Heather Osborne's Blog, page 18

Bitter Bonds Cover Reveal!

 

From bestselling and award-winning author, Heather Osborne, comes a new historical romance of unrequited love and devious plots.

Brutally torn between duty and his heart, Henri Du Cormier never expected to be completely enraptured with Adrienne Beaumont, the sister of his betrothed. As the new owner of St. Esprit, Henri knows he must work his way into a tight-knit society, and spurning his fiancée will do the complete opposite. However, there are hidden secrets, black magic, and voodoo entwined like poisonous vines into the Louisiana plantation. Will Henri end up cursing himself in life and love?

Adrienne Beaumont is anything but ordinary in a world of demure, Southern belles. Desiring little more than to be rid of a vengeful older sister, she finds herself inexplicably drawn to the mysterious Henri Du Cormier. As their lives grow increasingly entangled, will Adrienne give in to the burgeoning attraction, or will fate play another card?

Expected publication: April 2016

Visit Heather’s Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/HAOsborne

Goodreads book link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/28694162-bitter-bonds

Cover Design by: Christian Havran

Teaser:

The Renegade Queen Blog Tour!

The Renegade Queen (Rebellious Times Book 1)

by Eva Flynn

Publication Date: December 15, 2015

Omega Press

eBook & Paperback; 330 Pages

Genre: Historical Fiction

 

 

Two Renegades So Controversial, They Were Erased From History

Discarded by society, she led a social revolution. Disgusted by war, he sought a new world.

She was the first women to run for President, campaigning before women could vote.

He was the Hero of Vicksburg, disillusioned with the government after witnessing the devastating carnage of the Civil War.

Their social revolution attracted the unwanted who were left out of the new wealth: the freed slaves, the new immigrants, and women.

Who were they?

This is the true story of Victoria Woodhull and the love of her life, James Blood.

Adored by the poor, hated by the powerful, forced into hiding during their lifetimes and erased from history after death, the legend of their love lives on.

It’s 1869 and Victoria has a choice to make. She can stay in an abusive marriage and continue to work as a psychic, or she can take the offer of support from handsome Civil War general James Blood and set about to turn society upside down. Victoria chooses revolution.

But revolutions are expensive, and Victoria needs money. James introduces Victoria to one of the wealthiest man in America—Commodore Vanderbilt. Along with her loose and scandalous sister, Tennessee, Victoria manipulates Vanderbilt and together they conspire to crash the stock market—and profit from it. Victoria then parlays her fortune into the first female-owned brokerage firm.

When her idol Susan B. Anthony publishes scandalous rumors about Victoria’s past, Victoria enters into a fierce rivalry with Susan to control the women’s movement. James supports Victoria’s efforts despite his deep fears that she may lose more than the battle. She might lose part of herself.

Victoria starts her own newspaper, testifies to Congress, and even announces her candidacy for President. But when Victoria adopts James’s radical ideas and free love beliefs, she ignites new, bruising, battles with Susan B. Anthony and the powerful Reverend Henry Beecher. These skirmishes turn into an all-out war, with Victoria facing prejudice, prosecution, and imprisonment. Ultimately, Victoria and James face the hardest choice of all: the choice between their country and their love.

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Review

Victoria Woodhull was one of the early advocates for women’s rights, including the right to vote, manage her own finances, and seek a divorce in the case of abusive relationships. She also was a proponent of free love, and a fierce rival of Susan B. Anthony. The novel, The Renegade Queen, is an account of Victoria Woodhull’s life, trials, and tribulations in her “own” words.

Like many others, I knew very little about Victoria Woodhull, having been taught in school about the more famous women’s rights advocates, such as Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony. Woodhull was definitely far ahead of her time, and as such, faced suspicion and scorn at every turn. Many of these opinions were largely pushed by the newspapers and other media outlets, such as public speaking engagements.

I found the novel itself to be interesting, although some parts did seem to draw out particular points. As a personal preference, I did not like that the story was written in first person, present tense because I feel historical fiction needs to be written in past tense. Again though, that is a personal preference. Aside from this, I believe readers, women in particular, will find Victoria Woodhull a fascinating historical figure, and they will be prompted (as I was) to do their own research on this vivacious, and often forgotten, women’s rights advocate.

About the Author

Eva was raised on bedtime stories of feminists (the tooth fairy even brought Susan B. Anthony dollars) and daytime lessons on American politics. On one fateful day years ago when knowledge was found on bound paper, she discovered two paragraphs about Victoria Woodhull in the WXYZ volume of the World Book Encyclopedia. When she realized that neither of her brilliant parents (a conservative political science professor and a liberal feminist) had never heard of her, it was the beginning of a lifelong fascination not only with Victoria Woodhull but in discovering the stories that the history books do not tell. Brave battles fought, new worlds sought, loves lost all in the name of some future glory have led her to spend years researching the period of Reconstruction. Her first book, The Renegade Queen , explores the forgotten trailblazer Victoria Woodhull and her rivalry with Susan B. Anthony.

Eva was born and raised in Tennessee, earned her B.A. in Political Science from DePauw in Greencastle, Indiana and still lives in Indiana. Eva enjoys reading, classic movies, and travelling. She loves to hear from readers, you may reach her at eva@rebellioustimes.com, and follow her on Goodreads and Twitter.

Blog Tour Schedule

Monday, February 1

Review at Oh, for the Hook of a Book!

Tuesday, February 2

Interview at Oh, for the Hook of a Book!

Wednesday, February 3

Review at Eclectic Ramblings of Author Heather Osborne

Spotlight at A Literary Vacation

Thursday, February 4

Review at 100 Pages a Day

Interview at Author Dianne Ascroft’s Blog

Friday, February 5

Review at Raven Haired Girl

Review at Jorie Loves a Story

Guest Post & Giveaway at Let Them Read Books

Monday, February 8

Review & Giveaway at Luxury Reading

Tuesday, February 9

Spotlight & Giveaway at Passages to the Past

Wednesday, February 10

Spotlight at CelticLady’s Reviews

Review at With Her Nose Stuck In A Book

Thursday, February 11

Review at Book Nerd

Friday, February 12

Review at Room With Books

Guest Post at Jorie Loves a Story

Saturday, February 13

Spotlight & Giveaway at Teddy Rose Book Reviews Plus More

Monday, February 15

Spotlight at Layered Pages

Interview at The Maiden’s Court

Tuesday, February 16

Review at Diana’s Book Reviews

Wednesday, February 17

Review at Svetlana’s Reads and Views

Thursday, February 18

Review & Giveaway at A Bookish Affair

Friday, February 19

Review at Luxury Reading

Bitter Bonds Excerpt

A sneak preview of my upcoming historical romance. Enjoy!

Chapter One

May, 1834

Jefferson Parish, Louisiana

“A commoner? Father, you do realize our family can be traced back to the echelons of European royalty? You still correspond with relatives in England and France.” Francine Beaumont was hardly ready to lay down her virginity for a man who bought his way into high society.

“What a despicable thing to say about a man you do not know. Besides, he can offer you a large plantation, slaves, and wealth. We are faltering, my dear. Certainly you have seen how household expenses have been cut in the past year,” Lord Arnaud Beaumont admonished his eldest daughter.

