Booksbyfay

Is It Still Fall?

2011-10-25T13:43:00.001-07:00

One day, I'm baking bread and making soup and the next I'm putting meat on the grill. I'm pretty sure I know how a squirrel thinks and feels. For the last six weeks I've been trying to beat cold weather by getting my outside projects done before the real cold sets in which has me neglecting letter corresponding, twitter entries and my blog. The switch between the warm days and windy, cool, dreary days keeps me guessing about what plants to cover and what needs brought inside. That's why the squirrels scurry from one place to another so fast. They aren't sure when to take winter's coming serious.

I have to confess I got out of most of the garden cleaning except when my husband asked me to decide if he could pull some plants. I ventured into the garden long enough to say yes or no and went back to my flower beds; cleaning, digging bulbs and picking flower seeds for next year's crop. Hubby cleans the garden off, but he doesn't bother the flowers anymore. Last time he weeded the flowers in August while I was away, he proudly showed me a clean portion of bed minus my twenty year old rare yellow violet. Looks like the plant had time to make seeds which have sprouted so I may luck out. In that case so did he. Hardy marigolds are still in full colorful bloom in front of my porch. I look at that row of flowers and the garden, now bare soil, and wish it was already time to start over again.

We delivered the spring's crop of lambs and goats to Kalona Salebarn. I ate my favorite peanut butter cream pie which the Amish waitress teasingly offered to bring me before the meal. I resisted and ate light so I could enjoy the pie. Came home with one more rabbit. Now we think the stork may make a visit any day. It's a repeat trip for that stork. A month ago a hen hatched 12 chicks in between hay bales in the loft. Just what we didn't need when we're preparing for winter.

To my delight, a walnut tree I planted from seed produced a five gallon bucket full of walnuts. This morning, I picked the walnuts up and stored them in the stock trailer to dry. That is the go to place for green tomatoes to ripen and to hide walnuts. I lucked out this time. The neighbor's squirrels didn't find the walnuts before I got them picked up. Now let's hope those curious creatures don't get into the stock trailer right away. A real cold snap might signal them to carry off my walnuts.

Since the middle of August most of my computer time has been spent writing my mother's family story and tree. That has meant hours of interviewing aunts, uncles and cousins on the phone and with emails. The emails I copied into the story, but I had to take fast, sketchy notes as the aunts and uncles talked for an hour or two at a time. Those had to be transcribed as soon as I was off the phone while the stories were fresh in my mind.

The research has been fun and time consuming. I found much documented on the internet about my ancestors that was interesting to me. I've added notes about them in the family tree. I think the cousins children and great grandchildren will enjoy history like the French and Indian War and the Civil War when they realize they had relatives involved. Not to mention changes in transportation from walking to cars and kerosene lamps to electricity. I've been told my grandmother said she wished she'd had modern conveniences when her children were little. She was probably thinking about eight hour wash days bent over a scrub board using lye soap, washing for a family of eleven.

The relatives response to my writing this family project has been great. I've been bombarded with old photos to place in each of the nine siblings stories and a favorite family recipe. I'm thankful my mother was a saver of all things; a 1937 hospital menu, Dad's draft notice, and so many other things that documented the time of events. Best of all, this enterprise has brought me closer to cousins I played with when we were children. Now I'm looking forward to a visit in the spring from three cousins which is one more reason to wish winter away.

The cousins are curious about how I'm coming with the book. I don't think they realize all the information I've put into this 200 plus page story. I'm looking forward to getting done and on to another Amish book about Nurse Hal. November is national novel writing month (NaNoWriMo). I only have a few days to meet my self imposed October 31 deadline with this book and on to the next book in November. If I'm not ready by November that's all right, because my writing this family book will be a legacy for my family's future generations.

Besides I can't stay at the computer all the time. Friday afternoon, I'm going to the Keystone Nursing Care Center where I worked. There is going to be an activity about Lincoln Highway History by speaker, Mike Kelly. My parents operated one of the gas stations on the highway in Benton County for almost 30 years, but few people realize that a station has been in that spot from July 1931 to October 1987. I have gathered my pictures and information to share to bring some attention to my parents gas station. More on that later.

November 13th I've been invited to Keystone's St. John Lutheran Church to man a table at Elder Health Fair. My information is Alzheimer's disease. Along with handouts furnished by the Alzheimer's Office in Cedar Rapids, I'll be giving away one of my books on the subject "Open A Window". I can't miss an opportunity to educate people about this disease that has no cure. If you'd like a book that educates Alzheimer's caregivers go to my book store at booksbyfaybookstore.weebly.com or Amazon. If you like the ebook form go to Amazon's Kindle store or B&N nook store.

So there you have it. That's what the squirrels and I have been doing this fall.

The County Seat Killer-Book 3-Amazing Gracie Mystery Series-Chapter 1

2011-09-16T14:56:00.000-07:00

Where was I? I had to look back at the last blog post to see which book I left off with. My dial up system isn’t working right. I’ve placed several calls to see why I get disconnected or not able to dial in. Each time I get a different person that thinks the problem is solved. In just a few minutes, I find out I still get cut off. So this morning I’m going to give posting a try before I call in for more advice on what to do Where next.
We went to Mt. Pleasant, Iowa on Friday at the start of the Old Thrashers Reunion. It’s always fun talking to other people and seeing what’s new for exhibits and all the stuff that isn’t new. Now that I’m hard at work on a new family book for my mother’s family I found items I took pictures of to use in my book just like I did last year for my husband’s family book. This one is going to be larger than the one I did last year. I’ve got a larger family to write about. Can’t use the tape recorder so have to call many of the relatives and take notes for an hour or two then try to figure out my handwriting later. It’s fun finding out stories that I didn’t know and I’m enjoying the family history.
One nice thing about getting in touch with relatives is I have expanded my customer base. Once they figured out I write books, they wanted to buy one and have come back for more. As long as they talk about me in their area that spreads my customer base.
A frost warning for Wednesday and Thursday night has me worrying about my flowers. I hate to take them in this early when they bloom the prettiest. I can set them back out after the cool front passes, but they need different containers for living in the house all winter. So no offense to the northern part of Iowa, but I’m hoping the frost stays there for a few weeks yet.
Today I’m talking about my book The County Seat Killer - book 3 of Amazing Gracie Mystery Series.
This story is about the retirement home residents, including Gracie and Melinda. They have to testify at a murder trial at the county seat. The story could be considered a continuation of book one The Neighbor Watchers, but each book has a beginning and an ending. I do make reference in most of the books about something that happened in another book. For those who read the books in order the references will be familiar. When I do a series I put the book number on the cover so it is easy to tell the book’s order in the series.
Synopsis
Though the county seat isn’t such a big city, it is larger than Locked Rock and filled with strangers. When she gets off the train, Gracie is uncomfortable right away. By the time she’s been in town a few days, she is wishing she was safe at home. A strange man keeps following her around town. When a woman is found dead, Gracie gets the feeling that was meant to be her. When she testifies at the trial, she refuses to give a list of Locked Rock men that was visiting the lady of the evening that was murdered across the street from Moser Mansion Rest Home. The judge has her jailed on contempt of court for not cooperating. Gracie hates it in jail, but the sheriff thinks it might be safer for her there than out on the streets until they find the killer that’s stalking her.
I was award first place in the Little Rock, Arkansas’s Arkansas Writers’ Conference Nuts and Jolts contest a few years back for one of the chapters in the book.
So find this book along with the other five in Kindle, Nook, Amazon paperback and in my online bookstore site http:www.booksbyfaybookstore. Find the first chapter in my blog on blogger at booksbyfay.com.blogspot.com/
Chapter 1
At the crack of dawn, chaotic noises funneled through the window pane from the alley below. The loud racket vibrated off the hotel room walls, making it seem like what ever was happening was taking place right in the room. One thud after another was followed by a horse’s shrill, frightened whinny.
Restless yet not quite awake, Gracie Evans, tossed one way then the other. Finally, she turned on her side to face the window. A man’s rough voice, venting angry curses, jarred her to her senses. She batted her eyes against the bright sunlight and swiped a thin strand of gray, wavy hair out of her face.
Gracie turned over to look on the other side the bed at Melinda Applegate. Her eyes were closed.
Under her breath, Gracie growled in her gruff voice, “What’s going on down there
anyway? A body cain’t sleep for all that racket.” Holding up the front of her cotton nightgown,
she sucked in a quick breath when her warm, bare feet touched the cold, wooden floor.
Feeling the mattress move, Melinda slurred softly through a yawn, “What could be the matter at this early hour?” She brushed one of her mass of gray curls out of her eyes and rose up on her elbow to watch Gracie at the window.
“A man in the alley is trying to control his skittish horse while he throws the hotel garbage in his wagon. Looks to me like the fellow’s making matters worse by getting hostile with the horse. If you was to ask me, that man’s not much good with horses. He’s not smart enough to realize the poor nag’s scared more by his voice than by the noise the garbage makes hitting the wagon bottom,” the elderly woman surmised in an expert tone.
The jittery critter pranced, jerking the wagon back and forth. The man had trouble hitting where he aimed when he threw the garbage at the wagon. Finally, he emptied the barrels and climbed up to the seat. With a loud curse, he gave a hard flick of the reins. The skittish horse moved forward with a dancing prance.
Now that the show was over, Gracie took the time to inspect another man, leaning against the back of the saloon. With one foot hiked up on the wall, he sat on his worn thin, scuffed, boot. If not a tramp then maybe a sharecropper. He wore faded jeans with jagged holes at the knees and a thread bare, reddish, flannel shirt. An indolent air was apparent about him as he reared back against the building with his thumbs stuck in his jean pockets. His head, hidden by a dusty, straw hat with the brim drooping, turned slightly as he watched the garbage collector leave the alley.
With as much noise as the collector and horse made, the sharecropper being able to sleep that close seemed like an impossible feat for sure. Besides as far as Gracie knew, only horses could stand and sleep. Maybe cows sometimes, but not men. One thing for certain, she couldn’t sleep for that noise, and she was way up on the second floor of the hotel. So how could that man doze off right down there near the racket? From the look of him, most likely he spent more time with his elbows propped on the bar than he did working on his farm. That might explain his hearing problem.
The man raised his head up. He peered from under his straw hat’s frayed brim at Gracie’s window. He stiffened when he spotted her observing him. In a matter of seconds, he straightened up and put both feet on the ground, seemly more alert. He lowered his head again, but not quick enough. Gracie caught the cold look on his face and the thin lip sneer his seeing her produced. He had the look of a man who had been weaned on sour pickles. Puzzled by his reaction, she reasoned that since the man didn’t know her, it must be women in general that he didn’t like. He turned his back to the hotel and moseyed away with a right sided limp down the alley as though he didn’t have a reason to hurry. All at once, the man stopped. He leaned forward, putting his hands on his knees. His shoulders shook as he barked a racking, dry, smoker’s cough. Once the coughing fit left him, he walked to the boardwalk and turned in the direction of the saloon.
A feeling of foreboding attacked Gracie as he disappeared from sight. She hated it when that warning of danger surged through her. More often than not something came of the threatening premonitions that overwhelmed her.
Trying to ignore the dreaded feeling of something terrible to come, she turned back to Melinda and complained, “Sometimes I get mad at that rooster of Sara Bullock’s when he crows so early across the street from the rest home. Right now that rooster would be easier to take then these city noises. I’ll be glad when we get back to Locked Rock and can sleep in our own beds.”
“For Heaven sake, we just got here yesterday afternoon. Give it a chance. The time will
fly by. You’ll see. We’re awake now so we might as well get dressed. Miss Molly will be knocking on our door before you know it to get us to go with her for breakfast.” Melinda said in her soft voice. She stood up and leaned over the other bed in the room. Gently, she shook the sleeping woman’s limp shoulder. “Time to wake up, Libby.”
“Beats me how you can sleep so sound, Libby,” groused Gracie. “There was a ruckus in the alley just now, and you didn’t even hear a thing.”
The bed covers stirred. Libby Hook groaned. She stretched and rubbed her eyes. “You’d get used to city noises if you’d lived in a big enough one for a while,” she snapped sassily.
“Ain’t gonna happen,” Gracie bristled back at her.
As Melinda predicted, in a short time a series of light knocks tapped on the door. Molly Moser Lang called, “Ladies, are you awake?”
“Who’s got the key?” Libby asked, pulling her dress down over her petticoat. Pinching a handful of material on both sides, she shook her skirt the rest of the way to the floor.
“I have,” Gracie said. Reaching over to the night table beside her, she picked up the key and tossed it to Libby. “Good catch.”
Wordlessly, Libby opened the door and stood back. She pushed hairpins farther into the dark gray bun rolled on the back of her neck while she waited for Molly and Moxie to enter.
“Come on in, Miss Molly,” called Melinda. She placed the comb she’d used on her short, gray curls back in her black, cloth bag and tightened the drawstrings.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Gracie deftly whipped three, long, thinning strands of gray hair into a braid while she studied Melinda. The lady’s soft, cheerful voice always sounded too sugary for so early in the morning, but Gracie resisted the urge to say so. Melinda would just laugh at her. She’d say Gracie was all out of sorts because of being woke up so rudely. Now that
she had time to think about it, Gracie reckoned Melinda was probably right.
Molly hurried through the door. “Are you ladies ready? We best go down to the dining room before we go over to the courthouse.”
Molly’s short friend and permanently, visiting house guest, Moxie McEntire, slid from behind her. “Good morning to ye all,” she greeted. “Let’s go sample city fare for a change. Sure and it tis a fact, I’m ready to eat breakfast.”
“You’re always ready to eat,” groused Gracie, stabbing a hairpin through the two braids she’d crowned round the top of her head.
She straightened her shoulders and flexed her fingers in her lap. She was always glad when she had that chore done. Didn’t take very long holding her arms up in the air to start her shoulders aching. That worried her. How would she get her hair braided when she couldn’t do it herself. The sad thought struck her that maybe she wouldn’t. Her scrappy hair would fly about her face and shoulders, giving her a witchy look. That thought didn’t make her mood any better.
“Well! Sure and ye are a chipper songbird this very morning,” quipped Moxie.
Gracie narrowed her eyes at Moxie.
Before she had a chance to retort, Molly asked, “Is something wrong already? Golly Moses, we just got here?”
“Gracie just woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” Libby criticized.
“I see.” Molly gave that an instant of thought. She decided to put off asking what was the matter with Gracie that early in the morning. “Why don’t we discuss it over breakfast. I agree with Moxie. I’m starving. Let’s go eat.” She headed out the open door.
As the Moser ladies trouped down the hall, Gracie let her mind wonder to what was
ahead that day. She wanted to see justice done as far as Mavis Jordan was concerned. After all,
she did commit the murder of their neighbor, Rachel Simpson, across the street from them in Locked Rock, Iowa the summer before. That wicked woman deserved whatever punishment she received from the law. Actually, Gracie thought she’d look forward to coming to the county seat to testify at Mavis’s trial. After a long, winter, the idea of doing something different besides sitting in front of the parlor fireplace all day seemed exciting to her at the time, but sleeping in this fancy hotel and putting up with all the finery that went with it hadn’t entered her mind. She was definitely out of her element. Now that the time had come, all she wanted to do was head back to Locked Rock as soon as she could. She wanted to be in familiar surroundings, with people she knew and to sleep in her own bed. No other bed at night felt as good as a fellow’s own bed.
Walking behind the other ladies, Gracie descended on the wide, scarlet carpeted stairs to the lobby. She looked down over the women’s bobbing heads in front of her at the vast space. This county seat hotel, for sure, was grander than Molly Lang’s Moser Mansion Rest Home For Women. She never thought she’d see the day she’d be staying in a building fancier than that place.
Forked shadows flickered across the wall beside her. Out of the corner of her eyes, Gracie caught the movements. She stopped, placed a hand on the beefy, oak railing to steady herself and looked up. Above her dangled two enormous chandeliers trimmed with shimmering, crystal bells. The lighting glowed through the glass bells, reflecting prisms that played off the lobby’s dome shaped, gilded wood ceiling. The prisms danced in brilliant, pastel shades of a rainbow like one that dressed up the sky after a quick, spring shower.
An urge of another sort hit her. What she wouldn’t give to be out on her farm on an April morning after a spring shower settled the dust, smelling the crisp, cleansed air. Instead, she was stuck amid dressed up strangers scurrying who knows where with never a how you do to anyone. In the next second, Gracie consoled herself that she wasn’t missing much on the farm right then. So far the first of April hadn’t felt much like spring. The days stayed stubbornly cold and dreary with the threat of a late snowstorm in the air.
Gracie surveyed the lobby. She wondered when the last time was she had seen so many people in one place. Maybe it was at Molly and Orie’s wedding last October. Though it could have been that ill fated barn dance after the wedding that Molly made her go to. Plenty of people turned up there. Even Millard Sokol showed up. Gracie shook her head. She decided she best not think about that wedding dance and her old beau if she wanted to get over her bad mood any time soon.
The hotel bustled with wall to wall people. A line formed at the reception desk. Dressed in a black, broadcloth suit and white shirt, the same clerk, that helped Molly yesterday afternoon, accepted returned keys or handed them back out from the wooden pegs on the wall behind him to other people checking in. A nervous fellow, his eyes darted around the lobby, seeming to miss nothing that went on around him. All the while, he talked to the hotel guests as if they had his full attention.
Over in one corner, people waited in line for their turn to ride up in the bronze elevator. A load of passengers behind the barred door rose and slowly disappeared from sight. That wasn’t to Gracie’s liking to be packed tight like a mess of catfish on a stringer in that hot cage. Besides she’d rather be doing the moving on the stairs with some elbow room instead of riding in that elevator with a cavernous hole under her. The stairs felt safer to her.
Covered with a stack of newspapers, a shiny, mahogany table, with bowed legs and gilded clawed feet, set between two large, crimson sofas in the middle of the lobby. Both sofas were already filled with people, reading the Cedar Valley newspaper. Glancing over one woman’s shoulder as she past by, Gracie made out the bold headlines, “Mavis Jordan Trial Starts Today - April 8, 1904”.

Book 2-Historical Mystery Series-Specious Nephew- 1st Chapter

2011-08-22T08:02:00.000-07:00

A couple weeks ago I went on twitter to click on recent followers. For once the whole list came up fairly quick without telling me to wait because of a hiccup. Turned out to be more tweets than I had received notice about in my emails. I sent a message thanking each one and mentioned my books. In return I had a message back from Kindle Surprise. If I would email my book titles the books would be mentioned on Twitter. I did that. Then I had a tweet on Twitter from Booksie Jar telling me my twitter address had been mentioned along with several others. Pays to keep replying to followers. I am several behind right now. Most of these are fishermen and gardeners but they probably read books or someone that follows them will read my Thanks for following me-buy my books tweet.

I was gone to the Ozarks last week - to Nevada, Missouri to be exact. It is so good to connect with many of my southern cousins on my mother's side. It had been four years since I had been home. We lost a Uncle, my mother's brother, - one that we all considered very special. That brought on reminiscing while my family was together, and the usual I can't retain all this. We need it wrote down with a family tree for our children. Since I took some of the cousins one of my books the stares were directed at me. All right, I did write a book for my husband's family last year. I have many old pictures of my mother's aunts, uncles and grandparents and stories. So I volunteered. Cuts into my writing a book time, but I have entered this thinking of it as a labor of love for my generation of cousins and their future offsprings.

I've heard from a cousin in Oskaloosa, Iowa that a bookstore downtown called Book Vault has put a few more of my books in the online store and when asked in the store they will order the books. This cousin is a good salesman for me. She goes in the store, reminds the clerk that she is related to me and she'd like any book I've written. Now if only I can talk the other 49 cousins that are scattered across the country into doing that. Maybe if I keep passing around free books it will happen.

Now on my blog sites I'm going to submit the first chapter from Specious Nephew - Book 2- Amazing Gracie Mysteries. Most that read the title probably think that I spelled suspicious wrong, but I remembered my Ozark born mother pronouncing the word specious and thought that was the way my Gracie Evans spoke. Remember this series is historical mysteries set in early 1900's. My blogsite http://www.booksbyfaybookstore.weebly.com or http://www.booksbyfay.blogspot.com
If you want to see a review look on Amazon and find the ebook in Kindle and Nook stores.

In this book, the owner of Moser Mansion Rest Home in Locked Rock, Iowa, Molly Moser, is planning her wedding to the butter and egg man, Orie Lang. She is having a garden wedding in the back yard. The residents are invited to the wedding, and they may ask a relative to escort them. Gracie Evans doesn't have any relatives. Libby Hook has one son in California that refuses to come back for a wedding. Melinda Applegate has lost track of her brother and sister since they moved away from Iowa. She decides it is time she tried to find a relative so she advertises in a reader to reader column of a big newspaper. Much to her surprise, Melinda gets a letter from Jeffrey Armstrong. He claims to be her nephew and would be glad to come for the wedding. Once he shows up, Gracie takes a dislike to him. She can just tell he is up to no good, but Melinda won't listen. She is too busy letting Jeffrey escort her around town and on buggy rides. Gracie tries to tell others at the mansion of her suspicions. They think she is jealous, because Melinda wasn't rocking with her on the porch any more. Molly Moser Lang leaves on a month long honeymoon, leaving her friend, Moxie McEntire, in charge of the rest home. If Gracie didn't have enough to worry about with the specious nephew lurking about now all sorts of upheaval breaks loose. Jeffrey's vague threats to quit nosing around worry her. Moxie may be trying to replace the late Rachel Simpson as the town's lady of the evening. With all that's happening, Miss Molly is going to be gone way too long to suit Gracie.

