Camy Tang's Blog, page 162
January 3, 2011
Excerpt - LOVE FOOD AND LIVE WELL by Chantel Hobbs
Camy here: I just started reading this book, and I like it already. Chantel's other books were good, too--inspiring and uplifting--but this one really speaks to me because it talks about our relationship with food. I LOVE food and yet I know I let it control me, or I try to control it, or whatever's going on. I'm looking forward to reading more about how to be able to rely on God to help me with my eating habits.
Today's Wild Card author is:
Chantel Hobbs
and the book:
Love Food & Live Well
WaterBrook Press; 1 edition (December 14, 2010)
***Special thanks to Audra Jennings, Senior Media Specialist, The B&B Media Group for sending me a review copy.***
You don't have to hide it. You can love food right out in the open—and lose weight at the same time. With the latest release from Chantel Hobbs, Love Food and Live Well, you'll know when to have carrot cake and when it's time to just have a carrot.
Let life coach and fitness expert Chantel Hobbs show you how to lose pounds to reach the weight that is right for you and then maintain it while enjoying healthy, delicious food. Built into this amazing plan is knowing that you can count on the occasional splurge with absolutely no guilt.
Using personal inventories, original recipes, and simple eating plans, plus new exercises for strength training and aerobic fitness, Hobbs will inspire you to live well in every area of life. Her positive and highly motivating approach is changing the way dieters look at food and will inspire you to pursue a life of lasting health in body, mind, and spirit.
Hobbs isn't like other fitness and nutritional experts. She doesn't just have the knowledge of what to eat. She's experienced the heartache of feeling unworthy. In her book she says, "We'll look at the deal the world has been selling us all of our lives—the message that we're not good enough, not pretty enough, not thin enough, and just basically that we're not enough." Hobbs doesn't just offer expert advice. She offers hope.
She exposes the lies that trap dieters in self-defeating habits and shows them how to break free from destructive attitudes toward food. You will no longer need to hate food or be limited to eating boring, bland, unsatisfying meals. You can learn to live with freedom.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Chantel Hobbs is a life coach, marathon runner, personal trainer, wife, and mother of four. Her amazing story of losing two hundred pounds and keeping the weight off has been featured on Oprah, The Today Show, Good Morning America, Fox & Friends, Life Today with James Robison, The 700 Club, and Focus on the Family Radio—and in People and First magazines. Hobbs hosts a weekly radio show and is the on-air fitness expert on the WAY-FM radio network. She is also a regular guest on the KLOVE radio network. Hobbs is a frequent speaker to women's groups and makes personal appearances at fitness conventions. The developer of The One-Day Way Learning System and the author of four books, including Never Say Diet and The One-Day Way, Chantel lives with her family in south Florida.
Visit the author's website.
Product Details:
List Price: $19.99
Hardcover: 240 pages
Publisher: WaterBrook Press; 1 edition (December 14, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0307457842
ISBN-13: 978-0307457844
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
The Battle over Blue Jeans
People, Here Is My Deal!
For as long as I can remember, I have loved clothes and makeup. Even when I weighed close to 350 pounds, I experimented with trendy hairstyles while checking out the latest plus-size fashion catalogs.
When I was in elementary school, I would spend afternoons with my sister Christy, sitting on the floor of the closet in the decked-out pink bedroom we shared. This was a supersized closet where we would set up our Barbie dolls for fashion shows. Because I had blond hair and Christy was a brunette, it was only natural for me to pretend to be Barbie and her to be Skipper, Barbie's little sister. At least that's how I sold the idea to Christy. As we grew up and began to put our dolls away, I still enjoyed being prissy, often spending way too much time in front of a mirror.
Even as a young mother, I was a fashionista. I'll never forget entering the hospital to have a scheduled cesarean to deliver my son Jake. I had spent the day before the delivery getting a pedicure and manicure and shopping for a matching nightgown set. Really, I did this! As I lay on the table in the operating room, the doctor arrived and started to chuckle. "Well, Chantel, I can see nothing about this is going to be a natural delivery." All I could say was, "At least I left the false eyelashes at home." I was only half kidding.
One reason I went overboard with my appearance was because I loved hearing friends and family comment on how together I looked. Even while having a baby, I wanted to look great. But today, in hindsight, I feel seriously sorry for the woman I used to be. She was always exhausted from trying to maintain her unreal image. Plus, I knew deep down that I wasn't fooling anyone but myself. My weight problem wasn't going to vanish underneath fancy clothing and attempts to camouflage my problem areas. I really did know that owning an all-black wardrobe wouldn't keep my body issues a secret.
But back then I had convinced myself I needed to make a serious effort to look pretty from the neck up because I was too overweight for the rest of me to look decent. I rationalized that if I could highlight my best features, people would see my positive attributes and look past my greatest flaw: my obese body. At this point my life was one big head game.
I'll never forget the weekend I went on a business trip with my husband, Keith, to Bermuda. This was a dream coming true for someone who spent most days watching Barney and folding laundry. But when we started to pack, panic set in. Bermuda is one huge beach, and I knew I'd embarrass my husband if I wore a swimsuit in front of his bosses and work friends. On the other hand, this was Bermuda! It was a free trip and a chance to escape the zoo I called home!
After we boarded the plane, I found my seat and immediately put a jacket over my waist. This was a trick I had learned from previous travel experiences, and it almost always worked. If I could hide where the seat belt was supposed to be, the flight attendant wouldn't notice that mine was unbuckled. The truth is, I did this because I couldn't connect the seat belt. I was too big around. This time, however, my system failed. As the attendant stopped by our row, she asked me to buckle my seat belt. As I struggled to latch it, she stood impatiently with one hand on her hip. I whispered that I was having trouble making it fit.
So being the sensitive, tall, and freakishly thin woman she was, she shouted to her co-worker, "Could you look in one of the overhead compartments for a seat-belt extension?"
I was mortified. I closed my eyes and tried to pretend the attendant was talking about someone else. A few moments later she handed me the hated seat-belt extension, and I fastened the thing as quickly as I could. I promise you, I could feel the pity of strangers as they witnessed my hame. But instead of shedding tears, I did what I had rehearsed in previous situations. I took a deep breath and grabbed Keith's hand, squeezing it for dear life as the aircraft took off. My vacation is off to a great start, I told myself. I can't wait to see what other embarrassing moments lie ahead.
Surprisingly, our Bermuda trip ended up being the trip of a lifetime. The island was beautiful, the water was the clearest blue I had ever seen, and I felt beautiful for the entire week. Strangely, it was another young mother, the wife of one of Keith's co-workers, who was mostly responsible.
Each day I would get dolled up and make my entrance into the meeting room for the company's group breakfast. This girl went out of her way to say something sincere and extraordinary about the way I looked, morning after morning. She would also ask me for fashion advice. By her looks, she didn't need any, certainly none from me. Yet she still inquired and never in a condescending way.
Best of all, she never breathed the dreaded words "You have such a pretty face." The trip to Bermuda taught me the intense power we all have when we speak to someone, especially to a person who is feeling weak and vulnerable. Just by saying something simple and positive, we can brighten someone's outlook, even if it's only for a few seconds.
For most of my life I had become accustomed to backhanded compliments. When it came to my weight and all my failed attempts to lose it, I had heard everything. I'd try yet another diet, and two weeks into it over and over I would hear from those around me, "Now keep up the good work." And I would always think, Are you kidding? I'm trying here. Just tell me "good job,"
and don't worry about whether I lose another dad-gum pound. I get that you are letting me know I have a long way to go!
Yet Another New Start
Coming home from Bermuda, where I felt sincere acceptance, I had real hope. I felt different. I was relaxed, revived, and encouraged. I decided that I was ready to give weight loss another shot. As I set out to lose weight for the eighty-sixth time in my life, I felt prepared. I bought the latest diet book from Sam's Club and a twelve-pack of muffins. I rationalized the muffin purchase by telling myself I needed to have one last hurrah.
On Monday my plan was to go for it. I would try with everything in me not to let anything stand in my way. Of course, I didn't see any need to crack open the new book I'd bought until the weekend was over! What would a few more days of indulgence hurt?
Then Monday arrived, and I made my grand entrance at the gym. I even went back three days in a row. The only problem was that by the end of the week I was hanging out more than working out. I'd been trying to get David, the juice bar owner, to tell me his recipe for the yummy chocolate–peanut butter protein shake I was ordering every day. The first clue it wasn't all that
healthy should have been the chocolate syrup he poured in. But I told myself, if it's made on gym property, how bad could it be?
By the time the week ended, I had followed the plan in my recently purchased book and had my cheat day. Not surprisingly, I quickly indulged in an entire cheat weekend. However, I managed to get back to the gym the following Monday. The plan I was on was doable, and even with halfhearted efforts, I was slowly losing weight.
After shedding about twenty pounds, I decided I needed some new clothes. This was kind of funny, especially since not one person had noticed that I had lost an ounce. As I said earlier, I've always loved fashion. But at this point, with my weight so high, I was stuck wearing mostly dresses and skirts. I just couldn't face the prospect of trying to fit my behind into a pair of pants
at Lane Bryant. But now, since I was feeling pretty good about myself and getting results, I headed over to the Coral Square Mall. I was there to hunt down a pair of blue jeans. Even if I had to lie down to zip them and not breathe while I wore them, I was determined to come home with new jeans.
I picked up three pairs with plenty of stretch to take into the dressing room. Once the door was closed, though, no amount of sucking it in, squeezing hard, or holding my breath got the jeans up to my waist. I couldn't make any of them fit. As I held the jeans up and looked in the mirror, I wondered how anyone could stand to look at me. I was a disgusting blob of pain and misery.
I had left home that day feeling good about my progress. I was finally losing some weight. But after a few minutes in a dressing room, I wanted to die. How had I let myself become this pathetic mess of a woman?
A few Cinnabons later I went home. Two weeks after my blue jean horror show, I found out I was expecting. A month into the pregnancy I miscarried due to a badly infected gallbladder, and I ended up having emergency surgery. I wondered if I would ever change my life or if I would die first. Death seemed like perhaps the only escape out of this prison.
About six months later I had an unforgettable encounter with God. I was alone in my car, driving home from a meeting. I had reached my lowest point ever, and I let God in. I had known Him for years, ever since I had been saved from an eternity separated from Him. As a little girl in Sunday school, I had asked Jesus into my heart to save me from my sins. What I needed now, as a desperate, hurting, damaged woman, was to be saved from myself. I was still trying to run my own life.
God had whispered my name through many embarrassing moments and hurtful situations; I just never answered. But that night, alone in my car, He finally got through to me. I experienced a supernatural intervention. And it compels me now to tell my friends, my clients, and my readers my Lazarus story.
An Incredible Second Chance
Remember the story of Lazarus in the Bible? When Jesus brought him back from the dead, and we're talking dead as a doornail (he was four-days dead), I imagine all he wanted was to blow a trumpet and tell the world about his miracle. Today I feel a similar kind of zeal resulting from my own miracle. As I surrendered all the pain of my lifelong weight problem to God, my heart
began a major shift. God gave me a deep desire to go to work. For the first time, I took on the task of losing the weight with Him in charge. I was no longer alone as I had been in the past. By allowing God, who never breaks a promise, to give me the strength, self-control, and focus I needed, how could I fail?
Ten years later I am on the same course He set for my life that night. My life is still filled with unexpected moments, both tragedies and celebrations. But I have never looked back.
After going on to lose two hundred pounds, I designed my own fitness and weight-loss program and became a certified Spinning teacher, personal trainer, and marathon runner. I love feeling strong, being healthy, and knowing I'm not a slave to my former appetites. Often I run into people I haven't seen in many years. They may have known me as the overweight girl with a
pretty face. And if I dare to attempt a reacquaintance, I am usually in for a good laugh.
I'll never forget one woman from a church I attended years earlier. I ran into her at the grocery store and tried to convince her who I was. "You aren't really Chantel from West Lauderdale Baptist," she insisted. I tried to get her to believe it was me, just an improved version. I think she finally accepted the truth, but it took awhile.
I am proud of the woman I have worked to become. However, I am most thankful that God rescued me from a place where I had lost all hope. God's care for me and His work in my life give me the strength to stay on course. Now, after writing four books and producing a learning system for weight loss and fitness, I can see that God continues to use me as a voice of real-life
experience. A big part of my message is this: let me help you stop sabotaging yourself and your life. I know, from hard experience, how to overcome self-defeat. Every day I get to hear the stories of people who were losing hope, as I was, and now are finding the life they had dreamed of. I receive e-mails from women who have heard me speak, read one of my books, or heard me on the radio and now are surrendering their failed attempts to God. They are learning the truth and power of surrender and then doing the hard work of changing their lives.
In my work of helping people reclaim their health, I never know what is coming next. Recently I got a call from my publicist. She was so excited she could hardly tell me the news. "While you are in New York later this week to do The Today Show and Fox and Friends, a major women's magazine wants to set up a photo shoot."
I screamed. I couldn't help it. Not only would the exposure help sell my book, but doing a photo shoot in New York, as the author of fitness books, was an experience I never dreamed I'd have. When I weighed nearly 350 pounds, an opportunity like this never entered my mind.
I couldn't wait, but I had to. It was still a few weeks away. As New Year's came and went, I was more careful than ever about fitting in all my workouts and eating clean. (Clean eating is the best way for me to think about food that delivers maximum energy with a reasonable calorie content.) When the day arrived, a driver came to our New York hotel to take Keith and me to the shoot. In the previous week, I had given my measurements to a stylist. She informed me she would be shopping for the clothes I would wear for the photo shoot. To use a term from my Southern-rooted parents, I was in hog heaven! I used to be the woman who was embarrassed to tell anyone her sizes, and now I had someone else buying me clothes based on them! The great part was the freedom in sharing what size I was. For the first time, I felt no shame.
When we arrived at the studio, I noticed that the loft where the photographer had scheduled the shoot was trendy and chic. It had sky-high ceilings complete with lots of lights and screened umbrellas to ensure perfect lighting. Taking up an entire wall was a buffet of food the magazine had catered for the event, my event! All of it was healthy fare with me in mind.
As I entered a dressing room, fun music filled the air. A makeup artist and hairstylist began their magic. I listened while they talked about their past work. One had done Heidi Klum's makeup not long before, and the other spoke of doing the makeup for big names on a major movie set. I was a little overwhelmed with the emotion of the moment. I felt like I was back to playing Barbie dolls with my sister.
After hair and makeup were underway, the stylist had me try on all the clothes she had bought. We settled on a great pair of designer jeans with a sleek white sweater and a trendy hot pink top. I put on the heels she had purchased—a perfect fit—and some fabulous jewelry. Then I was whisked away to the main part of the studio. In that moment I felt like a million bucks.
It was then the stylist asked me what I believed to be an insane question: "Where are your old blue jeans?" At first I couldn't believe I had heard her right, but I knew what she was getting at. She said the creative director wanted me to hold up a supersized pair of pants in the photo to show the dramatic contrast represented by clothes I had worn in my previous life.
I understood the point of playing up the shock value. Shoppers standing in line at the supermarket checkout would be amazed by the pants I had once filled out. But the idea that I would have to display a symbol of the old life I had left behind made me feel sick, like I had never lost a pound. How could I hold up a pair of jeans that represented my old humiliation?
I explained to the stylist that not only had I not brought a pair of jeans but I didn't feel comfortable doing this. As I held my breath, a few phone calls were made, and the shoot continued without the troubling reminder of my past. It turned out to be a great experience, and I was pleased with the photographs. However, I felt a little angry and upset with myself. Hadn't I moved on past my old image? I could now fit two of me inside my old jeans, so why was this such a big deal? I also wondered if readers might have been helped by seeing me holding up the pants I used to wear. Why couldn't I just smile into the camera with confidence even if I was standing behind a pair of my old jeans?
I Will Never Return
Back in my hotel room, I awoke in the middle of the night still thinking about the photo shoot. Finally I could see clearly what had offended me. Supersized blue jeans were a symbol of major pain in my life. Holding them up in front of me would not feel as if I was showcasing success. I was now on an exciting journey to share my life and my program to help other people. I had ditched the old jeans, just as I had ditched diets—and both of them for good! Sure, I will always be able to relate to the woman who desperately tries to zip up a pair of pants in a store's dressing room. But I didn't want to spend another special moment of my life sharing the spotlight with my former self. I had crossed the point of no return. I now knew without question that I would never go back.
I have a completely new deal, one that focuses on living my new life, the life that God led me to when I fell into my darkest moment. The old me had long wanted to leave behind the constant torment of being overweight and undisciplined. That life is now over. My new deal is much sweeter than I dreamed was possible.
You can have the same deal! You can start living a life of security and freedom. You can be released from the prison of defeat, failure, and negative self-image. And best of all, the new deal we're going to explore is guaranteed to last.
I won't ever return to being the person I started out as. There is no going back. And I'll show you how to take full advantage of the same deal!
