Halloween-A European Ancestral Festival

 

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Around this time of year in Europe, long ago, the ordinary folks had already celebrated Harvest Home, bringing in grain from the fields and hogs from the forests. The barley, oats and wheat, gathered in, was measured. Now the community knew, more or less, how hungry the coming winter would or would not be. The light was disappearing day by day, the sun setting earlier and rising later, as the northern hemisphere angles away from that ancient God--or in Germanic countries, Goddess--the Sun.

This was a time to celebrate the beginning of a new year, and this season, one of the four most important of the solar year was observed with three days of ritual, full of deep spiritual meaning. We can tell how important this observance was because the Catholic Church, after that entity had firmly established its rule, took over the ancient celebration and gave each of those three autumnal days a new, canonical designation.

Halloween is a contraction of "All Hallows Eve," that falls on the evening before what is today called "All Saints Day." Originally, on that night, all the fires in the village would be extinguished. Everyone would huddle in the dark and increasing chill of their homes. On this night, only the priestly caste dared to be out and about, because, now without firelight, evil beings could be stalking through the villages, the fields and the forests on every side. Offerings, sometimes a bowl of milk, sometimes cakes, were left outside each door in hopes of appeasing the endless hunger of these dreadful creatures. 

Today, all that is left of that practice are our children, costumed and masked, dressed as supernatural beings, who knock on our doors and beg for candy. 

On the morning after, as the sun rose, each housewife would sweep and gather the ashes of the central hearth and dispose of these into the purifying safety of running water. At the same time, religious leaders, male and female, would rekindle each village's sacred fire. Once this was established, flaming boughs would be carried house to house, to rekindle each and every village hearth.  Afterward, everyone set to work to make a communal feast. This day, eventually renamed by the Church "All Saints Day," was then rededicated to Christian Saints. In pagan times, however, this day was the first of the New Year and pagan gods and goddesses were the ones celebrated.

The third day of the feast, later named "All Souls," was originally in honor of the ancestors. Ancestor worship still exists today here and there on planet earth, but 2,000 years ago, this was a universal feature of most religions. Bones of last year's deceased, previously de-fleshed in various ways, and subjected to cremation and temporary housing in pots, might be brought out of dwellings to be reverently interred within the local barrow or stone burial chamber. 

In some places/times, when barrows were the fashion, the great stones which blocked the openings would be laboriously moved so that the year's dead would be carried within, to rest with those ancestors who had gone before. The rituals of deposition for cremains varied from place to place and age to age. Cremains urns have also been discovered beneath standing stones. Others carpet the ditches which enclose stone or earthen monuments, or the ditches that still exist, still guarding a long perished henge made of wood. 

In the Norse tradition, this period, after the full moon of the Autumn Equinox, was celebrated as the Disirblot, a feast in honor of the ancestral female spirits who guarded the family line and also in honor of Freya Vanadis, their chief. The celebration was local and domestic, and was also a harvest home. The pig, often portrayed as the mount of Freya, provided the pork for the feast. 

Of course, there are as many traditions as there are countries for this time of year. Divali, the feast of lights, is celebrated in India by closing the books of the last financial year and opening those of the next. Laxshmi, goddess of good fortune and wealth, asked for Her aid in business. What is most visible, however, are the oil lamps that line the streets and float upon the rivers. Many other divinities are honored during this feast in the vast and populous country.  In some regions it is great Kali with her necklace of demon heads
(She who embodies primeval energy/change and creative destruction) that is honored, in others it is Durga, demon slayer, seated upon her tiger. The Warrior God Rama also gets into the Divali celebration, as his devotees know that in the times long ago, this was the season of his coronation.

~Juliet Waldron

My Not-Very-Scary Halloween Blog Post By Connie Vines #BWL #Zombies, #Halloween RomCom #Halloween Novella #FantasticHalloweenReads

 👻💀🎃🍫

My not very scary Halloween (October) Blog

As I've stated before, I'm a bit of a sissy when it comes to frightening stories, movies, etc.

My contribution is a portion of a current release, Here Today, Zombie Tomorrow.

