Somewhere to Belong Judith Miller
Miller creates two heroines who are on the surface opposite numbers, but have more in common than is apparent. Family secrets and misunderstandings drive the plot. Miller creates likable heroines, has done her historical homework, and develops credible tension because her characters are so flawed. The Amana lifestyle is also sufficiently different that bonnet fiction fans will be pleased by this variation on the theme of simple living. Publishers Weekly January 25, 2010
March 1877
March 1877Amana Colonies, Iowa
Johanna Ilg
Rigid as a barn pole, I stood planted in the parlor doorway with my gaze fixed upon the pink feather-and-plume bedecked hat. Sparkling pins held it atop wavy dark tresses that crimped and coiled. The girl's hair reminded me of the curly leaf lettuce we forced to early growth in our hotbeds each spring. An artificial rose peeked from beneath the curvy brim like a vigilant watchman. Although the visitors to our villages sometimes adorned themselves in outlandish costumes, the hat perched upon this young lady's head surpassed anything I'd ever seen.
She appeared rather young to be wearing such an ornate headpiece.
Not that I could imagine anyone attaining any age where they thought that hat becoming.
Touching her fingers to the garish chapeau, the girl's lips curved in a patronizing smile. She'd obviously noted my attention. "The latest fashion from England. My parents purchased it for me on their last visit."
Touching her fingers to the garish chapeau, the girl's lips curved in a patronizing smile. She'd obviously noted my attention. "The latest fashion from England. My parents purchased it for me on their last visit."
My mother waved me forward. "Come in and meet our guests, Johanna." I tried to force myself to look away from the hat, but my eyes betrayed me as I stepped into the room. I couldn't stop staring at the unsightly mixture of fabric and fluff. My mother cleared her throat. "Come,
Johanna. Meet Dr. and Mrs. Schumacher and their daughter, Berta. They arrived only a short time ago. You remember we've been expecting them." I turned toward the well-dressed couple who sat side by side on our horsehair-stuffed divan. Berta, who looked to be sixteen or seventeen years old, had obviously inherited her dark curls and fine features from her mother.
As if prepared to take flight at the earliest possible moment, the girl sat balanced at the edge of her chair. And given the size of her hat, it would take only a slight wind to carry her aloft.
"I am very pleased to welcome you to Amana. I hope you will be happy living among us."
Berta's dark eyes widened to huge proportions. She shook her head with such fervor I expected the decorations to tumble from her hat. "Living?" She glanced around our parlor with a look of disdain. "We are merely vacationing for a short time. My father's family is from Germany, and we have a distant relative living in Middle Amana. My father thought this would be a pleasant place for our family to visit. I think he wanted to provide us a glimpse of his homeland without the expense of a voyage to Europe. Isn't that correct, Father?" When Dr. Schumacher didn't immediately reply, Berta leaned forward in her chair, her eyes flashing with impatience. "Well, isn't it, Father?" Her voice had raised several decibels and panic edged her words.
Berta's dark eyes widened to huge proportions. She shook her head with such fervor I expected the decorations to tumble from her hat. "Living?" She glanced around our parlor with a look of disdain. "We are merely vacationing for a short time. My father's family is from Germany, and we have a distant relative living in Middle Amana. My father thought this would be a pleasant place for our family to visit. I think he wanted to provide us a glimpse of his homeland without the expense of a voyage to Europe. Isn't that correct, Father?" When Dr. Schumacher didn't immediately reply, Berta leaned forward in her chair, her eyes flashing with impatience. "Well, isn't it, Father?" Her voice had raised several decibels and panic edged her words.
One look at my mother confirmed that I'd misspoken. I longed to stuff the welcome back into my mouth, but that wasn't possible. The damage had been done. Yet no one had forewarned me.
How was I to know Berta hadn't been advised of her father's plans to move his family to the Amana Colonies?
The multistriped woven carpet that covered the parlor floor muffled the stomp of Berta's foot. I arched my brows and glanced toward my mother. The girl was behaving like an undisciplined two-year-old.
"Father?"
"Now, Berta, please. You must remain calm." Mrs. Schumacher unclipped a hand-painted fan from her waist and handed it to her daughter. "Use this. I don't want you fainting and embarrassing yourself."
Berta grabbed the fan from her mother's hand and slapped it atop her skirt. "I don't need a fan.
What I need is an answer to my question." She waited only a moment. "Well, Father? How long will we be visiting in Amana?"
Dr. Schumacher shifted toward his daughter and inhaled a deep lungful of air. "We will be making our new home here in Iowa, Berta. I trust you will remain quiet until we can speak in private. I should have told you before we embarked on the journey, but I wanted to avoid a scene."
