Excerpt from Bedina's War - Lazy Eight Ladies Chapter Three

Livia

Livia walked into Ray’s Café and trembled. A sea of Orchideans

peered up at her.

“Good morning, Miss Livia!” Cornelius shouted, startling Gaia,

who began to cry.

A bear burst out of the kitchen; a bear in a blue apron. “Who’s

frightening the tiny baby?”

Gaia wailed.

“I didn’t mean to!” Cornie pleaded.

Livia stared at them, blinking away tears.

“Stop it, the both of you,” Jones Fredark growled. “You’re making

Livia cry.”

“Are you crying?” Ray peered down, his voice a horrified whisper.

“No, no! I’m not,” the tears streamed. “I’m not crying.”

“You made her cry.” Cornelius accused Ray.

“I did not!” Ray yelled. Gaia howled. “I did not,” he whispered.

“Are we going to get something to eat this morning?” grumped a

voice from the rear.

“Get out!” Ray bellowed. “Out! All of you. Crying babies and crying

ladies and you’re thinking about your stomachs.”

“At a time like this,” admonished Cornelius.

“Don’t go!” Livia sobbed. “How can I wait on you if you go

away?”

The men who were leaving froze.

“She’s right,” Cornelius said to Ray.

“Yep. She’s right. Can’t do no waitressing if there’s no one to wait

on,” Fredark agreed.

“No,” Livia shook her head and wiped at her wet cheeks.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ray scowled, “Alright, sit down.”

The men hesitated, looking at each other.

“Sit down, I said!”

Gaia hiccupped and wailed again.

“Shush, shu-shu. Hushaby, Gaia-baby. I’ll be quiet.” Ray held his

fingers to his lips. “We’ll all be quiet.”

“Sit down and shush up,” Cornelius hissed.

Gaia giggled.

“Oh!” Ray beamed. “She likes that. Say it again, Cornie.”

“Sit down and shush up.”

Gaia pealed with laughter.

“How can we order breakfast if we have to be quiet?” asked a voice

from the back.

Livia and Cornie looked at Ray. He held up his hands. “I know.

One at a time, very quietly, you tell Miss Livia here what you want to

eat and she’ll come tell me.”

“Seems simple enough.” Cornie led the nodded assents.

“We’ll start with you, Lefkin. What do you want for breakfast?”

Livia smiled at the man.

“Three eggs, over easy, a side of bacon, biscuits, grits, coffee and a

honey comb.”

Livia looked at him, trying not to panic. She walked back to Ray.

“Lefkin wants —“

“No, don’t tell me here. Tell me in the kitchen.” He took her arm.

“Come on.”

They walked through the hall and into the kitchen, past the sinks,

beyond the pots of bubbling grits and the oven filled with baking

biscuits to the grill which lined the back wall.

“Now, Miss Livia.”

“Good morning, Mr. Ray.” She grinned. Gaia cooed. Ray’s eyes

shone. “Lefkin wants eggs.”

“How many?”

“Four?”

“And how did he want them?”

“On the side.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ray tilted his head. “On the side?”

“And bark gum.”

“Bark gum? You mean tree sap?”

“Um. Yes?”

“Anything else?”

“Yes.” She drew a deep breath, trying to remember.

Ray smiled patiently. “Did he want pancakes to go with his tree

sap?”

“Pancakes? What are pancakes?”

“Tain’t never had pancakes before? They’re fluffy flour and milk

fried on a skillet. I sprinkle them with cinnamon and powdered

sugar.”

“That sounds good.”

“Sometimes I drizzle berries on top.”

“Oh!”

“Would you like some?”

Her stomach growled. Then her nose wrinkled as Gaia made

grunting noises. “Oh. I have to take Gaia outside to change her.”

Ray took a step backward. “Reckon.”

When she returned, there were five platters of food ready to be

delivered. Livia tucked Gaia into the crook of her left arm and picked

up one platter. It took her a moment to figure out how to back through

the door.

The men cheered her.

“Here you go, Lefkin.”

“Oh,” Lefkin looked at the men seated with him. “Pancakes.”

“And bark gum,” Livia beamed.

It took her quite a while to deliver each platter, but eventually,

every man at Lefkin’s table had a plate. She smiled at them and they

sheepishly grinned back. Then the sound of soft grumbling drew her

attention to the other forty-five tables filled with hungry men.

Ray came into the hall balancing four platters and deposited them

at the next table.

“I didn’t order this,” a smallish man complained.

“Yes, you did.” Ray assured him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“But, I don’t like pancakes.”

“I do,” Fredark piped up. “I’ll trade you my sausages for your pancakes.”

Ray touched her elbow. “There’s more plates to be delivered.”

“Oh! I liked how you carried more than one plate at a time. Can

you show me how to do that?”

