Wednesday, February 22, 2012

ASENATH by ANNA PATRICO

It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!




You never know when I might play a wild card on you!








Today's Wild Card author is:




and the book:


Imajin Books (September 24, 2011)

***Special thanks to Anna Patricio for sending me a review copy.***


ABOUT THE AUTHOR:


Anna Patricio is a lover of ancient history, with a particular interest in Egypt, Israel, Greece, and Rome. She is also intrigued by the Ancient Near East, though she has not delved too much into it but hopes to one day.



She undertook formal studies in Ancient History at Macquarie University. She focused mostly on Egyptology and Jewish-Christian Studies, alongside a couple of Greco-Roman units, and one on Archaeology. Though she knew there were very limited job openings for ancient history graduates, she pursued her degree anyway as it was something she had always been passionate about.



Then, about a year after her graduation, the idea to tackle historical fiction appeared in her head, and she began happily pounding away on her laptop. ASENATH is her first novel.



Recently, she traveled to Lower Egypt (specifically Cairo and the Sinai), Israel, and Jordan. She plans to return to Egypt soon, and see more of it. In the past, she has also been to Athens and Rome.



Anna is currently working on a second novel, which still takes place in Ancient Egypt, but hundreds of years after ASENATH.



Visit the author's website.




SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:


Two Destinies...One Journey of Love



In a humble fishing village on the shores of the Nile lives Asenath, a fisherman's daughter who has everything she could want. Until her perfect world is shattered.



When a warring jungle tribe ransacks the village and kidnaps her, separating her from her parents, she is forced to live as a slave. And she begins a journey that will culminate in the meeting of a handsome and kind steward named Joseph.



Like her, Joseph was taken away from his home, and it is in him that Asenath comes to find solace...and love. But just as they are beginning to form a bond, Joseph is betrayed by his master's wife and thrown into prison.



Is Asenath doomed to a lifetime of losing everything and everyone she loves?









Product Details:

List Price: $13.99

Paperback: 222 pages

Publisher: Imajin Books (September 24, 2011)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 1926997263

ISBN-13: 978-1926997261



AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:







Egypt 1554 B.C.



The Nile had just flooded, leaving the ground moist, rich and black. The children of our riverside village, I among them, frolicked about in the cool, gooey earth. In the distance, the ancient river circled the land, glittering with a thousand tiny dancing lights from the sun-god's Boat of a Million Years. A breeze blew, rustling the branches of the palm trees that surrounded our home.

"Kiya!"

No sooner had I looked than a mud ball pelted me hard across the stomach.

"I'll get you for that, Menah." I bent down to gather mud in my hands when another ball landed on my back. He was a quick one, my best friend.

I had just formed a mud ball and was about to raise my arm when Menah suddenly charged forward and pounced on me.

"Now you'll get the tickle torture," he said in a mock evil voice.

"No, Menah. Please, no." But I was overcome by uncontrollable laughter.

"Menah! Kiya!" voices called out, interrupting our playful wrestling.

Our mothers approached.

"Come out now," my mother called. "It is time to prepare for the Feast of Hapi."

Covered in mud from head to toe, Menah and I scrambled toward them.

Mama shook her head, smiling. "You're such a mess."

She led me back to our hut.

"What is going to happen tonight, Mama?" I asked. "I mean, after we pray to Hapi? Will there be games?"

Mama's blue eyes twinkled against her brown skin. "I see no reason why there shouldn't be."

"And lots of food?"

"All the food you could ever want."

"May I wear my lotus necklace today?"

Years ago, when I was very young, Mama had given me a beautiful carved lapis lazuli lotus pendant strung on a simple piece of coarse rope. She told me it had been in her family for many generations and that her grandmother had received it from Hapi himself.

She ruffled my hair. "Of course. Today is, after all, a special day."

As we entered our mud hut, which had been my home since birth, I saw my father mending one of his fisherman's nets. When he saw me, he pretended to cower in fear.

"A mud monster has entered our house."

I laughed. "It's just me, Papa."

He leaned forward and squinted, as if trying to get a good look, though the gesture was comically exaggerated. "Is it? Let me see. Ah yes, it's my little Kiya."

He leapt to his feet, picked me up and swung me around, ignoring the mud that soiled his hands. I squealed with delight.

"Nakhti," Mama said. "I have to get her ready."

"Yes." Papa set me down. He gave me a gentle slap across the back, motioning for me to return to Mama.

"I get to wear the lotus today, Papa."

He smiled. "I am sure you will look very pretty."

Later that afternoon, four priests from a nearby town passed by our village. They shouldered on poles our patron god's idol, which nestled upon a bed of water lilies. A ray of sunlight bounced off the golden image and it flashed with brilliance. Behind the god was a small train of dancing priestesses. They rattled sistrums and twirled around, their white dresses billowing out like clouds.

My fellow villagers and I were assembled outside our village, awaiting the god's arrival. When he appeared, we fell to our knees and touched our foreheads to the sandy ground.

