Karoline assured her.
The ox snorted beside her, and Amalie reached out her hand and patted its back. She could feel his ribs through his warm skin. He was probably hungry too.
"Don't distract him," Christoph Faust commanded in German. The man rode up on the other side of the oxen, towering over them from his saddle. Karoline slowed her pace to walk behind Amalie.
Mr. Faust was an immigrant from Prussia, and because of his knowledge of the German language and his experience leading pio¬neers west, the elders had hired him as a wagon master to lead their rain to Iowa. The wide brim on his hat circled his head like a rugged halo. He reminded Amalie of the mighty angels of the Bible, the ones who could strike down the disobedient with a wave of their hand.
"I wasn't distracting him. I was encouraging him." Amalie glanced away from the wagon master, down to the wet hem of her skirt. One of the rules of their conduct was to be polite and friendly towards every¬one, but she didn't feel comfortable being too friendly with Mr. Faust. "We all want to get to Lisbon tonight for a decent meal."
"I don't know why, Miss Wiese," he said. "Your cooking is the best I've ever tasted on the trail."
She kept her eyes focused on the jagged rocks and patches of clover that garnished the trail. Some women might blush at a compliment like that, but Amalie knew that flattery only led to an inflated view of one's self. A false view. Each person was created equal in God's sight. Their skills and talents contributed to God's kingdom, not to building up a kingdom that would crumble the day they left this world.
She could feel Mr. Faust's gaze still on her, awaiting her response from atop his horse.
"What do you usually eat on the trail?"
"Anything we can catch," he said with a grin. "Sometimes a squir¬rel or a snake."
Her stomach rolled at the thought of eating a snake. No wonder he liked her food. "I'm glad to know my stew tastes better than squirrel meat."
Mr. Faust leaned down over the oxen, and his gaze locked onto her. "I'd ask you to marry me, Miss Wiese, if I was the kinda man to settle down."
Heat climbed up her neck at the thought of marrying an unruly man like Mr. Faust. She couldn't imagine it nor would she honor the absurdity of his statement with a reply.
Marriage should be discussed behind closed doors, not out in the open with Karoline beside her and so many of her fellow community members listening to their conversation. Mr. Faust's foolish words were sure to travel to Iowa. To Friedrich. Then she would have to answer questions about why she was even talking to this man.
He continued, seemingly oblivious to her discomfort. Or perhaps he was enjoying it.
"I might even think about joining your community," he said. "If you'd marry me."
She lifted her chin a bit higher. "There are plenty of women who could cook a decent meal for you, Mr. Faust."
"But few of them are as pretty as you."
Her chest quivered. Not because she held any interest in Christoph Faust or any man like him, but because of his close attention to her. His scrutiny. None of the women in their community were ever singled out for their beauty or their talents except on the occasion when a man was serious about a marriage. Then he would ask her permission, along with the permission of the elders, to marry her.
She tugged at her sunbonnet until it hid her face.
Was she pretty Or was Mr. Faust flattering her with idle words in hopes that she would continue cooking for him?
It didn't matter what his reason. She scolded herself for entertain¬ing even a moment of his flattery.
Do not love the world and do not follow the customs of the world. Do not love beauty nor daintiness of dress, much less boast in them.
She must battle against the flattery. Against the wiles of the devil that would tempt her to seek beauty or the pride that would ensue if she believed herself to be pretty. Not that Mr. Faust was the devil, but as she'd learned in Lehrschule, the evil one used the unsuspecting to draw members away from the tight bonds of their society.
"It doesn't matter, Mr. Faust," she said, venturing a glance at him from the side of her bonnet. His gaze was intent on her face. "I've already promised to marry a man in Iowa."
The smile on his face fell. "He's a lucky fella."
"I'm the blessed one."
He tipped his brim toward her. "Blessed, indeed."
In front of them, the wagons disappeared around a bend in the road, and the oxen hauling the kitchen wagon followed them in the endless parade. But when the road straightened again, Amalie coughed as a cloud of smoke hovered in the trees around them. She scanned the forest on both sides to search for a clearing where fellow travelers had built a campfire to cook their supper.
"What is it?" Karoline whispered behind her.
She shook her head. "I don't know."
Instead of a campfire, black coils of smoke rose above the trees to their left, quickly turning the sky into a dark haze. She coughed again and covered her mouth with the calico from her bonnet.
