Inspirational Fiction

My Christmas Anthology Came Out in the Kindle Store Today: $1.99

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

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Hooray! Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays! Season’s Greetings!

My Christmas Anthology — STOCKING FULL OF STORIES — went digital today, and it’s priced right for the holiday shoppers at $1.99

Christmas is about love – and laughter – and hope – and second chances. This collection of 11 original Christmas stories covers all those subjects and then some. From poignant to funny to heart-warming and faith-inspiring – you’ll find a little bit of everything in this Stocking Full of Stories. Read the book straight through for an evening of well-rounded Christmas pleasure. Or pick and choose, one story at a time, depending on your mood.  (It’s 82 pages in regular print, but with digital, only your own personal device will determine how many “pages” you actually have once the book is downloaded.)STOCKING W. STORIES FRONT COVER FOR KINDLE - ED 2.

Some of you will have read a few of these stories, since I’ve posted many of them right here on the blog, but several have been re-written and enlarged since their original posting.

So if you’re looking for a little more holiday atmosphere, check out STOCKING FULL OF STORIES at the Kindle Store. Give yourself a gift this Christmas: fill your stocking with these stories of the season. And while your ordering, go ahead and send one to someone you love.

(If you don’t own a Kindle device, you can download a free Kindle app for any device you use.)

~~~

A Little Love Can Go a Long Way: Excerpts from ‘Jonah’s Song’

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

JONAH COVER - DARKER BLUE - SMALLER USE FOR KINDLEExcerpt from the Prologue

Valentina’s aquamarine eyes popped wide open. She sat bolt upright, her heart beating erratically, as she looked around her at her bedroom, realization dawning on her. She let out a gusty sigh. “Oh! … I knew it was too good to be true!” She sighed once more. She’d been dreaming … again … about Professor Jonah McDaniels … again!

She fell back against her pillows once more, running her hands through her long, loosely curled hair. As she felt it flow between her fingers, she recalled the scene from her dream where Jonah had buried his hand in her hair. She closed her eyes, wanting to relive the whole dream and hold onto it as long as possible.

Jonah had been standing a couple feet away from her, his conductor’s baton in his hand, his eyes burning with his feelings. Finally, he laid down the baton, closed the gap between them and took her, somewhat roughly, into his arms.

Valentina swallowed, trying to get back the breath his sudden embrace had stolen. Her heart beat wildly as his eyes moved to her lips. Without conscious thought, she glanced down to his mouth, his full, sculptured lips – one of the first two things she had noticed about him the day she’d met him – the other being his deep violet eyes, so unusual in a man, especially one with his Hispanic coloring.

The exhilarating scent of his cologne sent her senses whirling, and the warmth of his breath as he brought his face close to hers was so sweet she couldn’t resist closing her eyes. Her lips were parted slightly, her breath almost suspended, and as his mouth reached hers, his lips were bold and strong as they molded hers to his own. Everything in her melted as she gave herself up to this kiss she’d wanted for so long, but had never dared hope for.

He deepened the kiss, and she clung to him. When he finally pulled back for a moment, she uttered his name, once, breathlessly. “Jonah.”

“Hey, Vallie!” That shout came from Katey, one of the two girls she shared the apartment with, and it was coupled with a pounding on Valentina’s bedroom door. So much for wallowing in her dream. “You’d better get a move on if you don’t want to be late for rehearsal. You know what Dr. McDaniels will say if you walk in late.”

“Oh, no!” Vallie had forgotten about the string ensemble’s rehearsal this morning. Just the thing she didn’t need: facing Dr. McDaniels right after that dream. “Listen, Lord,” she prayed, although the whine in her voice made the words sound more like a complaint. “You know I can’t seem to get over these feelings for Dr. McDaniels. And you also know he’s way out of my league. It’s hopeless! But I keep having these dreams. Can’t You just take these feelings away?” Another pounding on her door brought her prayer to an end.

She groaned as she threw back the covers and slid her feet to the floor. Well, at least having the dusky skin that was part of her African-American heritage would help hide her blushes when she saw the professor. … Now, if she could just avoid getting so nervous that she tripped over something or dropped her violin.

She stood in front of her mirror in her pajamas. It was time for the lecture again. She looked at her reflection sternly, and pointed her finger at the mirror. “This is just your junior year, Valentina Rosswell. You still have three months left of this year and your whole senior year to go. And next year is going to be full of performances … a good many of them with Dr. Jonah McDaniels conducting. Do you want to end up making a total fool of yourself? … Now, you go out there and act like the musician that you are! You treat this Dr. McDaniels like any other stuffy, old college professor.”

Suddenly she was picturing him dressed in a baggy sweater, the lower part of his face covered with a beard, his hair gray and in total disarray. She shook her head and sighed loudly. Even like that he looked good enough to melt her bones.

~

Excerpt from Chapter Three

On the morning of the twenty-ninth, Vallie, Kana, Grandma Nora, and Kana’s mom, who had arrived from Atlanta, all trooped down to the church to begin decorating for the wedding.  An hour later, Kana, her hands full, realized she’d forgotten a box in the trunk of her car and asked Vallie to run out to the car for it. Vallie snatched up her short coat and walked out of the sanctuary into the hall.

Just as she got about halfway to the church door, Jonah McDaniels pushed it open from the outside and walked in, advancing in long strides.  Vallie froze.  It was incredible!  He was even more handsome than he had been seven years ago.  The finely sculptured features could easily have been those of a professional model.  As he closed the distance between them, she saw that his once black hair was now liberally streaked with gray, but that only made his looks more dramatic.  His figure was still that of a superb athlete, and his eyes, still intense and beautifully violet as ever, now widened perceptibly and lit up in surprise.  Then they almost immediately narrowed in concentration, as if he were trying to figure out where he had seen her before … or perhaps why he was seeing her here and now.

In actual fact, he had recognized her immediately … or thought he had, but then wondered if his eyes were playing tricks on him.  After all these years, the last place he would have imagined seeing Valentina Rosswell again was in the hallway of his brother’s church in Gatlinburg, Tennessee.  After the immediate sense of surprise, his first reaction was that of having had the breath knocked out of him momentarily.  She had been a lovely girl in college, but now she was quite beautiful, and her eyes were still capable of captivating anyone looking into them.

She seemed as stunned as he, and finally he shook is head a little and smiled at her, stepping even closer.  “It is Valentina Rosswell, isn’t it?”

“That’s right,” Vallie replied, feeling as if she had virtually no breath with which to speak.

He extended his hand to her now, and she did likewise, without thinking about her action.  When he took her hand in his, Valentina felt the shock of his touch all through her body.  Heat suffused her, and she knew if she hadn’t been so dark skinned, her face would undoubtedly have been red.  She still couldn’t speak.

“How delightful to see you again, but a little surprising that it should be here of all places.  I gather you know my brother, Cameron?”

“Well, yes.”  Vallie was relieved to find that she had enough breath to actually say words.  “We’ve only recently become acquainted.  He’s the pastor of my dearest friend, who moved down here this past year, and we’re planning her wedding here at the church.”

“Ahhh … Cameron said something about a wedding this week.  The couple changed their date to accommodate our special celebration with Cameron, I think he said.  That was certainly very kind of them.”

Vallie nodded her head.  “They’re very thoughtful people.  And … I think it’s wonderful that your family are all going to so much trouble to celebrate with your brother.  I understand from Kana, my friend, that you’re spread out in several different cities.”

“True, but a little planning and a lot of determination can pull off most anything that one deems important enough, don’t you think?”

“You’re probably right,” Valentina said, smiling at him again, unaware of the radiance that glowed on her face.

“Well, well …” Jonah said pensively, letting his eyes drift unashamedly over Valentina.  The look wasn’t brazen or embarrassing, but it was all encompassing and held such an element of interest that Vallie almost felt as if she were being inspected.  “You’ve matured into quite a beautiful woman, as I’m sure you’ve been told often.”  Vallie’s eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected compliment, but she didn’t say anything, and Jonah added, “I’ve always been amazed at your eyes when I see you, Valentina.  They are without a doubt the most intriguing and beautiful eyes I think I’ve ever seen.”

“Th … thank you,” she managed to stammer.

Jonah heard himself say the words, but couldn’t believe that he had done so.  Had he taken leave of his senses?  He hadn’t seen this woman in years, and when he had seen her last, she had been a young student of his.  Normally, he kept much tighter control of his tongue than this.  He tried to redirect the conversation.

“Well … we never know what surprises await us just around a corner, do we?”

Valentina felt that she needed to at least tell him that she had been forewarned about his coming.  Cameron would surely tell his brother about the conversation from two days ago, so she didn’t want to act like she was hiding the fact.  But even though she had been warned, she hadn’t been at all prepared for this experience.

Finally, she was able to say something else.  “Well, actually, I had a little more warning than you,” she said, still smiling at him.  “I was intrigued by the name when I met your brother, and I asked if there were any chance he might be related to you in some way, but I was totally surprised when he told me the relationship.   During that conversation, he mentioned that you and the rest of his family were coming to celebrate his birthday.”

“I see; so you weren’t really surprised.”

“Well … to be honest … I … I was anyway … I mean … I didn’t know I would feel … I mean …”  Vallie almost panicked.   She had almost told him exactly how she had felt when she saw him walk through that door.  Be careful, girl, she told herself.  Think before you speak.  “Well, I guess what I’m trying to say is that I didn’t realize that I’d run right into you so unexpectedly, even though I knew you were supposed to be in the area.”

He smiled at her again, a knowing smile, as if he had surmised exactly what she had left unsaid.

~

Excerpt From Chapter Eleven

Jonah shook his head, sighing again in what was obviously exasperation.  He looked straight at his brother.  “Cam … I’m forty-two years old.  … And I’ve lived most of those forty-two years in a structure of self-imposed, rigid discipline.  I don’t have a gregarious bone in my body.”  He chuckled slightly, but there was a grimness in the sound of it. “I’m a stuffy music instructor who’s been described by his students more than once … and rightfully so … as being uncompromising and dictatorial.  And, I might add, I was also described by my former fiancée as being far too set in my ways and serious to be any fun.”

He turned and looked back out the window, not saying anything for a few moments.  When he finally spoke again, his voice was husky.   “I’m full of passion, but the only way I know to let it out is through my music.”  He shook his head again.  “I’m not what she needs.”

Cameron’s heart went out to his brother.  He knew Jonah believed every word he was saying, but he also knew that he was wrong.  Jonah was a reserved and controlled person, but he did have powerful beliefs and feelings, and they were what made him the special person that he was.  He didn’t express himself as openly as a less disciplined person would, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t express everything inside of him when the time and the need were right.

“I think you’re wrong to decide that all by yourself,” he said now.

“What do you mean?” Jonah asked, turning to look at him again.

“I mean I believe Vallie ought to have a chance to tell you how she feels about it all instead of you making all the decisions for both of you.”

“I don’t want to put her on the spot by forcing her to make those decisions … and the choices that might follow.”

Cameron chuckled.  “Boy, I didn’t give Suzanne a choice!  … Well, I guess I did give her a little time to decide what she thought she wanted, but when she started taking too long about it, and then hinted that she might be deciding something I couldn’t live with, I just bulldozed my way in and presented my case boldly.”

“But you knew you were what she needed.”

“Only because I knew she loved me, and that she needed the love I could give her.”

“But those are things I don’t know about Valentina.”

“Are you sure?”  Cameron paused, looking at his brother, who walked back to his chair, but only leaned on the back of it.  “I think Vallie loves you, and personally, I think your love is exactly what she needs … and wants.”

“Then why don’t I feel that way about it too?”

“Because you’re letting your head rule instead of your heart.  You know, God uses our hearts to lead us into His will much more often that He does our heads, Jonah.”

Jonah stood there with his elbows resting on the back of the chair, looking at his hands clasped in front of him.  “It’s interesting you should say that.  A few nights ago, when I was really wrestling with all this, I picked up my Bible and just opened to wherever, and the first passage I read was from Proverbs three.  The fifth verse says, “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart and lean not unto thine own understanding.”

“That’s it, Jonah.  You’ve been leaning heavily on your own reasoning about this thing and not on your heart at all from what I can see.  You’ve served God faithfully all of your life.  Surely you can trust that He has a strong enough hold on you by now to lead you where He wants you. And to keep you from taking wrong turns. If something – the same something – keeps showing up strongly and consistently in your heart, and it’s something that doesn’t go against God’s Word, then it’s most likely the Lord Who planted it in your heart in the first place.” …

Jonah sat down, and Cameron continued. “Those two characteristics you see as negative may, in fact, be the most positive things you have to offer, because they may be the very things that Valentina needs most in a husband.  You need to at least give the Lord … and Valentina … the opportunity to put in their two cents worth, rather than just deciding everything in your own finite mind.”

Jonah grinned at his brother’s bluntness, but then he sighed and leaned his head back against the chair, closing his eyes.  After several minutes, he spoke softly.  “I composed a song to her, did I tell you?”

“No.  When was this?”

“A couple of weeks ago.  I was so close to drowning in all that I was feeling for her … and wanting from her…  that I just picked up the violin and began to play it out.  After I’d played it several times, I decided I needed to get it written down so I wouldn’t lose it.”  He laughed lightly.  “As if I could lose it. … It‘s as much a part of me as my breath.”

Cameron looked at his brother, whose eyes were still closed.  His heart swelled with pride in this older brother who was able to create such beauty with his gifts.  How like Jonah to release the love he felt in the creation of a beautiful piece of music that millions of people could one day share and enjoy.

“Have you played it for her?” he asked now.

Jonah opened his eyes and looked at Cameron.  “No, I haven’t.  … And I don’t think I ever intended to.”

“Then you’re an idiot.”

Jonah’s eyes widened.  His brother had never spoken to him that way before, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it.  “You sound pretty convinced.”

“I am.”

~

Excerpt From Chapter Thirteen

As she walked through the airport entrance, Valentina spotted Roger Parks, one of the flying instructors who had known Jonah for several years, and whom she had also come to know and like. She had started to wave to him, but realized that he was hurrying toward her, a serious look on his face, and her smile began to fade. Something was wrong.  “Miss Rosswell,” Roger said now as he reached her side. “I was watching for you.”

“Watching for me?  How did you know I’d be here?  Did Jonah tell you he was flying in today?”

“No, not me personally, but, of course, the airport had a record of his expected arrival. But … I’m afraid I have some unhappy news about that.”

Valentina grabbed his arm, her eyes wide, as she struggled not to give in to fear. “Has something happened to Jonah?”

“I’m afraid it may have … at least to his plane. It apparently went down somewhere in the area between Nashville and Knoxville. At least that’s the area he was in when he broadcast the emergency report. We don’t know yet about Jonah himself. I’m so sorry.”

Valentina closed her eyes as a wave of dizziness swept over her.

“Here,” Roger spoke as he took her arm and began guiding her across the main entrance to one of the offices.  “Let me take you into the office, and we’ll explain everything we know.  As I started to tell you, we tried to notify you earlier, since you’re down on the papers Jonah has on file as the person to contact in case of an emergency. But since we couldn’t reach you, we contacted his brother, who was also listed.  He’s the one who told us you should be here at almost any time, and he said to tell you that he and his wife are on their way here now.”

Vallie sat down in the chair he indicated, still in a daze.  He spoke quietly to a young lady who left and returned almost immediately with a hot cup of coffee.  “Try to drink a little of this if you can, Miss Rosswell, and I’ll tell you everything we know.  If you want to talk to some of the higher ranking people here, they’re ready to talk to you, but they thought that since Jonah and I are friends, you might rather hear about all of it from me.”

“Yes,” Vallie said, sipping the coffee and feeling that at least some degree of life was flowing back into her.  “Yes, please, Roger.  I appreciate your taking the time to talk with me.”  At that moment, the office door opened and a tall, middle-aged man in a business suit stood to the side and allowed Cameron and Suzanne to enter ahead of him. Vallie jumped up and threw herself into Cameron’s arms. She didn’t cry. She wanted to. It would have given her some release, but she couldn’t. She just trembled throughout her whole body, and held onto Cameron as tightly as she could.  Suzanne reached out and put her hand on her back, rubbing it lightly in an attempt to provide at least a little comfort.  Her other arm was around her own husband’s waist, holding him, trying to provide the support she knew he needed, even as he tried to comfort Vallie.

He pulled back from Vallie enough to look at her.  He gently brushed the hair from her face and looked right into her eyes.  “We are going to trust the Lord, Vallie.  He has always been faithful to take care of us, and we’re going to believe that He’s still doing that.”  Vallie nodded and smiled weakly at him to let him know that she was in agreement.  Then she reached out and took Suzanne’s hand, squeezing it, and finally pulling away from Cameron, she hugged Suzanne too.

“There’s room for all of you to sit down if you’d like,” Roger said now.  “Miss Rosswell, this gentleman is Mr. Randall, the airport director,” he added introducing the man who had escorted the McDaniels into the office.  The director reached out to take Vallie’s hand.

“I’m very sorry to meet you under these circumstances, Miss Rosswell, but I assure you that we are doing everything we can to find out every detail about the accident and Dr. McDaniels’ condition.”

Vallie looked at Cameron.  “Do you know what’s happened?”

“Yes, Mr. Randall filled us in as he was bringing us to meet with you, dear.”

Just then the door opened and a clerk handed Mr. Randall a note. He read it quickly and then turned back to the group seated before him. “Well, some good news, at least. The rescue team has made it to the crash site, and they report that Dr. McDaniels is unconscious, but that he is definitely alive.”

At those words, Vallie dropped her head into her hands and wept openly. Cameron sucked in a sob and wiped at his eyes, and Suzanne, who also had tears streaming down her cheeks just leaned over and took Vallie into her arms.

“I’m sorry that’s all we know right now,” Mr. Randall continued, “but at least it’s something to hold onto.”

“Yes,” Cameron said, his voice husky.  “It certainly is.  And we intend to do just that.”

Mr. Randall told them he was having more hot coffee sent in, and although he had to return to his office to take care of another problem, he would contact them the very moment he had any more information.  Roger said he would sit with them while they waited, so they began their vigil, binding together first in a fervent prayer of thanksgiving for Jonah’s life and then in a petition for God’s further intervention.

In a little less than an hour, Mr. Randall was back with a new report.  “Well, the emergency team is on their way with Dr. McDaniels to the hospital at Knoxville.  The most information I could get about his condition is sketchy.  They are considering him critically injured, since there is apparently a head would involved, and they are pretty sure of some broken ribs as well … I’m sure you want to get to the hospital as soon as possible. Is there any way that we can assist you at all?”

Cameron stood up and shook Mr. Randall’s hand. “No, thank you. You’ve all been very kind, and I think we’ll be fine to drive ourselves to the hospital.”

“I wish we could have done more, Pastor McDaniels. But I’m a Christian myself, and I’ll be praying for your brother.”

“Thank you.  We’ll take all the prayers we can get right now.”  He then turned to shake Roger’s hand, and Valentina offered her hand to Mr. Randall, thanking him in her turn. She hugged Roger briefly. “Thank you so much for taking the time to make this as easy on us as possible I know Jonah will be grateful to you.”

He patted her hand.  “I’ll be praying too, Miss Rosswell.  You keep me up to date on his condition, you hear?”

Vallie nodded her head, still wiping an occasional tear from her cheek. “I will,” she said as she turned to follow Cameron and Suzanne out of the room.

~

Well, love is where you find it, and you’ll find the whole story at the Amazon Kindle Store — on sale through Christmas for $1.99.