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:
Chantel Hobbs
and the book:
Love Food & Live Well
WaterBrook Press; 1 edition (December 14, 2010)
***Special thanks to Audra Jennings, Senior Media Specialist, The B&B Media Group for sending me a review copy.***
You don't have to hide it. You can love food right out in the open—and lose weight at the same time. With the latest release from Chantel Hobbs, Love Food and Live Well, you'll know when to have carrot cake and when it's time to just have a carrot.Let life coach and fitness expert Chantel Hobbs show you how to lose pounds to reach the weight that is right for you and then maintain it while enjoying healthy, delicious food. Built into this amazing plan is knowing that you can count on the occasional splurge with absolutely no guilt.
Using personal inventories, original recipes, and simple eating plans, plus new exercises for strength training and aerobic fitness, Hobbs will inspire you to live well in every area of life. Her positive and highly motivating approach is changing the way dieters look at food and will inspire you to pursue a life of lasting health in body, mind, and spirit.
Hobbs isn't like other fitness and nutritional experts. She doesn't just have the knowledge of what to eat. She's experienced the heartache of feeling unworthy. In her book she says, "We'll look at the deal the world has been selling us all of our lives—the message that we're not good enough, not pretty enough, not thin enough, and just basically that we're not enough." Hobbs doesn't just offer expert advice. She offers hope.
She exposes the lies that trap dieters in self-defeating habits and shows them how to break free from destructive attitudes toward food. You will no longer need to hate food or be limited to eating boring, bland, unsatisfying meals. You can learn to live with freedom.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Chantel Hobbs is a life coach, marathon runner, personal trainer, wife, and mother of four. Her amazing story of losing two hundred pounds and keeping the weight off has been featured on Oprah, The Today Show, Good Morning America, Fox & Friends, Life Today with James Robison, The 700 Club, and Focus on the Family Radio—and in People and First magazines. Hobbs hosts a weekly radio show and is the on-air fitness expert on the WAY-FM radio network. She is also a regular guest on the KLOVE radio network. Hobbs is a frequent speaker to women's groups and makes personal appearances at fitness conventions. The developer of The One-Day Way Learning System and the author of four books, including Never Say Diet and The One-Day Way, Chantel lives with her family in south Florida. Visit the author's website.
Product Details:
List Price: $19.99
Hardcover: 240 pages
Publisher: WaterBrook Press; 1 edition (December 14, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0307457842
ISBN-13: 978-0307457844
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
The Battle over Blue Jeans
People, Here Is My Deal!
For as long as I can remember, I have loved clothes and makeup. Even when I weighed close to 350 pounds, I experimented with trendy hairstyles while checking out the latest plus-size fashion catalogs.
When I was in elementary school, I would spend afternoons with my sister Christy, sitting on the floor of the closet in the decked-out pink bedroom we shared. This was a supersized closet where we would set up our Barbie dolls for fashion shows. Because I had blond hair and Christy was a brunette, it was only natural for me to pretend to be Barbie and her to be Skipper, Barbie's little sister. At least that's how I sold the idea to Christy. As we grew up and began to put our dolls away, I still enjoyed being prissy, often spending way too much time in front of a mirror.
Even as a young mother, I was a fashionista. I'll never forget entering the hospital to have a scheduled cesarean to deliver my son Jake. I had spent the day before the delivery getting a pedicure and manicure and shopping for a matching nightgown set. Really, I did this! As I lay on the table in the operating room, the doctor arrived and started to chuckle. "Well, Chantel, I can see nothing about this is going to be a natural delivery." All I could say was, "At least I left the false eyelashes at home." I was only half kidding.
One reason I went overboard with my appearance was because I loved hearing friends and family comment on how together I looked. Even while having a baby, I wanted to look great. But today, in hindsight, I feel seriously sorry for the woman I used to be. She was always exhausted from trying to maintain her unreal image. Plus, I knew deep down that I wasn't fooling anyone but myself. My weight problem wasn't going to vanish underneath fancy clothing and attempts to camouflage my problem areas. I really did know that owning an all-black wardrobe wouldn't keep my body issues a secret.
But back then I had convinced myself I needed to make a serious effort to look pretty from the neck up because I was too overweight for the rest of me to look decent. I rationalized that if I could highlight my best features, people would see my positive attributes and look past my greatest flaw: my obese body. At this point my life was one big head game.
I'll never forget the weekend I went on a business trip with my husband, Keith, to Bermuda. This was a dream coming true for someone who spent most days watching Barney and folding laundry. But when we started to pack, panic set in. Bermuda is one huge beach, and I knew I'd embarrass my husband if I wore a swimsuit in front of his bosses and work friends. On the other hand, this was Bermuda! It was a free trip and a chance to escape the zoo I called home!
After we boarded the plane, I found my seat and immediately put a jacket over my waist. This was a trick I had learned from previous travel experiences, and it almost always worked. If I could hide where the seat belt was supposed to be, the flight attendant wouldn't notice that mine was unbuckled. The truth is, I did this because I couldn't connect the seat belt. I was too big around. This time, however, my system failed. As the attendant stopped by our row, she asked me to buckle my seat belt. As I struggled to latch it, she stood impatiently with one hand on her hip. I whispered that I was having trouble making it fit.
So being the sensitive, tall, and freakishly thin woman she was, she shouted to her co-worker, "Could you look in one of the overhead compartments for a seat-belt extension?"
I was mortified. I closed my eyes and tried to pretend the attendant was talking about someone else. A few moments later she handed me the hated seat-belt extension, and I fastened the thing as quickly as I could. I promise you, I could feel the pity of strangers as they witnessed my hame. But instead of shedding tears, I did what I had rehearsed in previous situations. I took a deep breath and grabbed Keith's hand, squeezing it for dear life as the aircraft took off. My vacation is off to a great start, I told myself. I can't wait to see what other embarrassing moments lie ahead.
Surprisingly, our Bermuda trip ended up being the trip of a lifetime. The island was beautiful, the water was the clearest blue I had ever seen, and I felt beautiful for the entire week. Strangely, it was another young mother, the wife of one of Keith's co-workers, who was mostly responsible.
Each day I would get dolled up and make my entrance into the meeting room for the company's group breakfast. This girl went out of her way to say something sincere and extraordinary about the way I looked, morning after morning. She would also ask me for fashion advice. By her looks, she didn't need any, certainly none from me. Yet she still inquired and never in a condescending way.
Best of all, she never breathed the dreaded words "You have such a pretty face." The trip to Bermuda taught me the intense power we all have when we speak to someone, especially to a person who is feeling weak and vulnerable. Just by saying something simple and positive, we can brighten someone's outlook, even if it's only for a few seconds.
For most of my life I had become accustomed to backhanded compliments. When it came to my weight and all my failed attempts to lose it, I had heard everything. I'd try yet another diet, and two weeks into it over and over I would hear from those around me, "Now keep up the good work." And I would always think, Are you kidding? I'm trying here. Just tell me "good job,"
and don't worry about whether I lose another dad-gum pound. I get that you are letting me know I have a long way to go!
Yet Another New Start
Coming home from Bermuda, where I felt sincere acceptance, I had real hope. I felt different. I was relaxed, revived, and encouraged. I decided that I was ready to give weight loss another shot. As I set out to lose weight for the eighty-sixth time in my life, I felt prepared. I bought the latest diet book from Sam's Club and a twelve-pack of muffins. I rationalized the muffin purchase by telling myself I needed to have one last hurrah.
On Monday my plan was to go for it. I would try with everything in me not to let anything stand in my way. Of course, I didn't see any need to crack open the new book I'd bought until the weekend was over! What would a few more days of indulgence hurt?
Then Monday arrived, and I made my grand entrance at the gym. I even went back three days in a row. The only problem was that by the end of the week I was hanging out more than working out. I'd been trying to get David, the juice bar owner, to tell me his recipe for the yummy chocolate–peanut butter protein shake I was ordering every day. The first clue it wasn't all that
healthy should have been the chocolate syrup he poured in. But I told myself, if it's made on gym property, how bad could it be?
By the time the week ended, I had followed the plan in my recently purchased book and had my cheat day. Not surprisingly, I quickly indulged in an entire cheat weekend. However, I managed to get back to the gym the following Monday. The plan I was on was doable, and even with halfhearted efforts, I was slowly losing weight.
After shedding about twenty pounds, I decided I needed some new clothes. This was kind of funny, especially since not one person had noticed that I had lost an ounce. As I said earlier, I've always loved fashion. But at this point, with my weight so high, I was stuck wearing mostly dresses and skirts. I just couldn't face the prospect of trying to fit my behind into a pair of pants
at Lane Bryant. But now, since I was feeling pretty good about myself and getting results, I headed over to the Coral Square Mall. I was there to hunt down a pair of blue jeans. Even if I had to lie down to zip them and not breathe while I wore them, I was determined to come home with new jeans.
I picked up three pairs with plenty of stretch to take into the dressing room. Once the door was closed, though, no amount of sucking it in, squeezing hard, or holding my breath got the jeans up to my waist. I couldn't make any of them fit. As I held the jeans up and looked in the mirror, I wondered how anyone could stand to look at me. I was a disgusting blob of pain and misery.
I had left home that day feeling good about my progress. I was finally losing some weight. But after a few minutes in a dressing room, I wanted to die. How had I let myself become this pathetic mess of a woman?
A few Cinnabons later I went home. Two weeks after my blue jean horror show, I found out I was expecting. A month into the pregnancy I miscarried due to a badly infected gallbladder, and I ended up having emergency surgery. I wondered if I would ever change my life or if I would die first. Death seemed like perhaps the only escape out of this prison.
About six months later I had an unforgettable encounter with God. I was alone in my car, driving home from a meeting. I had reached my lowest point ever, and I let God in. I had known Him for years, ever since I had been saved from an eternity separated from Him. As a little girl in Sunday school, I had asked Jesus into my heart to save me from my sins. What I needed now, as a desperate, hurting, damaged woman, was to be saved from myself. I was still trying to run my own life.
God had whispered my name through many embarrassing moments and hurtful situations; I just never answered. But that night, alone in my car, He finally got through to me. I experienced a supernatural intervention. And it compels me now to tell my friends, my clients, and my readers my Lazarus story.
An Incredible Second Chance
Remember the story of Lazarus in the Bible? When Jesus brought him back from the dead, and we're talking dead as a doornail (he was four-days dead), I imagine all he wanted was to blow a trumpet and tell the world about his miracle. Today I feel a similar kind of zeal resulting from my own miracle. As I surrendered all the pain of my lifelong weight problem to God, my heart
began a major shift. God gave me a deep desire to go to work. For the first time, I took on the task of losing the weight with Him in charge. I was no longer alone as I had been in the past. By allowing God, who never breaks a promise, to give me the strength, self-control, and focus I needed, how could I fail?
Ten years later I am on the same course He set for my life that night. My life is still filled with unexpected moments, both tragedies and celebrations. But I have never looked back.
After going on to lose two hundred pounds, I designed my own fitness and weight-loss program and became a certified Spinning teacher, personal trainer, and marathon runner. I love feeling strong, being healthy, and knowing I'm not a slave to my former appetites. Often I run into people I haven't seen in many years. They may have known me as the overweight girl with a
pretty face. And if I dare to attempt a reacquaintance, I am usually in for a good laugh.
I'll never forget one woman from a church I attended years earlier. I ran into her at the grocery store and tried to convince her who I was. "You aren't really Chantel from West Lauderdale Baptist," she insisted. I tried to get her to believe it was me, just an improved version. I think she finally accepted the truth, but it took awhile.
I am proud of the woman I have worked to become. However, I am most thankful that God rescued me from a place where I had lost all hope. God's care for me and His work in my life give me the strength to stay on course. Now, after writing four books and producing a learning system for weight loss and fitness, I can see that God continues to use me as a voice of real-life
experience. A big part of my message is this: let me help you stop sabotaging yourself and your life. I know, from hard experience, how to overcome self-defeat. Every day I get to hear the stories of people who were losing hope, as I was, and now are finding the life they had dreamed of. I receive e-mails from women who have heard me speak, read one of my books, or heard me on the radio and now are surrendering their failed attempts to God. They are learning the truth and power of surrender and then doing the hard work of changing their lives.
In my work of helping people reclaim their health, I never know what is coming next. Recently I got a call from my publicist. She was so excited she could hardly tell me the news. "While you are in New York later this week to do The Today Show and Fox and Friends, a major women's magazine wants to set up a photo shoot."
I screamed. I couldn't help it. Not only would the exposure help sell my book, but doing a photo shoot in New York, as the author of fitness books, was an experience I never dreamed I'd have. When I weighed nearly 350 pounds, an opportunity like this never entered my mind.
I couldn't wait, but I had to. It was still a few weeks away. As New Year's came and went, I was more careful than ever about fitting in all my workouts and eating clean. (Clean eating is the best way for me to think about food that delivers maximum energy with a reasonable calorie content.) When the day arrived, a driver came to our New York hotel to take Keith and me to the shoot. In the previous week, I had given my measurements to a stylist. She informed me she would be shopping for the clothes I would wear for the photo shoot. To use a term from my Southern-rooted parents, I was in hog heaven! I used to be the woman who was embarrassed to tell anyone her sizes, and now I had someone else buying me clothes based on them! The great part was the freedom in sharing what size I was. For the first time, I felt no shame.
When we arrived at the studio, I noticed that the loft where the photographer had scheduled the shoot was trendy and chic. It had sky-high ceilings complete with lots of lights and screened umbrellas to ensure perfect lighting. Taking up an entire wall was a buffet of food the magazine had catered for the event, my event! All of it was healthy fare with me in mind.
As I entered a dressing room, fun music filled the air. A makeup artist and hairstylist began their magic. I listened while they talked about their past work. One had done Heidi Klum's makeup not long before, and the other spoke of doing the makeup for big names on a major movie set. I was a little overwhelmed with the emotion of the moment. I felt like I was back to playing Barbie dolls with my sister.
After hair and makeup were underway, the stylist had me try on all the clothes she had bought. We settled on a great pair of designer jeans with a sleek white sweater and a trendy hot pink top. I put on the heels she had purchased—a perfect fit—and some fabulous jewelry. Then I was whisked away to the main part of the studio. In that moment I felt like a million bucks.
It was then the stylist asked me what I believed to be an insane question: "Where are your old blue jeans?" At first I couldn't believe I had heard her right, but I knew what she was getting at. She said the creative director wanted me to hold up a supersized pair of pants in the photo to show the dramatic contrast represented by clothes I had worn in my previous life.
I understood the point of playing up the shock value. Shoppers standing in line at the supermarket checkout would be amazed by the pants I had once filled out. But the idea that I would have to display a symbol of the old life I had left behind made me feel sick, like I had never lost a pound. How could I hold up a pair of jeans that represented my old humiliation?
I explained to the stylist that not only had I not brought a pair of jeans but I didn't feel comfortable doing this. As I held my breath, a few phone calls were made, and the shoot continued without the troubling reminder of my past. It turned out to be a great experience, and I was pleased with the photographs. However, I felt a little angry and upset with myself. Hadn't I moved on past my old image? I could now fit two of me inside my old jeans, so why was this such a big deal? I also wondered if readers might have been helped by seeing me holding up the pants I used to wear. Why couldn't I just smile into the camera with confidence even if I was standing behind a pair of my old jeans?
I Will Never Return
Back in my hotel room, I awoke in the middle of the night still thinking about the photo shoot. Finally I could see clearly what had offended me. Supersized blue jeans were a symbol of major pain in my life. Holding them up in front of me would not feel as if I was showcasing success. I was now on an exciting journey to share my life and my program to help other people. I had ditched the old jeans, just as I had ditched diets—and both of them for good! Sure, I will always be able to relate to the woman who desperately tries to zip up a pair of pants in a store's dressing room. But I didn't want to spend another special moment of my life sharing the spotlight with my former self. I had crossed the point of no return. I now knew without question that I would never go back.
I have a completely new deal, one that focuses on living my new life, the life that God led me to when I fell into my darkest moment. The old me had long wanted to leave behind the constant torment of being overweight and undisciplined. That life is now over. My new deal is much sweeter than I dreamed was possible.
You can have the same deal! You can start living a life of security and freedom. You can be released from the prison of defeat, failure, and negative self-image. And best of all, the new deal we're going to explore is guaranteed to last.
I won't ever return to being the person I started out as. There is no going back. And I'll show you how to take full advantage of the same deal!
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!
December 21, 2010
More Like Falling in Love
Captain's Log, Stardate 12.21.2010
I've "fallen in love" with this song! I love the lyrics of the chorus, it totally describes what was like to fall in love with Jesus and give my heart to him.
