The Cotillion Brigade by Glen Craney,

 The Cotillion Brigade 

A Novel of the Civil War and the Most Famous Female Militia in American History

Author: Glen Craney

Publication Date: 15th March 2021

Publisher: Brigid's Fire Press

Page Length: 399 Pages

Genre: Historical Fiction

Georgia burns.

Sherman’s Yankees are closing in.

Will the women of LaGrange run or fight?

Based on the true story of the celebrated Nancy Hart Rifles, The Cotillion Brigade is an epic novel of the Civil War’s ravages on family and love, the resilient bonds of sisterhood in devastation, and the miracle of reconciliation between bitter enemies.

“Gone With The Wind meets A League Of Their Own.” -- John Jeter, The Plunder Room

1856. Sixteen-year-old Nannie Colquitt Hill makes her debut in the antebellum society of the Chattahoochee River plantations. A thousand miles north, a Wisconsin farm boy, Hugh LaGrange, joins an Abolitionist crusade to ban slavery in Bleeding Kansas.

Five years later, secession and war against the homefront hurl them toward a confrontation unrivaled in American history.

Excerpt

LaGrange, Georgia, April 1862

“Nannie, are you not feeling well?” asked Mary.

While the other women practiced their target shooting in Harris grove, Nancy sat several yards away on a log, rereading a letter from Brown. She wiped a tear and coughed back the swell of emotion.

“You’ve not shot yet. You’re always the first on the range.”

“What use is it?”

Mary leaned her musket against a tree and sat. “What has he written now?”

Nancy showed her the letter. “They transferred him from the Fourth to serve as commissary officer for cousin Alfred’s brigade.”

“A promotion! That is grand!”

“Brown is crestfallen. He will no longer fight aside Miles and Joe. Worse, he will now have to forage for onions and potatoes to feed others who win glory on the battlefield. All because he knows how to sign a requisition contract. It’s not fair.”

Mary took Nancy’s hands and pressed them to her bosom. “Brown will be the most popular man in the army. Come suppertime, they will bow and sing songs in his honor for having gathered such a feast.”

Nancy hesitated before revealing the more troublesome news. “Word of our militia has spread around the regiments in Virginia. The men tease Brown to no end that his wife outranks him. They are so cruel! They say I’ve shot a bull while he hasn’t even seen a Yankee.”

“I’m sure Brown takes it in stride.”

Nancy hung her head. “We’ve become a laughingstock. Even here in town, they cheer us to our faces, but I hear their snickers.”

“You must chase this darkness of the spirit. We all suffer it.”

Nancy looked toward Broad Street and the row of boxwoods in front of Mary’s columned home. Pack Beall planted them in December to celebrate the first Christmas for the Nancy Harts. Mary had begged her not to venture out that wet and chilly day, but Pack, the senior member of their troop, was visited with a premonition of death, and she resolved to leave something behind to grow in her memory. Pneumonia crept into her lungs that very night, and she passed three days later, their first casualty. On the day of her burial, the Nancies walked aside the hearse as the honor guard. 

After Pack’s death, the joy faded from those early days when the Nancies rejoiced over the design of their uniforms and planned grand parades. Their hopes for a swift end to the war had been dashed, replaced by daily reports of deaths and bloody battles. After suffering devastating losses, the Confederate government passed a conscription act and took even more men from LaGrange for the armies. New Orleans remained under siege, and two weeks ago, near Corinth, Mississippi, at a wilderness church called Shiloh on the Tennessee River, 23,000 men were wounded or killed on both sides, including the gallant commander of their Western army, Albert Sidney Johnston. In Virginia, the Federals, led by a blowhard named McClellan, landed at Yorktown and now threatened to capture Richmond. The Fourth Georgia and the Army of Northern Virginia were the last obstacles in McClellan’s path. If Brown or her brothers fell in battle, they might end up in unmarked graves, never to see Troup County again.

Mary embraced her. “Darling, the others look to you for strength.”

Nancy watched Leila toe the twine marking the firing line and shoot at the scarecrow in the field below. Her musket ball didn’t land within ten feet. Nancy shook her head, despondent over their progress. “We’ve been coming out here twice a week for nearly a year. Caroline hits a beehive and sends us home with stings. Two window panes cracked. And the brush fire we ignited last September almost burned Henry Bottom’s barn to the blocks.”

“Yes, but—”

“Mary, it’s my fault.” Nancy turned to whisper her disappointment. “I raised their hopes, but I have offered them no means to improve.”

“You are too hard on yourself.”

She dropped her head into her hands. “What are we doing? Wasting time. With Peter gone, you have your hands full running his business. I must maintain Brown’s legal correspondence. Caroline feeds half the town.”

Mary tried to instill her with resolve. “You cannot abandon hope now. I doubted you from the start, I admit, but you’ve given those of us left here a reason to pull together.” She pointed to the women on the firing line. “This is not a burden for them. They live for these shooting practices. It provides them a respite and instills them with a sense of control and purpose. The college has closed, and the younger girls need our guidance. You cannot take this from them. Not when morale is so low.”

Buy Links:

Amazon UK: Amazon US: Amazon CA: Amazon AU:Kobo: IBooks: Barnes & Noble: 

Author Bio:

A graduate of Indiana University School of Law and Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism, Glen Craney practiced trial law before joining the Washington, D.C. press corps to write about national politics and the Iran-contra trial for Congressional Quarterly magazine. In 1996, the Academy of Motion Pictures, Arts and Sciences awarded him the Nicholl Fellowship prize for best new screenwriting. His debut historical novel, The Fire and the Light, was named Best New Fiction by the National Indie Excellence Awards. He is a three-time Finalist/Honorable Mention winner of Foreword Magazine’s Book-of-the-Year and a Chaucer Award winner for Historical Fiction. His books have taken readers to Occitania during the Albigensian Crusade, the Scotland of Robert Bruce, Portugal during the Age of Discovery, the trenches of France during World War I, the battlefields of the Civil War, and the American Hoovervilles of the Great Depression. He lives in Malibu, California.

Connect with Glen:

Website: Facebook: Twitter:  Pinterest:  Goodreads:  Amazon Author Page: 

The Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour welcomes Historical Fiction author, Tony Riches

Book Title: Essex – Tudor Rebel

Series: (Elizabethan Series, Book 2)

Author: Tony Riches

Publication Date: 9th April 2021

Publisher: Preseli Press

Page Length: 352 Pages

Genre: Historical Fiction

ESSEX - Tudor Rebel 

(Book Two of the Elizabethan Series)

By Tony Riches

Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex, is one of the most intriguing men of the Elizabethan period. Tall and handsome, he soon becomes a ‘favourite’ at court, so close to the queen many wonder if they are lovers.