"Whoa!" Mr. Faust shouted to the oxen.
He kicked his heels against his horse's flanks to urge it ahead, yell¬ing for the oxen to stop. The animals were like children obeying their teacher—some of them stopped immediately while others delayed just a bit. But in a minute's time, they'd all complied, and the wagons stopped on the path, waiting for direction from their captain.
Mr. Faust rode back to her, the teasing erased from his eyes and lips.
"Gather everyone together," Mr. Faust told her. "Tell them to wait here until I return."
She stepped forward. "Where are you going?"
"To see what is burning." He wiped his forearm over his mustache. "And to find out who set the fire."
"Are we in danger?"
A glimmer of pity washed through his eyes. "There's danger all around us, Miss Wiese."
Her aching shoulders stiffened at the urgency in his words. And the condescension.
The villages of Ebenezer weren't as isolated as the new Kolonie, but they'd been sheltered from most of the evils in the world. The crimes she'd heard rumored about in the cities never touched their commu¬nity. But now, even though they traveled as one, they were no longer separated from evil. The western world, like the Ohio trail, was full of ruts and thorns threatening to ensnare them. People and problems she didn't understand.
She sniffed the smoky air and stepped back from Mr. Faust.
The world didn't frighten her—at least, not as much as her fear of how she would survive if she were thrown into it. The untamed wilder¬ness was not her friend. She belonged in her neat kitchen, managing her assistants, feeding her people. In her world, she could ward off dan¬ger with her tongue.
"Amalie!" Mr. Faust demanded, and she snapped back to him. She would have reprimanded him for the use of her given name, but his hazel eyes had turned as dark as the night sky, piercing her with their intensity. It wasn't the time to confront him or dwell on her fears about the world. It was time to stop the danger here from infecting all of them.
"I need you to take charge," he said.
Instead of waiting to give commands to Brother John or Niklas or one of the other men, he steered his horse toward the fire and rode off.
Amalie patted the ox beside her one more time, trying to assimi¬late her scattered thoughts. She had no problem being in charge, but she wasn't sure how the men would respond to her. Though if Mr. Faust were able to ride toward the danger instead of away from it, she supposed she could organize the group as well as any of the men on this journey.
Karoline nudged her arm. "What can I do?"
She took a deep breath. "Go get the men at the back of the train and bring them here."
As Karoline scurried off, Amalie turned to the wagon in front of her. "Brother Niklas!" she shouted. "Brother John!"
Twenty-two-year-old Niklas Keller and his father rushed to her side.
Niklas rubbed his hands together. His eyes were on the black smoke funneling into the sky, his voice passionate. "Someone needs our help."
She shook her head. "Mr. Faust said there might be danger."
He skimmed the forest line and glanced at the wagons behind them. "I see no danger."
"He said we should group together and wait for him."
Niklas leaned back against the rear of the wagon. The elders had put Mr. Faust in authority over them for this trip. If he said to wait, they would all wait. But the minutes crept past and Mr. Faust didn't return.
A low rumble echoed through the tangled forest on the left side of their train, like the roar of hooves in a stampede. Amalie squinted into the shadows of the foliage and shuddered.
Maybe it was a stampede.
The men and Karoline thronged around Amalie's wagon. Peace filled each of their eyes, a peace that passed understanding, and she wondered if she was the only one whose heart raced.
"We will pray," Brother John announced, and he began petitioning their Lord for wisdom and for His hand of protection.
The roar drew closer, and her heart beat even faster.
What were they supposed to do? Christian Metz spoke regular tes¬timonies to them in Ebenezer, inspired words from the Spirit to give them direction, but Brother Metz wasn't with them on this journey.
She glanced up at the sky, as if God would write His direction for them in the clouds, but God was silent for the moment. A gunshot blasted through the trees, the sound echoing around them. She looked into the faces surrounding her. Fear flickered in some of their eyes. Questions. Several of the men had shotguns to hunt game, but they would never use a gun on their fellow man. They had only one choice.
Amalie steadied her voice, pointing toward the trees. "We need to run. Hide."
A second shot rang out and the people around her didn't hesitate this time. Karoline vanished into the forest along with most of the men standing around Amalie.
She looked at her wagon one last time, at the pots and kettles she'd spent hours cleaning and polishing and preparing for this trip. Kettles that were supposed to feed her brothers and sisters in the new kitchen.
Niklas pressed his hand on her shoulder. "Run, Amalie."
