Tag: love-story

Redemption

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excerpt

…when he took it in as though he were touching the Bible. The mayor
examined it with great curiosity while fellow villagers looked over
his shoulder to get a good look at this piece of paper, too.
“So, this is a diploma,” said the envious mayor when he handed
it back to Hermes.
“Yes, this is the diploma and here is my award.” Hermes showed
him another piece of paper with golden letters and official stamps
honouring him for his excellent standing in the class.
“You also received an award, Hermes?” The mayor’s eyes widened,
“Bravo! My congratulations once again!”
He looked at the paper more closely and asked.
“So, what are you going to do now, young Dragakis? Become an
economist? What does an economist do?”
Hermes gave them a brief explanation of what an economist
was and how he had a scholarship to study abroad for two years and
then would be teaching at the university. The mayor and the others
had a hard time understanding what all these meant.
“Scholarship to go to another country and study,” the mayor
said as if talking to himself. “Which country are you heading for?”
“Canada.”
The crowd turned to look at one another, with awe written upon
their faces. They felt quite proud of the son of George Dragakis; not
many young men from the area got the chance to go to the city and
study, never mind accomplishing what Hermes had, this far, this fast.
Demetre’s cheeks blushed thinking of this young man who had
brought their family and ancestors this honour of achievement.
Smiling, Demetre took Hermes away from the crowds.
“Time for us to go to my brother’s place.”
So, they said their goodbyes and started their walk to the house
at the other end of the village. They followed a narrow pathway and,
in a few minutes, arrived at the house. As they approached his father’s
dog, the hound started to bark. The uncle and his nephew were not
even inside the fence when his mother, as though by instinct, came
out of the house and saw them.

https://draft2digital.com/book/4172538#print

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763858

Fury of the Wind

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excerpt

…housewives and excited children. After checking off the names of
volunteers who manned each booth, he moved on to the next. Few
of the women had time for more than a glance and a nod in his
direction, but preparations appeared to be progressing well.
As he approached the bake sale table, an annual endeavour of the
Anglican Church ladies group, he spotted his wife working at the
table with Mrs. Carson and Mrs. McKinnon. But before he could
greet them he heard his name called. Will turned to see Mrs. Draper,
a director’s wife, hurrying towards him.
“Oh, Mr. Andrews,” she said breathlessly, “I’ve been looking all
over for you. Janet Peterson was supposed to be helping me with
the preserves booth but her husband just told me she’s sick and
won’t be here.” Beads of perspiration from her forehead were sliding
down each side of her moon-shaped face. “I can’t handle it on
my own, there’s so much coming in, and that judge from Bradshaw
doesn’t know what she’s doing.”
“All right,” Will said, “you go back to the booth and I’ll send
someone over.”
Muriel Draper extracted a crumpled handkerchief from the
puffed sleeve of her cotton dress. She mopped her face, muttering
as she turned away, “And it’s already so hot. I don’t know how we’ll
survive in this building all day.”
Will thought if Mrs. Draper calmed down she wouldn’t feel the
heat so much. As he turned back to the bake table, he wondered
idly how poor Charlie Draper could stand his wife’s whining day
after day.
“Molly,” he said, after nodding briefly to his wife’s companions,
“will you go over to the preserves section and help Mrs. Draper?
Her partner isn’t coming and she’s snowed under. You know how
excited she gets.”
Molly gave him a sour look. “Really, Will, can’t you find someone
else? You know I’m needed at this table to help with pricing and
sales.”
“I’ll find someone else to come here then,” Will said firmly, “but
there’s no one else who knows how to arrange exhibits like you
do.”
Mrs. Andrews, not in the least mollified by his compliment,
shrugged her shoulders irritably, picked up her purse from under…