The truth is far more complex, as each has what the other yearns for. Robert Devereux longs for recognition, wealth and influence. His flamboyant naïveté amuses the ageing Queen Elizabeth, like the son she never had, and his vitality makes her feel young.

Robert Devereux’s remarkable true story continues the epic tale of the rise of the Tudors, which began with the best-selling Tudor trilogy and concludes with the reign of Queen Elizabeth I.

Excerpt from ESSEX- Tudor Rebel, by Tony Riches

Chartley Manor, November 1576

The excited barking of the dogs interrupted Robert’s answer. The crunch of hooves on gravel, and a deep voice calling for a groom, was too much for him after a long morning of Latin. He clambered on to the velvet-cushioned widow seat, and cleaned a leaded pane with his sleeve to stare into the courtyard.

Master Wright muttered under his breath as he closed the leather-bound Latin textbook they’d been studying. Robert had turned eleven the previous week and was a gifted student, fluent in Latin and French. The problem wasn’t lack of talent, but ease of distraction. 

There’d been few enough visitors to Chartley Manor since Robert’s father left for Dublin, and his mother to her friends at Kenilworth Castle. His sisters, Penelope and Dorothy, needed their mother, and little Walter seemed an unhappy child. Master Wright counted himself fortunate he only had to worry about Robert.

‘Who is it, Master Robert?’ His voice carried a trace of irritation at his lesson being interrupted.

‘I hoped Father had returned early, Master Wright. It’s not him, but it is someone important.’ Robert beckoned his tutor to come and look. ‘He has a fine black horse.’

Master Wright joined him at the mullioned window. ‘That’s Ned Waterhouse, your father’s secretary.’

‘Should we go to welcome him?’

Master Wright agreed they should. Herodotus, and his history of the conflict between Greeks and barbarians, would keep for another day. In his bureau was a short letter from Ned Waterhouse, sent all the way from Ireland. He’d been asked to keep the contents confidential; the news would change them all forever, and he followed Robert with a heavy heart. 

Edward Waterhouse carried the distinctive odour of horse sweat and looked grim-faced as they led him into the great hall. The grandest room in the manor house, with French tapestries decorating the walls, the great hall was also the coldest. The cavernous Italian marble fireplace stood empty, except for a dusty bouquet of dried cornflowers.

The family used the smaller rooms, which were easier to keep warm in autumn and winter, and ate in the refectory when their parents were away. Edward Waterhouse peered up, his eye resting on cobwebs in the corner of the hammer-beamed roof, as if passing judgement.

He ran his hand over the polished oak table, and stood for a moment, staring at the earl’s high-backed chair at the head of the table, before choosing one of the burgundy velvet upholstered chairs arranged around the fireplace. He gestured for Robert to be seated opposite, and turned to Master Wright.

‘Would you send for the other children? I have grave news to share. It’s better done with them all together.’

Master Wright gestured to the waiting housemaid, and gave Edward Waterhouse an apologetic look. ‘We may have a little wait.’ He glanced at Robert. ‘Robert’s sisters will wish to look their best.’

As if to prove him right, young Walter, known as ‘Wat’, appeared alone and stood in the doorway. Seven years old, he wore oversized hand-me-downs from Robert which made him look small for his age. He stared, wide-eyed, at Edward Waterhouse and shuffled into the chair next to Robert without speaking. 

Penelope and Dorothy finally entered, in matching gowns of embroidered brocade with satin sleeves and high lace collars. Skilled seamstresses, their kirtles and bodices fitted so well no one would guess they’d been crafted from their mother’s cast-offs.

People told Robert he had his father’s good looks, but his sisters had their mother’s beauty and striking red-gold hair, curled in long ringlets. Penelope’s dark eyes shone with self-awareness. She would be fourteen in the new year, and confided to Robert that their father planned her betrothal to the handsome and wealthy courtier, Philip Sidney.

Dorothy would soon be as tall as her sister, with a confidence which belied her twelve years. She wore a pear-shaped pearl pendant on a gold chain, woven into her hair. Her necklace of small diamonds, a gift from her father, sparkled in the light. 

They bobbed a graceful curtsey to their visitor, the hems of their gowns swishing on the tiled floor as they crossed the room and sat by their brothers. Edward Waterhouse seemed surprised, as if unused to such formality. His face reddened as he bowed to the girls. 

He cleared his throat, and glanced at Robert before speaking in a sombre voice. ‘It is my sad duty to tell you that your father has died in the service of Her Majesty in Ireland.’ 

It sounded as if he’d rehearsed the words many times, yet could still scarcely believe them. He sat back in his chair, and allowed them to take in the news. ‘I am deeply sorry for your loss.’

A gasp from Penelope broke the silence as their lives changed in a heartbeat. Robert put his arm round Wat, who looked close to tears, as his mind raced with questions. He bit his lip. 

‘Was our father killed in a battle with the Irishmen?’

Edward Waterhouse shook his head, but hesitated a little too long before answering. 

‘Your father fell ill at a banquet held in his honour at Dublin Castle, and died three weeks later of a fever and the flux.’

Robert recalled Master Wright’s account of how the warrior king Henry the Fifth died of the flux in France, after the long siege of Meaux. He put the dreadful image from his mind, and struggled to compose himself. As the eldest son, he was master of the household now, and must set an example.

‘Will our father be brought back from Ireland for his funeral?’ His voice wavered. 

‘He asked to be buried in St Peter’s Church, in Carmarthen, in a week’s time. I was to escort you there, but the journey is long, and storms make the ride challenging at this time of year.’ His tone softened. ‘I shall be honoured to represent you, and your uncle, Sir George Devereux, will be chief mourner.’

Robert glanced across at Penelope, and saw a tear glisten on her cheek. ‘What is to become of us, Master Waterhouse?’

Robert Devereux’s remarkable true story continues in ESSEX- Tudor Rebel, the epic tale of loyalty and love and adventure follows Robert from his youth to his fateful rebellion.

Buy Links:

This novel is free to read with #KindleUnlimited subscription.

Universal Link:  Amazon UK: Amazon US: Amazon CA: Amazon AU: 

Tony Riches is a full-time UK author of best-selling Tudor historical fiction. He lives in Pembrokeshire, West Wales and is a specialist in the history of the Wars of the Roses and the lives of the early Tudors. Tony’s other published historical fiction novels include: Owen – Book One Of The Tudor Trilogy, Jasper – Book Two Of The Tudor Trilogy, Henry – Book Three Of The Tudor Trilogy, Mary – Tudor Princess, Brandon – Tudor Knight and The Secret Diary Of Eleanor Cobham. 