Francine had spurned nearly every suitor placed in her path, but now it was time to marry off the bane of his existence. How had something so vicious spawned from such a gentle-born woman as Francine’s mother? If only she were living now. Perhaps genial Marie would have been able to calm their daughter’s ire.

“It is tantamount to selling me off to the highest bidder, Papa!” Francine attempted to use the childhood endearment so often uttered by her much more pliable sister.

“The matter is settled!” Lord Beaumont pounded his fist on the top of the polished desk, causing Francine to flee the room in tears, past her younger sister, Adrienne. She watched the retreating form of Francine for a few moments before creeping into her father’s study.

Arnaud was relieved to see his sweet, patient daughter appear in the doorway. Her pleasant face was encircled with golden ringlets, her clear, blue eyes full of love and concern. Adrienne, his pride and joy, so much like her mother in every way, would never have protested an arranged marriage. She would have considered it her honor, and duty, to oblige. She was the opposite in every way to her tantruming sister.

“Papa, you mustn’t let Francine trouble you. Remember your constitution…” Adrienne had always been aware of the troubles plaguing her father. They had caused him to suffer horribly with stomach pains, only recently diagnosed as ulcerous. She knew Francine had no idea, nor would she care.

“Ma petite, you are too kind. If only it were you who Henri Du Cormier sought.”

Seventeen-year old Adrienne was already well-versed in the matters of arranged marriage, knowing though she had more chance of marrying for love than her titled, elder sister. Francine looked upon Adrienne with contempt, envying her freedom, however minute.

“Papa, if I could, I would gladly take her place. Why does Monsieur Du Cormier seek a bride with a title? Surely such things do not matter here anymore.” Louisiana was a part of the United States. The French Revolution had dispatched with the monarchy, and the British held no control over them. Titles were obsolete relics of the past.

Arnaud rubbed the bridge of his nose, removing his silver-rimmed spectacles, and closing his doleful chocolate brown eyes. His greying, dark brown hair only betrayed his age. “I wish I knew, ma petite. He came into this money suddenly, only able to buy St. Esprit through sheer luck! I wish it were different. My title, therefore Francine’s, is useless.”

Adrienne crossed the room, kneeling at her father’s side, no care that she wrinkled her carefully pressed silk gown. “Mayhap we could speak to him? Surely he would not want such a wife as Francine, once he sees her ways.”

“Francine would never disgrace herself by behaving poorly at a public function, especially with the height of society attending.” Arnaud shuffled some papers aside. “It would alleviate my anguish greatly if you were to find a husband, someone to make you completely happy beyond your wildest dreams.”

Smiling warmly, Adrienne gazed up at her mother’s portrait above the fireplace. Her mother, Marie, was captured in the prime of youth and beauty. She saw her mother’s features in herself, knowing this was why her father favored her so. “You mean like how you were with Mama?”

Arnaud lifted his gaze, peering up at his beloved. They had grown up in a tumultuous world in pre-revolutionary France, hiding their aristocratic upbringing. When Arnaud had prospered in the shipping business, the young couple made their way to the French owned Louisiana territory. How they celebrated when the United States bought it, knowing their daughters would grow up in a free country.

Adrienne was three when their mother passed away from consumption. She vaguely remembered the tender-hearted woman who soothed her nightmares with soft, French lullabies. Often, her dreams were full of the music, as she twirled her small fingers into the woman’s blonde ringlets. She felt cheated not to have spent more time with her mother, but guilty for those feelings at the same time.

Finally, Arnaud spoke, “Yes, like how I was with Mama. I wish she were here. She had a way with Francine. Francine would throw the most violent tantrums, sending nannies and maids running from the nursery. Marie walked in, composed, and quieted the storm.”

Before melancholy could descend over the pair, Adrienne changed the subject. “Helene says everything is prepared for this evening. All the silver is polished, and the ballroom floor has been swept and cleaned. She wanted me to ask your approval on the canapés for the hors d’oeuvres.”

Patting his daughter’s hand, Arnaud left the final touches to Adrienne. “I am sure what you decide will be scrumptious. Is she preparing a full course meal, or a buffet?”

“I believe she thought it best to provide guests with titbits of food right in the ballroom. It’s very new-fangled. I believe I will ask for the salmon and dill. It is my favorite, after all.” Adrienne rose, brushing the fabric of her pale pink dress.

“I leave it all in your more than capable care, ma petite. Now, hurry along and reassure Helene. I am sure she will be beside herself, wondering what my decision shall be.” Arnaud winked and stood, placing a doting kiss on his daughter’s brow.

“I will, Papa.” Adrienne exited the room in a rustle of skirts, her heels clicking delicately on the wooden floor.

Arnaud sat down again, pressing his hand to his stomach to find some relief from the gurgling sensation building there. He slid open a drawer in his desk, and took a dose of the prescribed laudanum. Reclining back in the chair, he waited for the pain to recede, praying to his long silent God that Francine would do something for the family, for once in her life.

~

“Helene?” Adrienne poked her head into the kitchen, breathing in the smell of freshly baked honey bread. “Mmmm!” She crept over to the place where the bread was cooling and reached to break off a chunk.

“Mademoiselle Adrienne! That is for the midday meal! I have a fresh pot of stew bubblin’ away.” Helene bustled from the pantry, wiping her hands on her worn apron.

Snatching her hand back, Adrienne smiled warmly at the old cook. Helene had been there as long as she could remember, with her kind, brown eyes and work-worn features; always stern but kind. “I am sorry, Helene. Papa asked me to come down and say the salmon and dill will be fine for the canapés.”

“Well, it’s about time! I’ve been frettin’ for hours! Now, shoo. You’ll want to have a rest before the guests descend on us like a holy plague!” Helene ushered Adrienne out of the kitchen, but not before slipping a fresh, honey bread roll into her hand. “Don’t you say I’m never good to you, missy!” Her eyes crinkled as she smiled.

Adrienne felt the warm confection in her hand and ascended the stairs, only to be met at the top by Francine, green eyes red-rimmed from her heart-wrenching sobs. “What were you doing down there?”

“I was delivering a message from Father about the hors d’oeuvres for tonight,” Adrienne spoke carefully, knowing her sister was quick to anger. She still felt the sting of many hair pulls from their childhood. She secreted her prize in the folds of her skirt with subtle movements, knowing Francine would steal it, if given the chance.

“Tonight? You mean the evening where my life comes to an end? Where I am forced to marry a man I know nothing about?” Francine, ever the expert in dramatics, slumped delicately against the wall.

Drawing in a shaky breath, Adrienne strove to soothe her sister. “Have you met him yet? Perhaps he is devastatingly handsome.”

“How could he be? He is not from our class of people!” Francine flounced off down the hall, punctuating her flight with more sobs.

Adrienne shook her head. Francine would surely bring the entire mood of the house to a head. Everyone would be on edge, worried about upsetting their volatile charge. Bringing her treat once more back into sight, she pressed her nose to the top, breathing in the sweet smell and biting into it, letting the flavors fill her senses. Maybe this marriage to Henri Du Cormier would be good for all of them, if it got Francine out of their lives.