"More Like Falling in Love"
By: Jason Gray and Jason Ingram
From the album, Everything Sad is Coming Untrue
Give me rules
I will break them
Give me lines
I will cross them
I need more than a truth to believe
I need a truth that lives, moves, and breathes
To sweep me off my feet
It ought to be
More like falling in love
Than something to believe in
More like losing my heart
Than giving my allegiance
Caught up, called out
Come take a look at me now
It's like I'm falling, oh
It's like I'm falling in love
Give me words
I'll misuse them
Obligations
I'll misplace them
'Cause all religion ever made of me
Was just a sinner with a stone tied to my feet
It never set me free
It's gotta be
More like falling in love
Than something to believe in
More like losing my heart
Than giving my allegiance
Caught up, called out
Come take a look at me now
It's like I'm falling, oh
It's like I'm falling in love
...It's like I'm falling in love, love, love
Deeper and deeper
It was love that made
Me a believer
In more than a name, a faith, a creed
Falling in love with Jesus brought the change in me
More like falling in love
Than something to believe in
More like losing my heart
Than giving my allegiance
Caught up, called out
Come take a look at me now
It's like I'm falling, oh
It's like I'm falling in love
I've "fallen in love" with this song! I love the lyrics of the chorus, it totally describes what was like to fall in love with Jesus and give my heart to him."More Like Falling in Love"
By: Jason Gray and Jason Ingram
From the album, Everything Sad is Coming Untrue
Give me rules
I will break them
Give me lines
I will cross them
I need more than a truth to believe
I need a truth that lives, moves, and breathes
To sweep me off my feet
It ought to be
More like falling in love
Than something to believe in
More like losing my heart
Than giving my allegiance
Caught up, called out
Come take a look at me now
It's like I'm falling, oh
It's like I'm falling in love
Give me words
I'll misuse them
Obligations
I'll misplace them
'Cause all religion ever made of me
Was just a sinner with a stone tied to my feet
It never set me free
It's gotta be
More like falling in love
Than something to believe in
More like losing my heart
Than giving my allegiance
Caught up, called out
Come take a look at me now
It's like I'm falling, oh
It's like I'm falling in love
...It's like I'm falling in love, love, love
Deeper and deeper
It was love that made
Me a believer
In more than a name, a faith, a creed
Falling in love with Jesus brought the change in me
More like falling in love
Than something to believe in
More like losing my heart
Than giving my allegiance
Caught up, called out
Come take a look at me now
It's like I'm falling, oh
It's like I'm falling in love
December 14, 2010
Honolulu Marathon!
Captain's Log, Stardate 12.13.2010
I finished my very first marathon! And a huge thank you to everyone who prayed for me! I really felt those prayers! (See below.) My chip time was 7 hours, 13 minutes.
(Chip time is the electronically tracked time using a chip I got that attached to my shoe. Every time I passed a special strip on the road, the sensor picked up my chip, which was registered to my race number and identification, and that's how my time was posted on my Facebook wall—the company who does the whole chip thing has a program that posted my time on my Facebook whenever I passed a chip sensor strip. For some reason, when I passed the 10K mark, it didn't post on my wall, but it posted at 13.1 miles and on.)
We got to the starting line at 4:30 a.m. and the gun went off at 5 a.m., but I was so far in back that it took me about 10 minutes just to cross the start line. When I crossed the start line, my timing chip on my shoe recorded my start time, so my actual race time wasn't affected by the fact I started so far back. There were 22,000 people so there were a LOT of people lined up for the race.
The weather was hot and rather humid but I'd much rather run in hot weather than cold weather because in cold weather, my hands get numb (even though my torso will be covered in sweat. Go figure).
I have been training using the Jeff Galloway Run-Walk-Run method, and I also paid for 6 months of e-coaching with Jeff, and he suggested that for my first marathon, I should start at a :10 seconds run/ :50 seconds walk ratio for the first 5 miles, then up it to :15/:45 until mile 20, and then I can do whatever. So I did that.
The :10/:50 ratio kept me from starting off too fast, which is the biggest problem of most people who run marathons (from what I've read). You start off too fast, and then you completely poop out around mile 20. So I was really glad I made myself keep to that ratio.
I ran/walked steadily, although when I walk, I tend to walk very slowly. I've actually tried walking faster, and I always end up hyperextending my knee and being out of commission for a few days, so I stopped trying and just walk with a gentle stride. (I'm going to do a few exercises to strengthen my knee to see if that will help with the hyperextension.)
Anyway, when I walked in the marathon, everyone passed me. And I mean everyone. 90-year-old grandmas walk faster than I do when I walk.
But I kept running/walking, and the walking segments kept my legs fresh. I stopped to walk at each water station (there were 16 along the course) and drink water, take gummi bears (to keep my blood sugar up) and also take electrolyte caps to replenish my electrolyte and salt since I was sweating so much.
However, around mile 8 or 10, I suddenly had a dull ache at the top of my right thigh, near where the tendon attaches to my hip. It made running painful and I started worrying I wouldn't be able to finish the race. I started praying like you wouldn't believe, and I knew a lot of people were praying for me, too, and I asked God to please take away the pain and help me to finish the marathon.
Then around mile 10, my left foot stepped on a rock. I didn't sprain my ankle, but I definitely strained it a little. And I started worrying and praying again.
And do you know what??? By mile 13, the pain in both my hip and my ankle had died to only a twinge, and my hip pain (the worst of the two) stayed that way for the rest of the marathon. The pain in my hip came back a few hours afterward, but by that time, I was so achy all over my body it was just one of a million other aches and pains.
By mile 18, I started passing a lot of people who were getting too tired/sore to keep walking or running. Thank you, Jeff Galloway!
At mile 20, I switched to a :30/:30 ratio and I really started passing people. I was running slower than I had in the beginning, but my legs felt pretty good (and my hip pain was still only a twinge).
However, and I don't know why, but my right ankle started to hurt just like my left one, but I don't remember twisting it in any way. It was really painful especially when I started running from a walk, so the longer run segments actually helped. I did a 1 minute/1 minute ratio for a while, but then I switched back to :30/:30 because we started going uphill around mile 23.
I was really starting to pass people by then, because everyone was walking up the hill. My ankles hurt but my legs and lungs and heart still felt very fresh, and so the running was painful, but not tiring. Did I mention Jeff Galloway rocks???
Did I ever want to quit? NO. I was going to finish this marathon, darn it, and the only way I wouldn't finish would be if I passed out on the course.
Was I in a lot of pain? Oh, heck yes. But I remembered a sign from one of the people cheering us on along the course: If it was easy, everyone would do it.
It was also hotter than the seventh level of hell, but since I'd done a lot of running at midday in California, the heat didn't really bother me too much. I'm really glad I did that "hot running" training during the summer and early autumn.
I crossed the finish line and was so tired, I didn't even feel any sort of elation. But when I saw Captain Caffeine just outside the fenced-off area for the finishers, I admit I started tearing up, because I was so hormonal and emotional from all that running.
The only thing I didn't like was that they made the finishers walk ALL THE WAY ACROSS THE PARK CLEAR TO THE OTHER SIDE to pick up our finisher's T-shirt and medal. I mean, seriously. I've just run 26 miles. That extra 0.25 mile was torture.
I am definitely going to run another marathon! I hope I can run faster if I keep training. I think I'd like to one day run a marathon in 5 hours.
My race number/bib
Captain Caffeine took a picture of the clock to prove/complain we had to get up at the butt-crack of dawn to get to the race on time.
Don't I look amazingly chipper for 4:30 a.m.?
Some random shots of the other people at the race.
This is a shot of the finish line behind it, when finishers were heading to get their medals.
This is me, exhausted, before I heard Captain Caffeine call to me from behind the fence of the finisher's section.
I think I look pretty good considering my feet were screaming bloody murder.
This is Kapiolani park, where the finish line was.
Here are shots Captain Caffeine took of the volunteers at the race in their orange T-shirts.
This is a Banyan tree (I think).
I was being facetious and pretending to be a Japanese tourist.
My ankles were so painful, I sat on the curb and waited for my parents to drive around with the car to pick me up.
My post-race pig-out was at Kua'Aina hamburgers, which have the BEST FRENCH FRIES IN THE ENTIRE WORLD!!!
I had a burger with provolone cheese and avocado, and THE BEST FRENCH FRIES IN THE ENTIRE WORLD!!!!
Did I mention THE BEST FRENCH FRIES IN THE ENTIRE WORLD???
My finisher's medal!
The backside
I finished my very first marathon! And a huge thank you to everyone who prayed for me! I really felt those prayers! (See below.) My chip time was 7 hours, 13 minutes.(Chip time is the electronically tracked time using a chip I got that attached to my shoe. Every time I passed a special strip on the road, the sensor picked up my chip, which was registered to my race number and identification, and that's how my time was posted on my Facebook wall—the company who does the whole chip thing has a program that posted my time on my Facebook whenever I passed a chip sensor strip. For some reason, when I passed the 10K mark, it didn't post on my wall, but it posted at 13.1 miles and on.)
We got to the starting line at 4:30 a.m. and the gun went off at 5 a.m., but I was so far in back that it took me about 10 minutes just to cross the start line. When I crossed the start line, my timing chip on my shoe recorded my start time, so my actual race time wasn't affected by the fact I started so far back. There were 22,000 people so there were a LOT of people lined up for the race.
The weather was hot and rather humid but I'd much rather run in hot weather than cold weather because in cold weather, my hands get numb (even though my torso will be covered in sweat. Go figure).
I have been training using the Jeff Galloway Run-Walk-Run method, and I also paid for 6 months of e-coaching with Jeff, and he suggested that for my first marathon, I should start at a :10 seconds run/ :50 seconds walk ratio for the first 5 miles, then up it to :15/:45 until mile 20, and then I can do whatever. So I did that.
The :10/:50 ratio kept me from starting off too fast, which is the biggest problem of most people who run marathons (from what I've read). You start off too fast, and then you completely poop out around mile 20. So I was really glad I made myself keep to that ratio.
I ran/walked steadily, although when I walk, I tend to walk very slowly. I've actually tried walking faster, and I always end up hyperextending my knee and being out of commission for a few days, so I stopped trying and just walk with a gentle stride. (I'm going to do a few exercises to strengthen my knee to see if that will help with the hyperextension.)
Anyway, when I walked in the marathon, everyone passed me. And I mean everyone. 90-year-old grandmas walk faster than I do when I walk.
But I kept running/walking, and the walking segments kept my legs fresh. I stopped to walk at each water station (there were 16 along the course) and drink water, take gummi bears (to keep my blood sugar up) and also take electrolyte caps to replenish my electrolyte and salt since I was sweating so much.
However, around mile 8 or 10, I suddenly had a dull ache at the top of my right thigh, near where the tendon attaches to my hip. It made running painful and I started worrying I wouldn't be able to finish the race. I started praying like you wouldn't believe, and I knew a lot of people were praying for me, too, and I asked God to please take away the pain and help me to finish the marathon.
Then around mile 10, my left foot stepped on a rock. I didn't sprain my ankle, but I definitely strained it a little. And I started worrying and praying again.
And do you know what??? By mile 13, the pain in both my hip and my ankle had died to only a twinge, and my hip pain (the worst of the two) stayed that way for the rest of the marathon. The pain in my hip came back a few hours afterward, but by that time, I was so achy all over my body it was just one of a million other aches and pains.
By mile 18, I started passing a lot of people who were getting too tired/sore to keep walking or running. Thank you, Jeff Galloway!
At mile 20, I switched to a :30/:30 ratio and I really started passing people. I was running slower than I had in the beginning, but my legs felt pretty good (and my hip pain was still only a twinge).
However, and I don't know why, but my right ankle started to hurt just like my left one, but I don't remember twisting it in any way. It was really painful especially when I started running from a walk, so the longer run segments actually helped. I did a 1 minute/1 minute ratio for a while, but then I switched back to :30/:30 because we started going uphill around mile 23.
I was really starting to pass people by then, because everyone was walking up the hill. My ankles hurt but my legs and lungs and heart still felt very fresh, and so the running was painful, but not tiring. Did I mention Jeff Galloway rocks???
Did I ever want to quit? NO. I was going to finish this marathon, darn it, and the only way I wouldn't finish would be if I passed out on the course.
Was I in a lot of pain? Oh, heck yes. But I remembered a sign from one of the people cheering us on along the course: If it was easy, everyone would do it.
It was also hotter than the seventh level of hell, but since I'd done a lot of running at midday in California, the heat didn't really bother me too much. I'm really glad I did that "hot running" training during the summer and early autumn.
I crossed the finish line and was so tired, I didn't even feel any sort of elation. But when I saw Captain Caffeine just outside the fenced-off area for the finishers, I admit I started tearing up, because I was so hormonal and emotional from all that running.
The only thing I didn't like was that they made the finishers walk ALL THE WAY ACROSS THE PARK CLEAR TO THE OTHER SIDE to pick up our finisher's T-shirt and medal. I mean, seriously. I've just run 26 miles. That extra 0.25 mile was torture.
I am definitely going to run another marathon! I hope I can run faster if I keep training. I think I'd like to one day run a marathon in 5 hours.
My race number/bib
Captain Caffeine took a picture of the clock to prove/complain we had to get up at the butt-crack of dawn to get to the race on time.
Don't I look amazingly chipper for 4:30 a.m.?
Some random shots of the other people at the race.
This is a shot of the finish line behind it, when finishers were heading to get their medals.
This is me, exhausted, before I heard Captain Caffeine call to me from behind the fence of the finisher's section.
I think I look pretty good considering my feet were screaming bloody murder.
This is Kapiolani park, where the finish line was.
Here are shots Captain Caffeine took of the volunteers at the race in their orange T-shirts.
This is a Banyan tree (I think).
I was being facetious and pretending to be a Japanese tourist.
My ankles were so painful, I sat on the curb and waited for my parents to drive around with the car to pick me up.
My post-race pig-out was at Kua'Aina hamburgers, which have the BEST FRENCH FRIES IN THE ENTIRE WORLD!!!
I had a burger with provolone cheese and avocado, and THE BEST FRENCH FRIES IN THE ENTIRE WORLD!!!!
Did I mention THE BEST FRENCH FRIES IN THE ENTIRE WORLD???
My finisher's medal!
The backside
December 3, 2010
Yet MORE new titles added to my Street Team book list!
Captain's Log, Stardate 12.03.2010
Yes, one of these days I'll have enough time to get back into blogging again (probably after my first marathon on December 12th!) but until then, I'm working hard on my Street Team stuff.
Yet again (!!) I've added a bunch of titles to the list of books I'm giving away to my Street Team members!
For every 80 bookmarks a Street Team member gives away, you get to pick TWO FREE BOOKS from the list!
Click here to find out more about my Street Team.
There's lots more prizes, too, if you're on my Street Team newsletter YahooGroup. (It's an announcement-only YahooGroup, so there won't be a ton of emails in your Inbox.)
Right now, until Dec 31st, you can enter to win a cabernet sauvignon goat's milk soap AND a free book and I'm also holding a contest until December 15th to win one of four neat prize packs! Click the links for more details.
Subscribe to Camys_StreetTeam
Yes, one of these days I'll have enough time to get back into blogging again (probably after my first marathon on December 12th!) but until then, I'm working hard on my Street Team stuff.
Yet again (!!) I've added a bunch of titles to the list of books I'm giving away to my Street Team members!
For every 80 bookmarks a Street Team member gives away, you get to pick TWO FREE BOOKS from the list!
Click here to find out more about my Street Team.
There's lots more prizes, too, if you're on my Street Team newsletter YahooGroup. (It's an announcement-only YahooGroup, so there won't be a ton of emails in your Inbox.)
Right now, until Dec 31st, you can enter to win a cabernet sauvignon goat's milk soap AND a free book and I'm also holding a contest until December 15th to win one of four neat prize packs! Click the links for more details.
Subscribe to Camys_StreetTeam
Powered by us.groups.yahoo.com
December 1, 2010
Yay! I won NaNoWriMo
Captain's Log, Stardate 12.01.2010
I came in at 50,080 words as of around 8:30 pm on November 30th!
I was working on my next manuscript for Zondervan, which is about a girl who is ex-Japanese mafia—she's niece to the San Francisco yakuza boss and she goes to jail for a crime she didn't commit. She finds Jesus in jail and now she's out of prison, trying to walk the straight and narrow (and somehow find a job) with her uncle wanting her to work for him again and everybody else distrusting her because of her past. Cool, huh? It'll be out next year in October. I don't have a title yet, but I'll post here when I do!
Anyone else did NaNoWriMo? How'd you do? Tell me about your story!
I came in at 50,080 words as of around 8:30 pm on November 30th!
I was working on my next manuscript for Zondervan, which is about a girl who is ex-Japanese mafia—she's niece to the San Francisco yakuza boss and she goes to jail for a crime she didn't commit. She finds Jesus in jail and now she's out of prison, trying to walk the straight and narrow (and somehow find a job) with her uncle wanting her to work for him again and everybody else distrusting her because of her past. Cool, huh? It'll be out next year in October. I don't have a title yet, but I'll post here when I do!
Anyone else did NaNoWriMo? How'd you do? Tell me about your story!
November 26, 2010
New titles added to Street Team book giveaway list!
Captain's Log, Stardate 11.26.2010
I've added a bunch of titles to the list of books I'm giving away to my Street Team members!
For every 80 bookmarks a Street Team member gives away, you get to pick TWO FREE BOOKS from the list!
Click here to find out more about my Street Team.
There's lots more prizes, too, if you're on my Street Team newsletter YahooGroup. (It's an announcement-only YahooGroup, so there won't be a ton of emails in your Inbox.)
