1920s Coal Camp Tyrolean Feast

Image by GenBug on Flickr Commons

Today it is hard for us to imagine the sheer amount of work involved in housekeeping and raising a family in a 1920s coal camp.  Early four-room houses were not even equipped with running water.  As well as constantly having to clean surfaces covered in coal dust from cooking and heating plus that saturating the miners’ clothes, there were meals to prepare without benefit of frozen vegetables or entrees, electric can openers and coffee makers, or bowls popped conveniently into microwave and dishwasher.

House and chicken house at Copenhagen, Superior, Wyoming c. 1950s

Food was prepared by hand with mixing bowls and spoons, and boiled or baked or fried in lard, often from recipes passed down through generations and arriving in the coal camps from the old country.  Recipes were not written down, but carried instead only in the cook’s memory.  Measurements were a handful of this and a pinch of that.  A recipe was successful if the meal didn’t cost too much and also tasted good.

In the mountain valleys of the Tyrol in the first decades of the twentieth century, meat was so scarce it might have graced a family's dining table once a year. By the standards of my ancestors in the years preceding, during, and immediately following World War I, we modern Americans are unimaginably wealthy.

To celebrate the New Year, I give you a typical Tyrolean feast.  Let us put on our aprons and roll up our sleeves in remembrance of those bygone days when life was hard and a meal of dumplings and stew meat much anticipated.  But be forewarned: these old recipes become lost is not just because they are not written down, with precise measurements.  They also require most of a day to cook and clean up the kitchen, for which most of us have neither the time nor the energy these days.   

Image of canederli by panciapiena.com on Flickr Commons

CANEDERLI (Bread Dumplings)

day old bread, cubed into 3-4 cups

3 eggs

6 tablespoons milk

2 tablespoons flour

1 cup diced hard salami

1 cup diced fried bacon

Stir all ingredients together into semi-firm dough.  Form into balls about 3 tablespoons in size.  Drop test ball into boiling water to see if it holds together; if not, add small amount of flour to dough.  When fully cooked, about 40-45 minutes, dumplings will rise to surface.

Serve with cubed beef and garlic sausage gravy, and shredded cabbage slaw with vinaigrette.

GRAVY

1 ½ lbs. stew meat

1 package uncooked garlic sausage

 6 cups water

salt and pepper

2 tbs. cornstarch mixed with water

Cut sausage into 1-inch chunks. Brown stew meat and sausage, drain.  Add water, season with salt and pepper to taste, bring to simmer.  Thicken with cornstarch and water.

SLAW    

1 head cabbage

salt and pepper

vinegar and oil

Shred cabbage, season to taste with salt and pepper, vinegar and oil.

Enjoy!

For more on the culture, genealogy, and history of the Trentino province of the Italian Alps, visit the always-interesting trentinoheritage blog.

For more Trentino recipes with pictures in a downloadable cookbook, see Alpine Adventure Agency's Tyrolean Cooking School.

While the traditional Tyrolean dish of polenta has made it on mainstream American restaurant menus, the more time-consuming canederli is rare to nonexistent. For more mouth-watering pictures of canederli, go to Flickr.  

TOPAZ EYES BY NANCY JARDINE

Today we welcome back guest blogger Nancy Jardine, on the occasion of the publication of her brand-new novel, Topaz Eyes.  The page is all yours, Nancy!

Emeralds

My latest mystery novel is entitled, Topaz Eyes. You’d be forgiven for thinking it should be all about topaz, but actually it’s not. I’m going to give no spoilers, since you need to read the book to get the connections, but what actually feature a LOT are emeralds. Why did I choose to invent a collection that I’ve called the Tiru Salana emeralds, which my main characters, Keira Drummond and Teun Zeger, have to search the world for?

In Topaz Eyes, I decided to have a special and mysterious collection of antique jewels be the focus of an inheritance quest –whereabouts of the collection unknown at the beginning of the novel. At first I thought of diamonds, and trawled internet jewellery shops to find really nice pieces. During those searches diamonds were quickly ditched when I saw some beautiful jewellery featuring emeralds. My imagination was kick-started.

Emeralds are stunningly beautiful, and green is my favourite color- the contents of my wardrobe will attest to that. My novel would be all about bringing together a large collection of antique emeralds. Although the items I saw in those internet jewellery stores cannot be shown on blogs, they gave me ideas for description. The photographs of emeralds that I’m able to share here today are all taken from Wikimedia Commons. When faced with this emerald who could deny its beauty? The hue is fantastic, earthy, and yet simultaneously ethereally dazzling.

