No time to write much today. I promised Mia that I would take her to the beach swimming today while we waited for Molly to get done with work. She did some swimming yesterday, but it was so cold and rainy, we didn't stay as long as she would have liked, but today it's beautiful and sunny, perfect swimming weather. She's been asking when we're going to leave since she woke up this morning, so I'm going to get done quickly so we can get out the door!
When Someone You Love Has Cancer by Cecil Murphey couldn't have come at a better time for me. Three days before I received the email about this book, I got word that my uncle's cancer had come back. As someone who is living this right now, this book is perfect. It's short and an incredibly easy read, perfect for anyone who's facing the horrible news but doesn't want to spend hours paging through a book filled with statistics and dry advice. Murphey's book has short anecdotes with down to earth wisdom for the family and friends of cancer sufferers. Some of the advice may seem like common sense, but when your life is turned upside down, common sense is remarkably rare. Each chapter ends with a short prayer for understanding and strength. The most important advice given is for caregivers to just listen and be present for those facing cancer, something that I needed to hear. This book offers hope in the midst of a frightening time. Now that I've finished reading it, I will be passing it on to my mom, and I'm sure that she will pass it on as well. It's that kind of book.
Next week I'm starting a new book contest that is way too good to pass up; you won't want to miss this one!
Today's pictures are of Mia perfecting the art of roasting a marshmallow. Note the little flame on top of the marshmallow in the second picture. She really did make them just right!
Mia has been anticipating this day for three weeks. As the last day of swimming lessons, it's a party with all of the classes combined for a picnic and water games. This morning she was ready to head out the door almost before I was awake! We got to the beach over an hour early because Molly has to be to work by 9, and the party didn't start until 10:30, so we planned on sitting in the van, eating our snacky breakfast and maybe reading a little of Bunnicula (our newest chapter book) while we waited.
But when we got there, it was pouring out, and the temp was only 60 degrees. Even in Wisconsin this does not qualify as good swimming weather. We ate our food, read our chapter and ran to the library to pick up some new DVDs before heading back. I couldn't help but ache for Mia; she had to be so heart-broken about the day not going the way she planned. The rain had let up, but the temperature was still a chilly 63, so the other kids and parents huddled under the roof of the pavilion around the picnic benches lined with food. We weren't there five minutes when she started begging to go into the water. I couldn't stop shivering in my capris and polo; I couldn't imagine how cold the water must be, but there were a few other kids in the water, including her favorite swimming buddy Jaden so I let her go. As I watched her splash and play, I realized that Mia wasn't at all disappointed in the day. She was with friends and playing in the water. She didn't focus on the cold or rain (she said, "but Mommy, I'll be all wet in the water anyway, what does it matter if it rains?"). Those little things were not going to ruin her enjoyment of the party. I need to learn from my little girl and adopt her flexibility. It rained many of the days we were camping last week, and it was frustrating to me that we weren't able to do the things we had planned. That's how I often respond to kinks in my plans with frustration and surrender. Rather than enjoy life anyway, I throw a temper tantrum and stalk off if I can't have things my way.
What would have happened if Mia had done that today? If she had cried about the rain and cold, I would have gotten angry with her because of things I can't control. She wouldn't have had time with her friends or the joy of receiving her certificate for passing Level 2 swimming class. It would have made both of us miserable. I don't even want to consider how often I make the people around me miserable because plans haven't gone my way, ugh! So despite the cold and rain that makes my joints ache, I am praising God for using this weather and my baby girl for teaching me more about life.
Here are the reviews I promised from last week.
The Enclave by Karen Hancock is a mind-bending twisted novel that will shock readers at every turn. Lacey McHenry took a position at a prestigious science institute with the hope of improving her career, but after a nighttime intruder assaults her and the heads of the institute cover it up, even going so far as to plant rumors among the staff about her mental health, she starts to wonder what's really going on and what kind of research is being done there. Despite danger to both of their positions, she works with researcher Cameron Reinhardt, but neither of them can believe what they discover. An alternate plot involves a young man named Zowan trying to escape a post-apocalyptic society that has become cult-like and fascist. While the characterization is light, the action propels the story keeping the reader hooked. The mix of pseudo-science and religion doesn't always mix, but the supernatural is wonderfully creepy. The antagonists are a bit cliched and one-dimensional, but it's still a fun, escapist read.
Deadly Intent by Camy Tang is another arrow in Tang's quiver of fantastic books. Naomi Grant has had to take over the family business, an elite spa Sonoma, after her father's stroke. It's a chore she quickly comes to hate after a murdered woman is discovered and the evidence points to Naomi as the murderer. At first, she suspects Dr. Devon Knightley, ex-husband of the victim, but as the crime spree grows, they are forced to work together to find the real murderer. In the hands of any less able writer, this story would be cliched and timeworn, but Tang makes the characters and their romance fresh and new. Her dialogue is always zippy and her characters well-rounded. This is the ultimate beach read!
My sis-in-law Krissy showed me how to use the different settings on my camera, so today's pics are a few that I'm proud of from our camping trip.
Is it possible for a house to produce laundry even when no one is in it? I'm beginning to come to that conclusion as the only explanation as to the amount of laundry waiting for me when we returned from camping on Sunday. Even factoring in washing all of the towels and blankets we brought along, I still feel like it multiplied in my absence! It doesn't help when on days like today I'm gone for seven hours so I can only get a couple of loads done before dark. Tomorrow is Mia's last day of swimming lessons, so hopefully I can start getting caught up for real on Friday.
Molly brought along her friend Sara camping, and the two girls seemed to spend as much time on their cellphones as they did in the water! Here's a few of the best pictures of them from the weekend.
Offworld by Robin Parrish is a mind-bending sci-fi thriller that simply begs for big screen treatment. A group of four astronauts: Chris, Trisha, Terry, and Owen have been on a mission to Mars for the past twenty-nine months. Two months before they are due to return home, they lose contact with NASA, and end up returning home blind, hoping that it is simply a problem with their equipment. They are shocked by what they find on the return home: the earth is empty, all humans and animals are gone and have been since that fateful day two months ago. Determining that their mission is not at an end, they set out to discover the cause of a mysterious light radiating from Houston and find that they may not be the only ones left alive after all. Hollywood, listen up! Transformers 2, we did not need; Offworld NEEDS to be made into a movie! Parrish writes so cinematically, every scene comes to life. The action rips across the pages, and the characters would make stars of the actors in the roles. Parrish keeps the suspense taut by giving more questions than answers and keeping the characters constantly on the run for their lives. The chase scenes are phenomenal, especially Trisha's leap with two jeeps across the sky into a skyscraper. On the screen, it's the kind of scene that would earn a cheer of awe from the crowd, on the page, it made my jaw drop and I wanted to share it with someone else. Parrish is a writer I will definitely be keeping my eye on in the future!
Camping was wonderful, just like usual, but my pain was off the charts. It was predicted to rain every day we were there, and while we didn't get anywhere near what we expected, it was still too much for five days! The dampness in the air always makes my joints ache, and Jesse forgot my comfy chair, so I spent much of the trip sitting in our tent on our nifty new air mattress. We didn't make it to the zoo this year because of the rain, but we're hoping to make it up there before summer is over.
Mia fell in love with fishing instead of swimming this year. From the moment she woke up until she fell asleep, she wanted to be in the water with a pole in her hand. She caught more fish than anyone else and she caught the biggest fish, including a 7-1/2" bluegill and an 18" northern. We couldn't keep the northern, because 24" is legal, but we were all astonished at what this little girl caught just standing off of the shore! She's a fascinating dichotomy of ballet tutus and fishing poles, this little girl of mine.