~

The evening arrived swiftly. Adrienne stood proudly by her father’s side as hostess, as Francine was too sulky to perform the duty. Her new dress was the color of the midnight sky, lit by a full moon. It fell in soft waves down the full skirt, accented by white lace. Her gloves were of the best quality, and her hair was styled meticulously. Despite the financial troubles, Arnaud always managed to dress his daughters to their standing.

Francine was a contrast to her sister, choosing a low-cut bodice, almost daring. Her emerald dress mimicked her disagreeable personality, and she chose black accents, instead of the more delicate white. Her ebony hair upswept in corkscrew curls around her pinched face. There was no persuading her otherwise. She maintained her position in the ballroom, away from the arriving guests, seething in silent rage. When was this Du Cormier meant to arrive? She pondered this question over and over, wanting to do something to dissuade him, but not wanting to ruin her name in the process.

“Francine, darling! You look…divine!” Rosalind Denis floated towards her in a divine creation of burgundy.

One of Francine’s only friends, the woman was quick to confide in her. “Rosalind, darling, something horrible has happened!”

“Oh my, do tell.” Rosalind flicked open her fan, surveying the entering guests, and attempting to discern who the eligible bachelors were. Her hazel eyes scanned the room eagerly, using a free hand to gently puff her blonde coiffed hair.

Francine drew her attention back, exasperated at the lack of sympathy from her friend. “I am to be married.”

“Married? But isn’t that wonderful? You will have your own household and expenditures. It will be divine.”

Francine opened her mouth to protest, but then pressed the full lips together. She had not considered this. Du Cormier had come into money; a great sum, if rumors were to be believed. “Oh, I did not consider this.”

“Of course not, my dear. You were thinking with your heart. Foolish really.” Rosalind returned to her perusal of the men.

Francine balked at the accusation. “Foolish? My heart? I fear you’ve confused me with Adrienne.”

“Who is your betrothed then?”

“Nothing is formal yet. It is Henri Du Cormier though.”

Rosalind’s eyes went like saucers, and she snapped her fan closed. “Oh my, aren’t we the lucky one? Did you know he recently bought St. Esprit, with all the slaves, and money to spare? The previous owner, sadly, was a gambler. I don’t blame him. His wife ran off with some merchant.” She prattled on about the scandal, but Francine was no longer listening. She had to make Du Cormier love her, no matter what.

Adrienne glanced over her shoulder, watching Francine conspire with Rosalind. Each was as bad as the other. The sound of her father’s rumbling voice uttering a familiar name had her turning her head. The new arrival did not go unnoticed, as a hush fell over the room.

“Monsieur Du Cormier, such a pleasure to see you again. May I present my daughter, Adrienne?”

Henri Du Cormier wasn’t like any knight in shining armor. His features were plain, intensified by high cheekbones, and a square jaw. He had long, black hair pulled back in a queue, and dark grey eyes that seemed to pierce her very soul, bringing a blush to her cheeks.

“Monsieur, welcome to our home.”

Henri took the delicate beauty’s hand, pressing his lips to the back. “A pleasure, mademoiselle.”

Francine huffed in indignation from across the room. She was not going to let Adrienne steal this man’s attentions. She pranced over, pushing her sister aside. “Monsieur! So sorry I was detained. I am Francine Beaumont.” She held out her hand expectantly, carefully perusing his appearance. She did not care much for the facial hair, but that was something she could easily change, once they were married.

Adrienne wisely chose the moment to retreat, leaving the perplexing man to her sister. She did not want a husband she had to decipher on a daily basis. Simple, loving, and kind was more than enough for her.

Reflections on Making of a Murderer

After some hype by friends, I decided to sit down and watch the Netflix documentary, Making of  Murderer. This blog may contain spoilers at some parts, so if you haven’t seen it, or want to make your own opinions, please keep that in mind. You can watch the first episode on YouTube, if you don’t have Netflix. Here is the trailer.

The program chronicles the life of a man, Steven Avery, who was wrongfully convicted of the rape and assault of a woman, and eighteen years later, exonerated by DNA evidence. However, he is later accused of the assault and murder of another woman, Teresa Halbach. The documentary shows the lead up the the trial and the subsequent aftermath.

Since I hold a BS in Criminology, I was very intrigued by the premise. I wanted to see what the film makers would show. I knew from my studies that the media can be and often is very biased when they have an agenda, BUT I went in with an open mind.

After watching, I compiled a list of final thoughts on the program.

Final views on Making A Murderer​ *contains spoilers*

 

I have little doubt in my mind Steven Avery was wrongfully convicted of his first crime. DNA evidence showed that, as well as the fact he was not in the area during the crime, as shown by his alibi. I feel the need to comment on this because it lays the foundations of what is to follow, including Avery’s contention that he was being targeted and harassed by the Manitowoc County Sheriff’s Department.

Steven Avery

I was almost drawn in by the argument made by the defense about police corruption and tampering with evidence. The forensics presented in the documentary seemed to be poorly processed and there were some questionable practices by the Manitowoc County Sheriff’s Department, as presented by the defense. I wanted to know why other suspects were not looked at, but then again, I don’t know that for sure. I feel a lot of the case evidence shown in the documentary was presented to disprove police tampering, and completely dehumanized the victim, using her to sensationalize the actions of the offenders. I feel in the end, it was the inability to prove the key nor the blood were planted by Manitowoc deputies that sealed Steven Avery’s fate, however, I do feel reasonable doubt was raised, at least in my mind.

Teresa Halbach

In regards to the victim, only snippets of her were shown. This wasn’t like your typical CI show where they go into detail about her upbringing, showing pictures of her childhood, etc. The same images were used, as well as a video of her. This documentary was clearly offender-centered, instead showing images of Steven Avery as a child. The documentary makers stated they offered to interview Teresa’s family, but they declined to participate. Perhaps they knew things would not be taken at face value. Again, that’s an opinion you’ll have to make if you watch.

Brendan Dassey

I did not like the questioning tactics used on Brendan Dassey. The officers used very leading questions and put some words into his mouth, taking advantage of his low intelligence (according to the opinions/testimony shown in the documentary, I have not researched this topic further). I know interrogations are often intense, but the fact his initial lawyer was not present and his mother states she was never asked rings a bit fishy to me. People lie though, however I feel he was deprived of adequate counsel. If he had a lawyer present, he may have not been so impressionable to the police questioning. Saying that, I understand the documentary makers probably used what would be advantageous to their cause, a running theme throughout this program.

I read some news articles about a juror feeling they were threatened into making a guilty verdict, and that they came forward after the documentary aired. Were they so fearful of one sheriff’s department, that they were unable to express these concerns to the judge, knowing a man’s, well, two men’s lives in prison were on the line? Others have stated cases where Manitowoc deputies seem to have personal agendas. I think it would be worth investigating the department, but again, if there was so much concern, why were people not speaking out? Was the fear so great they were afraid to end up like Avery in his earlier case?

