Escape From Scrutiny

By Mary Brockway
Romantic Suspense, 197 pages
Cover art by Richard Stroud

Blurb:
'Andrea Madison,' she told Kent. The Andrea part was right, but her married name was Andrea Madison Silverton, widow of the Under Secretary of the Interior.  No one couldn't blame her for wanting to shed two years of hearings and malicious speculation about his tragic death, by leaving Washington D.C. But why Grass Springs, Montana? Did she know someone here?

Excerpt:
Andrea was halfway to Grass Springs when Amy shouted.

"There's a plane up there, Mom. I think it is Mr. Sawyer's."

Braking sharply, Andrea watched as Kent circled, then swooped the plane low. "He's trying to tell us something. Evidently can't reach us on the radio." She picked up the receiver and extended the antenna. A static sound came through when she punched a key. "Hello, Andrea below you. Can you hear me?"
"Barely," Jeff shouted. "Turn around fast and drive directly to the airstrip. Fire's cut off the road to town!"

Andrea took a deep breath to stay calm. Narrow squeeze for turning. No shoulders, the one place with deep ditches. Backing up to a wider place took her complete concentration. After several tries, she eased the van around to face north. "Tight parking place, kids."

As she neared the old house, David shouted. "Watch it, Mom. There's a whole bunch of deer turning into our yard."

"We're not stopping there, Davy. We've got to get up to the airstrip." But she slowed to take a last glance at the house. Smoke billowed behind the windbreak, probably Kent's cottonwood grove. She covered the two miles at reckless speed, squealing into the Skyline Ranch drive, and around the perimeter of the house to the airstrip.

Kent and Jeff were pulling things from the plane to lighten the load when Andrea stopped the van. She and the children leapt out of the car. Kent hurried over and crushed her to his chest.

"Thank God, Andy, you made it. When we saw the flames leap across the road, I nearly had a coronary."

"Next move is yours, Kent. Do we try to drive around the fire?"

"No. That north section road is too dangerous. The road crews were fixing some winter washouts when they had to go fight the fire. We'll fly out."

"Three adults and two children? You'll have to make a couple of trips."

"Jeff's going to the canyon to help Bates. I've almost got the Cessna stripped down enough for the four of us. Afraid you'll have to leave the baggage."

While Kent finished fueling the plane, Andrea grabbed a bag of sandwiches and the thermos of coffee. She recalled Doug's warning never to take off without something to eat and drink in case you had to land in a pasture somewhere. Tears fogged her vision. She'd packed his lunch that day. Peanut butter and honey sandwiches.

David and Amy were unusually quiet. She hugged them both tightly. "You okay, kids?"

"Yeah, Mom." David said, tears oozing from the corner of his eyes. "Will the fire hurt the deer?"

"You mean the ones we saw in our yard?"

"Uh huh. Did they think we'd take care of them and we just went right on by the house?"

"Maybe. Or maybe it was because I left two tubs of water and a dozen apples in the back yard. Animals can sense water and deer love apples."

Kent, his face red with the hurried effort to get the plane ready, squeezed David's shoulder. "Got a neat little nest in the back for you, David. And Amy will fit just in front of him. Come on, I'll help you in."

Andrea turned to Jeff, who stood mopping his sweating forehead. "Do you think the van would make it to the canyon? It's full of our stuff, but doesn't have all wheel drive. I know Bates took the Subaru."

Jeff nodded. "That's a good thought. I don't relish the notion of driving Kent's Lincoln or this little Ford over that old section road. Your van's got more clearance. Truck's already at the canyon. Steve and Althea hauled in hay and oats for the horses this morning. They're staying in the canyon with Bates."

"Kent, look!" Andrea could not stifle a cry when she saw high flames in the grove directly south of Kent's house. He moved beside her.

"I know. That's the reason we have to fly out or hide in that stifling canyon. We'd better get this operation over."

Andrea tossed the van keys to Jeff. "Good luck to you and Bates."

"And Bangle and her pups," David yelled from the plane.

Andrea tried to relax her deep tension as Kent taxied to the far end of the tarmac strip. She glanced toward the wind indicator and saw that it blew straight from the west. That would help the loaded plane take off, but predicted dire results for the ranch house. Her hands clenched tightly as Kent took most of the runway to lift off.