Right now, until Dec 31st, you can enter to win a cabernet sauvignon goat's milk soap AND a free book! Click this post on my Street Team YahooGroup for more details.
Subscribe to Camys_StreetTeam
I've added a bunch of titles to the list of books I'm giving away to my Street Team members!
For every 80 bookmarks a Street Team member gives away, you get to pick TWO FREE BOOKS from the list!
Click here to find out more about my Street Team.
There's lots more prizes, too, if you're on my Street Team newsletter YahooGroup. (It's an announcement-only YahooGroup, so there won't be a ton of emails in your Inbox.)
Right now, until Dec 31st, you can enter to win a cabernet sauvignon goat's milk soap AND a free book! Click this post on my Street Team YahooGroup for more details.
Subscribe to Camys_StreetTeam
Powered by us.groups.yahoo.com
November 23, 2010
Street Team book list excerpt - THE LIGHTKEEPER'S BRIDE by Colleen Coble
Camy here: Aside from the fact this is one of the most beautiful covers I've ever seen (!!!), 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!
This week, the Christian Fiction Blog Alliance is introducing The Lightkeeper's Bride Thomas Nelson (October 19, 2010) by Colleen Coble
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Author Colleen Coble's thirty-five novels and novellas have won or finaled in awards ranging from the Romance Writers of America prestigious RITA, the Holt Medallion, the ACFW Book of the Year, the Daphne du Maurier, National Readers' Choice, the Booksellers Best, and the 2009 Best Books of Indiana-Fiction award. She writes romantic mysteries because she loves to see justice prevail and love begin with a happy ending.
A word from Colleen: God has been faithful, though the path has not been easy. Nothing worth doing is ever easy. God wouldn't let me give up, and I like to think the struggle made me stronger. God has given me so much in my life, most importantly my great family, a loving church family at New Life Baptist Church, and my wonderful publishing family at Nelson Books.
ABOUT THE BOOK
A thrilling romantic mystery set in the lush Victorian age.
Central Operator Katie Russell's inquisitive ways have just uncovered her parents' plan for her marriage to wealthy bachelor Bartholomew Foster. Her heart is unmoved, but she knows the match will bring her family status and respectability.
Then Katie overhears a phone conversation that makes her uneasy and asks authorities to investigate. But the caller is nowhere to be found. Mysterious connections arise between the caller and a ship lost at sea.
Against propriety, Katie questions the new lighthouse keeper, Will Jesperson. Then a smallpox epidemic forces their quarantine in his lighthouse. Though of low social status, Will's bravery and kindness remove Katie's suspicion and win her love. Katie and Will together work to solve the mystery of the missing girl and the lost ship as God gives the couple the desire of their hearts.
Excerpt of chapter one:
Chapter 1
The lapel watch on her blouse read half past nine when Katie Russell removed the skates from her boots and dropped them inside the door of the Mercy Falls Telephone Company. She pulled the pins from her Merry Widow hat, then hung it on a rack. Smoothing the sides of her pompadour, she approached the switchboard in the room down the hall. "Has it been busy?" she asked the woman in front of the dangling cords.
Nell Bartlett sat with her stocking feet propped on the railing of the table that supported the switchboard. Her color was high and her voice clear and energetic as she answered a question then disconnected the line. A faint line of discontent lingered between her brows as she eyed Katie. "It's your shift already?"
Nell was unmarried and still lived with her ailing mother, though she was thirty-five. On the street she dropped her gaze and barely whispered a hello, but in front of the switchboard she came alive. Whenever she entered the office, she removed her hat, let down her hair, and took off her shoes.
"It is indeed," Katie said, approaching the switchboard. "Has it been busy?"
"Not too bad. I only received three calls last night." Nell's tone indicated her displeasure. "But the rings have increased quite nicely this morning." She rose and stepped away from the seat in front of the switchboard but kept one hand on the top with a proprietary air.
Katie settled herself in the chair and donned the headset. Nell slipped her shoes back on, wound her hair into a bun, then put on her hat. Out of the corner of her eye, Katie watched her scurry from the room, her mousy identity back in place.
Katie peered at the switchboard then forced herself to put on her hated glasses. She nearly groaned when the light came on at her own residence. She plugged in the cord and toggled the switch. "Good morning, Mama."
Her mother's voice was full of reproach. "Katie, you left before I could tell you that Mr. Foster called last night while you were out gallivanting at the skating rink."
Katie bit back the defense that sprang to her lips and kept the excitement from her voice. "What did he say?"
"He asked to speak with your father and they went to the library."
Such behavior could only mean one thing. Heat flooded Katie's face. "He asked Papa if he could court me?"
"He did indeed! Now you mind my words, Katie. You could not make a better match than this. You need to quit that ridiculous job and focus on building your social ties."
Katie opened her mouth then shut it again. Another light flashed on her switchboard. "I must go, Mama. I have another call." She unplugged the cord over her mother's objection. Her parents didn't understand how important this job was to her. She thrust the cord into the receptor. "Operator," she said.
"Fire! There's a fire," the man on the other end gasped.
Katie glanced more closely at the board, and her muscles clenched. The orphanage. "I'll call the fire department, Mr. Gleason. Get the children out!" She unplugged and rang the fire station with trembling hands. "Fire at the orphanage, hurry!" She rushed to the window and looked out to see smoke billowing from the three-story brick building down the street. People were running toward the conflagration. She wished she could help too, but she turned back to the switchboard as it lit up with several lights. Moments later she heard the shriek of the fire truck as it careened past.
She answered the calls one by one, but most were people checking to make sure she knew about the fire. The afternoon sped by. She relayed a message out to the North house and managed to chat a few moments with her best friend, Addie North. One call was Mrs. Winston asking the time, and Katie realized it was after one o'clock. At the next lull, she removed the waxed paper from her sandwich and munched it while she watched the board.
The light for Foster's Sawmill came on. She plugged in. "Operator."
Bart Foster's deep voice filled her ears. "I'd recognize that voice anywhere."
Katie pressed the palm of her hand to her chest where her heart galloped. "Mr. Foster, I'm sorry I missed your call last night."
"I had a most rewarding chat with your father," he said, a smile in his voice. "Did he tell you?"
Her pulse thundered in her ears. "He did not."
"Excellent. I wish to tell you of our conversation myself. Might I call tonight?"
"Of course." She wasn't often so tongue-tied. All her dreams of respectability lay within her grasp. From the corner of her eye, she saw her boss step into the small room. "I won't be home until after seven. Will that be too late?"
"Of course not. I shall call at seven-thirty."
"I look forward to it. Did you wish to place a call?"
"Someone must be there since you are not quite yourself." The amusement in his voice deepened. "Connect me with your father's haberdashery, please. I'll see you tonight."
"Of course." She connected the cord to the shop then turned to face Mr. Daniels.
"I just stopped by to commend you on the way you handled the fire call, Miss Russell. You kept your head about you in a most admirable fashion."
She stood to face him. "The children? Are they all out safely?"
He nodded. "I just came from the site. The building is a total loss, but everyone is safe, thanks to your quick call to the fire department that I was told about. Well done. I'd like you to consider more hours. You're the best operator I have. People like you, and you're most efficient."
She couldn't stop the smile that sprang to her lips. "Thank you, sir. I'm honored. I love my job."
"Then you'll increase your hours? I'd like you to work six days a week."
She realized the plum that had been thrown into her lap. These were tough times, and jobs for women were scarce. But her parents—especially in light of Bart's courting—would be less than pleased.
"Katie?"
"I would like nothing better, Mr. Daniels, but I fear I'm going to have to cut my hours instead. Nell will be delighted with the extra work."
Will Jesperson brushed off his hands and surveyed the gleaming glass on the Fresnel lens in the light tower. Whether he'd done it properly was up for debate, but he liked the way the sun glinted through the lens and lit the floor of the tower. His eyes moved outside again. He'd found it hard to keep working when he would rather study the clouds and the waves from this vantage point.
Beautiful place, this rocky northern California shoreline. He still couldn't believe he had landed such a perfect job. Instead of pursuing his hobby once a week, he could do it every day. There were weather balloons in the shed just waiting to be used. He eyed the rolling clouds overhead and held up a finger. The wind was coming from the north. Was that common here? He'd have the time and equipment to find out.
He stepped outside and leaned against the railing. The beauty of the rolling sea transfixed him. Whitecaps boiled on the rocks poking up from the water at the mouth of the bay. Seeing them reminded him of his grave duties here: to save lives and warn ships of the dangers lurking just below the surface of the sea. Squaring his shoulders, he told himself he would keep the light shining bright—both here at the lighthouse and in his personal life. God had blessed him with this position, and he would do his best to honor him with his work.
He removed his pocket watch, glanced at the time, and then stared back out to sea when he heard a man yell. Were those shouts of alarm? Through the binoculars he saw a ship moving past the bay's opening. A puff of smoke came from a smaller boat trailing it—gunfire? The small craft caught up to the ship, and several men clambered up the mast.
Pirates. Will pressed against the railing and strained to see when he heard more shots across the water. Additional men poured onto the ship and were already turning it back toward the open ocean. He had to do something. Turning on his heel, he rushed toward the spiral staircase. The metal shook and clanged under his feet as he raced down the steps. He leaped out the door and ran down the hillside to the dinghy beached on the sand. The pirates shoved men overboard, and he heard cries of pain. He clenched empty fists. No weapon. Still, he might be able to save some of the men thrown overboard. Shoving into the water, he put his back into rowing, but the tide was coming in and the waves fought him at every stroke.
He paused to get his bearings and realized the ship was moving away. The smaller boat, attached by a rope, bobbed after it. Something whizzed by his head and he ducked instinctively. A hole appeared in the side of the boat behind him. The pirates were firing on him. His hands dropped from the oars when he saw several bodies bobbing in the whitecaps. Men were already drowned.
The wind billowed the sails and he knew he had no chance of intercepting the ship. But he could save the men that he could reach then inform the authorities of what he'd seen. He grasped the oars and rowed for all he was worth.
###
At 3:03 a light came on and Katie answered. "Number, please." The caller, a man whose voice she didn't recognize, sounded breathless.
"Is this the operator?"
She detected agitation in his tone. "It is. Is something wrong?"
"Pirates," he said in a clipped voice. "Just off the lighthouse. They shot some sailors and dumped others overboard."
She sprang to her feet. "I'll contact the constable. Do you need further assistance?"
"I need a doctor at the lighthouse. I've got two injured men. The rest are—dead. I couldn't get their bodies into the boat, but they're washing up onshore now." His taut voice broke. "I had to leave the men on the shore to get to a phone, but I'm heading back there now. Tell the doctor to hurry."
"Right away," she promised. She disconnected the call and rang the doctor first. Saving life was paramount. The constable would be too late to do much about the pirates. With both calls dispatched, she forced herself to sit back down, though her muscles twitched with the need for activity. She reminded herself she'd done all she could.
The switchboard lit again. "Operator," she said, eyeing the light. The call originated from the bank.
"R-10, please."
She plugged in the other end of the cord to ring the Cook residence. Instead, she heard Eliza Bulmer pick up the phone on the other end. "I'm sorry, Eliza, we seem to have a switched link somewhere. Would you hang on until I can get through to the Cooks?" Katie asked.
"Of course, honey," Eliza said. "I just picked up my wedding dress, and I'm trying it on. So if I don't say much, you'll know why."
"You're getting married? I hadn't heard. Congratulations."
"Thank you." Eliza's voice held a lit.
"Just leave the earpiece dangling, if you please."
"I can do that."
There was a thunk in Katie's ear, and she knew Eliza had dropped the earpiece. Katie waited to see if the ring would be answered at the Cook residence but there was only a long pause. "There's no answer, Eliza. You can hang up," she said.
The other woman did not reply. If the phone were left off the hook, it would go dead. Katie started to raise her voice, but she heard a man's voice.
"You said you had something to tell me. What is it? I need to get home."
The voice was familiar, but Katie couldn't quite place it. It was too muffled.
"Honey, thank you for coming so quickly," Eliza said.
Though Eliza's voice was faint, Katie thought she detected a tremble in it. This is none of my business she thought. I should hang up But she held her breath and listened anyway.
"Would you like tea?" Eliza asked.
"No, Eliza, I don't want tea. What are you doing in that getup? I want to know what was so all-fired important that you called me at work—something I've expressly forbidden you to do."
Katie's stomach lurched as she tried to place the voice. Identification hovered at the edge of her mind. Who is that?
"Very well. I shall just blurt it out then. I'm out of money and I must have some to care for my daughter. I need money today or . . ."
"I won't be blackmailed," the man snapped.
A wave of heat swept Katie's face. She heard a door slam, then weeping from Eliza. She wanted to comfort the sobbing young woman. Numb, Katie sat listening to the sobs on the line.
The door slammed again. "Who's there?" Eliza asked in a quavering voice. She gasped, then uttered a noise between a squeak and a cry.
Katie heard a thud, and then the door slammed again. "Eliza?" she whispered. A hiss, like air escaping from a tire, came to her ears. "Are you all right?"
Only silence answered her.
She jerked the cord from the switchboard and broke the connection. Unease twisted her belly. She'd already dispatched the constable to the lighthouse. But what if Eliza was in trouble? Her fingers trembled so much she had trouble slipping the jack back into the switchboard. She muffled her mouthpiece with her hand and asked Nell to come back early. She had to make sure Eliza was all right.
This week, the Christian Fiction Blog Alliance is introducing The Lightkeeper's Bride Thomas Nelson (October 19, 2010) by Colleen Coble
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Author Colleen Coble's thirty-five novels and novellas have won or finaled in awards ranging from the Romance Writers of America prestigious RITA, the Holt Medallion, the ACFW Book of the Year, the Daphne du Maurier, National Readers' Choice, the Booksellers Best, and the 2009 Best Books of Indiana-Fiction award. She writes romantic mysteries because she loves to see justice prevail and love begin with a happy ending.
A word from Colleen: God has been faithful, though the path has not been easy. Nothing worth doing is ever easy. God wouldn't let me give up, and I like to think the struggle made me stronger. God has given me so much in my life, most importantly my great family, a loving church family at New Life Baptist Church, and my wonderful publishing family at Nelson Books.
ABOUT THE BOOK
A thrilling romantic mystery set in the lush Victorian age.Central Operator Katie Russell's inquisitive ways have just uncovered her parents' plan for her marriage to wealthy bachelor Bartholomew Foster. Her heart is unmoved, but she knows the match will bring her family status and respectability.
Then Katie overhears a phone conversation that makes her uneasy and asks authorities to investigate. But the caller is nowhere to be found. Mysterious connections arise between the caller and a ship lost at sea.
Against propriety, Katie questions the new lighthouse keeper, Will Jesperson. Then a smallpox epidemic forces their quarantine in his lighthouse. Though of low social status, Will's bravery and kindness remove Katie's suspicion and win her love. Katie and Will together work to solve the mystery of the missing girl and the lost ship as God gives the couple the desire of their hearts.
Excerpt of chapter one:
Chapter 1
The lapel watch on her blouse read half past nine when Katie Russell removed the skates from her boots and dropped them inside the door of the Mercy Falls Telephone Company. She pulled the pins from her Merry Widow hat, then hung it on a rack. Smoothing the sides of her pompadour, she approached the switchboard in the room down the hall. "Has it been busy?" she asked the woman in front of the dangling cords.
Nell Bartlett sat with her stocking feet propped on the railing of the table that supported the switchboard. Her color was high and her voice clear and energetic as she answered a question then disconnected the line. A faint line of discontent lingered between her brows as she eyed Katie. "It's your shift already?"
Nell was unmarried and still lived with her ailing mother, though she was thirty-five. On the street she dropped her gaze and barely whispered a hello, but in front of the switchboard she came alive. Whenever she entered the office, she removed her hat, let down her hair, and took off her shoes.
"It is indeed," Katie said, approaching the switchboard. "Has it been busy?"
"Not too bad. I only received three calls last night." Nell's tone indicated her displeasure. "But the rings have increased quite nicely this morning." She rose and stepped away from the seat in front of the switchboard but kept one hand on the top with a proprietary air.
Katie settled herself in the chair and donned the headset. Nell slipped her shoes back on, wound her hair into a bun, then put on her hat. Out of the corner of her eye, Katie watched her scurry from the room, her mousy identity back in place.
Katie peered at the switchboard then forced herself to put on her hated glasses. She nearly groaned when the light came on at her own residence. She plugged in the cord and toggled the switch. "Good morning, Mama."
Her mother's voice was full of reproach. "Katie, you left before I could tell you that Mr. Foster called last night while you were out gallivanting at the skating rink."
Katie bit back the defense that sprang to her lips and kept the excitement from her voice. "What did he say?"
"He asked to speak with your father and they went to the library."
Such behavior could only mean one thing. Heat flooded Katie's face. "He asked Papa if he could court me?"
"He did indeed! Now you mind my words, Katie. You could not make a better match than this. You need to quit that ridiculous job and focus on building your social ties."
