Great Time Had by All at When Words Collide by Nancy M Bell

His Brother's Bride is Book 2 in the Canadian Historical Brides series. You can find out more by clicking here.

I had the pleasure of spending last weekend at the When Words Collide writers festival in Calgary. It's a wonderful bargain, only $45.00 CAD if you buy your membership before Jan 1, 2018. Tons of panels, pitch sessions and blue pencil sessions.
I was happy to sit on a number of panels and spoke to 8 writes during my blue pencil cafes. Such an honour to have writers trust me with their work and be open to constructive advice. Doing blue pencils is one of my favourite things.
The banquet on Saturday night was a roaring twenties theme. Sadly, I left my costume at home but I do have a picture of me dressed for the roaring twenties from a Surrey International Writers Conference a couple of years ago.

Books We Love, a division of BWL Publishing, had a table in the merchants corner. Below are some shots of our busy table.

Our table right next to the Writers Guild of Alberta

Me and publisher Jude Pittman manning the table

Author Renee Duke, all the way from Kelowna, publisher Jude Pittman and author Nancy M Bell

The HUGE banner to promote the Canadian Historical Brides series. This banner is only half of the display, another banner of equal size shows the other six books in the series. Wow! That's a lot of banner! LOL

Nancy and author Layton Park, also from Kelowna. Layton did a blue pencil with me and we're working on his novel which he asked me to edit for him at Surrey last year. He got into the roaring twenties theme, he was even carrying a violin case, I have no idea if he had a weapon in there or not. LOL I'm guessing-not.

I also had the great pleasure of meeting Jonas Saul. He's a best selling author and all round nice guy. Pleased to count him among my friends now.

The summer has been busy so far, lots of signing and events to promote His Brother's Bride. September promises to be busy as well. On Sept 8 and 9 I'm taking part in the Mountain View Arts Festival. Some of my fellow Brides authors and I will speaking on a panel about our series and the joys and issues with writing historical fiction. Then I'm also part of ArtWrite which is an event sponsored by the Didsbury Library. A group of artists and poets/writers were matched up with one author and one artists paired. The artist provided a piece of work which the author was required to create either a poem or a story inspired by the art. The artist in turn is supposed to create a piece of art inspired by the writer's work. A coffee table book will be published with art work and poems/stories displayed. It will be available for sale at the festival.

I am also embarking on a library tour sponsored by the Northern Lights Library System. I don't have the itinerary yet, but it is scheduled to begin the last week of September or the beginning of October and run for two weeks, approximately. I'm looking forward to it very much. Also a joy to speak about writing and talk about my books and hear what others are working on.

Until next month, stay well, stay happy and keep reading and writing.

Nancy

I'll leave you with a short excerpt from His Brother's Bride:

July 1st 1916 Dominion Day celebrations were a bit more subdued than previous years. The war to end all wars as H.G. Wells declared on August 14, 1914 was well into its second year of conflict. Luxury items were starting to become scarce. But in the small town of Eganville, Ontario on the Bonnechere River things weren’t as impacted as they were in larger centres.
The harvest promised to be a bumper crop this year, so optimism was high. Annie shoved her hat pin deeper into the nest of her hair, hoping to keep the new straw hat from coming adrift. She was crammed in the bed of the buckboard with her brothers and sisters. Except for Hetty, of course. Riding with a gaggle of siblings was beneath Hetty Baldwin newly betrothed to Clarence Hiram. Dust rose from the well-travelled road, everyone from the surrounding countryside seemed to be headed into town. She leaned over the side of the wagon and peered ahead. Thank goodness, they were almost there. Once Father found a strategic place to park the buckboard, Annie planned to slip away into the crowd and avoid being saddled with her younger sibling. Rotha was two years older than her and could take her turn looking after the little heathens.
On another note, Annie wanted to be out of earshot when Father clambered up onto the back of the wagon and began his hell fire and brimstone preaching. While she admired his convictions and his passion, it was more than a little embarrassing when he got so enraptured that spittle flew from his mouth.



