REDESIGNED BERLIN BUTTERFLY COVERS!
Revealed to subscribers first then posted here! Stay tuned for announcement this week!
“BEFORE BERLIN” (sneak peek)
BEFORE BERLIN- A Berlin Butterfly Series Prequel
“One day, one moment, one event…can change your life completely. -Anonymous”
CHAPTER ONE
August 1943
“Schritt vorwärts! Kopf hoch! Arme aus!” The sharp demands in a thick German accent came swiftly. Step forward. Chin out. Arms up. I hardly had time to turn to my left to see Renia, my best friend of ten years, performing the same ridiculous movements with an equally sour-faced woman in front of her. The long horizontal line of students extended the length of our stone courtyard, chunks of concrete still littered the ground even now, years after the explosions rocked the school. Another dozen or so girls clustered near the outer gate, awaiting their turn.
“Open your mouth.” The timeworn taskmistress inched closer to me, but even in youth I towered her by a head at the very least. She stretched her neck and leaned forward. The sulfurous scent of mustard reeked from her lips as they curved into an ardent scowl. When she spoke, her jowls wiggled loosely above her crisp, clean uniform collar, but it was the brown mole near her chin with the solitary hair protruding, that captured my full attention.
“Do you have all of your teeth?” She inspected my mouth thoroughly.
I nodded.
She tugged on the end of my braid that hung freely down the right side of my chest, the lower locks nearly reaching my waist.
“gute Länge.”
I snuck a glance at Renia once more and wiggled my brows carefully so that this madam did not see my disrespect. What a relief the length of my hair had passed her inspection. I fought the giggle building in my throat. Such an odd thing for her to find so satisfactory.
A tall, reedy woman shadowed the ill-tempered one. A simple clipboard clutched in one hand and a pencil in the other.
“Mache Notizen.” The demanding one pointed for her to take notes, then turned back to me. “What is your name?”
I recognized my good fortune of having learned German years ago, even before they arrived in my city. While other fellow classmates struggled with the demands, I understood her well enough.
“Aleksandra.” I answered proudly, named after my grandmother who died before my birth.
“Family name?”
“Jaworski.”
“Age?”
“Sixteen.”
“Turn around.”
I rotated my back towards her but kept my arms extended upward from my sides. Why is she inspecting my person so closely? My brother, Ivan, who had been enlisted through conscript a year before had not been scrutinized so closely when the German soldiers came to our home. My breath hitched at a wayward thought. A faint recollection emerged from an event I tried hard to forget…a collection of people—people with a unified belief—seized from their homes, lined up in the street and marched away…but I am not Jewish!
She pinched my side. The movement made me jump. I was ticklish there.
“Stand still.” She snapped. Though she had a solid grip on my waist there wasn’t much to grasp and the tighter she held on the more it hurt.
She turned to her scribe. “Tall, but skinny. Good posture and hips. Send her to Medical.”
Offended, I scrunched my nose. I am quite healthy, I wanted to argue. Other than a small scare of scarlet fever when I was four, I hardly got sick. And at this very moment could outrun anyone in this school, including the old bag.
The soldiers’ sudden disruption of our school day had come unexpected. This had happened before when the Germans threatened to close our school, but like many Poles trying to survive the invasion, the headmistress came to an agreement that included an altered curriculum, and random checks. Though none of the previous appearances required us to stand outside for hours in the sweltering heat. We were being inspected—but for what I wasn’t sure.
The clipboard woman scribbled something on a piece of paper then shoved it into my hand.
“Siebzehn,” I whispered as I read it. The number 17 appeared on the square sheet.
Since the Germans arrived in Poland four years ago, they gave us little choice but to follow any and every direction. My father knew firsthand the consequences of insubordination. As a Partisan, he should have been killed for his involvement in our government, but instead he was being forced by the new commanders to lead our city under the Führer, Adolph Hitler, and to assist in the German occupation…that and a reminder bullet to one knee. His brother, Szymon, was not so fortunate. Determined to be a threat by the intelligenzaktion, he was detained and sent to the Radogoszcz prison.
From the moment the soldiers entered our classrooms this morning until now, I hadn’t been afraid. Though they were stern and forceful, nothing in their conversations led me to believe our lives were threatened.
This was far from the invasion in September 1939.
Though Łódź wasn’t as big as Warsaw, it was a key location for the continued pursuits against other Polish cities and German enemies of the state. Our lack of adequate equipment and poor defenses, especially against Blitzkrieg, allowed for an effortless seizure when our Polish Army collapsed only days under the pressure of the Third Reich. Within that first month, not only did they sever our transportation, but they also carried out mass searches, committed crimes against the population, restructured the government with German officials, issued occupation decrees, renamed the city as Litzmannstadt and annexed us into Nazi, Germany.
