Heather Day Gilbert's Blog, page 11

Excerpt with MacKenzie Morganthal, Author of Not Abandoned

Today I’m pleased to introduce you to debut author MacKenzie Morganthal. MacKenzie has a burden for human trafficking and her novel, Not Abandoned, reflects that passion. As a homeschooling mom, I’m especially excited that MacKenzie is a homeschool graduate. Read on for more about MacKenzie and an excerpt from Not Abandoned.

Author MacKenzie Morganthal

Author Bio:

MacKenzie Morganthal is an eighteen year old, Christian, Homeschool graduate. She loves writing, music, and most importantly Jesus. She resides in Pennsylvania where she keeps busy as a freelance author, worship leader, and creative arts director. She also loves going to concerts, and all things chocolate. While some people say she can be a little crazy, she always takes that as a compliment. She has been writing stories for eight years, and “Not Abandoned” is her first self-published novel.

Links/book links:

CreateSpace estore: http://www.createspace.com/5427955

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/dp/069243688X

Website: http://www.kenziebooks.weebly.com

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14073307

Blurb:

Two words….human trafficking.

Four different lives…are altered forever.

Haley, a police officer in training, is thrust right into the heart of an organized human trafficking ring when a family friend is mysteriously abducted. Once the problem hits even closer to home, Haley will stop at nothing to see justice prevail.

With no way out once trapped inside the trafficking ring, is there any hope for rescue? When trouble arises and Caryn’s life is compromised, will she be able to survive or will help come too late?

Strength is tested and trust is broken in this mystery of seemingly impossible rescue and God’s loving redemption. After hearing those words, human trafficking, these girls will never look at their lives the same way again… and neither will you.

Not Abandoned Excerpt:

Prologue

It was a prison like none other. With boarded windows and a tall fence, I’d almost forgotten what it looked like outside. The bars that caged me in were strong, but not as strong as the bars I’d put up around my heart. They could hurt me until I thought I was going to die…but they could never make me cry. Those bars around my heart made sure of that.

How long has it been now that I’ve been here? Too long for me to keep track. I was only fourteen when I was brought here. But for such a young age, I work long hours in this prison cell. Day and night. The few hours that I would get to rest and just be completely alone were almost filled with more torment than my working hours. Because it was in those hours of solidarity that memories would flash through my head. Memories of my life before this hell-like prison. Memories of days when I was young, free and innocent. And then they’ll be interrupted with a recent memory. My bright eyes turned dull and empty…my vibrant smile turned upside down…my olive colored skin turned bruised and dirty. Would I ever escape and become that carefree girl again? I’ve given up hope for that.

I slowly open my eyes and glance around at the other girls in this room. Girls just like me. We all come from different backgrounds and have different stories, but we’ve reluctantly resigned ourselves to the fact that we all have one thing in common. And that’s our bondage to this prison that we’ve been forced to call our home. I hadn’t meant for my life to turn out this way. Neither did any of the other girls that I live with. Our lives don’t always turn out the way we want though…but I’d rather die than continue living the way I’ve been forced to live.

There’s something else you must know about these prison bars. They don’t confine thieves and murderers, or law-breakers and criminals. No, not one of us has committed any sort of heinous crime. That’s the job of our captors. They are the criminals. Nevertheless, they are free and we are bound, forced into a life none would choose for themselves.

Welcome to life in a brothel.

Is there anyone who can save me?

Chapter One

“If I have to tell you to get down here one more time…”

Caryn cringed at the tone of annoyance in her mother’s voice. “I’m coming!” she called back quickly.

“That’s what you said ten minutes ago, Caryn!”

With an irritated sigh, Caryn dropped the ribbon she was trying to place in her hair and just allowed her golden curls to fall to her shoulders. She stood up and stared at herself in the mirror, her chocolate brown eyes scrutinizing every inch of the reflection.

“Sorry, Mom,” Caryn mumbled as she hurried down the stairs and into the kitchen.

“Let me see you,” Kathy Hampton instructed her daughter. As Caryn turned around so her mother could see her, Kathy got tears in her eyes. “You look beautiful, sweetheart,” she whispered, kissing her daughter’s forehead.

Caryn smiled and stepped forward to give her mother a hug. “Mom, I’m so nervous,” she whispered into the woman’s hair. Her tone was low and she sort of hoped that Kathy hadn’t heard her.

Kathy pulled back from their hug and took her daughter’s face between both her hands. “I was nervous my first day of high school too. But don’t worry. You are going to be just fine. Come home and tell me all about it, okay?”

Caryn nodded and readjusted her backpack on her shoulder.

Honk, honk!

“That would be your sister waiting on you.” Kathy blew the young teenager a kiss as she walked towards the door.

Caryn glanced back over her shoulder at her mom and waved. Despite her mother’s comforting words, she still had butterflies fluttering around in her stomach. I wish I didn’t have to do this.

“Hurry up, slow poke!” Avery called in a huff to her sister from the open window of her new Honda.

Caryn opened the passenger door and flung her backpack into the backseat before sliding in. She barely had her seatbelt secured before Avery was flying down the driveway and out onto the main road.

“Next time you’re totally taking the bus,” Avery grumbled, looking in her rearview mirror as she steered the car through traffic.

“You know Mom and Dad don’t want me to take the bus as long as you have your license and can drive the both of us,” Caryn reminded her, leaning her head back against the seat and closing her eyes.

Avery rolled her eyes and smacked her glossy lips together. The seventeen year old checked her reflection in the mirror quickly before turning her sky blue eyes back to the road and the traffic jam that they were stuck in.

Caryn slowly opened one eye to peer at her older sister. The two blondes looked a lot alike, but they were complete opposites in everything else. They used to be close when they were younger, but had drifted apart as they grew older. Caryn certainly would’ve rather taken the bus than put up with her sister this early in the morning, but her parents had strict rules about that. They were to only take the bus if necessary and they were to never walk to school alone.

Caryn felt her cell phone buzz in her pocket so she fished it out and opened the text message. It was from her oldest sister, Haley:

Good luck today! You’ll be fine :)

The message brought a smile to her face. She quickly closed her eyes and imagined Haley’s smiling face. Haley had beautiful auburn hair that really brought out her green eyes. She had a smile that could light up any town and those green eyes always seemed to sparkle. Caryn sighed deeply. She missed her twenty-one year old sister who was attending college somewhere out west. Caryn could never remember exactly which state her sister was in; she just knew that it was a long way from New York. Even though she missed Haley greatly, Caryn was proud of how well her sister was doing in school. The young college student was training to become a law enforcement officer. Ever since she was little she had wanted to major in criminal justice, so Caryn was happy that her older sister was following her dreams…even if it took her so far away.

“Hello?” Avery snapped her perfectly manicured fingers in front of her sister’s nose. “Earth to Caryn.”

Caryn rolled her eyes and pushed Avery’s hand away. “What?” she asked rudely.

Avery pointed out the window. “We’re here,” she replied, quickly exiting the vehicle. “But if you want to be late for class, that’s not my problem.”

Caryn groaned and slammed the car door closed behind her. After the dirty look she got from her sister, she didn’t even bother saying goodbye as she hurried in the opposite direction of Avery.

Caryn quickly pulled out her cell phone to type a message back to Haley before she walked inside.

Wish you were here. This is going to be a long day…

_____________________________

“What are you looking at?”

Haley whipped her head around to see a young man standing over her shoulder. “Oh hey, Jake, I didn’t even see you there,” she smiled up at him as she lifted up her cell phone, “I was texting my sister,” she explained, continuing down the college hallway towards her dorm room.

“Ah, you never told me you have a sister,” Jake noted, stepping in front of her and leaning his tall figure against the doorframe with a heart-melting grin.

“Well, you never asked,” Haley teased, reaching past him to unlock the door.

“How old is she?” Jake prodded.

“Fourteen,” Haley answered slowly, giving him a sideways glance.

“So does your family live far from here?” Jake asked curiously as Haley sorted through her mail on the kitchen counter just inside the dorm room.

“Boy, being nosy today, aren’t we?” Haley walked back over to the doorway and crossed her arms as she smiled and raised an eyebrow at the young man standing before her.

Jake shrugged. “I just want to get to know more about you, Haley,” he flashed that award-winning smile and added, “So how about we go out sometime?”

Haley laughed, “Still trying to get me to go on a date with you?” She pretended to punch his arm.

“I’ll think about it and text you later, okay?”

“Okay, but don’t make me wait too long,” Jake called over his shoulder as he disappeared down the hallway.

