Hello, I know it has been awhile since I have seriously posted. It's the end of the school year and as I have mentioned before I am seriously overwhelmed, not to mention in a reading slump.
I'm trying to get my mojo back and fulfill my commitments at least with an information post with a review to come. I have so many great books to read I just don't know where to start. Have you ever been there?
So I thought I would do a quick post of what I need to do for this week and hopefully that will start to focus me. It's actually been difficult to get my reading time as my husband, my oldest son and myself have found ourselves addicted to Lost. We have Netflix and can watch it on demand through our Wii which is wonderful. However I think we watched the first season in one week. We are now on episode 7 of the second season and still enthralled. I think I will have to limit us some soon so I can get some reading done. But it has been some enjoyable family time and I think I have needed that down time.
So onto what was supposed to be a short post.
What I need to read this week:
Review:
The Passage by Justin Cronin (currently reading and enjoying)
Enemy Lover by Karin Harlow
Never Let You Go by Erin Healy
Dangerous by Diana Palmer (I will have a giveaway as well)
The Last Christian by David Gregory (another giveaway)
Library:
Don't Look Twice by Andrew Gross (my current audiobook in the car)
The Bride Collector by Ted Dekker
Dark Lover by J.R. Ward
The Sword Thief by Peter Lerangis (39 Clues)
Eyes Like Stars by Lisa Matchev
Reviews to catch up on:
Fever 1793 by Laurie Halse Anderson
Prom by Laurie Halse Anderson
Prada and Prejudice by Mandy Hubbard
Scream by Mike Dellosso
The Swan Thieves by Elizabeth Kostova
Think Twice by Lisa Scottoline
When Lightning Strikes by Meg Cabot
Bleeding Violet by Dia Reeves
So I am going to be really busy!
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Book Tour: The King by Linda Rios Brook
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
Realms (May 4, 2010)
***Special thanks to Anna Coelho Silva | Publicity Coordinator, Book Group | Strang Communications for sending me a review copy.***Note from Crystal: I apologize for posting this one day late - I had to go out of town yesterday with my husband for a consultation appointment for laser eye surgery and time got away from me. I was planning on being away for a few days in case they could go ahead and take us and just let my obligation slip. So here it is today. I still have this on my tbr pile but I am looking forward to reading it.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Linda Rios Brook is the author of numerous books including the popular novel Lucifer’s Flood. The president of the Rios Brook Foundation, she is a sought after speaker and teacher on matters relevant to cultural restoration. She is an ordained minister, serves on the WLI faculty and has served as a guest lecturer at the University of Minnesota.
Visit the author's website.
Product Details:
List Price: $13.99
Paperback: 296 pages
Publisher: Realms (May 4, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1599799146
ISBN-13: 978-1599799148
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Help me! Somebody help me! They’re climbing up the side.” “I’m coming, Ham. Hold on, I’m coming.” Noah struggled to stay erect against the howling wind and pounding rain that threatened to beat him down to the deck. Fighting against a storm he never could have imagined, he made his way across the slippery deck to reach his son. Ham screamed, swinging his club against the thing trying to climb onto the boat.
Don’t let them get him, God, please.
The anguished screams of the people in the rising floodwaters were more than Noah could bear. Some called him by name, begging and cursing him as they flailed about in the swirling water. At last he reached his son. Ham threw down his club, covered his ears with his hands, and closed his eyes, as if doing so could shut out the pleas coming from the drowning people.
“Help us! Noah, you can’t leave us here.”
“You can’t just let us drown. You know us.”
Noah took his son’s arm to calm him, but Ham jerked it away and berated his father.
“Listen to them. Is this what God told you to do? Let your neighbors drown?” The boat lunged violently and threw him forward. He grabbed hold of his father’s shoulders to keep from falling.
“Listen to them cursing you—cursing me; it’s not my fault. I’m not to blame.”
The cries from the water became more desperate.
“Have mercy for God’s sake; we’re human beings.”
Ham let go of his father and grabbed hold of the banister as he railed at the people in the water.
“No, you’re not! You’re not human; you’re mutants. You deserve to drown.”
Father and son watched in horror as the people began to disappear under the black water. The wind grew stronger, the waves higher, and the boat rocked from side to side. Ham couldn’t hold back the nausea from the dizzying pitch of the boat. He struggled to keep his balance with one hand and clutched his stomach with the other.
“Aaagh, I can’t take any more.” He bent over the rail and retched.
He was always the weak one; nothing like his brothers. Noah dropped the club he’d been carrying in order to stabilize his son.
“It’s all right; I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall over.”
By the time Noah saw the grotesque face no more than an arm’s length away from his son’s head, it was too late. He strained to drag Ham back to safety as the giant pulled himself out of the water and tried to board the boat where Ham leaned over. The half-breed human seized Ham by the hair and jerked him from his father’s grip, drawing him down toward the roiling water. Noah went down to his knees, frantically searching for the club he’d dropped.
“Let me go!” Ham writhed in pain and tried to free himself from the massive hand that held him.
Noah found his weapon and pounded the distorted face of the creature.
“Drop him! I’ll kill you if I have to.” Ramming the end of his club into the creature’s eye, Noah cried out for his other sons. “Shem, Japheth, help me! They’ve got Ham.”
Shem was fighting his own battle against another intruder on the other side of the boat when he heard his father’s cries for help. He swung his club like a sledgehammer and pounded the six-fingered hand of the monster holding tightly to the bow. The hybrid being yelped in pain, lost his grip, and tumbled into the water. Shem steadied himself then raced to help his father.
“I’m coming. Hold on.”
With the fervor of a man half his age, Noah rammed his rugged club again into the face and eyes of the giant until it shrieked in pain, released its grip on his son, and fell back into the black water. Terrified and exhausted, Ham collapsed on the deck. Shem moved
his father to the side and bent down to help his brother to his feet.
“You must get up. They’re coming; can you stand?”
“Yes...look out!”
A sudden jolt, the boat reeled, and the wind blew open a door leading to a lower deck where dozens of terrified animals were crowded into stalls. The bellows of the frightened animals mingled with the human cries until they blended into one mournful wail as
the waves battered the ark.
“Are you all right? Can you take care of him?” Shem asked his father. “I’ve got to help Japheth before the animals get out.”
“Go, go! We’ll be all right.” Noah waved Shem on as he took his trembling son in his arms. Why doesn’t he have the courage of his brothers? Maybe I’ve been too soft on him. If the animals get out, it’s all been for nothing. Noah dragged Ham close to the wall of the cabin and set him down.
“Stay here. You’ll be safe.”
“Don’t leave me.”
“I have to help your brothers.”
Noah set out after Shem, but in his confusion he turned toward the opposite end of the boat.
Shem reached Japheth’s side, and together they thrust all their weight against the heaving door.
“The animals are stampeding,” Japheth said. “We can’t hold them!”
“We have to keep them in.”
Shem summoned all his strength and with one mighty thrust managed to slide the locking rod across the door to constrain the bellowing cargo inside. In the struggle to secure the animals, neither brother saw another giant pull himself over the rail and onto the deck.
“Get out of my way,” the beast threatened. He pushed the brothers to the side then yanked on the barred door and tried to crawl inside to hide with the animals.
“Keep him out!” Shem yelled.
Together they grabbed his bulging legs and pulled him facedown, away from the door and toward the center of the boat. He cursed them and thrashed from side to side.
“We’ve got to get him back into the water!” Japheth cried out.
“Are you mad? We can’t lift him!”
“We have to do it; don’t let him turn over.”