My mind easily slipped back to those early days…the deafening sounds of gunfire, explosions, and above all, the horrifying screams. At twelve years old, I lived through the worst nightmare imaginable or so I thought with my limited life experience. That was until I witnessed the expulsion…the process in which the Germans managed the Jewish population. They claimed that the people of the Jewish faith were diseased and brought filth and degradation upon us but especially upon our new landlords. By February 1940, the Judes had been removed to a ghetto—a controlled residential quarter in the northeastern section of town—surrounded by barbed wire and armed guards. My friend Erela who lived with her parents and sister in the flat across from us were subjected to that swift removal and forced relocation. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.
Occasionally, Mama and I would take the streetcar past the fences. Sometimes I would cover my eyes afraid to see the downtrodden and defeated people. A people who just a year earlier were our baker, tailor, and seamstress. Then in 1941, train cars full of Romas arrived at the ghetto. Frau Weber, Mama’s hairdresser, said the new detainees came from Austria. I overheard her conversation while she washed Mama’s hair one afternoon. Her husband, Herr Weber, oversaw the Judenräte—the Jewish Council—in the ghetto, and said that the Romas were sent here temporarily before their transition to another camp.
“There are not enough resources for those filthy gypsies.” Frau Weber exclaimed, callously unaware of my mother’s cringe. “The Jude are already seven or eight to a room and nearly twenty in each flat,” she continued. “While I don’t care much for the Judes, I cannot tolerate the Romas. The quicker they move them to an extermination camp, the better.”
Mama never went back to have her hair done by Frau Weber, but she also never explained to me the definition of an extermination camp—it took me researching the word in a book at school to know…Extermination-the killing of a group of people or animal. I must have misheard her.
Over the next year, the number of residents in the ghetto dwindled and fewer and fewer living souls remained. The neighborhood had always had an eeriness to it but now a dark cloud hovered unceasingly. I now went entirely out of my way to avoid it.
The rumors that circulated about town as to where the ghetto residents were evacuated to, varied. Some claimed deportations were to other cities, countries, or work camps, but I never forgot what Frau Weber called them and when Pan Nowak, our butcher, said with undeniable certainty that they were sent to a nearby village called Chelmno, a hint of hope sparked within me…until he elaborated.
“Not the town mind you and not for better accommodations.” He weighed the last of the veal.
Mama froze in place, but I watched him curiously.
Wrapping the meat in paper, he continued, “A country estate specifically used as a killing center.”
Mama gasped and looked to me, then before she could stop him, he added, “They use poisonous gas.”
Mama’s beautiful complexion drained all color. Her red lips pulled into a tight line and though I could not see her eyes, her lashes blinked repeatedly. When he finally handed over the meat, Mama slapped the money down on the counter and departed quickly with me tightly in tow and a very silent walk home.
That night, I prayed for Erela. I didn’t want to believe the stories, I wanted to trust that she was somewhere safe and happy. She was by far one of the kindest girls I had ever met.
“Weitergehen!” The terse voice of the clipboard woman ordering me to move on brought me back to the present. I followed her long, thin finger in the direction of another door, but before I exited, I peeked back at Renia. She was a few girls down from me and though her tyrant had moved past her, she apparently hadn’t gotten her square number yet to be dismissed. I smiled and winked before I turned away. We will have a good laugh about this at lunch.
When I exited the courtyard into the classroom, it appeared nothing like the room I had left earlier that morning. The desks had been removed and in their place were long tables separated by steel partitions and thin curtains both in front of the table and one on each side, but because they hardly covered much, I could see Gizela from my mathematics class sitting on one end of her table in a robe of sorts. Her shoulders were slumped, and her head lowered. She must be sick. I tried to recall the supper conversation with my parents the night before, but nothing was said about an illness spreading through the town.
I stopped in the center of the room, unsure of where to go next until a man in a long white coat hustled toward me. His ungainly height forced his spectacles to slide down his shiny nose as he eyed me warily and grabbed the paper number from my fingers.
“Siebzehn.” He hollered the number out and another woman approached with yet another clipboard. I bit the inside of my cheek and shifted nervously to my other foot. This could not be about sending young girls into battle—that’s preposterous…isn’t it?
Due to the uncertainty of our future, even before the war began, my father’s keen foresight and sound finances gave me the best education a child could be privileged to have. My all-girls school was one of the finest in town and I excelled in numbers, sciences, and foreign languages. Aside from our native Polish tongue, and German, I spoke a little Russian, and was currently learning English. Though many of my elderly neighbors mourned the hope of a free Poland, they were quite vocal about the value of other languages. “Knowing multiple languages, little Aleksandra,” Pani Kalinowski said, “is quite equal to survival.” Eight years after her comment, I have come to understand the wisdom of such a statement.
“Afleuchten.” The woman waved for me to follow her. I passed three of the partitions before she rolled one of them away revealing an empty table. “Sit.”
Unsure whether she meant the table or the chair, I chose the sole chair in the space. I would do everything in my power to convey how healthy I am. Maybe Gizela is sick, but I am most assuredly not.
“Name?” The woman’s eyes left the clipboard only briefly.
“Aleksandra Jaworski.”
“Your age?”
“Sixteen.” I took a deep inhale. They have already asked me this. Why didn’t the clipboard woman from outside just forward the information?
“Have you been ill recently?”
“No.”
“Broken any bones?”