Haley rolled her eyes. She hadn’t known Jake very long; they had just met at the beginning of this semester. But even still he could make her heart race with just one word. He was such a nice guy, and she blushed at the thought that he seemed genuinely interested in her.

Haley shook her head. She couldn’t think about Jake right now. She was too busy with her studies and couldn’t possibly consider a relationship on top of all that. School would just have to come first.

“Was that Jake?” Anna, Haley’s roommate, asked curiously.

Haley nodded absentmindedly as she pretended to sort through the mail again.

“You need to give the poor guy a chance, girl. Get a social life,” Anna instructed her as if reading her previous thoughts.

Haley sighed. “I don’t have time for that.”

“Make time,” Anna commanded, “You’re in college now. You’re supposed to have fun and party in college. Once you graduate and go to work full time, then you won’t have time for anything. Have fun while you’re in school.”

Haley grinned at her friend. “Are those words of wisdom supposed to impress me?” she teased.

Anna nodded. “Oh yeah, I worked hard on that speech.”

Haley threw her head back and laughed. “Take your own advice, girl.” She grabbed a bag of potato chips and opened them, popping one into her mouth. “You haven’t gone on a date since last semester.”

Anna grinned. “I prefer to give the speech instead of taking the advice.”

Haley laughed again and pulled her cell phone out of her pocket to glance at the last text message her little sister had sent to her. She sighed and looked up to gaze out the window of her small dorm room. She wished she could be back in New York with her family. Colorado was so far away…the miles were too long.

Maybe by the middle of the semester the homesickness would ease down. But somehow Haley wasn’t so sure about that.

_____________________________

copyright 2015 MacKenzie Morganthal

All Kinds of Posts Going on This Week!

Just wanted to touch base this week, as it seems a regular plethora of posts are going up and I hope you can check them out!

On MONDAY, find me at Sleuths and Suspects, answering some fun questions from the lovely Author Amanda Holland about my mysteries.

Also on MONDAY, I’m visiting the illustrious, one-and-only Rel at Relz Reviews. Her interview questions really made me ponder! Hope you can check that out.

TUESDAY…I’m getting another year older. (grin) My daughter took some new author photos of me while my white hairs were actually colored…here are a few results…

AND the Simba The Lion King pic we took with our kitty…okay this is NOT a serious author pic:

And back to the schedule…

WEDNESDAY you can pop over to Clash of the Titles and VOTE for Trial by Twelve! I have been in this contest 2x before and I never win! I would love to have your vote that you’d like to read/have read Trial by Twelve. I cherish the comments readers have offered on my books there.

THURSDAY there’s nothing going on…but if you haven’t read my little flash fiction piece over on Author Voni Harris’ blog, I hope you can. I LOVE writing short fiction and she asked four authors to write a 500-word piece on a mysteriously woodsy photo. My take was a bit sad yet hopeful, if that makes sense.

FRIDAY I’m thrilled to welcome debut Author MacKenzie Morganthal to my blog and share an excerpt of her novel, Not Abandoned. MacKenzie has a heart for sharing about human trafficking and does so with this story.

And finally, thank you all for all your support as Trial by Twelve launched. I know I’ve said it before, but I will continue to thank you! I appreciate everyone who has read and is reading it. Have a great week, all!

-Heather

Giveaways, Discounts, and More! Celebrating the Release of Trial by Twelve!

Trial by Twelve is LIVE on Amazon for Kindle and in Softcover!

Whooo! So thrilled to announce that Trial by Twelve is now live on Amazon in both Kindle and softcover versions! If you pre-ordered, you should receive it directly to your Kindle today. If not, it’s only $2.99 to purchase OR you can read it free through Kindle Unlimited! The Amazon link is here. You can also find the softcover version on Barnes & Noble and Books a Million. And here’s a tweet to copy and share:

Just Released! #TrialbyTwelve: Free/#KindleUnlimited; $2.99/Kindle: http://amzn.to/1ynw3hP #Chrisfic

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Also, in celebration, Miranda Warning has been discounted to only 99 cents, today (May 20) through June 10th! Please share the tweets below to get the word out on these deals:

Only 99 Cents for Kindle! MIRANDA WARNING, #Appalachian #Mystery: http://amzn.to/1izVC1M #Chrisfic

A #Psychological #Mystery set in the #WV Mountains~#MIRANDAWARNING only 99 cents for Kindle! http://amzn.to/1izVC1M

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AND I’m offering a couple giveaways for you readers! All winners will be chosen on 6/3/2015 and all giveaways are for US residents only.

One is a Grand Prize Basket giveaway (below), which includes items related to Trial by Twelve:

GRAND PRIZE BASKET

GRAND PRIZE BASKET

This grand prize gift includes :

– Autographed softcover copy of Miranda Warning

– Autographed softcover copy of Trial by Twelve

– turquoise woven cloth/metal basket 

– Scottish Heather Soap (since Tess Spencer is Scotch-Irish)

– Fourth of July towel with button closure (since Nikki Jo decorated for the 4th in this book)

– hanging jute-material cloth star for the Fourth of July 

– 10 gold-pink flowered blank note cards/envelopes

– Bigelow Earl Grey tea (the kind Miranda Michaels loves)

***CLICK TO ENTER THE GRAND PRIZE GIVEAWAY HERE:***

http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/9f4d7a225/?

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The second giveaway is strictly books! All are unwritten in and in good condition. Here is the Book Lovers’ Prize:

Book Lover’s Prize

Book Lover’s Prize–7 Softcover Novels

Included in the Book Lover’s Prize is:

– Autographed Miranda Warning by Heather Day Gilbert

– Autographed Trial by Twelve by Heather Day Gilbert

– Elderberry Croft by Becky Doughty

– All for a Song by Allison Pittman

– Shattered by Dani Pettrey (pages a bit yellowed)

– Saving Yesterday by Jessica Keller (young adult fiction) (This is a first-edition cover on this book–Jessica is now using the author name Jess Evander on her updated covers)

– The Outcast by Jolina Petersheim

***CLICK TO ENTER THE BOOK LOVER’S PRIZE HERE:***

http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/9f4d7a226/?

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Also, there is a giveaway going on at The Christian Manifesto until 5/24 for four softcover copies (winner’s choice) of one of any of my novels (including God’s Daughter) and one Grand Prize winner there will receive all THREE softcovers (God’s Daughter, Miranda Warning, and Trial by Twelve)!

Giveaway at The Christian Manifesto for softcovers

***Enter The Christian Manifesto softcover drawing here!***

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Finally, I just want to thank you readers for all your encouragement as I write. I appreciate your reviews and everything you do to get the word out on my books. These giveaways are just a small way of saying thank you!

-Heather

Final Trial by Twelve Pinnable…Releasing May 20th!

Just wanted to share a final pinnable for Trial by Twelve, Book Two in A Murder in the Mountains Series. This is more like a banner, but I like this quote and wanted to share it. :)

Also, just a reminder that May 20th is official release day for Trial by Twelve (Kindle and softcover will be available that day on Amazon). You can Pre-Order that here, if you’d like. And I’m so blessed by my endorsements from such a talented group of suspense/mystery authors, which I will share below.

“A satisfying novel, where plot, characters and setting blend into a compelling read. Heather Day Gilbert knows how to keep readers turning pages. Tess is one of those rare-to-me characters I’d like to have as a real-life friend.”~Janet Sketchley, author of the Redemption’s Edge series

“Trial by Twelve confirms Tess Spencer, the Glock-toting mountain mama of Buckneck, West Virginia, as one of my favorite amateur sleuths and Heather Day Gilbert as a first-rate mystery writer. This second book in Gilbert’s Murder in the Mountains series ups the ante on the first: the stakes are higher, the tension runs deeper. Best of all, Gilbert kept me guessing until the end.”~Karin Kaufman, author of the Anna Denning mystery series

“Heather Gilbert brings a fresh new voice to the mystery genre. I love the spunky Tess Spencer and her small town values. The first two books of this series are filled with plenty of suspense and the kind of characters that keep me coming back for more.”~Ron Estrada, author of Now I Knew You

Tess Spencer loves her low-key job at the Crystal Mountain Spa, which allows her plenty of down-time with her one-year old daughter and lawyer husband, Thomas. But when a pool installation turns up eight skeletons in the spa’s back yard, Tess becomes entangled in a sleuthing job destined to go awry.

As the investigation gets underway, someone dumps a fresh body near the excavated burial site, confirming unspeakable fears. A serial killer has returned to Buckneck, West Virginia…a skilled hunter with a unique taste in prey.

