Oklahoma

THE ROMANCE OF A ROOM ADDITION

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What is the most romantic room in a home?  In our romance stories, it’s quite often the bedroom where the romance actually physically happens.  Other rooms in our characters’ homes are romantic and meaningful to the hero and heroine for various reasons as well.

 The room I think of as most romantic is one that doesn’t exist yet:  the room addition.

 How can adding on a room be romantic?  Okay, first of all, let’s remember this IS make- believe! In real life, home construction or remodeling projects will cause the topic of divorce to be introduced into the loving couple’s conversation at some point.  Over and over.

 Two short rollers and a can of paint in a bathroom can break a marriage faster than an overdrawn bank account.  But come with me to the world of fiction—historical fiction—where women are heroines and men are heroes…and the announcement of “needing another room” is a joyous occasion, and not just another “honey-do.”

 The addition of a room most generally heralds the impending arrival of a baby, or the growth of the young family in some way.  Because cabins were so small and were generally put up as quickly as possible to provide a more permanent shelter for a family, improvements often had to wait until time, weather, or supplies permitted.

 In our historical romances, our heroes are always eager to do whatever is necessary to provide the best possible quarters for their families.  You’ll never hear them say, “I’ll do it when the playoffs are over.”

 All joking aside, I believe we find the room addition romantic for several reasons, the most obvious one being that our heroine is pregnant and there needs to be a room for the little one the couple has created.  Most women can relate to that maternal instinct of preparing a safe, warm place for their baby to sleep.

 The second reason a room addition is romantic, is that the hero is actually building something with his skill, knowledge and love to provide for his growing family.  It’s his answer to the heroine’s maternal need.  Generally, the delivery of the news that a baby is on the way and discussion of the room addition is a shock to the hero, but not an unwelcome one.  It transitions him from “husband” to “family man” and gives him the opportunity to “show his stuff.”  He proves himself by his reaction to the news.  The action he takes toward following through with the reality of building on shows the heroine (and the reader) that he is our “dream man.”

 The family unit, complete, is probably the most romantic reason of all.  The room addition shows the reader that the heroine and hero have matured, grown in their love for one another and are able to look toward the future as a family unit now.  In the child to come, they will see themselves and one another, and will risk everything for the safety, comfort and protection of that child.

 And it all starts with…the addition of the extra bedroom for the new life they’ve created.

 In the following excerpt from FIRE EYES, Jessica gives Kaed the news that they’re going to be needing a nursery.  This is an especially poignant moment because of Kaed’s past, and what it means to him personally.  He’s being given a second chance—one he wasn’t sure he wanted, but now is desperate to hold onto.

FROM FIRE EYES:

  “Looks like we gave up our bed.” Kaed’s gaze rested on Frank and the two girls. Nineteen. God, he looked so young, like a boy, as he slept, all the lines of worry around his eyes erased. Nineteen. I remember nineteen. Just didn’t understand until now how young it really is.

“Twice now.” Jessica’s voice called him from his thoughts. She grinned and nodded toward where Tom lay talking to Harv. “Maybe by this time tomorrow morning we’ll get lucky,” she whispered, reaching up to kiss his cheek.

“Neither one of us is going to ‘get lucky,’ in any respect, until everyone’s gone,” he grumbled softly, letting go a frustrated sigh. “One thing’s for sure. When everything settles down around here, I’m gonna add on a bedroom. With a door that shuts.”

Jessica was quiet for a moment, then very softly she said, “Better make that two.”

“Two bedrooms?”

“Uh-huh. Ours, and a nursery.”

Kaed nodded. “For Lexi.”

“And the new baby.”

His gaze arrowed to hers.

“Our baby, Kaed.”

The blood rushed through his ears, pounding at his temples. Nothing existed but the woman standing in his strong embrace, her love washing over him in warm waves as her eyes sparkled into his.

“Jessi.” The words he’d spoken to her the day he left came back to haunt him. I just hope that maybe we got lucky. Maybe it didn’t take.

But it had. And damn if he didn’t feel like the luckiest man alive. A baby. He read the unasked question in her expression, and he bent to kiss her. To reassure her. To let her know a family was what he needed and wanted. He felt her relax beneath his hands.

“I told you I was working my way through it, Jess,” he whispered against her cheek. “I’ll be a good father.”

Tears rose in her eyes. She nodded, her hair soft against his stubbled beard. “You’ll be the best.”

“Better than I was before, that’s for sure.” The words slipped out before he could stop them. He took a deep, jagged breath as Jessica finally dared to meet his eyes. He looked away, his gaze wandering about the small cabin, finally returning to lock with Jessica’s.

