Last week I was just tooling through my neighborhood Meijer's store (kind of like a Super Walmart here in the Midwest) when I decided to take a look at their book section. Imagine my surprise and delight to find some familiar Christian books in the romance novel section. Yes, the whole line of Love Inspired novels for October were there, including Soldier Daddy, the latest in Cheryl Wyatt's series about USAF pararescue jumpers and their families. Since I wanted this book, I bought it and set out to read it almost immediately. It did not disappoint.
This story centers on Aaron Petrowski, the fearless and capable commander of the PJ's (pararescue jumpers) stationed in Refuge, Illinois. Since the tragic death of his beloved wife, Donna, Aaron has been struggling to be a good father to his rambunctious twin boys and at the same time lead his team as he should. The only answer seems to be hiring a perfect nanny for the three-year-old dynamic duo. Since Mary Poppins isn't available, Aaron prayerfully searches for just the right person to take on the task.
Enter the eager and vivacious Sarah Graham, a surprisingly young and pretty lady who immediately bonds with the twins. Sarah seems to have everything Aaron is looking for, and after much prayer, he decides that she was God-sent. Even her Christian values are in line with Aaron's, and he knows she intends to help instill those values in Bryce and Braden. Yet, while Aaron believes Sarah is the right one to care for his boys, he has an uncomfortable feeling that she's hiding something. The more he is in contact with her, though, the more he struggles to keep everything at an employer-employee level.
As for Sarah, she is certain that God wants her to help this particular family. She is in constant fear, however, that her past will catch up with her. Whatever secret shame she is hiding, she is always in penance mode, unable to forgive herself or walk in freedom from the punishment she feels she deserves. Hopelessly in love with her two little charges, almost from the beginning, Sarah also finds herself extremely attracted to her boss.
Like all of Cheryl Wyatt's other books in the Wings of Refuge series, this is a very heartwarming and beautiful story. The characters are, for the most part, very endearing and real. At times there are humorous incidents and banter that seem quite realistic. Without being heavy-handed, Cheryl works in many Christian values and spiritual truths that add precious depth to the story. In all of it's Christian morals and values, though, there are serious issues the characters must deal with. It isn't all pie-in-the-sky, but the author makes a point of demonstrating how Jesus deals with hard questions and how Christians should react as well. In a note at the end of the story, Cheryl writes:
"This story speaks of loss and hope. Loss touches each of us in this life. There's no escaping it. If you have not gone through something hard in your life, eventually you will. But likewise, hope does not disappoint. We have the God of all hope who loves us and is intimate with our pain. He also knows our dreams and hopes. I pray that hope touches your life and heart profoundly, even in the face of any loss or heartache you face. May you always seek Refuge in the haven of His wings."
As I understand it, this book and other Love Inspired titles for October will only be on most shelves until the end if the month, but you will still be able to buy it at Christianbook.com, Barnes and Noble, and Amazon.com. Right now you can pick it up at many stores, not just the Christian bookstores. I saw the Love Inspired line at Walmart as well as Meijer's. The suggested retail price is only $5.50 U.S., but I bought it for a dollar less at Meijer's. I think this cozy romance is well worth the price.
She also keeps a blog at Squirrel's Treehouse. I hope you will visit these sites and come to know more if the heart of this genuinely sweet and talented author. She's the real deal.
Hope Westcott was ready for her fairy-tale life as the wife of Lord Falkland as she slipped aboard his ship to surprise him. She was ready to enjoy the prestige, but even more, the love that she had longed for all her life. Instead, he turned against her and let her be taken to the slave auction in this squalid port of St. Kitts. Being sold as a slave! How could she have ever sunk this low?!
Happily someone comes to Hope's rescue. otherwise this would have been a short or extremely dismal story. Her knight in shining armor is someone she often snubbed back in Charles Towne because he is just a common merchant, a hard-working man who was beneath her. Yet his Christian "duty" leads him to sacrificially pay for her redemption. So Nathaniel Mason undertakes a most exasperating adventure to return Hope to her home. Of course, along the way, he and Hope both are changed forever.
In her second novel about the Belles of Charles Towne, the lovely daughters of Admiral Westcott, MaryLu Tyndall scores big once again. Her historical fiction is spot on, as far as I can tell, anyway, in its authenticity and historic details. Set in the early 1700's she plunges herself and her readers deep into the culture of the day. You can feel the dust, the wind, the darkness; you can smell the sea, the rain, and the putrid garbage in the ugly sections of St. Kitts. You can also feel the emotions of the characters, from rage to deep love and compassion, from icy coldness to strong passion. Mrs. Tyndall is the whole package as a writer: her characters are well-developed, complex, and believable; the action is superb and often breath-taking; while we expect certain developments to take place (she is, after all, writing romance!), there are quite a few surprising events and changes throughout the story. And as is always true in her novels, the details, the descriptions, are the best I've ever read. I've already alluded to some examples, but this author appeals to all the senses in her stories. We as readers experience it all, good and bad; we are utterly immersed in this world.
