Welcome to Fall

 

https://books2read.com/Loving-Charlie-Forever

Welcome to Fall

            I know Fall is well underway, but the weather in Kansas has been more like summer than autumn, so it’s been difficult to think that Halloween has passed and Thanksgiving is around the corner. I love to incorporate fall into the settings for my stories -- the changing colors of the leaves, the smell of wood smoke on cooler nights as people light up the firepits, football games and bringing out sweatshirts and sweaters.

    On past holidays, I cooked and baked for days before the kids came home from college, making all their favorites. Now, the kids have families of their own, and my son enjoys hosting Thanksgiving dinner. Last year, there were over thirty people at his house – parents and in-laws and siblings and nieces and nephews from both sides of the family. This year there will even be some new babies to cuddle. Everyone shares in making a feast with traditional smoked turkey and dressing and all the side dishes you could possibly imagine.

            Everyone has their favorite Thanksgiving dish, and while some are the same nationwide, others vary according to location. You can imagine with me being from the Midwest and my daughter-in-law being from the south, we get an extra-large variety. But until a year or so ago, I had never heard of Macaroni & Cheese being a holiday dish.

    One Thanksgiving dinner staple is bread, in all its many shapes and forms. Last year, my son wanted me to make Bulgur Bread, a long time favorite at our house, so although I live in Kansas and he’s in Tennessee, I checked the ingredients and packed what I knew he wouldn’t have when I boarded the plane. (I didn’t make it until I got there because there is nothing better than fresh baked bread.) For those of you who enjoy the art of kneading dough and the smell of it fresh from the oven, I am putting the Bulgur recipe here. It’s a coarse texture, crusty bread that I know you’ll enjoy. (BTW, you can usually find Bulgur—cracked wheat – in the organic or health food section of the grocery store.)

Bulgur Honey Bread
1 cup bulgur (dry)
3 cups boiling water
½ cup honey
2 Tbsp cooking oil
1 Tbsp salt
2 packages dry yeast
½ cup warm water
6 ½ -7 cups flour

Combine bulgur, boiling water, honey, oil and salt in a large bowl. Cool to lukewarm. Add yeast to warm water. Stir to dissolve. Add to cooled bulgur mixture. Blend in flour in 3 parts, beating after each addition until dough leaves side of bowl. (Dough will be soft.) Turn onto lightly floured surface. Knead until smooth, elastic and doesn’t stick when pinched with the fingers. Put in a greased bowl and let rise until double (about 2 hours). Punch down, divide in ½ and shape into loaves. Put in 2 loaf pans. Cover and let rise until double. Bake in 350 degree oven 45-50minutes or until done. Brush with butter.

For those who celebrate – Happy Thanksgiving. For those who simply enjoy good food, Bon Appetit!

 

Barbara Baldwin (whose story characters often have favorite foods, which are actually mine and I sneak them into my stories.)

www.authorsden.com/barbarajbaldwin

www.amazon.com/author/barbarabaldwin

 

When It's Cold Outside

Read a scene below!

Do you like to read winter stories at this time of year? According to most of the feeds on my social media, my friends and family are deeply buried under blankets of snow trying to stay warm. With wind chills in the negative numbers, it might not be the ideal weather to go ice skating. However, it is the ideal time to write about it, because I can stay close to the fire while looking outside for inspiration. I share a scene from “Spinning Through Time” where a woman from modern day Dallas unexpectedly spends the winter in 1874 Philadelphia:

The single horse had no trouble pulling the sleigh across the hard packed snow on the lane, and Nicholas assured them the pond lay close enough to the road that they wouldn’t have far to walk. Immediately upon arriving at the pond, he gathered enough wood to start a small fire should they get chilled while skating.

While Molly helped Amanda put on her skates, Jaci struggled with her own, swatting aside petticoats and heavy velvet skirts. “It was much easier in pants and a sweater,” she mumbled under her breath, wondering how on earth she would ever stand up, much less skate across the frozen pond.

“What’s that, Miss?” The ever vigilant Molly lifted her head from lacing Amanda’s skates.

“Never mind. It’s of no consequence.” Jaci stopped in the middle of knotting the second skate. Dear me, I’m even beginning to talk like them.