In this bit they go exploring in the Bonnechere Caves which you can visit yourself if you're ever in Eganville, Ontario. Although now there are guided tours and wooden pathways through the caves. When Annie, George and Peter go exploring the caves were only known to adventurous locals. My grandfather, Herb Pritchard used to visit the caves as a youth. His brother, Joseph's name is on the cenotaph in Eaganville.



“Here it is!” Peter stopped by some cedar trees.
“Here’s what?” Annie peered around him. The lacy branches of the cedars brushed against the silver grey of the limestone behind them.
“There. The sinkhole.” He moved a bit and motioned her forward.
“Oh my, it’s deep!” Annie stepped by him and leaned over to look through the branches at the deep depression gouged out of the soft stone.
“Careful.” George’s fingers dug into her arm. “The edge might not be solid.”
She shook him off. “It’s fine. I want to see how deep it is.” Annie dropped on her belly cushioned by the thick grass and wriggled closer to the edge. “Have you been in there?” She balanced on one elbow and looked back at Peter.
“Sure, lots of times. Me and Tom been there lots. There’s all kinds of stuff you can see in the walls. Fish and stuff, leaves…” Peter dropped down beside her.
“I don’t think this is such a good idea. You two should get away from there before you fall,” George cautioned.
“Don’t be such a spoil sport, George. It’s safe, honest,” Peter replied.
“How did you get down there?” Annie edged closer to the opening. “It looks too far to jump.”
“For God’s sake don’t jump.” George sounded like he was about to have an apoplexy.
“Nobody’s jumping, there’s a rope.” Peter got up and rummaged around at the base of one of the cedars. “Me and Tom got some candles and matches and stuff here too. You game?” He raised his eyebrows at Annie.
“Yes! I’ve never been in a cave before. Can we? You’re coming too, aren’t you?” Annie looked at George.
“If ye’ve got yer heart set on it, I guess I’m coming. I can’t let you two go off on yer own and maybe get into trouble.” The older boy came closer and leaned over to look between the cedar boughs down into the patch of sunlight at the bottom of the hole.
“If we’re going, we need to do it now while the sun is still high enough to light up the floor of the cavern,” Peter advised. He tied the stout rope to the base of the nearest tree and tossed the end into the hole.
George picked it up and gave a hard pull to test his brother’s knot. Taking off his shirt he padded the spot where the rope rubbed on the rocky edge. The play of muscles under the smooth tanned skin of his back fascinated Annie, she found it hard to look at anything else. Peter cleared his throat and elbowed her in the ribs. Heat that was more than the summer sun could account for suffused her body, even the tips of her ears burned. Pete gave her a cocky grin and shook his head.
“Who goes first?” George straightened up and came to stand beside them.
“I’ll go, show you how it’s done,” Peter boasted.
“Then you go, Annie. I’ll come down last, so if something goes wrong I’ll still be up here to pull you up or go for help,” George said.
“Scaredy cat! You’re just afraid of a little hole in the ground,” Peter taunted his brother.
“Am not! I’m just being careful,” he protested.
“C’mon, let’s get on with it. We still need to get back up river before someone starts looking for us,” Annie urged them.
“Yer right.” Peter grasped the rope and disappeared over the edge. In no time, he called up. “Okay, your turn, Annie.” His voice echoed hollowly.
Taking a deep breath, she tucked the back hem of her skirts up between her legs and tucked it securely into the belt at the front of her waist, effectively keeping the yards of material out of her way and avoiding the possibility the boy below might see something she’d rather he didn’t. “Here goes,” she said, biting her lip to try and hide her excitement and anxiety. Her bare feet found purchase on the crumbly stone of the side and she was glad she wasn’t wearing the new boots with the slick soles. In less time than she thought it would take, Peter’s hands grasped her waist and steadied her until her feet touched the bottom, the sand cool on her bare feet.
“Your turn,” Annie called up to George. She looked up, squinting against the light. George’s head was backlit by the sun, his hair burnished gold, face in shadow.
“Get back out of the way, give me some room.”
A small shower of loose dirt and small stones preceded his descent, cascading down to join the debris already on the floor of the hole. Light flared in the gloom outside the sunlit patch of ground directly under the opening above. The candle’s flame threw Peter’s face into eerie shadow. Annie’s breath caught in her throat, it looked like the engraving of Satan in one of Father’s books. The resemblance faded when he moved back into the light.
