Synopsis

 

As war overtakes the frontier, Emma’s family farmstead is attacked by Dakota-Sioux warriors; on that same prairie, Oenikika desperately tries to hold on to her calling as a healer and follow the orders of her father, Chief Little Crow. When the war is over and revenge-fueled war trials begin, each young woman is faced with an impossible choice. In a swiftly changing world, both Emma and Oenikika must look deep within and fight for the truth of their convictions—even as horror and injustice unfolds all around them.

Inspired by the true story of the thirty-eight Dakota-Sioux men hanged in Minnesota in 1862—the largest mass execution in US history—Dovetails in Tall Grass is a powerful tale of two young women connected by the fate of one man.

 

 

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Praise

 

“Through her honest and uncluttered writing style, Samantha Specks weaves together the threads of heart and history. In doing so, we are reminded that love is the life force that frees us all.” — Kathleen A. Blatz, retired Chief Justice, Minnesota Supreme Court

“Samantha Specks weaves an unforgettable tale of two women in frontier America — one white, one Dakota — each changed forever by the violence of colonization. A remarkably thoughtful and honest look at the human cost of westward expansion; a welcome addition to the world of historical fiction in this new era of truthful storytelling without romanticization of the past. Specks makes a strong debut with Dovetails in Tall Grass. She will be an author worth watching.” — Olivia Hawker, bestselling author of One for the Blackbird, One for the Crow

“As a journalist, and as an amateur Minnesota history buff, I appreciate Samantha Specks’s painstaking task of blending the stories of actual historical people with the voices of determination from both young women. I love how she authentically took us back in time and left me wanting to read more. Brava!” — Diana Pierce, retired news anchor for KARE-TV (NBC), and president of Diana Pierce Productions

“Dovetails in Tall Grass allows readers to ponder how history might have been altered if rather than might, we employed our brains and hearts. A perfect choice for book clubs!” — Martha Hunt Handler, president of the Wolf Conservation Center and author of Winter of the Wolf

“A beautiful debut! This haunting yet hopeful story lives on long after the last page is turned.” — Abby Mathews, host of the Mom Writes Podcast

“This sweeping story is a gripping epic of a time in our history that we did not know. Emma and Oenikika are painted so vividly that the story stays with you long after you finish. We cannot wait to read the next book!” — Lori Barghini, The Lori & Julia Show, myTalk 107.1

“Specks’s meticulously researched and vividly depicted tale follows one brutal instance of the disintegration in U.S./Native American relations. The story slowly builds to a sad and inevitable conclusion that pays homage to those who needlessly lost their lives. The book kept me on the edge of my seat until I turned the last page, and I highly recommend it!” — Cindy Burnett, Book Columnist, Podcaster, and Literary Salon Host

“My favorite books teach me something about myself and the world I live in. Dovetails in Tall Grass taught me about the land I grew up on and I finally learned WHY there are few (or maybe no) indigenous people in southern Minnesota — a question I never asked in any of my history courses growing up. Based on true events, Dovetails in Tall Grass brings light to a particularly dark moment in Midwest and especially Minnesota history with an understanding that there are multiple sides to every conflict, and we must stop, listen, and learn to respect each other.” — Terri LeBlanc, owner of Swamp Fox Bookstore

 

 

Guest Post

 

Inspired by the true story of the thirty-eight Dakota-Sioux men hanged in Minnesota in 1862―the largest mass execution in US history―Dovetails in Tall Grass is a tale of two young women connected by the fate of one man.

 

Writing Historical Fiction with debut novelist Samantha Specks

 

Though my novel is about events in 1862, for me the story started on Christmas 2005. A bitter wind blew snow over a country road. I was a high-schooler, cozy riding in my parents’ Suburban making the final turn to my grandparents’ home, when my blue eyes spotted something new. Headlights illuminated shapes moving across the darkening horizon. A group of men on horseback. Curious, I asked my parents why people were riding in the cold. My mother explained: “They’re Dakota who are marching to show they haven’t forgotten what happened here long ago.” And I’ve spent the last 15 years of my life learning what they haven’t forgotten.

It was that cold night on the frozen Minnesota prairie when the first seeds of the Dovetails story were planted in my heart. The men who I crossed paths with were the Dakota 38+2 Riders. To commemorate the US-Dakota War anniversary and promote reconciliation, this group still rides every December from Lower Brule, South Dakota to the site of the mass hangings in Mankato, Minnesota. Their journey inspired the girl I was and the woman, and author, I am today.

 

Writing Dovetails in Tall Grass

 

Dovetails grew its way through the cracks in my life. In hindsight, I can see how there was space for that, as my career path was meandering; I previously worked in sports broadcast journalism and as a therapist. It was during my graduate studies in 2011 that I began diving deeper into my interest in the US-Dakota War; somewhere amidst the academic research and my personal interest, I began to interpret the history with a lens for a story, through the perspective of two women. Still, years and a career passed by. It wasn’t until 2017, once my husband and I had moved from Minnesota to Texas that he encouraged me, “why don’t you finally write that book idea you always talk about?” The story had pushed its way through, grown too big to ignore. A nudge and a new beginning in the Lone Star State were what I needed to give it the time and space it deserved.

Once the moving boxes were unpacked, I had to figure out how to write a book. I didn’t even own a laptop, so a visit to the Apple store was a starting point. My mind was overflowing with ideas. A massive roll of artist’s paper seemed like a good purchase as well. Then I spent six months doing intensive research. There was no information about the US-Dakota War that was too big or too small. My brain wanted it all: scholarly articles, old texts from libraries that hadn’t been checked out for years, or page 7 of comments on Minnesota History message boards. It was time well spent. Once I really knew the history inside and out, I outlined. I unrolled that giant scroll of artists paper and made detailed historical timelines and abstract conceptual character boards. Hours upon hours, I sat on my hardwood floor surrounded by torn sheets of paper, stacks of texts, random pages flagged in open books, and my keyboard home row already worn from the constant clickety-clack of notetaking. After a few months, I sat back and looked at the chaos of a story around me. I let myself feel it. It wasn’t in the past; it overwhelmed my heart now. This war was complex. Ugly. Unresolved. This time in history mattered so much to me.

I knew it, I felt it, I had it. It was time to write.