Her thoughts were immediately diverted when Amanda squealed. She straightened her skirts carefully around her legs as she watched the child glide out onto the ice, her cheeks rosy with cold and excitement. For such a young child, she skated exceptionally well.

“Miss Eastman, perhaps you would stay warmer if you got off that log and moved about.”

She glanced up sharply as a shadow crossed her vision. Nicholas, handsome as always in his greatcoat and wool trousers, extended a hand to her. The air floated about his head in frozen puffs as he spoke.

She wondered when she had fallen in love with him. The words didn’t surprise her today, even though two days ago she had protested such an idea. Deep in her heart, she had already known the truth. She shook her head in wonder.

For most of her adult life, she had tried to avoid macho males who wanted to run her life, and yet here she was, stuck in the wrong century with just such a man. And the problem? She didn’t seem to mind it.

Nicholas had a magnetic personality which drew others to him, herself included, and his smile was enough to make a girl faint, or swoon, or whatever they did in 1874. He had a terrific sense of humor, talked to her intelligently and not in a condescending manner, and seemed to value her as an individual. Of course, when they argued, it was as violent as the thunderstorms that shook the earth, but even their fights had sent shivers of excitement through her.

So what’s the problem? She asked herself. Aside from the fact that she didn’t belong here and didn’t know how long she would stay? She shook her head to clear it as she allowed him to pull her out onto the ice, deciding today wasn’t made for worrying.

“You’re much more graceful on skates than the back of a horse,” he teased as he skated in front of her.

Her skirts billowed out about her, but she found they didn’t inhibit her movements like she thought they would.

Nicholas was showing off by tipping forward, one foot lifted behind him in the air. She pushed him, catching him off balance. He wobbled and fell on his fanny.

“Alas, it’s too bad you’re not. Do you always end up on your as...derriere?” She stood in front of him to judge his reaction.

His grin was infectious, and she threw back her head and laughed, tossing all her dire thoughts to the wind. She turned and skated away, but he quickly caught up with her.

“Here, try this,” he challenged as he expertly turned in front of her, capturing her hands in his and resting one of them on his shoulder. With no apparent effort on his part, he skated backwards while guiding her into the steps of a waltz. Though awkward at first, she soon found she actually did move more gracefully on skates with all her petticoats than she did on dry land. She began to hum a tune in time to their movements.

Did he feel the electricity like she did; the need to touch him even when she knew she shouldn’t? She tilted her head back, her gaze taking in the wayward lock of black hair falling across his forehead, the gray at the temples that only enhanced his appearance. When she shrugged negligently to relieve the tension, he grinned, his full sensuous lips parting to reveal straight white teeth. She lightly tugged on his lapels to bring him closer.

As often as they had kissed recently, she should have been prepared. Even so, it amazed her at how quickly she saw passion ignite in his gaze before her eyes drifted closed.

The buzzing in her head reminded her of the accident at the carousel, and she wondered if she would open her eyes and be back in Dallas. Perhaps becoming involved with a man from the wrong century was what she needed to return to her own time.

When the pressure on her spine and mouth lessened and she opened her eyes, however, she found Nicholas staring strangely at her. Her mittened fingers shook as they touched her mouth, still tender from his kiss; her heart pounded a rhythm too fast to count. She had remained in Nicholas’s time. Tears stung her eyes as she realized she was immensely glad she had not been transported.

“Uncle Nicholas, Miss Eastman — watch!” Amanda called for their attention and she didn’t have time to dwell on her mixed up emotions.

“Be careful, Muffin,” Nicholas called to his niece, ever mindful of their safety. Jaci heard the yearning in his voice, and knew he thought of Amanda as his own daughter.

“Oh, Uncle Nicholas, you know I am. Don’t be an old fuddy-duddy.”

Suddenly her scream rent the still morning. Horrified, Jaci watched as, in slow motion, Amanda began to sink through the ice.

“Amanda!” Nicholas bellowed a denial even as he raced toward the hole that had swallowed his niece.

***

            If you’d like to find out what happens next, grab a copy of “Spinning Through Time” at

https://books2read.com/Spinning-Through-Time.

