Fifth excerpt from WHAT FREES THE HEART -- Jenny tries to write home

The release of What Frees the Heart grows ever closer, and the excerpts keep coming! We've got a short one today, from the beginning of Chapter 12.

If you'd like to pre-order, which I'd be delighted for you to do, you can get the Kindle edition here, or the paperback here (Amazon) or here (Barnes & Noble).

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It wasn’t nothing but some fruit. Nothing special, really. And nothing Mamie’s cook hadn’t served before. Just stewed plums.

Jenny must be feeling specially tender-hearted this morning, was all she could figure. Else she wouldn’t be eating the plums with tears trickling down her face. Or maybe she was getting her monthly, which’d make her get worked up easier. It was just about time.

It would’ve been worth crying over nothing, if only her monthly meant a vacation. But Mamie always said, “Every single girl in this place has her bleeding time every single month, and I don’t plan to go broke over it. There’s plenty the gentlemen’ll like without needing to spread your legs.” So if someone asked for a girl during that time, Mamie would offer the choice of that girl using just her mouth or her hands and showing off whatever part of her body they’d like to see, or some other girl ready for more. . . .

It wasn’t as if Mama’s stewed plums would’ve won prizes. The cook’s were as good or better.

But when they didn’t have much of it, Mama always used to share it with Jenny, who liked it best of all the children, even though she figured out as she got older that Mama liked it even better.

Jenny finished her breakfast as fast as she could and hurried upstairs. It was time to get herself dressed and prettied up. But maybe she could squeeze out a few minutes to do something she hardly ever tried to do.

She closed her door, wishing it had a lock on it, and tried to remember where she’d put pen and paper. In the little drawer in her dressing table? Nope. How about under her unmentionables? Not there, neither. Finally she found them on the closet shelf. But all that looking had left her even less time to spare.

She sat at the dressing table with the paper in front of her, chewing on her pen, for a precious half a minute before writing out, slow and careful, Dear Mama and —

Which of her sibs would still be at home, and which would’ve married and set up housekeeping somewhere else? No way of knowing.

Would Papa even let Mama have the letter? She could hope so. And if he didn’t like it, she was way away out of his reach.

Dear Mama and all of you —

I hope you are well. I am fine.

I hope the grasshoppers didn’t eat up everything on the farm, like happened some places, though not here.

Should she tell where here was?

I am in Nebraska, in a town some bigger’n any near you. I get to meet lots of folks.

And she’d be trampled by horses before she said how. Not that Mama wouldn’t have written her off as a tramp long since, most like.

There she went crying again. And leaving teardrops on the paper. Maybe they’d tell her tale more than she could ever stand to do.

I’m sorry I left so sudden.

She shoved herself back from the chair before the tears, coming fast now, could smudge what she’d worked so hard to put on the paper.

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Next time: a trip to get ice cream goes awry.

And the excerpts keep coming -- #4, Tom rediscovers an art form

What Frees the Heart (Cowbird Creek 2 -- which can be read as a stand-alone) comes out in five days! Here's a fourth excerpt, from the beginning of Chapter 5. For the immediate context, see the previous excerpt.

I'll post the pre-order links afterward.

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Tom might just as well have floated home on a cloud, fine as he was feeling. It did bring him some way back down, just for a minute, when he went to bounce on his toes and almost fell over, but he shook it off. That sort of thing happened often enough, and an evening like this one surely didn’t. And the stars were shining bright above, like they were celebrating along with him.

Jenny had managed things so well that his stump didn’t hurt more’n usual. And what pain he was used to didn’t seem to matter tonight.

Only thing was, he could’ve turned right around and laid with Jenny one more time and been that much the happier.

How soon could he manage another visit? He’d a deal of thinking to do about what he was going to do with his wages from now on. How often they’d go into Madam Mamie’s pocket rather’n Pa’s, and whether he should be saving up for something, though he’d no clue for what.

Remembering and wanting kept him restless overnight, but he still couldn’t help grinning now and again over his breakfast. Ma and Pa kept sneaking looks at each other when they thought he wasn’t watching. Pa, at least, must have known something was up when Tom didn’t turn in his wages. He’d just as soon not know if Pa guessed why.

Walking to town went easier when he had more to think of than his leg and his day of work to come. First he pictured Jenny’s pretty face, and then her hair laying on her shoulders, and then her round squeezable bosom and even rounder backside, and every minute he could remember of what they’d done together. It seemed to take considerable shorter’n usual before he made it to the door of the shop.

Finch, now, after everything that cowboy had said, would be sure to figure things out if Tom came in all cheerful. He could act extra glum, but then Finch might think he’d gone to Mamie’s and made a mess of it. So he kept things businesslike, not chatting but not sulking neither, and Finch didn’t make any show of drawing conclusions.