"Glorious Hapi," my father intoned. "We thank you for once again allowing your water to flow and give life. We thank you for nourishing our land and our people. We pray your sacred pitchers never cease to flow. We thank you, great god of the Nile."

My heart swelled with pride. Papa was the most renowned fisherman in our village. Though he was quite an old man - many years older than my mother - he possessed skills and strength that surpassed even those of the younger generations. Everyone thus hailed him as the favoured of the river god.

"Praise be to you, Hapi," I echoed along with the rest of my fellow villagers.

As the idol trailed away, we rose to our feet and gathered up the amulets and flowers, which we would be tossing into the Nile as offerings. It was sunset now and sheer red-orange skies cast a fiery glow upon the river's rippling surface. From a distance, we heard the warbling of river fowl and the screeching of monkeys.

We approached the riverbank. It was still soft and muddy from the inundation. We tossed our offerings in. All the while, Papa chanted hymns of praise. Afterward, we returned to the village for what we children had been anticipating the most - the games.

A kind, respectable widow named Mekten, whom everyone called "Village Mother", held a game called the "statue dance." She played a reed flute while we danced and would stop at random moments without warning. We had to freeze as soon as the music stopped. Those who were still dancing were out of the game.

My friends and I loved it so much that Mekten held several rounds of it. Unfortunately, I always lost, as I always got so caught up in the liveliness of the game. However, she awarded me a small spinning top as a prize for being the best dancer.

I danced so much that I could barely keep my eyes open as we later sat down to the feast. Papa picked me up and carried me back to our hut. I was too tired to protest. As soon as he lay me down, I fell into a deep sleep.

That night, I dreamt I was on a great winged barque sailing along the Nile. It was a bright day, with the white-golden Egyptian sun shining gloriously and flocks of ibises and herons gleaming against the clear blue sky. A group of friendly monkeys, like those who usually wandered near my family's hut, kept me company on the deck, entertaining me with their hilarious antics.

Suddenly, the skies darkened and the water began to thrash against the barque. The monkeys leapt up and down, screeching frantically. I grabbed onto the rail.

Thunder rumbled. Fierce white waves threatened to haul us overboard. The barque tipped to a dangerous level and I began to scream.

Waking, I placed my hand over my heart, which was pounding fiercely. I was about to heave a sigh of relief when I heard the rumbling from my dream. I sat up, my chest constricting in fear once more. The noise sounded like it was coming from outside our hut.

The rumbling stopped.

I heard a strange voice shouting in a language I could not understand.

My father appeared beside me. In the dim light, I could see the outline of his bony profile as he knelt by my side.

"What's that noise, Papa?"

He put his arms around me and before he could answer, a chilling scream sliced through the air. Other screams followed. Soon, the air was filled with a frightening cacophony - screams, cries and more shouts in that strange language.

Papa's grip on me tightened. "Come, Kiya. We must hide you."

The door of our hut flew open.

Two enormous, fearsome-looking warriors towered like the tallest trees. Their faces were thickly painted in bright, garish colours. They wore loincloths made of animal skin and peculiar pointed headdresses that emphasised their unusual height. In their hands were spears that glinted threateningly.

Mama screamed.

One of the warriors shouted something, while waving toward us. Another dashed forward and snatched me out of Papa's protective hold.

"Papa!"

The monster hauled me outside.

I kicked and flailed. "Papa!"

"Kiya!" Papa hurried after me.

Alas, though he was strong and agile, he was no match for these giants. They ran with such enormous strides that in no time he was out of sight.

"Papa?" I writhed about in the warrior's iron grip. "Papa!"

I felt a blow to the back of my head and the world turned black.

Cold water slapped my face. When I opened my eyes, I was staring into the massive painted face of my captor.

"Get up," he snarled. His breath was fouler than rotten fish.

I struggled to my feet. Though I was still in a daze, I dared not disobey.

The warrior grabbed my arm and led me through pitch-black darkness. I was certain he was going to kill me. My chest tightened with fear.

He led me out into a brightly lit clearing. It looked like we were in the midst of a dense jungle. A campfire crackled at the centre where the warrior's comrades sat feasting and talking.

Relief washed over me when I noticed my fellow villagers huddled together at the far end. Menah was with them.

I smiled. "Menah!"

The warrior slapped me hard across the face. "You are not to speak. If you do so again, we will kill you."

I shuddered, though I was less frightened than before now that I knew I was not alone.

The warrior dragged me over to the villagers and shoved me amongst them. "Stay with them. No talking and no trying to escape." He glared at us, then went to the fire to join the others.

Menah took my hand.

"Where are my parents?" I asked in a bare whisper.

He looked at me sadly and shook his head.

I knew what that meant. They were not there.

I suddenly threw up.

In a flash, the warrior was before us. "What's going on here?"

No one answered.

"She felt sick and vomited," our village mother Mekten said finally.