 ***

            If winter isn’t your thing but you still want a getaway, how about taking a trip to a ghost town in Nevada (Prospecting for Love); the gold mines of the Black Hills (Loving Charlie Forever) or travel the river on a riverboat (Hold on to the Past). Time travels are quite inexpensive and require no luggage or boarding passes! Find all my time travels and more at https://bwlpublishing.ca/baldwin-barbara/.

Regardless of what the groundhog says, spring WILL come and we will CELEBRATE!

Barb Baldwin

http://authorsden.com/barbarajbaldwin

 

New release "Mishandled Conviction" by J. S. Marlo

 

J. S. Marlo's BWL Books

A few years ago, my friends and I were looking for a place to go on our girls’ night out when someone suggested an escape room.

None of us had ever attempted to escape a theme room in sixty minutes or less, and I don’t think any of us expected to succeed, but we figured we should give it a try. Well, fifty-nine minutes and three clues later, we solved the last puzzle and escaped. It was a blast.

At the time, I had just started writing "Misguided Honor", but it occurred to me that an escape room would make a great setting for my next time travel mystery.

Two years later, I'm pleased to present you my new release: 

"Mishandled Conviction"

 

While Violette remodels an escape room, the lines between illusion and reality blur. The escape room is based on the legend of a dead inmate who haunts a condemned penitentiary, but the fake prison cell she recreates transports her into the past.

As she relives the tumultuous events surrounding her life and the inmate’s death, Violette glimpses clues regarding the disappearance of her son-in-law and loss of her precious heirloom.

The past and the present collide, threatening the lives of Violette’s loved ones and unleashing conflicting emotions toward the men haunting her heart. Can she unravel the truth and save her family without losing her future?

 At 95,000 words, it's the longest story I've published so far and it's available in paperback and ebook. List of online retailers -> https://books2read.com/Mishandled-Conviction

It would make a great stocking stuffer for Christmas...just saying...

Here's an excerpt:

Something snapped behind her, jolting Violette. As she spun on her heel, the front door opened and her daughter barged in.

“Mom, where have you been?” Garbed in Elliot’s oversized t-shirt, Sophie kicked off her yellow flip-flops. One landed on the floor mat and the other under the bench on which they sat in the winter to put their boots on. “I was worried.”

Welcome to Worryland, sweetheart. Once you enter, you never leave. “I was—” Upon seeing Joe stepping in with only pajama pants on, the remaining words caught in Violette’s throat.

“Did something happen?” Bare chested, Joe looked more athletic and in better shape than most men half his age, including Elliot who patronized a gym three days a week. “You didn’t spend half the night in my escape room, did you?”

She heard him, but the question didn’t register until she tore her gaze away from his formidable physique. “No...not your escape room...not exactly...”

“Then where were you, Mom?” An arm draped around Violette’s shoulders, Sophie led her into the kitchen. “I tried calling you. When you didn’t answer, I knocked on Joe’s door. He was mounting a rescue when he saw your car pull into the driveway.”

“My phone was—” The meaning behind their nightclothes, and the realization that they had followed her inside, dawned on Violette. “You were on your way to rescue me? In pajamas?” That would have been a great idea—four hours ago. “I think I need a cup of coffee.”

“At this hour?” A frown etched on his forehead, Joe pulled up a chair for her. “You won’t be able to sleep a wink.”

Trust me, I won’t sleep whether I drink or not. “You’re right. After the eventful evening I just spent, I need something stronger. I’ll have a beer.”

Her daughter exchanged a dubious look with Joe, a look that her grandson might as well get used to early in life, but then Sophie gestured for Joe to sit at the table. “I’ll get Mom a beer. Would you like one too?”

“No thank you, Sneaky Pie.”

The nickname drew a smile on Violette’s face. On so many levels, Joe was the father that her daughter would have deserved but that Violette could never give her. “I suppose I owe you both the long version, don’t I?”

“We were worried, Mom.” From the fridge, Sophie fetched a beer from the six-pack that Elliot concealed behind the milk. “We’re just glad you’re safe, but an explanation would be nice, if you feel like sharing.”

