Uncategorized

Sarah Lamb has TWO ebook Winners! Lori S and Patricia B

by

Thank you all for stopping by my blog post! It was fun to read your guesses, but I also enjoyed the stories shared.

 

Let me get to the winners! I’ve got two winners today!

 

Lori Smanski
| Edit
and
Send me an email, please, at: SarahLambWriting@gmail.com  and let me know which ebook in the Red Ridge Chronicles you’d like to have!

Welcome to Guest Author Mindy Obenhaus

by

Hello, and happy Friday!

Mindy Obenhaus here, coming to you from down Texas way. And while I may not have been born in the Lone Star state, I got here as quick as I could and married a man whose Texas roots run deep. We live on a ranch that has been in his family since the mid-1800s. Nine generations have enjoyed the land. But that wouldn’t have happened had it not been for one man.

You see, a yellow-fever epidemic claimed the lives of my husband’s great, great grandparents back in the 1870s, and their two toddler daughters went to live with their uncle in another town that is now only about a twenty-minute drive but would’ve taken much longer via horse-drawn wagon. A handful of years later, one of the girls died, leaving only my husband’s great-grandmother.

Back in the late 1800’s, it wouldn’t have been uncommon or even frowned upon for her uncle to sell the land that was a good distance from where they lived. Taxes had to be paid, along with wages for those who worked the land. But he preserved his niece’s legacy.

A century and a half later, my husband and myself, our children and grandchildren are still enjoying that land because of him.

That story was the inspiration behind my current Love Inspired Books series, Legacy Ranch. It revolves around four sisters and their spunky cowgirl aunt whose dreams for the ranch had been squelched by her brother, until his sudden death. Now, as Aunt Dee breathes new life into the century-and-a-half old cattle ranch, her nieces find themselves wanting to be a part of its transformation, as well.

Let’s talk about legacies. An inheritance, if you will. Something of value that you pass on to someone else. While our minds often go to things like land, jewelry, money, sometimes it’s simple things, like Granny’s favorite cake plate, even cherished recipes.

But how will your loved ones remember you?

It’s a question I asked myself not long ago. And I was rather dismayed by my response. You see, I tend to be a people pleaser. I want everybody to be happy. So, when our large family gathers, I usually find myself in the kitchen cooking up everyone’s favorite dishes while they’re playing games and enjoying the ranch. But do I want them to remember my peach cobbler or that I made them feel like they mattered? That I’m a best-selling author or that I love Jesus and want them to know Him, too?

Talk about food for thought.?

Have you ever contemplated your legacy?

I’m giving away a copy of my new release,

Their Texas Christmas Redemption.

Simply leave a comment to be entered.

Print copy US only, ebook international.

Here’s a little about the story –

’Tis the season for a second chance at love.
Back home at her family’s Texas ranch for the holidays, the last thing Audrey Caldwell expects to see is her ex-husband, Tyler, on her doorstep—with his orphaned niece. The sweet baby in his arms brings up painful memories that she’d rather forget, but when little Willow gets sick, Audrey can’t turn them away. She offers to care for the baby if Tyler agrees to do some construction projects on the ranch. As they work together on a community Christmas event, neither can deny their growing connection. Can they heal their deepest wounds and find their way back to the family they always wanted?

Best-selling author Mindy Obenhaus is passionate about touching readers with Biblical truths in an entertaining, and sometimes adventurous, manner.

She lives on a ranch in Texas with her husband, two sassy pups, countless cattle, deer and the occasional coyote, mountain lion or snake. When she’s not writing, she enjoys spending time with her grandchildren, cooking and watching heartwarming romance movies.

Learn more at http://www.MindyObenhaus.com

Pumpkin Games: From Victorian Parlors to Pumpkin Regattas

by

Every autumn, pumpkins seem to take over the world. They perch on porches, fill our pies, scent our candles, and lately, they’ve even taken to the water. Yes, the water. Thank you to Shanna Hatfield for posting some pics from her excursion to the Tualatan Pumpkin Regatta on FB. Shanna was in the Portland area last week for a book signing and got to go see this spectacle. I had no idea such a thing even existed! And I don’t live that far away!

