Butterfly Bride (Sisters #2)

http://amzn.to/1Nn8iOw

I wanted to write another Pennsylvania story to continue the family story/romance begun in Hand-me-Down Bride, especially because setting plays such a large part in all my imaginings. After thirty + years, exploring the backroads and byways, first on my bicycle and later on the back of my husband's motorcycle, I'm found much to interest me in this uniquely American landscape.

The period, too, the pious and still shell-shocked 1870's, as Americans struggled to recover from the Civil War, still resonates in this landscape. Every hilltop church surrounded by sinking gravestones whispers ever so many tales. There are markers for soldiers from the Revolutionary War to the Civil War and onward, into the 21st century. There are men who married several wives, often followed by a sad trail of tiny gravestones. These are all those babies who didn't make it out of infancy back in those "good old days," and who sometimes appear to have caused the death of their mothers, all of them interred in a neat row.  The oldest gravestones are in German, speaking to the nationality of the first European settlers.  

Elfrieda, Sophie's little sister, started to reveal herself, along with her three suitors, each handsome, manly, and each "catches" in their own way. There's a rich young man, born to privilege, a laboring man whose pride and joy is a fast trotting horse, and a crippled veteran, now a Lutheran preacher.  Elfie, initially a careless butterfly, navigates through the rough water of her grown-up desires with the help of luck, love, forgiveness, and after a few painful life lessons. There is also a little help from scripture.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MEENIRA

Yes, this book is suitable for teen readers. Adults who don't want a lot of heavy breathing with their romantic, old-time country stories may appreciate the fact that character and good choices are important here, as is a little touch of redemption. 

~~Juliet Waldron

And, please, if you've got a moment, check out these talented

Books We Love Authors:

http://triciamg.blogspot.com/ (Tricia McGill)

http://mizging.blogspot.com/ (Ginger Simpson)

http://connievines.blogspot.com.au/ Connie Vines

Butterfly Bride~~excerpt

Longing for excitement, Elfie is discovered by those reckless night rovers, Dina and Ripley, sitting in the porch swing after everyone else is asleep...

Coming this week to Books We Love

Elfie sat alone in the porch swing, rocking gently and enjoying the cool night air and the distant hiss of the millrace. She was tired too, certainly. Everything here was still so strange. There was so much work to do each every day. And every day started so early!

Still, she couldn’t get to sleep early like the rest of them, no matter what she did. She was grateful beyond measure that she wasn’t going to the wheat harvest as Sophie had had to last year.. Half awake and yawning, she’d stand at the sink and do dishes with Celeste’s help, and this allowed Ruby and Olive to get a head-start on dinner preparations. Then, in the brief lull which followed, listening to the sound of vegetables being chopped, she’d sit on the porch and, after rubbing some salve into her dry hands, drink a cup of bitter, strong coffee with a lot of milk and sugar, and nibble on whatever was leftover. It didn’t take her long to eat, as she’d never been much for a big breakfast, either, and then she could go down to the garden and weed or pick, or sit and sew, or—oh ghastly!—iron on the sweltering porch until the mill hands arrived for their dinner.

And the clean-up would begin all over again….

Sisters Series: Book One
Hand-me-Down Bride
Sophie's story

http://amzn.to/1Nn8iOw

Upstairs, the baby woke with a long snuffling cry. She heard the sound of movement and some muffled words, as Sophie arose. They must have just barely gone to sleep, Elfie thought, and almost at once were awakened again.

What a great deal of trouble babies were! She didn’t think she was ready for all of these things which came along with getting married. It seemed that there was enough work to do every day on a farm without adding a baby.

When she’d said that to Sophie, her sister had smiled with amusement and replied, “Well, then, little sister, we will just have to find you a city gentleman.”