I realize I'm not adhering to all the rules of an "All Hallows Eve" story... it is a RomCom, after all🎃👄

Opening Scene 

“You and Elvis have done a great job on this house," Meredith said as her older sister led the way downstairs toward the kitchen, where the tour began. “Sorry I couldn't get over, until now, but I've been sort of… well, busy."   Slipping her Juicy Couture tortoise-shell framed sunglasses into a bright pink case, Meredith crammed them into her black Coach handbag.  She hoped her sister didn’t ask her to define busy.  Becoming a zombie and dealing with the entire raised from the dead issue over the past six months was not a topic easily plunked into casual conversation. 

Pippa waved the comment aside. “I'm glad you like it. We had such fun decorating. Of course, we couldn’t do it all at once, but it's more satisfying putting it together treasure by treasure."

Meredith glanced from Pippa’s impish features and short spiky black hair to the perimeter of the room.  Taking in every detail and nuance of Pippa’s decorating talent, she let her gaze rest on a collection of figurines by fantasy artist Jasmine Beckett-Griffith crouching at the top of the ebony-stained cabinets.  A black arch-top fireplace mounted against the wall, flames flowing from a bed of clear river stones, and HOME SWEET HOME embroidered on a sampler with a tiny vine of blood-red roses tangling through the letters completed the focal point of the room.  

Even though Meredith was on the best of terms with her sister, she couldn't help but feel a sharp nip of jealousy.  It hadn’t been so long ago that she’d had her own happy home.  Unfortunately, she’d filed for divorce from Viktor, and then there’d been that bizarre little accident where she’d ended up dead, and then undead. 

While Pippa’s two kids, Ethan and Emma, played in the living room, to the accompaniment of a 1960s rock-and-roll musical on cable TV, Meredith sat in the kitchen with her sister, fiddling with the end of the tea bag that dangled from the rim of her China cup.

Since her sister was contemplating the contents of a tin filled with Danish cookies, Meredith found herself cataloging the events that led up to her ‘accident’.

A charter member of the SoCal Arts Association, she’d been participating in the annual Zombie Walk Festival in Long Beach when it ‘happened’. Crowds always made her uncomfortable, but this particular event was to raise money, so she was obligated to attend.   And it only made sense; this year’s participation broke all past records.  

Twelve thousand gleeful ghouls stormed Long Beach’s renovated Promenade.  The crowd became so large that it spilled out over Pine Avenue for an all-out downtown invasion.  Meredith didn’t recall much about the accident, nor who or what reanimated her.  She remembered overhearing a security officer informing a pungent-smelling zombie that he couldn’t purchase an alcoholic beverage (apparently, he didn’t match the photo ID). Within moments, a shoving match between the two men ensued, quickly escalating into zombie chaos:  shouting, running, and chomping. 

Chomping?

At the time, Meredith thought it was all part of the festivities, perhaps a little odd and definitely crazy.  Just like the cornstarch-based zombie vomit and fake blood, everyone had globbed and smeared on themselves, but hey, it was an Arts event. Even after finding herself wedged in the center of the zombie mob, lunging and bumping along until they were in sight of the pier, Meredith wasn’t overly concerned.

In hindsight, she may have been highly concerned.  Because the next thing Meredith knew, she was in a zipped body bag, feeling entirely not like herself.

No.  She wasn’t going to dwell on the past.  Again. She’d just keep muddling on with her life and try to focus on the bright spots.

Pippa and her family were a definite bright spot in her life.

 “I wish you would let me help with dinner,” Meredith said, pulling herself back into the present.  “I feel guilty just sitting here doing nothing while you do all the work.”  Being a vegan, Meredith found her transition to zombie-hood particularly exigent.  Brains, human or otherwise, had never been on her menu—now, protein, in fowl or bovine form, was a requirement of her reanimated state.  Difficult though it was, she had to come to terms with the change.  After discovering an underground support group that met monthly in a banquet room of a coffee shop near the I-10, she was thankful she didn’t require human protein like most of the other Zombies.  However, she discovered that consuming tofu with herbal tea (her lunch before reanimation) had unfortunate and unexpected side effects.

