Ute Carbone's Blog, page 28
January 14, 2014
#Write-a-thin check in
It's week two of the month long write a thin at the Women's Fiction Writers association. The concept is to chose one goal for the month. Mine was to finish a first draft of novella #4 of the Anton and Lenora series, or at least a good portion of the novella.It was slow going this week. I'm taking Anton and Novella to China this time around and I had to do a bit more research on Shanghai in 1854.
Word wise--I'm up around 6k and we're just about ready for the Willow to weigh anchor.
Here's a bit (unedited) of what I've written--
“Aye, you should. Yet as you have just now admitted, he is not up to the task. You have put yourself and our child in some danger.” She turned serious then, her anger and mine both melted with the merriment, and she put her hands to my face and ran her fingers over my brow. “I have faith, Anton. In you and in myself. We have been through a good deal. We have prevailed. And I love you all the more for our trials.” I took her into my arms. “It does not due to tempt fate, mon amie.” She put her lips to mine. “Faith,” she said before kissing me softly. “To lose you would be to lose my life. I could not bear it, Lenora. I could not.” “I know, love.” She kissed my brow and ran her lips over my cheek, until my mouth caught hers again. Faith, hers and mine, would have to sustain us.
January 8, 2014
Announcing Flash!
I've got a new page on my website called Flash! Each month, I'll feature a new short story. This month's feature is Bent Guardrails--Route 99. Find it by clicking the Flash! button at the top of the blog.
January 7, 2014
#Write-A-Thin First Week Update
Last week, I blogged about joining in the Women Fiction Writer's Association Write-A-Thin, a month long write-and-edit- a- thon where each writer sets a single goal. My goal is to finish a draft of Willow, the fourth novella of the Anton and Lenora series. A lofty goal, and if I get a good chunk of it done I'll be content.
In the interest of keeping myself on track, I plan on posting weekly updates of my Write-A-Thin progress.
I've had a pretty good week. It's been cold and I'm still eating Christmas Cookies--which is great for a sugar high! I've got lots else to do, playing catch-up after the holidays, so I'm pleased to have 4,000 words on Willow. At novella length, I'm aiming for 20-30 K when it's finished. The content will determine the length.
In Willow, Anton and Lenora sail to Shanghai. Here's a snippet of what I've written this week--Still new and uncut, from the opening scene of Willow:
One look at Lenora’s countenance on that bright lit morn let me know I had made the right decision. We stood in the garden of our little cottage and though we were far from the goings on at the square, Lenora’s skin was pale as milk and I wondered if the ordeal—both the memory of what had happened and what was about to transpire-- made her ill. “You should not trouble yourself so.” I took her by the hand and hoped she could feel the sincerity of my words. “I wish there were some other way to bring him to justice.” She looked out over the bay. The view had always brought solace to my heart and I hoped it would do the same for her. She was a daughter of the sea, the daughter of a ship builder. We held a love of the sea in common, Lenora and I. “We will sail away soon.” I kissed her fingers and she put an arm around my waist. “We will put this misfortune behind us.”
January 5, 2014
Searching for Superman got five stars!
Searching for Superman got a five star review from Trudi LoPreto at Reader's Favorite Book Reviews! You can read the review here
For more on the book, please visit my Searching for Superman web page.
January 4, 2014
Saturday#Snippets To the Wind
The To the Wind blog tour finished up yesterday, but I wanted to give everyone one more look. Will they burn the Sweet Lenora? Anton worries they will.
My head and my heart had been filled with Lenora, yet I knew well how the disease had ravaged the crew. They were a rough lot, true, but no one deserved to die at the hands of such devilment as the yellow jack. “I know how bad things were aboard.” I cast my eyes to the door behind which Lenora slept.
“Then you must be aware such disease can linger. You suspect Rio, so you told me yourself, as the origin of your misery. Look how far you have carried the miasma. The ship is contaminated.”
“If it can but be saved. I’ve heard they use carbolic and lime. I would scrub down every inch of her if she could be spared burning. She is new, it is her maiden voyage, and we’ve yet to take her to the Orient. She would have broken the record from New England to SanFrancisco if not for foul weather off the Brazil coast. How I wish we’d never stopped in Rio port, yet we had no choice. We came from that port with but half a crew and still made ’Frisco in two months time. Two months, sir. It is a testament to the ship’s fine build and to her value.”
“There will be other ships,” was all Mather had to answer to my plea.
“Nay,” I said. “Her maker has died. There may never be another like her.” With that, I took my leave and went back into the room where my Lenora slept.