Chapter 1

God didn't intend for old folks to like fall, thought Gracie Evans. She vigorously rubbed her aching, left knee. The crisp, north breeze rattled brown leaves on the unkempt, pivot hedge along side of Moser Mansion Rest Home For Women. A shiver run through Gracie, settling in under the dark gray braids wrapped around her head. In an instant a strong gust of wind tore loose a handful of leaves and scooted them along the porch floor in front of Gracie and her companion, Melinda Applegate. The leaves made it all the way to the south end of the porch. They swirled up in a whirlwind motion then scattered across the yard, lodging in the dead leaf piles at the base of the hedge and the picket fence.
Looking at the clematis on the trellis in front of her, Gracie grimaced. The look of it was more proof that fall was an ugly time of year. It was the ninth of September. The vine had thinned to a screen of yellow leaves, like what was left of the ones on the honeysuckle and morning glory vines that grew on either end of the porch.
Not that Gracie needed shade from the hot, summer sun now. The two handmade, Amish rockers positioned behind each of the three vines no longer needed protection. In fact, what little warmth the sun provided soaked into her, feeling mighty good now that this sudden cool snap hinted at an early frost.
She didn't bother to squint through the peek holes in the vines. She'd kept them clear of leaves during the summer to give Melinda and her an unobstructed view of the neighbors comings and goings. Now there were more natural openings then leaves, and wouldn't you know not much exciting to watch across the street since the lady of the evening, Rachel Simpson, was murdered and her house burnt to the ground.
Two doors north of Rachel's house, Mavis and Dan Jordan split up during the summer. That couple sure kept things exciting for awhile with their fighting. Many a night she'd watched Dan Jordan sneak into the side door of Rachel Simpson's house after dark until his wife, Mavis, found out. Then Dan ran off. After that Mavis went off the deep end. She murdered the Simpson girl, realized that Gracie and Melinda knew too much and put fear into everyone at the Moser mansion until Gracie and Melinda helped get Mavis arrested for Rachel's murder. Now the Jordan house stood empty.
A retired couple, Earl and Sara Bullock, owned the house on the middle lot across the street. Nice enough couple but about as exciting as watching an old dog chase his tail. The highlight of their day seemed to be working in the flower beds and garden in the summer. Of course, that was more than she had to keep her busy. Gracie had to give them that. All she did was sit, letting people wait on her.
Now with fall coming on, Gracie expected the Bullocks would stay out of sight, indoors by the fire, but this day had certainly been different. There had been a flurry of activity at their house. For the better part of the day, Gracie sit tight to her rocker, trying to figure out what the heck was happening over there.
The fact was there just wasn't any other way for Gracie to occupy her time in the rest home. She was willing to stick with sitting on the Moser porch until much colder weather hit Locked Rock, Iowa to keep from sitting closed away in the dark parlor. That would happen soon enough. Of course, Melinda agreed to rock on the porch with her. That helped. They always had each other to pass the time of day with. That is, when she could keep Melinda awake.
Besides there wasn't anything wrong with a body being curious. Gracie felt she needed to stay informed about what was happening in the community. What easier way to do it for an old person besides listening and watching the neighbors.
"A penny for your thoughts," suggested Melinda in her soft voice, breaking the silence. She relaxed her head against her rocker, her light gray, curls flattened to her face like tiny springs. The petite woman gave Gracie a long, thoughtful look.
Gracie studied on what she should say before she spoke, wanting to blurt that God hadn't intended for fall to be a season suitable for old folks, but she resisted. Melinda would scold her for being sacrilegious if she bothered to be so truthful. Instead she looked down at the sunlight that filtered through the vine onto her lap. Stretching a crooked finger out, she tapped at the pale yellow sparkles of light that danced along the folds of her brown skirt. Finally, she answered in her brassy voice, waving her finger back and forth toward the open space between the two vines. "I'm thinking now that the sun's peeking under the roof we should move our rockers over so we get the full sunshine. I don't know about you, but I'm mighty chilly. Here it is early in the afternoon when the day should be the warmest. If you ask me it's too early to have this cold a weather."
Melinda smiled at Gracie's complaining. She replied softly, "Well, you know the old saying. If you don't like the weather in Iowa, wait awhile. It'll change."
"Just the same, I'd rather not freeze to death any sooner than I have to. A body could catch her death sitting in the shade on a day like today. Let's move over in the sunlight."
Melinda nodded agreement. She rose, scooted her rocker over, and left room for Gracie. Tugging her rocker into position, Gracie plopped down. Tapping her toes on the floor, she began to rock energetically, hoping that would help warm her up.
A group of children ran down the street, shouting and laughing. Definitely the fall season is for the younger generations, confirmed Gracie to herself. Young ones stayed active enough that they didn't feel the chill in the air. Thank goodness her mind was clear enough that she remembered those days, but she gave a deep sigh when she thought about how long ago that was. Gracie contemplated Main Street with hitching racks almost empty of buggies and horses. "Not much business at the stores with the farmers in the fields, gathering in the corn crops before the first snow came. Orie Lang hadn't even been by much lately to take Miss Molly for a buggy ride."
"He managed to stop picking corn long enough to pick Miss Molly up for church again Sunday. Most times he stays for dinner like last Sunday before he heads back to the farm," defended Melinda.
"Expect Aunt Pearlbee's cooking is the only good meal that bachelor gets. He's no dummy," replied Gracie.
Smiling, Melinda made a tent of her fingers and brought them up to touch her lips. "If you'd been paying attention lately, you'd notice Mr. Orie isn't taking notice of Aunt Pearlbee's cooking while he's here."
"Come to think of it, Mr. Orie didn't seem in such a hurry last Sunday. He spent a good part of the afternoon in the parlor with Miss Molly. He must be about done with the harvest," decided Gracie.
"Reckon so. It'll be good for Miss Molly when Mr. Orie starts coming more regular. Since they've been sparking, Miss Molly seems so happy," said Melinda.
Gracie didn't have a reply for that comment so she sat quietly drifting in her thoughts. She watched a couple of squirrels, chasing each other along side the porch. For the last several days, they'd scampered across the yard with their cheeks full. Now that their fur coats grew thick and fuzzy to ward against the cold, they sensed it was time to store a food supply for the winter. They buried walnuts and acorns in the ground or hid their bootee at the base of the hedge. It seemed like only yesterday, Melinda and she watched from the gazebo while a couple of squirrels scurried up the old maple in the backyard, carrying food to babies in a leafy nest. It must be true that the time passes faster as a body gets older. No doubt about it, thought Gracie, frowning. She looked at the brown spots covering the back of her hands and wondered when they had turned ugly on her.
In her younger days, she didn't have time to worry about yesterday or tomorrow for that matter. In the fall, she kept busy on her farm. Just like the men farmers, she'd work along side a wagon pulled by a team of work horses. She yanked the ears out of the dried shucks and threw them at the wagon. As she walked down the rows between the dried stalks, she shouted, "Come Queen, come Buck." The horses moved slowly past her, stopping when Gracie hollered whoa. All the while hurrying as fast as she could, Gracie worked to fill the wagon, making the most of the daylight hours. She was pretty darn good at picking corn. As good as any man she knew.
And now what am I gathering? She asked herself at that moment in 1903 while she sat on the mansion porch Locked Rock. A sudden breeze blowing from Canada made her mighty uncomfortable. Gracie silently answered her question with, goose bumps. She vigorously rubbed her arms. Tugging her walnut stained, knit shawl tighter over the front of her long sleeve, tan blouse, she smoothed it out in her lap over her calico skirt.
What she needed was something to think about besides being cold like what was going on in the front yard right then. A swarm of monarch butterflies fluttered across the front yard, flitting from the large rest home sign over to the vines then back to the picket fence. They seemed restless as if too tired to light and rest. The orange and black blurs soared up high and floated down in a slow, graceful ballet. Migrating on their journey south, the butterflies needed to rest for a spell, but by morning, they'd be on their way again. Once in awhile in the summer, a lonely butterfly flitted around the honeysuckle, but that wasn't the same. It'd be another year before a large number flocked together to give this kind of show and then only for a few hours on their way south.
As the monarchs fluttered down the street, Gracie relaxed back against her rocker and sighed.
"Gracie, if you keep frowning, you're face is going to freeze that way with as cool as it's getting," teased Melinda. "What's the matter with you today?"
"I hate the cold of fall and winter. That's all. I feel winter coming in my bones already, and I dread it," Gracie said with sincerity.
"Well, worrying about something that you can't stop from happening isn't going to make you feel any better. I swear the better I get to know you the more the word curmudgeon comes to mind." The way Melinda looked at Gracie wasn't altogether flattering.
Gracie gave her a hard look right back. "Whoa there! That don't sound like a nice thing to call me. What is this crud mudge on anyway?"
"The word is curmudgeon. If you want to know what it means look it up in the dictionary in the Moser library," said Melinda.
"Fine friend you are. Calling me names," snapped Gracie, wiggling indignantly in her rocker.
The screen door hinges squeaked. The cook, Pearlbee, shuffled slowly through the doorway, steadying a tray with two cups on it. The thought ran through Gracie's mind that if Pearlbee's hips got any broader, she'd have to turn sideways to go through the doors. Wouldn't do to bring that up to the cook though. Let Pearlbee's dander get up and she turned into a cyclone in action.
"Hi, Aunt Pearlbee," greeted Gracie. "Didn't realize it was tea time yet. We can sure use that."
"Yes, thank you, Aunt Pearlbee. I'm so glad Miss Molly decided to start having tea time. It breaks up the afternoon." Pearlbee lowered the tray down to Melinda. She hooked her fingers in the handle of a steaming cup, lifted it off the tray and wrapped her hands around it.
"I'm sure ready for something to warm me up," said Gracie, reaching for her steaming cup.
The cook's unsteady gait made it hard for her to keep the tray steady. Melinda suggested in concern for the cook's safety, "Aunt Pearlbee, you really should use your cane more."
"Ah's knowed it Missus, but cain't when I gets my hands full," declared Pearlbee.
"Maybe we should come get our own tea from now on. That would be of help wouldn't it, Gracie?" suggested Melinda.
Gracie thought Pearlbee puffed up some. Never could tell when she'd get miffed about someone taking a chore away from her. Gracie sure didn't want that anger directed at her. Let this be Melinda's idea. Noncommittally, she shrugged her shoulders. "Don't make no never mind to me."
"Then that's what we will do. You just let us know when you're ready Aunt Pearlbee. We'll come to the kitchen after the tea." As if she sensed Pearlbee might not know how to take this helping hand, Melinda gave the cook a close inspection and quickly changed the subject to one favorable to Pearlbee. "My, you do look nice in your new uniform, Aunt Pearlbee," she complimented.
"Thank ya, Missus," beamed Pearlbee, swishing her hips exaggeratedly to model the full effect of her newly acquired, black, challis dress set off by a white linen collar and cuffs on the long sleeves. Pearlbee reached for the hem of her full length, stiffly starched, white apron and held it out. She twisted around to show them the fancy way the pointed yoke straps came to a v in back where the ties made a bow.
Gracie took a sip from her cup before she watched the cook model her uniform. Drinking the warm tea make her even more uncomfortable. "Aunt Pearlbee, find us those quilts we cover our laps with when you have time. I don't think it's going to warm up enough out here this afternoon to be comfortable without them."
"Sure thing, Miss Gracie. Ah's be right back." Pearlbee waddled back to the screen door, balancing the empty tray.
Melinda watched the cook disappear then chastised, "Gracie, the least you could have done was tell Aunt Pearlbee you liked her new uniform."
Gracie pursed her lips, thinking about her answer. "Maybe but she looked all right in the ever day outfits she used to wear as far as I'm concerned."
"But she's proud of that uniform, and she does look nice in it," insisted Melinda.
"Don't expect Aunt Pearlbee would have gotten that fancy getup if she hadn't kept up such a fuss over that missing red apron we borrowed and didn't bring back. Miss Molly just gave her the uniform to calm her down," reminded Gracie, looking away from Melinda to across the street. Her mind was torn between arguing with Melinda and wondering what the two strange men were up to at the Bullocks. They made repeated trips, carrying boards and rolls of wiring into the house.
"What do you mean we?" Melinda's sweet, quiet voice rose a little. She darted a glance at the door. Focusing on Gracie, she lowered her voice, "As I remember it, that idea was yours, putting the apron in the package mean Mavis hid in exchange for the bloody dress she wore when she murdered Rachel Simpson. You're just lucky Aunt Pearlbee hasn't found out yet."
Gracie straightened in her rocker, squared her shoulders and jabbed a crooked finger at Melinda. "I'm lucky. As I recall you were right there in the tool shed in the middle of the night helping me find that package. Weren't you?"
Melinda sunk back in her rocker. "You're right," she muttered half heartily, looking down at her folded hands in her lap.
A door bang across the street. Gracie put her attention in that direction. She sure didn't want to miss anything. With curiosity in her voice, she exclaimed, "There comes a couple men out of Sara Bullock's house again. Wonder what she's having done? Sure was a mess of boards and wire, those men unloaded from that wagon this morning."
"Look at that fence post those two men put up in the corner of the yard. Must be all of thirty feet tall. Makes me nervous wondering what kind of animal Earl intends to keep in Rachel Simpson's yard when they get it fenced in," said Melinda.
"That ain't a fence post. No animal needs a fence that high in the air," snorted Gracie in disdain. "That's a city girl for you."
"Well, Miss Know It All, what is it for then? Oh wait, here comes Sara. We'll just ask her," returned Melinda, defensively.
"Yahoo, ladies," shouted Sara, waving at them.
Gracie noted under her breath, "Sara, got her apron on. Must be making a hurry up call."
Melinda returned the wave and called eagerly, "Good afternoon. Come on up here."
Sara settled her wide hips between the arms of a rocker behind the honeysuckle vine. She untied her bonnet and removed it from her head.
Anxious to get out of Sara what was going on, Melinda asked, "We've been dying of curiosity about all the activity at your place. What you fixing?"
Gracie leaned forward to look around Melinda.
Sara took her time folding and placing her bonnet in her lap. She knew the elderly women could hardly wait to satisfy their curiosity. Grinning, she said, "Not fixing anything. I got me a job. That stuff goes with it."
"What kind of job?" Rushed out of Gracie's mouth.
"I'm a telephone switch board operator," informed Sara proudly.
"What's a telephone?" Gracie wanted to know.
"That's one of those new contraptions that people are talking on to each other now," shared Sara.
"Well, what is that big fence pole in the corner of your yard for?" quizzed Melinda.
Sara giggled. "It's not a fence pole. That's a telephone pole."
"See there," Gracie rubbed in. "I told you that was no fence post."
"Well, let Sara finishing tell us what it is then," Melinda snipped, peevishly.
Their neighbor continued to explain, "There will be more poles set down the block. Wire has to be strung on them and hooked to the houses of everyone who has a telephone to send messages over."
"What's going on out here?" Molly Moser peeked through the screen door. "I thought I heard talking."
"Afternoon, Molly. I was just telling Gracie and Melinda about my new job," replied Sara.
"What! You have a job? Tell me, too." Molly popped outside. The screen door shut with a hollow bang and bounced a couple times before it stilled. The young woman scurried over to sit down in the rocker next to Sara. She gripped the rocker seat, leaned forward and put all her attention on their neighbor.
"I'm going to run the switchboard for the telephones out of my home. I'm what they call a switchboard operator," Sara announced proudly. "Want to come see what it looks like? The workmen should have everything about set up by now."
"Sure, I'd like to see," said Molly, eagerly.
Melinda looked at Gracie. "We want to go, too. Don't we?"
"Reckon." With little enthusiasm, Gracie tried to digest what this new gadget that Sara described was all about as they crossed the street. She wasn't so sure she was going to like whatever it turned out to be.
The small, clapboard house the Bullocks owned was one of several look alike houses in town built in a hurry to accommodate people that moved to town after the railroad came. Gracie followed behind Molly and Melinda through the neat, but sparse parlor. Between the worn, dark brown, horsehair couch and a stuffed chair that matched it sat a table with a kerosene lamp in the middle surrounded by books. A rocker was by the front window. Near it sat a small table with a bouquet of pink and lavender asters in the center. Most likely they'd be the last flowers Sara would gather this year out of her flower beds.
The middle of the floor was covered by a large, oval, multicolored rag rug. Knowing how handy Sara was, Gracie figured she braided it from sewing scraps and the best parts of old clothes. Sara like Gracie never threw anything away. Gracie's mother used to say, "Just as sure as shootin' you throw away something, there'll come the day you could have used it." Over the years, Gracie found her mother's advice to be right. What never came up was the fact that finding something later that had been laid back for future use was often a hopeless case. In later years, Gracie hunted through the piles of objects discarded by her parents and herself, searching for an item. If it took very long to find what she was looking for, she'd then have to stop and think a while to remember why she wanted to find the object in the first place.
Sara motioned for her guests to follow her. She led them to a door on the north end of the parlor. "This is the spare bedroom, but there's room for the bed and the switchboard, too."
When they heard the women, the two workers, in chambray work shirts and jeans, got up from a kneeling position. Both of them were covered in dirt and sawdust. They'd stuffed a vast number of rubber coated wires attached to the back of the switchboard into a hole in the board floor. They stepped back from the large piece of plywood nailed in one corner to let Sara and her friends view their handiwork.
"We just about have the switchboard hooked up, Mrs. Bullock. You'll be able to try it out afore long," the taller of the two men told Sara, pointing to the board full of small, gold cranks with white knobs.
Gracie leaned forward to inspect the silver plates below the cranks. She recognized several names. Sara stepped up beside her and picked up a brown, bell shaped piece resting on a small wooden platform at the edge of the switchboard. "This is called a receiver. It's what I listen into when folks talk to me." She held it to her ear and pointed to a wooden framed hole at the side of the switchboard. "This is what I talk into."
"Who all has one of these telephones?" asked Molly.
"The Locked Rock Mercantile and some of the other businesses. Some folks in town like Doc Lawson, Madge Potter, Phillip Harris, and a few others," said Sara. "Not many people yet, but more will want one once they see how it works."
"Sounds like folks that has money to me. I'll bet something like this gadget don't come cheap. What good is it going to be when no one that we want to talk to has one of them," said Gracie in a matter of fact tone.
Ignoring Gracie, Melinda asked, "How far away can you talk on one of these things?"
"To anyone that has a telephone all over the country. Lots of folks have them out east in the bigger cities like New York."
Molly studied the switchboard. Suddenly, she spoke. "I'd like to have one, too."
"Really, Miss Molly," said Melinda, gleefully.
"Yes, think how quick it'd be to get Doctor Lawson if one of us needs him. All we'd have to do is ring him up. Can you sign me up, Sara?"
"I sure can. You'll have one put in tomorrow."
"Golly Moses, that soon. I'm excited about this. Aren't you ladies?" Instantly, her thoughts turned elsewhere. Molly glanced down at the watch attached to her blouse. "Oh my, look at the time. We better think about heading home. Aunt Pearlbee must have dinner about ready, and she doesn't like it if her food gets cold."

2011-08-09T12:26:00.003-07:00

I'll start by informing you how to find my mystery books. The latest Amazing Gracie Mystery, book six, as well as the other five are on Amazon and http://www.booksbyfaybookstore.weebly.com and ebook in kindle and nook. Book six, Locked Rock, Iowa's Hatchet Murders, is on ebay for the month of August and on webstore I have several of my books at http://webstore.com/~booksbyfay for a limited time to test out a different sales site. Ordering from my online bookstore or an auction site assures the books come directly from me so the books are cheaper. An added bonus is I can sign the books I send out. Lately if buyers mention they bought one of my books from Amazon and wished they had gotten it from me so it had been signed I send a mailing label signed by me that can be pasted in their books.

This series is mentioned along with my other books on http://www.Iowacenterforthebook.org. and is listed on the website http://www.cozy-mystery.com.

The books have received good reviews on Amazon. Luv2read posted Agatha Christie Meets Little House On The Prairie. I highly recommend the Amazing Gracie Mystery Series to anyone who has ever known or had a nosy elderly neighbor that seemed to always know what is going on in the neighborhood. This series of books are a funny, laugh out loud read. These books are unique as the time period is the turn of the century.

She posted in an Amazon mystery discussion group that she found the characters so well written that Gracie reminded her of her grandmother, and the sheriff was actor Sam Elliott. The story was so descriptive she could see the scenes playing out in her head.

For the first chapter of Neighbor Watchers, book 1, go to my blog at http://www.booksbyfaybookstore.weebly.com or http://www.booksbyfaycom.blogspot.com

When the thought came to me to write a mystery series using characters based on personalities of some of the elderly I took care of at the nursing home I realized the stories would have to be based in a different time period to be believable. So I picked 1903. For one thing that is a simpler, slow paced time. However when you live near or in a small town in the Midwest like I do you find that personalties and characteristics of people haven't changed much in a hundred years. So take away the horses and kerosene lamps and you might be able to imagine the people in your town.

Back a hundred years ago, families cared for elderly relatives in their homes. Women without families moved into a house with other women. They rented a room and were given three meals a day. This is the basis of Moser Mansion in Locked Rock, Iowa. A grand Victorian house inherited by a young woman that couldn't afford the upkeep on the house unless she rented out rooms so she turned the mansion into a rest home or retirement home for women.

I discussed Gracie Evans in the last post. Another resident at the mansion is Melinda Applegate. She's a dainty, soft spoken, refined lady which makes her the total opposite of Gracie. She protests ideas Gracie come up with, but she's a follower, and Gracie's a leader. Libby Hook is a standoffish person who dislikes Gracie so Gracie picks at Libby which keeps them in a permanent disagreement. The mansion owner is a single young woman, Molly Moser, with a busy social life who is clueless about what's going on around her until someone points out what Gracie has been doing.

In book one as in all the other books, you will find Gracie and Melinda rocking on the front porch between meals. They didn't have activity directors in those days. Three vines grow from trellises on the porch. The women make sure to position their rocker behind the vines. Gracie tears peek holes in the vines so they can spy on the neighbors. They think the neighbors don't know it.

Sounds harmless enough until one hot evening in August after dark. Gracie and Melinda are rocking behind the vine directly across from the lady of the evening's house. This gives them the advantage of seeing married, "respectable" Locked Rock men slipping into the woman's house through a side door. This particular evening a woman goes into the house. Though Gracie takes everything with a grain of salt, Melinda is beyond shocked. That woman appears to be the last visitor. The next morning the butter and egg man is making his rounds and finds the lady of the evening has been murdered.

The sheriff comes to investigate, but Gracie convinces Melinda not to talk to him. They are afraid without proof the killer will be set free and come after them which she does. You'll have to read the story to see how Gracie and Melinda get out of this mess.