I took a deep breath, let it out, and started typing. Most mornings, I’d head to a Starbucks with a singular goal of getting the fictional characters of 1862 living in my mind onto a Microsoft Word document. Some days I felt hopeful the writing was taking the shape of a story, but most days I felt like an imposter. I was a first-timer, and it was excruciating. To me, my pages were rough, messy, and imperfect. After a morning of writing, I’d stop at Brazos Bookstore to look at the historical fiction section. Beautiful covers, stunning prose. How did writers do this? Mornings at the coffee shop began to feel dreadful. When I opened my document, those first draft pages felt like I was catching a glimpse of myself midway through a dental procedure. Mouth open bizarrely wide, water and bits of whatnot spraying about, drills zinging and polishers whooshing too loudly in my ears. The world was already full of brilliant authors with dazzling work who smiled perfectly from the shelves. Real, flawless, writing like that was something my messy pages could never be. When I started working with an editor, my insecurity only worsened. I couldn’t look at myself. My stomach flipped with anxiety each time I saw my editor’s name pop up in my inbox. Despite her positivity and encouragement, the comments, deletions, and suggestions throughout my pages flagged my failure. A professional was making it clear that I didn’t have the writing chops. Who was I kidding?

One day, probably while I was avoiding writing and in some rabbit hole of research, I stumbled upon an image of JK Rowling’s edited Harry Potter pages. They were marked top to bottom, Xs over massive blocks of her writing. Wait… what? Rowling’s edits were messy?! My next visit to the bookstore, the shelves looked different to me. The titles were still awe-inspiring. But the authors’ names were superhuman in a new way… they didn’t get here because they wrote a perfect first draft. They got here because they pushed through every comment, suggestion, flag, cut paragraphs, deleted precious words time and time again. The process was ugly. Ugly and necessary.

My therapist brain flipped on. An editor’s feedback would be exposure therapy for me. Bit by bit, I’d face and feel the anxiety of looking at my words. And in that discomfort of exposure, bit by bit, I’d get stronger. I needed to get okay with the ‘ugly and necessary’. Shame dissolved in the light of that truth.

Before long, I was refreshing my inbox, hoping to see my editor’s name pop up. I craved feedback. I didn’t need my writing to be the Harry Potter; I needed it to be Rowling’s marked-up pages. And with that shift in my thinking, the words poured out of me.

I got down to it and I wrote a book.

After a handful of years writing, I don’t think of myself as a “writer”. I think of myself as someone who is just lucky enough to tap into compelling ideas when I learn about significant times in history. After I’ve spent time in the trenches of research, the fictional story is something totally outside of myself that I just happen to be able to see. The more I study the fascinating dynamics of our past (cough cough *present*), the more fire lights within me and illuminates just what complexities would play out in a story arc. If I can get my fingers to type fast enough, the actual writing feels like grabbing the ideas/feelings/characters invisibly floating beyond my mind and sticking them onto the physical page. If I write well enough, at the end of my work the fire will spread to a reader turning the pages of a meaningful story playing out on our vibrant and vivid past.

 

Hopes for a Reader

 

After finishing Dovetails in Tall Grass, these are my hopes for a reader…

I hope a reader sets the book down and thinks, “Wow, I can’t believe I didn’t know about this time in history before…” and they instantly google “Chief Little Crow” or “Dakota 38+2 Riders” — and maybe even search for “Emma Heard” or “Oenikika” because these fictional characters feel so real, they must be part of the actual history.

I hope this is a novel that makes a reader look forward to her book club meeting – that it brings out lively, engaging, dynamic conversation in a group. And that she chooses to chime in a few more times than she usually does in that discussion.

And finally, at the end of the day, I hope a reader remembers Dovetails in Tall Grass a novel that made her think, feel, and question. When someone asks her, “Have you read any good books lately?” She recommends it; not just because she liked the story but because she wants others to know how much the US-Dakota War of 1862 mattered.

 

 

About the Author

Samantha Specks is a licensed independent clinical social worker. She and her husband live in Houston with their baby (Pippa) and fur baby (Charlie). When not in Texas, they enjoy spending time on the lakes of Minnesota and in the mountains of the Roaring Fork Valley in Colorado. Dovetails in Tall Grass is Samantha’s debut novel. Currently, she is writing Dovetails of a River, which is set at the Battle of the Little Bighorn.

 

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Synopsis

London, 1865

 

Vera Sorokina loves reading the Penny Dreadfuls and immersing herself in tales of adventure, mystery, and romance. Her own days are filled with the often-mundane work of running the book and print shop she owns with her father. The shop offers her the freedom and income to employ and protect the poverty-stricken Londoners she’s come to care about, and it gives her father something to do other than long for their hometown of St. Petersburg. She is grateful for the stability in their lives, but she often feels lonely.

Brogan Donnelly was born and raised in Ireland, but has lived in London for several years, where he’s built a career as a Penny Dreadful writer. He has dedicated himself to the plight of the poor with the help of his sister. His membership in the secretive Dread Penny Society allows him to feel he isn’t entirely wasting his life, yet he feels dissatisfied. With no one to share his life with but his sister, he fears London will never truly feel like home.

Brogan and Vera’s paths cross, and the attraction is both immediate and ill-advised. Vera knows from experience that writers are never to be trusted, and Brogan has reason to suspect not everything at her print shop is aboveboard. When the growing criminal enterprise run by the elusive and violent Mastiff begins targeting their area of London, Brogan and Vera must work together to protect the community they’ve both grown to love. But that means they’ll need to learn to trust each other with dangerous secrets that have followed both of them from their home countries.

 

 

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Excerpt

 

“Morning, Miss Vera.” Brogan popped his hat off. “Hope you don’t mind me calling you that. ’Twas what the customers called you when I was here last.”

“I don’t mind.” She tucked the story on a shelf under the counter. “But when you meet my papa you’d best call me Miss Sorokina. Wouldn’t do to set him against you straight off.”

“Meet your papa?” He assumed an overblown look of horror. “I’d intended to apply for a job. Seems I overshot the mark.”

She smiled at his jest, but in a way that told him quite clearly that she’d not intended to. “My papa owns the shop. Though you’re working for me, you have to meet with his approval.”

Ah. “’Tis why the shop’s called ‘Sorokin’s’ and not ‘Sorokina’s.’”

She nodded. “I’d wager most people will insist it’s an error rather than admit there’s things they don’t know.”

“They can’t all be as well-versed as I am,” he said.

“And what is it you know about Russian?” she asked, a twinkle of amusement deep in her eyes.

“I know that daughters and fathers aren’t always going to have the same surname. Learned that a couple days ago, I did.”

“At least I know you’re a quick study,” she said. “I’ll mention that as a point in your favor if my papa decides he don’t care for you.”

“How likely is he to decide I’m a good-for-nothing?”

“Hard to say.” She studied him, though, again, there was a teasing quality to it he wasn’t certain she meant to let show.

