Good afternoon, Miss Stanhope. Thank you for allowing me to interview you in your beautiful mansion.
Adelaide: You’re welcome. Please, help yourself to a scone while the maid pours your tea. Do you take sugar or lemon?
Just one sugar. Thank you. From what I’ve seen of your mansion—the soaring entrance foyer and now this lush sitting room—I must say your home is magnificent! May I ask how many rooms it has?
Adelaide: I’m not entirely certain. Around 75, I believe. My grandmother, Junietta Stanhope, might know. She has lived here ever since my great-grandfather—her father-in-law—built it right after the Civil War.
Are all the rooms this enormous?
Adelaide: No, the ballroom is the largest room, then the formal dining room, which can seat 100 guests. There’s an art gallery, a conservatory, and a library as well.
That seems like a lot of space for . . . how many people?
Adelaide: Three. My mother, Sylvia Stanhope; my grandmother; and me. And the servants, of course.
Yes, of course. My condolences on the recent death of your father, Miss Stanhope. He was a giant in the business world, and will be greatly missed.
Adelaide: Thank you. His death was quite sudden, and a terrible shock to all three of us. That’s why Mother asked to be excused today. She is still in mourning, as I’m sure you’ll understand.
Certainly. Now, a wealthy young woman such as yourself must have many suitors lining up for your hand. Will there will be an engagement announcement in your near future?
Adelaide: I haven’t entertained any serious suitors yet. I’m only nineteen years old. The courtship process hadn’t really begun when Father passed away, and now I must observe the customary period of mourning, as is only proper.
Aren’t you afraid your peers will snatch up all the eligible gentlemen in the meantime?
Adelaide: That’s a very impertinent question! But no, I’m certain there are enough high-society gentlemen here in New York City to go around.
Mm. These scones are delicious. So, will your grandmother be joining us for tea today?
Adelaide: I’m afraid not. As chairman of the Stanhope Charitable Foundation, she has a very busy schedule.
I’m sure she does. She has never been very active in high-society’s social circles, has she?
Adelaide: Only when soliciting donations from other wealthy patrons. The charities she oversees are much more important to her than socializing.
Do you share her passion for the poor and downtrodden, or have you inherited your mother’s love of entertaining with lavish parties and balls?
Adelaide: Neither, at this point in my life. I’m not certain where the future will find me. Forgive me, but I must take my leave now. But please, finish your tea and help yourself to another scone. The maid will show you out.
Lynn Austin is the bestselling author of nearly thirty novels and was one of the first inductees into the Christy Award Hall of Fame. Her novel Hidden Places was made into a Hallmark Channel movie starring actress Shirley Jones. She and her husband have three grown children and make their home in western Michigan.
Welcome to Novel PASTimes! We are pleased you stopped by today.
Tell us something about where you live.
Recently, I came to London from the Netherlands. With German bombs raining down on London, this isn’t a safe place, but it’s the only place for me.
Living in London during the Blitz sounds very dangerous indeed! What brought you there?
When the Nazis invaded the Netherlands, my husband & I fled with our three-year-old son, Theo. On the road, my husband cruelly ripped my son from my arms when I was sleeping and thrust him into the car of an English couple bound for London. My husband refused to tell me their names or address, then he was killed by a German fighter plane.
Now I’m in London, searching for my son.
That’s horrible! What are doing to find him?
I keep a notebook listing every place I search. I’ve visited orphanages and refugee camps and hospitals. I’ve visited the Dutch Embassy and placed advertisements in the papers. When I was inquiring at the Ministry of Health, which coordinates the evacuation of children to the countryside, I ended up taking a job there. My original purpose was to search for Theo among the evacuees, but now I see the importance of our work—not only to encourage evacuation, but to support the children in the country, the foster families, and the billeting officers.
In my search for Theo, I hoped to make an appeal on the wireless after I met BBC correspondent Hugh Collingwood. He was unable to make the broadcast, but I’m still glad I met him.
How’s that? Do I see you blushing?
Please, no. Hugh is a good friend, but he’s charming. After being trapped with a man who used to charm to control people, I’m leery.
However, Hugh’s charm has attracted a circle of friends who have welcomed me. This group of reporters hails from England and America and France, and their conversations are lively and intelligent—if a bit heated when they disagree.
What are you most afraid of?
This is worse than the previous question. Hugh once told me to list my fears, to name the monsters so I could fight them. And the monsters howl inside my head, all day and all night, whether or not I list them.
I fear I’ll never find my son. That he’s dead or abandoned or wandering or living in an orphanage in Nazi-occupied Europe. That, even if he’s in an English home, he’s being neglected or abused or that he’s living in terror of bombs.
And I fear he’ll forget me. He’s only three years old, after all. Hugh said Theo will never forget my love. I cling to that hope and to the hope that one day I’ll find my little son.
Do you have a cherished possession?
Theo’s stuffed elephant, Oli. Oli is his best friend. We used to play a game where Theo would hide and Oli would search for him. I used to tell him that Oli would always find him because elephants never forget. I can still see Theo holding Oli to his cheek to comfort himself, and when I press my face to Oli I can still smell a hint of my little boy.
What have you learned about yourself in the course of your story?
For all my lists and routines and plans, I can’t control my life. My rituals have always given me a sense of comfort, but it’s a false comfort. Turning a knob twelve times doesn’t cause God to release the desires of my heart. The Lord isn’t an automaton to manipulate. I’m slowly learning to trust him.
