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Friday, May 1, 2015

MY MOZART / Excerpt for MAY DAY





#frifreebits

She was moth to his flame...


...The forest was a living cathedral, the great columns bearing a roof of green. All the time we gradually ascended, following a path. In one place we forded a lively stream, balancing on mossy rocks that barely kept us above the chattering water.

Topping a final rise, we came at last upon the Waldhut. It sat in a small clearing, dwarfed by the biggest pine trees I had ever seen. Smoke trailed from the chimney and a fire also crackled out front, snapping sparks. From the greasy cloud rising from a blackened, steaming rock pile, I knew that a pig had already gone into the pit. There was another smell, too, the welcome fragrance of coffee.

Among the musicians and dancers were handymen and servants, all sharing in the cheerful equality of the day. As Barbara and I laid blankets at the edge of the clearing atop a thick blanket of pine needles, I spied, further back in the woods, a green tent. Stage shrieks emanated from it.

"Gott! The usual bawdy house atmosphere." Barbara took me by the arm and pulled me toward the fire. "You, Blumechen, are to stay far, far away from that tent."

The clearing had the look of an impromptu marketplace, with stacks of rugs and laden baskets. Three children suddenly bounded out the door of the summerhouse, pushing past like unruly dogs. Two boys and a girl, they wore bright lumpy peasant’s clothing.

Who did they remind me of, with their broad laughing faces and thick wild hair?

"Schikaneder's." Barbara answered my unspoken question. "Three different mothers, but look at them, alike as peas in a pod. He keeps a regular herd at some farm near Josephplatz."

Turks, I thought, weren't the only men to keep harems.

Going into the Waldhut with Barbara, we found a trestle table set with breads, butter, cheese and those expensive luxuries, coffee and sugar. With cups in hand we stood around the table with the Schacks, who were already inside eating. At last, in spite of the strong, sugary coffee and so many gay companions, I was sleepier than ever. Barbara and I, after looking at each other and yawning, agreed we couldn't keep our eyes open much longer.

Going into the yard, we collected our things and carried them to an area screened from the clearing by flowering trees. Here, close to the prone form of an ancient pine, we spread our blankets. Ferns and clusters of tiny white and lavender flowers dotted the ground. Barbara fussed at me to hurry and settle, but I spent time carefully finding a spot where the blanket wouldn't crush them.

"Shall I sing my little girl a lullaby?" Barbara leaned back against the fallen tree and kicked off her shoes.

"Yes if you please, Frau Gerl."

Behind us, the clearing grew quiet. There seemed to be a unanimous decision that it was time for a nap. While Barbara softly serenaded me with an old nursery song, I bunched up my shawl for a pillow. A root that felt like a big toe stuck into my side, so I moved my hips. The last conscious thought I had was that I'd never be able to fall asleep here...

