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

A little bit about a Butterfly...

A snippet from a WIP I'm hoping to finish soon:

Butterfly Bride

Sequel to Hand-me-Down Bride

Set in post Civil War Pennsylvania

~~~

Here, Elfie -- Sophie's little sister-- attends the first big event of the summer in the valley--the Ice Cream Social.

She's been invited by the Schwans, whose nephew, the Reverend "Wash", has taken an interest in the pretty newcomer.

When the reverend is distracted by church business, she spends the day with other young people, first, a pair of wealthy neighbors, Ripley King and his cousin 'Dina, and later with Sam and Mellie Moonshine, who are from a big extended farm family that live atop the nearby ridge.

At the very end, Washington finds her again. He's disappointed at the way the day has gone.

http://amzn.to/1Nn8iOw  Big Sister Sophie's story...

The sun lowered, the shadows grew long. Tomorrow would be another work day. People were packing up their picnic baskets, collecting straying children and dogs, and preparing to return home. Washington held Elfie’s arm as they walked back to his wagon.

“I’m sorry to have stayed gone for so long.” Elfie thought she’d better take the bull by the horns.

“Well, never mind. All’s well that ends well.” Elfie was about to sigh with relief, when Washington added, “You are rather a butterfly, aren’t you, Miss Neiman?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”  They turned to face one another. He looked, she thought, rather critical, one of those “I’m older and wiser” kind of faces that she resented.

“I had hoped,” he said calmly, “to spend a little more time with you today.”

“Well, um, ah, yes! And I was also looking forward to that as well, but um…I was so hoping to see the lake and Mr. King and Miss Wildbach were so kind as to invite me...” Her mind had darted about looking for an answer which would—she hoped—mollify him. She rather hoped a non-apology would do.

After all, this was not her fault, was it?

A reverend had to deal with those committee men upon whom his permanent appointment to the pulpit might depend, so, really, what else should she have done? Stayed with his aunt and her middle-aged friends and talk about knitting, or folks she didn’t know and a mob of babies when she’d finally escaped her sister’s house? Good Lord!

Still, she knew she’d disappointed him. She didn’t like to think about herself that way, and thought she ought to try to make it up to him. He was really a very pleasant, genteel fellow.

How much my dear lost Papa would have liked him…

Along the way back to the carriages, ‘Dina and Rip crossed their path. Behind them trailed Mrs. Green and Judge Markham and a pair of tired looking maids. When, from a little distance, Mrs. Schwann called to Washington to “go get our conveyance, my dear, I’m simply walked off my feet,” and he excused himself and walk away again, Elfie lingered.

Soon, the truant threesome had drifted together again.

“Ah, good! You’ve found the Schwann’s,” ‘Dina said, catching her hand. “We weren’t sure where you’d got to.”

“Like a sleek little duckling, Miss Elfie always comes up paddling.” Rip grinned. He was still damp and not, Elfie noted, entirely steady on his feet. He blew a big kiss in her direction.

“She’d better learn to swim, if she’s going to live ‘round here,” said ‘Dina, giving Elfie a woman-to-woman look. It was clear that she was, to some extent, was supporting Rip. As they stood together, Elfie caught the scent of bourbon. Ripley must be even worse for wear than he’d been earlier!

As if to confirm her suspicion, close by, a disapproving elder was heard to say: “Young fella’s thoroughly corned…”

“Come along, Miss Neiman!” Aunt Schwann had turned back and again raised her voice. Elfie thanked heaven that Washington had gone ahead, for their wagonette.   She spun about to respond with a bright wave.

 “Um, yes, Ma’am. Comin’ right away!” Quickly turning back to her new friends, she added, “Good-bye, Miss Wildbach. ‘Bye, Mr. King. Thank–you so much for taking me across the lake!”

'Dina winked and said, “Run fast, or the old goose will leave you behind, I swear! What a sour puss!” At the same time, Ripley made a dramatic gesture of farewell and said something that sounded like: “Pray do not absquatulate, m’dear  Miss Neiman…”

Whatever that meant! He was an endearing figure, playing the clown, and remaining so appealing with his bright hair, blue eyes, and young body.

He and 'Dina really were like matching bookends, so blonde, so well-dressed and ever so gay! 

“See you soon, Miss Neiman,” said ‘Dina. “Come along now, Mr. King, you great booby!”

Elfie had to grab the brim of her hat and dash after the receding figures of the Schwann party. By the time she caught up, the step stool had already been placed and Aunt Schwann was being helped into the back...



~~by Juliet Waldron

http://www.julietwaldron.com

See All my romantic historical novels:

http://amzn.to/1UDoLAi

And, please, if you've got a moment, visit 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

BLACK MAGIC ~ Amazon Countdown Feature

War-weary soldier Goran von Hagen returns for the first time in years to the alpine estate where he was born. Here, although he does not suspect it, a strange destiny awaits.

"So much more than the garden-variety shapeshifter v. vampire story, as the hero engages with the day-to-day realities of his post-transformation self..." 

 

 Black Magic ~ Amazon Countdown! 

 

 

After an exchange of letters, Goran and Mina decided to make a summer journey to the neglected estate. This would be the best time to ride the place over and find out how things were in the fields and forests of their domain. Their younger siblings—all but Rupert—were still school boys, incapable of such duties.

            It was not, as his father had always said, a good thing to leave houses and property in the hands of servants for any extended period. Even the best bailiff and staff could lose their way. Herr Stocke, who had managed the place for so long, had grown frail, and the Graf had concerns about relying so heavily upon a man who long ago should have been comfortably retired. At the time, Goran believed he could face anything with Veronique on his arm. Now, his twin, Mina, would have to help him stay strong, but she, her little daughter, Charlize, and his youngest sister, Birgit, had not yet finished their journey from Passau.