With all their might the brothers fought to subdue the monster, but he overpowered them. With his superhuman strength he threw Shem into a wall and trampled Japheth to the floor. Just then, still disoriented and weak, Ham stumbled toward his brothers.
“Shem? Japheth, where are you?” The fog and darkening night made it impossible to see more than a few feet.
“Oh, please, no,” Japheth moaned under his breath. “How did he get over here?”
“I don’t know. I left him with Father. Ham, go back. Run.” But the warning was too late. The giant lunged for Ham and caught him by the neck.
“Got you, pretty boy.”
With one enormous hand over his face, he dragged him backward, pressing Ham’s head into his heaving chest as he tightened his fingers around his throat.
“Let him go!” Japheth struggled to his feet then collapsed on his broken leg.
Out of the fog, with the eyes of a madman, Noah charged toward the monster.
I should never have taken my eyes off him.
“Father, look out!” Shem cried. “Over there, another one!”
Noah spun around and saw the six-fingered hands of another beast hanging from the railing, struggling to climb aboard.
“Let go before I kill you!”
With a powerful blow, Noah shattered the giant’s knuckles. Swearing vehemently, he fell back into the murky water.
“Can’t breathe; help me,” Ham moaned, losing consciousness.
“I’m coming, Ham; don’t give up.”
Noah raced toward his son’s captor, his club raised to strike him, but stopped short when the monster lifted Ham by the throat and dangled him above the deck.
“I wouldn’t try it, Noah.”
Noah’s heart stopped when he recognized the voice and saw the blue face of his oxygen-deprived son. He’s going to kill him.
“You.” Noah’s voice was barely a whisper. “I thought you were dead.”
“Oh, but I’m not.” The monster mockingly kissed the top of Ham’s head and licked his lips. “Let him go, Og. He can’t breathe.”
“That would be a shame; he would be so...scrumptious.” Lustful laughter rumbled from the beast’s throat as desperation and fear welled up in Noah. I can’t let him kill him; he’s my son.
“Let him go; drop him now. I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Give me shelter, Noah.”
Terrified for his son’s life, Noah lowered his club and looked anxiously from Ham’s captor to his other sons—injured and unable to fight.
“What about them?”
“I care nothing for them—or you.”
The screams of the drowning people continued to sound over the crashing waves.
“And them?” Noah asked. “Will you try to help them?”
“Let them drown. Deal?”
What kind of father would let his son be killed?
Noah nodded then jumped forward to catch Ham’s limp body as the Nephilim king dropped him to the floor and lumbered toward the door of the boat’s cabin.
“Hide in the rafters,” Noah said. “No one must know you’ve survived.”
Daylight was fading in Jerusalem as Samantha Yale sat at her professor’s desk intently watching her BlackBerry as if she expected it might speak to her.
Maybe I can will it to ring.
Across the room sat an unpacked UPS box—unpacked except for the one scroll she had unrolled then left on her conference table. Shrugging the fatigue from her shoulders, she took a break from staring at the phone and picked up the scroll one more time. With a
disdainful look she dropped it again.
Forgeries. Does he think he can fool me? She rubbed her temples, as if by doing so she could telepathically summon some faraway person.
Call me, you seriously disturbed man. Wonk Eman, call me this minute.
As if on cue, the BlackBerry vibrated to announce a caller.
It’s him. She picked up the phone without checking the caller ID.
“Wonk?”
“Pardon?”
“Wonk, is that you?” Touching the mute button she held the phone out and looked for the caller name. ID blocked.
We’ve got no time to play games, my friend. Taking a slow breath, she turned off mute and changed her tone of voice to one less threatening.
“Wonk, are you there?”
“No,” a man’s voice answered. “It’s Jonathan Marks.”
“Dr. Marks, what a surprise. I apologize. I don’t usually answer the phone in that manner.”
How did he get this number?
“Perhaps I’m the one who should apologize for calling on your personal cell. I had some difficulty getting through the university’s call center and felt I should try to reach you right away.”
“It happens frequently—perils of an outdated system.” She cleared her throat. “I don’t recall giving you this number, but never mind. How can I help you, Dr. Marks?”
“Perhaps I can help you—concerning the scrolls you called me about previously. I may have some important information for you, if you’re still interested.”
“I am.”
“Are you aware that the scrolls may be stolen property?”
“Certainly not. Why would you ask such a thing?”
“I had a visit this morning from a man named Anak Rapha. Does that name mean anything to you?”
“Should it?”
“He claims to be the curator for the Institute of Egyptology in Cairo. He told me he was looking for relics stolen from the institute—a set of scrolls written in cuneiform.”
“I see.” She picked up the discarded scroll and held it over her desk lamp as if giving it one more chance to be authentic. “Why do you think he contacted you?”
“Why did you?”
“Touché. I suppose I’m not the only one who knows about your work.”
“He said my reputation as a specialist in religious relics made me the needed expert for validation that whoever stole them will have to have to sell them on the black market. If the perpetrators hadn’t contacted me yet, he felt certain they would.”
“What else did he say?”
“He said the scrolls were given to the institute by a patron who wished to remain anonymous. Upon hearing of their disappearance, the patron is willing to pay a large reward—no questions asked—for their return.”
“I see. How did you answer?”
“I said I didn’t know anything about it, but if I were to be contacted, I would let him know. In other words, I lied, something I’m not comfortable doing.”
Samantha slowly exhaled the breath she’d been holding for the past minute. “Thank you, Dr. Marks.”
“It’s Jonathan. I just implicated myself in a possible international felony for you; we should at least be on a first name basis, Samantha.”
“Right—and it’s Sam if you like.”
“What say you, Sam? Are they stolen?”
“I don’t know. I was sure they weren’t, but now—” She looked at the UPS box. “—now I’m not as certain.”
“That’s not comforting; try again.”
“I assure you I’ll find out, but first I have to find the man who brought them to me, which I fear will be no small task. You may remember I told you he was...odd.”
“Right, the man with no address, no e-mail, no phone. Are you sure he exists?”
No response.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be flip. How can I help?”
“Pray for me.”
“I don’t pray. I’ll wait until you contact me. Ciao, Sam.”
Donning her raincoat, she dropped the BlackBerry in her pocket, carefully opened her door, and peered out to make certain no late visitors lurked in the hallway. Satisfied she was alone on the floor, she walked down the deserted corridor of the University of Jerusalem and stepped out into the evening fog.
Where are you, Wonk Eman? Wherever you are, you better pray I find you first.
Don’t let them get him, God, please.
The anguished screams of the people in the rising floodwaters were more than Noah could bear. Some called him by name, begging and cursing him as they flailed about in the swirling water. At last he reached his son. Ham threw down his club, covered his ears with his hands, and closed his eyes, as if doing so could shut out the pleas coming from the drowning people.
“Help us! Noah, you can’t leave us here.”
“You can’t just let us drown. You know us.”
Noah took his son’s arm to calm him, but Ham jerked it away and berated his father.
“Listen to them. Is this what God told you to do? Let your neighbors drown?” The boat lunged violently and threw him forward. He grabbed hold of his father’s shoulders to keep from falling.
“Listen to them cursing you—cursing me; it’s not my fault. I’m not to blame.”
The cries from the water became more desperate.
“Have mercy for God’s sake; we’re human beings.”
Ham let go of his father and grabbed hold of the banister as he railed at the people in the water.
“No, you’re not! You’re not human; you’re mutants. You deserve to drown.”