Pippa, turning from the stove with the pecan pie captured between two oven mitts, shook her head.  “Meri don’t even think about helping me with the meal.  When Elvis’s mom and dad decided to take a paddleboat cruise up the Mississippi, I thought I wouldn't have anybody but my own offspring to fuss over on Thanksgiving Day.  You just sit there and relax."

 "I really appreciate the invitation," Meredith said, glancing out the window to catch a Monarch butterfly pick its way along a lipstick red hibiscus blossom.  "Cooking turkey for one just isn't my style."

Pippa did a double-take at Meredith’s statement, but didn’t comment.  Instead, she said, “You’re welcome to come for Christmas dinner too, you know."

"Thanks, Pippa, but Christmas is out.  I have to finish the new book by February, so I'm driving up to Forest Falls tomorrow.  I'll be staying there for a month or so."

"Christmas at the cabin," Pippa mused.  "That sounds nice.   Are you sure you want to be up there all by yourself?"

 "I’m not hiding,” Meredith replied.

 "I know.  You’re healing. . .” She left the words: and licking your wounds, unspoken.  “I just don't want you to be lonely." 

"I won't be,” Meredith reassured her.  “I'm taking Gertie with me."

Pippa laughed indulgently and shook her head.  "A hamster doesn't count."

"Don't say that when Gertie’s within earshot.  She follows me all around the house in her exercise ball.  We’re BFs."

 “Well, I'm glad you could join us for Thanksgiving," Pippa said.

            ***

As Meredith surveyed the beautifully decorated dinner table, irony struck right between her eyes.  A lot had happened in the six months or so (being reanimated unexpectedly), and then there were all the hidden expenses.  Body moisturizers, specialty make-up loaded with anti-decay properties, hydrating beverages, bimonthly injections—to keep the virus semi-dormant so that she didn’t partake in some zombie flash-mob; or worst, (morph into a Hannibal Lector type wearing red stilettos, roaming the suburbs).  While she still had a lot to be thankful for, it was difficult adjusting to the significant changes in her life.

Her career, however, was something Meredith gave her stamp of approval.  After seven years as a struggling advertising/blog writer, she’d finally gotten her big break!  Not only was The Isis Factor published, but it was also a huge success!

 There were book signings, press parties, interviews, and even an e-book launching cruise.  Not bad, for a girl who worked her way through college waiting tables and writing nonfiction articles on spec.

The Luxor Papers, published a few months later, had been an even greater success.  Who would have ever thought that Meredith Misso, author of quirky short stories and nonfiction articles, would've found her niche in the Steampunk market (Steampunk: Victorian science fiction/fantasy—circa 1850 to pre-World War I, often set in London, England)?

“I really wish you'd reconsider and spend Christmas with us,” Pippa said later.  As she and Meredith took turns rinsing the dishes and loading the dishwasher, they worked efficiently. “I like the thought of you all alone in that cabin during the holidays.”

Meredith smiled, touched by her sister’s concern.  Same-old Pippa. It was reassuring that one part of her life hadn’t changed.  “Don't worry about me,” Meredith told her, readjusting her thick plastic gloves. “I'll be just fine.  Being alone is what every writer hopes for—a writer’s mantra, in fact.  Without interruptions, I can finish the book and maybe even start the next one.”

“Glad to see you’ve lost none of your ambition,” Pippa remarked, fitting a casserole dish on the top rack of the dishwasher.  I can't even imagine wanting to work right up until Christmas.”

Meredith shrugged, feigning indifference.  "It's just a day like any other," she said.

"Have you thought about calling Viktor?"

"No way, Pippa,” she snapped, yanking off her plastic gloves and placing them on the edge of the sink. 

“Touched a raw nerve, did I?”

Meredith looked down at her manicured fingertips, a small, sad sigh escaping her pale lips.  “It's over.   The divorce will be final soon, and that will be that.  Hopefully, I'll never have to deal with Doctor Viktor again." 

"I always thought Viktor was kind of sweet.  You know, reserved, serious—“

“Arrogant,” Meredith added.

“Not to mention smart,” Pippa countered, with a wink.