Click below for more on-To the WindThe Anton and Lenora Series
My head and my heart had been filled with Lenora, yet I knew well how the disease had ravaged the crew. They were a rough lot, true, but no one deserved to die at the hands of such devilment as the yellow jack. “I know how bad things were aboard.” I cast my eyes to the door behind which Lenora slept. “Then you must be aware such disease can linger. You suspect Rio, so you told me yourself, as the origin of your misery. Look how far you have carried the miasma. The ship is contaminated.”
“If it can but be saved. I’ve heard they use carbolic and lime. I would scrub down every inch of her if she could be spared burning. She is new, it is her maiden voyage, and we’ve yet to take her to the Orient. She would have broken the record from New England to SanFrancisco if not for foul weather off the Brazil coast. How I wish we’d never stopped in Rio port, yet we had no choice. We came from that port with but half a crew and still made ’Frisco in two months time. Two months, sir. It is a testament to the ship’s fine build and to her value.”
“There will be other ships,” was all Mather had to answer to my plea.
“Nay,” I said. “Her maker has died. There may never be another like her.” With that, I took my leave and went back into the room where my Lenora slept.
Click below for more on-To the WindThe Anton and Lenora Series
January 3, 2014
#FridayFlash--Bent Guardrails, Route 99
The inspiration for this short short story came from a photograph by David Torcoletti. (You can view the image HERE) The road reminds me of the place I grew up. I like the black and white, which gave the picture a somber feel, as though it were a reminder of some old sadness.
I posted the story at ReadWave yesterday and then decided I'd like to post it here as well.
Bent Guardrail, Rte 199It's old, that's a fact and that may be why it's bent. The guardrail, I mean. It's been guarding the pasture since before I can remember. Even when I was a girl, long before David and I got married and bought the farm from old Mrs. Tucker, it was there. At least, I think it was. I have a vague recollection of such things. I rode the school bus past this stretch for thirteen years and I must have, at one point or another, noticed the guardrail. It must have been newer then. Maybe it had glint and shine, like the new piece of rail that's being put in at the intersection. The place where they need to fill in the gash made by Billy Garrison's Plymouth. Billy rode the school bus, too. He used to sit up front, near the driver. Mr. Moses didn't like trouble, and Billy was trouble from the get go. Folks around here would tell you it comes as no surprise that Billy's short wild life ended at the corner of 199 and 10 . That's what happens to the Billy Garrisons of the world. They don't live long and they don't go out easy. David and I have lived in the farm house for ten years now. The road is long and straight here and I suppose that makes a difference. There are no sudden curves or stops that could trip somebody up in the middle of the night. The guardrail here guards a gully. And not a particularly deep gully, at that. A fern filled little ditch, it's nothing like the steep bank up road a mile. When we were kids, Billy and David and I used to play down by the bridge that crosses the river just before the intersection. Billy liked to jump from the bridge. He jumped easy, covering the distance between steel and water with his arms spread like wings, always trusting the water would be deep enough. He’d climb out of the river with water caught in glistening drops on the thin spikes of his bush cut and dripping from his cutoffs and the T-shirt he hadn't bothered to take off, smiling. He always smiled when he'd tangled with something dangerous and won. "Come on," he'd say, "Nothin' to it. You're not chicken are ya?" David always took the dare. His thin arms flailed in circles as he careened toward the water. Billy would sit on the embankment watching and laughing. I only jumped once. I remember it, remember the falling, the way the cold river hit me like a hammer, the breathlessness as I sank far below the surface. I remember being awed at how Billy could take in all that terror, how he'd search it out and revel in it. I think about Billy a lot these days. David has caught me staring at the road more than once. He doesn't ask, the same as I don't ask when he stops at the intersection and waits even though there's no traffic coming. He walks out to the bridge often. He and Barney lumber up the road together, the old dog limping beside David's narrow legs. When they come back, David's eyes are marked with something I can't put a light to. The days are quieting now. Summer's moving on. Traffic going past the house to Mullet's lake has slowed. Soon it will stop all together and we'll be deep in snow again. I find myself missing the summer, the way it was when we were all still in high school. The way we'd all go to the lake together, me and David, already cemented even then, and Billy with whatever girl. David and I got married two weeks after high school graduation. Billy was the best man. It was hot that day, hot as it is today. There wasn't anything but a fan at the VFW hall for the reception. I remember it clear as yesterday, how David and I were dancing and Billy cut in. Up close, he smelled of cigarettes and gin from the open bar. He stumbled a little, and when I asked if he was okay, he stopped leading and we just stood on the dance floor. He held me so tight I nearly couldn’t breathe.
