Hello and welcome to the Focused on Story blog. We continue with the popular series, The 5 W's in Storytelling. Guest authors tell us about the who, what, where, when and why in their stories. This week our guest is multi-talented author, Sandy Carlson. She's a Michigan writer, like me, so we have become friends online. Today she is sharing one of her books based on Michigan history written for middle-grade readers. Her thorough research of the times is evident in her book slipping in information about Michigan, so while the kids are reading and being entertained, by ghost stories in today's book, they are learning history too! Giveaway: Please leave a comment to enter the drawing for a chance to win a paperback copy of the book to a winner within the United States or an eBook to a winner outside of the US. Deadline for entry is 10:00 pm ET, Sunday, November 18. Hi Sandy! Welcome. I've taken my Dramamine so I can sail the Great Lakes on the schooner with you!
Tales of the Lost Schooner by Sandy Carlson Historical fiction ghost stories set in the mid-1800’s
Thanks for inviting me to your blog. Hello to all who’ve dropped by to visit. Today I am sending out the 5-W’s of my middle-grade historical fiction novel, Tales of the Lost Schooner.
Who: In the mid-19th century, 12-year-old Honor Sullivan finds himself and his two younger sisters as street urchins, abandoned by their mother. They decide to join The Orphan Train, taking children off the streets of New York to the frontier “out west” for a better life.
What: Before getting on the train to their final destination, Honor is shanghaied to work aboard a schooner. He keeps planning on jumping ship (if only he knew how to swim) to reunite with his sisters. He knows the town destination is Dowagiac and is in Michigan, but that’s all.
Where: The story starts on the streets of New York City. Then we follow Honor on the schooner, The City of Cheektowaga, from Detroit and around Michigan’s lower peninsula to near the southern tip of Lake Michigan. When: 1854, to be more precise.
Why: Honor needs to find his sisters, make sure they are safe and placed out in good homes.
How: To keep him from missing them so much, a shipmate tells true ghost stories from around the Great Lakes as they pass those very spots. (The reader also learns a lot of history of early shipping on the Great Lakes.) If you’d like to leave a comment about how you deal with missing loved ones, please share. Thank you for visiting. Remember any comment will enter you in the drawing.
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Tales of the Lost Schooner by Sandy Carlson for Middle-Grade Readers
Back of the Book:
The schooner’s captain pulled 12-year-old Honor Sullivan apart from the other orphans. Captain Klaus claimed he needed a strong lad like Honor for a sister he didn’t even have. But Honor has a sister – two of them. The last he’d seen of their fuzzy red heads was the end of September 1854, as they headed down the ship’s plank for the Orphan Train, going off to be placed out with a new family.
Tricked by the captain, and sailing around Michigan’s Mitten, Honor learns the ropes and duties of a sailor. He passes the time aboard down in the dark hold, listening to Old Salty’s tales of shipwrecks and ghosts. The stories won’t distract him for long, though. As soon as he can, Honor plans to abandon ship and go in search of his sisters.
About Sandy: Sandy grew up boating on the Great Lakes. She loves and appreciates each of the five in their unique ways. She also grew up telling ghost stories to her siblings, cousins and friends. Among other places,
Author Sandy Carlson
she’s lived in Cleveland, in Buffalo, in Wisconsin, and in Michigan – a state with 3,126 miles of freshwater coastline. Filled with the wonder of history, longing adventure on the inland seas and loving story-telling, she’ll be a’tellin’ stories until the day she dies, me maties. Click here to visit Sandy online at her blog.
GOOD NEWS: Dr. Bob Rich is offering a FREE BOOK EDIT for the winner in his current contest. I'm thrilled to discover my entry, Looking Through Rose-colored Glasses, made the short list! You can read the 1000 word submission along with the other entries at his blog, Bobbing Around. Click here to see the 10 entries. Vote for 3 of your favorites. Deadline for voting is December 23. Thank you.
Please welcome A.R. Roelke to the I Love Books event! She is sharing a great excerpt from her tween book, A Girl and a Dragon. The book cover by C.K. Volnek is one of my favorites. Alice and I are swapping blogs, so please hop on over to her Writing Life blogwhere she grills me questions about my middle grade book for girls, Girls Succeed.