So, it’s called the West Coast Giant Pumpkin Regatta where folks climb into hollowed-out pumpkins the size of rowboats and paddle across a lake. Costumes, cheering crowds, and a few wobbly mishaps included. When I first saw pictures, I thought wow! How fun! And this has been going on for over twenty years?  Turns out, people will race just about anything that floats.

And that got me thinking…

 

What would a Victorian Pumpkin Regatta have looked like? Or a western one? Ha! Can you picture cowboys climbing into giant hollowed out pumpkins to race? Oh. My. Goodness! After all, Victorians and cowboys alike  loved a good party.

In the late 1800s, Halloween was shifting away from fright and toward fun and community. Parlors and barns were decked out for games, laughter, and just a touch of mischief. So, if you happen to be near a lake…

Imagine a genteel Victorian regatta on some fog-kissed lake. Ladies in long gowns and gentlemen in top hats politely stepping into their floating gourds while someone on the shore shouts, “Mind your crinoline, Miss Penelope!” The brass band strikes up a tune as the racers paddle madly for the prize. Probably a lace handkerchief and eternal bragging rights.

Meanwhile, the spectators sip mulled cider and play their own party games: Bobbing for Apples in porcelain washbasins, lace sleeves rolled just high enough to scandalize. Halloween Pudding, a cake baked with hidden charms in it like a thimble, a button, a ring, each foretelling one’s romantic or financial fate.

Now imagine if a few cowboys from the Old West had a pumpkin regatta! You can bet they wouldn’t be content to simply paddle their pumpkins across the water, no, siree. They’d line up their hollowed-out gourds like canoes, tip their hats to the crowd, and shout “Yee-haw!” as they raced for them with one  hand on a paddle, the other keeping a hold of their hat. The race would probably turn it into a full-blown rodeo on water. I can just see the sheriff trying to keep order while the town’s blacksmith bets his week’s wages on the fastest pumpkin, and a fiddler on the dock strikes up Turkey in the Straw to spur them on. By the end of it, someone’s pumpkin would’ve sprung a leak, someone else would be fishing their boots out of the drink, and the whole town would be laughing so hard they’d forget who won.

Yeah, I’m going to have to put that in a book! Oh, sure, back in the day they had lots of games they played for Halloween and harvest time too. The mirror game, where a brave young woman peers by candlelight to see if her true love—or a skull!—appears behind her. (Personally, I’d rather take my chances in the pumpkin boat.) And then there was a parlor game played in the dark where guests were told a room was haunted, then sent in folks one by one to reach into drawers and pull out mysterious boxes. Some contained party favors; others, well, the unexpected. (Cold oatmeal makes a fine imitation of something ghostly and unpleasant, trust me.

Folks back in the day knew how to have fun around this time of  year and they certainly had imagination. Whether it was a fruitcake prophecy or a pumpkin pie eating contest, it all came down to the same thing. Celebrating the harvest, sharing laughter, and finding joy in the turning of the season.

So tell me, what were some of your favorite games to play at harvest festivals or Halloween parties? I bet none of them included racing around in giant pumpkins on a lake!

CHERYL’S WINNERS!

by

Hey, everyone! Thanks so much for stopping by the blog today and participating in my post about love letters! I mentioned that’s one of my favorite topics, especially when it has to do with mail-order brides, and it sounds like most of you enjoy it, too! 

I picked two winners today for a digital copy of LANDON from the GUN FOR HIRE series.  If you won, please email me at: fabkat_edit@yahoo.com and put WINNER in your subject line.

My winners for today are:

JANICE COLE HOPKINS

LINDA HENDERSON

Congratulations, ladies! I hope you will enjoy LANDON!

LOVE LETTERS AND MAIL-ORDER BRIDES–by CHERYL PIERSON

by

Ah, those wonderful love letters! Don’t we love reading them? I must admit I have an affinity for love letters because of the insights they give us into the past, and the people who lived then.