When Tess agrees to help the cunning Detective Tucker gather clues from the inside, she discovers the posh spa hides more than dead bodies. Even as she sifts through layers of deceit, Tess realizes too late that the killer’s sights have zeroed in on her.

Unpredictable psychological mystery replete with memorable characters, Trial by Twelve is Book Two in A Murder in the Mountains series.

 

Winner of The Captive Imposter and Trial by Twelve Pinnable

First, I want to announce the winner of last week’s giveaway for Author Dawn Crandall’s Gilded Age novel, The Captive Imposter. Thank you all for entering and what an enthusiastic response! The winner is:

Bonni Jean Marley 

I have contacted you via email, Bonni Jean, and I know you will enjoy!

Also, I’m sharing another pinnable from Trial by Twelve today. I’m so excited as I get this book ready to share with you! Hope you can share and the pinnable should link back to the book on pre-order at Amazon here.

Interview, Excerpt & #Giveaway with Jocelyn Green, Author of Spy of Richmond

Author Jocelyn Green

I’ve been so blessed to get to know talented historical author Jocelyn Green. If you’re looking for a well-researched, gripping Civil War series, look no farther than her Heroines Behind the Lines series. I am reading her latest, Spy of Richmond, and I’ve already learned so much!

Today I ask Jocelyn some questions AND as a bonus, you can read an excerpt of Spy of Richmond below. Also, her books are on sale right now, so do check them out and support this gifted author! Finally, Jocelyn is offering one commenter his/her choice of one of the books in this series in e-book or softcover format! So comment for a chance to win! I will announce the winner next Thursday!

Interview with Author Jocelyn Green

HG: I’ve recently started reading Spy of Richmond but need to get caught up on your entire Heroines Behind the Lines series. I can already tell a) you are a master wordsmith and b) you have done immense research into this time period. Since this is the last in series, can you tell us if you’re working on another Civil War series?

JG: Thank you so much, Heather! I do have another Civil War series brewing in my imagination, but another historical series might come first. I stumbled across a slice of our history from 150 years before the Civil War that has really captured my attention. I’m in the research stage right now, so we’ll see where that takes me. But historicals are most certainly in my future, as far as I can tell!

HG: I know you are also involved in helping military wives and have written some books on this topic. Can you tell us more about why you are so passionate about this? I’ve often thought it must be so hard to have a deployed spouse.

JG: When I was a military wife myself, I craved spiritual encouragement that spoke to my unique challenges and situations. I loved the women’s Bible studies I was participating in, but really felt the need for something even more relevant for military wives. That’s when I first became inspired to write the books I wanted to read, such as my first book, Faith Deployed: Daily Encouragement for Military Wives. My husband is no longer active duty, but I’ve never forgotten what it’s like to be the home front spouse. The Lord has really opened doors for me to continue writing to this audience. In fact, six of my ten books are nonfiction for military. The cherry on top was that I was able to co-author The 5 Love Languages Military Edition with Dr. Gary Chapman. That was an amazing privilege.

HG: I also find you have a nice balance of showing the factual horrors of the Civil War without getting grotesque in your details. Is this a difficult balance? I know it must be difficult to write about many of these things that happened at that time.

JG: Ah, yes! That is a difficult balance, but I think I’ve gotten better at it throughout the series. My editors needed to rein me in more in my first two books. The research that I do is ten times more graphic than anything I print in my novels, so when I was starting out, what I thought was fairly tame was still too much detail for my editors. And they were right. My goal is to give the reader a realistic sense of what it was really like without overwhelming them with it. I do leave some to their imaginations. J But I also feel strongly that we need to understand that war wasn’t and isn’t glorious, adventurous and romantic. It’s dirty, ugly, and terrifying. And yet, with God, it’s possible to not just endure those hardships, but to triumph over them. The hope we have in Jesus shines all the brighter when it is set against the dark backdrop of war.

HG: I totally agree! Finally, because you are such an outstanding writer, could you share how you developed your writing skills? Do you read books, have great editors, critique partners or groups, etc? I’d love to know your secrets! :)

JG: Well, I have a B.A. in English writing, and I was a journalist for years before I started writing books. Journalism was an excellent background for me because it taught me to fine-tune my observation skills and to ask the right questions to get at the most interesting stuff. Before I write my novels, I interview each of my characters to get at the heart of their motivations, fears, conflicts, etc. But beyond that, I read plenty of books on the novel-writing craft, and I read good books. Lots of good books, in a variety of genres. When I notice how an author does something, I take notes in a special notebook I have with me when I read.

I do have a great editor, who points out when a character is acting inconsistently, or when I use a word that hadn’t been invented yet by the time my story took place. I’m almost embarrassed to admit I do not have a critique partner or writing group! However, for my first novel, I did hire a book coach who went over my manuscript and gave me general feedback, not a line edit. And I did hire My Book Therapy to help me brainstorm my second and third novels.

With Spy of Richmond, I was fairly confident about the book except for something I did in the epilogue. My editor was on the fence about it, too, so I sent the epilogue to six readers and asked their honest opinion. Thankfully, they were very honest, which helped me fix up the epilogue so it wasn’t corny.

Overall, I’d say the best thing I do is read. I can’t be a good writer if I’m not a good reader.

HG: So true. I agree that in the end, we are writing for our readers, and we need to be sensitive to what their expectations are for our books. Jocelyn, it was a joy to have you over today and I have “mad” respect for your writing skills! :)

***Readers, enjoy the excerpt of Spy of Richmond below…I’ll bet you get hooked just like I did!***

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Spy of Richmond Excerpt:

Prologue

Outside Savannah, Georgia

Thursday, March 3, 1859

It is madness.

Rain hissing to the earth in torrents behind her, Sophie Kent shivered and craned her neck toward the platform, half expecting lightning to strike the Ten Broeck Race Course any moment. It was the second day of the auction selling more than 420 slaves, and the second day of boiling, weeping storms. Gripping her pencil and papers beneath the folds of her wrap, Sophie trained her eyes and ears to the drama around her.

Humiliation tightened her throat as she watched a woman on the stage made to jump, bend, twist, and turn. Her smooth complexion was the color of tea with milk and honey, a bright contrast to the cocoa and coffee bean shades of the others. Her almond-shaped eyes were cast downward as a man tugged off her shawl and head rag before pinching her arm and pulling her lips apart to display her teeth. Modesty told Sophie to avert her gaze from the indignity, but she resisted. For years, she’d been blind to the horrors of slavery. This time, she would not look away. Neither will I stay silent. Not any longer.

The man spun the woman around and made some remark into her ear; she let him expose her back to the audience. “No scars from the disciplining lash—no trace of rebellion in her spirit,” he said. The woman covered herself once more.

As the bidding began from within the two hundred buyers in attendance, Sophie withdrew her auction catalogue from her wrap, her pencil poised to take notes. Humidity curled the pages, and the list of souls for sale drooped in her gloved hand.

116—Rina, 18; rice, prime woman.

117—Lena, 1.

118—Pompey, 31; rice—lame in one foot.

256—Daphne, 32; house servant.

257—Judy, aged; rice hand.

342—Cassander, 35; cotton hand—has fits.

Murmuring voices pricked Sophie’s ears. “Well, Smith, I saw you inspecting this chattel yesterday. Going to buy her?”

“I think not. No. 256 looks healthy enough, and can do a heap of work. But it’s been years since she had any children, she told me. Done breeding, I reckon.”

Heat scorched Sophie’s cheeks as she furiously recorded the exchange in the margin of her catalogue. Do they not hear themselves? Do they not understand these are people not livestock?

In front of her, rough-looking young men with knives in their belts and tobacco in their cheeks spoke of managing refractory slaves. Joining them were white-haired gentlemen with silk cloths at their necks. These advocates of severe whipping and branding were silenced by a booming voice: “I’m a driver, myself, and I’ve had some experience, and I ought to know. You can manage ordinary slaves by lickin’’em, and givin’’em a taste of the hot iron once in a while when they’re extra ugly; but if a brute really sets himself up against me, I can’t never have any patience with him. I just get my pistol and shoot him right down, and that’s the best way.”

Sophie looked up to see more than one man nod in agreement.

“Sold!” The gavel struck, and Daphne, chattel no. 256, twisted her bright yellow head scarf back into place over her hair. Her face settled into tense lines as a family of four replaced her on the platform.

Thunder snarled, and wind wailed through the pines surrounding the race course. The crowd shifted closer to the platform, away from the spitting rain. All except for Sophie, who remained rooted in place.