Religion Saves by Mark Driscoll is a compilation of sermons Driscoll gave at his Mars Hill church in response to questions submitted by his congregation online. From 893 questions, he narrowed it down to the most popular and occasionally most controversial such as birth control and worship styles. I appreciated Driscoll's almost irreverent writing style that doesn't allow readers to take these issues too seriously, especially when they are the ones that divide believers. However, he doesn't dismiss these questions lightly, using just the right amount of humor without becoming flippant. During the first half of this book, I felt like I had finally found someone who was able to put into words my beliefs, and on some issues that I wasn't quite sure where to stand, Driscoll combined Scripture and reason into positions that make sense. When the American church has lost its authority in its quest to be culturally friendly, Driscoll calls them on it and doesn't pull his punches! When I reached the chapter on predestination/free will/elect, I was stopped short by Driscoll's forthright Calvinism, although he did present the Arminian side fairly. I've always considered myself an Arminian, but after reading his careful arguments, I was forced to do some research of my own, and while I can't call myself a Calvinist yet, I'm definitely on that path. I think ultimately, that's the best way to use this book. Read each chapter with an open mind, then read the Scriptures and talk to people you trust who are strong in their faith before forming an opinion. If widely read, this book could just save Christianity from itself.
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
An award-winning author, Mary Connealy lives on a Nebraska farm with her husband and is the mother of four grown daughters. She writes plays and shorts stories, and is the author of two other novels, Petticoat Ranch and Calico Canyon. Also an avid blogger, Mary is a GED instructor by day and an author by night.
List Price: $10.97 Paperback: 320 pages Publisher: Barbour Publishing, Inc (July 1, 2009) Language: English ISBN-10: 1602601429 ISBN-13: 978-1602601420
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Montana Territory, 1875
Cassie wanted to scream, “Put down that shovel!”
As if yelling at the red-headed gravedigger would bring Griff back to life. A gust of wind blew Cassie Griffin’s dark hair across her face, blinding her.
For one sightless moment it was as if the wind showed her perfectly what the future held for her.
Darkness.
Hovering in a wooded area, concealed behind a clump of quaking aspens that had gone yellow in the fall weather, she watched the hole grow as the man dug his way down into the rocky Montana earth.
Muriel, the kind storekeeper who had taken Cassie in, stood beside the ever-deepening grave. If Cassie started yelling, Muriel would start her motherly clucking again and force Cassie to return to town and go back to bed. She’d been so kind since Cassie had ridden in shouting for help.
In a detached sort of way, Cassie knew Muriel had been caring for her, coddling Cassie to get her through the day. But Cassie had gone numb since Muriel’s husband, Seth, had come back in with the news that Griff was dead. Cassie listened and answered and obeyed, but she hadn’t been able to feel anything. Until now. Now she could feel rage aimed straight at that man preparing the hole for her beloved Griff.
“I’m sorry, little one.” Cassie ran her hand over her rounded stomach. “You’ll never know your daddy now.” Her belly moved as if the baby heard Cassie and understood.
The fact that her husband was dead was Cassie’s fault. She should have gone for the doctor sooner. Griff ordered her not to, but first Griff had been worried about the cost. He’d shocked Cassie by telling her they couldn’t afford to send for the doctor. Griff had scolded Cassie if she ever asked questions about money. So she’d learned it wasn’t a wife’s place. But she’d known her parents were wealthy. Cassie had brought all their wealth into the marriage. How could they not afford a few bits for a doctor? Even as he lay sick, she’d known better than to question him about it.
Later, Griff had been out of his head with fever. She stayed with him as he’d ordered, but she should have doctored Griff better. She should have saved him somehow. Instead she’d stood by and watched her husband die inch by inch while she did nothing.
Cassie stepped closer. Another few steps and she’d be in the open. She could stop them. She could make them stop digging. Refuse to allow such a travesty when it couldn’t be true that Griff was dead.
Don’t put him in the ground! Inside her head she was screaming, denying, terrified. She had to stop this.
Before she could move she heard Muriel.
“In the West, nothing’ll get you killed faster’n stupid.” Whipcord lean, with a weathered face from long years in the harsh Montana weather, Muriel plunked her fists on her nonexistent hips.
Seth, clean-shaven once a week and overdue, stood alongside his wife, watching the proceedings, his arms crossed over his paunchy stomach. “How ’bout lazy? In the West, lazy’ll do you in faster’n stupid every time.”
“Well, I reckon Lester Griffin was both, right enough.” Muriel nodded her head.
Cassie understood the words, “lazy” and “stupid.” They were talking about Griff? She was too shocked to take in their meaning.
“Now, Muriel.” Red, the gravedigger, shoveled as he talked. “Don’t speak ill of the dead.”
On a day when Cassie didn’t feel like she knew anything, she remembered the gravedigger’s name because of his bright red hair.
One of the last coherent orders Griff had given her was, “Pay Red two bits to dig my grave, and not a penny more.”
Griff had known he was dying. Mostly delirious with fever, his mind would clear occasionally and he’d give orders: about the funeral, what he was to be buried in, what Cassie was to wear, strict orders not to be her usual foolish self and overpay for the grave digging. And not to shame him with her public behavior.
“Well honestly, it’s a wonder he wasn’t dead long before this.” Muriel crossed her arms and dared either man to disagree.
“It’s not Christian to see the bad in others.” Red dug relentlessly, the gritty slice of the shovel making a hole to swallow up Cassie’s husband. “And especially not at a time like this.”
It was just after noon on Sunday, and the funeral would be held as soon as the grave was dug.
Cassie looked down at her dress, her dark blue silk. It was a mess. She’d worn it all week, not giving herself a second to change while she cared for Griff. Then she’d left it on as she rode for town. She’d even slept in it last night. . .or rather she’d lain in bed with it on. She hadn’t slept, more than snatches, in a week. Ever since Griff’s fever started.
She needed to change to her black silk for the funeral.
Cassie wanted to hate Muriel for her words, but Muriel had mothered her, filling such a desperate void in Cassie that she couldn’t bear to blame Muriel for this rage whipping inside of Cassie’s head, pushing her to scream.
“Well, he was a poor excuse for a man and no amount of Christian charity’ll change that.” Muriel clucked and shook her head. “He lived on the labor of others ’n spent money he didn’t have.”
“It’s that snooty, fancy-dressed wife of his who drove him to an early grave,” Seth humphed. Cassie saw Seth’s shoulders quiver as he chuckled. “Of course, many’s the man who’d gladly die trying to keep that pretty little China Doll happy.”
Cassie heard Griff’s nickname for her. She ran her hands down her blue silk that lay modestly loose over her round belly. Fancy-dressed was right. Cassie admitted that. But she hadn’t needed all new dresses just because of the baby. Griff had insisted it was proper that the dresses be ordered. But however she’d come to dress so beautifully in silks and satins, there was no denying she dressed more expensively than anyone she’d met in Montana Territory. Not that she’d met many people.
But snooty? How could Seth say that? They were slandering her and, far worse, insulting Griff. She needed to defend her husband, but Griff hated emotional displays. How could she fight them without showing all the rage that boiled inside her? As the hole grew, something started to grow in Cassie that overcame her grief and fear.
Rage. Hate.
That shovel rose and fell. Dirt flew in a tidy pile and she hated Red for keeping to the task. She wanted to run at Red, screaming and clawing, and force Red to give Griff back to her. But she feared unleashing the anger roiling inside her. Griff had taught her to control all those childish impulses. Right now though, her control slipped.
[insert line break]
“A time or two I’ve seen someone who looks to be snooty who was really just shy. . .or scared,” Muriel said.