~~~

The Sidewalk

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

BRENDA'S COBBLESTONE STREET BROWN“Well, what’a ya know,” Ben whispered to himself, grinning, seeing his breath form vapors on the Christmas air. “Who would have thought it would be the brick sidewalk?”

He sighed. In one unexpected instant – as his feet had tread the bricks of this dear old sidewalk that had run the length of Main Street all his life – it had happened. He knew for sure the place he’d returned to was still ‘home.’

Just yesterday he’d been dreading coming back – as he had been for a week – from the time the doctors had told him he was almost well enough to make the trip. He knew for sure how much he had changed, and he couldn’t shake the deep, gut wrenching fear that the whole world had changed as well – including the little town nestled at the foot of the mountains in Montana. He’d grown up here, played high school basketball, and dated the girl from three houses down the street until she’d decided to elope with the captain of the basketball team.

He had to chuckle to himself when he remembered how devastated he’d felt back then. It had been his first serious relationship with a girl, but in hindsight, he realized that he hadn’t really been in love – just fascinated with the boy-girl relationship.

Sometimes when he’d been hunkered down in the trenches, waiting the next command to move out into the threat of enemy fire, he’d started thinking about Allyson, and even though she belonged to someone else now, the memories comforted him. He’d known even during those hours that it had nothing to do with Ally or their time together, but it was all about ‘home.’ When he thought of Ally, it took him away from the cold, wet, ugly war he was fighting.

Sometimes he’d remember his mother and could smell again the warm vanilla scent that so often clung to her from her constant baking. He’d conjure up the image of Granddad, sitting with his feet propped in front of the living room fireplace, sweet-scented smoke curling from his pipe. He’d hear again his father’s voice as he read the latest news stories from the paper as the family sat soaking up the security of their home and their quiet life together.

Then, sometimes, when he and his unit were on the move and trekking through secure territory, on their way to the next battlefront, he had remembered walking down that old brick sidewalk – past Old Man Chesterfield’s hardware store, Woolworth’s Five & Dime, the candy and tobacco shop, where he’d bought Ally that huge box of chocolates for the Valentine’s Day they’d celebrated together. There was Mrs. Gallagher’s Boutique next, and then Pansy’s Pancake House. Some days, when his senses were crystal clear, he could nearly taste those light, fluffy concoctions smothered in her special Cherry Cordial Syrup.

