Hidden is Shelley’s first foray into inspirational fiction. Previously, Shelley lived in Texas and Colorado, where she taught school and earned both her bachelors and masters degrees in education. She now lives in southern Ohio where she writes full time. Shelley is an active member of her church. She serves on committees, volunteers in the church office, and is part of the Telecare ministry, which calls homebound members on a regular basis. Shelley looks forward to the opportunity to write novels that showcase her Christian ideals.
This is the second book in the Sisters Of Heart series. The first was Hidden.
ABOUT THE BOOK
Twenty-year-old Katie Brenneman has always quietly fancied Jonathan Lundy. So when the brokenhearted widower asks her to help him take care of his two young girls, Katie knows it will be a trying time-yet she cannot pass up a golden opportunity to get to know this man better.
Just as she's settling into her new life, a message arrives from Katie's past, threatening to expose her darkest secrets. During her Rumspringa, her running-around years, she experimented with activities forbidden in the Amish way of life. Frightened by how far she'd strayed from her values, Katie ran back home, vowing to cut all ties with the outside world. Now her transgressions are coming back to haunt her, just as Jonathan seems willing to welcome her into his heart.
Will the past destroy Katie's chances for love? Or will Katie finally allow herself to accept God's love, forgive her past...and receive everything she's ever wanted?
If you would like to read an excerpt of Chapter 1 of Wanted, go HERE
MY REVIEW:
“I want to be seen as whole…even if everything I am isn’t so good.” (Katie, p 227)
As long as I’ve been blogging book reviews now, I am always blessed when the message in a book I’m reading gives me just the message I stand in need of for a very specific moment.Christian authors truly have a unique opportunity as they share their talent to also share God’s grace and mercy for such a time as this! For me, Wanted brought a very special love note from God.
Wanted is Katie’s story in Shelly Shepard Gray’s Sisters of the Heart series.Katie has come through her rumspringa – her journey of exploration outside the Amish faith – bearing secrets.Although her faith is strong and she longs to begin a family of her own, when she finally has the opportunity to be with the man she cares for, she realizes she can’t go forward honestly until she deals with the secrets of her past.Katie must grow and mature in ways we all must do at different points in our life.It is a process both painful and beautiful.
Actually, all of the main characters in Wanted are facing a particular challenge in an effort to move beyond difficult circumstances.Shelly Gray weaves their lives and their choices together in such a way that God’s grace and mercy are beautifully portrayed in realistic circumstances many of us face along our spiritual journey.To live our lives realizing that Christ loves and forgives us and faithfully accepts us as His precious children…well, that is a powerful truth within which to live!
If memory serves, the first book in this series didn’t make a particularly meaningful impression in my mind. I’m very thankful God allowed me another opportunity to read one of Shelly’s novels! I truly enjoyed Wanted, and I was particularly blessed by God’s timing of its reading.This book contains truth that I needed to be reminded of, and Shelly Gray was faithful to share God’s grace in a beautiful way! I highly recommend Shelly Gray’s Sister of the Heart series, and Wantedin particular. May we all live our lives fully secure in the beauty of God’s love and forgiveness!
It is time to play a Wild Card!Every now and then, a book that I have chosen to read is going to pop up as a FIRST Wild Card Tour. Get dealt into the game! (Just click the button!) Wild Card Tours feature an author and his/her book's FIRST chapter!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Plus a Tiffany's Bracelet Giveaway! Go to Camy Tang's Blog and leave a comment on her FIRST Wild Card Tour for Be Strong and Curvaceous, and you will be placed into a drawing for a bracelet that looks similar to the picture below.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Shelley Adina is a world traveler and pop culture junkie with an incurable addiction to designer handbags. She knows the value of a relationship with a gracious God and loving Christian friends, and she's inviting today's teenage girls to join her in these refreshingly honest books about real life as a Christian teen--with a little extra glitz thrown in for fun! In between books, Adina loves traveling, listening to and making music, and watching all kinds of movies.
List Price: $ 9.99
Reading level: Young Adult
Paperback: 256 pages
Publisher: FaithWords (January 2, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0446177997
ISBN-13: 978-0446177993
The publisher has offered a terrific opportunity for me to offer the entire 3-book set of Shelley Adina's books as a give away! Leave a comment to be entered to win!!
MY REVIEW:
“God is all wrapped up in the smallest details of our lives.” (Gillian to Carly p. 203)
Okay, I’m hooked. Shelley Adina’s books are simply addictive! If you had ever told me I would be totally blown away about a story that featured a bunch of girls living in a California boarding school, I would have never believed it!! Be Strong and Curvaceous is Carly Aragon’s story, and it is absolutely enchanting!
I’ll tell you a secret…I could totally relate to Carly’s scholarship-among-the-rich-girls feelings, because I was a work-study student at an all-girls’ college some years ago. I didn’t go to quite the lengths Carly did to project an image to her upscale friends, but I did recognize her anxiety about sharing her real-world life with her very wealthy schoolmates. Anyway, Carly is a lovely young lady altogether, and she becomes even more so once she decides that she wants to belong to God just as Gillian and Lissa do.
However, she has gone totally ga-ga over Brett Loyola and dreams of bowling him over with the to-die-for-dress she plans to design for the upcoming fashion show. It seems even those dreams are going to be nixed when she returns from her winter break to find she now has a Scottish roommate with serious snob issues!! How on earth can Carly compete with someone who looks like a dream and has a spine made of cold hard steel? Not even the school’s most elite snobs can stand in her presence! Mac, as she so adamantly refers to herself, is a real piece of work!
Shelley Adina’s latest story in the All About Us series starts off at a run and takes the reader on an exciting journey! I’m not going to spoil a moment of it, but suffice it to say there are some serious bad guys that have to be dealt with in this book! Oh, and Carly and Brett? Well, God works in even that little detail - with some rather unexpected twists too! I now totally understand why Shelly likes spending so much time with the SpencerAcademy girls! I can’t wait for Shani’s story- Who Made You a Princess? – releasing in May! In the mean time, I’ll have to hang out on Shelly’s website to learn the latest! Won’t you join me?