This photo was taken by Robert Reisman- Emerald Unguentarium

Gold really enhances the deep colour of emeralds but silver can be equally effective. The ring in this picture has a surround of diamonds but it gives the idea of what a silver setting might look like.

This photo was taken by Mark Somma - Description 18kt yellow gold ring set with one pear shape emerald and 12 diamonds.

And another lighter, more blue-green emerald is named the “Chalk Emerald” 37.8 carats, Colombia. The emerald is set within a cluster of 60 pear-shaped diamonds weighing a total of approximately 15 carats.

The royal rulers of Baroda, a state in India, once owned the emerald, set in a necklace. In the 20th century, the emerald was set in a ring designed by Harry Winston. It was donated to the National Gem and Mineral Collection by Mr. and Mrs. O. Roy Chalk, and may now be in the National Museum of Natural History — Gem Gallery (U.S.).

Perhaps these stones will give an idea of why my invented collection, originally belonging to an invented Mughal emperor I’ve called Tiru Salana, is the focus of the search in Topaz Eyes. The big question then is how my main characters, Keira Drummond and Teun Zeger, manage to find the collection? How do they manage to survive desperate attempts to prevent this from happening?  How is it eventually mounted as a fantastic exhibition? And what is the mystery item they do not expect to find but which turns out to have the most value? A reading of Topaz Eyes is the only answer! 

Thank you, Alethea, for letting me share a little about Topaz Eyes today with your readers.

*Giveaway*

What details can you add about emeralds? It can be anything, so long as your answer includes the word emeralds!

Please leave your answer in the comment box, and your email address, to be entered into the draw for an e-copy of TOPAZ EYES.  (Draw will take place on 12^th December)

(My mini blog tour posts also feature details about the stone TOPAZ, and the cities in the US and Europe that Keira and Teun visit to unearth the collection. If you’re interested please check my blog for the tour URLs. http://nancyjardine.blogspot.com)

Topaz Eyes Blurb:

A peculiar invitation to Heidelberg embroils Keira Drummond in the search for a mysterious collection of extraordinary jewels once owned by a Mughal Emperor; a hoard that was last known to be in the possession of Amsterdam resident, Geertje Hoogeveen, in 1910.

Who among the progeny of Geertje – hitherto unfamiliar third cousins brought together for the quest – can Keira rely on? Distrust and suspicion among them is rife.

Which one is greedy, and determined enough, to hire thugs to tail her… and worse… as she travels to Vienna and Minnesota?  Can Keira even trust Teun Zeger - a Californian she is becoming very drawn to – as they pair up to unearth the jewellery?

As they follow a trail of clues, will they uncover the full collection before the hired gun kills them? Details remain furtive and undisclosed until danger and death forces their exposure. And who harbours the ultimate mystery item that is even more precious than the Mughal jewels?

Greed, suspicion and murder are balanced by growing family loyalty, trust, and love.

Excerpt:

“Would you ditch the mystery, Jensen, and just enlighten me as to what you think I have that interests you? And tell me why you couldn’t have asked for it in the letter you sent to me? I came here of my own free will – granted – but I’m not hanging around any longer if you’re going to drag this out, for I’m damned sure I’ve no idea what you’re referring to.”

            Jensen’s reply lacked emotion, his face a blank screen, his gaze focused on Teun as Keira regarded the by-play.

            “Teun. It may come as a surprise to you, but you actually know more about this invitation than Keira. At least you knew from my letter I had something of family interest you might be glad to take back to the USA with you. Keira had no such suggestion made to her.”

            Tension rose in the room, which didn’t only radiate from Teun.

            Keira sat uneasy, also unwilling to be in the dark any longer. “Would you please explain why you think I may have something you want, Herr Amsel?” She found herself reluctant to use his first name, considering the antagonism now mounting.

            “All in good time, Keira. And please call me Jensen. I don’t set out to be anyone’s enemy. I believe each of you can provide access to items belonging to the collection. All the pieces are likely to vary in monetary value but, viewed as a complete entity, it will make an impressive display. It’s a historic set… and unique.”

Author bio:

An ex-primary teacher, Nancy Jardine, lives in the fabulous castle country of Aberdeenshire – Scotland. Her husband mans the kitchen, her offspring only an hour’s drive away. When time permits, ancestry research is an intermittent hobby. Neglecting her large garden in favour of writing, she now grows spectacularly giant thistles. Activity weekends with her extended family are prized since they give her great fodder for new writing.