 
 
~~~
 
 
I stood with a group of women among the pines. I could hear a bright tune, perfect for a romp, but my companions were still as statues. In their midst was a man, an angel of a man, a man I almost recognized.
Golden curls haloed his face and he wore a crown of laurel leaves, like Apollo. When he beckoned, one of my companions would rise and walk like a sleepwalker into his arms, where she would be embraced and kissed. Melting, the woman would crumple to the ground at his feet and remain there, eyes raised toward his shining face, apparently quite stricken with love..."
 


 
~~Juliet Waldron
MY MOZART:
 
 
 
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Friday, April 24, 2015

FreeBits--NIGHTINGALE/Chapter One

#frifreebits
 


 http://amzn.com/B00D8MEL8E

Klara ached all over, but perhaps the bitter draught of willow bark and hot water which she had just swallowed would subdue it. The aristocratic audience, which contained two princes of the Blood Royal, was one she did not dare refuse.

In the winter twilight, servants had been lighting ranks of candles set upon the chandeliers. The task completed, those tinkling balls of crystal and light were hoisted towards the ceiling. A glow fell over the white wigs and court clothes of the guests, who were seated in a half-circle around four string players and a gilded harpsichord.

The January afternoon was cold, and her maid, Liese had scolded. In the end, Klara resigned herself to wear a silver wig. Very often, in Max’s absence, she did not. This, of course, quickly set her apart from the other ladies, but Klara Silber's hair was her glory. Thick, lively, and the color of polished mahogany, it made a spectacular crown about her heart-shaped face. To atone for the absence of the required wig, her hairdresser would create a frenzy of curls. One auburn lock was often left loose to trail with lazy abandon over one shoulder. Today, however, she was simply too cold. Today she would gratefully accept the warmth that came with the wig.

The host of this English Tea, an elderly Baron, took Klara's hand into his white kid glove, ready to lead her to the harpsichord.

"You appear a little fatigued, Fraulein Silber. Please don't feel you must tax yourself too much on my account, especially when there is so much sickness about this winter. Perhaps just sing the poignant little piece by Kapellmeister Handel, the song of Queen Sheba, which the ladies love so much.”
 
The Baron, unlike so many others of high rank, was always considerate.

"I do feel somewhat tired, sir." Meeting his faded, benevolent gaze, Klara glossed her discomfort. "However, I would never wish to disappoint you, or your distinguished guests."

"I think there is little danger of that, Fraulein." He regarded her with a fatherly smile. "We wouldn't want you to be ill when your patron returns from his labors in Silesia. I'm sure that after the fighting and the long labors of his absence, Count Oettingen will often require the healing solace of your voice."

The Baron was simply making conversation, but Klara shivered.

Just the mention of Max!

Snow and continuing turmoil on the Prussian border had detained her patron, The Most Noble Maximilian von Oettingen.
 
Klara had been gratefully thanking every saint in the calendar that he had not yet returned....


~Juliet Waldron



For more free bits from other writers...follow the link.

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Friday, April 17, 2015

Friday FreeBits--"Angel's Flight," a Revolutionary War Adventure



 
 
 In Which Angelica Refuses the Villain:
~~~
 
“Give me back my locket, you monster!” The skin of her throat burned as if she’d been garroted. His first act, after dragging her up the stairs, had been to tear away the locket she always wore—the one with that last precious lock of ‘Bram’s fair hair.
“How foolish to carry a dead man over your heart!”


“Who dared to tell you that?”


“Money buys everything, my dear, don’t you know? But it doesn’t really matter, does it? You’ll not need this anymore. I’m the man in your future.”


Jamming the necklace into his pocket, Armistead came at her like a whirlwind. Angelica seized a chair and held it in front of herself, attempting to ward him off. He pinned her and the chair together against the wall. She was not certain how long they’d been trapped together in this mean little room.


“My descent,” she raged, gripping the ladder back for dear life, “is from the first Patroon. The insult you offer me will bring the wrath of every gentleman in this state—Tory or Rebel—down upon you.”


“Marriage with a gentleman of my stature is hardly an insult, miss. Wouldn’t you like to be presented at court? Think of that! I have a charming little house in London. You can go there as soon as our solemnities have been adequately...celebrated.” ...
 
 
 
 
 
 
 



Tuesday, January 20, 2015

Confessions of a Weather Show Fan




I’m used to be a TV weather show fan. (I was going to say I am a weather buff, but on that side of things I’m a rank amateur, even after years of Meteorological TV.)  My knowledge of climate science remains based on The Little Golden Book of Weather that my Dad gave me when I was studying for a Girl Scouts’ badge.

While I remain devoted to PA Cable Network's Weather World Show, presented by dedicated Penn State Meteorology professors and grad students and showcased here:    http://weatherworld.psu.edu/segments.htm
I've also become fond of The Weather Channel.

I used to truly love The Weather Channel, but lately they are more The Disaster Channel. At first it was fun to see weathermen standing in their sturdy L.L. Bean gear facing down blizzards, floods and hurricanes, but, somehow, now, Bad Weather gets more than it's share of coverage. I suppose, I shouldn't crab. It's a simple fact that a hurricane or blizzard draws a  bigger viewing audience than a sunny day. Advertising, enticingly set before millions of eyes, (here in the wonderful world of capitalism) pays the bills. 





Sometimes--and this is--worse, weather reporting disappears and in its place we are offered "on topic" "Reality” shows. These so-called "Reality" (who are they kidding?) shows are way too like a Philip K. Dick story for me. I suffer, whenever I happen to catch a few minutes of such a show on TV, from a horrible prickle of oh, bloody hell--dystopia's actually happening!