Thanks for allowing us to get know you a little better!
As the German army invades the Netherlands in 1940, Aleida vander Zee Martens flees her homeland with her husband and her three-year-old son. But when her husband is killed and she is separatedfrom her son, she must escape to London alone to wait out the occupation. She finds work with an agency responsible for evacuating children to the countryside and is determined to use her connections to help her find her son. This includes enlisting the aid of a handsome BBC correspondent. BBC radio correspondent Hugh Collingwood is caught in the middle of the London Blitz. As German bombs set the city on fire, Hugh is determined to boost morale while walking the fine line between truth and censorship. But the Germans are not the only ones Londoners have to fear as a series of murders flame up amid the ashes. As Aleida and Hugh work together to find her missing son and also uncover the culprit behind the murders, they continue to grow closer. But with bombs falling and continued killings, they may be running out of time
Sarah Sundin is the bestselling author of When Twilight Breaks, Until Leaves Fall in Paris, The Sound of Light, and the popular WWII series Sunrise at Normandy, among others. She is a Christy Award winner and a Carol Award winner, and her novels have received starred reviews from Booklist, Library Journal, and Publishers Weekly, and have appeared on Booklist’s “101 Best Romance Novels of the Last 10 Years.” Sarah lives in California.
Welcome, Iris. Thank you for agreeing to answer a few questions. Just relax. No need to be nervous.
Iris: Is there a problem? It’s just that usually when the Praetorians bring people in for questioning, they’ve done something wrong, and I haven’t . . . unless . . . I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, just don’t tear out my fingernails.
What? No! No. That’s extremely disturbing. Nothing’s wrong, we just wanted to get to know you. Chat, you know?
Iris:With me? No one ever wants to talk to me. You know how superstitious Romans are; they just see a blind woman and assume I’m cursed. Maybe I am. I’ve tried everything I can think of to get my sight back. For things to go back to normal, but . . .
You mentioned Romans. Have you always lived in Rome?
Iris: Yes. My pater and I live in a fourth-floor apartment in the insula on Cedar Street. Do you know it? Probably not. It’s not in the nicest part of the city. The stairs can be treacherous, and the neighbors are . . . lively. But it’s our own little place in the world, and it’s not far from the Markets of Trajan. I work in a bakery there.
You’re a baker?
Iris: I don’t do the baking part. Mostly just kneading and shaping, and sometimes if Paulina’s away—it’s her bakery—I work up front. Most of the customers are pleasant, especially Val—never mind. It doesn’t pay much, but every little bit helps, especially now that . . . well, Pater’s debts have been called in.
His debts?
Iris: The gods won’t be bribed for free, you know. And paying physicians to try to heal my eyes isn’t cheap either. They all make grand promises, and in the end, they all disappoint. *shrugs* You probably think me foolish and naive to keep looking for a cure, hoping. But I can’t help it. There’s this part of me that won’t let go of hope no matter how silly it seems.
I don’t think it’s silly. It takes a strong person to keep hoping in the middle of disappointment.
Iris: Maybe. It doesn’t hurt that the man I keep meeting in the market . . . he seems to think I could be healed.
A man?
Iris: Please don’t tell my pater or Titus about him. I don’t think Pater would notice—he’s been worried about money lately and spending a lot of time at the Centaur’s Cup, if you know what I mean. But if Titus knew about this man, he’d do his annoying Praetorian Guard thing and try to hunt him down for questioning—and not this chatting kind.
I see. And Titus is . . . your brother?
Iris: He might as well be. Pater took Titus in and raised him when his father died. He’s hoping to be a Praetorian tribune someday, and I think he’ll make it. He’s very dedicated to eradicating criminals and threats to the empire.
So, going back to this man you met—
Iris: His name is Valentine, of all things. No one could possibly be a criminal with a name like that.
…
Iris: He has a kind voice, and when he comes into the bakery in the mornings, he talks to me the way no one else does. It’s like he sees . . . me.
Why don’t you want your father to know about him?
Iris *whispering*: I think Valentine is a Christian. And they’re not supposed to talk about their God. But he does it anyway and . . . I can’t help it. I want to know more.
And your father would discourage you?
Iris: He’s the head jailor at the carcer, and he’s likelier to throw Valentine in prison than listen to him. It’s illegal for Christians to proselytize and illegal to convert. I . . . I have listened, though, and the Christians are nothing like the stories. I wish Pater could listen. Valentine has a nice voice, and Pater has a heavy mind right now.
Oh?
Iris: I mentioned the money troubles already. If we can’t pay, everything we have will be taken and sold. Including ourselves. The only other way is . . . *shudders*.Pater’s tribune offered to cover the debts . . . in exchange for me.
Oh.
Iris: I don’t know what we’re going to do, but I’m hopeful. If Valentine’s right and I can be healed, perhaps we can find a way out of this mess.
I sincerely hope so. Will you let us know what happens?
Iris: I think you’ll know. This feels like a story that will live on through the ages.
Valentine defies the emperor and becomes a hero . . . and the most wanted man in the empire. Compelled by his faith, he has nothing to lose, until a chance encounter with the daughter of a Roman jailor changes everything.