“Reckon. But you’d do a might better using both hands.”

“I’ll help. I hate pancakes. I mean,” Cornie reached for Gaia. “I’ll

hold Gaia.”

As she was pulled away, a slimy trail of syrup continued to connect

her to Livia’s shirt.

“Why aren’t you wearing an apron?” Ray asked in a disapproving tone.

“I don’t have an apron.” Livia’s voice trembled.

“No worries, Livia. We’ll fix you up.” Ray reached behind the door

and presented her with a maroon piece of fabric with strings.

“How does it go?”

“This goes here.” He pressed the fabric against her chest and then

realized where his beefy fingers were. “Um. Here. You hold it up. And I’ll,”

he pulled two strings away from the top and tied them behind her head.

“Ow!”

“Sorry. Caught your hair. It’s beautiful — your hair.” He took a step

closer, his hands still behind her head.

“Thank you.”

“Oh Ray, you beast! Thank you!” a voice catcalled from the onlookers.

“And you tie these behind you.” He reached behind her back.

“There.”

They both released the apron and it fell to the floor.

“It’s huge.” Livia bent to pick it up.

“It fits me just fine.”

“She’s a dainty thing, Ray-boyo. It won’t fit!” someone shouted.

“It’ll fit just fine,” Ray growled.

The crowd cackled, nudging and winking at each other.

“What if we wrapped it around me?” Livia pulled the sides behind

and around to the front and tied it. The string still streamed to the floor.

“Here.” Ray pulled the strings behind her and with her in his arms,

fumbled awkwardly.

Livia liked the way she felt in his arms. He wasn’t much taller than

her, so when she tilted her head up, they were nose to nose. “I like the

way you smell.”

His hands stilled and he looked at her mouth.

“Am I all done up now?

“Hmmm.” He liked the way her lips moved when she spoke.

“That’s it; I’m going to Nuffers to eat!” a voice groused.

Others agreed.

“Wait!” Livia turned to them. “Wait. I can do this. Don’t go. Just

give me a chance. Just sit down. Lefkin, can you ring up their bills

since you’ve finished eating? Fredark, you put a carafe of coffee on each

table. Ray, you go start cooking and I’ll bring out the plates.”

Most of the men got their breakfasts by the time the lunch crowd

began to enter Ray’s.

Cornie came into the kitchen and had to shout over Gaia’s squalling.

“She won’t stop crying!”

“Did you try singing?” Ray asked.

“Reckon.

“Nursery rhymes?”

“Just so.”

“Nappies?”

“Dry as whiskers.”

Livia sighed. She knew exactly what was wrong. Her nipples had

begun to leak as soon as Gaia started crying. “She’s hungry.”

“Well,” Cornelius handed the infant to her mother. “Great place to

be hungry. Café and all.”

Gaia clutched at Livia’s apron.

“Oh.” Cornie paled.

“How do I — where do I?”

Ray blushed. “Oh.”

She was yanking at the strings behind her. “I can’t untie this.”

“I’ll help.” Ray embraced mother and child.

“Ow!”

“Sorry.” Ray squirmed. “I can’t see. You hair is in the way.”

“Let me help.” Cornie stood behind her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Ow!!”

“Don’t hurt her!”

“I wasn’t hurting her, Ray.”

Sally walked into the kitchen to find Livia sandwiched between the

two men. “I don’t mean to interrupt anything.”

The men sprang away from Livia like magnetized poles. Her apron

had two streams of wet running down the front. Gaia was sucking

madly on the greasy maroon fabric. The Earther looked at the Spa’Lab

and burst into tears.

Excerpt from

Bedina’s War

© Evelyn Rainey

Comfort Publishing

ISBN 9781936695881

SPINACH WITH GRAPEFRUIT

3 pounds fresh spinach

1 no.2 can grapefruit sections, drained

Salt & pepper to taste

Butter/margarine

Wash spinach in warm water; rinse with cold, do not drain. Cover; heat for 7 to 8 minutes. Drain; chop. Fold in warmed grapefruit sections. Season to taste. Add butter. Yield: 6 servings.

(Mrs. Lillian P. Dunbar, Toomsuba, Miss. © Southern Living 1968)

Gluten-free and Vegetarian/Vegan Recipes

To meet my needs of being “gluten-free”, there are no ingredients that have wheat in them. Since one out of one-hundred people now have problems with the way the United States processes their foods, there are plenty of brands which are marked GF Gluten-free. However, read all the way around the label and determine if there might be traces of wheat or if the product was processed in a plant or on machinery that also handles wheat. (These statements are usually NOT found near the list of ingredients.) If this is the case and you are gluten-sensitive or have a wheat-toxicity, don’t use it!

I also deleted recipes which called for hidden gluten – like shrimp, frozen mangoes and parsnips.