“How do you feel about writers?”

For a fraction of a second he couldn’t sort out a response. She was striking far too close to the mark. “How am I meant to feel about them?”

She shook her head. “Ask my papa some time. He’ll spill a whole heap of complaints in your ear.”

“He’s not overly fond of writers, then?”

“That’s hitting far below the mark.”

Oh, mercy. He was in a stickier spot than he’d realized. Fletcher or Stone would’ve known immediately how to navigate this. Brogan was going to have to do some fast thinking.

“Papa’s downstairs working at the printing press,” Vera said. “He’ll need to give you a look over before you start.” She motioned Brogan to follow her toward the back.

He needed to win the approval of a man who despised writers. Might as well attempt to restore hair to a bald man’s head.

A small back room connected them to another door, beyond which were two narrow staircases, one leading up and one leading down. Brogan followed Vera to the basement. The space was not overly large, but was sufficient for the large printing press, the cupboard with equipment, the shelves of paper and ink bottles. It was organized and well-laid out.

At a tall table in the midst of it all, a man near about fifty years old sat bent over a row of metal letters. His sleeves were protected with coverings. He wore thick glasses perched at the end of his nose. His silver-streaked beard was long enough to nearly touch the table.

“Ganor O’Donnell’s here, Papa. The bloke I told you was taking up the job we had on offer.”

For not the first time, Brogan was glad he’d given a false name that he’d used before. He’d be less likely to forget ’twas his name in this shop.

Mr. Sorokin turned slightly on his stool and studied Brogan over the rim of his spectacles. He scratched at his beard. “You are not a very large man. This job requires a lot

of physical labor.”

While Vera sounded entirely London, her father spoke with the undeniable flavor of Russia.

“Most of m’ countrymen aren’t large people,” Brogan said. “But we know how to work.”

“Irish?” Mr. Sorokin’s eyes narrowed.

Brogan nodded. “London’s filled to bursting with people from other places.”

“That it is.” Mr. Sorokin returned his gaze to his table. “We’ll give you the day to prove yourself. If you can and will do the work, and you aren’t a drunkard, then you have a job, O’Donnell.”

“A drunkard?” Brogan looked to Vera. “Is that a commentary on m’ origins?” The Irish were often assumed to be in a constant state of inebriation.

Vera shook her head no. “One of the men who applied for the position arrived drunk as a wheelbarrow.”

“Ah.” ’Twas a far better reason for the comment than he’d feared. “I’ve been working since I was a tiny lad, and I’ve never once shown up tipsy as a two-legged cow.”

“See that you keep that pattern, and this’ll work out just fine.”

Brogan followed her back out of the printing room and up the stairs.

“No drinking,” he repeated, “and no writing.”

“Not even mentioning writing or writers is likely a better approach.”

“His disapproval is that looming?” That’d make his position at the print shop all the more precarious.

“He’s miffed that I sell penny dreadfuls in the shop,” she said. “He begrudges having to even step inside now that they’re there.”

“But he’s not bothered by you reading them?” He’d been in this shop twice, and twice he’d come upon her reading one of the familiar pamphlet stories.

Vera didn’t answer directly. Her guilty expression did it for her.

Blimey. Mr. Sorokin disapproved of penny dreadfuls in particular. What had the Dread Master tossed Brogan into?

“Why’s he so set against stories and the folks that write them?”

“That ain’t my history to tell,” she answered. “But we have decades of reasons to keep our distance from the literary set.”

We. Not he. “But you still read the stories.”

A weariness settled over her. “I shouldn’t. I feel guilty every time, but . . .”

She didn’t seem to have any ansers.

Heaven knew, he had plenty of questions.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Please help Sarah M. Eden get her latest novel, THE MERCHANT AND THE ROGUE, to hit the New York Times best-seller list by purchasing a copy between August 15-22, 2021.

Everyone who submits a copy of their receipt and fills out the form during the week of August 15-22 will receive The Merchant and the Rogue – Swag Bundle. Supplies are limited, so act today. Please visit the Swag Bundle webpage for details.

 

 

About the Author

 

Sarah M. Eden is the author of critically acclaimed and award-winning Proper Romance series novels including The Lady and the Highwayman and Ashes on the Moor. Combining her passion for history and an affinity for love stories, Sarah crafts smart, witty characters and heartfelt romances. She happily spends hours perusing the reference shelves of her local library and dreams of one day traveling to all the places she reads about.

 

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The Barrister and the Letter of Marque: A Novel

 

by

 

Todd M. Johnson

 

Genre: Historical Mystery, Suspense, Inspirational Fiction

 

Publisher: Bethany House Publishers (August 3, 2021)

 

 

Synopsis

 

As a barrister in 1818 London, William Snopes has witnessed firsthand the danger of only the wealthy having their voices heard, and he’s a strong advocate who defends the poorer classes against the powerful. That changes the day a struggling heiress, Lady Madeleine Jameson, arrives at his door.

In a last-ditch effort to save her faltering estate, Lady Jameson invested in a merchant brig, the Padget. The ship was granted a rare privilege by the king’s regent: a Letter of Marque authorizing the captain to seize the cargo of French traders operating illegally in the Indian Sea. Yet when the Padget returns to London, her crew is met by soldiers ready to take possession of their goods and arrest the captain for piracy. And the Letter—-the sole proof his actions were legal—has mysteriously vanished.

Moved by the lady’s distress, intrigued by the Letter, and goaded by an opposing solicitor, Snopes takes the case. But as he delves deeper into the mystery, he learns that the forces arrayed against Lady Jameson, and now himself, are even more perilous than he’d imagined.

 

 

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Advance Praise

 

“Johnson debuts with a tense story of powerful interests teaming up to thwart a legal challenge in Georgian-era England…Johnson steeps his story in legal maneuvering, layers of intrigue, midnight chases, and even a hint of romance. While faith elements are subtle, this enthralling novel will appeal to fans of both legal thrillers and historical inspirationals.”— Publishers Weekly

“… a mystery worthy of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. This richly historical and lively paced story has all the makings of a modern classic.”— Jocelyn Green, Christy Award-winning author of Shadows of the White City

“At once atmospheric and gripping, Johnson’s latest is a luminous and refreshing new offering in inspirational historical fiction.”— Rachel McMillan, bestselling author of The London Restoration, and The Mozart Code

“A fascinating glimpse into a Regency London readers seldom see.”— Roseanna M. White, bestselling author of Edwardian fiction

 

 

About the Author

 

Todd M. Johnson is the author of three legal thrillers: The Deposit Slip (2012), Critical Reaction (2013), and Fatal Trust (2017), and The Barrister and the Letter of Marque (2021), his first foray into historical mystery. He has been a practicing attorney for over 30 years, specializing as a trial lawyer. A graduate of Princeton University and the University of Minnesota Law School, he also taught for two years as adjunct professor of International Law and served as a US diplomat in Hong Kong. He lives outside Minneapolis, Minnesota, with his wife and daughter.