When he let his memory take him wherever it willed, he usually ended up thinking about Christmas, and he’d see again the decorations strung the entire length of Main Street, with lights in the windows of every storefront, snowmen standing sentry at almost every corner, and wreaths and holly hanging everywhere. He could almost feel the frost in the air and the festive atmosphere that surrounded shoppers and merchants alike from Thanksgiving to Christmas. And oh those chestnuts! The scent of roasted chestnuts hung over the main business district for two whole weeks before Christmas Day. And often he thought that sweet aroma was his favorite memory of all. Sometimes he swore he could smell those roasted chestnuts even though he was thousands of miles away on foreign soil with no hope of even a warm dinner for that night.

He’d been wishing he could have some of those chestnuts just minutes before the ambush occurred, but then bullets and grenades had killed all thoughts and images of anything but the hell breaking loose in every direction. Those same bullets and grenades had killed twenty of the men in his unit as well. When he’d taken the first hit in his leg and fallen, his best buddy had turned back to help him up. But the bullet that caught his rescuer in the head snuffed out his life in seconds, and as Ben had tried to hoist himself with his friend’s help, he’d taken a second bullet in the chest, blacking out at that point.

Five days later, when he regained consciousness in the hospital, he was hooked to all kinds of tubes and machines. The doctor had been compassionate and kind, assuring him that he was going to make it, but that it would be a month or so before he’d be fit to leave the hospital. When he’d asked about his unit, the news had been brutal, and he’d found himself so frozen by the grief that he hadn’t even been able to cry.

The day he’d been released and given his extended leave for home, his doctor had been wreathed in smiles. “We’re going to get you back to your family in time for Christmas, Son,” he’d said. And as much as the news brought a spurt of joy to Ben’s heart, it also brought a stab of fear.

He’d made a short journey first to the home of the man who’d been his best friend in combat, the man who’d lost his life trying to save Ben. He’d learned that Rick’s body had been shipped home for burial in the family plot. Ben knew he had to visit that grave and spend some time with Rick’s family before he could get started on the longer journey to his own family. And it was with that family, sitting in Rick’s home, remembering his buddy, that he’d finally been able to let the tears come. With his head on Rick’s mother’s shoulder, and her arms holding him tightly – the way she would never be able to hold her own son – Ben had finally cried out the pain and bitterness and loss.

Eighteen hours later, on the day before Christmas Eve, he boarded the bus that would take him to Montana. He had purposely refrained from letting his family know what bus he was taking. He had to walk out this journey one step at a time – in his own way and in his own timing. He had to find out what kind of world awaited him at the end of this journey, and he had to have the security of facing it on his own terms.

His physical wounds were almost healed, but the wound’s in his soul would be with him forever. And that’s what made him afraid. As long as he didn’t go home, he could always try to tell himself that it was still a place of peace and safety and love and laughter – and that life was still good there. But all the time he sat on the bus, heading to that little town in Montana, he battled with the fear. The questions kept circling through his mind: when he walked down the streets of his old hometown – when he stepped into his mother’s kitchen – when he visited the high school campus – when he sat in the park watching the breeze blow across the lake – when he met with friends in a restaurant –would he find what he’d left behind – or would it all be gone – forced out of existence by the same powers that had changed him forever?

Finally, at the end of the seven hour trip, he stepped off the bus, retrieved his suitcase and stood for a few moments just looking across Main Street at the row of well-remembered businesses – those stores and shops that had filled his dreams and imaginations hours at a time in the rare instances between battles.

Everything glowed with Christmas. It looked the way he would have expected it to look back before he’d had to wade through hatred, filth, and slaughter in another land. But could he relate to this place any longer? Could he ever belong here again? Would it welcome him – would he welcome what he found here now? He slowly walked across Maine and stepped onto the sidewalk that would take him from the north end of town to the south, where his parents lived.

He walked – slowly – hesitantly at first. His eyes caressed the old, worn bricks that stretched out ahead of him the whole two-mile distance of the business district, and he began to realize that each step he took was a familiar experience – the same experience he’d enjoyed for years, day in and day out – treading those warm brown bricks woven together by expert hands generations ago – just slightly uneven but plenty smooth enough for easy walking.

And every step reassured him. He began to breathe easier now, and as he took a good, deep breath, his nostrils twitched a little. Chestnuts, roasting, in a cart just up the street about two more blocks. He walked with more purpose then, his eyes still caressing the worn, welcoming bricks beneath his feet, stretching out before him invitingly.

Finally, he chuckled out loud. Yep … it was okay. … It was really okay. … He was okay. And he really was home. … Yep … this good old brick friend told him everything was going to be all right.

THE END

 

 

~

Don’t Read This Book If …

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

JONAH COVER - DARKER BLUE - SMALLER USE FOR KINDLEDON’T READ THIS BOOK if you don’t want your heartbeat to pick up speed at the sight of someone walking through a door – or if you don’t want to find yourself holding your breath waiting for a kiss – or if you don’t want to find tears rolling down your cheeks when disappointment is unbearable – or if you don’t want to find yourself grinning widely and looking a little foolish if you happen to be reading in public – or if you don’t want to finish the last chapter with a deep sigh of satisfaction and longing all rolled into one. If those experiences are not what you’re looking for, then do not read this book.

Most of my novels include a romance, but often it is only a part of the story, and not always the main focus. But I have to tell you up front that Jonah’s Song is totally and completely an honest-to-goodness, no-questions-asked, out-and-out old-fashioned love story – from beginning to end. Now don’t misunderstand: no parts of it are rated “R”; it’s a perfectly clean read. But it is a story that digs deeply into the hearts of a man and a woman – and into the heart of what God intended true romance to be.

All right then, who should read this fourth book in The Smoky Mountain Series? Well, if you’re not one of those people who fits the description in the first paragraph of this article, here’s the book for you. IF you “love” a good love story, then make a bee-line to Amazon’s Kindle Store and order Jonah’s Song while it’s on sale. In digital format, it will be selling for the special price of $1.99 from now through Christmas and then revert to the same price as the other books in the series..

Want to know a little more about the story? Here’s a peek at the blurb from the back cover:
Professor Jonah McDaniels, handsome violinist/conductor, is used to girls in his college classes having a crush on him. But he has never felt anything in return until he meets Valentina Rosswell. Even then, he pushes his feelings aside, knowing there are too many barriers to a personal relationship between them. But when he meets her again seven years later and realizes that what he felt for a college girl has matured – just as the girl has matured into a beautiful, desirable woman – he still does his best to resist falling in love.
Valentina has always believed Jonah was out of her league, and even when they renew their acquaintance as adults on equal footing, she does her best to refrain from loving this man who has filled her dreams for years.
But true love doesn’t follow the rules, nor does it dissolve just because two people put up a fight against it. And when the Lord sets His heart on a romance, He can employ some pretty interesting ways and means to bring it to pass. However, when dealing with Jonah and Valentina, even the Lord seems to have His work cut out for Him.
Jonah’s Song: A love story you won’t easily forget.

So buy one for yourself – and another one for someone you love – this Christmas

(Also, if you do read it and you do finish the last chapter with a sigh of satisfaction and longing, please stop and say a few words about the book in the “Customer Review” section of its Amazon page. Thanks.)

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‘Everything’s Jake’ Now Available on Amazon: $0.99 Through November

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

EVERYTHING COVER - half coverIt’s just a little love story. But, then again, it’s a whole lot more than a love story. It’s about finding out who you really are and learning to like that person – and discovering that liking who you are opens the door for the best relationships with other people. It’s about family – and friends who are just like family. It’s about letting God’s way of loving take control of your heart.

Meet Mariah Jacoby. She’s happiest working under the hood of a car, but she’s convinced that grimy hands and greasy smudges on her face aren’t exactly what guys are looking for in a girlfriend. Unfortunately, though, she’s having trouble holding down a job in any other field, despite college degrees and an upbeat personality. Desperate to change her unemployed status, she finally admits it’s time to face the fact that she’s really a “grease monkey” at heart, but dare she hope there’s a guy in her future who’s dreaming of a girl who smells like engine oil?

Some of you will recognize this story because you were following my blog a couple years ago when I wrote it — posting one chapter at a time here on this site. But it’s time for it to get out into the real world now and show us what it’s made of.

If you weren’t along for the ride when it was under construction, you can buy it here  — and purchase an extra as a gift for someone you love:

~~~

The Most Important Novel I Ever Wrote — Now Available at Kindle Store

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

REPAIRED COVER FOR FB FINAL - smallerSometimes people ask me which of the nine novels I’ve written so far is my favorite. And I have to answer that I feel like a parent with nine children, in that I can honestly say all of them are my favorites. They were born out of me. They are literally part of me. Every single one of them carries something of me out into the world and into the heart of every person who picks it up and reads it. And not one of them can supersede the others in my own heart.

Each one, of course has it’s own special strengths — as far as I’m concerned. (Of course, there are probably a few people out there who don’t think any of them have “strengths,” because, let’s face it: no one ever writes a book that everybody will like. It’s just a fact of life.  But not to worry: we don’t write for those people. A true writer writes for himself first — and secondly for all those people who will find great pleasure in reading his work.)

So back to my point: each book has its own set of strengths. When I look at the list of titles, I’m reminded of certain people who received help or encouragement or a good laugh when they read certain stories from that list. And I see each novel as offering its own specific gift to the readers.

However, sometimes we find ourselves writing a story that carries so much more potential for touching and changing lives than the average book does. Somehow, we just know that one particular story has an extra special gift to give the readers, and when we’ve finally written the words “The End,” we sit back and say, “Wow, this is an important book.”

That sense of importance — of special significance — came to me when I finished Repaired By Love, the third book in The Smoky Mountain Series. I truly believe this book is the most important book I’ve ever written. The reason is simple: This story has so much to say about the way of salvation and a joyous relationship with the Lord that it could easily be the only tool necessary to lead someone to make a decision to turn his heart over to Jesus Christ. I make that statement, not because I’m the author, but because I sincerely believe that the Lord Himself orchestrated that book to accomplish just that purpose.

Of course, I pray and believe the Lord to lead me in writing what He wants written in every inspirational novel I create. And the main focus in all of those novels is to help people come to know the Lord better and see that He wants to be involved in our everyday lives — helping, guiding, healing, and protecting us. I hope I’ve been faithful to Him in every book I’ve turned out. But in this one particular book, I sense a special anointing from Him to touch hearts that have never  yet opened up to Him at all. I am still in awe of how the Lord led certain people into my life and then used them to plant the seeds of so many of the characters in this book — and how He carried me along with the plot that I didn’t even have a plan for in the beginning.

When I wrote Repaired By Love, back in 2004, I said to a number of people: “If I could have written only one book in my whole life, this is the book I would want to have written.” Eleven years later — and having written five other novels since then — I still feel the same.

I hope my readers will be blessed by it as much as I have been.

Readers can find the digital Repaired By Love at the Kindle Store at a special price for the next two weeks. From today through October 16th, the novel will be on sale for only $1.99.  After that date it goes back to the same price as all the other books in the series ( 3.99).

To read an excerpt from Chapter One click HERE.

(And don’t forget, if you don’t have an e-reader, Amazon has a free app you can download in just a few minutes that will let you read all e-books right on your own computer. Just follow the link to the book page, and you’ll see the notification about the free Kindle App.)