"Did you?" Berta jumped to her feet, a horror-stricken look in her eyes. "You don't really believe I'll agree to live in this place, do you?"
Before either of her parents could respond, our parlor door opened and my father entered the room with his flat felt cap pressed between his callused fingers. A few pieces of straw clung to his dark work pants. He smiled, and crinkles formed along the outer edges of his sparkling eyes.
Today his eyes appeared green.
When I was five or six years old, I'd asked him about the color of his eyes. He'd told me they were hazel, but my mother said they were brown. I argued they couldn't be both.
"Hazel is light brown," he'd explained before scooping me onto his lap. "But hazel eyes change and look different colors depending on what you wear. Sometimes they look green, and at other times you can see golden flecks." He'd nuzzled my neck. "Some people call them cat eyes. Do you think I look like a cat?" he'd asked. Remembrance of that long-ago conversation warmed me. I was glad Father was home. Perhaps his easy manner would calm Berta.
He extended his hand and stepped toward the doctor. "Willkommen!" His deep voice filled the room. "We are pleased to have you join our community and to have another doctor in the villages."
Berta glared at my father as though he'd committed a crime. "We won't be staying in Amana, Mr. Ilg."
My father's brow creased. I was certain he was expecting Berta's father to reprimand her for such rude behavior. Instead, Dr. Schumacher held a finger to his lips. "We will discuss this once we are settled in our rooms, Berta."
"First, you must tell me we aren't going to stay here more than one night," Berta said before tightening her lips into a pout.
The doctor stood. "If you could show us to our rooms where we can have a private family discussion, I would be most grateful."
My mother signaled me. "Johanna will be pleased to show you to the rooms. We must depart for evening prayer service soon. You are welcome to join us."
"Not this evening," Mrs. Schumacher said. "Another time."
As I led the Schumachers upstairs, I couldn't help but compare Mrs. Schumacher's gown to the blue, black, or gray calicos that were woven in the Amana mills and worn by the women of our colonies. No one longed to wear the bright calicos woven for those living outside the colonies—at least no one ever spoke of such a desire. We didn't object to the sameness of our plain waists or the wide-banded full skirts. Even our shawls, aprons, and caps were worn without thought to their sameness. Would Mrs. Schumacher, in her pale green silk dress, adapt to our ways with more enthusiasm than her daughter?
To purchase Somewhere to Belong, go to http://www.christianbook.com/ or http://www.amazon.com/ or visit your local Christian bookstore
To discover more about Judith Miller, please visit her website at http://www.judithmccoymiller.com/
To discover more about Judith Miller, please visit her website at http://www.judithmccoymiller.com/
Copyright 2010. Do not reproduce without permission.
Bethany House Publishers
ISBN 978-0-7642-0649-9
Available Now:Somewhere to Belong
http://www.judithmccoymiller.com/
Bethany House Publishers
ISBN 978-0-7642-0649-9
Available Now:Somewhere to Belong
http://www.judithmccoymiller.com/
* * *
By Darkness Hid (Blood of Kings, book 1)By Jill Williamson
By Darkness Hid tells the story of two young people with a unique, ancestral ability to speak to, and hear, the minds of others: a slave forced to serve a prince who wants him dead and a young woman masquerading as a boy to avoid a forced marriage. The novel alternates between their points of view until their stories collide on the battlefield.
"I love a good fantasy, and By Darkness Hid more than fills the bill. With an unpredictable plot, twists of supernatural ability, and finely crafted tension between the forces of good and evil, Jill Williamson's book had me captivated. I jumped into the skin of the heroine and enjoyed her journey as if it were my own." —Donita K. Paul, author of the Dragon Keeper Chronicles
Chapter 1
By Darkness Hid tells the story of two young people with a unique, ancestral ability to speak to, and hear, the minds of others: a slave forced to serve a prince who wants him dead and a young woman masquerading as a boy to avoid a forced marriage. The novel alternates between their points of view until their stories collide on the battlefield.
"I love a good fantasy, and By Darkness Hid more than fills the bill. With an unpredictable plot, twists of supernatural ability, and finely crafted tension between the forces of good and evil, Jill Williamson's book had me captivated. I jumped into the skin of the heroine and enjoyed her journey as if it were my own." —Donita K. Paul, author of the Dragon Keeper Chronicles
Chapter 1
Achan stumbled through the darkness toward the barn. The morning cold sent shivers through his threadbare orange tunic. He clutched a wooden milking pail at his side and held a flickering torch in front to light his way.