Red kept digging, determined not to join in with this gossip. But not joining in wasn’t enough. He needed to make them stop. Instead, he kept digging as he thought about poor Cassie. She’d already been tucked into Muriel’s back room when he’d come to town yesterday, but he’d seen Seth bring Lester Griffin’s body in. He couldn’t imagine what that little woman had been through.
“When’s the last time she came into our store?” Seth asked. “Most times she didn’t even come to town. She was too good to soil her feet in Divide. And you can’t argue about fancy-dressed. Griff ordered all her dresses ready-made, sent out from the East.”
Everything about Cassie Griffin made Red think of the more civilized East. She never had a hair out of place or a speck of dirt under her fingernails. Red had seen their home, too. The fanciest building in Montana, some said. Board siding instead of logs. Three floors and so many frills and flourishes the building alone had made Lester Griffin a laughingstock. The Griffins came into the area with a fortune, but they’d gone through it fast.
“That’s right,” Muriel snipped. “Griff ordered them. A spoiled woman would pick out her own dresses and shoes and finery, not leave it to her man.”
Seth shook his head. “I declare, Muriel, you could find the good in a rattlesnake.”
Red’s shovel slammed deep in the rocky soil. “Cassie isn’t a rattlesnake.” He stood up straight and glared at Seth.
His reaction surprised him. Red didn’t let much upset him. But calling Cassie a snake made Red mad to the bone. He glanced over and saw Muriel focusing on him as she brushed back wisps of gray hair that the wind had scattered from her usual tidy bun. She stared at him, taking a good long look.
Seth, a tough old mule-skinner with a marshmallow heart, didn’t seem to notice. “This funeral’ll draw trouble. You just see if it don’t. Every man in the territory’ll come a’running to marry with such a pretty widow woman. Any woman would bring men down on her as hard and fast as a Montana blizzard, but one as pretty as Cassie Griffin?” Seth blew a tuneless whistle through his teeth. “There’ll be a stampede for sure, and none of ’em are gonna wait no decent length of time to ask for her hand.”
Red looked away from Muriel because he didn’t like what was in her eyes. He was through the tough layer of sod and the hole was getting deep fast. He tried to sound casual even though he felt a sharp pang of regret—and not just a little bit of jealousy—when he said, “Doubt she’ll still be single by the time the sun sets.”
Muriel had a strange lilt to her voice when she said, “A woman is rare out here, but a young, beautiful woman like Cassie is a prize indeed.”
Red looked up at her, trying to figure out why saying that made her so all-fired cheerful.
Seth slung his beefy arm around Muriel with rough affection. “I’ve seen the loneliness that drives these men to want a wife. It’s a rugged life, Muriel. Having you with me makes all the difference.”
Red understood the loneliness. He lived with it every day.
“She’s a fragile little thing. Tiny even with Griff’s child in her belly. She needs a man to take care of her.” Muriel’s concern sounded just the littlest bit false. Not that Muriel wasn’t genuinely concerned. Just that there was a sly tone to it, aimed straight at Red.
Red thought of Cassie’s flawless white skin and shining black hair. She had huge, remote brown eyes, with lashes long enough to wave in the breeze, and the sweetest pink lips that never curved in a smile nor opened to wish a man good day.
Red thought on what he’d say to draw a smile and a kind word from her. Such thoughts could keep a man lying awake at night. Red knew that for a fact. Oh yes, Cassie was a living, breathing test from the devil himself.
“China Doll’s the perfect name for her,” Muriel added.
Red had heard that Griff called his wife China Doll. Griff never said that in front of anyone. He always called her Mrs. Griffin, real proper and formal-like. But he’d been overheard speaking to her in private, and he’d called her China Doll. The whole town had taken to calling her that.
Red had seen such a doll in a store window when he was a youngster in Indiana. That doll, even to a roughhousing little boy, was so beautiful it always earned a long, careful look. But the white glass face was cold. and her expression serious, rather than giving the poor toy a painted on smile. It was frighteningly fragile. Rather than being fun, Red thought a China doll would be a sad thing to own and, in the end, a burden to keep unbroken and clean. All of those things described Cassandra Griffin right down to the ground. Knowing all of that didn’t stop him from wanting her.
Cassie got to him. She had ever since the first time he’d seen her nearly two years ago. And now she was available. Someone would have to marry her to keep her alive. Women didn’t live without men in the unsettled West. Life was too hard. The only unattached women around worked above the Golden Butte Saloon and, although they survived, Red didn’t consider their sad existence living.
“You’re established on the ranch these days, Red. Your bank account’s healthy.” Muriel crouched down so she was eye level with Red, who was digging himself down fast. “Maybe it’s time you took a wife.”
Red froze and looked up at his friend. Muriel was a motherly woman, though she had no children. And like a mother, she seemed comfortable meddling in his life.
Red realized he was staring and went back to the grave, tempted to toss a shovel full of dirt on Muriel’s wily face. He wouldn’t throw it hard. He just wanted to distract her.
When he was sure his voice would work, he said, “Cassie isn’t for me, Muriel. And it isn’t because of what it would cost to keep her. If she was my wife, she’d live within my means and that would be that.”
Red had already imagined—in his unruly mind—how stern he’d be when she asked for finery. “You’ll have to sew it yourself or go without.” He even pictured himself shaking a scolding finger right under her turned-up nose. She’d mind him.
He’d imagined it many times, many, many times. And long before Griff died, which was so improper Red felt shame. He’d tried to control his willful thoughts. But a man couldn’t stop himself from thinking a thought until he’d started, now could he? So he’d started a thousand times and then he stopped himself. . .mostly. He’d be kind and patient but he wouldn’t bend. He’d say, “Cass honey, you—”
Red jerked his thoughts away from the old, sinful daydream about another man’s wife. Calmly, he answered Muriel, “She isn’t for me because I would never marry a non-believer.”
With a wry smile, Seth caught on and threw in on Muriel’s side—the traitor. “A woman is a mighty scarce critter out here, Red. It don’t make sense to put too many conditions on the ones there are.”
“I know.” Red talked to himself as much as to them. He hung on to right and wrong. He clung to God’s will. “But one point I’ll never compromise on is marrying a woman who doesn’t share my faith.”
“Now, Red,” Muriel chided, “you shouldn’t judge that little girl like that. How do you know she’s not a believer?”
“I’m not judging her, Muriel.” Which Red realized was absolutely not true. “Okay, I don’t know what faith she holds. But I do know that the Griffins have never darkened the doorstep of my church.”
Neither Seth nor Muriel could argue with that, although Muriel had a mulish look that told him she wanted to.
“We’d best get back.” Seth laid a beefy hand on Muriel’s strong shoulder. “I think Mrs. Griffin is going to need some help getting ready for the funeral.”
“She’s in shock, I reckon,” Muriel said. “She hasn’t spoken more’n a dozen words since she rode in yesterday.”
“She was clear enough on what dress I needed to fetch.” Seth shook his head in disgust. “And she knew the reticule she wanted and the shoes and hairpins. I felt like a lady’s maid.”
“I’ve never seen a woman so shaken.” Muriel’s eyes softened. “The bridle was on wrong. She was riding bareback. It’s a wonder she was able to stick on that horse.”
Red didn’t want to hear anymore about how desperately in need of help Cassie was.
Muriel had been teasing him up until now, but suddenly she was dead serious. “You know what the men around here are like, Red. You know the kind of life she’s got ahead of her. There are just some things a decent man can’t let happen to a woman. Libby’s boys are off hauling freight or I’d talk to them. They’d make good husbands.”
Muriel was right, they would be good. Something burned hot and angry inside of Red when he thought of those decent, Christian men claiming Cassie.
It was even worse when Red thought of her marrying one of the rough and ready men who lived in the rugged mountains and valleys around the little town of Divide, which rested up against the great peaks of the Montana Rockies. It was almost more than he could stand to imagine her with one of them.