Sharing her unbelievable ordeal sounded like a bad idea—an idea that might tempt them to send her to the loony bin—but to receive answers to her questions, she somehow needed to share her incredible tale. “I...I drove to the Ottawa Royal Penitentiary to visit Phantom’s cell.”

“You drove where?” Joe’s policeman mask fell right off his face and hit the table with a silent thump.

I stumbled onto an enchanted passageway that transported me from your mock courtyard to the real courtyard, slid into a coal room, broke all my nails. The grime of her escape was embedded into every pore of her skin, while the hopelessness of the prison cast a shadow on her soul. I searched Phantom’s cell, found a dog tag, walked up and down a deserted road hoping to get a signal on my phone only to realize that it had died since I’d left the prison. Then I felt giddy and scared when I spotted lights in the distance. I almost gave a heart attack to the poor truck driver when I waved at him from the ditch, but he was kind enough to give me a ride to your escape room. From there, I jumped in my car and drove home.

“I drove to the prison.” Mustering her best poker face, Violette held his darkening gaze. “How else would I get there?”

 

The holiday season is fast approaching. Don't forget to give the gift of reading.

 

Wrapped a book for each of your loved ones or get them a library membership.

 

Happy Reading & Stay Safe!

Many hugs!

JS

 

J. S. Marlo's Website

A ghost on a military base? by J. S. Marlo

J. S. Marlo BWL Author Page

During the Second World War, HMCS Cornwallis (later renamed CFB Cornwallis) was the largest naval training base in the British Commonwealth. Built on the southern shore of the Annapolis Basin in Nova Scotia and commissioned in 1942, the military training base closed in 1994.

In the late 1980s, my husband and I enjoyed a three-year posting at CFB Cornwallis. During that time, we attended many functions inside the Officers' Mess. It was a beautiful building (pic on the left), rich in history, and haunted by the ghost of a young woman. I was fascinated by the sad story of that young woman who allegedly hanged herself in one of the upstairs bedrooms after her lover, a sailor in the British Navy during World War II, abandoned her to go back to his wife.

The legend of her ghost was very much alive. While I didn’t know of anyone who had ever seen her, there were reports of strange activities inside the Mess, but was her ghost really roaming the Officers' Mess and only showing herself to unfaithful married men?

Despite all the research I did, I couldn’t find any evidence that a woman ever killed herself inside the Mess, but the basement of the Base Commander’s Residence did shelter grave markers. The dead no longer rest in the basement, their remains were moved to a different burial site, but two of the markers still stand side by side, each engraved with the names of two young children. The four siblings—Edward (1 month), Amelia (1 yr & 6 months), Gilbert (3 yrs), and W.C. (3 yrs)—died between 1850 and 1858.

The legend of the ghost and the grave markers inspired me to write Misguided Honor, my latest novel which was released last week.

In Misguided Honor, Becca Shea sneaks into Cornwallis and travels back in time to 1941 where she meets the young heart-broken woman in the days leading up to her tragic death.

To bring the story of the ghost to life, I took some liberties with history. Among other things, I gave Cornwallis a fictional past as a private shipyard, moved the buildings around, changed their layouts, and delayed the closure of the base. I wish I had unearthed the origin of the legend, and though I didn't, I'm convinced something dreadful happened a long time ago in the Officers' Mess—or else the legend wouldn't have been born.

Happy reading!

JS

 J. S. Marlo's Website

The magical world of Time-Travel as seen by Tricia McGill

Find all my books on my Books We Love Author page

I am not sure where my fascination for Time-Travel evolved from. Perhaps it stems from one of Enid Blyton’s series of books that I read many years ago. The children didn’t exactly time travel in the land of “The Faraway Tree”, but they did journey to many extraordinary imaginary places when they entered the Enchanted Wood. http://www.enidblytonsociety.co.uk/faraway-tree.php  I spent many ecstatic hours with them as I did also with Enid Blyton’s “Famous Five” on their adventures.