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073530

Still Waters

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excerpt

As they sauntered, and Morley talked, Tyne breathed in the pleasing
aroma of new lumber and tried to imagine walls, furniture, cheerful
draperies at windows, and white curtains surrounding and separating
beds. Morley walked her through what would be the maternity
wing, its rooms consisting of four-bed wards, one semi-private and
one private room. There was a labour room, and the delivery room
with a workroom across from it.
He pointed out the tiny laboratory and the x-ray with the dark
room for developing films. She wondered how he could remember
so precisely the location of every service. Apart from the large space
for the kitchen, it all looked much the same to her. They passed a
recessed area where he said the nurses’ station and chart room would
be, then led her down another wing which corresponded to the maternity
wing on the other end of the building. At a framed-in doorway,
he stopped and turned to her.
“Now this, Miss Milligan,” he said with formality, “is where your
interest will certainly lie. Allow me to show you around the surgical
suite.”
“Oh, my land,” Tyne said, amazed. “It’s … it’s so ….”
“Small,” Morley finished for her.
“Well … but it’s right for the size of the hospital, of course.”
A fairly large room with framed-in windows was, he said, the
main operating room. Across from it a much roomier space would
contain the workroom and clean-up area. A linen and supply cupboard,
a doctor’s change room and a small operating room, which
would double as an emergency and outpatient area, made up the
remainder of the space.
“But the windows in the operating room?” Tyne said, a question
in her voice, “I’m surprised at that. It doesn’t seem sanitary. Will they
be made to open?”
“Yes, apparently they will.” He grinned. “An air-conditioned operating
room, of course.”
Tyne grimaced and turned away. So be it. She didn’t know if she
would ever have to work in a small country hospital, but one thing
she was sure of – it would certainly take some getting used to.
They parted beside his pickup, standing on the frozen rough
ground that would one day be the ambulance entrance to a side…

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

In Turbulent Times

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excerpt

‘The Twelfth’ means one thing to the Protestants of Northern Ireland: the annual Protestant celebration on the twelfth of July. This is the Orangemen’s Day, the day on which they turn out in their thousands to commemorate the 1690 Battle of the Boyne, in which the Protestant King William III defeated the forces of the deposed Catholic King James and thereby ensured that the British monarchy would be forever Protestant. The commemoration takes the form of parades throughout Northern Ireland, the largest being in the city of Belfast which takes on a festive atmosphere, at least in the Unionist areas. At the start of July, some of these Unionist areas will proudly fly Union flags, Ulster flags, sometimes even the flag of Scotland, from lamp posts and houses, and stretch lines of red, white and blue bunting over the streets. In especially Loyalist areas householders decorate their homes with defiant displays of bunting and flags, touch up murals depicting historic Protestant themes, attach small banners to lamp posts, and erect arches across residential streets or even main roads, the arches ranging from elaborate wooden, trellised constructions to a couple of ropes hung with the ubiquitous flags and bunting.
Orangemen on parade typically wear a dark suit, an Orange sash, white gloves and a bowler hat. They march in orderly rows behind flute, brass, silver or pipe bands, each lodge bearing aloft its large, elaborate banner. Orange banners are a significant part of the culture of Northern Ireland, particularly for the Protestant community, and one of the most prominent genres of folk art in the province. They depict in luxuriant detail heroes of the Orange Institution or historic or biblical scenes, or Unionist symbols, the most popular subject being King William on his white horse, purportedly crossing the River Boyne. An Orange parade is a noisy, boisterous, colourful demonstration of Protestant supremacy, with its hundreds of bands and banners and sashes, its jubilant throngs of spectators lining the route of the march or supporters walking alongside their favourite band or lodge, singing provocative Orange songs at the top of their voices. The Belfast-born poet, Louis MacNeice, wrote about ‘the voodoo of the Orange bands / Drawing an iron net through darkest Ulster…’
While The Twelfth is a Protestant celebration, not all Protestants celebrate it, whether for personal political or cultural reasons or from bored indifference. One such was Robert Hanlon, a Protestant married to a non-practising Catholic. He always left his native city on The Twelfth, happy to flee to the peace of the countryside. On the weekend before the big day …