Speaking of drawing. That’s just what Tom would’ve liked to do, draw a picture of Jenny, head and shoulders and just a little of what came below. It’d been a while since he got a hankering to draw. He used to do a lot of it, with a stick in the dirt or on his slate at school. Got a licking one of those times, drawing when he was supposed to do arithmetic. And then when he was maybe ten, he’d used his pocket knife to draw on a bit of leather he didn’t think anyone cared about. Turned out he was wrong, and he got a licking from Pa that time.

Wasn’t the lickings that stopped him, so much as not having the time once he got big enough to do more farm work. And since that plowshare took some of his leg and more of his use on the farm, he hadn’t thought about it, or about much else that he might do just from wanting to.

Today, though . . . when Finch finished cutting out a pair of boots, Tom asked, as casual as he could, “You have any use for what’s left of that piece? Because I might if you don’t.”

Finch looked at him kind of sideways, but he shrugged and tossed it Tom’s way. Mrs. Finch came in not long after, and that gave Tom his chance. Finch cared a deal about his dinner and never paid attention to much else while he was eating it. As soon as Mrs. Finch left and Finch dug in, Tom moved off to the farthest corner of the shop and laid the scrap of leather on the edge of a table Finch used for storage of this and that.

The biggest piece was about a foot by eight inches. Tom trimmed away the rest and looked at his knife, considering. It was just fine for cutting through leather, but not so good for just scraping away one thin line at a time. What he needed for that was . . . Where was that tool Finch had used for the cowboy’s initials on the saddle, the one Finch called a swivel knife?

But Finch had gobbled his dinner already, and Tom hadn’t taken but a bite or two. He quickly tore away at the chicken leg and wiped his hands on his trousers.

He’d hardly be able to get at that tool without Finch knowing, even if it were right to do it. He’d have to fess up.

“Mr. Finch, when you close up for the day, could I borrow what you used to carve that cowboy’s initials? I’d treat it real careful and have it back in the morning. And I wouldn’t touch nothing but leather with it, the leather you let me have earlier.”

Finch wrinkled his forehead to make his eyebrows stick out even more than they did by nature. “What’ve you got to be carving? You wouldn’t be making one of them pictures that make fun of folks, carry-whatsits, of me, would you?” Clearly, that’d be as much as Tom’s job was worth.

“Oh, no, sir, I’ve no such intention. Just — just a drawing I’ve been wanting to do, on something that won’t wash away or rub out.”

Finch stroked his scraggly beard. “Well, all right then. You take good care of it, and if you lose it, you’ll be working to pay it back and not for whatever else you use your pay on. And you clean it like I showed you.” He fetched the tool and handed it over.

Finch might be grumpy and suspicious, and he watched his coin, but he wasn’t that bad. Not altogether. Or at least, not always.

By the time Tom made the walk home, ate supper, and did what chores he still could, it was full dark and he’d have been about ready for bed, but for the scrap of leather calling to him. He filled a lamp, lit it, and laid the leather out on the kitchen table. Pa, wandering out in his nightshirt and cap, saw what Tom was doing and hoisted an eyebrow. “Hope you came by that leather some way that won’t get you in trouble.”

“Mr. Finch gave it to me when I asked for it.” What a memory Pa had! He’d hardly’ve thought being on the other end of that strap would stick in the memory as well as Tom’s end of it. Was that part of what being a father meant? He’d have to ponder that some time.

Seeing as he’d never used the swivel knife before, he should’ve kept another scrap to practice on. Thinking ahead maybe wasn’t his strong suit. With a sigh, he cut a long thin strip off his piece of leather and started teaching himself. At first even his straight lines wouldn’t stay straight, let alone an even thickness, but it didn’t take too long for him to get that right. Next came curves — he’d need plenty of curvy lines for Jenny! That thought got him remembering, which heated him up to where it got distracting. He went out to the pump and splashed cool water on his face, then got back to work.

When he’d used up most of the strip and figured he was as good at this as he’d be getting, he smoothed out his main piece of leather again. He maybe shouldn’t draw lower’n her shoulders after all, seeing as her dress had showed more than a regular girl’s would. Or he could draw the dress different, but that’d be a sort of lying.

He drew her face first, heart-shaped even to the bit of a point to her chin, with the dimple he’d noticed every time she smiled. He puzzled over how to show her nose with its tilted-up end, all too aware that once he set tool to leather for it, there’d be no rubbing out any wrong moves. But it was getting late, and him getting tired, so he finally made a few thin lines suggesting it and moved on to her eyes. There was no chance of drawing them pretty enough, but he showed them big and wide open, with the long lashes that might get help from some sort of paint. He tried to use a light touch on the eyebrows — better to have them a little thinner’n life than to make them too thick and frowny.

