Tag: love-story

Arrows

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

She could barely restrain herself from making a second
public accusation.
“You might get the answer to your question if you asked our
friend, Gregorio,” I replied, looking at Gregorio instead of Josefa.
Gregorio immediately understood. He grabbed Josefa by the arm
to forcibly remove her. I stood rooted to the ground, hoping he
would drag her away and that could be the end of it. But Josefa
remained feisty and broke away from him, running to me with a
pained expression. She leaned forward and whispered devilishly in
my ear, so that only I could hear. “I know what happened at the
river,” she said. “I know everything. I know you let her touch you!”
I jerked back from her, as though she had slapped me in the face.
The servant, she had seen me, and Josefa could barely contain the
power she had over me. There was no point in trying to deny
anything. I walked away, horrified by Josefa’s misplaced jealousy,
and dumbfounded by my inability to eradicate her secret
knowledge.
Right then, I decided I did not want to learn whether Apacuana
had bitten Josefa or not. There was a part of me that hoped she had.

In the morning, when Losada was notified of the incident, he
preferred to dismiss it as mere female hysteria rather than discern
which party was responsible. It was the prudent decision: to
concentrate on completing his negotiations with the cacique Chacao.
After mass, Losada ordered the captives brought to him and untied.
“We want to be your friends. You see we have not harmed you,”
Losada told Chacao. “We can decide to do this in peace, or we can do
it in war. We are powerful. To show you my goodwill, I give you all
your people back.”
Chacao was a middle-aged man with deep lines running down
the sides of his nose to his mouth in a permanent scowl. He did not
answer, just stood there, hands folded in front of him. It was
important for him not to appear grateful for Losada’s benevolence.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073522

Still Waters

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

nterior stunned her, and she felt a twinge of guilt. This must be terribly
expensive. Why had Cam chosen such a place? To impress her?
But he appeared at ease in their surroundings, was recognized by
both the maitre’de and the wine steward, and had obviously been
here often. Determined to enjoy the evening and the company of
the man who had lavished attention on her since the moment he
had appeared at the door of her apartment, she settled back in the
delightfully comfortable chair and relaxed.
Until the wine was brought and their order taken, they made small
talk about the hospital, his parents and her family in Emblem. Then
Cam smiled and raised his glass.
“To our meeting again, and to our future meetings. Together we’ll
set the Holy Cross on fire.”
He touched his glass to hers, then put it down and looked at her
soberly. “I want to ask you something – at the risk of having you tell
me to mind my own business.”
“Ask away.” She knew what was coming, but her spirits were too
high tonight to be dashed by the mention of Morley’s name.
“Are you … that is, are you still seeing Morley?”
Tyne raised her glass to her lips, and looked steadily into Cam’s
eyes. “No,” she said.
“Oh.”
He appeared baffled by her brief, straightforward answer as if he
had expected her to simper and evade his question. Well, she was
through simpering over Morley Cresswell. He had dumped her, and
that was that … all in the past … over … done. And why should she
care? She did not need a stubborn, pig-headed, unsympathetic farmer
in her life. Was she not here, in this posh restaurant, being wined
and dined by the handsomest intern the Holy Cross had ever had the
honour of admitting to its program? And was he not looking at her
with the fondest admiration? So she did not need Morley Cresswell.
Goodbye, good riddance.
Tyne put her glass on the table with a thump. And to her horror
and distress she burst into tears.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763068

Savages and Beasts

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

“Yes, I do. I’ve been in this position for almost five years
and since my first month, one November night, around nine
o’clock I was paid a visit by the Head Master of this facility,
Father Jerome, who, that night for the first time but not the last
violated me in the most disgusting way; He has been doing this
occasionally, whenever he would feel up to it, no questions asked
no permissions granted…”
“Father Jerome” Anton talked to himself, “somehow the
impression I got for the man, the first time I met him, was that
he would never take no for an answer…”
Mary turned a little so her eyes would dive deep in Anton’s
and smiled at him. Her smile seemed forced, stressed smile, yet it
was her smiling lips that Anton looked at and enjoyed their shape
and promising tomorrow. She took his hand before she continued.
“Yes Sister Gladys and Father Jerome are lovers, for a long
time, I’d say from the day of his arrival here, they seem to match
in many different ways and the way our rooms are lined upstairs,
you’d notice when you come for some reason upstairs and spend
time you’ll realize that her room is next to Sister Helen’s and next
to hers is mine, all the men’s rooms are on the opposite side of
the upstairs hallway with Father Jerome’s in the middle. He’d
just walk out of his and within ten or so feet he accesses Sister
Gladys’ room or mine.”
She stopped and took a breath, the freshness of the August
day just outside the truck window and the freshness of the slow
flowing water of the Thompson River blew certain moist on her
face moistening it; she pulled Anton closer to her and kissed him.
“Sister Gladys followed Father Jerome each time he paid a
visit to me and since she saw me as a competitor who I never have
been nor would I ever want to become, in fact each time Father
Jerome came to my room, he plainly and simply raped me,