Love letters are something I’ve been thinking about a lot. Probably because of the time of year–fall always makes me get nostalgic–but also because, as authors, we have to use letters and notes in our writing to “get the message” across that perhaps our characters might not be able to speak aloud.

 

My hubby is, like many men, not sentimental. He wouldn’t care if I never got him another Valentine’s Day or anniversary card, but they mean a lot to me—so we exchange them every year. I suspect that, through the years past right down to the present, most men didn’t and don’t make flowery love speeches from their hearts, or even write their innermost thoughts and feelings in cards and letters.

 

One of the most poignant love letters I know of is the famous letter written by Union Army Major Sullivan Ballou, just before the First Battle of Bull Run in 1861 where he died at the age of 32. Married only 6 years, he left behind two small sons and his wife, Sarah. The letter he wrote to Sarah days before he was killed is one that speaks poignantly of his guilt at having to choose between his duty to country and duty to family. Ken Burns used a shortened version of the letter in his series, The Civil War—and its contents are unforgettable, and so powerful it brings tears to my eyes every time I read it.

 

 

SULLIVAN BALLOU

In part, it reads:

Sarah, my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me to you with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me irresistibly on with all these chains to the battlefield.

The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them so long. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when God willing, we might still have lived and loved together and seen our sons grow up to honorable manhood around us. I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me—perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar—that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If I do not, my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battlefield, it will whisper your name.

I had to come up with a love letter, of sorts, for my 2017 novel, Sabrina, part of the 4-book set entitled MAIL-ORDER BRIDES FOR SALE: THE REMINGTON SISTERS. The Remington Sisters set is out of print now, but I’m working on getting SABRINA published as a stand-alone story! My letter was nothing to beautiful as this one penned by a soldier marching to his inevitable death, but a letter that had to convince my Sabrina to leave her wealthy lifestyle in Philadelphia and come West to Indian Territory!

Sabrina and her three older sisters (Lola, written by Celia Yeary; Belle, written by Jacquie Rogers; Lizzy, written by Livia J. Washburn; and Sabrina, my character) have to have mail-order arrangements in order to get out of the fix they’re in with a step-father who plans to sell them to the highest bidder—and they don’t have much time to do it. When Sabrina receives two proposals on the same day, she counts her lucky stars that she’s able to compare the two letters and has a choice between the two men who have written her—something many women of the day did not have.

She’s safely with the man she’s chosen now, Cameron Fraser, but she’s remembering the day she received the letters and why she made the decision she did. Take a look:

She’d answered ads from both Cameron Fraser and David Mason. Ironically, she’d received offers from both men on the same day. That had been a blessing, as she was able to compare their responses immediately.

Mr. Mason had written one page, in sprawling wide script.

“I have need of a wife to help me raise my four children I was left with after my sainted Amelia passed on last year. Your help will be appreciated. And I will do right by you. I hope you are a willing worker and a good cook. Can you make good cornbread? That is a must in our home…”

She’d opened Mr. Mason’s letter first, and tucked it back into the envelope quickly. She’d hoped she’d managed to keep the revulsion from her face when her oldest sister, Lola, had come hurrying through the door. Lola was five years older, and Sabrina could never manage to keep a secret from her, no matter how she tried.

“Well?” Lola had asked, pinning Sabrina with “the look” that Sabrina dreaded.

“I haven’t read them,” Sabrina said defiantly.

“Bree. You know we have to get out of here—the sooner the better. We don’t have much time.”

Here’s the difference, and why she chose Cam. He wanted her for more than making cornbread!

Lola had turned and left the room, closing the door behind her. That’s how Sabrina knew her oldest sister was angry—or hurt. Maybe both.

She’d sighed, and begun to open the letter from Mr. Cameron Fraser. And before she’d read the entire first page of his two-page missive, she knew her decision was made.