Andrea noticed Kent's clothing was dotted with burned holes. She ran a hand over her hair, brushed off several cinders, and grinned at him. "Whew! Where to now, Prince Charming?"

Kent reached over to squeeze her knee. "To a better place than hell, Cinderella."

The Willows of Sky Pass

By Mary Brockway
Historical, 409 pages
Cover art by Richard Stroud
Blurb:
Willows of Sky Pass begins in the great depression, and then World War II. The story is told from the viewpoints of two very different families.
Many younger Americans have learned little about thousands of West Coast Japanese /Americans who were ordered from their homes and businesses with only what they could carry.

Excerpt:
The Western Washington Fair had been a yearly pleasure for the Tegano family, an outing planned for months ahead. Mai remembered how proud she had been when Beth won blue ribbons for her canned peaches and embroidered pillow cases last year. Her throat tightened. And Samiko's watercolor of Toby had also merited a blue ribbon. So many things had changed in one short month.

A hoarse voice shouted instructions to line up alphabetically by family names at desks along the wall. At the "T" desk, a grim-faced Caucasian woman with a placating tone in her voice, checked their identification and asked, "You speak English?"

"Yes," Taki answered.

After many questions about his residence and family members, she handed him a sheet of paper containing a number and a rough diagram.

Samiko peered over her father's shoulder. "It's where our rooms are located, Pop. Let me see." She turned it sideways and adjusted her glasses. "We're to be in the north parking area. I don't remember any buildings out there."

The loudspeaker announced in English, then Japanese. "When you receive your room assignments, please go to the cafeteria in the restaurant building for further instructions."

 Taki shook his head, trying to sort out the message. The speaker's voice echoed through the grounds and static rattled in his ears. "Did you hear?" he asked Kenzo.

"Didn't get all of it. I guess we should just follow the crowd, Pop."

In the big drafty building, they found seats at one of the long tables and piled their belongings under the benches.

A balding army officer with two bars on his uniform shoulder, stood at a microphone on a small stage at the north end of the building. "Testing. Testing. One, two." He paused and tapped on the microphone after someone shouted that they couldn't hear.

"Since its supper time, I know you must be hungry. Please line up by tables starting with number one on my far right, take plates and fill them at the cafeteria counter. After you have eaten, you will be directed to the temporary quarters described on the maps you were given."

Their table was number fifty, so the Tegano family waited patiently while most of the crowd went through the line. A low murmur of voices echoed from the high corrugated metal roof. Mai watched the stoic unsmiling people move through the line, their voices hushed, and faces solemn. "Will our baggage be safe while we go for food?" she asked Samiko.

Samiko moved her legs over the bench. "I'll ask Mr. and Mrs. Onisota at number forty-one to watch it." She took her mother's arm. "Our turn, Mama."
A plump man wearing a spattered white apron scooped rice on Mai's plate. Mai moved on and the next waiter splashed a greasy substance, the gravy Caucasians liked, over it. She got a mound of what seemed to be shredded cabbage, then a slice of cake with white frosting. Everything moved together on her plate as she was jostled to her seat by the crowd.

Mai unfolded a paper napkin wrapped around a fork one of the men had placed on her tray as she passed. In restaurants, and at the Tylers', she had learned to use the hakujin silverware. But tomorrow, she would bring her eating sticks. Before tasting the food, she sampled the tea in a thick white cup. It was cold.

Samiko made a gagging sound. "If this is what we eat, I'll lose weight fast."

Kenzo pushed his fork into the mass on his plate. "They guessed Japanese like rice." He grimaced as he swallowed. "But not drowned in creamed chipped beef."

Noriko took a tiny taste. "You wanted to go into the Navy. Mr. Herbert says they eat gobs of this stuff. It's not so bad and the cake is spice, like Mrs. Tyler makes."

"The raw cabbage is tasty," Mai said, watching Taki silently scrape the gravy from his rice. "Perhaps tomorrow we can cook and eat in our rooms."

Mai's hope died as the microphone rattled again. "When you have finished your meal, stack your dishes in the container at the end of the tables and leave them there. Tomorrow, you will answer the breakfast call at seven o'clock. You must take all meals in this building. From now on, if you have them, bring your own dishes and silverware to meals. After you receive work assignments, you will be responsible for assisting in the preparation of your food and for washing up."