The last time I saw him, we’d had a cookout at the house and Billy sat at the picnic table, the ash of his cigarette long in his hand. My kids played tag in the yard while David flipped burgers on the grill. That's the picture I keep of Billy, the ice cubes sweating in his drink, his eyes focused on the yard, and everything in them just watching.
I posted the story at ReadWave yesterday and then decided I'd like to post it here as well.
Bent Guardrail, Rte 199It's old, that's a fact and that may be why it's bent. The guardrail, I mean. It's been guarding the pasture since before I can remember. Even when I was a girl, long before David and I got married and bought the farm from old Mrs. Tucker, it was there. At least, I think it was. I have a vague recollection of such things. I rode the school bus past this stretch for thirteen years and I must have, at one point or another, noticed the guardrail. It must have been newer then. Maybe it had glint and shine, like the new piece of rail that's being put in at the intersection. The place where they need to fill in the gash made by Billy Garrison's Plymouth. Billy rode the school bus, too. He used to sit up front, near the driver. Mr. Moses didn't like trouble, and Billy was trouble from the get go. Folks around here would tell you it comes as no surprise that Billy's short wild life ended at the corner of 199 and 10 . That's what happens to the Billy Garrisons of the world. They don't live long and they don't go out easy. David and I have lived in the farm house for ten years now. The road is long and straight here and I suppose that makes a difference. There are no sudden curves or stops that could trip somebody up in the middle of the night. The guardrail here guards a gully. And not a particularly deep gully, at that. A fern filled little ditch, it's nothing like the steep bank up road a mile. When we were kids, Billy and David and I used to play down by the bridge that crosses the river just before the intersection. Billy liked to jump from the bridge. He jumped easy, covering the distance between steel and water with his arms spread like wings, always trusting the water would be deep enough. He’d climb out of the river with water caught in glistening drops on the thin spikes of his bush cut and dripping from his cutoffs and the T-shirt he hadn't bothered to take off, smiling. He always smiled when he'd tangled with something dangerous and won. "Come on," he'd say, "Nothin' to it. You're not chicken are ya?" David always took the dare. His thin arms flailed in circles as he careened toward the water. Billy would sit on the embankment watching and laughing. I only jumped once. I remember it, remember the falling, the way the cold river hit me like a hammer, the breathlessness as I sank far below the surface. I remember being awed at how Billy could take in all that terror, how he'd search it out and revel in it. I think about Billy a lot these days. David has caught me staring at the road more than once. He doesn't ask, the same as I don't ask when he stops at the intersection and waits even though there's no traffic coming. He walks out to the bridge often. He and Barney lumber up the road together, the old dog limping beside David's narrow legs. When they come back, David's eyes are marked with something I can't put a light to. The days are quieting now. Summer's moving on. Traffic going past the house to Mullet's lake has slowed. Soon it will stop all together and we'll be deep in snow again. I find myself missing the summer, the way it was when we were all still in high school. The way we'd all go to the lake together, me and David, already cemented even then, and Billy with whatever girl. David and I got married two weeks after high school graduation. Billy was the best man. It was hot that day, hot as it is today. There wasn't anything but a fan at the VFW hall for the reception. I remember it clear as yesterday, how David and I were dancing and Billy cut in. Up close, he smelled of cigarettes and gin from the open bar. He stumbled a little, and when I asked if he was okay, he stopped leading and we just stood on the dance floor. He held me so tight I nearly couldn’t breathe.
The last time I saw him, we’d had a cookout at the house and Billy sat at the picnic table, the ash of his cigarette long in his hand. My kids played tag in the yard while David flipped burgers on the grill. That's the picture I keep of Billy, the ice cubes sweating in his drink, his eyes focused on the yard, and everything in them just watching.
January 2, 2014
Bent Guardrails on #ReadWave
January 1, 2014
Write a Thin #Women'sFictionWriters
Who doesn't love New Year's resolutions? This year, I'm starting with one I can keep. I'm participating in the month long write-a-thin sponsored by the Women's Fiction Writer's Association. My goal--to write the fourth novella of the Anton and Lenora series. I'll keep you posted on how I do--it might take me a little more than a month and I'll be happy if I get twenty thousand words of the draft. It's good to aim high,right? Right? Where's my chocolate?