Father and son watched in horror as the people began to disappear under the black water. The wind grew stronger, the waves higher, and the boat rocked from side to side. Ham couldn’t hold back the nausea from the dizzying pitch of the boat. He struggled to keep his balance with one hand and clutched his stomach with the other.
“Aaagh, I can’t take any more.” He bent over the rail and retched.
He was always the weak one; nothing like his brothers. Noah dropped the club he’d been carrying in order to stabilize his son.
“It’s all right; I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall over.”
By the time Noah saw the grotesque face no more than an arm’s length away from his son’s head, it was too late. He strained to drag Ham back to safety as the giant pulled himself out of the water and tried to board the boat where Ham leaned over. The half-breed human seized Ham by the hair and jerked him from his father’s grip, drawing him down toward the roiling water. Noah went down to his knees, frantically searching for the club he’d dropped.
“Let me go!” Ham writhed in pain and tried to free himself from the massive hand that held him.
Noah found his weapon and pounded the distorted face of the creature.
“Drop him! I’ll kill you if I have to.” Ramming the end of his club into the creature’s eye, Noah cried out for his other sons. “Shem, Japheth, help me! They’ve got Ham.”
Shem was fighting his own battle against another intruder on the other side of the boat when he heard his father’s cries for help. He swung his club like a sledgehammer and pounded the six-fingered hand of the monster holding tightly to the bow. The hybrid being yelped in pain, lost his grip, and tumbled into the water. Shem steadied himself then raced to help his father.
“I’m coming. Hold on.”
With the fervor of a man half his age, Noah rammed his rugged club again into the face and eyes of the giant until it shrieked in pain, released its grip on his son, and fell back into the black water. Terrified and exhausted, Ham collapsed on the deck. Shem moved
his father to the side and bent down to help his brother to his feet.
“You must get up. They’re coming; can you stand?”
“Yes...look out!”
A sudden jolt, the boat reeled, and the wind blew open a door leading to a lower deck where dozens of terrified animals were crowded into stalls. The bellows of the frightened animals mingled with the human cries until they blended into one mournful wail as
the waves battered the ark.
“Are you all right? Can you take care of him?” Shem asked his father. “I’ve got to help Japheth before the animals get out.”
“Go, go! We’ll be all right.” Noah waved Shem on as he took his trembling son in his arms. Why doesn’t he have the courage of his brothers? Maybe I’ve been too soft on him. If the animals get out, it’s all been for nothing. Noah dragged Ham close to the wall of the cabin and set him down.
“Stay here. You’ll be safe.”
“Don’t leave me.”
“I have to help your brothers.”
Noah set out after Shem, but in his confusion he turned toward the opposite end of the boat.
Shem reached Japheth’s side, and together they thrust all their weight against the heaving door.
“The animals are stampeding,” Japheth said. “We can’t hold them!”
“We have to keep them in.”
Shem summoned all his strength and with one mighty thrust managed to slide the locking rod across the door to constrain the bellowing cargo inside. In the struggle to secure the animals, neither brother saw another giant pull himself over the rail and onto the deck.
“Get out of my way,” the beast threatened. He pushed the brothers to the side then yanked on the barred door and tried to crawl inside to hide with the animals.
“Keep him out!” Shem yelled.
Together they grabbed his bulging legs and pulled him facedown, away from the door and toward the center of the boat. He cursed them and thrashed from side to side.
“We’ve got to get him back into the water!” Japheth cried out.
“Are you mad? We can’t lift him!”
“We have to do it; don’t let him turn over.”
With all their might the brothers fought to subdue the monster, but he overpowered them. With his superhuman strength he threw Shem into a wall and trampled Japheth to the floor. Just then, still disoriented and weak, Ham stumbled toward his brothers.
“Shem? Japheth, where are you?” The fog and darkening night made it impossible to see more than a few feet.
“Oh, please, no,” Japheth moaned under his breath. “How did he get over here?”
“I don’t know. I left him with Father. Ham, go back. Run.” But the warning was too late. The giant lunged for Ham and caught him by the neck.
“Got you, pretty boy.”
With one enormous hand over his face, he dragged him backward, pressing Ham’s head into his heaving chest as he tightened his fingers around his throat.
“Let him go!” Japheth struggled to his feet then collapsed on his broken leg.
Out of the fog, with the eyes of a madman, Noah charged toward the monster.
I should never have taken my eyes off him.
“Father, look out!” Shem cried. “Over there, another one!”
Noah spun around and saw the six-fingered hands of another beast hanging from the railing, struggling to climb aboard.
“Let go before I kill you!”
With a powerful blow, Noah shattered the giant’s knuckles. Swearing vehemently, he fell back into the murky water.
“Can’t breathe; help me,” Ham moaned, losing consciousness.
“I’m coming, Ham; don’t give up.”
Noah raced toward his son’s captor, his club raised to strike him, but stopped short when the monster lifted Ham by the throat and dangled him above the deck.
“I wouldn’t try it, Noah.”
Noah’s heart stopped when he recognized the voice and saw the blue face of his oxygen-deprived son. He’s going to kill him.
“You.” Noah’s voice was barely a whisper. “I thought you were dead.”
“Oh, but I’m not.” The monster mockingly kissed the top of Ham’s head and licked his lips. “Let him go, Og. He can’t breathe.”
“That would be a shame; he would be so...scrumptious.” Lustful laughter rumbled from the beast’s throat as desperation and fear welled up in Noah. I can’t let him kill him; he’s my son.
“Let him go; drop him now. I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Give me shelter, Noah.”
Terrified for his son’s life, Noah lowered his club and looked anxiously from Ham’s captor to his other sons—injured and unable to fight.
“What about them?”
“I care nothing for them—or you.”
The screams of the drowning people continued to sound over the crashing waves.
“And them?” Noah asked. “Will you try to help them?”
“Let them drown. Deal?”
What kind of father would let his son be killed?
Noah nodded then jumped forward to catch Ham’s limp body as the Nephilim king dropped him to the floor and lumbered toward the door of the boat’s cabin.
“Hide in the rafters,” Noah said. “No one must know you’ve survived.”
Daylight was fading in Jerusalem as Samantha Yale sat at her professor’s desk intently watching her BlackBerry as if she expected it might speak to her.
Maybe I can will it to ring.
Across the room sat an unpacked UPS box—unpacked except for the one scroll she had unrolled then left on her conference table. Shrugging the fatigue from her shoulders, she took a break from staring at the phone and picked up the scroll one more time. With a
disdainful look she dropped it again.
Forgeries. Does he think he can fool me? She rubbed her temples, as if by doing so she could telepathically summon some faraway person.
Call me, you seriously disturbed man. Wonk Eman, call me this minute.
As if on cue, the BlackBerry vibrated to announce a caller.
It’s him. She picked up the phone without checking the caller ID.
“Wonk?”
“Pardon?”
“Wonk, is that you?” Touching the mute button she held the phone out and looked for the caller name. ID blocked.
We’ve got no time to play games, my friend. Taking a slow breath, she turned off mute and changed her tone of voice to one less threatening.
“Wonk, are you there?”
“No,” a man’s voice answered. “It’s Jonathan Marks.”
“Dr. Marks, what a surprise. I apologize. I don’t usually answer the phone in that manner.”
How did he get this number?
“Perhaps I’m the one who should apologize for calling on your personal cell. I had some difficulty getting through the university’s call center and felt I should try to reach you right away.”
“It happens frequently—perils of an outdated system.” She cleared her throat. “I don’t recall giving you this number, but never mind. How can I help you, Dr. Marks?”
“Perhaps I can help you—concerning the scrolls you called me about previously. I may have some important information for you, if you’re still interested.”