~~~

On Sale for $.99 — Novel # 1, Smoky Mountain Series

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

SET FREE COVER - GREEN BKRD # 1 - tiny for blogSet Free To Love, the first novel in my  Smoky Mountain Series is currently on sale at Amazon’s Kindle store for just $.99.   The regular price of $3.99 has been suspended for the next 7 days.

Book two in the series, Cameron’s Rib, is now available on Amazon, and book number three, Repaired By Love, will be available next week. Book number four, Jonah’s Song, should go digital in October, and book five, This Fire In My Heart, is still a bit of a mystery because it isn’t completely finished yet.

Amazon will run the sale on Set Free To Love until midnight September 16th, U.S. Pacific Time. I hope several of you take advantage of the special price to check out the series and get to know all the wonderful people who populate the other books as well.

Just follow the link to read more about the story and learn a little about how the series was birthed.

I also want to say a big THANK YOU to all of you readers who have read books 1 and 2.  I’m so thrilled that you were blessed by them.

 

~~~

Sneak a Peek at “Quenton’s Honor”

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

QUENTON FRONT COVER -- NICE AND SHARP FROM CD FOR KINDLEJust thought I’d tease some of you a little with an excerpt from the first chapter of my novel Quenton’s Honor.  Go ahead. Take a chance. Read it. Maybe you’ll decide that one chapter just isn’t enough. If so, you’ll find it for sale on Amazon’s Kindle Store, for only $3.99. And if you don’t have a Kindle, a Nook, an iPad, or an iPhone – no problem. Amazon has an app that you can download for free to turn your computer into a digital reader for any book you buy.  Enjoy ..….

QUENTON’S HONOR:  Chapter One

(Karachi, Pakistan)

“I hope you duly appreciate your cook, Mr. Ahmed,” Quenton said, addressing his Pakistani host as they walked from the dining room with the two other men who were also guests for the business dinner they had just finished. “That was one of the most delicious meals I’ve had in a long time.”

“Indeed, I do appreciate his talent, Mr. Sutherland,” he answered laughing. “Especially since he serves me meals just as delicious even when I am alone.”

“You’re a lucky man.”

Ranjit Ahmed turned toward a closed door and opened it into a cozy library, inviting his guests inside. “Please join me in here for some relaxing conversation now that our more serious business is taken care of.”

“If you wouldn’t be offended, gentlemen,” Quenton said, taking in all three men in his glance, “I’d like to be excused to check on my personal e-mail and perhaps answer some of the most pressing communications.”

“Certainly, Mr. Sutherland. This has been a very pressing trip for you, and I imagine you’re feeling the strain of it about now, and probably long for your bed and sleep as much as more conversation.”

“There’s some truth in that,” Quenton answered, laughing. He turned to shake the hands of the two other men. “Thank you so much gentlemen, for taking the time to meet with me this evening and answer my questions. Your information has been very useful in deciding what kind of help is most needed by the people here in your country.”

“It was our pleasure,” one of the men answered him.

“Indeed,” the other added. “We’re very glad to know that our information has been of benefit. We appreciate your generosity in orchestrating such humanitarian efforts, Mr. Sutherland.”

Quenton turned back to his host. “I’m hoping your offer of the use of the computer in your office is still open. It shouldn’t take long to access my e-mail and print out anything I really need.”

“Feel free to make use of it, Mr. Sutherland. I’ll not be using it again until morning myself. And if you find that there isn’t much that needs your immediate attention, please join us here when you’re through. Otherwise . . . I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Thank you. Goodnight.” Quenton turned and walked down the hall to the office he’d seen as Ranjit Ahmed had shown him around his beautiful home that morning. He entered the office and closed the door, going immediately to the desk and computer terminal.

As he moved the mouse, he was surprised to see a letter replace the screen saver. Hmm . . . must have been something Ahmed had been working on, and he had forgotten to close it out before he left the office. Quenton was a natural born reader, and he often found himself scanning any written material in front of him without even thinking about it, regardless of what it was. By the time he realized he was reading a letter that was none of his business, his eyes had scanned over a couple of lines where the mention of three specific time zones caught his attention, and he automatically started reading again from the top of the page.

“The main components will be in place by midnight in the Pacific Time Zone, which will make it 2:00 AM Central, and 3:00 AM Eastern. The product should have saturated the market within a few hours of the initial entry. Response should be almost immediate, so departure should be as early as possible after the business has been transacted. The last communication from here will take place twenty-four hours before the appointment time. After that, there will be no way for you to access this information or communicate with this site.”

Quenton shook his head slightly. “This is one odd letter,” he said, not even realizing he was talking to himself out loud. He leaned back in the desk chair, thinking and still mumbling out loud. “I had no idea Ahmed did business with anyone on both coasts too. I was sure he told me we were the only American company he’s been connected with for the past three years.” He shook his head again and re-read the words. For some reason he was unable to dispel a faint sense of something shady here. The terminology seemed almost purposely vague.

He shrugged his shoulders. Oh, well, it really had nothing to do with him if Ahmed wanted to do business with somebody else too. “It’s not like I’m trying to corner the market in his line,” Quenton said now, and started to open a new window in the browser to access his own mail.

But something just kept nagging at his mind so much that, instead of opening a new window, he found himself pulling up the information that would tell him who the letters had been sent to. He didn’t recognize any of the e-mail addresses, but he just couldn’t keep himself from pulling his notebook from his coat pocket and jotting them down.

Then he laughed quietly to himself. “This is stupid. I act like I’m in a spy movie,” he said, shoving his notebook back into his pocket and getting down to his own business. He found only one item he needed to print out, so within thirty minutes, he was back in his bedroom preparing to get some sleep.

He must have lain there for at least another hour before he finally dozed off, but it felt as if he were instantly awakened by the slamming of car doors close by. He rolled over in the bed and looked at the clock: midnight. Well, evidently, he’d been asleep longer than he thought. He supposed the car doors indicated the other guests finally leaving. But as he lay there, he heard voices in the courtyard below his room, and after several minutes, he realized he hadn’t heard any car engines running, or the sounds of any cars driving away.

He got up and looked out the window. He could see the courtyard easily, and he was surprised to see Ranjit shaking hands with a man who hadn’t been with them at dinner. The next thing he knew, Ranjit was turning and speaking to someone else who was already out of site in the doorway of a room that opened right onto the courtyard and driveway. Instinctively, Quenton stayed back far enough to be sure he was out of sight, which wasn’t too difficult, since he hadn’t turned on a light. He saw Ranjit and the first man enter the room off the courtyard also and close the door.

Well, he was wide awake now. He might as well put on his robe and go back down to the library and find something to read. Ranjit had told him to help himself to any of the books during his two-day visit. He didn’t encounter anyone else in the hallways, but for some reason, he walked especially quietly. He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t feel exactly comfortable wondering around someone else’s house after midnight. It seemed a little creepy.

He shook his head at his own feelings and mumbled to himself. “I must be letting Steve’s warnings about the dangers of this trip get to me.” His vice-president had done everything in his power to change Quenton’s mind about making the trip, citing a number of possible scenarios that could end unhappily. He shook his head again and kept walking, determined to find himself something enthralling to read and get his mind off this foolishness. He opened the door to the library and turned on the light, crossing the carpeted floor to peruse the shelves. As he moved to the shelves on the back wall, he realized he could hear voices again, and glancing around, he realized the library was situated right next door to the room he’d seen the men enter a few minutes ago.

Well, he didn’t want to listen and get his mind bogged down with something that wasn’t any of his business, so he’d tune them out and get his book and leave. But the fact that they were speaking English worked against him. He couldn’t seem to not hear what they were saying … at least some of the time. One of the men had a softer voice, and Quenton missed his words, but he could hear Ranjit and one of his visitors pretty clearly.

Quenton pulled himself up short again with a mental lecture about minding his own business, but about that time he heard the words, “The system in San Francisco is more difficult to get into than the others. Do you think we should try a different avenue there?”

“There’s no other avenue that will reach nearly as many people,” Ranjit answered. “Tell them to keep trying.”

“But they’ve tried everything they can think of already, and time’s running out.”

“There has to be a way! A water system that large has to have a weak spot somewhere.”

WATER? Quenton’s hearing sharpened instantly. His heartbeat picked up speed, but he deliberately tried to settle it with deep breaths, because he was determined to listen now. Why would they be interested in San Francisco’s water system? He began to wonder if he had spent too much time the past year listening to talk about possible terrorist plots.

At that thought, his heart started pounding again so loudly that he had to walk right up to the wall and lean against it to hear any more words.

The soft-voiced man was saying something now, but he couldn’t make out any of it except the word Chicago.

“That’s right,” Ranjit said now. “If they can figure out a way to access the system in Orlando and Chicago, there is a way to take care of it out there too.”

CHICAGO!! ORLANDO!! Quenton’s mind jumped back to the letter he’d seen earlier in the evening referring to the three specific time zones. He’d wondered about the letter being in English, but he knew that was a common language for businessmen in this part of the world to use, and it hadn’t made him particularly suspicious. But now he realized that the letter must have been going to people in all three of those cities, and would draw less suspicion if it were in plain English, just in case it ended up in the wrong hands at some point.

He was having a hard time shutting down his own racing thoughts enough to listen to the rest of the conversation. But he could hardly hear anything clearly now. They must have moved to the opposite side of the room. He pressed his ear to the wall, but still couldn’t make out any of the words. But suddenly he noticed that the drapes at the library window that faced the courtyard were still open, and anyone walking toward the drive could see him in the room, leaning against the wall. He’d better grab a book and get back to his room. He’d find a way to get back to the computer after everyone else was in bed. He could surely find some answers there.

He quickly reached up and grabbed a book on the history of Pakistan and slipped out of the library silently. Once back in his room, he changed into jeans and a knit shirt. He couldn’t seem to stop pacing, waiting to hear the midnight visitors leave. When he finally heard car doors slamming again, about an hour later, he eased up to the window and looked out. Sure enough, both men were leaving, and Ranjit turned toward the house.

One of his servants came up to him and spoke in a rather secretive manner Quenton thought, but Ranjit’s only response for several seconds was just to nod his head as if he understood. Finally he glanced up toward Quenton’s window, but Quenton forced himself not to jump back. He didn’t believe Ranjit could see him through the lightweight drapes anyway, but even if he could, it shouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary for someone awakened by the cars to glance out of the window. Ranjit’s glance lasted only a couple of seconds; then he again moved toward the house, along with his servant.

Quenton sat down to wait. He’d have to give all of them time to get to bed and, hopefully, to sleep, before he ventured out again. He closed his eyes, weariness from the trip . . . and from his own troubling thoughts . . . weighing him down. He sighed heavily. He really didn’t want any part of this at all. Could he just ignore everything he’d heard and go on and finish his own trip and get back home? All he wanted to do was help some of the people in these countries, hoping to bring just a little bit of peace to some of them … even in the midst of almost unceasing conflict and turmoil.

His father had been diligent to teach him that a man blessed with much wealth had the responsibility to use that wealth to benefit mankind as much as he possibly could. James Sutherland had lived by the rule that if you give some of what you’ve been blessed with to others in need, you will continue to be blessed even more – and then can be an even greater blessing – and the cycle will continue. And to the best of Quenton’s memory, that policy had never failed his father at any time. So he had continued to live his own life the same way.

He smiled to himself now, his head resting on the back of the chair. He’d wanted to be just like his dad ever since he could remember – always following him around – begging to go with him to the office or to visit clients – to “help” carry his golf clubs around the green or to sit beside him on the boat with his own cane fishing pole hanging over the side, waiting for a nibble. And, of course, when his dad had become a believer, Quenton had always been ready to accompany him to church – at least as a very young boy.

But by the time he was out of high school and on his way to college, he didn’t figure he had time for God and church. He knew his parents were disappointed – as was his grandmother, who’d told him stories of faith from the time he was a toddler – but he had to start living his own life sometime, and the day he left for college seemed as good a time as any. Those feelings only intensified when he began to listen to the questioning ideas and attitudes that were so plentiful in his classrooms and among the people who became his friends.

He sighed again. Oh, well, religion just wasn’t for him, but he had to admit that it hadn’t done too badly by his dad. He had been an extraordinarily successful man, and Quenton was honored to have had him for a father. He would continue to live by the principles his dad had instilled into him – at least as far as business was concerned – to the best of his ability.

He glanced at his watch now. He’d waited long enough. It was time to slip down to the office.

As he stepped into the hallway thirty minutes later, the house was silent as a stone. He slipped easily down the corridor and turned to the left, heading quickly for the office. He had planned to use the excuse that he had forgotten to access his business computer’s e-mail, should he get caught at the terminal at such an unusual hour. But he hoped that wouldn’t be necessary.

He closed the door silently and eased his way around the desk to the chair in front of the terminal. He was thankful for an almost full moon, because it gave just enough light to avoid stumbling over something. He turned on the screen and found that it gave enough light to see the keyboard clearly. Now to discover the right password.

He was more grateful than ever that he had expanded the family company into the manufacturing of computer hardware and that he’d forced himself, in the process, to learn a great deal about how all of the various systems functioned. He’d learned more than one way to scour those systems for the information he needed. He worked quickly and as silently as the computer itself would accommodate, holding his breath almost the whole time. … Bingo! He had it. Now to get into the rest of the e-mails and possibly some related files. He checked the time, knowing he needed to hurry, but wanting to take the time to assimilate what he read so that he didn’t have to write it all down.

As he worked his way back through letters preceding the one he’d discovered tonight, he found more details. By now he felt sure he wasn’t imagining things. All these details had the makings of a thoroughly organized plan to infiltrate city water systems with a deadly substance. But what he couldn’t find were dates. His neck was rigid from the tension, and he reached back to massage it, closing his eyes for just a moment. He had to find the dates.

He opened his eyes again and pulled up another document. The wording was extremely odd, and just as he was concentrating on trying to decipher what must have been some kind of coded instructions, the office door swept open and the overhead light flashed on. Quenton jumped … just enough that his hand hit the mouse, and it slid off the desk to the floor. With that motion, his tiny window of opportunity for closing down what he had been reading dissolved into thin air.

~

(© 2004 Sandra Conner)

~

My Love Affair with the Smokies Conceived an Inspiratonal Novel Series

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

Exif JPEGMy love affair with the Smoky Mountains began when I was still a very young child. Except for a two-year stint in Fort Wayne, IN, my years between infancy and third grade were spent in Southern Illinois. And most of our family travels took us into the northeastern sections of the country. But when I was six, my family traveled south for the first time. On our way to South Carolina, we passed through Tennessee, and I came face to face with the homeland of my Cherokee ancestors: the Appalachian Mountains – and specifically the area known by that time as The Great Smoky Mountain National Park.

Exif JPEG

I remember two specific things about those mountains. In one sense they were a little frightening to a six-year old. Highways were not what they are now, and the less developed highways ran in among those mountains with a little more drama than they do today. The inclines were exceptionally steep in places, with warning signs everywhere about making sure autos were in lowest gear and with stories rampant about “runaway” semis barrelling down those inclines. I remember coming around curves more than once where the road looked as though it would literally lead straight into the mountain. It was a little overwhelming in one way, but it was tremendously exciting as well. The second thing that struck me was that within these mountains and their foothill regions dwelt people of a different culture and attitude toward life. It wasn’t just the Cherokee people who exhibited that difference. It was virtually all the people who called that place home.

That particular trip touched, not just me, but also my parents. They fell in love with Tennessee and decided that they wanted to live there. When an opportunity came along to do so – through a job opening in Nashville, TN – my parents jumped at it. Nashville wasn’t in the mountains, of course, but it was a lot closer. I can honestly say that I have never lived any place that was so special to me as Nashville, Tennessee. I fell in love again – with the city of Nashville and the whole state of Tennessee.

Exif JPEGIn the years following, my family and I made many trips into the Smoky Mountains. We saw the Park and the surrounding towns change considerably during that time, but the area never lost its unique culture. And having a strong Cherokee heritage in my own life, the older I got, the more I wanted to know and be known by the people who had given me my great grandmother. My immediate family eventually moved back to Illinois, but we have never stopped visiting the Smoky Mountains.

PAM'S 1808 EDITED
Photo courtesy of my step-mother Pam Pavloff

I’ve wondered sometimes if there’s something in my own blood that calls me home to the Smokies. I don’t recall ever visiting any other place – or even living in any other place – that kept pulling me to come back to it the way the Smokies do — or where I felt so much as if I were “home” each time I visited. Over more recent decades, I’ve tried to maneuver some things in my life and work out a way to have my work and my everyday life in the midst of that area of the country. But the Lord has kept opening doors to the ministry He wants me to do in other areas instead. So those other areas remain my world of everyday life. And, alas, I am still relegated to making visits to my mountains.

But those visits, over the years, have gleaned me an entire family of wonderful characters who do get to live and love and work and play right in the midst of the Smokies. So I’ll have to settle for that. When writing the books in The Smoky Mountain Series, I live there with them and enjoy being “home” for all those months. And I’m grateful that, through these books, I can truly live in two worlds at the same time.

SET FREE COVER - GREEN BKRD # 1 - tiny for blogThe Smoky Mountain Series began with the novel Set Free To Love, which was actually the first novel I had ever written — although it was not the first of my novels to be published. The second book nudged its way into my heart and mind just as I was writing the conclusion of Set Free, and by that time, I couldn’t shut off the flow. Two more novels later, I had a four-book series, but book number 5 is in progress even as I write this post.

Most of you, my readers, know that I have finally been catapulted into the digital age, and I can now offer Set Free To Love in digital format for all those lovely technologically advanced gadgets that make reading while on the go so easy.

You can find Set Free To Love — and a synopsis of the story, along with a rerun of this article — at the Kindle store by clicking on the book cover above, and you’ll find book number 2 (Cameron’s Rib) in the same store shortly. So many readers have shared with me about how they have been blessed by Set Free To Love. I hope all the new readers will be equally blessed as well.

Oh, and one more thing: Last fall, on my most recent trip to the Smokies, I picked up a little magnet for my refrigerator door that says, “Heaven’s a little closer in the mountains.” Ahhh, yes it is, my friends. YES IT IS!