Sometimes Elfie heard horses coming and going from the big house on the hill late in the evening. She’d learned it was Ripley King and his college friends. Not often that they drove down this street, though. Usually the sound faded away toward Grace Church Hill. Just over that, she’d learned, was a long straight road between cornfields on which the local wild boys raced their horses on moonlit nights. Karl admitted to having indulged himself in this when he’d first come home after the war. Apparently, his fine horse, Buck, had won quite a few races that summer, a thing he was both a little proud of and also, nowadays, a little embarrassed.

Tonight, as Elfie listened, she heard the distant clop-clop-clop of a trotting horse. And sure enough, it was, for down the road below the house came the rattle of a trap, and the rhythmic sound of hooves on the summer-hard dirt.

Well, this was something different!

The horse slowed. Then, at a walk, she heard the carriage turn into the lane that led to the house. Elfie stood and picked up the lantern turned low which she’d set on the side table. Holding it, she illuminated the steps sufficiently to go down.

Geese began a jittering squawking noise in the barn as the trap approached. “Whoa,” someone said softly, and it drew to a stop.

“Miss Elfie Neiman!” A feminine voice pitched low called. “Is that you?”

Elfie, intrigued, walked closer and lifted her lantern to reveal a shiny trap drawn by a big chestnut horse with a white mane and tail, one she’d seen before. The horse tossed his head and snorted, not much liking to stop. Looking down at her from the seat was a blonde girl in a spoon bonnet about her age. Driving, which she’d known as soon as she’d had a good look at the horse, was that very same fellow from the train station wearing a straw Nattie hat at a rakish angle. His white teeth flashed as he smiled down at her.

The young woman extended a gloved hand. Elfie, using the one which was free, reached up for a clasp.

“This is terribly improper, I know, but I wanted so much to meet you! I’m Miss Dina Wildbach, niece to your brother-in-law, Mr. Karl. As soon as Mr. King told me you were living here, I’ve wanted so much to meet you. I’ve just come out from Columbia to stay for the summer with my grandfather, Judge Markham...”



~~Juliet Waldron

And, please, if you've got a moment, check out these talented

Books We Love Authors:

http://triciamg.blogspot.com/ (Tricia McGill)

http://mizging.blogspot.com/ (Ginger Simpson)

http://connievines.blogspot.com.au/ Connie Vines

Butterfly Bride~~Cover Reveal!

"Handsome is as handsome does."

Michelle Lee

"Michelle" michellelee_designs

makes me another fine cover, one which nicely ties my "Sisters" (Pennsylvania Brides?) series together.

Butterfly Bride concerns the adventures (and misadventures) of Miss Elfie Neiman, after the young lady arrives at the stone mill house in German Mills, Pennsylvania. Here she will live with (and try the patience of) the young couple Karl and Sophie Wildbach and their cook, Divine, all of whom you may have already come to know in the course of Hand-me-Down Bride.

Sophie's Story http://amzn.to/1Nn8iOw

Not one, but three handsome suitors, all from different backgrounds, take a strong interest in the adorable, musical Miss Elfie, so she has a lot to think about before finally making up her mind.

Or, perhaps, an even better description of the story might be that Miss Elfrieda finally comes to know a little more about herself.

And, after all, isn't that the biggest part of growing-up?


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Juliet Waldron

See All my romantic historical fiction @

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004HIX4GS

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And, please, if you've got a moment, check out these talented

Books We Love Authors:

 

http://triciamg.blogspot.com/ (Tricia McGill)

http://mizging.blogspot.com/ (Ginger Simpson)

http://connievines.blogspot.com.au/ Connie Vines

SAGA OF THE DELTA DISHES

This is comes under the heading of "stuff." Rumination about a familiar kitchen object in "this ever changing world in which we live" (as Sir Paul McCartney would have it).