“I am.”
“Are you aware that the scrolls may be stolen property?”
“Certainly not. Why would you ask such a thing?”
“I had a visit this morning from a man named Anak Rapha. Does that name mean anything to you?”
“Should it?”
“He claims to be the curator for the Institute of Egyptology in Cairo. He told me he was looking for relics stolen from the institute—a set of scrolls written in cuneiform.”
“I see.” She picked up the discarded scroll and held it over her desk lamp as if giving it one more chance to be authentic. “Why do you think he contacted you?”
“Why did you?”
“Touché. I suppose I’m not the only one who knows about your work.”
“He said my reputation as a specialist in religious relics made me the needed expert for validation that whoever stole them will have to have to sell them on the black market. If the perpetrators hadn’t contacted me yet, he felt certain they would.”
“What else did he say?”
“He said the scrolls were given to the institute by a patron who wished to remain anonymous. Upon hearing of their disappearance, the patron is willing to pay a large reward—no questions asked—for their return.”
“I see. How did you answer?”
“I said I didn’t know anything about it, but if I were to be contacted, I would let him know. In other words, I lied, something I’m not comfortable doing.”
Samantha slowly exhaled the breath she’d been holding for the past minute. “Thank you, Dr. Marks.”
“It’s Jonathan. I just implicated myself in a possible international felony for you; we should at least be on a first name basis, Samantha.”
“Right—and it’s Sam if you like.”
“What say you, Sam? Are they stolen?”
“I don’t know. I was sure they weren’t, but now—” She looked at the UPS box. “—now I’m not as certain.”
“That’s not comforting; try again.”
“I assure you I’ll find out, but first I have to find the man who brought them to me, which I fear will be no small task. You may remember I told you he was...odd.”
“Right, the man with no address, no e-mail, no phone. Are you sure he exists?”
No response.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be flip. How can I help?”
“Pray for me.”
“I don’t pray. I’ll wait until you contact me. Ciao, Sam.”
Donning her raincoat, she dropped the BlackBerry in her pocket, carefully opened her door, and peered out to make certain no late visitors lurked in the hallway. Satisfied she was alone on the floor, she walked down the deserted corridor of the University of Jerusalem and stepped out into the evening fog.
Where are you, Wonk Eman? Wherever you are, you better pray I find you first.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Book Feature: Here Burns My Candle by Liz Curtis Higgs
Here Burns My Candle
by Liz Curtis Higgs
It’s been
4 years since Liz
Curtis Higgs’s last novel, and she’s made good
use of that time studying Scottish history and the Scriptures. And now
she
offers a retelling of the beloved Old Testament story of Ruth and Naomi
set in
18th Century Scotland.
Visit the Lowlands in Here Burns My Candle.
Summary:
A
mother who cannot face her future.
A daughter who cannot escape her past.
Lady Elisabeth Kerr is a keeper of secrets. A Highlander by birth and a Lowlander by marriage, she honors the auld ways, even as doubts and fears stir deep within her.
Her husband, Lord Donald, has secrets of his own, well hidden from the household, yet whispered among the town gossips.
His mother, the dowager Lady Marjory, hides gold beneath her floor and guilt inside her heart. Though her two abiding passions are maintaining her place in society and coddling her grown sons, Marjory’s many regrets, buried in Greyfriars Churchyard, continue to plague her.
One by one the Kerr family secrets begin to surface, even as bonny Prince Charlie and his rebel army ride into Edinburgh in September 1745, intent on capturing the crown.
A timeless story of love and betrayal, loss and redemption, flickering against the vivid backdrop of eighteenth-century Scotland, Here Burns My Candle illumines the dark side of human nature, even as hope, the brightest of tapers, lights the way home.
A daughter who cannot escape her past.
Lady Elisabeth Kerr is a keeper of secrets. A Highlander by birth and a Lowlander by marriage, she honors the auld ways, even as doubts and fears stir deep within her.
Her husband, Lord Donald, has secrets of his own, well hidden from the household, yet whispered among the town gossips.
His mother, the dowager Lady Marjory, hides gold beneath her floor and guilt inside her heart. Though her two abiding passions are maintaining her place in society and coddling her grown sons, Marjory’s many regrets, buried in Greyfriars Churchyard, continue to plague her.
One by one the Kerr family secrets begin to surface, even as bonny Prince Charlie and his rebel army ride into Edinburgh in September 1745, intent on capturing the crown.
A timeless story of love and betrayal, loss and redemption, flickering against the vivid backdrop of eighteenth-century Scotland, Here Burns My Candle illumines the dark side of human nature, even as hope, the brightest of tapers, lights the way home.
Author Bio:
LIZ
CURTIS HIGGS is the author of twenty-seven
books with three million copies in print, including: her best-selling
historical novels, Thorn in My
Heart,
Fair Is the Rose,
Christy
Award-winner Whence Came a Prince,
and Grace in Thine Eyes,
a
Christy Award finalist; My Heart’s
in
the Lowlands: Ten Days in Bonny Scotland, an armchair travel
guide
to Galloway; and her contemporary novels, Mixed
Signals, a Rita Award finalist, and Bookends,
a Christy Award finalist. Visit the author’s extensive website at www.lizcurtishiggs.com.
Purchase the book online:
Purchase the book online:
This was
book was provided for review by
WaterBrook Multnomah.
Book Tour: Rooms by James L. Rubart
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
B&H Books; Original edition (April 1, 2010)
***Special thanks to Julie Gwinn of B&H Publishing Group for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
James L. Rubart is a professional marketer whose Jr2 Marketing company clientele has included ABC, AT&T/Cingular, and Clear Channel Radio. He is also a professional speaker, writes recurring columns for Christian Fiction Online Magazine and Christian Women Online, and is on the board of the Northwest Christian Writers Association.
Visit the author's website.
Product Details:
List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 400 pages
Publisher: B&H Books; Original edition (April 1, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0805448888
ISBN-13: 978-0805448887
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Micah Taylor tapped an edge of the cryptic letter against his palm as he stared out the massive windows of his corner office overlooking Puget Sound.
Why would a great uncle he'd never known build a home for him? Oregon coast. Cannon Beach. Right on the ocean; at least that's what the letter claimed. Probably some joke his VP's cooked up, inspired by the picture he'd hung in the conference room a few months ago of Ecola State Park. Great kid memories from that slice of paradise. Was it only fifteen years ago? Felt longer.
Micah smiled. This was exactly the kind of prank his team might try to pull off. No one would ever accuse RimSoft's culture of being stoic.
But if the letter was real—
"Time to go boss."
Shannon stood in the doorway, eyes bright behind her Versace glasses, short-cropped salt and pepper hair outlining her china doll face. She'd been Micah’s administrative assistant for three years. Smart and not easily intimidated, what bubbled in her five-foot-four frame made her one of the strongest links in his company's chain.
“I hate being called boss.”
“Yes, I know.” She pulled her glasses down and gave him her pirate look over the top of them.
Micah laughed and glanced once more at the letter announcing his inheritance.
He grabbed his notebook and wagged his finger at Shannon as they walked out of his office. “You shouldn’t call someone boss when you’re almost old enough to be their m—"
"—much older sister.”
“Right,” Micah said as they fell into step and marched down the halls of RimSoft.
Friday morning. He loved Fridays; not just because they launched the weekend like a blast of summer morning sun, but because of his weekly team meeting. The creativity his team pumped out astounded him. He might not get hired at his own company if he applied. If employing people better than yourself were an Olympic event Micah would be swimming in gold.