The warrior turned to his comrades and said something in their language. They laughed boisterously. He shook his head and returned to them.

Tears spilled from my eyes. Menah held me and rocked me, comforting me. I sobbed for a long time, eventually crying myself to sleep.

What followed was an arduous journey through the jungle. The scorching sun was merciless and mosquitoes bit my arms, legs and face. The entire time, our captors threatened to murder us and I might have actually died with despair had it not been for the familiar faces around me.

I do not know how far we travelled, but just as I thought we would perish, one of the warriors announced we had reached our destination.

It was early evening. We were led toward a tribal encampment illuminated by a towering bonfire. Drumbeats pounded in my ears as we drew nearer. When we entered the camp, I saw tents made of dyed animal hides, as well as poles topped with the decapitated heads of people and animals. I averted my eyes, trying to erase the horrific images from my head.

The drums were deafening as the tribespeople surrounded us. Like our captors, they were wrapped in animal skins. Their bodies were pierced in just about every part and painted in bright colours. I shuddered when a small child with painted teeth and a pierced nose came over and poked at my face.

My fellow villagers and I were lined up in front of the bonfire. I thought for sure they would murder us. I whimpered as one of the warriors strode up to us. I recognised him. He had entered my family's hut.

The warrior paced the length of our row. "Do you know why you are all here?"

No one answered.

He glared at us. "Many years ago, your Pharaoh murdered our chieftain. I am that chieftain's son and will now avenge my father's death. Until your king makes amends, we will continue to destroy your wretched country. If he does not, we will fight until Egypt is no more."

As he reached me, he stopped pacing and smiled, revealing crooked yellow teeth. "What is your name, little girl?" His voice was gentle.

"K-Kiya," I squeaked.

"What a beautiful girl you are. Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?"

I did not answer.

"How old are you?"

"Nine."

"Ah. Perfect." His hideous grin widened. "You will be my slave, Kiya. And when your red moon comes, you will become my bride."

I stared at him, too horrified to speak.

He stepped forward. "That flower around your neck goes very well with your lovely face." He fingered the lotus pendant and I pulled back.

"Where are my parents?" I blurted.

"We left them behind, little one. We have no use for them." He laughed cruelly.

My fear was replaced by rage. "I want my parents. Bring me back to my parents."

One of the warriors rushed toward me, but the chieftain held up his hand. He stared into space for a moment. "Very well. If you work hard, I will send for your parents by the time you and I are ready to marry."

My anger began to abate. "You mean that?" I looked into his dark eyes, which were surrounded by a strange painted pattern of dots.

"Yes. So what do you say, little Kiya? Are you going to work hard?"

I hated that he called me "little Kiya." It sounded like he was trying to replace Papa. But I knew that if I wanted to see my parents again, I had to be obedient and silent.

I nodded.

"Good," he said, turning away.

"What is a red moon?" I asked.

Some of my fellow villagers stared at me, aghast, while the tribespeople roared with laughter.

The chieftain approached Mekten. "Be Kiya's advisor and explain to her what a red moon is. I am sure you know full well." He winked at her.

I felt sick at that gesture, even though I did not understand what it meant.

Mekten nodded in submission.

The chieftain waved his arm, inviting his people to pick slaves from among us.

A tall, thin woman with large bone earrings and a cold expression led Mekten and I to the chieftain's large tent. When we stepped inside, I nearly screamed. The place was festooned with more disembodied animal heads, as well as enormous wooden masks with frightening expressions. The dim light from torches cast shadows on the eerie things, making them look almost alive.

The tribeswoman pointed to a dirty mat at the far end of the tent. "You will sleep there. Go now." Mekten and I headed for the mat, but the tribeswoman grabbed Mekten's arm. "Not you. You will stay here."

I stared at them, confused, and the woman glared at me. "Go!"

I hurried over to the mat as the tribeswoman extinguished the torch, plunging the tent into complete darkness.

All was silent. Then the tent's flap rose, revealing the bulky profile of the chieftain. He shuffled inside and the flap swung closed.

Not long after, I heard Mekten crying out in fear and pain. Heavy breathing followed. The louder Mekten screamed, the heavier the breathing grew.

Though I had no idea what was happening, I knew I was hearing something bad. I covered my ears, but it was no use. Similar screams rose from the neighbouring tents. I slept amongst nightmares, waking at times to the sound of terrified cries and heartbreaking sobbing.

The following morning, Mekten acted scared of everything and everyone, which wasn't like her. I wanted to make her feel better, but I didn't know how. Even the most trivial things I did frightened her.

Throughout the day, I kept a distance from her. But at times, I tried to reach out to her. She was, after all, one of our dearest family friends.

"Mekten," I said in a timid voice. "What is a red moon?"

Mekten looked at me with sad eyes. Finally, she took a deep breath and explained everything in a shaky voice before breaking down.