Jenny’s smile was another tricky task. Better to give her upper lip more of a Cupid’s bow than make it too flat. Then shape the lower lip to match, kind of plump, like she was ready to kiss someone.

He had the most fun drawing her hair, which didn’t have to be exactly the way she wore it so long as it was long and full and wavy. That left only her neck and the top line of her shoulders. And then, finally, he was done and could fall into bed.

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If I've managed to intrigue you, or even get you hooked on this story, you can pre-order the Kindle edition here, or the paperback here (Amazon) or here (Barnes & Noble).

Next time: Jenny tries to write a letter to her family.

The countdown continues -- Excerpt #3, Tom and Jenny actually meet

As I continue to celebrate next week's release of What Frees the Heart, here's the third excerpt, a nice long one where Tom and Jenny actually meet.

Reminder: you can preorder the Kindle edition here, and the paperback here (Amazon) and here (B&N).

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How many times had Tom walked by the tall building with the bright red trim and the red lanterns, wondering what it was like inside? The first time must have been before he learned just what went on in there, when all he noted was how fancy it looked. But over the years, he went from a confused “something naughty” notion, to puzzlement over why anyone would want to see half-naked ladies, to understanding and feeling the same.

It was growing dusk, and the lanterns glowed. His heart beat pretty fast as he finally, finally touched the doorknob and pulled it open.

The first thing he noticed was the piano music coming from the bar. But next second, he saw the women, sitting and standing all around, in fancy dresses with short sleeves and cut low to show bosoms, and lacy petticoats underneath.

His head could’ve been mounted on a swivel as he looked from one to another. But it stopped short when he saw a girl he thought he’d seen before, on the street that day he’d come to town with Pa. But hadn’t that girl had yellow hair? This girl’s hair was red, a pretty bright-copper color that made him think of firelight.

No, it was the same girl, he could swear it, however she’d managed to change her hair. The same pretty face and fetching shape, and a sort of freshness to her. She caught him looking and smiled at him, friendly but kind of bold — no wonder, given where she was. What she was. No wonder he’d never seen her at a church social.

Then movement caught his eye from the wide staircase with the shiny banister. A woman was sweeping downstairs, graceful but quick. He didn’t know as he’d ever seen Madam Mamie before, but it had to be her. She was older than the other women, and her dress wasn’t cut so low or so bright-colored, but more than that, you could tell just looking at her that she was in charge and wouldn’t take no guff from nobody.

Sure enough, she held out a dainty hand with painted nails and said smiling, “I’m Mamie. Welcome to my place. Your first time here, isn’t it?”

Her eyes scanned him from head to foot, just barely slowing down when she got to where the wooden leg peeked out of his trousers, and then up again. “I have just the girl for you — Amanda Jane over there. Mandy! Come meet this fine young fellow.”

A woman who might be in her middle twenties stood up. She had a lot of paint on her cheeks and eyes and lips — well, they all did, but more than some — and thin eyebrows with kind of a funny shape to them. She came toward Tom with a business-like kind of walk and a smile he had the notion she’d smiled hundreds of times before, exactly the same every time.

Tom took a step back before he could stop himself. His cheeks hot, he stammered, “Thank you kindly, ma’am. But . . . I wonder if I might . . . spend my time with that other girl instead? The red-headed one?”

Mamie blinked, but she held her hand out toward the painted-up woman. “Never mind, Mandy. Young man — what’s your name?”

“Tom.” He hoped a first name was enough, here.

“Well, Tom, we aim to please! You have a seat at the bar and ask for whatever you’d like to drink. I’ll just talk to Jenny for a minute.”

Jenny — the name suited her — had started talking to another girl by then, but she heard her name and looked over. She tilted her head, quizzical-like, as Mamie moved off in her direction. Tom hustled to the bar and asked for a tall glass of whatever beer was most handy. When it came, he took such a big gulp that he like to choked.

* * * * *

Mamie took Jenny by the elbow and tugged her over to the corner furthest from the bar. “That young man should’ve gone with Amanda Jane, but he wants you. Makes sense — he’s got farm boy written all over him, and you’re as close to a farm girl as I have just now, not to mention near his age. But he’s got a wooden leg, and you need to learn what to do.”

He might have farm boy written all over him, but poor as she was at reading, she’d have added fine-looking. And maybe nice fella along with it.