He wove between dark cottages in the outer bailey of the castle, mindful to keep his torch clear of the thatched roofs. Most of the residents of Sitna still slept. Only a few of the twenty-some peasants, slaves, and strays serving Lord Nathak and Prince Gidon stirred at this hour.
Sitna Manor sat on the north side of the Sideros River. A brownstone curtain wall, four levels high, enclosed the stronghold. A second wall sectioned off the outer bailey from the inner bailey, temple, and keep. Achan wasn't allowed to enter the inner bailey but occasionally snuck inside when he felt compelled to leave an offering at Cetheria's temple.
The barn loomed ahead of him in the darkness. It was one of the largest structures in Sitna Manor. It was long and narrow, with a high, thatched gable roof. Achan shifted the pail to his torch hand and tugged the heavy door open. It scraped over the frosty dirt. He darted inside and pulled it closed.
The scent of hay and manure drifted on the chilled air. He walked to the center and slid the torch into an iron ring on a load-bearing post. The timber walls stymied the bitter wind, and Achan's shivering lessened.
The torch cast a golden glow over the hay pile, posts, and rafters and made Achan's orange tunic look brown. A long path stretched the length of the barn with stalls on each side penning chickens, geese, pigs, and goats. Two empty stalls in the center housed hay and feed. He approached the goat stall.
"Morning, Dilly, Peg. How are my girls? Got lots of milk for me?"
The goats bleated their greetings. Achan rubbed his hands together until they were warm enough to avoid getting him kicked. He perched on the icy stool to milk Dilly and begin his tedious routine. He could have worse jobs, though, and he liked the goats.
By the time Achan had finished with Dilly, the stool under his backside had thawed, though his breath still clouded in the torch's dull glow. He lifted the pail to get a better look. Dilly had filled it a third. Achan set it between his feet, slapped Dilly on the rear, and called Peg. When he had finished milking her he moved his stool outside and set the pail on top of it. He grabbed a pitchfork off the wall.
"Anyone hungry?"
Dilly and Peg danced around as Achan dumped fresh hay into the trough. The goats' excitement faded to munching. The other animals stirred, but they were not his responsibility. Mox, the scrawny barn boy, had arrived a few minutes ago and now shuffled from stall to stall at the other end of the barn.
As Achan leaned the pitchfork against the wall, he had to pause. A chill ran through him that had nothing to do with the temperature. He felt the familiar pressure in his head. It wasn't painful, but it brought a sense of a looming, sinister shadow. Someone was coming.
"Lo, Mox!" a familiar voice called from near the barn's entrance.
"Moxy poxy hoggy face, we know you're in here."
Achan sucked in an icy breath and slid back into the goat stall. The voices belonged to Riga Hoff and Harnu Poe, Sitna Manor's resident browbeaters.
Mox's young voice cried out. "Stop it! Don't do that! Ow!"
Achan set his jaw and thunked his head against the wall of the stall, earning a reprimanding look from Dilly. Poril would flay him if he returned late. And there was no guarantee he could beat both boys. He should mind his own business. Regular beatings had made him tough—they could do likewise for Mox.
Or they could cripple him for life. An image flooded his mind: a young slave being dragged through the linen field by Riga and Harnu. They'd crushed his hands so badly that all the boy could do now was pull a cart like a mule. Achan sighed.
He edged to the other end of the barn, stepping softly over the scattered hay. Two piglets scurried past his feet. He clenched his jaw. If the animals got out, Mox would be punished by his master too. Riga and Harnu knew that, of course.
Achan spotted them in a pig stall at the end of the barn. Harnu was holding Mox's face in a trough of slop. The mere thought of the smell turned Achan's empty stomach. Riga leaned over Harnu's shoulder, laughing, his ample rear blocking the stall's entrance. Fine linen stretched over Riga's girth and rode up his back in wrinkles, baring more skin than Achan cared to see.
He sent a quick prayer up to the gods and cleared his throat. "Can I help you boys with something?"
Riga spun around, his mess of short, golden curls sticking out in all directions. His face was so pudgy Achan could never tell if his eyes were open or closed. "Stay out of this, dog!"
Harnu released Mox and pushed past Riga out of the stall. The torch's beam illuminated his pockmarked face, a hazard from working too close to the forge. "Moxy poxy piglet got out of his pen. He needs to learn his place." Harnu stood a foot taller than Riga and was the real threat in the barn. He stepped toward Achan. "Looks like you need to learn yours too."
Achan held his ground. "Let him go."
Visit Jill's website to read the entire first chapter of By Darkness Hid and to learn more about the Blood of Kings trilogy.