“I can appreciate what I’ve got this time, Jessi. I took it for granted the first time, and I lost it. I won’t let that happen again.”

Jessica shook her head. “Promise—” she began, but he tilted her face up, putting his lips to hers once more in a gentle, reassuring kiss.

“I’ll never let you go, Jessi. And I’ll never hurt you. I want what we talked about, the family, the farm, maybe a ranch.” He stopped and moistened his lips that had suddenly gone dry. “But most of all, I want you.” He glanced across the room at Tom, who gave him a fleeting grin. After a moment, he returned his gaze to the fathomless pools of Jessica’s eyes. “None of it means anything without the woman I love, Jessica. You. Yes, I promise, sweetheart. I promise everything.”

Travis leaned against the kitchen doorjamb, fresh coffee in hand. “Guess we’d better start beating the bushes for a preacher-man, boys. Get it done up legal and right for Miss Jessi while Kaed’s in this mood. I never seen him like this. Never heard him talk so serious.” He took a drink of his coffee, his green eyes mischievous above the rim of his cup. “I do believe he means it, Miss Jessi.”

I hope you enjoyed this post and excerpt.  Do you have any experience with a “romantic” room in your house?  I’d love to hear about it! 

 These gorgeous covers are from my novel, FIRE EYES, available at:

http://thewildrosepress.com/index.php?main_page=index&manufacturers_id=534&zenid=bbb2b42b9ad603f1802c0800fac01b38

and a new Valentine anthology from VICTORY TALES PRESS called A VALENTINE COLLECTION, available here.

http://victorytalespress.yolasite.com/online-store.php

  My story, “A HEART FOR A HEART”, is a contemporary about a single young woman who is a tutor.  When one of her young Indian students, Cory Tiger, loses his parents in a tragic automobile accident, she steps in to be his foster mother. But the night before he is to become her ward, his uncle, Sam, returns from his military service in Iraq to claim him.  Here’s the blurb:

 A Heart for a Heart by Cheryl Pierson – Kiera takes Cory into her home, but when his uncle returns from military duty he wants to take over. Can  they work this out for?

EVERYDAY HEROES

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Have you ever made candy cane reindeer?  The first time I ever got to do this fun project was when my daughter, Jessica, was young.

Having her Girl Scout troop dumped in my lap the night before our first meeting was an experience in itself.  I’d volunteered to be a co-leader.  The lady who was the leader suddenly decided she couldn’t commit, so it fell to me.  I knew nothing about Girl Scouts.  Thankfully, another very “Girl Scout savvy” mom stepped into help.

Scrambling for Christmas projects for the girls, this was one of the first ones we came up with.  Back “in the day,” we had to purchase all the needed items separately.  Now, they come in a kit—candy canes, red “Rudolph” puff-ball noses, google eyes, and green pipe cleaners.

Although this is a simple project, it is tons of fun, and the finished reindeer can be hung over the tree branches for decoration, given as party favors, or distributed as “tray favors” at local nursing homes.

Many years have passed since I put together my first candy cane reindeer.  Many changes have taken place in my life over the last fifteen years.

Last December, I found myself once again scrambling for an idea—this time for low-budget presents for my sister’s aides and nurses at the nursing home where she had been since October.  Annette is my “way older” sister—twelve years older than I.  She suffered a major stroke—her third—in January 2009 while she was in New York visiting her younger daughter for Christmas.  The very next month, in February, her older daughter died of breast cancer at age 39.  Annette was not able to see her or say good-bye as she would have liked to, since the stroke drastically affected her speech.

Those first months after her stroke were a series of ups and downs, the worst thing being that she was in New York with no way to get back to Oklahoma.  Flying was impossible with her medical conditions, so we raised money to bring her home via non-emergency medical transport.  Now with Christmas coming, we needed gifts—cheap gifts!

Oddly enough, those candy cane reindeer flew into my brain and wouldn’t leave me alone.  Annette only has the use of one hand, but she remains fiercely independent, as much as possible.  I remembered those Girl Scout days, and how the younger siblings of some of the girls wanted to “help” make the reindeer; the patience of the older girls as they guided little hands in gluing on the eyes and noses, twisting the pipe cleaner around the curved part of the candy cane to form the antlers. 

