Stitching a Dream by Ellen Parker

TODAY'S GUEST: ELLEN PARKER

I'm so happy to welcome Ellen Parker back to Discover... Enjoy!

A Visit to the Bakery

In May of 1851, ten days after I arrived in the village of Elm Ridge, Illinois, I gathered my courage and set out for the Deutsch bakery on Walnut Street. I found the business easy enough, the location on a corner and the painted sign with a loaf of bread guided me to the front door.

My son, Joseph, limped beside me, his hand wrapped around three of my fingers. Sunlight highlighted his straight, copper-red hair—the only outward gift from his father. “Who are we going to see?”

Good question. The previous time I’d seen the man I hoped to find was in the autumn of 1845—mere hours before my brother forced the Deutsch baker to leave St. Louis. I glanced into my son’s wide, brown eyes. “A friend from a long time ago—before you were born.”

A moment later, I opened the shop door. Mouth-watering scents of sugar, nutmeg, and cherry enveloped the both of us. I was tempted to remain still, quiet, and savor the air. But my sense of purpose returned and after a quick assessment of the tall, middle-aged woman behind the counter holding an embroidery hoop and a blonde girl-flirting-with-womanhood in an apron, I found my voice. “Good afternoon.”

Both women turned friendly, curious gazes on me as I closed the shop door. “Is this the bakery of Mr. Bernard Keil?”

“Ja. Herr Keil is not here.” The older women set her embroidery aside. “I am Frau. Have you come to buy a treat for your son?”

 “My business is with your husband. Will he return soon?” A wife. I should not be surprised. I lifted my gaze toward the top of the wall and searched for enough Deutsch words to remain polite.

The older woman gripped the rim of the sales counter and leaned forward. “Who are you?”

“Yes, I suppose you have a right to know.” I released Joseph’s hand and smoothed my best dress’ green skirts. I can say this—I have whispered the words every night for weeks before I fall asleep. “Tell Bernard…tell Herr Keil…Polly Black from St. Louis recently arrived in Elm Ridge and works at Mrs. Clark’s dress shop.”

The baker’s wife paled to match fine muslin.

For one instant, I feared the woman would faint. However, the blonde woman grasped her elbow and steadied her.

“Frau Keil, are you ill?” Stepping forward, I glimpsed my son approaching the glass case of cookies and turnovers.

The baker’s wife shook her head, looked toward the floor, and gathered a deep breath.

“It is the surprise of the thing.” The older woman found her voice. “Herr Keil has spoken of you. I will tell my husband where you may be found.” She glanced toward the boy. “What is the name of your son?”

I reached out and touched Frau Keil’s hand. “Joseph—my son’s name is Joseph. I do not mean to cause you trouble.”

“Not trouble.”

What does she see as she inspects me? I checked my gown and bonnet before I left the dress shop. She will not find stains or tears. Does she see the foolish girt? Or the practical woman I pray I have become? One of my mother’s favorite sayings crept into my brain and lingered.

Reputation is a woman’s fragile cloak—she best keep it mended.

****

Blurb:

Prepare for consequences when you love your neighbor. 

In 1851, Polly Black arrives in Elm Ridge, Illinois with little more than her sewing skills, her young son, and the persona of a widow. To preserve her reputation, she needs to tread lightly when a recent widower, a powerful man who knows she never married, courts her. A new shop opens across the way, and the owner’s friendly face is a welcome sight for both Polly and her son. 

Born and raised in a Pennsylvania Deutsch community, Kurt Tafel moves to Illinois for adventure and an opportunity to run his own cobbler shop. He’s not an immigrant, but is he American enough to act on his feelings for the intelligent and pretty seamstress? 

Bio for Ellen Parker:

Raised in a household filled with books, it was natural that Ellen Parker grew into an avid reader. Writing is her second career and she enjoys spinning of story which appeals to multiple generations. She encourages her readers to share her work with mother or daughter – or both.