 

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UNDER THE BAYOU MOON

 

by

 

Valerie Fraser Luesse

 

 

Categories: Fiction / Christian / Historical

 

Publisher: Revell

 

Date of Publication: August 3, 2021

 

Number of Pages: 352

 

Scroll down for the giveaway! 

 

 

 

 

When Ellie Fields accepts a teaching job in a tiny Louisiana town deep in bayou country in 1949, she knows her life will change–but she could never imagine just how dramatically.

Though rightfully suspicious of outsiders, who have threatened both their language and their unique culture, most of the residents come to appreciate the young and idealistic schoolteacher, and she’s soon teaching just about everyone, despite opposition from both the school board and a politician with ulterior motives. Yet it’s the lessons Ellie herself will learn–from new friends, a captivating Cajun fisherman, and even a legendary white alligator haunting the bayou–that will make all the difference.

Take a step away from the familiar and enter the shadowy waters of bayou country for a story of risk, resilience, and romance.

 

 

Baker Book House • Amazon • Christianbook.com

 

Other Revell Books Affiliates

 

 

 

 

 

 

I had a hard time getting into another book that I was reading, so I decided to pick this one up knowing that it needed to be read soon. I could NOT put the book down! Oh My Word! I feel like the author must have looked into my family tree when writing these characters in South Louisiana. Heck, even one of the characters had the same last name as people in my family tree. I guess this is what happens when an author writes about the Cajun culture with which I am somewhat familiar…but even I learned a few things.

This story takes us back to the late 40s in a small town where poverty runs rampant but the sense of community is humbling. These people looked out for each other and while it might be hard to give their trust to you, once you have earned it there is no looking back. The camaraderie is what we should all try to achieve in our own lives.

Ellie accepted a teaching position in this small town and she is exactly what they need to educate their children and breathe life into this sleepy little town. From the moment she arrives, she wants nothing more than to foster a positive environment for the children because word is that the previous teachers were not kind. All because one man didn’t want French to be spoken by anyone, mostly because he couldn’t speak it and didn’t know what they were saying. But you can’t stamp out heritage and embracing the dual languages can only be a good thing. But that was then and this is now and the mindset was very different.

Even though Ellie is there to teach the children, she finds love with Raphe, a local man that is raising his nephew. Their journey together is beautiful and reminds us that you can find love if you only take the chance.

Perhaps one of my favorite characters is Heywood. Ellie first meets him in New Orleans by chance, but they form a fast friendship that spans the years. Heywood has his own issues by believing he won’t live to see his 30th birthday. I liked how Ellie brought all of this into perspective for him and encouraged him to see a different path for his life.

This tiny town has its share of tragedies that might have brought another community to its knees. Not this town. They rallied around each other and found solutions that worked for everyone. I liked that they did not discriminate based on color or religion.

I loved every bit of this book and highly recommend it to everyone. We give it 5 paws up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Valerie Fraser Luesse is the bestselling author of Missing Isaac, Almost Home, and The Key to Everything, as well as an award-winning magazine writer best known for her feature stories and essays in Southern Living, where she is currently senior travel editor. Specializing in stories about unique pockets of Southern culture, Luesse received the 2009 Writer of the Year award from the Southeast Tourism Society for her editorial section on Hurricane Katrina recovery in Mississippi and Louisiana. A graduate of Auburn University and Baylor University, she lives in Birmingham, Alabama, with her husband, Dave.

 

Website * Facebook * Blog

 

Amazon Author Page * BookBub

 

 

GIVEAWAY!  GIVEAWAY!  GIVEAWAY!

 

ONE WINNER: 

 

A copy of Under the Bayou Moon, $10 Starbucks gift card,  

 

& Flavors of the Bayou seasonings gift box.   

 

(US only, ends midnight, CDT, 8/13/2021)  

 

 

 

 

a Rafflecopter giveaway
 

 

 

Visit the Lone Star Literary Life Tour Page

 

For direct links to each post on this tour, updated daily.  

 
Or, visit the blogs directly: 

 

 

8/3/21	Notable Quotable	All the Ups and Downs
8/3/21	BONUS Promo	LSBBT Blog
8/4/21	Author Interview	The Book’s Delight
8/4/21	BONUS Promo	Hall Ways Blog
8/5/21	Review	StoreyBook Reviews
8/6/21	Review	Tangled in Text
8/7/21	Excerpt	Stories Under Starlight
8/8/21	Excerpt	Forgotten Winds
8/9/21	Review	The Adventures of a Travelers Wife
8/10/21	Top Five	Chapter Break Book Blog
8/11/21	Review	Jennie Reads
8/12/21	Review	The Plain-Spoken Pen
8/12/21	BONUS Review	Jennifer Silverwood

 

 

 

 

blog tour services provided by

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Only Way Home by Jeanette Minniti

Category: Adult Fiction (18 +) , 242 pages

Genre: Historical Fiction, Adventure, Coming of Age

Publisher: Penning Press

Release date: 4/1/2021

 

Synopsis

 

Desperate times. Danger on the rails. A journey to save a family.

It is 1933 inside a sweltering courtroom in Macon, Georgia. Fifteen-year-old Robert sits on a bench awaiting sentencing after being picked up for vagrancy and spending a night in jail. He left his home in Illinois with a neighborhood friend to ride the rails and find work to help their families. The friend turned back, too afraid to face the perils ahead. But going back empty-handed isn’t an option for Robert.

THE ONLY WAY HOME is the story of one boy’s determination to survive loss and hardship to help his family — and how fate and a violin touch the course of his life.

Fans of Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens and Sold On a Monday by Kristina Morris will love this story set during the Great Depression of a fatherless boy fighting to keep his family together.​

 

 

Amazon * B&N * IndieBound

 

Book Depository * Abebooks

 

 

Review

 

This coming-of-age story set during the depression will give readers a new perspective on what life might have been like but through the eyes of a young man.

Robert has left home to try and find work to help support this family. His father has passed and there just isn’t enough money coming in due to the depression. Robert isn’t really meant for the life of someone that catches freight trains from town to town looking for work, especially since he is only 15 and people are giving jobs to the men with families. Robert has gumption and doesn’t give up. He meets a few people along the way and even though he knows he shouldn’t befriend anyone, he meets Tucker and they form a kinship and help each other out along the way.