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562904

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

The Circle

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excerpt

“We’ll be here. You know William, he doesn’t like to go out very much.
You’re welcome to come and stay with us; what time are you getting into San
Francisco? We’ll come and pick you up, or I’ll come and pick you up.”
“Oh, you don’t have to, Evelyn. I’ll be just fine getting a cab.”
“Nonsense! What time is your flight, Bevan?” Her voice is firm.
“I’ll be in around five or just a bit past five. Flight 673.”
“Well now, you just stay and wait for me, even if I’m late. I’ll come pick you
up okay?”
“Okay, Evelyn,” Bevan puts the phone down.
He starts packing his bag, which he does so professionally after all the years of
repetitive action. He’s very happy that he talked to her and whistles a tune as he
puts his things together.

Hakim is back from his walk in Memorial Park and takes a quick shower. He
didn’t feel like going to the office this morning, and after calling Peter, decided it
wasn’t necessary for him to be there. He’s anxious to see Talal later in the afternoon.
He has promised to pick them up from the airport. He wants to hear all
about the trip and what Talal has to say about his uncle. There’re so many things
he needs to talk to Ibrahim about and it’s impossible to talk directly to the old
man these days, as he knows certain things cannot be discussed over the phone
or by computer. He might take a quick trip to Iraq soon, after he moves to the
new place. First he wants to know what news Talal has for him.
When he is done with his shower, he calls Jennifer to ask what time she’ll be
getting home.
“Hi there, baby. How’s your schedule later on?”
“I’ll be leaving a bit early, honey; shall be there in an hour. What time is the
flight coming in?”
“About five; we should leave no later than four.”
“Okay then, I’ll be home long before that; see you, love you.” She sounds
excited, as she’s also anxious to see her mother and hear all about her trip.
Hakim logs on to the computer and tries to get in touch with his uncle. He
sees, to his surprise, that Mara answers his message.
“Hello, my dear Hakim, how are you?”
“I’m okay, Mara. Where is Ibrahim?”
“He is in bed, sweetheart. He wasn’t feeling well today; he’s been in pain since
this morning, even before Talal and Emily left. Have they arrived yet?”

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562817

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0978186524

He Rode Tall

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…flashy little palomino filly, she finished in second. Tanya was
beaten by young Cody whose grey stallion left everyone in awe.
Cody and the stallion put together a run that many a horseman
would remember years later. To say that it was flawless may be
an overstatement, but it certainly was as good as they get. “Hey,
nothing wrong with second place,” Joel thought as he heard
Cody’s score being announced. Reserve World Champion
sounded good to him.
The pretty little palomino filly had done it all. She had shown
the world what she could do, and so had her rider.
Twenty horses and riders entered the ring for the presentation
ceremonies. As they were called forward to receive their awards,
Joel kept waiting to hear his name. Sitting side by side, astride
their horses, Joel and Tanya kept looking at each other every time
someone’s name was called. Finally, the announcer called the
fourth place finisher, and it wasn’t Joel. He knew that the buckskin
had a good run, but he obviously didn’t know exactly how
good it was. And then, there was only the three of them. Joel,
Tanya, and Cody. When Joel was called forward to receive his
third-place ribbon he couldn’t help but cry with excitement, but
no more so than when his young friend Tanya was called to be
awarded the title of Reserve World Champion. As they watched
Cody receive the World Championship title and start a victory
lap of the arena astride his handsome grey stallion, Joel and
Tanya directed their horses for the gate and to the holding area.
With Cody celebrating his success, Joel leaned over to Tanya and
said, “You did a great job with the little filly.”
“Thank you Joel. I appreciate that.”
Cody exited the arena and walked the grey towards Tanya.
Turning the buckskin to meet up with Cindy, Joel whispered two
words to Tanya, “She’s yours.”
Joel acknowledged plenty of congratulatory words as he
approached Cindy. Leaning forward in the saddle, he gave her a
big kiss as she wrapped her arms around him. Dismounting to
stand next to her, he looked Cindy deep in the eyes and said…