Each book has an ending but to understand the characters and references to past books it is better to start with Neighbor Watchers and read each of the books in order. The books are numbered on the cover so you'll be able to tell which one comes next.

I used clip art on the bright yellow cover that seemed to suit the story. Eyes are peeking from the middle of a wreath of clematises with doves perched on top. On each of the other books the back cover has a smaller version to depict an Amazing Gracie Mystery Series.

These fictional stories are set in central Iowa where I live. I hoped that would be a marketing appeal to mid western readers looking for entertaining, humorous feel good books rather than hard core violent mysteries based in large cities. I'm finding those readers for my Amish book series are easily converted to reading my mystery series. One reader who lives nearby tells me it's torture waiting for the next Gracie Evans book. She likes them that well. So anyone interested just give the first a try and see if you want another one or two or three or six. Next post will be about book 2 in the series - Specious Nephew.

First Chapter
As if from a long ways off, Gracie Evans heard the hushed squeaks made by her rocker answered by the rocker beside her. The hollow sound she made when she tapped her high top, black shoes against the porch floor, Melinda Applegate's shoes echoed. In spite of herself, the rocking motion lulled Gracie. Her eyelids grew heavy. Her head jerked, nodded and jerked again. She relaxed back against the rocker, and closed her eyes.
Later that afternoon, Gracie stirred when sweat tickled her scalp beneath the two dark gray braids crowning her head. Feeling droplets seep from her hairline and trickle down her cheeks, she roused. She slipped her hand into her skirt pocket and pulled out a large, red handkerchief to swipe her face.
Squaring her hunched shoulders, she straightened in her rocker and gave a slight shake of her head to clear it. The layers of calico and cotton petticoat she wore acted as a funnel to trap the uncomfortable heat radiating up from the floor. At that moment, she imagined she felt like the glass shade on a kerosene lamp that had just been lit, warming up and in a very short time too hot to touch.
Gracie grabbed a handful of her brown skirt. She discreetly raised it just enough that her shoes showed and vigorously shook the material several times to let some of the hot air escape. The only other relief came when she stirred the breeze in front of her face by waving a paper fan in short, fast strokes.
Silently, Gracie chided herself for dozing off, then excused her napping with the fact things were bound to be this way. Boredom is what she got in return for retiring from her farm. She straightened up and tried to read the black print on the large sign posted near the picket fence gate. She couldn't make it out. Leaning forward, she squinted and failed again. At first, Gracie feared her eyesight had gone bad. With a measure of relief, she realized heat waves shimmering over the shaggy, brown grass blurred the words.
She mumbled to herself, "No need to read the sign. I know it says Molly Moser's Rest Home For Women. I ain't too senile yet to remember where I live or that this town is Locked Rock, Iowa." She sighed and leaned back again.
Every day, she tried to resign herself to the fact that Moser mansion would be where she'd live for the rest of her life. However, she saw no harm in wishing for some excitement to spice up the long days.
Across the street, a door banged. Earl Bullock paused long enough in the shade of his house to straightened his straw hat, before he ambled toward Main Street. Gracie wondered if he or his wife, Sara, ever suspected what transpired next door to them at night. Out loud, she said, "Where do you suppose old Earl's headed on such a hot afternoon? It's not like him to leave home this time of day since this hot spell started."
Melinda failed to answer. Gracie looked away from their neighbor long enough to glance beside her. Melinda stirred slightly. The petite woman raised her sagging head and mumbled, "He's probably shopping for Sara. With as hot as it is, I'd send my husband to fetch for me if I had one." Gracie paused to think about that statement while she studied a string of black ants that paraded by her feet.
As if the heat had got to them, the tiny insects struggled to crawl over the peeling, blue paint at the edge of the porch. Melinda's idea seemed as good as any other for a person to be outdoors in the middle of the day, taking the full brunt of the unrelenting, August sun. That is, until she looked up to see Earl disappear through the saloon's batwing doors.
"It don't appear Earl's after anything for Sara unless she wants a beer. The last I knew, she's a teetotaler. Not many folks in town this afternoon, Just lookee there where most of the buggies and wagons are parked. Over at the saloon hitch rack," Gracie criticized in her brassy voice.
Melinda rubbed her eyes with her finger tips then leaned forward to peer around Gracie. "Humph," she replied, shaking her head with enough energy to cause her mass of gray curls to bounce like tiny springs. "I wonder at the way some people spend their time. I pray they're as faithful about going to church as they are their patronage at that place."
On days the weather permitted, Gracie and Melinda watched from the Victorian mansion's large porch. Neighbor watching gave Gracie something to do besides sit and twiddle her thumbs. She considered it a harmless past time to while away the endless hours. Besides, it was downright obliging the way the neighbors divided up the day for her without knowing it.
Gracie's conscience plagued her a little for being nosy, but she'd excuse her actions. What she saw after dark she kept to herself. After all, she had her limits about what she'd repeat. What went on across the street at Rachel Simpson's house she didn't intend to share with anyone not even Melinda.
As soon as their minds cleared from their nap, Gracie decided it was time to move to the north end of the porch in line with the Jordan house. Leaning forward, she plucked a heart shaped leaf that drooped down in the round opening. "Morning glories sure grow fast. I had our holes cleared awhile back." Gracie tilted her head toward one shoulder then leaned the other direction, inspecting the hole. "Can't see a thing with all them leaves in the way," she growled. Tossing the leaf over the edge of the porch in behind the petunias, she snapped off another one. "Pect I'll have to clear the holes in the other vines before you know it." She peeked through the hole to make sure her view was unobstructed. When she was satisfied with her efforts, she settled back in her rocker.
A back door across the street banged. Dan Jordan came into sight, carrying a scrap pan and water pail. Dan's large, watch dog, a black with white patches, slick haired mixed breed, lifted his head and uncurled in his hollowed out spot under the oak tree. He stood and stretched, watching Dan place the containers on the ground. When his master spoke, the dog's tail wagged in rhythm with his swaying back end. He pattered to the man, dragging the clattering chain attached to the log, tool shed. Dan bent over and scratched the dog behind the ears, before he went back into the house.
An hour passed. Gracie jerked out of her stupor at the sound of a slammed door. Quickly, she leaned forward to peek through her hole. Dan, a Jewel Tea Salesman, tromped down the porch steps with his wife, Mavis, right behind him. "Lookee there!" Tapping the floor with her foot to start her rocker, Gracie reached over and patted Melinda on the arm to wake her. "Mr. Jordan's suited up for work with Magpie marching right behind him. She looks as mad as an old wet hen again." Gracie stopped rocking and straightened her bent shoulders. Pointing a crooked finger, her head bobbed up and down in anticipation of a good show. "Magpie sure favors that red dress. She wouldn't look quite so stocky if she'd wear other colors. What do you think?"
"I think you shouldn't call her that name. One of these days you'll slip and call her that to her face. Mark my words, from what we've seen of that woman's temper lately, you'd be sorry you did," reproached Melinda.
Grabbing her white blouse tacked to her ribs, she shook it. "I'm glad I left my corset off. It's way too hot for that today. Maybe we should go sit in the parlor."
"Hold your horses! Let's see what the Jordans do first," barked Gracie.
Dan, a tall, handsome man with broad shoulders, halted abruptly at the end of the yard. He whirled around and peered down at his shrieking wife. "For Pete sakes, keep your voice down. The whole neighborhood will hear you."
Mavis glanced around at the nearby houses and across at the mansion. Her face contorted. She defiantly squared herself in front of her husband with her hands on her hips and glared up at him. "Oh fiddlesticks! Those two old prunes on the Moser porch probably couldn't hear a stick of dynamite go off if it was under one of their rockers so don't put me off with that excuse. I want some answers, and I want them now," demanded Mavis, jabbing a finger in his chest.
Gracie's smile dried up, but she listened without comment. She knew Melinda was right about Mavis's temper. It wouldn't do to laugh at her peculiar habit of wearing the same red dress most of the time or at her thick, black hair pulled back in a large chignon, making her head look too big for her body. Not within range of her hearing anyway.
"I told you I have a sales meeting. That's why I'm going to be late. I'm looking to get a good commission from this kitchenware sale if I swing it. We can talk about anything you want when I get home. Now go in out of this heat, Sugar Pie. See you tonight," cooed Dan as he walked away.
Waving her hands in the air, Mavis muttered to herself as she spun around and headed back to the house.
Gracie cocked her head, straining to catch a word or two, but from that distance, she couldn't make out what the angry woman mumbled.
Sauntering down the street with his hands in his pants pockets, Dan whistled, In The Good Old Summertime.
"Did you hear what Magpie said about us?" Gracie asked indignantly.
"I heard, and did you hear what they said? They can see us sitting over here," worried Melinda, disturbed by that fact but a bit distracted as she watched Jordan calmly amble toward them.
Noting the look on her companion's face, Gracie stated what she thought Melinda was thinking. "It don't seem right how easy that man can act as though nothing is wrong right after he has a fight with his wife."
As the salesman strolled in front of the mansion, he glanced over at the porch as though he had just seen the women. Waving, he called, "Good afternoon, ladies."
Gracie managed a curt nod before she looked away. She had no intention of acting as though his presence on the street was any concern of hers. In an attempt to be courteous, Melinda raised her hand in a half hearted wave.
After Dan was out of hearing range, Gracie fumed, "I could tell that woman a thing or two about what we old prunes can hear and see. I ain't that old. Could tell her a thing or two about her dudie husband, too."
"Like what? He's a good salesman. I bought an Autumn Leaf clock from him once." Melinda gave her a curious look.
Gracie smoothed a wrinkle in her skirt and muttered quickly, "Ah, I'm just letting off steam."
Inwardly, she chided herself for letting her tongue get ahead of her thinking. She thought she knew the reason behind the Jordan fights, but she had to be careful not to reveal more than she was willing to tell.
"It wouldn't be too smart to tell Mavis anything if you want to keep listening in on their fights. Would it?" Melinda waited, studying Gracie who took some time to think about her answer. "No, reckon it wouldn't be smart atall."
If the Jordans realized how well Melinda and she heard their fights, the couple might be more discreet. If that was to happen, Gracie didn't see any reason to sit on the porch in the afternoon heat.
"We should feel sorry for Mavis what with all the problems she has with her man. If she wasn't so disagreeable all the time, she'd probably be a nice person," lectured Melinda, always looking for the best in everyone.
Gracie studied the Jordan place thoughtfully for a moment. She shook her head. "I doubt it. She reminds me too much of Bessie Brown. She always stayed disagreeable just like Magpie. On her good days, I could walk right by her, and she'd stare mean like at me. Other times just looking at me was enough to make her want a fight."
Melinda looked puzzled. "What did you do that upset this Bessie all the time?"
"Nothing. That old gal was born plain mean just like Mavis Jordan."
"Gracie, I doubt that anyone is born mean," disagreed Melinda. "How did you ever manage to make peace with Bessie?"
"I shot her," said Gracie, calmly.
"Oh, Gracie!" Melinda cried. Her face paled as her blue eyes widened. She slowly shook her head and managed to utter, "You didn't do that, did you?" She leaned close and peered at Gracie intently. "You're pulling my leg. Aren't you?"
"No, I'm not. It was either me or that cow. The older I got, the harder it was to get out of her way when she charged at me."
"Oh my goodness! Bessie was a cow." Melinda took a deep breath and flopped back in her rocker, patting her chest. Giving Gracie's admission some thought, she reconsidered. "But still in all, it seems to me that's a drastic thing to do to your own cow."
"At the time, I felt like that's all I could do," answered Gracie, with a shrug of her shoulders. She studied a crack in the floor and traced it with the toe of her shoe to keep from looking at Melinda.
"What do you say we go in for awhile out of this heat? Please," begged Melinda. "Let's see if Aunt Pearlbee made some fresh lemonade."
Gracie scowled. Wanting to change the subject so she wouldn't have to move, she opened her mouth to complain about the heat and decided that wouldn't do any good. Melinda would find her complaining another excuse to go inside. On the other hand, Gracie didn't feel guilty about voicing her opinion. Being dissatisfied with the weather was human nature and not just one of her old age gripes.
In the winter, everyone in Locked Rock complained about the knee deep snows and cold temperatures, and they grumbled about the heat and dry spells in the summer.
When she farmed she spent most of each day outside, and she didn't want that to change. Besides she came to the conclusion a long time ago if she had her pick of either miserable season, she'd choose summer. Her old bones could stand heat a sight better than cold, and after all, this was August. Mother Nature would cool the temperature down soon enough. In no time at all, she'd have no choice but to be stuck indoors.
Gracie glanced from downtown to across the street, reminding herself she wouldn't miss much now. Nothing interesting happened until darkness set in. She might as well give in to Melinda's pleading, besides she was thirsty.
"I reckon a glass of lemonade would hit the spot." Gripping the rocker arms, she strained to lift herself to her feet. She felt a twinge of envy, watching Melinda. That spray, little woman could get out of her rocker twice as fast and was already opening the screen door.
As if from a long ways off, Gracie Evans heard the hushed squeaks made by her rocker answered by the rocker beside her. The hollow sound she made when she tapped her high top, black shoes against the porch floor, Melinda Applegate's shoes echoed. In spite of herself, the rocking motion lulled Gracie. Her eyelids grew heavy. Her head jerked, nodded and jerked again. She relaxed back against the rocker, and closed her eyes.
Later that afternoon, Gracie stirred when sweat tickled her scalp beneath the two dark gray braids crowning her head. Feeling droplets seep from her hairline and trickle down her cheeks, she roused. She slipped her hand into her skirt pocket and pulled out a large, red handkerchief to swipe her face.
Squaring her hunched shoulders, she straightened in her rocker and gave a slight shake of her head to clear it. The layers of calico and cotton petticoat she wore acted as a funnel to trap the uncomfortable heat radiating up from the floor. At that moment, she imagined she felt like the glass shade on a kerosene lamp that had just been lit, warming up and in a very short time too hot to touch.
Gracie grabbed a handful of her brown skirt. She discreetly raised it just enough that her shoes showed and vigorously shook the material several times to let some of the hot air escape. The only other relief came when she stirred the breeze in front of her face by waving a paper fan in short, fast strokes.
Silently, Gracie chided herself for dozing off, then excused her napping with the fact things were bound to be this way. Boredom is what she got in return for retiring from her farm. She straightened up and tried to read the black print on the large sign posted near the picket fence gate. She couldn't make it out. Leaning forward, she squinted and failed again. At first, Gracie feared her eyesight had gone bad. With a measure of relief, she realized heat waves shimmering over the shaggy, brown grass blurred the words.
She mumbled to herself, "No need to read the sign. I know it says Molly Moser's Rest Home For Women. I ain't too senile yet to remember where I live or that this town is Locked Rock, Iowa." She sighed and leaned back again.
Every day, she tried to resign herself to the fact that Moser mansion would be where she'd live for the rest of her life. However, she saw no harm in wishing for some excitement to spice up the long days.
Across the street, a door banged. Earl Bullock paused long enough in the shade of his house to straightened his straw hat, before he ambled toward Main Street. Gracie wondered if he or his wife, Sara, ever suspected what transpired next door to them at night. Out loud, she said, "Where do you suppose old Earl's headed on such a hot afternoon? It's not like him to leave home this time of day since this hot spell started."
Melinda failed to answer. Gracie looked away from their neighbor long enough to glance beside her. Melinda stirred slightly. The petite woman raised her sagging head and mumbled, "He's probably shopping for Sara. With as hot as it is, I'd send my husband to fetch for me if I had one." Gracie paused to think about that statement while she studied a string of black ants that paraded by her feet.
As if the heat had got to them, the tiny insects struggled to crawl over the peeling, blue paint at the edge of the porch. Melinda's idea seemed as good as any other for a person to be outdoors in the middle of the day, taking the full brunt of the unrelenting, August sun. That is, until she looked up to see Earl disappear through the saloon's batwing doors.
"It don't appear Earl's after anything for Sara unless she wants a beer. The last I knew, she's a teetotaler. Not many folks in town this afternoon, Just lookee there where most of the buggies and wagons are parked. Over at the saloon hitch rack," Gracie criticized in her brassy voice.
Melinda rubbed her eyes with her finger tips then leaned forward to peer around Gracie. "Humph," she replied, shaking her head with enough energy to cause her mass of gray curls to bounce like tiny springs. "I wonder at the way some people spend their time. I pray they're as faithful about going to church as they are their patronage at that place."
On days the weather permitted, Gracie and Melinda watched from the Victorian mansion's large porch. Neighbor watching gave Gracie something to do besides sit and twiddle her thumbs. She considered it a harmless past time to while away the endless hours. Besides, it was downright obliging the way the neighbors divided up the day for her without knowing it.
Gracie's conscience plagued her a little for being nosy, but she'd excuse her actions. What she saw after dark she kept to herself. After all, she had her limits about what she'd repeat. What went on across the street at Rachel Simpson's house she didn't intend to share with anyone not even Melinda.
As soon as their minds cleared from their nap, Gracie decided it was time to move to the north end of the porch in line with the Jordan house. Leaning forward, she plucked a heart shaped leaf that drooped down in the round opening. "Morning glories sure grow fast. I had our holes cleared awhile back." Gracie tilted her head toward one shoulder then leaned the other direction, inspecting the hole. "Can't see a thing with all them leaves in the way," she growled. Tossing the leaf over the edge of the porch in behind the petunias, she snapped off another one. "Pect I'll have to clear the holes in the other vines before you know it." She peeked through the hole to make sure her view was unobstructed. When she was satisfied with her efforts, she settled back in her rocker.
A back door across the street banged. Dan Jordan came into sight, carrying a scrap pan and water pail. Dan's large, watch dog, a black with white patches, slick haired mixed breed, lifted his head and uncurled in his hollowed out spot under the oak tree. He stood and stretched, watching Dan place the containers on the ground. When his master spoke, the dog's tail wagged in rhythm with his swaying back end. He pattered to the man, dragging the clattering chain attached to the log, tool shed. Dan bent over and scratched the dog behind the ears, before he went back into the house.
An hour passed. Gracie jerked out of her stupor at the sound of a slammed door. Quickly, she leaned forward to peek through her hole. Dan, a Jewel Tea Salesman, tromped down the porch steps with his wife, Mavis, right behind him. "Lookee there!" Tapping the floor with her foot to start her rocker, Gracie reached over and patted Melinda on the arm to wake her. "Mr. Jordan's suited up for work with Magpie marching right behind him. She looks as mad as an old wet hen again." Gracie stopped rocking and straightened her bent shoulders. Pointing a crooked finger, her head bobbed up and down in anticipation of a good show. "Magpie sure favors that red dress. She wouldn't look quite so stocky if she'd wear other colors. What do you think?"
"I think you shouldn't call her that name. One of these days you'll slip and call her that to her face. Mark my words, from what we've seen of that woman's temper lately, you'd be sorry you did," reproached Melinda.
Grabbing her white blouse tacked to her ribs, she shook it. "I'm glad I left my corset off. It's way too hot for that today. Maybe we should go sit in the parlor."
"Hold your horses! Let's see what the Jordans do first," barked Gracie.
Dan, a tall, handsome man with broad shoulders, halted abruptly at the end of the yard. He whirled around and peered down at his shrieking wife. "For Pete sakes, keep your voice down. The whole neighborhood will hear you."
Mavis glanced around at the nearby houses and across at the mansion. Her face contorted. She defiantly squared herself in front of her husband with her hands on her hips and glared up at him. "Oh fiddlesticks! Those two old prunes on the Moser porch probably couldn't hear a stick of dynamite go off if it was under one of their rockers so don't put me off with that excuse. I want some answers, and I want them now," demanded Mavis, jabbing a finger in his chest.
Gracie's smile dried up, but she listened without comment. She knew Melinda was right about Mavis's temper. It wouldn't do to laugh at her peculiar habit of wearing the same red dress most of the time or at her thick, black hair pulled back in a large chignon, making her head look too big for her body. Not within range of her hearing anyway.
"I told you I have a sales meeting. That's why I'm going to be late. I'm looking to get a good commission from this kitchenware sale if I swing it. We can talk about anything you want when I get home. Now go in out of this heat, Sugar Pie. See you tonight," cooed Dan as he walked away.
Waving her hands in the air, Mavis muttered to herself as she spun around and headed back to the house.
Gracie cocked her head, straining to catch a word or two, but from that distance, she couldn't make out what the angry woman mumbled.
Sauntering down the street with his hands in his pants pockets, Dan whistled, In The Good Old Summertime.
"Did you hear what Magpie said about us?" Gracie asked indignantly.
"I heard, and did you hear what they said? They can see us sitting over here," worried Melinda, disturbed by that fact but a bit distracted as she watched Jordan calmly amble toward them.
Noting the look on her companion's face, Gracie stated what she thought Melinda was thinking. "It don't seem right how easy that man can act as though nothing is wrong right after he has a fight with his wife."
As the salesman strolled in front of the mansion, he glanced over at the porch as though he had just seen the women. Waving, he called, "Good afternoon, ladies."
Gracie managed a curt nod before she looked away. She had no intention of acting as though his presence on the street was any concern of hers. In an attempt to be courteous, Melinda raised her hand in a half hearted wave.
After Dan was out of hearing range, Gracie fumed, "I could tell that woman a thing or two about what we old prunes can hear and see. I ain't that old. Could tell her a thing or two about her dudie husband, too."
"Like what? He's a good salesman. I bought an Autumn Leaf clock from him once." Melinda gave her a curious look.
Gracie smoothed a wrinkle in her skirt and muttered quickly, "Ah, I'm just letting off steam."
Inwardly, she chided herself for letting her tongue get ahead of her thinking. She thought she knew the reason behind the Jordan fights, but she had to be careful not to reveal more than she was willing to tell.
"It wouldn't be too smart to tell Mavis anything if you want to keep listening in on their fights. Would it?" Melinda waited, studying Gracie who took some time to think about her answer. "No, reckon it wouldn't be smart atall."
If the Jordans realized how well Melinda and she heard their fights, the couple might be more discreet. If that was to happen, Gracie didn't see any reason to sit on the porch in the afternoon heat.
"We should feel sorry for Mavis what with all the problems she has with her man. If she wasn't so disagreeable all the time, she'd probably be a nice person," lectured Melinda, always looking for the best in everyone.
Gracie studied the Jordan place thoughtfully for a moment. She shook her head. "I doubt it. She reminds me too much of Bessie Brown. She always stayed disagreeable just like Magpie. On her good days, I could walk right by her, and she'd stare mean like at me. Other times just looking at me was enough to make her want a fight."
Melinda looked puzzled. "What did you do that upset this Bessie all the time?"
"Nothing. That old gal was born plain mean just like Mavis Jordan."
"Gracie, I doubt that anyone is born mean," disagreed Melinda. "How did you ever manage to make peace with Bessie?"
"I shot her," said Gracie, calmly.
"Oh, Gracie!" Melinda cried. Her face paled as her blue eyes widened. She slowly shook her head and managed to utter, "You didn't do that, did you?" She leaned close and peered at Gracie intently. "You're pulling my leg. Aren't you?"
"No, I'm not. It was either me or that cow. The older I got, the harder it was to get out of her way when she charged at me."
"Oh my goodness! Bessie was a cow." Melinda took a deep breath and flopped back in her rocker, patting her chest. Giving Gracie's admission some thought, she reconsidered. "But still in all, it seems to me that's a drastic thing to do to your own cow."
"At the time, I felt like that's all I could do," answered Gracie, with a shrug of her shoulders. She studied a crack in the floor and traced it with the toe of her shoe to keep from looking at Melinda.
"What do you say we go in for awhile out of this heat? Please," begged Melinda. "Let's see if Aunt Pearlbee made some fresh lemonade."
Gracie scowled. Wanting to change the subject so she wouldn't have to move, she opened her mouth to complain about the heat and decided that wouldn't do any good. Melinda would find her complaining another excuse to go inside. On the other hand, Gracie didn't feel guilty about voicing her opinion. Being dissatisfied with the weather was human nature and not just one of her old age gripes.
In the winter, everyone in Locked Rock complained about the knee deep snows and cold temperatures, and they grumbled about the heat and dry spells in the summer.
When she farmed she spent most of each day outside, and she didn't want that to change. Besides she came to the conclusion a long time ago if she had her pick of either miserable season, she'd choose summer. Her old bones could stand heat a sight better than cold, and after all, this was August. Mother Nature would cool the temperature down soon enough. In no time at all, she'd have no choice but to be stuck indoors.
Gracie glanced from downtown to across the street, reminding herself she wouldn't miss much now. Nothing interesting happened until darkness set in. She might as well give in to Melinda's pleading, besides she was thirsty.
"I reckon a glass of lemonade would hit the spot." Gripping the rocker arms, she strained to lift herself to her feet. She felt a twinge of envy, watching Melinda. That spray, little woman could get out of her rocker twice as fast and was already opening the screen door.