Falcons Fly West

By Mary Brockway

Historical 403 pages

Cover art by Richard Stroud

ISBN 978-1-61309-102-9   $7.50

ISBN 978-1-61309-901-8   $12.95

Blurb:

When Oliver Cromwell’s Parliament tightens its grip on former Royalists, John FitzStephen and his son sail to America where he owns a land tract. John thinks he has left religious and political strife in England but he is wrong, for many colonists brought their bigotry to America. John hopes he can leave his love of sailing the world and begin a new life in New Haven Colony. He finds friends, and a foe, Puritan zealot, Reverend Joseph Foxe.

Exerpt:

“He will say women are easily frightened and that it was no doubt nothing at all, perhaps only a mouse.”

“But Abner and his father, and the whole Meggs family, did see the Indian on their property.”

“That won’t matter if Foxe fills the panel with his loyal parishioners. I suspect he already has the jury intact. I pray Dobbs can foil his attempts.”

The following morning after the cow was milked and chores done, Charlotte and Elizabeth packed valises and climbed into their pony cart.

John instructed Will about changing Lucian’s bandages, and doing the needed chores, then rode along with them. He was armed with a sheaf of notes written in Lucian’s precise hand, dictating the best procedure for ensuring that his sister and niece did not suffer the indignity of being placed in stocks in the public square. He had cited several law passages covering murder trials, but warned John that New Haven Colony was not England, and resorted to using its own law at times.

Elizabeth rode stoically, but Charlotte shed tears and her mother took her hand. “Keep your spirits high, my child. They want you to cry, to be ground into the earth in shame. Remember that.”

Shouts came from the square as the cart proceeded into it. Again, a crowd had gathered. John gasped, when he saw the stocks beneath the large oak. So they did plan to put Charlotte into them. He rode ahead.

He pointed to the stocks. “You will not be using these, for she is accused of murder. Charlotte Rogers will await trial in the jail and her mother will stay there with her.” He nodded to the small cabin next to the magistrate’s building.

Several people, including two women, rushed forward. “We are told different,” one of them said. “Witches must be doused or burned.”

A chill shook John when he noticed the barrels of water.

Magistrate Dobbs strode into the crowd, waving a rolled sheet of parchment. He shouted over the din. “This writ against Mistress Rogers does not include witchcraft, or misdemeanor. She is charged with the murder of an Indian, who as nearly as we can determine, is not from a local tribe.”

“The chit still ought to have a drenching,” one of the women yelled. “Lower that high set of her nose.”

Charlotte’s face paled and she glanced into her lap until her mother lifted her chin. “Face them, Lottie. Look them right into their eyes. You have done nothing to deserve their taunts.”

John admired the pride in this woman, who had already suffered too much. This kind of anger against her last living child would cause her more anguish.

The magistrate and an aide led the women to the jail and opened the door.

“I have guards assigned, Mistress Elizabeth. I pray you and your daughter will not be too uncomfortable.”

Soaring Falcons, Falling Doves

By Mary Brockway -- Historical Romance, 433 pages

Cover art by Richard Stroud

Forty years had not dimmed the sound of the thudding axe when Sir Walter Raleigh's handsome head was severed, his life's blood spurting upon the straw. Recalling that day brought a surge of bile to Lady Glorian's throat, for more heads were to fall; one that of an anointed King of England.

Excerpt:

After donning two petticoats and a gray woolen gown, Glorian descended the stairs, frowning her distaste at the smears of filth from a dozen pair of heavy boots. The gallery had been stripped bare of decor, and the beautiful Venetian glass flower urns Richard had brought from the east lay broken and scattered. Pottery was smashed, and the remainder of the silver stolen. Sword points marred the beautiful finish on the dining table and remains of chairs still burned in the hearth. Her favorite place to sit and sew, the damask-covered window seat, had been ripped and the padding scattered. Something clattered as her gown swept past one of the few still intact chairs. She bent to retrieve a battered silver goblet.

“You missed one, rogues,” she muttered. Sniffles from the servants who had followed her into the room, stiffened her resolve. We will not let those ruffians defeat our King's cause. Come, let us see if they left anything to eat.”