A lover of history, it sneaks into most of her writing along with many of the fantastic world locations she has been fortunate to visit. Her published work to date has been two non fiction history related projects; two contemporary ancestral mysteries; one light-hearted contemporary romance mystery and a historical novel. She has been published by The Wild Rose Press and Crooked Cat Publishing.

Author and buy details: http://nancyjardine.blogspot.com   http://nancyjardineauthor.weebly.com    http://facebook.com/nancy.jardine.56    
Twitter @nansjar

Topaz Eyes is available in e-book formats and print from amazon.com  http://www.amazon.com/Topaz-Eyes-Nancy-Jardine/dp/1908910585/ref=pd_rhf_ee_p_t_1  and e-book formats from www.crookedcatbooks.com

Book trailer Youtube video for Topaz Eyes can be viewed at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UgPf5kTAyi4&feature=channel&list=UL

Other books by Nancy Jardine can be seen on amazon.com  http://amzn.to/wwaGCv  

MEET MARSHA WARD, AUTHOR OF SPINSTER'S FOLLY

Today I am excited to welcome Marsha Ward, author of the NEW Western family saga Spinster's Folly, now on blog tour.  

I love the title of your new book!  Marsha, please tell us about Spinster's Folly:

Marie Owen yearns for a loving husband, but Colorado Territory is long on rough characters and short on fitting suitors, so a future of spinsterhood seems more likely than wedded bliss. Her best friend says cowboy Bill Henry is a likely candidate, but Marie knows her class-conscious father would not allow such a pairing. When she challenges her father to find her a suitable husband before she becomes a spinster, he arranges a match with a neighbor's son. Then Marie discovers Tom Morgan would be an unloving, abusive mate and his mother holds a grudge against the Owen family. Marie's mounting despair at the prospect of being trapped in such a dismal marriage drives her into the arms of a sweet-talking predator, landing her in unimaginable dangers.

This fourth book in the Owen Family Saga is infused with potent heart and intense grit.

We've asked Marsha to interview her character, Marie:

* Way back in 2009, some of my characters began to visit me, and I established a blog entitled The Characters in Marsha’s Head, just so I could publish a record of our encounters.

First, some of the Owen boys came by, having slipped under the rainbow during a storm. We had a nice visit. Then their sister Marie knocked on the door in August, encouraging me to begin the book that would help her move on with her life. That, of course, is my newly-published novel, Spinster's Folly. I guess Marie came by the other day to check on the progress, because even though I've moved since her visit, she found me. It was after nightfall when I heard footsteps outside on the ramp up to my deck, and after a moment or two, I heard a rapping on the door. When I opened it, my security light came on and I knew Marie instantly, but I didn't recognize her clothing. It was nothing like what she'd worn before.

ME (flabbergasted to see her): Darling Marie! Come in, come in!

MARIE (Hiding her eyes from the bright light with her hand, then peering over her shoulder.): I have to hurry. I can't stay long.

ME: Whyever not? Let me just move these books off the chair. Sit down. What can I get you to eat or drink? (I move a pile of Civil War reference books onto the floor.)

MARIE (Moving hesitantly into the room, her hand still in front of her eyes.): I can't be gone long. He'll find out.

ME: Sit down, dear. (I feel my brow furrowing.) Who is "he"? You seem frightened.

(MARIE finally lowers her hand. We're both still standing.): Truth to tell, I am frightened, more than I've ever been.

ME (Gasping as I digest the fact that her face is mottled and colored with bruises.): What happened? Who's been beating you? Not your Pa!

MARIE: No, not Pa. He would never—

ME (Grabbing hold of her arms.): Who did this? He won't get away with it!

MARIE (Face crumpling.): I thought he loved me.

ME (Mumbling strong words under my breath.): I'll get a cold cloth.

MARIE: No. I can bear the pain a tad bit longer, if you'll just finish my book.

ME (Closing my mouth that's fallen open from amazement.): (Silence.)

MARIE: Please. (Her voice quivers, on the verge of losing control.)

ME: I'm-- I'm doing a final edit. It won't take lo—

MARIE: Now! You've got to publish it as soon as may be!

ME (Sinking into my chair.): Or . . . ?

MARIE: I'm obliged to stay in his power until folks can read the words. He won't release me until then. (She collapses into the chair beside mine.)

ME (My mouth is gaping open again. I close it with difficulty, knowing who "he" is, and what she's been through.)

MARIE: Please, Mom! (She's sobbing hysterically.)