Our Review:
In Asenath, Anna Patrico takes a little known character from far back in the Bible and fleshes her out. Asenath, the Egyptian wife of Joseph, son of Jacob, who became Vizier of Egypt has an equally facinating rise from poverty to the palace. The story provides a feel for how both the rich and the poor lived. Fascinating details and tidbits of daily life in ancient Egypt make Asenath and the rest of the characters real.

This book puts you beside this strong woman, making you part and parcel of her struggles. Ms Patrico sketches an ancient and epic love story with gentle phrases and insightful scenes that make the story come alive in your imagination. A truly enjoyable read. Highly recommended.
-E G Lewis

Monday, February 20, 2012

SWEETER THAN BIRDSONG by Rosslyn Elliott


In this second in the award-winning Saddler's Legacy series, Rosslyn Elliott has written a stirring novel of hope and faith inspired by real historical people and events. With Ben Hanby, a genius composer, Kate Winter, one of the first female college graduates in America, and John Parker, an ex-slave who risked his life time and again to help fugitive slaves, Sweeter than Birdsong is full of real heroes to inspire us. "I hope readers will find a renewed sense of strength in their own lives," says Elliott, "knowing that change is possible, and our efforts matter. I want them to remember these unique, brave people in history who left us a shining example of what it means to live out one's beliefs with passion and commitment."

 So to celebrate the music in all of us, Rosslyn and Thomas Nelson are hosting this "sweet giveaway".


One fortunate winner will receive:
  • A Brand new iPod Nano (Winner's choice of color!)
  • Fairer than Morning by Rosslyn Elliott
  • Sweeter than Birdsong by Rosslyn Elliott
Enter today by clicking one of the icons below. But hurry, the giveaway ends at noon on February 28th. Winner will be announced at Sweeter than Birdsong Author Chat Facebook Party on 2/28. Rosslyn will be chatting with guests, sharing a sneak peek of the next book in the series, hosting a trivia contest, and more! She'll also be giving away some GREAT prizes: gift certificates, books, season 1 of DowntownAbbey, and a book club prize pack! (Ten copies of the book for your small group or book club AND a LIVE Author Chat for your group with Rosslyn.)


So grab your copy of Sweeter than Birdsong and join Rosslyn and friends on the evening of the 28th for an evening of fun.

Enter via E-mail Enter via FacebookEnter via Twitter
Don't miss a moment of the fun. RSVP today and tell your friends via FACEBOOK or TWITTER and increase your chances of winning. Hope to see you on the 28th!


Rosslyn Elliott
Win an iPod Nano and Downtown Abbey from Rosslyn Elliott!

Enter 2/9-2/28!

OUR REVIEW:
The title of this book caught my eye because I raise small exotic birds. Anything that says "birdsong" has to be intriguing, right? Then there was the fact that this fictional novel is based on a historic family, and in Ohio, no less. We have family in and from Ohio and have a fascination for the Underground Railroad. That made it a must read!

Although a little slow in the beginning, hang in there. It gets better. Rosslyn Elliott weaves a believable story of gentile romance and intrigue. Her characters' faith brings them together and gives them the courage to stand against slavery. She has done an admirable job of researching and presenting many historic facts intertwined within the fiction. Among her characters, she even introduces John Parker, a former slave who actually employed white men in his iron foundry. She makes me want to know more. A well-written novel. 

Thank you to Litfuse and Thomas Nelson Publishers for providing us with a complimentary review copy of the book.
—Gail Lewis

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

RECONCILIATIONS by Susan Elizabeth Ball

A delicately written, but thought-provoking, story of lost love regained, and lost souls reconciled.

Ms. Ball has crafted a story that walks a thin line, and does it well. In Reconciliations, you'll encounter a full and honest treatment of significant moral issues − the author does not shy away from the reality of our world − but in a way that doesn't slap you in the face, or deliberately shock your sensibilities.

Kevin is an honest, but worldly man who appears quite unlucky in love. His wife, Christine, left him after adulterating their marriage with multiple affairs. The woman he dated for several months is now engaged to another man. And don't even ask about the most recent woman to enter his life!

Christine, a broken product of a dysfunctional family, continues in the way of the lost, rebounding from relationship to relationship, until one goes horribly wrong and she ends up in the hospital. Through Divine intervention (what the world sometimes misconstrues as 'coincidence') Christine and Kevin are thrown back together again, her welfare now dependent upon her ex-husband's − shall we say "reluctant" as an understatement? − care.

Enter Mark and Janet Vinson, and the congregation of Riverside Christian Fellowship, and the plot both deepens and softens into a genuine exhibition of Christian benevolence. Kevin and Christine must now deal not only with the turmoil of the unexpected return into each other's lives, but the inescapable and unyielding love of people committed to a faith neither Kevin nor Christine understand.

The tagline on the back cover promises, "A heart-warming story of a powerful love..." And that promise is kept between the pages of Reconciliations, the second in Ms. Ball's "Restored Hearts" series.

More about the author and this book can be found at
http://www.susaneball.com/.