“They left me pots,” Mistress Reeves reported, “but them thieves left not a crumb in them or the buttery shelves. Pansy, hie to the hennery and see if they missed any eggs or layers.”

Glorian donned her cloak and willed herself to visit the chapel, a small church connected to the house by an open corridor. Colored glass fragments littered the garden surrounding the stone church. “I scarce believed they would break beautiful stained glass centuries old,” she muttered. Inside, she found not one remaining candlestick and the marble altar had been toppled, the silver baptismal font, a gift from her father was gone. A sob caught in her voice as she spoke to no one. “I pray Southedge did not suffer such ruin. It would kill Father.”

Peter ran to fetch her. “Milady, 'tis Alden. He lies hurt and bleeding in the cemetery.”

Glorian knew what had been the cause of Alden's injuries when she saw him crumpled in front of the open tomb. The treasure vault had been broken open and emptied, but that was of little matter until she treated her steward.

Alden's right leg was covered with fresh blood. Glorian stripped off one of her petticoats, and using her teeth, tore through the stout fabric. She knotted it into a temporary tourniquet above the wound. “Your knife, Peter. Take it and cut away his hose and breeks.”

When the flow of blood eased, Glorian examined Alden for broken bones, noting no obvious injury except the leg wound and a sizeable lump on the back of his head. He moaned, opened glazed eyes, then sank back into unconsciousness. “Fetch one of the gates from the paddock fence, Peter. Tell cook to put a large kettle of water to heat. Alden has a musket ball in his thigh. I shall have to remove it quickly before it festers.”

Peter and Dodson carried the litter into the house and Glorian quickly spread the crumpled wine-stained cloth over the dining table and directed them to place Alden there. “Fetch clean sheets, Pansy. Mistress Reeves bring your sharpest most pointed knife.”

Glorian hurried to the still room for soothing salves, astringents, and pain-relieving medicants. She was relieved her stores of herbs and medicines, though rifled, were not entirely destroyed. The soldiers had not opened the hidden cabinet where she kept the precious poppy extract. Quickly filling a basket, she returned to the dining hall.

“Them curs took all your good linens, milady. I found only this old one on the top shelf of the press.” Pansy spread out a worn yellowed sheet.

“Cut it into strips, and put them into cook's oven. Watch that the linen scorches but does not burn.”

Mistress Reeves produced three knives of varying length and Glorian chose a six-inch stiletto with a bone handle. She placed it in the hearth coals. Suddenly, the enormity of her task descended. On quivering legs, she moved to the table to assess Alden's wound. He jerked when she touched his thigh. She could not have him thrashing about when she probed for the ball. “We shall need to tie him securely, Peter.” The young stable boy, his face bleached beneath his freckles, fastened strips of cloth to Alden's wrists and feet and tied them to the table legs.

“Dodson, do you know about the Roman well in the wine cellar?”

“Aye, milady. 'Twas oft used when I were a lad when t'other well froze.”

“Take Peter to help you raise one of the brandy casks hidden there. I pray the rabble did not find them. Fill…” She remembered the decanters were now in the saddle bags of the foraging soldiers. “A bucket from the cask and bring it quickly.”

“Pansy, fetch a clean pail from the dairy room,” the cook ordered. “Won't be needin' them for milk. The Roundheads took the young cows. Only scrawny old Beck is left. Must've thought she'd not be worth draggin' along.”

Glorian poured water into a basin and washed the area around Alden's wound. The bleeding had stopped and the ragged edges of the injury were already swollen. Though Alden moaned, he had not regained consciousness. Noting the knife blade glowed red, she fidgeted waiting for the men to return with the brandy. It would be needed both to cleanse the wound and to lessen the pain when or if Alden awakened. She cast away the negative thought. He must live. Closing her eyes, she tried to produce a memory. Years ago, she had watched her mother remove a ball from the gamekeeper at Southedge.

Of Dove And Falcon by Mary Brockway

Historical

Cover art by Richard Stroud

Ebook or print; 519 pages
Purchase link for Of Dove and Falcon

The marriage of Anglican, Edward FitzStephen, to Joan Farles is arranged to gain favor with Queen Mary Tudor, and preserve the wealthy family’s manors. Love grows for Joan and Edward even when Edward’s Anglican prelate uncle is burned at stake.  Can they save themselves and their families from further violence?