ME (Shaken): I had no idea. I— Some folks have read it. At least they've read the first draft. They said lovely things about it.

MARIE (Looking at me through teary eyes.): That must account for how I was able to get away for a spell. (She sniffs, somewhat less bereft.)

ME (Digging out a tissue and handing it to her. On second thought, I give her the entire box.): I'll get a hold of Linda on Monday. Tuesday at the latest.

MARIE: Who is Linda? (She blows her nose and drops the tissue into the waste basket beside her chair.)

ME: She's the very helpful lady who will arrange my words all pretty for the inside of the book. Can you hold out until she's finished with it?

MARIE (Blowing her nose again.): I'll venture to do it, Mom. Ask her to hurry, please.

ME: You hang on! I'll get a hold of Deirdra and we'll figure out what to put on the back cover, too.

MARIE (Brightening a bit.): Some of them lovely things the folks said?

ME: You may be sure of that!

MARIE (Letting out a gusty sigh and dabbing at her eyes.): It won't take long?

ME: Oh sweetie, we'll go as fast as we can! I promise you, as soon as Spinster's Folly is published, he won't be a-worryin' you no more.

MARIE (Slightly chuckling.): You sound like Ma. (Sniffs)

ME: You'll see her soon. It will be a favorable reunion. I promise.

MARIE: It makes my heart glad to hear that. (She suddenly turns her face toward the door.) Did you hear that? I'm obliged to leave! (She gets up and kisses me on the cheek.) Mind you, hurry! (She's out of my arms, out the door, and running off my deck before I can move a muscle.)

ME (My shoulders slump.): Oh my gosh! (I try to get my mind around the idea that characters remain in dire situations until their books are published. I turn to the laptop.) Oh my gosh. (I look at the words swimming before me through my tears.) I promise you won't be in pain very long. (My voice is hushed. I had no idea!)

*This is a work of fiction. I don't really talk to time-traveling characters from my novels. I do like them a lot, though, and am glad they pass under the rainbow from time to time to visit me in my own place and era.

I’m very gratified to announce that Marie has been able to escape her dire situation, due to the release of her story, Spinster’s Folly, on November 10th.

Marsha, please tell us a bit about yourself: 

Marsha Ward is an award-winning poet, writer and editor whose published work includes four novels in The Owen Family Saga: The Man from Shenandoah, Ride to Raton, Trail of Storms, and Spinster’s Folly; and over 900 articles, columns, poems and short stories. She also is a workshop presenter and writing teacher.

Marsha, thanks so much for being here on Actually Alethea today!  Readers can find Spinster's Folly at these locations:

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/marshaward

http://www.amazon.com/Marsha-Ward/e/B003RB9P9Q/

Read more about Marsha Ward at: 

Website:  http://marshaward.com  

Author Blog:  http://marshaward.blogspot.com 

Character Blog:  http://charactersinmarshashead.blogspot.com  

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/authormarshaward 

Twitter:  http://twitter.com/MarshaWard  

WRITERS AND TEACHERS OF WRITING MEET – AND BOTH GET INSPIRED!

This guest post is by Carol Deering.  It first appeared in the October 2012 Wyo-Writer, the official newsletter of Wyoming Writers, Inc.

Carol Deering reading at the Central Wyoming College Sinks Canyon Center
Photo courtesy Wyoming Department of Education

“It was a new experience for me.” 

“The Wyoming writers’ presentation was a wonderful opportunity for teachers to learn about the joy. ... and the need to write, and how that need can be fostered.” 

“If I had the chance, I would take advantage of such an opportunity again.”

Across the state this summer, writers read to teachers of writing, and both felt enriched. ...

Shortly after our conference in June, I was contacted by Kathy Shirley, a consultant with the Wyoming Department of Education (WDE) and a former writing teacher, to organize readings at their weeklong training sites.  At the Central Wyoming College Sinks Canyon Center, at the Beta Coffee House in Cody, at the Night Heron Bookstore in Laramie, at the Natrona County Library in Casper, and at the Campbell County Library in Gillette, a total of 21 writers from around Wyoming spent a Wednesday night reading from their work to teachers attending these sessions. Many of the 21 writers were members of Wyoming Writers, Inc. Nine read poetry, eight read nonfiction/memoir, three read fiction, and one read several genres. The teachers at every site said the readings were a highlight of their week!