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
BE CAREFUL WHAT you wish for.
I used to think that was the dumbest saying ever. I mean, when you wish for something, by definition it’s wonderful, right? Like a new dress for a party. Or a roommate as cool as Gillian Chang or Lissa Mansfield. Or a guy noticing you after six months of being invisible. Before last term, of course I wanted those wishes to come true.
I should have been more careful.
Let me back up a little. My name is Carolina Isabella Aragon Velasquez . . . but that doesn’t fit on school admission forms, so when I started first grade, it got shortened up to Carolina Aragon—Carly to my friends. Up until I was a sophomore, I lived with my mother and father, my older sister Alana and little brother Antony in a huge house in Monte Sereno, just south of Silicon Valley. Papa’s company invented some kind of security software for stock exchanges, and he and everyone who worked for him got rich.
Then came Black Thursday and the stock market crash, and suddenly my mom was leaving him and going to live with her parents in Veracruz, Mexico, to be an artist and find herself. Alana finished college and moved to Austin, Texas, where we have lots of relatives. Antony, Papa, and I moved to a condo about the size of our old living room, and since Papa spends so much time on the road, where I’ve found myself since September is boarding school.
The spring term started in April, and as I got out of the limo Papa sends me back to Spencer Academy in every Sunday night—even though I’m perfectly capable of taking the train—I couldn’t help but feel a little bubble of optimism deep inside. Call me corny, but the news that Vanessa Talbot and Brett Loyola had broken up just before spring break had made the last ten days the happiest I’d had since my parents split up. Even flying to Veracruz, courtesy of Papa’s frequent flyer miles, and being introduced to my mother’s boyfriend hadn’t put a dent in it.
Ugh. Okay, I lied. So not going there.
Thinking about Brett now. Dark, romantic eyes. Curly dark hair, cut short because he’s the captain of the rowing team. Broad shoulders. Fabulous clothes he wears as if he doesn’t care where he got them.
Oh, yeah. Much better.
Lost in happy plans for how I’d finally get his attention (I was signing up to be a chem tutor first thing because, let’s face it, he needs me), I pushed open the door to my room and staggered in with my duffel bags.
My hands loosened and I dropped everything with a thud.
There were Vuitton suitcases all over the room. Enough for an entire family. In fact, the trunk was so big you could put a family in it—the kids, at least.
“Close the door, why don’t you?” said a bored British voice, with a barely noticeable roll on the r. A girl stepped out from behind the wardrobe door.
Red hair in an explosion of curls.
Fishnet stockings to here and glossy Louboutin ankle boots.
Blue eyes that grabbed you and made you wonder why she was so . . . not interested in whether you took another breath.
Ever.
How come no one had told me I was getting a roommate? And who could have prepared me for this, anyway?
“Who are you?”
“Mac,” she said, returning to the depths of the wardrobe. Most people would have said, “What’s your name?” back. She didn’t.
“I’m Carly.” Did I feel lame or what?
She looked around the door. “Pleasure. Looks like we’re to be roommates.” Then she went back to hanging things up.
There was no point in restating the obvious. I gathered my scattered brains and tried to remember what Mama had taught me that a good hostess was supposed to do. “Did someone show you where the dining room is? Supper is between five and six-thirty, and I usually—”
“Carrie. I expected my own room,” she said, as if I hadn’t been talking. “Whom do I speak to?”
“It’s Carly. And Ms. Tobin’s the dorm mistress for this floor.”
“Fine. What were you saying about tea?”
I took a breath and remembered that one of us was what my brother calls couth. As opposed to un. “You’re welcome to come with me and my friends if you want.”
Pop! went the latches on the trunk. She threw up the lid and looked at me over the top of it, her reddish eyebrows lifting in amusement.
“Thanks so much. But I’ll pass.”
Okay, even I have my limits. I picked up my duffel, dropped it on the end of my bed, and left her to it. Maybe by the time I got back from tea—er, supper—she’d have convinced Ms. Tobin to give her a room in another dorm.
The way things looked, this chica would probably demand the headmistress’s suite.
* * *
“What a mo guai nuer,” Gillian said over her tortellini and asparagus. “I can’t believe she snubbed you like that.”
“You of all people,” Lissa agreed, “who wouldn’t hurt someone’s feelings for anything.”
“I wanted to—if I could have come up with something scathing.” Lissa looked surprised, as if I’d shocked her. Well, I may not put my feelings out there for everyone to see, like Gillian does, but I’m still entitled to have them. “But you know how you freeze when you realize you’ve just been cut off at the knees?”
“What happened to your knees?” Jeremy Clay put his plate of linguine down and slid in next to Gillian. They traded a smile that made me feel sort of hollow inside—not the way I’d felt after Mac’s little setdown, but . . . like I was missing out on something. Like they had a secret and weren’t telling.
You know what? Feeling sorry for yourself is not the way to start off a term. I smiled at Jeremy. “Nothing. How was your break? Did you get up to New York the way you guys had planned?”
He glanced at Gillian. “Yeah, I did.”
Argh. Men. Never ask them a yes/no question. “And? Did you have fun? Shani said she had a blast after the initial shock.”
Gillian grinned at me. “That’s a nice way of saying that my grandmother scared the stilettos off her. At first. But then Nai-Nai realized Shani could eat anyone under the table, even my brothers, no matter what she put in front of her, so after that they were best friends.”
“My grandmother’s like that, too,” I said, nodding in sympathy. “She thinks I’m too thin, so she’s always making pots of mole and stuff. Little does she know.”