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763602

In Turbulent Times

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

Liam Dooley was thirty-eight, going on thirty-nine. His fair, wavy hair was receding alarmingly at the temples. He believed a baldness was spreading at the back of his head also, like a threadbare elbow in an old jacket, but he could not see for sure in the mirror and he would have been embarrassed to ask. There was no one he could have asked in any case without feeling foolish. His parents were dead; his sister, after her twenty-first birthday, had moved to Belfast to marry the father of her daughter; and Liam lived alone in two rooms, a kitchen and a living-bedroom that the Church had built onto the back of the new school as accommodation for the teacher, but which could be converted to additional classrooms when the growing number of pupils made the extension necessary. Liam’s baldness and his forties were both approaching rapidly. Both inexorable. He could always have lied about his age to strangers who did not know him but he could not pass himself off as twenty-eight or twenty-nine when his hairline was almost as far back as his ears and threatening to meet up with the circle of skin he felt was spreading at his crown. He had to face facts. Liam Dooley’s youth was irretrievably lost. Lost, not squandered. Liam was no profligate. He was no philanderer. His intimacy with women extended only to walking one or two of them home from church. Once he went as far as holding Molly Noonan’s hand as they strolled home from a choir practice but he could not bring himself to embrace her, nor to give her a kiss as he left her at her door. He wanted to. He wanted to very much. But he was timorous and hesitant. Fearful of rejection, he held back. Molly did not ask him in for tea. Nor did she ever walk home with him again. Sean O’Sullivan, a tenor with large, yellowing teeth, escorted her home after that. Then Molly got pregnant, and she and Sean ran away to Belfast and were never seen again.
Liam often thought of Molly Noonan, of the pert looks she flicked his way, of the teasing scent from her red hair as he stood behind her in the choir, of the smiles she gave him when he entered Lizzie Martin’s shop where she worked. He remembered the late spring evening when they had last walked home together. They had paused where Killeenagh Burn trips down

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763270

Water in the Wilderness

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

in the far corner of the bed. Her breath spent, Rachael grew still, and Lyssa released her wrists. Without a word she turned away, walked quietly around the bed and, falling to the floor, gathered the doll into her arms. There she sat and rocked back and forth until both cousins quieted and lay still.
Her grief too deep for tears, Rachael lay down on the cold floor. And with the mutilated doll clasped tightly against her chest, she silently made her plans.
“It’s been a good Christmas, sweetie,” Tyne said as she snuggled against Morley on their way home from his parents’ farm. “Our first one as an old married couple. Imagine that.”
Morley chuckled and took his right hand off the steering wheel to put his arm around her shoulders. “Who’s old? Do you feel old?”
Tyne smiled in the darkness. “Not with you around, husband.”
For several minutes they drove in silence, a deep peace enveloping Tyne as she relived the highlights of the day. Her first Christmas off duty for several years was in itself cause enough for rejoicing. But the best part had been her dad’s hospitality towards Morley. She had first noticed his change in attitude when the family had gathered at the farm for dinner in the fall, and she silently thanked God for bringing it about. Jeff Milligan had sat with Morley and Jeremy in the living room on Maple Avenue today, and willingly joined in the conversation.
In the kitchen, she had been helping her mother and Aunt Millie clean up the remains of breakfast and begin preparations for dinner. She smiled now, remembering how her aunt, dishtowel in hand, had stood by the door to the living room and listened for a few moments to the amiable conversation between the three men. Returning to the counter, Millie had picked up a plate and said to her sister-in-law, “I don’t know what you’re putting in my brother’s tea, Emily, but whatever it is, please keep on doing it.”
Tyne’s mother had stifled a laugh, and said in her usual reserved way, “Now, now, Millie ….”