But I think my first foray into the likelihood of actual time-travel was brought about by the 1960 movie adaptation of H. G. Wells “The Time Machine” with Rod Tayler, Yvette Mimieux, and who can forget The Morlocks. If you never saw the movie you should wander over to this site where you can watch some of the scenes:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AKP-WkcDT5s

I have to agree that some of it was so far-fetched and seems corny by today’s standards, but it was a movie ahead of its time. It was remade in 2002 with Guy Pearce in the lead role, but this adaptation was far removed from the original that inspired me. I have an extensive list of my favorite movies including, The Terminator, Back to The Future, The Time-Traveler's Wife, Kate and Leopold, and Interstellar. The fact that so many movies have been made using the TT plot proves that I am not the only one fascinated by the subject. Put Time-Travel movies into the search bar and see what it brings up. 

Whoops! Nearly left out my favorite time-traveler of all. Who doesn't love The Doctor. I've been watching Dr Who from almost the first time it appeared on our TV screens in England when the deadly Daleks used sink plungers for weapons. What a success story and what a premise. He not only travels back and forth through time but also goes inter-galactic in his police box, the TARDIS (Time and Relative Dimension in Space). And what a  brilliant idea to have him regenerate periodically when a different actor needs to take over the role instead of dying. 

I sincerely hope I live long enough to see someone make that leap into another time by using some means or other. Apart from the fascination with the theory of time-travel there is also the other factor that stirs my interest and that is how great it would be to see first-hand how people lived, loved and worked in times gone by. My time-travel stories to date have taken me back to Scotland of 1050 (Wild Heather Series—The Laird Book 1 and Travis Book 2), Jorvik (York) when it was a Viking settlement in 879AD (Maddie and The Norseman), and to the Ancient Britain of 450AD not long after the Romans left in my latest release A Call Through Time.

A large part of the intrigue attached to writing this genre stems from my love of research. It’s rewarding and satisfying to start out on the journey with an idea and to build upon that idea when you set a period in time and then go about researching time lines, costumes of the period, the food the folk eat, and how they prepare it etc. etc.  

When it boils down to it, much as I would love to take this journey back to a time and place when sanitation was non-existent, where life was basic with no washing machines, toilet paper, no cars, no planes or trains, I would always want to return to the present day of clean bed linen and sanitary products, of skilled doctors and surgeons. Imagine what it would have been like without the necessities we take for granted. But, that said, I would still love to know if life was really like it is portrayed in the movies. Apparently Cleopatra was no raving beauty like Elizabeth Taylor, but she did get some mighty influential men to fall for her: 

http://time.com/3877380/cleopatra-rare-photos-of-liz-taylor-richard-burton-on-set-in-1962/

 The Elizabethans were a pretty grubby lot with perhaps one bath a year in dirty water at that: 

http://www.elizabethanenglandlife.com/elizabethan-hygiene.html

And what about the Vikings, I doubt they ever cleaned their teeth or brushed their hair: 

http://www.bbc.co.uk/schools/primaryhistory/vikings/vikings_at_home/

We romanticize a lot (or I do) about these times, but I can’t really see myself falling for someone whose mouth smells like rotten food and whose body must stink after months at sea on a diet of fish. But there you go, it’s a writer’s privilege to fantasize, even if it means turning fact into fiction to suit our needs.

Visit my web page for excerpts and reviews

The Golden Year of 1966

By the time you read this blog I'll be on the high seas. Why? Well because my husband and I are lucky enough to be celebrating our Golden Wedding anniversary on 26 March, and we've decided to do it in style by cruising in the Western Mediterranean. We are even going to have a gondola ride in Venice...an absolute must for a writer of contemporary romance as I'm sure you'll agree.

Those 50 years seem to have flown by and yet I can remember the beginning as if it were yesterday. Our only travel then was in a small car on mostly secondary roads as there were few highways in the UK in those far distant days. We were married for years before we flew in an aeroplane and a lot more time went by before we boarded our first cruise ship, but how times have changed since then. Now, thanks to work as well as holidays and trips to see friends, we have visited more than 40 countries and are still travelling, and I can hardly believe it. Growing up I never expected to travel anywhere outside the UK and my parents never did.