~~~

Behind the Scenes During the Writing of ‘Quenton’s Honor’

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

QUENTON GLOBE EXPERIMENT - TRQUS - w. keyboardPeople often ask me where I get ideas for my novels, and they also like to know the “behind-the-scenes” details of the actual writing. So periodically I share some of those details — especially the ones that I found personally enjoyable or that helped me grow as a writer. The writing of Quenton’s Honor taught me much about dedication and commitment to a project — the kind of commitment that refuses to throw in the towel because tracking down those miniscule details takes multiple phone conversations, some with foreign speaking individuals, and hours poring over dusty facts and figures and then double-checking to see if any of them have changed since I started the research. But it also taught me that even the drudgery work has its own rewards in the positive results of self-discipline.

Quenton’s Honor was actually my third novel, but it was the first of all my novels to be published, with the first printing coming out about 7 years ago. The basic story had been hanging around in my mind and my heart for months before it took enough shape to send me to the keyboard to write the first words. Once I was started, however, there was no stopping. I had to do a considerable amount of research where Pakistan was concerned, and I had to keep reminding myself that I was dealing with a huge time difference between St. Louis Missouri, and Karachi, Pakistan. That time difference didn’t cause me nearly as much trouble, though, as the loss of 12 whole days when I decided — after finishing the novel — to substitute Chapter 3 for Chapter 1.

As often happens in writing a work this long, once it’s done, the author can look back and see new possibilities for the beginning chapter — scenes that will better help grab the reader and get him involved with the story immediately. I realized that Quenton’s Honor would be a better story if I took Chapter 3 and gave it to the readers first. It was a beautiful trade, and I was very happy with it, except for the fact that I had lost 12 days of action. Not to be thwarted, however, I managed to squeeze in a little flashback to grab those 12 days. Of course, I’ll admit it took me 3 days to figure out how to make it all work. But in the end, all was well.

Another editing change came when I turned it over to a friend who reads all my novels critically. I like to have him read my works before anyone else, if possible, because he is very particular about the quality of books he reads and is eager and quick to speak up if a book is lacking in any area. When he read Quenton’s Honor, he loved the book overall and was genuinely touched by several parts, but he was not at all happy with one scene where Quenton’s life is about to be snuffed out by his terrorist guards, and the men sent to rescue him have not arrived. My friend insisted the scene needed more energy and physical action.

Now, this friend is a very shy, introverted, quiet-spoken person, and definitely not the physical confrontation type. However, when I asked him for his ideas about changes to that particular scene, he got up from his desk and began to act out all the parts of the physical confrontation for the scene. I sat and watched him with my mouth open. Here was an entirely different person from the one I’d known several years. He was so energized as he acted out all the parts that he made a believer out of me, and I went home and re-wrote that scene exactly the way he had acted it out. Of course, I acknowledged him gratefully in the front of the book.

So far, readers seem to find the changes I made very agreeable. Any of the rest of you who read the book are welcome to let me know what you think as well —  about the beginning, the short flashback, and the fight to save Quenton’s life — or just about the story in general.

The printed version of Quenton’s Honor is available from St. Ellen Press, and the digital version is available from Amazon’s Kindle Store. The publisher plans to make the print version available on Amazon this summer.

[Background globe photo by Prawny. Used by permission. Edited.]

~~~

A Novel of Inspiration, Patriotism, and Romance

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

QUENTON FRONT COVER -- NICE AND SHARP FROM CD FOR KINDLE - croppedDiscovering a terrorist plot and risking your life to stop it before three U.S. cities are destroyed, receiving a visitation from an angel with important information from the Lord, falling in love with someone halfway around the world — through the help of a rusty old computer — and learning that it’s never too late to give your life to Jesus Christ.  What more could any reader want from one book?

QUENTON’S HONOR (by me) has it all, and it’s just waiting at the Amazon Kindle Store to be snatched up by readers for their Kindles, Nooks, iPads, tablets, iPhones, and Androids. The novel has been out in paperback edition for several years, but this month saw its debut in digital format, and it’s available only on Amazon.

If you’re looking for a fresh, inspiring reading experience, check it out.
It’s worth $3.99 — even if I do say so myself.

You can also visit the “Quenton’s Honor” Facebook page to meet the characters and learn more about the book.

(Paperback version is currently available from St. Ellen Press, but will also be available on Amazon in June.)

 