“Pardon me, Miss.” A man in gold-rimmed spectacles tipped his broad-brimmed hat to her. “Tedious doings, eh?”

“I can think of another word for it,” she muttered without looking up from her catalogue, waiting for him to pass.

He didn’t. “Sophie?”

She turned in time to see lightning’s flash brighten his twinkling brown eyes. “I thought you were in—” New York.

But the sharpness of his gaze penetrated her surprise. Harrison Caldwell was here for the same reason she was, which was why he wore spectacles he didn’t need, and a mustache too full to be his own

“Shhhhh,” he said beneath his breath. “You can do this. Write it.” He bent, kissed her hand, and whispered, “Four years to go,” then stood tall and stepped away from her, his eyes focused on the platform.

Heart hammering, Sophie clenched her papers, careless of the ink and lead smearing her gloves. Aware that he would disappear into the crowd any moment, she stared at his broad back while she could. Memories kindled until her face burned.

A hand squeezed her shoulder, and she nearly jumped out of her kid leather boots.

“Daddy!” Sophie gasped. “You startled me.”

“Our business is finished here.” Head and shoulders above Sophie, Preston Kent’s silver-striped suit gleamed with the light of the storm, as if he were Zeus himself.

“Do you mean—”

“We’ve secured a new maid for your mother. Rachel’s been doing her best since Matilda died, but she’s no maidservant. I don’t blame her, of course, a housekeeper isn’t trained to wait on the personal needs of a mistress the way your mother has been accustomed. We simply must have a proper replacement. A marvel I was able to get this chattel no. 256—calls herself Daphne—alone, with most slaves being sold in families.”

“Has she none, then?”

“Not anymore.” Mr. Kent puffed on his cigar, the wind stripping the sweet blue-grey smoke from his lips. “No. 257—apparently, her aged mother—died of consumption in the sheds just after the catalogues were printed. Fortuitous, yes?” She looked away. “Not for Daphne,” she murmured. “Not for her mother.”

“It’s good business. For instance, why buy two horses—especially when one of them is infirm—for a one-horse carriage?”

“ ‘No. 257’? Her name was Judy, Daddy, and she most certainly was n-not a h-horse!”

Preston’s gaze pounced around them, until landing on Harrison, who had never strayed far from Sophie, and watched her still. Lips forged into an iron smile, Mr. Kent caught his daughter’s wrist and cut his voice low as he led her away from the crowd. “You’re making a scene. Don’t embarrass me.” His blue eyes slanted into glittering slits. “Is this what I can expect from you from now on? Blatant, public defiance?”

“I’m capable of walking without you dragging me.” Sophie pulled away from him, but he only twisted harder. “You’re treating me like a child. I’m nineteen years old, Da—”

“So was—” He dropped the thought like hot coal, but Sophie could read the unspoken. So was Susan.

“I’m nothing like her.” Sophie was Daddy’s little girl from the first.

Mr. Kent jerked her farther from any listening ears, wrenching her wrist harder, until her catalogue dropped from her weakened clutch. As her father scooped it up, the draft of the story she’d been working on last night peeked from between the pages. She reached for it, but he turned her notes toward the watery light of the rain-drenched sky.

“What’s this now?” He squinted at her script as ash dripped from his waiting cigar. “A story? You were writing a story about the auction?”  “A newspaper article about the largest slave auction in history. I—I want to be a writer. Like you were, before you became editor.”

The lines around his eyes softened as looked down at her. “I still write, you know. But to be published—that is not a ladylike enterprise. There’s a reason all the writers for the Richmond Enquirer are men.”

“Not all.” The words slipped from her lips like oil through her fingers. “Daddy.” Her smile trembled as she gathered courage. “I have a surprise for you. Those columns you’ve been printing these last several months from a writer who goes by the name John Thornton . . .”

“Yes? With his anti-secession views it’s no wonder he uses a pseudonym. Still, his arguments are sound and well-stated. What is it? You don’t mean to say you want to write by a pseudonym, too?”

Sophie shook her head. “I’ve already done it.” For a moment, she wondered if he’d heard her. “I’m John Thornton. You’ve already been printing me. Don’t you see? You’ve already decided my words are as good as any man’s.”

Mr. Kent looked through her draft again. Winced. “What is the meaning of this?” He jabbed his finger at her words, a storm gathering in his eyes.

“I—I told you. I want to be a writer, like you.”

But he was already stalking from beneath the shelter of the Grand Stand and into the driving rain. Sophie followed him, shoulders hunched, her boots sinking in mud.

“No.” His voice matched the rolling thunder as he threw his cigar down and ground it beneath his heel. “Not like me. Like Harriet Beecher Stowe.”

Sophie’s spine straightened at the name of her secret heroine. With a single book, the woman had influenced millions. Uncle Tom’s Cabin infuriated her father. “She wasn’t wrong.”

“And I suppose I am?”

Raw, wet wind swirled in the silence between them, knifing through Sophie’s wrap as though it were made of lace.

“I never should have sent you to that boarding school in Philadelphia.”

“Mother’s old school—”

He held up his hand to stop her, as if he couldn’t bear to be reminded that Eleanor Kent, the woman he’d married after his first wife died, was born and raised in Philadelphia and not in his native, beloved Virginia. “Yes, your mother. I blame myself for bowing to her demand that she nurse and raise you herself. You should have had a mammy from infancy, like every other child in the civilized South. You should have learned from the cradle that white people command the lives of colored. These are the proper roles for our races, Sophia Virginia! It is madness to suppose otherwise.”

He paused for breath, and  looked at her as though searching for the daughter he wanted to see. If he only knew their Richmond home had served as a stop along the Underground Railroad right beneath his nose. . .“Just how many abolitionist rallies did you attend for you to write such fanatical nonsense about a simple slave auction?”

She set her jaw and lifted her chin as the voices of Frederick Douglass, Sojourner Truth, and the Grimke sisters washed over her.

“It ends now.” Mr. Kent shredded her article draft, as well as the auction catalogue in which she had taken notes. “The writing must stop.”

“Oh no, don’t!” Sophie lunged for the remnants, her bonnet slipping off her head and bouncing against her back. Rain sprayed her face as mud puddles swallowed the crumpled remains of her story.

“Have I lost you, too?” Mr. Kent’s face twisted. “After I’ve given you everything a father could possibly lavish on his child—you would turn your back on me now?” He lurched one step toward her, then grimaced, his fist to his chest.

“A disagreement is not a personal betrayal.” Blonde ringlets, teased free by the wind, clung to her face and neck.

“It is to me. This time.” Blanching, he dropped to his knees in the spongy earth.

“Not your heart!” Not again! Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, Sophie knelt in the mud beside him. “I never wanted to hurt you!”

“Some things have been too painful—for me to speak of—” He collapsed onto his heels and leaned into her for support. Terror seized her breath.

Her father’s eyes closed. “But you need to know this.”

Still mute with fear, Sophie nodded, barely noticing the water dripping down the back of her neck, or the cold seeping into her from the ground up as she leaned in close to hear him.

“My parents didn’t just die years ago as I told you . . . After I moved to Richmond to be a reporter, they—and my younger sisters—were killed in their beds. By slaves. Sophie’s stomach roiled.

Nat Turner’s Rebellion. Did you learn about that—in Philadelphia? The slave said he’d been called—by God—to murder white people. So he—and dozens of other slaves—killed sixty good citizens in Southampton County. My—entire—family. I was twenty-two—when I lost them all. When you choose—to crusade for the slave—you reject me.”

“No, Daddy, I—”

His groan stopped her. “You’re all I have left.”

Sophie wanted to deny it, to say he had Mother still. But he didn’t, not really, and they both knew it.

“The one thing I want—and the one thing it seems I cannot have—is family. Truly,” her father whispered. “You are breaking my heart.” His lips pulled back as he clutched at his lapels once more.

“Let me go for a doctor.”

“Say it first. Say you’ll not betray me.”

All the speeches she’d rehearsed retreated behind her fear for her father. She’d planned on telling him she would always love him, but she was a grown woman now with a fine education, and that her conscience demanded she follow her own convictions. She was going to be strong.

Instead, she leaned over and planted a kiss on her father’s clammy brow. “I’ll always be your girl.”

~copyright Jocelyn Green 2015~

Spy of Richmond Blurb:

Click for Amazon link for Spy of Richmond

Trust none. Risk all.

Richmond, Virginia, 1863. Compelled to atone for the sins of her slaveholding father, Union loyalist Sophie Kent risks everything to help end the war from within the Confederate capital and abolish slavery forever. But she can’t do it alone.