Rome, AD 270. In the wake of the emperor’s marriage ban, rumors swirl that there is one man brave enough to perform wedding ceremonies in secret. A public notarius and leader of an underground church, Valentine believes the emperor’s edict unjust and risks his own life for the sake of his convictions. But as his fame grows, so do fears for his safety.
Iris, the daughter of a Roman jailor, believes regaining her sight will ease the mounting troubles at home. Her last hope rests in searching out Valentine and his church, but the danger of associating with people labeled a threat to the empire is great. Still, as Iris’s new friends lead her to faith in God, Iris is drawn to Valentine and they both begin to hope for a future together beyond the treacherous empire.
But when a past debt and a staggering betrayal collide, Valentine, Iris, and everyone they love must fight for their lives . . . and wrestle with trusting a God who can restore sight yet does not always keep His followers from peril.
Jamie Ogle is a predawn writer, a homeschool mom by day, and a reader by night. Inspired by her fascination with the storied history of faith, she writes historical fiction infused with hope, adventure, and courageous rebels. A Minnesota native, she now lives in Iowa with her husband and their three children, and she can usually be found gardening, beekeeping, and tromping through the woods.
I was born and raised on a 160-acre farm in central Illinois, about fifteen miles north of Bloomington. My parents built a modest farmhouse, where I grew up reading dime novels in my loft bedroom and dreaming of a life of adventure. When I was ten years old, my father died, and my uncle came to live on the farm. I helped him build a cabin and furnishings from timber off the farm. After he died at Shiloh, I used his cabin as my private retreat, where I continued reading adventure stories and imagining having my own adventures one day. When I was seventeen, my mother died, and I set off to see some of the West. While I was away, the farmhouse and barn burned down, but my uncle’s cabin survived. Today, the farm lies fallow, and I live in the cabin, when I’m not off somewhere on an adventure.
Is there anything special about your name? Why do you think you were given that name?
Jubilee is not a common name, but it is not one I’m ashamed of. I don’t mind being called Jubilee, but most people call me Jubil. I’ve seen a similar name spelled Jubal, but I’ve never known anyone else named Jubilee. My parents named me with the intent of the word in mind—an event for celebration. My mother had a very difficult time while she carried me and a difficult delivery that meant I would be their only child. They named me Jubilee to celebrate my successful birth and my mother’s survival.
Do you have an occupation? What do you like or dislike about your work?
I am in the outfitting business. On my first trip West, I made travel money by working part-time at Warner and Company Outfitters in Council Bluffs, Iowa. I struck up a good relationship with the Warners and agreed to open a new store in my hometown with Mr. Warner’s son, Luke. The Council Bluffs store caters to overland travelers and army posts, but Luke and I cater to travelers in the age of the railroad. My passion for adventure and my acquaintance Major John Wesley Powell, a family friend, has brought expedition outfitting into our business. I very much enjoy testing out our products by using them in the field and helping my partner create improved versions. I don’t mind helping customers select products or the general labor of operating the store, but the recordkeeping and money-handling aspects I leave in Luke’s more capable hands.
Who are the special people in your life?
My parents and my uncle will always be in my heart. As my best friend, Nelly Boswell, and I have grown up together, our relationship has become more complicated. I am hopeful that our relationship will continue to deepen, but my desire for a life of adventure and Nelly’s independent nature make our future together unclear. Nelly’s family has treated me like one of their own for as long as I can remember. Her twin brothers, as troublesome as they may be sometimes, help Luke and me with our store. I owe the Warner family a great deal, for having such confidence in me and encouraging me to live my dreams. And Luke Warner has become for me the brother I never had. I also befriended a Pawnee scout named White Dog during a wagon-train trek across the plains. I hope that friendship grows.
What is your heart’s deepest desire?
To marry Nelly and have a family. But the world is full of adventure and beauty, and I want to experience all of it. I hope to somehow have both a life of adventure and be happily married to Nelly, even though I recognize these desires might not seem complementary. I’d also like to expand my reputation as an adventurer and make my business with the Warners more successful. And of course, I want to make all the people close to me proud.
What are you most afraid of?
Living a lonely, tedious life. Growing up, I honored my father and mother and never complained about life on the farm, but I knew the life of a farmer was not for me. The routine of the chores, the dependence on the weather for success, and the solitary existence all go against my nature. But a man who is too restless to stay at home and be a good husband and father may be destined to spend his time alone. This is not what I want for myself, but I have to be true to my nature.
Do you have a cherished possession?
My parents’ farm is my only remaining link to them, and although I have no interest in farming the land, I have no interest in selling it either. My saddle horse, Star, who I do not think of as a possession so much as a family member, was my father’s until he died. I can’t recall a time when she was not with me. I treasure my father’s Henry rifle, one of the first models made. It is as true and reliable as he was. My mother’s ruby ring is one of the few luxuries she owned and one I hope to someday place on Nelly’s finger. White Dog’s medicine bag is also a treasured keepsake. He gave it to me for saving his life, and it holds spirit tokens that supposedly wield the power to protect me from danger.
What do you expect the future will hold for you?
I hope that Nelly will continue to tolerate my restless spirit and even love me as more than a friend, in the way that a wife loves a husband. The outfitting business suits me well, but I hope to contribute to America’s settlement by being involved in the exploration of the last remaining wilderness areas in our great West.
What have you learned about yourself in the course of your story?