It’s a fact that I have way too much junk in my trunk. Part of the reason my focus is in history, with as many fashion design electives as I can get away with, is that when I make my own clothes, I can drape and cut to accentuate the positive and make people forget that big old negative following me around.
“You aren’t too thin or too fat.” Lissa is a perfect four. She’s also the most loyal friend in the world. “You’re just right. If I had your curves, I’d be a happy woman.”
Time to change the subject. The last thing I wanted to do was talk about my body in front of a guy, even if he belonged to someone else. “So, did you guys get to see Pride and Prejudice—The Musical? Shani said you were bribing someone to get tickets.”
“Close,” Gillian said. “My mom is on the orchestra’s board, so we got seats in the first circle. You’d have loved it. Costume heaven.”
“I would have.” I sighed. “Why did I have to go to Veracruz for spring break? How come I couldn’t have gone to New York, too?”
I hoped I sounded rhetorical. The truth was, there wasn’t any money for trips to New York to see the hottest musical on Broadway with my friends. Or for the clothes to wear once I got there—unless I made them myself.
“That’s it, then.” Gillian waved a grape tomato on the end of her fork. “Next break, you and Lissa are coming to see me. Not in the summer—no one in their right mind stays in the city in July. But at Christmas.”
“Maybe we’ll go to Veracruz,” Lissa suggested. “Or you guys can come to Santa Barbara and I’ll teach you to surf.”
“That sounds perfect,” I said. Either of Lissa’s options wouldn’t cost very much. New York, on the other hand, would. “I like warm places for my winter holidays.”
“Good point,” Gillian conceded. “So do I.”
“Notice how getting through the last term of junior year isn’t even on your radar?” Jeremy asked no one in particular. “It’s all about vacations with you guys.”
“Vacations are our reward,” Gillian informed him. “You have to have something to get you through finals.”
“Right, like you have to worry,” he scoffed, bumping shoulders with her in a chummy way.
“She does,” Lissa said. “She has to get me through finals.”
While everyone laughed, I got up and walked over to the dessert bar. Crème brulée, berry parfaits, and German chocolate cake. You know you’re depressed when even Dining Services’ crème brulée—which puts a dreamy look in the eyes of just about everyone who goes here—doesn’t get you excited.
I had to snap out of it. Thinking about all the things I didn’t have and all the things I couldn’t do would get me precisely nowhere. I had to focus on the good things.
My friends.
How lucky I was to have won the scholarship that got me into Spencer.
And how much luckier I was that in two terms, no one had figured out I was a scholarship kid. Okay, so Gillian is a scholarship kid, too, but her dad is the president of a multinational bank. She thinks it’s funny that he made her practice the piano so hard all those years, and that’s what finally got her away from him. Who is my father? No one. Just a hardworking guy. He was so proud of me when that acceptance letter came that I didn’t have the heart to tell him there was more to succeeding here than filling a minority quota and getting good grades.
Stop it. Just because you can’t flit off to New York to catch a show or order up the latest designs from Fashion Week doesn’t mean your life is trash. Get ahold of your sense of proportion.
I took a berry parfait—blueberries have lots of antioxidants—and turned back to the table just as the dining room doors opened. They seemed to pause in their arc, giving my new roommate plenty of time to stroll through before they practically genuflected closed behind her. She’d changed out of the fishnets into heels and a black sweater tossed over a simple leaf-green dress that absolutely screamed Paris—Rue Cambon, to be exact. Number 31, to be even more exact. Chanel Couture.
My knees nearly buckled with envy.
“Is that Carly’s roommate?” I heard Lissa ask.
Mac seemed completely unaware that everyone in the dining room was watching her as she floated across the floor like a runway model, collected a plate of Portobello mushroom ravioli and salad, and sat at the empty table next to the big window that faced out onto the quad.
Lissa was still gazing at her, puzzled. “I know I’ve seen her before.”
I hardly heard her.
Because not only had the redhead cut into line ahead of Vanessa Talbot, Dani Lavigne, and Emily Overton, she’d also invaded their prime real estate. No one sat at that table unless they’d sacrificed a freshman at midnight, or whatever it was that people had to do to be friends with them.
When Vanessa turned with her plate, I swear I could hear the collective intake of breath as her gaze locked on the stunning interloper sitting with her back to the window, calmly cutting her ravioli with the edge of her fork.
What are your reading goals for the new year? Do you have plans to read through the Bible or complete any Bible studies? Do you hope to expand your reading horizons or reread some old favorites? Do you want to read more fiction or non-fiction? Do you want to increase the amount of Christian fiction you read? Do you have any goals for reading as it relates to your blog?
Sorry for being late on this Amy, but we were enjoying our final family gathering yesterday! This question sort of ties in to what I was asking my readers yesterday. I have finally gotten slightly comfortable in this read/review mode, but I want to make sure those who take time to stop by my blog are satisfied with what they find there. I have been offered more opportunities to expand both my fiction and non-fiction offerings, and I am trying to make the most of those. I want to make a more concentrated effort to do more author interviews as well. I just stand amazed at the mighty things God is doing in the lives of those who work so hard to produce the great books we enjoy!
My main goal is to just offer the best effort I can to really read and relay the message of the books I am able to review. I want to be fair, honest and open with both my readers and the authors/publicists who send their books to me for review. I have an idea floating around in my mind for something "new" to offer, but so far, it's still just an idea. You guys pray that the Lord will show me exactly what He would like me to do as a book reviewer and a blogger. I do tend to lean more heavily toward fiction, but I want to stretch my abilities and really try to grasp genres like fantasy a bit better. I also want to learn all I can about this fabulous industry and how I can best serve to get the word out!
I'm looking forward to the new year, and to getting to know my fellow bloggers better too! I think we make a great team!
Well blogger buddies, I'm pondering this massive amount of reading I've committed to in 2009 and wondering....what can I do to make this better for my readers? I'll continue author interviews and give aways, but I'm sort of stumped as far as ideas for something new to do in the new year. I want my blog to be a place folks come to learn about great books in the Christian market, to be encouraged and challenged by the books they choose to read. I also want it to be a place where avid readers come and visit each other.