Katie opened her mouth then shut it again. Another light flashed on her switchboard. "I must go, Mama. I have another call." She unplugged the cord over her mother's objection. Her parents didn't understand how important this job was to her. She thrust the cord into the receptor. "Operator," she said.
"Fire! There's a fire," the man on the other end gasped.
Katie glanced more closely at the board, and her muscles clenched. The orphanage. "I'll call the fire department, Mr. Gleason. Get the children out!" She unplugged and rang the fire station with trembling hands. "Fire at the orphanage, hurry!" She rushed to the window and looked out to see smoke billowing from the three-story brick building down the street. People were running toward the conflagration. She wished she could help too, but she turned back to the switchboard as it lit up with several lights. Moments later she heard the shriek of the fire truck as it careened past.
She answered the calls one by one, but most were people checking to make sure she knew about the fire. The afternoon sped by. She relayed a message out to the North house and managed to chat a few moments with her best friend, Addie North. One call was Mrs. Winston asking the time, and Katie realized it was after one o'clock. At the next lull, she removed the waxed paper from her sandwich and munched it while she watched the board.
The light for Foster's Sawmill came on. She plugged in. "Operator."
Bart Foster's deep voice filled her ears. "I'd recognize that voice anywhere."
Katie pressed the palm of her hand to her chest where her heart galloped. "Mr. Foster, I'm sorry I missed your call last night."
"I had a most rewarding chat with your father," he said, a smile in his voice. "Did he tell you?"
Her pulse thundered in her ears. "He did not."
"Excellent. I wish to tell you of our conversation myself. Might I call tonight?"
"Of course." She wasn't often so tongue-tied. All her dreams of respectability lay within her grasp. From the corner of her eye, she saw her boss step into the small room. "I won't be home until after seven. Will that be too late?"
"Of course not. I shall call at seven-thirty."
"I look forward to it. Did you wish to place a call?"
"Someone must be there since you are not quite yourself." The amusement in his voice deepened. "Connect me with your father's haberdashery, please. I'll see you tonight."
"Of course." She connected the cord to the shop then turned to face Mr. Daniels.
"I just stopped by to commend you on the way you handled the fire call, Miss Russell. You kept your head about you in a most admirable fashion."
She stood to face him. "The children? Are they all out safely?"
He nodded. "I just came from the site. The building is a total loss, but everyone is safe, thanks to your quick call to the fire department that I was told about. Well done. I'd like you to consider more hours. You're the best operator I have. People like you, and you're most efficient."
She couldn't stop the smile that sprang to her lips. "Thank you, sir. I'm honored. I love my job."
"Then you'll increase your hours? I'd like you to work six days a week."
She realized the plum that had been thrown into her lap. These were tough times, and jobs for women were scarce. But her parents—especially in light of Bart's courting—would be less than pleased.
"Katie?"
"I would like nothing better, Mr. Daniels, but I fear I'm going to have to cut my hours instead. Nell will be delighted with the extra work."
Will Jesperson brushed off his hands and surveyed the gleaming glass on the Fresnel lens in the light tower. Whether he'd done it properly was up for debate, but he liked the way the sun glinted through the lens and lit the floor of the tower. His eyes moved outside again. He'd found it hard to keep working when he would rather study the clouds and the waves from this vantage point.
Beautiful place, this rocky northern California shoreline. He still couldn't believe he had landed such a perfect job. Instead of pursuing his hobby once a week, he could do it every day. There were weather balloons in the shed just waiting to be used. He eyed the rolling clouds overhead and held up a finger. The wind was coming from the north. Was that common here? He'd have the time and equipment to find out.
He stepped outside and leaned against the railing. The beauty of the rolling sea transfixed him. Whitecaps boiled on the rocks poking up from the water at the mouth of the bay. Seeing them reminded him of his grave duties here: to save lives and warn ships of the dangers lurking just below the surface of the sea. Squaring his shoulders, he told himself he would keep the light shining bright—both here at the lighthouse and in his personal life. God had blessed him with this position, and he would do his best to honor him with his work.
He removed his pocket watch, glanced at the time, and then stared back out to sea when he heard a man yell. Were those shouts of alarm? Through the binoculars he saw a ship moving past the bay's opening. A puff of smoke came from a smaller boat trailing it—gunfire? The small craft caught up to the ship, and several men clambered up the mast.
Pirates. Will pressed against the railing and strained to see when he heard more shots across the water. Additional men poured onto the ship and were already turning it back toward the open ocean. He had to do something. Turning on his heel, he rushed toward the spiral staircase. The metal shook and clanged under his feet as he raced down the steps. He leaped out the door and ran down the hillside to the dinghy beached on the sand. The pirates shoved men overboard, and he heard cries of pain. He clenched empty fists. No weapon. Still, he might be able to save some of the men thrown overboard. Shoving into the water, he put his back into rowing, but the tide was coming in and the waves fought him at every stroke.
He paused to get his bearings and realized the ship was moving away. The smaller boat, attached by a rope, bobbed after it. Something whizzed by his head and he ducked instinctively. A hole appeared in the side of the boat behind him. The pirates were firing on him. His hands dropped from the oars when he saw several bodies bobbing in the whitecaps. Men were already drowned.
The wind billowed the sails and he knew he had no chance of intercepting the ship. But he could save the men that he could reach then inform the authorities of what he'd seen. He grasped the oars and rowed for all he was worth.
###
At 3:03 a light came on and Katie answered. "Number, please." The caller, a man whose voice she didn't recognize, sounded breathless.
"Is this the operator?"
She detected agitation in his tone. "It is. Is something wrong?"
"Pirates," he said in a clipped voice. "Just off the lighthouse. They shot some sailors and dumped others overboard."
She sprang to her feet. "I'll contact the constable. Do you need further assistance?"
"I need a doctor at the lighthouse. I've got two injured men. The rest are—dead. I couldn't get their bodies into the boat, but they're washing up onshore now." His taut voice broke. "I had to leave the men on the shore to get to a phone, but I'm heading back there now. Tell the doctor to hurry."
"Right away," she promised. She disconnected the call and rang the doctor first. Saving life was paramount. The constable would be too late to do much about the pirates. With both calls dispatched, she forced herself to sit back down, though her muscles twitched with the need for activity. She reminded herself she'd done all she could.
The switchboard lit again. "Operator," she said, eyeing the light. The call originated from the bank.
"R-10, please."
She plugged in the other end of the cord to ring the Cook residence. Instead, she heard Eliza Bulmer pick up the phone on the other end. "I'm sorry, Eliza, we seem to have a switched link somewhere. Would you hang on until I can get through to the Cooks?" Katie asked.
"Of course, honey," Eliza said. "I just picked up my wedding dress, and I'm trying it on. So if I don't say much, you'll know why."
"You're getting married? I hadn't heard. Congratulations."
"Thank you." Eliza's voice held a lit.
"Just leave the earpiece dangling, if you please."
"I can do that."
There was a thunk in Katie's ear, and she knew Eliza had dropped the earpiece. Katie waited to see if the ring would be answered at the Cook residence but there was only a long pause. "There's no answer, Eliza. You can hang up," she said.
The other woman did not reply. If the phone were left off the hook, it would go dead. Katie started to raise her voice, but she heard a man's voice.
"You said you had something to tell me. What is it? I need to get home."
The voice was familiar, but Katie couldn't quite place it. It was too muffled.
"Honey, thank you for coming so quickly," Eliza said.
Though Eliza's voice was faint, Katie thought she detected a tremble in it. This is none of my business she thought. I should hang up But she held her breath and listened anyway.
"Would you like tea?" Eliza asked.
"No, Eliza, I don't want tea. What are you doing in that getup? I want to know what was so all-fired important that you called me at work—something I've expressly forbidden you to do."
Katie's stomach lurched as she tried to place the voice. Identification hovered at the edge of her mind. Who is that?
"Very well. I shall just blurt it out then. I'm out of money and I must have some to care for my daughter. I need money today or . . ."
"I won't be blackmailed," the man snapped.
A wave of heat swept Katie's face. She heard a door slam, then weeping from Eliza. She wanted to comfort the sobbing young woman. Numb, Katie sat listening to the sobs on the line.
The door slammed again. "Who's there?" Eliza asked in a quavering voice. She gasped, then uttered a noise between a squeak and a cry.
Katie heard a thud, and then the door slammed again. "Eliza?" she whispered. A hiss, like air escaping from a tire, came to her ears. "Are you all right?"
Only silence answered her.
She jerked the cord from the switchboard and broke the connection. Unease twisted her belly. She'd already dispatched the constable to the lighthouse. But what if Eliza was in trouble? Her fingers trembled so much she had trouble slipping the jack back into the switchboard. She muffled her mouthpiece with her hand and asked Nell to come back early. She had to make sure Eliza was all right.
November 19, 2010
Street Team book list excerpt - THE SILENT ORDER 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!
This week, the Christian Fiction Blog Alliance is introducing The Silent Order Summerside Press (November 1, 2010)by Melanie Dobson
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Melanie Dobson is the award-winning author of The Black Cloister; Love Finds You in Liberty, Indiana; and Together for Good.
Prior to launching Dobson Media Group in 1999, Melanie was the corporate publicity manager at Focus on the Family where she was responsible for the publicity of events, products, films, and TV specials. Melanie received her undergraduate degree in journalism from Liberty University and her master's degree in communication from Regent University. She has worked in the fields of publicity and journalism for fifteen years including two years as a publicist for The Family Channel.
Melanie and her husband, Jon, met in Colorado Springs in 1997 at Vanguard Church. Jon works in the field of computer animation. Since they've been married, the Dobsons have relocated numerous times including stints in Virginia, Tennessee, North Carolina, Colorado, Berlin, and Southern California. These days they are enjoying their new home in the Pacific Northwest.
Jon and Melanie have adopted their two daughters —Karly (6) and Kinzel (5). When Melanie isn't writing or entertaining their girls, she enjoys exploring ghost towns and dusty back roads, traveling, hiking, line dancing, and reading inspirational fiction.
ABOUT THE BOOK
Rural America - 1928. After the murder of his partner, Detective Rollin Wells hides away in an Amish home near Sugarcreek, Ohio, to find out who in the police force is
collaborating with Cleveland's notorious mob. While Rollin searches for answers to his partner's death, he befriends an elusive young Amish woman named Katie and her young son. As Rollin learns about Katie's past, he's shocked at the secret Katie is hiding - a secret that has haunted Rollin for eight years.
Excerpt of chapter one:
Chapter 1
"Let's go home," Nikki whispered, her lips quivering. Even her toes, squashed into the sharp points of her strapped Mary Janes, wouldn't stop shaking. "Liz…"
"Hush," her sister hissed as she swung open the side door of Man¬giamo's. Nikki held up the small battery-powered lantern, and the shiny countertops in the kitchen glowed.
Nikki's knees knocked under her navy blue skirt and she pressed them together. Her father's employees left the restaurant hours ago, around midnight or so. Everything inside was still except her heart, which had been hammering in her chest since she and Liz snuck out of the house. Somehow Liz had secured the key to the side door of Man¬giamo's, but she wouldn't tell Nikki why they needed to get inside.
"No one knows," she whispered as the door creaked closed behind them. No one would find out she and Liz were here.
Their parents and older brother were asleep in their large home, a few blocks up Murray Hill. As she and Liz snuck down to Mayfield Road, the usually bustling streets in Cleveland's Little Italy were draped with an eerie fog. The silence unnerved her—even the alley cats had stopped howling for the night.
As Nikki followed her sister across the kitchen, Liz pulled a second key out of her purse.
Nikki gasped. "Where did you get—"
"I told you to shut up," Liz barked as she pushed the key into the lock of another door—a door that kept the kitchen staff out of their father's private lounge.
Nikki leaned closer. "Papa's going to kill you."
"He'll have to catch me first." Liz laughed, sounding more like she was twelve than twenty-one.
Her sister teetered daily between the frivolities of her youth and the weight of adulthood. The shiny red barrette in her bobbed black hair matched the red bow on her scalloped dress. Even in the dull light, she exuded glamour.
Until this moment, Nikki never thought to ask why Liz was dressed to the nines—she was still trying to wake up after her sister shoved her out of bed in the middle of the night, saying she needed help. She hadn't told Nikki why they needed to come here, but it didn't matter. Nikki always seemed to be on call for her older sister, and Liz knew it. She covered for Liz whenever her sister slipped away to visit one of Cleve¬land's many nightclubs.
But never before had Liz tried anything as daring as breaking into Mangiamo's back room. Their father's sanctuary.
Their brother was allowed inside this room when invited—and he bragged about it often—but Salvatore never talked to either of his daughters about the place. Didn't really talk to Nikki at all. She knew the extent of his fury, though, and she feared him almost as much as the spineless henchmen who bowed to him like he was God on earth. She'd never bowed, but she usually cowered when he was around, hop¬ing he wouldn't notice her. He rarely did.
Her sister wasn't afraid of anything, including their father. She had the gift of being able to charm almost any man. If their father discovered them trespassing in his den, though, no charm would work. Discipline would be swift. And painful.
The knob turned in her sister's hands, and as she cracked open the door, the stench of cigar smoke mingled with the lingering smells of spicy sausage and cheese from the kitchen behind them.
"Liz—" she repeated.
Liz grabbed the lantern from Nikki's hands. "Tell me if someone comes to the front door."
Light illuminated the gray stone that lined the narrow staircase below them. Her sister stepped down and slowly descended into the dungeon.
Nikki propped the door open with her heel, waiting in the darkness. She had thought there was a small room in the back of the restaurant, not a basement, but she wasn't surprised. Secrets bound their family together like the tangled silk threads layering the web of a black widow.
The girls at Nikki's school envied these seemingly luxurious threads, but she knew that the Cardano money only covered the secrets with a blinding sheen that most people couldn't see past. She and Liz knew the truth, and they were trapped in their family's web for the rest of their lives.
Her mother refused to talk about their family's secret life, and her father usually refused to talk to her, period. Silence stopped even the walls of the Cardano mansion from sharing their secrets, but the walls knew. They knew about her father's mistress over on Woodland Ave¬nue. They knew about the bitter tears her mother shed. And they knew about the dirty money that surged through her family like water from a fire hose, money that never seemed to extinguish the smoldering inside her father for more.
Nikki watched the light in her sister's hands turn the corner at the bottom of the steps, and she rested her back against the post, praying Liz would hurry.
Light from the city lamps trickled in through two small windows at the side of the room, illuminating the shiny tops of the kitchen ovens and the draped tables that filled the dining room. Instead of windows by the imposing front door there was a wall filled with paintings of Italy.
The restaurant couldn't possibly support the Cardano family life¬style, nor could the factory where her uncles refined sugar, but there was always plenty of money. Some mornings she walked down the stairs and the dining room table was hidden under silvery green mounds of cash. Someone supplied her father with thousands and thousands of dollars at least once a week, but she didn't know who paid him, nor did she want to know. She just wanted to rush out the door each morning before the others woke up to join her friends at Saint Anthony's.
Their mother liked to pretend that her husband's business ventures were perfectly legitimate as she tried to induct her daughters into the high society circles like they were members of Cleveland's elite. Two years ago, Liz began rebelling against the dog-and-pony show and decided to flaunt herself in circles not so pleasing to their mother. The more their mother and father disapproved, the happier Liz seemed to be.
Salvatore ignored Liz's exploits for a long time, but everything changed in July. For the past three months, her father had kept Liz home around the clock, under surveillance. On the rare occasion that her father let Liz go outside the estate, she was escorted by two of his bodyguards.
Tonight, however, the man who was supposed to be standing guard outside Liz's door was sleeping beside it instead. Nikki assumed Liz, with her smooth words and alluring smile, offered him a couple of drinks from the stash she snuck into her room under her longer dresses.
The lantern light blinked below her.
"Liz?" she called in a hushed voice.
When her sister didn't answer, her gaze wandered back toward the six rows of tables that separated the kitchen and the front door. The chairs and table settings appeared to be in their proper place; there was no hint of the loud patrons who had departed four hours ago and no bloodstains left from the man shot inside the parlor back in March.
Nikki shivered. Did the man's ghost stay behind to haunt those who'd murdered him?
She glanced back down the staircase, at the light bobbing on the wall below. She should have asked Liz why they needed to come here in the mid¬dle of the night, but it was much safer to play along than ask questions.
A sharp click sounded in the dining room, and her heart leapt. Turning, she squinted in the dull light, but nothing moved. No one was in the restaurant at this hour, she told herself. No one but her and Liz.
She whispered her sister's name one more time, but Liz didn't respond.
Holding her breath, she pressed her hands against the doorframe and pretended to be one of the Sicilian statues in her father's pictures. If the murdered man had come back for vengeance, perhaps he wouldn't see her. Surely he would know she didn't have it within her to hurt a soul.
She peeked around a column as the front door crept open and a man walked inside, built thin as a rail and a good head taller than she was. The evening was warm, yet he wore a dark overcoat and hat, the uniform of a Cleveland Mafioso.
And he looked very much alive.