Reconciliations was provided by the publisher free for this review. But then, I'd have purchased it anyway.
—Bruce Judisch

Saturday, February 11, 2012

SARA'S LAUGHTER by Tom Milton


When I first read the synopsis to Sara's Laughter, the allegory was obvious, the storyline intriguing. And the allusion to Abraham and Sarah was indeed a true one; however, the way it manifested itself in Mr. Milton's story was unexpected.

Sara, a young New Yorker, is unable to get pregnant. First her husband has a dream that she'll have a baby, then, later, she has the same dream. Physiologically, it would take a miracle; however, history holds evidence of such miracles.

When Sara's sister, who does not want a child, becomes pregnant, they reach an agreement that seems to suit all. When that dream collapses, Sara is left at a loss. What happens next, though, forms the crux of the story, and Sara learns something interesting about herself through the ordeal that shakes her self-image and affects the strained relationship she's had with her sister throughout her life. The story takes place in both the present and the past, the switching between which might cause a little puzzlement with some readers.

The plot is well conceived, although the way it's delivered may be troublesome to many readers of this blog. The more tenderhearted of readers may become disconcerted with the profanity and spots of crass humor. The main characters deal with heady subjects like troubled family relationships, fornication, adultery and abortion. These topics are rendered in a way many will consider to be realistic, others not so. That impression will probably depend upon the circles one runs in.

Mr. Milton does not shy away from an even discussion of the above topics; however, it's difficult to isolate his views on some of these subjects, Indeed, that may well be part of his design, to leave the results of the debate up to his reader. The evenness is largely delivered through fast-paced dialog, which is well written but unvarnished. Quite simply put, it will likely appeal to those more used to a worldly handling of such moral topics.

This book was provided free of charge for review.
—Bruce Judisch

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

BEYOND MOLASSES CREEK by Nicole Seitz


If you’re looking for a book you won’t want to put down, it’s Beyond Molasses Creek. Nicole Seitz takes a unique idea and weaves it into a delightful tale that is a quick and easy read. I whizzed through it and enjoyed every page.

Author, Nicole Seitz

To tell you what I liked best about this novel would mean giving away the primary plot. The story begins with Ally Green in her 60’s returning home after the death of her father. Flashbacks tell you how she has lived her life. Gradually you learn she’s faced disappointment and that there was a terrible tragedy she’s tried to overcome, but it’s not clear what that is at first. 



A parallel story evolves with events in the life of Sunila, who has grown up in a rock quarry in Nepal. The harshness of her life there, her courage and the ultimate outcome for her future will inspire you.

As a person who raises and loves birds, my only criticism would be that I wish Ms. Seitz had researched the birds she mentions in the book with more accuracy. I recognized a few faux pas about the behavior of some. However, most people won’t notice it, and I still greatly enjoyed this book filled with emotion, intrigue and believable characters.

The book’s Christian outlook is handled in a believable fashion with sensible characters who live and love as real people. Although a Christian novel, this one is not noticeably preachy, nor does it lose track of the story in an effort to convert, as some seem to.

I highly recommend Beyond Molasses Creek by Nicole Seitz and expect to read more of her novels. 

We are grateful to Litfuse Publicity Group and Thomas Nelson Publishers for providing us with a review copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.
—Gail Lewis
Save the Date! 2/16!




PRODUCT DETAILS:
Paperback: 320 pages
Publisher: Thomas Nelson (January 31, 2012)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1595545050
ISBN-13: 978-1595545053



Friday, February 3, 2012

THE MASTER'S WALL by Sandi Rog


I was caught up on my scheduled book reviews and recognized it as an opportunity. What had I wanted to read and not had a chance to yet? Remembering a review that Bruce Judisch did over a year ago and how much his review of The Master's Wall intrigued me, I decided, “Why not?”

With a new Kindle, I sought out The Master’s Wall. I bought it, read it on Kindle and thoroughly enjoyed it. As new books arrived in our mailbox, I wouldn’t open any of them until I’d finished The Master’s Wall.  Bruce Judisch calls it “a keeper.”

Well, yes, it is. But I also want to share it with everyone. It’s a delightful, fun, exciting and romantic story with a happy ending. The bad guys suffer and the good ones prevail.

Ms. Rog successfully paints vivid pictures for the reader. Let your imagination soar. It’s not to be missed.
—Gail Lewis

Mr. Judisch’s review can be found at this link:

P.S. I just purchased the second book, Yahshua's Bridge, in Ms. Rog's , Iron and the Stone series and look forward to reading it. Here's a link to her books on Amazon.com.
http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=sandi+rog&x=0&y=0


Product Details:
Format: Kindle Edition
File Size: 431 KB
Publisher: DeWard Publishing Company (October 26, 2010)
Sold by: Amazon Digital Services
Language: English
ASIN: B0049B31EI

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

ELLIE'S HAVEN by SHARLENE MacLAREN

It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!



You never know when I might play a wild card on you!