She looked back at the wagon one last time. And then she ran.
Love Finds You in Amana, Iowaby
Melanie Dobson
With a backdrop of the community of The Amana Colonies, the Civil War, and a great love story, Melanie Dobson's new historical fiction title LOVE FINDS YOU IN AMANA, IOWA both enlightening and entertaining.
The novel is set in the United States during the turmoil of the 1860s. As the rest of the nation is embroiled in the Civil War, the Amana Colonies have remained at peace with a strong faith in God and pursuit of community, intertwined with hard work, family life and the building of their colony.
Amalie Wiese is travelling to the newly built village of Amana in 1863. When she arrives in the colonies she finds that her fiancée, Friedrich has left to fight with the Union Army. Amalie fears for his safety as she also struggles with his decision to abandon the colony's beliefs. Matthias, Frederick's friend, stays back in Amana to work in the colonies. But there is something wrong with Matthias; he always seems angry at Amalie when there is no simple explanation for him to act that way.
The goods that colonies manufacture are much needed supplies for the war effort and Matthias decides to deliver the goods to the soldiers. When he leaves, Amalie realizes that her fear for Matthias's safety is equally as strong. What will become of Friedrich, will Matthias return safely, and will Amalie marry Friedrich? LOVE FINDS YOU IN AMANA, IOWA is a richly told story of life in the Amana Society and the people who live and love there.
Excerpt of chapter one:
Chapter 1
July 1863
Wagon wheels rumbled over the hard earth and stones along the Ohio trail before dipping down to splash through a creek. Rain clouds swathed the hot sky, pacifying the intense sunrays for seconds and sometimes minutes at a time. Nature's game of hide-and-seek was welcome relief from the heat that had trailed the Inspirationists since they left New York. Two long weeks ago.
Water seeped through Amalie Wiese's boots as she stepped into the creek. The coldness bathed her stockings and chilled her toes. If only she could take a bath tonight. Clean the dust and sweat off her skin and soothe the aches that rippled up her legs and back and settled into her shoulders.
Beside her Karoline Baumer picked up her skirt and stepped into the creek. She squealed with delight as the cold water soaked her bare toes and splashed on her legs. Her friend's pale yellow hair was hidden under a lilac-colored sunbonnet, the same sunbonnet all of the women in their community wore. Even with the head covering draped over her ears and shoulders, hiding her cheeks, Amalie could see the freckles that dotted the nose of the lively girl who'd been working beside her for the past two years.
Karoline was barely twenty, but she was one of the hardest workers Amalie knew. And there was nothing Amalie respected more than a man or a woman who worked hard.
For the past ten of her twenty-four years, Amalie had cooked and cleaned six and a half days a week as a helper and then as the assistant baas in one of the colony's communal kitchens. She didn't mind the cooking or cleaning. It was the wilderness she hated. The dirt and the bramble and the vicious mosquitoes that liked to feed on her skin. Her kitchen was clean. Controlled. With a bit of scrubbing, she could eradi¬cate any sign of disorder in the kitchen, but out here on the trail, there was no way to keep the dirt off her clothes, her skin, or her dishes.
She wouldn't grumble about the long journey through the trees and hills, at least not with her lips, but it comforted her to know that the elders would never ask any of them to travel the states between New York and Iowa again. Once they reached the new Kolonie, they would be home.
"How are your feet?" Karoline asked.
"Blistered."
Karoline actually giggled. "Mine too."
"I wish I could laugh about it."
"You should take off your shoes," Karoline said, but Amalie shook her head. Even if she could hide her bare feet under her long dress, she didn't want her toes to touch the dirt.
"It's all part of the adventure," Karoline insisted.
"I'm having enough of an adventure with my shoes on."
Copper boilers, kettles, and skillets clanged in the wagon beside the women, and behind them was another wagon filled with barrels of flour and sugar, flatware, tablecloths, and ceramic jars to start the new Kolonie kitchen. The barrels and crates rattled together as they forged the creek.
They were going to replenish their food supply in the town of Lisbon tonight with meat from the butchery and fresh fruit and vegetables. And if they made it to Lisbon before dark, she was secretly hoping for a hot meal as well, along with a bath at a hotel instead of another night in a tent.
The hooves of two oxen beside them plodded back onto dry ground, and she and Karoline both hopped up onto the bank as another wagon rode into the water. In front of them were two wagons with nine other wagons following behind, all of them filled with supplies and clothing and family heirlooms. On their way to paradise.