The documentary makers admitted to having an agenda, and that was to document the trial as they saw it. This is akin to Michael Moore and his own documentaries, but those gave no pretense about being biased. While I understand the documentary took over ten years to complete, by the end, the message was clear and the motivation even clearer. This was not done objectively, but I did not expect this to be the case, although I hoped. I think deep down, I knew it wouldn’t be.

Finally, I ask that anyone who watches this really think about what you are being shown. How is the prosecution shown? The law enforcement? The defense? How are Steven Avery and Brendan Dassey portrayed? How did the humanizing of the offenders’ families make you feel?  How has the media reacted? Go into this with a very open mind, like I did, and I do hope to hear some of your thoughts on the topic.

 

In conclusion, I would like to ask, how is this related to what authors do every day? We take an idea, twist it, make the reader believe what we want them to believe. We take you for a ride, all be it fictional. Then again, what aren’t you being shown? :-) I leave you with that thought, dear readers.

The Edge of Lost Book Blast!

The Edge of Lost

by Kristina McMorris

Publication Date: November 24, 2015

Kensington Books

Trade Paperback, 340 pages

Genre: Historical Fiction

 

 

From New York Times bestselling author Kristina McMorris comes an ambitious and heartrending story of immigrants, deception, and second chances.

On a cold night in October 1937, searchlights cut through the darkness around Alcatraz. A prison guard’s only daughter—one of the youngest civilians who lives on the island—has gone missing. Tending the warden’s greenhouse, convicted bank robber Tommy Capello waits anxiously. Only he knows the truth about the little girl’s whereabouts, and that both of their lives depend on the search’s outcome.

Almost two decades earlier and thousands of miles away, a young boy named Shanley Keagan ekes out a living as an aspiring vaudevillian in Dublin pubs. Talented and shrewd, Shan dreams of shedding his dingy existence and finding his real father in America. The chance finally comes to cross the Atlantic, but when tragedy strikes, Shan must summon all his ingenuity to forge a new life in a volatile and foreign world.

Skillfully weaving these two stories, Kristina McMorris delivers a compelling novel that moves from Ireland to New York to San Francisco Bay. As her finely crafted characters discover the true nature of loyalty, sacrifice, and betrayal, they are forced to confront the lies we tell—and believe—in order to survive.

AMAZON | BARNES & NOBLE | BOOKS-A-MILLION | POWELL’S | INDIEBOUND
Advance Praise

“Kristina McMorris evokes such a strong sense of place that to open her books feels less like reading and more like traveling. Her absorbing new novel..[is an] epic, deeply felt tale of struggle and second chances… a transporting piece of historical fiction.” — BookPage

“McMorris’ gripping immigrant saga sweeps from Dublin to New York, through Prohibition and vaudeville, from New York to San Francisco and Alcatraz. It is a young man’s battle with hardship and tragedy, but it is also a portrait of America during a turbulent time and a quest that ends in triumph. Readers will be caught up in this well-told story.” — RT Book Reviews, 4 Stars

“Compelling, resonant and deeply moving, The Edge of Lost is an absorbing tale of deceit and self-deception, survival and second chances, the ties that bind and the lure of the unknown.” — Christina Baker Kline, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Orphan Train

“The story will grab your heart on page one and won’t let go until the end—and if you’re like me, not even then. I absolutely love this book, and so will you.” — Sara Gruen, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Water for Elephants

“A beautifully told story about a young man’s journey through adversity and loss with an exhilarating ending that I couldn’t put down and stayed up well past my bedtime to finish.” — Charles Belfoure, New York Times bestselling author of The Paris Architect

“In The Edge of Lost Kristina McMorris takes us on a thrilling ride . . . I found myself thoroughly immersed in her richly evocative settings, just as I was captivated by the pure humanity of her characters as they struggled for redemption. This book is a wonderful read!” — David R. Gillham, New York Times bestselling author of City of Women

“The Edge of Lost takes readers on an enthralling journey . . . right up to a tense, edge-of-your-seat ending that left me breathless. An absorbing, addictive read.” — Beatriz Williams, New York Times bestselling author of The Secret Life of Violet Grant

“With prose as lyrical as the music woven through its narrative, and boasting impeccably observed historical details, The Edge of Lost is a thoroughly mesmerizing novel. I adore everything that Kristina McMorris writes and this book is no exception.” — Jennifer Robson, international bestselling author of Somewhere in France

About the Author

Kristina McMorris is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author and the recipient of more than twenty national literary awards, as well as a nomination for the IMPAC Dublin Literary Award, RWA’s RITA® Award, and a Goodreads Choice Award for Best Historical Fiction. Inspired by true personal and historical accounts, her works of fiction have been published by Kensington Books, Penguin Random House, and HarperCollins. The Edge of Lost is her fourth novel, following the widely praised Letters from Home, Bridge of Scarlet Leaves, and The Pieces We Keep, in addition to her novellas in the anthologies A Winter Wonderland and Grand Central.

Prior to her writing career, Kristina hosted weekly TV shows since age nine, including an Emmy® Award-winning program, and has been named one of Portland’s “40 Under 40” by The Business Journal. She lives with her husband and two sons in Oregon, where she is working on her next novel. For more, visit www.KristinaMcMorris.com. You can also follow Kristina on Facebook, Twitter, and Goodreads.

Book Blast Schedule

Monday, December 14

The Maiden’s Court

Passages to the Past

Tuesday, December 15

A Literary Vacation

CelticLady’s Reviews

What Is That Book About

Wednesday, December 16

Reading Is My SuperPower

Svetlana’s Reads and Views

Thursday, December 17

Unshelfish

A Book Geek

With Her Nose Stuck In A Book

Friday, December 18

The Lit Bitch

The Reading Queen

Saturday, December 19

Book Nerd

Beth’s Book Nook Blog

So Many Books, So Little Time

Sunday, December 20

Let Them Read Books

Eclectic Ramblings of Author Heather Osborne

Monday, December 21

Boom Baby Reviews

Giveaway

To win a signed copy of The Edge of Lost by Kristina McMorris please enter the giveaway via the GLEAM form below.

Rules

– Giveaway starts at 12:01am EST on December 14th and ends at 11:59pm EST on December 21st. You must be 18 or older to enter.

– Giveaway is open to residents in the US and Canada ONLY.

– Only one entry per household.

– All giveaway entrants agree to be honest and not cheat the systems; any suspect of fraud is decided upon by blog/site owner and the sponsor, and entrants may be disqualified at our discretion

– Winner has 48 hours to claim prize or new winner is chosen.

The Edge of Lost Book Blast Giveaway

Tales of Byzantium Blog Tour!

Tales of Byzantium: A Selection of Short Stories

by Eileen Stephenson

Publication Date: May 2, 2015

Paperback & eBook; 152 Pages

Genre: History

 

 

A young empress defies her powerful father for love and her rightful place on the throne.

A charismatic commander takes the gamble of a lifetime to save the lives of thousands of innocents.

An exiled princess finds a new sense of purpose and creates a legacy that will stand through the ages.

These stories provide a glimpse of the dynamic and proud Byzantines who lived during the height of the empire’s splendor.