Website: Twitter:  Facebook: LinkedIn: Instagram: Amazon Author Page: Goodreads: 

The Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour presents - Mercedes Rochelle, author of The Usurper King - The Plantagenet Legacy Book 3

 

Book Title: The Usurper King

Series: The Plantagenet Legacy Book 3

Author: Mercedes Rochelle

Publication Date: TBC

Publisher: Sergeant Press

Page Length: 308 Pages

Genre: Historical Fiction

The Usurper King

(The Plantagenet Legacy, Book 3)

By Mercedes Rochelle

From Outlaw to Usurper, Henry Bolingbroke fought one rebellion after another.

First, he led his own uprising. Gathering support the day he returned from exile, Henry marched across the country and vanquished the forsaken Richard II. Little did he realize that his problems were only just beginning. How does a usurper prove his legitimacy? What to do with the deposed king? Only three months after he took the crown, Henry IV had to face a rebellion led by Richard's disgruntled favorites. Worse yet, he was harassed by rumors of Richard's return to claim the throne. His own supporters were turning against him. How to control the overweening Percies, who were already demanding more than he could give? What to do with the rebellious Welsh? After only three years, the horrific Battle of Shrewsbury nearly cost him the throne—and his life. It didn't take long for Henry to discover that that having the kingship was much less rewarding than striving for it.

Amazon UK:  Amazon US: 

EXCERPT: Prince Hal must tell Queen Isabella about Richard's death

Isabella of Valois was probably the only person in England who did not know about Richard's funeral. She was fourteen now and kept in close confinement at Havering-atte-Bower, where she was taken after the failed rebellion. Her prison was an old royal palace to the northeast of London, modest but comfortable. She knew Richard's life was in danger and was worried sick about him. Alas, no matter how much she cried and demanded to visit her husband, she was politely refused. So she was relieved when the Prince of Wales was announced, for of all King Henry's children he was closest to her in age and they had gotten along well before he went to Ireland. Before her life fell apart.

Hal came in by himself and knelt before her—a gesture sorely lacking these many months. He had grown much taller since she last saw him, and his shoulders had filled out from training. Unsurprisingly, his stiff posture had not relaxed, nor had his eyes softened; they were guarded as usual. 

Blinking back tears, she held out her hands. "You are a welcome sight, my lord. Thank you for visiting me."

Slowly he stood and together they walked over to a window seat. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, she smiled self-consciously. It had been so long since she had a visitor, she was not dressed like a princess. Hal didn't seem to care. 

"Do you have everything you need?" he said, trying to find a good place to start a conversation.

Isabella nodded. She knew that's not why he was here. "I had hoped to see my husband," she said softly. She knew this was none of his doing, but she had to make her feelings known to somebody.

At least Hal had the grace to look embarrassed. "I loved King Richard like a father," he said earnestly, trying to take her hand. "He was very good to me."

"Loved?" Her eyes narrowed. "You love him no longer?"

He sighed. There was no easy way to say this. "My lady, there is something I must tell you."

She pulled her hand away, panic spreading over her face. "What has happened to him?"

As he struggled to find the words, Isabella broke into tears. "He's dead, isn't he?" She covered her face with her hands. "My poor Richard. How could you do this to him?"

Stricken, Hal fell to his knees. "I swear to you, I am overcome with anguish. I didn't even know where he was kept."

Lowering her hands, she looked at him doubtfully. "Do you expect me to believe that?"

Hal shook his head. "I am not privy to my father's decisions."

"How can that be?"

He hesitated, biting his lip. "It seems my father trusts no one, except for the archbishop. And perhaps his inner circle. We were never close."

She was not convinced. However, there was no point in arguing. "How did Richard die?" Her voice was so soft he barely heard her. 

"It is said that after the rebellion, he stopped eating. This went on for almost two weeks when they sent a confessor to reason with him. Relenting, he tried to eat but by then he was unable to swallow. Sadly, he expired shortly thereafter."

"Dear God, he starved to death?"

"That is what I am told." This sounded weak, even to him. What could he do? Richard's death was shrouded in mystery. 

"Do you believe this?" Isabella's voice was harsh. 

"Of course I do." Hal tried to sound sincere. 

"I expect to attend his funeral," she said firmly. Once again, he hesitated and she couldn't restrain her tears. "You wouldn't stop me, would you?"

Hal had to fight back his rage at his father. He was furious to discover Isabella hadn't been told about the funeral and insisted he be the one to break the tidings to her. Now he regretted it. 

"It's too late, Isabella. The king thought it best for you not to attend."

"Not to attend?" Her voice rose to a shriek. 

Hal stood, stepping back. "He sent me to tell you. He thought it would be best for you to hear from my lips." 

Did she even heed him? Turning away, she threw herself onto the cushion, crying uncontrollably. Looking around the room, Hal went over to a sideboard and poured a cup of water. He knelt by her side, holding it out.

"Here, drink this."

Hiccoughing, she sat obediently, accepting the water. 

"I promise you, I will do my best to see you are well taken care of," he said.

She stopped drinking. "What does it matter? I've lost everything I care about."

Defeated, Hal got up to leave.

"Wait." 

He stopped, his back to her.

"When?"

He was hoping she wouldn't ask. Turning, Hal wiped his hands on his sides. "The funeral was the twelfth of March." 

"That was months ago!" 

He waited for her to start wailing again and she surprised him by her restraint. "I see how it is," she said sadly. "Once again I am a pawn in your game. I am not supposed to have feelings. I must do what I am told for I have no choice."

She was breaking his heart. "My dear friend, you are not the only one."

Henry's response gave her pause. She cocked her head, considering him for a moment. "I am sorry we are enemies," she said. "In another world we might have been friends. Please, Hal. Help me go home."

***

Author Bio:

Mercedes Rochelle is an ardent lover of medieval history, and has channeled this interest into fiction writing. Her first four books cover eleventh-century Britain and events surrounding the Norman Conquest of England. The next series is called The Plantagenet Legacy about the struggles and abdication of Richard II, leading to the troubled reigns of the Lancastrian Kings. She also writes a blog: HistoricalBritainBlog.com to explore the history behind the story. Born in St. Louis, MO, she received by BA in Literature at the Univ. of Missouri St.Louis in 1979 then moved to New York in 1982 while in her mid-20s to “see the world”. The search hasn’t ended! Today she lives in Sergeantsville, NJ with her husband in a log home they had built themselves.

Website: Blog: Facebook: Twitter: Book Bub:  Amazon Author Page:  Goodreads:

The Coffee Pot Book Club welcomes Saving Grace by H. D. Coulter

 

Book Title: Saving Grace: Deception. Obsession. Redemption.