Vegetarian foods allow the use of milk, honey, eggs, and other non-kill animal products; vegans do not. I have endeavored to post only recipes with vegan-appropriate ingredients. If I really liked something, though, that was vegetarian rather than vegan, I will note it.

Whenever possible, use non-GMO products (non-genetically modified).  If you think gmo’s are ok for you, you haven’t read any science fiction books, let alone Charles Darwin.

These recipes are not an attempt to substitute wheat or animal ingredients with something else. These recipes are “naturally” or originally gluten-free and vegetarian/vegan.

Minna Pegeen book trailer

Bedinas War book trailer

Excerpt from To Build an Army Chapter Three

Ben & Venutha

 

            The old man entered the sanctuary with a dirty yellow Labrador retriever at his side, but no one took notice of him.  He set his backpack beside the pew and sat on the far right; the primary colors from the stained glass of a lighthouse danced along his tanned and wrinkled face.  Ben sat near him, but his thoughts were on his new veterinary clinic and the fact that his wife Jill still refused to follow him to Morning Creek.  The dog jumped onto the pew between the two men and settled her head in the vagrant’s lap.  His gnarled fingers stroked her golden mane and she closed her eyes.

During the service, Ben’s attention twitched furtively on the man and his dog.  He’d seen so many strange things since coming to Morning Creek and joining this church.  People in strange garbs, carrying weapons, using hand signals, refusing to use a hymn book or Bible.  But there was something vaguely familiar about this man beside him.  He had the look of a soldier.  He’d obviously missed too many meals and hadn’t seen clean water in a while.  And his dog looked scrawny and worm-infested, but obviously adored her master.  The old man bowed his head for the closing prayer and when Ben stood for the benediction, the man remained seated, head bowed, fingers curled lovingly in his dog’s fur.  The dog whimpered softly.

People filed down the aisle and the dog’s whimpering grew in volume and manifested into a full, head-thrown-back, ears flat to the head howl of anguish.  Her master was dead.

Atticus and Gwen made their way back up the aisle and stopped.  Gwen pressed fingers into the man’s neck, waited, and then shook her head.

“Do you know him?” Atticus asked Ben.

Ben shook his head.  “I thought he was a refugee.  That’s his pack there.”

Chi gently moved Gwen aside and began examining the man.  “We’ll move him to the clinic’s morgue.  I’m sorry.”

“We can’t,” Atticus put his hand to stop Chi.  “He’s a civilian.  He’s not one of us.  We’ll have to call the sheriff.”

“Oh no,” Ben couldn’t help the exclamation.  He’d met the new sheriff.  She’d brought her K-9 trained shepherd to be examined by him.  The dog was gorgeous, as was the sheriff, but she made a snide remark about the church before she knew he was a member and he’d let his sharp tongue get the better of him.

“We’ll have to clear the church first and ask all the new refugees to keep indoors until she’s gone.  She was real upset about the crossbows last time she was here.” Gwen crossed her arms.  The two women had not bonded.

Atticus spoke firmly.  “Chi, code yellow.  Gwen, call the authorities.  I’ll notify Morgan in case we need some red-tape snipped.”

Gwen and Chi headed away immediately, but Atticus studied the top of the man’s head.

Ben, not realizing he had been overlooked, cleared his throat.  “Did he come here because he dreamed about you, do you think?”

“I don’t remember him.  I don’t know him at all.”  Atticus eyed the dog.  Her head was still in her master’s lap and she was moaning.

“I’ll stay with him while you make your phone calls.”  Ben had no idea why these words tumbled out of his mouth, but he was glad when they did.

Atticus nodded in that I would expect nothing less way of his and walked away. 

“Well Lady, I’m so sorry about your friend.”  Ben sat down and patted her rump.  Her whimpering got louder.

Sheriff Joan Peters filled her uniform nicely.  At her heels came Roland, her German shepherd.  “Did anyone touch the body?”

The lab ignored her but Ben stood.  He started to tell her no one had, but Gwen had, and so had Chi.  By the time he could fathom a correct response, Atticus had already conveyed the same information. 

The sheriff eyed Ben and then dismissed him, but Roland wagged his tail.  The lab eyed the shepherd and the sheriff with equal despair and kept up her keening.

Joan reached down to open the man’s jacket and the lab quickly put her mouth around her wrist.  Joan stilled.

“This your dog?” She kept her voice gentle.

“No, she’s his,” Ben pointed.

Her voice softened into liquid femininity as she addressed the lab.  “It’s alright, girl.  I won’t hurt him.  I just need to see who he was.  I promise.  You’re a good girl for keeping him safe.  Now it’s my turn.”

The lab released her mouthy hold and tilted her head up and back.  Another howl resonated through the empty sanctuary.