I'd like to ask you for ideas. I'm trying to do a more complete blend of reading choices...young adult, non-fiction and fiction...but I'd like to know what YOU think. Is there something I can do for you the reader that would help fill in an information gap that you have in your reading? Please, leave a comment and let me know your thoughts.
In the mean time, I'll be reading frantically trying to get some reviews and interviews completed for your reading pleasure. The Lord is mighty at work in the lives of His people, and those called to write the stories He has given them. I pray that I can help authors and readers in 2009 to get the exciting word out about all that God is doing in our lives!
I look forward to getting to know you and hearing from you more as the New Year begins!
It has been such a blessing to get to know Bob Liparulo! God's ways are certainly beyond our ways, and He has used Bob's writing in some amazing ways in my life! Here are a few insights from the man himself about his new book and some things God is doing in his life right now! Enjoy!
At the beginning of a New Year...can you share with us one of your biggest blessings of '08? What is one thing you are really looking forward to in '09?
On a personal level, the greatest blessing of 2008 was watching my older kids—Melanie, who’s 21, and Matthew, 19—start to find themselves, who they are outside of their family. Both of them embraced their faith with more certainty and meaning than they had before. Nothing compares to watching your children hear and accept God’s call, and take it into adulthood. Professionally, 2008 saw the launch of the young adult series, which has blessed me in more ways than I ever guessed it would. I had a chance to talk to a lot of middle schoolers, and their enthusiasm and passion have been contagious. I’m hoping that 2009 will bring more of that. I’m also very excited about Deadlock and the adult thriller after that one, which will introduce a little of the supernatural into my brand of action-adventure storytelling.
What kind of exciting and fun feedback are you getting from your Dreamhouse King site? Would you like to share any teasers for the next book - Timescape?
In addition to the letters I’ve been getting from readers who want to share their enthusiasm for the stories, I get a lot of responses from the two Dreamhouse contests. One is a weekly trivia contest that tests reader’s knowledge of the series. Usually, they go further than simply answering a question; they go into how a particular scene made them feel: scared, excited, encouraged to write stories themselves. The other contest, called “Dream the Scene,” lets them suggest places the Kings go in history to look for their mom. I’m amazed at how creative and bright the people who write in are. I’ve been having a lot of fun getting to know my readers. They’ve been more encouraging and inspiring than any other aspect of my job.
Timescape is one wild ride. We learn the meaning of the weird wall sconces that line the hallway of doors—or portals. We find out just how nasty our bad guy Taksidian really is. And two of the worlds the Kings enter are from “Dream the Scene” contestants. In one, David and Dad step onto the deck of the Titanic as it’s sinking. They have to try to find a clue to Mom’s whereabouts and get back home before the icy Atlantic claims them. In another, the brothers step into the middle of the Viking raid on Alfred the Great’s castle in the ninth century. There, they draw the attention of berserkers, insane warriors no one should ever have to face.
Words of encouragement or comments about where God is leading you?
Two areas of my writing that I’m really excited about, that I feel God’s tug into, are the young adult books and the exploration of supernatural elements in my adult thrillers. I wrote three thrillers intended for adults before delving into the young adult stories, and I wonder why it took me so long to realize how rewarding writing for young people could be. I want to continue writing for this age group after the Dreamhouse books. I have two ideas for stories that I’m totally pumped up about. I can’t wait to jump into them. And the next adult thriller: the more I outline and research it, the more excited I am about it. I think it’ll surprise a lot of people—in a good way, I hope.
For the writers reading this, let me just say that if God has given you the desire to tell stories, He is faithful: He will give you the skills, the time, patience and opportunities. All in His time. But you have to keep writing, you have to keep honing your skills and developing stories so when He says, “It’s your turn,” you’ll be ready.
It is time to play a Wild Card!Every now and then, a book that I have chosen to read is going to pop up as a FIRST Wild Card Tour. Get dealt into the game! (Just click the button!) Wild Card Tours feature an author and his/her book's FIRST chapter!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Robert Liparulo has received rave reviews for both his adult novels (Comes a Horseman, Germ, and Deadfall) and the first two novels in his Dreamhouse Kings series for young adults (House of Dark Shadows, Watcher in the Woods). He is an avid scuba diver, swimmer, reader, traveler, and a law enforcement and military enthusiast. He lives in Colorado with his wife and four children.
List Price: $ 14.99
Reading level: Young Adult
Hardcover: 304 pages
Publisher: Thomas Nelson (January 6, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1595544984
ISBN-13: 978-1595544988
MY REVIEW:
“We’re gatekeepers, David. The way gatekeepers of old allowed into the city only those people meant to be there…so we do here.” (p. 132)
The third book in Robert Liparulo’s Dreamhouse King Series is here! Gatekeepers truly begins with heart-pounding excitement that maintains and builds until you reach the last page! And oh! That ending!! Another place where Robert Liparulo leaves you dangling like so much meat over the flames! He is such a masterful cliff-hanging expert! But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Xander, Toria and David find themselves in an ever deepening pool of trouble. This house – filled with time portals – has already claimed their mom, and it seems the forces within its secret rooms are determined to claim so much more! In this third installment the reader is introduced to some more key players – some are evil and others good. As their identities are revealed, the reader begins to understand just a bit more about the time portals and the role the King family has played throughout the annals of time. Time is a force that has been broken into pieces, and as different people pass in and out of the flow of time, things become more and more complicated!
I can’t tell you a lot without giving away this fabulous story line! All I must say is that if you LOVE a good, suspenseful story that keeps you on the edge of your seat, whether you are a young adult or an adult who is young at heart, please pick up this series today! You won’t be disappointed! You will be mesmerized! Robert Liparulo’s Dreamhouse King series is masterfully written and will keep you entertained from beginning to end!