Excerpt:

Ralph rode Raven hard for the two miles to the gates of Oaklands, thankful once more, for a hearty steed. At the entrance, two guards drew lances across his path.

“What is your mission, Sir?” The tall one demanded.

“I bear news from Lady Emily’s relatives in Whitby where she will soon be lodged.” He pulled out the letter Edward had given him and flashed the seal, praying they could not tell it was only Lady Joan’s dowry list.

The burlier of the guards squinted at the seal and opened the letter. “You may see Lady Emily for a short time, but I must have your name.”

Ralph sighed. Edward’s gamble had worked. Few Royal guards could read or write, but recognized the seals of important families. He gave an alias with confidence. Because of his knowledge of FitzStephen affairs, he had no difficulty answering questions without casting suspicion. Subterfuge had become a habit.

“I am Raol, in service to Lord Howard.” Ralph replied

Lady Emily, alone in the large mansion except for two elderly servants, met Ralph in a small parlor on the second floor. A wisp of silvery blonde hair crept from her cap of mourning and her features were mottled with tears. Ralph knelt at her feet and kissed her outstretched hand. She motioned him to a chair in the corner of the room, and moved to a large window where she sat in full view of the guards in the courtyard.

She spoke softly. “The guards may wonder if they believe we are acquainted. How good to welcome a friend on this blackest of days.”

“I dare stay but a few moments, my lady. If it is not too painful, your cousin is anxious to know something of your father’s arrest. He waits at the river with his bride, fearing to venture on to Oaklands until your circumstances are known.”

“I prayed for that guidance and tried to intercept Edward. My messenger was challenged before leaving the gate and barely escaped through the orchard.” She sighed and stared over the distant green fields. “I fear the tale you seek is too long for haste. Father was arrested a fortnight ago, and after a brief trial, charged with treason for involvement in a rebellion against the Queen. He and several others were sentenced to die today.” A muffled sob escaped. “I suppose it is over.”

April 2011
Wings ePress New Releases

“April hath put a spirit of youth in everything.” ~ William Shakespeare
Check out this month’s arrivals at Wings:

Down The Shore by Kelly Mooney
Contemporary Romance  ~ 314 Pages
Cover art by Richard Stroud

A fairytale believer of true love, and not the one night stand, Abby vows to keep her virginity until she meets the one. That is easier said than done when she has two boys competing for her time and affection.

Abby is convinced she is the last eighteen year old virgin still living. Never being inclined to be a notch on someone's bed post, the thought didn't bother her...much.

St. Annie's Corps by Mary Brockway
Historical Romance  ~ 346 Pages
Cover art by Richard Stroud

1941 sees Mollie McAllister, her friends, and America emerge from a simpler time to face a World War, that involved everyone in some way, nurses, and the military especially. Though many things are rationed, and everyone must conserve and work, these young women find ways to have fun and romance.

Each day Mollie wonders if she will ever be reunited with her brother who is a prisoner of war, or her beloved fiancé, Ron, a Navy pilot on a carrier in the Pacific.

Shooting Star by Michael Embry
Young Adult ~ 298 pages
Cover art by: Pat Evans

Jesse Christopher finds out that it’s not easy being the new kid in school, no matter how well you play basketball. When discovered shooting hoops at a school playground by a high school coach, Jesse seems to be the missing piece to the puzzle for a team that aspires to win the Kentucky state championship.

But Jesse faces an array of problems in his new environment as he tries to make friends in the classroom and become part of the school’s close-knit basketball team. Can Jesse overcome the obstacles and lead his team to a state high school basketball title?

The Pirates of Aden by Daniel Rasic
Suspense/Thriller ~ 424 pages
Cover art by: Trisha FitzGerald

Dr. Paul Alban has tried hard to forget. He’s managed to carve out a quiet and relatively anonymous existence with his girlfriend Ellen while working as a physician in Somalia. But when a Somali pirate is injured during the hijacking of a cargo ship and brought to his clinic for treatment in the coastal town of Bosasso, the demons of his past threaten to destroy the future he’s trying to protect.

Enrich your life with a good story! Any comments on newsletter, email me at rhobinlee@yahoo.com 

Rhobin