December 31, 2013
A baker's dozen: Thirteen great books
I was a reader long before I became a writer. I love books, all kinds of books, in all their various forms. I read lots of them. There are all manner of best and worst lists at year's end and I'd like to add my tuppence to the mix. These are the best of the books I read this year. This list is by no means complete,but these are thirteen that come to mind when I'm asked to recommend a story.
13. A Perfect Victim by Patricia Dunsenbury. The Bayou and New Orleans is the perfect setting for this richly layered book. Great descriptions, unfolding secrets and danger lurking at every turn make this is the perfect read for mystery lovers.
12. Just One of the Guys by Kristen Higgens. Maybe because it was set in Upstate New York, or maybe it was the great characters, but I adored this friends to lovers romance. A must for fans of sweet romance.
11. The Bone Garden by Tess Garrison. You can't beat Garrison for a fast-paced thriller. This one, set in 19th century Boston, won't disappoint.
10. Defending Jacob by William Landay. The premise of this book is intriguing--What would you do if your teenage son was accused of murder? It sticks the landing and gets my vote for best ending of the year.
9. Sarah's Key by Tatiana de Rosnay. A harrowing tale about the Holocaust. I read this book earlier in the year and the characters of Sarah and her brother still haunt me.
8. Saxon's Bane by Geoffrey Gudgion. I read one of Geoff's short stories a few years back and have been a fan of his writing ever since. The lush and sensual description alone makes this a must read. And it's a terrific story, too. A mix of suspense, magical realism, and myth that will keep you turning the pages.
7. Breathing Room by Susan Elizabeth Phillips. The sun washed hills of Tuscany, a perfectionist heroine and a hero who always plays the villain makes this funny romance the perfect escape read.
6. When She Woke by Hillary Jordan. This is by far the most original book I read this year. Hannah Payne wakes up after her chroming. She's been tinted red for her crime. If you loved Margaret Atwood's Handmaiden's Tale, you must read this book.
5. The Cove by Ron Rash. This was the first Ron Rash book I've read and it will certainly not be my last. The lyrical writing alone makes it worth the read. The tragic love story makes it one of my year's best.
4. Gone Girl by Gillain Flynn. I'll admit I didn't like the ending, but this book still flies high on my best list. It's one of those books you have to keep reading when you should be working or showering or sleeping-- a page turner that keeps you guessing, with lots of surprising twists and turns.
3. The Girl With No Shadow by JoAnne Harris. If you loved Chocolat, you must read this wonderful sequel, replete with romance and fairy tales. It's delicious.
2. The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry by Rachel Joyce. Everyone should read the wonderful story of Harold, who goes off to mail a letter and ends up on a Pilgrimage. Part humor and part pathos, it's a story that will travel with you for a very long time.
1. The Light Between Oceans by M.L. Stedman. The writing is haunting and beautifully descriptive. The characters are complex and memorable. This wonderful and heart-wrenching book gets my vote for book of the year and it may well go on my best of all time list.
Well, that's it. I hope next year is full of books as wonderful as these. What are your top reads of the year?
13. A Perfect Victim by Patricia Dunsenbury. The Bayou and New Orleans is the perfect setting for this richly layered book. Great descriptions, unfolding secrets and danger lurking at every turn make this is the perfect read for mystery lovers.
12. Just One of the Guys by Kristen Higgens. Maybe because it was set in Upstate New York, or maybe it was the great characters, but I adored this friends to lovers romance. A must for fans of sweet romance.
11. The Bone Garden by Tess Garrison. You can't beat Garrison for a fast-paced thriller. This one, set in 19th century Boston, won't disappoint.
10. Defending Jacob by William Landay. The premise of this book is intriguing--What would you do if your teenage son was accused of murder? It sticks the landing and gets my vote for best ending of the year.
9. Sarah's Key by Tatiana de Rosnay. A harrowing tale about the Holocaust. I read this book earlier in the year and the characters of Sarah and her brother still haunt me.
8. Saxon's Bane by Geoffrey Gudgion. I read one of Geoff's short stories a few years back and have been a fan of his writing ever since. The lush and sensual description alone makes this a must read. And it's a terrific story, too. A mix of suspense, magical realism, and myth that will keep you turning the pages.
7. Breathing Room by Susan Elizabeth Phillips. The sun washed hills of Tuscany, a perfectionist heroine and a hero who always plays the villain makes this funny romance the perfect escape read.
6. When She Woke by Hillary Jordan. This is by far the most original book I read this year. Hannah Payne wakes up after her chroming. She's been tinted red for her crime. If you loved Margaret Atwood's Handmaiden's Tale, you must read this book.