Ellen currently lives in St. Louis. When not guiding characters to “happily ever after” she’s apt to be reading, walking, or gardening. You can find her on the web at www.ellen-parker-writes.com. Or:   https://www.facebook.com/ellen.parker 

Links for Stitching a Dream: 

Kindle: https://amzn.to/3VwoeFh 

Nook: https://bit.ly/3Ri8RNX 

Goodreads: https://bit.ly/4ec8PRB

 

Strong Women or the Weaker Sex by Jan Selbourne

MUSE MONDAY

Writing is more than just listening to our muse and getting inspired to create. There is usually a good deal of research authors put into their stories. Jan's post is about the work, and I know you'll find it interesting. Read on!

Historical fiction requires research. If we want to transport readers back to another time and place, our characters must be living there with its customs and laws and beliefs.

For example – coaches of the early 18^th century were devoid of springs and lumbered along at four miles or less an hour. By 1820, with lighter, well sprung coaches and improved roads, they travelled at the dizzying speed of ten to twelve miles an hour, stopping frequently to change horses. Today driving 50 miles means nothing more than putting the car into gear and the foot on the peddle.

It took my ancestors three long arduous months to sail the 13,000 miles from Britain to Australia via the Cape of Good Hope. Today I can travel the 10,573 miles in 22 – 23 hours.

What stands out during research is the influence of women throughout our history. Dubbed the “weaker sex” or “imbecillitas sexus”, derived from Roman law, literally meaning the weakness of female mental power, women stepped up time and again to face adversity and deprivation. It’s hard to believe that before the 1960s married women couldn’t own a bank account without their husband’s permission. Worse, over a century ago, husbands had the right to prevent their spouses from working.

It’s no wonder women’s suffrage grew in the mid-19^th century and the First World War had a huge impact on their struggle. Despite early opposition, thousands of women joined the war effort, working in areas that were previously male only occupations.  

Before I talk about my character Gabrielle, I must relate an amusing true story of that early opposition. In 1914, the British War Office turned down an offer of help from Scottish doctor Elsie Inglis with “My good lady, go home and sit still.” Undeterred, Dr Inglis set up the Scottish Women’s Hospitals on the fighting fronts.

Gabrielle, Perilous Love, was a product of the genteel upper-class world of servants and country homes in pre-war England. She was expected to marry well, and she did, to Adrian Bryce whose wealth spread from England to Europe. They soon discovered they had little in common and after two children led polite separate lives. In truth, they can barely stand the sight of each other – until Belgium in the summer of 1914. There, a terrible betrayal reveals the real reason why Adrian decided to join her, forcing them to flee as World War One erupts over Europe. From pampered comfort to hiding in a barn loft without money or food Gabrielle has no choice but trust the man she despises. The enormity of their predicament hits home when he’s injured. It’s now up to her to find food and means of escape. An abandoned farmhouse almost breaks her because she’s never boiled water, let alone cooked, and has no idea what to look for.  But, gnawing hunger, fear of capture and two children at home are powerful teachers. Grabbing what she hopes is edible she finds filthy farmer’s overalls in the washhouse. Shedding her torn dress, she struggles to put them on, unaware they are back to front. She runs out the rear door – and stops. In front of her is their escape in the shape of a scruffy plough horse. If she can catch it, if she can find a harness and wagon, they might, just might, blend in with the thousands of Belgians fleeing the brutal invasion. 

Like so many women of that era, Gabrielle discovered what she was truly capable of.

Perilous Love blurb -

Gabrielle Bryce’s plan to end her miserable empty marriage is thwarted when her estranged husband Adrian abruptly announces he’ll accompany her and their two children on the annual trip to Belgium. Unknown to anyone, Adrian is under orders from the British government to find proof Gabrielle's Belgian uncle is secretly supporting the German Empire’s quest for war.

The proof Adrian finds could kill them, and they run for their lives as the German forces cross the border. With only a stolen horse and buggy to their name and facing danger, brutality, and painful truths about themselves, they reach safety as two different people. Waiting for them are charges of treason and a woman who’ll stop at nothing to see Adrian dead. 