Ben blinked away sudden tears and was surprised, and for some reason pleased, to witness the sheriff brush a tear off her cheek.  Roland sniffed at the man’s ankle and unobtrusively pressed his shoulder against the sheriff’s leg.

Joan removed a beaten wallet from his coat.  She whistled in respect; instead of a driver’s license, he had a gold colored military ID card.  She nodded at the awaiting EMT’s who placed his body gently but efficiently on the gurney.  The lab made as if to follow, but Joan blocked her.  “No, no, girl.  You can’t go with him.”

Again, before his brain knew he had decided, Ben’s voice promised, “I’ll take her.”

Joan pierced him with a look and voice totally different from what she’d used with the dog.  “The county will not be held responsible for any fees, food, shelter or medical services rendered to that animal.”

Ben ground his teeth and took a deep angry breath.

Atticus rescued him, “The church takes care of its own. And we’ll provide a funeral for the man, if you can’t find next of kin.”

Joan smacked her lips – a strange mannerism Atticus had noted before during their few – and usually unpleasant – encounters.

She was halfway down the aisle when she turned back.  Her shepherd was still sitting beside the pews.  “Roland, heel.”

The dog hesitated, stood up and breathed into the lab’s muzzle before trotting to catch up with his mistress. 

 

Excerpt from

To Build an Army

© Evelyn Rainey

Available for publication.

 

Excerpt from Bedina's War - Tinker's Damn Chapter Three

Songs and Singing

“There’s a hole in my foodbot, Salt Yarrow, Salt Yarrow,” Julian’s

tenor belted out from the center of the mess hall. “There’s a hole in my

foodbot, Salt Yarrow, a hole!”

Yeoman Yarrow removed the front panel of the foodbot and sang,

“Well fix it, First Chief, First Chief, First Chief. Well fix it, First Chief,

First Chief, fix it!”

Lonicera walked into the cafeteria and moved in step to the song

across the floor.

“With what shall I fix it, Salt Yarrow, Salt Yarrow? With what shall

I fix it, Salt Yarrow, with what?”

The older man handed the implement to Julian with a grin, “With

a tyndale, First Chief, First Chief, First Chief. With a tyndale, First

Chief, First Chief, a tyndale.”

By now, the other crew in the mess joined in with the song as

Lonicera waltzed around the hall. The verses progressed from one

problem’s solution to another: the tyndale was too weak to do the job, so

it needed a battery, which was in the storeroom but the storeroom was

locked and the captain had the key. But the captain was on shore leave,

and on and on. As Julian finished the repair and replaced the panel, he

watched as the beautiful woman soared gracefully across the hall. Her

face was filled with joy. He looked at Yarrow, who nodded encouragingly

at him. As Lonicera waltzed past, Julian took her hand and the waltz

became a polka and the crowded mess hall launched into rowdier and

rowdier verses. Others joined the impromptu promenade, jostling and

twirling each other as the rhythm rushed and the volume swelled.

The bells tolled for the next shift and the salts fell to good-natured

grumbling, leaving for work or home.

In the softened din, Lonicera laughed. She beamed at Julian and

threw her head back and laughed. It took his breath away.

Three days later, Julian was belly-deep inside the engines of a

fighter, trying to replace a blasted fuel line. The ratchet he needed

slipped from his greasy fingers and clattered to the floor of the bay. He

blew out a breath rather than a curse and a slender, dirty hand lifted

the ratchet up to him. He took it, trying to see her face, but knowing it

was her. “Thank you!”

“With a tyndale, dear man, dear man, dear man,” she sang, and

then she was gone.

That evening, as he strolled the isolated passageways, checking the

various gages and lines that kept his ship vital and alive, he heard a

mournful tune echoing down from one of the side passages which ran

alongside the Tinker’s hearth. For being the center of what kept the

Tinker’s Damn alive, traffic along the corridors surrounding the engine

room were usually sparse. It was a man singing, in a bass voice which

made Julian shiver with sorrow. He’d never heard the song before,

which was rare on a ship full of Orchideans who loved ballads and

stories more than most anything else.

He followed the voice and came upon Lan-chi Yarrow, Petrosk

Sylva and his mate Benny who were seated in front of a thin Spa’Lab.

The singer was standing by the hearth-side of the corridor leaning

against the wall; his head tilted back, his eyes closed. But the song he

sang made Julian remember each person he’d ever loved who died. He

wasn’t singing words, just sounds: various vowels and hmmms and

occasional pocking noises. As Julian sat beside Yarrow, he noted the

engcorder in his hands. The salt put the wooden reed to his lips and

blew softly, harmonizing with the song of the thin Spa’Lab.

Sylva wiped his eyes and cleared his throat. “Missus Gidlasken

would have loved this.”

“Ayup,” his mate replied, wrapping his beefy arm around Sylva’s

shoulders.