But that was truly no “gift”—better than nothing, but not quite the ticket.  Still, I bought one of the kits, and some “curly ribbon” and tiny ornaments to tie under the reindeers’ neck to embellish them a bit.  Then, I saw the answer to my dilemma in the Bath and Body Works ad!  Small, purse-size hand sanitizers in the most wonderful scents imaginable for $1 each!  I ordered 20 of them in a variety of scents.  Taping the candy cane reindeer to the small bottle of hand sanitizer would allow the reindeer to “stand.”  The tape could be easily removed, and the reindeer could serve as a tree ornament once it got to its new  “gift home.”

Annette was thrilled!  We spent two hours one Sunday making the reindeer together.  Once again, I found myself dabbing on the glue, holding the reindeer for other hands to put on the nose.  Then she held it while I put on the eyes, as they were hard for her to manage.  I tied the ornament and bow under the “neck” and twisted the pipe cleaner antlers on top.  We bent the antlers into all kinds of crazy shapes and laughed like we were kids.  Then I taped on the “legs”—the hand sanitizer—and the reindeer went to their “stall” to await being given away.

I couldn’t help but remember when I was little, how Annette was the one who had helped me do those kinds of crafts.  Now, everything is turned around, and I can enjoy this time together in a way that is far different than when I was a child.  I find myself in service to her, in a kind of odd role reversal. 

You wouldn’t think that candy cane reindeer could look much different from one another, but somehow, they do.  When I looked at them all lined up in their cardboard box stable, I thought of the fun we had making them, and the laughter we shared over simple things—a nose that wouldn’t stay on, crooked eyes, bent antlers.  I knew she had enjoyed it as much or more than I had by the look on her face, the way she kept straightening them up, re-bending the antlers on this one or that.  I watched her for a few seconds, and she turned to me with a smile—one of true happiness.  I hadn’t seen that for a long time. 

“I love you.”  She took my hand and held it for a moment.  “I love you,” she repeated; which means what she is saying, but was also her way of saying “thank you.” 

“I love you, too.”  Silently, I thanked her in my heart for still fighting, for still trying. For being my hero.

During this holiday time, I would love to hear about everyday heroes in your lives—people who wouldn’t think of themselves as anything special.  Maybe there’s someone you know who has given you a very precious gift that they don’t even realize or think of? Tell us about it! Everyday heroes are the very best!

GERONIMO–THE LAST APACHE HOLDOUT

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 It’s been one hundred years since he died—and the mystique still surrounds Geronimo.

 Who was he, really?  Even now, historians can’t be completely sure of the facts.  Some biographers list his birth date as June of 1829.  Others say he was born somewhere between 1823-1825.  He was the fourth child in a family of four boys and four girls, but even his birth name is disputed.  Some say he was called “The One Who Yawns,” his name being “Goyathlay.”  Others spell it differently:  “Goyahkla.”  But by the time he was in his mid-twenties, he was called by the name we remember:  Geronimo

 In 1850, because his mother, his young wife, (Alope) and his three children were murdered in a raid on their village by Mexican troops, Geronimo pledged that he would avenge their deaths.  He received “the Power”—the life force of the universe that gave him supernatural abilities.  These included being able to see into the future, walk without leaving tracks, and hold off the dawn.  In a vision, he was told that no bullet would ever bring him down in battle, a prophecy that proved true.

 Geronimo fought so savagely, so fiercely, that the Mexican troops began to call to Saint Jerome for deliverance from him.  Thus, their cries for help became the name he was known by: Geronimo.

 In addition to fighting the Mexicans, Geronimo found himself and his Chiracahua Apache tribe at odds with the U.S. Government.  By the early 1870s, the federal government’s newly-instituted policy of placing the traditionally nomadic Apaches on reservations was the cause of regular uprisings.  Geronimo fought for his peoples’ hereditary land for years.

 In 1885, he led a group of more than 100 men, women and children in an escape from the reservation, to the mountains of Mexico.  During this time, his band was pursued by more than 5,000 white soldiers, and over 500 Indian auxiliaries were employed to achieve Geronimo’s capture.  It took over five months to track Geronimo to his camp in Mexico’s Sonora Mountains—over 1,645 miles away.

 On March 27, 1886, exhausted and hopelessly outnumbered, Geronimo surrendered.  His band consisted of only a few warriors, women and children.  Also found was a young captive, a white boy, name Jimmy “Santiago” McKinn who had been kidnapped six months earlier.  The boy had become so assimilated to the Apache way of life that he cried when he was forced to return to his parents.

 As the group began the trek back to Fort Bowie, Arizona, Geronimo and some of the warriors, women and boys escaped once more, making their way back into the Sierra Madre.

 On September 4, 1886, Geronimo surrendered for the last time to General Nelson A. Miles at Skeleton Canyon in southern Arizona.  He was sent to Florida in a boxcar, a prisoner of war.  It was May of 1887 before he was reunited with his family, and they were once again moved; this time, to Mount Vernon Barracks near Mobile, Alabama.