“Through elegantly described details, sharply observed characters, and especially crisp, modern-sounding dialogue, Stephenson takes these vignettes from the thousand years of Byzantine history, mixes them liberally with such excellent modern narrative histories as John Julius Norwich’s A Short History of Byzantium, and manages to create three very intriguing windows into a part of history largely unknown to many readers.” -Anne McNulty, Historical Novel Society Indie Reviews

AMAZON
About the Author

Eileen Stephenson was born in Fort Worth, Texas but spent most of her life in the Washington, DC area. She has degrees from both Georgetown University and George Washington University (neither involving the Byzantines) and is married with three daughters. Her interest in Byzantine history all started one fateful day when every other book in the library looked boring except for John Julius Norwich’s A Short History of Byzantium.

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Review

I thoroughly enjoyed this trilogy of short stories, although I have to say I favored the first out of the three the most. I almost wished the author had made it into a full length novel instead of a short story, as I feel there could have been much more build-up and intrigue behind Helena and Constantine’s courtship. Overall, for a quick read and a glimpse into Byzantium life, I do recommend this novel. A solid four stars.

Blog Tour Schedule

Monday, December 14

Review at Library Educated

Interview at Let Them Read Books

Tuesday, December 15

Review at The Maiden’s Court

Wednesday, December 16

Guest Post at A Bookish Affair

Thursday, December 17

Review at The Eclectic Ramblings of Author Heather Osborne

Spotlight at CelticLady’s Reviews

Spotlight at What Is That Book About

Friday, December 18

Interview at Dianne Ascroft Blog

Spotlight at The Writing Desk

Saturday, December 19

Spotlight at Teatime and Books

Spotlight at To Read, Or Not to Read

Sunday, December 20

Review at Seize the Words: Books in Review

Monday, December 21

Review at Book Nerd

Review at Svetlana’s Reads and Views

Interview at Flashlight Commentary

Tuesday, December 22

Review at Luxury Reading

Review & Giveaway at One Book Shy of a Full Shelf

Giveaway

To win a Paperback copy of Tales of Byzantium by Eileen Stephenson please enter the giveaway via the GLEAM form below.

Rules

– Giveaway starts at 12:01am EST on December 14th and ends at 11:59pm EST on December 22nd. You must be 18 or older to enter.

– Giveaway is open internationally.

– Only one entry per household.

– All giveaway entrants agree to be honest and not cheat the systems; any suspect of fraud is decided upon by blog/site owner and the sponsor, and entrants may be disqualified at our discretion

– Winner has 48 hours to claim prize or new winner is chosen.

Tales of Byzantium

The Prince of Prigs Blog Tour!

The Prince of Prigs

by Anthony Anglorus

Publication Date: July 6, 2015

Bygone Era Books

Formats: eBook & Paperback

Genre: Historical Fiction

The union of England and Scotland under one crown is not even a half century old, and the Parliamentarians already threaten the very fabric of the nation. These are the adventures of highwayman Capt. James Hind who, in Robin Hood fashion, steals from the Roundheads to help fund the royalist cause. When Cromwell comes to power, James, the Prince of Prigs, must be careful whom among his treacherous “friends” he trusts.

AMAZON US | AMAZON UK | BARNES & NOBLE | CHAPTERS | KOBO
Review

I’ll admit, I don’t know much about England and Scotland’s history surrounding the Roundheads and Cromwell, aside from the basics, so I started this book with a very open mind. Immediately, I found myself giggling at the antics of James as he tried to escape from soldiers dressed as a prostitute. I was not disappointed throughout the rest of the novel. Although I found parts a bit slow, as a historical fiction author, I understand sometimes it’s important to discuss some of the historical and political issues of the time frame. It allows the reader to have a better understanding of the people living during that period. Overall, this is a solid four star read for me.

Praise

“Any who view historical fiction as dry or plodding should pick up The Prince of Prigs: it wraps courtroom drama, social issues, flamboyant personalities and British politics under one cover and represents a rollicking good read even for audiences who normally eschew the genre. As for those who know how compelling it can be – The Prince of Prigs is ample evidence of the powers of historical fiction.” – D. Donovan, Midwest Book Review

About the Author

After a lifetime of balancing books, Anthony turned his hand to writing them in 2009. His first book, The Other Robin Hood, is available as an ebook. An Englishman still living in England, he married a Russian doctor in 1999 and will be moving to rural France after reaching retirement age — but the writing will continue. He is already working on the sequel to The Prince of Prigs, tentatively titled Dark Days, Dark Deeds.

WEBSITE | TWITTER | GOODREADS
Blog Tour Schedule

Monday, December 7

Guest Post at The Writing Desk

Thursday, December 10

Review at Diana’s Book Reviews

Monday, December 14

Review at Eclectic Ramblings of Author Heather Osborne

Interview at Historical Fiction Addicts

Tuesday, December 22

Review at Svetlana’s Reads and Views

Wednesday, December 23

Guest Post at One Book Shy of a Full Shelf

Monday, December 28

Guest Post at Historical Fiction Addicts

Tuesday, December 29

Review at Queen of All She Reads

Thursday, December 31

Tour Wrap-Up at Passages to the Past

Tin Memories: A Christmas Short

Although it’s published on the BTSeMag Blog, I thought I would share the story here as well!

Merry Christmas!

 

Tin Memories

Thud! Crash! Another box of Christmas ornaments thumped its way down the attic ladder. “Sorry!” Theo’s voice echoed through the hallway.

“Sorry, my butt,” Twenty year old, Claire Sawyer mumbled, as she retrieved the box, whose corners were now smashed in. “You better hope Mom’s good Italian glass ones aren’t in there!” she hissed in a low tone.

“Damn! I never thought of that.” Her eighteen-year-old brother poked his head through the attic opening. “Don’t tell her, ‘kay?”

Claire rolled her eyes dramatically and walked the carpeted hallway back to the bare tree. Whoever said siblings were supposed get along better as they aged was a bit off the mark. Home from college for the holidays, Claire knew she would love the moment when she could escape back to the world of academia.

Setting the box down, Claire unfolded the worn flaps, crossed over many times throughout the years. Groaning, she withdrew a tangled mass of lights. “Come on, really?”

“What is it, dear?” Patricia, her mother, leaned around the archway leading to the kitchen. The Harry Simeone Chorale strummed out “The Little Drummer Boy,” and the smell of apples and cinnamon wafted through.

Cocking a hand on her hip, Claire presented the lights. “Someone didn’t put these away right last year! This’ll take hours!”

Patricia smiled softly. “Start at one end, and work your way along. It will come apart in time.” She hummed along to the music and swirled back into the kitchen.

Another eye roll. “Just great.” Claire flopped down on the couch, hearing the attic ladder creak back into position.

Theo balanced two boxes in each arm, thundering through to the living room. “That’s the last of it! Finally!”

Claire threw the lights at him. “Here. You like puzzles, right?” Without waiting for an answer, she began digging into the boxes.

Brushing off the gathered dust from a year of storage, Claire pulled out the green and red ornament boxes, each with carefully written descriptions on the lids. Mom was methodical in recording who was given what each Christmas. There were hundreds of ornaments. Not all of them would fit on the tree. Claire picked through several, leaving aside ones that were too big, or just too ugly to hang on the seven foot tree in their living room.