What are you waiting for? Pick up you copy today!!
A Personal Note:
Robert Liparulo and his book Deadfall were my introduction to book review blogging and author interviews. Through my experience interviewing Robert, I learned a valuable lesson. The Lord is at work in the lives of His children, and He gives each of us a unique gift and a unique way to express that gift. Robert is a gifted writer, and he strives to allow his God-given talent to shine for the glory of God.
As I got to know Robert’s writing a bit better, I was afforded the opportunity to get to know him better as a person as well. Through that blossoming friendship, my two sons, both who devoured the first two books in the Dreamhouse series, were given the opportunity to become advanced readers for future books. My sons actually received a copy of the rough manuscript of Gatekeepers back in the summer and were able to give Robert direct feedback on his work!
The impact of this opportunity was not lost on them! When the finished copy came in the mail and they saw their names listed in the acknowledgements, well, suffice it to say they now had a full glimpse into the creative process and the time that goes into creating such a great story. It has been a truly unforgettable experience for my entire family! Thank you, Robert from the bottom of our hearts!
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Tuesday, 6:58 P.M.
Pinedale, California
Xander’s words struck David’s heart like a musket ball.
He reeled back, then grabbed the collar of his brother’s grimy Confederate coat. His eyes stung, whether from the tears squeezing around them or the sand whipping through the room, he didn’t know. He pulled his face to within inches of Xander’s.
“You . . . you found her?” he said. “Xander, you found Mom?”
He looked over Xander’s shoulder to the portal door, which had slammed shut as soon as Xander stumbled through. The two boys knelt in the center of the antechamber. Wind billowed their hair. It whooshed in under the door, pulling back what belonged to the Civil War world from which Xander had just stepped. The smell of smoke and gunpowder was so strong, David could taste it.
He shook Xander. “Where is she? Why didn’t you bring her?”
His heart was going crazy, like a ferret racing around inside his chest, more frantic than ever. Twelve-year-olds didn’t have heart attacks, did they?
Xander leaned back and sat on his heels. His bottom lip trembled, and his chest rose and fell as he tried to catch his breath. The wind plucked a leaf from his hair, whirled it through the air, then sucked it under the door.
“Xander!” David said. “Where’s Mom?”
Xander lowered his head. “I couldn’t . . .” he said. “I couldn’t get her. You gotta go over, Dae. You gotta bring her back!”
“Me?” A heavy weight pushed on David’s chest, smashing the ferret between sternum and spine. He rose, leaped for the door, and tugged on the locked handle.
He wore a gray hat (“It’s a kepi,” Dad would tell him) and jacket, like Xander’s blue ones. They had discovered that it took wearing or holding three items from the antechamber to unlock the portal door. He needed one more.
“Xander, you said found her! ”
Xander shook his head. “I think I saw her going into a tent, but it was at the other end of the camp. I couldn’t get to her.”
David’s mouth dropped open. “That’s not finding her! I thought I saw her, too, the other day in the World War II world. . .”
“Dae, listen.” Xander pushed himself up and gripped David’s shoulders. “She saw the message we left. She saw Bob.”
Bob was the cartoon face and family mascot since Dad was a kid, drawn on notes and birthday cards. When David and Xander had been in Ulysses S. Grant’s Union camp the night before, Xander had drawn it on a tent. It was their way of letting Mom know they were looking for her.
“She wrote back!” Xander said. “David, she’s there!”
“But . . .” David didn’t know if he wanted to scream or cry or punch his brother. “Why didn’t you go get her?”
“Something was happening on the battlefield. They were rounding up all the soldiers and herding us toward the front line. I tried to get to her, but they kept grabbing me, pushing me out of camp. When I broke away—“ Xander’s face became hard. “They called me a deserter. That quick, I was a deserter. One of them shot at me! I barely got back to the portal.” He shook his head. “You gotta go! Now! Before she’s gone, or the portal changes, or . . . I don’t know.”
Yes . . . no! David’s stomach hurt. His brain was throbbing against his skull. His broken arm started to ache again, and he rubbed the cast. “Xander, I can’t. They almost killed me yesterday.”
“That’s because you were a gray-coat.” Xander began taking off his blue jacket. “Wear this one.”
“Why can’t you? Just tell them—”
“I’ll never make it,” Xander said. “They’ll throw me in the stockade for deserting—if they don’t shoot me first.”
“They’ll do the same to me.” David hated how whiney it came out.
“You’re just a kid. They’ll see that.”
“I’m twelve, Xander. Only three years younger than you.”
“That’s the difference between fighting and not, Dae.” He held the jacket open. “I know it was really scary before, but this time you’ll be on the right side.”
David looked around the small room. He said, “Where’s the rifle you took when you went over? The Harper’s Ferry musket?”
His brother gazed at his empty hand. He scanned the floor. “I must have dropped it one of the times I fell. I was just trying to stay alive. I didn’t notice.” He shook the jacket. “Come on.”
David shrugged out of the gray jacket he was wearing. He tossed it onto the bench and reluctantly slipped into the one Xander held. He pulled the left side over his cast.
Xander buttoned it for him. He said, “The tent I saw her go into was near the back of the camp, on the other side from where I drew Bob.” He lifted the empty sleeve and let it flop down. He smiled. “Looks like you lost your arm in battle.”
“See? They’ll think I can fight, that I have fought.”
“I was just kidding.” He took the gray kepi off David’s head and replaced it with the blue one. Then he turned to the bench and hooks, looking for another item.
“Xander, listen,” David said. “You don’t know what’s been happening here. There are two cops downstairs.”
Xander froze in his reach for a canteen. “What?” His head pivoted toward the door opposite the portal, as though he could see through it into the hallway beyond, down the stairs, around the corner, and into the foyer. Or like he expected the cops to burst through. “What are they doing here?”