"That's because you didn't have to live with him, Pippa.  Trust me, there's nothing more irritating than a guy who knows everything from who flew the first paper airplane to what Genghis Khan had for breakfast the day he invaded Transylvania!" (Yes, Genghis Khan really did invade Transylvania. Meredith triple checked.)

"He couldn’t—“

“Pip—“

“I guess he could be,” she backpeddled. “But he sure is good-looking." 

Meredith gave a nod of agreement.  There was no arguing there.  Viktor was the most attractive and, unquestionably, the sexiest man she’d ever known.

Pippa watched her sister’s expression soften as she gave Meredith a questioning look.  "So, who's vying to replace your professor?" 

"Nobody," Meredith answered emphatically.  "For the time being," she grinned, "and you can quote me on this. I'm done with men."

Pippa, with her natural talent for meddling, shook her head.  "Meri, I don't know what to do about you!  At only 32, you don't look a day over 25.  You should be out having fun!”

Meredith resisted the urge to finger-comb her caramel-highlighted ‘surfer-girl’ hair.  Viktor had said she was his angel.  That was why she’d been blessed with her shining halo of golden hair, his reminder to keep on a heavenly, albeit somewhat boring, path.  She’d laughed, but she melted into his embrace, his deep, slightly accented baritone a loving rumble against her ear. The beginning of their relationship was magical.  Then everything seemed to change... 

 “You’ve got this marvelous career and money and everything that you could possibly want,” Pippa continued, jarring Meredith out of her thoughts, “and there's nobody in your life to share with."

"You mean I should have a couple of kids by now?" Meredith responded.  That was so not going to happen.

"You need a man to have kids, little sister."

 She almost said, "Zombies can’t reproduce," but stopped herself just in time.  Instead, she managed a convincing comeback. "Well, right now I'm not in the marriage market.  Believe it or not, I'm perfectly happy just the way I am."

Pippa’s expression shouted she seriously doubted that, but she allowed the topic to rest.  "If you say so,” she replied, good-naturally.  "How about a second cup of coffee to go with a slice of pecan pie?"

“It wouldn't be Thanksgiving without it," Meredith agreed.

#

I hope you enjoyed my "Halloween" teaser. The novel is available in an ebook via your favorite online book seller (Kindle, Apple, Smashwords, Amazon, etc.)

Currently, I'm in the rough-draft stage of "Bell, Book & Gargoyle," Book 2, in my Fun and Sassy Fantasy Series. (Pub date: October 2026).

Halloween Hack: Conjure up a fragrance for fall

1. Small caldron or mini crockpot to brew an autumn fragrance.

2. 2-3 cups of water

3. Add your favorite seasonal scents: apple slices, pumpkin pie spice, cinnamon sticks, cloves, vanilla extract, ground coffee, orange peels, etc.

4. Remember to keep an eye on your brew; add more water if it evaporates.

5. After your brew scents begin to fade and your caldron/crock pot cools, soak your cooking device in warm soapy water. The spices can stick to the sides; soaking will make cleanup easier.🔮

Available October 2026

Happy Reading, my Halloween Goblins :)

Connie 

Reminder:  Winter and the holidays are the perfect times to gift an audio or eBook for yourself :) Or several friends!

https://www.amazon.com/Today-Zombie-Tomorrow-Connie-Vines-ebook/dp/B00OA25GJY/ref=la_B004C7W6PE_

(or any of your favorite online bookstores)

Amazon Review

Badass Lioness

4.0 out of 5 stars Fun, not gory, zombie story with romance

Reviewed in the United States

Format: KindleVerified Purchase

This was a fun romp. I avoid zombie stories because of the gore, but this doesn't have any. The banter between her and her ex was fun, too. Meredith is 34 and, after an accidental zombie party bite, has become a zombie but eats like a human carnivore.

Her sexy, arrogant, and surprisingly kind ex shows up, and everything changes. He seemed to be different to her, or maybe she was noticing what had been there all along.

I would like to read more in the series as it seems to hint that there will more twists and fun with the paranormal genre. I feel that it will get even better as it goes on. The writing is very good.

Who doesn't love a cowboy?

New on Audible: Lynx, Rodeo Romance Book 1
 https://www.audible.com/pd/Lynx-Audiobook/B0FK6K51HF?