She stepped down into the stairwell. If anyone except their father caught her and her sister, they might bump them off, and there were no guarantees with their father.
She and Liz had to get out of here.
Nikki locked the door behind her, and as she rushed down the stairs, she struggled to catch her breath. Air didn't come until she reached the bottom, but even then, her breathing was shallow. The room in front of her seemed to spin.
Steadying herself against the wall, she took a deep breath and hiccupped.
The basement was one room, a dank space fortified with cold stone and a solitary brown hat rack that hovered in the corner. An old table stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by folding chairs, where the men probably dealt business ventures along with their cards. At the side of the room, a much shorter set of steps led up to a storm door.
Liz swiveled around by an open closet door, a narrow metal box clutched in her hands. "I told you to stay upstairs."
"But someone's—" Nikki didn't finish her sentence. The door above her swung open, banging into the wall. Apparently her father wasn't the only one with a key to this place.
Liz shoved the lantern into Nikki's hands and tucked the metal box under her arm. Then she stepped toward the second set of stairs. Nikki followed her lead, but at that moment, the storm door began to shake. Someone else was outside.
Liz swore and grabbed Nikki's arm, shoving her into the closet. Liz squeezed into the tight space beside her and yanked the door closed, the lantern shining like a beacon until Liz punched the button on top. The closet turned black.
On the other side of the door, Nikki heard muffled voices as sev¬eral men greeted each other. At this time of night, surely this meeting wouldn't last long. They'd finish whatever deal they'd come to resolve and disappear back into the night. She and Liz would escape minutes later, going home to the safety of their beds before daylight. No one would be the wiser.
Her ear pressed against the door, Nikki strained to listen to the men's words. Rough talk about the Puglisi family, interfering coppers, and the blessed Volstead Act floated under the thin crack beside her feet and burned her ears. They were making a pact to work together under the nose of the government.
A hiccup swelled in her throat again, and she swallowed hard, holding her breath for a good minute. When she finally released her breath, her hand raced to her mouth to squelch another hiccup, but in her panic, her fingers knocked the lantern in Liz's hands. She groped for the lantern in the darkness, trying to stop its fall.
Liz reached out to catch the lantern, but when she did, the metal box in her arms fell to the floor, and the crash echoed around them.
Nikki froze.
Liz swung open the door to the closet, pushing Nikki in front of her, and Nikki stumbled forward. Chairs slid back, and the men at the table opened their coats. She saw her father's face first. The anger etched in his eyes. And there was another emotion she'd never seen before.
Fear.
Her brother sat there, stunned. And all three of her uncles.
There was another man beside them. A man with bushy blond hair.
Nikki watched in horror as the blond man reached for his gun.
"Stop, Heyward," her brother yelled, but she could see the malice in Heyward's eyes. He wasn't going to stop.
"Blast it, Nikki." Liz shoved her toward the storm door, her eyes still focused on the blond man. "Run."
Heyward shouted, commanding the others to shoot. Nikki snapped out of her stupor when she saw the gleam of his gun. Racing up the stairs, she slammed open the storm door and burst outside.
Cool air flooded over her as a gunshot echoed down the alleyway. Lifting her skirt, Nikki ran into the billows of the fog, but with every step, her sister's face trailed her. The faces of the men haunted her soul.
Another thread for their family's web of secrets. A thread she could never escape no matter where she fled.
This week, the Christian Fiction Blog Alliance is introducing The Silent Order Summerside Press (November 1, 2010)by Melanie Dobson
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Melanie Dobson is the award-winning author of The Black Cloister; Love Finds You in Liberty, Indiana; and Together for Good. Prior to launching Dobson Media Group in 1999, Melanie was the corporate publicity manager at Focus on the Family where she was responsible for the publicity of events, products, films, and TV specials. Melanie received her undergraduate degree in journalism from Liberty University and her master's degree in communication from Regent University. She has worked in the fields of publicity and journalism for fifteen years including two years as a publicist for The Family Channel.
Melanie and her husband, Jon, met in Colorado Springs in 1997 at Vanguard Church. Jon works in the field of computer animation. Since they've been married, the Dobsons have relocated numerous times including stints in Virginia, Tennessee, North Carolina, Colorado, Berlin, and Southern California. These days they are enjoying their new home in the Pacific Northwest.
Jon and Melanie have adopted their two daughters —Karly (6) and Kinzel (5). When Melanie isn't writing or entertaining their girls, she enjoys exploring ghost towns and dusty back roads, traveling, hiking, line dancing, and reading inspirational fiction.
ABOUT THE BOOK
Rural America - 1928. After the murder of his partner, Detective Rollin Wells hides away in an Amish home near Sugarcreek, Ohio, to find out who in the police force iscollaborating with Cleveland's notorious mob. While Rollin searches for answers to his partner's death, he befriends an elusive young Amish woman named Katie and her young son. As Rollin learns about Katie's past, he's shocked at the secret Katie is hiding - a secret that has haunted Rollin for eight years.
Excerpt of chapter one:
Chapter 1
"Let's go home," Nikki whispered, her lips quivering. Even her toes, squashed into the sharp points of her strapped Mary Janes, wouldn't stop shaking. "Liz…"
"Hush," her sister hissed as she swung open the side door of Man¬giamo's. Nikki held up the small battery-powered lantern, and the shiny countertops in the kitchen glowed.
Nikki's knees knocked under her navy blue skirt and she pressed them together. Her father's employees left the restaurant hours ago, around midnight or so. Everything inside was still except her heart, which had been hammering in her chest since she and Liz snuck out of the house. Somehow Liz had secured the key to the side door of Man¬giamo's, but she wouldn't tell Nikki why they needed to get inside.
"No one knows," she whispered as the door creaked closed behind them. No one would find out she and Liz were here.
Their parents and older brother were asleep in their large home, a few blocks up Murray Hill. As she and Liz snuck down to Mayfield Road, the usually bustling streets in Cleveland's Little Italy were draped with an eerie fog. The silence unnerved her—even the alley cats had stopped howling for the night.
As Nikki followed her sister across the kitchen, Liz pulled a second key out of her purse.
Nikki gasped. "Where did you get—"
"I told you to shut up," Liz barked as she pushed the key into the lock of another door—a door that kept the kitchen staff out of their father's private lounge.
Nikki leaned closer. "Papa's going to kill you."
"He'll have to catch me first." Liz laughed, sounding more like she was twelve than twenty-one.
Her sister teetered daily between the frivolities of her youth and the weight of adulthood. The shiny red barrette in her bobbed black hair matched the red bow on her scalloped dress. Even in the dull light, she exuded glamour.
Until this moment, Nikki never thought to ask why Liz was dressed to the nines—she was still trying to wake up after her sister shoved her out of bed in the middle of the night, saying she needed help. She hadn't told Nikki why they needed to come here, but it didn't matter. Nikki always seemed to be on call for her older sister, and Liz knew it. She covered for Liz whenever her sister slipped away to visit one of Cleve¬land's many nightclubs.
But never before had Liz tried anything as daring as breaking into Mangiamo's back room. Their father's sanctuary.
Their brother was allowed inside this room when invited—and he bragged about it often—but Salvatore never talked to either of his daughters about the place. Didn't really talk to Nikki at all. She knew the extent of his fury, though, and she feared him almost as much as the spineless henchmen who bowed to him like he was God on earth. She'd never bowed, but she usually cowered when he was around, hop¬ing he wouldn't notice her. He rarely did.
Her sister wasn't afraid of anything, including their father. She had the gift of being able to charm almost any man. If their father discovered them trespassing in his den, though, no charm would work. Discipline would be swift. And painful.
The knob turned in her sister's hands, and as she cracked open the door, the stench of cigar smoke mingled with the lingering smells of spicy sausage and cheese from the kitchen behind them.
"Liz—" she repeated.
Liz grabbed the lantern from Nikki's hands. "Tell me if someone comes to the front door."
Light illuminated the gray stone that lined the narrow staircase below them. Her sister stepped down and slowly descended into the dungeon.
Nikki propped the door open with her heel, waiting in the darkness. She had thought there was a small room in the back of the restaurant, not a basement, but she wasn't surprised. Secrets bound their family together like the tangled silk threads layering the web of a black widow.
The girls at Nikki's school envied these seemingly luxurious threads, but she knew that the Cardano money only covered the secrets with a blinding sheen that most people couldn't see past. She and Liz knew the truth, and they were trapped in their family's web for the rest of their lives.
Her mother refused to talk about their family's secret life, and her father usually refused to talk to her, period. Silence stopped even the walls of the Cardano mansion from sharing their secrets, but the walls knew. They knew about her father's mistress over on Woodland Ave¬nue. They knew about the bitter tears her mother shed. And they knew about the dirty money that surged through her family like water from a fire hose, money that never seemed to extinguish the smoldering inside her father for more.
Nikki watched the light in her sister's hands turn the corner at the bottom of the steps, and she rested her back against the post, praying Liz would hurry.
Light from the city lamps trickled in through two small windows at the side of the room, illuminating the shiny tops of the kitchen ovens and the draped tables that filled the dining room. Instead of windows by the imposing front door there was a wall filled with paintings of Italy.
The restaurant couldn't possibly support the Cardano family life¬style, nor could the factory where her uncles refined sugar, but there was always plenty of money. Some mornings she walked down the stairs and the dining room table was hidden under silvery green mounds of cash. Someone supplied her father with thousands and thousands of dollars at least once a week, but she didn't know who paid him, nor did she want to know. She just wanted to rush out the door each morning before the others woke up to join her friends at Saint Anthony's.
Their mother liked to pretend that her husband's business ventures were perfectly legitimate as she tried to induct her daughters into the high society circles like they were members of Cleveland's elite. Two years ago, Liz began rebelling against the dog-and-pony show and decided to flaunt herself in circles not so pleasing to their mother. The more their mother and father disapproved, the happier Liz seemed to be.
Salvatore ignored Liz's exploits for a long time, but everything changed in July. For the past three months, her father had kept Liz home around the clock, under surveillance. On the rare occasion that her father let Liz go outside the estate, she was escorted by two of his bodyguards.
Tonight, however, the man who was supposed to be standing guard outside Liz's door was sleeping beside it instead. Nikki assumed Liz, with her smooth words and alluring smile, offered him a couple of drinks from the stash she snuck into her room under her longer dresses.
The lantern light blinked below her.
"Liz?" she called in a hushed voice.
When her sister didn't answer, her gaze wandered back toward the six rows of tables that separated the kitchen and the front door. The chairs and table settings appeared to be in their proper place; there was no hint of the loud patrons who had departed four hours ago and no bloodstains left from the man shot inside the parlor back in March.
Nikki shivered. Did the man's ghost stay behind to haunt those who'd murdered him?
She glanced back down the staircase, at the light bobbing on the wall below. She should have asked Liz why they needed to come here in the mid¬dle of the night, but it was much safer to play along than ask questions.
A sharp click sounded in the dining room, and her heart leapt. Turning, she squinted in the dull light, but nothing moved. No one was in the restaurant at this hour, she told herself. No one but her and Liz.
She whispered her sister's name one more time, but Liz didn't respond.
Holding her breath, she pressed her hands against the doorframe and pretended to be one of the Sicilian statues in her father's pictures. If the murdered man had come back for vengeance, perhaps he wouldn't see her. Surely he would know she didn't have it within her to hurt a soul.
She peeked around a column as the front door crept open and a man walked inside, built thin as a rail and a good head taller than she was. The evening was warm, yet he wore a dark overcoat and hat, the uniform of a Cleveland Mafioso.
And he looked very much alive.
She stepped down into the stairwell. If anyone except their father caught her and her sister, they might bump them off, and there were no guarantees with their father.
She and Liz had to get out of here.
Nikki locked the door behind her, and as she rushed down the stairs, she struggled to catch her breath. Air didn't come until she reached the bottom, but even then, her breathing was shallow. The room in front of her seemed to spin.
Steadying herself against the wall, she took a deep breath and hiccupped.
The basement was one room, a dank space fortified with cold stone and a solitary brown hat rack that hovered in the corner. An old table stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by folding chairs, where the men probably dealt business ventures along with their cards. At the side of the room, a much shorter set of steps led up to a storm door.
Liz swiveled around by an open closet door, a narrow metal box clutched in her hands. "I told you to stay upstairs."
"But someone's—" Nikki didn't finish her sentence. The door above her swung open, banging into the wall. Apparently her father wasn't the only one with a key to this place.
Liz shoved the lantern into Nikki's hands and tucked the metal box under her arm. Then she stepped toward the second set of stairs. Nikki followed her lead, but at that moment, the storm door began to shake. Someone else was outside.
Liz swore and grabbed Nikki's arm, shoving her into the closet. Liz squeezed into the tight space beside her and yanked the door closed, the lantern shining like a beacon until Liz punched the button on top. The closet turned black.
On the other side of the door, Nikki heard muffled voices as sev¬eral men greeted each other. At this time of night, surely this meeting wouldn't last long. They'd finish whatever deal they'd come to resolve and disappear back into the night. She and Liz would escape minutes later, going home to the safety of their beds before daylight. No one would be the wiser.
Her ear pressed against the door, Nikki strained to listen to the men's words. Rough talk about the Puglisi family, interfering coppers, and the blessed Volstead Act floated under the thin crack beside her feet and burned her ears. They were making a pact to work together under the nose of the government.
A hiccup swelled in her throat again, and she swallowed hard, holding her breath for a good minute. When she finally released her breath, her hand raced to her mouth to squelch another hiccup, but in her panic, her fingers knocked the lantern in Liz's hands. She groped for the lantern in the darkness, trying to stop its fall.
Liz reached out to catch the lantern, but when she did, the metal box in her arms fell to the floor, and the crash echoed around them.
Nikki froze.
Liz swung open the door to the closet, pushing Nikki in front of her, and Nikki stumbled forward. Chairs slid back, and the men at the table opened their coats. She saw her father's face first. The anger etched in his eyes. And there was another emotion she'd never seen before.
Fear.
Her brother sat there, stunned. And all three of her uncles.
There was another man beside them. A man with bushy blond hair.
Nikki watched in horror as the blond man reached for his gun.
"Stop, Heyward," her brother yelled, but she could see the malice in Heyward's eyes. He wasn't going to stop.
"Blast it, Nikki." Liz shoved her toward the storm door, her eyes still focused on the blond man. "Run."
Heyward shouted, commanding the others to shoot. Nikki snapped out of her stupor when she saw the gleam of his gun. Racing up the stairs, she slammed open the storm door and burst outside.
Cool air flooded over her as a gunshot echoed down the alleyway. Lifting her skirt, Nikki ran into the billows of the fog, but with every step, her sister's face trailed her. The faces of the men haunted her soul.
Another thread for their family's web of secrets. A thread she could never escape no matter where she fled.
November 17, 2010
I've been AWOL ...
But I had a good excuse! I've been on deadline for a book and so I was putting in 18-20 hour days working to get it done in time. My poor husband had to deal with no cooking, no cleaning, and barely a "hello" when he came home from work! He also flew to China in the middle of all that (probably a blessing in disguise since he didn't have to watch me go into meltdown over my computer) so I ended up pulling a few all nighters to get the book done in time. And I turned it in! Yay!
Now I'm catching up on all the other work I neglected while I was on deadline.
While I was on deadline, I have to admit I was terrible in terms of eating and exercise. Eating, however, was not as bad as I have been for previous deadlines. While it was carb heavy, I also made sure I ate a lot of protein, too. Exercise, however, really fell by the wayside. Instead of running 3 x a week, I only ran once a week, especially b/c the last week I was on deadline I was either sleeping only 4-6 hours a night or pulling a couple all nighters.
I'm doing the ecoaching thing with Jeff Galloway and he said that in future, I should try to get out for 5-10 minutes every other day rather than not running.
I can see the wisdom of that. I just don't know if I'd have felt I could break off my writing momentum in order to go outside for 15 minutes. Since I started writing 4-5 books a year, I've discovered that my writing is such a weird creative thing that is more momentum driven than when I was in biology work, where I could stop at any time and pick up again a few minutes later. If I stop at a crucial point in my writing, when I sit down at the computer again, it takes me 15-20 minutes to get back into my writing flow. It's very frustrating, which is why I don't stop to eat proper meals--I usually snack every hour instead so I don't interrupt my momentum. (On a positive note, my snacking is typically small portions or lots of fresh raw veggies like carrots, cucumbers, bell peppers.)
Okay, okay, enough excuses. I didn't exercise enough while I was on deadline, which made Jeff scale back my pace and run/walk ratio for my long runs. But then (!!!) I woke up with a cold last week Friday, which is when I was supposed to do my 26 mile long run. I went running anyway but by mile 8 I was done, I was just too sick. I felt better on Monday and ran 8 miles, felt pretty good, but then (!!!) I slipped in the shower Mon night and hyperextended my right knee, which is the knee I've had two ACL surgeries on. It's a bit swollen. I've been icing and elevating it since Mon night and doing some light exercise on the exercise bike, which seems to decrease the swelling a bit. But it also means I haven't run since Monday. I'm feeling better today although the knee still hurts a little when I straighten my leg.