Former slave Bella Jamison sacrifices her freedom to come to Richmond, where her Union soldier husband is imprisoned, and her twin sister still lives in bondage in Sophie’s home. Though it may cost them their lives, they work with Sophie to betray Rebel authorities. Harrison Caldwell, a Northern freelance journalist who escorts Bella to Richmond, infiltrates the War Department as a clerk-but is conscripted to defend the city’s fortifications.

As Sophie’s spy network grows, she walks a tightrope of deception, using her father’s position as newspaper editor and a suitor’s position in the ordnance bureau for the advantage of the Union. One misstep could land her in prison, or worse. Suspicion hounds her until she barely even trusts herself. When her espionage endangers the people she loves, she makes a life-and-death gamble.

Will she follow her convictions even though it costs her everything-and everyone-she holds dear?

***Readers, comment below with which novel you feel you would be most interested in and tell us why. The winner will have his/her choice of e-book or softcover of your chosen novel!***

Excerpt and #Giveaway with Dawn Crandall, Author of The Everstone Chronicles

The Everstone Chronicles by Dawn Crandall

Today I’m happy to re-introduce you to author Dawn Crandall. I interviewed Dawn here last year, and we discussed everything from her decision to write first-person POV novels to her setting them in the Gilded Age.

Dawn is offering an e-book #giveaway of the anxiously-awaited third novel in her Everstone Chronicles series today, The Captive Imposter. Comment at the end of this post and tell me why you want to read this book, for a chance to win!

Also, the first book in the series, The Hesitant Heiress, is only $3.82 right now for Amazon Kindle here.

And now, more about Dawn and her books~

THE EVERSTONE CHRONICLES

by Dawn Crandall

The Blog Tour for The Captive Imposter starts this week! Drop by author Dawn Crandall’s blog or Facebook page to check out all the posts and giveaways going on throughout the next few weeks! There will be lots of prizes and giveaways!

Dawn Crandall’s Blog – www.dawncrandall.blogspot.com/2015/03/blog-tour-schedule-for-captive-imposter_25.html

Dawn’s FaceBook Author Page – www.facebook.com/DawnCrandallWritesFirst

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The Hesitant Heiress

*** 2015 Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence WINNER (Romance Writers of America)

 After being unjustly expelled from the Boston Conservatory of Music, Amaryllis Brigham sees her dreams of founding a music academy disappearing before her very eyes. Now the only way to achieve her goal comes with high stakes for someone set on avoiding men as much as possible: marry within the year to inherit her grandmother’s fortune. Amaryllis reluctantly takes part in her aunt’s society, intent on getting to the west coast on her own… and without a husband.

Despite her own misgivings, she soon finds herself falling in love with the most unlikely of men, Nathan Everstone, whose father not only had a part in her expulsion, but whose ominous presence has haunted her dreams for a decade since her mother’s tragic death. Nathan turns out to be much more than he seems and everything she never knew she wanted. But just as everything Amaryllis has recently hoped for comes to fruition, it all falls apart when she finds that the real culprit who has been managing her life isn’t who she thought at all.

Add to GoodReads – www.goodreads.com/book/show/21490837-the-hesitant-heiress

Amazon – www.amazon.com/Hesitant-Heiress-The-Everstone-Chronicles-ebook/dp/B00M4LQ81I

Barnes & Noble – www.barnesandnoble.com/w/hesitant-heiress-dawn-crandall/1120023117?ean=9781629112299

Christian Book Distributors – www.christianbook.com/the-hesitant-heiress-ebook/dawn-crandall/9781629112299/pd/67768EB

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The Bound Heart

One accidental kiss from Lawry Hampton. That was all it took to throw Meredyth Summercourt’s world upside-down. Determined to marry the ever-elusive Vance Everstone, she simply doesn’t have the time or the desire to fall for her friend Lawry Hampton. However, with Vance out of the country and Lawry constantly at her side, Meredyth can’t help but wonder if what’s holding her to Vance is nothing more than a desire to redeem herself from their unfortunate past.

When Vance comes home to stake his claim on Meredyth, will she be strong enough to break free from the tangled web she’s convinced she deserves? Or will she find the strength to accept that God’s plan for her life could include redemption… and quite possibly the love of her best-friend?

Add to GoodReads – www.goodreads.com/book/show/21490844-the-bound-heart

Amazon – http://www.amazon.com/Bound-Heart-Everstone-Chronicles-Book-ebook/dp/B00P2YEFSC

Barnes & Noble – www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-bound-heart-dawn-crandall/1120677847?ean=9781629112305

Christian Book Distributors – www.christianbook.com/bound-heart-the-ebook/dawn-crandall/9781629112305/pd/73489EB?event=ESRCN

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The Captive Imposter

Sent away for protection, hotel heiress Estella Everstone finds herself living undercover as a lady’s companion named Elle Stoneburner at one of her father’s opulent hotels in the mountains of Maine—the one she’d always loved best and always hoped to own one day, Everston. The one thing she doesn’t like about the situation is that her ex-fiancé is in the area and is set on marrying someone else. Reeling from her feelings of being unwanted and unworthy, Estella reluctantly forms a friendship with the gruff manager of Everston, Dexter Blakeley, who seems to have something against wealthy young socialites with too much money, although they are just the kind of people Everston caters to.

When Estella finds herself in need of help, Dexter comes to the rescue with an offer she can’t refuse. She sees no other choice aside from going back home to her family and accepts the position as companion to his sister. Throughout her interactions with Dexter, she can’t deny the pull that’s evidenced between them every time he comes near. Estella realizes that while she’s been hiding behind a false name and identity, she’s never been freer to be herself than when she’s with Dexter Blakeley. But will he still love her when he finds out she’s Estella Everstone? She’s not entirely sure.

Add to GoodReads – www.goodreads.com/book/show/21490845-the-captive-imposter

Amazon – http://www.amazon.com/Captive-Imposter-Everstone-Chronicles-Book-ebook/dp/B00VKLN3JS

Barnes & Noble – www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-bound-heart-dawn-crandall/1120677847?ean=9781629112305

Christian Book Distributors – www.christianbook.com/bound-heart-the-ebook/dawn-crandall/9781629112305/pd/73489EB?event=ESRCN

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

About Dawn Crandall

Author Dawn Crandall

A graduate of Taylor University with a degree in Christian Education, and a former bookseller at Barnes & Noble, Dawn Crandall didn’t begin writing until her husband found out about her long-buried dream of writing a book. Without a doubt about someday becoming traditionally published, he encouraged her to quit her job in 2010 in order to focus on writing her debut novel, The Hesitant Heiress. It didn’t take her long to realize that writing books was what she was made to do. Dawn is represented by Joyce Hart of Hartline Literary.

Apart from writing books, Dawn is also a first-time mom to a precious little boy (born March 2014) and also serves with her husband in a pre-marriage mentor program at their local church in Northeast Indiana.

Dawn is a member of Romance Writers of America, American Christian Fiction Writers, secretary for the Indiana ACFW Chapter (Hoosier Ink), and associate member of the Great Lakes ACFW Chapter.

The Everstone Chronicles is Dawn’s first series with Whitaker House. All three books composing the series were semifinalists in ACFW’s prestigious Genesis Writing Contest, the third book going on to become a finalist in 2013.

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The Captive Imposter Excerpt:

THE CAPTIVE IMPOSTER

BY DAWN CRANDALL

CHAPTER ONE

EVERSTON

“This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,

bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight….”

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Evangeline

 

 

Sunday, September 6, 1891

Portland, Maine

 

“Everston?” My voice cracked. It sounded very unladylike, which, I supposed, was allowable, considering the situation.

Mrs. Macy and Mrs. Granton both turned to stare at me.

I suppose it was rather odd to them that I’d spoken. I hadn’t said much in the three months they’d known me. It was generally my way, but the mention of Everston had sliced right through my otherwise resolved discreetness.

“Just think, being surrounded by all those green mountains, all that fresh air…. I think Mother will enjoy the cooler weather there. Don’t you, Miss Stoneburner?” Mrs. Macy asked.

As if she valued my opinion.

She didn’t, of course, so I remained silent. I was just the companion she’d hired for her elderly, recently widowed mother, Mrs. Myrtle Granton.

I was only Elle Stoneburner now.

What a shock it would be to Mrs. Macy if I revealed the truth. If only I could tell her that, more than being my reference, the formidable Bram Everstone was also my father, and that Everston—where she proposed sending us—one of his opulent mountain hotels.