"A slave girl and a dragon on the run for their lives seek the cure for a plague, and redemption."
Adella, a slave, can hear the thoughts of animals. Her life is only worth living when she gets to spend time with her dearest friend, a dragon—very large and frightening to most people but not to Adella.
When Dragon does the unthinkable to protect her, the two must flee for their lives. Adella struggles with the guilt she harbors and her frightened feelings about God and punishment.
Disguising herself as a boy, she seeks work—and the pair get caught up in a battle. They survive and become heroes. Then, horrible news: the nation’s beloved king, to whom Adella feels strangely drawn, has been infected by the Green Death. If he dies, anarchy will spread through the kingdom and create war.
Adella and Dragon set off on a quest to find the plague’s forgotten cure. Danger and adventure await—along with trolls, shape shifters and secrets beyond her wildest dreams. But time is growing short. If they don’t find the cure, the king will die…
Adella looked up from feeding the chickens. A messenger pounded into the courtyard on horseback, scattering indignant hens. His horse heaved for breath, and the man glanced around, wild-eyed. "Sir John is coming!"
Servants shrieked. Stable boys raced to their charges and housemaids ran to the kitchen. Smells of a hasty feast wafted forth. Even Shahn, the steward, twisted one of the rings on his fingers as he paced the courtyard.
Nearly six months had come and gone since Sir John's last visit. Adella knew everyone in Slekt Manor had breathed more freely without him around. They feared him all the more since learning he’d lost property in a political dispute. He’d probably be in an even fouler temper than usual—and demand greater payments from Slekt.
Along with his legendary rage, there was his legendary dragon. A lot of nobles rode dragons. They traveled faster than horses and acted as status symbols, striking fear into the hearts of commoners. Sir John’s dragon was especially large.
Surrounded by turmoil and haste, Adella was the only one who didn't hurry. She was one small, easily overlooked girl. She could have been anywhere from thirteen to nineteen. No one knew, least of all she.
"Adella. What a name for a slave!" How often had she heard that? She couldn't help her name.
She kept feeding the chickens at her usual pace. The heavy bucket thumped against her leg, and she knew it would leave bruises. But she didn't mind. Sir John was coming!
She finished spreading the chicken meal and headed back to the stable to hang up the bucket. Someone slammed into her shoulder. Ow! Flashes of light and pain went off in her head. She sprawled on the ground, gasping and opened her eyes to see stable boy Brast sneering down. He didn't apologize or offer to help her up. "Better prepare for the dragon, idiot!"
He's just jealous. She watched as he walked away. She knew people resented her way with animals and her position in the stables. She should’ve been just another frail kitchen girl to ignore or harass. But she wasn't. For all her quiet ways and slight size, she could always get animals to cooperate better than anyone else. She’d spent long days at the plow, working whipless and quiet next to grown men who beat their mules and still plowed slower than she did. The competitive stable boys seemed to especially dislike her. Brast was the worst, perhaps because he used to have a higher position in the stables before the manor bought her. It made her shiver when she caught him sneering at her while he polished his long knife.
She picked herself up, eyes smarting with tears of pain. She let out a groan, since no one stood close enough to hear. How often had she looked forward to this day? But now she stumbled toward the stable, feeling as though she might throw up her breakfast. The fear and toil and cruelty she'd been able to endure, thinking of this day. How long the months had seemed!
“Hurry, Dragon!” she thought impulsively, though she knew he already flew as fast as he could, flapping his immense leathery wings. The knowledge bolstered her, and she managed to walk upright into the stables to check the dragon's stall.
The stall, one huge room, stood separate from the horses' and mules' stalls. She'd cleaned it every week since Sir John's last visit. Even the stake near the wall for the dragon's chain shone. She checked the supply of dragon food. They'd recently made a batch, but she didn't think it was good enough. Sir John hated to waste fresh meat; he made his manors use old, bad, or poor-quality animal parts mixed with meal and grease for feed. It showed in his dragon's dull scales.
Screams of horses and people sounded from the courtyard. Adella heard the dragon's mind approaching, happy and excited.
“I'm here. Be calm.” She hurried into the courtyard.