She also succeeds in making us, or at least me, care about some characters that really didn't seem that lovable at first. Like Hope, who was a snobbish rich girl always throwing herself at men, embarrassing her family, and not seeming to care about anyone but herself. Then there's a woman on the ship with her, a very pregnant lady, who seems so cold and snooty at first. This is just one of the lessons of the book to make us look at things from God's perspective.The God factor is evident everywhere in the novel, another great point in my opinion. God and Jesus aren't introduced in a forced or preachy way, though; the spiritual is integral to the characters, their growth, and the plot itself. Lessons have to do with the true gospel, our need for God's love above all else, learning to love as God does, trust, prejudice, prayer, faith, and so much more. So many parts of the book struck me with the beauty of the truth that MaryLu Tyndall imparts through her characters.
In case you can't tell, I highly recommend The Blue Enchantress. It's an adult novel, but I know teenage girls will love it, too. Anyone who loves historical fiction or romantic novels will enjoy it for sure.
For more information on this book and much more, check out MaryLy Tyndall's website, and her blog,The Cross and the Cutlass . She has a lot of really great resources about ships, pirates, and all the other things she has researched for her books.
To buy The Blue Enchantress, you can try nearly any Christian bookstore or major bookstore like Borders. To order online, try Christianbook.com, Amazon.com, or Barnes and Noble.
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
M.L. Tyndall, a Christy Award Finalist, and best-selling author of the Legacy of the King’s Pirates series is known for her adventurous historical romances filled with deep spiritual themes. She holds a degree in Math and worked as a software engineer for fifteen years before testing the waters as a writer. MaryLu currently writes full time and makes her home on the California coast with her husband, six kids, and four cats.
List Price: $10.97 Paperback: 320 pages Publisher: Barbour Books (August 1, 2009) Language: English ISBN-10: 1602601577 ISBN-13: 978-1602601574
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
The Blue Enchantress by M.L. Tyndall Chapter 1
St. Kitts, September 1718
“Gentlemen, what will ye offer for this rare treasure of a lady?” The words crashed over Hope Westcott like bilge water. “Why, she’ll make any of ye a fine wife, a cook, a housemaid”—the man gave a lascivious chuckle—“whate’er ye desire.”
“How ’bout someone to warm me bed at night,” one man bellowed, and a cacophony of chortles gurgled through the air.
Hope slammed her eyes shut against the mob of men who pressed on three sides of the tall wooden platform, shoving one another to get a better peek at her. Something crawled over her foot, and she pried her eyes open, keeping her face lowered. A black spider skittered away. Red scrapes and bruises marred her bare feet. When had she lost her satin shoes—the gold braided ones she’d worn to impress Lord Falkland? She couldn’t recall.
“What d’ye say? How much for this fine young lady?” The man grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back. Pain, like a dozen claws, pierced her skull. “She’s a handsome one, to be sure. And these golden locks.” He attempted to slide his fingers through her matted strands, but before becoming hopelessly entangled in them, he jerked his hand free, wrenching out a clump of her hair. Hope winced. “Have ye seen the likes of them?”
Ribald whistles and groans of agreement spewed over her.
“Two shillings,” one man yelled.
Hope dared to glance across the throng amassing before the auction block. A wild sea of lustful eyes sprayed over her. A band of men dressed in garments stained with dirt and sweat bunched toward the front, yelling out bids. Behind them, other men in velvet waistcoats leaned their heads together, no doubt to discuss the value of this recent offering, while studying her as if she were a breeding mare. Slaves knelt in the dirt along the outskirts of the mob, waiting for their masters. Beyond them, a row of wooden buildings stretched in either direction. Brazen women emerged from a tavern and draped themselves over the railings, watching Hope’s predicament with interest. On the street, ladies in modish gowns averted their eyes as they tugged the men on their arms from the sordid scene.
Hope lowered her head. This can’t be happening. I’m dreaming. I am still on the ship. Just a nightmare. Only a nightmare. Humiliation swept over her with an ever-rising dread as the reality of her situation blasted its way through her mind.