But, he also knew a sin when he saw it tempting him, and he refused to let Muriel change his mind. She badgered him a while longer but finally gave up.
He was glad when Seth and Muriel left him alone to finish his digging. Until he looked up and saw Cassie as if he’d conjured her with his daydreams.
But this was no sweet, fragile China Doll. She charged straight toward him, her hands fisted, her eyes on fire.
“Uh. . .hi, Miz Griffin.” He vaulted out of the shoulder-deep hole and faced her. The look on her face was enough to make him want to turn tail and run.
She swept toward him, a low sound coming from her throat that a wildcat might make just before it pounced.
She’d heard it. All of it.
God forgive me for being part of that gossip, hurting her when she’s already so badly hurt.
Whatever she wanted to say, whatever pain she wanted to inflict, he vowed to God that he’d stand here and take it as his due. Her eyes were so alive with fury and focused right on him. How many times had his unruly mind conjured up the image of Cassie focusing on him? But this wasn’t the look he’d imagined in his daydreams. In fact, a tremor of fear ran up his backbone.
His grip tightened on his shovel, not to use as a weapon to defend himself but to keep her from grabbing it and taking a swing.
“Stop it.” Her fists were clenched as if to beat on him. “Stop saying those awful things.” Red saw more life in her eyes than he ever had before. She was always quiet and reserved and distant. “Give him back. I want him back!” She moved so fast toward him that, just as she reached his side, she tripped over her skirt and fell. A terrified shriek cut off her irate words.
“Cassie!” Red dropped the shovel and caught her just as she’d have tumbled into the open grave.
She swung and landed a fist right on his chin.
His head snapped back. She had pretty good power behind her fists for a little thing. Figuring he deserved it, he held on, stepping well away from the hole in the ground. He pulled her against him as she pummeled and emitted short, sharp, frenzied screams of rage. Punching his shoulders, chest, face. He took his beating like a man. He’d earned this by causing her more pain when she’d already been dealt more than she could bear. Of course he’d tried to stop it. But he’d failed now, hadn’t he?
“I’m sorry.” He spoke low, hoping to penetrate her anger. He could barely hear himself over her shouting. “I’m so sorry about Griff, Cassie. And I’m sorry you heard us speaking ill. We were wrong. So wrong. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” His voice kept crooning as he held her, letting her wale away on him until her squeaks and her harmless blows slowed and then ceased, most likely from exhaustion, not because she’d quit hating him.
Her hands dropped suddenly. Her head fell against his chest. Her knees buckled and Red swung her up into his arms.
He looked down at her, wondering if she’d fainted dead away.
In his arms, he held perfection.
She fit against him as if his body and his heart had been created just for her. A soul-deep ache nearly buckled his own knees as he looked at her now-closed eyes. Those lashes so long they’d tangle in a breeze rested on her ashen face, tinged with one bright spot of fury raised red on her cheeks.
“I’m so sorry I hurt you. Please forgive me.” His words were both a prayer to God and a request to poor, sweet Cassie. He held her close, murmuring, apologizing.
At last her eyes fluttered open. The anger was there but not the violence. “Let me go!”
He slowly lowered her feet to the ground, keeping an arm around her waist until he was sure her legs would hold her. She stepped out of his arms as quickly as possible and gave him a look of such hatred it was more painful than the blows she’d landed. Far more painful.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Cassie honey.” Red wanted to kick himself. He shouldn’t have called her such. It was improper.
She didn’t seem to notice he was even alive. Instead, her gaze slid to that grave, that open rectangle waiting to receive Cassie’s husband. . .or what was left of him. And the hatred faded to misery, agony, and worst of all, fear.
A suppressed cry of pain told Red, as if Cassie had spoken aloud, that she wished she could join her husband in that awful hole.
Her head hanging low, her shoulders slumped, both arms wrapped around her rounded belly, she turned and walked back the way she came. Each step seemed to take all her effort as if her feet weighed a hundred pounds each.
Wondering if he should accompany her back to Muriel’s, instead he did nothing but watch. There was nothing really he could do. That worthless husband of hers was dead and he’d left his wife with one nasty mess to clean up. And Red couldn’t be the one to step in and fix it. Not if he wanted to live the life God had planned for him.
She walked into the swaying stand of aspens. They were thin enough that if he moved a bit to the side, he could keep his eye on her. Stepping farther and farther sideways to look around the trees—because he was physically unable to take his eyes off her—he saw her get safely to the store.
Just then his foot slipped off the edge of the grave. He caught himself before he fell headlong into the six feet of missing earth.
Red heard the door of Bates General Store close with a sharp bang, and Cassie went inside and left him alone in the sun and wind with a deep hole to dig and too much time to think. He grabbed his shovel and jumped down, getting back at it.
He knew he was doing the right thing by refusing to marry Cassie Griffin.
A sudden gust caught a shovelful of dirt and blew it in Red’s face. Along with the dirt that now coated him, he caught a strong whiff of the stable he’d cleaned last night. Cassie would think Red and the Western men he wanted to protect her from were one and the same. And she’d be right, up to a point. The dirt and the smell, the humble clothes, and the sod house—this was who he was, and he didn’t apologize for that to any man. . .or any woman.
Red knew there was only one way for him to serve God in this matter. He had to keep clear of Cassie Griffin.
The China Doll wasn’t for him.
Montana Rose by Mary Connealy is the first in the Montana Marriage series and what a way to kick it off! Cassie Griffin learned well how to be a perfect china doll under her abusive husband's tutelage; she doesn't interact with other people, she does everything her husband asks without question and she never shows sadness or fear. That facade is challenged when he dies leaving her a penniless pregnant widow in the Montana Territory in 1875. Before his body is buried, the men are lining up in the cemetery in front of the pastor for her marriage. After being violently grabbed and shoved in the fight, she is shocked to see gravedigger Red Dawson propose marriage to her. She marries him purely to escape the brutality of her other suitors and then sets out to be his perfect wife so that she never need feel his anger or his fists. Red has long been attracted to the mysterious woman known around town as the china doll, but did his best to keep her out of his thoughts. Their sudden marriage shocks both of them, especially as he tries to teach her what real love looks like both from a husband and from God. I've read a few of Connealy's other books, and she just keeps getting better and better. The humor and romance are both handled with a light, deft touch. The reader can't help but be charmed by both hero and heroine. She refuses to fall into Western cliche with the handling of the story's villain. She also draws a subtle parallel between Cassie's trying to live up to her husbands' wishes and earn their love through works and rules and how Christians often try to do the same with God. In a glutted genre, this book is truly a cut above the rest.
I apologize for not posting the winner of A Perfect Mess yesterday. It was Regina Boettcher, and congrats to her! We got back late from camping, and I was exhausted. Yesterday was the worst pain day I've had in years. I spent most of the day trying not to cry. I'll post my reviews of The Enclave and Deadly Intent on Thursday, and you'll be seeing lots of pictures of our camping trip over the next couple of weeks.
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Camy Tang writes romance with a kick of wasabi. Originally from Hawaii, she worked as a biologist for 9 years, but now she writes full time. She is a staff worker for her San Jose church youth group and leads a worship team for Sunday service. She also runs the Story Sensei fiction critique service, which specializes in book doctoring.
On her blog, she gives away Christian novels, and she ponders frivolous things like dumb dogs (namely, hers), coffee-geek husbands (no resemblance to her own...), the writing journey, Asiana, and anything else that comes to mind.
List Price: $5.50 Mass Market Paperback: 224 pages Publisher: Steeple Hill (July 14, 2009) Language: English ISBN-10: 0373443471 ISBN-13: 978-0373443475
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Chapter One
The man who walked into Naomi's father's day spa was striking enough to start a female riot.