A subtle shift in the engines meant the Tinker’s Damn was changing

course. Julian noticed it because he was attuned to his ship’s engines.

The Spa’Lab stopped mid-note. The silence startled the men. They

 

 

 

 

 

 

waited for him to continue; he did not. They glanced at each other and

shrugged. The Spa’Lab straightened, standing away from the wall, and

walked away.

The next night, as Julian happened to be passing by the same

corridor, he nodded at Yarrow, Sylva and Benny who also just happened

to be passing. Sebastiana and her husband Alessandro wandered past

him and smiled. A voice, much higher than the one from the night

before, began a plaintive melody. The deep bass of last night’s singer

joined it. The salts grinned at each other and went into the corridor and

sat before the two men. The thin man leaned one hand against the wall

and rested the other on the shoulder of the youngest of the Spa’Labs.

Again, no words were used, only syllables and mouth-percussion, but

the eloquence of the music stirred the listeners to tears. There was no

break where one song ended and another began, they dovetailed into a

livelier one, and then receded into a slower one.

Yarrow joined them with his Engcorder, and another salt brought

a mouth organ. Other Tinkers hummed along as best they could.

Sebastiana sat between her husband and Julian and held their hands.

From behind them, a soprano began to weave her harmony into

the strain. Julian turned and smiled at the Spa’Lab woman. She didn’t

see him. She was moving her way slowly up the passage, trailing her

fingers along the walls as if she were plucking unseen harp strings

along its side. She came alongside the young tenor and he reached out

his hand to her. When they joined, the three solidified into one note:

strong, vibrant, beckoning. Sebastiana gasped beside Julian and he

realized he was having trouble breathing himself. Slowly the woman

climbed step by step as the bass lowered, matching her at thirds and

fifths and octaves. The tenor held his note, balancing the three.

The Tinkers Damn shifted gears and seemingly in response, the

three singers launched into a lively aria.

More and more of the crew crowded into the corridor but were

silent in awe. The singers held sway for an entire Movietime, barely

breaking for breath; never out of harmony; blending and banking and

weaving their song until Julian thought he could bare it no more and

might simply dissolve.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The ship shifted gears again and they suddenly fell silent. They

blinked slowly. Their hands fell from each other’s grasps.

“They can’t stop now!” Sebastiana hissed.

But they simply walked away.

The following night, the corridor was jammed full of salts and their

mates and children. Even the captain and the doctor were seated beside

their children, expectantly waiting while being told from everyone

around them about the singers.

“Her name’s Lonicera.” Sebastiana sat beside Julian while her son

and two daughters fought over being able to sit in Julian’s lap.

Julian reddened.

“See that pretty young woman sitting next to Claire?” His secondchief

pointed. “She’s the eldest, come back to the Tinker after serving

four years at the Academy on Lucidea. She’s received a commission as

the new comtech on the Tinker. She helped her mother trace all the

Spa’Labs’ identities.”

“I remember Poplaris Lobelia when she was a child. Couldn’t keep

her out of the comroom. Always questioning Yarrow. Near drove her

uncle crazy.”

“Lobelia says your Spa’Lab’s full name’s Chirate Lonicera. She’s

unmarried. And she’s famous.”

“And absent tonight.”

Sebastiana’s husband Alessandro sat beside her and took one of the

three children out of Julian’s lap. “Who’s absent tonight?”

“The singers.” Julian nodded at Alessandro.

“I wonder why,” Alessandro mused.

Their son Democritus piped very calmly, “Because we’re still on

course to Hweng.”

“Yes, Democritus, we’re still on course to Hweng. What does that

have to do with the singers?” Julian turned the boy so he could see his

face.

“Last night, they sang until we changed course to Hweng, then

they stopped singing.”

“Well, those are two separate things,” Alessandro stated.

Democritus frowned. “Maybe.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“So, you think if we change course again, the Spa’Labs will sing

again?” his mother asked.

“Yes.” The boy nodded.

Julian grinned at Sebastiana, who leaned over and kissed her son.

They waited with some degree of patience, while salts played

impromptu duets and solos and eventually dancing broke out and

everyone had a great time, despite the worrying fact that the Spa’Labs

never made an appearance.

Excerpt from

Bedina’s War

© Evelyn Rainey

Comfort Publishing

ISBN 9781936695881

ALMOND BLACK EYES

2 1 pound cans black-eyed peas

¼ cup butter/margarine

¼ cup coarsely chopped onion

1/3 cup (packed) brown sugar

1 Tbsp cornstarch

½ tsp salt

1 ½ Tbsp vinegar

2 tsp Worcestershire

½ cup diced almonds, roasted

Drain peas, reserving 1 cup liquid. Melt butter in medium saucepan. Add onion, sauté until tender-crisp. Mix in brown sugar, cornstarch, salt and reserved liquid. Cook, stirring until mixture comes to a boil and is slightly thickened. Stir in peas, vinegar, Worcestershire and almonds. Heat in saucepan or pour into 1-quart buttered casserole. Cover; heat in 375 degree oven for 20 minutes. Yield: 6 servings.