“No.”
“When was your last bleed?”
“Bleed?”
“Your monthly?”
My brows curved inward, and I stuttered for the first time. “L—last week.”
“Have you had any imbecility in your family?”
I blinked twice then quickly answered so she didn’t believe I was the simpleton. “Uh, no, no nothing like that.”
“Do you have all of your teeth?”
I nodded, waiting for her to look in my mouth like the woman soldier did, but she didn’t.
“Zieh deine Sachen aus.”
“What?” My heart thumped heavily in my chest. I could not have heard her correctly. Why would she need me to remove my clothing? I am not sick! She repeated the same sentence only with an urgency now pointing to the table. She held up a thin piece of fabric that unraveled to a robe as she lifted it up. “Put this on.”
“Why?” My jaw tightened. “I am not ill.” I responded in German so there was no chance of a misunderstanding.
“Do it now.” Her stare pierced me threateningly. I waited but she made no move to leave my temporary quarters. I turned away from her and removed my blouse slowly. When I unzipped my skirt, I was trying to devise a way to escape. I am fast. I could outrun her, the doctor, the female soldier, and any number of squaddies they had walking around here. What I could not outrun are bullets and each of those soldiers carried a weapon.
“Quickly.” She demanded.
I pointed to my camisole and underwear. “These too?”
“Ja.”
I exhaled slowly and removed my undergarments with my back to her once again. I had never undressed in front of anyone besides my mother and that hadn’t been for many years.
I put my arms in the lightweight robe and closed it tight with my arms across my torso. The woman didn’t waste any time and grabbed my wrist and pulled me to the end of the table.
“Sit.” She directed.
I did as I was told, but my cheeks heated with frustration.
“Dr. Kraus.” She parted the curtain. “She is ready.”
My eyes widened to her announcement. Ready for what? Looking down I could see my hands openly trembling just below the rapid rise and fall of my chest.
The doctor stepped inside and closed the partition behind him.
I kept my head lowered and counted the white scuff marks on his black shoes. Four, Five…no six. They moved closer to me. His sweat, mixed with a pungent medicinal scent, preceded him. I wanted to pinch my nose, but he grabbed my arm and lifted it up, down, forward, and backward before he moved to my other arm and did the same thing. I eyed him warily. Maybe this is just a checkup, maybe somebody in the school really does have a contagious disease and we are all now being examined.
Couldn’t they just tell us? I fumed. Though I had a health assessment when I registered to attend the school, nothing required me to completely disrobe.
He rotated my shoulders and tapped his fingers down my spine, calling off codes to the woman holding the clipboard. Codes I was unfamiliar with in any of my languages. I jumped again when he pinched my waist through the robe. He checked my ears, eyes, nose and asked me to open my mouth. He untangled my braid and thoroughly searched my scalp leaving my hair a ratted mess once he had finished.
There could be a lice infestation. It has happened before.
He put the listening tubes into his ears and with the rounded end pressed it against my chest and then my back, all the while telling the nurse with the clipboard to document his findings.
“Sie ist stark und gesund.”
Of course, I was strong and healthy. I was not only the fastest runner at the school, but I could also jump higher than anyone as well.
The man placed his hands in the pockets of his white coat and rolled back on his heels. When he did this his jaw tightened.
“Name?”
“Aleksandra Jaworski.”
I said my name the same time the woman with the clipboard did. When she looked at me, she sent me a clear message, the doctor was speaking to her. I pursed my lips as he continued.
“Age?”
“Sixteen?”
“Recent illnesses?”
“None.”
“Hereditary Diseases?”
“None.”
“Menstruating?”
“Yes.”
The doctor now scrutinized me from my head to my toes. A drop of sweat rolled from the edge of his hairline down his cheek but he didn’t pause to swipe it.
“Have you had relations with men?”
My eyes nearly popped out of my head and my mouth separated on its own accord.
The man peered at me over his thick glasses, his deep blue eyes searing through me. He waited for my answer as if he was serious. I held my breath.
He is serious.
The heat in my cheeks made me want to sweat too. I shook my head lightly, too shocked for anything else.
“Are you certain no boy has touched you down here?” He pointed between my legs.
I shook my head fiercely this time.
“Lie back.”
I froze.
The woman placed her palm over my chest and pushed me backward.
“No, no, no.” I stiffened and my hands wound around my waist again holding tightly while fighting her pressure to restrain me. She set her clipboard down and used both hands forcefully to push me flat on the table, my legs dangled helplessly off the end. What are they doing? A thousand thoughts whirled inside my brain in that split second and all the possibilities frightened me.
“Lift your feet to the end of the table.” The doctor spoke dryly as if the whole struggle meant nothing.
My heart thumped again. I glanced past them and toward the exposed opening in the partition. Maybe someone out there will stop this. I spied a soldier staring my direction, a smirk spread across his face. I swallowed a lump, fighting the desire to cry.
“Bend your knees,” said the doctor.
I shook my head, feeling my chest constrict. This cannot be happening.
The woman didn’t wait and once again she moved my legs upward to the hard surface. Why? My short breaths came rapidly.