Today's Wild Card author is:




and the book:


Whitaker House (March 1, 2012)

***Special thanks to Cathy Hickling of Whitaker House for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

“Shar” grew up in western Michigan and graduated from Spring Arbor University. After college she traveled worldwide performing with a music group and then returned home to start teaching school. She married her childhood friend, Cecil MacLaren, with whom she raised two daughters (and now has three grandchildren). After over 30 years as a teacher, Shar asked God for a new mission that would fill her heart with the same kind of passion she’d felt for teaching and raising her family. She found her mission writing Christian romance, and since 2007 has released ten novels that have earned her numerous awards and an ever-increasing base of loyal readers who are comforted, inspired, and entertained by her books.

Visit the author's website.

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

Ellie Booth is on the run from her bootlegging stepfather whom she’d witnessed murder a man in their home state of Kentucky. Landing in Wabash, Indiana, she seeks a cover identity and hastily marries Gage Cooper, a widower with four children. Ellie quickly falls in love with the Cooper kids, and, not long after, with their father. But tensions mount when Ellie’s stepfather picks up her trail and Gage discovers his new bride hasn’t been entirely honest with him. Filled with colorful historic detail, emotional drama, and lighthearted humor, Ellie’s Haven is the action-packed follow up to Livvie’s Song in MacLaren’s River of Hope Series, set in 1920’s Wabash, Indiana.


Product Details:
List Price: $10.99
Paperback: 416 pages
Publisher: Whitaker House (March 1, 2012)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1603742131
ISBN-13: 978-1603742139

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:




Thou art not a God that hath pleasure in wickedness: neither shall evil dwell with thee. The foolish shall not stand in thy sight….
—Psalm 5:4–5
February 1928
Athens, Tennessee
Nothing wakes a body faster than a barking dog competing with the heated shouts of furious men. Eleanor Booth threw off her heavy quilt and leaped out of bed, pulled her flannel collar up tight around her throat, and raced across the gritty floor to the window. With her fingertips, she rubbed a circle of frost off the pane and peered out into the cold, dark morning, squinting to make out the shadowy figures that appeared to be facing off just feet away from the rotting front porch. An icy chill surged down her spine.
“I ain’t payin’ you one cent more, Sullivan. You done took me for every last penny.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Byron. Your pocket ain’t empty till I say it is, and as long as you keep producin’ hooch, the greenbacks’ll keep rollin’ in. You stop payin’, and I’ll shut you down quicker than a lizard on hot sand.”
They were at it again—Byron Pruitt, Ellie’s worthless stepfather, and Walter Sullivan, that crooked government agent. Byron’s dog, Curly, didn’t let up his fierce, frenzied barking, which ought to have deterred the dispute but seemed to fuel it instead.
“Byron,” Ellie’s mama, Rita, pleaded in a panicked tone. “Byron, pay the man so he’ll get off our property.”
“Shut up, woman, and git back inside! I ain’t payin’ ’im another dime!”
Ellie snatched her fraying robe from the foot of her bed, slipped it on, and rushed out of the room, toes gone numb from the frozen air wafting up through the floorboards. Tennessee winters didn’t generate much snow, but that didn’t stop the temperatures from plummeting into the single digits.
She entered the dark, tiny living room and found her mother standing in the open doorway, shoulders hunched, hands clutching the door frame. Her grayish-black hair was mussed every which way, and her tattered flannel nightgown hugged her narrow frame.
Ellie shot a hasty glance at the potbelly stove in the middle of the room, where nothing but a few embers glowing through the blackened glass. More shivers stampeded down her spine. “What’s goin’ on?” she asked, coming up behind her mama.
At the sound of her voice, Byron gave a half-turn, and that’s when Ellie spied the sawed-off shotgun in his arms. “Git back to bed, missy,” he groused. “You ain’t needed here.”
Walt Sullivan had a gun, too—a pistol—but he kept it holstered, one hand hovering over it.
“Byron, put that gun down before somebody gets hurt,” Ellie said firmly.
“Yeah, Pruitt. Listen to your purty li’l daughter.”
“Shut yer tater trap and git off my land, Sullivan.”
“Not till I get what’s due me.”
“I done paid you. Now, git!”
“’Fraid you paid me half.”
“You keep raisin’ the rates, you dumb ox. How you ’spect me to make any kind o’ livin’?”
Sullivan chortled. “That ain’t my concern, now, is it? I swear, if you don’t pay up, I’ll come back with my men, and we’ll turn your whole operation into mincemeat by midday.” He made the mistake of taking a step toward Byron, whether to intimidate or to show his authority, Ellie couldn’t say. She knew only that it was a mistake.
Byron raised his rifle and quickly fired off three shots, each one reaching its intended target. For a brief moment, his eyes glistened in the vanishing moonlight. Then, eyes bulging in an expression of shock, he dropped to the ground like a sack of wet cement.
Utter mayhem followed. Curly kept barking and ran circles around the fallen body, while her mama shrieked. “Byron! You—you—you’ve shot ’im. Is he dead? Oh, dear God, help us!” And Ellie, to suppress her own sobs, turned away from the body, where red fluid already oozed from mouth and nose. She clutched her stomach to keep from retching right there on the floor.
“Shut up, just shut up, both o’ you!” Byron roared. “I have to think.” With eyes flaming and nostrils flaring, he turned and started pacing.
The women kept quiet, save for the occasional gasp of air, and hugged each other. Ellie swallowed down some of the bitter juice churning in her stomach and chanced a peek over Mama’s shoulder.
Byron paused and crouched over Sullivan’s body, feeling for a pulse. He cut loose a curse. “He’s dead, all right.”
Ellie’s mama gasped and released her to cover her mouth with her hands. “Oh, mother of all things holy, Byron! What in the world have you done?”
“Shut up, I told you, ’fore I shoot you, too!” He raised his gun at her.
On impulse, Ellie leaped between them, her arms raised. “Put that gun down, you fool!” She had to tell herself to breathe.
The man’s beady eyes stared as if to bore holes through her, but he lowered his weapon. Still, she knew Byron Pruitt had no soul—she’d known since the day she’d met him—and she’d go to the grave wondering why her mama had married him after her father had died. Perhaps, she’d seen him as her only hope of surviving in the hills. Some protector he’d turned out to be, operating an illegal distillery that brought the scum of society straight to their door. If he ever turned a profit, her mama never saw it, for what he didn’t gamble away he paid in bribes to keep the authorities off his back.
“I gotta get rid o’ this body,” he muttered, sweeping five stubby fingers through his scraggly hair.
“No,” Ellie said quietly. “We have to call the sheriff.”
“Are you crazy?” he spat, stepping over the body and walking toward them, his eyes as wild as a rabid dog’s. “We ain’t callin’ no sheriff. I kilt a man, a government man, in cold blood. You think any court o’ law’s gonna let me off the hook?”
Ellie huddled close to her mama and wrapped a protective arm around her.
“W-we won’t tell,” Mama said, her whole body quivering. “We promise, Byron.”
Ellie couldn’t believe her ears. “Mama, how can you say that?”
Byron’s eyes bulged with madness as he climbed the rickety porch steps and entered the house. The worst kind of cold slithered in the door and tangled around Ellie’s ankles. “Because you two’re in this with me, that’s how she can say it. I’ll tell the cops you both played a part, that you talked me into doin’ it.” He raised the shotgun and poked the barrel into her mama’s chin, lifting it.
Ellie swallowed hard and stiffened. “Byron, don’t you dare hurt her.”
Her stepfather was a perpetual terror, always cocking a gun, sharpening a knife, or speaking not-so-veiled threats. It seemed that nothing satisfied him more than creating havoc in their little household. Byron Pruitt was a viperous lunatic, and if it hadn’t been for her beloved mama, Ellie would have left years ago.
Byron slid the muzzle up Mama’s face and held it at the center of her forehead. “I ain’t lyin’, Eleanor—if you don’t help me bury that body an’ promise to keep yer trap shut ’bout what you saw, I’ll kill yer ma.”
“You are plumb crazy,” Ellie whispered through her teeth.
“Don’t believe me?” He cocked the rifle and chortled. “I’ll blow ’er head off right now.”