The first reading, for the facilitators of the remaining WDE sessions, was magical. On a gorgeous solstice evening, beneath a canopy and birdsong — and connected to technology (for a piece of music and photographs) by a long and winding extension cord — a small, receptive crowd sat at picnic tables and listened to four writers share their work. Marjane Ambler read from her book manuscript, Paradise Isn’t for Sissies: Life in the Heart of Yellowstone; Sara Wiles read and showed photographs from her book, Arapaho

Journeys: Photographs and Stories from the Wind River Reservation. Echo Klaproth read from her essays, stories, and poetry. And I read poems from my chapbook manuscript. Teachers who seemed hesitant about their own writing got animated by the end. As Echo remarked, “The evening served as a shot in the arm; I can’t explain it any other way than to say it was spiritual.”

At Cody’s reading, coordinated by Lynne Bama, one first-grade teacher “absolutely loved the Wednesday night with the poets,” and said it “filled her soul.” Lynne, Mary Robinson, Jazmyn McDonald, and Rob Stothart enthralled their audience with poetry ... and would each volunteer again.

The reading in Laramie, coordinated by Diane Panozzo, was a great success. The fact that there were two younger and two older readers helped to create a diverse audience including university students, teachers, and the public. Diane and Maggie Mullen read fiction; Aaron Graham read poetry; and Pam Galbreath read a nonfiction piece about her son’s drug addiction. Afterwards one teacher remarked, “I was so impressed with the writing ... and am inspired to write more myself. I felt much more connected to the human experience after hearing them read!”

Those who attended the reading in Casper, coordinated by Cindy Bower, interacted positively, both through their attention, laughter and tears during the readings, as well as their personal thank-you greetings at the end. Cindy read the beginning chapters of a middle-grade adventure book; Cindy Grafton read from a poignant memoir about her

life as a disabled child mistreated by her family; Vicki Windle read and performed a variety of serious and humorous poems; and Keith Cottam read a nonfiction article concerning a Vietnamese refugee and her heroic efforts to help others in camps as she awaited her release and emigration to the United States.

At the reading in Gillette, coordinated by Darcy Lipp-Acord, five writers read their work and made a huge impression. Darcy and Katie Smith read nonfiction/memoirs; Pat Frolander, Wyoming’s Poet Laureate, read poetry; Chris Ellsworth read fiction; and Mikayla Howard read poetry. 

One teacher wrote: “I was thoroughly impressed with the writers’ honesty, vulnerability, and talent. ... Thank you for such a neat and memorable experience.” Overall, comments glowed. “What an awesome experience. Their writing inspired me to keep writing and to ... go for the jugular.” “The experience last night was phenomenal. It is so important to hear not only authors reading their own work, but to listen to the process they go through to produce such works of art.” “I would love people like that to come to my room and share. It would be great for someone besides myself to ... talk to [students] about writing.” “These authors were passionate as they read their words. Hearing the stories behind their pieces gave a new voice to what they read. I want to have some of these authors visit my classroom, and they expressed an interest in this possibility.”  “I really think that good things can come out of this burgeoning relationship between the Wyoming Writing Project, the Wyoming Writers, and the Wyoming Department of Education.” “A great idea. Let’s keep it up — all over Wyoming.”

A few comments reflected the need for more coordination between WDE and the writers.

Everyone hopes this summer’s experience will be repeated next year, when it will be even better. Meanwhile the Wyoming Writers’ board will be considering more regional writing events throughout the year.

I am deeply indebted to the other site coordinators for all their efforts and for some of the wording in this article.  And thanks to all the readers for making this series a magnificent success!

Carol Deering

Secretary and Past President

Wyoming Writers, Inc.

Wyoming Waitress

Typical 1950s diner layout

Courtesy Sweetwater County Historical Museum

The traveling Smithsonian Museum on Main Street exhibit Key Ingredients: America by Food stops at the Sweetwater County Historical Museum October 20 to December 1, 2012.  The exhibit examines America’s relationship with food – how we and our culture are shaped by the food we grow, sell, and consume. 

Point of Rocks, Wyoming, c. 1950.

Courtesy Sweetwater County Historical Museum

Next year is the centennial anniversary of the Lincoln Highway.  The original transcontinental road was built in 1913 and was 3400 miles long, from New York to San Francisco. Today, most of the road in Wyoming is unpaved and a rough ride for anyone trying to drive it, although sections do exist as the business loops of a few towns along modern I-80, and a stretch from Laramie to Walcott Junction was incorporated as part of a subsequent route, US 30.  But back in the day, a paved road was a welcome novelty and meant many more miles could be traveled in one day than previously.  As long as there have been people traveling, there have been businesses catering to the traveler.  Longer journeys by car presented a need for places to stop for gas, and a diner alongside the gas station was a natural addition.  And a pretty young lady was a boon to any business, but most welcome as she approached the booth in the diner with a smile and pad and pencil to take orders and serve a meal at the end of a day’s long ride in the car. 