As I grew up daydreaming about a life of adventure, I was concerned that my nature was too meek and commonplace to withstand the demands of a life of danger. But I have learned that being honest, hardworking, pleasant with people, and calm in the face of danger are traits that make me valuable to bolder men who need reliable helpers to succeed where most men can’t.
Is there anything else you’d like people to know about you?
I am unlikely to ever be a problem drinker. While I enjoy an occasional glass of wine, my time with Major Powell in the Grand Canyon cured me of ever developing a taste for whiskey.
Tim Piper is retired from a long career in Information Technology and has been a lifelong hobbyist musician. In his earlier days he was an avid hiker and backcountry camper, but his adventures these days are less strenuous and more comfortable. He lives in Bloomington, Illinois, with his cat, Maggie, who is no help with his writing, but is a stellar companion. He began his education at Illinois State University as an English major, but life circumstances put him on a more pragmatic path, and he graduated with a BS in Business Admin, a degree he finds appropriately named. You can stay in touch with him at www.timpiper-author.com
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Welcome to Novel PASTimes! We are pleased you stopped by today.
Tell us something about where you live.
I’m Sylvie Galant, an Acadian, who lives in the contested territory of Acadie or as the British call it, Nova Scotia, Canada. My homeland is all I’ve ever known and my family owns the hectares of my great-grandfathers, a legacy of farmers, cattlemen, and fishers. With the mountains at our back and the sea before us, we dwell in what visitors say is one of the most beautiful places on earth.
Is there anything special about your name? Why do you think you were given that name?
I’m named after my great-grandmother, Sylvie, who first came to the shores of Acadie in the early 17th-century. I’m delighted that my name honors my ancestry and we can keep my family history alive. I hope to name my own daughter Sylvie and, if I have a son, Bleu, after my beloved elder brother. My name is a bit of departure from tradition. Most Acadian women are named Madeleine, Cécile, Françoise, Anne, Jeanne, or Marie after their godparents. Interestingly, when Acadians marry, the women keep their maiden names their whole life long.
Do you have an occupation? What do you like or dislike about your work?
I am a seamstress. My mother always said I have a gift for stitches. My first project was a little sampler which she pronounced nearly flawless when I was only five. I have since sewn the clothing of my immediate family, both men and women, and have even been employed by Fort Beauséjour as a shirtmaker for the soldiers who occupy the garrison there. But my favorite garment to make is a fancy dress. I can usually stitch a detailed gown in ten days.
I love all the choices of fabric to craft garments. Silks and taffetas and brocades are especially lovely to work yet challenging. I find it very rewarding when someone wears something I’ve made and takes pleasure in it. I dislike having to sew by firelight or low light during the day. It can wreak havoc on your stitches, not to mention your eyesight!
Who are the special people in your life?
My little sister, Marie-Madeleine is the joy of our lives. She is sunshine to everyone she meets. I adore my older brother, Bleu, who is often away from Acadie working for Hudson’s Bay Company as well as his many other pursuits, some of which shall not be named here. And I cannot forget my other brothers, Pascal and Lucien, who remain at home and help my beloved father and mother with their many tasks.
What is your heart’s deepest desire?
To marry and have a family someday. I have not yet met the man but it is wonderful to imagine him out there, somewhere, prior to our paths intercepting. And I hope to use my gift as a seamstress to benefit others. I do not think of it as merely sewing but creating beauty and adorning whoever wears the garments of my hands and heart. Also, I long to know Christ better and better. To hear “well done, good & faithful servant” when my earthly race is done.
What are you most afraid of?
Acadie has been fought over by the English and the French for hundreds of years. Both countries want us to take an oath of loyalty but my people remain peaceful and neutral. All we desire is to live in peace but turmoil is all I’ve ever known. I hope never to lose my homeland, the place Acadians have lived for generations. But the fighting continues and might result in something dire.
Do you have a cherished possession?
That would be my sewing kit. It was given to me by my maternal great-grandmother when I was four years old. She brought it to Acadie from her homeland of Scotland when she was young and left it to me upon her passing. Though it looks quite plain being made of linen, it has all the tools of my trade within – needles, thread, scissors, thimble, and bodkin.
What do you expect the future will hold for you?
I sense my future might change violently and quickly based on the escalating war around us. I pray not, but these English who rule over the American colonies and parts of Canada seem to have a voracious appetite for more land no matter who it belongs to.
What have you learned about yourself in the course of your story?
My story has caused me to examine my own life in a profound way. I now look at how I respond when circumstances are out of my control. What is my reaction to calamity? In what or who do I place my trust? If the worst happens, what do I have left? My priorities are shifting and centering more on my relationship with the Lord because that is the one constant in life.
Is there anything else you’d like people to know about you?
Though I appear quite serious, far moreso than my younger sister, I experience a great deal of joy in the natural world and plying my needle as a seamstress. I love my family and friends and my faith. I am quite blessed despite my fears and an uncertain future.
Thanks for allowing us to get know you a little better!
Laura Frantz is a Christy Award winner and the ECPA bestselling author of fifteen novels, including The Rose and the Thistle, The Frontiersman’s Daughter, Courting Morrow Little, The Lacemaker, and A Heart Adrift. She is the proud mom of an American soldier and a career firefighter. Though she will always call Kentucky home, Laura lives with her husband in Washington State.