Mamie was talking so fast and quiet it was hard for Jenny to follow. “This may be his first time with a woman, which’d be good so he won’t be comparing things to how they were when he was whole. From how he looked walking in, I’d guess he still has his knee. That’d make things a lot easier. He could lie atop you, but he might not balance real well. You’d best hold him tight enough that he can’t topple. He won’t think anything of it. If I’m wrong and he has less leg than that, you’ll need him lying on his side or on his back. You can make lying on his back sound good by saying you’re dying to play cowgirl and ride him.”

Mamie looked over at the bar, probably to make sure the boy hadn’t run off. “Leave it up to him whether to leave the wooden leg on. Either way, make sure you don’t bump up against the leg or the stump, whichever, or it could hurt him and shut everything down.”

Jenny took a deep breath. This was going to be different, but not all in a bad way. At least she wouldn’t have to remember all the not-to-dos she had to keep in mind for the older, richer, snootier customers.

And she probably shouldn’t sing to him. Young as he was, he might take it as singing him a lullaby.

She’d seen plenty of men leer at her, or stare at her chest, as she went to take them upstairs, but she couldn’t recall seeing a fellow’s face light up like Christmas morning and a brand new sled.

When she grabbed his hand to lead him, he gripped it almost tight enough to hurt. Excited and nervous both, she figured. It made her feel kind of excited and nervous herself. A nice change from bored or worse. But also strange. It was almost like she was at home and entertaining a gentleman caller in the ordinary way. Except she’d never lived anywhere with two stories and a staircase between them, not to mention rugs and chandeliers and fancy wallpaper and such.

Speaking of which, Tom — Mamie had introduced them downstairs — kept looking around like he’d never seen the like. Growing up nearby, he’d probably been wondering about this place for years. She took her time on the stairs to let him get his fill of gawking.

At least, gawking at the place. When she led him into her room and let go of his hand, he did his looking straight at her, his face saying he couldn’t hardly believe his eyes.

She gave him a big smile. He was easy to smile at — young and good-looking, and he seemed a friendly sort. And not drooling or eying her like a big thick steak.

She was about ready to invite him to sit on the bed when he talked first. “You’re so pretty.”

Was that a blush heating up her cheeks? She hadn’t blushed since she couldn’t remember when. Maybe the day Mamie interviewed her and went through all the things she’d best be prepared to do. “Why, thank you!”

“And, and you’ve got such nice teeth.”

She hadn’t heard that one before. He probably wasn’t used to being around folks who cleaned their teeth regular, like Mamie insisted on.

Time to move things along. Mamie had her notions of how long the girls took with any one customer, unless she knew they’d pay extra for longer. “How about you sit down and get comfy? And I’ll do the same, all right?”

She could see his breathing speed up as soon as she sat on the little chair and took off her shoes. She got up and turned her back to him, standing right up against his knees. She could feel two of them — Mamie’d been right about that. And somehow she’d managed to forget about the fellow’s wooden leg for a minute. She’d better keep it in mind. “How about you undo my laces?” She had ways of shedding the dress without such help, but it’d get him started touching her, which he seemed a little shy of.

His fingers weren’t as clumsy as she’d thought they might be, nor soft like some of the customers who spent their days at some desk, nor yet as rough as cowboys’. As soon as he’d unlaced her far enough, she turned back toward him and shimmied out of the dress, making sure to bend over and give him a nice view. His jaw actually fell down, which she wanted to chuckle at but didn’t. Seeing as he liked the front of her so well, she reached around and undid her corset herself, then did the same to unfasten her petticoats. That left her standing there in nothing but stockings and garters and a smile.

Tom probably didn’t know he was panting. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before he managed to ask, “Do I need to take off . . . .” That was as far as he got.

From his not wanting to say more, he probably meant his wooden leg, but to cover all points, she just said, “You don’t have to take off anything, cowboy.”

When he flinched and glowered, she realized she’d took a wrong step. It didn’t need him growling at her, “I’m no cowboy.” Maybe he’d thought of being, before.

She took his hand and said, “I’m sorry, Tom. I didn’t mean that. Cowboys don’t clean up as good as you.”

That took him off stride enough to lighten up a little. She kept going. “Anyhow, you take off just what you want to. I’ll admit, though, I’d surely like to see more of you.”

He studied her face like he was trying to read lie or truth, and stood up slow. He tugged his shirt out of his trousers, fumbled at the buttons, and got it off, tossing it onto the floor. He might like the look of Jenny’s chest, but she liked his better — some light-colored hair but not bear-thick, and plenty of muscle. She let her face show him how she was admiring him, and waited to see if he’d keep going. It wasn’t any big surprise that he didn’t, much — just unbuttoned his fly and let his maypole jump out, all ready to get to work.