Dear Miss Remington,

Thank you for your very kind response to the ad I placed for a bride. I felt out of place to do such a thing, but your answer made me glad I did so, after all.

I know that Indian Territory may seem uncivilized and wild to a well-bred lady such as yourself, who has grown up in the cultured, genteel society of the East, but I assure you, I will do everything in my power to welcome you. In no time at all, I hope you’ll come to think of the Territory as your home.

My family owns a fairly large cattle ranch in Indian Territory. I wanted to assure you that, although the ranch itself is somewhat isolated, we are close enough to Briartown to travel there frequently for supplies.

You will be safe here, Miss Remington, and cherished. You will be well-treated, and I promise you here and now, I will never raise a hand to you.

If it is your will, and I hope it will be, I am willing to be a good and loving father to any children we may have—and a good and loving husband to you.

The sky here is the bluest you’ve ever seen. The water is the freshest and coldest. And I hope you will come to love the open range as much as we Frasers do.

I await your arrival in Ft. Smith. I will meet you there, where we’ll be legally married in a civil ceremony before we travel together to the ranch. Enclosed, you will find a financial draft for your passage and travel expenses.

Sincerely,

Cameron James Fraser

Something about the underlying feeling of the words Cam had written spoke to Sabrina. That he’d taken time to describe—even briefly—how he felt about his ranch made her know that he cared about her feelings—not just about what skills she might bring to the marriage table.

I see it, too, don’t you? He loves the land and his life, and wants her to share it with him. I wonder if women who were forced to take this route looked for these types of things—I know I would. And Sabrina is a bit of an adventurer, so going to Indian Territory would not hold her back. Adventure awaited!

MEANWHILE–here’s a song about this very topic, from one of my favorite musicians, MARK KNOPFLER. This is called Prairie Wedding. Fingers crossed the video will work–it’s an oldie but a goodie, and tells such a touching story in just a few verses.

Have you ever received a love letter that meant the world to you? I’ve had a few in my lifetime, and they’re tucked away in my desk and my heart! If you would like to share, we’d love to hear about your love letters!

I’m giving away a digital copy of my latest release for the GUN FOR HIRE series, LANDON, to one lucky commenter! Be sure to leave a comment today for a chance to win!

CHERYL’S AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE

 

Congratulations to Karen Kay’s Winners

by

Howdy!  Please excuse my delay in getting the word out on the winners of the mass market edition of SOARING EAGLE’S EMBRACE.  Because this is coming late, I drew two names for the book instead of one.  Yay!

And the winners are:

 

Joannie Sico

&

Danielle B.

 

Since these are mass market editions, I’ll need a physical address from you both.  You can email me at:  karenkay(dot)author(at)startmail(dot)com.

Many thanks go out to all of you who came to the blog on Tuesday and who left a post.  I loved them all!

 

Old Bull’s Heavenly Visitor & Give-away

by

Howdy!

Welcome to another tantalizing Tuesday!  Hope y’all are doing well today.  And I have a special story for you today.  A true story — one I ran across in doing research for the story I’m currently working on.  This is from the book, BEAR CHIEF’S WAR SHIRT by James Willard Schultz, who is writing about his own true experience.

In June of 1877, Schultz’s mother had given him permission to go out west into what was then called Indian Territory on a buffalo hunt — he was to return that same year where he would attend a military academy, but he didn’t return until 1880 and even then, he was there for only 3 months before returning to Indian Country.  Indeed, James Schultz stayed with the Blackfeet and married into the tribe and became a white Blackfeet Indian.  There is a book he has written entitled MY LIFE AS AN INDIAN, and oh my, what a wonderful book it is — filled with thrilling stories.

This story is about one of Schultz’s adventures as a warrior going with a war party to retrieve Bear Chief’s War Shirt.  On the way to determining what tribe might have stolen the shirt and a way to retrieve it, he had many adventures.  The story I’m about to tell you he declares in his book is true. and is one he saw with his own eyes.