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562862

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0980897955

The Unquiet Land

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“Yes. A mile or so outside the village. His farmhand Bill Neely just left, so my father needs someone like you to do the things you’ve just told me you can do. You weren’t lying to me, were you?”
“Oh no. I can find people here to speak for me. Even in Corrymore. My uncle, Seamus Slattery, lives there.”
“Seamus Slattery is your uncle?” the girl cried in surprise.
“My mother’s brother.”
“I can hardly believe it. We lived with the Slatterys until I was six or seven years old. My twin sister, Nora, and I. My father wasn’t the kind of man who could raise two young girls on his own.”
“You had no mother?”
“She died giving birth to us.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. My own mother died six years ago.”
“And your father?”
“He abandoned us.”
“Well, if you’re Seamus Slattery’s nephew, you’re definitely hired.” She smiled at him again, but the frown still rippled his forehead below the yellow curls. She reached into the basket and brought out a light, golden confection. She held it out to him. “Have some yellow-man, yellow man.”
“Thank you,” he said. He tried to pick a lump from the paper, but it was stuck. He had to hold her hand steady and pull the sweet, sticky pieces of confection apart. She looked at him and smiled at his serious face. Michael felt himself blush.
“You have strong hands,” she said.
“I’ve worked with them all my life,” he replied. He felt a quivering inside of him. He wanted to hold her hand again.
“All your life,” she repeated. “You’re not more than twenty years old.”
“Twenty-one,” he said.
“That’s a long time to have worked with your hands.” She was teasing him again. “Twenty-one years of digging and raking and hoeing and ploughing. Twenty-one years of pulling flax and dipping sheep. And look what big, strong hands you have. What will they be like when you are eighty-one?” She had taken one of his hands in hers and was looking at it like a palmist, turning it over and back. “They’re strong hands,” she said. “Are they gentle hands too?”
He did not know what to say. He looked at his boots; cow manure had caked on one of them.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562888

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

Fury of the Wind

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“Andrew McNeill, Dave’s grandfather, had the house built when
he brought his young family from Scotland,” Penny explained as
they made their way downstairs. “He spared no expense. Farming
was profitable at the turn of the century and building materials
were cheap. Dave’s father took over the farm from his father, then it
was left to Dave to carry on when Dad died. Alan isn’t interested in
staying at home to farm.”
“But he seemed quite happy to be doing whatever he was doing
with the tractor when I drove up,” Sarah interjected.
“Oh yes, he’s a good help when he’s home. He still thinks of this
as his home, and it will be, for as long as he wants it that way.”
Sarah had been carrying little David in her arms but now, because
he was beginning to fuss and squirm, she handed him to his mother.
“He’s getting tired,” Penny said, “it’s nap time. Why don’t you go
and sit in the parlour, Sarah, while I put him down.”
“Thanks, but I’d better go home,” Sarah said, glancing at the
watch on her wrist, “I’ve already been here longer than I intended.
I’ve enjoyed it so much that the time has flown.”
“But I haven’t had a chance to ask if you’ll come to the fall fair
with us at the end of September.” Penny bounced the fussing baby
on her hip. “I know it’s weeks away, but it’s the event of the year in
Nimkus, and we start planning our exhibits early.”
“Oh, do you exhibit?” Sarah asked, her interest piqued.
Penny laughed. “Oh my, yes, I’ve become a regular country girl
with my garden produce and homemade bread and canning. And
Dave shows his best animals, wins lots of prizes, too. It’s fun, Sarah,
we’ll have to get you started on it next year.”
“I’d like that. Yes, I’d love to go to the fair with you.” She paused,
then added, “Maybe Ben will go, too.”
Penny shook her head. “I doubt it, he never does. But who knows?
Maybe he’ll go now that he has you to go with him.”
“Yes, I hope he will. I’m sure it’s been very lonely for him having only
his mother for companionship ever since he was a very young man.”
Penny glanced at her quickly, and Sarah had the momentary impression
that the look was one of surprise. But she said nothing
and, after warm goodbyes, Sarah went out to the yard where she
found Flicka waiting for her. Alan had tied her in the shade of a
large old maple near the horse paddock…