This was such an amazing story of Robert’s experiences during the depression. There is so much that he wants to do to help his family, but at 15 it is hard. He does find some kind souls along the way but it isn’t enough to keep him from realizing that he needs to be back home with his mother and siblings. The journey he takes could be an adventure if it wasn’t such a hard time to be alive looking for work. I have always heard about those that would ride on empty boxcars on freight trains but reading how they have to catch the train and the possibilities for dying bring reality into the picture. This was not an easy life for anyone during the depression.

I admired Robert and his determination and loyalty to those around him. This can be seen with Tucker in many instances. I won’t spoil what they are, but Robert shows what true friendship is really about.

We give this book 5 paws up and suggest it if you are in the mood for historical fiction from a young man’s point of view.

 

 

 

 

 

 

About the Author

 

As a member of the American Association of University Women, she coordinates the Foreign Policy Association’s Great Decisions discussion group and participates in several AAUW interest groups.

Jeanette and her husband enjoy all that Colorado renders in outdoor activities including hiking and biking.

​​
Website  ~  Facebook   ~  Goodreads

 

 

Giveaway

 

Enter to win a $25 Amazon Gift Card courtesy of Jeanette Minniti book series! (two winners)

(ends July 26)

 

THE ONLY WAY HOME Book Tour Giveaway

 

 

 

 

 

THE UVALDE RAIDER

 

A Templar Family Novel

 

 

BY BEN H. ENGLISH

 

 

 

 

Publisher: Creative Texts Publishers

Publication Date: April 17, 2021

Pages: 229 Pages

Categories: Historical Fiction / Military / Texas

 

 

 

 

The time is the eve of the First Gulf War. The place an abandoned World War II emergency landing strip for heavy bombers, nestled amid the near countless miles upon miles of wide openness in West Texas.

Here a climactic battle will be fought, while the rest of the world focuses on what would become known as Operation Desert Storm.

But in some ways, the stakes here are even higher as men from other places and past conflicts gamble all that they are, and all they ever were, to prevent a catastrophic terrorist attack unthinkable before on an American city.

One group seeks wholesale slaughter, the murder of helpless civilians on a massive scale. The other strives to stop this evil in any way possible, and by whatever means necessary.

The key to either side’s success or failure?

One old Boeing B-17G Flying Fortress, an enduring symbol from another war and ensuing catastrophe of a different era. This relic of a not so distant past is named ‘The Uvalde Raider,’ and this is its story…

 

 

 

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Excerpt From

 

The Uvalde Raider

 

By Ben H. English

 

 

Once able to, they made their way through the opened door and into the larger space. Micah stopped and blinked repeatedly before squinting against the harsh artificial glare, his eyes adjusting to the sudden onslaught of bright lighting contained within the room.

The heretofore dominant sounds of activity now faded to the visage of their captors conducting different tasks, all evidently part of some grand scheme of which Micah still had no real idea of. Qassam and his malicious shadow, the one he called Mustafa, peered over an aerial map set upon a large desktop to one side.

Both looked up after a moment, Qassam smiling with his white, even teeth as if genuinely glad to see them. Mustafa gave off no expression of emotion whatsoever, he simply looked at them with his flat reptilian eyes as if he was sizing something up for a future meal. If the Lebanese ever had an ounce of human kindness within him, the emotion had apparently evaporated a long time before.

“Colonel Templar and company, good to see you again” the Hezbollah leader effused. “I hope your lodging quarters have not been too uncomfortable. You have my apologies for the lateness of the hour, but I did want the chance to visit with you further. Now I have the time to do so.”

Ezekiel Templar cast a practiced eye on what was happening around him. There were aerial maps, flight charts, meteorological forecasts, assorted storage containers and color coded notebooks placed neatly at different points in the room, all illustrating a well-executed attention to detail.

He had already picked up enough from his eavesdropping to realize this was no rag tag bunch of petty criminals. They were a disciplined, well-trained and highly motivated group of men who were working together to accomplish an overridingly important goal. He already had a fair idea of what that goal likely was, but had been silently praying that he was wrong.

“I don’t know about that, Qassam, you look kind of busy. Perhaps we should come back at a better time” responded the elder Templar with a hint of dryness.

Qassam laughed out loud in apparent merriment. “Oh no, you could have not come at a more agreeable one. Most of the work has already been done, at least for my part. It has been said the mark of a successful organization is for each member to know their job and do it well, and without any real supervision. Such motivation and skills make my duties far less stressful and carries the greatest promise in achieving the objective. I handpicked each of these men precisely with that in mind.”

“Evidently so” agreed Ezekiel. He looked beyond the confines of the room and out through the front window that faced the runway area. The Uvalde Raider sat there, the center of attention for the activities going on outside.

The Boeing was lit up by numerous portable lighting fixtures, and Qassam’s men moved with purpose both inside and around her. The bomb bay doors had been cranked open, and they were working on some sort of hoist and pulley device that was being lifted up through the open belly of the aircraft. Off to the side was a group of ten fifty-gallon drums, arranged neatly in two rows. The containers appeared to be made of some sort of heavy plastic and were blue in color.

His worst fears confirmed, the elder Templar took another step forward, focused entirely on the scene outside. “What are you doing to my airplane?” he asked quietly.

“Preparing it for jihad, Colonel. You might say that your airplane is being brought back into active duty” replied the Hezbollah leader.

“If you are expecting me to fly it for you, you might first tell me exactly what you have planned.” deadpanned Ezekiel.

“That would be quite understandable, Colonel Templar, if you were the one who was flying it. As I alluded to before, the mark of a successful organization is for each man to know his job and do it well.” The Hezbollah commander leaned a bit forward, arms folded smugly. “You see, I already have a pilot and he is quite proficient.”

“Flying a B-17 is not like crawling into a Cessna 172, Qassam. Your man may be a good pilot, but there are very few these days who happen to have much experience at the controls of a Flying Fortress.” Templar glanced to both sides and then again to the large window as the young members of Qassam’s team went about their duties. “Frankly, I don’t see anyone around here who likely has that kind of experience.”

“Do not equate age with the experience needed to fly your airplane, Colonel,” warned Qassam. “Think about it this way: how old were you when you first flew the B-17 during your own war? Twenty-one, perhaps twenty-two years of age?”

The terrorist leader peered intently at the older man, as if relishing the thought of staying one step ahead of him. “I have the right man for the task. He is outside now, supervising the loading of your aircraft.”