Now for the tricky part. Except she couldn’t let him know it was tricky. She’d best decide, right now, which of those positions Mamie listed would be least likely to go wrong. Him on his back would be easiest on the both of them. And of the two conditions, being shy part of a leg and being grass green, her guess was he was more prickly about the first. So — “Now, then. There’s different things we can do, but seeing as I’ve done this a lot, and you, I’d guess, not so often, I can show you something you maybe hadn’t thought of, that’d also make things easy. How about you lie back on my nice big bed, and —” Mamie notwithstanding, she’d better not mention cowgirls, not after that misstep before. “— And I’ll give you a fine old time while having plenty of fun myself. Let’s get started, can we?”

By the time she’d made him happy, and he’d got his pants buttoned up and his shirt back on, she was feeling pretty pleased with herself. Which didn’t exactly explain why, as he was set to leave, she pulled him back toward her and gave him a soft warm kiss. She couldn’t recall having done that before, ever, not once she was a lady of the line.

And he tasted sweet.

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Tune in tomorrow for the first glimpse of Tom's artistic gift!

Counting down the days with excerpts -- here's #2

Six days and counting until What Frees the Heart comes out! I'm posting an excerpt each of those days, along with the pre-order links for the Kindle and paperback editions. (I'll put the links at the end this time.)

So here's Excerpt Number 2, the first scene in Chapter 2.

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Jenny climbed the stairs trying to look carefree, in case any of the other girls was watching. Not much point to it — they all knew. It was never good news if Madam Mamie called you up to her office. If she was pleased with you, she’d come and find you and give you a kind word or a side-hug or maybe a cash bonus. The office was for scolding a girl, or even warning her that she’d come to her last chance and might be out on her ear soon.

Jenny had a pretty good idea what the trouble was. It wore a fancy frock coat, smoked cigars too smelly for what they cost, and had looked down his nose at her when he left that afternoon.

Mamie’s door was open, but as soon as Jenny showed up, Mamie waved her in, stood up, and closed it. Jenny’s belly went cold. Would Mamie kick her out, just because one client didn’t find her as much to his taste as he’d reckoned? Where could she go? The sheriff would never let her walk the street for customers, even if she could stand to do it.

Mamie grabbed Jenny’s shoulder and steered her into the chair close to Mamie’s desk. “Sit down, girl. And don’t look so petrified. You’re not in that much trouble. You just need reminding of some things.” Mamie sat back down at the desk, thumped her elbows on it, and leaned forward. “In fact, I bet you can tell me what those things are.”

Jenny knew she must have a sour-looking pout on her face as she recited, “Make the gentleman feel welcome. Follow his lead, unless he don’t know what he’s doing. Make him feel special. Laugh at his jokes —”

“Which is not the same as telling jokes of your own, now, is it? It is especially important to avoid coarse humor. Our patrons do not consider themselves to be coarse individuals. And you should have learned better than to use slang expressions to our more refined gentlemen.”

Jenny stuck out her lip. “Why’d he pick me if I’m so common, then?”

Mamie got her I shouldn’t have to explain this look. “Probably because he knew that all my girls are supposed to have some class. You didn’t just leave a customer dissatisfied —”

Jenny tossed her hair. “Oh, he sounded satisfied enough to me. He bellowed like a hog!”

Mamie stood up behind her desk, leaned over it, picked up the nearest bit of Jenny’s hair, and gave it a sharp tug. “You know that’s not what I’m saying. You didn’t just leave a customer dissatisfied with the quality of our service, you damaged my reputation by doing it.” She did a double take, looking at the hair. “Right here, this is part of the problem. That color looks cheap. You’d have done better leaving it brown.” She turned the strands of hair this way and that. “On the other hand, now that it’s lighter, you could . . . how’d you like to go red? Plenty of men consider red hair exotic, and even believe red-haired women are more passionate by nature.”

Jenny tried to remember what she’d heard about turning hair red. “Do you mean henna? Won’t it rub off or nothing?”

Mamie let go of Jenny’s hair, sat back down, and tapped her long fancy fingernail on the desk. “No henna for my girls. We’d use the latest dye, that I ordered a while back from a factory in Massachusetts.” Prob’ly like what Mamie used herself. Jenny had to admit Mamie’s hair was a prettier blonde than Jenny had managed. “I figured I’d be wanting a redhead sooner or later, if one didn’t wander in. Of course, dye like that is expensive. You’d have to share the cost.”

That would mean a smaller payment for every customer until she paid off however much Mamie wanted out of her. But what choice did she have? After she’d gone and ticked off that stuffy old coot, she had better do whatever would make sure Mamie gave her another chance. “All right. I’d like that fine.”