5. The Cove by Ron Rash. This was the first Ron Rash book I've read and it will certainly not be my last. The lyrical writing alone makes it worth the read. The tragic love story makes it one of my year's best.
4. Gone Girl by Gillain Flynn. I'll admit I didn't like the ending, but this book still flies high on my best list. It's one of those books you have to keep reading when you should be working or showering or sleeping-- a page turner that keeps you guessing, with lots of surprising twists and turns.
3. The Girl With No Shadow by JoAnne Harris. If you loved Chocolat, you must read this wonderful sequel, replete with romance and fairy tales. It's delicious.
2. The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry by Rachel Joyce. Everyone should read the wonderful story of Harold, who goes off to mail a letter and ends up on a Pilgrimage. Part humor and part pathos, it's a story that will travel with you for a very long time.
1. The Light Between Oceans by M.L. Stedman. The writing is haunting and beautifully descriptive. The characters are complex and memorable. This wonderful and heart-wrenching book gets my vote for book of the year and it may well go on my best of all time list.
Well, that's it. I hope next year is full of books as wonderful as these. What are your top reads of the year?
December 28, 2013
Saturday #Snippets To the Wind
I'm in the midst of the To the Wind blog tour. Anton and Lenora have several more stops along the cyber road between now and January third.
Here at home, I'm posting another snippet from the book. In this excerpt, Lenora worries about Cyrus Abercrombie, who will prove troublesome before the journey is over.
“Mr. Abercrombie still troubles me,” Lenora said one eve as we were off the coast of Peru. “The crew is rumbling. It is not pretty what they say.” She sat upon the berth and ran a brush through her hair.
I took the brush from her and attended to the task, happy to touch her silky waves. “The crew’s rumblings are never pretty, mon amie. You must away from them.”
“I don’t seek them out, Anton. But it is hard not to hear their complaints in a society small as the one aboard this ship. Maurice told me Abercrombie whipped Tageo.”
I did not hold with whipping, but it was common enough practice. I would be hard pressed to sanction Abercrombie for use of the lash as a means of discipline. “Tageo is a scoundrel. The men say he has been stealing water. You can understand how serious is such an offense.”
“Yes, but—”
I held my fingers to her lips. “I have heard the grumblings, Lenora. I will speak to Abercrombie.” I understood her distaste. I had seen the lash cut down too many good men, both aboard ship and in New Orleans, to embrace its use. And I feared Abercrombie had an appetite for whippings far beyond what might be considered common practice. It troubled me considerably more than I let on to Lenora. Abercrombie knew well I needed him. He gave me his respect only because I was his superior and he feared I might yet throw him into the sea.
Mr. Abercrombie still troubles me,” Lenora said one eve as we were off the coast of Peru. “The crew is rumbling. It is not pretty what they say.” She sat upon the berth and ran a brush through her hair.
I took the brush from her and attended to the task, happy to touch her silky waves. “The crew’s rumblings are never pretty, mon amie. You must away from them.”“I don’t seek them out, Anton. But it is hard not to hear their complaints in a society small as the one aboard this ship. Maurice told me Abercrombie whipped Tageo.”I did not hold with whipping, but it was common enough practice. I would be hard pressed to sanction Abercrombie for use of the lash as a means of discipline. “Tageo is a scoundrel. The men say he has been stealing water. You can understand how serious is such an offense.”“Yes, but—”I held my fingers to her lips. “I have heard the grumblings, Lenora. I will speak to Abercrombie.” I understood her distaste. I had seen the lash cut down too many good men, both aboard ship and in New Orleans, to embrace its use. And I feared Abercrombie had an appetite for whippings far beyond what might be considered common practice. It troubled me considerably more than I let on to Lenora. Abercrombie knew well I needed him. He gave me his respect only because I was his superior and he feared I might yet throw him into the sea.- See more at: http://www.blueroseromance.com/#sthas...
Mr. Abercrombie still troubles me,” Lenora said one eve as we were off the coast of Peru. “The crew is rumbling. It is not pretty what they say.” She sat upon the berth and ran a brush through her hair.