Dust rose from the courtyard as the huge, green dragon wings stroked closer. People and animals ran for cover. Adella watched from the stable door, her breath caught in her throat, lost in the majesty of the graceful landing. Her skirts whipped around her legs from the wind of his wings. She ran to him. The dragon lowered his head to let Sir John off. Adella stopped before the heavy, compact man. He towered over her in his rich, red and blue robes. He wore his usual imposing glower.
Adella kept her eyes lowered and curtsied to Sir John, but her thoughts focused on the dragon and his joy at seeing her.
“Don't prance!” she told him. It would anger Sir John. But Adella could see Dragon's trembling muscles; how badly he wanted to greet her!
"Here." Sir John thrust the dragon's chain at her and stalked toward the steward, raising his voice. Adella almost didn't hear him for the exploding joy of Dragon in her head.
“Act normal,” she instructed both herself and Dragon. She trembled, too, as she led him into the stable, hooked the chain around the stake, and went back to the double doors. She leaned hard into them, shaking with the effort. They shut with a bang.
Do you love ghost stories? Then you will love this book for tweens, Kay Lalone's Ghostly Clues. Kay is here today to introduce you to the book, but also to discuss a very big topic for February, Love and Romance. Kay and I are swapping blogs, so, please hop on over toher blog after reading this one.
Take it away, Kay.
Thank
you JQ Rose for hosting me be a on your blog today. Blog swapping is fun.
Since
February is the month of love, I want to talk about love. When you think about
love, what one word comes to mind? Romance. Who doesn’t love romance?
Romance
books are very popular. Personally, I don’t like reading most of them because I
feel they don’t really have much of a plot. It is the typical boy meets girl.
They fall in love. The end. There are romance books out there that are more
than the typical boy meets girl. These books have a plot and the characters
have more of a purpose than just falling in love. Love is important, but I want
to read about believable characters getting into trouble, having bad things
happen to them, and going on an adventure, and then seeing how these characters
change because of what has happened to them.
Paranormal
romance is on the rise. Who doesn’t love a good novel about a girl falling in
love with a vampire (or some other supernatural being)? One of these days I
would love to write a paranormal romance, because I like the paranormal type
stuff.
My first love is mystery/ghost story type
books. I love to read about a character solving a mystery or encountering
ghosts or some other supernatural creatures. In most of these types of books,
there is a love interest where the main character has feelings for someone
else.
Most
of the stories I have written aren’t about young love, falling in love, and
having crushes. But there is a thread of love flowing through them. Romance is
not the only form of love.
In my first
published MG novel, Ghostly Clues, Sarah Kay does have a crush on a boy at
school, Tom. But he doesn’t play an important part in the story and neither
does the crush. He has a big scene in one chapter where Sarah Kay has a
surprise boy/girl party for her thirteenth birthday. Of course, her crush is
invited. They have a nice scene where they are dancing like they were grown up.
Even though Sarah Kay feels grown up, I didn’t give her the chance to have her
first kiss. Tom is mentioned a few more time throughout the story, but I never
really show their relationship.
In
Ghostly Clues, love doesn’t play a romantic, young love type of role. In the
book there is a thread of love woven in like Sarah Kay’s love for a grandma who
she has lost because of death. Sarah Kay loves Gramps and she is worried about
him. Even though Sarah Kay doesn’t get along with her mother (Mom has lied to
her), she still loves her mother. Of course, Sarah Kay loves her best friend,
Mary Jane, like a sister. The strongest love is the love she has for a father
she doesn’t remember. A father she believes died when she was three. This love
drives the story forward and gives Sarah Kay the motivation to try and find her
father, to know for sure if he is alive or dead.
Love
is not just romantic, but is about relationships. Relationships aren’t always
perfect. But it is love that motivates and drives a character to move forward,
to accomplish what they need to accomplish. To grow and change. That’s what
makes a book worth reading.
Kay's Bio
I’m Kay LaLone
author of Ghostly Clues. I live in Michigan with her husband and fourteen year
old son (two sons live near by) and two dogs and a cat. I love to get up in the
morning and write. My favorite things to write about are ghosts and other
supernatural creatures. I’m an avid reader and do book reviews.