Click for a listen!

link to Amazon ebook ($2.99) 

Link  to both items:

https://www.amazon.com/s?k=lynx+by+connie+vines&i=audible&crid=35N2C5Y2FIERO&sprefix=lynx+by+connie+vines

A kick-butt heroine with a heart of gold - CHI WARRIOR - by Vijaya Schartz

Available in Print on Amazon now

Yay! The paperback is now available on Amazon and the novel will be everywhere in print and eBook on November 1st.

This is the beginning of a new science fiction fantasy series with romantic elements, THE PROTECTORS. It is set on a post-apocalyptic feudal planet devastated by a natural cataclysm. There will be three novels in this series, all standalones, with different protagonists for each book, and a few returning secondary characters.

Here is the blurb for CHI WARRIOR:

Anila, peaceful warrior woman, trained all her life in the desert, at the monastery of the Celestial Gate, to take the vows of the mighty Protectors. That’s all she’s ever known, all she ever wanted. But a cloud of black wings haunts her nightmares.

When a barbarian horde invades from the north, Bayor Khan seems unstoppable, determined to destroy everything in his path. Rumors of his cruelty make the most powerful princes tremble in their stone fortresses.

Anila is pulled into the inevitable clash as a prophecy unfolds, blurring the lines between good and evil, testing her resolve. Nothing is as it seems… An ancient enemy rises in the shadows, and the falling darkness threatens to engulf Anila and everyone she loves.

EDITORIAL REVIEW by Victoria Chatham

If you like strong female characters, then you will not be disappointed with Anila, the protagonist in Vijaya Schartz's latest book. Anila is in training at a monastery under the watchful gaze of Master Wang. She diligently practices her Tai-Chi routines and perfects her weapons training as her dearest wish is to join the ranks of the mysterious Protectors. However, she cannot escape the promise and prophecy of her destiny and is drawn into conflicts not of her making. In discovering how she overcomes those who would use rather than celebrate her, we see her grow into a formidable but fair potential leader.

Schartz has splendidly blended fact, fiction, and fantasy into an enthralling, fast-paced story that I could not put down. Fans of this genre and Schartz in particular will not be disappointed.

Vijaya Schartz, award-winning author

Strong Heroines, Brave Heroes, Romance with a Kick

Find all my other books on my author pages at:

amazon - B&N - Smashwords - Kobo - FB

The Scariest Night of the Year by Joan Donaldson-Yarmey

 https://books2read.com/The-Art-of-Growing-Older

I am a writer who lives in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. I write fiction, non-fiction, and some poetry all set in Canada. My published fiction covers mystery, holiday romance, and Canadian historical novels for adults and young adults. My published non-fiction covers travel writing and a memoir. In my memoir, The Art of Growing Older, I talk about aging with attitude and how is it possible to live a good long life.

I don't send out my poetry to many magazines so have only had one poem published. The following is an example of my Hallowe'en poetry set in Edmonton.

It is Hallowe’en evening

The scariest night of the year.

My friends and I are trick or treating

When suddenly we hear.

 

A screech and a shriek

And out of the sky

A witch on a broom dives

At my friends and I.

 

We duck and we scatter

Consumed with great fear

For it is Hallowe’en evening

The scariest night of the year.

 

“Don’t be afraid” she cackles.

“I’ve only come to see

If you want to go flying

On my broom with me.”

 

We stare at the witch

Not sure what to do

Her hat is all black

And her dress is, too.

 

Her nose is hooked down

With a wart on the tip

But there’s a gleam in her eyes

And a smile on her lips.

 

“Don’t be afraid,” she says

When we hesitate

“My name is Kathy

And I don’t have time to wait.”

 

We look at each other

Then without any frowns

We nod and we grin

And jump up and down.

 

“How will we fit?”

I ask skeptically

For the broom is too short

To hold us all perfectly.

 

“Just hop aboard,” she crows.

“And you will see.

Climb one at a time.

Right up behind me.”

 

We all leap on easily

There is plenty of room

For the handle grows longer.

It is a magical broom.

 

When we are all settled

She gives a laugh and a hoot

And up into the sky

All of us swoop.