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073530

Arrows

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“Why do you want me to baptize your baby again?” I asked her,
sipping from a cup of hot chocolate sweetened with honey. I knew
well enough that was the usual procedure, but she probably didn’t.
The house was not well located. It was on the perimeter of the
town, near the place where the Indians had made their temporary
encampment. We sat on rickety chairs at the table in her kitchen, her
slave minding the baby outside. I could see them through a window
that was nothing more than a squared opening in the wattle and
daub wall.
Josefa had aged since I last saw her; left behind was the young
woman that shivered every time the monkeys howled or a jaguar
roared in the mountains. This was a weathered woman with hands
reddened and swollen from work. But in her big brown eyes, the girl
lingered, and she could still make me shrink inside when she burst
into tears.
“What? What is it, Josefa?”
She sobbed and wiped her face with the edge of her apron.
“Nothing, really. I’m very happy to see you, Friar Salvador. I
missed you terribly.”
“So am I to see you, but tell me, why are you crying?”
I didn’t have time for this. I was tired from the time spent writing
the letter for Losada and worried by their content. I reached out and
held her hand.
“Josefa, is there something you wish to tell me?”
She stopped sobbing and looked at me, deadly serious, then
glanced through the window.
“Only if it is as a confession. All I tell you in confession is secret,
isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
I was not expecting her to speak so plainly.
“He circumcised my baby. He spoke in a strange tongue and he
circumcised my baby. He is a Jew! And now my baby is a Jew as
well! Am I damned?”

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562848

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

Jazz with Ella

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He looked at her fondly. For a moment, there might have been no airport runway, no guard, only that moment over the kitchen table in Leningrad. “I am a bad man for wanting to leave, but I am not so bad that I want you to suffer. If I run, then you must act like you don’t know me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand,” she relented. Again the irony. In that moment that she was supposed to be denying his existence, she discovered that she knew him only too well, better than ever before. “I’m convinced they’re not looking for you,” she told him. “Stay in line. Don’t run. Please.”
The line had ground to a halt and she could see the twins and Ted sitting on their flight bags as if they were in for a long wait. “What’s happening, Ted?” she called out.
He joined them. “The guy in the uniform says that we might as well make ourselves comfortable. Our suitcases are not on this flight—they’re on another one that’s arriving soon—make that ‘soon’ in Soviet time, so who knows when? Then we’re supposed to grab our own bags and go through a security check.”
“What are they looking for?” David and Maria crowded around, encircling Volodya protectively. They want him to be safe, Jennifer thought. It’s touching. “Weren’t we just checked pretty well when we left Moscow?”
“Who knows what they’re looking for? I can tell you one thing, both Hank and Lona are pretty upset. It seems Hank is carrying some of Lona’s things in his luggage and he’s not too happy about them poking through his bags again.”
“Did the uniform tell you where we were?” She asked the question that she knew was on Volodya’s mind.
“He wouldn’t answer,” Ted replied. The last of the colour drained from Volodya’s face, and his eyes cast about wildly sizing up the airport fence and the chain link gate.
“But surely we’re in Sweden or Finland?” David went on, putting one hand on Volodya’s arm, sensing his fear. “They’re entirely too casual here for the Soviet Union. Look—no armed guards or slogans on the wall.”
“Hang in there, Vlad…uh, Paul.” Maria said.
“Yeah, I think you’re right,” Ted replied. “Probably because it’s a military airport, he’s not supposed to tell us much about it.”
“Hey, here comes a plane. Can you beat that? It arrived ‘soon’—just like they said.”

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562892

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