When he lowered his torso at the end of the table, I gasped. The entire lower half of my body was now exposed to him and anyone else who walked by the curtain, including that awful soldier. A slight breeze blew through and caused goosebumps to cover my skin. In bold contrast, perspiration rolled down my forehead and mingled with emerging tears. Even though I closed my eyes tight, the moisture slipped through anyway.
I bit my lip to keep from crying out as the doctor’s gloved fingers examined my private parts. I was too afraid to fight the woman who held my arms down, though I knew she did not care what was happening to me. I whimpered and sniffled through the horrifying seconds that followed.
“Very well.” He stood straight again. “She passes.”
I could barely catch my breath as the woman released her hold and the man pointed to the chair. “Get dressed and wait until you are retrieved.”
My mind continued to whirl. Did the school believe I had been with a man? Did they suspect me of being with child? I was mortified over the idea of being touched in a place I had never been touched before and of all places…here at my school!
I dressed quickly, making sure every button was closed and every part of me covered, but no matter what I did to forget about what just happened, the incident haunted me. Sniffling, I sat in the chair with both my hands covering my face, wishing to just go home. I wanted to see my parents, my dogs, and my rabbits. I wanted to feel the comfort of my bed and the loving embrace of my mother, and I never wanted to come back to this school ever again.
When the clipboard woman walked back in, I could have sliced her to ribbons with my glare. How would she like to be treated as thus? How would she like it if I was holding her down?
She raised her chin in challenging defiance. “Hier.”
She handed me a paper. As I quickly perused it, it had my name, my age, details of my medical examination and the word pass stamped in German on one corner.
“Do not lose this. It is your passport.” She handed me an apple and pointed to another door. “Do not speak to the soldiers, do not sleep with them and do not leave their escort until you arrive at your destination.”
“I, I just want to go home.”
Her painted red lips moved slowly enough for me to see every line she had brushed across them. “You have a new home, fraulein. You are part of Lebensborn now.”
Tears sprung from my eyes.
“I don’t know what Lebensborn is,” I whimpered. “Please, I just want to go home.”
She grabbed my wrist and led me to a door opposite of the one I had entered. Outside, a military truck rumbled to life as another young girl was physically forced inside the back. I stopped, but the woman shoved me forward then called to one of the soldiers for help.
When he appeared at my side, he tapped his long gun with one hand. “Come, now.” He commanded. Then he nudged me forward with the barrel end of his weapon.
“G—go wh—where?” I hardly recognized my stammering.
The soldier ignored me and directed me toward the back of the idling truck where additional soldiers faced me. Tears spilled down my cheeks. Please, no, please no. I cannot be a soldier.
Two hands pressed against my back and shoved me upward. I stumbled on the step, bruising my shin. With no tenderness in the responding touch, the same hands only lifted me to my feet to get me to move. Once inside, my eyes adjusted to the darkness. There were nine girls already huddled together. Two, I recognized from my classes, the others were strangers but welcomed me to their embrace all the same.
Dinner and a Murder!
Septemeber’s Book Club read was “Murder on the Orient Express” It was my first Agatha Christie book and by far not my last! Yes, shame on me for having waiting so long to indulge because she is hands down one of the most brilliant writers I have read. Her descriptions of the characters at times had me laughing out loud. Her writing style is so unique and so refreshingly clear. I watched the movie with Johnny Depp afterward and though it was entertaining, as often the case, I loved the book so much more.
As usual with my book club, the hostess has re-created the atmosphere and setting of the book we are reading so here are the pics of our famously fabulous night on board the Orient Express…
BOOK CLUB!
So I have started a book club in my neighborhood for the first time in my life and super excited about it. I cannot understand why it has taken me so long. So a couple of months ago, I was asked to speak to a book club in a neighboring city since my book Second Survivor had been chosen for their monthly read. When I arrived, I was met with the nicest, most generous women and I decided to emulate my first book club after them. Since they had been together for a couple of years, it was obvious to me they had become quite close. What was fascinating was that the members came from all different backgrounds ranging in age from twenties to seventies and all seemed to truly value one another…this is exactly what I am aiming for. When they showed me a list of their previous reads, I was amazed at the diversity of genres and the fact that they were so open to reading different types of books. I left after a couple of hours feeling honored for being a temporary member of this amazing group.
Today, the woman who is responsible for our first month’s book chose Jane Eyre which I was totally thrilled about. I have not read it for at least two decades and I am thrilled to meet next month to talk about it. I hope if you love reading, you will find a book club to join and not only be exposed to new novels or genres but lifelong friendships as well!
Happy August!
SECOND SURVIVOR AUDIOBOOK
Second Survivor is on Audiobook now thanks to the very talented Larissa Thompson! Rolling out to all audiobook outlets this month, click on the link below to hear an audio sample.
Return to Charlock Sneak Peeks
“Gilford!” The deep voice boomed with deafening precision throughout the vast entry way. Trenton and I had returned from the river an hour before and met with the staff. A dozen new faces appeared on temporary loan from neighboring estates to accommodate the twenty-two guests invited to the Gilford Games, but the arrival of our first guest stole all our attention.