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384 pages Publisher Berkley Publication date June 13, 2023
This novel was inspired by actual events using fictional characters. We’ve all heard of the evacuation of British children during WWII but I for one hadn’t heard about the attack and subsequent sinking of a ship carrying evacuees to Canada. The story begins with two women: Alice doing her part by volunteering to escort these children and Lily, a mother making the difficult decision to send her children away to where she’d thought they’d be safer. There was an escort convoy but the problem was the escort ships left before the children’s ship was safe. The parents hadn’t been told they wouldn’t be escorted all the way to Canada. Of course everyone knew it was dangerous but choices had to be made and the best hoped for. One article I read said 15,000 children were killed or seriously injured in Britain during the Blitz.
We see the Blitz on London, travel with the characters to shelters in the middle of the night, nearly every night for a time. It’s understandable that the British people thought their children needed to be sent to somewhere safer. They didn’t know if, like France, they might be invaded by the Nazis.
When the unthinkable happens, Alice and some of the children she is responsible for, along with some other adults, board the last lifeboat to leave the sinking ship. After they realize they wouldn’t be rescued (in real life it took until the next day for a ship to come to the site looking for survivors) they made a plan to sail to Ireland. They had drifted away from the search area and assumed to have not survived. There are storms, ill passengers, too little food and water. The author is so skilled with painting the story that the reader can imagine it all. It’s heart wrenching. There are moments of insanity brought on by too little nourishment and sleep. There is nothing they can do to help the sick. But there are wondrous moments too. Alice retelling the story of Moby Dick to the children to entertain them. A sometimes brunt but charming man named Owen who takes daily swims outside the lifeboat, incredibly beautiful sunrises and visits from curious whales. Alice learns more about herself than she ever would have without this experience and grows to believe in herself and her purpose in life. Lily, back at home, is a recent widow. She must deal with guilt, fear, and depression. Obviously the sinking of the ship with her children on it is devastating and life changing. So much happens in just eight days! There are times in the story where I couldn’t see how they could possibly find healing, but as with other Hazel Gaynor novels, there is hope and a satisfying ending.
Don’t miss the author’s note. This is a part of history that was a failure on the British government’s part but also something that was learned from. So many children (and adults) lost their lives in this attack (Only 13 of the 90 children onboard through the evacuation scheme survived.) and their memory deserves to be preserved. The authors does this with this well-written, intense, and stirring novel. Highly recommended.
Welcome to Novel PASTimes! We are pleased you stopped by today.
Tell us something about where yourself:
My name is Daniel Hawkins. My wife’s name is Maggie, and we have a wee one on the way. We make our home in a modest cabin in Loudoun County, Virginia.
Ah! You have a wife. I enjoy love stories. How did you meet, and how long have you been married?
It seems I’ve always loved Maggie. We grew up as neighbors and attended the same church services as children. When Maggie blossomed into a young woman, I found countless reasons to stop by her home for a visit. She welcomed my company, and soon we became inseparable. Sadly, we were married but a few months when I joined the militia to fight against the British in the spring of 1814.
So you are a soldier? Is that your profession?
I was a farmer by trade before joining the militia. My stint in the army ended prematurely due to a devastating injury that changed the direction of my life entirely.
I’m sorry to hear that. How was your life altered by your injury?
I returned home a broken man, having lost my will to try or even live. Farming was no longer an option, so I withdrew from everyone, including Maggie. I saw no purpose in living and basically gave up for a time.
Sounds miserable. What brought you out of such a slump?
I credit my dear wife’s earnest prayers, along with my brother-in-law, Jonathan’s, tenacious attempts to pry me from my self-pity. On a trip into town, the Lord began to stir my heart to renewed purpose. I noticed a wooden cradle in the store that would have been perfect for our coming child. As Christmas neared, I wished to surprise Maggie with it. But money was scarce, so I gave up the notion and decided instead to try my hand at fashioning one myself.
Wow! But you said you were a farmer. Did you have any sort of carpentry skills?
I come from a family of whittlers and carvers. As a boy, I watched my father carve and build, but never really caught interest in trying the craft myself. But I had inherited my father’s carving tools which had been passed down to him from his uncle Silas. When I mentioned the idea of building a cradle to Jonathan, he was all for it and agreed to supply the wood.
That’s great. And did your cradle turn out well? Did you carve anything else?
I shall leave that for readers to assess and discover as they delve into my story, A Lasting Legacy.
Sounds good. What have you learned about yourself in the course of your story?
That on my own strength, I am nothing. The Lord is the Master Craftsman of my soul. He alone brings strength, purpose, and healing to our lives. We only need look to Him in our time of need, and He will supply what we need. Instead of giving up, we must look up to our Heavenly Father.
Wonderful insights for us all. Thanks for allowing us to get know you a little better, Daniel!
About: A Lasting Legacy is one of four novellas included in Chiseled on the Heart Christmas Novella Collection: A Christmas Legacy Novella Collection
The Gift of a Lamb by Elaine Cooper
In 1776, 14-year-old Charlotte Hawkins and her brother, 10-year-old Elias, are still grieving the death of their parents. Their parents left instructions to be sent from their home state of Virginia to live with relatives they barely know, in Connecticut. The trip was dangerous, as war raged between the Redcoats and the Americans. To make matters worse, the churches in Connecticut don’t celebrate Christmas at all. Will this be the orphans’ worst Christmas ever?