I hadn’t been to that particular hotel in thirteen years—ever since the summer before my mother had died. It wasn’t that I thought anyone there might recognize me as Estella Everstone, for I’d been only eight at the time. No, the only person there who might recognize me was the last person on earth I ever wanted to see again.

Jay.

Moments later, Mrs. Macy rose from her chair and looked down at me. “Then it’s settled. You’ll leave tomorrow.”

I took in this information as silently as I normally would have, though what I really desired to do was argue that there were plenty of other, wonderfully situated hotels in the Appalachian Mountain region of central Maine that would suffice.

Please, God—anywhere but Everston.

Mrs. Macy walked toward the door to the hall, leaving her mother and me seated upon the sofa. She turned to add, “Miss Stoneburner, you don’t have much to pack. But do help Mother, will you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I never hated two words more than those! Never in my life had so much been asked of me with nothing given in return. It wore at my reserves every hour of the day. I didn’t know how I would survive the remainder of the summer.

But I really didn’t have a choice.

“Cheer up, young lass.” Mrs. Granton smiled with a sparkle in her eye. “Don’t you know what kinds of adventures await? We will likely find you a fine young husband while we’re there. I’m thinking you would much prefer the position of wife over companion to someone with one foot in the grave.”

“No, Mrs. Granton. You’re wonderful, but I—”

“Wouldn’t you like a husband?”

Jay’s chocolate brown eyes came to mind, as did his warm smile. I shook my head as if to dispel the image. “A husband is the last thing I’m concerned about finding at the moment, Mrs. Granton.”