Dark eyes swept the room, which happened to be filled with the Sonoma spa's staff at that moment. She felt his gaze glance over her like a tingling breeze. Naomi recognized him instantly. Dr. Devon Knightley.
For a wild moment, she thought, He's come to see me. And her heart twirled in a riotous dance.
But only for a moment. Sure, they'd talked amiably— actually, more than amiably—at the last Zoe International fund-raising dinner, but after an entire evening sitting next to her, he hadn't asked for her phone number, hadn't asked for any contact information at all. Wasn't that a clear sign he wasn't interested?
She quashed the memory and stepped forward in her official capacity as the spa owner's daughter and acting manager. "Dr. Knightley. Welcome."
He clasped her hand with one tanned so brown that it seemed to bring the heat of the July sun into the airy, air-conditioned entranceway. "Miss Naomi Grant." His voice had more than a shot of surprise, as did his looks as he took in her pale blue linen top and capris, the same uniform as the gaggle of spa staff members gathered behind her. "It's been a few months since I've seen you."
He still held her hand. She loved the feel of his palm— cool and warm at the same time, strong the way a surgeon's should be.
No, she had to stop this. Devon and his family were hard-core atheists, and nothing good would come out of giving in to her attraction. "What brings you here?"
"I need to speak to Jessica Ortiz."
An involuntary spasm seized her throat. Of course. Glamorous client Jessica Ortiz or plain massage therapist Naomi Grant—no comparison, really.
But something in his tone didn't quite have the velvety sheen of a lover. He sounded almost… dangerous. And danger didn't belong in the spa. Their first priority was to protect the privacy of the guests.
"Er… Ms. Ortiz?" Naomi glanced at Sarah, one of the receptionists, whose brow wrinkled as she studied her computer monitor behind the receptionists' desk. Naomi knew she was stalling—she didn't need to look because she'd checked Ms. Ortiz into the elite Tamarind Lounge almost two hours before.
Naomi's aunt Becca also stood at the receptionists' desk, stepping aside from her spa hostess duties to allow Naomi to handle Dr. Knightley, but Aunt Becca's eyes had a sharp look that conveyed her message clearly to Naomi: the clients' privacy and wishes come first.
Naomi cleared her throat. "Are you her physician?"
Dr. Knightley frowned down at her, but she kept her air of calm friendliness. He grimaced and looked away. "Er… no."
Naomi blinked. He could have lied, but he hadn't. "If you'll wait here, I can see if Ms. Ortiz is available to come out here to see you." If Jessica declined to come out, Naomi didn't want to think what Devon's reaction would be.
His eyes grew stormier. "Couldn't you just let me walk in back to see her?"
"I'm sorry, but we can't allow nonfamily members into the back rooms. And men are not allowed in the women's lounges." Especially the secluded Tamarind Lounge, reserved only for Tamarind members who paid the exorbitant membership fee.
"Naomi, surely you can make an exception for me?" He suddenly flashed a smile more blinding than her receptionist's new engagement ring.
His switching tactics—from threatening to charming— annoyed her more than his argumentative attitude. She crossed her arms. "I'm afraid not." She had to glance away to harden herself against the power of that smile.
"You don't understand. It's important that I see her, and it won't take long." He leaned closer, using his height to intimidate.
He had picked the wrong woman to irritate. Maybe her frustrated attraction made her exceptionally determined to thwart him. Her jaw clenched and she couldn't help narrowing her eyes. "Joy Luck Life Spa has many high-profile clients. If we let anyone into our elite lounges, we'd lose our sterling reputation for privacy and discretion."
"You don't understand how important this is—"
"Dr. Knightley, so nice to see you again." Aunt Becca stepped forward and inserted herself between the good doctor and Naomi's line of vision. She held out a thin hand, which Devon automatically took. "Why don't I set you up in the Chervil Lounge while Naomi looks for Ms. Ortiz?"
Aunt Becca whirled around faster than a tornado. Her eyes promised trouble if Naomi didn't comply. "Naomi."
Aunt Becca's taking charge of the conversation seemed to drive home the point that although Dad had left Naomi in charge of the spa while he recovered from his stroke, she still had a long way to go toward learning good customer relations. Part of her wanted to be belligerent toward Devon just to prove she was in the right, but the other part of her wilted at her failure as a good manager.
She walked into the back rooms and paused outside the door to the Tamarind Lounge, consciously relaxing her face. Deep breath in. Gently open the door.
Softly pitched conversation drifted into silence. Two pairs of eyes flickered over her from the crimson silk chaise lounges in the far corner of the luxuriant room, but neither of them belonged to Jessica Ortiz. Vanilla spice wafted around her as she headed toward the two women, trying to glide calmly, as the daughter of the spa owner should.
"Good morning, ladies. I apologize for the intrusion."
"Is it already time for my facial?" The elderly woman gathered her Egyptian cotton robe around her and prepared to stand.
"No, not yet, Ms. Cormorand. I've come to ask if either of you have seen Ms. Ortiz."
An inscrutable look passed between them. What had Jessica done to offend these clients in only the couple of hours she'd been at the spa? Jessica seemed to be causing the spa more and more trouble recently.
The other woman finally answered, "No, she left about a half hour ago for her massage. I thought she was with you."
Naomi cleared her throat to hide her start. Jessica's appointment was at eleven, in fifteen minutes, not now.
"Yes, doesn't she always ask for you when she comes?" Ms. Cormorand blinked faded blue eyes at her.
Naomi shoved aside a brief frisson of unease. Jessica should be easy to find. "Which massage therapist called for her?"
"Oh, I don't know." Ms. Cormorand waved a pudgy hand beringed with rubies and diamonds. "Someone in a blue uniform."
Only one of almost a hundred staff workers at the spa.
"Thank you, ladies. Ms. Cormorand, Haley will call you for your facial in fifteen minutes." Naomi inclined her head and left the room, trying to let the sounds of running water from the fountain in the corner calm her growing sense of unease.
Where could Jessica have gone? And an even juicier question: Why did Devon Knightley need to speak to her?
She peeked into the larger Rosemary lounge, which was for the use of spa clients who were not Tamarind members. Several women chatted in small groups, but no Jessica Ortiz. Naomi hadn't really expected Jessica to forgo the more comfortable elite lounge, but the only other option was checking each of the treatment rooms individually.
She headed into the back area where the therapy rooms were located, navigating the hallway scattered with teak and bamboo furniture, each sporting East Asian cushions and throws, artfully arranged by Aunt Becca. Had Jessica switched to a different massage therapist? And had someone forgotten to tell Naomi in the excitement of Sarah's new engagement?
As she moved down the hallway, she started noticing a strange, harsh scent suffusing the mingled smells of san-dalwood and vanilla. Not quite as harsh as chemicals, but not a familiar aromatherapy fragrance, a slightly discordant counterpoint to the spa's relaxing perfume.
She knew that smell, but couldn't place it. And it didn't conjure up pleasant associations. She started to hurry.
She first looked into the women's restroom, her steps echoing against the Italian tile. No sound of running water, but she peeked into the shower area. A few women were in the rooms with the claw-foot bathtubs, and a couple more in the whirlpool room, but no Jessica. No one using the toilets.
The mirrored makeup area had a handful of women, but again no Jessica. Naomi smiled at the clients to hide her disappointment and growing anxiety as she entered. She noticed some towels on the floor, a vase of orchids a little askew, and some lotions out of place on the marble counter running the length of the room, so she tidied up as if she had intended to do so, although the staff assigned to restroom duty typically kept things spic and span.