Patricia wandered out to check their progress. A bit of flour clung to her cheek. She had been baking apple pies, as she did every time they decorated the tree. Afterwards, they would each have a slice, warm from the oven, vanilla ice cream oozing over the sides as it melted into the flaky crust. Claire’s mouth watered thinking about it.

“How’s it coming?” Patricia sat next to Theo, watching his swift progress with the lights.

“Not bad.” He grinned, holding out the plug end. “Claire, plug this in, will ya?”

With a huff of air, Claire hoisted herself to her feet and shoved it into the socket. The lights twinkled to life, clear and white. It was a pretty sight as they shimmered off the wall in the fading firelight. All three were transfixed for a moment.

“Lights first, right?” Theo broke the silence, standing to carefully lay the lights around the branches. The procedure was solemn, the job usually conducted by their father. This would be the first year without him, but Theo stepped into his shoes with pride.

Claire and Patricia began removing delicate tissue paper and bubble wrap from the countless ornaments which would grace their tree. They handed them off to Theo, who found a suitable branch for each addition. Patricia beamed as she read out the descriptions, each figurine and year springing to mind a pleasant memory. Peter Pan, complete with real hair and a quirky grin, was given to Theo his first Christmas. Burt the Chimney Sweep, his glass cheeks smudged with fake soot, came to Claire when she was five, obsessed with Mary Poppins.

The oven timer soon beeped, and Patricia hurried off to remove the pie. Claire felt around at the bottom of the last container, pulling out a yellowed box. “I don’t remember this one, Mom!”

Peering out of the kitchen, Patricia furrowed her brow. “Open it up. Let’s see what’s inside.”

Easing the lid off the box, Claire set it aside. Theo leaned over her shoulder, trying to get a glimpse of the mystery ornament. Nestled deep in the tissue paper was a tin heart, dangling from a velvet ribbon.

“It looks old,” Theo commented.

“State the obvious,” Claire quipped back, but she was instantly intrigued by the simple design.

Patricia held out her hand, and Claire delicately placed the heart on her palm. “I have no idea where this could have come from. Is there anything else in the box?”

Claire shifted the tissue paper aside and found a bit of paper, also aged. Written in neat script were the words: Until I can give you my real heart ~ Samuel, December, 1864

“That’s the Civil War.” Theo beamed proudly, happy to remember something from his AP US History class the previous year.

Patricia turned it in her hand. “Mmm, I think you’re right. I don’t recall anyone talking about a Samuel in our family. I wonder where it came from? Maybe I should call your grandmother…” she trailed off, tracing the light etching on the tin with a fingertip. “Put it on the tree please, Claire.”

Claire nodded, taking back the heart, but unable to ignore the far-off gaze in her mother’s eyes as she went into the kitchen to use the phone. She held a finger to her lips, and moved to listen. Theo seemed to approve of this, and he crouched beside her.

“Yes, Samuel. That’s what it said.” Their mother’s voice sounded nervous. “How am I supposed to know? I thought you took it.” Her slippered feet padded along the linoleum, pacing. “I know…but…okay. See you on Christmas Eve.”

Claire and Theo scrambled away as quietly as they could. Patricia reemerged with a false, festive smile. “Who wants pie?” The siblings glanced at each other briefly before answering back. When she returned to dish up the dessert, Theo leaned over.

“You think we should try to get Grandma to tell us what happened?”

Claire glanced at the kitchen. “I think we’re going to have to find out ourselves. Grandma never lets us up in the attic. I bet there’s something there. With all the cousins running around, she won’t even miss us.”

Theo agreed, and they waited to be served pie, thinking of the week ahead of them.

~

The smell of roast turkey hit every one of the Sawyer family, as they headed into Grandma’s house on Christmas Eve. All the cousins were running around through the house, the younger ones talking about Santa Claus, and the older ones absorbed in their cell phones. Claire was the eldest of all eight cousins.

After greetings of hugs and kisses from all the aunts and uncles, Claire slipped into the kitchen to greet her grandma, Beverly. Her two favorite uncles were hanging around in there as well, so she got plenty of bear hugs and questions about her studies. Finally, wrapping her arms around her grandma, Claire breathed in the scent of the gardenia lotion she always wore.

“Hello, my Claire,” Beverly murmured, brushing her hands over her granddaughter’s face, tucking back her blonde hair. “You look so grown-up. Are you enjoying college?”

Claire beamed and nodded. “I decided to study history. I think I’d like to be a teacher.”

“Wonderful! I’m so proud of you.” After another brief squeeze, Beverly turned back to the pot of potatoes on the stove.

Claire bit her lip, waiting for her uncles to wander out of the room, back to the hum of the football game. “Grammy, umm, Mom called you about that ornament we found, right?”

Beverly stopped stirring for a moment, almost startled, and then resumed. “Yes…she did.”

Picking at one of the seed pearls stitched in a starburst design at the neckline of her long sweater, Claire took a deep breath. “I was wondering…I mean…you really don’t know where it came from?”

Beverley placed the spoon in the rest. “Why don’t you go play with your little cousins, hmm? I think they are driving the adults crazy, nagging to open presents.”

Claire found herself frazzled, unceremoniously dismissed from the kitchen without an answer. She was perplexed. Her grandmother had always been forthcoming with information about their family history. Something terrible must have happened with this ornament. Slipping past the throng in the living room, Claire moved quickly up the carpeted stairs, almost running headlong into Theo.

“What are you doing up here?” She hissed, dropping her chin down.

Theo stuck out his tongue. “Same thing as you. Come on. I got the ladder down. I was just gonna come find you.” He pulled her arm to the opening leading to the attic, hidden in a linen cabinet. “Well…go on.”

Claire climbed the rungs, not easy in her heeled boots, but she managed to hoist herself up into the chilly, cobweb ridden attic. Theo scrambled up next to her, pulling a flashlight from his back jeans’ pocket. He shined the light around the room, landing on boxes labeled with their uncles’ names, including their dad.

“Maybe we should look in Dad’s first.” Theo’s voice wavered.

Claire didn’t much feel like being a horrible big sister at that moment, and she put her arm around him. “Yeah, we can do that.” She crawled across the boards placed over the beams, and dragged the box towards them.

Opening the lid, they pulled out important parts of their dad’s life. His football jersey from high school, endless report cards, and schoolwork all passed through their hands. There were pictures of their parents on prom night, and goofing around with friends. Finally, at the bottom, Claire found a sealed envelope. Turning it over, she gasped.

“What?” Theo scooted closer from where he had been examining their dad’s jersey. “Holy shit!”

“Don’t say that,” Claire admonished, although she wanted to use far worse language. On the front were their names, in their dad’s neat handwriting.

“Read it, Claire.”

Her hands trembled fiercely as she opened the envelope, and cleared her throat.

“Dear Claire and Theo,

If you found this letter, then you’re just as good of detectives as I hoped. I knew my mom, your grandmother, wouldn’t tell you anything about the tin heart. I found it up here, when I was looking for some old photos for your mom.

I know there’s something about it, but I don’t have the time to find out. I know there is a dark secret in our family, and I’ve never been able to get a straight answer out of anyone. I know it’s here, or somewhere. So, I want you both to give the heart a story and find out who Samuel was.