 

 

 

 

Ben H. English is an eighth-generation Texan who grew up in the Big Bend. At seventeen he joined the Marines, ultimately becoming a chief scout-sniper as well as an infantry platoon sergeant. Later he worked counterintelligence and traveled to over thirty countries on four continents.

At Angelo State University he graduated Magna Cum Laude along with other honors. Afterward Ben had a career in the Texas Highway Patrol, holding several instructor billets involving firearms, driving, patrol procedures, and defensive tactics.

After retirement, he decided to try his hand at writing. His first effort, Yonderings, was accepted by a university press and garnered some awards. His second, Destiny’s Way, led to a long-term, multi-book contract.  This was followed by Out There: Essays on the Lower Big Bend and now his second fictional work, The Uvalde Raider.
His intimate knowledge of what he writes about lends credence and authenticity to his work. Ben knows how it feels to get hit and hit back, or being thirsty, cold, wet, hungry, alone, or exhausted beyond imagination. Finally, he knows of not only being the hunter, but also the hunted.

Ben and his wife have two sons who both graduated from Annapolis. He still likes nothing better than grabbing a pack and some canteens and heading out to where few others venture.
Just as he has done throughout most of his life…

 

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6/28/21	Review	Reading by Moonlight
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High Country Justice

 

by Nik James

 

Publication Date: 5/25/2021

 

 

Synopsis

 

Fans of William Johnstone will love this unique and riveting historical western series. A perfect gift for Father’s Day, birthdays, and holidays for the men in your life. 

 

It will take all this lone frontiersman’s skills to save his only friend from murderous outlaws.

Caleb Marlowe carved out his own legend as a frontier scout and lawman before arriving in the Colorado boomtown of Elkhorn. Famous for a lightning-quick draw and nerves of steel, he is mysterious, guarded, and unpredictable. Now, he wants to leave the past behind. But the past has a way of dogging a man…

When Doc Burnett, Caleb’s only friend in town, goes missing, his daughter Sheila comes seeking Caleb’s help. Newly arrived from the East, she hotly condemns the bloody frontier justice of the rifle and the six-gun. But this is outlaw country.

Murderous road agents have Doc trapped in their mountain hideaway. To free Doc, Marlowe tracks his kidnappers through wild, uncharted territory, battling animals and bushwhackers. But when Sheila is captured by the ruthless gunhawks with a score to settle, Marlowe will have to take them down one by one, until no outlaw remains standing.

 

 

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Excerpt

 

Elkhorn, Colorado, May 1878

 

Caleb Marlowe watched the embers of the fire throw flickering shadows on his new cabin walls. Outside, a muffled sound drew his attention, and Caleb focused on the door at the same time Bear lifted his great head. The thick, golden fur on the neck of the dog rose, and the low growl told Caleb that his own instincts were not wrong.

In an instant, both man and dog were on their feet.

Caleb signaled for the big, yellow animal to stay and reached for his Winchester ’73. The .44-­caliber rifle was leaning, dark and deadly, against the new pine boards he’d nailed up not two hours before. If he’d had time to hang the door, whoever was out there might have gotten the drop on him.

Moving with the stealth of a cougar, Caleb crossed quickly to one side of the door and looked out, holding his gun. The broad fields gleamed like undulating waves of silver under the May moon between the wooded ridges that formed the east and west boundaries of his property. Down the slope from the cabin, by a bend in the shallow river, he could see the newly purchased cattle settled for the night. From this distance, the herd looked black as a pool of dried blood in the wide meadow.

He could see nothing amiss there. Nice and quiet. No wolves or mountain lions harrying the herd and stirring them up. The only sound was a pair of hunting owls hooting at each other in the distant pines. Still, something was wrong. His instincts were rarely off, and he had a prickling feeling on the back of his neck. He levered a cartridge into the chamber.

Caleb slipped outside into the cool, mountain air and moved silently along the wall of the nearly finished cabin. Bear moved ahead of him and disappeared into the shadow cast by the building blocking moonlight. The crisp breeze was light and coming out of the north, from the direction of Elkhorn, three miles away as the crow flies.

When Caleb peered around the corner, he was aware of the large, yellow smudge of dog standing alert at his feet. Bear was focused on the dark edge of the woods a couple hundred yards beyond Caleb’s wagon and the staked areas where the barn, corral, and Henry’s house would eventually set. Bear growled low again.

Caleb smelled them before he saw them. Six riders came out of the tall pines, moving slowly along the eastern edge of the meadow, and he felt six pairs of eyes fixed on the cabin.

He had no doubt as to their intentions. They were rustlers, and they were after his cattle. But this was his property—­his and Henry’s—­and that included those steers.

If they’d been smart enough to come down from Elkhorn on the southwestern road, these dolts could have forded the river far below here and had a damn good chance of making off with the herd. It must have surprised the shit out of them, seeing the cabin.

“Bad luck, fellas,” Caleb murmured, assessing the situation.

He needed to get a little closer to these snakes. Standing a couple of inches over six feet, with broad shoulders and solid muscles, he was hardly an insignificant target, even at night. His wagon was fifty yards nearer to them, but with this moon, they’d spot him and come at him before he got halfway there. It’d take a damn good shot on horseback from a hundred and fifty yards, but they could close that distance in a hurry. And Caleb would have no cover at all. Beyond the wagon, there were half a dozen stone outcroppings, but nothing else to stop a bullet.

Just then, the cattle must have smelled them too, because they started grunting and moving restlessly. That was all the distraction he needed.

Staying low, Caleb ran hard, angling his path to get the wagon between him and the rustlers as quickly as he could.

He nearly made it.

The flash from the lead rider’s rifle was accompanied by the crack of wood and an explosion of splinters above the sideboard of the wagon. A second shot thudded dead into the ground a few yards to Caleb’s right. Immediately, with shouts and guns blazing, they were all coming hard.

 

 

About the Author

 

Nik James is a pseudonym for award-winning, USA Today bestselling authors Nikoo and Jim McGoldrick. They are the writing team behind over four dozen conflict-filled historical and contemporary novels and two works of nonfiction under various pseudonyms. They make their home in California.

 

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You’ve Got Plaid

 

by Eliza Knight

 

Publication Date: 5/25/2021

 

Synopsis

 

This Highlander is determined to help his enemy’s daughter get safely home, even if it means his own defeat…

 

Brogan Grant, a Jacobite soldier and bastard son of the Chief, fought savagely on the battlefield and barely escaped capture. On the run for his life, Brogan comes across what he thinks is a spy—a very bonny lass disguised as a lad, who happens to be the daughter of his clan’s enemy. He admires her bravery, but he knows what can happen to a woman alone in a war-ravaged land.