She peeked into the sauna. A rather loud ring of laughing women, but no Jessica.
Back out in the central fountain area, the harsh smell seemed stronger, but she couldn't pinpoint where it came from. Had a sewage pipe burst? No, it wasn't that sort of smell. It didn't smell rotten, just… had an edge to it.
She entered the locker area, although the Joy Luck Life Spa "lockers" were all carved teakwood cabinets, individually locked with keys. The smell jumped tenfold. Naomi scoured the room. Maybe it came from a client's locker? No. Maybe the dirty laundry hamper?
Bingo.
She flipped open the basketweave lid.
And screamed.
***
Chapter Two
The scream pierced Devon's eardrums. Beside him, Becca Itoh started. The heavy wooden double doors she'd just opened, leading to the men's lounge, clunked closed again as she turned and headed back down the corridor they'd walked.
"Where—?" He kept up with her, but not easily—for a woman in her fifties, she could book it.
"The women's lounge area." She pointed ahead as she hustled closer. "Those mahogany double doors at the end."
Devon sprinted ahead and yanked open the doors. "Stay behind me."
Becca ignored him, thrusting ahead and shouting, "Naomi!" as they entered a large circular entry area with more corridors leading from it. "Naomi!"
A door to their right burst open and Naomi Grant spilled into the entry room. "Aunt Becca!" Her face was the same shade as the cream-colored walls. "There's blood in the women's locker room.”
“Blood?” Becca reached for her as Devon pushed past her into the room she’d just exited.
Despite the urgency, he couldn’t help but be awed by the fountain in the center of a vast chamber with a veined-tile floor. Scrollwork signs on the walls pointed to “sauna” and “whirlpool” and “locker room.” Luckily, no women appeared. He veered right.
He almost wasn’t sure he’d actually arrived in the right place, but the carpeted room lined with teakwood locking cabinets was in line with the luxurious entry hall of what he realized was the women’s bathroom.
The metallic smell of blood reached him. He followed his nose to the basket hamper in the corner, filled with bloody towels. It reminded him of the discarded gauzes from his orthopedic surgeries, bright red and a lot more than the average person saw.
This was not good.
He returned to the two women. Naomi’s hands were visibly shaking, although her voice remained low and calm. “And I couldn’t find Ms. Ortiz.”
Jessica’s name still caused the reflexive crunching of his jaw. But he’d never wanted any harm to come to her—she wasn’t a bad person, they had just clashed too much on personal matters. And now she was missing, and there was an immense amount of blood in the bathroom. Devon’s heart beat in a light staccato against his throat. She had to be okay.
“Where else have you looked?” He scanned the other corridors leading from the fountain entryway. He’d need guidance or he’d get lost in this labyrinth.
“I haven’t checked the therapy rooms yet.” Naomi nodded toward the larger central corridor, which ended at another set of double doors.
He headed toward them when Becca reached out to grab his arm in a bony but strong grip. “You can’t just barge into private sessions.”
“Why not?” He turned to face the two women. “There’s blood in your bathroom and Jessica Ortiz is missing.”
Naomi’s light brown eyes skewered him. “Do you really think it’s wise to cause a panic?”
“And I suppose you have another option?”
“Sessions don’t last more than an hour or ninety minutes. We’ll wait for those to finish—if Jessica’s just in one of those, there’s nothing to worry about. In the meantime, we’ll check all the empty session rooms,” Naomi said.
Becca turned to leave and said over her shoulder, “I’ll check on the schedule at the receptionists’ desk to find out which rooms have clients and when the sessions end. I’ll call you on your cell.”
Naomi turned down a corridor in the opposite direction, this one lined with bamboo tables draped with shimmery, lavender-colored fabric so light that it swayed as they moved past.
It reminded Devon of the papery silks he’d seen in Thailand, giving the spa a soothing and very Asian atmosphere. His heartbeat slowed. Jessica was probably fine and had accidentally taken someone else’s session in her artless, friendly way. She’d emerge from a facial or a manicure in a few minutes and wonder what all the fuss was about.
A group of three therapists turned a corner. They spied Naomi and immediately stopped chatting amongst themselves, although not fearfully—more out of respect that the boss was suddenly in front of them.
“Girls, have you seen Ms. Ortiz?” Naomi’s smile seemed perfectly natural and warm—inviting a rapport with her staff, yet not too cozy. If Devon hadn’t noticed her fingers plucking at the linen fabric of her pants, he wouldn’t have known how anxious she was.
Two of them shook their heads, but the tall blond woman to his left nodded and pointed directly across the corridor. “I saw her talking to Ms. Fischer about an hour ago before Ms. Fischer went in for her manicure.”
His heartbeat picked up. “An hour ago?”
The blonde eyed him with a hard look, but a quick glance at Naomi seemed to allay her suspicions. He had the impression that if her boss hadn’t been by his side, he’d have been thrown out, even if it took all three women to do it.
Naomi was shaking her head. “Ms. Cormorand saw her leave the Tamarind lounge only thirty minutes ago.”
His hopes popped and fizzled.
The blonde jerked her head at the nearby door. “Ms. Fischer is almost done in room thirty-five if you want to talk to her anyway.”
“That’s a good idea. Thanks, Betsy.”
Betsy nodded, and the silent trio headed down the corridor and around the corner.
Karen Hancock has won Christy Awards for each of her first four novels--Arena and the first three books in the Legends of the Guardian-King series, The Light of Eidon, The Shadow Within, and Shadow over Kiriath. She graduated from the University of Arizona with bachelor's degrees in biology and wildlife biology. Along with writing, she is a semi-professional watercolorist and has exhibited her work in a number of national juried shows. She and her family reside in Arizona.
ABOUT THE BOOK
When Lacey McHenry accepts a prestigious research fellowship at the world-renowned Kendell-Jakes Longevity Institute, she sees it as a new start on life. But a disturbing late-night encounter with an intruder leads to an unexpected cover-up by Institute authorities, and she soon realizes there's more going on than she ever imagined.
She finds a supporter in genetics researcher Cameron Reinhardt. However, Reinhardt is a favorite of the Institute's director, and she can't help wondering if he, too, is in on the cover-up. The brilliant but absentminded researcher turns out to have his own secrets, some of them dark and deadly. The Enclave is characterized by adventure, intrigue, spiritual analogy, and romance, all set in an unusual but fully realized world--one that may have its foundations on earth but which, the more one learns of it, doesn't seem much like the earth we know at all.
If you'd like to read the first chapter of The Enclave, go HERE
Hi it's Doogie, Mom is camping she'll review the book on Sunday.
Caught up in the self-imposed pressure to do and be all the things they think a Christian woman ought to do and be, countless women are working desperately to convince everyone, including God, that they have it all together. Few have any idea that the Creator of the universe looks at them with delight even when they yell at the dog, drive a minivan littered with French fries, or think bad words about that rude clerk at the store.
APerfectMess offers hope to every woman who yearns for a vibrant relationship with God but worries she isn’t good enough or doesn’t do enough to merit His affection. With characteristic authenticity, speaker and author Lisa Harper shares poignant stories from her own imperfect life to showcase the real-life relevancy of the Bible in the lives of modern women.
As she guides readers on a story-driven journey through selected Psalms, they will be inspired to experience for themselves how God’s incomparable love transforms the messiness of life into a gorgeous work of grace.
Lisa Harper is a master storyteller whose lively approach connects the dots between the Bible era and modern life. She is a sought-after Bible teacher and speaker whose upcoming appearances include the national Women of Faith Conferences. A veteran of numerous radio and television programs and the author of several books, she also is a regular columnist for Today’s Christian Woman magazine. Lisa recently completed a master’s of theological studies from Covenant Theological Seminary. She makes her home outside Nashville.