Series: The Ropewalk series, Book 2

Author: H D Coulter

Publication Date: 11th May 2021

Publisher: Independently Published 

Page Length: 330 Pages

Genre: Historical Fiction

Saving Grace: Deception. Obsession. Redemption.

(The Ropewalk series, Book 2)

By H D Coulter

(Blurb)

Beacon Hill, Boston. 1832.

“You are innocent. You are loved. You are mine.”

After surviving the brutal attack and barely escaping death at Lancaster Castle, Beatrice Mason attempts to build a new life with her husband Joshua across the Atlantic in Beacon Hill. But, as Beatrice struggles to cope with the pregnancy and vivid nightmares, she questions whether she is worthy of redemption.

Determined to put the past behind her after the birth of her daughter Grace, Bea embraces her newfound roles of motherhood and being a wife. Nevertheless, when she meets Sarah Bateman, their friendship draws Bea towards the underground railroad and the hidden abolitionist movement, despite the dangerous secrets it poses. Whilst concealed in the shadows, Captain Victor Hanley returns, obsessed with revenge and the desire to lay claim to what is his, exposes deceptions and doubts as he threatens their newly established happiness.

Now, Beatrice must find the strength to fight once more and save Grace, even if it costs her life.

An Excerpt from Chapter 2

Ulverston 1832.

“That is quite a debt you are racking up, dear Max.” Hanley stacked the gold coins into a pile as he held the owing slips of paper in his left hand.

“I can pay you; I just need a couple of days to free up the money.” Max licked out the last dregs of whiskey from his glass. There were three other tables surrounding them in one of the smaller rooms in the club where high stakes were thrown away more often than anyone involved cared to note.

Hanley grinned and gestured to the serving staff to bring two more. “On me.” They placed the tumblers down in front of them within seconds. With a simple nod, Max lifted his and swallowed the contents it in one gulp. “We both know you are running out of capital. That’s the dreadful business with ships, you never quite know when you’re going to lose them like that.”

Max relaxed back in his chair and allowed the haze of alcohol to blur his thoughts. “Storms happen... we have insurance.”

“Yes... and yet I had heard they are refusing to pay - and that would suggest you owe me a great deal of money that you simply do not have.” Hanley laid the pieces of paper in front of him like tarot cards, then gathered five more from his pocket and added them to the spread. “Your friends were more than happy to allow me to buy your debt.”

Max jumped forward in his chair and stared at the extra pieces of paper on the cards table. “You will get your money – I just need time.” He could no longer hide the panic in his voice.

“But Max - I can make sure the wheel of fortune turns again and makes all your troubles disappear.” Hanley drew an invisible wheel in the air in front of them, turning it around with his hand. Max watched the motion as if Hanley were casting a spell over him.

“What... what would you want in return?”

“Information... tell me where they are.”

“Who?”

The Captain’s face twitched in anger and his tone became darker. “The boy and his whore.”

“I don’t know. I cut ties with him after that dreadful... situation.” Max paused, remembering who he was speaking to and the lengths that person would go to to achieve their aims.

“A little birdie has told me he has been sending you letters.” Hanley held the younger man’s gaze, warning him to weigh his next words.

Max leaned in a little closer and lowered his voice from the other gentlemen in the room. “If I told you, then – then it would all disappear – the debt?”

Hanley mirrored his actions playfully. “You have my word.”

“They... they are in America. Boston, to be exact.”

“Excellent, what else?”

“He wants help to find work. Once word spread of their situation, none of the usual employers would send him a reference after they heard his own father had washed his hands of him. Without a reference, he can’t get a decent situation, not one that would... suit.” Max stared down at his empty glass, longing for it to fill once more with whiskey. Hanley paused, his hand in the air, and waited. “Joshua seems to think I can help him, that I know of people in Boston. I told him... I couldn’t - I can’t... I won’t, I won’t help him now, not anymore - but the letters keep coming.” Hanley moved two fingers, a sign for a refill.

“I want you to send him a letter back, informing him of the contrary – a convenient position in Boston has manifested itself, and you can furnish him with the relevant names and addresses.”

“Why? What’s in it for you, Hanley? Why would you want to help him get a job?” Max paused, the glass touching his lips, the smell of the single malt intoxicating.

“That is none of your business now, is it, Max? But, if you do this, I will sweeten the deal by having a word with your insurance company.”

Even through his hazy thoughts, Max realised the power that this man held, and knew it would not be wise to cross him, especially on the behalf of a disgraced and former friend. “If you tell me what to write, I... I will send it.” He masked the taste of guilt and betrayal in his mouth as he gulped down the whiskey. “I must say, it will make him pleased, especially with the news... Oh -”

“What news?” Hanley tilted his head,, and a curious grin fell across his mouth. 

“That he... well... he is to be a father, you see. A wedding night blessing, he said, but if that’s the case why ask for me to keep it quiet...?”

“Now... that is excellent news!” Hanley looked elated as he ordered two more drinks. “We must toast to their newfound fortune.”

Confused as to what he might have said, Max kept his thoughts to himself on the transaction. “You will... keep to your part of the deal, won’t you, Victor?”

“You doubt me?”

“No, no, of course not.” Max lowered his eyes from Hanley’s stare; the world was moving around him, a sign he needed to call it a night.

Hanley played with the pieces of paper in his hands, shuffling them like a deck of cards. “A man will deliver a letter to you tomorrow. You must copy it, word for word, and hand it back to him. In return you will get your little pieces of paper, and the good news you’ve been waiting for.” Max nodded in agreement, finished the last of his drink, and made his move to leave. Hanley rose to his feet and remarked loudly, “A pleasure doing business with you, Sir Max Elliot.”

Max held his head high and staggered out of the club, dotting his hat to familiar faces and disapproving looks.

Hanley sat back in his chair and gestured for another drink. Joyous news. His plan was taking effect and now, on top of everything, he was going to be a father. He knew there was no way the baby was a wedding-night blessing. He relived the event in his head for the hundredth time, knowing he had left his seed in her. There was no doubt in his mind that the baby was his, but what was he going to do about it? He smiled at the imminent chaos, wishing he had been there when she had realised, when she had told Mason boy of the news.

 An image of Bea popped into his head, smiling at her sisters in their old cottage kitchen. How much they had looked like her; how sweet she had seemed... how innocent. The scene shifted to her standing in front of him, holding out their child. His child. And in that moment, he knew the game had shifted.

Copyright: H D Coulter

Saving Grace: Deception. Obsession. Redemption. 

Book 2 in the Ropewalk series. 

Published 11th May 2021.