“Hastings!” Trenton met the man with a robust hug. Another man swiftly squashed him from the side. They laughed as they tried to squeeze the air from my fiancé only to release him before he passed out. They weren’t as tall as Trenton, but both could claim an inch or two in shoulder width over him. “Marlowe,” Trenton squeaked out as he struggled for oxygen. They all doubled over in laughter at a jest I imagined happened often. Trenton straightened and flashed a quick smile at my direction. The men didn’t miss Trenton’s target and immediately appeared at my side, each reaching for a hand and kissing my knuckles.
“And who might this lovely creature be?” Hastings posed a diabolic grin.
Trenton scrambled over quickly, breaking us apart by placing an arm around me, then extended one hand in a barrier toward his friends. They simultaneously barked a hearty laugh in response.
“Gentlemen,” Trenton smirked. “Though I can’t say that title is reflective of your behavior.” He cleared his throat. “Meet Kat Shelton, my fiancé.”
“Kat, this raucous chap is Oliver Hastings. Though he will only respond to Hastings.” He pointed to the first man who entered the room. His long blond bangs swept downward past his defined cheekbones as he took a low bow.
“Delighted to make your acquaintance,” he said as he tilted his chin toward me and offered another cheeky smile.
“And this mate is Ethan Marlowe. Also known as . . .” Trenton nodded my direction.
“Marlowe?” I alluded.
“You guessed it, Marlowe.” Trenton pointed to the other man who unlike Hastings, sported dark, curly hair and pierced me with his poignant blue eyes.
“Charmed, Miss Shelton.” He winked dramatically.
“Okay, that’s enough.” Trenton chuckled.
“Nice to meet you both.” I smiled in return.
“I must say, Gilford,” Marlowe watched us with one eyebrow raised. “I never thought I would see you so besotted.”
From behind, Trenton wrapped both his arms around my waist and spoke over my shoulder. “She didn’t give me a choice. She took my breath away the moment I met her.”
I chuckled. “I took your breath away, but only because I left you speechless after I railed you for wanting to sell Charlock?”
Hastings burst out laughing. “You have met your match, mate. Now where are the chits?”
“The women,” Trenton emphasized, “have not yet arrived. Come now, I’ll show you to your rooms and give you time to practice your manners before dinner.”
“I’m offended.” Marlowe retorted, placing his hand against his chest. “I happen to be a master of propriety, especially around the fairer sex. He shot another quick wink toward me; one that Trenton did not miss.
“If you say so, but this one,” Trenton squeezed me close, “is off limits to your so-called proprieties.”
“Very well, Gilford.” Hastings sighed dramatically. “Lead the way.”
“Cheerio, Kat,” Marlowe said as they grabbed their suitcases and obediently followed Trenton down the hallway to their assigned rooms.
***
I studied the grounds. With no one in sight, I could only assume the person bolted for the closest refuge—the stables. Regardless of our ride starting in an hour, I doubted anyone from our party would willingly come out this early in such a barrage.
Once past the heavy wooden doors of the stable, I pushed my hood back for better sight. Droplets fell to the ground all around me as I shook the excess water off me. The overpowering scent of horsehide and manure swirled about, but my focus remained. After wiping my eyes of the extra moisture, I tiptoed cautiously and scanned the stalls stealthily through the dimness. The gloomy clouds had prevented any natural light to stream in or aid in my search. Little sound surfaced aside from an occasional whinny from a horse, even the grooms hadn’t budged yet from their quarters above, but to their defense, they weren’t needed for another thirty minutes.
“Hello?” I called aloud, tamping down any hesitation that wanted to surface. “Is somebody out here?” I continued moving forward, but the squeaky sloshing of my rubber boots hardly concealed my approach.
I peered past each separation, beyond the horses, the gear, and the odorous bales of hay. When I reached the last stall, I stiffened in place. Gripping a pitchfork with both hands, the person in question, thrust it perilously in my direction. I jumped backward and gasped. “No! No, no, no!” The words slipped through my stuttering lips. This cannot be! Pulling my wet hair out of my face, I rubbed my eyes for further clarification while my heart pounded wildly through my chest. Long black hair clung to the woman’s face and against her wet garments. An all too familiar scowl formed on her mouth as she shoved the pitchfork forward, once more, in my direction. I hastily dodged out of range and threw my hands up in defense. Growling, she bared her teeth like a feral animal.
“Margaret!” I yelled. “Stop!”
No kiss would ever be long enough for goodbye…
It’s an interesting experience to hear your characters come alive in the form of an audio recording. For the last few days I have been reviewing the file for Deception, Book 2 in the Berlin Butterfly Series. The very talented actress Betsy Beard did a phenomenal job in Ensnare and has taken on the challenge of this next novel. I say challenge because the German that is intertwined within the English for the cultural experience requires someone who can pronounce these words with skill and Betsy does this with such flair.