I haven't finished reading this fantastic book yet, but I'll post a review when I do! In the meantime, you can win your own copy by sending me an email before 10pm on Saturday, July 25th. I'll announce the winner here on Sunday. Good luck!
Eva Marie Everson taught Old Testament theology for six years at Life Training Center in Longwood, Florida and has written numerous articles for Crosswalk.com (including the acclaimed Falling Into The Bible series), and has had articles featured in numerous publications, including Christianity Today, Evangel, Christian Bride, Christian Retailing, The Godly BusinessWoman and Marriage Partnership magazines. Eva Marie has been interviewed by radio, television, newspaper, and Internet media outlets. In 2002Eva Marie was one of six Christian journalists sent to Israel for a special ten-day press tour.
Eva Marie’s work includes the award-winning titles Reflections of God's Holy Land; A Personal Journey Through Israel, Shadow of Dreams, Sex, Lies and the Media, and The Potluck Club series.
She is married, has four children and five grandchildren, and lives in Central Florida.
ABOUT THE BOOK
Every family--and every house--has its secrets. Jo-Lynn Hunter is at a crossroads in life when her great-aunt Stella insists that she return home to restore the old family manse in sleepy Cottonwood, Georgia. Jo-Lynn longs to get her teeth into a noteworthy and satisfying project. And it's the perfect excuse for some therapeutic time away from her self-absorbed husband and his snobby Atlanta friends.
Beneath the dust and the peeling wallpaper, things are not what they seem, and what Jo-Lynn doesn't know about her family holds just as many surprises. Was her great-grandfather the pillar of the community she thought he was? What is Aunt Stella hiding? And will her own marriage survive the renovation? Jo-Lynn isn't sure she wants to know the truth--but sometimes the truth has a way of making itself known.
Things Left Unspoken by Eva Marie Everson is an enthralling book about family secrets. When Jo-Lynn's marriage starts to fall apart and her great-uncle Jim dies, she returns to her family home in Cottonwood, Georgia. Her great-aunt Stella informs her that she's selling the family home to be turned into a museum but on the condition that Jo-Lynn does the restoration. She soon finds that the renovations aren't just being done on the house, and that as the house is emptied of personal belongings, long held family secrets may come to light. Jo-Lynn is a terrific protagonist making the story immediate and real. Everson builds the suspense slowly by revealing the secrets a little at a time making it impossible to put this book down! She describes Jo-Lynn's love of family and home in a way that makes the reader fall in love with it all as well. It's a real Southern Gothic thriller with romance and faith.
I'm starting a book contest today for Lisa Harper's A Perfect Mess. It's a study of the book of Psalms with Harper's humorous and loving commentary, making them come alive for today's Christian woman. If you would like to win, send me an email by 10 pm on Saturday, July 25th. I'll announce the winner here on Sunday. Good luck!
I love to see how people use their gifts or the things that they love to serve the Lord or help out other people. I've come across a few examples of this in the last week, and I wanted to share them with you! First up is this video from Tim Hawkins who made me laugh hysterically. I'm going to order his DVD from the library, because I can't wait to hear more of his humor.
Next up is The Uniform Project. This young woman has decided to wear the same dress every day for a year (she has seven identical dresses) to raise awareness about renewable fashion and raise money for the Akshanka Foundation which provides education for children in India. Now this woman is beautiful and has an amazing sense of fashion, so she can pull this off! Every day she uses different accessories to give it a unique look. You can view the different looks by month. I love how she's using something she loves: fashion to raise money for something she's passionate about: education.
I heard about Cory Hanna on the news this weekend. After losing his wife to suicide, he decided to raise awareness about the issue and money to educate others. On July 18, he performed 100 skydives in 24 hours to raise money in what he called 100 Jumps for Life. He did each of them from about 2000 feet and had to jump every six minutes to complete the mission. He's taken tragedy and turned it into a blessing for others. I love stories like this!
Worth a Thousand Words by Stacy Hawkins Adams is the second book in the Jubilant Soul series. This novel follows one summer in the life of Indigo Burns' (her elder sister Rachelle was featured in the first book) as gets ready for grad school to earn a Master's degree in photography and gets engaged to her longtime boyfriend, Brian. Her life is turned upside down by a health issue, an aunt's stroke, and pressure from her fiance to get married immediately despite her doubts. Indigo is a terrific character who readers will relate to as she tries to juggle romance with her dreams for the future. Her family is going through several crises that put her faith to the test as well. Adams bravely goes somewhere that most Christian fiction novels are afraid to go, and the way she addresses the issue may anger some readers. I think she handles it with tact and compassion which should be a model for Christians everywhere. I can't wait for the next book in the series!
Tomorrow I'll be starting a book contest, so I hope you'll stop back then to sign up!
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
William Carmichael is an accomplished bestselling author of marriage, family, and parenting books. He and his wife, Nancie, are popular speakers across the United States and Canada. He is also the founder of Good Family Magazines, which published Virtue, Christian Parenting Today, and Parents of Teenagers magazines. The Missionary is Bill’s first novel.
David Lambert is senior fiction editor for Howard Books, a division of Simon & Schuster. He is the author of nine books, including the Gold Medallion Award winning Jumper Fables (Zondervan), coauthored with Ken Davis, and four novels for young adult readers.
List Price: $13.99 Paperback: 384 pages Publisher: Moody Publishers; 1 edition (March 1, 2009) Language: English ISBN-10: 0802455697 ISBN-13: 978-0802455697
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
The tall man guided his new Mercedes out of Avenue Casanova traffic and pulled in behind a battered Volks -wagen at the gutter; he had just seen the Ford van several cars ahead of him pull over, its emergency flashers on. He leaned to the side, straining for a clear view around the cars and trucks honking, jockeying for position, crowding the avenue. It was late—10:34, he affirmed with a glance at his Rolex—and the glare of so many lights on the rainwashed streets made him squint. He watched the van’s driver get out, wait for a break in the traffic, and then jog across the street toward some sort of commotion. There were children running—one was on the ground, a boy. A heavyset man in a dirty white apron was yelling at the fallen boy, kicking him, and the boy curled into a ball. A girl threw herself between the fallen boy and the man; the man pushed her down. The van’s driver arrived and held up a hand, yelling at the man in the apron, who yelled back.
There was nothing unusual about the scene. It was played out scores of times on this and many other Caracas streets every night: hungry, homeless children scrabbling for a living, treated as nothing more than human refuse by the adults annoyed by them or who sought them for other purposes. One needed no more excuse to kick—or exploit, in any of dozens of unsavory ways—a street urchin than one did a stray dog.
The tall man had seen the driver of the van, a missionary, make several such stops over the past few days, usually at night, chatting with groups of these children, teasing them, making them laugh, talking to them as long as the children were willing to stay. Twice the tall man had managed to get close enough to overhear the missionary asking kids where they lived, whether they had enough to eat, whether any of them were sick or knew other children who were sick, whether there were other homeless children nearby. The name on the side of the van was Aldea Esperanza. Hope Village. The tall man knew exactly where it was; he had driven past it, slowly. It was a mission—a place that took in young homeless ones.
The missionary stepped between the angry man and the two children on the ground. The girl was talking to the fallen boy. She looked worried. The man in the apron pushed past the missionary and grabbed something from the young girl’s hand, then brandished it at the missionary —evidence, no doubt, that the children had stolen from him. The missionary pointed toward the children, spoke to the man, and then reached into his pocket and offered to pay for what the children had stolen. The man grabbed it and stalked away, still yelling back over his shoulder.
Three or four other children wandered back as the aproned man disappeared. If any of these children had a home with a bed, they would undoubtedly have been in it by this time of night.
