Diane shook her head and shifted uncomfortably on the hard plastic chair of the waiting room. Her dark curls fell forward over her lean face, casting deeper shadows on eyes already drawn by pain. “I don’t see how.” But she gave Carla’s hand a gentle squeeze.

Carla took hope and sat straighter. “I know it’s just part of God’s plan for—”

Diane jerked away and stood up, a scoffing noise echoing from her throat as she crossed to the window. “God. Right. You know good and well God left both of us when we were ten. I certainly haven’t seen Him since.”

Carla rose slowly, considering what to say as she joined Diane at the window. Five floors below, steam rose in spiraling tendrils from the rain-soaked streets, turning the air from a sauna bake to a steam bath. Carla knew she’d have a hard time breathing in the muggy air so different from the chilled air of the hospital. She dreaded leaving.

She dreaded staying even more.

“When we were ten. . . ” Diane’s words hung between them, both of them all too aware of what she meant. Ten. When both their lives had been ripped apart, forever changed by the man who now lay three doors away, trying to die. He’d destroyed their innocence, their families, and their faith. Carla had regained the last two. Diane still wouldn’t talk about it.

“He’ll make it. He’ll live.”

Diane snapped her head around, her words sharp. Her eyes narrowed, the pain giving way to fury. “And then what, Carla? Will you kill him for real next time?”

The Stars Cry Out Their Names

Last night, while I was staring up at the stars, two passages from Psalms came to mind, making me sigh with a feeling of relief – and blessing.

The first was Psalm 8:3-5:

When I consider your heavens,
the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars,
which you have set in place,

what is man that you are mindful of him,
the son of man that you care for him?

You made him a little lower than the heavenly beings
and crowned him with glory and honor.

For me, this is the ultimate sense of perspective. We are but specks in God’s universe. Atoms. Quarks. So why should we matter to Him?

But we do. Each of us. Scripture tells us this over and over, as it does in Psalm 147:

He heals the brokenhearted
and binds up their wounds.

He determines the number of the stars
and calls them each by name.

Great is our Lord and mighty in power;
his understanding has no limit.

The same God that names each star binds every wound, heals every heart. Trusting Him may be difficult, but we should never doubt His love for every ache, physical or mental.

This is why I seek solace in the night, looking up at the stars, listening for their names, and finding reassurance in God’s care.

1. A Hopeful Heart by Kim Vogel Sawyer — An Historical from Bethany House. Can she turn her second-best chance into a golden opportunity?

2. A Love of Her Own; Heart of the West series by Maggie Brendan — A Romance from Bethany House. April McBride has everything her heart desires . . .except the one thing money can’t buy.

3. A Matter of Character; The Sisters of Bethlehem Springs, #3 by Robin Lee Hatcher — A Romance from Zondervan. In 1918, writing dime novels simply isn’t done by an heiress, so when Joshua looks for the author who’s sullied his grandfather’s name, he never suspects Daphne’s the guilty party.

4. A Tailor-Made Bride by Karen Witemeyer — An Historical from Bethany House. Sparks fly when a dressmaker who values beauty tangles with a liveryman who condemns vanity.

5. Almost Forever; Book 1, Hanover Falls Novels series by Deborah Raney — Women’s Fiction from Howard Books/Simon & Schuster. Survivors of five fallen firefighters band together to try to make sense of the tragedy that took their loved ones.

6. Anna Finch and the Hired Gun; Women of the West series, Book 2 by Kathleen Y’Barbo — A Romance from Waterbrook. When an aspiring reporter and a Pinkerton detective get tangled in Doc Holliday’s story ˜and each other˜sparks can’t help but fly.

7. Chasing Lilacs by Carla Stewart — Women’s Fiction from FaithWords/Hachette. A coming-of-age story set in Texas in the 1950s as a young girl struggles with her own identity in light of her mother’s mental illness.

8. End Game; Big Sky Secrets, book #3 by Roxanne Rustand — A Romance from Steeple Hill Love Inspired Suspense. Big Sky Secrets–a five-book Steeple Hill Love Inspired Suspense series set in the Rockies of Montana

9. Her Abundant Joy by Lyn Cote — An Historical from Avon Inspired. Can a beautiful young widow find peace in the arms of a Texas Ranger?

10. Maid of Murder; India Hayes Mysteries, Book One by Amanda Flower — A Suspense/Mystery/Thriller from Five Star Mystery. College librarian and reluctant bridesmaid, India Hayes, sets out to prove her brother’s innocence when the bride is murdered.

11. Maid to Match by Deeanne Gist — An Historical from Bethany House. Two servants at Biltmore House at the turn of the century find that God can take your life in a very different direction than you had planned.

12. Manor of the Ghost by Tina Pinson — Women’s Fiction from Desert Breeze. Kaitlin didn’t believe in Ghosts, until she saw them in Devlin’s eyes and heard them in the deafening silence of her son, Derrick.

13. My Son, John by Kathi Macias — Women’s Fiction from Sheaf House. Can God bring healing to a family torn apart by a brutal crime?.

14. Ruby Red; Ruby Red and The Colors of Home Series by Robin Shope — A Multicultural from Sparklesoup. Eleven-year-old Ruby Red sneaks on board the Orphan Train, meant only for white children, with her pet cockroach in her pocket.

15. Sabotage by Kit Wilkinson — A Suspense/Mystery/Thriller from Steeple Hill. Equine veterinary student Derrick Randall tries to help Olympic hopeful Emilie Gill find faith and a way to her Olympic dreams.

16. Shades of Morning by Marlo Schalesky — A Romance from Waterbrook. When Marnie becomes the guardian of her Down syndrome nephew, will she run again?

17. Steadfast Soldier; Wings of Refuge #7 by Cheryl Wyatt — A Romance from Steeple Hill. These soldiers of the skies are fearless, faithful…and falling in love.

18. The Heart’s Song by Winnie Griggs — A Romance from Love Inspired. Two lonely people work together to help others and ultimately find love.

19. The Homecoming; Sequel to The Unfinished Gift by Dan Walsh — An Historical from Revell. Shawn Collins returns home from the dangers of WW2 to face the loss of his first love, but discovers God has set in motion a plan to heal his broken heart.

Second, Eva Marie Everson tells the story of Mariette and Thayne Scott with such rich detail that the 1960s returned to life in my mind, causing a number of distracting flashbacks. Images of my own childhood kept popping up, from the way my mother ran our house to that day in 1963 when the world came to a halt as people grieved in unison.

Yes, Revell sent me the book in exchange for this review, but Eva Marie is a master storyteller, and I own all her books, dating back to her first novel from Barbour. Be assured I would have bought and reviewed it anyway.

So why did This Fine Life capture me so? Let’s start with the tale itself. Mariette is typical of many young women who came of age in the late 1950s. The world sat before them with an overwhelming banquet of choices. College and careers previously not open to women awaited. Marriage, always a great option at any time, no longer formed the boundaries of our world.

So when Mariette chooses marriage to local “bad boy trying to make good” Thayne Scott over college and a respectable lifestyle, she comes into conflict with her family and most of her community. Those conflicts soon merge with the normal struggles of newlywed life, but Mariette eventually finds herself settling into her “new normal” and looking again toward an idyllic future.

Then real life hits hard – and Thayne drops a bombshell that will change all their lives forever.

This Fine Life is a riveting story that drags the reader into an unforgettable journey filled with twists and turns as unexpected as those life sometimes throws all of us. Heartache blends with laughter; joy is laced with bittersweet moments. The reader will hang on for the ride not just because of the engaging story but the lush characters who make you laugh with them and weep for them.

Pick up a copy . . . and relish every word.

This Fine Life
Revell, $14.99
978-0-8007-3274-5

It’s been a strange time; one of transition and fear, prayer and tested trust. My mother has been repeatedly ill, a combination of heart and lung ailments—some recent and some long standing—and I’ve made a number of trips to Alabama . . . and the ER. I’m now as familiar with Decatur General Hospital as I once was Vanderbilt’s Children’s Hospital. But Rachel is stable and reasonably healthy these days, while I feel as if I’m watching my mother’s descent in to that infamous good night.

Earlier this week, I headed home again, only this time I skipped Interstate 65 and drove Highway 31 almost all the way home. Once the major thoroughfare from Decatur to Nashville, it’s now one of the “blue roads” – those 2-lane beauties that meander with the land (as pointed out in the movie Cars) instead of cutting through it.

It is some of the most beautiful country in the world. In spring, the trees are laced with dark and light greens, and wildflowers line the side of the roads, their pinks, whites, purples, and blues waving wildly with each passing car. The weather alternated between sun-backed storm clouds (giving a whole new meaning to the term “blue road”) and brightly lit, rolling fields.

I pass through a half dozen unincorporated towns, maneuvering through curves and hills like a child at play. The land around Nashville undulates like the ocean far from shore, so that even the open horse fields rise and fall like great swells of verdant seas.

It also brought back memories of the first time I rode this stretch of highway, almost fifty years ago. It was Summer 1964, and we were on the way from Alabama to Nashville to see the Grand Ole Opry. I was a kid, but almost every mile driven in that unair-conditioned 1964 Impala is etched in my mind. It was good to look back, remember the way my parents used to be, what we were as a family.

This year, I turn 53; my mother will be 84 in June. We don’t look much alike; I carry too many of my dad’s Welsh genes. But there is kinship in our spirits, in our experiences, in our faith, in our love.

Life is not simple or easy for me right now—not financially, emotionally, or spiritually. But in caring for my mom and making her a priority, I’m reminded, almost daily, that remembering what has gone before can make us strong, bind us together, help us face the future.

So here’s to remembering Highway 31 in 1964 during the year we turn 53 and 84. And God’s staying power.

Joy, please email me your address, and I’ll get the books in the mail to you this week.

Thanks to EVERYONE who entered. The next prize package, Spring in the South, will be given on May 15. Click here for more details, including links to the books.

More to come.

Prizes include:

* A Murder Among Friends, The Face of Deceit, and The Taking of Carly Bradford, autographed
* Field of Danger, autographed
* New Hampshire: A Living Landscape, Peter E. Randall
* Assorted teas in a gift basket
* Assorted chocolates

Just email me at ramona@ramonarichards.com with CONTEST in the subject. Everyone who has already done so will be entered.

Thanks!

Hm.

Now, I’ve been single a long time. But immediately my mind leaped backwards, over two boyfriends and into a time when I pondered the same thing about my husband. And before I could stop it, out of my mouth came, “Used books and lead figurines.”

Lord, what a memory.

Once upon a time, before Amazon, before eBay, there was only one way to collect your favorite author’s backlist: used book stores. And I spent many an hour searching dusty, cluttered storefronts, prowling through unorganized stacks of books, looking for old editions from Piers Anthony, Roger Zelazny, Michael Moorcock, Philip K. Dick, and dozens of other authors.

My ex and I read a lot of science fiction, but on top of that, he was a gamer, and discovered a pastime that helped him relax…and made me nuts. He painted 25mm lead figurines for his role playing games. Preferably from Ral Partha, a high-quality company started in 1975 by a 16-year-old sculptor and 5 gaming buddies. Some of his prized favorites were the complex, expensive dragons.

So the best gifts wound up being acid-yellowed books and lead dragons. Not easy to find, and it made finding a store like South Bend’s The Griffon akin to digging up treasure in your backyard.

The point?

“Follow his interests, and do something special,” I told her. “Forget the card and buy him a lead dragon.”

Yeah, ok, she looked at me a little funny at that last part.

She did get that Valentine’s Day isn’t really about chocolate hearts and Hallmark cards. It’s about paying attention.

The world is simply different at night. I love night sounds, the way the air smells. I enjoy life in a relatively safe neighborhood, so I’ve gone for many a midnight walk. You learn things about your neighbors that you wouldn’t otherwise, such as who leaves their dog out, which house the raccoons and possums prefer, and who else is a night owl. The fact that I know who watches Colbert or Letterman tells me whose house I could knock on if trouble did arise on the street.

Music plays a part in the night owl’s journey. If I’m not out wandering into one of the venues here in town, I’ve got it cranked on the speakers, especially if Rachel isn’t home.

I write a lot at night, usually until the creative part of my brain slows, then halts. That’s how I know that it’s bed time. Even then I may not give in, switching over to things like blogs . . . or something that just strikes my fancy.

Tonight it was Plenty of Fish, a dating site. I set up a profile, posted a few pictures. Probably nothing will come of it; I don’t play well on paper, and I’ve never been particularly good at talking with strange men.

Make that men who are strangers. I actually do OK with strange men, geek girl that I am.

Yeah, that’s a writer’s comment. That’s OK. It’s three in the morning, the music is jamming, and I’m wondering if I have another chapter in my head. I’m also wondering if it would be safe to go alone to this little hideaway place in Madison; I hear they have bluegrass jams twice a week….

I’ll probably come to my senses once the sun is up.

Maybe.

But probably not.