Chapter 7-Always in my heart, is a chapter filled with such emotion and as I listened, I was reminded once again of the vulnerability, strength and courage of my sweet Ella. I miss spending every day with her like I did while I was writing the series. She became a huge part of my life so I am grateful to be able to share her story through recording and maybe one day, her presence will change lives on the big screen.
Immerse yourself in the mysteries of the Superstition Mountains!
Kudos to this amazing group of authors who all contributed to the Superstitions Anthology released on April 24th. I see these mountains every day from my front yard and have spent many hours hiking through the unique trails past hieroglyphics, caves, pools, fascinating rock formations, and desert landscapes. Special thanks to Jace Killan for his determination in seeing this through.
#superstitionmountains #leahmoyes #skeletontrek
The MMA fighter, poet, and pianist
Generally, when I fly, I like to settle into my seat, listen to my music, sometimes write or sleep, but rarely engage in conversation with another passenger. It’s not that I’m shy or rude, I just like that quiet place on a plane…however, on a return flight from a recent trip I was pleasantly surprised by a chance meeting. (My son Chad and I spent a week in Orlando. He is a graduating from high school this year.)
After Chad and I got on the plane, I put my earbuds in and was about to find that solitude when a man sat down in the seat across the aisle from me. He was a big guy, not fat by any means, but made a comment about how tight the seat was. I laughed because I worked for this particular airline for 12 years and recognize some of the changes over time. He had such an engaging smile and personality that we immediately began talking.
I marvel at the thin threads of this unique meeting because if I had never responded to his first comment, I would not have met such a fascinating person. Mr. Jacques Diggs AKA Bang Bang, is an MMA fighter who writes poetry and plays the piano on the side. I think I laughed out loud when he told me this…not that I found any of this a joke, I was more astounded, picturing this muscular athlete sitting down on a piano bench and rolling out the tunes.
In the course of our conversation, I learned a lot about his really tough inner-city background, and how the sudden death of his grandmother affected him as a child. She had taken him in as an infant to raise him when his parents abandoned him. For someone with these difficult circumstances, it seems as though it would be easier to choose a darker path, but he has turned his struggles into a positive and healthy way of managing frustration, anger, and pain. He is a former member of the ARMY and a single father who is very involved in his children’s lives as he trains and travels the country participating in MMA fights. One specific thing that really impressed me about Jacques was that he regards his opponents with enormous respect, oftentimes making sure they are okay and even treats them to dinner after a match.
I have never met anyone like him.
The lesson for me here is…who else am I missing out on meeting? We at times live in a comfort zone and are so afraid to venture out and alter our own habits, but when we find the courage to do so, we have an opportunity to invite people into our lives and become a better person for it. I know I have and I’m glad I did. Thanks Jacques!
#JacquesDiggs- #BangBang
https://www.facebook.com/Jacques-Diggs-aka-Bang-Bang-1446043292159633/
Ensnare is a Finalist in the Book Excellence Awards!
Dear Leah,
It is with great pleasure to announce that you have been selected as a Book Excellence Award Finalist for the following book and category:
Book Title: Berlin Butterfly - Ensnare
Category: Historical
Army Wives
I had the amazing opportunity to visit my son, his wife, and my 3 granddaughters recently in Texas. We are a military family, though it all started after 9/11. My husband felt strongly after the attack that he should do his part in protecting our freedoms and joined the Navy. He was 36 at the time so this was not our initial plan, but it turned out to be the right one. Through his service and multiple deployments, he instilled a legacy of honor and courage within our children and today each one plays a different role in patriotism because of him. Our oldest daughter has been actively involved in human rights and fighting human trafficking. Our oldest son is serving in the Army in Texas and our middle son is in the Coastguard currently serving on the Mississippi River. We are truly proud of them all. But what this blog is really about is the connection I witnessed on my recent visit.
Having only been there a couple of years and in a small cul de sac on Post, my son and his wife are joined by several families facing the same uncertainties and concerns as their own…will they be deployed, will I be a single parent for a year or more, will they be transferred, where will they be called up to defend or fight, and many other personal concerns, but this one Friday night a couple of weeks ago during my visit I was privileged to see beyond their fears when they let me have a peek at their unique friendship.
These 5 women come from all different backgrounds, ethnicities, and religious beliefs, but are bound together in an unwavering strength. From a woman with a nose ring and no filter, another with crazy tattoos, one with 2 special needs children and is adopting another, to one woman who adopted her nieces and saved them from a drug house. Once a month they meet at one of the houses in their circle and amongst the cricket crafting machines, piles of cardstock and lamination…jokes, laughter, smiles, some tears, and plenty of chocolate surfaces throughout the night. They create gifts for the woman who is pregnant down the street and has no family here, gifts for their children, their husbands, their families, and even new acquaintances.
Their examples of friendship without limitation and love beyond boundaries are inspiring to me and I thank them for allowing me a glimpse into the goodness that still exists amongst the chaos.
2021
Every New Year’s Eve, we watch the Lord of the Rings trilogy (extended versions) and when the Hobbit came out, we added those to the mix, and every year I am in awe of Gandalf’s wisdom. There are a few key parts in the movies where Gandalf the Grey says some very profound things. Here is one of my favorites…
“All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring
We have the same 24 hours in a day like everyone else—what do you do with your 24 hours?