About Ghostly Clues
The sweet scent of lilacs
permeates the air around Grandma’s gravesite. Only Sarah Kay can smell
Grandma’s favorite flower, and they’re not even in bloom.
Sarah Kay and her best friend,
Mary Jane, believe the lilacs are a sign from Grandma’s ghost. The girls follow
one ghostly clue after another, uncovering a secret that Mom never wanted Sarah
Kay to know.
Grandma makes sure Sarah Kay
gets the message even from the grave. As the evidence piles up, Mom still
refuses to accept the possibility Sarah Kay’s father is alive.
Sarah Kay finds Dad’s parents.
A set of grandparents she didn’t realize existed. They make it clear her father
is alive but days and miles separate the father and daughter reunion because Dad
is a truck driver on a long haul.
Sarah Kay waits. The news
reports a fatal car accident involving a semi and Sarah Kay fears the worse.
She runs away which leads to Dad and the truth, Mom wanted Dad to remain dead.
Dad had faked his death so why not
just stay dead. The ghostly clues of
Grandma wouldn’t allow Dad to remain dead to Sarah Kay.
Mini excerpt the love scene in Ghostly Clues
“Surprise,”
MJ yelled along with a group of friends, Tom, Max, Sue, Ann and two guys I
didn’t know by name.
My mouth opened
wide and I closed it quickly, hoping I didn’t look like a fool in front of Tom.
“What’s…going on?”
“Your
mother decided to give you a boy/girl party. And I helped plan it,” MJ said,
entering the house wearing a fancy pink dress. The other kids followed wearing
nice clothes like they were going to some rich, fancy party. The guys wore ties
and the girls were in dresses.
I felt out of
place wearing my purple sweat pants, a baggy, smiley-face T-shirt, with my hair
in braids. I gave Mom a ‘why didn’t you warn me’ look as I dashed up the stairs
to put on my purple dress. Not the one I wore at Grandma’s funeral, but one of
my party dresses, light purple with sparkles through it. Mom came upstairs and
helped me put my hair up and she even let me put a little bit of make-up on.
“Thanks, Mom,” I
said, giving her a hug. “This is the best birthday ever.”
“Love you, honey.
Now go downstairs and enjoy it,” she said.
My
friends and I laughed and talked during pizza. Then when we had our fill,
Gramps helped Mom clear a spot in the living room to dance.
As
my favorite song played on the CD, Tom wrapped his arms around my waist and I
placed my hands on his shoulders and together we swayed to the music. It was so
unbelievably romantic and I felt so grownup.
This night was
perfect and I didn’t want it to end; then the sweet aroma of lilacs tickled my
nose. I turned away from Tom and sneezed.
“Bless you,” he
said.
“Thanks.” I looked
around, wondering where the smell of lilacs could be coming from. Out of the
corner of my eye I thought I saw something move, a shadow. The air felt
chiller.
Grandma?
Please, not now. This can’t be happening.
“SK, what is it?”
MJ asked.
Before I could
answer, Gramps turned off the lights and Mom walked out of the kitchen carrying
my birthday cake with thirteen glowing candles lighting the way into the dark
room. My friends started singing Happy Birthday.
I plastered a
smile on my face and blew out the candles. When the lights came back on the
smell of lilacs disappeared and the air in the room grew warmer. I sighed,
happy that Grandma’s ghost didn’t decide now to make an appearance.
We ate some cake
and danced some more and then I unwrapped gifts from everyone. I especially
liked Tom’s gift of a beautiful necklace. It was an angel charm with a purple
stone on it.
I am thrilled to have the talented children's author, C.K. Volnek, today as my guest on the J.Q. Rose blog. I enjoyed reading her book, A Horse Called Trouble, so much, I contacted her so we could get the word out on this book you'll love. It's my pleasure to be a guest on her blog today, what we refer to as blog swapping. Please take a minute after visiting here to click on over to C.K.'s blog, the Mind's Eye.
Meet
Tara Cummings from A Horse Called
Trouble
Hello.
Oh, I thought we were meeting C.K. Volnek today to discuss her book, A Horse Called Trouble.
Sorry. C.K. asked me to
take her place today. My name is Tara and this is the story of how Trouble and
I met.