Mamie finally smiled. “And fine is just how you’ll look. Meanwhile, you need to spend more time with some of our best-mannered girls. Listen to them, try to talk more like them, watch how they handle men. Girls like Lucette and Penny, they could almost skip bedding the customers and still send them out happy.”

I’d sure like to skip bedding some of them as come in here. She knew not to say anything of the kind. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Have them teach you some songs. You’ve a pretty voice, if you learn what to do with it.”

Jenny winced before she could catch herself. Her brother would laugh himself sick. He’d had plenty of names for her singing. Squealing like a slaughtered hog again? Honkin’ louder’n the goose, you are! But she’d give it a try, and then Mamie would see.

“Back to work, now. And no more telling jokes, not until you learn some better ones and when to tell ‘em. Stick to smiling and flattering. And of course, act like they’re the best lover you’ve had all year.”

Were any of the customers fool enough to believe it when a whore said that? Well, she should know by now how big a man’s ego could get.

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Pre-order the Kindle edition here; the paperback, from Amazon, here; and the paperback from Barnes & Noble, here.

Tomorrow: Tom and Jenny actually meet!

: 

First of several excerpts from upcoming release WHAT FREES THE HEART

My Western historical romance What Frees the Heart comes out in a week! It can be read as a stand-alone, but is actually Book 2 in the Cowbird Creek series, following What Heals the Heart. (Seeing a pattern here? . . .)

So I'll be posting one excerpt a day until Release Day, July 15th. Here's the first -- appropriately, the first scene in the novel. It is the most downbeat of the excerpts, reflecting the mindset of young Tom Barlow as the book begins. Not to worry -- he'll be in better shape before too long. Indeed, this scene shows the start of that process, as he sees Jenny for the first time. (Her last name is Hayes, but neither she nor anyone else has much occasion to use it.)

You can preorder the Kindle edition here. To pre-order the paperback, you've got options -- Amazon or Barnes & Noble.

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Tom Barlow leaned against the fence for support and tossed the last sack of fall potatoes into the wagon. He could still load a wagon, at least. Not the first time he tried, or the second — and the way he fell the second time, landing on his arm, had made him even more useless for the next week. But he’d got the hang of it now.

Pa came out of the house, putting on his hat as he walked to the wagon. “Coming with me, son?”

That was a puzzle with no good answer. Tom could use the rail of the fence and a handy stump to climb into the wagon without Pa’s help, but getting back down was more of a trick. He could try it, and maybe fall down for folks to laugh about, or stay perched up on the wagon like a cigar store Indian for passersby to stare at.

“I’ll come.” At least, whatever happened, he’d get to see something different for a change, if only the little bit of difference between the farm and town. It was bad enough being stuck around here before, when he could at least sneak off with one of the horses between chores and ride around a bit.

Sometimes, he could hardly believe he couldn’t just hop onto a horse — or a wagon — the way he used to. Other days, he could hardly believe he’d ever done it at all.

After they dropped off the sacks at the train station, Pa drove to the square and parked in a shady spot near the dry goods store, within reach of the water trough. “Keep an eye on the horse and wagon for me, will you, while I go in?” Pa had been thinking along the same lines as Tom, seemingly. And maybe he didn’t much fancy having the people in town see his son stumbling around like a barely-born colt.

Tom gave Pa a short nod just a hair shy of rude. Pa paused, his eyebrows going lower like he was thinking of fetching a strap, before he shook his head a little and headed toward the general store.

Now Tom had nothing to do but feel conspicuous and look around him. The first thing he noticed was a cardinal, landing in the nearest tree with a twig in its beak, bright red against the bare branches. That bird could fly most anywhere, but here it was in Cowbird Creek. It must feel a whole lot different than he did these days.

Tom saw himself working into an even worse mood, and tried to steer another way. It was sunny, at least, and sunshine always boosted his spirits some. And that tree with the cardinal might be bare still, but right under it was a forsythia bush well along in its blooming, the first of many to come.

Then something moving caught his eye from down the street. He turned to see a girl walking up — no, walking didn’t do justice to it. She sort of bounced along, stepping out strong and lively, her yellow hair bouncing too, bright in the sun under a little nothing of a hat. There was plenty of her, all put together just right, and a pretty face to finish off with — not what you’d call refined, but a straight-ahead honest sort of good-looking.

Why hadn’t he seen her before, at a dance or a church social? Or had she been some little stick of a kid and just lately blossomed out?

He’d already got a nice long look at the front of her, and now she headed into the store and let him enjoy the view from behind. He sighed to see her pass through the door and out of sight.

Coming into town did beat sitting at home watching cows, at that.