Winning Essay Sparks Book's Main Character

2011-08-02T06:37:00.000-07:00

This is my winning essay entered in an Iowa Health Care Association contest about a resident at the local nursing home where I worked. This woman made such an impression on me that I made her the main character, Gracie Evans, in my Amazing Gracie Mystery Series. Meet my Gracie Evans in this post and next week I'll post about the first book, Neighbor Watchers, in my mystery series.

A Lady For All Seasons

Her back, bent at the shoulders, makes her appear shorter than she really is. Her thinning, hair, pulled tautly back into a long, narrow braid that rests on the collar of her blouse, indicates she is a no frills person. But the first thing we notice when we enter her room is the pictures on her walls. As colorful as any rainbow after an April shower, each picture holds special memories for her. An artist's rendition of her with blushing skin and spring in her eyes hangs next to a black and white photograph that was taken in the summer of her life. It shows her dressed in a work shirt and jeans, holding a favorite cat, with their cheeks touching. The caption reads "...... And family."
Next to the pictures is a row of calendars. One calendar of spirited horses reminds her of her days as a farmer tending livestock, and another has pictures of songbirds with the bird of the month, a redheaded woodpecker. More times than she can count, she had heard one of those birds pecking away at a tree while she checked her cattle.
Another calendar has a larger than life, crimson rose looming over the days of the month. She looks at that rose and remembers how much she enjoyed working in her garden and flower beds. The next calendar is three cuddly kittens, looking mischievous enough to bounce out of the picture and chase each other around her room. She remembers her barn being full of cats. They were useful to catch mice, but to her, they were playful company. The last calendar has on it a beagle standing with one paw in the air, looking as if he might chase after a rabbit. He reminds her of a large, black dog named Major that she raised. He wasn't smart enough to be a stock dog, she said, but he was her dog.
She and I have a rural life in common. I see the seasons of her life within her when I talk to her about what it was like on the farm. She giggles a youth giggle, her head bobbing up and down, as I tell her about a sitting hen that pecked me. She shows a look of concern when I talk about a problem I have with my animals as she remembers the summer of her life when she was tending livestock. There is wisdom from the autumn of her years as she offers me advice gathered from her experience in farming.
As I talk to her, it makes me wonder when I see how quick her mind works what it would be like for me in the winter of my life. After helping take care of people with Alzheimer's disease, including my father, I question, "Will my mind go dormant like my father's did, or like the lady of all seasons, will I have my own rainbow with a pot full of memories at the end?"

My Iowa Miss Marple

2011-07-25T09:13:00.001-07:00

In 2000, I wasn't thinking about writing a cozy, humorous mystery series. At the time, I was reading Agatha Christie's Miss Marple books and had seen a few old Miss Marple movies on television. So in this post I want to explain how the idea came to me to write about my Iowa Miss Marple.

I worked at the local nursing home as a CNA, taking care of residents who were about my parents age. While I helped the residents I talked to them about their past and enjoyed hearing their stories which were in many ways similar to my parents tales of the past decades. Some of the residents had characteristics that made them stand out. Their mannerisms would be easy to describe, the way they spoke and phrases they used while telling me stories. Since I loved mysteries it occurred to me, in one resident, I'd found a Miss Marple of sorts. She wasn't the soft spoken, genteel English woman in Agate Christie's books. Quite the opposite, but I, like the people in my books who had their doubts about being able to get along with Gracie Evans, grew to like her. My Gracie was outspoken to the point of being rude. She was brashly independent. Manners didn't have a place in her life then and never had before. She had been too busy trying to survive.

It wasn't long after my Gracie arrived at the nursing home that I realized she put up a good front to back people off. She didn't have visitors except for nieces and nephews that rarely came, and was a loner that preferred to stay in her room. Living alone the better part of her life without companionship was all she knew, and she'd tried to make us believe that she liked it that way. It occurred to me that the end of her life should be better than the rest of it had been. I wished to see her smile instead of barking at everyone. So I came up with ways over the few years she was with us to make her days easier. I encouraged her to tell me about her life. Upper most was her love of animals. I identified with that as I always have a sheep or goat story to tell. Each spring I bring my babies to the nursing home and visit from room to room. One time I took her picture bottle feeding my lamb. The look on her face was ecstatic as memories came back of calves she'd saved. So I entered the nursing home's Iowa Heath Care Association's essay contest with "A Woman For All Seasons" and entered the photo contest with "A Bottle Full Of Memories".

The contests were state wide for every nursing home in the association, and I've never considered myself lucky. What I did was give my Gracie something to think about. Every time I worked, she'd ask if I'd heard from the contests. Several months later, the second shift nurse took the call from IHCA. She hunted me up to tell me I'd won the contest. That was vague. I said, "Which one? Essay or photo?" The nurse just looked at me with a silly grin. I asked weakly, "Was it both?" Yes, I had won both. What excitement that created. A reception with the head of the Association present. I insisted for once my Gracie come out of her room since she was really the guest of honor. She did for me what she might not have for anyone else. She came to the reception. I gave her a big bouquet of flowers I'd raised, because I was pretty sure the flower shop variety wouldn't impress her. She seemed more tickled with the flowers than she did being the center of attention. Pictures were taken by a newspaper and the nursing home to display on the bulletin board. My essay was going to be in local papers. At the end of the reception, she asked me what time it was. When I said after eleven, she yelled that she was missing The Young And The Restless. She had to get to her room. On the way, I asked if she wasn't at least a little impressed by the newspaper stories. She replied, as if it was no big deal, that she'd been in the newspapers before. To prove it, she made me hunt up a box of mementos in the top of her closet. Sure enough years before a Des Moines Register reporter had interviewed her at her home about her pioneer lifestyle. Okay so she wasn't impressed, but I was just getting started. I'd picked up on her appreciation of country flowers. Until she passed away, in the seasons I had flowers, I kept a fresh bouquet in her room.

There were so many holidays she must have missed out when she was alone. Perhaps, she considered the holidays just another day and didn't mind but I minded. One of the relatives brought her candy. She wasn't used to eating candy so she stored the sacks in her closet. Food couldn't stay there very long. It was Halloween. Kids in costumes come to the nursing home that evening to trick or treat for the residents in the living room. The nurse gives out the candy. I asked my Gracie if we could use her candy for the kids if they came to her room. At first, she begrudgingly said they could only have one piece each. I set the bowls of candy on her bedside table near her. I must admit I was nervous. She just might give the kids a scary Halloween. She'd expressed once that she didn't have much use for children. Of course, that feeling came from trying to teach some very unruly boys in a one room school house when she was a young girl. The children came, and I took them to her room. They did the usual trick or treat. She checked out their costumes and said gruffly but softly, "There's the candy. Take all you want." Hooray! I had given her an evening to remember.

Christmas was next. The employees draw resident names and give them a small gift at breakfast so no one is left out. I wanted my Gracie to have an extra special gift from me. I make last name doilies all the time so I crocheted her a doily with her first name on it and wrapped it so the gift would feel like Christmas. Immediately, she had me hang it on the wall over her bed.

For Easter I gave her a music box that played "You Light Up My Life" with a revolving angel on it. I asked the other aides to wind the box at bed time. She often had trouble going to sleep. Maybe the music would be soothing, and the slowly revolving angel would help her doze off. It did for as long as the box lasted. One night, the spring in the box exploded. The angel literally flew straight up from the box and did a nose dive on the floor. The aide helping her came to tell me. I asked if she was upset. The aide said he had never seen her laugh and this once she laughed so hard she had tears rolling down her cheeks. The angel had a broken wing. The aide repaired it and replaced it on the box. The music was gone for good but she still had her angel and the memory of a sight she found so very funny. From that night came a short story I entered in a contest and was awarded fifth place - "The Angel That Flew".

Her birthday was in March. I doubt anyone had made anything special out of the day ever. So I threw her a birthday she wouldn't forget. I baked a cake, decorated it and placed it on a small table in her room with paper saucers and plastic forks. I penned a banner on the tablecloth with Happy Birthday on it. Around the nursing home and on her door, I posted flyers that cordially invited everyone to stop by her room, wish her a happy birthday and enjoy her cake. By now it was a treat for her to have the attention and a good snack for break times for us.

I broke the news to her one day that I was going to write a book and use her for my main character if she didn't mind, but I'd change her name to Gracie Evans. She perked up and had all kinds of questions. Was it going to be paperback? What kind of story was it? When would the book be finished? I didn't get the book done until after she passed away. I'd have liked her to see the book and hold it, but I tell myself she wouldn't have been as impressed with the story as she was with the idea that I thought she was good writing material. I just published the sixth book in my Amazing Gracie Mysteries series. When I'm writing a story all I have to do is think about my Gracie and what she would do or say next. Makes writing the books a fun experience for me.

So this post is an introduction to my Miss Marple in Iowa and how I came to know her so well. Before long, I'll post about how I came up with Gracie's friend in my stories. She was the total opposite of Gracie in real life just as my fictitious Melinda Applegate is in my books. Next week I'm going to post my Gracie's essay "A Woman For All Seasons".

Did I treat all the residents I took care of the same way in almost sixteen years I worked at the nursing home? I couldn't have treated the job as just a job. To enjoy what I did, I put the effort in where it was needed and felt gratified by the way their eyes lit up when they saw me coming. They knew I wouldn't just help them. I'd listen to their stories when they wanted to reminisce and their complaints. The lucky ones had relatives that came often and saw to their needs. My friendliness and help was all that was required. For others, I became the friend they needed. After two and a half years of retirement, I still visit the residents that know me at least once a month. Now I can take my time and really visit with them. I don't have to go answer a call light.

First Chapter Amish book - Christmas Traditions by Fay Risner

2011-07-19T07:39:00.000-07:00

In my blogs at www.booksbyfaybookstore.weebly.com and booksbyfay.com.blogspot.com/ you will find the complete first chapter of my first Amish book titled Christmas Traditions. I write about what I like to read, but up to that point I had been writing stories in the mystery and western genre. One Christmas I was looking at the picture on a card and wondered what the story was behind a English dressed couple in a sleigh. They stopped in front of a large white farm house which reminded me of the ones on Amish farms. So from that card I came up with my story.

I never dreamed I'd be writing more Amish books, but when this book sold in Amazon, readers asked for a sequel to continue the story. Instead, I started the Nurse Hal Among The Amish series and found there were many readers interested in Amish stories. It seemed that this was my niche to target with books. I write other stories as well. With all the story lines I've stored up I don't think I'll ever get writer's block. Do the other genre sell as well as Amish books? Not quite, but I'm writing what I do for fun and to see just what I can do. How I am able to stay with this project is I found Create Space which belongs to Amazon. The printing by that company is so affordable and made easy to do.

So when the Nurse Hal books took off instead of writing a sequel, I moved Margaret Goodman and her family to Iowa and made them neighbors to Hal Lapp. After all the two of them have much in common since they had been in both the English world and the Amish one. Margaret is able to lend sound advice to Hal to help her in her new Amish life. One reader emailed me that she enjoyed finding Margaret in Hal's story. Her reaction was I know her. She was able to continue to learn about Margaret's life as well as Hal's story.

Chapter 1

That Monday afternoon, Margaret Goodman's destination seemed forever away even though the Yoder farm was only seven miles from Brightwell, Pennsylvania. She was traveling alone so she was thankful for the tranquil, winter conditions. If a snowstorm had threatened before she left town, she wouldn't have been brave enough to make the trip on her own.
Watching the pristine countryside slide by her bright red sleigh helped just a little to soothe her frayed nerves. She slid under the snow laced trees that loomed over the packed road. In the swift breeze, weighed down branches swayed like stick skeletons, dancing a jig which let loose snowy clumps on her. Drifted, white mounds rolled across the pastures, making a colorful contrast with the black and red cattle milling about brown, frazzled hay stacks. Along the way, the recent snowstorm turned homesteads, set against the dark blue sky, into scenes lovely enough to paint on Christmas cards. The Pennsylvania countryside really was beautiful in the winter. Not that Margaret was in any mood to enjoy what she slid by. In her heart, she knew she couldn't appreciate anything around her until she managed to live through this coming week and escape back to Brightwell.
The road was invisible, covered with packed snow rutted with sleigh runners and buggy tracks. If it hadn't been for the rows of snow capped, cedar fence posts on either side of her, she'd have felt like she was on a great adventure, blazing her own trail across the frozen tundra.
She knew all the beauty that surrounded her would have put anyone else in a festive mood for Christmas coming Monday next, but not her. She bounced around somber thoughts about what dreaded incidents could happen from one day to the next in the week ahead of her. When the time came, Margaret planned to muster up the strength to pretend to be joyful. She wouldn't bother to do that until after she stopped the sleigh in front of the Yoder house. Just thinking about it, her mood turned despairing to say the least. She felt unsettled and anxious. The winter scenery couldn't change the turmoil that churned inside her. She wasn't sure anything would. Like bad tasting medicine, she had to accept whatever happened in the next few days and handle each situation the best she could.
The freezing breeze whipped her dark brown, curly hair away from her head, causing a chill to run through her. Margaret felt goose bumps pop up on her legs. She huddled down in the seat, holding the reins in one hand long enough to tug her walnut dyed, wool lap robe up higher. That done, she went back to worrying. She was a day later than usual. Would it matter to any of them at the Yoder farm that she hadn't arrived on Sunday afternoon? Had any of the Yoders worried about why she hadn't shown up yet? When she did arrive, would the fact that she was late make Levi Yoder's opinion of her worse than it already was?
She had to wait until that morning to prepare for the journey. Rushing to gather everything she wanted to take, she packed the sleigh at the last minute in haste. Now way down the road, she had the feeling she might have forgotten something. She did a mental check list. Christmas gifts covered the back seat, a large, wicker basket full of food sat next to her and beside her feet was her clothes stuffed, tan, tapestry valise. She'd hidden Faith's journal under the sleigh seat out of Levi's sight until she could give it to his son, Luke. This year that diary was what she had to remember to pack above all other things. If she forgot anything else she'd meant to bring it was certainly too late now. She would have to make due without whatever it was.
She couldn't help arriving late, and she wasn't about to offer an explanation. Her private life wasn't up for discussion. Nothing she said would do any good anyway as far as Levi Yoder was concerned. She just hoped what plans Levi, his father, Jeremiah, and son, Luke, made to celebrate Christmas, for Luke's sake, didn't include something she would regret missing.
Unlike the hustle and bustle in town, the quiet countryside embraced peacefulness. The only sounds were made by her red sleigh and the four white stocking hooves on her black horse, Pie Face. The runners crunched, slicing through the ice crusted snow. The sleigh bells jingled in time to the horse's steamy, labored snorts and rhythmic tromp as he moved at a fast pace.
In the last mile, Margaret whipped the horse to hurry him to race the sinking sun. The words, Please let me get to the farm before dark, played over and over in her head like an out of tune song. Nightfall was one more reason for her to worry over her late start. She told herself she would feel less anxious when she finally spotted a column of light, gray smoke spiraling up above the Yoder hickory and mulberry grove.
The tree lined lane was just ahead to the right. Margaret pulled back on the reins, bringing Pie Face to a walk. She entered the shaded lane, traveling under the entwined glittery white, soft snow covered branches that made a shaded tunnel. Half way down the lane, a rabbit darted out of his nest in the drifted snow and zigzagged past the horse. Startled, Pie Face shied sideways. Margaret pulled back on the reins and brought the horse to a stop. She could feel her heart racing. She took a deep, calming breath and flicked the reins over Pie Face's back. No time to panic now. She was almost to the house.
Margaret tossed the worry about dark over taking her like so many empty pea pods when she finally came into view of the large, two story, snow capped, farm house, but she still had plenty more worries to take its place. Pulling back on the reins, she stopped the horse by the split rail fence that surrounded the yard.
Luke's brown and white beagle, Moses, bounced off the porch and down the path. He stood on his hind legs and looked in the sleigh while he woofed a high pitched greeting.
"Hello, Moses. How have you been?" Margaret answered back.
"Woof, woof." The beagle wagged his tail with such speed that his chubby backend swayed. Bouncing off the sleigh, he took off in a run. He circled the sleigh while he did a sniffing inspection.
"So you're happy to see me. That's encouraging." Margaret said under her breath. She looked up at the house roof. The stone chimney chugged pale gray, smoke plumbs that floated higher and higher into the sky, turning into hard to see thin wisps. A sudden change in the wind brought a down draft drifting toward her that smelled of hickory wood. Someone had recently stoked the fire.
The two story, farm house, with peeling, white paint and sun bleached wood, had a grossdawdi haus built on the east side. The addition was added for Levi's father, Jeremiah, when Levi married Margaret's sister, Faith. The outhouse, smokehouse, chicken house, and pig pen were ahead of her. The large, red barn complete with granary and root cellar stood off to the left.
Levi Yoder, tall, muscular and handsome, stalked through the deep snow toward her from the woodpile by the barnyard split rail fence. He carried an armload of lengthy fire wood propped on his shoulder. Even though she fought with herself not to feel hopeful, her heart raced faster at the sight of him. As Levi came closer, his rugged features were just like she imagined in her thoughts and dreams over the last year. A lump formed in her throat as she watched the sinking, fiery sun behind his back create rosy streaks in his straw colored hair where it curled on his coat collar.
As Levi walked close enough for Margaret to get a good look at his face, any growing excitement she felt spiraled backward to dread again. It only took a quick glimpse to make her tense up. Any sparse drop of hope she'd had that Levi would welcome her this time faded as fast as the dimming daylight. Any brief thought that the man might be worried because she was a day late, she could discard like dirty wash water out the back door just from watching his foreboding posture as he marched at her. She tried to hold back the mounting anguish that wanted to creep onto her face. She should have known better than to expect any change in that strong willed man. Nothing about him ever changed. She had to face it. He never would change.
At that moment, his piercing eyes and high boned cheeks above his bushy, blonde beard appeared to be chiseled by a stonemason. The scowl on his face, Margaret knew for sure, even if he never said so out loud, had been brought on by her arrival. In all these years, her presence always had the same affect on Levi Yoder. Why did she ever hope that he would change in a year's time? That man ever changing his opinions on anyone or anything was never going to happen.
The wood Levi carried was too long to go into the cookstove. He must be ready to prepare the fireplace in the meeting room. Would it have hurt him to warm the room up before I arrived, ran through Margaret's mind. The meeting room was only used on a Sunday once in a blue moon when it was the Yoders turn to have church. Just for her, the room was opened more days in a row the once a year she visited.
However, she'd arrived a day late. Maybe Levi hoped she wouldn't show up at all. This year of all the years would be the one that he definitely wouldn't want to face her. He probably hoped she'd changed her mind about going through with her plan concerning the journal. In that case, he might have reasoned that she'd decide to skip her appearance at the Yoder farm this year if the journal had been her initial reason for the visit. There would be no need for him to bother going through the chore of opening up the meeting room that he only did begrudgingly for her. Well, Levi was wrong. It made her blood boil to think, in all the years they had known each other, that man never understood her concern had always been for what was best for Luke. Anything she tried to do to improve the situation between Levi and her wasn't enough to make him want to try to get along with her.
Quickly, Margaret glanced around to see if Jeremiah or Luke were coming to greet her. She didn't want to start out this visit with only Levi's cold, reluctant help and snappish greeting. She'd mentally tried to prepare herself for what could happen at the Yoder farm, but Margaret realized while that fair haired man strode toward her, she needed more time to steel herself for the strife to come. Although in the back of her mind, she already knew she had no real way to prepare for the clashes between Levi and herself. Like always, she'd do her best to stand up to the man and hope her bluff worked. As she watched Levi approach her, she felt like prey stalked by a lion. In the next week, it was going to take all the courage and bravo she could muster to keep from being eaten alive by this angry, sullen man.
Levi's father, Jeremiah, stood in the barn door. His bent back was to her. Locks of gray hair peeked out from under his black, flat crowned, big brimmed hat. With a touch of panic, Margaret wondered where the boy was. She didn't make the effort to travel this far one time a year in the dead of winter, Levi allowed her, for any other reason than to see Luke. Especially not this time when she had to make the trip from town without her husband, Harry. Particularly this year when this visit was more important than all the other trips. Because if Levi remembered she was bringing the journal to Luke, he'd be against her showing up. She knew he would fight her every step of the way, and she was determined to come anyway.
"Aunt Margaret, thou are here!" The boy shouted from the kitchen doorway. He dropped the empty water pail and the egg bucket in order to wave at her. Making a leap off the porch, Luke ignored the clatter behind him. He was long gone by the time the buckets shot off the porch and pitched noiselessly into the snow piled by the path.
With Moses right behind him, the boy sprinted through the gate hole so fast his wide brimmed hat flew from his head. It landed in the drift at the base of the yard fence. He was so excited he didn't realize he had lost his hat, but Moses did. He halted long enough to sniff Luke's hat before he scampered over to bounce off the sleigh. In his haste, Luke's mop of yellow hair, the color of corn kernels, flapped away from his ears. He skidded to a halt by the sleigh and jumped up and down.
Excitement gleamed in the boy's glittering, blue eyes. "It's so late in the afternoon, and thou didn't come yesterday. Thou might not be coming, I feared. Hurry up and get down."
Margaret put her hand on her chest to slow her thudding heart. It was such a comfort to see this boy, a younger version of Levi. She just had to look into his smiling face to know that he very much wanted her here. Bolstered by his greeting, Margaret teased, "Sorry I'm late, Luke. You need not have worried. I've never missed being here for Christmas yet, have I?"
"Not ever, Aunt Margaret," Luke stated with zeal.
Feeling a little more sure of herself, Margaret laughed at the child's enthusiasm while she tossed the lap robe aside. She drew her red cape tighter around her shoulders and pulled her trapped, freeze dried tresses out on top of the cape. Gathering up her dark brown, wool skirt in one hand, she held the other hand out to the boy. "Please, Luke, help me down. My legs and feet are so stiff and numb from the cold, I may have trouble walking."
The frozen snow crunched under the weight of her stinging toes. The tingle in her chilled feet contrasted drastically with the sudden heat that bored into her back from Levi's eyes. Margaret twisted to look through the steamy vapors rising above the horse's back. The man watched the exchange between his son and her, but no way could she make out what he was thinking. His face was as blank as a freshly, washed blackboard.
"Hello, Levi." Her husky voice sounded mechanical to her ears as she looked into the man's cold as ice, unwavering, blue eyes. She turned back to Luke's worried expression. He glanced at his father and back at her. At least in front of the boy, she had to make a stab at being civil to Levi for this precious child's sake. Besides the week would seem a terminally, long visit if she let Levi get to her at the very beginning of her stay. She smiled down at Luke and patted his head to reassure him.
Levi must have thought the same thing as he watched his son. "Wilkom, Margaret Goodman. Best get inside and warm up," he said, his tone quietly clipped.
Margaret glanced over her shoulder. If Levi's short pretense at an invitation hadn't been remote enough, his face, emotionally frigid as this winter day, told her she was not really welcome in his home but tolerated for his son's sake.
Margaret concentrated on the boy. That always took away the sting of Levi's words. She pointed to the wicker basket on the sleigh seat. "Luke, please carry that inside for me. I'm ready to warm up and have a cup of tea right now." Margaret forced cheerfulness into her voice. "First, let me give you a proper hello. You've grown so much. You must be a foot taller than last year." She drew Luke to her, engulfing him in an enthusiastic, bear hug.
"Only four inches," corrected the boy.
"All out of tea," Levi put forth shortly. He looked straight ahead as he marched past Luke and her.
"Figured that. That's one of the things I brought with me in the basket," Margaret shot back at Levi's ramrod, straight back as she trailed after him.
Setting the basket down, Luke picked up his hat. He beat it against his leg to rid it of snow and put it back on. Margaret paused to look back at the western sky while she waited for the boy. The sun had slipped half way below the horizon, creating long, red fingers across the sky. In the fading daylight, the old man still leaned in the barn door, but he faced the house now. No doubt watching with interest the underlying discord between Levi and her. She could imagine that he might not want to be any closer than the barn during their initial meeting.
"Jeremiah Yoder, come in out of the cold if you have time. Have a cup of tea with me," she hailed, beckoning to him with a wave of her hand.
Moses stopped his inspection of the sleigh when he heard Margaret's voice. The dog caught up to her and whined for attention as he sniffed at her skirt. She reached down and patted his head before she turned and trudged with Luke on the snow packed path toward the house. Behind her, she heard the chickens squawk in alarm. Jeremiah must have scattered the flock as he walked across the barnyard. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to ease away some of the tension that had built up in her all day. She was so very thankful that Jeremiah chose to come when she called. He never liked to take sides between Levi and her. Just the same, Margaret needed that old man to be near her at first as a buffer until she had time to get use to the chilliness that radiated off Levi. It had always helped bolster her spirit to know that Jeremiah liked her to visit almost as much as Luke did. Jeremiah did his best to respect his son's wishes and Amish law when he was at the Plain people gatherings, but in the privacy of his own home, he wasn't afraid to show how much he thought of her.