Readers know that many of the places I visit feature in my books and that is particularly the case with Cabin Fever. The story follows another cruise we took, this time from Auckland in New Zealand to Sydney in Australia. It's written from the perspective of the crew instead of the passengers. Did I just make it up? Not quite. I talked to some of the crew members to ensure I got my facts straight before I returned home and wrote about it, and in doing so I was able to relive the cruise all over again, always a bonus.

I have no idea which, if any, of the places we visit in March will feature in future books. It could be Dubrovnik, or Venice, or Malta, or a host of other places, or perhaps none at all. It depends entirely on whether something triggers an idea for a story. One thing is for sure though, celebrating or not, I will be looking for that trigger. It's my default mode.

Something else is going to happen in March as well. A weekend in an hotel with two of my cousins and their spouses, all of whom were also married 50 years ago in 1966. It must have been a very expensive year for the family!  We all know how lucky we are to still be together and to have our health, and we are going to drink to it, and to the future, because hopefully we still have a few golden years left. Maybe that should be my next book. The story of 3 marriages. On the other hand...maybe not!

My next book, Remembering Rose, which will be published in June, a few months after my anniversary cruise, is about a marriage though. Well two marriages actually, which, although there is more than a century between them, are inextricably linked together. In this story the only travel involved is time travel, something which, looking back over the past fifty years, I seem to have done just by living.

Sheila's books can be found at:

Books We Love

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Smashwords

Kobo

She also has a website and can be found on facebook

"Doctor, I'm Sick," or Medical Practice in Eighteenth Century America By Shirley Martin

 

     Believe me, you wouldn't want to be sick in eighteenth century America.

    In my time travel romance, "Dream Weaver," the hero--Christian--is a doctor in 1762. In preparation for writing this romance, I read as much as possible about medicine in the eighteenth century.

    Let's start with a few basics. The average life span was thirty-five years, the death rate appalling. Very few people lived to the advanced age where cancer or heart disease manifested themselves. Only a very high birth rate allowed America to grow. The average married woman had seven children.

    Infection was the most common cause of death. Most doctors at this time recognized the value of cleanliness. Although those little, squiggly "animals" under a microscope were fascinating to watch, no one connected the bacteria with infection. The germ theory lay far in the future.

    In the eighteenth century, a pregnant woman was considered sick and indisposed for nine months. She was to avoid dancing and exercise, not to mention sex, for the duration.(One wonders how often this last proscription was observed.) Post childbirth infection was a feared complication of giving birth. Here again, cleanliness, or lack of it,was an important factor. Very few people in rural areas could afford doctors' fees, and someone other than a doctor performed delivery, often not bothering to wash their hands first.

    Since so many people couldn't afford doctors' fees, quacks abounded "like the locusts of Egypt." In colonial America, anyone who wanted to practice medicine could do so. Most doctors were trained as apprentices. However, American medical students considered the medical school in Edinburgh, Scotland, to be the premier source of a medical education. The courses there included anatomy, surgery, chemistry, pharmacy, and theory. American students in Edinburgh were conscientious scholars and spent long hours every day in the study and discussion of medicine. In 1765, the College of Philadelphia became the first medical school in America. Students had to give their thesis for a medical degree in Latin. Thereafter, America required a more stringent background for the practice of medicine.

    Amputations had a high mortality rate, and fractures of the vertebrae were considered fatal. We've all heard the term "bite the bullet."  It means to endure what you have to endure. More crudely, it means put up and shut up. If you've ever visited a historical fort and seen the bullets with the teeth marks, you might be able to imagine the agony of a patient having his leg sawed off without benefit of an anesthetic.

    Apothecaries in Europe and America sought Indian herbal medicine for many diseases. Sassafras tea was prescribed for infection and rheumatism, besides moths and bedbugs.

    Back then, many people who lived near poorly-drained areas suffered from the ague, what we now know as malaria. They believed that a miasma from the swamps caused this disease. It would be a long time before people realized that mosquitoes caused this malady. Yet strangely, the remedy then is the same as what is used today--Peruvian bark, today's source of quinine.