Finding a way to trust my heart again…that would have to come first.

~~~

Monday, September 7, 1891

Central Maine

“Whoa! Slow down!”

The jostling stagecoach came to a sudden halt.

Tensing, I grabbed the leather handle beside me, trying in vain not to bump against the strangers sitting on the center bench in front of me.

“Mr. Blakeley!” the coachman yelled from his seat. “Your horse is lame? You need a ride?”

Crammed next to the back westward-facing window, I could see only a dog lumbering about. He had wiry gray fur and was absolutely the largest hound I’d ever laid eyes on.

The stagecoach was already packed to capacity; I didn’t know how the coachman expected this Mr. Blakeley to fit. Perhaps there was an available seat on top, but I didn’t think so. The route from Severville to Laurelton must have been a popular one, for so many people to cling to the coach for the long, bumpy ride. Had I known it would be so crowded and, for lack of a better word, pungent, I would have been more than happy to wait at the train depot for the stagecoach to come back around later that night.

“There’s room for you and Wulfric inside,” the coachman boomed from his seat. “I’m sure of it. And we’re most of the ways to Laurelton, where some of the bodies’ll be gettin’ off.”

How wonderful that the coachman considered us mere “bodies” to be lugged across the countryside.

“And we can take it slow for your Knightley—we’ll rig ’im to the back.”

Mr. Blakeley walked around the stagecoach to stand next to my window, his dog with the very fitting name beside him. Although the fading light of day was giving over to twilight, I could see him quite clearly, especially as I was seated nearest the door, pushed against the glass. I could do nothing but stare.

He wasn’t extremely tall, but he carried himself with an air of confidence that fairly radiated off of him. He cut a rather striking figure, dressed in a white shirt with his sleeves rolled up, a black vest, and trousers. He carried his jacket over his arm and his hat in his hand as he neared the coach door. He was only inches from me, on the other side of the glass, as he whispered something to the coachman. I studied him as he continued the intense conversation in low, indefinable tones.

His chiseled, almost statuesque, face consisted of such sharp, drastic angles. Even his sideburns added to the harshness. He looked serious with his dark brows drawn low over his eyes. Those eyes were the worst offenders of all. Dark, hazel, and brooding, they seemed to cut into everything and everyone he turned his gaze upon.

How severe he looked.

And how wonderful it would be to sketch those eyes!

I couldn’t turn away, though my cheeks burned with embarrassment at such a thought. Hiding was impossible.

He caught sight of me through the window, and with the tiniest parting of his lips, he drew my attention even further with a glimpse at his straight teeth. The sight was quite unexpected. He didn’t strike me as the type who smiled much.

At the appearance of the newcomer, one of the young men who’d been crowded into the stagecoach, and who clearly had not been paying attention, suddenly opened the door and climbed out. “Mr. Blakeley! Take my spot. I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

Mr. Blakeley didn’t argue but waited for everyone else in the stagecoach to shuffle about so he could take the seat directly across from me. His giant dog occupied a significant amount of precious space on the floor at his feet.

As soon as he and his dog were situated, we were off again, only at a much slower pace than before.

A small, rather dirty boy sat on the bench in the middle of the stagecoach directly between the stranger and me, his small stature giving me another good look at the man, if I so desired to take one. The day’s last light streamed in through the windows, blazing against his swarthy complexion. But I didn’t wish to stare more than I already had. I didn’t want him to think I desired his attention.

I gazed at the still-setting sun. Surely, he knew I’d been forced into the position—staring out the window—and that it had had nothing to do with his presence.

“I think we’ve found you an admirer already, Elle,” Mrs. Granton breathed in my ear.

Glancing over the little boy’s head, just for a moment, Mr. Blakeley, indeed, was watching me, though not smiling. I turned back to the window.

I shouldn’t have been surprised to find him staring. Anyone who took a closer look at me—no matter that I wore a very plain brown travel suit—surely, would be able to tell I was from a different class than everyone else in that stagecoach. Even Mrs. Granton, who was likely the wealthiest person in the vehicle, was not from my family’s class of society.

Later, when we stopped in Laurelton, almost everyone spilled out of the stagecoach, leaving only Mrs. Granton, the gentleman, his dog, and myself. Finally, I could breathe again. An awkward silence permeated the coach as we waited for any passengers who might be boarding. Sometimes, being a companion had its uses. At least I wasn’t expected to make conversation. No, I was free to focus my energy on not looking at the man across from me.

Just then the coachman appeared at the door. “You takin’ Knightley to the liv’ry, or we makin’ him walk the long haul?”

The gentleman nearly leaped from his seat and exited through the open door, leaving his wadded coat and his hat on the bench.

“Wulf, stay,” he commanded his dog with a rough, authoritative voice. The huge beast sat back on his haunches and obeyed before his master had even closed the door.

The coachman returned to his high, creaky seat upon the stage, and we waited for the gentleman to return. It was almost ten minutes later when the stranger came back and reclaimed his seat directly opposite me. The dog stood for a moment—he must have been at least four feet tall when he did so—then hunched down against the bench with his muzzle resting on his master’s left knee.

Dusk had fallen, leaving only a sliver of light streaking through the purple clouds. I hoped we would travel on in silence. I wasn’t sure how much farther we had to go to reach Everston—it had been so long since I’d been there—but I would have much preferred to feign sleep than to let my gaze continually stray to the enigmatic man seated across from us.

After a few minutes of travel, Mrs. Granton nodded to the gentleman and then turned to me. “Elle, I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Dexter Blakeley, the manager of Everston—”

“Is that so?” I couldn’t help but be shocked. So, this man held the title of manager…of my hotel.

“And one of the most sought-after bachelors in Piscataquis County, I’m to believe,” Mrs. Granton said, as if I were meeting a prince. “Mr. Blakeley, this is my companion, Miss Elle Stoneburner.”

“It’s good to meet you, Miss Stoneburner.” He nodded curtly, ignoring Mrs. Granton’s comment about being so sought after. I really couldn’t see why he would be; he seemed to have the demeanor of a wild boar.

“Likewise,” I finally added, nodding back.

His only response to me was silence as he reached down to massage his dog’s ears. Obviously, he appreciated having been dragged into the conversation as much as I did.

“It’s so good to see you again,” Mrs. Granton continued. “What has it been—three years? four?—since—”

“Four, I believe,” he answered tersely. “Is Mr. Granton to join you soon?”

“Unfortunately, I lost my Mr. Granton earlier this year. However, I have Miss Stoneburner now—the most darling companion ever,” Mrs. Granton persisted somewhat sadly. “Her last position was companion to Bram Everstone’s elderly relative, Mrs. Miriam Bancroft, before she became ill early last winter.”

Mr. Blakeley arched an eyebrow, as if not sure what to make of me. “I thought the youngest of the Everstone children had been companion to the aunt.”

My pulse staggered. How well did this man know my family?

“Was Estella Everstone in residence while you were there?” Mrs. Granton asked.

“Yes. She lived with her great-aunt, as well…at least until her aunt became ill,” I stated truthfully. “Estella was usually very busy socializing and such.”

“I’d always gathered—from her brothers—that she was rather quiet, not very social, and usually wanted to stay out of sight,” Mr. Blakeley put in.

I could feel his gaze on me, even in the dimming light of dusk.

“But I suppose, since Estella Everstone is worth four million,” he continued severely, “she can very well do whatever she wants with her time.”

To hear such contempt concerning my financial worth—especially from the shrewd Mr. Blakeley—was rather disconcerting. Was that how most people viewed me—as a spoiled heiress who cared for nothing but her substantial inheritance and for living out her days being pampered and waited upon?

He leaned back against the leather seat and crossed his arms over his chest. “She’s actually the only member of the Everstone family I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting, at least as an adult. So, really, whatever I might say about her doesn’t have much merit.”

My stomach twisted. He’d met me as a child? When? Why did I not remember a Dexter Blakeley? Would he have been the same age as my brother Nathan? I wondered if he had been at Everston one of the summers we’d spent there. Would he recognize me when he saw me in the light?

“Estella is such a beautiful name, don’t you agree?” Mrs. Granton placed a hand at my elbow. Could she tell I wasn’t comfortable with this particular topic of conversation? It made me wonder how much of the truth my father had told her. She was a longtime acquaintance of his, but I was fairly certain she did not know my true identity.

“I heard her mother decided upon the name after reading Dickens’ Great Expectations,” she continued. “Though, the young lady she was named after was a cat of a girl, leading poor Pip on for all those years. I never could tell if Estella Havisham loved him and simply wouldn’t allow herself to have him, or if she was just as coldhearted as the elder Miss Havisham. What did you think of the two endings Dickens wrote, Elle? Do you think Pip took her back?”

I’d read the book once, and had a very firm opinion about the antagonist, which I couldn’t help but share: “I think, by the end of the story, Pip finally understood Estella, even if he hadn’t throughout all those pages that detailed his falling in love with her. And I do believe he took her back. What else could he have done?”

“Well, I’m sure I don’t know. What do you think, Mr. Blakeley?” Mrs. Granton asked.

“I agree with Miss Stoneburner.” His manners were so abrupt, so stilted—as if participating in a conversation about a novel grated his nerves. But then he added, “I believe the young lady’s heart had been so manipulated over the years, it required someone like Pip, and his delusional love for her, to make her see what she’d become—to make her realize that everything she’d done with her life up to that point was utterly meaningless and self-destructive.”

Although his words were touching, and a bit surprising, I could think only of my own longtime, delusional love for Jay and how it had tragically eaten up the last five years of my life. Was that how Pip had felt? Maybe Pip hadn’t taken Estella Havisham back, after all.

“I had no idea you were such a lover of novels, Mr. Blakeley,” Mrs. Granton remarked.

He stroked the scruff of his dog’s neck. “I’m not. Dickens is a favorite of my sister’s. I don’t know how many times she’s made us sit and listen to her read that particular book over the years. She even named her horse Pip.”

It sounded to me as if my employer and this Miss Blakeley would have been a very fine match, for reading aloud was about all that Mrs. Granton required of me as her companion.

“My daughter, Mrs. Caroline Macy”—Mrs. Granton glanced my way for a moment—“planned to name her daughter Estella, but then she decided on Ursula. Miss Everstone was born earlier that same winter, you see, and Caroline didn’t want to give the impression of imitating the Everstone family.”

I smoothed a wrinkle from my skirt, not knowing how to respond. I had nothing to feel guilty about, yet I had the sudden urge to apologize. Mrs. Granton fell silent, and even the indomitable Mr. Blakeley took to staring at his dog. Finally, he filled the quiet with a polite inquiry: “Have you ever been to Everston before, Miss Stoneburner?”

I forced my attention from the bleakness outside my window back to him. He was now only a shadow in the darkness, a deep voice asking an innocent question.

Only the question wasn’t innocent to me.

I knew I needed to twist the truth even more than I already had. For how would someone of the social standing of my persona ever have been to a hotel like Everston before, other than as an employee?

Really, I didn’t know much about the past of my assumed persona—nothing beyond the fact that she had a glowing reference from Bram Everstone. I never thought I’d have to explain myself so thoroughly to a stranger.

I quickly realized that all Mrs. Granton and Mr. Blakeley—and anyone else at Everston besides Jay—would ever know of me would be lies. And if the lies were to be believable, I needed to spend time formulating a past. Time I suddenly didn’t have.

“Perhaps once, but I don’t remember.” I looked to Mrs. Granton’s form beside me in the dimness. A quiet snore rumbled between us. The dear lady had fallen asleep.

“And where are you from?” he asked. I was surprised he cared.

“Bar Harbor.” I cringed as the name escaped my lips. I’d thought for a moment that it was a safe answer, but really it wasn’t.

“What does your family do there?”

“They…we worked at The Grand Everstone Hotel.” That was a little less of a lie, at least, and it gave me a connection to my own family, since they were my only reference.