The elders had written in great detail about the twenty-six thou¬sand acres they had purchased in the Iowa River Valley. They wrote about the timberland and pastures for their animals and plenty of sandstone and clay to build their villages. They described the lush hills and pristine river and rich soil in the land.
Amana is what they named the land, from the Song of Solomon. To remain true. It would be the perfect place for their community, the Community of the True Inspiration.
And it would be the perfect place for her and Friedrich to begin their marriage.
In her dreams, she imagined a private reunion with Friedrich away from the crowds in the new Kolonie. Friedrich had never kissed her before, but in the darkness of her tent, on the long nights when she couldn't sleep, she imagined what it would feel like to finally be in his arms.
She wouldn't care then about the sweat and dirt and the endless walking on this journey. The three years of waiting would melt away in his embrace, and if God blessed them with a long life, their bond would be strong sixty or even seventy years from now as they told the story of their move to grandchildren and perhaps even to great-grandchildren. The Inspirationists had been migrating slowly to the new Kolonie for eight years now. Friedrich and several hundred other men had built six villages on the land, and the elders purchased a seventh village two years ago—a railroad town named Homestead. Their Kolonie was a harbor from the rough world around them, a protected place far removed from the cities in this big country and the strains of materialism that tempted their people. The community would keep all of them from falling away from their devotion to the spiritual life. They would be bound together as a people who promised to remain true to God and to each other.
Amalie and Karoline were the only two women on this journey west—the rest of the women and children remained at the Inspiration¬ist colony in New York called Ebenezer. If she and Karoline had waited, they would have been able to travel by steamship across Lake Erie and then by iron train with Friedrich's family and the rest of the group coming to Iowa in the autumn months. Instead, Amalie had convinced the elders that the men escorting the dozen wagons with supplies to Iowa needed a couple of women to cook for them.
At the time, traveling by wagon seemed like a good idea. She and Karoline had both been excited to see a bit of America, and she was ready to take a respite from her parents' influence. Her mother was a midwife in Ebenezer and assisted the doctor whenever he needed her. Amalie's father was one of the elders helping secure the sale of the property in New York. They would leave Ebenezer with the final group moving west, probably in a year or two.
More than anything else, though, Amalie had chosen to go with the wagon train because she would see Friedrich two months earlier than if she had waited.
The Wiese name was one of strength, of men and women who escaped persecution in Germany and traveled the rough seas from Europe so they and their families could worship God in freedom. Herancestors and even her parents faced many more trials than she ever had. Surely she could finish this journey to Iowa.
Karoline looked up at the trees above them. "Isn't God's creation beautiful?"
Amalie glanced up. Light filtered through the web of branches and leaves and spilled over them, but her toes were too cold to appreciate the beauty.
"I'm hot one minute and then freezing the next."
Karoline laughed. "You don't like nature much, do you?"
"It's not that," she started but then caught herself. There was no reason for her to be untruthful with Karoline. "I just miss my kitchen."
"That's why you will make such a good kitchen baas," Karoline replied. "You actually enjoy the work."
"You'd make a good kitchen baas if you wanted to do it."
Karoline shook her head. "I'd much rather plant the food than cook it."
"Maybe one day you will work in the gardens," Amalie said. "But you're not allowed to start gardening until next year."
She needed Karoline's capable hands to help her start the new kitchen in Amana.
"Not until next year," Karoline assured her.
The ox snorted beside her, and Amalie reached out her hand and patted its back. She could feel his ribs through his warm skin. He was probably hungry too.
"Don't distract him," Christoph Faust commanded in German. The man rode up on the other side of the oxen, towering over them from his saddle. Karoline slowed her pace to walk behind Amalie.
Mr. Faust was an immigrant from Prussia, and because of his knowledge of the German language and his experience leading pio¬neers west, the elders had hired him as a wagon master to lead their rain to Iowa. The wide brim on his hat circled his head like a rugged halo. He reminded Amalie of the mighty angels of the Bible, the ones who could strike down the disobedient with a wave of their hand.
"I wasn't distracting him. I was encouraging him." Amalie glanced away from the wagon master, down to the wet hem of her skirt. One of the rules of their conduct was to be polite and friendly towards every¬one, but she didn't feel comfortable being too friendly with Mr. Faust. "We all want to get to Lisbon tonight for a decent meal."