    Warfare has always advanced surgery. Gunpowder forever changed the strategy and tactics of warfare and also the problem of wound treatment. With gunpowder, casualties greatly increased. Most likely, because of the high casualty rate, doctors were forced to ignore advice on cleanliness. Sickness, not battlefield wounds, caused over 90% of the deaths in America during the Revolution. The conditions in the medical hospitals and field hospitals were appalling--dirty straw to lie on, lice, filth, wounds left untended for days. No wonder so many men died.

    The one great contribution of eighteenth century medicine was the development and practice of smallpox inoculation. In the early stages of this practice, many doctors and clergymen strongly opposed this practice, considering it against the will of God. Over time, the practice became accepted, and by the end of the Revolution, the entire American army had been inoculated. Thanks must go to George Washington for this for he recognized the value of smallpox inoculation.

    Inoculation was the first step in a process that virtually eliminated smallpox worldwide. Later, Edward Jenner developed smallpox vaccine, using the crusts from cowpox to prevent smallpox.

    In the latter part of the eighteenth century, a Virginia gentleman spent hours riding over his plantation, inspecting his property, marking trees and making notes. It was a cold, rainy and blustery December day. Later, he ate his evening meal without changing out of his wet clothes. Within a day, he developed a fever and a sore throat. A firm believer in bloodletting (a common remedy at the time), he asked his overseer to draw some blood. His condition worsened, and eventually three doctors attended him. They drew even more blood, until half of his blood was drawn. Besides that, the doctors purged him and gave him an emetic to induce vomiting. Finally, he asked them to just leave him alone. And shortly after, George Washington died quietly and at peace. 

 

Find Shirley Martin here: 

http://shirleymartinauthor.com/

http://bookswelove.net/authors/shirley-martin/

and find Dream Weaver at Amazon, B&N, and most ebook and print retailers

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006HA3APY/

Excerpt from Ursula, Sisters of Prophecy, Book 1 by Jude Pittman and Gail Roughton

Ursula, Sisters of Prophecy, Book 1

By Jude Pittman and  Gail Roughton

What’s a girl to do? Beautiful young artist Katherine Shipton has a painting that talks, an ancestor who won’t stay in her own century, and a former boyfriend with a serious ax to grind against her new fiancé. She already has a full plate, but when said ancestor sends her tripping back and forth between the 15th and 21st century without benefit of psychedelic drugs, the poor girl begins to doubt her own sanity. Then her best friend, a high fashion model with more than her own share of psychic energy, and her troubleshooting aunt show up on her doorstep in response to a psychic SOS Katherine swears she didn’t send. Life couldn't get more complicated. At least, that's what she thinks until her oilman fiancé disappears in the Gulf of Mexico and a DEA agent knocks on her door.
"A delightful read with twists and turns, quirky characters, a bit of darkness and some snappy dialogue. The authors maneuver between the 16th and 21st centuries with ease, adding authenticity through well researched historical data. While the characters from the two eras have their own stories, their lives are interlocked like the pieces of a puzzle. Putting those pieces together is much of the fun. Jude Pittman and Gail Roughton have successfully blended their styles into a rollicking good read . . . the first in a series. The closure at the end of Book 1 is much appreciated, as well as the tantalizing teasers which left me anxiously awaiting Irene's story in Book 2. I can easily recommend Sisters of Prophecy - Ursula, and after reading it, I'm sure you will, too." ~ 4 Stars, Deborah Sanders

"I've got to say that there is some dialog between a savvy female police interrogator and a cocky, not so smart male criminal that I thought was just the BEST and left me howling. Holy mackerel, that was just fabulous! I am glad there will be more to this series & look forward to Irene's story in 2015. Rest assured there is more to come but this book ends on a satisfying high note and NOT one of those pesky cliffhangers. Nice start to a series that celebrates the powerful love of "Sisters" no matter how they come into your life." ~ 5 Stars, Lomg Time DF Fan

 

"It was quick, but it was also exciting and interesting. I think many readers will find it enjoyable and a good read for a sunny afternoon or an evening indoors. It’s definitely a fast read, and it will entertain without eating away your entire day." ~ 4 Stars, OnlineBookClub.org

Excerpt:

Katherine flew through darkness. Dream darkness. Toward something. Sound barely audible coalesced and rose in volume, forming words. Beneath these gray stone walls I stand, an ancient gypsy king… The darkness lightened into shades of gray and a tower loomed.