 

We zig through the buildings

Of the lighted downtown

We zoom up the Whitemud

And then back on down.

 

We stop at Fort Edmonton Park

An historic place so vast

The board sidewalks, the steam train

The covered wagons of the past.

 

There is a Ferris wheel

And a merry-go-round

With lots of horses

Going up and down.

 

Kathy calls out with delight

“On to West Edmonton Mall.”

And with cheers and shouts

We whizz through the halls.

 

The stores are all decorated

The children dressed in creepy gear

For it is Hallowe’en evening

The scariest night of the year.

 

We streak through the night

Down to the Edmonton zoo

To see the zebras and lemurs

And the pelicans, too.

 

But instead of the tigers

The camels and gibbons.

There are zombies and ghouls

And skeletons and goblins

 

They stretch and they reach

They lunge and they grasp

Trying to catch the broom

While my friends and I gasp.

 

But Kathy the Witch

Laughs with glee

As we dodge and we dart

And get ready to flee.

 

“Come back, come back,”

One of the ghouls bellows.

“Yes,” pleads a skeleton.

“We are really nice fellows.”

 

Kathy turns the broom

As we cringe in fear.

For it is Hallowe’en evening

The scariest night of the year.

 

“Ah, ha,” yells the goblin

And as we fly by

He scrambles to reach us

But Kathy stays too high.

 

“Nice try,” she chortles

As she waves goodbye

We fly away from the zoo

And we all give a sigh.

 

“Where are we going now?”

I ask, looking around.

Then I see we are arriving

At our favourite playground.

 

My friends and I laugh

As we dip and we glide

Through the net climbers

And go backwards up the slide.

 

We loop de loop

Holding on tight

Zagging through the swings

As we enjoy the night.

 

“On to your school,” Kathy calls

And we head on our way.

Flying to the building

Where we spend our days.

 

The doors swing open

Letting us in

We swoop down the hallway

Making a din.

 

The custodian jumps sideways

As we draw near

For it is Hallowe’en evening

The scariest night of the year.

 

The flight finally ends

Kathy the Witch slows her broom

We all climb off easily

For there is plenty of room.

 

“Good night, my dear children.

It sure has been fun.

But I have to go now

It’s time that I run.”

 

“Thank you,” we call

As she flies out of sight.

We look at each other.

Wow, what a flight!

 

But our bags are empty

So to a house we scurry

Yelling trick or treat

We have to hurry.

 

Someone opens the door

Their face full of fear

For it is Hallowe’en evening

The scariest night of the year. 

Making funny characters without making fun of them

 When I tell people I've written a humorous series set in a senior citizen community, they often ask, "Are you making fun of the senior citizens?" The answer is, "No, I'm creating laughable situations."

In the Whistling Pines cozy series, we deal with the senior citizens tactfully and with respect. They present us with "situations" that are laughable. In one book, one of my favorite characters walks into a wedding reception and starts moving the name markers around on the tables so she and her friends can be together, and close enough to the head table to hear what's being said. (Something that one of my elderly relatives actually did).

Sure, we're laughing at Hulda, who's outspoken and feisty. But we're not laughing at her as much as we're laughing at the things she does and the havoc created by her actions. In another book, she suggests that her art class is ready to move from still-life, to painting a nude. That's chuckle-worthy, but the humor comes in when we discover their nude model is the daughter of a very conservative minister and his congregation pickets the art gallery during their classes. 

In "Whistling Librarian" we're confronted by Hulda, who seems to show up at inopportune moments, rendering unwanted opinions. The residents want to know when Hulda is approaching, before she can interject herself into a discussion. The Swedish handyman steps in with a solution worthy of Solomon. 

Because of an apparent haunting of the library, it's decided there will be a seance to evict the ghost. During the seance, the Danish ghost complains that she isn't going to move to the Norwegian Lutheran Church. Because of dwindling congregations, the local Methodist and Presbyterian Churches have merged into what the locals term "The Methbyterian Church". So, the medium suggests the ghost move to that church as an alternative to spending eternity with Norwegians.

There are endless quirks we authors can point out to create humor, without making fun of anyone, well, other than a non-existent ghost. 

