I wondered how she would fare in the programming and gaming industry. She’s more than just a girl who loves her converse and reads all the fantasy books in Alice’s bookstore. Charlie is a girl with passion, and girls with passion will always run up against people who want to put out that fire. Paul and Alice will always be on her side, but Charlie has to learn to stand on her own. This is the story of a girl who learned people weren’t as nice as she thought, and sometimes you have to fight for what you want.
As for the romance, I wasn’t quite sure who Charlie needed to help mend her heart. Blue Chalfant was a possibility. Or Andy McBride, although he was a little old for her. I finally decided that the person for Charlie had to be someone who understood betrayal, which led me to Austin Becket. When Gideon ran away and committed a murder (in These Sheltering Walls) he left behind a very confused little brother. When we meet Austin in this book, he’s a college graduate and looks like he has everything together, but the human heart carries invisible scars. Charlie can’t bring herself to really trust anyone, not even her very best friends, and Austin understands.
I hope this story brings you peace and hope. Life is full of hurts and disappointments, but it’s also short. Like Charlie, may we all learn to forgive our trespassers and move forward, into the kind of joyful life that God intends for us.
Blessings,
Mary Jane Hathaway
If you enjoyed this story, be sure to leave a review on Amazon or Goodreads. I love visiting with readers on my author page of Pride, Prejudice and Cheese Grits, or on my blog at The Things That Last!
Novels, illustrators, poetry, and poets which play a role in this story:
Most of the books mentioned (the Leviathan series by Scott Westerfeld, Ender’s Game and Ender’s Shadow by Orson Scott Card, Jules Verne books, Jonathon Stroud books, Robert A. Heinlein, Ray Bradbury, H.G. Wells, Eragon series by Christopher Paolini ) occupy a treasured spot on our personal shelves. The poets and writers (Sedgewick, Thoreau, Emerson, Alexander Pope, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Gerard Manley Hopkins, Sara Teasdale) are some of my favorites. I return to them again and again throughout the year, marking the seasons with treasured lines.
The title of this book is taken from a Sara Teasdale poem called Child, Child
Child, child, love while you can
The voice and the eyes and the soul of a man,
Never fear though it break your heart -
Out of the wound new joy will start;
Only love proudly and gladly and well
Though love be heaven or love be hell.
Child, child, love while you may,
For life is short as a happy day;
Never fear the thing you feel -
Only by love is life made real;
Love, for the deadly sins are seven,
Only through love will you enter heaven.
BIOGRAPHY
Mary Jane Hathaway is an award-nominated writer of Christian fiction and a home schooling mom of six young children who rarely wear shoes. She holds degrees in Linguistics and Religious Studies from the University of Oregon and lives with her habanero-eating husband, Crusberto, who is her polar opposite in all things except faith. They've learned to speak in short-hand code and look forward to the day they can actually finish a sentence. In the meantime, she thanks God for the laughter and abundance of hugs that fill her day as she plots her next book. She also writes under the pen name of Virginia Carmichael.
Louisiana Creole glossary
According to the last census, a quarter of a million people speak French in the home in Louisiana. Most of these speakers use Cajun French, Louisiana Creole, or Creole French. These dialects are similar, but distinct. The Creole people of the Natchitoches region speak Louisiana Creole and that is the dialect that appears in the story.
Sha = dear, sweetie
Merci (spelled a variety of ways) = thank you
Misye = monsieur, sir
Manzelle = mademoiselle, miss
Bonswe = good evening
Donne moi un p'tit bec = give me a kiss
Mais = well
Pas de betise= not kidding
Bon chance= good luck
Recipes
Blackened Catfish
When Ruby invites Charlie over for dinner, she knows exactly what to fix. Every good Southerner knows what blackened catfish is, and Ruby’s recipe is the best! My friend was shocked when she saw it had a cheater addition of Italian dressing but if you try it, you’ll see why it’s such a hit. The oil in the dressing keeps the catfish nice and moist. Enjoy!
Ingredients:
1 pound fresh catfish fillets
3 teaspoons pepper
3 teaspoons cayenne pepper
3 teaspoons lemon pepper
3 ½ teaspoons garlic powder
3 teaspoons salt
3 tablespoons butter
1 cup Italian-style salad dressing (Really. Try it.)
Directions:
Preheat oven to 350F
Mix all the spices in a bowl
Brush melted butter on both sides of the catfish. Using your fingers (don’t touch your eyes!) rub the spices onto each side.