“Here, see the funny wee things embedded in the wall?” He held the candle close to the limestone and pointed to what looked like a big bug.
“How amazing, what is it? Do you know?” Annie leaned so close her nose almost touched the damp stone.
“Nope, not an idea. Some kind of creature that lived long, long time ago. Tom, he knows about these things, he calls ‘em fossils.” Peter moved the candle and showed her what looked like the imprint of leaves and then a curly something that resembled the top of a turban.”
“Who else knows about this place?” Annie whispered, the dark recesses of the sink hole sending sibilant whispers back like ghosts mocking her. Annie shivered.
“Just me and Tom, that I know of. We ain’t told anybody. This is our special place, a hidey hole if we ever need one, unless maybe your brothers know about it too, like you said.” Peter moved further into the shadows. “C’mon, you gotta see this.”
Annie moved toward the sound of his voice, aware of George close behind her. The dirt and rocks beneath her feet were damp and a bit slippery. The wavering candle light threw shadows off the rough walls and ceiling.
“Oh my goodness!” She halted so abruptly George ran into her and caught her around the waist to keep from knocking her over. His sharply indrawn breath matched her own gasp. Peter’s light revealed rock formations hanging from the ceiling like icicles, shining damply in the cool air. Below the odd creations others rose to meet them from the floor. Annie reached out a hand to touch one, cold slick wet rock met her questing fingers. George’s hand was still warm on her waist and gave her the courage to venture further into the passage after Peter.
Far ahead the sound of rushing water carried to them on the wafts of moving air. “Careful, it’s wet further on,” Peter called from ahead of them.
“What do you think made this?” Annie wondered.
“The river most likely,” George answered. “Look at the way the rock is carved out, it looks like waves.”
“It does.” Annie was astounded. “Can you imagine what power? It must have taken years.”
“I imagine it did,” George answered. “Peter, I think we’ve gone far enough. Come back.”
“Oh!” The cry escaped her before she could stop it. Icy water lapped at her ankles.
“Careful, Annie. The last thing we need is for one of us to fall and break something. Petey!”
The light bobbed back toward them and Peter’s blond hair came into view, lit from below by candle. “You gotta see this. It’s just a few feet more. It’s worth it, believe me.”
“I don’t think it’s wise…” George began.
“What is it?” Annie was reluctant for the adventure to end.
“You have to see it,” Peter urged her.
Annie followed him for a few feet and around a twist in the passage that cut off any light from the sink hole opening into the upper world. Peter cursed softly and the candle snuffed out. The darkness in the cave was a palpable thing, closing around her throat and smothering the breath in her chest. She opened her mouth to scream but no sound emerged. George grasped her upper arms and pulled her back against him.
“Don’t move,” he hissed in the stygian blackness. “We can’t know where to put our feet. Peter, have you got another light?”
“Aye, just a minute, the matches are damp.”
The sharp scritch of match heads striking brought Annie’s heart into her throat. Finally, a tiny flame flared and Peter touched it to the wick of a new candle.
“Oh, thank God!” Her hand clutched at her throat.
“Enough, Peter. We need to get out of here,” George’s voice was thin and sharp as spring ice.
“But, it’s right here. You have to see this.” He insisted.
“Annie?” George’s hold tightened on her arms.
“We might as well see what it is that’s got him so excited seeing as we’re already here.” Curiosity got the better of her fear. Together they moved toward the candle light. Her gaze was drawn downward as they came abreast of Peter.
Mere feet below where she stood water rushed past, appearing and disappearing out of the darkness.
“It’s the river!” Peter declared. “Tom says this is how the caves were created.”
“What river? The Bonnechere?” Even George sounded impressed.
“The same. You know where the river disappears under the cliffs? Well, Tom says it travels underground through these channels it makes for itself and them tunnels come out again further down.”
“How amazing!” Annie bent down to stare at the dark waters swirling by, running so fast it actually have tiny white crests on the waves where it collided with the walls.
“We should go now,” Peter said. “This is my last candle.” He moved past them and headed back into the smothering darkness.