Edith Angeli, waitress at Point of Rocks, Wyoming, c. 1950

The Lincoln Highway and the iconic Route 66 gave rise to such phenomena as the motor hotel – motel – and quick stop dining that preceded today’s fast food.  Classic diner layout of the 1950s included a counter with swiveling stools in front of a kitchen with a window for orders in and orders out, and booths lining the outer walls.  Streamlined, clean and shiny were the order of the day.  Chrome was a staple of the ‘50s diner, from trim on the Formica-topped tables to the chair legs to the paper napkin dispensers.  Just drop a coin in the wallbox: each booth had a chrome jukebox control with rotating selection menu so patrons didn’t have to leave their seats to queue up a favorite song. The floor was tile or linoleum for easy mopping at the end of a shift.

The Sugar Bowl in Green River, Wyoming, c. 1950

Courtesy Sweetwater County Historical Museum

Sandwiches, salads, sundaes and pastries were popular menu items, quick to prepare and quick to serve.  A vintage Howard Johnson’s menu listed on eBay offered the lowest priced luncheon sandwich -- a ham and cheese club -- for 40 cents, through a mid-priced chicken salad for 65 cents, all the way up to a 75-cent lobster and bacon club on three slices of bread.  Dinner specials generally ran about 50 cents for grilled “frankforts” and potato salad with apple pie to 95 cents for kidney lamb chops with French fries.

Most diners today are gone, although there are a few still operating along interstate highways and the main streets of small towns.  Truck stops and fast food chains have taken over where the old-fashioned café left off, but one thing never goes out of style and is still appreciated no matter the business: a warm, welcoming smile.

Edith Angeli, Louis Kerlovich and unidentified woman

Probably taken in front of the Point of Rocks, Wyoming, cafe, c. 1950

A TALE OF TWO WILLOWS

Today I am happy to introduce author Jennifer Donohoe.  Jennifer and I belong to the same writers group on Facebook.  In the midst of planning a joint promotion with several other authors for a Kindle Fire giveaway, it became apparent that Jennifer's novel, The Legend of the Travelers: Willow's Journey and my novel, Willow Vale, share enough similarities that we thought it would be ideal to present information on each other's books.

A synopsis of The Legend of the Travelers: Willow's Journey:

     Willow is left without a memory after being brutally attacked, but this is not the worst thing that will happen to her. Her mother is missing and Willow is the last traveler who can find the Four Jewels of legend. Surrounded by Celtic gods, Japanese legends, Native American folklore, and a guardian fairy that does more harm than good, Willow learns everyone she meets has a stake in the choice she will have to make. She tries to put the pieces together, aided and hindered by those who are torn between helping her and killing her. Willow decides to fulfill her destiny regardless of the consequences.

Here is an exciting excerpt from Jennifer's contemporary paranormal:

Left for Dead

            Pain raged through her body. Willow’s hand trembled as she ran fingertips over her face. Her skin felt sticky. Blood? She couldn’t tell. A hard cold surface pressed against her back and she peered at a wood-beamed ceiling. She tried to focus on something, anything familiar. A shiver ran across her and she clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering. She squinted, trying to make out details in the dark room. She tried to rise, but when she pushed against the floor, the movement hurt.

            What happened? Someone help.

            She brought her arms up. Long, dark gashes crisscrossed her skin. She placed her hands on her chest and abdomen. When she removed them, something dark blanketed her palms. The strong copper smell of blood filled her nose. To quell the fear, she grabbed the sleeve of her shirt and wiped her eyes.

            Unable to sit up, she craned her neck to view the surroundings. Damaged furniture lay scattered about the floor against the background of charred walls. The scent of burnt wood and paint hung thick in the air. She closed her eyes again. When she opened them, nothing had changed.

            Willow raised her head. A wave of dizziness overcame her and her stomach lurched. A rotten taste filled her mouth.

            Mom. Where is she? Why isn’t she here?

            Uncertainty and abandonment raced through her mind. Blood. She lay in a pool of it. Her heart throbbed in her throat. Tears welled in her eyes. Her hands quaked. Her own body fought against her.

            Stop! Focus. Just focus. Calm down. Breathe. I need help.