I love my cast iron skillet and it’s perfect for this job. Let it heat up over a medium high setting until the pan is nice and hot. Put in the catfish, letting them cook about two minutes a side. They’ll be a little charred (blackened, like they should be) when you take them out.
Now, butter a shallow baking dish and lay the fillets in a single layer. Coat them with the dressing. Bake about 35 minutes or until the fish flakes easily with a fork. Enjoy!!
Armadillo Eggs
These quick and easy appetizers are found at every pick nick in the South. Sometimes even the wedding rehearsals and receptions. I love to make them any time. I don’t wait for a reason!
Ingredients:
8 oz shredded Monterey Jack cheese (One of my friends likes to make these with Pepper Jack cheese.)
8 oz shredded sharp Cheddar cheese
1 lb pork sausage (some, like the Pepper Jack loving friend above use hot sausage)
Cayenne pepper to taste (for me this is about 1/8 tsp… can you tell I’ve got a sensitive tongue?)
1 ½ cups baking mix (like Bisquick)
1/4 cup sliced jalapenos
1 package pork-flavor Shake 'n Bake
Directions:
Preheat the oven to 325F. Lightly grease a baking sheet.
Mix the sausage, cheddar cheese, half the Jack cheese and baking mix together. Make a little patty about ¼ inch thick with the sausage mix by rolling it in a ball and then pushing it flat. Put a little Monterey Jack cheese and a slice of jalapeno in the middle and roll it into a ball again, making sure all the ingredients are inside the sausage mix. Repeat until all the mix is gone. If you want the Armadillo Eggs to have a nice crust, roll them in the shake and bake mix before putting them in the oven. Bake about 30 minutes, depending on the size of your sausage balls. IF they’re a little larger, give them a few more minutes. You can always cut one open to check the inside is nice and cooked through. Enjoy!!
Russian Taffy
I love this sweet treat but I have no idea why it’s called Russian taffy. As far as I know, it doesn’t come from Russia. Maybe someone else has an idea? Wherever it’s from, it’s delicious!
Ingredients:
1 cup milk
3 cups sugar
1 (14-ounce) can sweetened condensed milk
4 Tbs butter
1 1/2 Tbs vanilla extract
1 1/2 cups chopped pecans
Directions:
Combine the sugar, milk, and condensed milk in a large, heavy pot (like a cast iron skillet!) over medium heat. Cook, stirring, to the soft-ball stage. (You can check whether it’s at that stage by either using a candy thermometer and waiting until it reaches 235F. Another way is to drop a bit of the melted sugar into a glass of cold water, then retrieve it, making sure not to burn yourself. The cooled sugar will easily roll into a ball
between your finger and thumb.) Remove from the heat, and then add the pecans, butter, and vanilla. Beat until the mixture becomes thick. Pour into a greased or lined 9X12 inch pan. Let it cool and then cut into pieces. Enjoy!!
A Star To Steer By
by
Mary Jane Hathaway
All rights reserved. © 2014 by Gumbo Books and Mary Jane Hathaway.
Cover art provided by Kim Van Meter
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
The title of this book comes from the poem ‘Sea Fever’ by John Masefield. The entire poem can be found at the end of this book.
All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination. www.virginiacarmichael.blogspot.com
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Acknowledgements
Dear Reader,
BIOGRAPHY
OTHER TITLES by Mary Jane Hathaway
OTHER TITLES by Virginia Carmichael
Sea Fever by John Masefield
Novels, illustrators, poetry, and poets which play a role in this story:
Louisiana Creole glossary
Recipes
Chicken Sauce Piquant
Root Beer Doughnuts
Chapter One
Home is the place where, when you have to go there,
they have to take you in. ―Robert Frost
Stepping onto the sidewalk, Roxie Hardy gave an involuntary gasp at the muggy air infused with the stench of stagnant river water. She wanted to turn and hustle back inside the old bookstore. She’d only moved into the apartment above By the Book a month ago, but it was pretty close to the most perfect place she’d ever lived. Inside, the temperature was at a more humane level, the air was scented with dark Beau Monde coffee, and books outnumbered people by a ratio of a thousand to one.
But hiding in the corner with a stack of Greek classics would be the coward’s way. Gritting her teeth, she started up the historic river walk, mentally making faces at the happy tourists who passed. Oh, to be only visiting for the weekend.