HAPPY NEW YEAR AND MAY 2021 BE YOUR YEAR TO DO, LEARN, OR EXPERIENCE!
You can never go wrong with chocolate!
Wise words from my Dove chocolate wrapper :) “Everyone has a happy ending, if you’re not happy, it’s not the end!”
“Return to Charlock” Prologue
28 December 1878
“Out at once!”
“Don’t make me, Papa!”
“This is your doing and I insist you see the damage firsthand.”
“I tried. I did everything you asked, please don’t make me face them.”
“Out now daughter, before the entire county sees me pull you out by your skirts!”
“Just being here is shaming.”
“As it should be. Clear out now!”
“Papa,” Josiah strode up next to his father. “Good news, the footman at the door advised me Lord Gentry is in attendance.”
“Brilliant. Thank you, son. He will be our next prospective suitor.”
“Suitor?” His daughter cried with a gasp “But, he must be 50!”
The sneer on her father’s face launched her to action. She did not doubt his threat on pulling her out of the carriage bottom first. Her delicate slippers peeked out from the slim-fitting muslin dress purchased for this very occasion. Her slender hands gripped the side of the carriage when they should’ve gripped the steady hand of a man’s upon descent. Any man. Yet her father and brother whispered off to the side. No doubt conspiring.
“Take her by the arm Josiah. We will present her to Gentry after the ceremony.”
Her cheeks fluctuated from pink to pale. Her mind in a frenzy. She approached the arched entry of Charlock Manor with dark hesitation. The last time she was here, she was positioned to be the matron of the house, now she would be entering as the discarded fiancé of the groom. Her jaw grew rigid, anger boiled beneath her skin. I wish I had the strength to say no . . . to run far away from here.
She glanced behind. Her father’s twisted face of disappointment and disgust met her fully. Once inside, she paused before the grand staircase. Her sights floated to the portrait at the landing. Though she never loved Merritt, he was kind to her—something she couldn’t guarantee would happen with Lord Gentry. They had never met formally, but the man’s reputation of treating his dogs better than his women had reached her ears more than once. As sounds of revelry and laughter came from the ballroom, the young woman whispered a quiet thank you to God for putting a stubborn cow in front of their carriage en route. Being late had been a tender mercy.
“Bloody Hell.” Her father cursed. “This will not fair well.”
Her stomach tossed. Placing a gloved hand over her mouth she felt the contents of her earlier meal rise unsettled and threaten to erupt. “I’m feeling out of sorts. Excuse me for a moment.” To the dissent of her party, she rushed down the hall.
“Don’t linger long, we need to pay our respects.” Her father’s gruff voice followed her through the darkness.
Slipping into the library, she found it to be empty and sighed with relief. She retrieved a handkerchief from her reticule and wiped her moist brow. Taking a long breath, she let her head drop to her hands. Her thoughts went to her circumstances. Her options were bleak. If only she had the strength to leave six months ago, none of this would have happened. She shivered at the memory. The memory of a man whose strong arms surrounded her, comforted her and promised her. She should have left when he asked. Now, now she’s a pawn in a wicked game.
Heavy steps and voices neared the room. she fled farther into the darkness. A small alcove provided hidden shadows and shrouded her presence. Pressing her body against one door, she listened for the anxious voices of those who entered.
“Margaret, are you in here?” Josiah’s familiar tone sliced the blackness.
“Blast that daughter of mine,” Papa cried without a care for his volume. “If she weren’t so favorable, I would’ve cast her off years ago.”
She gasped in the shadows. She knew her father didn’t love her, but to hear him speak of her as if she were a commodity, cut her to the bone. The clink of glass told her they were helping themselves to the fine liquor the Gilford’s kept on the library sideboard.
“Simple mockery, Papa. Look around, we could’ve had all of this.”
“Aye,” Father gulped his drink in loud satisfaction. “With the Missus passing and the man in mourning, his money would’ve been an easy target. After all that work getting Margaret placed well, only to watch it pad someone else’s pouch, irks the devil out of me.”
“If it weren’t for that bloody governess,” Josiah grumbled. “Sticking her nose where it didn’t belong. Said through natter, she got Merritt to reconsider.”
“Of no importance now. On to better days.” The glasses clinked together. “Lord Gentry will be pleased enough with her. Him and his 10,000 pounds a year will please us all.”
Margaret felt faint. Had her entire life been positioned only for their benefit? Did they ever once consider her happiness?
They chuckled in their dark designs.
“What about the other problem, has it been taken care of?” Her Papa muttered.
“Jacob?”
“Shhh. Don’t mention his name ever again.”
Margaret held her breath. Jacob? The mere mention of his name prickled her skin. She leaned forward to grasp what followed.
“He’ll be taken care of, I sent Harker this time. He won’t be returning anymore., Josiah announced with satisfaction dripping from his voice. “You got to hand it to him though, he never gave up. Always believed he had a chance.”
“Well no daughter of mine would ever marry a tradesman, that’s for sure.”