            A howling scream came from far away. Her own voice escaped her parched throat. She lifted an arm, leaned over, and lost balance. The smack of the hard floor against her back made her shudder with pain.

            An open door. Her pulse quickened. Moving onto her stomach, one arm in front of the other, she pulled her unwilling body across the flat surface. Her legs, heavy and useless, dragged behind her. Her arms shook in the struggle to move closer.

            Just a little bit more. No use.

            The room deepened into a tunnel as life slipped away. Sleep. Just a little sleep. It would be over then. Her eyelids drooped, too heavy to keep open. She succumbed. Darkness carried her away.

            Far away.

            A warm, peaceful sensation washed through her. Did I die? She floated. The air changed no longer the coppery smell of blood, burnt wood, and paint, but now an outdoor smell. Her labored breath fell quiet to a gentle breeze.

            A sunlit meadow stretched out in front of her. She raised a hand to subdue the bright light and fought to understand where she was. Heaven? Could this be my heaven? This is so beautiful. What I always imagined it to be. She ran her hands over her body. No pain. No gashes. No blood. 

            Flowers danced and rolled with every flicker of the wind, reminding her of the waves of the ocean. A large gnarled trunk twisted and turned high above. She rubbed her fingers on the aged bark. It felt familiar, like home. Sadness swept over her. I’ll never see home again. I’ll never see my Mom again. How will I know what happened to me? She leaned her forehead against the tree then turned and pressed her back against its rough surface.

            The limbs danced and tossed in the wind’s grip. Every sway contributed to an entrancing melody, like a sweet lullaby. The leafy tendrils wrapped around her and their gentle embrace comforted her. The branches lifted her into the heart of the tree and cradled her.

            “Willow,” a female voice called.

            Willow’s breathing quickened as she searched for the source.

            “Willow, my darling.”   

            “Hello. Who’s there?” A cool breeze wafted through the leaves and Willow’s senses reeled when she realized how high she perched.

            “Be not concerned with who I am. Be more concerned with who you are,” the voice said in a soft tone.

            “I’m Willow.” Her arm shook as she balanced herself against the trunk.

            “Yes, you are.” The voice floated closer to her.

            Willow shifted her weight, hunting for the voice’s owner.

            “Whom do you seek?” the voice asked.

            “You. I want to see you. I just want to know what’s going on.”

            “Me.” The voice paused. “Ahh.” A small laugh filtered down. “You are not ready to know me, let alone see me.”

            “Am I in heaven?”

            “No darling, you are not. Are those tears?” A cold touch, like a finger, swiped across Willow’s face. “I will keep these. You will need them later.”

             Is it a spirit that speaks to me? Did I imagine the touch?

            Willow caressed her face where she felt the sensation. “What is this place? I want to go home.”

            “You are in a safe place. Nothing can harm you here.” The voice paused. “Sometimes when the body suffers great pain, the soul escapes for a while. It is a way of protecting the essence of a person.” She gave a sigh. “It comes at a great cost.”

            “What’s the cost?

            “For everyone it is different. For you, it will be your life.”

            “I’ve already lost it.”

            “No. You will return to your body.”

            “Am I in limbo? My body is somewhere else? How will I get back?”

            “When it is time.” The voice hesitated. “Willow!”

            “Yes.”

            “Breathe!”

            “Willow, breathe!” a male voice said.

            Hands pressed down on her chest.

            The branches loosened their grip. She fell. Fear and pain collided in a thunderous rush and a tunnel of wind swept her back into her painful body.

            Flashing lights pierced the darkness. Shadowy figures drifted in and out of focus.

            “Did you find anyone else around?” a man asked.

            “I just found her. She was alone,” a woman answered. “Who do you think did this? I mean, why would anyone be this cruel?”

            “Hang in there. We are going to get you help,” a second woman said when she came closer.

            Willow blinked a couple times and saw beautiful blue eyes staring back at her. She allowed herself to inhale deeply and loosen tight muscles.

            “I cannot believe this has happened...here. It is starting,” the second woman said. “It is too early. What will we do?”

            Talk to me. Please. Can’t you hear me? Help me, please. Just take my pain away.

            “We need to think about helping Willow first,” the man said.

            “You are right.” The first woman placed her hand on Willow’s forehead and pushed the hair from her face.

            The man bent close and pressed his fingers against Willow’s neck. “I feel a heartbeat, but we have to get her out of here.”

            Her stomach roiled and lurched toward her mouth. She turned her head and vomited. A moan escaped her lips.