I took the brush from her and attended to the task, happy to touch her silky waves. “The crew’s rumblings are never pretty, mon amie. You must away from them.”“I don’t seek them out, Anton. But it is hard not to hear their complaints in a society small as the one aboard this ship. Maurice told me Abercrombie whipped Tageo.”I did not hold with whipping, but it was common enough practice. I would be hard pressed to sanction Abercrombie for use of the lash as a means of discipline. “Tageo is a scoundrel. The men say he has been stealing water. You can understand how serious is such an offense.”“Yes, but—”I held my fingers to her lips. “I have heard the grumblings, Lenora. I will speak to Abercrombie.” I understood her distaste. I had seen the lash cut down too many good men, both aboard ship and in New Orleans, to embrace its use. And I feared Abercrombie had an appetite for whippings far beyond what might be considered common practice. It troubled me considerably more than I let on to Lenora. Abercrombie knew well I needed him. He gave me his respect only because I was his superior and he feared I might yet throw him into the sea.- See more at: http://www.blueroseromance.com/#sthas...
Here at home, I'm posting another snippet from the book. In this excerpt, Lenora worries about Cyrus Abercrombie, who will prove troublesome before the journey is over.
“Mr. Abercrombie still troubles me,” Lenora said one eve as we were off the coast of Peru. “The crew is rumbling. It is not pretty what they say.” She sat upon the berth and ran a brush through her hair.
I took the brush from her and attended to the task, happy to touch her silky waves. “The crew’s rumblings are never pretty, mon amie. You must away from them.”
“I don’t seek them out, Anton. But it is hard not to hear their complaints in a society small as the one aboard this ship. Maurice told me Abercrombie whipped Tageo.”
I did not hold with whipping, but it was common enough practice. I would be hard pressed to sanction Abercrombie for use of the lash as a means of discipline. “Tageo is a scoundrel. The men say he has been stealing water. You can understand how serious is such an offense.”
“Yes, but—”
I held my fingers to her lips. “I have heard the grumblings, Lenora. I will speak to Abercrombie.” I understood her distaste. I had seen the lash cut down too many good men, both aboard ship and in New Orleans, to embrace its use. And I feared Abercrombie had an appetite for whippings far beyond what might be considered common practice. It troubled me considerably more than I let on to Lenora. Abercrombie knew well I needed him. He gave me his respect only because I was his superior and he feared I might yet throw him into the sea.
Mr. Abercrombie still troubles me,” Lenora said one eve as we were off the coast of Peru. “The crew is rumbling. It is not pretty what they say.” She sat upon the berth and ran a brush through her hair.
I took the brush from her and attended to the task, happy to touch her silky waves. “The crew’s rumblings are never pretty, mon amie. You must away from them.”“I don’t seek them out, Anton. But it is hard not to hear their complaints in a society small as the one aboard this ship. Maurice told me Abercrombie whipped Tageo.”I did not hold with whipping, but it was common enough practice. I would be hard pressed to sanction Abercrombie for use of the lash as a means of discipline. “Tageo is a scoundrel. The men say he has been stealing water. You can understand how serious is such an offense.”“Yes, but—”I held my fingers to her lips. “I have heard the grumblings, Lenora. I will speak to Abercrombie.” I understood her distaste. I had seen the lash cut down too many good men, both aboard ship and in New Orleans, to embrace its use. And I feared Abercrombie had an appetite for whippings far beyond what might be considered common practice. It troubled me considerably more than I let on to Lenora. Abercrombie knew well I needed him. He gave me his respect only because I was his superior and he feared I might yet throw him into the sea.- See more at: http://www.blueroseromance.com/#sthas...Mr. Abercrombie still troubles me,” Lenora said one eve as we were off the coast of Peru. “The crew is rumbling. It is not pretty what they say.” She sat upon the berth and ran a brush through her hair.
I took the brush from her and attended to the task, happy to touch her silky waves. “The crew’s rumblings are never pretty, mon amie. You must away from them.”“I don’t seek them out, Anton. But it is hard not to hear their complaints in a society small as the one aboard this ship. Maurice told me Abercrombie whipped Tageo.”I did not hold with whipping, but it was common enough practice. I would be hard pressed to sanction Abercrombie for use of the lash as a means of discipline. “Tageo is a scoundrel. The men say he has been stealing water. You can understand how serious is such an offense.”“Yes, but—”I held my fingers to her lips. “I have heard the grumblings, Lenora. I will speak to Abercrombie.” I understood her distaste. I had seen the lash cut down too many good men, both aboard ship and in New Orleans, to embrace its use. And I feared Abercrombie had an appetite for whippings far beyond what might be considered common practice. It troubled me considerably more than I let on to Lenora. Abercrombie knew well I needed him. He gave me his respect only because I was his superior and he feared I might yet throw him into the sea.- See more at: http://www.blueroseromance.com/#sthas...