C.K. says I need to get out
and meet our readers. I do like meeting you all. I never used to be comfortable
meeting new people. I was always afraid of getting put down and pushed around
again. But now since I’ve met Trouble and moved to Freedom farms, I have found I’m
more confident and trusting.
Oh,
how wonderful. Can you tell us a little bit about A
Horse Called Trouble?
Sure. I was so happy when
C.K. decided to writeA Horse Called
Trouble. It’s a horse story…of course. Lol. I’ve always loved horses,
though until I was sent to this horse therapy program I’d never been around one
in real life. Now, after everything Trouble and I have been through, I don’t
know how I could live without him. He’s taught me so much.
How
old are you, Tara?
I’m 13. I’ll be starting
high school in the fall. I used to be afraid to go to high school. I just knew
I would be miserable. I was always miserable. I never had any self-confidence
and got pushed around a lot. Now, after meeting Trouble, I think I can handle
it. I’ve made some friends and feel confident I can do it.
Good
for you. Where are you from, Tara? I used to wish I lived somewhere beautiful and green, like some place out of a
travel magazine. But I’ve always lived in this dirty city. With it being in the
mid-west, one would think there would be more green. But not so in the part I
grew up in. It was all concrete and garbage. If something did try to grow, it
was choked out by car exhausts and people tramping it.
Once, I found a bunch of
‘Little House on the Prairie’ videos in the dumpster out behind our apartment
and I watched them over and over at Grandma Kay’s. (She wasn’t my real
Grandmother, but I loved her as if she was. She took care of me when Mom was
gone or drunk.) Anyway, I used to dream about running in the tall grass like
Laura Ingalls does in the show. I never thought I would ever see that much
grass. But going out to Freedom Farm was like a dream come true. There is so
much grass and tons of trees. It’s the most beautiful place in the world.
At first I didn’t want to
be at the farm. I was sent there because I’d been set up. I didn’t take
Alissa’s purse…and she knew it. But it was just like her to get me kicked out
of our school for it. I learned a long time ago to just keep my mouth shut and
try to stay as low as possible to keep off everyone’s radar. Everyone expects
me to be trouble. Partly because Mom was a drunk and dumped me, leaving me to
fend for myself in foster care. I quit trying to prove to everyone I wasn’t
bad. I couldn’t win. Then I met Trouble. Kind of funny, him being named
Trouble. But we had a lot in common. And it’s because of him that I can hold my
head high now. I never thought I’d ever feel confident or find happiness.
Freedom
Farms sounds like a wonderful place. Sigh. It is. It’s beautiful. I’d never smelled lilacs before I went there. Oh
my gosh, I loved it! My first day, all the kids were gagging because of the barn
smells. It was pretty bad. A guy was
cleaning out some really raunchy stalls. But once I got past that, the smells
grew on me. I even found myself liking the smell of horse sweat. Ha!
The farm is just outside
the city, though it feels like it’s light-years away. It’s fresh and green,
with tons of open spaces. Wide open pastures and white rail fences. Horses of
all colors and sizes. Peaceful. And quiet. You can even see a million stars
from there.
You
talked about a Horse Therapy Program. What is that? It’s a really neat program. In this particular program, they bring troubled kids
and horses together. The horses are our teachers. I thought the instructor was
so stupid the first day when she said that. How was I going to learn anything
from a horse? But they do teach us—a lot. Horses could walk all over us if they
wanted to, but instead they choose to work with us…if we work with them. They
teach us about teamwork, respect and trust. I’ll never forget the first day
Clancy tried riding. Clancy is one of the other kids in our program. He was not working with Homer and Homer let him
know it. I couldn’t help but laugh. Yeah, that didn’t go over so well with
Clancy. I thought he was going to kill me.
What
did Clancy do? You have to understand, Clancy ruled Marvel’s. Or so he thought. I accidently
kicked him where no guy likes to get kicked the first day I got to Marvel’s. I
didn’t mean to. He dumped me out of ‘his’ chair and my leg just kicked him
there. Anyway, ever since, he’s been after me. I tried to stay out of his way
and hoped he’d forget. Except Alissa wouldn’t let that happen.