First let me tell you a little about a Blackfeet war party.  There was a man who led the party and it was his responsibility to sleep and live (to some degree) apart from the others so he could pray for a vision that would tell him what lay ahead of the war party.  Old Bull was part of this war party –he was a “Bringer of Plenty” — a man who called the buffalo to a cliff and over it so the tribe would have enough food to get through the cold winters of Montana.  He had what the Indians called much medicine.

Schultz describes Old Bull as a man about forty winters (years) in age.  Here is what Schultz writes about Old Bull:

“…I liked Old Bull best [of the war party}; in fact, I revered him.  He was a man of about forty winters — tall and well muscled, with long hair, keen eyes, and a pleasant face; calm, dignified, and honest; moreover, he was a sacred pipe man, a medicine man, as the whites say.  Old Bull was possessor of the powerful Eagle Head pipe, master of its long ritual of sacred prayers and songs.”

Old Bull was a man whom the war party needed to have a vision so as to alert the war party as to what they might face and it if would be successful.  But, so far, he had not been able to have a vision.

Old Bull stated that oftentimes he had to go someplace alone so that his spiritual helper would come.  He had told Schultz that often his spiritual helper would come to others as Old Bull prayed to their God, the Creator.  His spiritual helper would then tell the others gathered there the answers to what Old Bull was asking.  And so, not having a vision to help the war party, Old Bull went into a hollow tree and there began to pray.

And, I will quote from the book:

Bear chief was praying — “He had no more than spoken these words when his body stiffened, his face becoming tense and his eye balls rolling upwards in his head.  He leaned back against the inside of the tree.  Bear Chief and I were standing close to the tree when this happened….  Before us a white shadow was forming starting up from the ground and spinning up like a whirlwind, building higher and higher until it reached the height of Bear Chief.  Then the fluorescent white cloud began taking a man’s shape, the ears, nose, mouth, eyes, and the rest of the face forming first, then the body, arms, and legs. The figure took on such details as moccasins, a full head dress to the ground, necklaces, and some face coloring.  As I stood there, it seemed as though I could look through the Heavenly Visitor as one would look through a light colored window pane.

“The Visitor spoke in Blackfeet.  ‘Bear Chief, I am your helper.  I have been helping you all your life.  I have helped you in battles, I guide you and give you good thought.  My name is Gray Eagle.

“‘There is trouble for you ahead.  How much trouble will depend on how careful you are in your movements.  Do not travel this night.  You all will go to the Sand Hills someday, but those who are needed here now will stay for a while; those who are needed over there to help do the work of the Above Ones will go earlier.  Bear Chief, you will be rewarded.’  and with that the almost transparent visitor vanished into the sky in a streak of light.

“As Old Bull awakened from his trance, I asked him if he remembered anything that had gone on.  Said he, ‘I remember only that I slept.  What happened?’ I told him about the ghostly visitor and of his message.

“Old Bull continued, “Ever since I was a young man, there have been times over which I have had little control, when I have been seized by the Above Ones and when, as afterward related to me by my friends, Spirit people have built up and have been seen and heard by all present.  I would much rather have a vision, where I get the message direct, but when day after day has passed and I have received no message, often if I pray in an enclosure, as I did here, I am seized, and Spirit people come forth.”

The war party went on to be successful in regaining the war shirt.  Interestingly, Schultz writes, “After passing through several hands [the war shirt], the shirt came to the collection of Indian Americana at the Denver Art Museum.  No myth, this famed Indian relic is now on display for visitors to marvel at for its color, design, and decoration.”

Well, I hope you enjoyed this story.

Now onto other news:  My latest release, SHE BELONGS IN MY WORLD, is on sale starting today for $.99.  Don’t miss this chance.  Pick up your copy today.

Also, I will be giving away a mass market paperback of the book, Soaring Eagle’s Embrace, to one lucky blogger.  So come on in and leave your thoughts on this blog.  I love hearing from you.

SHE BELONGS IN MY WORLD:  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FBPKBXBZ?tag=pettpist-20