They are little, rectangular, white and micro-wave safe, created to be used for single service airplane meals. We bought a stack of them about 30 years ago at the Pfaltzgraff Outlet in Lancaster County. Finally, after many years of incessant use, they are beginning to crack. We use them for both micro-wave and as cat dishes.  In fact, if we get pick up one, the cats present themselves with expectation written all over their fuzzy faces. If I put a sandwich on one and take it out onto the back picnic table, Bob will hop up and come over to inspect it, just to be double certain the contents are not meant for him. 

After all, sometimes, Fancy Feast© comes on that dish…

There is nothing remarkable about them, but it occurs to me that they are an artifact of a particular time and place, one now receding in our collective memory.  By our mega-meal standard, these dishes are small.   No supersized anything would fit.

Today, not only is the once flourishing stoneware company Pfaltzgraff defunct, but the reusable nature of the dishes probably represented, to some clever sales person at a disposable tableware company, a great opportunity.

"Convenient! Fast! Just Throw Those Cumbersome Dirty Dishes Away!"

As it was, employees had to pack the plates into dishwashers and someone had to put the frozen-whatever back on them, too, before reloading them all onto the plane for microwaving. The airlines had to pay these folks. So, while they were economizing, they  got rid of all that staff--people--who represented wages and retirement.

It’s only recently that we’ve collectively begun to wonder where “away” is. We're discovering that because there truly is no “away,” disposable plastic is not only a false economy--another thing made out of petro-chemicals that will take a thousand years to fall apart--but a burden to our already over-burdened planet.

And, while all this "progress" was transpiring, another whole host of changes occurred, these along the cost cutting line. Now, on economy flights, you better carry on board anything you wish to consume, because most airlines, except for the long haul ones, have dispensed with offering their passengers anything but soda, juice, and a tiny package of nibbles. If you’re lucky.  

My handy little Delta Dishes remain, faithfully going in and out of the microwave and dishwasher daily as they have for the last thirty years.  They serve as spoon rests when I’m stove top cooking, as slice of pie plates or cookie trays. All this, and, of course, they are just the right size for a dab of cat food or a spot of cream for some importunate kitty.

~~Juliet Waldron

http://amzn.to/1sUSjOH

American Revolution/Adventure/Romance

 

~~Juliet Waldron ~ All my historicals :  http://amzn.to/1UDoLAi

And, please, if you've got a moment, hop on over to these other talented

Books We Love Authors:

 

http://triciamg.blogspot.com/ (Tricia McGill)

http://mizging.blogspot.com/ (Ginger Simpson)

http://connievines.blogspot.com.au/ Connie Vines

Battle of Monmouth

The story of a marriage

Next weekend, fellow historical author Kathy Fischer-Brown (author of Winter Fire) and I will attend a battle--a reenactment of the Battle of Monmouth Courthouse which took place in New Jersey during late June of 1778. For the last two years we have been happy voyagers to these history fests, first at the scenic Saratoga Battlefield and last year at the historical site at Fort Ticonderoga in upstate New York.  I love visiting that area, because my mother's family hails from there. This year, however, we chose to sate our thirst for  Revolutionary reenactments--and to have a chance to speak with, and learn from, the dedicated, knowledgeable participants--we're staying a little closer to our own neighborhoods.

Cannon overlooking Lake George at Ft. Ticonderoga

Upon checking into the reenactors' website for Monmouth Courthouse, I found a wealth of primary source in the form of excerpts from letters, official lists, and diaries concerning the battle and its aftermath. Among the testimonies from witnesses of the day and regulation doc army headcounts, I was intrigued by the one borrowed below. This was researched by John U. Rees, who is a member of Friends of Monmouth Battlefield. Further links -- to www.revwar75.com -- contain other eye witness accounts. Many accounts will be understandably conflicting. Current warfare is whole worlds beyond  the man/horse/letter tech of the18th Century. Troops became easily scattered, especially through rough/broken terrain or obscured by a black powder haze. Communication was either by messenger or dumb luck.  