I'm hoping if I feel better on Friday I will still be able to do my 26 miler. I just emailed Jeff to ask him if I can do that. My marathon is in 3.5 weeks, on Dec 12th, so maybe???
My running has just been terribly frustrating for me this week, esp because I had hoped to get back on track right after I finished my deadline!
Now I'm catching up on all the other work I neglected while I was on deadline.
While I was on deadline, I have to admit I was terrible in terms of eating and exercise. Eating, however, was not as bad as I have been for previous deadlines. While it was carb heavy, I also made sure I ate a lot of protein, too. Exercise, however, really fell by the wayside. Instead of running 3 x a week, I only ran once a week, especially b/c the last week I was on deadline I was either sleeping only 4-6 hours a night or pulling a couple all nighters.
I'm doing the ecoaching thing with Jeff Galloway and he said that in future, I should try to get out for 5-10 minutes every other day rather than not running.
I can see the wisdom of that. I just don't know if I'd have felt I could break off my writing momentum in order to go outside for 15 minutes. Since I started writing 4-5 books a year, I've discovered that my writing is such a weird creative thing that is more momentum driven than when I was in biology work, where I could stop at any time and pick up again a few minutes later. If I stop at a crucial point in my writing, when I sit down at the computer again, it takes me 15-20 minutes to get back into my writing flow. It's very frustrating, which is why I don't stop to eat proper meals--I usually snack every hour instead so I don't interrupt my momentum. (On a positive note, my snacking is typically small portions or lots of fresh raw veggies like carrots, cucumbers, bell peppers.)
Okay, okay, enough excuses. I didn't exercise enough while I was on deadline, which made Jeff scale back my pace and run/walk ratio for my long runs. But then (!!!) I woke up with a cold last week Friday, which is when I was supposed to do my 26 mile long run. I went running anyway but by mile 8 I was done, I was just too sick. I felt better on Monday and ran 8 miles, felt pretty good, but then (!!!) I slipped in the shower Mon night and hyperextended my right knee, which is the knee I've had two ACL surgeries on. It's a bit swollen. I've been icing and elevating it since Mon night and doing some light exercise on the exercise bike, which seems to decrease the swelling a bit. But it also means I haven't run since Monday. I'm feeling better today although the knee still hurts a little when I straighten my leg.
I'm hoping if I feel better on Friday I will still be able to do my 26 miler. I just emailed Jeff to ask him if I can do that. My marathon is in 3.5 weeks, on Dec 12th, so maybe???
My running has just been terribly frustrating for me this week, esp because I had hoped to get back on track right after I finished my deadline!
November 6, 2010
Street Team book list excerpt - GRACE by Shelley Shepard Gray
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!
This week, the Christian Fiction Blog Alliance is introducing Grace Avon Inspire; Original edition (October 26, 2010) by Shelley Shepard Gray
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Shelley Shepard Gray is the beloved author of the Sisters of the Heart series, including Hidden, Wanted, and Forgiven. Before writing, she was a teacher in both Texas and Colorado. She now writes full time and lives in southern Ohio with her husband and two children. When not writing, Shelley volunteers at church, reads, and enjoys walking her miniature dachshund on her town's scenic bike trail.
ABOUT THE BOOK
It's Christmastime at the Brenneman Bed & Breakfast, and everyone is excited about closing down for the holiday.
Anna and Henry will be celebrating their first Christmas as a married couple, and for Katie and Jonathan Lundy, it's their first Christmas with baby Stefan. Winnie and Samuel Miller plan to stop by as well for a wonderful two weeks of family and rest.
But when two unexpected visitors show up, hoping to stay for Christmas, the family must test their commitment to hospitality. Levi is a widower who lost his wife four years ago and can't bear the thought of another Christmas alone. And Melody is a young pregnant woman who won't open up about how she ended up on her own at Christmas at almost nine months pregnant.
Anna, who knows a thing or two about keeping secrets, doesn't trust her, and strives to find out the truth about these two strangers who have disrupted their holiday. But as the Christmas spirit descends on them all, as well as snow that traps them in the inn, a healing and hopefulness takes over, allowing new relationships to be built, and the boundaries of family to be extended.
Excerpt of chapter one:
Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
December 20, 8:00 am
"Anna!" The Christmas bells that hung on the door of her childhood home, the Brenneman Bed and Breakfast, tinkled as Katie Lundy worked to shut the heavy wooden door behind her. As she gazed at the pair of candles adorned with red ribbons on the front table, a familiar warmth settled over her. "Anna? Are you here?" she called out.
Before she could completely shut the heavy door behind her, parents started fussing.
"Katie, whyever are you creating such a ruckus in the house?" Her mother's form suddenly appeared in the doorway leading to the kitchen. Wiping her hands on her apron, she chided, "You could have woken up all of our guests."
From the other side of the foyer, her father came into sight. "Yes, Katie, that yelling would be a problem…if we did have a houseful, which we do not, thankfully." As he looked her over, his frown contrasted with the twinkle in his eyes. "But you are loud enough to wake the dead, child."
No matter how old she got, receiving criticism from her parents never failed to make her cheeks bloom like roses in July. "I'm sorry." Making sure to keep her voice down, she craned her neck to look beyond her mother into the cozy kitchen. "I'm looking for Anna. Is she here?"
"I am," Anna announced from the landing at the top of the stairs. Looking down at Katie from the well polished spindles, her best friend and sister-in-law smirked. "I think someone is excited to go shopping today."
There was no reason to lie. She was eager about their planned outing for the day. "I can't help it. It's been a long time since we've played hooky."
Her mother grinned. "If you're this wound up about a shopping trip, I'm thinking you should plan more outings."
"It's only because they are so rare that I'm excited. If it was a usual occurrence, it wouldn't matter so much." As Anna walked down the steps, Katie continued. "Jonathan got an unexpected day off at the lumber yard, so he's with the girls and Eli."
Her mother clucked. "You should have brought the bobbeli here. I would have happily taken care of him."
"Jonathan didn't mind watching the baby. Besides, I wasn't sure if you had houseguests."
"It's December twentieth. Of course we don't have houseguests," her mother said. "All I'm doing is getting the house readied for our family holiday."
Though they never formally closed the inn for the celebration of the Lord's birth, Katie couldn't remember a time when they ever had hosted guests at the inn.
Once the calendar marked December fifteenth, visitors suddenly stopped arriving. Their absence allowed the large, rambling house to become a home once again.
This year, in honor of young Eli's birth and Anna and Henry's marriage, everyone decided to spend a whole week together. Katie and her family, Anna and Henry, Rebekeh and her family, and this year-at Anna's and Katie's request-Winnie-who was Jonathan's sister, and Winnie's husband Samuel, were going to stay the week of Christmas as well.
Yes, the house was going to be mighty full, but joyous and merry too. It would be the perfect time for Katie to take a breath and rejuvenate. Lately, she'd been so tired, it was all she could do to keep her eyes open at night. Once or twice, she'd even fallen asleep during Eli's nap.
Jonathan thought she was doing too much, and she probably was. She had many responsibilities now, with a home, a three month old baby, and two busy stepdaughters.
But all of it was a joy. And nothing that couldn't be resolved with a little bit of comfort from her parents.
Speaking again, her mother worried her bottom lip. "I went shopping yesterday, but I feel sure I didn't buy enough flour and sugar. Rebekeh plans to do a lot of baking."
"Just give me a list, Mamm," Katie said. "I'll pick up whatever I can." Katie was just about to motion for Anna to hurry and put on her boots and cloak when Henry walked down the stairs waving a sheet of paper.
"I'm afraid our plans are about to change," he murmured.
When he stopped by his bride's side, Anna pulled the paper out of his hand. Moments later, she frowned. "Oh no."
Katie strode closer, her mother right behind her. "What on earth is wrong?" she asked. "You both look like you've seen a ghost."
"This is a mailed-in reservation," Anna murmured.
"So? What's special about that? We get them all the time."
Henry showed them the envelope he still held in his hands. "Our zip code was either written wrong or the mail carrier couldn't read it. So, from the postdate, it looks like it's been on a trip around Ohio."
Katie tapped her foot. "And? Come on, Henry. I want to go look at fabric."
"Well, the fact of the matter is, Mr. Levi Bender is planning to arrive here today." He pointed to a sentence at the bottom of the page. "We were supposed to have contacted him if we were full up by the eighteenth."
Katie's mother leaned her hand on the banister with a sigh. "And here it is December twentieth. How long is he plannin' to stay, Henry?"
"Through the holiday," he said grimly. "He says here he plans to stay until December 28."
Although she knew it wasn't a Christian response, Katie felt a swarm of irritation buzz through her as all her plans began to evaporate. She'd been really looking forward to only being surrounded by family for the next week or so. It had been such a crazy year and a half, with Anna and her brother marrying, she marrying Jonathan…his barn burning down, Winnie in the hospital.
And Eli being born in October. All Katie wanted to do was enjoy peace and quiet and her family. She didn't want to have to cook and clean for a guest. She didn't want to have to keep reminding her girls to keep their voices down, either.
"This man is going to ruin our Christmas! Can't we turn him away?"
Her father glared. "Of course not."
Her mother walked to her daed's side. "Well, we're just going to have to be grateful for a Christmas guest. That's all there is to it."
"But now how are we all going to stay here together?"
"One man's arrival won't change things." A line appeared between her mother's brows. "Not too much, anyway."
Katie reached for Anna's hand. "Anna, let's get going now, then. With a guest arriving, chances are gut that we won't have another chance to get away."
With a look of regret, Anna shook her head. "I'm sorry, Katie, but I won't be able to go. If we have a guest coming, I'll need to prepare a room."
With a sense of dismay, Katie felt all her anticipated plans fall to the wayside. "But-"
Anna turned away from her. "Irene, which room would you like to put him in?"
"In the room up at the top of the stairs, I suppose. It's our best room."
She was talking about the attic room, of course. The room Katie had planned to occupy with Jonathan. It was lovely, and claimed its own private bathroom-something that Katie had been looking forward to since she still got up often with Eli.
As everyone looked upstairs rather mournfully, her mother sighed. "I have to say that having a guest here for Christmas has put me in a dither. What in the world are we going to do with Mr. Levi Bender here the next eight days?"
One by one, everyone scattered. Soon, only Katie stood alone in the foyer. A strong sense of loss filled her. And though she knew it was not their guest's fault, she couldn't help feel resentful. No matter how pleasant the man was, his presence was going to spoil their relaxed holiday plans. "Levi Bender, how in the world are we going to be able to get rid of you?" she murmured…just before she finally unhooked her cloak and joined her mother in the kitchen.
***
December 20, 2:00 pm
It had taken him all day to get there. First, Levi had had to rise with the roosters at dawn and tend to his small menagerie of animals. Then, after checking and double-checking that all was in order for the two teenaged boys who would be staying at his home for the week, he'd waited for the Englischer to pick him up and drive him to the bus station in Columbus.
Because snow was still falling, the bus was running an hour late. Levi had sat in his chair and sipped too-expensive coffee out of a Styrofoam cup that a vender had been selling right there in the lobby. He'd kept to himself and tried not to notice the looks of interest passing his way. Those same looks that he always felt whenever he was out in the outside world.
After claiming a seat on the bus, he'd ridden for two hours, switched busses, then rode for another hour and half to Peebles. Now he was in an Englischer's car again. On his way to the Brenneman Bed and Breakfast.
"So, have you been to this area before?"
"No."
"Oh. You got family out here?"
In spite of the generic question, Levi felt a shudder rustle through him. "No," he said again, this time with more force.
In the rearview mirror, the taxi driver raised his eyebrows. "Sorry, buddy. Didn't know that was a sore subject." His tone and the slight inflection at the end of his reply led Levi to believe that the driver was waiting for more explanation.
Levi merely looked out the window. In his experience, that was how most Englischers were-too nosy about things that didn't concern them at all.
Because he certainly wasn't going to tell anyone why he'd left his community to travel by himself for Christmas. Why he'd rather stay in the company of strangers than in the midst of people who'd known him for all of his life. Why he was willing to sleep in a small guest room with only a bathroom down the hall than spend another night in his own bed. In a house that he and Rosanna had designed and help build.
Rosanna!
Even just thinking her name brought a fresh wave of sorrow. Like a toothache he couldn't help probing, bringing more pain to the surface. Since he was already hurting, Levi pushed himself to recall another person who had once meant so much to him…Ruth.
As the taxi traveled the winding roads toward the inn, Levi closed his eyes and let the agony fill his body for one last time before he went about pretending that the two most important women in his life had never existed.
Of course, that was the crux of it all…wasn't it? Rosanna and Ruth weren't around, and they never would be again. Ever.
Because he'd killed them.
***
December 20, 3:30 pm
"Miss? Do you need any help, Miss?" the Englischer asked with a concerned expression. "You look like you've kind of got your hands full there."
Melody wasn't used to speaking with strangers. But as the moment passed between them, and he kept rudely staring at her, awaiting a response, she shook her head. "No." Hurt flashed into his eyes. "I mean, Dank-thank you. But no. I'm fine."
After treating her to another long look of doubt at the quilt bag on her lap and the worn suitcase under her feet, he shrugged and walked away.
"Don't you mind the driver, Miss," the elderly lady sitting across the aisle from her on the bus said. "I've ridden with Graham before and he's a worrier. Always has been. And, well, pardon my sayin' so, but you do look like you're about to deliver at any moment."
Shamed, Melody turned to the window and hugged her quilt bag more tightly.
It had been a long journey to Cincinnati, Ohio from Sonora, Kentucky. It had taken almost as long for her to find the correct bus to take her to Adams County. Now she was in a hired van to the Brenneman Bed and Breakfast to spend the next week, if she was lucky.
Her employer, Mrs. Sheridan had given her some money and a gift certificate when Melody had come to work in the coffee shop looking even worse than usual. "I really think you need to take some time off, dear."
"I'm fine," she'd murmured, mainly because she had no choice. This was her job.
As if Mrs. Sheridan had read her mind, she murmured, "No, dear, I don't think you are. Hold on a moment, I'll be right back."
Moments later, she handed Melody an envelope with a hundred dollar bill and a gift certificate inside. Melody had held it like it was on fire. "What is this?"
"It's an early Christmas gift. It's a certificate to the loveliest little inn north of Cincinnati. In Ohio."
"What would I do there?"
"Relax for a bit." Mrs. Sheridan's eyes softened as she recalled the place. "It's a real beauty of a place, I'll tell you that. The Brenneman Bed and Breakfast has a wide wooden porch in the front. It runs the whole front of the building. The house just shines, it does. It's all white-washed, and has shiny black shutters. In the spring, glorious flowers decorate every available inch of land around the house."
In spite of herself, Melody was mesmerized. "And in the winter?"
Her boss sighed. "In the winter, they decorate a bit with greenery. Nature provides holly bushes in the woods. Mrs. Brenneman clips some sprigs and places them in glass bowls. A few of the windows have candles and garland. And they polish everything with the most heavenly scented orange oil. At night, when the snow is glistening outside and the rooms smell of hot spiced cider, wood from the fire and orange oil, why I have to say there's nothing else in the world like it. You should go, dear."
For a moment, Melody, too, had been taken away. But even the thought of traveling by herself was disconcerting. As was the cost. "Thank you for the idea, but I'm afraid I can't accept such a gift. It's too much."
"Oh, it's not so much, really." All smiles, she explained. "Mr. Sheridan and I won this in a charity auction about six months ago. It's good for a week's stay."
In spite of her will not to, Melody found herself gripping the envelope. It took everything she had to weakly refuse one more time. "I couldn't."
"Yes, you could, Melody…if you dare. I think you need some time off." Her voice lowered. "I know that things haven't been too good for you here. Sometimes, if you can't find a comforting place in your own hometown, it's time to venture somewhere else. Go there, Melody. Go to the Brenneman's and relax and learn to smile again. It will do you and the baby a world of good."
A world of good.
The kind words had rung in her ears the rest of the day. They were so different than everything else she was used to hearing. Most folks barely looked at her.
None directly spoke of her circumstances.
Yet, did she really imagine that people would speak of her-to her frankly?
Plain and simply, she'd been raped by an Englischer, abandoned by her family, and now was looking forward to forever being a symbol of foolish behavior for everyone in their community. As in, "Don't go walking alone like Melody did. Look what happened to her."
As in, "Look what happened to Melody. Now she's going to have to carry that burden for the rest of her life."
As in, "Melody, you've shamed us."
Consequently, she'd retreated into herself. If others wouldn't have a care for her feelings, she would.
That night, Melody had clumsily knelt by her bed and prayed. "What should I do?" she'd whispered.
Tightly, she'd closed her eyes. With bated breath, she'd strained to hear words of guidance. And then, like a gift that it was…she heard the Lord's voice.
Just as clearly as if he'd been standing at her shoulder. Go, Melody. Go and learn to smile again.
"Miss? You going to get up anytime soon?" the driver asked. "We're here."
She stood up with a start. To her right was the Brenneman Bed and Breakfast, looking just as lovely as Mrs. Sheridan described.