Don’t be sad. I know it’s my first Christmas away from you two, or you wouldn’t have found what I left. I love you both, and I’m so proud of you.

Always,

Dad.”

Claire and Theo sat in silence, rereading the letter. Finally, Theo spoke up, “Does it say anything about where he found it? The heart thing?”

Shaking her head, Claire refolded the letter. “Nope. I guess we have to look. Maybe in the boxes at the back?”

“There’s not a lot of time.” Theo checked his watch. “Dinner’ll be in like an hour.”

The pair set off, each exploring opposite sides of the attic.

“Maybe there’s nothing here.” Claire muttered, pushing aside old toys and other knickknacks. She hated the smell of the musty attic, but something propelled her on. It was like the last wish of their dad, and she didn’t want to fail him.

“Ouch!” Theo cried out from the opposite side.

Claire fumbled her way over, careful to step only on the beams. “You okay?”

“Yeah, here, take this or I’m gonna fall.” He thrust a book wrapped in a plastic bag into her hand, and fell forward on the plywood. “Crap. That was scary. It was up in the rafters.”

Peeling back the plastic, Claire removed a leather bound book, cracked with age. The leather creaked as she opened the cover, reading aloud, “The Private Thoughts of Claire Sawyer.” She nearly dropped it.

“Wha? Maybe you read it wrong.” Theo took it from her. “Holy shit.”

“Theodore Vincent Sawyer! Don’t use that language!” Claire wrapped her arms around herself. “It’s not mine. Look at the date.”

He skimmed the page. “June 18th 1864. Yeah, you’re not that old.” He laughed and gave it back to her. “You take it. I can’t read that old stuff anyways. It’s just a dumb book. Thought it’d be something cool.”

“Claire! Theo! Come on! Dinner!” Their mother’s voice resounded through the hallway. “Where are you?”

Claire hurried to the opening. “Watching TV upstairs! Be down soon!” She climbed down, waiting for Theo, who replaced the ladder. Shoving the book under her sweater, they descended back into the mayhem of a Sawyer Christmas.

~

“What’s that?”

Back in the dorms, the January rain pelted the windows. Claire sat at her desk in the room she shared with Jenny, also a junior, and her best friend. “I’m not sure. I found it in my grandma’s attic over Christmas. I didn’t have a chance to read it yet, but it’s dated from the Civil War.”

Jenny perched on the edge of the desk. Her ebony hair was pulled back in a studious ponytail, and she played with the end. “Looks really old. I bet Professor Young might be able to help.”

Professor Sylvia Young was one of their favorite faculty members, always opening up her office to students, and an expert in American History. Claire pondered the suggestion, thinking to the tin heart squirreled away in the bottom of her duffel. Her mother never mentioned it again after the initial discovery, so Claire had found it and taken it back with her.

“Jenn, it’s weird. It has my name in it.” She opened the cover to allow her friend to look.

“Trippy. Maybe it’s, like, your long lost great-grandmother, or something?” Jenny checked the clock. “Damn, I’m going to be late. Catch you later?” She hurried out of the room, satchel slung over her shoulder.

“Sure.” Claire said to the closed door. Her next class wasn’t until the evening, so she decided to bite the bullet and open the book.

June 18th 1864

I am sixteen today. I haven’t heard from Samuel in over a month. Mother and Father do not approve of my ‘infatuation’ they call it, but I am determined to be with the man I love. He fills me with such joy. I do not care that he’s from the South, or that his parents own a plantation. I will not be parted from my destiny.

Claire sucked in a breath. She understood slightly now. The country was at war, and no respecting Northern parents would see their daughter consorting with what they deemed an enemy. It was probably dangerous for her even to be writing to Samuel at that pivotal point in the war.

July 1st 1864

I received a letter today from my beloved Samuel. I gave Grace-Lynn from the General Store two of my best silk ribbons to hold any back for me. My joy was complete when she delivered me a special basket of bread. However, all was put on hold. They are in dire conditions, with the Union Army advancing every day. I fear for my love. He promises that he thinks of me often, but letters are hard to get out of the battle embroiled towns. I pray he will come back and we may run away to California, where no one will know our names.

August, 1864

I scarcely can recall the days. I was scolded fiercely by my father for causing my mother to swoon. She dared to speak to me of marriage at a time when young men die every day. I only want my Samuel. I responded to his letter, but the cost of keeping my secret is becoming dear. I have no more ribbons to give, so I must relinquish my lace petticoat, the one I had hoped to wear on my wedding day. No price though is too much to get word to my Samuel.

Claire skipped a few pages, skimming through mundane details of Claire’s life, until she spotted Samuel’s name again.

December, 1864

A parcel! Tied with twine and brown paper. I am amazed it made it to me! My prayers have been heard! The tin heart is so beautiful in its simplicity that I can hardly stand it! His words, ‘Until I can give you my real heart,’ set mine ablaze. I pray for the war to end.

January, 1865

My secret is exposed. I have decided to flee to the South. I must find my Samuel. If you find this, pray for me.

The journal ended there. Claire frantically flipped through the blank pages, hoping for some sign of an ending to the story. She let loose a small cry of frustration and slammed the book shut. How dare this past Claire leave her with no conclusion? She went to her closet and pulled out the box with the heart. Gathering it all into her backpack, she set off for the History Department.

~

Professor Sylvia Young kept herself available at most hours before class. Claire counted herself lucky though because, usually, her office was mobbed with students. Maybe the wet weather drove them away. She knocked on the exterior door.

“Come in!” Professor Young’s singsong voice came from inside, and Claire opened the door. “Miss Sawyer! How may I help you?”

Claire moved into the room, shutting the door behind her. “I was wondering…well, I found this diary over Christmas. My family doesn’t want to talk about it, but my dad said I should seek out the answers, and…” She stopped, realizing she had been babbling.

Professor Young smiled indulgently. “You brought it with you, I take it? May I see?”

Claire moved to one of the chairs positioned in front of the desk and removed her parcels. She handed them over to her professor, who took careful time going through the diary, and inspecting the heart.

“Simply fascinating,” she murmured, reading the pages carefully.

“It just stops though. I don’t know…” Claire’s voice broke, emotion building due to her inability to discover what happened to past Claire. “My dad…he died…just before the semester started. My brother and I just wanted to see why no one talked about it.”

Professor Young’s kind eyes met Claire’s. “I love a good mystery. I think the best place to start is to find out what happened to Claire Sawyer, the past one, I mean. Will you leave these in my care, and come back to my office tomorrow. I’ll see if I can help.”

“Really? Thanks so much! Yeah, that would be great.” Claire got up, heading to the door.

“Claire? You can’t get your hopes up. Many records are incomplete.”

“I know, ma’am, but anything would be helpful.”

~

Sitting in her grandma’s living room, Claire bounced her leg nervously. She had driven up for the weekend, and had with her all the information Professor Young was able to acquire. Everything was tucked safely away in her bag, waiting for her grandma to return from the kitchen with two mugs of hot chocolate.