Check out the ghostly seance in "Whistling Librarian". It's co-written with my new partner, Anne Flagge. Anne's well experienced in telling humorous stories about senior moments - she might be the Hulda character's granddaughter.

whistling librarian - BWL Publishing

https://books2read.com/Whistling-Librarian

What if vampires existed on the island of Napoleon's final exile? What can a young maid do to stop them? by Diane Scott Lewis

 

To purchase this novel click HERE

I wrote this fanciful novel after reading about a story of vampires involved with Napoleon's failed conquest of Russia. Why not set up these enigmatic creatures on the remote island of Saint Helena, a place of myth and hardship?

Enjoy the surreal existence of vampires during Napoleon's final exile. Just who is one of the undead, and who isn't? Young maid Isabelle, a member of the emperor's household, will soon find out. And she must rush to stop a wicked attack.

Here is an excerpt:

Isabelle envied the handsome white stucco colonial house with light gray shutters nestled in its verdant garden. But the Union Jack—the emblem of their imprisonment—that rippled from a flagstaff in front of the structure’s Georgian porch had marred the effect.

This beautiful scenery almost eased her distress over the bat-dream of three nights past, or had that part been real? She stifled a quiver.

“Do you like working here?” she asked the maid who had arranged many of the other ladies’ wraps.

She was a mulatto girl with slightly brownish skin and plump lips. “Yes, it’s one of the best places on the island to work.”

“I imagine it would be.” Isabelle stepped to the ballroom door, watching the ladies twirl like flowers in their gowns of pink, blue and yellow; silks, taffetas and muslins. A reminisce of life back in Europe. She sighed. Not that she would have danced in such company. She turned and helped the other maid arrange wraps and hats in scents of perfume, talcum powder and perspiration. “These English bonnets are not so pretty. Do you like Governor Lowe?”

“I don’t see him much.” The maid held up a wrap with intricate lace on the borders, her gaze admiring. “I mostly assist the Missus.”

“Lowe seems a man of quick temper.” Isabelle said this as nonchalant as she could manage. She caressed a white ostrich feather on one of the hats.

“He can be, but he does not sleep well.”

“How do you know that?” Isabelle kept her tone conversational.

“His valet. . .is my special friend.” She grinned. “He says the governor wanders about late at night.” The maid twitched her lips. “But I should not speak ill of my employer.” Now she watched Isabelle, embarrassment glinting in her eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Isabelle decided to leave that topic—though she found that information significant. “Do you know I’m the one who found that poor, dead girl in Sane Valley?” She again pictured Amanda’s distressed face.

The maid started and backed up a step. The feathered hat in her hands wavered. She set it down. “A very terrible sight, I’m certain.”

“Are they still investigating the death?”

“I don’t think so.” The maid averted her gaze and plucked at a ribbon on a bonnet.

“I thought your valet friend might have known whether they thought the death an accident or something more?” In the resulting silence, Isabelle spoke again: “I’m new here, but,” she ran her fingers along a satiny pelisse, feigning indifference, “I wondered if you’ve heard of an animal called the beast?”

                                       

“Everyone knows of that.” The reply sounded more like an accusation, the maid’s eyes sharpening.

“Has anyone ever seen it? Isn’t it more a superstition?”

“No, it’s real.” The mulatto girl twisted at the bonnet ribbon, then turned her back. “But we keep our mouths quiet here.”

For more on me and my books, visit my BWL author's page

https://bwlpublishing.ca/lewis-diane-scott/

Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with one naughty dachshund.

18 with 72 years of experience! ...by Sheila Claydon

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"The great thing about getting older is that you don't lose all the other ages you've been." 

Madeleine L'Engle

How true that is!

I know the book cover for Miss Locatelli doesn't look at all relevant to Madeleine L'Engle's quote, but it is, because when the heroine, Arabella Locatelli, turns her life upside down to save the family jewellery business, she discovers all the things her grandfather has been hiding from her all her life.  She learns that he was young once, and reckless, and so were others she didn't know existed.  Of course there is a hero in there too, and a lot of other things including the beauty of Italy, but mainly it is about the importance of family, how we make decisions, and the acceptance of whatever life throws at us whatever age we are.