“To the future Lady Gentry.” Another clink and swallow.
“Damn that girl, where is she off to?”
Taking a step backward, Margaret wished to stay hidden, only to find her shoe slip clumsily down a step. She clawed at the frame of the door for stability but made no connection. With a helpless cry, she launched into a full free fall down a stone set of cellar stairs.
***Release date Spring 2021***
Discovering who you are
Recently, my husband and I spent some time in Bisbee, Arizona. It’s a town not far from Tombstone and the famous OK Corral, but has a story all its own. The eclectic hippie town that housed a melting pot of cultures for the copper mine, is artistic and unique. However, for me and my family it is much more. My grandfather, Francisco, came from Spain and married my grandmother, Ysabel, from Mexico and both came to Bisbee to experience the American Dream. Though neither one spoke any English, they owned a handful of businesses at different times for the constant influx of miners. Everything from a restaurant, bar, ice cream shop, and gaming hall. My father, Miguel, and his 6 siblings were born in a little two-room house atop Miller Hill. The stories my father told me as a child came to life while I was there. We hiked the endless concrete steps that led to their home on the mountainside. We walked Brewery Gulch where the buildings that housed their businesses still stand. We explored the haunted hotels and rode the train in the copper mine, but above all, I got a chance to see what they saw and walk where they walked because not much has changed since they lived there from 1914 to the late 1920’s. My sweet grandfather turned 100 years old when I was 13 years old. Yes, you read that right…my grandfather. He passed away two years later. I barely knew him or my grandmother who followed shortly in death. Thankfully technology has made it possible for us to research our ancestors whose blood runs through our veins but we know little about. The stories I have uncovered not only bring me closer to them, but instills a sense of pride and respect for their strength and courage. They faced challenges I could not even comprehend facing, such as the Great Depression, World War II where 5 stars hung from their window representing the 5 sons who went to war and ALL returned which is a miracle in itself, poverty, hunger and at times racism for their cultural differences. Today, we are facing challenges in which some are similar and others are not, but as I read my grandparent’s stories, I feel buoyed and empowered to face what lies ahead ahead knowing they are a part of me.
Bucket Lists
In 2010 I left an airline job after almost two decades. I had made some amazing friendships and it was a tough decision to leave, but it gave me the opportunity to spend one full year with my mom before she died. My last days at work I passed around a book to stay connected with my friends and instead of just asking for their phone number or email, I asked for them to add a bucket list item to their note. With my own additions, the list totaled in the 300’s. Over the years I’ve had more friends add to the list and all along I’ve been slowly checking them off. Now the fun part is that when I write my own items down they come from me, but when others add to the list it can be something completely off the wall and out of my comfort zone. Another point to make here is that many people believe a bucket list only contains exotic locations or death defying acts (it has some of both) but truly anything can be added. Here are some examples of mine-
#10 pay for someone’s dinner anonymously
#36 Hunt for a dinosaur bone
#59 See the inside of Seti’s tomb
#72 Invite a homeless person to Thanksgiving dinner
#92 Cheer for the Yankees (ha I’m a die hard California Angels fan)
#116 Ride every ride in Disneyland in one day
#163 Learn another language
#213 Change somebody’s life
#244 Go jousting at a Renaissance Fair
#300 ride an elephant
Your bucket list can honestly have anything on it. Of my current list, I only have 48 accomplished so far, but that’s what makes the challenge fun. In my monthly newsletter, I include a bucket list item from my own list for my readers. The October challenge was #34 Do 3 random acts of kindness in one day. Something that this world is sorely in need of right now. I hope we can all meet this challenge and in a small way make a difference in each of our corners of the world. Have a great week! #leahmoyes
Breathe, darling this is just a chapter, not your whole story- SC Lowrie
I love this quote! It is perfect for the times we are living in right now. When everything feels as though it is too overwhelming, take a step back and remember this is but a small moment (or chapter) in your book of life. We should take stock of our lives and recognize the small things that make us happy…an Arizona sunset :) a neighbor’s smile, a facetime call with 3 squirmy granddaughters, the list could go on and it is different for each of us. Write them down and put the list somewhere you can see it and constantly be reminded that there is always something to be grateful for.
SECOND SURVIVOR
I am so excited to introduce my new historical fiction novel, "SECOND SURVIVOR"
The cover and release date will be revealed on October 1.
See below for a hint of what’s to come! #leahmoyes
During an archaeological dig on the Northern Coast of Menorca, I spent time in The Monestir (monastery/convent) de Santa Clara Ciutadella (Pictures attached). While there, I discovered a newspaper clipping of the French liner/General Chanzy shipwreck. Immediately drawn to the story, I began my research.
"Second Survivor" is a heart-wrenching historical fiction novel set in both Algiers, Algeria during French occupation, and Menorca, Spain. Told in the perspective of four characters, Second Survivor is a twist on the tragic shipwreck . . . the General Chanzy in the Mediterranean Sea. 156 people aboard the barge lost their lives on the morning of 10 February 1910. There was only one survivor. This story shares the fate of a Second Survivor.