Another woman came walking past, older, with a little boy skipping alongside her. Skipping, like any child did, like Tom had often enough. He closed his eyes and waited for the pain to ease. But before he got to opening them, he heard the boy’s voice. “Why’s that man got a wooden leg? Was he a soldier, like Uncle Jake?”

Tom ground his teeth, cussing in his head. What with the way he was growing out of his trousers, and sitting high up on the wagon, anyone could see the wood between his trouser leg and his boot.

Meanwhile, the woman was saying, “No, Johnny. He’s too young. He’d have been maybe your age when the war ended.”

“Then what happened to him, Ma?”

The woman glanced up at Tom, looking embarrassed and sorry, as she grabbed her son’s hand and pulled him along, saying something Tom couldn’t hear. But right behind came two men, the barber and some other fellow, who acted like they’d heard it. Because the barber said to the other man, not troubling to be quiet, as if Tom was deaf along with crippled: “Poor lad. At least a soldier who lost his leg gets a pension, and knows he’s a hero. And an old man with a game leg was a young man with two good legs once.”

And all Tom could do was sit there on the wagon like a log, thinking how the barber was right. No honorable war wound for him, no life full of memories. One clumsy moment, and his life was more or less over before he’d done much of anything with it.

And there, finally, came Pa carrying a big sack of provisions, smiling like someone just told him a joke, taking big steps. But when he reached the wagon and got a look at Tom’s face, he all of a sudden seemed to shrink shorter.

They didn’t talk on the ride home.

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Check back tomorrow for another excerpt!

Another author interview, on the occasion of Cowbird Creek Book 2

Here's an author interview -- with myself, as I wrote the questions as well as the answers. The focus is on my upcoming novel What Frees the Heart, Book 2 in the Cowbird Creek series, and on romance series (plural) in general, but I also explain National Novel Writing Month and my history with it, and go on a short detour about my picture book manuscripts.

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Q. Did you plan from the start to write a historical romance series?

A. No. I barely had the nerve to write historical romance at all! I’ve read historical fiction for many years, and had thought of attempting it, but the necessary research intimidated me. Within the last few years, I started reading both historical and contemporary romance, but felt even less prepared to tackle that. And yet, as November 2018 loomed and I asked myself what book to write during National Novel Writing Month, I somehow headed in the historical romance direction. The result, after some initial changes in character and backstory, and a significant course correction once my beta readers weighed in, was What Heals the Heart, Book 1 in the Cowbird Creek series.

I was greatly relieved at how well the book was received – and in particular, that readers thought I’d managed to convey the time and place in a convincing manner. That emboldened me to return to Cowbird Creek for another book, and to start planning Book 3 for November 2020.

Q. How does a romance series work? Where do you go from Happily Ever After?

A. You move on to another couple from the same setting and give them a HEA of their own! Some romance series go from one to another member of a family, while others, like the Cowbird Creek series, feature different people in the same town.

Q. Who are the main characters in What Frees the Heart? Did they show up in the first book? And will we get to see any other residents of Cowbird Creek this time around?

A. Caution: the answer to this question includes spoilers for Book 1, What Heals the Heart!

Readers of What Heals the Heart have already met Tom and Jenny. Tom is the farm lad whose leg Joshua had to amputate. Jenny is the young prostitute whose arm Joshua bandages, and who reminisces about rolling bandages for soldiers when she was a child.

Joshua and Clara appear frequently in What Frees the Heart, both (especially Joshua) playing a role in the plot. Silas Finch, the cordwainer who married Dolly, is a significant secondary character. We naturally see a good deal more of Madam Mamie, Jenny’s employer. And even though Freida and Jedidiah have left town, they do turn up and play their part in the HEA. (If I’d planned a series from the get-go, I might have found a way to keep them around, as Freida is a favorite of many readers and close to my heart as well.)

Q. What was the most challenging aspect of writing What Frees the Heart?

A. There were a few challenges! I had to deal with prostitution without either glamorizing it, or so thoroughly depressing the reader as to overwhelm the romance plot. I had to show Tom’s life as an amputee as realistically as I could, while also showing the spirit that helped him cope with that disability. But the most daunting challenge had to do with character voice. Joshua Gibbs was a well-read scion of an upper-crust Philadelphia family. Tom and Jenny had to think and speak in a very different way. I’d never tackled anything like their points of view before.

Q. What’s next in the series?

A. I’d like to keep the key details to myself for a bit longer. One of the reasons: I have an author newsletter, and I try to give my subscribers the first look at covers, excerpts, and other details about upcoming books. The signup link for the newsletter (also accessible from my author website’s home page ), is here. I send one newsletter a month, except during release months when I may send two – and I make it easy to unsubscribe.