~~~

 

 

 

Waking Up in the 21st Century

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

BOW & ARROW -- QUIVER COVER FOR KINDLE - beige - NARROWEDI don’t like to think of myself as old-fashioned or boring. I enjoy the fact that 21st-century technology has made our lives a lot easier and made communication a lot richer. On the other hand, I do begrudge the quiet time, face-to-face interaction, and just plain good manners in the company of others that were thrown out the window with the adoption of some of that technology.

However, I have faced the fact that the world has changed dramatically during my lifetime. Life is now digital with a capital ‘D.’ So I have finally come to the place that I am eager — okay maybe not eager — but I’m very WILLING —  to get involved in making all of my written work available for the readers out there whose lives are now 90% digital.

And there are so many of them. I’m completely outnumbered. I’ll never forget the day one of my editors (considerably younger than I) said, “Just e-mail me the manuscript.” I looked at him, shocked, and said, but then you’ll have to print it all out yourself.”  He looked back at me with what I’m sure was a mixture of impatience and pity, and said, “We read from the screen now.” I’m sure the words that were really going through his young mind were something like, “You poor, old-fashioned little thing. The world is passing you by, and you don’t even know it.” Now, about 10 years later, I’m finally used to the fact that people love reading words that are not delivered in the form of ink on paper.

That being the case, my publisher and I finally set up shop in the Amazon Kindle store this past week. And several of my books will be available through that market by the end of the month.

Now, don’t misunderstand; I’m not going overboard technologically.  I still have my little flip phone rather than a smart phone or an Android. And I still use my trusty old desktop PC with a tower that weighs nearly a ton. So I’m not going super modern here. But I do want all those folks out there who have been asking me for the past couple years if my books are available for e-readers yet to finally hear me say, “Yes, you can get them from Amazon.”

So, there we have it. You’ve heard it here first — well, almost. One or two other people who are excited about the fact that they can FINALLY read my books while they travel have been spreading the news around. But, other than those few, you readers and my Facebook followers are the first to know.

One of the novels that went up this week is A Quiver Full of Arrows, and many of you who were following me last year will remember it. I had written only half of it about three years ago, and I decided to write the rest of it in serialized form right here on the blog — one chapter a day — until I had made myself finish it. You were very gracious in your response to it, and I’m so glad you enjoyed it. It will no longer be posted here for a free read, however, since it is now in the Kindle store.

If you’re one the folks who read it and enjoyed it, I hope you encourage friends to buy it. And if you were not following at the time I posted it, then that’s a good reason for you to visit the Kindle store and take a peak.

Hint:  If you click on the picture of the book cover above, it will take you to the page where three of the books are already listed in the store.  There should be at least four more in the store by the end of May. You’ll also find the link to my Amazon author’s page in my right sidebar.

Progress is a good thing, generally, but it can also be just a tad poignant. I came close to shedding a tear or two when I said goodbye to my trusty old Canon typewriter several years ago. But I do like the ease with which I can edit and correct text with a computer document program instead. And I’m sure I’m going to enjoy the world of electronic books just as much  — now that I’ve finally gotten myself in gear. So look out, 21st Century: here I come!

~~~

Joseph’s Decision — a short, short story

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

This story originally appeared on my blog last year, but only for a short time. I decided to enter it in a writing contest, and the rules of the contest required me to remove it from my public blog until the results were in. Now that the contest is over, I am posting the story anew. It did not find enough favor with the contest judges to be declared a winner, but no matter: it’s a winner to me.

RYAN AT COMPUTER - DARKENED

JOSEPH’S DECISION

Joseph sat on the bus, staring out the window, unseeing for the first twenty minutes. His mind just needed rest. So much data – so many words – such volatile emotions – too much to deal with right now. His eyes hurt from the glare of the sun, and he needed to close them for a while. Not yet, though. He couldn’t let himself – not so soon. He couldn’t bear to close himself up in his own private world – his own private hell. Not yet. He had to keep his eyes open so that light and color and motion would bombard his mind for at least a little while longer.

The knot in his chest had loosened some. Maybe that was due in part to the even rhythm of the moving bus and the almost imperceptible sound of the wheels against the hot pavement – things, no doubt, completely unnoticed by the majority of the passengers. But Joseph noticed. He seemed especially attuned to sounds and movement in a new way today. All of it seemed amplified somehow. He let out a deep sigh. I’m probably amplifying them in my own imagination, he thought, to keep my mind off the bitter news I just got.

Finally, thanks to the gentle rocking of the bus, he leaned his head against the back of the seat and let his eyelids drift shut. Another deep sigh. Okay, Joseph, it’s time to deal with it. You can do it, Joe.

He took a deep breath. There, that’s better. Another deep breath. That’s it, Joe. Slow and easy – in – and out – in – and out. See, you’re still alive and breathing. Nothing’s changed all that much.

His thoughts drifted back to Dr. Samuels’ office. He shivered slightly at the memory of how cold he’d felt sitting there on the examination table in just his undershirt and shorts. The sterile smell of the room still clung to his nostrils, and his mind replayed images of the signs on the walls describing various ailments and reminding doctors to wash their hands. He’d read every sign at least a dozen times over the past few years and knew them by heart, but he still read them every time. It was something to do while he waited for Dr. Samuels, and it kept his mind occupied so that he didn’t concentrate on how uncomfortable he always felt in doctors’ offices.

Prior to today’s appointment, he’d imagined numerous possible scenarios and played them over in his mind. Dr. Samuels might say this … and then I would say that … or … maybe he’ll tell me this, and I’ve already made up my mind what my answer will be to that. He closed his eyes a little tighter, stifling a low, mirthless chuckle. Funny – I never – not once – even considered a report like the one I got.

He felt something jostle his arm, so he opened his eyes, looking toward the empty seat on his left. A small, elderly lady had just sat down, and her purse had bumped his arm. “Oh, excuse me,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

He sat up a little straighter and gave his head a slight shake, hoping to clear it. He hadn’t even noticed the bus had stopped. He glanced out the window and realized they had already come half way to his destination. One more stop, and then he’d be at his own jumping off place. Home. It used to always give him a warm feeling to walk up the small concrete sidewalk, step up onto the little porch alcove with the rose trellis on either side, and open his front door to the cozy living room/office where he devoted hours to the work he loved so well.

Writing was his life – had been ever since his young adulthood. There had never been a marriage. He had hoped there would be a time or two, but it hadn’t worked out. And he wasn’t too sad about it. He had a good life – great friends – great audiences for his books – and a family of his own making. The characters that populated his best-selling novels had been born out of him, hadn’t they? And he loved them – everyone of them – even the villains. And many had been the days when he had rushed home, bursting through the front door with ideas literally pouring from his brain faster than he could get to the keyboard and turn them into words.

Well, Joe, it won’t be the same anymore. Everything’s changed now. He focused on the passing scene outside the window. He read a sign on one of the buildings. Then he read a street sign … and another. The bowling alley sign came next. He was seeing all of them for the zillionth time, but he read every word on every one. He had to keep himself from thinking anymore right now.

Finally the sign for his own stop came into view. As the driver made the announcement and slid the bus to a smooth stop, Joseph began to rise from his seat, but, suddenly, he realized his legs felt like lead. He sat back down momentarily, and the lady beside him looked concerned. “Are you all right, sir?”

He made a quick recovery and tried to smile at her. “Y – yes,” he answered. “I think my leg went to sleep. I’ll try to get up more slowly.”

He knew there was nothing wrong with his ability to walk. It was the result of the shock he’d had. The trauma of the news had been enough to shock a better man than he was. He focused all of his mental reserves on making his legs function normally, and finally managed to get up and move out into the aisle. From there, he moved by rote down the steps and through the door to the sidewalk.

As he started down the walk to the next block and his own house, he was amazed that everything around him looked exactly the same. The street looked the same. The traffic whizzed by as usual. The few people he passed looked normal. They spoke a word of greeting and smiled just as if he hadn’t changed at all. Yet his entire world had been wiped out with one simple sentence less than an hour ago.

The roses smelled the same as he stepped onto his porch and inserted his key in the lock. Stepping into the room, he let his eyes search out all the pieces of furniture and equipment that provided his comfortable, peaceful, productive life. He closed the door behind him and walked farther into the room. You’re home Joe. Really home … and it hasn’t changed a bit. It’s exactly the way you left it.

He started to genuinely relax for the first time since he’d stepped into Dr. Samuels’ office three hours ago. He pulled off his jacket, yanked his tie loose, and tossed it on the chair after the jacket. He walked to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of his favorite juice, downing half of it in one drink. His stomach had been so knotted up when he’d left the doctor’s office that he hadn’t even tried to get lunch. In fact, he’d thought he could never eat or drink again. But he took another drink now. It felt really good going down. And, come to think of it, one of those frozen dinners he’d stocked up on yesterday sounded downright appetizing.

He kicked off his shoes, ambled over to the computer desk, and sat down. Touching the mouse, he focused on the screen. There it was: the new baby – novel number thirty-one – bright and shiny and full of life – staring right back at him from the screen with the familiar challenge that compelled him to create another chapter and another and another. Every word was a part of him – his offspring. Yes, this was life to him. This was all he needed.

Other thoughts tried to intrude, but he kept pushing them aside. Finally, at one point, he got up and walked to the wall on which he kept his main calendar. He stared at it. Dr. Samuels had said, “Six months at the outside. Maybe not that long. I’m indescribably sorry, Joe.”

Joseph reached up and ripped the calendar off the wall. He tore it in half and tossed in into the waste basket as he spoke out loud in response to the words of the medical report: “What is time, anyway, Doc? It’s all relative, isn’t it? Why, I’ve given hundreds of characters entire lifetimes in less than six months.”

He walked back to the computer and placed his hands on the keyboard again. “Sorry, Doc … I’ve got too many lives depending on me right here in this keyboard. I just don’t have time to die.”