Now that's it for this week. As soon as I get my blog posts done I'm going to spend the rest of the day between the fans inside and the shade trees. For the first time, we are going to have central air. The heat and forecast has made believers out of us.

More First Chapters Coming Next Week

2011-07-12T14:00:00.000-07:00

We live five miles south of Garrison so yesterday morning we had a startling awakening before daylight. As soon as we could see we began cleanup of branches and limbs and a half a pear tree which took us all day and this morning to complete. We were without electricity for over five hours yesterday and didn't have phone service this morning so I couldn't get on the internet. That's minor compared to the devastation that happened in Garrison and Vinton.

The last couple weeks have been busy. We finally got the two crops in one hay made the last day of June and first day of July. The event went off without any problems this time with the machinery unless we counted the heat. Everyone is telling me we couldn't make hay without hot weather, but did it have to be that hot?

My computer stopped working about then. I had to wait until after the fourth to take it into the repairman. The computer shut itself off each time I started it. The repairman opened the computer and showed me inside. Fifty percent of the dust that sifted in through our window screens had sucked into the computer fans. Blowing the dust away wasn't hard, and I will be doing that myself from now on. The repairman started the computer to see if it would work all right. He remarked that it was slow. I'm used to that, but he has high speed. The problem was too many anti-virus programs which I had installed for added security. That's not a good thing. He said leave the computer and come back later after he deleted all but one program. Later, the repairman said he found viruses that made their way in while the anti-viruses were busy fussing with each other. He needed more time. Three days later I called. He might have the computer running smoothly by late afternoon. He was installing me an anti-virus program and still looking to see if he missed anything. I picked the computer up and haven't found much difference in performance, but then like I said I'm used to it.

One day while I was computer free my brother, sister-in-law, their grandson, Avery, and his cousin, Emily, both 9 years old, spent the day with us. Years back, nieces and nephews enjoyed a tour of my animals and some hands on fun in the country. Now the great nieces and nephews are doing the same. Children haven't an opportunity to see a variety of farm animals like they could in the past on diversified farms. Animals are raised in confinement buildings and feed lots. Ask a child where eggs come from and the reply might be out of a carton Mom bought at the grocery store. The Benton County Farm Bureau women have had a farm day at the fair grounds for years for elementary children. Twenty years ago when I helped with the farm tour we had the kids bused to farms. I set the Keystone third graders up to see a dairy farm. The farmer handed out small cartons of white and chocolate milk from the Dairy Association as the kids came off the bus. The students followed the farmer through his dairy barn, listening as he talked about the milking routine. In a lot attached to the barn, he showed them his herd. A boy held up his hand. He wanted to know which cow gave the chocolate milk he just drank.

Our young neighbor graduated from high school and left the first of June for Africa. He will stay there until the first of August. He has a blog post with pictures on word press. If you'd like to see Mbita Kenya on Lake Victoria, the farmers AJ has met in his volunteer work as part of the Borlaug-Ruan International Internship Program for the International Centre for Insect Phyisology and Ecology and students from a school he volunteers at in his free time go to anthonywenndtwordpress.com AJ is a very descriptive writer, and his adventures are fun to read about. He's having quite an experience, interviewing farmers and absorbing the culture.

Now next week I'm going to go back to posting about my books and first chapters.

The Rainbow's End-Amish Fiction With A Twist-Chapter 1

2011-06-21T14:19:00.001-07:00

If you like Amish fiction, here's your chance to try a sample of one of my books in my Nurse Hal Amish series.
This week's blog post is the first chapter from the second book. The title is The Rainbow's End. The book can be bought in my online bookstore www.booksbyfaybookstore.weebly.com which includes my blog if you want a sample of the book. The ebook is in the Kindle store and B&N nook store.

Nurse Hallie Lindstrom is trying to figure out if she could belong to an Amish family. She's spending a lot of her free time at the Lapp farm. John is building a medical clinic on the side of his house so Nurse Hal can give health care to the Amish community.

One day Stella Strutt shows up to check out the medical clinic and goes away dissatisfied with Nurse Hal and her efforts. When very few Amish come for treatment, Hal discovers that Stella Strutt is telling everyone to stay away. Hal has to decide if she loves John Lapp and his family enough to find away to win over the Amish community.

esuoH eeffoC yellA avaJ. Those six inch black letters arched in a horseshoe shape on the cafe's large, plate glass window. Underneath them thick, wavy, painted fingers of steam rose out of a delicate, white, china coffee cup. The steam swirled its way up toward the letters. Hallie Lindstrom's eyes lit on the words as she slid into the red cushioned booth. She wondered how the owner came up with the name Java Alley Coffee House. Not that she found anything wrong with the name, but the cafe sat in the middle of a row of buildings just off Main Street. No alley near it except the back one that the delivery trucks used. Hal had never known that one or any other alley in Wickenburg, Iowa to have a name.

She ducked her head to peer under the advertising so she could look up and down the street. She glanced at her watch. Her boss, Barb Sloan, should have shown up by now. She said she would close the Home Health Office at noon and meet here for lunch. It was already 12:20. Doesn't take very long to drive across this small town. Not much traffic any time of day and especially not at noon when everyone stops to eat. Hal had other things to do after lunch. She hated wasting time waiting for Barb.

Impatiently, she leaned back and stared at the ceiling while she drummed the table with her fingers. A dark brown splotch on the ceiling tile at the fan's base indicated a roof leak. The fan blades turned hypnotically slow.

The air flow was just enough to keep a fly from lighting anywhere close to the blades. The insect was persistent, leaving and coming right back to try to light in the brown spot again.

Hal looked around the room. Coffee always smelled better to her than it tasted. The different scents coming from the dozen coffee pots lined up behind the counter co-mingled together – hazelnut, french vanilla, southern pecan, and a variety of other flavors. She was thinking she should get the waitress's attention and at least order a cup of coffee when she saw Barb hustling across the room.

"I just about gave up on you," Hal said.

Breathless from rushing, Barb pushed her straight, brown, shoulder length hair away from her face and wheezed, "Had a last minute prospective client come in the office. Slowed me down, but I'm here now. Let's order. The minute I get a whiff of this place I've got to have a cup of flavored coffee." Barb waved at a waitress.

Shirley Graham, age 60, hustled toward them. Her silvery blonde hairdo was plastered around her face by a red baseball cap adorned with a big white C on it. Dressed in a black turtle neck sweater covered by a pink cardigan with black slacks, she wore black, tied, sensible shoes. Her small cross earrings matched a cross dangling from a fragile, gold chain necklace.
No customer could accuse Shirley of having a favorite sports team. She had a variety of sports caps in colors to match many of her outfits. Older than most of the waitresses, she held her own at the job. Shirley had been working long enough to be appreciated by her customers.

Order book out in front of her and pen poised, she asked briskly, "How's the day going for you two ladies?"

Hal smiled. "We're fine."

"But starved and thirsty," added Barb.

"What can I get you, Sweetie?"

"I want a toasted cheese and ham sandwich and vanilla coffee," Barb ordered.
Shirley shifted her weight and peered down her nose at Hal. "I'll take the same except I want hazelnut coffee."

"Be back in a jiffy, ladies." Shirley wheeled and headed for the kitchen. The sway of her cross earrings caught the light and flashed as she walked, warning everyone to get out of her way. She had an order to fill.

Barb leaned her elbows on the table and concentrated on Hal. "Now while we're waiting for our food, fill me in on your love life. I've been dying to find out."

"Boy, you get right to the point. Nothing much to tell. This morning, John and some neighbors started building a clinic room on the side of the house. Soon Amish people can come to our home to let me treat them. I doubt I get much business, but it may be the best way I have of proving I can be a productive member of their society so I get accepted by the Amish community," Hal said honestly. "I have to be accepted. It would make it hard on John and his children if I'm not."

Barb had a perplexed look in her hazel eyes. "The pay won't be very good from Amish patients. You realize that?"

"I know that," Hal admitted. "In fact, there isn't any pay. I will just be doing my share to help others."

"In that case, don't you think you better keep working a full schedule for the Home Health Department? You're one of the best nurses I have. I hate the fact that you're cutting back."

Hal shook her head. "No, I can't be two places at once. The Amish community needs to know they can count on me being home in the afternoons."

"Here you go, Sweeties," Shirley said when she set the coffee cups in front of them.
Waiting until the waitress departed, Barb pushed her cup over and leaned on the table to ask,
"When's the wedding?"

As Hal fingered the rim of her steaming coffee, the scent of hazelnut rose from the cup. She didn't look up when she answered, "Don't know."

"I suppose you have been too busy to set a date?" Barb suggested, eying her.

"Not exactly."

Puzzlement crossed Barb's face. "Then what exactly?"

Hal sighed. "John hasn't brought the wedding up since he asked me to marry him," she admitted reluctantly.

"Don't you think you should bring it up to him? It takes lots of planning for a wedding. You need to know what your deadline is," Barb insisted.

"Perhaps I should."

Barb looked concerned. "Mr. Lapp hasn't changed his mind, has he? He isn't expecting you to just be a live in nurse among other things?"

"No!" Hal expelled adamantly. "I'm sure he wants to marry me."

"Good. Am I going to be invited to the wedding?"

Hal giggled. "I'll make sure you are."

"Keep in mind, maybe you don't need much notice, but I do. I have to get a new dress," Barb teased.

Laughing, Hal said, "Noted."

After lunch, Hal was on the outskirts of town and coming up to Earnie Long's repair garage and gas station. She decided to pull in and get a can of Cherry Coke. Earnie's feet were sticking out from under a car in the garage. Hal walked to the overhead door and said, "Hey, Earnie, it's Hal Lindstrom. I just want a can of pop. I can leave my money on the counter if you don't want to stop what you're doing."

Earnie, his receding strawberry red hairline smeared with grease, wheeled out from under the car on a trolley. He gave her an oil smudged smile. "Knock yourself out, my girl."
Hal grinned back at him. "Thanks."

The last business, she past was the Kent feed store. That place always seemed to do a good business. If you went by the amount of pickups in the parking lot. Outside of town was the tree nursery. From the look of the front lot, the nursery had just gotten in a new shipment to add to the choices that grew in the fields behind the building. In large black pots, a variety of skinny fruit trees, red buds, flowering cherries and maples had sparse, bare limbs reaching skyward. Colorado Blue Spruce, Douglas fir, and arborvitae, in various sizes mingled, with rose of sharon, honeysuckle and privet hedge shrubs.

Once Hal was on the highway, she took in the rolling hills of southern Iowa. Oaks, cottonwoods, dogwoods and plum limbs swelled with buds. Weeping willows had turned yellow green. The season's birth was everywhere. Newborn calves and lambs frolicked across the pastures along side their mothers. With the changing of the seasons, she felt an excitement and joy. It was so good to be able to enjoy the scenery not covered in a coating of white.

She traveled these country roads almost every day. As she watched the now familiar scenery she sped past, she had a comforting sense she was headed for home. A feeling she hadn't experienced since she left her parents farm near Titonka, Iowa.

She turned off the pavement onto the gravel and headed west. Her mind raced over the last few months. How quickly she became involved with the Lapp family. Suddenly, her conversation with Barb played over in her head. The questions Barb put to her worried her. Though she would never tell her friend that. Why hadn't John brought up a wedding date? When she was at the Lapp farm she certainly felt like part of the family. She was sure that John loved her enough to marry her. Almost sure anyway. Emma, Noah and Daniel had accepted her. She loved them as if they were her own children. She was sure the Lapp children felt the same way about her.

Never the less, this was not going to be an easy union with all the hurtles faced by an English woman marrying an Amish man. Hal knew nothing about Amish ways. She certainly hadn't made it easy on John to get used to her. From the moment they met, she'd made one mistake after another. Things that would have made any sane English man have enough doubts about her to cause him to back off. Heaven knows why John Lapp fell in love with her. However, she was certainly glad that he did, because she loved him with her whole heart.

Hal slowed down to turn into the Lapp driveway. Attached to the post below the mailbox was a sign she hadn't noticed before. Emma must have put it up that morning. It read, All things Are Open Before God.

A bare square of dirt in the lawn along side the ditch was noticeable now that the snow had melted. A row of gallon milk jugs had been stuck in the dirt. Hal made a mental note to ask Emma what that was all about. In front of the barn were two buggies with horses attached. Hal noted that all Amish horses were as alike as Amish clothes, always red with dark red manes and tails.

The sound of hammers drew her attention to the house. She marveled at how the new room was going up so fast. Two men, John and a boy, up on ladders, nailed the framework to the rafters. A heavy set farmer, short legged with a ruddy, round face, turned to look as she slowed down. The other man, about John's age, was tall and lanky. The boy was around Emma's age.
Out of the corner of her eyes, Hal saw a low flying, black and white blur spring out of the ditch and rush toward her car. Her heart pounded as she skid to a stop. Patches, the Lapp dog, reared up and put his front paws on the door. He peered in at her, whining a greeting. Giving the window a lick with his long, juicy tongue, he showed her he was glad to see her. Hal pressed hard on the button and lowered her spit smeared window. She snapped, "Patches, get down."

The dog did as he was told. He loped ahead of her up the driveway and sat down to wait for her. Hal hated that he had started coming out on the road to greet her. She wanted the Lapp children to continue to like her. Running over their dog would definitely put a damper on their feelings for her. Besides, she was fond of Patches. No way did she want something to happen to the feisty pet.

Hal started her car and slowly halted in front of the house. Her face flushed when she noticed the Amish men twisted on the ladders to watch her. It crossed her mind that it sure would be easier for her if she could morph herself into an Amish woman whenever she needed to and slip quietly by those men. First impressions were important right now. What the men saw was a curly, copper-red mop of hair on a bright blue eyed English woman clothed in a bright green blouse and blue jeans. Her buggy happened to be a gaudy, copper sedan. Nothing about her spelled demur or plain. Some time soon, she would have to tone down in order to get the Amish community's approval before John announced he was going to marry her. Maybe the way she looked was the reason for John's slowness to discuss their wedding. If it was, she wished he would say so instead of her having to drag it out of him.

Wagging his tail, Patches jumped on her and licked her chin the minute she stepped out of the car.

Worldly Temptations-Book 3 Nurse Hal Amish Series-Chapter 1

2011-06-21T11:46:00.000-07:00

Here I go again with the next synopsis and first chapter of my Nurse Hal Amish series. This book is titled Worldly Temptations.

How would you like it if you were told you have to throw away your cell phone and sell your car? You probably wouldn't. You don't have worry because there is a telephone booth three miles away from your farm that resembles an outhouse. You can make business calls but not social calls to chat with a friend. That is reserved for visiting in person on church Sunday or in between Sundays. As for transportation in all kinds of weather, you will be able to ride in an enclosed buggy pulled by a red horse like everyone else.

If you grow up Amish, the phone booth and buggy are a given. If you're English, the Amish way of doing things take getting used to for a woman who falls in love with an Amish farmer. Hallie Lindstrom grew up on a dairy farm in northern Iowa. She loves country life, but that doesn't mean she knows how to hitch up a horse to a buggy. Getting up before daylight to work on the farm was something her father did, but Hal was young with boys on her mind in those days. Now she's learning what it takes to labor on an Amish farm with machinery that is horse drawn in between doing her part to contribute to the Amish community by running a health clinic.

When book two The Rainbow's End came out, I had quite a few emails telling me to hurry up and write another Nurse Hal book. In the next one, they hoped for a wedding between Hal and John. I complied. The bishop is a friend. He's convinced Hal will be an asset to the Amish as a nurse as well as a helpmate to John Lapp who has three motherless children. Even so, he is determined that Hal must follow the church's laws. That means no cell phone or car that would lead to worldly temptations. Letting her keep her phone and car could set a bad example for young Amish the bishop wants to keep in the fold. With that decree in mind, John and Hal marry. When Hal is told it's time for her worldly possessions to go, she refuses to give them up. That means Hal is in enough trouble to get her sent away before she's had a chance to get used to being Amish.

The Worldly Temptations cover picture was taken on a neighboring farm. All I had to do was add the buggies. Take a look at booksbyfaybookstore.weebly.com or Amazon.