A Lasting Legacy by Cynthia Roemer
Loudoun County, Virginia, 1814. After a disabling injury sends Daniel Hawkins home from war, he struggles how to provide for his young wife, Maggie and the child she’s carrying. As Christmas approaches, he finds a sheep his grandfather carved and attempts to carve a nativity set for Maggie. When she goes into labor during a Christmas Eve blizzard, Daniel is forced to face his feelings of inadequacy. And perhaps learn that God has a plan for his life after all.
Healing within the Pieces by Candace West
Prison shackles haunt Nathaniel Hawkins upon his return home only to discover it occupied by a woman in hiding. Bad men are no strangers to Delia Evans, but the intruder who barged into the farmhouse shrinks from her. With no other refuge, they must endure each other. But have they misjudged? When the past shadows their doorstep, is a grudge worth the price of a man’s life?
The Christmas Carving by Kelly Goshorn
Wyatt Hawkins dreads Christmas. Memories from the fatal shooting of his childhood friend on Christmas Eve, 1864, has left a bitter taste in Wyatt’s mouth toward God, the holiday season, and his former fiancée, Madelyn Cunningham. As Christmas draws near, can the star he’s carving for his family’s heirloom nativity point Wyatt back to the woman he’s never forgotten and the faith he’s left behind?
Author Bio:
Cynthia Roemer is an inspirational, award-winning author who enjoys planting seeds of hope into the hearts of readers. Raised in the cornfields of rural Illinois, she enjoys spinning tales set in the backdrop of the mid-1800’s prairie and Civil War era. Cynthia feels blessed the Lord has fulfilled her life-long dream of being a published novelist. It’s her prayer that her stories will encourage readers in their faith. She and her husband reside on the family farm and will soon celebrate their 30th Anniversary. They have two grown sons, a daughter-in-love, and a spoiled cat named, Chad. Visit Cynthia online at: http://www.cynthiaroemer.com
Merry Christmas 1966 from US First Lady, Lady Bird Johnson
“I’ll start this interview by saying with Lyndon in the White House, my favorite roles as First Lady are decorating the White House Christmas Tree and supporting my national Wildflower Initiative to save America’s native plants and beautify our landscapes. I’m combining those this year by decorating our White House tree with hand-painted wildflower ornaments. Did you like the sneak peek I gave you?”
“Absolutely. You’re outdone yourself and we got great photos. How did you choose the tree?”
“That’s my favorite part. I love a good love story. Don’t you?”
“I’ll say! And so do our readers.”
“Our White House Tree, like the Rockefeller Tree, is chosen through a contest with growers all over the country submitting their trees. This year it boiled down to two neighboring farms in Wisconsin.”
“Neighbors? Imagine the competition.”
“Even more when they’re feuding because one’s Norwegian and the other Swedish.”
“That sounds like a bad movie. I can tell where this is heading.”
“Not this time. This one’s different. The Norwegian’s forestry major niece, Marcy, and the Swede’s financial planner son, Kris, dated in high school and he’d carved their initials inside a heart on the trunk of one tree before they graduated and went separate ways.”
“How sad.”
“But if a romance is meant to be, it works out.”
“You’re right, Mrs. Johnson. So more was going on than raising Christmas trees?”
“Call me Lady Bird, and yes there was.” Her dimples flashed. “But let the young people share their story as they told me. Marcie? Fill our reporter in.”
Marcie: “Sure. Uncle Halvor’s problem with tree blights inspired me to study forestry to find answers. When the blight and his finances reached their worst, I arranged to do my last university semester at home to help. Now Kris should tell you his part.”
Kris: “Gladly. When Dad sent an S.O.S. that he needed me home short-term or our farm could go under, he didn’t say Marcie had come back.” He squeezed her hand. “That was a great surprise. It didn’t take us long to reconnect.”
Marcie: “I’ll say. And then Kris told me about the contests and if we competed to supply the White House Tree, it could increase sales and publicity.”
“Even though you knew only one of you could win?”
Kris: “That was the hardest part. At first I promised myself I’d go back to professional life in New York City if it wasn’t the Lundquist Farms tree. But by then I was loving our small town more than ever—and also a certain special forestry major.” He gave Marcie a quick hug. “Until I finally realized there was something I could do about who won.”
“What do you mean?”
Marcie blushed. “Don’t give it away, Kris. Make them read our story.”
“You’re right.”
Lady Bird: “They’ll love it when they do. And I’ll do even more when you two come see me again after Christmas.”
Kris: “You will?”
Lady Bird: “Yes. You didn’t think the fun would end here, did you?”
Marcie: “Wow. I can’t wait to find out.”
Delores Topliff grew up in Washington state but married a Canadian so enjoys dual citizenship. She teaches Christian university classes online, travels, and published children’s books and non-fiction stories before finding her stride writing historic fiction. Books Afloat, Christmas Tree Wars, Wilderness Wife, and Strong Currents have been published since January 2021. Delores loves her two doctor sons and five grandchildren and divides her year between a central Minnesota farm and the gentle climate and people in Northeastern Mississippi. I used to make fun of snowbirds and now I am one.
Welcome to Novel PASTimes! We are pleased you stopped by today. How will you be spending Christmas in 1942?
There’s a war on, so things aren’t quite as exciting as they once were. I took a lot of leave from my job at RAF Bottesford earlier in the year when my mother died, so I can’t go home for the holiday. I do get to spend the evening with my best friend Grace. She has invited me and some of the men we work with to celebrate with her family.