As they turned the final corner on the way to the conference room, Kelli Kay, one of Micah’s more talented programmers, approached. “Want to hear something really cool?” Her red curls bounced like a slinky.
“Absolutely.” Micah kept walking—now backward—his Nike’s scuffing lightly on the teal carpet. Single mom until four months ago, Kelli put herself through computer school, while working forty hours a week and taking care of her ten-year-old kid. Never complained about fifty hour weeks. Never complained about sixty hour weeks.
“My kid won that art contest I told you about last week; he’s headed to LA this summer to compete in the national—"
“You serious? Listen, if he places, let’s fly him, and you, and that new husband of yours to New York to see the MET. I'll bring Julie and we'll all go check out the art with him and time it so we catch a Mariner’s Yankees game.”
“Really?” Kelli half-jogged to keep up with Micah.
“Absolutely. RimSoft's already made $2 million off that little anti-virus program you developed last year. You're amazing," Micah said.
He turned and picked up his pace. Shannon picked up hers too, her white Adidas running shoes helping in the effort. He couldn't believe this was the same women who showed up her first day wearing three-inch heals and a business suit straight out of Uptight Dresses for Corporate America. Micah told her to get rid of the heels and put on whatever she loved wearing and felt comfortable in.
“You could actually stop when you talk to people," Shannon said.
Micah laughed. "We have a meeting. You know, the company? Work to do. Software programs to develop. Lots of sales. Happy stockholders. Make money. All that stuff.” He brushed past a lush, broad leafed Dracaena plan and walked faster.
“They just want more time with you, to know you like them."
“I like everyone. But, to be sure, let's get out an e-mail that says ‘From Micah Taylor. To you. I like you. I really, really like you.’ ” He turned, pushed open the conference room door and held it for Shannon. He returned her glare with an impish grin.
The conference room was small but comfortable. No vaulted ceiling, no massive table, just two light tan leather couches and six overstuffed espresso brown chairs all circling the center of the room. RimSoft's version of Camelot. The room wasn't designed for ego, it was crafted for efficiency.
The couches held two people each. On one couch sat Micah's head of legal with his jet-black hair and John Lennon glasses. Next to him slumped his VP of mergers and acquisitions; thirty-one years old but looked fifty with his premature gray hair. On the other couch perched his VP of marketing, looking more every day like a young Oprah. Next to her sat his Chief Financial officer. Two of Micah's software development VP's sat in the chairs.
Shannon sat in a chair, Micah paced in front of his.
On a table in the center of the room sat a steaming pot filling the air with the aroma of Starbuck's coffee. Clumped next to it were mugs from Disneyland, the University of Washington Huskies, and cups with RimSoft's logo on them.
Good. All the pieces were in place. Time to check out the condition of the chess board.
“All right,” Micah said, a slice above his normal volume. “Let's roll. Where are we at with the i2-Rock alliance?”
“Done," his mergers VP said.
"We love their hardware; they still love our software, right?"
"Madly."
“Excellent, great work.” Micah focused on Oprah's twin. “Is the ad layout done for Wired?"
"Yep."
"Last one you did was a home run into the rafters so let’s keep the hits coming.” He turned to his right. “Beta testing on version four is done, right?”
“Finished Wednesday.”
“Very nice work, I can’t believe you already have it almost bug free.” Micah looked at the head of his legal team. “You’ve finished the docs for the merger with Reeda?”
“Not quite." The man glanced up at Micah. "We’re almost there.”
Micah whipped his pen around on his yellow note pad like a poor man's Picasso. “This is a sketch of underwear. But not just ordinary underwear, its asbestos underwear. You need a pair.”
“Why?” asked the head of legal.
“Well, you said your team would be done on Tuesday. It’s now Friday. So since it isn’t done, your team falls into the category of ‘liar, liar, pants on fire.’ I would think the asbestos underwear would help squelch the flames a bit.”
The head of legal flushed and mumbled, “We’ll get it done by the end of the day.”
“You’re excellent at law but this is the third time you’ve delayed us this quarter. Unacceptable.”
One of his team cleared their throat. The rest glued their eyes to the agenda.
"Deep breath everyone. Relax. Let's move on," Micah said.
A half-hour later Micah glanced at each member of his team. “Thank you. For two things. First, for being good enough at what you do that this company could no doubt survive without me. Second, for not being so good there’s no room left for my input.” He smiled, grabbed his notebook, and strode toward the door.
Too harsh in there on Mr. Always-Late-Legal? Probably. But why couldn't the guy just do his job on time? Did Micah have to do every job at RimSoft? If there was time he would. He doubted any of them believed his 'good enough that the company could run without me' speech. RimSoft couldn't. Always picking up the broken pieces was part of running a company. But it exhausted him. There had to be a way to get free of it. Trusting other people to come through? Wouldn't happen in this lifetime.
Shannon stepped into the hallway just ahead of him and clipped toward her desk like an Olympic speed walker.
In two bounds Micah, caught up to her. “Hey, slow down.”
She walked faster and didn’t respond.
“You’ve got that ‘Micah was a jerk’ look again.”
“Hmm.” She looked up at him with a thin lipped smile.
They walked seven paces in silence. “That’s not who I really am."
“Oh?”
Four more paces.
“You’re right, I was a royal jerk in there,” he whispered. His face grew warm as he fingered the scar on his left palm. “It’s just … some realities about life have stuck with me whether I wanted them to or not.”
“So you weren’t this way from birth?”
He hoped the tiny shake of his head was imperceptible. “Only since I was eight.”
"Zero! Zilch! Nada! That's what you'll always be, kid!"
The rest of the scene—the blood, the abandonment—tried to surface but Micah
slammed the vault to his heart shut and the memory faded.
By the time he arrived at his office, his breathing had steadied and his focus shifted to the letter from his great uncle sitting on his teak desk. Micah picked it up. The yellowed paper was probably white once, though the fluid cursive writing looked as crisp as if it had been scrawled yesterday.
The envelope it came in had been sealed with wax, the outline of a lion’s head distinct in the dark-blue paraffin. Micah settled into his black leather chair and stared at the name above the return address on the envelope. Archie Taylor. Definitely strange.
Archie was his great uncle whom he knew less than a paragraph about. He’d been dead since the early ‘90s, and Micah had never met him. He knew Archie had made quite a bit of money and hadn’t married, but the rest had always been a mystery. Until Micah’s late teens, he hadn’t known Archie existed. When he asked, his dad would only say Archie was a strange man. A man to stay away from. He opened the letter and wondered once more if what it promised was real.
September 27, 1989
Dear Micah,
You are likely shocked to have received this letter as we never had the opportunity to know each other. The reason for the letter will surprise you more.
I have asked a friend to mail it when you turn thirty-five or when you acquire enough financial resources that you no longer need to labor. Consequently, if you are reading this letter before reaching your 35th birthday you have already made a significant amount of money, which is sometimes a beneficial occurrence at a young age, but usually is not.
If my instructions have been carried out, a home was built during the past five months on the Oregon coast, four miles south of Cannon Beach. I designed it for you.
My great desire is that you enjoy the house, and if the builder followed my directives I believe you will. It will certainly—if you'll forgive the cliché—upset your apple cart if you allow it. The home is all you.
Your great uncle,
Archie.
P.S. There should be a key enclosed with this letter as well as a card with the address.
Micah reread the last line and frowned. 'The home is all you?' Typo. Must mean all yours.
Intriguing. One of his fave places in another life. If there was a home on the northern Oregon coast with his name on it, it was an adventure worth checking out. Soon. Micah read the letter for the third time that morning. Definitely soon.