Chapter 1

Bacon! Hal pulled the sheet off her chin, wrinkled her nose and sniffed. Greasy, stomach rolling, strong smelling bacon. Whether she liked it or not that's what she smelled. Hal pressed one hand against her crazily pitching, queasy stomach and used the other to pull the sheet up over her nose to try to block the stink.
Mom must be cooking breakfast. She blinked her eyes and rubbed them, trying to wake up. A peek from one eye at the window told her it was still dark outside. What was Mom doing up this early? She glanced at the clock beside the bed and groaned softly. Three scarlet numbers, four and two zeros glared at her.
Hal grabbed her bathrobe and slipped into it on the way to the kitchen. She put her hands on her hips and studied her stocky, gray haired mother's back as she stood in of the cookstove. "Mom, do you know what time it is? I'd hoped I could sleep in a little longer. We've got a lot of work to do today to get ready for my wedding tomorrow. What are you doing up this early?"
"From what your Aunt Tootie found in a book about the Amish at the library, they always get up early. We need to get a move on so we get to the farm fairly soon. We don't want the Lapp family to think we're lazy people. You might as well get used to getting out of bed before daylight," Nora Lindstrom chided.
"I don't think they get up this early," groaned Hal.
Nora forked the bacon from the skillet onto a plate. "You sure? Maybe we should ask John so you know for sure."
"No, don't bother," Hal said brusquely and changed the subject. "No breakfast for me, Mom. I don't think I could eat a bit,"
Nora focused a knowing smile on her daughter. "Didn't fix you any. This is for your dad. I'm not so old that I don't remember my wedding day. Didn't think you'd be able to eat much today or tomorrow until after the wedding is over. The coffee's done if you want a cup."
"Sure. That I need to wake me up," Hal said dryly. As she poured, she said, "Thanks, Mom, for helping me box up my things last night. It won't take long to clear out the apartment now. I know that was a chore you didn't expect as soon as you arrived yesterday. You had to be tired after that long drive from Titonka."
"Wasn't that big a job. I was glad to help." Nora broke two eggs into the hot greasy skillet.
"I cleaned out my closet before I went to bed and sacked my clothes to give Good Will. We can put them in the drop off box this morning on the way out of town," Hal said, staring off into space.
The sound in Hal's voice made Nora twist to study her. "You don't sound so all right about giving away your clothes."
"That is hard. I like my English clothes, but when I think about choosing between a fashion statement and a family, there's no contest," Hal said, sitting down at the table with her coffee. "I've one box of photo albums I'd like Dad to put in the car trunk so you don't go off without it. You might as well take the pictures home with you. I hate to throw them away."
"I get it that the Amish don't want pictures taken of them," Nora started. "But ----."
"They think when someone takes a picture of them that's stealing their soul. The bible says no graven images," Hal interrupted.
"I know all that, but you weren't Amish when those pictures were taken. I'd think you could at least take the small album with your grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles in it to your new home. Someday John's children and hopefully, some of your own would like to see what you looked like as a child and their ancestors."
"You think?" Hal said optimistically.
Her mother's head, brown hair feathered with gray, nodded. She had her attention on the eggs she was turning. "Can't see how it would be bad to have pictures of people who didn't believe the graven image scripture. John and his family should be broad minded enough to allow you your family pictures."
"You're right, Mom. I hate to give that album up. The school pictures, it doesn't really bother me to not ever see again. All right, I'll slip the small album in with the bedding and tuck it away in a drawer for the future. Thanks, Mom."
"You're welcome." Nora turned her head toward the hallway and yelled, "Jim, get out here and eat. Your breakfast is ready." The toaster banged. Two pieces of toast shot up. Further warning breakfast was about to be served whether Jim was ready or not. Nora buttered each slice before she scooted them on a plate beside the bacon and hard fried eggs.
Hal's father, his gray hair sticking out in all directions, shuffled down the hall. He plopped down at the table. Hal stared at the cholesterol, heart attack precursor filled plate Nora placed in front of her father. She made a mental note when her mother wasn't listening to remind him to go to the doctor for a physical once in awhile.
Jim winked at his wife and grinned at his daughter. "Well, how you feeling this morning, Hallie?"
"Not so hot," Hal conceded. She rubbed her stomach, feeling urpy now that she'd looked at and smelled his plate of food. She'd swear her mother deliberately waved it under her nose before she set the plate down.
"She's got wedding jitters," giggled Nora behind her hand to Jim.
"I have not. I'm just not hungry is all," snapped Hal, peevishly.
Jim shrugged his broad farmer shoulders. "Whatever you say, Daughter. But jitters are to be expected. If you was to have some, that is, it would be all right. By afternoon tomorrow you'll be feeling less nervous once the wedding is over. What time is the wedding buggy coming for us in the morning?"
Hal's eyebrows furrowed together as she set her cup down. "There isn't any wedding buggy. What made you think there was?"
"Tootie told your mother her Amish book said you'd have to arrive at the wedding in a buggy," Jim said before he crunched on a bacon strip.
"That might be if you were Amish, but you're not and you don't own a buggy. For your information, we're going to the Lapp farm in your car in the morning. You're driving because you are my father," informed Hal.
"I thought you couldn't ride in a car after today," he said with a puzzled look.
"I can so ride in one. I'm just not supposed to drive one including my own," Hal groaned, tapping the table with her fingers.
Nora poured a cup of coffee and sit down next to Hal. She perked up as an idea struck her. "When you're ready to sell your car, Dear, can your cousin, Cindy, buy it? Tootie's been looking for a car for her to drive to college this fall."
"I'm not selling my car," Hal barked.
Jim looked baffled. "I thought you just said you couldn't drive it. You might as well get rid of it. Not good for a car to never be run."
"I'm stalling while I try to think of a way around that," retorted Hal, tipping the cup for the last sip. "Listen, I'm going to go take a shower and get ready to leave. Emma will be bustling around, trying to do everything by herself." She darted a look at her mother. "We might as well be useful now that we're up."
"Does it matter what I wear to the wedding?" Her father asked, looking worried.
"A suit would be nice," Hal explained patiently.
"I brought that. What do Amish men wear?"
"Black suits and black hats with a white shirt," she answered.
"They wear hats! I just bought a white western hat. I have it with me," Jim said excitedly.
"Oh, please no! Not a white western hat!" Hal cried.
"Why not?"
"The Amish wear black felt hats or straw hats, but during the wedding or a church meeting, they won't have a hat on. To wear a white hat wouldn't do at all at the wedding and maybe never when you're visiting the Amish," Hal scolded.
Jim scratched a sideburn. The action reminded Hal of John when he couldn't figure out what to make of her way of thinking. Finally, he said quietly, "All right, I won't wear the hat, but I still don't see why not."
"Because I want John and his children to like you. That's why not. Mom, can you explain it to him?" Hal pleaded.
Nora sighed and patted her hand. "I'll try, dear, but I'm confused, too. I'm not so sure I understand all this myself. It seems to me from what you tell us Amish life may be entirely different from the way Tootie drilled it into us."
Hal showered and put on her pale green dress and white apron. After she pulled a wet comb through her copper red hair, she braided as much of it as she could. She wrapped the braid around her head before she clamped her white prayer cap down tight. When she studied her image in the mirror, Hal gave herself a disgusted look. She had to face it. With bright, frizzy hair like hers, nothing was going to keep her from looking like Harpo Marx with a bald spot.
At the same time as she chided herself, she knew she should feel lucky. No matter how she looked, John and the kids seemed to love her anyway. She was getting a good, understanding Plain husband and a ready made family of three kids. Dear fifteen year old Emma was a mother hen to everyone including her. Frankly, Hal didn't know how she would manage being a housewife or motherhood if Emma wasn't there to help her. Being a nurse was a breeze compare to what Amish housewives had to know.
John's oldest son, Noah, twelve years old going on thirty, was so serious, and ten year old Daniel, kept excitement and fun in all their lives with his mischievous nature.
Hal grabbed the garbage sack stuffed with clothes out of the corner and headed for the living room. Mom watched out the window as a blue jay lit on the bird feeder. Her father had the local news channel on. Both of them seemed to be patiently waiting on her.
"Ready, you guys?" Hal asked.
"My don't you look -----," Nora searched for the right word as she surveyed her daughter.
"Different, Mom?" Hal questioned edgily. "Is that the word?"
"No, I wouldn't have said that at all. You look nice," Nora replied.
"Sorry it took me so long to get ready. I couldn't do a thing with my hair this morning," Hal complained.
"Why don't you get it cut off today," Jim suggested.
"Can't," Hal said quickly. "Amish women don't cut their hair ever."
Nora frowned, "Seems like there is an awful lot of don't rules when you belong to this group."
"Group? Mom, this isn't some club I'm joining. I'm getting married, and I'm part of the Amish faith now," Hal said plaintively.
"I agree with your mother. Can't you just tell them you forgot about rule 347 and go get your hair cut this once before they can stop you," her dad said dryly.
"No, I can't."
"Are there any good things about being Amish?" Nora asked, wrinkling up her nose.
"Yes, you're getting a nice son-in-law, three sweet grandchildren and a happy daughter," Hal assured her.
Putting a stop to the subject, Hal dropped the clothes bag and rushed back to her bedroom. She placed the box of pictures she'd forgotten earlier under her arm, letting it rest on her hip. Hal returned to the living room and handed her father the bag then ushered her parents out the door. She glanced back long enough to scan the living room and what she could see through the door to the kitchen. John and the boys would help her move her things out of the apartment before the end of the month. The living room furniture was in better shape than John's so he was going to put those items in their living room. She was glad about that. The Lapp couch was in sad shape after all the years the children bounced on it.
Hal eyed the crystal stemmed lamp by her recliner. A breeze from the open door made the fringe on the end of the shade shutter. She liked that lamp, but it was electric. Not being able to keep that lamp meant good bye to one life and get used to another entirely different way of living. She hoped from tomorrow on her life would be all she wanted it to be, and that she'd prepared herself well enough to accept the drastic changes she faced.
Hal turned the key in the door lock and twisted around to find her mother watching her intently. "Are you sure, Hal, that this new life is really what you want?"
"I'm sure. I was just making a mental of list of my things that I could take to the farm." Hal sighed before she added, "I really like my crystal lamp, but it's electric. Suppose Cindy could use it in her college dorm?"
"Don't know, but if she doesn't want it I can find a place for the lamp," Nora said eagerly.
"All right, before you leave for home let's go for a walk through the apartment and anything with a cord that will fit in the car is yours," Hal said.
"You can change your mind," Nora suggested.
"No, I can't. This apartment is full of just stuff. I don't need stuff. I need John and the kids. I wouldn't back out on them. This new life is what I want, but sometimes I wonder if I'm up to the challenge of being Amish," Hal said.
"You can succeed at anything if you really want to. All you have to do is keep trying until you get it right," Nora said sagely.
"Is that all there is to it, Mom?"
"Being Amish is a new way of life for you. There are bound to be some mistakes made along the way, but your Amish family and friends will help you. Before you know it, you'll get the hang of it with John and the children by your side supporting you. I'm sure of it," Nora said, hugging her daughter.
The car window whine down. "Are you two coming? I won't get to the farm before John has the cows milked if you don't hurry."
An amber glow lit up the dark eastern sky as the top edge of the sun peeked above the apartment house across the street. Hal hated to say so out loud, but she feared her dad was right. The milking would be over before they got to the farm.

A Promise Is A Promise-Amish Series-Chapter 1

2011-06-06T16:09:00.001-07:00

I've decided to post the first chapters of some my books. If anyone likes what they read and want to read the books they can purchase the paperbacks from my bookstore booksbyfaybookstore.weebly.com or Amazon. The ebook versions can be bought from the Kindle store, B&N's Nook store and Smashwords has five of my ebooks for sale.

I've been seeing an increase in sales in my other ebook titles. It looks like buyers of my Amish fiction have searched my name to see what other books I've written. My Amish and western books are selling in Amazon UK so I'm waiting to see if the same thing applies there in a few months.

This chapter one is from book one in the Nurse Hal Among The Amish Series. Title - A Promise Is A Promise

Home Health nurse, Hallie Lindstorm, better known as Hal to her friends and family, stepped out of the Wickenburg Senior Citizen apartments entry door smack into a taste of winter. She wasn't prepared for the temperature drop that happened while she visited her clients. A strong blast of cold wind hit her. One long shiver ran though her five foot five inch body and broke out in goose bumps on her arms and legs. She had been in too big a hurry to get on with her day to think about the weather. Stopping by the Jack O'Lantern display, she zipped her denim jacket over her light blue blouse. As if giving her a cue to keep moving, her cell phone vibrated in her navy blue slacks pocket. Hoping for a little protection from the wind, Hal stepped closer to the building. A row of ornamental pear trees let of a bushel of dried leaves. The rattling leaves tumbled across the parking lot and over Hal's feet. She turned her back to the wind and leaned her shoulder against the brick wall. The text message was from her boss, Barb Sloan, head of the Home Health Department. STOP BY THE OFFICE BEFORE NOON IF YOU CAN! Now what's wrong? Barb never pulls me into the office during the day. Hal glanced at her watch. Noon was thirty minutes away. On the east edge of Wickenburg, an out of business car dealership housed the home health office along with a couple lawyers, a photography studio, a Dollar Store and a half price book store. That was the closest the town would ever get to a mall. The building was ten minutes from the senior citizen apartments. She could make it easy. Hugging her apple green tote bag to her chest so the wind wouldn't dump her nursing supplies, she headed for her late model, copper sedan in the parking lot.
Hal entered the Home Health Department and marched across the office to her boss's desk. "What's up, Barb?"
Worrying that the wind did a number on her hair, Hal patted down her wind blown, copper curls trapped on the back side of a wide, brown hair band. Her parents called her Carrot Top, because her hair was a similar mess as the comedian. Wind or no wind. Not much seemed to help her unruly do short of the suggestion her teasing father once made to cut it all off. She wasn't ready to go bald yet.
Barb looked up from the form she was studying, pushed her brown, straight cut hair back out of her hazel eyes and smiled. "Good Morning to you, too, Hal." Getting to the point, she explained, "I have a new client for you. Sit down a minute." She shuffled through a stack of folders and came up with the one she wanted. Speaking slowly, she read off a page, "Name's John Lapp. He lives at 1210 60th Street. That's out in the country south of town."
"All right, but I have a full load of clients in town." Hal frowned at the thought of one more person added to her work load. This one, out of town to boot, meant time spent coming and going the miles between clients.
" I'll reassign your afternoon clients to Cindy Wauters. I don't know if you've heard, but Lucy Stineford went to work at the hospital this week. I'm trying to rearrange everyone's schedule to take on her work load until we get another nurse hired. Have to add the new ones at the same time."
Sounded like Barb had her hands full. Hal didn't mean to make matters worse for her by complaining. "Yeah, Lucy told me she was quitting. All right. Give me the particulars on Mr. Lapp."
Barb looked at the chart. "This gentleman cut off two toes on his left foot with an ax while cutting wood yesterday. The great toe and the one next to it."
"Ouch!" Hal grimaced. "So I'm to watch for infection and see if the toes reattach?"
Shaking her head, Barb explained, "No. Mr. Lapp didn't bring the toes in with him. Doctor Burns stitched the wound. The doctor's order is to change the dressing every day until Mr. Lapp's next appointment in a couple of weeks. After that the visits can be less often until healed. Unless you think the client needs to be seen sooner. Visits are to start today. The client expects you this afternoon."
Hal worried, "I haven't been around anyone Amish before. Is there anything in particular I should know?"
"Like what?"
Hal shrugged her shoulders. "You know. Weird beliefs or medical procedures they won't let me do."
"No, just treat Mr. Lapp like any other client. That foot has to be hurting him bad enough, he'll appreciate any medical help he gets from you," Barb said, smiling at Hal's preconceived notion of the Amish.
Hal was on her way across the room when as an after thought she asked, "Want to go for a quick lunch with me? You sound and look like you could use a break from that desk."
"No thanks, Girlfriend. Not today. Got too much to get done. Gonna have a sandwich at my desk," Barb replied, fetching a brown bag from a desk drawer.
Grinning at her boss, Hal retorted, "Come to think about it, now I don't have time, either. Join the club. But I didn't fix me anything to eat so I'll have to grab a quick sandwich at Millie's Maidrite."
The Maidrite was crowded. Hal ordered a burger, French fries and coffee. While she ate standing, she watched from the end of the counter as owner and waitress, blond, blue eyed, middle aged Millie Alperson flitted about. The woman was in a conversation with a highway patrolman who stopped by when he needed a greasy fix. Customers could count on Millie's Maidrite being a fixture in Wickenburg, Iowa until she retired or shut the doors if her patrons decided to eat healthy. Which wasn't likely to happen. With the economy the way it was, Alperson's Maidrite was the cheapest place in town. That Wednesday it looked like half the town was taking advantage of a lunch break at Millie's.
Hal pulled away from the Maidrite parking lot and discovered her mouth was dry. She just had a cup of coffee, but that didn't seem to quench her thirst. She checked the car clock and decided she had time to make one more stop before the Lapp appointment. She pulled in at Earnie Long's Conoco gas station and auto repair shop to get a can of Cherry Coke. In front of the roll up door, Earnie was wiping his grease stained hands on a paper towel. He waved at Hal and beat her into the station through a side door.
She had bought enough pop in this station to know right where to go without asking. One wall was lined with cases and another with cases of oil. A fan belt display hung above the oil. A counter of candy bars, cookies, chips and gum sat in the middle of the room. Fumes from gas and oil permeated the air.
" How's it goin', my girl?" Greeted Earnie, a man a receding, strawberry red hairline and weight issues. He pressed his bulging middle flat against the counter as he leaned on it to get closer to her.
"Fine, Earn." Hal handed him the correct change for the pop. Standing that close to the man, she tried not to breathe too deep. She didn't want second hand lung cancer. Earnie reeked of cigarette smoke. If she had to guess she would say he must have smoked a pack already that morning.
"Busy day?" He asked, giving Hal his wide, good old boy smile.
"Sort of. Have to go out into the country to see a new client. Know where 60th Street is?"
Earnie scrunched up his face like it hurt him to think. "Take this street. At the intersection get on the road goin' south out of town. Go about four miles. Turn east or west. Say that's Amish country. Amish gettin' home health nurses out there doesn't happen very often. Who you gonna see?"
"I can't tell you that. It's a privacy thing." Hal popped her can open and took a drink.
"Sure thing. Hey, Hal, why don't you go to the movie with me tonight once?" He invited.
"What's playing?"
Earnie shrugged his shoulders. "Don't know. But it's something to do already." He winked at her.
For a moment, Hal hesitated to think about his invitation . She wondered just how bad she wanted a night out. "No, but thanks for asking. I may be running late this afternoon since I have to go out in the country. After rushing all day, when I get home I'm going to put my feet up and read a book. Besides if I stay up late tonight that makes it too hard to get up early tomorrow morning."
She didn't see any sense in telling Earnie she wouldn't go to the theater with him if she wanted to see a Brad Pitt movie in the worst way. She might need some repair work done on her car some day. Earnie was a good mechanic, but his not knowing what movie was playing certainly didn't sway her to accept a date with him. Sitting next to him for a couple hours would be long enough to kick up her allergies. Thoughts about how miserable she would feel, sniffling and sneezing for days, was the clincher.
Not long into the country drive, Hal decided she needed to look on the bright side of this trip. She was cruising passed colorful scenery. In pastures and on slopes, bright green grass was now much shorter and tinged with the brown. Standing out here and there in the grass, a lone, dried up bull thistle or a patch of them waved in the wind.
The rolling mounds of southern Iowa were surrounded with creeks meandering here and there. Brilliant red sumac, purple berry laden, fiery leafed polk plants and dark brown cattails, with tops oozing cotton stuffing, lined ravines dammed to form moss covered ponds. A collection of weeping willows with yellow green branches sagging to the ground, shaded the pond banks.
Now and then, she saw a deer with its time clock messed up, grazing in broad daylight among a cattle herd. A flocks of turkeys, pheasant or quail strutted across stubble fields, looking for a stray soy bean or kernel of corn. If the birds were lucky, they might stumble onto a pile of grain the combines spilled between the picked rows when filling a grain wagon. Timbers of hickory, walnut, cottonwood, dogwood and oaks painted a back drop of red, yellow and orange to brightened up the brown corn plants still standing.
At the base of a hill, Hal caught up to a John Deere tractor pulling two empty wagons that swayed back and forth. When she got where she could see over the hill, she passed the tractor and sped back up. At the 60th Street intersection, she had a dilemma. Which way was she supposed to turn? Hal pulled off onto the gravel road and stopped to call the office. "Hi Barb. Happen to know which way to the Lapp farm on 60th Street? Is it east or west of the highway?"
"West."
"Thanks a bunch. This must be my lucky day. I'm going the right way." Hal flipped the flap shut on the phone. It immediately vibrated an incoming call.
" Hello." Hearing throaty honks over head, Hal stretched to look over the steering wheel toward the light blue, cloudless sky. A large flock of geese flew low over her car, going the same direction as she was. Headed to Lake Rathbun, no doubt, for a layover to rest up before heading south.
"Hi, how's your day going?" Wickenburg Daily newspaper reporter, Phil King's smooth voice asked. Hal pictured him combing his plastered down hair in the men's bathroom mirror while he talked.
"Busy, Phil. I'm out south of town," Hal said brusquely. "Just got an extra client added to my list. Lives out here somewhere so I have to hustle." Hal's explanation was synchronized with a fair sized splatter of greenish white glob against her windshield. She yelled, "Dang it!"
"What's wrong?" She must have been mistaken about where Phil was. A loud bang sounded as if he had just taken his feet off his desk and stomped the floor as he sat up straight.
" Oh, nothing too drastic. A flock of geese just flew over me. One of them pooped on my windshield. Left the awfullest mess on the passenger side you'll ever see. That's what I get for sitting still too long. Bombed by geese," Hal growled.
"Won't keep you any longer then. The reason I called was to ask if you wanted to have supper with me tonight? I'm hungry for a big, juicy steak. Thought we could go out on 63 to the Angus Steak house," Phil invited.
Hal hesitated. She just turned down Earnie's offer, but this was different she excused to herself. Earnie hadn't offered a meal with his date. She would always be tempted by a hot, sit down supper. Beat the usual maidrites and take out she had to suffer through, because she didn't know how to cook.
"Sure," Hal accepted. "I can do that if you don't mind if we eat a little later. Maybe I'll be ready to go by eight."
"Great!" Phil snorted. "Just my luck, that late in the evening you'll have a bigger appetite. It'll cost me more to feed you." When Hal didn't respond, he laughed. "See ya later."
Hal slowed her car to a crawl when she noticed she was coming up to an immaculate farm with no electricity poles. Well kept fences made boundaries for fields of corn shocks, hay and a pasture. The green emergency 911 address post at the edge of the driveway said 1210. The mailbox had black letters painted on it LAPP. This was the right farm. She parked in front of the white, two story, clapboard house. The tidy structure was compact and pristine with a front porch along the front side. A large, white barn, with a rounded top and a lean to off each side, set across from the house with other outbuildings scattered about.
Hal raised her head to check out her fair skin and hair in the rear view mirror. Patting down the unruly, stray sprigs behind the head band, she said to her blue green eyes, "What these Amish folks are gonna see is what they get. They'll have to like it or lump it as Mom often says."
The minute Hal got out of the car, a flock of cawing chickens attracted her attention. Multa colored, contented hens industriously turned dirt into dusty powder in front of the barn door. Watching the chickens caused memories of days gone by to flood back to her. Taking care of chickens and selling eggs was what Hal did with her mother when she was a kid. Thinking about it made her miss her mother.
In the pen off the long barn, Holstein milk cows stood under a lean to, contentedly chewed their cud. The sound of a car motor was strange to them. The cows lined up to eye her over the fence with curious interest.
A small pen next to the cows contained a large, Holstein bull. In case she hadn't already decided he was an animal to avoid, he intended to sway her to that opinion. He pawed the ground before he stuck his head over the fence and snorted at her. Hal wasn't impressed. She grew up on a dairy farm, helping her father with chores. She was familiar with milk cows and unpredictable bulls.
By the corner of the bar closest to her, a large diesel generator hummed. The generator had to be hooked to the stainless steel cooking tank in the small milk house built onto the barn. Hal knew all about milk cows. When rules changed about keeping milk cold, her father had to quit using the milk cans and put in a bulk tank.
The memories made her homesick. She needed to quit thinking about her parents. Titonka, Iowa was too far away to jump in the car and go visit. Besides, she didn't have enough vacation time saved up yet.
Somewhere behind the barn, the screaming whinnies of horses sounded like they weren't getting along. At the edge of the field by the backyard, the windmill's blades squawked, racing in the brisk, north wind. Typical country sounds that she hadn't thought about missing until now.
Hal went around the car and pulled her tote bag and a box of wound dressings off the seat. With her hands full, she struggled to shut the door. The strong wind was against it. Finally, she balanced on one foot and kicked the door. Dust from the toe of her tennis shoe left the sole's impression. One more reason to stop at the car wash if she ever had time.
Hal whirled around at a series of rapid, deep barks too close behind her to her way of thinking. Her fast movement caused the nervous dog to back up to a safer distance as he yapped at her.