"Oh! I'm…I'm sorry. I'll get my things and hurry out."
To her surprise, a woman sitting in front of her picked up the suitcase and carried it out of the van. The driver helped her down the step and took her payment easily, not even counting it before slipping it into his black wool coat.
"Merry Christmas," he murmured before closing his door and pulling out of the driveway.
Leaving her alone. Staring at the wide front steps. At the garland that was roped around the porch railing. Suddenly, everything seemed to be too much. The trip, the traveling, the stress. The cold. A wave of dizziness fell over her.
The front door opened. A pretty woman just about her age stepped out and stared. "May I help you?"
The world was tilting. Threatening to go black. "I'm Melody Gingerich."
Blue eyes narrowed. "And?"
"I…I came to stay for Christmas," she murmured. In a haze, she did her best to concentrate, but the woman's reaction was truly puzzling.
"You came to do what?" the girl asked, her voice sounding high pitched. Almost angry.
"I have a certificate."
"For what?"
As the girl's eyes continued to stare her down, Melody fumbled for a better explanation. But truly, all ideas fled her mind. She didn't know what to say. How to explain about everything she'd been through. Everything she'd done.
Then, it didn't matter. Because her knees gave away, her world spun and her suitcase fell to the ground with a thud.
Seconds later, she felt the cold icy snow cradle her cheek…as her world went black.
This week, the Christian Fiction Blog Alliance is introducing Grace Avon Inspire; Original edition (October 26, 2010) by Shelley Shepard Gray
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Shelley Shepard Gray is the beloved author of the Sisters of the Heart series, including Hidden, Wanted, and Forgiven. Before writing, she was a teacher in both Texas and Colorado. She now writes full time and lives in southern Ohio with her husband and two children. When not writing, Shelley volunteers at church, reads, and enjoys walking her miniature dachshund on her town's scenic bike trail.
ABOUT THE BOOK
It's Christmastime at the Brenneman Bed & Breakfast, and everyone is excited about closing down for the holiday.Anna and Henry will be celebrating their first Christmas as a married couple, and for Katie and Jonathan Lundy, it's their first Christmas with baby Stefan. Winnie and Samuel Miller plan to stop by as well for a wonderful two weeks of family and rest.
But when two unexpected visitors show up, hoping to stay for Christmas, the family must test their commitment to hospitality. Levi is a widower who lost his wife four years ago and can't bear the thought of another Christmas alone. And Melody is a young pregnant woman who won't open up about how she ended up on her own at Christmas at almost nine months pregnant.
Anna, who knows a thing or two about keeping secrets, doesn't trust her, and strives to find out the truth about these two strangers who have disrupted their holiday. But as the Christmas spirit descends on them all, as well as snow that traps them in the inn, a healing and hopefulness takes over, allowing new relationships to be built, and the boundaries of family to be extended.
Excerpt of chapter one:
Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
December 20, 8:00 am
"Anna!" The Christmas bells that hung on the door of her childhood home, the Brenneman Bed and Breakfast, tinkled as Katie Lundy worked to shut the heavy wooden door behind her. As she gazed at the pair of candles adorned with red ribbons on the front table, a familiar warmth settled over her. "Anna? Are you here?" she called out.
Before she could completely shut the heavy door behind her, parents started fussing.
"Katie, whyever are you creating such a ruckus in the house?" Her mother's form suddenly appeared in the doorway leading to the kitchen. Wiping her hands on her apron, she chided, "You could have woken up all of our guests."
From the other side of the foyer, her father came into sight. "Yes, Katie, that yelling would be a problem…if we did have a houseful, which we do not, thankfully." As he looked her over, his frown contrasted with the twinkle in his eyes. "But you are loud enough to wake the dead, child."
No matter how old she got, receiving criticism from her parents never failed to make her cheeks bloom like roses in July. "I'm sorry." Making sure to keep her voice down, she craned her neck to look beyond her mother into the cozy kitchen. "I'm looking for Anna. Is she here?"
"I am," Anna announced from the landing at the top of the stairs. Looking down at Katie from the well polished spindles, her best friend and sister-in-law smirked. "I think someone is excited to go shopping today."
There was no reason to lie. She was eager about their planned outing for the day. "I can't help it. It's been a long time since we've played hooky."
Her mother grinned. "If you're this wound up about a shopping trip, I'm thinking you should plan more outings."
"It's only because they are so rare that I'm excited. If it was a usual occurrence, it wouldn't matter so much." As Anna walked down the steps, Katie continued. "Jonathan got an unexpected day off at the lumber yard, so he's with the girls and Eli."
Her mother clucked. "You should have brought the bobbeli here. I would have happily taken care of him."
"Jonathan didn't mind watching the baby. Besides, I wasn't sure if you had houseguests."
"It's December twentieth. Of course we don't have houseguests," her mother said. "All I'm doing is getting the house readied for our family holiday."
Though they never formally closed the inn for the celebration of the Lord's birth, Katie couldn't remember a time when they ever had hosted guests at the inn.
Once the calendar marked December fifteenth, visitors suddenly stopped arriving. Their absence allowed the large, rambling house to become a home once again.
This year, in honor of young Eli's birth and Anna and Henry's marriage, everyone decided to spend a whole week together. Katie and her family, Anna and Henry, Rebekeh and her family, and this year-at Anna's and Katie's request-Winnie-who was Jonathan's sister, and Winnie's husband Samuel, were going to stay the week of Christmas as well.
Yes, the house was going to be mighty full, but joyous and merry too. It would be the perfect time for Katie to take a breath and rejuvenate. Lately, she'd been so tired, it was all she could do to keep her eyes open at night. Once or twice, she'd even fallen asleep during Eli's nap.
Jonathan thought she was doing too much, and she probably was. She had many responsibilities now, with a home, a three month old baby, and two busy stepdaughters.
But all of it was a joy. And nothing that couldn't be resolved with a little bit of comfort from her parents.
Speaking again, her mother worried her bottom lip. "I went shopping yesterday, but I feel sure I didn't buy enough flour and sugar. Rebekeh plans to do a lot of baking."
"Just give me a list, Mamm," Katie said. "I'll pick up whatever I can." Katie was just about to motion for Anna to hurry and put on her boots and cloak when Henry walked down the stairs waving a sheet of paper.
"I'm afraid our plans are about to change," he murmured.
When he stopped by his bride's side, Anna pulled the paper out of his hand. Moments later, she frowned. "Oh no."
Katie strode closer, her mother right behind her. "What on earth is wrong?" she asked. "You both look like you've seen a ghost."
"This is a mailed-in reservation," Anna murmured.
"So? What's special about that? We get them all the time."
Henry showed them the envelope he still held in his hands. "Our zip code was either written wrong or the mail carrier couldn't read it. So, from the postdate, it looks like it's been on a trip around Ohio."
Katie tapped her foot. "And? Come on, Henry. I want to go look at fabric."
"Well, the fact of the matter is, Mr. Levi Bender is planning to arrive here today." He pointed to a sentence at the bottom of the page. "We were supposed to have contacted him if we were full up by the eighteenth."
Katie's mother leaned her hand on the banister with a sigh. "And here it is December twentieth. How long is he plannin' to stay, Henry?"
"Through the holiday," he said grimly. "He says here he plans to stay until December 28."
Although she knew it wasn't a Christian response, Katie felt a swarm of irritation buzz through her as all her plans began to evaporate. She'd been really looking forward to only being surrounded by family for the next week or so. It had been such a crazy year and a half, with Anna and her brother marrying, she marrying Jonathan…his barn burning down, Winnie in the hospital.
And Eli being born in October. All Katie wanted to do was enjoy peace and quiet and her family. She didn't want to have to cook and clean for a guest. She didn't want to have to keep reminding her girls to keep their voices down, either.
"This man is going to ruin our Christmas! Can't we turn him away?"
Her father glared. "Of course not."
Her mother walked to her daed's side. "Well, we're just going to have to be grateful for a Christmas guest. That's all there is to it."
"But now how are we all going to stay here together?"
"One man's arrival won't change things." A line appeared between her mother's brows. "Not too much, anyway."
Katie reached for Anna's hand. "Anna, let's get going now, then. With a guest arriving, chances are gut that we won't have another chance to get away."
With a look of regret, Anna shook her head. "I'm sorry, Katie, but I won't be able to go. If we have a guest coming, I'll need to prepare a room."
With a sense of dismay, Katie felt all her anticipated plans fall to the wayside. "But-"
Anna turned away from her. "Irene, which room would you like to put him in?"
"In the room up at the top of the stairs, I suppose. It's our best room."
She was talking about the attic room, of course. The room Katie had planned to occupy with Jonathan. It was lovely, and claimed its own private bathroom-something that Katie had been looking forward to since she still got up often with Eli.
As everyone looked upstairs rather mournfully, her mother sighed. "I have to say that having a guest here for Christmas has put me in a dither. What in the world are we going to do with Mr. Levi Bender here the next eight days?"
One by one, everyone scattered. Soon, only Katie stood alone in the foyer. A strong sense of loss filled her. And though she knew it was not their guest's fault, she couldn't help feel resentful. No matter how pleasant the man was, his presence was going to spoil their relaxed holiday plans. "Levi Bender, how in the world are we going to be able to get rid of you?" she murmured…just before she finally unhooked her cloak and joined her mother in the kitchen.
***
December 20, 2:00 pm
It had taken him all day to get there. First, Levi had had to rise with the roosters at dawn and tend to his small menagerie of animals. Then, after checking and double-checking that all was in order for the two teenaged boys who would be staying at his home for the week, he'd waited for the Englischer to pick him up and drive him to the bus station in Columbus.
Because snow was still falling, the bus was running an hour late. Levi had sat in his chair and sipped too-expensive coffee out of a Styrofoam cup that a vender had been selling right there in the lobby. He'd kept to himself and tried not to notice the looks of interest passing his way. Those same looks that he always felt whenever he was out in the outside world.
After claiming a seat on the bus, he'd ridden for two hours, switched busses, then rode for another hour and half to Peebles. Now he was in an Englischer's car again. On his way to the Brenneman Bed and Breakfast.
"So, have you been to this area before?"
"No."
"Oh. You got family out here?"
In spite of the generic question, Levi felt a shudder rustle through him. "No," he said again, this time with more force.
In the rearview mirror, the taxi driver raised his eyebrows. "Sorry, buddy. Didn't know that was a sore subject." His tone and the slight inflection at the end of his reply led Levi to believe that the driver was waiting for more explanation.
Levi merely looked out the window. In his experience, that was how most Englischers were-too nosy about things that didn't concern them at all.
Because he certainly wasn't going to tell anyone why he'd left his community to travel by himself for Christmas. Why he'd rather stay in the company of strangers than in the midst of people who'd known him for all of his life. Why he was willing to sleep in a small guest room with only a bathroom down the hall than spend another night in his own bed. In a house that he and Rosanna had designed and help build.
Rosanna!
Even just thinking her name brought a fresh wave of sorrow. Like a toothache he couldn't help probing, bringing more pain to the surface. Since he was already hurting, Levi pushed himself to recall another person who had once meant so much to him…Ruth.
As the taxi traveled the winding roads toward the inn, Levi closed his eyes and let the agony fill his body for one last time before he went about pretending that the two most important women in his life had never existed.
Of course, that was the crux of it all…wasn't it? Rosanna and Ruth weren't around, and they never would be again. Ever.
Because he'd killed them.
***
December 20, 3:30 pm
"Miss? Do you need any help, Miss?" the Englischer asked with a concerned expression. "You look like you've kind of got your hands full there."
Melody wasn't used to speaking with strangers. But as the moment passed between them, and he kept rudely staring at her, awaiting a response, she shook her head. "No." Hurt flashed into his eyes. "I mean, Dank-thank you. But no. I'm fine."
After treating her to another long look of doubt at the quilt bag on her lap and the worn suitcase under her feet, he shrugged and walked away.
"Don't you mind the driver, Miss," the elderly lady sitting across the aisle from her on the bus said. "I've ridden with Graham before and he's a worrier. Always has been. And, well, pardon my sayin' so, but you do look like you're about to deliver at any moment."
Shamed, Melody turned to the window and hugged her quilt bag more tightly.
It had been a long journey to Cincinnati, Ohio from Sonora, Kentucky. It had taken almost as long for her to find the correct bus to take her to Adams County. Now she was in a hired van to the Brenneman Bed and Breakfast to spend the next week, if she was lucky.
Her employer, Mrs. Sheridan had given her some money and a gift certificate when Melody had come to work in the coffee shop looking even worse than usual. "I really think you need to take some time off, dear."
"I'm fine," she'd murmured, mainly because she had no choice. This was her job.
As if Mrs. Sheridan had read her mind, she murmured, "No, dear, I don't think you are. Hold on a moment, I'll be right back."
Moments later, she handed Melody an envelope with a hundred dollar bill and a gift certificate inside. Melody had held it like it was on fire. "What is this?"
"It's an early Christmas gift. It's a certificate to the loveliest little inn north of Cincinnati. In Ohio."
"What would I do there?"
"Relax for a bit." Mrs. Sheridan's eyes softened as she recalled the place. "It's a real beauty of a place, I'll tell you that. The Brenneman Bed and Breakfast has a wide wooden porch in the front. It runs the whole front of the building. The house just shines, it does. It's all white-washed, and has shiny black shutters. In the spring, glorious flowers decorate every available inch of land around the house."
In spite of herself, Melody was mesmerized. "And in the winter?"
Her boss sighed. "In the winter, they decorate a bit with greenery. Nature provides holly bushes in the woods. Mrs. Brenneman clips some sprigs and places them in glass bowls. A few of the windows have candles and garland. And they polish everything with the most heavenly scented orange oil. At night, when the snow is glistening outside and the rooms smell of hot spiced cider, wood from the fire and orange oil, why I have to say there's nothing else in the world like it. You should go, dear."
For a moment, Melody, too, had been taken away. But even the thought of traveling by herself was disconcerting. As was the cost. "Thank you for the idea, but I'm afraid I can't accept such a gift. It's too much."
"Oh, it's not so much, really." All smiles, she explained. "Mr. Sheridan and I won this in a charity auction about six months ago. It's good for a week's stay."
In spite of her will not to, Melody found herself gripping the envelope. It took everything she had to weakly refuse one more time. "I couldn't."
"Yes, you could, Melody…if you dare. I think you need some time off." Her voice lowered. "I know that things haven't been too good for you here. Sometimes, if you can't find a comforting place in your own hometown, it's time to venture somewhere else. Go there, Melody. Go to the Brenneman's and relax and learn to smile again. It will do you and the baby a world of good."
A world of good.
The kind words had rung in her ears the rest of the day. They were so different than everything else she was used to hearing. Most folks barely looked at her.
None directly spoke of her circumstances.
Yet, did she really imagine that people would speak of her-to her frankly?
Plain and simply, she'd been raped by an Englischer, abandoned by her family, and now was looking forward to forever being a symbol of foolish behavior for everyone in their community. As in, "Don't go walking alone like Melody did. Look what happened to her."
As in, "Look what happened to Melody. Now she's going to have to carry that burden for the rest of her life."
As in, "Melody, you've shamed us."
Consequently, she'd retreated into herself. If others wouldn't have a care for her feelings, she would.
That night, Melody had clumsily knelt by her bed and prayed. "What should I do?" she'd whispered.
Tightly, she'd closed her eyes. With bated breath, she'd strained to hear words of guidance. And then, like a gift that it was…she heard the Lord's voice.
Just as clearly as if he'd been standing at her shoulder. Go, Melody. Go and learn to smile again.
"Miss? You going to get up anytime soon?" the driver asked. "We're here."
She stood up with a start. To her right was the Brenneman Bed and Breakfast, looking just as lovely as Mrs. Sheridan described.
"Oh! I'm…I'm sorry. I'll get my things and hurry out."
To her surprise, a woman sitting in front of her picked up the suitcase and carried it out of the van. The driver helped her down the step and took her payment easily, not even counting it before slipping it into his black wool coat.
"Merry Christmas," he murmured before closing his door and pulling out of the driveway.
Leaving her alone. Staring at the wide front steps. At the garland that was roped around the porch railing. Suddenly, everything seemed to be too much. The trip, the traveling, the stress. The cold. A wave of dizziness fell over her.
The front door opened. A pretty woman just about her age stepped out and stared. "May I help you?"
The world was tilting. Threatening to go black. "I'm Melody Gingerich."
Blue eyes narrowed. "And?"
"I…I came to stay for Christmas," she murmured. In a haze, she did her best to concentrate, but the woman's reaction was truly puzzling.
"You came to do what?" the girl asked, her voice sounding high pitched. Almost angry.
"I have a certificate."
"For what?"
As the girl's eyes continued to stare her down, Melody fumbled for a better explanation. But truly, all ideas fled her mind. She didn't know what to say. How to explain about everything she'd been through. Everything she'd done.
Then, it didn't matter. Because her knees gave away, her world spun and her suitcase fell to the ground with a thud.
Seconds later, she felt the cold icy snow cradle her cheek…as her world went black.