The account that follows made a deeper impression upon me than the stories of battlefield action. I'll reproduce here courtesy of Mr. Rees/Friends of Monmouth Battlefield the account of a Georgia surgeon, Dr. Read, who tells, in some detail of what he encountered on the field after the day was over:

The evening at length came on, and the battle ceased, except some skirmishing at a distance, and some struggles to the left in arranging off prisoners … with the approach of night, both armies lay exhausted by fatigue and the heat of the day - a deep morass lying between them. They lay down, man and horse, just where they halted; Washington and his suit[e] lay upon the field. It was generally understood the battle was to be renewed at the dawn of day. Dr. Read, with his servant, rode on to the left of the line, seeing, in a few instances, regimental surgeons officiating, and administering to some wounded soldiers, and hearing the groans and cries of some men who crawled, or been brought off into the rear. They reached a wagon which stood in an inclined situation, having the fore-wheels shot away; this position afforded a comfortable shelter to the two adventurers … At the dawn of day they heard the shout of victory - ‘the British are gone!’ Dr. Read mounted, and rode down the hill which bounded the morass, and observing several men entering the low ground to cross over, he did so also. The bog was very deep, and required the utmost effort of his and his servant’s horse also, to get through it. As objects became visible, he saw several dead soldiers in the bog, mired to the waist, and probably shot. On the opposite side he saw an officer lying a few yards from the morass, nearly cut in two by a cannon shot; he was alive, and spoke, implored Dr. Read to lift him to a tree which stood near, alleging that he had been all night trying to do so, ‘that he might die easy.’ The clotted blood was piled up several inches on his front, and it had ceased to flow. Dr. Read, with the assistance of his servant, essayed to lift him tenderly, and, stepping backwards, they placed him against the tree. The blood now began to flow perceptibly, and in all probability terminated his life; they heard him utter a few words of thankfulness, and proceeded on. At the summit of the hill, dismal, indeed, was the scene; there lay fifty or sixty British grenadiers - some dead, some alive, calling for ‘help!’ ‘water!’ uttering the most dreadful and severe imprecations on ‘the rebels.’ Dr. Read and his servant ran down the hill, and found plenty of water; with his servant’s hat he administered many draughts of water to these poor, famished soldiers; it was busy occupation for an hour. Dr. Read … now proceeded to dress wounds and apply bandages. Tearing off shirts from the dead, he made bandages, and applied them, to the best of his skill, for remedying hemorrhage. Some country people and Negroes coming to the field of carnage, Dr. Read enlisted their feelings, and hired them to assist in lifting and turning these wounded men, and, at length, in procuring wagons and straw to remove them to the court-house … he was greatly assisted by his servant, Peter Houston … They succeeded in moving twenty-one grenadiers, all with broken legs, or muscles so lacerated as to render them helpless. Dr. Read, seeing no medical aid come to him, proceeded to amputate whenever the patient would consent to the operation. In these operations he was aided by lint and bandages being sent, he knew not from whence, and every article of nourishment. Dr. Read continued to dwell in the court-house, sleeping … in the Judge’s bench. There he was observed by sundry groups of officers, who came riding around on a tour of observation, and his name enquired into … [His servant sometimes informed the visitors that his master was working] ‘at his own expense.’ This explanation must have had an effect, as on the third day he received from the Secretary a special commission, which gave him rank in the medical department, and extra rations and forage...