***
A noise in the hall made him look up. Julie. Perfect business partner. Recent romantic partner. Tenacious tennis partner.
Her shoulder-length blond hair bounced as she pranced through the door of his office, crisp beige suit complementing her gleaming pearly whites.
“Hey!" Micah rose from his desk and opened his arms.
When she reached him, she ruffled his dark brown hair and kissed him softly.
The faint scent of Safari floated up to him. She never wore too much, almost not enough. Julie. Powerful yet could be tender. Driven and radiant. Nice to have her back.
“How was the trip?” he asked.
“We’re richer. But glad it’s over.” Julie slid out of her blazer, flicked a piece of lint off the lapel, and laid the coat across the back of Micah’s milk chocolate brown chair and patted it once. “I did find the perfect SLR digital camera to add to my collection. You’ll model for me, please? Your baby-blue eyes are worth taking up seventy or eighty megs on my laptop."
When they’d started RimSoft five years ago he never imagined they’d strike such a rich vein in the software gold rush. Of course he’d never imagined their long-term platonic relationship budding into romance either.
Micah sat down and stared at Archie's letter.
“You with me here?" Julie said, leaning against Micah's desk.
"Huh?"
“I asked about Monday's board meeting and I think waiting five seconds for a response is long enough." She laughed.
“Sorry, didn't hear you. Brain freeze. I got a bizarre letter from a long lost relative. In fact this weekend I might go—“
Julie pressed two fingers against his lips. “We cannot allow those thoughts to escape.”
“What thoughts?”
“Of nixing our Whistler trip this weekend. You and me and snow and spring skiing and fireplaces and old, old bottles of cabernet. Ring any bells?”
“Hmm.” He grinned sheepishly.
“You better have a really, really good reason if you're canceling.” She straightened the collar of his olive-green polo shirt.
"Apparently I’ve inherited a house right on the ocean, just south of Cannon Beach."
"Cannon Beach?" A scowl flashed across her face.
"What?" Micah said.
"Nothing. Let me see something." Julie leaned over him as her red fingernails danced over his keyboard until a sampling of Cannon Beach homes for sale flashed on screen. "Take a look at these prices." She tapped on his monitor. "You're little gift could be worth $3 million plus. Throw a sign on it, make some quick cash."
"It's probably just a shack. Or maybe the letter's a hoax."
"Where did this mystery shack come from?"
He picked up the letter and bounced it up and down on his palm. "My great-uncle, whom I never met, had it built for me."
"You never met him and he gives you a house at Cannon Beach?"
"Weird huh?" Micah opened his palms. "So, this weekend, want to come check it out with me?"
Julies shoulders sagged. "Instead of Whistler?"
"You're right." He ran his finger over the surface of the letter. "Let's go skiing."
"Wow. You're really curious aren't you?"
Julie didn’t wait for an answer. A few seconds later Google Earth splashed onto Micah's monitor.
"Address?" Julie said.
Micah read it to her off the letter. A few seconds later they gazed at a patch of dirt overlooking the ocean.
"Not even a shack," Julie said.
"Maybe, maybe not." Micah punched a few keys. "Look. That satellite image is seven months old. Archie's letter says the home was built by somebody during the past five months." Micah gaze stayed riveted on his screen. "There could be—"
"How 'bout I make you a deal so you can go to the beach, Mr. Break-My-Heart.”
Hey, it’s not that important for—“
“No, no, stay with me here. If you switch out our weekend at Whistler for a week in the Alps, we have a deal.”
“So you'll come with me this weekend?"
"No."
"What?"
Julie sighed and looked out the window. " The ocean and I don't get along."
"Interesting. Another fascinating secret about my fascinating partner is revealed." Micah leaned back with his hands behind his head. "This is a story I need to know."
"No, you don't. That story has no admittance stamped on it in blood red letters."
Why would a great uncle he'd never known build a home for him? Oregon coast. Cannon Beach. Right on the ocean; at least that's what the letter claimed. Probably some joke his VP's cooked up, inspired by the picture he'd hung in the conference room a few months ago of Ecola State Park. Great kid memories from that slice of paradise. Was it only fifteen years ago? Felt longer.
Micah smiled. This was exactly the kind of prank his team might try to pull off. No one would ever accuse RimSoft's culture of being stoic.
But if the letter was real—
"Time to go boss."
Shannon stood in the doorway, eyes bright behind her Versace glasses, short-cropped salt and pepper hair outlining her china doll face. She'd been Micah’s administrative assistant for three years. Smart and not easily intimidated, what bubbled in her five-foot-four frame made her one of the strongest links in his company's chain.
“I hate being called boss.”
“Yes, I know.” She pulled her glasses down and gave him her pirate look over the top of them.
Micah laughed and glanced once more at the letter announcing his inheritance.
He grabbed his notebook and wagged his finger at Shannon as they walked out of his office. “You shouldn’t call someone boss when you’re almost old enough to be their m—"
"—much older sister.”
“Right,” Micah said as they fell into step and marched down the halls of RimSoft.
Friday morning. He loved Fridays; not just because they launched the weekend like a blast of summer morning sun, but because of his weekly team meeting. The creativity his team pumped out astounded him. He might not get hired at his own company if he applied. If employing people better than yourself were an Olympic event Micah would be swimming in gold.
As they turned the final corner on the way to the conference room, Kelli Kay, one of Micah’s more talented programmers, approached. “Want to hear something really cool?” Her red curls bounced like a slinky.
“Absolutely.” Micah kept walking—now backward—his Nike’s scuffing lightly on the teal carpet. Single mom until four months ago, Kelli put herself through computer school, while working forty hours a week and taking care of her ten-year-old kid. Never complained about fifty hour weeks. Never complained about sixty hour weeks.
“My kid won that art contest I told you about last week; he’s headed to LA this summer to compete in the national—"
“You serious? Listen, if he places, let’s fly him, and you, and that new husband of yours to New York to see the MET. I'll bring Julie and we'll all go check out the art with him and time it so we catch a Mariner’s Yankees game.”
“Really?” Kelli half-jogged to keep up with Micah.
“Absolutely. RimSoft's already made $2 million off that little anti-virus program you developed last year. You're amazing," Micah said.
He turned and picked up his pace. Shannon picked up hers too, her white Adidas running shoes helping in the effort. He couldn't believe this was the same women who showed up her first day wearing three-inch heals and a business suit straight out of Uptight Dresses for Corporate America. Micah told her to get rid of the heels and put on whatever she loved wearing and felt comfortable in.
“You could actually stop when you talk to people," Shannon said.
Micah laughed. "We have a meeting. You know, the company? Work to do. Software programs to develop. Lots of sales. Happy stockholders. Make money. All that stuff.” He brushed past a lush, broad leafed Dracaena plan and walked faster.
“They just want more time with you, to know you like them."
“I like everyone. But, to be sure, let's get out an e-mail that says ‘From Micah Taylor. To you. I like you. I really, really like you.’ ” He turned, pushed open the conference room door and held it for Shannon. He returned her glare with an impish grin.
The conference room was small but comfortable. No vaulted ceiling, no massive table, just two light tan leather couches and six overstuffed espresso brown chairs all circling the center of the room. RimSoft's version of Camelot. The room wasn't designed for ego, it was crafted for efficiency.