~~~

~~~

Taming the Dragon of Calvert Kingdom

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

As part of my Christmas presents to my great niece and three great nephews, I wrote a story about all four of them and their brave adventure of taming a ‘fearful’ dragon. They all love to read and would often rather receive books than any other kind of gift. A story in which they personally were the heroes and heroine was an unexpected treat for them, and on each of their individual copies, I put that child’s picture on the front cover as the featured character.

After giving them their books, I decided I might as well share the story on my blog. There might be other families out there with children who love stories about dragons who breathe out fire, but who cry because they have no friends, and who can be tamed by cookies, a song, and lots and lots of love.
~

TAMING THE DRAGON OF CALVERT KINGDOM

DRAGON FOR BLOG STORYIn the year 2013, in a kingdom called Calvert, there lived four cousins. They were all named Calvert, and it was their great-grandparents Rachel and Cecil Calvert who had established this kingdom many years before. The four cousins felt it was their job to help keep the kingdom safe and to care for all of the inhabitants.

The three young men had become knights: Sir Gideon was the eldest; Sir Josiah was next. They were brothers, and they had one sister, Lady Lucy. She was very pretty, with her strawberry blond hair, and all the young knights thought she was the fairest maiden in the whole kingdom of Calvert. Sir Gideon, Sir Josiah, and Lady Lucy all lived together at Carterville Castle.

Their cousin, Sir Jasper, lived very near them, at his home, St. Louis Castle, and he visited them often.

One day they all gathered at Carterville Castle. There they sat around a big fireplace, drinking hot chocolate with marshmallows and discussing a very serious problem. A huge, fire-breathing dragon had been roaming through the kingdom, scaring all the inhabitants and stealing many of the children’s pets. It made them very unhappy.

He also pounded his way through the kingdom, shaking the earth beneath him because he was very, very heavy. And he had a long tail so powerful that every time he moved it, it tore down some trees or demolished some buildings.

dragon head & flame - scannedAnd that’s not all. He also went around breathing out huge flames that burned up all the grass and flowers. So he made the inhabitants very afraid.

At first, he came out only a couple times a year, and that wasn’t quite so bad. But the past two years, he had been coming out more often, and now he came stomping through the kingdom every few weeks. It had gotten so bad that Sir Gideon had called the meeting with his brother and sister and cousin to decide what must be done.

They had talked for over an hour, and still hadn’t made any decisions, so Sir Jasper said, “Well, cousin Gideon, I think, since you are the eldest, we should do whatever you believe is best. Do the rest of you agree?”

Sir Josiah and Lady Lucy nodded their heads in agreement, and Sir Josiah asked.

“Well, Brother Gideon, what say you?”

“Hmmm. I believe the most important thing to do first is for all of us to pray together for the Lord’s wisdom. After all, He knows every animal in this world, and He knows why the dragon is so mean and vicious. He also knows if it has any weaknesses that we can take advantage of.”

“Oh, that’s a very good idea!” said Lady Lucy.

“Then let’s all hold hands,” said Sir Gideon, “and pray for the Lord’s wisdom and help.”

So they did. In a few minutes, while they were all quiet and listening for an answer, Sir Josiah spoke.

“I believe we should try to make friends with the dragon.”

“Oh my!” said Lady Lucy. “I don’t know if I’d want to get close enough to him to try to be his friend.”

“It would be nice if it could happen,” Sir Jasper said, “but I have to admit I’m very skeptical.”

“Well, you know,” Sir Gideon said, “God tells us in the Bible to love our enemies and try to be good to them. So Josiah’s suggestion does sound like it agrees with the Bible. Maybe we should try.”

“But how?” asked Sir Jasper. He always wanted things laid out in exact detail before he made a decision. “We need to have a good, solid plan.”

“Yes, I agree,” said Sir Gideon. “How shall we go about this?”

Sir Josiah answered. “I think we should all go together up the mountain to his cave, and I think we should take him some cookies — chocolate chip. We can put them down outside his cave and invite him to come out and eat them while we talk to him.”

“And,” said Lady Lucy, feeling a little braver now, “I think we should sing a song as we go so that he knows we are not coming to do him harm.”

“What song can we sing?”

“Josiah,” said Sir Jasper, “you’re the one in the family who loves music best. Can you write us a song?”

“I’ll try,” said Sir Josiah. “I’ll go to my room and think about it.”

“And if you write one, then I will take my guitar and accompany you,” Sir Jasper said.

“Okay,” said Sir Gideon. “Let’s all meet back here in one hour, and if Josiah has a song, we’ll decide what to do next.”

They all agreed and went their separate ways. Sir Josiah sat at the window in his room and thought and thought. He asked himself, “What kind of song would a dragon like to hear?” He had always secretly loved dragons and had wished that he could have one for a pet. He’d like to be friends with a dragon. His next thought was, “Why not write a song about what’s in my own heart?” And suddenly the words came to him.

“Oh I wish I had a friend who was a dragon.
That’s the kind of pet I’d like one of,
And if I had a friend who was a dragon,
I’d play with him and give him lots of love.

He’d never have to breathe out fire or be mean
Because we’d laugh and play and have such fun,
And every night he’d sleep beside my own bed
And have sweet dreams when every day was done.”

So one hour later, when the three brave knights and Lady Lucy met, Josiah sang them his song. They all liked it very much, so they decided that very early the next morning – before anyone else in the kingdom was up and about – they would travel up the mountain to the dragon’s cave.

Just as the first little ray of light peaked over the horizon, Sir Gideon, Sir Josiah, Sir Jasper, and Lady Lucy gathered at the edge of the woods by Carterville Castle. Sir Gideon and Sir Josiah had decided not to wear their armor because they did not want to threaten the dragon.

However, Sir Jasper said that he thought at least one of them should be dressed and ready for battle if it turned out to be necessary. So he wore his full armor, but he kept his sword in its sheath, and he opened his faceplate so that the dragon could see that he had a kind face. And all three knights insisted that Lady Lucy stay behind them the whole time so that she would be in less danger.

They started singing their song at the foot of the mountain, and they sang all the way up. They were very brave indeed. When they got to the place where they could see the entrance to the cave, they heard a terrible sound. It even shook the ground.

“RRROOOOAAAARRR!!!”

And they saw puffs of smoke coming from the cave. They stopped singing. They felt butterflies in their stomach, but they were too strong-hearted to let fear keep them from doing what was right. So after about a minute, they started singing and walking forward again.

“RRROOOOAAAARRR!!!”

They heard the terrible sound again.

But as they drew closer to the cave entrance, they heard another sound between the roars. It sounded like crying.

“BooHooooHoooo! Sniff! Sniff! BooHooooHoooo! Sniff!”

DRAGON - HEAD - MINE with tears EDITEDThey stopped again. “Why, he’s crying!” exclaimed Lady Lucy. “The poor dragon is crying!”

“Well,” said Sir Jasper, “This is very unexpected!”

“Very interesting though,” said Sir Gideon, thinking about what this new evidence indicated about their situation. Sir Gideon had a very methodical way of interpreting things, and he was beginning to put two and two together quickly now.

“Think about it. This dragon goes all around the kingdom breathing fire, scaring the people and other animals, but he sits at home and cries. The two behaviors must be connected.”

“That could explain it,” said Sir Jasper. “He is very unhappy, and that makes him treat others very badly.”

“Exactly,” said Sir Gideon.

“Well, I feel so sorry for him,” said Lady Lucy. “We should go in and tell him we want to be his friends.”

“We can’t just go barging in, sister dear,” said Sir Gideon.

“I think I should go stand by the door and sing to him again,” said Sir Josiah.

“Very well, but be careful,” answered his brother.

So, quietly and gently, Sir Josiah moved up very close to the opening of the cave and began to sing in his clear sweet voice, while Sir Jasper accompanied him on the guitar.

Pretty soon, they heard another big sniff from inside the cave and then they heard the dragon say, “Huh? Who’s there?”

Sir Josiah, whose knees were shaking a little, just kept singing the words of the song, and finally, the dragon eased his head around the edge of the opening to see what was going on. His eyes got great big, and his mouth fell open. When it did, a great puff of smoke came out and blew right onto Sir Josiah.

Sir Jasper put his hand on his sword. He wanted to be ready to defend his cousin if this was an attack. But when there was no more action from the dragon, he relaxed a little.

Sir Josiah had finished his song by now, and he grinned at the dragon.

“Who are you?” the dragon said, and as he spoke another great puff of smoke rolled out onto Josiah. Sir Jasper stepped up beside his cousin. That movement caused the dragon to growl, but Sir Josiah spoke up and said, “Hello, I’m Sir Josiah Calvert, and these other people are my family. We came to bring you some cookies and tell you we want to be your friends.”

The dragon’s eyes just got bigger.

Lady Lucy had been carrying the cookies, and she stepped forward now. Sir Gideon started to reach out his hand to stop her, but he decided that maybe she was the best one, after all, to set the cookies before the dragon.

“Here you are. I baked them myself.”

The dragon blinked. Then a huge tear bubbled out of his eye, ran down his long nose, and dropped to the ground. “Sniff! Sniff!” was all the sound he made.

“Were you crying?” asked Sir Gideon, wanting to get to the bottom of this mystery.

The dragon didn’t look up at him, but just nodded his head to say yes.

“But why?” asked Lady Lucy, stepping a little closer to him. She felt sorry for this poor dragon, and that kept her from being afraid.

The dragon sniffed again very loudly and said, “Because I don’t have any friends at all.” Then he sniffed again, as one more tear rolled down his nose.

Lady Lucy took a soft white handkerchief from her pocket and gently patted the end of his nose. “Is that why you took all the children’s pets?” she asked. “So you could have some company?”

Sniff. “Yes … but it’s no fun when I have to make them stay with me.”

Sir Gideon spoke up then. “Well, of course it isn’t, you goofball. You have to be a real friend to others if you want them to be your friend. And stealing those pets and bringing them here when they don’t want to be here is not being friendly.”

“But we’d like to be your friends,” Lady Lucy said.

The dragon looked from one to the other. “You would?” They nodded. “All of you?” he asked.

“Oh yes,” replied Sir Gideon. “All of us.”

“Even him?” the dragon asked, looking a little harder at Sir Jasper, who still had his hand on his sword.

Sir Jasper dropped his hand to his side and said,“Yes, I want to be your friend too, but you have to understand that people can’t be your friend if you keep stomping through the land stealing pets and breathing out fire, and roaring at people to make them afraid.”

“Well … I guess I did that because I was so unhappy.” the dragon said. Then he turned to Sir Josiah. “I really liked your song.”

Sir Josiah beamed. “Thank you, Mr. Dragon. Do you have a name?”

The dragon nodded. “I have one, but you’ll laugh at me if I tell you what it is.”

“No we won’t,” said Lady Lucy. “Please tell us. We’ll tell you our names first. I’m Lady Lucy Calvert. You’ve already met my brother Sir Josiah, and this is my other brother Sir Gideon and our cousin Sir Jasper. Now will you tell us your name?”

“Well … it’s ….” He sighed. “My name is Throgmorton,” he said in a whisper and hung his head.

“Why, I think that’s a very grand name!” Lady Lucy said.

Sir Gideon had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing, but he was willing to do that because he did not want to make this poor dragon more unhappy.

Sir Josiah spoke up then. “That sounds like a very good dragon name to me. How would you like to be my pet, Throgmorton?”

DRAGON - HEAD - MINE - smileThrogmorton’s eyes grew large again, but this time he smiled. “I think I’d like that very much!” he said.

“Then you have to promise never to scare people or steal pets or breath out fire ever again,” said Sir Josiah. “I can’t have a pet that hurts people.”

“Oh, if I can be your pet, and you will be my friends, I would never want to hurt anyone again! So I promise! And I will take all of the children’s pets back to their homes.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” said Lady Lucy.

“Won’t you all have a cookie with me?” the dragon asked. “And then maybe we could sing the song again.”