(Mrs. Mamie Booker, Pensacola, FL © Southern Living 1968)

·        Rather than risk the contents of the cans of black-eyes, I’d use fresh black-eyes, boil them to softness with salt and an onion, and reserve the pot liquor for use in the above recipe.

Gluten-free and Vegetarian/Vegan Recipes

To meet my needs of being “gluten-free”, there are no ingredients that have wheat in them. Since one out of one-hundred people now have problems with the way the United States processes their foods, there are plenty of brands which are marked GF Gluten-free. However, read all the way around the label and determine if there might be traces of wheat or if the product was processed in a plant or on machinery that also handles wheat. (These statements are usually NOT found near the list of ingredients.) If this is the case and you are gluten-sensitive or have a wheat-toxicity, don’t use it!

I also deleted recipes which called for hidden gluten – like shrimp, frozen mangoes and parsnips.

Vegetarian foods allow the use of milk, honey, eggs, and other non-kill animal products; vegans do not. I have endeavored to post only recipes with vegan-appropriate ingredients. If I really liked something, though, that was vegetarian rather than vegan, I will note it.

Whenever possible, use non-GMO products (non-genetically modified).  If you think gmo’s are ok for you, you haven’t read any science fiction books, let alone Charles Darwin.

These recipes are not an attempt to substitute wheat or animal ingredients with something else. These recipes are “naturally” or originally gluten-free and vegetarian/vegan.

Excerpt from Comes the Warrior Chapter Three

Gwen drenched herself in tomato juice and then showered quickly.  She locked the guest room door and slept for twelve hours.  When she awoke, the house was quiet.  She found her few belongings laundered and folded outside the bedroom door, along with a ball of white socks, an extra pair of jeans and a white dress shirt.  She took the pile of clothes back to the bed, locked the door again, and got dressed in the jeans and T she’d taken from the shelter.

There was a note on the refrigerator:  “Ms. Pearl has taken ill.  I’ve gone to the hospital.  Fix whatever you want to eat, I’ll be late.  Atticus.”

            The thought of food made her feel queasy, so she wandered around the cottage.  It was clean but worn.  A hand-crocheted granny square afghan covered a small sofa.  The maple coffee table was dented and stained; one of its legs had been broken and re-glued.  Prints were scattered on the walls, each depicting pastoral scenes of lambs, trees and wagons.  The curtains were muslin tie-backs.  She moved into the hallway.  The pastor’s bedroom was on the other side of the bathroom from the guest room.  The double bed was covered in another afghan – a ripple design in maroon, hunter green and navy blue.  Green cotton curtains covered the large window looking out on the backyard.  There was a dresser covered with river stones, feathers and unusually shaped leaves.  A golden wedding ring hung on a tarnished sterling chain from the corner of the dresser’s mirror.

            The room had a pleasant odor, like the smell of warm flesh and sunscreen lotion.  Gwen felt safe in that room.

            A small TV rested on a book shelf, but it only crackled with snow when she turned it on.  Next to the TV was a calendar.  Today was the first Tuesday in May.  The date niggled at her memory.  It had been the last Thursday in March when she’d been driven from her home.  She lost herself in memories of the ukera in the moonlight, the lightener masks on the soldiers, the sound of Sanchor’s voice.  The feel of him touching her, inside her.  She felt warm and dizzy.  Then a coldness swept up from her stomach and flamed in her throat:  she hadn’t had a period since the first week of March.

            Her hands pressed against her belly in panic.  She was pregnant.  She knew it with a certainty that bordered faith.  She was carrying Sanchor’s child.  Terror vied with joy.  She counted the months on her fingers; the baby would be born in December.

            Her feet led her to the church across the yard from the parsonage.  She unlocked the doors and knelt at the altar.

            She prayed for strength.  She prayed for this child whom she’d been given.  She prayed for Sanchor.  She prayed that he would somehow find out he was this child’s father and the joy of that news would turn him away from the Darkness.  Then she became ashamed of such wistfulness, and prayed that God’s will be done.

Her prayers dwindled away as she knelt, listening for the voice of God.  It wasn’t a corporeal voice, not like the pastor’s angel.  It was a stillness, a peace which filled her, strengthened her, calmed her.

            The church doors burst open and Atticus strode in.  His face was masked in fury.  She jumped to her feet in alarm.  He saw her and stopped.  Anger fought surprise, then his face reddened in embarrassment.  “I thought you’d gone,” he explained.

            She blinked.  Pastor looked so sweet now, when seconds earlier he’d looked like a Strategia Oscuro in battle.