The couches held two people each. On one couch sat Micah's head of legal with his jet-black hair and John Lennon glasses. Next to him slumped his VP of mergers and acquisitions; thirty-one years old but looked fifty with his premature gray hair. On the other couch perched his VP of marketing, looking more every day like a young Oprah. Next to her sat his Chief Financial officer. Two of Micah's software development VP's sat in the chairs.
Shannon sat in a chair, Micah paced in front of his.
On a table in the center of the room sat a steaming pot filling the air with the aroma of Starbuck's coffee. Clumped next to it were mugs from Disneyland, the University of Washington Huskies, and cups with RimSoft's logo on them.
Good. All the pieces were in place. Time to check out the condition of the chess board.
“All right,” Micah said, a slice above his normal volume. “Let's roll. Where are we at with the i2-Rock alliance?”
“Done," his mergers VP said.
"We love their hardware; they still love our software, right?"
"Madly."
“Excellent, great work.” Micah focused on Oprah's twin. “Is the ad layout done for Wired?"
"Yep."
"Last one you did was a home run into the rafters so let’s keep the hits coming.” He turned to his right. “Beta testing on version four is done, right?”
“Finished Wednesday.”
“Very nice work, I can’t believe you already have it almost bug free.” Micah looked at the head of his legal team. “You’ve finished the docs for the merger with Reeda?”
“Not quite." The man glanced up at Micah. "We’re almost there.”
Micah whipped his pen around on his yellow note pad like a poor man's Picasso. “This is a sketch of underwear. But not just ordinary underwear, its asbestos underwear. You need a pair.”
“Why?” asked the head of legal.
“Well, you said your team would be done on Tuesday. It’s now Friday. So since it isn’t done, your team falls into the category of ‘liar, liar, pants on fire.’ I would think the asbestos underwear would help squelch the flames a bit.”
The head of legal flushed and mumbled, “We’ll get it done by the end of the day.”
“You’re excellent at law but this is the third time you’ve delayed us this quarter. Unacceptable.”
One of his team cleared their throat. The rest glued their eyes to the agenda.
"Deep breath everyone. Relax. Let's move on," Micah said.
A half-hour later Micah glanced at each member of his team. “Thank you. For two things. First, for being good enough at what you do that this company could no doubt survive without me. Second, for not being so good there’s no room left for my input.” He smiled, grabbed his notebook, and strode toward the door.
Too harsh in there on Mr. Always-Late-Legal? Probably. But why couldn't the guy just do his job on time? Did Micah have to do every job at RimSoft? If there was time he would. He doubted any of them believed his 'good enough that the company could run without me' speech. RimSoft couldn't. Always picking up the broken pieces was part of running a company. But it exhausted him. There had to be a way to get free of it. Trusting other people to come through? Wouldn't happen in this lifetime.
Shannon stepped into the hallway just ahead of him and clipped toward her desk like an Olympic speed walker.
In two bounds Micah, caught up to her. “Hey, slow down.”
She walked faster and didn’t respond.
“You’ve got that ‘Micah was a jerk’ look again.”
“Hmm.” She looked up at him with a thin lipped smile.
They walked seven paces in silence. “That’s not who I really am."
“Oh?”
Four more paces.
“You’re right, I was a royal jerk in there,” he whispered. His face grew warm as he fingered the scar on his left palm. “It’s just … some realities about life have stuck with me whether I wanted them to or not.”
“So you weren’t this way from birth?”
He hoped the tiny shake of his head was imperceptible. “Only since I was eight.”
"Zero! Zilch! Nada! That's what you'll always be, kid!"
The rest of the scene—the blood, the abandonment—tried to surface but Micah
slammed the vault to his heart shut and the memory faded.
By the time he arrived at his office, his breathing had steadied and his focus shifted to the letter from his great uncle sitting on his teak desk. Micah picked it up. The yellowed paper was probably white once, though the fluid cursive writing looked as crisp as if it had been scrawled yesterday.
The envelope it came in had been sealed with wax, the outline of a lion’s head distinct in the dark-blue paraffin. Micah settled into his black leather chair and stared at the name above the return address on the envelope. Archie Taylor. Definitely strange.
Archie was his great uncle whom he knew less than a paragraph about. He’d been dead since the early ‘90s, and Micah had never met him. He knew Archie had made quite a bit of money and hadn’t married, but the rest had always been a mystery. Until Micah’s late teens, he hadn’t known Archie existed. When he asked, his dad would only say Archie was a strange man. A man to stay away from. He opened the letter and wondered once more if what it promised was real.
September 27, 1989
Dear Micah,
You are likely shocked to have received this letter as we never had the opportunity to know each other. The reason for the letter will surprise you more.
I have asked a friend to mail it when you turn thirty-five or when you acquire enough financial resources that you no longer need to labor. Consequently, if you are reading this letter before reaching your 35th birthday you have already made a significant amount of money, which is sometimes a beneficial occurrence at a young age, but usually is not.
If my instructions have been carried out, a home was built during the past five months on the Oregon coast, four miles south of Cannon Beach. I designed it for you.
My great desire is that you enjoy the house, and if the builder followed my directives I believe you will. It will certainly—if you'll forgive the cliché—upset your apple cart if you allow it. The home is all you.
Your great uncle,
Archie.
P.S. There should be a key enclosed with this letter as well as a card with the address.
Micah reread the last line and frowned. 'The home is all you?' Typo. Must mean all yours.
Intriguing. One of his fave places in another life. If there was a home on the northern Oregon coast with his name on it, it was an adventure worth checking out. Soon. Micah read the letter for the third time that morning. Definitely soon.
***
A noise in the hall made him look up. Julie. Perfect business partner. Recent romantic partner. Tenacious tennis partner.
Her shoulder-length blond hair bounced as she pranced through the door of his office, crisp beige suit complementing her gleaming pearly whites.
“Hey!" Micah rose from his desk and opened his arms.
When she reached him, she ruffled his dark brown hair and kissed him softly.
The faint scent of Safari floated up to him. She never wore too much, almost not enough. Julie. Powerful yet could be tender. Driven and radiant. Nice to have her back.
“How was the trip?” he asked.
“We’re richer. But glad it’s over.” Julie slid out of her blazer, flicked a piece of lint off the lapel, and laid the coat across the back of Micah’s milk chocolate brown chair and patted it once. “I did find the perfect SLR digital camera to add to my collection. You’ll model for me, please? Your baby-blue eyes are worth taking up seventy or eighty megs on my laptop."
When they’d started RimSoft five years ago he never imagined they’d strike such a rich vein in the software gold rush. Of course he’d never imagined their long-term platonic relationship budding into romance either.
Micah sat down and stared at Archie's letter.
“You with me here?" Julie said, leaning against Micah's desk.
"Huh?"
“I asked about Monday's board meeting and I think waiting five seconds for a response is long enough." She laughed.
“Sorry, didn't hear you. Brain freeze. I got a bizarre letter from a long lost relative. In fact this weekend I might go—“
Julie pressed two fingers against his lips. “We cannot allow those thoughts to escape.”
“What thoughts?”
“Of nixing our Whistler trip this weekend. You and me and snow and spring skiing and fireplaces and old, old bottles of cabernet. Ring any bells?”
“Hmm.” He grinned sheepishly.
“You better have a really, really good reason if you're canceling.” She straightened the collar of his olive-green polo shirt.
"Apparently I’ve inherited a house right on the ocean, just south of Cannon Beach."
"Cannon Beach?" A scowl flashed across her face.
"What?" Micah said.
"Nothing. Let me see something." Julie leaned over him as her red fingernails danced over his keyboard until a sampling of Cannon Beach homes for sale flashed on screen. "Take a look at these prices." She tapped on his monitor. "You're little gift could be worth $3 million plus. Throw a sign on it, make some quick cash."