A boat approached the tower. Inside, a woman, in Katherine’s likeness. Not her, but near enough to be of her lineage. Floating over the woman, Katherine watched. A man, dressed as an ancient workman, fixed the boat against the steps leading up to the looming tower. Reaching down, he helped the woman from the boat, and pulled her toward a dark stairwell.

Another, in uniform, nodded to the oarsman, and took the woman’s hand. His flickering torch gave barely enough light for the woman to make her way up the stone steps as she groped along behind him. The steps crumbled, and twice the woman almost fell when her feet slipped on the damp stone.

A fierce roar sounded in the night and Katherine knew it as a lion. The guard stopped in front of a scarred wooden door, and pushed it inward. The flicker from his torch revealed a small barren chamber, with scant furnishing and a stone floor. Against the wall stood a crude bed with a single bed covering. The guard motioned the woman inside. She stumbled across the room and sank onto the bed. The guard used his torch to light a single candle. Then without a word, turned and left the cell.

The woman curled into herself. Great sobs shook her body.

Katherine floated back out into the courtyard. Standing in the corner an old man, dressed in the garb of a medieval gypsy, chanted.

“With heavy heart I bear the words of cruelest Mary Queen…”

Mary Queen? Tower? The scene changed in an instant, dream-fashion. Now she floated back to the cell. The same rough cot and threadbare blanket covered a still figure.

“These words I take in sorrow drear unto a lady fair…”

On cue, the woman rose from the cot and entered her dreams. Nobility for certain, possibly even royalty. Her time in the cell had dulled her eyes and matted her hair but yes, the chant was right. She’d been a lady fair. She would be so again, given fresh air and sunshine.

A lady who from birth was blest with visions strange but rare…

The door of the cell opened and the old gypsy entered the cell.

“Tarot! My dear, dear friend! How good it is to see you!” The lady ran into his arms, and he held her to his breast.

“Milady.”

“My grandmother. My husband and son. Is there news?”

“Your grandmother is well and fights ceaselessly for your release. Your husband—there’s been no news from Russia. Except that he pleads for intercession from the Russian Court.”

She smiled sadly. “I can just imagine how much he pleads. He is afeard he’ll be tainted with the same brush that’s painted me.”

“No, Milady! He is doing all he can.”

“Tarot, dear friend, ’tis a very bad liar you are, but I love you for it. Prince Frederick makes no effort on my behalf. He has abandoned me. As have all, in the face of the Queen’s disfavor. All but you and Grandmother. And I bear them no ill for such. ’Tis asking too much to expect them to stand with me and risk a charge of witchcraft.” She shrugged. “And for the prince, a chance to rid himself of a disappointing wife who only bore him one son.”

“Oh, Milady! It hurts me so to hear you speak as though resigned to fate.”

“Dear friend. Do not despair. My heart has always belonged to another, that fate sealed from childhood. If only I’d been stronger, surer! If only I’d followed my heart and run away with my Toby when—”

She broke off, her face losing all expression.

“Milady? What—a vision! ’Tis a vision you’re seeing. Cease fighting them! Use them! Use the power!”

“I—Tarot, someone’s watching us.”

“Watching? I bribed the guards well. They have no cause to—”

“No, not the guards! Someone from—someone not here. Someone who sees us, who knows me. Knows me in her soul. Someone who can—dare I say it? Someone who can help me! Help me change the start of this disastrous path!”

In her dream, Katherine tried to leave, to get away. Enough of this misery that wasn’t hers. Except it was. Somehow it was hers.

“Oh, please! Please don’t leave! Help me! Help us!”

“How?” The dream Katherine spoke. “How do I help you?”

“I cannot tell you!”

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

“The portrait! Yes, I see it. There’s a painting, a painting yet unfinished! ’Twill show you the way! It must show you the way, or you will never be.”

“Milady? Your vision speaks to you?”

“The portrait! The portrait will know!”

The portrait will know…the portrait will know…the portrait will know…

The words followed Katherine back through the depths of the dream and echoed in her ears when she woke, gasping into wakefulness.

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