At least Weather Scan still exists among my cable channels, with the original, wooden, low-Def Weather Channel format. Nothing is more perfectly meditative than ten solid minutes of staring at the ever-repeating local temperatures crawling endlessly below those lava-lamp blobs of green and pink that describe a bad day.  Rain showers crossing (and re-crossing) my local area are perfect. Without Weather Scan, I'd be forced to succumb to the beautiful but pointless Ambient channel offerings with their sadly unitary, boring soundtrack. 

And, besides, heck, I can't see the weather there...


 

~~Juliet Waldron

Friday, August 15, 2014

~~MY MOZART ~~ An Excerpt for Friday Freebits!




 
    ~~Nanina Gottlieb tells us about her very first introduction to the man she will love forever.~


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


             What had my fond Papa been saying about me? Wanting to sink through the floor, I shot a look in his direction, but Papa, blind with parental pride, could not see my discomfort. I could feel a wretched blush, that bane of my life, throbbing into my cheeks.

"Your Papa says that you appreciate good music and that you sing."

These were his first words to me. There wasn't a hint of condescension or mockery in his voice. Shy and proud as a cat, I had braced for it.

"I hear all of your music that I can, Kapellmeister Mozart."

I remember rocking up on my toes. I absolutely couldn't stop myself.

Here I was, talking to this magician!

"She clearly has excellent taste! Come here, Princess Gottlieb. Sit beside me."



~~Read More of MY MOZART at Amazon~~
 
 
 
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Wednesday, July 16, 2014

A LESSON FROM A WITCHY AUNT


 
 
 
A lesson and a present from Auntie T
 
   "This is a sort of late name day present for you.  Now," she went on, taking the locket in hand.  "I'm going to show you a secret.  Pay close attention, Caterina Maria Brigitte!"
     Those old, rough fingers pressed one of the wooden rosettes that ornamented the case.  Cat was surprised when the locket popped open again, this time in the back.

     "See how it opens?  See?"

     Cat examined the newly revealed second compartment.  Inside was a gleam.

     "It's a Protector for you now that you are growing to be a woman.  Take it out, but be very careful."

     It took Cat a moment to extract the object.  It turned out to be an extremely thin blade, almost a needle, set on a small section of horn.

     "If anyone ever tries to harm you, just fetch it out.  Keep it in your hand like this," Auntie T demonstrated, palming the blade so that it disappeared.  "Then take it like so," she said, her fingers moving deftly, "and do this!"

     In a flash the gleaming point was against Cat's neck.  She sat still, hoping that Auntie T would be very, very careful.

     "There, where the big vein swells!  Don't hesitate, just jab it in.  If you cut that vein, they won't trouble you for much longer."


 
 
~~ Juliet Waldron
check out the first few pages, here:
 
See other historical romances and historical novels at:

Thursday, July 3, 2014


~~~A summer time piece from my post-Civil War romance, Hand-me-Down Bride

~~On the way to the hayfields, Karl and Sophie marvel at the beauty of a blooming field of Buckwheat.







Karl watched her.  She had walked into the field, delighting in the moment, in the sun, in the sea-froth-over-sage color of the buckwheat.  He'd caught a flash of her joy; joy in the splendor of this land!

After the long and terrible war, after his illness, it had been hard to find joy in his heart at anything.   Today, Karl felt free as a swallow, flashing over the rising corn.

Sophie was framed against the light, her plain apron lifted by a firm young bosom, her dark hair wound beneath the bonnet.  Above, great clouds sailed in shattering blue, and the buzz of those thousands of bees echoed some dream space he'd been to before, the white hum of eternity.

He tied the reins to a sapling and got down. He had wanted to put his arms around her, to mold her breasts against his chest, to catch the scent of her, to drink from those rosy, undoubtedly sweet lips.  Now, he waded into the field after her, wanting even more to share her moment of happiness. 

A simple gift. . .

"Das ist schon!" Face radiant, she turned.  "It is beautiful!”

 
 
 
 
~~Juliet Waldron
 
 
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