Who
is Alissa?
Alissa is a girl from my
other school. She hates me. And I don’t know why. And she is so mean to
Trouble, too. That was one of the things we had in common. I had to stop her
from hurting Trouble.
Tell
us about Trouble.
Trouble is a great horse.
And he’s so beautiful. He’s what they call a bay—red with a black mane and tail
and a white blaze down his face. At first I was scared of him. He was wild and
crazy, ready to kill anyone in his path. But I can see why, knowing Alissa. If
I hadn’t met him, there’s no telling what would have happened to him…or me for
that fact. He saved me as much as I saved him.
Well, I need to
go. Feeding time will be here soon and Trouble likes his oats. Thanks for
letting me stop by today. C.K. wanted me to remind our readers, we would love
to hear from them. They can find us…
So, on behalf of
C.K. Volnek and me, thanks again. We’d love for you to leave us a comment.
Tara Cummings BOOK TRAILER
How about an excerpt to tantalize the readers?
A Horse
Called Trouble…
The massive barn towered up, into the Midwest sky, a
prison of whitewashed boards, sunlight glinting off it. Might as well be barbed
wire. Tara Cummings blinked, momentarily blinded.
So this was
her punishment—horse therapy?
She shook her head, letting her mousy brown hair fall
over her face. Another time she would have been thrilled to be here, to see a
real horse, to actually touch one, not watch it on TV or the internet.
Her fingers tightened into a fist. This time was
different. This was a sentence of shame—for something she hadn’t even done. She
didn’t steal Alissa’s purse!
Tara struggled to
swallow the lump in her throat, the dryness in her mouth refusing to release
the knot. Alissa had set her up—she was sure of it. She’d planted the purse in
her locker. Why? What had she ever done? Because she wasn’t cool…or popular…or
wear designer clothes? Because she was a foster kid?
Resentment and desire burned as one in her chest.
She’d never have money or popularity.
She’d been born a have-not and the world was making sure she would always stay
a have-not.
A cool morning breeze blew across the farmyard, cold
fingers reminding the world that despite the sun and the absence of snow, it
was only early spring and summer was still a long way off. Tara
shivered and withdrew into her shabby sweatshirt, wrapping her skinny arms up
in its scratchy fabric. She should have tried harder to prove her innocence to
Principal Jackman. Should’ve made him listen.
A long breath whistled through her teeth. It wouldn’t
have made any difference. He wanted to be rid of her, like everyone else in her
life. Teachers, foster parents, her own mother. All too happy to wash their
hands and dump her onto someone else. No one cared. Why would Jackman be any
different? He couldn’t wait to ship her off to Marvel’s, the east side’s
alternative to regular school. Marvel was, after all, the best place to dump
all the 8th grade scum no one wanted.
Tara gazed from the
barn to the crisp, white fences and luscious green pastures surrounding them.
Marvel was known for its unusual methods in dealing with problem students. But
she had totally not expected this. It had to be some kind of mistake. The other
kids had moaned and groaned, certain they were headed for a work-camp, cleaning
up horse crap, hauling hay, painting, and all that stuff. Listening to them, Tara had envisioned smelly, peeling barns, and
broken-down fences. This was quite the opposite. The farm was actually quite
tidy. Nice. Peaceful. Not the kind of place she’d expected juvies to be sent to
at all.
Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
A leaf rustled
on the path in front of her, its dry brown contrasting against the spring-green
grass. It twirled and danced on the gust of wind making its way from the barn
toward Tara…along with the horrible stink. She
pressed a ragged sleeve to her nose. Eww! It was everywhere. Like a subway
toilet that hadn’t been flushed in weeks.
Who had she been kidding? This wasn’t some nursery
rhyme Old McDonald’s Farm. This was a place to be disciplined and chastised.
She pressed her sleeve hard against her nose. Her classmates were right—they
just wanted to make them clean up the stinky horse crap.
A horse screamed. A flock of sparrows took flight from
the tree next to the barn, swirling into the air, a dark cloud of feathers
chattering their irritation. Tara searched for
the animal and jumped as it screamed again.
“Whoa,” a man’s voice bellowed from inside the gaping
doorway. “Blast it, I said, whoa!”