Mama whimpered as a lone tear trickled down her trembling cheek.
Byron redirected the shotgun at the floor and pulled the trigger. A unison scream sounded as Ellie and her mama clutched each other and stepped away from the cloud of dust that rose from the splintered hole in the boards. Outside, Curly barked even louder, and Ellie could hear the chickens fussing in the coop.
But she heard nothing except the pounding of her own heartbeat when Byron stuck the barrel of his gun in her mama’s temple. “I’ll kill ’er, Eleanor, I swear it. You go to the cops, and she’s as good as dead. And here’s an interestin’ li’l tidbit: you workin’ alongside me at that liquor still makes you my partner in crime.” He laughed, the sound cold and hollow. “Them head beaters don’t look too kindly on us moonshiners, an’ with you bein’ one of us, well, they’re likely to lock you up tighter’n a pickle in a cannin’ jar. Just don’t forget that.”
She hated that he was right. “Fine. Just put that stupid gun down.”
He complied, but only after he’d held it in position for what seemed like another minute, an ugly sneer on his face. “Good. I’m glad we’re clear on that.” He pulled the gun strap over his shoulder. “Well, come on, then, both o’ you. We got a body to bury.”
Hours later, Ellie could barely believe she’d actually dug the grave of Walter Sullivan. Granted, she’d done it with Byron’s rifle aimed at her. Twice she’d emptied her stomach contents into the hole, only to hear the gun cock and Byron tell her to hurry up and finish before somebody came along.
Now, she watched her mama working at the stove to prepare lunch. In the living room, Byron sat in his rocker next to the fire and cleaned his gun, Ellie knew, to rid it of any traces of telltale gunpowder.
Ellie moved up beside her mama and touched her shoulder gently. “You’ve been stirrin’ this soup for fifteen minutes, Mama. Why don’t you go sit down a spell? You’re plain tuckered out.”
“What you two whisperin’ ’bout in there?” Byron barked.
“Nothin’,” Mama called back. Then, with lowered voice, she sputtered to Ellie, “You can’t stay here. You gotta leave today. I wouldn’t be able to bear it if anythin’ happened to you.”
“I can’t leave you with that maniac, Mama. He’s insane.”
“Of course you can, and you will. I’ll be fine. The minute he heads out to the barn, I want you to grab whatever you need and then skedaddle across the field to the Meyers’ house, you hear? Ask Burt to drive you down the mountain. He’ll do it.”
“What you two blabberin’ about?”
Byron’s brusque voice in the hallway had Ellie whirling on her heel. “Nothin’, just like Mama said. Go sit down. Your lunch is ready.”
“Humph. You best not be plannin’ to run off anywheres,” he grumbled before shuffling off to the table. Ellie caught the smell of his breath, and her stomach lurched, though she should have been accustomed to the stench of whiskey by now, considering the hours she’d worked at the still, where the air was saturated with mash. She would always associate the odor with Byron—and his shotgun, which was the only thing that had kept her working there.
The legs of his chair scraped against the sooty floor as he scooted in closer to the table, his back to them. With an icy chortle, he muttered, “You two don’t got nowheres to go, anyway.”
Three hours later, Ellie bumped along in the backseat of a Model T driven by Burt Meyer. Mildred, his wife of forty years, sat up front with him. Quiet tears dampened Ellie’s face as Burt maneuvered the automobile, its brakes squealing in protest, down a narrow pass.
She’d had no more than minutes to throw a few belongings into a little suitcase, hug her mama good-bye, and then sprint along the worn path across the cornfield. Mama had given her strict orders to locate her deceased husband’s aunt in Wabash, Indiana, and not to send word to her for at least a month, and then only through Burt and Mildred. “We can trust them,” she’d said as she’d helped her pack, Ellie crying all the while. “Don’t tell them where you’re goin’, though, and when you write to me, put the letter inside a small envelope and then tuck that inside a bigger one. Put your return address on the inside letter, never the outside one, you understand? The less information Burt ’n’ Mildred know, the better off they’ll be. They’re good people. I don’t want them gettin’ involved in this mess, other than to drive you to the train station.”
“You sure you want to leave your ma?” Mildred asked, bringing Ellie’s attention back to the present. The woman turned around and looked her in the eye. “You seem awful broke up ’bout leavin’, honey.”
Ellie wiped her cheeks and nodded. “I’m nineteen. High time I make my own way.”
“And get away from that fool stepfather o’ yours,” Burt muttered. “Too bad Rita didn’t leave with you.”
Mildred glared at her husband. “Now, Burt, that ain’t none of our concern,” she scolded him gruffly. When she was facing front again, Ellie heard her add, “Even if you’re right.” In a louder voice, she said, “We’re goin’ to miss you somethin’ fierce, Eleanor. Always did love it when you came across the field to visit us.”
“And brought them scrumptious pies with you,” Burt tacked on. “Won’t be the same up on West Peak with you gone.” He glanced back at her and winked. “Where you travelin’ to, if you don’t mind my askin’?”
“I…I plan to head north, look for a job. Not quite sure just where yet.” She could at least tell them that much.
Mildred turned around again, her brow wrinkled in concern. “You don’t got a plan, Eleanor? Why, we cain’t just drop you off if you don’t have no sort o’ arrangements.”
“Sure you can,” Ellie said, forcing brightness into her tone. She wiped away the last of her tears. “I need to break out o’ my cocoon.”
“Darlin’, if you want to break out, why don’t you go south? It’s so blamed cold up north.”
“Daddy has an aunt I’m plannin’ to stay with.” She regretted the disclosure immediately, but it did seem that they deserved an explanation of sorts. They’d always been so kind to Mama and her.
“Say no more,” Burt spoke up. “Long as you’ll be safe, that’s enough for Mildred and me.”
“He ain’t a good sort, that Byron Pruitt,” Mildred said, as if she knew that he had something to do with Ellie’s departure.


Ellie determined to purse her lips for the rest of the trip, lest some hint of the sordid murder slip past them. Best to keep it buried in the deepest parts of her soul.


AND NOW OUR REVIEW:
This was a lovely romance that I thoroughly enjoyed.

I worried that the age difference between the protagonists, Ellie and Gage, was too great a difference to make for a plausible story. However, I was wrong. The author did an excellent job in showing Ellie as a mature and appealing young woman capable of attracting a mature widower, not without a little help from his children. Gage’s gradual affection for Ellie follows a believable path and makes for an engaging and captivating story.

Add to this danger, intrigue and loyal friends and you have a tale that keeps the pages turning.
--Gail Lewis