https://www.amazon.com/dp/192676319X

Swamped

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt


Today is one of those times. After school, the two sides gather in
the school yard and make all the customary arrangements: putting
goal “posts” in place, deciding who will play what positions, and
drawing straws to see who has the ball first. Then the game commences.
On this day, they play for half an hour and are tied two goals
apiece before all hell breaks loose when Nicolas scores a goal the
other side calls “out,” and Nicolas and his team insist it was a fair goal
and the other team shouts in unison, “Asshole,” which is all the trigger
Nicolas needs to land a couple of good blows with his fists on the two
nearest kids on the other team, and then they all take part in their ritual and fight, and not even a sudden shower of rain can stop the
upper village kids fighting their age mates from the lower village until
three or four from each side have bleeding noses and bruised arms
and faces. Nicolas of course is the keenest fighter on the upper village
side, and he manages to inflict most of the damage on the enemy
until everyone has had enough of fighting and the two teams go their
separate ways
They may be tired of fighting, but their blood is still boiling, and
this is why, when far away from the school grounds, the upper village
kids turn at the side of the hill, from where they cannot be seen from
the school anymore, take off their shoes and socks, lie down on the
wet soil, and give the lower village kids their open hands and toes.
This is their fiercest act of defiance. It is the height of ridicule in this
part of the world to be shown the open palm of another and especially
when even the toes and soles of the feet take part in the insult.
Afterwards, in their respective houses, the children from both
sides have to contend with their mothers’ angry questions: “what has
happened to you?” and “who have you been fighting?” and “why have
you got into another fight?” and “how many times have I told you
not to do this?” These are questions they have all heard many times
but that never stop them from repeating their ritual.
On another day the boys go hunting, all geared up and ready. It
is the middle of July, as hot on Crete as it is every July, and they leave

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08WP3LMPX

The Unquiet Land

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

night beyond the window. But tonight was different. Tonight the heavy, unmoving air grew stagnant; it weighed upon the room unstirred by old Finn’s gusty tales. Tonight the old sailor’s verbal gales had died to barely audible sighs.
Finn appeared to be unaware of the deepening depression that had settled over the homecoming party. His mind was on the day many years ago when he first saw Padraig: a skinny boy in short pants, writhing on the cobbles of a market square, foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog. Never would he forget the sight. The crowd pushed back, staring in ignorance and horror at the boy’s convulsions. Two mongrel pups snapped at his legs and arms, and a sheepdog snarled and barked, its vicious teeth bared as if ready to rush in and chomp them into the boy’s neck.
“The whelp with the trousers isn’t putting up much of a fight,” someone said, and the crowd started to laugh. Ignorance and horror relaxed into mirth.
“I wonder what he’d do with a bitch in heat,” said another.
Finn waded through the crowd as through a field of barley, pushing the people aside in anger. He burst into the clearing where the boy was lying still now, his face in the muck that covered the cobbles of The Square. Finn kicked the sheepdog hard; it ran off into the crowd with a howl of pain. The pups pranced around him, yelping still, as Finn knelt down, rolled the boy over and picked him up in his arms.
“I spit on you all,” he shouted to the crowd and carried the boy away down the sloping street to where his fishing boat was tied in the harbour.
Now the Devil’s child, his own adopted son, was home again, a priest.
“I hoped to make a man of you, Padraig.” Finn was rising out of his reverie. “And I made a monk. Well, I suppose that’s not a bad accomplishment, considering what I had to work with. Come now, gentlemen, let’s not look as if we’re at a Presbyterian wake. Let’s drink. Let’s eat.” He turned towards the door that led into the kitchen. “Caitie! Jinnie! Bring us some supper. We’re half a dozen hungry men in here.”
Supper revived the company. Even Clifford forgot his headache and his queasy stomach. He enjoyed the food, the conversation, the dark red wine that everyone started drinking again in large measures. The more they drank, the more convivial they became. Only Finn MacLir seemed more subdued than usual.
“We had many more people here to welcome you last night, Padraig.” Slattery’s purple face was taking on a crimson cast like a spectacular sunset.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763203

In Turbulent Times

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

‘Not capable enough, Clifford. Caitlin needs a doctor. Mother Ross says so herself. She’s worried. Mrs Starkey says she’ll give you anything you need from the doctor’s surgery.’
‘No, it’s all right,’ said Clifford. ‘I have everything I’m likely to need here.’ He dithered. Then he drew a deep breath and said, ‘Very well, Michael, I’ll come right away. Let me get my stuff together and put my rain-gear on.’
He climbed back upstairs to his room.
Hurry, Clifford, hurry, hurry, Michael kept saying to himself. For God’s sake, hurry.
At last Clifford came down again, buttoning his raincoat. He carried a black bag in one hand. He shouted down the hall, ‘Timmins, we’re leaving. I’ll be back in an hour or two. Don’t lock the gates.’ Then he turned to Michael and said with a levity lost on the distraught father-to-be, ‘Now, let’s be off to the rescue of this fair damsel in distress.’
He followed Michael to the main road and climbed into the trap. The shafts tipped up, the harness jingled and creaked, the pony snorted and tossed its wet head. Michael jerked the reins a couple of times and shouted. He turned the pony and trap around, and off they went, slowly at first, until the pony found its stride.
God, what a miserable night to be born, Clifford thought. He was nervous. He had already delivered three babies, but they were easy, straightforward births, the first two under supervision. This one sounded difficult. A breech birth at least. Perhaps a Caesarean. He would rather have kept clear of this ordeal but found it impossible to refuse. He had a reputation in the village where many already regarded him as the best new doctor in Belfast. The village was proud of him. This birth would enhance his reputation or shatter it like a dropped mirror. Clifford was worried in case it might go badly. As the rain-beaten cart bounced and swayed towards the MacLir house, Clifford frantically recalled everything he ought to know about breech births and Caesarean sections. By the time he and Michael arrived in the yard behind the house Clifford was confident he could handle any complication. His reputation was assured. It was not the village that was looking on, he thought with typical self-importance, it was the world.
As he rushed across the farmyard to the back door, Clifford slipped on a wet, muddy cobblestone and almost fell. He only just reached the door in time to check his forward fall with his free outstretched hand. That frightened him. Tonight he could not afford to be clumsy.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763270