“They’re trying to get us out of the house. Taksidian’s with them.” Just thinking of the creepy guy who was responsible for his broken arm frightened David—but not as much as the thought of getting hauled away when they were so close to rescuing Mom. “Gimme that,” he said, waggling his fingers at the canteen.
Xander snatched it off the hook and looped the strap over David’s head. “Where’s Dad?”
“They put him in handcuffs. He told me to come get you. That’s why I was here when you came through.”
“Handcuffs!”
“And one more thing,” David said. He closed his eyes, feeling like the jacket had just gained twenty pounds. “Clayton, that kid who wanted to pound me at school? He came through the portal in the linen closet.” He opened one eye to see his brother’s shocked expression.
“How long was I gone?” Xander said. “Where is he now?”
“I pushed him back in. He returned to the school, but he might . . . come back.”
“Great.” Xander glanced over his shoulder at the hallway door again, then back at David. “Anything else I should know?”
David shook his head. “I guess if I die, I won’t have to go to school tomorrow.” He smiled weakly.
The school year—seventh grade for David, tenth for Xander—had started just yesterday: two days of classes. Mom had been kidnapped the day before that. David couldn’t believe they’d even gone to school under the circumstances, but Dad, who was the new principal, had insisted they keep up normal appearances so they wouldn’t attract suspicion.
Lot of good it did, David thought, thinking of the cops downstairs.
“I don’t know,” Xander said. “Dad would probably figure out a way to get your body there.”
David’s expression remained grim.
“You’ll be fine.”
“Don’t get taken away,” David told his brother. “Don’t leave with me over there. Don’t leave me alone in this house when I come back. Don’t—“
Xander touched his fingers to David’s lips. “I won’t leave,” he said. “I’ll go see what’s happening downstairs, but I won’t leave. No way, no how. Okay? Besides—“ He smiled, but David saw how hard it was for him to do it. “You’ll have Mom with you when you come back. Right?”
It was David’s turn to smile, and he found it wasn’t so hard to do. “Yeah.” He turned, took a deep breath, and opened the portal door.
It is time to play a Wild Card!Every now and then, a book that I have chosen to read is going to pop up as a FIRST Wild Card Tour. Get dealt into the game! (Just click the button!) Wild Card Tours feature an author and his/her book's FIRST chapter!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Tosca Lee is the author of the critically acclaimed Demon: A Memoir (2007), a ForeWord Magazine Book of the Year Silver Award winner, American Christian Fiction Writers Book of the Year nominee, and Christy award finalist. Her eagerly-awaited second novel, Havah: The Story of Eve, released October 2008 to high praise, including a starred review from Publishers Weekly.
A sought-after speaker and first runner-up to Mrs. United States 1998, Tosca works as a Senior Consultant for the Gallup Organization. She received her B.A. in English and International Relations from Smith College in Northampton, Massachusetts. She also studied at Oxford University.
In her spare time, Tosca enjoys travel, cooking, history and theology. She currently resides in Nebraska.
Publisher: NavPress Publishing Group (October 10, 2008)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1600061249
ISBN-13: 978-1600061240
MY REVIEW:
“You might say that I ate this very fruit a long while ago.” (Serpent to Havah, p. 64)
Tosca Lee has a mind that is full of questions. As she studied Genesis and the story of Adam and Eve, she apparently had an abundant amount of curiosity about Eve in particular.Havah, Tosca Lee’s second novel, is the result of Tosca Lee’s questions, and it takes the reader on a rather incredible journey of life through the eyes of Havah, mother of all living.
Havah (Eve) is not only the mother of all living, but she is the one who beguiled Adam. It is through Adam that sin and death entered the world.It seems the first sin to follow that of eating the fruit was that of refusing to accept responsibility for the committed sin.Adam blamed Havah (Eve), and Havah blamed the serpent.Holy, Creator God judged them all.
Life through the eyes of Havah is poignant, painful and full of longing – longing to return to that blissful perfection of life before sin and death.Tosca Lee’s descriptions of the emotions and relationships are quite incredible.I was particularly amazed at the vivid imagery of the changes that occurred within the animal and plant kingdoms as a result of death entering the world.I guess I’d never allowed my mind to consider such details, and thus Tosca Lee takes my heart and mind on a particularly amazing journey.
The longing to return to God’s intended state of perfection, the desire and recognition for the need of redemption and sacrifice were powerful.As disease and death progressed throughout just over nine centuries of living in this world, Havah finally witnesses the death of Adam.The separation of two that were created to live as one was beyond tragic. The emotions conveyed throughout Tosca’s story were vivid and real!
I have to be totally honest with my readers at this point and tell you that the story of Eve got uncomfortable to me at times – especially as the children began to multiply.The Bible is silent on most of what Tosca Lee’s book explores, and while I think it is wise and worthwhile to look into the language and nuances of language in which Scripture is recorded, it is another thing altogether to create information where none exists.So I wound up feeling kind of torn about this novel. The writing is brilliant, and Eve’s emotions especially as they relate to her husband and their children after the fall were so real that my heart became fully involved.When I read the final word – “Wake!” – the story was absolutely complete.
However, Havah took me way out of my comfort zoneAs a piece of fiction, this story is beautifully written and offers much for your heart and mind to savor. But I have always exercised extreme caution in reading and recommending “biblical fiction” because of the tendency for some who either are non-believers or infant Christians, to take such fictional accounts as true and sort of cut and paste it onto the Bible. So, I recommend this book along with a personal challenge to every believer to stay immersed in GOD’S WORD, and make sure you have a COMPLETE understanding of the creation story as it is revealed in the BIBLE. Then you can enjoy Havah in all of its intended beauty.
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Prologue
I have seen paradise and ruin. I have known bliss and terror.
I have walked with God.
And I know that God made the heart the most fragile and resilient of organs, that a lifetime of joy and pain might be encased in one mortal chamber.