Why am I blogging this today? In my 90 year old sister-in-law's birthday card I wrote

 You are 18 with 72 years of experience! 

Those years have given her 4 children, 10 grandchildren, 2 step grandchildren, 1 great-grandchild and 2 step-great-grandchildren. She has had at least 6 homes across 3 countries, and many, many adventures. She is physically frail now but not so frail that she couldn't, with help from her family, organise a celebratory lunch party, and what a party it was! Everyone who could be there turned up.

Her whole family, her extended family and a few close friends spent a Saturday together. The weather was kind, the food was good, and it was such a joy to see everyone catching up after, in some cases, years of absence. 

Of course there were speeches, a cake with candles, old memories invoked, and glasses raised. But best of all was later when, the celebrations over, just the family reconvened at the home of one of her daughters where us oldies watched and listened to our grandchildren and our great-nieces and great-nephews all sitting and chattering together. Aged between 19 and 29, some still studying, others well established in jobs, most with partners of a similar age, there were a lot of them. As they sat in a circle on the floor and talked about their adventures and their plans for the future it made us cross our fingers and hope they achieve everything they are aiming for, for it's a long road to 90 and much can happen along the way. 

Remembering them as babes in arms, as toddlers, as carefree children who briefly turned into awkward teenagers, and see how they have all grown into kind, hard working and thoughtful adults was wonderful. It was lovely also to see how they took the time to talk and play with the tinies in the party, the great-great-nieces, who, almost asleep on their feet, were far too excited to go to bed, instead commanding the attendance of their many aunties and uncles at every possible moment.

And of course there were also the nieces and one nephew. Yes there were some grey hairs and wrinkles but to us they were still the children we had loved, cared for at times, holidayed with, and always enjoyed. Whether they can remember us when we were younger is a moot point but it doesn't matter because we can. At 18 we were immortal. Now we are just thankful for the many years of experience that followed. We remember what it was like to be young, to live, love, to make mistakes, to dig ourselves out of a jam, to have plans and adventures. We were there once even if to the younger generations such a thing is unimaginable!

As for our sister-in-law, she, like the little ones, fought sleep for as long as she could but eventually she gave in and opted for an early night. When I spoke to her the following day she said she'd had the time of her life. I think at 90, she deserved it! What a milestone.

Short extract from Miss Locatelli

"So what happened next?" Arabella could hardly bear to ask.

"Not at all what I expected and I still feel sick when I think about it now. In my innocence, because I was still very young, I just wanted to give them an hour together...something for Sophia to cherish once Paolo and Bernadetta returned to their life in Florence. I certainly didn't imagine for one minute that they'd elope."

Arabella shook her head in disbelief. "There must have been more to it than that because they only had such a short while together. Not enough time to make plans. Besides, whatever else he is, my grandfather is kind. He's never wittingly hurt anyone in his life."

"Not in your lifetime perhaps cara, but he lived for many years before you were born, and people sometimes do things without a thought for the future, or for anyone else's feelings, when they are young and in love."

Are you an October Person? by Nancy M Bell

 

To learn more about my books go to www.bookswelove.com

Are you an October person? I am for sure. An old friend and author first asked me that. She was an October person, always going out to fight the good fight with all the banners flying in the wind. I'd like to think I'm more than a bit like her.

Aside from that, I have always loved the transition seasons of the year. The miracle of spring after the long  cold nights and short days of winter. But autumn is my favourite. The glory of the maples burning against the vibrant blue of the sky, the last rose of summer blooming into the middle of October- another one who is throwing her banners against the sky and defying the frosty night of the full harvest moon.

I like to write about October people as well, when I was researching Discarded I found Louis Riel and recognized another October person. That being said, things don't always turn out well for October people, but darn we go out when we go with flying colours.

I love the colours of fall, the sepia tones of the dry fields, long grasses whispering in the wind, birds hunting the fallen grains in the shorn crop fields. And the wonder of the wild geese calling into the wind as they begin their journey. It always lifts my heart and for a moment I fly with them, my wings stroking the air.

So to all you October people out there...keep on keeping on!

Until next month stay well, stay happy