Lady Fiona MacBean is determined to do her part to ensure there is a Scottish king. Disguised as a healer, she delivers coded messages to rebels throughout the Highlands. There’s only one thing impeding her mission—a striking Highlander who’s determined to send her home.

Unfortunately, Fiona will not be deterred, no matter what the sexy Scot says. Left with little choice, Brogan agrees to join her mission if she agrees to return home when it’s over. Now the two must work together and risk everything to save the life of Bonnie Prince Charlie himself. If only their hearts weren’t at risk as well…

 

 

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Excerpt

 

MacBean Lands

 

Highlands, Scotland

 

Summer 1725

 

 

“What are ye doing?”

Fiona MacBean, second of four children born to Chief MacBean and his stronghearted bride, turned around to see her three siblings standing obstinately in a line, hands on hips, feet tapping.

Her elder brother had a knowing smirk on his face, as though he’d caught her red-­handed. Her younger brother, Ian, was emulating Gus to a T, and sweet Leanna, the youngest of the brood, waggled her brows at Fiona in a way that meant she had a secret and was having a hard time keeping it in.

Fiona pulled her hands away from the gap in the tree and tried to clear her expression of anything other than annoyance.

“I’m just looking for eggs in a quail’s nest.”

“Nay, ye were no’. Just tell us what ye found.” Gus narrowed his eyes, the same way their father often did.

“I told ye, the squirrel ran up the tree. He was running in a circle just here.” Fiona zigzagged in front of the tree, and then hurried behind it before coming around the front and pretending to scurry up the bark.

“We know what ye do when ye come out to the woods,” Ian said, looking up at Gus for approval.

“Aye, we know,” Leanna added, not wanting to be left out.

Fiona crossed her arms and scowled. “The lot of ye are a bunch of storytellers.”

“Och, who’s telling stories now?” Gus said, taking a step forward.

Fiona clenched her hands, forgetting she held the slip of paper that had been folded neatly and shoved into the nook in the tree.

“Who’s it from?” Ian asked.

“Read it to us,” Leanna added.

“Hand it over. If ye dinna, we’ll only be forced to take it from ye.” Gus held out his hand.

At twelve years old herself, Fiona didn’t often take orders from her brother, born just shy of eleven months before her. But if he were threatening to tackle her to the ground, that was something entirely different. Gus was bigger than her, having just shot up another four inches in the past summer. But she was faster…

Fiona took off at a run.

As a little girl, she’d spent a great deal of time running through the forest, her feet slipping on leaves, boots catching on roots. She’d hidden in the hollows of trees, leapt over fallen oaks, slid down embankments. There was no nook or cranny in the forest she’d not claimed as her own. And as much as her siblings tried to find her in every single one, they were not always successful.

Her father didn’t like her traipsing off alone in the forest, especially not with the uprising. The damned loyalists, who she assumed were the English when he said it, had been a nuisance to all their hides for as long as she could remember.

Fiona had been born just a couple of years before the first Jacobite rising in 1715, and in fact, on her second birthday, her da had been away meeting with a war council along with other prominent Scots and titled men from England. Had fought beside old King James, and proudly showed his battle scars whenever he was a bit too deep in his cups. He’d been a sprite man of about twenty-­five back then. There’d been a few more battles since, but none won, as yet. That didn’t mean they were going to give up.

Every year, Fiona went with her father to a secret meeting of the lairds and earls and other warriors to discuss their latest plans. They thought she was off gallivanting with her friends and siblings, not paying attention. Which she mostly was, but she was also very good at spying, and so the children often had her listen in on the talks, then bring back the news of what she’d learned.

There was one particular lad who seemed keen on her skills. His name was Aeneas but he asked her to call him Aes, and he had a smile that could melt the heart of even a lass who spent more time than not irritated with lads, namely her brothers.

He’d caught her one of the days listening in on an important conversation.

She didn’t see him in the hall with any of the other children, nor did she see him accompany any of the lairds. Aes was just as much a mystery to her as anyone else.

When she talked with her friends Jenny and Annie about him, they couldn’t figure out who Aes was, either, so they spent their days and evenings searching out the boy with the soot-­colored hair and a mischievous grin. But he only seemed to show up when Fiona least expected it, and when her friends weren’t around, to prove he wasn’t a ghost.

Every year she saw Aes, and their fondness for each other grew. Just this past spring, he’d told her he didn’t want to wait until next year to see her again. Fiona suggested he write to her instead, to which he wrinkled his nose. If he was writing her letters, her father would want to know who he was, and he’d want to read them.

Fiona had asked what was wrong with her da knowing who Aes was, but he said it was best no one knew, so they’d sketched a map of the wood surrounding her family’s small lands, and she’d drawn an X on the spot where there was a tree with a secret nook that she often hid pretty rocks in. If Aes could find it and leave her letters there, their friendship was meant to be.

She’d been checking that tree for months, and today was the first time she’d found anything—­a piece of folded paper, and she’d be damned if she was going to let one of her sticky-­fingered siblings get their hands on it.

 

***

Excerpted from You’ve Got Plaid by Eliza Knight. © 2021 by Eliza Knight. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.

 

 

About the Author

 

ELIZA KNIGHT is an award-winning and USA Today bestselling author of over fifty sizzling historical romances. When not reading, writing, or researching, she chases after her three children. In her spare time she likes daydreaming, wine-tasting, traveling, hiking, and visiting with family and friends. She lives in Maryland.

 

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Synopsis

 

Sabina is a young noblewoman who, based on her soothsayer aunt’s prediction, believes her words are dangerous and will hurt those she loves. Following the death of her beloved husband, she takes on a vow of silence to protect others from suffering the same fate. Ignored and scorned by those around her, who believe her to be cursed by the gods who took her voice, she is content to live in the shadow of her former life, avoiding society as best she can and staying away from the politics and drama of Rome’s inner circles.

 

Lucius is an unwilling front-runner to inherit the title of Emperor from Rome’s childless leader, Trajan. Although the soothsayer warns him to steer clear of a pretty face that hides a cursed soul, Lucius cannot help but be drawn to the silent and beautiful Sabina. After learning her secret, he is as determined to help her shed her cloak of silence as she is to keep him at a safe distance. But when Lucius becomes the target of a political plot, Sabina must decide whether breaking her silence will save his life or merely seal his fate.

 

Admonition was winner of the Georgia Romance Writers’ 2020 Maggie Award for Excellence in the Unpublished Historical Romance category.