Any of those men special to you?
Absolutely not! The airmen I work with are dreadful! Don’t even get me started … Except Alec Thomas will be there. I’m trying so hard not to like him, because I’m worried he’s the same kind of man as my ex-boyfriend, who turned out to be a real scoundrel. Alec is incredibly good-looking. You know Clark Gable from Gone with the Wind? He looks just like him, except he’s Australian so when he speaks he sounds more like Errol Flynn might. Grace says I should give him a chance, but I don’t know that I can risk it. He is such a flirt!
So you are in the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force?
Yes, but we just call it the WAAF. I joined up in ‘40, as soon as I turned 18. I wanted to do something to help the war effort and preferred air force blue to khaki and brown! Now I’m an officer. I have a little responsibility over the enlisted women, which is daunting when I’m not that much older than most of them.
And you work at RAF Bottesford? What can you tell us about your job?
RAF Bottesford is a heavy bomber station with Bomber Command, which means that our crews fly large aircraft on bombing raids over occupied Europe, mostly Avro Lancasters. It’s dangerous work, but it’s the only way we can take the fight to Hitler right now. We send the men out on night time operations in sub-zero skies, and many times they don’t return. In fact, many of them leave notes on their pillows to be sent to their families in case the worst happens. Despite having sworn off pilots romantically, I can’t deny that what they do is impossibly brave.
I work in the control tower, giving pilots permission to take off and land, and relaying messages from the ground. Mine is the last voice the pilots hear before they fly. I take that responsibility seriously because, in reality, mine might be the last voice they will ever hear.
What will Christmas at RAF Bottesford look like?
Since the new Australian squadron arrived we’ve had terrible weather, but at least that means less flying and more socialising! They’ve held several dances in December already, some people are rehearsing a pantomime and I know the kitchen staff are planning a smashing Christmas dinner with ham and turkey, which is almost unheard of at the moment! I hope there will be seconds! On New Year’s Eve, we’ll go to the dance hall in Grantham. I can’t wait.
What about your family? Will you miss them?
Very much. I only have one sister, Rosie. She’s sixteen and currently at home with our father. I know it’s not really polite to speak about these things in public, but he is grieving my mother so very deeply right now and he has retreated into himself. Rosie only has our housekeeper Mrs. Bickham for company, and although Mrs. Bickham makes the best Christmas gingerbread in all of Warwickshire, she’s a poor substitute for our mother. At least, I’ll have Grace and her family, and all my chums from the WAAF this Christmas.
What about Alec Thomas?
We’ll see what Christmas brings, shall we?
Read about Maggie’s wartime Christmas in Heart in the Clouds, available at Amazon and other retailers.
____________
About the author:
Australian author Jennifer Mistmorgan sometimes feels like she was born in the wrong era. So she writes romantic historical fiction set in the 1940s, against the backdrop of WWII and its aftermath. Her romances are always sweet but sometimes gritty, infused with hard-core historical research, gentle faith and foodish flair. She lives in Canberra with her family and a wonky-eared West Highland terrier. Find out more atjennifermistmorgan.com, or onFacebookorInstagram.
Having run away from home in the summer of 1914 to join the Great War for Civilization, 16-year-old Evan Sinclair managed to cross the country by train, the Atlantic by steamer, and having crossed through France into occupied Belgium, he found himself with the Flemish resistance in the dangerous mission of flooding the lowlands—a singular act that stopped the Germans from reaching the northern ports and turned the tide of the war. Having played a key role in that critical mission, Evan was badly wounded and spent some weeks in a field hospital in northern France. Discharged from hospital, he and other recovering wounded soldiers are being sent back to England by hospital ship.
Ten minutes out of Calais and bound for Dover, the HMHS Austrium pitched on the Chanel swells on a cold morning in late November. Sixteen-year-old Evan Sinclair stowed his gear on the upper berth of a cramped cabin, and grasping the worn handrail, headed up the narrow steel stairwell to the ship’s deck. He stepped to the side as a deckhand descended the stairs and asked, “Y’know where I might find Evan Sinclair?”
“Right here. That’s me.”
The man handed him a piece of paper. “This just arrived for you.”
In the half-light he could make out the words.
NOVEL PASTIMES WISHES TO INTERVIEW EVAN SINCLAIR PLEASE RESPOND
Evan frowned and thought, “What the hell does that mean? Then he called out to the deckhand who had begun climbing back up the steps. “Hey! They want me to respond. How am I supposed to do that?”
“At the wireless office. Come with me.”
Evan followed the deck hand up the stairs and soon found himself on the bridge. There the deckhand nodded at a closed door.
Pushing it open, Evan saw a young man reading as he reclined, feet up on a low desk between a typewriter and a burnished brass telegraphy set. Looking up from his copy of Argosy All-Story Magazine, he asked,“Are you Evan Sinclair?”
“Yes.” He held up the paper. “I believe this came from you. What do you make of it?”
The young man shrugged. “They want to interview you.”
“About what?”
“If you’d like, we can find out right now.” The telegraph operator sat forward and readied his hand over the key-type transmitter. “Shall we?”
“Do you have time for that?”
“For now, I do. There’s nothing in the queue, and they’re waiting for your response at the destination station in London—”
“London? Isn’t that too far away?”