            “How’s the woman in the hospital?” Gwen balanced her weight, wary.

            “She’ll be fine.  She let her sugar get out of control.  But she’ll be just fine.”  He stopped at the first pew.  “Thank you for asking.  Were you praying for her?”

            “No.”  Gwen pressed her hands on her abdomen, possessively.

            He sported a cocky grin, “Were you praying about me?”

            Gwen pursed her lips and scowled.  “My prayers are private.”

            The grin slid off his face and he reddened again.  “Forgive me.  I didn’t mean to pry.”

            “I didn’t mean to snap.”  She nodded.  “I’m sorry.  It’s just – you act like you know me.  Like I’m supposed to know you.”

            “You don’t like it when someone tries to get close to you.”

            She couldn’t deny it, but she didn’t want to admit it.

            He held out his hand, “Would you pray with me?”

            She meant to turn and walk away, but found she had taken his outstretched hand.  He reached for and took her other hand, too, and bowed his head.

            The peace she’d sought earlier flooded through her, spreading like living warmth from her hands, through her arms to her stomach and from there up to her head and down to her toes.  She gasped and opened her eyes.  He was looking at her.  His lips were open but gently smiling.  She felt herself drawn into his eyes, drowning in his soul.

            “Amen,” he whispered.

            “Amen,” she replied, reluctant to release his hands.

That cocky grin returned, “So what’s for dinner?”

            She laughed.  “I didn’t look.”

            “Well, I’m hungry, and you haven’t eaten since last night.  What do you feel like eating?”

            “Something simple, but very filling.”

            “Eggs, bacon, grits, and biscuits?”  He kept hold of one hand and walked with her down the aisle to the church yard.

            “Cheese grits?”

            “I can make that happen.”  He released her hand to lock the doors.

            “How are you going to explain me to your parishioners?”

            “I don’t have to.  They all knew you were coming.  The Elders do, at any rate.  That’s all that matters.”

            “Does your angel talk to them, too?”

            “No, just to me.  But I’ve been preaching about you for a year now.  About the war and the warrior.”

 

Excerpt from

Comes the Warrior

© Evelyn Rainey

Available for publication.

Excerpt from Minna Pegeen Chapter Three

Excerpt from

Minna Pegeen

© Evelyn Rainey

Comfort Publishing

ISBN 9781935361381

SLIVERED ALMOND ONIONS

(This sounds good, but I would prepare it with leeks rather than onions. Just a thought.)

16 to 20 small onions

½ cup butter/margarine

1 cup slivered almonds

Parboil onions to loosen outer skin; remove outer skin, stem and root end. (I would have just cut and removed them while they were raw). Arrange onions in shallow casserole in a single layer. Dot top of each onion with butter; sprinkle almonds over top. Cover and bak e at 350 degrees for 45 minutes or until tender. Yield: 8 servings.

(Mrs. Richard W. Hurd, Montgomery AL © Southern Living 1968)

Gluten-free and Vegetarian/Vegan Recipes

To meet my needs of being “gluten-free”, there are no ingredients that have wheat in them. Since one out of one-hundred people now have problems with the way the United States processes their foods, there are plenty of brands which are marked GF Gluten-free. However, read all the way around the label and determine if there might be traces of wheat or if the product was processed in a plant or on machinery that also handles wheat. (These statements are usually NOT found near the list of ingredients.) If this is the case and you are gluten-sensitive or have a wheat-toxicity, don’t use it!

I also deleted recipes which called for hidden gluten – like shrimp, frozen mangoes and parsnips.

Vegetarian foods allow the use of milk, honey, eggs, and other non-kill animal products; vegans do not. I have endeavored to post only recipes with vegan-appropriate ingredients. If I really liked something, though, that was vegetarian rather than vegan, I will note it.

Whenever possible, use non-GMO products (non-genetically modified).  If you think gmo’s are ok for you, you haven’t read any science fiction books, let alone Charles Darwin.

These recipes are not an attempt to substitute wheat or animal ingredients with something else. These recipes are “naturally” or originally gluten-free and vegetarian/vegan.

Excerpt from Troughton Company Chapter Three

            “I don’t understand why the women-folk don’t want Belly and the rest of us to know.” Jerry stretched out in his tent, speaking to his wife. She was seated on the ground beside him.

            “What is this women-folk crap? Ever since WWII, we have been people first, equals! Now suddenly, once we have come back to building fires and sleeping under the stars – living off the land – we’re women-folk. Like we’re separate species.”

            “What you just told me is exactly why we men are going to treat you women differently than just one of the guys. You are vulnerable in a way men will never be.”

            Chrissy tried to respond with a logical argument.  Jerry let her think her way to a calmer plateau.

            “Is anyone else pregnant?”