***

            Being alone in the house was painful. As soon as he had finished a good splash in the basin, Goran abandoned the master bedroom. He’d often pictured Veronique there. She’d have teased him, no doubt, laughing mercilessly about the antique bed-curtains. They were embroidered with an erotic subject of nymphs and fauns--not at all to his, or to any modern--taste--but a work of art, nonetheless. They’d been purchased at great expense in pre-revolutionary France. Why his mother had never replaced these wicked bachelor relics he had never understood. Goran had heard stories that his father had been “a famous rake” before he’d settled down to become a dedicated family man.

             Damn Veronique!

 

             How often he’d imagined her here, standing before a mirror, letting down her heavy blonde hair. He’d have taken her in his arms, watched her lovely face flush with desire. They’d begin the prelude, as they had many times before, and this time—this time—it would happen, the fiery moment when she would allow him to enter her lush body!

             Instead, he was here, on the mountain--alone.

 

             Goran donned his knee-length riding coat. Habit caused him to check to be certain that his boot knives were snug in place. During the war, he’d learned never to trust to the safety of even the most familiar places.

            He departed in a hurry, for the bedroom seemed full of ghosts, banging his boots on the stairs. From the sideboard in foyer he seized a dusty, half-full bottle of brandy. He thought he’d walk—and drink. The house was worse than he’d thought. A sensation of loss and grief pervaded the familiar rooms where he’d spent a happy childhood.

             Not to mention the disorder in his bailiff's once tidy study!

             Goran could only imagine the hours of mind-numbing book work which waited—and right now, he didn’t want to dwell on it. He stalked through the small, overgrown ornamental garden some grandparent or other had created. It was set in view of the long study windows, and had several slate paths, now narrowed by encroaching flowerbeds. The whole place was overlooked by a lichen-spotted marble faun atop a pedestal. Balanced upon one cloven foot, his head thrown back in abandon, the creature cheerfully played a flute. Goran paused to study it, remembering how it had frightened Mina when they’d been children. She’d complained she had nightmares in which it chased her...  

 

 

~~Juliet Waldron

See All my Historicals at:

 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

 

For Flowery May Day, My Nanina

 

My Mozart ~~ passion and music

 

 I’ve always prided myself on careful research on the historical characters who star in my novels. I’ve certainly done so in Mozart’s Wife, and although there are those who don't like my characterizations, there aren’t many who can reasonably disparage the research. Interpretation of fact, when dealing with historical characters, is always tricky. We weren’t there and we’ll never know what exactly did happen. All we have are the documents, letters, diaries, newspapers and hearsay. From those, the historical writer does the best that he/she can.  Two hundred and fifty years (roughly) is a long time for “the truth” to survive.

  Mozart's Wife ~ at Amazon 

 

My Mozart is another kind of story. While the characters are the same people who appear in Mozart’s Wife, they are viewed through another narrator’s eyes. As in Rashomon—or in many court cases—witnesses, even those with the best intentions, often tell conflicting stories. Back in the mid-eighties, when I wrote My Mozart, I was unable to discover much about the life of Anna Gottlieb. What there was in German and not translated or easily available here. As a result, I fictionalized my heroine. The historical Anna and the one I created are, in many ways, quite different.

 

Nightingale ~~ Dark Vienna

Here is a brief outline of what I have since learned about the historical Anna Gottlieb. She was born into a theatrical family who worked for the National Theater, just as mine was, however, in real life, she was one of four daughters. Anna was five when she played her first noted role at the Burgtheater.  Aged twelve, she played Barbarina in Mozart’s Figaro. At fifteen she played ‘Amande’ in Wranitzky’s Oberon, King of The Elves. At seventeen, she was Mozart’s Pamina in The Magic Flute at The Theater Am Weiden, which would be the peak of her career.  According to Agnes Selby, author of the well-respected  Constanze, Mozart’s Beloved,  a much older Anna was to remember: "The immortal Mozart created Pamina for me, and the same voice which is now unpleasant to you, was the delight of the great master, and I was, proud as a queen, carried on the waves of applause." She also recalled his gift of a beautiful fan given her by Mozart in appreciation of her artistry.

After Mozart’s death, Anna “defected” to the Leopoldstadt Theater. In 1798 she played the part of ‘Hulda’ in The Nymph of the Danube. She was famous as a mimic, and she often parodied reigning prima donnas. According to Grove, during this time she was “a mainstay of the company.”

The Napoleonic Wars ruined the economy and disrupted the ancient social and patronage system. After a four year’s absence, occasioned by war, Anna returned to the Viennese stage in 1813. Sadly, her voice and looks were now in decline. As a result, she now played smaller roles in comedies and often played old women. In 1828, a new director of the theater, Steinkeller, dismissed her. Lacking a pension, she fell into poverty. She unsuccessfully petitioned the Emperor for a pension. In 1848, she contacted the newspaper editor L.V. Frankl, to describe her plight, and he organized a fundraising campaign which sent her to Salzburg to view the unveiling of the Mozart memorial, which she longed to see.  In one memoir concerning that day, Anna is thus described: “There entered a tall, thin and eccentric looking old woman…”  She was the last surviving singer who had actually worked with Mozart.

 

So it appears that My Mozart is more “historical fiction” than semi-biographical. In my defense, I’ll plead that I’d fallen in love with the composer. As anyone who has caught the all-consuming Amadeus bug knows, this isn’t a minor ailment, nor is it unusual among people who adore music.  The effect of a Mozart Possession is visceral, shattering, as I’d imagine a gigantic dose of Ecstasy. I was Mozart’s fan, body and soul, and I wanted to write a story which expressed my love, my longing, and, most of all, the physical pleasure which his music brought to me. To write such a story,  I needed a narrator, someone who could be that delirious, head-over-heels fan. One evening, while reading Otto Erich Deutsche’s Documentary Biography of Mozart , I came across this quote:

"Most painfully affected of all by Mozart's fatal illness was Fraulein Nanina Gottlieb..."