“Not at all—we can transmit wireless over twice that distance.”
“How?”
“Morse code by radio waves. Do you want to do this or not?”
“Sure,” he said and watched as the operator began tapping the brass key. Once he stopped, Evan asked, “What did you transmit?”
“I told them that Evan Sinclair is standing by for the interview with Novel PASTimes.” The operator moved his headphones up from his neck to his ears and reached out to bring the typewriter forward. “They’ll get back to us soon enough and I’ll type out the responses for you—”
Before he finished speaking, Evan could hear the shrill staccato of the Morse code from the operator’s earphones. As he began typing, Evan leaned down and read the message.
WELCOME HOME HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE A HERO
A hero? he thought. Are they referring to what I did to help flood the polders? Evan said nothing for a few seconds while the images flashed through his head—the bright moon over the lowlands, the partisans exposed by the sluice gate, the German machinegun from within the protecting nest of sandbags, firing and firing, smoke from the gun rising in the air, desperate and failed attempts by the partisans to silence it, with pistol, with grenade. He remembered crawling over smooth stones in the mud, trying to reach the dark shelter of the poplars, there the foliage blocked out the moonlight and he was able to stand and hurl smooth stones with his sling into the machinegun nest, again and again, drawing their attention away from the partisans at the sluice gate. And, finally, moonlight shining on rising water as the polders flooded—
The telegraph operator cleared his throat. “Do you want to reply?”
Evan nodded. “Tell them – I’m not sure what they mean.”
The operator tapped out the message, and the reply came quickly, and the young man typed it out.
FLOODING POLDERS KEPT GERMANS FROM TAKING NORTHERN PORTS AND WINNING THE WAR NOW THEY WONT NOT NOW NOT EVER
He knew that was true. The key to a quick German victory was to seize the port cities of northern France and Belgium. But slowed and stopped with the flooding of the lowlands, their progress had ground to a halt. And everyone knew that without a quick victory, Germany would have none. And though the subsequent trench warfare was horrific and grinding, it contained Germany and drew out the war, and a longer war would end in Germany’s defeat.
Which is why I left home to join the Great War for Civilization, he thought. To make a difference. And I did.
He spoke a shortened version of those thoughts to the operator who tapped them out into the wireless radio waves bound for London. After a few minutes the next question came.
THERES TALK OF YOU RECEIVING THE VC
The Victoria Cross? Evan shook his head in disbelief. Britain’s most prestigious decoration? They’d give it to me for throwing rocks at Germans? The ones who really deserve a medal are the Flemish partisans who died at the sluice gate, the ones who actually flooded the polders—Emile Peeters and Hendrik Geeraert.
Evan proceeded to dictate these thoughts to the operator who tapped them out. Evan made sure that he got the spelling of their names right.
After a few minutes the next question came, the shrillness of the code less jarring as Evan was getting used to it. He read the typed transcription.
WHAT DO YOU PLAN TO DO ONCE YOU GET BACK TO ENGLAND
Before speaking, Evan considered how to reply. I’m pretty sure my dad left Utah to look for me in England. He’s probably back now—at our old house in Oxford. I definitely want to spend some time with him—to mend fences after the way I ran off. And once I’m fit for service I want to get back to the fight, that is, if the war is still going on. But not on the Western Front—I’ll ask for them to send me to Cairo.
Dictating these thoughts to the operator, Evan hoped that his father might hear the news before he arrived at the front door in Oxford. As he waited for the tapping to stop, his thoughts turned to a beautiful young nurse he had met while hospitalized in France. I’d really like to get back there for a quick visit—to see her again—
“Uh-oh!” the operator cut into his thoughts. “I’ve got someone in the queue now. I’ve got to sign out with NOVEL PASTimes, and take this.”
“No problem. I’m glad we’re done,” Evan said as he watched the operator hunch over listening as he typed out the incoming message.
GERMAN U BOATS SIGHTED IN CHANNEL BEGIN EVASIVE MANEUVERS
Evan’s breath caught as the operator grabbed the message and ran out to the bridge, yelling for the captain.
Wireless Telegraphy Communication between ship and shore was by Morse code, as it was for conventional telegraphy. The equipment only transmitted messages for about 300 miles in daylight, although that figure doubled or tripled after dark thanks to the refraction of long-wave radiation in the ionosphere. The wireless operators sending these messages were independent young men of the modern age who had been recruited with the promise of escaping “blind alley careers”. They chatted to wireless operators in other ships in a jaunty, mock public school slang, calling each other “old man”.
Photo of the HMHS Austrium
Michael J. Cooper emigrated to Israel in 1966 and lived in Jerusalem during the last year the city was divided between Israel and Jordan. He graduated from Tel Aviv University Medical School, and after a 40-year career as a pediatric cardiologist in Northern California, he continues to do volunteer missions serving Palestinian children who lack access to care. His historical fiction novels include “Foxes in the Vineyard,” set in 1948 Jerusalem, which won the 2011 Indie Publishing Contest grand prize, and “The Rabbi’s Knight,” set in the Holy Land in 1290. “Wages of Empire” won the 2022 CIBA Rossetti Award for YA fiction along with first- place honors for the 2022 CIBA Hemingway award for wartime historical fiction. He lives in Northern California with his wife and a spoiled-rotten cat. Three adult children occasionally drop by. Learn more at michaeljcooper.net.
Novel PASTimes 