“So, you’ve probably seen much of the Everstone family, aside from working for the great-aunt?”

“You could say that.”

“I worked for Bram Everstone for close to eight years, managing his Bailey Hill Hotel on Nahant Island, until about a year and a half ago.” No wonder this Mr. Blakeley seemed to care so much about my connection to the Everstones.

I had the feeling he was watching me, waiting for me to add something more to the conversation, so I did. “And now you’re at Everston? You must be very proficient at what you do.” Mr. Blakeley had to have been one of the youngest hotel managers Father had ever employed if he’d been overseeing Bailey Hill for all those years. He couldn’t have been much older than thirty.

“Attaining Everston has been my goal for a very long time.”

“You must love Everston as much as Bram Everstone does.”

“You could say that.” It didn’t escape my notice that he’d used the same line I’d given him while trying not to lie. “Do you still have relatives in Bar Harbor?”

“No.” None of them was actually in Bar Harbor anymore, not since Will had been killed at the beginning of June.

“May I ask what your position was at The Grand Everstone Hotel?”

“I worked at the front desk.” It wasn’t an outright lie. When I was a little girl, my father would take me there to visit, and I would play receptionist.

“Indeed.”

“Yes…indeed.”

Did he believe me? Or did he perceive the falseness of my words? Had Father telephoned to ask Mr. Blakeley to watch over me? Or would he have telephoned Jay to do that? I wished I knew. I’d sent my sister Natalia a telegram from the train station, and I was sure she would write to me as soon as possible, under the guise of being a friend. Until then, I wouldn’t know anything for certain.

Mrs. Granton moaned, and a short snore escaped her lips as she wriggled next to me in an apparent effort to find a more comfortable position. I didn’t like that she’d basically left me alone with Mr. Blakeley. It felt shamelessly scandalous to speak with him as I was, shrouded in the darkness of the stagecoach, hardly able to remember what he looked like, besides that he was mildly attractive.

At least when he wasn’t glowering.

I focused on the bumps of the gravel road, which jostled my insides almost as much as the conversation had. The coach took a sharp turn, prompting Mr. Blakeley’s dog to stand to his feet. I looked out my window and saw the stone pillars and walls that flanked the wrought-iron gates, as if they hid a secret world inside.

Once we drove past the open gate, a large, shadowy silhouette caught my gaze. A towering building protruded from the dark shadows of the mountains. That was also when I noticed the waters of Half Moon Lake glittering outside my window.

Before too long, the stage jolted to a halt at the gaslit entrance of the hotel, and Mrs. Granton made a rather embarrassing noise in her sleep. Heat rushed to my cheeks as Mr. Blakeley opened the door. Wulfric climbed out first. His master immediately followed, then turned around to offer me his assistance. He took my gloved hand and carefully helped me down.

As I stood before him, with the glow of the gaslights upon us, I had my first good look at Mr. Blakeley since I’d met him at twilight. “Mildly attractive” was hardly an adequate description. I took in his straight dark hair, which was brushed off to the side; his greenish-brown hazel eyes; his dark brows and lashes.

No, there was no “mildly” about it.

“Welcome to my hotel, Miss Stoneburner.” Pride laced his every word, and I could hear the smile in his voice, even though his lips adamantly refused to comply. “Now that you’re here, do you recall ever visiting Everston?”

“Perhaps, but…I don’t know. Probably not.” My first real, straight-to-the-core lie to him. Not that it should have mattered.

“You probably haven’t if you can’t remember. Everston’s not a place that’s easily forgotten.”

I wrenched my gaze from his as he let go of my hand and turned his attention to the coach and my employer, still asleep inside. Wulfric pranced about, obviously happy to be home.

I looked to the front of the hotel and remembered with fondness the stunning door of hand-carved wood and beveled glass that led into the lobby. The bellmen came to collect our luggage, finally waking Mrs. Granton. Mr. Blakeley helped her down, then guided us up the flagstone path to the enormous front steps of the wide veranda.

In the dim light, I drank in the sight of Everston, nestled amid miles and miles of pine trees and mountains, with an expanse of stars shining brightly above. Out of nowhere, a sense of longing hit me so hard, my knees nearly buckled. How had I not realized how badly I missed this place?

I searched the night sky, the sight bringing back a flood of warm memories from my childhood. I hadn’t been home in weeks. But as I walked up the path, it felt more like years.

Thirteen, in fact.

Oh, no, Mr. Blakeley. I hadn’t forgotten.

-copyright Dawn Crandall 2015-

***Readers! Comment below and tell us why you are interested in winning The Captive Imposter! I’ll choose a winner next Tuesday (5/4/2015).***

Trial by Twelve Pinnable #2 and Excitement

Just checking in to share the second pinnable for Trial by Twelve. Next week, I have two special authors visiting, so I wanted to get my own bookish stuff shared today! :) As you can see above, I got the first softcover proof for Trial by Twelve and it looks gorgeous. The two books also look beautiful together:

 

Okay, enough of my starry-eyed gazing at my second book in a series (finally! I know some of you are waiting book 2 in the Vikings of the New World Saga and that has not fallen off my radar! I am thinking possibly next year).

And now, here’s a pinnable for you to share! Quote from Trial by Twelve: 

 

Have a wonderful weekend and check the blog Monday for a giveaway! :)

-Heather

#Giveaway & Excerpt from Rachel Skatvold, Author of Beauty Unveiled

Beauty Unveiled on Amazon

I’ve enjoyed having author Rachel Skatvold on my blog in the past (you can find that post here), and today she’s visiting to share an excerpt of her Christian Romantic Suspense novel, Beauty Unveiled. This is the second book in her Riley Family Legacy Novellas Series. 

Rachel is also offering a #giveaway of her book at the link below!

Beauty Unveiled

Riley Family Legacy Novellas, Book 2

Available in Kindle & Paperback on: Amazon

Summary:

While Brimsfield is buzzing with excitement over Katherine’s upcoming marriage, Sarah struggles to tame her restless heart. The small town she used to love seems like a lead weight around her ankle. With one semester of college remaining, she can see the finish line ahead, but will the thirst for excitement jeopardize her future?

Katherine wanted a simple wedding ceremony, but her mother’s extravagant plans for the big day override her wishes. Being forced to compromise is the least of her worries though. When an old friend returns to town, her relationship with the man she loves will be put to the test.

Distracted with wedding preparations, the Riley family is unprepared for the approaching storm that could change their lives forever. Will their legacy of faith survive the trials to come?

 

Add to Goodreads

 

Beauty Unveiled Book Trailer

 

 

***Enter in the giveaway contest here!***

http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/152a31413/

 

Excerpt from Beauty Unveiled

The falling snow added to the thick wooly blanket already covering the ground outside the community center. It held an undeniable beauty—shimmering and pure. But to Sarah, it seemed like an icy prison, trapping her indoors until it melted.

She stepped off the elliptical machine and began stretching out her muscles. At least her new job let her workout whenever she wanted to. When the winter storms hit, everyone stayed home, so today she found herself alone with a treasure trove of equipment to use. She sat down on the weight bench, ready to start strength training as Katherine’s car pulled into the parking lot.

Sarah jumped up and let her in, ecstatic to have some human interaction.

Katherine brushed the snow off her coat and beamed at her. “I can’t stay long, but you left this morning before I could tell you my news.” She held out her left hand and something glittered in the morning light.

Her jaw dropped as she stared at the princess-cut diamond ring on her older sister’s finger. “Ryan finally proposed?”

Katherine’s eyes danced. “Yes, just last night. I know it’s only been five months but it felt like an eternity waiting for him to ask.” Her sister’s smile grew even bigger. “So what do you say? Want to be my maid of honor?”

Sarah grinned at her glowing sister and gave her a hug. “Of course. I’d love to. Have you set a date yet?” She unscrewed the cap on her protein water and took a drink.

Katherine bit her lip and her eyes got wide, like she was about to burst. “We have our sights set on Valentine’s day.”

Sarah almost choked on her drink. “That’s a little over a month away!”

She nodded. “I know … I’ve gone crazy, haven’t I?”

“You’ve always been crazy, Kate.”

Katherine’s eyes narrowed. “Hey, be nice.” She gave a nervous laugh. “Well, I’m going to go run some errands and then tell Mom and Dad. Don’t mention that I told you first. Mom will kill me.”

She aimed a mischievous grin at her. “Don’t worry, I won’t. Go on … get out of here and stop smiling so much. Your face is going to stick like that.”

Katherine laughed and waltzed out of the building, looking even more beautiful and graceful than usual. As she navigated through the thick layer of snow on the ground, it gave the illusion that she was floating on a cloud.

Sarah’s smile faded after Katherine left. She was thrilled about her sister’s engagement but couldn’t erase the dull ache in her heart. Soon enough, things would be changing. Her sister would never say it out loud but she knew what was coming. Sarah wouldn’t want to live in a house with two newlyweds anyway. She’d need to move back in with her parents until she could find her own apartment.

Sarah turned the music up full blast and started wiping down the gym equipment with disinfectant to keep her mind busy. She had plenty to be excited about in her own life. She loved her new job and had managed to get all A’s on her college transcript last semester. If she kept it up, she’d graduate from community college in the spring and start the coursework to become a personal trainer.

All her dreams were coming true, but that didn’t soothe her restless heart. All of a sudden, the hometown she used to love seemed like a lead weight around her ankle. She needed excitement—a trip—anything to break up her boredom.

It didn’t help that most of her old friends ditched her after she gave up her old way of life, with one exception. Nikki stuck around, but Sarah had the feeling she was growing annoyed with her new faith as well.

Sarah began disinfecting the exercise mats as a shadow appeared above her. “Excuse me, Miss. I saw the help wanted sign in the window,” a deep voice said.

Her eyes traveled from the man’s cowboy boots and faded blue jeans to a pair of familiar brown eyes. “Shawn!”

He smiled down at her. “Hey, Kid.”

Sarah leapt into his warm embrace. “Where’d you come from? I didn’t even hear you come in.”

He chuckled and released her. “Well, I’m glad at least one person in this town is happy to see me.” Shawn’s eyes twinkled. “I don’t think I’ll receive that warm of a welcome from everyone.”

She crossed the room and turned the music down. “Don’t be silly. Everyone loves you here.” She looked out the window at his old rusty pickup truck and shook her head. “You haven’t changed a bit. I figured you would have traded Ole Betty in for a hybrid or something, now that you’re a city-dweller.”

He smiled and shook his head. “No. I’ll always be a country boy at heart. She’s still got some years left in her anyway. I bet she’ll out live that tiny fire ant in the parking lot.” He motioned toward her red compact car and gave an ornery grin.

Sarah laughed and put her hands on her hips, enjoying their ongoing car banter. “Well, that might be true, but at least my fire ant gets better gas mileage.”

“Really? Does that thing even have room for an engine under its tiny hood? I figured you had to pedal it.”

She aimed a fake scowl in his direction but it quickly turned into a smile. “So, what brings you back to town anyway?”

~copyright Rachel Skatvold 2015~

Author Rachel Skatvold

About the Author:

 

Rachel Skatvold is an inspirational author and stay at home mom from the Midwest. She enjoys writing inspirational romance, devotions, encouraging blogs. Rachel is currently working on the third installment of the Riley Family Legacy Novellas. Other than writing, some of her hobbies include singing, reading and camping in the great outdoors with her husband and two young sons.

 

 

 

Places to follow Rachel:

 

Website            Facebook         Twitter             Pinterest

Sample Chapters of Trial by Twelve and other News

Just wanted to make sure I shared on my blog that three free sample chapters of Trial by Twelve are now up for you to read! You can find them above in the Trial by Twelve Extras link or just click here. Feel free to share the link with others!

Also wanted to share some fun news! I never win any contests, so I was pretty thrilled when my blurb for a suspense novel set in West Virginia made it through Round One of the #BlurbtoBook contest by Love Inspired Suspense. You can see that announcement here. As I said on my Facebook Author page, I appreciate all prayers for me at this time as I’m working on the proposal for this book and first three chapters, as well as gearing up for the Trial by Twelve release May 30th. I am very thankful and amazed at this opportunity.

Have a wonderful week and hope you enjoy the chapters!

-Heather