She swallowed hard and tried to drown out the grunts and salacious insults tossed her way by the bartering rabble. Perhaps if she couldn’t hear them, if she couldn’t see them, they would disappear and she would wake up back home, safe in Charles Towne, safe in her bedchamber, safe with her sisters, just like she was before she’d put her trust in a man who betrayed her.
“Egad, man. Two shillings, is it? For this beauty?” The auctioneer spit off to the side. The yellowish glob landed on Hope’s skirt. Her heart felt as though it had liquefied into an equally offensive blob and oozed down beside it.
How did I get here? In her terror, she could not remember. She raised her gaze to the auctioneer. Cold eyes, hard like marbles, met hers, and a sinister grin twisted his lips. He adjusted his tricorn to further shade his chubby face from the burning sun.
“She looks too feeble for any real work,” another man yelled.
The sounds of the crowd dimmed. The men’s fists forged into the air as if pushing through mud. Garbled laughter drained from their yellow-toothed mouths like molasses. Hope’s heart beat slower, and she wished for death.
The gentle lap of waves caressed her ears, their peaceful cadence drawing her away. Tearing her gaze from the nightmarish spectacle, she glanced over her shoulder, past the muscled henchmen who’d escorted her here. Two docks jutted out into a small bay brimming with sparkling turquoise water where several ships rocked back and forth as if shaking their heads at her in pity. Salt and papaya and sun combined in a pleasant aroma that lured her mind away from her present horror.
Her eyes locked upon the glimmering red and gold figurine of Ares at the bow of Lord Falkland’s ship. She blinked back the burning behind her eyes. When she’d boarded it nigh a week past—or was it two weeks—all her hopes and dreams had boarded with her. Somewhere along the way, they had been cast into the depths of the sea. She only wished she had joined them. Although the ship gleamed majestically in the bay, all she had seen of it for weeks had been the four walls of a small cabin below deck.
The roar of the crowd wrenched her mind back to the present and turned her face forward.
“Five shillings.”
“’Tis robbery, and ye know it,” the auctioneer barked. “Where are any of ye clods goin’ t’ find a real lady like this?”
A stream of perspiration raced down Hope’s back as if seeking escape. But there was no escape. She was about to be sold as a slave, a harlot to one of these cruel and prurient taskmasters. A fate worse than death. A fate her sister had fought hard to keep her from. A fate Hope had brought upon herself. Numbness crept over her even as her eyes filled with tears. Oh God. This can’t be happening.
She gazed upward at the blue sky dusted with thick clouds, hoping for some deliverance, some sign that God had not abandoned her.
The men continued to haggle, their voices booming louder and louder, grating over her like the howls of demons.
Her head felt like it had detached from her body and was floating up to join the clouds. Palm trees danced in the light breeze coming off the bay. Their tall trunks and fronds formed an oscillating blur of green and brown. The buildings, the mob, and the whole heinous scene joined the growing mass and began twirling around Hope. Her legs turned to jelly, and she toppled to the platform.
“Get up!” A sharp crack stung her cheek. Two hands like rough rope clamped over her arms and dragged her to her feet. Pain lanced through her right foot where a splinter had found a home. Holding a hand to her stinging face, Hope sobbed.
The henchman released her with a grunt of disgust.
“I told ye she won’t last a week,” one burly man shouted.
“She ain’t good for nothing but to look at.”
Planting a strained grin upon his lips, the auctioneer swatted her rear end. “Aye, but she’s much more stout than she appears, gentlemen.”
Horrified and no longer caring about the repercussions, Hope slapped the man’s face. He raised his fist, and she cowered. The crowd roared its mirth.
“One pound, then,” a tall man sporting a white wig called out. “I could use me a pretty wench.” Withdrawing a handkerchief, he dabbed at the perspiration on his forehead.
Wench. Slave. Hope shook her head, trying to force herself to accept what her mind kept trying to deny. A sudden surge of courage, based on naught but her instinct to survive, stiffened her spine. She thrust out her chin and faced the auctioneer. “I beg your pardon, sir. There’s been a mistake. I am no slave.”
“Indeed?” He cocked one brow and gave her a patronizing smirk.
Hope searched the horde for a sympathetic face—just one. “My name is Miss Hope Westcott,” she shouted. “My father is Admiral Henry Westcott. I live in Charles Towne with my two sisters.”
“And I’m King George,” a farmer howled, slapping his knee.
“My father will pay handsomely for my safe return.” Hope scanned the leering faces. Not one. Not one look of sympathy or belief or kindness. Fear crawled up her throat. She stomped her foot, sending a shard of pain up her leg. “You must believe me,” she sobbed. “I don’t belong here.”