I will drop this hint: readers already know a fair amount about one of the two main characters. The other character probably doesn’t live in Cowbird Creek full time. And the tentative title is What Shows the Heart.

Q. What’s National Novel Writing Month?

A. Pardon me while I tear up – because National Novel Writing Month (also called NaNoWriMo or NaNo) gave me, or gave me back, my writing career.

It was my childhood ambition to be a novelist. In fact, at age 10, I wrote a 200-page novel for which the kindest words would be “disjointed” and “derivative.” (My mother, praised be she, typed up all 200 penciled pages and bound the result so I could feel “published.”) I tried again at age 14 and gave up after 40 pages. And while I wrote poetry in high school and took a disastrous short story seminar in college, I gave up on writing novels, or any fiction longer than a picture book, for several decades.

Then, my oldest daughter tried NaNoWriMo in 2009,during her senior year in high school, and “won” by completing a 50,000 word rough draft – all while visiting colleges and finishing high school. When she told me she was doing NaNo again the following year, I decided to give it a try, figuring I’d probably drop out in a day or two. And here I am, almost ten years later, about to publish my tenth novel.

But to actually answer the question J, NaNoWriMo is a group endeavor, organized online, for anyone who wants to write a novel. Each November, people from all over the world sign up and undertake to write at least 50,000 words of a new novel, entirely within that month. The idea is to bull on through, at an average pace of 1,667 words per day, without stopping to self-edit. The goal is a very rough draft, which the writer can then revise and edit to their heart’s content. One can update one’s word count online, track one’s progress, find “buddies” with whom to compete or commiserate, and visit various forums. In the forums, one can ask research questions (which can get very arcane and bizarre), find writing prompts, and vent about the writing process.

Q. What was that about picture books?

A. I started writing picture book manuscripts when I was pregnant with my older daughter, the one who later led me to NaNoWriMo. I even had an agent for a while, who never did succeed in snagging the interest of any publishers. Now that self-publishing has evolved to the point where it’s feasible to self-publish a picture book, I’d like to find an illustrator whose vision for one or more of these books matches my own, and who’s interested in collaborating. The titles include Mommy Calls Me “Acorn”; Catching Mommy’s Shadow; Where Do Fireflies Sleep; When It’s Winter; and You Can’t Kiss a Bubble.

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Here's the preorder link for What Frees the Heart.

back after long hiatus, with another book coming

Hello, all! That assumes there's any "all" remaining, after something like nine months of my neglecting this blog.

If it matters, life has been distracting. My mother died the month after my previous posting, at the age of 95. Along with everything else that meant, I had a good deal to do as the trustee of two family trusts. While grieving the loss of an amazing, inimitable woman, I am deeply grateful that she missed the horrors of being ill, hospitalized, and (briefly) in a nursing home during the COVID-19 pandemic.

Mom died last November, when I was already writing another rough draft by participating in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). I managed to keep going and finish it on schedule. After much editing, beta reader feedback, and more editing, that book -- What Frees the Heart, Book 2 in the Cowbird Creek historical romance series -- is approaching its release date of July 15, 2020. I'll be posting excerpts once it's available for preorder (Kindle edition only, I'm afraid).

For now, here's the cover! Cover designer Kelly Martin of KAM Design is once again responsible. I may like this cover even more than the cover of Book 1 (What Heals the Heart) because its colors are brighter and lift my spirits.

Oh, and here are the tag line and book description, subject to my usual obsessive tweaking.

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Can they set each other free?

Cowbird Creek has its share of troubled souls. For Tom, a farmer’s son, losing his leg felt like losing his future. Jenny, a young prostitute at Madam Mamie’s parlor house, has never thought she had much future to lose.

But the job Tom is able to get leads him to rediscover a long neglected talent. And both Tom and Jenny have a knack for hitting on new possibilities. Can they, together, find a better path?

This novel, second in a series, returns to the small town of Cowbird Creek, Nebraska, in early 1876, a few months after the conclusion of What Heals the Heart. Several favorite characters from Book 1 make return appearances.

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Early reviews are encouraging, always a boost to an author's morale. If anyone reading this post would like a review copy, please let me know ASAP -- after I hit "submit" on the preorder, late on June 21st or early on June 22nd, I'll no longer be allowed to distribute ebook ARCs. (I'll still be able to send out PDFs of the paperback edition.) If you want to get ready and haven't yet read Book 1, What Heals the Heart is available on Kindle Unlimited ($2.99 for the Kindle edition otherwise) and now includes a preview of the upcoming book.

Signing off for now. Happy weekend, everyone!