Excerpt – 

“What’s the matter, Adrian? The cat got your tongue?” Gabrielle whispered nastily. “You owe me the truth, because I am the poor fool who is the last to know about anything.” Her face flared red with anger. “You and Uncle Henri shared the delectable German harlot, you knew Belgium would be invaded, Uncle Henri has German guards ready to shoot us. What else has been going on behind my back?” 

When he didn’t reply, the bubbling volcano erupted. “Stand up and talk to me you devious, lying bastard!” She yelled then looked fearfully at the closed door. 

Her jaw dropped when Adrian shrugged dismissively. “What does it matter now? We have no feelings for each other.” 

“What does it matter?” She spluttered. “I’ve just been told your  German woman who is also Uncle Henri’s German woman, followed you to meetings with the Secret Service Bureau. Has it escaped your    attention that we have two children relying on us? No, they rely on me, and I am stuck  in this room with you.” 

She stepped back as Adrian scrambled to his feet, his eyes blazing. “Don’t yell at me, Miss Pure as the Driven Snow. I have a question for you, what does Brian Charlton find so interesting in my home? 

Buy links –

Perilous Love - Kindle edition by Selbourne, Jan. Romance Kindle eBooks @ Amazon.com.

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14661584.Jan_Selbourne?from_search=true

http://twitter.com/JanSelbourne

https://www.facebook.com/jan.selbourne

https://www.amazon.com/Jan-Selbourne/e/B0184OSZ6E/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

https://www.linkedin.com/in/jan-selbourne-2817b6140/

Jan Selbourne

https://nomadauthors.com/

https://nomadauthors.com/JanSelbourne

Twitter   Jan Selbourne @JanSelbourne

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Real Life Fearless by Colleen L. Donnelly #FearlessFriday #romance

FEARLESS FRIDAY

My guest today, Colleen L. Donnelly, knows how to entertain us. I'm voting her the most fearless this year to date on Discover... And because she is such a good tale spinner, you'll want to check out her fiction books too. So read to the end and then check out her books! 

Fearless? Maybe not, but when Kenny Rogers sang “The Gambler,” I heard my escapes from harm crooned to a catchy tune. My dad had already dubbed Kenny a herald of truth when “You Picked a Fine Time to Leave Me, Lucille” coincided with a bout of bad blood sugar that weakened my mom, his best farmhand. But Kenny’s insight didn’t dawn on me until long after endless replays of his Greatest Hits during high school study hall. Much later his words brought my brushes with disaster to light through The Gambler’s eyes. 

“Son, I've made a life
Out of readin' people's faces
Knowing what the cards were
By the way they held their eyes”

Targeted

The face I read outside my closed car window told me what cards that man held. Cajoling and sincere, he assured me under meager streetlights that the person I said I was looking for was just around the corner. “Leave your car, and follow me,” he coaxed from outside my locked car. Then his pleas shifted from “Trust me” to “Roll down your window so I can hear you better.” The way he held his eyes told me to start my car. When “No, don’t go” darkened his face, I hit the gas. 

“Every gambler knows
That the secret to surviving
Is knowing what to throw away
Knowing what to keep”

Which goes for advice. Like that given to me in a Burger King parking lot by a man who pointed to my rear tire before I exited my car, advising, “You should see your tire. It’s flat.” When I hesitated, he persisted, “Don’t drive with it that way.” Since I had just driven there without the flapping limp of a flat, I challenged him. Which brought him closer. “Get out and look at it,” he insisted. “See for yourself.” His persistence piqued the Gambler’s “secret to surviving.” Throw away lunch? A tire? I threw away the fellow’s advice, knowing what to keep. Me. So I left—on four solid tires. 

“The night got deathly quiet
And his face lost all expression”

Make that a deathly quiet alley. And two faces. Two that went from cocky assurance to shock when I wheeled my ninety-month pregnant body around and faced them. They’d trailed me as I waddled from a local grocer to my house. I felt them before I heard them, footsteps then voices that donned a casual pretense designed to keep my defenses asleep. They drew closer. Their pace quickened. I couldn’t run, had nothing to defend myself with, so I turned. If innocent, they would smile and step aside. But their pretend joviality and conversation vanished. They stood expressionless as their pregnant victim suddenly barreled straight toward them, through their deathly quiet, and then away. 