"I don't know why, Miss Wiese," he said. "Your cooking is the best I've ever tasted on the trail."
She kept her eyes focused on the jagged rocks and patches of clover that garnished the trail. Some women might blush at a compliment like that, but Amalie knew that flattery only led to an inflated view of one's self. A false view. Each person was created equal in God's sight. Their skills and talents contributed to God's kingdom, not to building up a kingdom that would crumble the day they left this world.
She could feel Mr. Faust's gaze still on her, awaiting her response from atop his horse.
"What do you usually eat on the trail?"
"Anything we can catch," he said with a grin. "Sometimes a squir¬rel or a snake."
Her stomach rolled at the thought of eating a snake. No wonder he liked her food. "I'm glad to know my stew tastes better than squirrel meat."
Mr. Faust leaned down over the oxen, and his gaze locked onto her. "I'd ask you to marry me, Miss Wiese, if I was the kinda man to settle down."
Heat climbed up her neck at the thought of marrying an unruly man like Mr. Faust. She couldn't imagine it nor would she honor the absurdity of his statement with a reply.
Marriage should be discussed behind closed doors, not out in the open with Karoline beside her and so many of her fellow community members listening to their conversation. Mr. Faust's foolish words were sure to travel to Iowa. To Friedrich. Then she would have to answer questions about why she was even talking to this man.
He continued, seemingly oblivious to her discomfort. Or perhaps he was enjoying it.
"I might even think about joining your community," he said. "If you'd marry me."
She lifted her chin a bit higher. "There are plenty of women who could cook a decent meal for you, Mr. Faust."
"But few of them are as pretty as you."
Her chest quivered. Not because she held any interest in Christoph Faust or any man like him, but because of his close attention to her. His scrutiny. None of the women in their community were ever singled out for their beauty or their talents except on the occasion when a man was serious about a marriage. Then he would ask her permission, along with the permission of the elders, to marry her.
She tugged at her sunbonnet until it hid her face.
Was she pretty Or was Mr. Faust flattering her with idle words in hopes that she would continue cooking for him?
It didn't matter what his reason. She scolded herself for entertain¬ing even a moment of his flattery.
Do not love the world and do not follow the customs of the world. Do not love beauty nor daintiness of dress, much less boast in them.
She must battle against the flattery. Against the wiles of the devil that would tempt her to seek beauty or the pride that would ensue if she believed herself to be pretty. Not that Mr. Faust was the devil, but as she'd learned in Lehrschule, the evil one used the unsuspecting to draw members away from the tight bonds of their society.
"It doesn't matter, Mr. Faust," she said, venturing a glance at him from the side of her bonnet. His gaze was intent on her face. "I've already promised to marry a man in Iowa."
The smile on his face fell. "He's a lucky fella."
"I'm the blessed one."
He tipped his brim toward her. "Blessed, indeed."
In front of them, the wagons disappeared around a bend in the road, and the oxen hauling the kitchen wagon followed them in the endless parade. But when the road straightened again, Amalie coughed as a cloud of smoke hovered in the trees around them. She scanned the forest on both sides to search for a clearing where fellow travelers had built a campfire to cook their supper.
"What is it?" Karoline whispered behind her.
She shook her head. "I don't know."
Instead of a campfire, black coils of smoke rose above the trees to their left, quickly turning the sky into a dark haze. She coughed again and covered her mouth with the calico from her bonnet.
"Whoa!" Mr. Faust shouted to the oxen.
He kicked his heels against his horse's flanks to urge it ahead, yell¬ing for the oxen to stop. The animals were like children obeying their teacher—some of them stopped immediately while others delayed just a bit. But in a minute's time, they'd all complied, and the wagons stopped on the path, waiting for direction from their captain.
Mr. Faust rode back to her, the teasing erased from his eyes and lips.
"Gather everyone together," Mr. Faust told her. "Tell them to wait here until I return."
She stepped forward. "Where are you going?"
"To see what is burning." He wiped his forearm over his mustache. "And to find out who set the fire."
"Are we in danger?"
A glimmer of pity washed through his eyes. "There's danger all around us, Miss Wiese."
Her aching shoulders stiffened at the urgency in his words. And the condescension.