A group of young men walked by, their clothes and voices loud, two of them taking swigs from their bottles of beer. The avenue was crowded with those seeking thrills, as well as the homeless. From across the street, a prostitute caught the tall man’s eye and waved. He ignored her. Peering around a passing truck, he watched as the missionary knelt and placed his hand on the forehead of the young boy.
This was a good thing that the missionary was doing. The tall man admired him for it. Yes, it was time to meet him face-to-face. Maybe he was the right man for the job. Maybe not.
• • • • • • •
The rain had stopped, at least for now.
“¿Hay algun familiar de este chico?” David asked. He removed his hand from the child’s forehead. The boy was burning with fever, gasping desperately; his chest rattled.
“Sí.”
David glanced up at the girl who had tried to protect the boy; she could not have been more than ten.
“He is my little brother. He started coughing five days ago,” she said. “And after he runs, he cannot breathe.”
“What’s his name?”
”Ricardo. My name is Angela.”
David smiled and touched her arm. “Angela, where are your parents?”
Angela shrugged. David saw this response often. It meant that the girl’s parents were drug addicts, or that they were dead, or that she had no idea where they were and probably hadn’t seen them in some time.
He brushed Ricardo’s lank hair from his forehead. For five years now David had patrolled the barrios of Caracas, witnessing the misery of an endless supply of impoverished and sickly and homeless children. Was there no end to the suffering here?
Swarms of Latinos hurried by in the warm, humid night, seemingly unaware. Salsa music blared from one of the bars down the street. Honking cars, trucks, and buses jammed Avenue Casanova. The stink of urine rose from the gutter, a bitter note blending with the fragrance of fresh arepas, frying chilies, refried beans, and beer. “¡Vámanos, arriba!” someone yelled from down the street.
Ricardo stared at David with sunken, panicked eyes, his back rising off the broken sidewalk in his effort to pull air into his lungs.
“How old is your brother?” David asked Angela.
“Siete.”
There was no point calling an ambulance. They refused to pick up the homeless. David pulled out his cell and called his wife. “Christie, call Dr. Vargas and see if he can meet us at the clinic in forty-five minutes. Tell him I have a seven year-old boy I think is in the acute stages of pneumonia. He can barely breathe.”
There was a pause. “Is he wheezing?” she asked.
“Big-time.”
“Okay. Get him here quick.”
When David clicked off his phone and reached behind the boy to lift him, large olive-skinned hands reached down to help. David looked up to see a tall, well-dressed man.
“Can I please help you?” The stranger spoke in English.
“We can put him in my car just down the street if you need transportation to the hospital.”
“Thank you,” David said, “but my van’s right here.” He nodded toward the white nine-passenger Ford van he used as both bus and ambulance. It was double-parked, emergency flashers blinking, Aldea Esperanza painted in bright red letters on the side. “I’m taking this child to my clinic.”
Before David could object, the tall man lifted Ricardo’s thin little body into his arms and headed for the van. David grabbed Angela’s hand and, weaving through honking, halting traffic, hurried ahead to open the back doors. Inside lay a mattress neatly wrapped with clean white sheets. The man gently laid Ricardo on the mattress.
David motioned for Angela to climb into the back of the van with Ricardo. She hesitated. “What about my friends? Two of them are also coughing.”
David looked back across the street, where seven children stood watching. He glanced at the well-dressed man, who shrugged.
“We don’t have room,” David said. “I’m sorry. Right now, I can only take your brother and you. And for your brother’s sake, we must hurry.”
“Then take Maria instead of me. She has been coughing for three days,” Angela replied.
David looked at the stranger, then across the street again. “Jesus, help . . .” he whispered, then asked, “Which one is Maria?”
Angela yelled, “¡Maria, ven!” motioning Maria forward. A girl David guessed to be about the same age as Angela wove her way through traffic toward them. Without asking, Angela quickly shoved Maria up into the back of the van next to her brother.
Always choices, David thought, and most of them are bad. How can it be the will of God to simply choose among the least bad alternatives?
He put his hand on Angela’s shoulder, urging her into the van with Ricardo and Maria. As she scrambled in, she smiled. Already a skilled negotiator, David thought. David shook the stranger’s hand and hurried to the driver’s door. “Thank you for your help.” He grabbed a business
card from the dash and handed it to the man, then cranked the engine and slammed the door. “Why don’t you visit us?” he hollered through the window, over the engine noise.
“I would like to. Perhaps soon.”
David waved over his shoulder and inched out into traffic, his headlights reflecting on slick, wet streets. Ricardo hacked a loud, racking cough.
David took a sharp right, leaving the business district and entering a darker, less congested area, a faster way home. Big raindrops began again, slowly at first, then pounding hard and fast against the windshield while the wipers beat like rapid rubber drumsticks. And there was another sound. At first David thought that the windshield wipers were broken—the motor giving out, wheezing . . . and then he realized that the sound was coming from the back of the van. It stopped. David glanced in the rearview mirror.
The boy’s sister hovered over Ricardo. “Angela, how’s your brother back there?” David asked. “Everything okay?”
Angela’s little face tilted up, her eyes frightened.
“Señor!” she said. “He cannot breathe! He is choking!”
The Missionary by William Carmichael & David Lambert is a pulse-pounding thriller about how an innocent man's actions can shake an entire nation. David Eller loves his job as a missionary at the Hope Village in Caracas, Venezuela working alongside his wife Christie and their young son Davy. But he's angered by the children who are devastated by poverty and neglect on the city's streets, and he doesn't always keep his comments quiet in a country run by a megalomaniacal dictator. His political views bring him to the attention of a man who asks David to do just a couple of small, simple tasks, but when the country suddenly faces an attempted coup and David can't contact the mystery man, he and his family are on a race to save their lives. The authors really keep the pages turning through shady alliances and non-stop action. The reader wants to shake David repeatedly as he acts without thinking, but it's an integral part of the character and a vital plot element. My only complaint is with the character of Davy. Early in the story, he is described as having ADHD; David even calls him a hummingbird on steroids, but never once in the story do we see Davy showing any symptoms of ADHD. Not through running for his life, capture for the government, and other traumas does he display any of those characteristics. If the writers had left out that description at the beginning, Davy would be portrayed well. If they had thrown in a few scenes of him acting out to his mother's terror, it would have been powerfully moving, but as it is, that part just doesn't work. Davy is, however, only a minor character, so this small flaw does not detract from the thrilling action.
I'll be starting a new book contest on Wednesday to run over the weekend while we're off camping. I will have posts for every day of the trip, so you won't even have the chance to miss me! :D
I'm blessed to be the mother of three children: Doogie, Molly, and Mia and am happily married to Jesse.
I've always loved to read, and I love talking about the books that move me.
I review books here, on Amazon, Christianbook.com, Barnes & Noble, Lunch.com, Christian Book Video, Shelfari, GoodReads, MySpace, and Facebook.
No time to write much today. I promised Mia that I would take her to the beach swimming today while we waited for Molly to get done with work. She did some swimming yesterday, but it was so cold and rainy, we didn't stay as long as she would have liked, but today it's beautiful and sunny, perfect swimming weather. She's been asking when we're going to leave since she woke up this morning, so I'm going to get done quickly so we can get out the door!
has short anecdotes with down to earth wisdom for the family and friends of cancer sufferers. Some of the advice may seem like common sense, but when your life is turned upside down, common sense is remarkably rare. Each chapter ends with a short prayer for understanding and strength. The most important advice given is for caregivers to just listen and be present for those facing cancer, something that I needed to hear. This book offers hope in the midst of a frightening time. Now that I've finished reading it, I will be passing it on to my mom, and I'm sure that she will pass it on as well. It's that kind of book.