“If you're gonna play the game, boy
You gotta learn to play it right”

Wrong place, wrong time

Which means truthfully. Someone wanted something I had. When threats and coercion failed to get it from me, they took me to court. To the judge, they spun a yarn that painted them a victim and me a scoundrel. I pondered an equally fabricated defense until the judge turned my way. King Solomon shone in his eyes, the same brilliance that had ages ago resolved the squabble as to which of two women an infant belonged to by decreeing the baby be cut in half. The judge raised a question the way Solomon lifted his sword. He was looking for the truth—the real mother who would give up her child in order to save its life. I played it right and told him the truth. His gavel hit the podium. And what was mine remained mine. 

“You got to know when to hold ’em”

Rumor had it that the man who backed into our parked car, but accused us of hitting his, was tied to organized crime. Cool, calm, and collected, he swaggered into the courtroom, hands stuffed in the pockets of a long trench coat, and stood beside us in front of a judge. The rumor seemed true when the judge entertained only one side of the story…not ours…then dismissed the case. While my co-witness screamed, “Liar,” I watched the back of the trench coat swagger out the doors he’d entered. She screamed it again in the hallway, utterly fearless while I considered the enormity of what…not who…had dinged the car. Wisdom said, “Hold ’em,” and I did. But she didn’t. Until that enormity turned and delivered her a promise we knew he would keep. 

“Know when to fold ’em”

Is it fearless to climb into the basket of a hot air balloon when you’re terrified of heights? Or was I more afraid of the people who clapped my back and said, “You can do it, come on.” My wits that had kept me safe through countless other scrapes, failed me the moment pride took over. More cowardly than wise, I knew I should have folded before I stepped into the basket, or before I even accepted, or by pretending to be sick. But when the gas failed to ignite and lift the balloon into the air, it was time. I folded. And kissed the ground I belonged on. 

“Know when to walk away”

Bullies. Two giants decided to tail my daughter and I in the mall. Enormous shadows darkened wherever we walked. Taunts and snickers bristled the air. Chortles and insults tempted me to turn and retaliate, but I took her hand and kept moving forward. The more they picked on a mother and child, the smaller they became. So small, even their sticks and stones fell flat. I understood then what my mother always said—insecure people try to bring you down to their level. Low and small. My daughter and I became the giants then, and we walked away. 

“And know when to run”

Approaching a gate after dark to an outdoor testing site that I and other lab techs worked, my car became besieged by Spanish-speaking men, roused from singing around their campfire. They grinned as they surrounded the car of a dazed blonde who quickly locked her doors. To their too happy expressions, I offered smiles, exaggerated gestures, pressed my ID to the glass, and tried a simple English explanation to encourage them to move away. I even claimed I had a husband—a grande husband—in broken Spanish, but nothing budged them. Preferring not to drag them with my car, I pondered employing the 21 Foot Rule and demand they step outside my vulnerable distance. Then the smile pressed against my window vanished. A large hand clapped the man’s shoulder and pulled him from my car. His friends moved also when our heftiest lab tech didn’t let go. His nod said what I already knew—this is when I run. 

Colleen L. Donnelly is an Amazon #1 Bestselling author of historical fiction and romance. She can be found at:

http://www.colleenldonnelly.com/

https://www.facebook.com/ColleenLDonnelly

http://www.Goodreads.com/colleenldonnelly

https://www.bookbub.com/authors/colleen-l-donnelly

http://amzn.to/37vcnO4

https://twitter.com/ColleenLDonnell/ 

And her books:

Mine to Tell     http://amzn.to/1PNJo4S

Asked For        http://amzn.to/1TyflEu         

Love on a Train     http://amzn.to/1m9eYCx

The Lady’s Arrangement      http://amzn.to/2qj7DE2

Out of Splinters and Ashes   https://amzn.to/2K0WTHt

Letters and Lies      https://amzn.to/2yNFGNv

Sonata Contineo     https://amzn.to/2I0zzYi