Buy Links:

Amazon UK: Amazon US: Universal Link to other bookshops: 

Ropewalk; Rebellion. Love. Survival (The Ropewalk Series, Book 1) is only 0.99 on ebook during the tour. Here are the buy links:

Amazon UK: Amazon US: Universal Link to other bookshops: 

H D Coulter

Hayley was born and raised in the lake district and across Cumbria. From a young age, Hayley loved learning about history, visiting castles and discovering local stories from the past. Hayley and her partner lived in Ulverston for three years and spent her weekends walking along the Ropewalk and down by the old harbour. She became inspired by the spirit of the area and stories that had taken place along the historic streets.

As a teacher, Hayley had loved the art of storytelling by studying drama and theatre. The power of the written word, how it can transport the reader to another world or even another time in history. But it wasn't until living in Ulverston did she discover a story worth telling. From that point, the characters became alive and she fell in love with the story.

Website: Twitter: Instagram: Facebook: 

Sign up to Hayley’s newsletter between now and May 30th to be placed into a giveaway raffle for a personalised BookBox, including a signed copy of Ropewalk and Saving Grace.

http://eepurl.com/hjgxYf

The Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour is proud to host Anne O'Brien author of The Queen’s Rival

Book Title: The Queen's Rival

Author: Anne O'Brien

Publication Date: 15th April 2021(paperback) September 2020 (Hardback and ebook)

Publisher: HarperCollins

Page Length: 531 pages

Genre: Historical Fiction

Twitter Handle: @anne_obrien @maryanneyarde

Instagram Handless: @coffeepotbookclub

The Queen's Rival

Anne O'Brien

England, 1459. 

One family united by blood. Torn apart by war…

The Wars of the Roses storm through the country, and Cecily Neville, Duchess of York, plots to topple the weak-minded King Henry VI from the throne.

But when the Yorkists are defeated at the battle of Ludford Bridge, Cecily’s family flee and abandon her to face a marauding Lancastrian army on her own.

Stripped of her lands and imprisoned in Tonbridge Castle, the Duchess begins to spin a web of deceit. One that will eventually lead to treason, to the fall of King Henry VI, and to her eldest son being crowned King Edward IV.

The Queen's Rival Excerpt

Duchess Cecily takes the King to task in Reading Abbey, September 1464

Edward, King of England, stood before me.

‘Where is she?’

‘Who?’

‘Do not be obtuse, Edward.’

I could not address him as Ned. There was no maternal affection within me.

His eyes widened with just the hint of the temper that he rarely showed to me.

‘You refer to my wife, Madam.’

A little silence fell, broken only by a squawk from the popinjay that had been consigned to the corner of the room. I ignored the wine poured and presented to me. Rejected the delicacy of fried fig pastries he had ordered to sweeten my mood. There would be no sweetening here.

‘What have you done, Edward? What in God’s name have you done?’

Replacing the cup on the salver, my son stood foursquare before me. He had known that he would have to face this conversation with me. They said that he was charismatic in his treatment of women. There was no doubting it. His smile could have melted winter ice.

‘I have entered into a marriage. Was that not what you had been commanding me to do since the day that I became King?’

The truth of this stirred my anger to a new level of heat.

‘I am finding it difficult to choose my words. You have married a commoner, a woman of no connection, a woman already wed, with a family of her own, and so defiled. A Queen of England should be a spotless virgin, not a widow. I can barely believe the truth of it, that you should have embarked on so misguided a policy.’

‘I regret that you are so dismissive of my choice of wife.’ How smooth he was. How adult. I remembered that he was now two and twenty years old. ‘Not one word to wish us happy. I might have hoped for more.’

At least his smile had waned.

‘Happy is not a concept for a King when entering into matrimony,’ I replied. ‘Did you not think? Did you not stop and consider before you committed the deed? As King of England you had your choice of European women of high birth. Bona of Savoy would have been the perfect match. Your children would be magnificently connected to the best blood of England and France. Here was a chance to tie France into an alliance which would defeat the Lancastrians for ever. Since, without a reply, Edward picked up his own cup and drank, I continued.

‘Instead you have chosen a woman who will give you no advantage, and in so doing you have antagonised Warwick, humiliated King Louis, horrified your Council. And if that were not enough you have angered the bedrock of your Yorkist followers whose blood has been spilt in our cause on the battlefield. They think that you have betrayed them by this marriage. Surely I and your father raised you to see the value of making and keeping friends in political circles. You have destroyed so much goodwill. It will serve you badly if King Louis, feeling thwarted by your inexplicable volte-face, promptly gives his support to Queen Marguerite and furnishes her with French troops to win the throne back for her son. We could have a French army landing on our shores within months, and it will be entirely your own fault.’

Which at last prompted my son into some level of response.

‘You take no account of the reason why I asked that she would wed me. It is very clear to anyone who knows me well, and who knows the lady. I fell in love. I wed her because I did not wish to live without her.’

His features were alight with it. I would not be persuaded.

‘Love! It is an embarrassment.’

And there again was the flash of temper in his eyes as they held mine without any sense of regret.

‘I love her! Did I not appreciate the problems surrounding this marriage? I am neither ignorant or naive, but the moment I set eyes on Mistress Grey, my heart was hers, as hers was mine. I wed her because I wished to spend my life with her. I know that she will be an unimpeachable Queen.’

His confidence was disquieting. 'You say that you are not naive. This marriage was the opportunity to make that one single irrevocable alliance with a European power through the hand of a foreign Princess. Instead you have thrown it away on a family of little renown. Rivers, a man of meagre nobility. Jacquetta, it is true, the daughter of some distant branch of the family of Luxembourg, but it does not make amends for Woodville’s less than glorious birth.’

‘I care not.’

‘You should care. A King, particularly a new King with a kingdom to take in hand, should wed a virgin, a woman of pure reputation. It is not acceptable for you to wed a widow.’

My son’s face was wiped clean of any expression, but he was not lost for words.

‘It’s always an education to hear your views of my character, Madam.’  Edward, opening the door for me to depart, bowed with a perfect degree of respect, denied by his closing words.

‘I hope you will change your mind. In the interest of harmony in my household.  If you will not, then I fear that you will be the loser.’

Before the door closed behind me, all I heard was the popinjay’s shriek, startled by some reaction from within the room. Edward laughed. The popinjay had more effect on him than I.

All was clear, like iron nails hammered into a coffin. Elizabeth Woodville would be Queen of England. I had been supplanted by a woman for whom I had no respect.

At some point I would have to meet her.

What a game that would be to play out. Queen versus King’s Mother.

Amazon UK:  Amazon US:  Amazon CA:  Amazon AU: 

Barnes and Noble:  Waterstones:  Kobo:  Audio:  Blackwells: WHSmith: 

Anne O’Brien

Sunday Times Bestselling author Anne O’Brien was born in West Yorkshire. After gaining a BA Honours degree in History at Manchester University and a Master’s in Education at Hull, she lived in East Yorkshire for many years as a teacher of history.