~~~From Joseph Deiner's Memoirs, related at Vienna, 1856

 That was when I knew who the heroine --the ultimate, passionate Mozart fan--must be!

There is another matter to consider, too, and to me it’s not a small thing. As a writer, I’ve created many characters, working from the rough outline in my mind, until these “playmates” begin to talk and walk on their own, to tell me their stories. Nanina was different. From the evening I saw Joseph Deiner’s remark, I was visited by a presence--graceful, feminine—and deeply anguished. She came in the dark hours and sent me to the computer to write for most of the night, write a story as I’ve written no novel since. Pictures would arrive; I’d hit those keys. As I worked with “her,” I typed ever faster, while a story of a perfect first-and-only-love, of loss and of madness poured out. There was very little editing done until much, much later.  

Call it “automatic writing” or whatever you want. I’m not a big fan of categorizing paranormal events, although I’ve had more than a few in the seventy years I’ve been on the planet.  Whatever this unique experience was, I felt honored to be the chosen channel for a sensitive, talented individual—perhaps a beautiful soul from a time in Vienna where, ever so briefly, lived and loved a matchless musical genius.

 --Juliet Waldron

 

And, 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

An Unwanted Proposal~~ Genesee

 

     "Captain Dunbar," she whispered, gazing into his eyes, "Jean Desbrosses has proposed marriage."

     His breath drew in, hard and sharp, as if she'd struck a knife between his ribs.

     "Oh, Jenny," he whispered.

     "Cornelia says I would be a fool not to – and – and – I'm sure my Uncle Stephen will be very angry, maybe Grandfather van Cortlandt, too – if I refuse."

     "Do as your heart tells you, not your head. Don't let them force you, Jenny." He spoke softly, but she heard it loud and clear--a plea from his young heart.

     She lifted a hand, and, yearning, trembling, caressed his thin cheek. He caught her wrist, pressed his lips against the pulse beating there.

~~Juliet Waldron

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

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

ROAN ROSE ~ Love Comes to Rose

It's more than loyalty for Rose. There's love, too.

My flat girl's chest pressed against his wool and linen padded jousting jacket. Even through thirty layers of fabric, I swear, I could feel his heart beat.  I could smell him, too, the sweat and horses of the tilting yard, his dark, sun-warmed hair. Strawberries spilled into the grass. In that instant, with strong boy's arms locked around me, my life changed forever.

 

            And why should this have been so important? I have plowed and planted beside a prudent, hardworking husband. I have borne and raised children of whom I am devilishly proud. I have healed the sick of every kind, and soothed the passage from this world of those I could not save.

            I have taught the lore of herbs. I have brewed a famous ale, to the benefit of my family. Why should a kiss, a mere trial by a royal boy, be so perfectly remembered?

 

~~~

Juliet Waldron

More about Roan Rose @ 

http://amzn.com/B00FKKAN98

ISBN:   978-149224158X

~~~

Click these links for more Sunday Snippets
by:

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

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

http://authorjamiehill.blogspot.com/ (Jamie Hill)

http://romancingscifi.blogspot.com/ (Vijaya Schartz)

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