Ignoring the laughter, Hope spotted a purple plume fluttering in the breeze atop a gold-trimmed hat in the distance. “Arthur!” She darted for the stairs but two hands grabbed her from behind and held her in place. “Don’t leave me! Lord Falkland!” She struggled in her captor’s grasp. His grip tightened, sending a throbbing ache across her back.
Swerving about, Lord Falkland tapped his cane into the dirt and tipped the brim of his hat up, but the distance between them forbade Hope a vision of his expression.
“Tell them who I am, Arthur. Please save me!”
He leaned toward the woman beside him and said something, then coughed into his hand. What is he doing? The man who once professed an undying love for Hope, the man who promised to marry her, to love her forever, the man who bore the responsibility for her being here in the first place. How could he stand there and do nothing while she met such a hideous fate?
The elegant lady beside him turned her nose up at Hope, then, threading her arm through Lord Falkland’s, she wheeled him around and pulled him down the road.
Hope watched him leave, and with each step of his cordovan boots, her heart and her very soul sank deeper into the wood of the auction block beneath her feet.
Nothing made any sense. Had the world gone completely mad?
“Two pounds,” a corpulent man in the back roared.
A memory flashed through Hope’s mind as she gazed across the band of men. A vision of African slaves, women and children, being auctioned off in Charles Towne. How many times had she passed by, ignoring them, uncaring, unconcerned by the proceedings?
Was this God’s way of repaying her for her selfishness, her lack of charity?
“Five pounds.”
Disappointed curses rumbled among the men at the front, who had obviously reached their limit of coin.
The auctioneer’s mouth spread wide, greed dripping from its corners. “Five pounds, gentlemen. Do I hear six for this lovely lady?”
A blast of hot air rolled over Hope, stealing her breath. Human sweat, fish, and horse manure filled her nose and saturated her skin. The unforgiving sun beat a hot hammer atop her head until she felt she would ignite into a burning torch at any moment. Indeed, she prayed she would. Better to be reduced to a pile of ashes than endure what the future held for her.
“Six pounds,” a short man with a round belly and stiff brown wig yelled from the back of the mob in a tone that indicated he knew what he was doing and had no intention of losing his prize. Decked in the a fine damask waistcoat, silk breeches, and a gold-chained pocket watch, which he kept snapping open and shut, he exuded wealth and power from his pores.
Hope’s stomach twisted into a vicious knot, and she clutched her throat to keep from heaving whatever shred of moisture remained in her empty stomach.
The auctioneer gaped at her, obviously shocked she could command such a price. Rumblings overtook the crowd as the short man pushed his way through to claim his prize. The closer he came, the faster Hope’s chest heaved and the lighter her head became. Blood pounded in her ears, drowning out the groans of the mob. No, God. No.
“Do I hear seven?” the auctioneer bellowed. “She’s young and will breed you some fine sons.”
“Just what I’ll be needing.” The man halted at the platform, glanced over the crowd for any possible competitors, then took the stairs to Hope’s right. He halted beside her too close for propriety’s sake and assailed her with the stench of lard and tobacco. A long purple scar crossed his bloated, red face as his eyes grazed over her like a stallion on a breeding mare. Hope shuddered and gasped for a breath of air. Her palms broke out in a sweat, and she rubbed them on her already moist gown.
The auctioneer threw a hand to his hip and gazed over the crowd.
The man squeezed her arms, and Hope snapped from his grasp and took a step back, abhorred at his audacity. He chuckled. “Not much muscle on her, but she’s got pluck.”
He belched, placed his watch back into the fob pocket of his breeches, and removed a leather pouch from his belt. “Six pounds it is.”
The silver tip of a sword hung at his side. If Hope were quick about it, perhaps she could grab it and, with some luck, fight her way out of here. She clenched her teeth. Who was she trying to fool? Where was her pirate sister when she needed her? Surely Faith would know exactly what to do. Yet what did it matter? Hope would rather die trying to escape than become this loathsome man’s slave.
As the man counted out the coins into the auctioneer’s greedy hands, Hope reached for the sword.
Below is a music video by up-and-coming Christian songwriter/musician Gabriel Peter (no connection to Peter Gabriel) that is NOT the average video. It was a deeply personal remake of his first video for the song "A Dim Glass Darkly." It touched me so profoundly, and I felt like I needed to share it with someone.
The video was originally shot in Gabriel's parents' living room. Two months later, the house burned down in a fire. This is the re-edit of Dim Glass Darkly, incorporating shots of the burned home with the original music video. Commentary by Gabriel Peter
1 Corinthians 13:12 "Now we see as though through a dim glass darkly, but soon we shall see face to face."