Arrows

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

amazement, our eyes locked often, for my face was in darkness and
my eyes half-closed. She somehow sensed my gaze. My heart
rushed a little every time, as if some strange and invigorating
connection had established itself between us.
The men had been tied around a tree, including the boy who
had fought to free Apacuana. I wondered who he was, likely her
brother.
Losada, along with Gregorio and Pánfilo, had entertained himself
in pacifying the Indian boy, but the youth’s courageous rejection of
every kindness didn’t amuse Losada long, and he had ordered him
tied up with the men.
My head throbbed. I was feverish again. I lay with my back to
the fire, concentrating on the frogs and crickets singing their night
song, hoping their music could distract me from my growing
queasiness. The fire crackled as sap pockets exploded, sending
fiery dots into the sky.
The moon was full, though there were some clouds. I was still
learning to read the signs of the sky in this new land. The rainy time
had just begun, and I was surprised at how suddenly the water
poured from the heavens and, just as suddenly, stopped and the
skies cleared.
My head felt ready to burst. I put a hand to my head. A moan of
agony and desperation stuck in my throat, and I sat up, closing my
eyes and swaying with dizziness. My breathing had gone from
heavy and deep to shallow and fast.
I crawled on all fours to the nearest tree and puked bile that made
me shudder with its bitterness. I had nothing in my stomach in the
way of food. A temporary moment of relief came over me, and I sat
with my back against the trunk, blinking owlishly, until I
remembered Apacuana again. What would become of her?
A head popped up in front of me, silhouetted against the fire. It
was Tamanoa. “What is the matter?” he asked. “You are sick again!”
“I’ll be all right in the morning. Don’t worry, I know these pains. I
get them occasionally.”
“What pains? Where does it hurt?”

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073522

Jazz with Ella

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

It was to one of these, the park on Mamaev Hill, scene of a prolonged battle, that the combined tour group, accompanied by Natasha, arrived by bus. This time Natasha was quiet; there was no need for her to whip up enthusiasm. The spectacle of Mother Russia—a behemoth of a statue brandishing her sword and poised on the hill overlooking the city—excited the visitors.
“That’s got to be taller than the Statue of Liberty,” exclaimed one of the Americans to Jennifer as they shuffled along with crowds of Russians winding their way through a memorial park up to the statue’s base. “It’s really impressive.”
She smiled. “It’s a commemoration of a siege that no one here has forgotten; nothing could be too big or too dramatic for that.” So far the Americans had not admitted that anything about the Soviet Union was bigger or better than the good old US of A. This was a first, she reflected.
“Where are you from?” the man asked her, and when she replied, he nodded. “Y’know, that’s near Seattle where I’m from,” he said. “I’m Bert, by the way.” He extended his hand and Jennifer introduced herself. “You Canadians know all about Russia, don’t you?” Although she began to protest, he continued. “See, we weren’t told much before we came. I don’t know if you’ve heard of the cold war… yes? Well, it’s pretty hard to visit this country right now without everyone at home thinking we’re reds. We’re probably being investigated by the CIA for even coming here.”
“Wow, that’s frightening,” Jennifer said, amused at his naïveté—an attitude she might have shared just a few short weeks ago. Little does he know that he’s probably being investigated by the KGB at the same time.
“You know, the people in our group just want to find out more about the real Russia,” Bert went on. “We don’t want to believe everything we read in the papers about the ‘evil commies.’ You think that way too, don’tcha?” Jennifer nodded agreement.
“This is all real swell,” he continued, marvelling at the faces of warriors etched in marble around him. The slowly moving line of visitors advanced up the hill towards the statue and then indoors into a tomb-like memorial chamber at the top of the hill. Once inside, an illuminated path spiralled downward around the chamber, and they gazed at the names of the fallen soldiers and citizens inscribed on every available inch of the walls. Jennifer noticed that Bert had tears in his eyes.
“It’s very moving,” he told her. “All these people…” He shook his head. “It makes you think about the ugliness of war.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763246