To purchase By Darkness Hid, click on:
Amazon.com or BarnesAndNoble.com
He wove between dark cottages in the outer bailey of the castle, mindful to keep his torch clear of the thatched roofs. Most of the residents of Sitna still slept. Only a few of the twenty-some peasants, slaves, and strays serving Lord Nathak and Prince Gidon stirred at this hour.
Sitna Manor sat on the north side of the Sideros River. A brownstone curtain wall, four levels high, enclosed the stronghold. A second wall sectioned off the outer bailey from the inner bailey, temple, and keep. Achan wasn't allowed to enter the inner bailey but occasionally snuck inside when he felt compelled to leave an offering at Cetheria's temple.
The barn loomed ahead of him in the darkness. It was one of the largest structures in Sitna Manor. It was long and narrow, with a high, thatched gable roof. Achan shifted the pail to his torch hand and tugged the heavy door open. It scraped over the frosty dirt. He darted inside and pulled it closed.
The scent of hay and manure drifted on the chilled air. He walked to the center and slid the torch into an iron ring on a load-bearing post. The timber walls stymied the bitter wind, and Achan's shivering lessened.
The torch cast a golden glow over the hay pile, posts, and rafters and made Achan's orange tunic look brown. A long path stretched the length of the barn with stalls on each side penning chickens, geese, pigs, and goats. Two empty stalls in the center housed hay and feed. He approached the goat stall.
"Morning, Dilly, Peg. How are my girls? Got lots of milk for me?"
The goats bleated their greetings. Achan rubbed his hands together until they were warm enough to avoid getting him kicked. He perched on the icy stool to milk Dilly and begin his tedious routine. He could have worse jobs, though, and he liked the goats.
By the time Achan had finished with Dilly, the stool under his backside had thawed, though his breath still clouded in the torch's dull glow. He lifted the pail to get a better look. Dilly had filled it a third. Achan set it between his feet, slapped Dilly on the rear, and called Peg. When he had finished milking her he moved his stool outside and set the pail on top of it. He grabbed a pitchfork off the wall.
"Anyone hungry?"
Dilly and Peg danced around as Achan dumped fresh hay into the trough. The goats' excitement faded to munching. The other animals stirred, but they were not his responsibility. Mox, the scrawny barn boy, had arrived a few minutes ago and now shuffled from stall to stall at the other end of the barn.
As Achan leaned the pitchfork against the wall, he had to pause. A chill ran through him that had nothing to do with the temperature. He felt the familiar pressure in his head. It wasn't painful, but it brought a sense of a looming, sinister shadow. Someone was coming.
"Lo, Mox!" a familiar voice called from near the barn's entrance.
"Moxy poxy hoggy face, we know you're in here."
Achan sucked in an icy breath and slid back into the goat stall. The voices belonged to Riga Hoff and Harnu Poe, Sitna Manor's resident browbeaters.
Mox's young voice cried out. "Stop it! Don't do that! Ow!"
Achan set his jaw and thunked his head against the wall of the stall, earning a reprimanding look from Dilly. Poril would flay him if he returned late. And there was no guarantee he could beat both boys. He should mind his own business. Regular beatings had made him tough—they could do likewise for Mox.
Or they could cripple him for life. An image flooded his mind: a young slave being dragged through the linen field by Riga and Harnu. They'd crushed his hands so badly that all the boy could do now was pull a cart like a mule. Achan sighed.
He edged to the other end of the barn, stepping softly over the scattered hay. Two piglets scurried past his feet. He clenched his jaw. If the animals got out, Mox would be punished by his master too. Riga and Harnu knew that, of course.
Achan spotted them in a pig stall at the end of the barn. Harnu was holding Mox's face in a trough of slop. The mere thought of the smell turned Achan's empty stomach. Riga leaned over Harnu's shoulder, laughing, his ample rear blocking the stall's entrance. Fine linen stretched over Riga's girth and rode up his back in wrinkles, baring more skin than Achan cared to see.
He sent a quick prayer up to the gods and cleared his throat. "Can I help you boys with something?"
Riga spun around, his mess of short, golden curls sticking out in all directions. His face was so pudgy Achan could never tell if his eyes were open or closed. "Stay out of this, dog!"
Harnu released Mox and pushed past Riga out of the stall. The torch's beam illuminated his pockmarked face, a hazard from working too close to the forge. "Moxy poxy piglet got out of his pen. He needs to learn his place." Harnu stood a foot taller than Riga and was the real threat in the barn. He stepped toward Achan. "Looks like you need to learn yours too."
Achan held his ground. "Let him go."
Visit Jill's website to read the entire first chapter of By Darkness Hid and to learn more about the Blood of Kings trilogy.
To purchase By Darkness Hid, click on:
Amazon.com or BarnesAndNoble.com
No comments:
Post a Comment