Today she has sold over 700,000 copies of her books medieval history novels in the UK and internationally. She lives with her husband in an eighteenth-century timber-framed cottage in the depths of the Welsh Marches in Herefordshire. The area provides endless inspiration for her novels which breathe life into the forgotten women of medieval history.

Website:  Twitter:  Facebook:  LinkedIn:  Pinterest: Amazon Author Page:  Goodreads:  

News Letter sign up:

The Coffee Pot Book Blog Tour welcomes Discerning Grace (Book One of The White Sails Series) by Emma Lombard,

Book Title: Discerning Grace

Series: The White Sails Series

Author: Emma Lombard

Publication Date: 22 February 2021

Page Length: 372 pages

Genre: Historical Women’s Fiction

Discerning Grace

(Book One of The White Sails Series)

By Emma Lombard

As the first full-length novel in The White Sails Series, DISCERNING GRACE captures the spirit of an independent woman whose feminine lens blows the ordered patriarchal decks of a 19th century tall ship to smithereens.

Wilful Grace Baxter, will not marry old Lord Silverton with his salivary incontinence and dead-mouse stink. Discovering she is a pawn in an arrangement between slobbery Silverton and her calculating father, Grace is devastated when Silverton reveals his true callous nature.

Refusing this fate, Grace resolves to stow away. Heading to the docks, disguised as a lad to ease her escape, she encounters smooth-talking naval recruiter, Gilly, who lures her aboard HMS Discerning with promises of freedom and exploration in South America.

When Grace's big mouth lands her bare-bottomed over a cannon for insubordination, her identity is exposed. The captain wants her back in London but his orders, to chart the icy archipelago of Tierra del Fuego, forbid it. Lieutenant Seamus Fitzwilliam gallantly offers to take Grace off the fretting captain's hands by placing her under his protection.

Grace must now win over the crew she betrayed with her secret, while managing her feelings towards her taciturn protector, whose obstinate chivalry stifles her new-found independence. But when Grace disregards Lieutenant Fitzwilliam's warnings about the dangers of the unexplored archipelago, it costs a friend his life and she realises she is not as free as she believes.

***

EXCERPT Discerning Grace (The White Sails Series Book 1)

London, 13 May 1826

A deep-throated rumble of laughter drew Grace’s eyes across the crowded drawing room and over to Uncle Farfar. Heading over to him, she admired the double row of gold buttons on his blue naval coat glinting in the luminescence of the gilt chandelier above. The crystal beads cast a sprinkling of starlight around the room. The evening had a distinctly tropical aura, with wide-fronded palms and vines spilling from all corners in a waterfall of greenery. Mother’s décor was fanciful and faux.

Uncle Farfar beckoned a young man, the single epaulette on his right shoulder announcing that he was a lieutenant in His Majesty’s Royal Navy. 

“Ah, Fitzwilliam. Just in time,” beamed Uncle Farfar, his face flushed with pleasure. Uncle Farfar was actually Admiral Arthur Jameson Baxter, highly decorated for his successful engagement in Admiral Nelson’s campaign at the Battle of Trafalgar. He had lovingly endured the childhood nickname Grace had bestowed upon him when she was eighteen months old and unable to pronounce his name, Uncle Arthur. He had not escaped the deep weathering of a man who had spent his life at sea, and though his face was much rounder these days, he still had a kindness in his eyes. 

Centring himself between Grace and the new arrival, Uncle Farfar said, “Lieutenant Seamus Fitzwilliam, may I introduce you to Miss Grace Baxter, my niece and the delight of my life.”

Grace smiled politely, admiring the shades of gold shimmering across Fitzwilliam’s smoothed-back hair, caught tidily in a black silk ribbon at his graceful nape.

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss Baxter,” said Fitzwilliam, formally kissing her hand.

“Lieutenant.” Grace took her hand back, fingers curling, and Fitzwilliam clasped his own behind his back.

Uncle Farfar’s sharp eyes flicked across the room, and his cordiality shrivelled. “God save us, see who approaches? Lord Silverton.”

Lord Silverton appeared closer to a hundred years old, despite him only being in his early fifties. He was also a childless widower of renowned wealth and lineage. His bulging midriff announced no shortage of good food. He had been a mysterious figure on the outskirts of Grace’s life since she could remember, but no number of years had lessened her discomfort around him.

“Your servant, madam,” drawled Silverton, bowing stiffly.

Grace dipped her head in greeting, lowering her gaze from Silverton’s beady eyes to the neatly tied cravat at the base of his bulbous, waggling chin. How could any respectable lady willingly draw herself to the attention of this crusty, timeworn creature?

“Your gown is simply delightful, Miss Baxter,” said Silverton. “Reminds me of the gossamer wings of a dragonfly.” Silverton’s obtrusive stare only blackened Uncle Farfar’s mood further. Oblivious, Silverton droned on, “Fascinating creatures! Dragonfly rituals of courtship may appear romantic to those inclined to observe the world through rose-coloured spectacles, but the amazing show of flips and spirals is usually the female trying to escape the boorish behaviour of the males.”

“I cannot possibly imagine how that feels,” Grace muttered, peering impassively around the crowded room. Fitzwilliam’s quick, dry cough sounded suspiciously like a laugh, and Grace studied him from the corner of her eye. His face betrayed nothing.

Just then, the butler rang the bell. 

Silverton’s beady eyes fixed on Grace. “Would you care to dine with me this evening, Miss Baxter?”

Uncle Farfar cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind, Silverton, I’d appreciate my niece’s company this evening.” 

Uncle Farfar drew Grace away before Silverton could say anything more and ushered her into the dining room. Fitzwilliam followed two steps behind with his allotted dinner companion, Miss Pettigrew. Her petite hand curled in his elbow, and her coifed black hair barely met his shoulder. Grace had made her acquaintance only once before and realised with a sinking heart that she was in for an evening of little to no conversation with the demure creature, should she be stuck beside her. The stretched table was laid with the snowiest of linen and set with such precision that even the King of England would have been pressed to find fault. 

Uncle Farfar waved at the empty chairs. “Would you care to sit between Lieutenant Fitzwilliam and me, Grace dear? You might need to give me a kick under the table if we bore you with too much naval chatter.”

Grace sank into her chair. “Nonsense, Uncle. I do so enjoy your tales.”

Fitzwilliam waited for Miss Pettigrew to be seated as she gave him a simpering smile. A wave of relief washed over Grace at not being stuck with Silverton for the evening. 

Uncle Farfar clearly had the same thoughts, and he chuckled, “At least you’re squirrelled with us, away from that pompous windbag.”