I still recall my first moment of consciousness—an awareness I’ve never seen in the eyes of any of my own children at birth: the sheer ignorance and genius of consciousness, when we know nothing and accept everything.
Of course, the memory of that waking moment is fainter now, like the smell of the soil of that garden, like the leaves of the fig tree in Eden after dawn—dew and leaf green. It fades with that sense of something once tasted on the tip of the tongue, savored now in memory, replaced by the taste of something similar but never quite the same.
His breath a lost sough, the scent of earth and leaf mold that was his sweaty skin has faded too quickly. So like an Eden dawn—dew on fig leaves.
His eyes were blue, my Adam’s.
How I celebrated that color, shrouded now in shriveled eyelids—he who was never intended to have even a wrinkle! But even as I bend to smooth his cheek, my hair has become a white waterfall upon his Eden—flesh and loins that gave life to so many.
I think for a moment that I hear the One and that he is weeping. It is the first time I have heard him in so long, and my heart cries out: He is dead! My father, my brother, my love!
I envy the earth that envelopes him. I envy the dust that comes of him and my children who sow and eat of it.
This language of Adam’s—the word that meant merely “man” before it was his name—given him by God himself, is now mine. And this is my love song. I will craft these words into the likeness of the man before I, too, return to the earth of Adam’s bosom.
My story has been told in only the barest of terms. It is time you heard it all. It is my testament to the strength of the heart, which has such capacity for joy, such space for sorrow, like a vessel that fills and fills without bursting.
My seasons are nearly as many as a thousand. So now listen, sons, and hear me, daughters. I, Havah, fashioned by God of Adam say this:
In the beginning, there was God . . .
But for me, there was Adam.
The Garden
Chapter 1
A whisper in my ear: Wake!
Blue. A sea awash with nothing but a drifting bit of down, flotsam on an invisible current. I closed my eyes. Light illuminated the thin tissues of my eyelids.
A bird trilled. Near my ear: the percussive buzz of an insect. Overhead, tree boughs stirred in the warming air.
I lay on a soft bed of herbs and grass that tickled my cheek, my shoulders, and the arch of my foot, whispering sibilant secrets up to the trees.
From here, I felt the thrum of the sap in the stem; the pulsing veins of the vine; the beat of my heart in euphony with hundreds more around me; the movement of the earth a thousand miles beneath.
I sighed as one returning to sleep, to retreat to the place I had been before, the realm of silence and bliss—wherever that is.
Wake!
I opened my eyes again upon the milling blue, saw it spliced by the flight of a bird, chevron in the sky.
This time, the voice came not to my ear, but directly to my stirring mind: Wake!
There was amusement in it.
I knew nothing of where or what I was, did not understand the polyphony around me or the wide expanse like a blue eternity before me.
But I woke and knew I was alive.
A rustle, a groan practically in my ear. I twitched at a stirring against my hip. A moment later, a touch drifted across a belly I did not yet know I owned, soft as a leaf skittering along the ground.
A face obscured my vision. I screamed. Not with fear—I was no acquaintance of fear—nor with startlement, because I had been aware of the presence already, but because it was the only statement that came to lips as artless as mine.
The face disappeared and returned, blinking into my own, the blue above captured in twin pools . Then, like a gush of water from a rock, gladness thrilled my heart. But its source was not me.
At last! It came, unspoken—a different source than the voice before—the words thrust jubilantly to the sky: “At last!”
He was up on legs like the trunks of sturdy saplings, beating at the earth with his feet. He thumped his chest and shouted to the sun and clapped his hands. “At last!” he cried, his laughter like warm clay between the toes. He shook his shoulders and stomped the grass, slapping his chest as he shouted again and again. Though I did not understand the utterance, I knew its meaning at once: joy and exultation at something longed for suddenly found.
I tried to mimic his sound; it came out as a squawk and then a panting laugh. Overhead, a lark chattered an extravagant address. I squeaked a shrill reply. The face lowered to mine, and the man’s arms wrapped, womb-tight, around me.
“Flesh of my flesh,” he whispered, hot against my ear. His fingers drifted from my hair to my body, roaming like the goat on the hills of the Sacred Mount. I sighed, expelling the last remnants of that first air from my lungs—the last of the breath in them not drawn by me alone.
He was high-cheeked, this adam, his lower lip dipping down like a folded leaf that drips sweet water to thirsty mouths. His brow was a hawk, soaring above the high cliffs, his eyes blue lusters beneath the fan of his lashes. But it was his mouth that I always came back to, where my eyes liked best to fasten after taking in the shock of those eyes. Shadow ran along his jaw, obsidian dust clinging to the curve of it, drawing my eye to the plush flesh of his lips, again, again, again.
He touched my face and traced my mouth. I bit his finger. He gathered my hands and studied them, turning them over and back. He smelled my hair and lingered at my breasts and gazed curiously at the rest of me. When he was finished, he began all over again, tasting my cheek and the salt of my neck, tracing the instep of my foot with a fingertip.
Finally, he gathered me up, and my vision tilted to involve an altogether new realm: the earth and my brown legs upon it. I clutched at him. I seemed a giant, towering above the earth—a giant as tall as he. My first steps stuttered across the ground as the deer in the hour of its birth, but then I pushed his hands away. My legs, coltish and lean, found their vigor as he urged me, walking far too fast, to keep up. He made for the orchard, and I bolted after him with a surge of strength and another of my squawking sounds. Then we were running—through grasses and over fledgling sloes, the dark wool of my hair flying behind me.
We raced across the valley floor, and my new world blurred around me: hyssop and poppy, anemone, narcissus, and lily. Roses grew on the foothills amidst the caper and myrtle.
A blur beside me: the long-bodied great cat. I slowed, distracted by her fluidity, the smooth curve of her head as she tilted it to my outstretched hand. I fell to the ground, twining my arms around her, fingers sliding along her pelt. Her tongue was rough—unlike the adam’s—and she rumbled as she rolled against me.