The villages of Ebenezer weren't as isolated as the new Kolonie, but they'd been sheltered from most of the evils in the world. The crimes she'd heard rumored about in the cities never touched their commu¬nity. But now, even though they traveled as one, they were no longer separated from evil. The western world, like the Ohio trail, was full of ruts and thorns threatening to ensnare them. People and problems she didn't understand.
She sniffed the smoky air and stepped back from Mr. Faust.
The world didn't frighten her—at least, not as much as her fear of how she would survive if she were thrown into it. The untamed wilder¬ness was not her friend. She belonged in her neat kitchen, managing her assistants, feeding her people. In her world, she could ward off dan¬ger with her tongue.
"Amalie!" Mr. Faust demanded, and she snapped back to him. She would have reprimanded him for the use of her given name, but his hazel eyes had turned as dark as the night sky, piercing her with their intensity. It wasn't the time to confront him or dwell on her fears about the world. It was time to stop the danger here from infecting all of them.
"I need you to take charge," he said.
Instead of waiting to give commands to Brother John or Niklas or one of the other men, he steered his horse toward the fire and rode off.
Amalie patted the ox beside her one more time, trying to assimi¬late her scattered thoughts. She had no problem being in charge, but she wasn't sure how the men would respond to her. Though if Mr. Faust were able to ride toward the danger instead of away from it, she supposed she could organize the group as well as any of the men on this journey.
Karoline nudged her arm. "What can I do?"
She took a deep breath. "Go get the men at the back of the train and bring them here."
As Karoline scurried off, Amalie turned to the wagon in front of her. "Brother Niklas!" she shouted. "Brother John!"
Twenty-two-year-old Niklas Keller and his father rushed to her side.
Niklas rubbed his hands together. His eyes were on the black smoke funneling into the sky, his voice passionate. "Someone needs our help."
She shook her head. "Mr. Faust said there might be danger."
He skimmed the forest line and glanced at the wagons behind them. "I see no danger."
"He said we should group together and wait for him."
Niklas leaned back against the rear of the wagon. The elders had put Mr. Faust in authority over them for this trip. If he said to wait, they would all wait. But the minutes crept past and Mr. Faust didn't return.
A low rumble echoed through the tangled forest on the left side of their train, like the roar of hooves in a stampede. Amalie squinted into the shadows of the foliage and shuddered.
Maybe it was a stampede.
The men and Karoline thronged around Amalie's wagon. Peace filled each of their eyes, a peace that passed understanding, and she wondered if she was the only one whose heart raced.
"We will pray," Brother John announced, and he began petitioning their Lord for wisdom and for His hand of protection.
The roar drew closer, and her heart beat even faster.
What were they supposed to do? Christian Metz spoke regular tes¬timonies to them in Ebenezer, inspired words from the Spirit to give them direction, but Brother Metz wasn't with them on this journey.
She glanced up at the sky, as if God would write His direction for them in the clouds, but God was silent for the moment. A gunshot blasted through the trees, the sound echoing around them. She looked into the faces surrounding her. Fear flickered in some of their eyes. Questions. Several of the men had shotguns to hunt game, but they would never use a gun on their fellow man. They had only one choice.
Amalie steadied her voice, pointing toward the trees. "We need to run. Hide."
A second shot rang out and the people around her didn't hesitate this time. Karoline vanished into the forest along with most of the men standing around Amalie.
She looked at her wagon one last time, at the pots and kettles she'd spent hours cleaning and polishing and preparing for this trip. Kettles that were supposed to feed her brothers and sisters in the new kitchen.
Niklas pressed his hand on her shoulder. "Run, Amalie."
She looked back at the wagon one last time. And then she ran.
August 2, 2011
Excerpt - Dancing on Glass by Pamela Binnings Ewen
Dancing on Glass by
Pamela Binnings Ewen
In the steamy city of New Orleans in 1974, Amalise Catoir sees Phillip Sharp as a charming, magnetic artist, unlike any man she has known. A young lawyer herself, raised in a small town and on the brink of a career with a large firm, she is strong and successful, yet sometimes too trusting and whimsical. Ama's rash decision to marry Phillip proves to be a mistake as he becomes overly possessive, drawing his wife away from family, friends, and her faith. His insidious, dangerous behavior becomes her dark, inescapable secret.
In this lawyer's unraveling world, can grace survive Ama's fatal choice? What would you do when prayers seem to go unanswered, faith has slipped away, evil stalks, and you feel yourself forever dancing on shattered glass?
Excerpt of chapter one:
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