Grace peered down the long table, her eyes narrowing as she caught Silverton’s beady eyes, grey as a wolf’s pelt, roaming freely across her décolletage. She scratched absentmindedly at the fine lace edging around the low neck of her lavender gown, aware that her unladylike fidgeting would likely irk Father at some point in the evening. But it could not be helped. Lace was so wretchedly itchy.

Fitzwilliam pulled in his chair and nodded at Captain Steven Fincham sitting stiffly opposite him like a squat Napoleonic figure. Dark circles beneath Fincham’s bleary, bloodshot eyes gave Grace the impression that he was in poor health, suffering from the crapulous effects of intoxication, or both.

With the soup course over, Grace eyed the line of footmen entering with platters laden with succulent roast lamb. The thin slices were perfectly browned on the outside with just a peek of pink inside. Her stomach grumbled at the rich, buttery scent of the potatoes being served onto her plate. She intended to enjoy every mouthful. At the sound of cutlery pinging on glass, Grace turned her attention to her father, Lord Flint, who rose with his wine glass raised. 

“As you know, my dear wife’s partiality to dinner parties ensures they happen with alarming regularity.” A polite smattering of laughter rippled around the table. “But tonight, we have two guests who deserve our well wishes.” Father inclined his bewigged head at Fincham. “Captain Fincham and Lieutenant Fitzwilliam will soon be leaving England’s fair shores to expand our great nation’s knowledge of the world.” His crystal cut glass glimmered in the candlelight. “To a safe and prosperous journey, gentlemen.”

Universal Link: 

Emma Lombard was born in Pontefract in the UK. She grew up in Africa—calling Zimbabwe and South Africa home for a few years—before finally settling in Brisbane Australia, and raising four boys. Before she started writing historical fiction, she was a freelance editor in the corporate world, which was definitely not half as exciting as writing rollicking romantic adventures. Her characters are fearless seafarers, even though in real life Emma gets disastrously sea sick. Discerning Grace, is the first book in The White Sails Series.

To join the crew—subscribe to Emma's newsletter: www.emmalombardauthor.com

Website: Twitter: Facebook: Instagram: Goodreads: 

The Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour presents Shadows of Versailles (An Affair of the Poisons, Book One) by Cathie Dunn

Book Title: The Shadows of Versailles

Series: An Affair of the Poisons, Book One

Author: Cathie Dunn

Publication Date: November 20th, 2020

Publisher: Ocelot Press

Page Length: 251 (ebook) / 277 (pb)

Genre: historical fiction / mystery

The Shadows of Versailles

(An Affair of the Poisons Book One)

By Cathie Dunn

Dazzled by Versailles. Broken by tragedy. Consumed by revenge.

When Fleur de La Fontaine attends the court of King Louis XIV for the first time, she is soon besotted with handsome courtier, Philippe de Mortain. She dreams of married life away from her uncaring mother, but Philippe keeps a secret from her.

Nine months later, after the boy she has given birth to in a convent is whisked away, she flees to Paris where she mends gowns in the brothel of Madame Claudette, a woman who helps ‘fallen’ girls back on their feet.

Jacques de Montagnac investigates a spate of abducted children when his path crosses Fleur’s. He searches for her son, but the trail leads to a dead end – and a dreadful realisation.

Her boy’s suspected fate too much to bear, Fleur decides to avenge him. She visits the famous midwife, La Voisin, but it’s not the woman’s skills in childbirth that Fleur seeks.

La Voisin dabbles in poisons.

Will Fleur see her plan through? Or can she save herself from a tragic fate?

Delve into The Shadows of Versailles and enter the sinister world of potions, poisoners and black masses during the Affairs of the Poisons, a real event that stunned the court of the Sun King!

Available FREE on Kindle Unlimited!

Amazon:  Amazon UK:   Amazon US:  Amazon CA: Amazon AU:

Cathie Dunn writes historical fiction, mystery, and romance. She has been writing for over twenty years. She studied Creative Writing, with a focus on novel writing, which she now teaches in the south of France. She loves researching for her novels, delving into history books, and visiting castles and historic sites.

Her stories have garnered awards and praise from reviewers and readers for their authentic description of the past.

Cathie is a member of the Historical Novel Society and the Alliance of Independent Authors.

After nearly two decades in Scotland, she now lives in the historic city of Carcassonne in the south of France with her husband, two cats and a rescue dog. 

Website: Twitter: Facebook: Instagram: Pinterest: BookBub: Amazon Author Page:  Goodreads: 

The Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour spotlight on Chateau Laux by David Loux

 

Book Title: Chateau Laux

Author: David Loux

Publication Date: April 6, 2021

Publisher: Wire Gate Press

Page Length: 292 Pages

Genre: Historical/Literary Fiction

Chateau Laux

By David Loux

Blurb

A young entrepreneur from a youthful Philadelphia, chances upon a French aristocrat and his family living on the edge of the frontier. Born to an unwed mother and raised by a disapproving and judgmental grandfather, he is drawn to the close-knit family. As part of his courtship of one of the patriarch’s daughters, he builds a château for her, setting in motion a sequence of events he could not have anticipated.

Buy Links:

Amazon UK: Amazon US: Amazon CA: Amazon AU: Barnes and Noble: Kobo: 

Author Bio:

David Loux is a short story writer who has published under pseudonym and served as past board member of California Poets in the Schools. Chateau Laux is his first novel. He lives in the Eastern Sierra with his wife, Lynn.

Social Media Links:

Website: Twitter: Goodreads: Amazon Author Page: 

The Coffee Pot Book Blog Tour Presents Under the Light of the Italian Moon by Jennifer Anton

Book Title: Under the Light of the Italian Moon

Author: Jennifer Anton

Publication Date: 8th March 2021

Publisher: Amsterdam Publishers

Page Length: 394 Pages

Genre: Historical Fiction/Biographical Fiction

Under the Light of the Italian Moon

Jennifer Anton

A promise keeps them apart until WW2 threatens to destroy their love forever

Fonzaso Italy, between two wars

Nina Argenta doesn’t want the traditional life of a rural Italian woman. The daughter of a strong-willed midwife, she is determined to define her own destiny. But when her brother emigrates to America, she promises her mother to never leave.

When childhood friend Pietro Pante briefly returns to their mountain town, passion between them ignites while Mussolini forces political tensions to rise. Just as their romance deepens, Pietro must leave again for work in the coal mines of America. Nina is torn between joining him and her commitment to Italy and her mother.

As Mussolini’s fascists throw the country into chaos and Hitler’s Nazis terrorise their town, each day becomes a struggle to survive greater atrocities. A future with Pietro seems impossible when they lose contact and Nina’s dreams of a life together are threatened by Nazi occupation and an enemy she must face alone…

A gripping historical fiction novel, based on a true story and heartbreaking real events.