Far ahead, the adam called. Overhead, a hawk circled for a closer look. The fallow deer at a nearby stream lifted her head.
The adam called again, wordlessly: longing and exuberance. I got up and began to run, the lioness at my heels. I was fast—nearly as fast as she. Exhilaration rose from my lungs in quick pants—in laughter. Then, with a burst, she was beyond me.
She was gone by the time the adam caught me up in his arms. His hands stroked my back, his lips, my shoulder. I marveled at his skin—how smooth, how very warm it was.
“You are magnificent,” he said, burying his face against me. “Ah, Isha—woman, taken from man!”
I said nothing; although I understood his meaning, I did not know his words. I knew with certainty and no notion of conceit, though, that he was right.
At the river he showed me how he cupped his hands to drink, and then cupped them again for me. I lowered my head and drank as a carp peered baldy from the shallows up at me.
We entered the water. I gasped as it tickled the backs of my knees and hot hairs under my arms, swirling about my waist as though around a staunch rock as our toes skimmed a multitude of pebbles. I wrapped my arm around his shoulders.
“All of this: water,” he said, grunting a little bit as he swam toward the middle of the river where it widened into a broad swath across the valley floor. “Here—the current.”
“Water,” I said, understanding in the moment I spoke it the element in all its forms—from the lake fed by the river to the high springs that flow from the abyss of the Mount. I felt the pull of it as though it had a gravity all its own—as though it could sweep me out to the cold depths of the lake and lull me by the tides of the moon.
From the river I could see the high walls of our cradle: the great southern Mount rising to heaven, and to the north, the foothills that became the long spine of a range that arched toward the great lake to the west.
I knew even then that this was a place set apart from the unseen lands to the north, the alluvial plain to the south, the great waters to the east and far to the west.
It was set apart solely because we dwelt in it.
But we were not alone. I could see them, after a time, even as we left the river and lay upon its banks. I saw them in sidelong glances when I looked at something else: a sunspot caught in the eye, a ripple in the air, a shock of light where there should be only shadow. And so I knew there were other beings, too.
The adam, who studied me, said nothing. We did not know their names.
The first voice I heard urging me to wake had not been the man’s. Now I felt the presence of it near me, closer than the air, than even the adam’s arms around me.
I returned the man’s strange amazement, taken by his smooth, dark skin, the narrowness of his hips, his strange sex. He was warmer than I, as though he had absorbed the heat of the sun, and I laid my cheek against his flat breasts and listened to the changeling beat of his heart. My limbs, so fresh to me, grew heavy. As languor overtook me, I retreated from the sight of my lovely, alien world.
Perhaps in closing my eyes, I would return to the place I had been before.
For the first time since waking, I hoped not.
I slept to the familiar thrum of his heart as insects made sounds like sleepy twitches through the waning day.
When I woke, his cheek was resting against the top of my head. Emotion streamed from his heart, though his lips were silent.
Gratitude.
I am the treasure mined from the rock, the gem prized from the mount.
He stirred only when I did and released me with great reluctance. By then the sun had moved along the length of our valley. My stomach murmured.
He led me to the orchard and fed me the firm flesh of plums, biting carefully around the pits and feeding the pieces to me until juice ran down our chins and bees came to sample it. He kissed my fingers and hands and laid his cheek against my palms.
That evening we lay in a bower of hyssop and rushes—a bower, I realized, that he must have made it on a day before this one.
A day before I existed.
We observed together the changing sky as it cooled gold and russet and purple, finally anointing the clay earth red.
Taken from me. Flesh of my flesh. At last. I heard the timbre of his voice in my head in my last waking moment. Marvel and wonder were upon his lips as he kissed my closing eyes.
I knew then he would do anything for me.
That night I dreamed of blackness. Black, greater than the depths of the river or the great abyss beneath the lake.
From within that nothingness there came a voice that was not a voice, that was neither sound nor word but volition and command and genesis. And from the voice, a word that was no word but the language of power and genesis and fruition.
There! A mote spark—a light first so small as the tip of a pine needle. It exploded past the periphery of my dreaming vision, obliterating the dark. The heavens were vast in an instant, stretching without cease to the edges of eternity.
I careened past new bodies that tugged me in every direction; even the tiniest particles possessed their own gravity. From each of them came the same concert, that symphony of energy and light.
I came to stand upon the earth. It was a great welter of water, the surface of it ablaze with the refracted light of heavens upon heavens. It shook my every fiber, like a string that is plucked and allowed to resonate forever.
I was galvanized, made anew, thrumming that inaugural sound: the yawning of eternity.
I just wanted to state clearly here on my blog that the books I review are provided to me in exchange for my opinion and thoughts. I am a member of two blog alliances and I work directly with publicists and publishers at their request to review a variety of Christian fiction and non-fiction books. I receive no compensation other than free copies of the books to read, and when a give away is offered, that copy of the book is also provided by the publisher for that exact purpose.
I give my opinions both positively and negatively and will continue to do so as time permits and as I am able. I do this because I love to read and I love to share my thoughts with others who love good books and Christian stories.
Hidden is Shelley’s first foray into inspirational fiction. Previously, Shelley lived in Texas and Colorado, where she taught school and earned both her bachelors and masters degrees in education. She now lives in southern Ohio where she writes full time. Shelley is an active member of her church. She serves on committees, volunteers in the church office, and is part of the Telecare ministry, which calls homebound members on a regular basis. Shelley looks forward to the opportunity to write novels that showcase her Christian ideals.
Twenty-year-old Katie Brenneman has always quietly fancied Jonathan Lundy. So when the brokenhearted widower asks her to help him take care of his two young girls, Katie knows it will be a trying time-yet she cannot pass up a golden opportunity to get to know this man better.
