What’s in Mrs. Hale’s Receipts for the Million 1857
4282. The Weather and the Blood. – In dry, sultry weather the heat ought to be counteracted by means of a cooling diet. To this purpose, cucumbers, melons, and juicy fruit are subservient
A Cover at Last & an Excerpt
I’ve been working on this novel just before the pandemic. A lot of research, emails and finally, a visit to Bergen to tie up some loose ends. The goal is to have it ready to order books at the end of the month for a launch at Village Books on September 16.
Here’s the opening to the novel, a little tease.
| Through a door covered with a blanket, a lone man entered the dark attic and felt his way into the center of the room, then over to the wall on the other side of the wide space. Reaching out a hand to guide himself, he was careful not to hit his head on the low ceiling above him as he made his way across. When his boot bumped against the familiar bookcase, he felt for the lamp above it. One click and the light turned on, illuminating every cranny of the ancient attic. It cast shadows on the wall, trunks, boxes and the planks above him on and on a large wooden box painted with rosemaling flowers and berries. The man lifted the box off the shelf and placed it on a small desk next to it. He took a deep breath and quickly opened it, exposing a wireless transmitter receiver. He soon had the W/T assembled and its antennae set out. He checked his watch. Time to send.He crept across the floor to the window covered with a black-out curtain to listen to outside sounds. It was too risky to lift it, lest any light, no matter how faint, escape onto the winter street. Satisfied he heard no vehicles below, no tramp of hobnail boots, he pulled up a chair at the desk and prepared to send. Out of his coat pocket, he unfolded a piece of rice paper and smoothed it out with his fingertips sticking out of his woolen half-gloves. He breathed on his fingers, then began to tap out his message on the key. First, he gave his identity code, then the message hurriedly written down on the paper. His intent was to send as quickly as possible then shut his operation down. He was in danger, but this message was extremely important. Each word was significant to Resistance operations in Bergen. His concentration was so intense that he didn’t hear the creak on the stairwell. Pounding at the door gave way to splintering wood. Then several men wearing SD uniforms poured into the attic. The man stuffed the paper into his mouth and swallowed it while continuing to tap on the telegraph key. He did not stop even after the bullets struck him in the back. Far away, a young woman in an operations center in England read the last word from his dying fingers: BRISLING. |
Good Times!
Can’t wait!