So they ate cookies until the plate was empty, and then Throgmorton walked with them back down the mountain. He was very careful with his tail so that it didn’t tear down any trees, and he made sure that when he breathed, he didn’t let out any flames. The three brave knights and Lady Lucy went with Throgmorton to take every pet back to its real owner, and the children of the kingdom were happy again.

Then all four cousins took the dragon back to Carterville Castle, and Sir Gideon’s father, who liked to build things, made Throgmorton a big house right by the back door. Of course, Sir Josiah let him in at night so that he could sleep beside the bed – just like in the song.

And all throughout Calvert Kingdom, there was peace again. No one was afraid to go out with their pets anymore, and the inhabitants never heard the terrible roar of the fearful dragon again.

Instead, all they heard were the happy voices of Sir Gideon, Sir Josiah, Sir Jasper, Lady Lucy, and Throgmorton singing their friendship song. And, of course, as in the end of every great story, they all lived happily ever after.  

DRAGON TAIL - THE END

© 2013 Sandra Conner

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‘Going Home’ — a short, short story

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

My friend Dawn, a photographer and host of the blog “The Day After,” posted this beautiful photograph on her site a few days ago. It so captured my attention that it eventually inspired a short story – a Christmas story, if you will. She has given me permission to use her picture for my story post – and for my upcoming book of short, short stories and poetry, which will also include “Going Home.” Be sure and go over to visit her site and enjoy all of her other terrific photographic work.

DAWN'S PHOTO OF SNOWY RR TRACK

GOING HOME

“I have a family somewhere.  I must have.  I can feel it.  Admittedly, I don’t have a clue where they are, but I’ve made up my mind that I’ll find them.” I spoke the words somberly as Dr. Randall sat looking at me. I’d been thinking those same words over and over for weeks, but that day, I’d decided to say them out loud. They sounded good, but they sent a shiver of fear coursing through me.

“But you’re sure you’ve had no flashes of memories since you regained consciousness?” he asked.

“None,” I responded, shaking my head. It still hurt when I moved it to any extent. I winced, and he walked over to the wall-mounted light, slapping up my latest x-ray for us to look at. He pointed to an area we’d been discussing for the past two months. “Well, this is encouraging, Peter (my choice of temporary names we’d resorted to since I had no identification on me.)

“What’s encouraging?”

“This area right here,” he said, running his index finger around in a circle over one spot on the picture of my brain. “It used to be covered in heavy shadows, if you remember.” I nodded.

“But those shadows are gone now. Yesterday’s CAT scan confirms what I’m seeing here – that the bleeding has stopped completely, and the last of the old blood is cleared away. The tissues look like they are almost normal again.”

“Then why can’t I remember anything?” He sat back down, relaxing in his chair, his hands on the two armrests. “We don’t know, Peter. As I told you earlier, with memory, it’s sometimes as much an emotional recovery as a physical one that’s required for complete restoration. By the way, any idea yet why you chose the name Peter?”

I shook my head. “The frustration is almost unbearable, you know. It’s now my constant companion, and I fight really hard to keep it from driving me crazy.”

He sighed and straightened in his chair, resting his elbows on the desk in front of him. “I can only imagine – albeit that imagination is helped along considerably by all the research I’ve done and the other amnesia patients I’ve worked with.” He sighed again. “And I always find myself a little frustrated as well. I want to remember for them, if you know what I mean.”

I nodded. “Yes, I can understand that.”

“I struggled terribly the first time or two that I worked with amnesia patients. All the textbooks and clinical studies didn’t prepare me adequately for the emotional trauma in the patient – or the emotional turmoil that the attending physician can find himself in. But – ” He smiled suddenly. “The really good news is that in every one of the twenty cases I’ve been associated with, the patient regained either all or most of his memory.

“There were two patients whose memories for certain segments of life remained fleeting. But even those two people were able to recognize close family and friends again and were able to return to their normal occupations – one with a short period of re-training in some complex work that his job required. So the future looks bright, Peter. And, as I’ve said several times already, keeping a positive attitude and positive thoughts can make a world of difference.”

“I’ll keep trying, Doctor,” I said on a sigh as I rose to go.

“And don’t discount prayer, my friend. Pastor Patterson, who’s been visiting you and praying for you, has seen some pretty heavy-duty miracles in his ministry.”

“I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

“Oh, have you changed your mind about the online search?”

“Not as of this morning. I understand that, considering I was found beaten up out in a field, the police naturally had to run my picture through their data base. And I don’t mind telling you that I heaved a huge sigh of relief when that didn’t turn up anything. But I still can’t bear the idea of seeing my picture plastered all over the internet with a plea for someone to tell me who I am. Just the thought of how vulnerable that makes me has been too much to deal with. But … my resolve on the subject is beginning to weaken. It’s almost Christmas, and although the townspeople have been very hospitable to me, I don’t want to feel I’m the object of charity at some family’s Christmas gathering. I want to be home for Christmas!”

I couldn’t hold back a chuckle as I added, “In fact, I got to thinking about the song “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” so much that I went on a search for it at the library yesterday. I found a holiday CD with that song as the first track. I’ve already played it a dozen times.”

Dr. Randall’s eyes lit up. “That’s good; that’s good. Keep playing it. Something within the deepest part of you led you to that song, and who knows what keys it may hold to open doors for you.”

As I put on my coat, I asked one more question: “Now that the bleeding has stopped, can I start working around the farm for the Morgans? They’ve given me free room and board for five weeks now – ever since I got out of the hospital.”

“I’d say you’re fine to do a little work, but keep it to just three or four hours a day for the rest of this week, and we’ll see how it goes. If the headaches get worse, stop and lie down a while.”

As I left the office I felt lighter than I had for weeks. At least I would be able to repay Edgar and Becky Morgan for their kindness in taking me into their home when I had no place to go – no money – no extra clothes – not even a name. But someday ….

~

The following Tuesday, I rode with Edgar over to Stockbridge for supplies. About a mile before we reached the city limits, we crossed a railroad track. Out of habit, I glanced both ways, and when my eyes swept left, a jolt of recognition forced me to suck in an audible breath. About a hundred feet beyond the crossing, the track made a wide curve to the right, winding around a small hillside. On either side of the tracks, the banks were snow-covered, and a thin blanket of snow lay between the rails like confectioners sugar forming a pattern over the long trail of railroad ties as far as my eyes could see.

“I’ve been here!” The words were out before I could consciously think them.

“What’s that?” Edgar asked. “You remember somethin’?”

I grabbed his shoulder, “I’ve been here Edgar! I’ve been down this railroad track. Would you pull off the road for a minute?”

“Sure,” he said, navigating the truck over to the wide shoulder and coming to a stop. “But, Son, you know as well as I do that train tracks can look pretty much the same all over the country.”

“No, Edgar,” I said, shaking my head. “Not this time. I know these tracks and that curve. It hit me as soon as I saw it. I’ve been around that curve on a train going down this very track!”  I spoke the next words through a catch in my throat: “Edgar, this train track goes around that curve and leads to a place that knows me. A place that knows my name; knows who I am, Edgar!”

I got out of the car and walked several feet along the track. It was bitter cold, and I knew I couldn’t keep Edgar out here very long, but I also knew I had to ride down that track. I walked back and got into the car, looking at the old man, whose eyes clearly showed his worry on my behalf.

“You and Becky have been so good to me, Edgar, and I know I can never completely repay you, so I really do hate to ask for more, but I need to ride down this track from this point to all points south until I come to my home. Could you possibly loan me the money for a ticket?”

I could see confusion and turmoil in his eyes. I could almost hear him thinking, what would Becky tell me to do? That thought must have worked because suddenly he smiled at me. “I don’t mind loanin’ you the money, Son, but I’ll do it on only one condition: you have to make me a promise that if you get where you think you’re goin’, and it ain’t what you expected, then you’ll come back here to us.”

“Edgar, you old coot. That’s exactly the kind of thing Becky would say.”

He grinned. “I know it. And that’s how I know it’s the right answer.”

“I promise I’ll come back and let you and Becky know what I found. That’s the best I can do. If that’s not good enough to get me a loan, then I’ll just have to walk the track.”

Edgar shook his head, knowing he was beaten. “You’ll get your loan. We’ll see if we can get you a ticket from the train office here in town.”

~

I was scheduled to leave in two days, so I stopped in to let Dr. Randall know what had transpired. He was excited and encouraged me to pursue the plan.

Becky held onto me in a tight hug the morning I left for Stockbridge. And she did, indeed, say exactly what Edgar had said to me. I gave her the same promise. With tears in her eyes, she just nodded that she accepted it as the only promise I could make right then. I was so indebted to them that it seemed I’d never be able to repay them, and that weighed heavily on me. But if I could ever get my life back, surely I could make enough money to do something for them in return.

Edgar was riding the train with me for the first two stops on the destination. That would put him off at Stone’s Quarry. He had a friend there who did business in Stockbridge and would give him a ride back. As we prepared to board, my stomach quivered. My hands shook. I forced myself to take a slow, deep breath and stepped onto the platform. Once we were seated, I leaned out the window to watch the last activities of departure.

As the train lurched into motion, a scene flashed across my mind: big people in heavy winter coats – surrounding me. I held tightly to a hand – someone much taller than I — but — who? I strained to see who held my hand so comfortingly, but the image vanished as quickly as it had come. I shook my head in frustration. “Somethin’ wrong?” Edgar asked.

“I just had a flash of memory. I was on this train – evidently as a child, because I was holding tightly to the hand of someone much bigger, but I couldn’t see who!”

Edgar patted my arm. “Well, you know what Doc Randall said. Don’t strain. Let it come easy-like.”

Since we had boarded the train on the far north end of Stockbridge, we had to travel almost three miles before we came to the curve. There was a small platform between our car and the engine, and I had arranged with the conductor to have permission to stand on that platform as we rounded the curve so that I could see clearly. For some reason that mattered to me. The train company had frowned on that plan, of course, out of safety considerations, but my personal plea to the conductor, once he understood my problem, resulted in his compassionate agreement to my request.

As Edgar and I walked toward the door to exit the compartment, a brief conversation flashed through my memory. “But where’s Grandmama?” I heard myself asking. “She will not be riding the train, Peter. She’ll be at the station to meet us at the end of our trip.” I tried to see who spoke to me, but there were no images with the conversation at all. Had it been my mother? Surely it had. But what did she look like?

By that time we were standing on the platform, and Edgar was holding onto my arm – whether to comfort me or to keep his balance better I wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter. His touch did comfort me. He spoke: “Peter, I know you’re excited … and I guess I’m excited for you. But … Son … I just don’t want you to get your hopes up too high. Train tracks can look the same in a lot of places …” His words hung there for a moment, and then I glanced at him and reached to pat his hand. My eyes immediately returned to watching us round the curve, but I answered him, my voice strong with a confidence I had not experienced since waking up in the hospital.

“Don’t you worry, Edgar. Around this curve and down these tracks is a place that knows me. These tracks are taking me home, my friend.” I glanced back at him with what I know was a giddy grin on my face. “Just like the song says, Edgar: I’ll be home for Christmas!”
~~~

~ The End ~

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© 2013 Sandra Conner

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