 

 

 

 

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Excerpt

 

From Chapter Six

 

They walked along the path in silence toward the spot where her stepsister and Cyprian were standing, and she pushed her inappropriate thoughts of skin and warmth aside. She was in control, she told herself, the rhythmic sound of their sandals against the stone path reflecting her rigorous command of the situation. She raised her head a little higher and moved her shoulders back. He was to her like any other man; she was not a captive to his charms. Indeed, she had rejected his advances just the night before. Hadn’t she?

She observed that he, too, seemed unaffected by her presence at his side. It was not how she imagined he would be, and she found his behavior a little confusing. Perhaps she had misinterpreted the previous night’s incident with the rose. Perhaps he had meant nothing by it and held no grudge against her.

Glancing up at him, she noticed he wore a content half-smile on his lips. He was enjoying the feel of the fragrant evening breeze, no doubt.

They stopped near a small marble fountain several paces from where Cyprian and her stepsister still stood side-by-side. She could not hear the entirety of their conversation over the gentle splashing of the fountain, but every now and then she heard Priscilla’s girlish giggling, generally accompanied by nonsensical and high-pitched exclamations.

“Shall we stay here and give the two of them a moment, while of course strictly supervising their behavior from the shadow of the fountain?”

Sabina nodded her head in agreement. She could be at her stepsister’s side in a few seconds, should she see any action taken that would compromise her honor.

“Good. I appreciate the opportunity to have you to myself for a short time, as I would like to apologize for my behavior last night.”

She furrowed her brow in question as she tried to steady her breathing, which had become quick and shallow upon hearing him mention their encounter from the previous evening. She had just convinced herself that Lucius did not even remember her rejection of his flower. But here, he now wished to discuss it? And what reason could he possibly have for apologizing? He had merely presented her with a lovely flower to smell and perhaps place in her hair or in the folds of her dress. It was no more than any respectable young man would do as a gesture of thanks to a woman in his company. It was she who had been rude in refusing the innocent token. If an apology were warranted, it should have been from her.

She let go of his arm and shook her head, trying to convey that no apology was needed, but he only responded by taking a step closer to her.

“Pray, let me speak, for this weighs heavily on my conscience.”

With his face drawing slowly nearer to hers, she gave up all efforts of hiding her erratic breathing as she moved to step away from him. He caught one of her hands in his and reached up to trace the curve of her cheek with the fingers of his other hand.

“I was wrong last night, you see,” he began, his voice a low rumble, “for I thought you might enjoy a rose plucked from the governor’s bushes.”

His fingertips made their way down her cheek and onto her neck, then moved back to rest behind her head, his thumb making small circles near her jaw.

Unable to move under his touch, she closed her eyes and swallowed hard, then forced her eyes to reopen.

When he spoke again, his voice was even softer, and she strained to hear him over the sound of the fountain, unwittingly moving her face even closer to his. “I was such a fool. I now realize that what you wanted from me was not a flower at all . . .”

His mouth hovered over hers, and she wondered in a half-dazed state how it was that they could be so close and not touch.

“Rather,” he continued in barely a whisper, “what you truly desired was a kiss.”

Her heart stopped beating in her chest, and she closed her eyes. She could feel him there, so close, the warmth of his breath on her face, the heat that radiated from his skin warming hers. Her lips parted in a silent prayer that he would kiss her and end the torturous nearness.

 

 

About the Author

 

Kathryn Amurra is the author of Soothsayer’s Path, a historical romance series of standalone books set in Ancient Rome around 115 CE. Her debut novel, Soothsayer, was published in May 2020, and her second novel Admonition will publish on June 5, 2021. Kathryn has been making up stories for as long as she can remember and writing since grade school. Against the advice of her 12^th grade English teacher, she studied Mechanical Engineering in college, then worked as an Engineer for a few years. After finding and marrying her own hero, she and her hubby went to law school together. They currently live in North Carolina with their three girls and boxer pup.

 

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Synopsis

 

A LOVE STORY SET AGAINST THE FRENCH REVOLUTION

Nicole Vogel survived childhood in a Paris orphanage by holding to her dreams of one day becoming a great hat designer. Inspired by the ideal of the pursuit of happiness, she has become a gifted millinery apprentice by day and a street revolutionary by night. In the treasonous world of coffee houses and night rebellions, she meets Luc Chatillon, the only son of a family that has made great wealth breeding thoroughbreds for the royal stables.

Luc, recently returned from America, is inspired by the notion of liberty and freedom. Still, caught in the mores of his wealthy father’s world of arranged marriages and conventional mistresses, he has become cynical about love and marriage. In Nicole he finds the strength and purpose he craves for his own life.

As their passion intensifies, secrets from Nicole’s past emerge, which could send her to the guillotine. She must decide if she can truly depend on Luc as dangerous intrigues threaten to destroy her and those she loves.

 

 

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Review

 

I enjoy historical fiction because if researched properly, it can be educational as well as entertaining.

This story is set in revolutionary France, specifically Paris. The novel melds political uprising with a love story and proves that true love will win out in the end despite the atrocities of war.

Nicole is an orphan that has a talent for designing hats for the ladies of Paris. In a way, I’m envious of the fashion of this time and can only imagine having a closet full of hats to wear on a daily basis. I loved the descriptions of the hats that we are given and could picture them in my mind. Despite her talent, she can’t remember much about her past, and the few things she thinks that she remembers she questions because no one can validate her memories. There is a long story to this and it is revealed towards the end of the books. Let’s just say I felt bad for Nicole and was ashamed of the others that could have told her the truth years ago.

Luc is trapped in an engagement he doesn’t want with a woman that he really doesn’t love. The woman he is engaged to, Georgette, has her own issues and can be downright nasty when she isn’t getting her way. Luc thinks that he might have to end up marrying Georgette, that is until he meets Nicole and the sparks fly. He is willing to defy his family to seek a relationship with Nicole. The two do love each other, but life and the revolution do get in the way at times.

There are so many intricate storylines woven into this tale and each one adds depth and dimension to the novel. Besides Luc and Nicole, there is Gus the milliner that Nicole is apprenticing under, Antoine who is in the fight to free France from the aristocracy, Nicole’s friend Aimee from the orphanage, and so many more. Each character and their story adds dimension and complexity while showing another side to the times and the battle to emerge out from under the King of France.

This story kept me engaged and I wanted to know what happened next for Nicole and Luc. Perhaps there will be a follow-up book for these two.

We give it 5 paws up.

 

 

 

 

 

About the Authors

 

Mary-Kate Summers is the writing team of Mary Janelle Melvin and Kate Evans.

 

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