Road Trip To State Center Iowa

2011-05-26T15:54:00.003-07:00

My historical Amazing Gracie Mystery series is set in a fictional small town in Iowa back in the early 1900's. Touring a small Iowa town yesterday reminded me how much things stay the same over a hundred years. For all of us small town citizens that don't like changes that is a comforting thought. If you like cozy mysteries with a Miss Marple type character you can find my mysteries in my bookstore at booksbyfaybookstore.weebly.com and ebooks in Kindle and Nook.

My husband and I drove to State Center, Iowa. Where is State Center? A few miles west of Marshalltown on highway 30.

Did you know that State Center calls itself The Iowa Rose Capital? The stores have rose beds in front of them. In June, the town has a rose festival with a parade and Queen among other things. The coronation takes place in a gazebo in a park filled with walkways between rose beds.

On a side street, we looked around in an antique store called Rat Pack Shop. The inventory there would be enough to do several Antique Road Shows. The owner, Mike, is on the town historian committee and does lectures about the town in the good old days. He is responsible for finding and restoring a one room school house that was in sad shape. The building had become the home of raccoons that weren't house broken. He had that school moved to State Center to use as an exhibit. Do you remember the PBS One Room School House presentation. The man who restored State Center's school house was one of the stories near the end of the film. I saw that presentation twice and can't remember that particular story, but now that I've drove by the outside of the school and met the man who restored it, I'm waiting for PBS to reshow the film.

Downtown, we found a store filled with many nice gift ideas from consignors. The owner was playing cards with three other people. As we started to browse she said she'd be glad to stop playing and help us at any time. I didn't have anything in mind to buy. It was just fun to listen to the small town conversation going on at the card table. What fun it must be to spend the day with friends and customers at the same time. Way to the back of the store behind a stack of crafty things, I found what I couldn't live without - seven used paperback westerns. My husband was out of reading material for next winter, and I like them, too. When my sister-in-law pointed out I was an author, the owner asked if I'd like to have space there to sell my books on consignment. I'd love to, but I live too far away with the price gas is these days.

The Main Street sidewalk was lined with park benches and picnic tables. In the summer on Farmer's Market night, people buy fresh produce. They buy prepared food and take the time to have supper while they shop. Others rest awhile on park benches and catch up with what their neighbors have done all week.

We made a pass through the grocery store. The place smelled like a very good pizza baking in the deli. Not many small towns have a grocery store anymore. It's nice to see one in State Center accommodating customers that don't want to run to a larger town to shop. The store had affordable silk flowers for Memorial Day and an assortment of greeting cards. I found a stack of cards that said Hello From State Center. You'd really love it here... The picture is a sleepy eyes squirrel holding a bouquet of forget me nots. (and inside) but then, you love it anywhere!"

What a special day yesterday was even though it rained all the time we were gone. Our plan was to spend the day with my husband's sister, Kathy, and her husband Jerry. We ate a delicious lunch with Jerry in the Care Center at a table set up for his company. The desert was a new recipe for a special brownie with a secret ingredient. For chocolate lovers, I'd say you need to find that recipe, and I can tell you the secret ingredient wasn't chocolate. State Center can be proud of the nursing home that bears it's name; a lovely modern facility with friendly staff. We enjoyed our visit. One of the staff and a resident must have been prewarned that we were coming. I was asked if I was the one who writes books.

So on that rainy May day we had a good time, and we thank Kathy for the interesting tour of her town, State Center.

Books & Spring

2011-05-12T11:20:00.000-07:00

I recently received an email asking when the next Nurse Hal Among The Amish book would be ready. The last one, Worldly Temptations, I published the first of March. It's fun to get messages from people eager to have another one of my books but I'm not quite as fast as at finishing a book as they would like. Warm temperatures have just arrived here and after this weekend looks like they might be here to stay. We're taking advantage of being able to get outdoors and enjoy it.
As I mentioned before I received an email from Amazon stating that all my kindle ebooks are in Germany now plus I'm told in Austria, Switzerland, Liechtenstein and Luxembourg. This last weekend I entered my books on http:www.//webstore.com which is an auction, but I used the fixed price option. My paperback books are affordable. If you're interested in Iowa based Amish and Cozy Mystery books take a look.

So as for the outside work, this week we weaned the March born baby lambs and goats. They are shut in the barn which doesn't have thick enough walls to keep us from hearing their protests at being taken away from the mothers. The at one time, smaller than a cat baby goat has grown and is in with the other protesters. He's first one out the door when I go in to see how he's doing.

Yesterday we took a few head of older stock to the Kalona Salebarn. That takes most of the day since we live miles away but is an enjoyable drive. We watched our stock sell and in between we watched poultry and other smaller animals sell in another area. My husband bought three bunnies. They're small, white with black stripes fuzz balls, but they will grow fast.

We ate at the Kalona Salebarn cafe. No peanut butter cream pie on the menu yesterday but we did get the coconut cream pie they were out of a few weeks ago. As usual all the food is delicious when prepared by Amish cooks.

The littlest Amish children were barefoot. Just watching them made me want to do the same so I peeled off the shoes when I got home. One sweet little boy in a lemon shaded shirt gave me the nicest smile when he passed me. That made my day.

The spring shower that we drove through when we headed south left puddles on the side the road but missed our area. My flowers were so dry they were wilting, and the seeds hadn't tried to sprout in the garden. I watered the flowers before I decided that I'd left the geraniums, I brought downstairs, on the front porch long enough. I set out some and put the vineing ones in pots. Just in time, because after dark, wouldn't you know we got a downpour with a 60 mile an hour wind. I expected the flowers to be in shreds up against the yard fence, but I lucked out. All the plants are in their place and looking fairly good so far. I hear round two is tonight.

April Posts All In One

2011-04-28T16:26:00.000-07:00

April flew by me. I didn’t keep up with my blog posts so here is a mini version of all the posts. The first week while I had the chance to work at the computer, I got well under way on a book. I thought there would be warm days I’d be working outside soon and less time to write so I didn’t want to waste a minute. Turns out my sister-in-law was right when she said we’d have a late spring because Easter was late. April over did it with the April showers which kept the days in between cloudy and cool. I managed to plant flower seeds and bulbs, but as long as the ground temperature stays cold, the seeds and bulbs don’t sprout. My time in the barn shortened to three times a day bottle feeding for the smaller than a cat baby goat. He follows me around like a puppy when I take him for walks. Now from my window vantage point by the computer, I’m on chicken patrol. They scratch in the freshly cultivated flower beds. I rushed out on the porch, yell, like a crazy person, loud enough for the neighbors to hear me and clap my hands, but nothing keeps those chickens from their quest for a tender nightcrawler. I check and find I have to replant a bulbs. I sure wish those bulbs would hurry up and root so they wouldn’t pop out of the ground so easy.

The first of April, I wrote five short stories for the contests I enter every year. Usually I’d have the stories done a couple months before, but I spent February finishing up two books. In March, I was selling and mailing my third in the Amish series Nurse Hal Among The Amish. My book about my mother-in-law’s life was a hit with the family so I was mailing out books to extended family.

I redownloaded five books into Smashwords. That project wasn’t as simple as I thought it would be when I downloaded in mid January. I mastered Kindle which wasn’t easy at first and Nook, but Smashwords has a Microsoft only setup so the automated scanner for mistakes kept finding problems with my format. I used Open Office and save as is in a Microsoft word. I’d fix one problem and another would crop up. One problem was my open office saved the books in single line but when I saved as Microsoft the line went to single with various points. I couldn’t change that.

So I downloaded a trail sample of Microsoft and put all my books through it. Out of five, four have been accepted now. The fifth one’s problem is the lines needed centering and somewhere an indent for paragraph was done with space bar instead of enter. I discovered when the lines went left, they were only going to the indent for paragraph which made them off center when centered. Thought I had the problem mastered and got the same off center message for the last book. I redid all the chapter titles and front page again though I think they were centered. Now I wait. Each book is read by a human before acceptance so I’m waiting to see if the automation could be wrong. I have the Microsoft program for 60 days so I’ve redone all my books. Now I can submit the rest if I want to. Hopefully, it’s a one or two time only process and not five months worth of downloading.

One week of April was spent downloading Microsoft 2010. I have dail up which makes downloading slow. I started a professional version at 191 hours and realized that wasn’t going to work. Found the home & student version at 45 hours. Once the program downloaded into the computer, it would have taken about 48 hours to install it.

If downloading that program wasn’t time consuming enough, I made the mistake of answering an email I thought was from my dail up company. WRONG! It was spammers trying to get into accounts. Once I clicked the link to see what my urgent problem was, I was sent to my account name and password which seemed right to me. In a couple days, I couldn’t use my email or internet. I phoned for help which was on going for a week. Several password changes later and reinstalling my dail up I’m back online. This happened during the installation of the Microsoft program which made it took longer since the installation kept shutting off, and I’d have to restart it again. I’ve been getting the dial up messages two or more a day. I’ve blocked them and the emailer’s address comes up. The addresses are changing. As I block one, another one takes over. It does strike me strange that the dail up company spam filter doesn’t take care of these messages.

Amazon has let me know that my ebooks are now in Amazon Germany. I’ve found trying to get into the discussion groups are not as easy as the UK, because all the buttons are in German. I left one message in an English and German mixed discussion but don’t know if it downloaded. I’ll have to wait to see if I gain anything from this venture.

I checked the Good Old Days magazine site for the May June issue to see if my story was mentioned. The site has changed. One story from the magazine was usually featured. Now each of the story headlines are in a row with a picture beside them. First thing I saw was a picture of my mother beside the title 1950’s Memorial Day Memories by Fay Risner. Mom would have been so pleased. Now I can’t wait to get the magazine and see what other family pictures they used.

The last week of April and I’m just now downloading my blog posts. This time it has been because my husband is waiting for a call from a Tire Store that is going to deliver and put on a large tractor tire. Right now it’s after hours at the Tire Store so I’m posting while I can use my computer. Oh well, I hope for better luck posting in May.

　

　

A Little Lamb Went To The Nursing Home

2011-03-29T12:42:00.000-07:00

As I mentioned in an earlier post, the month of March is lambing time in my barn. I don't get much done at the computer, book sales for my third Nurse Hal Amish book is going well if you're intrested in a copy of Hal's Worldly Temptations on Amazon, kindle,and nook plus wwwbooksbyfaybookstore.weebly.com. We have had a good lambing season, and the cold days or the snow we had this morning doesn't bother the animals much. They have a warm, well bedded down barn to live in.

In the forty years I've raised sheep and goats, I've never had a spring that I didn't have at least one to four babies on the bottle. This season so far I have one baby goat that I feed. He is over a week old and was smaller than my grown cats which is small compared to his brother. He wouldn't get up when he was born a week ago Sunday so I put him in a box and have cared for him ever since in the house. At first, baby sucked just a few sips every 1 ½ hours until last barn check. Then he had to wait until morning for me to feed him. Talk about time consuming tasks. Finally mid week, I stood baby up on his feet. He wavered around and got his balance and has been gettin up on his own ever since. The last couple days, he can down a half a pop bottle of milk four times a day and do it standing on his feet instead of me holding him. Now as soon as the weather warms up, he's going to his new home in a pen in the barn which I'm hoping is toward the end of the week.

I found out years ago I have a talent for saving newborn animals. What a gratifying feeling when a tiny creature responds to my care. Things have changed so much. When I started doctoring my sheep, I realized I'd have to become my own vet when the vet told me a sick sheep was a dead sheep. The advice was a newborn that didn't get up right away I should just let die. Today veternairians are school on what to do, but I don't give them much business now. I already know what to do and if I'm not sure of my diagnosis, I give a mixture of medicines. One vet called that my kill or cure method, but I'm sure my treatment won't kill and it usually cures the animal.

The middle of last week I made my annual trip with a baby lamb and goat to the nursing home I used to work at. I've been doing this each spring for thirty years so I have the preparations down pat. First, I need a small box just big enough for the babies to stand in but not jump out of. This box has to have the flaps so I can make the babies lay down and shut them in. Today the grocery boxes have the flaps cut off but I keep all the boxes my books come in so I have a ready supply. I tie baler twine around the box so the flaps stay shut. Learned to do that from experience. One time, the lamb and goat stood up, opened the flaps and jumped out of the box. They enjoyed the ride much better in front of the passenger seat, but I worried until we got home. My babies usually get their pictures taken with residents for the bulletin board. They took turns petting the babies until the lamb ducked and the goat butted their fingers. In return, I got the neatest stories about their sheep raising days and an addition to an activity book for nursing homes that I've been working.

Just three mothers left to deliver and the long days of up early and to bed late are over. In about 6 weeks my little alarm clock will be ready to wean from the bottle and in the barn where I can't hear him cry for me to feed him. So what's next. Garden and flowers. I already have 4 inch tall tomato plants and a few sweet potato plants rooted. We've had a few winter green onions from the garden and soon will uncover last fall's spinach row to see if we can pick enough for a salad. But for now, I'm working on a new book-the sixth in my Amazing Gracie Mystery Series- while I wait for warm weather. That is I try to write until I hear the baby cry.

Goshen College Amish & Mennonite Author List

2011-03-23T13:04:00.000-07:00

Why am I interested? I write Amish fiction, and I'm on the list. After I self published I've always been on the lookout for free websites to promote my books. It was my worry that I'd write a book that doesn't sell after I hired a firm to promote for me. What works for me might not be the way most authors publish and sell their book. I've put my books in different author sites and blog posts, thinking that might take longer than paid advertising, but I wouldn't lose money. Besides, I can always work on another book at the same time. At the same time, I'm always looking for other sites I can submit to. That's why I put my name or book titles in google search often to see what has turned up on the Internet. Some of the links are where my books are sold and many of the google searches came from my promoting and blog posts. I like it when I find what I've done so far leads to a submission on google that I didn't submit. This information I found recently. The website is Center for Mennonite Writing

Ervin Beck, Professor Emeritus of English at Goshen College is editor of Journal of the Center and maintains the website. He wanted to write an article about serial fiction by and about Mennonites and Amish. He intended to make a list of authors and knew of eleven. So he sent his list to Joe Springer, Curator of Goshen College. The list of authors Professor Beck got back was about three times longer.

Professor Beck complied an informal bibliography containing a complete listing of authors, brief biographies, name of series, publishers, individual books and dates of publication which is listed on his website.

Guess what? The first two books in my Nurse Hal Among The Amish series had made Joe Sprinter's list. He's always on the look out for new authors and their Amish or Mennonite books so he keeps an up to date list. Information is in the Mennonite Historical Library list at Goshen College.

What didn't make the list was the stand alone titles such as Jodi Picoult's best selling Plain Truth. Since this is the first list he's posted some fiction series probably have been unintentionally omitted. Professor Beck says corrections and additions are welcome.

Later I checked again and found another list of Amish books on a Bethel College, Kansas site Mennonite Library & Archives complied by Barbara A. Thiesen. Joe Springer had helped her with the list and for 2007 - 2008 he had added my Amish book Christmas Traditions which isn't in the series and happens to be in the library. Actually, the main character in that book is in my Nurse Hal series but adding her to the series came as an after thought.

As the writer of Amish fiction, the lists were interesting to read. Of course, I was thrilled to find my name made both lists. It's an honor to be included. I was surprised since I'm new as an author and an Independent one. When I wrote the first Nurse Hal book I didn't think about starting a series. That idea came from the readers of the first book A Promise Is A Promise. They wanted me to keep writing about Nurse Hal. It's amazing how everything seems to fall into place for a reason. The powerful reach of the Internet doesn't hurt, either. That helps me pick up new readers interested in my books.

This is my latest Nurse Hal Among The Amish book number 3 Hal's Worldly Temptations sold on Amazon as paperback and kindle and in Nook

Alzheimer's Volunteer Caregivers Up 37%

2011-03-16T08:29:00.000-07:00

Baby boomers have reached the age to have Alzheimer's disease. Good Morning America scrolled across the screen there is now 15 million volunteer caregivers which is up 37%. These caregivers need as much information as they can get on how to take care of a person with Alzheimer's.

I've written a book titled Open A Window - Alzheimer's Caregiver Handbook. I'm very proud of how much this book helps caregivers. It's written in layman's terms. Caregivers who read the book can identify with the experiences I shared and use the solutions to make life easier for them and the person they take care of.

Monday I received a call from a woman who works at two nursing homes and for hospice. She was given one of the copies I left at a doctor's office and read it. Now she wanted more copies of Open A Window to spread around. After she told me she really liked the book, I explained the stories and solutions were true experiences I'd had while I worked at a nursing home and took care of my father. She said she knew that. I couldn't make stories like that up.

Here is a review left on Amazon from C. Wright in California. I want to thank this person for giving me such a good review.

This caregiver has taken the care to detail a number of real life interactions she's experienced while caregiving her own father and the many Alzheimer's patients at the nursing home. She's won awards for her caregiving efforts, actually.

What many people do not realize when first dealing with Alzheimer's is that the sufferer still has a lot of memory cords left, triggers that will move them, calm them, agitate them...have meaning for them. One woman patient would go around the nursing home yelling out numbers. The caregivers eventually made a game of it with the woman, and it wasn't until the woman died that they were told the patient was an avid bingo player. If they'd only known, they could have worked the concept a bit and offered the woman more of a connection to her pleasurable memories. Other patients would follow the caregivers around, or hang around the nursing station, checking on things. They then found these patients were nurses themselves, and thought they should be on the job. Lots of examples, simple stories told with heart. Will help anyone caring for people with memory problems

Another review is on the back of the book as well as on Amazon from well known Alzheimer's speaker and author of "Creating Moment Of Joy" Jolene Brackey -- "This book shares what is possible if we allow a person with Alzheimer's to "be" who they are right now. Thank you for "opening" a window."

I've listened to several of Jolene's presentations. She gives a exciting, powerful presentation that can make you laugh, cry, think and understand Alzheimer's disease. Her website is www.enhancedmoments.com Her book is sold on her website and Amazon. With a search you probably can find the book many other places. It's the 3rd revised, expanded edition. ISBN 1557533660 Also information is there on how to reach Jolene if you'd like her to speak. She draws a crowd and has a site map that shows as a speaker she's a very busy woman.

Several years ago, Jolene spoke at the nursing home as an inservice and offered to speak at my Alzheimer's Support Group the same afternoon. After the fact, I found out the administrator had sent a copy of Open A Window to Jolene. She was impressed by my stories and asked to put one in her book. I agreed. Why wouldn't I? Her books help so many people. It's an honor to be a part of that.

About five years ago when I found out Jolene would be speaking close to where I live I went to the meeting. She held up a copy of her book and said it was the only one she brought on the plane just to show us. We'd have to order from her website. After the meeting, she presented me with that book and showed me my story with my byline. She used another one of my stories as an example in another spot, too. She signed the book which really makes it a one of a kind treasure.

So for caregivers out there here is a some choices to help you. My book Open A Window and another one I wrote about taking care of my father- Hello Alzheimer's Good Bye Dad can be found on Amazon and an ebooks in Kindle and Nook as well as paperback on my website www.booksbyfaybookstore.weebly.com and the Lemstone Christian Book Store in Cedar Rapids, Iowa.

Third Book In Amish Series For Sale

2011-03-07T11:58:00.001-08:00

My latest book is Hal's Worldly Temptations-book 3 in Nurse Hal Among The Amish series. ISBN 098245953X There's plenty of places to get a copy. Right now the book is in ebook form at Kindle and Nook but in the next week it will be a paperback at Amazon, and my bookstore www.booksbyfaybookstore.weebly.com and I'll put the book on ebay when I get my first shipment.