“Here we go.” Beverly passed Claire one of the mugs and took a seat next to her. “Now, what brings my favorite granddaughter to visit?”

Claire giggled, her anxiety dissipating for the moment. “You can’t say that!”

Beverly winked. “It’s true though. So?”

Claire’s expression sobered, and she set the mug aside, reaching into her bag. “Theo and I found this in the attic on Christmas Eve.” She passed her grandma the diary. “And I found out what happened to her.”

Beverly carefully took the book, almost as if she knew exactly what it contained. “This has been a family secret for many years. Claire…this Claire…brought great shame onto the family at the time.”

“But why was it kept as secret? Times have changed.”

Beverly shook her head. “I couldn’t say. I just knew that if we talked about her, my grandmother would tell me to hush up, and box my ears. Perhaps though, I’ve been too much of a stickler about tradition. Tell me what you found out.”

Claire smiled, seeing her grandma’s face, eagerly awaiting the story. “Well, I asked one of my professors about it. Claire married Samuel, Grandma. They had five children, three lived to adulthood. We have some cousins, however-many-times removed, in Georgia. Claire and Samuel died within two days of each other, and are buried together in a cemetery in Atlanta. So, it wasn’t a shame, even though she was from the North, and he the South. They loved each other dearly, Grammy.”

Beverly wrapped her hands around the book. “I always wondered, since I first found the diary. And the heart?”

“He must have made it while encamped during the Civil War. My professor said it was definitely handmade and took some time.”

Beverly held out her hand. “Then, from now on, it deserves a pride of place on our Christmas tree, every year.”

Claire grinned, and put the heart into her grandmother’s waiting hand.

“And when you have your own tree, I will pass it on to you. We can’t let their love die.” She pushed herself to her feet.

“Grammy?”

“Hmm?”

“Who named me ‘Claire’?” Claire tipped her head up, meeting her grandma’s soft, blue eyes.

Beverly slowly smiled. “Why, your dad did, sweetheart. You were born around the time he started asking me the same questions you did.”

Dad must have come across the heart in the attic and left it for us to find. Swallowing back the tears, Claire smiled back.

The End

Image courtesy of etsy.com

Blackout Cover Reveal!

“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely…dead.”

Rae Hatting and Luke Thompson return in the third Rae Hatting Mystery, Blackout.

I’m proud to present the cover, done by my amazing pal, Christian.

And…the Prologue. Copyright Heather Osborne. May not be reproduced without permission of the author.

Prologue

The theatre was packed with patrons, each curious to see the new interpretation of an old classic. Everyone knew the story, fell in love with the trials of its characters, and mourned the loss of the pair at the end. The stage manager quietly spoke into her headset, directing the scene changes with military precision. So far, the production had run without a hitch. This was the pivotal moment of the play, and she wasn’t about to screw up her first time stage managing. The change went off smoothly, revealing a prone Juliet on a stone slab.

She smiled to herself, but nervously gnawed on the eraser of her pencil. Several actors waited in the wings, preparing for the moment at the end where the bodies of Romeo and Juliet are discovered, forever entwined in life and death. She peered at the monitor, showing an overview of the stage. Romeo was on form tonight, dramatically drinking from the small bottle of poison. His performance was flawless, and he collapsed in death across Juliet.

Awaking from her faked slumber, Juliet found her love, dead. She gave her final speech, embedding a dagger in her breast. The blood pack burst on cue, and the actress fell back, knife protruding from her chest. The pair remained still, professional to the end, as the final speeches were spoken with great woe.

Giving the signal, the curtain dropped. A scream echoed over the applause, and pandemonium began.

“He’s dead! He’s dead!” The actress playing Juliet screamed, over and over, trying to extract herself from under the corpse of the actor playing Romeo. White foam escaped his mouth, and his eyes were fixed open, as if in death.

Only, it wasn’t a stage trick. The bottle had rattled to the floor, a single drop of transparent liquid lingering at the opening.

“Call an ambulance, quickly!” The stage manager was frozen in fear. Thoughts raced through her head. Surely it was not possible! The bottle contained water! That was all! Just water! Commotion ensued around her, Romeo’s final words forever imprinted on her mind: Thus, with a kiss, I die.

 

 

 

 

The Spanish Patriot Blog Tour

The Spanish Patriot

by Nicky Penttila

Publication Date: September 3, 2015

Wondrous Press

Formats: eBook, Paperback, Audio

Genre: Historical Fiction

 

 

READ AN EXCERPT.

Some fly to war. Others flee it. No one is safe.

When the British army is sent into Spain to help expel Napoleon’s invaders, nothing goes as expected. Not for London newsman Sam Kerr, hunting a story that will win him the editor chair, who discovers one that could wreck his career. Not for the Wakefield family, loyalist refugees from America seeking peace among people of their faith, who find war has followed them even here. And certainly not for the British troops, whose mission of support turns into a fight for all their lives. Historical fiction set in Corunna 1808.

AMAZON | BARNES & NOBLE | INKTERA | ITUNES (AUDIOBOOK) | KOBO | SMASHWORDS
PRAISE FOR AN UNTITLED LADY

Penttila shows a deft hand with complex, believable characterizations that accurately reflect the historical period. ~ Publishers Weekly

The social turmoil in Manchester leading to the Peterloo Massacre of 1819 is the unusual setting for Penttila quietly stunning, memorable debut novel. A very highly recommended book. ~ Historical Novel Society

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Nicky Penttila writes stories with adventure, ideas, history, and love. She enjoys coming up with stories that are set in faraway cities and countries, because then she *must* travel there, you know, for research. She lives in Maryland with her reading-mad husband and amazing rescue cat.

WEBSITE | BLOG | TWITTER | TUMBLR | GOOGLE+ | GOODREADS | PINTEREST
Review

The Spanish Patriot by Nicky Penttila is probably one of the most well-researched historical fiction novels I’ve read in quite some time. It covers a period of history I had little knowledge about. The characters are deep, flawed, but also admirable in their ambitions. I would certainly recommend this novel for anyone wanting to explore a different part of history!

BLOG TOUR SCHEDULE

Sunday, November 1

Guest Post at Please Pass the Books

Monday, November 2

Review at Book Nerd

Tuesday, November 3

Excerpt at What Is That Book About

Wednesday, November 4

Spotlight & Giveaway at Passages to the Past

Thursday, November 5

Spotlight at Just One More Chapter

Friday, November 6

Guest Post at The Writing Desk

Monday, November 9

Character Interview at Boom Baby Reviews

Tuesday, November 10

Review at She Is Too Fond of Books

Wednesday, November 11

Review & Interview at Back Porchervations

Spotlight at A Literary Vacation

Friday, November 13

Spotlight & Giveaway at Queen of All She Reads

Saturday, November 14

Spotlight & Giveaway at One Book Shy of a Full Shelf

Monday, November 16

Guest Post at I Heart Reading

Wednesday, November 18

Review at With Her Nose Stuck in a Book

Thursday, November 19

Spotlight & Giveaway at Teddy Rose Book Reviews Plus More

Friday, November 20

Review & Giveaway at Eclectic Ramblings of Author Heather Osborne

Spotlight at CelticLady’s Reviews