            “There are only the three of us that are actively sexual – that I know of. It’s not like we babysit the bachelorettes. Peggy, Jeanie and I are married. Peggy’s got a stash of condemns, though.”

            “Yeah, I’m amazed that’s lasted that long.” Jerry mused. “Preacher mentioned he and Smartboard are considering going bear-hunting.”

            “And then there’s Angel and Jailbird.”

            “He’s a man of honor; they’re still celibate.”

            “She’s got to be at least seventeen and this winter’s going to be a cold one.”

            Jerry grimaced. “Well, that was less than romantic.”

            “There’s nothing romantic about bear-hunting in the piney woods, love.” She smirked and then lay down beside him. “But those wild roses you picked for me last time were very sweet.”

            “Are you ever sorry that I can’t get you pregnant?”

            She nuzzled against him. “Right now, I’m grateful that we can’t get pregnant. I can’t imagine going through a pregnancy out here. The closest thing to an OB-GYN is Peggy who took an on line midwifery course.”

            “Do you suppose the 74^th has doctors?”

            “That’s not enough of a reason to join them.”

            “Hum,” he slipped his hand under her shirt.  “If we’re real quiet, do you suppose we could go bear-hunting right now?”

            She grinned and kissed him.

            “Jerry!” Preacher yelled from outside of the tent. “We found a bee hive. Pizzaboy thinks he‘s got an idea. Come on!”

 

 

            “We’ll start you with the jeans. That’s why we announced at breakfast today’s jeans day. Anyone with dirty jeans will start piling them there.”

            “Beside the pile of white or whitish clothes?” Mickey asked Sally.

            “Yeah, well, we’re a little behind in the laundry. I’ll take care of the whites, you do the jeans.”

            “So, announce the flavor of the day, wait for the clothes to pile up. I think I’m getting a hang of this living off the land mojo.”

            “Put twelve jeans at a time in that tub there. Shake them first, to make sure there’s no bugs. Check the pockets – carefully.”

            “Bugs?”

            “Or worse. Especially Timmy Hicks. Smallest jeans. That child finds every squishy critter interesting and collects them – in his pockets.”

            Mickey made a face but assured her (and himself), “I can do this.”

            “Use one cup of laundry detergent and fill the tub with water from the stream.”

            “Don’t I have to boil it or something?”

            “Not yet.”

            “Oh, two words that offer such promise.”

            Sally pointed.

            “What?”

            “Get the stick.”

            He did so, and held it vertically between them.

            She placed her hand caressingly at the top of the stick, placed her other hand on the shaft and then used it to demonstrate her words. “You know how, in an engine, when the pistons go up and down, up and down, and up and down, faster and faster until the engine just screams with heat?”

            “Yeah? Oh yeah. Up and down.”

            “Once the tub is full, you and the stick – to the clothes in the tub. Like a hot engine.”

            “Screaming hot.”

            “Can you guess what happens next?”

            He leaned in toward her, “Not yet.”

            “You let them soak while you fill that second tub with boiling water.”

            “Steaming. Hot. In a tub.”

            “Use a cup of laundry soap.”

            “I like bubbles.”

            “Take the clothes out of the first tub and put them in the shopping cart to drain. Then dump the tub that way.”

            “Toward the little ditch in the dirt?”

            “It leads away from the river towards the latrines.”

            “So you don’t foul the river.”

            “We have a chance at a new start here. Jerry says we need to treat the earth like grown-ups, not like the generations before us.”

            “The president has an environmental policy.”

            “Yes, Sergeant Mickelson, he does.” She crossed her arms.

            He licked his lips, recognizing how much ground he’d just lost. “So I dump the dirty water while the first load drains. Then put them in the hot water bucket, piston them for a while and what?”

            “Fill up the first tub again for the next load. While it’s soaking, use the shopping cart to drain the hot load. Dump that tub. Put the water on to boil again and while you’re filling the second tub, dump three buckets of cold water over the load in the shopping cart, let them drip a bit and then hang them on the line. Use the cart to drain the cold tub, put them in the hot tub. Dump, fill, repeat.”

            “The line’s going to get full, looking at that load of jeans.”

            “Jeans take two days to dry in this humidity. When the clothes are dry, fold them on that table. We each mark our clothes, so everyone will come and get them before dinner tomorrow.”

            “What you need is two shopping carts.”

            “What we need is new underwear.”

            “Oh, baby, I love the thought of you in a new, fresh out of the lingerie store, thong.”

            “Oh, now that was just a cheesy line.”

            “Hey, cut me some slack here, I’ve been out of practice this past year.”

            She handed him a bucket and took one herself. “So, how many wives and girlfriends did you leave behind?”

            “None that belonged to me.”

Excerpt from

Troughton Company

© Evelyn Rainey

Available for publication.