"It's probably just a shack. Or maybe the letter's a hoax."
"Where did this mystery shack come from?"
He picked up the letter and bounced it up and down on his palm. "My great-uncle, whom I never met, had it built for me."
"You never met him and he gives you a house at Cannon Beach?"
"Weird huh?" Micah opened his palms. "So, this weekend, want to come check it out with me?"
Julies shoulders sagged. "Instead of Whistler?"
"You're right." He ran his finger over the surface of the letter. "Let's go skiing."
"Wow. You're really curious aren't you?"
Julie didn’t wait for an answer. A few seconds later Google Earth splashed onto Micah's monitor.
"Address?" Julie said.
Micah read it to her off the letter. A few seconds later they gazed at a patch of dirt overlooking the ocean.
"Not even a shack," Julie said.
"Maybe, maybe not." Micah punched a few keys. "Look. That satellite image is seven months old. Archie's letter says the home was built by somebody during the past five months." Micah gaze stayed riveted on his screen. "There could be—"
"How 'bout I make you a deal so you can go to the beach, Mr. Break-My-Heart.”
Hey, it’s not that important for—“
“No, no, stay with me here. If you switch out our weekend at Whistler for a week in the Alps, we have a deal.”
“So you'll come with me this weekend?"
"No."
"What?"
Julie sighed and looked out the window. " The ocean and I don't get along."
"Interesting. Another fascinating secret about my fascinating partner is revealed." Micah leaned back with his hands behind his head. "This is a story I need to know."
"No, you don't. That story has no admittance stamped on it in blood red letters."
Friday, May 21, 2010
Book Review: The Brothers of Gwynedd (Sunrise in the West, Book #1) by Edith Pargeter
The Brothers of Gwynedd by Edith Pargeter
Publisher: Sourcebooks Landmark
Publish
Date: May 1, 2010
Paperback, 800 pages
This review is for Book #1: Sunrise in the West (this volume has all four stories, but it will be reviewed in parts during the Sourcebooks Summer Book Club)
My Review:
I must admit that this is different from any other historical fiction book I have read. I think I tend to read ones that are lighter reading and this is just a little bit weightier. I think that comes from the story itself and also from the historical language used. I actually had to think about what I was reading. And while I haven't quite finished the first story (due to having to wade through it, I will definitely leave myself more time next month to read the second installment), I am enjoying this book. It is not a light read by far, but it is enjoyable once you settle in and start reading and getting use to the language.
Now those of you who read more historical fiction than I do, this probably will be no problem for you - you may be used to it. I admit it, I actually read a lot of fluff, and that is what I like - pure escapism that I don't have to think about. However, The Brothers of Gwynedd definitely has a place and I honestly wish I had a book club I could suggest to read it to and I could participate in. There is lots to discuss.
The first story is only a little over 180 pages, but it takes awhile. I will finish reading it to gear up for story #2 next month, but also because I want to finish it. I can see it is a great story and I do love to read a good story.
This book has been touring the blogs this week so check out some others and see what they thought. We are also having a chat that is hosted by Amy of Passages of the Past on Monday, May 24 from 7:00pm-9:00pm EST, so check out Amy's blog for more details on that.
And check back here next month for my thoughts on the second book in the series, The Dragon at Noonday.
About the Book:
A Burning Desire for One Country, One Love, and One Legacy That Will Last Forever.
Llewelyn, prince of Gwynedd, dreams of a Wales united against the English, but first he must combat enemies nearer home. Llewelyn and his brothers—Owen Goch, Rhodri, and David—vie for power among themselves and with the English king, Henry III. Despite the support of his beloved wife, Eleanor, Llewelyn finds himself trapped in a situation where the only solution could be his very downfall...
Originally published in England as four individual novels, The Brothers of Gwynedd transports you to a world of chivalry, gallant heroes, and imprisoned damsels; to star-crossed lovers and glorious battle scenes; and is Edith Pargeter’s absorbing tale of tragedy, traitors, and triumph of the heart.
About the Author (from Goodreads.com):
Novelist. Born September 1913 at Horsehay, Shropshire. Her father was a clerk at a local ironworks. Edith attended Dawley Church of England School and the Coalbrookdale High School for Girls. Through her mother, she grew to love the history and countryside of Shropshire, her home for all of her life.
Before World War II she worked as a chemist's assistant at Dawley. During this time she started writing seriously for publication while gathering useful information on medicines that she would draw upon later when tackling crime stories. Her first published novel was Hortensius, friend of Nero (1936), a rather dry tale of martyrdom that was not a great success but she persevered and The city lies foursquare (1939) was much more warmly received.
During the war she worked in an administrative role with the Women's Royal Navy Service in Liverpool, a relatively brief period away from Shropshire, and for her devotion to duty she received the British Empire Medal. Many more novels appeared at this time, including Ordinary people (1941) and She goes to war (1942), the latter based on her own wartime experiences. The eighth champion of Christendom appeared in 1945 and from now on she was able to devote all her time to writing. She was particularly proud of her Heaven tree trilogy, which appeared between 1961 and 1963, which had as a backdrop the English Welsh borderlands in the twelfth century.
It was not until 1951 that she tackled a mystery story with Fallen into the pit, the first appearance of Sergeant George Felse as the investigating police officer. Her other great character, and the one for which the author will continue to be known the world over, Brother Cadfael, was to follow many years later. The first appearance of this monk at Shrewsbury Abbey was in A morbid taste for bones (1977) and he mixed his herbs and unravelled mysteries in this atmospheric setting for a further nineteen novels. This kept the author very busy for the remaining 18 years of her life, to the virtual exclusion of all other work.
The name "Ellis Peters" was adopted by Edith Pargeter to clearly mark a division between her mystery stories and her other work. Her brother was Ellis and Petra was a friend from Czechoslovakia. A frequent visitor to the country, Edith Pargeter had begun her association and deep interest in their culture after meeting Czechoslovakian soldiers during the war. This was to lead to her learning the language translating several books into English.
She won awards for her writing from both the British Crime Writers Association and the Mystery Writers of America. She was also awarded an OBE (Order of the British Empire), an honorary Masters Degree from Birmingham University and the Gold Medal of the Czechoslovak Society for Foreign Relations. There is a memorial to her in Shrewsbury Abbey.
After her death in October 1995, The Times published a full obituary that declared that here was "a deeply sensitive and perceptive woman....an intensely private and modest person " whose writing was "direct, even a little stilted, matching a self-contained personality".
FTC Information: I received this book from Danielle Jackson at Sourcebooks for review and participation in their summer book club. I have Amazon links on my review pages but I do not make any money from these because of NC laws. I put them solely for people to check out the books on a retail site.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Book Tour: Starlighter by Bryan Davis
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
Zondervan (March 19, 2010)
***Special thanks to Pam Mettler, Associate Director of Public Relations, ZonderKidz for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Bryan Davis is the author of the bestselling fantasy series Dragons in Our Midst, Oracles of Fire and Echoes from the Edge. He and his wife, Susie, have seven children and live in western Tennessee where he continues to cook up his imaginative blend of fantasy and inspiration.
Visit the author's website.
Product Details:
List Price: $9.99
Reading level: Young Adult
Paperback: 400 pages
Publisher: Zondervan (March 19, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0310718368
ISBN-13: 978-0310718369
TO BROWSE THE BOOK, CLICK ON THE BUTTON BELOW:
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Back from a wonderful vacation
Have a beautiful Tuesday!
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