A short, thick-necked man stumbled out, heels digging
into the hard dirt as he fought to hold onto the red horse dancing in circles
around him. He clung to the thick reins with one hand and pulled a leather whip
from his rear pocket with the other, snapping it at the horse with a loud crack.
The horse laid his ears flat, flashed a mouthful of
large teeth and dove at his captor, hatred sparking in his eyes. Stumbling
backward, the man let loose of the reins, surprise and fear flooding his face.
Tara gasped, a small,
barely audible squeak coming from her mouth.
The horse spun around to face her, ears swiveling,
black hooves stamping and pawing at the ground. Rage flared his black nostrils.
Tara froze, a scream
stuck in her throat, staring wide-eyed at the red horse.
“Get back, Miss,” a voice ordered from behind her.
Rough hands shoved her to the side of the path and a dark-haired man rushed
forward, grabbing at the horse’s reins. The horse reared, lashing out, black
mane rippling like a nest of angry snakes. The dark-haired man held on.
The horse blared again, his eyes wild, white rings
surrounding the black.
Tara backed away as
quick as she could, unable to take her eyes off the crazed horse. Her heart
pounded in her ears. She wanted to get away. She needed to get away from this wild animal. Staring into the horse’s
eyes, she couldn’t move. There was something…something in his eyes. She
understood his look of pain.
“Are you crazy, Richard?” the black-haired man yelled,
glancing back at Tara before turning his sole attention
to the horse. “You know we aren’t supposed to have him on this side of the
barns today. Beth’s therapy class is here.” He glared at the fancy
leather saddle on the horse’s back. “And, what’s this dressage crap doing on
him again?”
Richard stepped back toward the barn door, his face a
mix of stubborn anger and impatience.
“I had my orders, Sam,” Richard grunted. “Miss Jordan called
and told me to saddle him up. She wants to ride him.”
Tara blinked. Jordan? Alissa
Jordan? Here? The hair on the back of her neck prickled. Her stomach rolled,
the acidic taste of bile rising to her throat. She forced it back down. It had to be a different Jordan.
Sam pulled the horse down the path away from Tara, moving to avoid the dangerous hooves. “No way is anyone
riding him, especially not in this get-up. He’s not ready. And this
stunt is going to set him back even further.”
Richard snorted. “Don’t know why you’re wasting your
time on this stupid animal anyway.” He extracted a dirty handkerchief from his
pocket and wiped his glistening brow. “That horse ought to be shot. The only
thing he’s good for is dog food.”
Sam stopped and stared back at Richard, anger
darkening his eyes, his face turning almost as red as the horse. “I think you
better mind your chores, Richard, before I do something I might regret—like
tell Mr. McDonald you’ve been slacking on those stalls.” With a loud grunt, he
directed the rearing horse toward a small corral between the two barns. “Let me take care of this horse,” he yelled
over his shoulder.
Richard stuffed his handkerchief back in his rear
pocket, the end sticking out like a grimy plaid tail. “You wait ‘til Miss Jordan gets
here,” he scowled. “Then we’ll see who ‘takes care’ of that horse.”
Turning, Richard spotted Tara.
He narrowed his eyes and growled to himself. “Slackers. Beth’s asking for
trouble bringing these punk kids here.”
Tara shoulders
tightened, anger biting at her tongue. Slacker? She wanted to scream, tell him,
and everyone there, that wasn’t her. She blinked hard and retreated under her
hair, letting her shoulders slump. What good would it do? Everyone assumed she
was trouble because of who she was—because of who her mother was. And even
though she may not be trouble,
trouble always seemed to find her.
Richard pushed the open barn door closed, revealing a
large wheelbarrow filled to overflowing with filthy dirty straw. A black cloud
of flies hummed around it like bees to honey.
Tara gagged and
covered her nose and mouth again with her sleeve.
With a loud grunt, Richard boosted the wheelbarrow’s
handles and drove the smelly refuse down a winding path, disappearing behind a
large shed at the bottom of the hill.
Finally, with Richard and the wheelbarrow gone, she
dared to take a breath, coughing at the leftover stink, wishing she was
somewhere else…anywhere but here. She didn’t belong here.