I'm always surprised by what readers like about my Nurse Hal character. She has become a bit of a rebel in the Amish community, because she has trouble conforming to their ways. For someone that is not housewife material and loves her possessions- a car and cell phone, giving in to learning what she needs to know to be considered Amish isn't easy.

Nurse Hal can't catch on fast enough to keep her from making mistakes. That's another reason readers like her. Some of her mistakes will make you laugh out loud like when she's learning to drive a buggy and can only make the horse go in circles which ties up two intersections. One person told me she can just read so many sad books then she has to read one of mine to get herself back in a good mood. Each humorous situation I put Nurse Hal in comes easy when I think about what would happen to me if I tried to go back a century and learn what she is expected to know.

I hope you like the picture on my book's cover. A cover catches the buyer's eyes if done right and helps sell the book. With Christmas Traditions I used clipart which had the side view of a young woman in a bonnet. With my Amish series, I decided not to use people on the cover as many other authors do. I realize the people they use are models, but since Amish don't believe in pictures taken of them I've used scenery instead. The first book A Promise is a Promise has a picture on it that I took south of Bloomfield, Ia on an Amish farm. The second book, The Rainbow's End picture is my front yard just after a storm, and I added a buggy. I had to since I never see one go by. On this latest book, the picture is from the neighbor's place west of me. He'd just painted his buildings red and was proud of the way they looked. I told him I'd probably turn his barn white. You should have heard him groan. So recently I informed him I left his barn alone on the book cover, but he now owns two horses instead of one and has several buggies sitting in his pasture. When someone helps me out in any way with my books I give them a copy. I'm thinking this book cover will make him laugh.

Here is what it says on the back of the book - Join the fun! You are invited to the wedding of John Lapp and Nurse Hal. Family and friends gathered to cook, clean and plan. Men put up a tent in the yard for guests. So put on your bonnet or felt hat, hitch up the buggy and take a ride by scenic pastures and rolling hills to Wickenburg, Iowa. Take a seat on a bench next to Hal's parents. They will be glad to explain the ceremony, because they came armed with facts from Aunt Tootie's book on Amish customs. You will find a few surprises. Little Daniel Lapp interrupts the bishop when he asks if anyone objects. Oh and Stella Strutt has some sort of fit. It will be the most talked about Amish wedding for years to come. Hal's life goes down hill from there for awhile. She refuses to give away her car and cell phone. Getting caught by Stella Strutt at the Old Thrasher's Reunion on a "joy ride" doesn't help her avoid punishment. Is Hal going to be sent away before she gets settled into her new home? Stick around after the wedding and find out, why don't you.

If you like Amish stories join my readers and try the Nurse Hal books. I hear the stories aren't quite like any other Amish stories you've read.
www.amazonauthorpagefayrisner.com

Good Old Days Magazine Buys My Story

2011-03-01T09:02:00.001-08:00

If you have a subscription to Good Old Days magazine watch for a story with my by line in the May/June issue. Last summer, I submitted a story which was a take off of a blog post about what my family did on Memorial Days in the 1950's. You might be able to find the post in my blog so I won't rerun it here. This is the 6th story the magazine has bought from me.
I've heard the old saying that we become our parents. I happen to be a combination of mine. My father was a delightful storyteller about his youth. He couldn't have written down a good tale but he sure could tell them. My mother was a saver of everything which came from the fact she lived through the thirties, depression years, and thank goodness I picked that up from her.
So I grew up with a treasure trove right under my nose and didn't realize it. This treasure was in the small right hand drawer on an antique sideboard in Mom's kitchen. As time went by every picture, newspaper article, funeral card and anything else that sealed in our memories a family happening was placed in that drawer. Finally, the drawer was so stuffed, pictures hung up. One day I volunteered to clean that drawer out and sort by years Sorting wasn't easy since the pictures hadn't been identified on the back until Mom told me names and dates. I'm glad I had her do that so I can look on the family tree and put a face to a name. My intention was to put the pictures in scrapbooks. I found that a slow go so after filling one scrapbook I dumped the rest of the pictures back in the drawer. There was enough space for awhile to make the drawer close easily.
When my mom passed away, I inherited that drawer full of pictures and dumped them in a box which I stored in a closet. I didn't see this box as a treasure yet, but I couldn't make myself throw away mementos that Mom treasured.
I got a subscription for Good Old Days so I could read the stories that happened before 1959 to the residents at the nursing home. The stories are good for discussion groups. Memories came rushing back to the residents, and I heard many of their great stories. The same company has a magazine titled Looking Back which takes stories after 1960. Both magazines are filled with old fashion memories. As I read Good Old Days, I kept thinking I had tales to tell but they want pictures to enhance the story if you have them. When the idea hit me, I was upstairs in a second and tearing the closet apart to look for that box of pictures. I went through the pictures and thought with each is there a story here? When I came up with an idea, I wrote the memories. So now 9 stories later with 6 sold, I'm thankful my mom taught me to be a saver. I'd have missed out on so much in more ways than one if I had dumped that drawer full of precious treasures in the trash
If you're interested go to the Good Old Days website. The submission information is there and address. They do like pictures but will print a story without them. Some stories are fairly short and others are a couple pages long. I suspect you get paid better for the larger stories with pictures but I can tell you this magazine company does pay good. They give two free magazines with your story in them and let you buy up to ten more. A selling point is names and location with dates so tell the story in detail. One way the company sells the magazine is people buy it because of the area stories or people they knew. Or like me the writer is a relative. The subscriptions make good gifts, too. I know because I bought several just to make sure the relatives found my story.

Author Fay Risner On Following Links

2011-02-21T12:08:00.001-08:00

Following links isn't anything new for me. When I see one that might lead to advertising or to a new place to sell my books I check the site out. One of the words I look for in these links is the word free. I like keeping my costs down. Makes me more profit as an independent author selling her own books. Sometimes, Google search picks up me in the link. It always amazes me how many pages are about my books when I Google search. This has happened because of the sites I have linked myself. Hopefully, people interested in the genre of books I write stumble across these same links. Just doing a Google search brings up a link I can check that might lead to a book advertising or sale.
One of the web sites I'm a member of is Merchant Circle. As a bookstore business, I advertise and blog on that site. Sometimes, I'm alerted by email to questions customers have. Recently, the questions were about how to find books. When I read through answers already given I didn't see anything I could add, but the answers about links to do book searches to find different books to buy interested me. One site was book finder. I like searching for books I've written to see where they end up. One of the searches led to two listings for my Amish book on ebay. One site was mine, but I was surprised to see someone else selling my book at twice the price. I clicked the link which led to an Australian bookstore, The Nile. I found the website for the bookstore in goggle search and checked. The store has two of my Amish books. Since there was a contact us email, I emailed the bookstore that there was another book in that series if their buyers would be interested.
While I was looking through the posts that came up from my search, I found a link to a website that has an advertising directory with a free and not free advertising. It was in UK. I need more advertising in that country since my books and ebooks are in Amazon UK. I filled out the form to advertise my bookstore and that lead to filling out one in the United States.
Thanks to a tip from Rob Williams on MyEntre.Net, I read Chris Brogan's Bigger Ear Marketing for authors advice. I post on Twitter about my books, my blog and every day things when I don't have an announcement to make. So I tried the search for and came up with other twitter users I thought might be interested in my books or my ebooks. Right away I had an email from someone who is now following me. Mr. Brogan commented that the method he suggested was time consuming, and he was right. This procedure is one of those things that you want to try when you have some time to spare. It took some time for Twitter to search out the a large list of people for me. I got the message that the search had hiccuped or was slow. I decided Twitter had both problems.
I've found when I do a blog post, Google search picks me up and some of the places I blog have a Twitter and Face book button that link me to alert about my blog post. From Twitter, I get from two to 4 people following me each week. I always links from the emails back to their site and leave a message to thank them which gives me the opportunity to mention my books and website. It just seems faster to let the followers come to me.
I suspect others are doing the same Twitter searches which leads to me. Because of my varied interests mentioned in my bio, I get a variety of followers - fishermen, gardeners, flower lovers, bloggers and boaters. I thought about changing my bio to just writing books since the bio might be leading away from my books. Then I decided all my followers with different interests read books so why not advertise to them. If my genres aren't to their liking maybe they will think to mentioned me to someone else. Word of mouth is a great way to sell books.
Now back to work. I'm just about ready to download the two books I've worked on all winter. One day the first of March, lambs and baby goats will be showing up in the barn. That means I'll be outside for periods of time therefore away from the computer. That makes me want to finish up with the books before the babies come. When I reminisce to myself later on about this winter and how I spent it may my memory remind me to never do this again. As a friend said, she couldn't figure out how I kept from putting Amish buggies in my mother-in-law's story and pie supper dates in the Amish book. On second thought, maybe I better proof read each book one more time just to make sure I didn't.

Bushwhacker Museum, Nevada, Mo.

2011-01-24T12:12:00.001-08:00

I just finished reading The Saber and the Ring by Patrick Brophy (ISBN 1893046168). The proceeds of his books go to the Bushwhacker Museum in Nevada, Missouri to help with expenses. Mr. Brophy had a love for words and a pride in being able to put those words into articles and books about a subject he knew well which was his birthplace, Vernon County, and its history, the Civil War.
My father used to tell his children stories about the Civil War, but I must confess I paid very little attention. He got his interest from his father who heard the stories passed down from Dad's Union soldier grandfather. My personal connection with Vernon County is I was born in the Nevada hospital and lived my first 14 years on a farm near Schell City.
Where is this leading you ask? What interests me is what I write about whether it be my blog post or writing a book. Now I have to confess I didn't pay nearly enough attention to my father's tales. It was later I developed an interest in the Civil War that lead to me write a Civil War book about a lady bushwhacker from Vernon County. Ella Mayfield's Pawpaw Militia is about a woman who fought valiantly to protect her home along with other members of her family. If you want to get an idea about how hard it was to live in the area, not from a north or south version, but about citizens struggling to stay out of both armies way during the Civil War read my book. It is in paperback on Amazon and my bookstore site www.booksbyfaybookstore.weebly.com and in ebook on Kindle and B&N nook.
The Bushwhacker Museum is a resource center to find out about family histories as well as being filled with exhibits. Some items somewhere in the museum belonged to some of my ancestors. I know, because I donated a few of them. The volunteers are helpful, knowledgeable about their county and friendly tour guides. If you want to learn about the Civil War in the Ozarks and the border war between Missouri and Kansas that started long before the war, take a look in the museum book store. Check out the website www.bushwhacker.org and go visit.
The tour includes the Civil War era jail that sits next door to the museum. Quite an interesting place with double decked cells and rooms for the lawmen and their families to live in. To think, the brick building was considered modern in the mid 1800's. Just looking around the jail gave me an insight about where one of my great uncles spent some of his time, including extra time for his failed jail break, but that's another story.
Patrick Brophy passed away last summer. The museum lost a colorful character as well as a talented writer. He dressed the part of a gent born in the 1800's complete with black suit and string tie and wore the traditional beard. The one time I saw him, he glided from his office across the museum to the book counter, looking for references for his next book no doubt. I choose to think when I go back to visit, I'll see him wondering around the museum, checking out the exhibits or the bookstore, because it would be hard to imagine the Bushwhacker Museum without him in it.
Students take field trips to the museum to learn about their county's past. They were born in that area, and the exhibits and stories will undoubtedly contain names they know from their own family tree. What a great way to get them interested in history?
I've just about finished my mother-in-law's story about her life. While doing research on the internet for the family trees, I found a story about a great uncle of hers that had been a Confederate soldier. I found the story interesting enough to include in her book with the hope that this might spark some interest with future generations of this family. What really thrilled me about this man from Summersville, Missouri was the fact that he walked across Missouri to join the Confederate Army and fought along side the men from Vernon County that I wrote about in my book. Goes to show you, it was a small world even back then.

Smashword Ebooks Sales

2011-01-17T12:12:00.001-08:00

I spent this last weekend downloading four of my books to Smashwords.com to be approved and put for sale on the website. It will take a week to find out if the downloads meet the hosts approval. Though they can turn the books into many different formats for different type of ebook readers, the format they wanted for the download was Microsoft document. Took me awhile to figure that one out because I don't have Microsoft. There are many other format guidelines to follow. I had to

unpublish and republish a few times to get what I thought would work for the guidelines after I figured out the doc format. That doesn't mean the downloads will pass inspection so now I have to wait to hear if my books will work on this website.
The last couple of months have been a time when I didn't know what I should do first. I have been working on two books at the same time. This only worked for me because one of the books was my husband's mother's story that I started in September. I interviewed her and many family members and typed out what they told me. Didn't take much creative thinking but formatting the stories in order of when they happened in her 90 years took me awhile. Doing research on the family tree for the back of the book took just as long. I can gladly say I am just about done with that book.
The other book is an Amish book, third in my Nurse Hal Among The Amish series. I wrote that book in the November novel contest and have been working on turning it into a smooth read. It's just about ready to enter in the Amazon Breakthrough Contest next Monday. As soon as I can after I find out I'm not in the running I'll publish the book.
I ask buyers who read my books to let me know what they think of them. Just this last week I had a review from a woman who bought all three of my Amish books at the same time and wants to make sure I put her on my mailing list for this next book. I want to share her message with you.
I can truly say I can not wait until your next Nurse Hal book comes out! I absolutely loved these books. The story line in each book kept my interest from beginning to end and was not like any of the other Amish books I've read, and I've read over 100. Since I've worked as a Home Health nurse in the past, I think I enjoyed the Nurse Hal books more than the other books I've read so far. Following Nurse Hal through her transformation and struggle with becoming Amish has been very interesting. As a reader I think these books has given good insight into what it takes to adapt to that way of life. You have tapped into a subject that has been touched on in other books, but not done in great detail. Usually toward the end of the book, and the author did not allow enough time to understand what was involved. Another thing I loved in the second Nurse Hal book was that you brought back Margaret Goodman Yoder from the first book. (Christmas Traditions) and tied the families together. It makes a reader feel like they actually knew the people they were reading about. I could say, "Hey, I know her!" Margaret would certainly be an excellent choice of a person that could help give Hal insight between the Amish life and the English life.
If you're curious enough to try one of my books
A Promise Is A Promise and The Rainbow's End are the two books in the Nurse Hal series plus Christmas Traditions. All of these books are sold on Amazon, ebay, for ebook readers Kindle and Nook as well on my website booksbyfaybookstore.weebly.com
Coming out soon is book 3 of the Nurse Hal series - Hal's Worldly Temptations

Member of Good Reads Group

2011-01-02T10:10:00.000-08:00

I've signed up with Bitsy Bling Books hosted by Charlie Courtland to read historical books for the whole year.

The group in on Good Reads and is Historical Tour de Genre. I just submitted my first book and review.
When the group thinks historical genre, I think they probably didn't have westerns in mind, but I enjoy a good old fashion western. Not sure those exist anymore. Looks like I'll find out this year.

I've written some of my own and I stuck to more the old west version. Anyone interestedcan find those on Amazon in paperback and kindle and in B&N's nook store.
The Dark Wind Howls Over Mary and Small Feet's Many Moon Journey are part of the Stringbean Hooper series by Fay Risner
Next in that line is a Civil War book fiction based on facts about a lady bushwhacker Ella Mayfield's Pawpaw Militia-A Civil War Saga in Vernon County Mo

Finished NaNoWriMo Contest

2010-11-30T14:09:00.001-08:00

I'm back after missing a few Tuesday posts. My competitive side came out while I tried to prove to myself I could succeed at this contest. On Sunday, I pasted into the NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) site what is to be my next book. I modestly put 51,900 words in my word estimate updater. The validater totaled 52,028 words. That puts me well over the 50,000 I needed. According to the site that makes me a winner along with most of the 36,000 plus other contestants.

Last year, I entered and didn't have half the words I needed by the end of November. However, that contest was a good learning experience to prepare me for this year. I learned from the 2009 entry what I needed to do to compete in this contest and make it to the finish line. For one thing, I have been too used to going over what I've written to correct the first time around as I go. Over the years, I've entered many writing contests. All the elements that go into a story has to be perfect in order to place. So last time, I didn't pay attention to the fact the contest information states that the book can be poorly written and should be to get done by the end of the month. How sloppy the sentence structure or how poor the details are doesn't matter. That can be taken care of after the contest. All right so this time I got it.

Stick-to-itness and watching the words add up are a must. I checked after each writing session to see how many words I'd written. A writer has to average close to 12,000 or over a week to be able to finish a winner. When I hadn't made that goal by the end of a week, I knew I had to buckle down and continue until I had the amount of words I needed. Then I could stop, rest and get ready to start over the next day. So what if I wasn't at my brightest when I slaved away at the keyboard, trying to make the 12,000 words a week. All I had to do was keep in mind that I was allowed to be a sloppy writer on this contest entry. No one was going to hold it against me.

I excused last year that I had too many interruptions in November to write. I found this November wasn't any different. The key is I was prepared for the interruptions and didn't let those distractions stop me from working when I was home. That meant cutting down to the minimal amount of distractions. For instance, I really did need to go grocery shopping or keep a dental appointment. One cut was not making blog posts most of the month. Writing a post doesn't take me long, but my dial up Internet connection is slow. It takes a morning and sometimes a day to download the post on my various blogs. While I was writing I kept away from the telephone as much as possible. Time to chat is now that I'm done with the contest.

Turns out, I have done much the same sort of writing with all my other books. I just didn't think about the time it took to get to the finished version. For one thing, I don't have a deadline so the days melt into months while I work on a story and rework it and eventually the book is done. I like it that way, but this contest was an incentive to keep working.

NaNoWriMo is certainly a way to motivate authors as long as they have a basic outline or plan in their head for the story. That means start giving some thought to what you want to write about in October. Once the contest starts, there isn't any time to have writer's block. The great thing about this contest is whether I got to the 50,000 word finish line or not, I could considered the process a great writing exercise and a portion of a book done.

Now comes the real work. I've got to edit the entry, rewrite and delete many words in the sloppy sentence structures. Wouldn't be surprised if I chop out half of the entry, but that's all right. The basic story is still there and one of these days I'll have a book completed.

Athena Club Presentation Over

2010-11-09T09:57:00.001-08:00

For just a few days, I imagined a well thought out plan for what I was going to do to promote my Civil War book at the Athena Club meeting in Belle Plaine, Iowa last night. That all changed last Tuesday with a sizable dent in my car's driver door. My door won't open until the repair work is done so I'm stuck with driving the car like it is. Until that happy moment when I can get in and out of my car like any other driver, I'm getting in on the passenger side and squeezing between the gear shift lever and arm rest one leg at a time. There went the idea of wearing my full skirted, floor length homesteader dress. It's hard enough to double up and maneuver myself into and out of the driver's seat in slacks. Not that this little inconvenience dimmed my enthusiasm for talking about my books. I slipped on my pioneer bonnet and told the audience I wore it to get in the mood. That got me a chuckle from everyone which put them in a good mood as well I hope.

I can't imagine how girls in the thirties had any freedom to be adventuresome, wearing dresses. My mother-in-law was a teenager in Arkansas at the time. Mom assures me I'm wrong. Women wore dresses no matter what they did on the farm. They didn't know any different. In fact, when the first two women in the area dared to put on slacks, they were considered sinners. However soon after that the fad caught on and northern Arkansas had many sinners wearing slacks.

In the middle of my struggle to get from one seat of my car to the other, it reminds me of sitting on a horse's saddle while I sit on the hump with the gear shift lever in front of me. I asked Mom if she ever rode a horse in a dress. Turns out at fourteen, she was riding one of her father's work horses bareback with a bit and reins. She is only 4 feet eleven inches tall but could grab the horse's mane, give a leap and straddle that large animal. I asked, "How did your dress work out for you then?" She said it wasn't a problem. Dresses were longer in those days. Was she adventuresome? Oh yes! She met up with a group of boys from school at a little used country road and together they raced to the other end. Now I know this lady likes to be the best she can at anything she does so I asked if she ever won the races. She smiled cagily when she told me it wasn't that kind of race. They just ran the horses for the fun of it. Sounds like a smart woman to me. At fourteen years old, she had figured out to let the boys win the race.

Last night at the meeting, I talked about another woman with a competitive nature. During the Civil War, Ella Mayfield, lady Bushwhacker, was determined to fight to the end for her cause. Not only was she a crack shot, she rode her horse better than most men. While hiding from Union Soldiers in the Ozark timbers of Vernon County, Missouri, a messenger found Ella to deliver a message from a friend that lived near Ft. Scott, Kansas. The doctor needed to see Ella right away. It was a matter of life and death. This was 3 in the afternoon. Ella raced west and arrived at the friend's house at dusk. She found out the problem was the doctor had sent her mother a picture of a Union soldier that killed Ella's two brothers. One brother's widow had put a bounty on that soldier's head. Now the rough men in Kansas wanted that picture so they would know who to shoot for the bounty. If the doctor didn't give them the picture in 24 hours, they were going to kill him. Ella rested an hour, got back on her horse and headed back to Montevallo, Mo. She arrived at her mother's cabin, explained the doctor's dilemma, secured the picture and raced back to the doctor's house. She made it in the 24 hour time limit and had rode at break neck speed for 125 miles with only two hours break. As well as Ella knew the land, traveling at night had to be dangerous for many reasons. What if her horse stumbled in a gully or stream? What if the Union patrols, camped all over the area, were alerted by their horses knickering at Ella's mount? Her only warning when she came near a camp was smelling smoke or seeing the flicker of a campfire. If Ella came too close to a cabin in the dark, she could have gotten shot by a homesteader that thought she was a murderous Jayhawker. Wild animals were plentiful such as wolves, bobcats and mountain lions. Those night predators could have easily pounced on Ella. Not only was she in good shape physically, but her horse must had very good stamina. However once Ella rejoined her Bushwhacker band in the timber camp, I can imagine she and her horse took a well deserved rest. Oh yeah, and she did all that in men's trousers.

That's just one of the stories I told last night about Ella's brave deeds from the book Ella Mayfield's Pawpaw Militia - A Civil War Saga In Vernon Co. Mo. It was a fun meeting with a very interested audience. I enjoyed myself, and I hoped the Athena Club did, too.

Now I have to get back to my November writing contest story. I'm doing all right so far with word count, but the month is young.