Spanning over two decades, Under the Light of the Italian Moon is an epic, emotional and triumphant tale of one woman’s incredible resilience during the rise of fascism and Italy’s collapse into WWII.

Excerpt

November 1914 

Nina Argenta stared at the altar, trying to concentrate on the Mass since there was no chance of escape. The warm fragrance of incense surrounded her, and the priest’s recitations combined with the candlelit sanctuary made it hard to keep herself awake. It was Sunday, and like every Sunday of her ten years on Earth, she sat dutifully, bored by the teachings of the ancient text that is the Roman Catholic Holy Bible. 

Under the vaulted ceiling of the Chiesa della Natività di Maria,  the Madonna statue at the side of the church watched her. Candlelight illuminated the blue veil and gentle expression of the Blessed Virgin casting a shine, like polish, on one side of her face and leaving the other in shadow. Nina shivered, tugging her sweater around her shoulders. The yarn, thick under her fingertips, made her feel secure. It had been a gift from her mother on Nina’s birthday two weeks before – the birthday they shared. 

“We are born on the cusp of two moons, passionate and loyal. A gift for my gift,” her mother had said when she gave Nina the present, blue to match her light eyes. It covered the once-white dress she wore that had belonged to her older sister. She leaned against the solid wood of the pew and studied the colours in the paintings of Frigimelica and Forabosco hanging on the grand church walls. Garments of rich burgundies like dried blood, sparkling golds, skin on a flat canvas painted to project luminescence and curve. It was easy to distract yourself from Mass when surrounded by such intricacy. 

The women of her family sat to her right: seven of them in the row behind the nuns, a place of honour. The Argenta women occupied the same pew every Sunday. Onorina, four years her senior, perfect and pious, kept her eyes closed and prayed with a sparkling rosary threaded through her clasped hands, oblivious to the three youngest sisters who fretted next to their mother. Her father and younger brother, Vante, sat in front with the other men. Men in front, women in back, separated by the nuns. Nina’s older brother, Antonio, had not joined them today. At breakfast, tension had hung between him and their mother, which she assumed was why he missed Mass. The priest would surely notice. Mamma would be disappointed. Nina knew how it felt to let her down. 

The chapel veil sitting atop her head slipped as she looked up at the imposing crucifix that stabbed down above the altar. Adjusting the lace, she missed a prayer response, causing her mother to look over with a lifted eyebrow. Adelasia Dalla Santa Argenta was not a woman to make angry, especially not during Mass. Her wooden spoon would be waiting at home to beat your culo if you weren’t good. She had a reputation for sternness not only with her family but with the entire town. 

As the only trained midwife in Fonzaso and the villages surrounding, she had delivered every child Nina knew and had earned the nickname, La Capitana,  The Captain. It was said even the priest feared her. 

Nina could see her father, Corrado Argenta, through the heads and habits as he shifted from side to side. His eyelids drooped in boredom, but he glanced back from time to time to check on his wife and mother, both of whom he feared as much as the children did. Nonna Argenta, small and severe in her black dress and head covering, was the only one besides Onorina entirely consumed by the Mass. Nonna looks just like a strega,  thought Nina, missing only a broom to fly away on. 

Nina let out a relieved sigh when it was time for Communion. At last!  Mass would be over soon, and she couldn’t wait to be by the fireplace, reading her book after helping Mamma and Nonna prepare the polenta for supper. She walked up the marble aisle, inching forward behind the nuns, then knelt at the altar and held out her tongue, awaiting the body of Christ. Receiving the wafer, she gave the sign of the cross and stood to head back to her seat. The taste of creamy paper stuck to the roof of her mouth and she contemplated why God would want children to have sore knees and numb bottoms to get into Heaven. 

Passing rows of men knelt to pray after Communion, she saw the large Pante family filling two benches in the front of the church. Pietro, one of her sister’s classmates, leaned unceremoniously in the pew, trying to help his tiny brother fix his shoelaces, tied together so he would trip. A messy redhead crouched in the seat behind them was the likely culprit of the prank. The Pante boy finished helping his brother, then sat back on the pew, catching Nina’s eye and giving her a quiet smile. She hesitated before returning it. The Madonna was still watching her. I should be praying after receiving the body of Christ.  She returned to her seat, then knelt again, bruised knees on cold wood, to await the end of the Mass. 

“Fratelli e sorelle, ” Don Segala proclaimed after he had completed the liturgy. “I would like to ask for a special prayer today. Another group is leaving tomorrow for America. They will travel to Genoa and take a long ship ride. Signori,  please join me here on the altar.” The pews squeaked, echoing in the church as a group of five men and three boys walked to the front. To Nina’s surprise, the Pante boy was one of them. Was it possible such a young boy was going on that voyage?  There was an earnestness in the way he stood next to the other men who were a head taller than he was; his face was sombre. He stuck out a proud, lifted chin, smooth, unlike the others. A patched brown jacket, cut too wide, hung on his slender physique. I wonder how many brothers have worn that jacket before him. 

The priest called out each of the men’s names. “Lord, please bless these men and give them a safe journey to America. Allow them to prosper there and, if it is your will, bring them safely home to their families here in Fonzaso.” 

The parishioners united in an “Amen”. As Pietro returned to his seat, he peered back towards the Argenta pew, gave a wry smile, and nodded. Nina tried to see if he was looking at her or her sister, but Onorina was quick to bow her head again. The Madonna was watching her, too. 

Nina knew many men were leaving Fonzaso to find work abroad. She had overheard her father mentioning it to her mother – the emigranti –  but she never imagined such young people going. It unsettled her, and her heart raced as questions filled her head. Pietro Pante, who lived with his family a few streets down, who went to school with her sister, was leaving for America. 

America! 

The furthest she had travelled was to Padua with her mother, and Bergamo once. How exciting! What will happen to him?  What would it be like to sail on a ship, miles away, to a new country? To start life over far away from Fonzaso?  The Mass ended and the parishioners rose in song. Nina lent her voice with fervour and when she looked again at the Blessed Virgin, it seemed the Madonna was smiling at her. 

Amazon: Barnes & Noble:  Waterstones:  Bookshop.org (U.S. only):  I am Books Boston: 

Jennifer Anton is an American/Italian dual citizen born in Joliet, Illinois and now lives between London and Lake Como, Italy. A proud advocate for women's rights and equality, she hopes to rescue women's stories from history, starting with her Italian family.

Website:  Twitter: Facebook: Instagram: Pinterest: Book Bub: Amazon Author Page:  Goodreads: Youtube: