Author Archives: Staff

Excerpt from Susanna’s Secret

“That’s a nasty burn, Susanna. Just this side of being infected. Why didn’t you come in sooner?” Dr. Howard Mayes peered at the blistered fingers resting on his examining table.

“You know I’ve had things to attend to,” Susanna Kingsley said sharply.

“How are you sleeping at night?”

“I’m not.”

“I can give you something. . .”

“No!” She clinched her teeth against the stabbing pain as the doctor probed her damaged flesh. “No, thank you, Howard, I’ll manage.”

He shook his head. “There’s not much I can do about this now, Susanna. You may lose the use of at least one of those fingers, but I can stave off gangrene at any rate. I’ll give you something for the pain, too.”

She swayed a little as nausea swept her. “That I’ll take.”

He poured something in a glass and handed it to her. “Here—lie down while I finish up.” He helped her onto the table and covered her with a blanket when she began to shiver.

The medicine made her sleepy. When she woke, he was still sitting beside her.  “Feeling better?”

“A little.” Her tongue felt thick.

“Lie still a little longer. I sent someone to the law office to tell Cole he could pick you up here before he went home tonight.”

She closed her eyes. “Howard, did you ever know anyone with a head injury—a really bad one that caused them to be—well, helpless?”

“Sure, I saw a lot of that during the war.”

“What happened to them?”

“Most of them died.” He put his hand briefly over his eyes. “They were the lucky ones. The others, well, they went home. You couldn’t say they were really alive though.”

“Their families had to take care of them, you mean.”

“Or find some place to put them.”

“A hospital.”

He shook his head. “Nothing so fancy. Asylums, they’re called.”

“But people are cared for there.”

“I’ve seen a few of those places, and no, I can’t honestly say people are taken care of in them.”

“Why not?”

“No money for one thing. No decent help either. I’d beggar myself before I’d put a member of my family in one.”

“They’re that bad?”

“Do you believe in hell, Susanna?”

“I think so—yes.”

“Well, that’s what they’re like.”

How To Purchase

Susanna’s Secret and additional books by Judy Nickles are available through our bookstore.

About the Author

Judy Nickles, also writing as Gwyneth Greer, has been spinning tales since she could hold a #2 pencil. When bad weather threatened, her elementary teachers called on her to tell stories to keep the other students from focusing on the storm clouds outside. For better or worse, she still hangs on to the faded copies of her own 1950’s era parodies of the popular television show Dragnet: Fishnet, Hairnet, and Butteryfly Net, and most of the essays, stories, and poems she wrote in junior high and high school. Later, she wrote The Big Valley ‘fan fiction’ for an online site.

Where Is Papa’s Shining Star?, Finding Papa’s Shining Star, The Showboat Affair, and Dancing with Velvet were published in print and also as ebooks by The Wild Rose Press. The Face on Miss Fanny’s Wall, inspired by a visit to the Ft. Smith Visitor’s Center, a restored ‘social club’, was contracted as an ebook by Champagne Books and nominated for the 2012 Novel of the Year.

In addition, she’s been published in History Magazine, My First Year in the Classroom (Adams Media), The Harsh and The Heart: Celebrating the Military (Silver Boomers Books), The Storyteller Magazine, and Christmas Bells, Christmas Tales (Dancing with Bear Publishing).

A genealogist for over 30 years, Judy believes that stories are everywhere and wishes she had time to write all of them. Her writing philosophy is “Shred the rejection, take a second look, rewrite, and resubmit.”

Her favorite possession is her Kindle Fire. She is having her adolescent rebellion 50+ years late and recently took a ride in a vintage B-24 bomber built the year she was born during the war (that’s WW II for all you youngsters out there).

 Excerpt

She leaned her head on my chest and simply rested there for a moment as the song blared on. It was a beautifully tender moment. I could feel such trust from her; such peace from the troubles of her own life and mine. Hell, now that I think about it, this series of events is why we were both late to work that day. We became totally consumed in the moment; totally unaware of time or anything happening around us. That was until she played one more song that she said reminded her of me. Unfortunately, I never asked her the title of this one, and it was in Cyrena’s first language, Spanish, so while I didn’t understand what it was saying, I contextually picked up that it was a love song because it was slow and sweet. Worth Holding On To

That, coupled with her actions of simply silently resting there with me, holding my hand and caressing it as she did, basically decoded the lyrics for me. Strangely enough, though the sun was still shining brightly that surprisingly cooler August morning, large rain drops began to fall. An idea hit me instantly because there was so much that – prior to my presence in her life – Cyrena had not experienced so with this idea I was ‘shooting from the hip’ in the hopes that this would be another memorable first for her. While the heavy rain poured down, for however brief a time it did, through the sun, I sprang up from my seated place next to her and ran around to her opposite side now completely exposed to the pouring rain. “Ant, you’re so crazy! What’re you doing?!” she questioned. I answered her question with one of my own: “Do you trust me?” To which she replied, “Of course!” “Good,” I said, “come here, then!”

Opening her car door for her like the royalty I believed she was, I took her hand and swiftly pulled her up from her seat and close to me. She took a deep breath as the rain drops hit us both. I pulled her even closer, lifting her up off the ground in a hug and kissed her there in the rain. She was beaming from ear to ear and started giddily laughing, only then to say, “Cheesy, but definitely romantic!” “Thank you,” I replied, “I try.” Eventually getting back in her car after a few more moments embracing and simultaneously becoming soaked, we noted the time, but both of us knew it was well spent despite how late we’d be to work. Off we went. Worth Holding On To

How To Purchase

“Worth Holding On To” and all of Anthony’s books can be purchased through our bookstore.

About The Author
Anthony M.J. Maranise, Obl.S.B. is a research scholar in the Department of Religion & Philosophy affiliated with the Master of Arts in Catholic Studies Program at Christian Brothers University in Memphis, Tennessee. He is an Oblate of the Order of St. Benedict in the Catholic tradition, having dedicated his life to academic research and instruction with specializations in the intersection of Sports, Spirituality, and Religion, Catholic Spirituality, and Benedictine Monasticism.

As a Certified Sports Lifestyle Coach, recognized through the International Sports Professionals Association, he happily serves student-athletes as a sports chaplain at various institutions throughout the Southern United States and is the author of the book, Sport & the Spiritual Life: The Integration of Playing & Praying (Amazon Affiliate Press / Order of St. Benedict, 2013).

Book Excerpt

Life never ceases to be life, just as love never ceases to be love, and love is eternally at the heart of what every immortal soul yearns for. The desire for love, the wrenching yearning for it, continues long past the
grave. Penny had lost sight of those hopes and dreams over the years. Today, they would crash back into her life with a force that could not be ignored.

As Jake’s motorcycle climbed steep hills and roared down the other sides, he knew it had been worth skipping work that day to take a drive. He reveled in the carelessness and freedom of the young, handsome, and uncommitted. His shaggy, brown hair blew in the breeze, and he stretched his fingers in his new, black riding gloves, working out the kinks in the tough fabric. There had never been a more glorious spring evening in the Ozark Mountains. Jake was sure of it.

The winter chill had given way to the first hints of warmth in the air. As the sun set, the sky blazed with orange-lit clouds. Violent thunder and lightning the night before had left the air fresh and clean and full
of the promise of a new season. Damp, brown pine needles and soggy piles of decomposing leaves clung to the narrow shoulders of the road, not quite ready to admit that their time was done.

On this early spring day, Jake had toured all along Highway 62 through scenic biker routes, zipping past the centuries-old rock outcroppings that were the primary landmarks along the snakelike Arkansas mountain roads. He had just passed the creepy, giant ceramic bunny that sat—always watching—in a roadside front yard. It was an odd signpost, but it meant he was only thirty minutes from Eureka
Springs. Even if it wasn’t the official Pig Trail, an outstanding piece of highway lay before him.

Grown-up logic said that he should turn back to Rogers and head home, but the lure of the winding road ahead was a siren song he couldn’t resist. Answering the call to adventure was easy to justify. He could simply extend the fun by spending the night at one of the easy-on-the-wallet biker hotels in the tiny, tourist town. There should be some good company and rowdy parties tonight with beer flowing
freely. He had nothing to hurry home for and could always head back early in the morning. No harm, no foul.

That logic of the wild and free gave him the chance to take another run along his favorite stretch of road just ahead—daredevil, hairpin turns on a rocky mountainside where guardrails were scarce. The
trick was to know when to brake, just at the last minute, to slide around each bend.

Barely budding trees overhung both sides of the two-lane road, their still-bare branches hovering expectantly around every curve. Jake leaned into the turns expertly, weaving within inches of the yellow
center line as oncoming cars swerved away from his path. Dozens of bikers passed behind them, giving him a low thumbs-up or an imaginary high-five as they passed. He knew those comrades had just
finished the epic turns and hillsides that were waiting for him. Blasting past the bright-pink warning of the “BIKER BEWARE” sign, he revved the engine and settled down on the seat in anticipation.

The next thing he knew, Jake was standing in an old-fashioned diner, staring at a bowl of ice cream on the bright-red counter in front of him. Confused, he looked up and noticed a brunette young woman
standing on the other side of the counter. She had the most amazing green eyes he’d ever seen and was wearing what must have been a 1950s-themed uniform for the diner: her long, dark hair up high in
a ponytail, a big poofed-up light-blue skirt nearly down to her ankles, a spotless white button-up blouse, and perfectly shined saddle shoes.

She smiled at him, calmly, like it was just any old day of the week.

How To Purchase

You can purchase At the Corner of Magnetic and Main  through our bookstore.

About The Author