Then or now, war is hell. With luck, there will be more stories to share after the upcoming weekend. I hope that the weather will be kinder to us than it was at the actual battle, when it ranged into the high 90's. Can you imagine fighting wrapped in all that wool and linen?

~~~

~~Juliet Waldron ~ All my historicals :  http://amzn.to/1UDoLAi

And, dear reader, if you've got a moment, hop on over to these other talented

Books We Love Authors:

 

http://triciamg.blogspot.com/ (Tricia McGill)

http://mizging.blogspot.com/ (Ginger Simpson)

http://connievines.blogspot.com.au/ Connie Vines

How Writers Become Distracted

 

 

Have you finished training your person?

Have you?

Well, well, so you say, but let us see! Let us run through the steps again. 

Repetition is how we all learn best!  

 *** 

Approach your person, meowing plaintively. When they glance down, as they do, you will do a sweet kitty drive-by, gently rubbing against their leg.

A good tip for beginners: When they are typing at high speed is the best time for this kind training!

Your person leans over. Yes she does! She says “What do you want, my fatty fuzzy drawers meatloaf meow-meow puddy-wuddy??” (Sometimes, it’s even dumber than that—there are studies.*)

This, inane as it may sound to you, is an excellent response. It shows that you haven’t been wasting your time. If you haven’t been training this person for long, maybe you’ve lucked out and are working with one of the smart ones.   

Next, it’s time to flop down beside her chair.  Stretch out really long, forepaws and backpaws extending in such a sexy way that, just for a flash, you show off the length of your claws. Bow your belly into one of those easy arcs that screams how flexible you are. Your  tiger pelt catches the light with in a sublime halo of red-gold guard hairs.

Do this whole-heartedly, as if you’ll never arise again. Sometimes, for added effect, you may look over your shoulder and send one of those come hither blinks at the person before turning your head away, finally resting it, in a half disinterested manner, upon the floor again.
 

As soon as your person—the old ones, like the ones I have, will most certainly grunt and groan and make a huge fuss because they have to sit down cross-legged on the floor, whingeing on and on about “vertigo” “last week's surgery” “hip/knee replacements” or whatever is currently ailing their show-offy-monkey balancing-on-their-hind-legs skeleton. Do NOT ever, ever cave. They can get down onto the floor beside you--and, if you have anything to say about it--they will.

As soon as they are all the way down and are just starting to pet (or groom) you, jump up and walk away.

I know this may be tough, especially if they've presciently begun to execute the Aunt Patti Frequent Flyer Eagle Star Super Premium Top Gold level Wuffle which rubs all around your spine in the very bestest way. At such times, you must exercise will power. 

You want this session to be a win, don't you?

Remember, consistency is the key to successful person training--even if that means also being consistently-inconsistent, and always at those times when they are relying on you to do what you did four times last week.
  

Leaving the scene doesn't necessarily mean distance. In fact, at first, it’s better if it isn’t, because then your person will continue attempting to interact, calling and enticing you with mousie fingers to return. But if you're going to close the deal, you must stick to the program and play hard-to-get. You might even flick your tail at them as you turn away and head out to the kitchen food bowl for a crunchy.

 

But don't be in a hurry. Bide your time. Be patient. Maybe have a big drink, too, or even visit the cellar cat box. While you are doing that, though, remain ever-vigilent.

As soon as their annoying self-centered typing resumes, trot upstairs and begin the process all over again.

*** 

But don't start feeling sorry for them, though. Don't waste your time.

Sometimes, okay, they do get to type a lot, because you're napping on the couch on the cat furniture on the other side of the table upon a special fleecy blanket or upon a Queen bed upstairs. You don't really need to be entertained, just at that moment. Besides, this person takes pretty good care of you. The cat box is effectively scooped. There is always a bowl with the aforementioned crunchies and daily fresh water--if that senile co-diety who also holds court here didn't keep standing in it.

If basic things like housekeeping aren't to your liking, you'll soon make those feelings clear. Believe me, persons--this is not a threat, it's a promise! I'll take this weighty subject up at our next person training lesson.

   

Currier & Ives, "The Favorite Cat"

 

~~Juliet Waldron

 https://www.facebook.com/jwhistfic

http://bookswelove.net/authors/waldron-Juliet

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004HIX4GS

 

 

 

 

Hop on over to these other talented Books We Love Authors:

 

http://triciamg.blogspot.com/ (Tricia McGill)

http://mizging.blogspot.com (Ginger Simpson)

http://connievines.blogspot.com.au/ Connie Vines