            “Stay with us, Willow,” the man said.

            Let me go! Just let me go. The pain is unbearable. I don’t have the strength.

            Willow heard the concern in the voices surrounding her. The darkness pulled her in. She shuddered and the cold grip of death crept through her veins.

            This must be it. I’m dying. Save me!

            A warm hand touched her shoulder. A young man stood to her side. His golden eyes were moist with tears. Someone this beautiful regarded her with caring and empathy. Then he stepped back into the shadows and disappeared.

            A man with long black hair placed his hand on her arm. “Hang on.”

            A jerk. Then a forward movement.

            Just stop. No more. Please. I can’t take it.

            Time seemed to elude her. Warmth embraced her and the smell of herbs and spices eased Willow. A familiar scent, but she didn’t know why.

            A voice infiltrated her thoughts. “We are here,” the older man said. 

            Mass confusion filled the next few minutes. People rushed around. Muffled voices. Gasps.

            Everything became a blur.

            Willow let her thoughts roam through the darkness of her mind. Around some imaginary corner, the young man with the golden irises appeared in front of her. He’s back. Why? She stared at him for a long period, unsure of what to do or say. He was silent, still. An unknown light source silhouetted his muscular body.

            “Who are you? Where am I?” Willow asked.

            “This is the Shadow Land between life and death. I’m Tecumseh and I’m here to help you get out.” He stepped to one side, motioning her past him.

            “Help me get out? But the willow...” She eased one foot forward, paused...then followed his direction.

            Why is he here? In this place? With me?

            Willow stepped out into a large meadow. The same one. She raised a hand to shade her eyes from the sun and turned to see the young man. A fierce growl made her swirl around. Near the center of the meadow, two large wolves, one white, one black, stood face to face. She knew she should fear them, but didn’t.

            “Why are they here? They weren’t here before.” she asked, unable to remove her attention from the beasts.

            He slid next to her and glanced at the animals then her. “Because of the struggle that lies within you.”

            “What struggle?”

            “The one of your heritage...your family...you. You have come from a long line of protectors, which means you must finish the task your forefathers began. It’s not an easy one. Because in doing so, you’ll lose the very essence of who you are.” Tecumseh took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “But your sacrifice will mean the birth of a new hope for the people.”

            “I know nothing of this. What you’re saying can’t be right.”

            “A battle rages inside of you. That began there.” He pointed to the meadow.

            “If it’s inside me, then why are the wolves out there?”

            “This is where it began and this is where it’ll end.”

            “Just tell me what all of this means.” She took a few steps forward.

            “Something happened that caused your soul great strife. It’ll be up to you to figure it out.”

            “I don’t remember what happened. How can I figure it out?”

            “This is a path chosen for you. I can’t answer your question. I’m sorry.”

            None of this makes any sense. All I want to know is what happened to me.

            The wolves bayed, jarring her from her thoughts. “Will the wolves fight?” she asked.

            Tecumseh remained behind her. “It depends.”

            “Depends on what?”

            “Your choice...Willow.”

            “What choice? Which one will win?”

            “Whichever one you allow to win.”

The wolves clashed; fur on fur, claws ripped and teeth tore at one another, saliva dripped. Willow moved forward. Adrenaline rushed through her as each sound pulled her closer.

            “Stop!”

            Willow halted, startled by his outburst. “Why did they fight?”

            “They sensed your anger. Your thoughts.”

            The wolves ceased fighting and faced her. For each step she retreated, they followed. Tecumseh placed his hand against her back to keep her from moving away. The wolves crept closer.

            “They are coming. We should leave,” Willow whispered.

            “No, you must face them,” he said.

            “They’re going to attack.” Her hands trembled and her legs weakened. The wolves lowered their bodies close to the ground, preparing to pounce. “Please, let me go.”

            The wolves gathered strength in their haunches and lunged forward. The rush of death came straight at her face. Willow felt their crushing weight on her chest.

About Jennifer Donohoe:

Jennifer Donohoe currently lives in Northeast Ohio. She works as an In-Home Counselor to Felony Juvenile Offenders. She loves taking landscape photography as a hobby and uses the photos as descriptions for some of the settings in her stories. Her passion is writing and she enjoys the company of her characters.

Legend of the Travelers: Willow's Journey is available at Amazon on Kindle and in paperback.

Thanks for visiting actuallyalethea, Jennifer.  Now everyone can choose a favorite Willow novel, the paranormal Legend of the Travelers: Willow's Journey or the historical Willow Vale.