 In 1894, Geronimo was again moved with other Apaches to Fort Sill, Oklahoma.  He attempted to try and fit in, farming and joining the Dutch Reformed Church.  He was expelled from the church for his penchant for gambling. 

 The federal government made many empty promises to Geronimo and his people, but they allowed him to keep the money he made from selling buttons from his clothing or posing for pictures at numerous fairs and exhibitions such as the Omaha Exposition in Omaha, NE (1898), the Pan American Exposition in Buffalo, NY (1901), and the St. Louis World’s Fair in St. Louis, MO (1904).

 In 1905, Geronimo rode in President Theodore Roosevelt’s inaugural parade.  It was also during this year that he told the story of his life to S. M. Barrett, who wrote “Geronimo: His Own Story”, which was published in 1906.

 In 1909, Geronimo was riding home after drinking too much.  He fell off of his horse and lay, wet and freezing, beside the road until he was discovered several hours later.  Never having seen his beloved Arizona homeland again, he died of pneumonia on February 17, 1909.

 Geronimo is buried at Fort Sill, Oklahoma, in an Apache POW cemetery.  There is a simple stone monument at his gravesite where people still bring icons and offerings and leave them.  Baggies of sage, seashells, scraps of paper—homage to the greatest warrior who ever lived.

 Geronimo was not a chief.  He was not a medicine man.  He was a leader of men—a fighter whose battle tactics are studied still in military institutions.  In the quiet of the cemetery, his children, warriors, relatives and wives buried nearby, he is still a leader, respected and recognized all over the world. 

 Did you know:  “Apache” is a word for “street thug” in France?

Did you know:  There is a rumor that some of Geronimo’s warriors “disappeared” mysteriously from the boxcar as they were being transported to Florida?

 Did you know:  Signers of the Medicine Lodge Treaty were given burial rights in the main post cemetery at Fort Sill?  (Quanah Parker and others are buried with white soldiers in the regular base cemetery.)

 Did you know:  The custom of paratroopers yelling, “Geronimo!” is attributed to Aubrey Ebenhart, a member of the U.S. Army’s test platoon at Ft. Benning, Georgia.  He told his friends he would “yell Geronimo loud as hell when I go out that door tomorrow!” Which he did!

 In my novel, Fire Eyes, Kaed Turner was abducted by the Apaches as a young boy, just as Jimmy McKinn was kidnapped by Geronimo’s band.  Kaed and his younger siblings were traded to the Choctaw, where they were assimilated into the tribe.

  This excerpt is a remembrance between Kaed and Chief Standing Bear, the man who raised him.  I hope you enjoy it.

 Cheryl

EXCERPT FROM FIRE EYES

Standing Bear dismounted and came forward to stand beside Kaed, and Kaed turned his full attention to the warrior, waiting for the older man to speak.

It was as it had been all those years ago, when Kaed had come to live with the Choctaw people. The Apache had killed his mother and father, then taken Kaed and his younger brother and sister into captivity. The Choctaws had bartered with the Apaches for the youngsters, so they’d been raised in the Choctaw way.

The healing bruises Kaed wore today were reminiscent of the ones he’d been marked with when he first met Standing Bear, close to twenty years earlier.

 “Seems we’ve stood this way before, Chief.”

“Yes, Wolf. You were marked as you are today. But still strong enough to wear defiance in your eyes. Strong enough to stand, and fight.”

Kaed gave him a fleeting grin, remembering how, as a nine-year-old boy faced with being traded away, he had rammed his head into Standing Bear’s rock-hard belly, catching him off guard, nearly knocking him to the ground in front of the Apaches and Standing Bear’s own warriors.

Standing Bear smiled and put his hand to his stomach. “This recovered before my pride did.” He nodded at Kaed’s arm. “I hope it is not so with you, Wolf. You did all you could, yet I see you still hold some blame in your heart for yourself.”

Kaed had to admit it was true, and he didn’t understand it. When he went over it logically in his mind, as he had done a thousand times, he knew he wasn’t to blame, that he’d done everything he could have. But he’d never expected White Deer to do what she had done, and he understood the parallel Standing Bear was drawing. The chief had never expected the young boy Kaed had been to lower his head and run at him, either.

Standing Bear spoke in his native tongue. “Have you thought upon my words concerning Fire Eyes? Or will she go to one of my warriors?”

      “She is my woman now,” Kaed said in the same language, “and will belong to no other man.”