Her cell phone played the first few bars of “L’Anse Aux Paille” as if she needed another reminder of where she was. Considering whether she should let it go to voicemail, she finally decided not answering would cause more aggravation in the long run than a simple conversation. Except there was no such thing as a simple conversation where her family was concerned.
“Good morning, Auntie.”
It took a few seconds for the rapid fire Louisiana Creole to sink in, but the panic under the words needed no translation. “Where are you, Cupcake? I thought you were gonna be at the café at eight.”
“I prefer to be called Roxie.” She valiantly kept herself from adding “for the twentieth time”. Not that ‘Roxie’ was so much better, but she’d outgrown her childhood nickname years ago. She wasn’t that girl anymore.
“You’re taking as long as a month of Sundays. Your mamere is always there by four in the morning and they open at five. She’s been alone for four whole hours on a big weekend.”
“I’m on my way. Just got a late start because I made the mistake of leaving through the front. I had to greet all the bookstore’s cats and half of Natchitoches.” Her grandmother had been running the café for twenty five years, all alone for the last ten, but now everyone thought she needed a babysitter. She just couldn’t jump on the idea that such a capable woman needed supervision. “And isn’t there a waitress or two?”
“Raylene’s a sweet girl but she don’t have a lick of sense. Somebody’s gotta be there to watch those two. I’ve been calling and calling and not a soul is answering.”
Raylene was pretty, bubbly, and the customers loved her. Too bad a little common sense wasn’t part of the package. “Don’t worry so much. Mamere’s probably just busy. I’ll be there in about ninety seconds.”
The only answer was a deeply irritated silence.
“About eighty-five seconds, now.” She knew she was pushing it, but honestly, it wasn’t enough that she’d sublet her own tiny place in Philadelphia. It wasn’t enough that she’d left all her friends, her books, and put her job on hold to play baker.
Her aunt wanted her to move right back into her childhood home, sleep in her childhood bed, answer to her childhood name, and pick up right where she’d left off as a grumpy teenager. Well, she had the grumpy part down without any effort.
“Cupcake, you were late picking her up for church last weekend, too. She was fixin’ to drive herself when you finally showed up. I just don’t think you understand how serious the situation is. I really need you to be there when your mamere―”
“Eighty seconds, Auntie, and I already apologized for being late.” She wanted to create some excuse but the truth was she’d been struggling to tame her hair. It wasn’t used to the humidity and Roxie had refused to let the frizz win.
“Cupcake―”
“I prefer Roxie.” In fairness, she didn’t hate her nickname so much as the little smile people made when they heard it. She’d been born soft and round, like a physical embodiment of that beloved American dessert. She had a delicate, heart-shaped face that reminded people of Shirley Temple and cherubs. But as God in all His wisdom would have it, the woman behind the dimpled cheeks had a caustic wit and an extreme aversion to unbridled optimism. Even her taste buds weighed in on the debate, preferring cayenne to buttercream.
“Sha, I know she seems like she’s perfectly fine but if you could see how confused she gets sometimes. Yesterday she called me by your name and I think―”
“Not exactly new, right? She calls the dog by my name, Auntie.”
“Then look in the stock room. She’s got thirty bags of powdered sugar and two of cane sugar.”
Roxie frowned. A bakery used twenty times as much cane sugar as powdered. “Maybe she ordered it on sale.”
“Well, she better order some regular on sale. And flour, too. She used to have a stack of fifty pound bags but now she’s got a few ten pound bags from the local grocery.”
Was Sunshine Bakery running in the red? The place had never made anybody rich, but her mamere had always been able to buy supplies when she needed them. “Those won’t last long.”
“Not even a few days. But she keeps buying them that way and can’t explain why. It’s like she’s gone back thirty years to when she and Bernard were just starting out.”
When Papa Bernie had died, everyone wondered if Mamere would close the bakery. They didn’t know her well enough. She was more likely to take up hang gliding than close the bakery. It was part of her, part of their family. Papa Bernie would be so proud to see how far the little bakery had come, and how much the city relied on it for their collective morning coffee.
“She must have her reasons. None of us have ever run a bakery. I think you need to give her some credit.” The moment she uttered the words, she realized she’d disagreed one too many times. A good Southern girl didn’t talk back to her elders.
“Espesce de tete dure. As usual, there’s no arguing with you, Cupcake. Just let me know when you get there.”
Hardheaded thing. Her aunt was right.
“I will. Thanks for calling,” she said, making an effort to sound pleasant and get in a last shot at familial goodwill before the call ended, but her aunt had already hung up. She sighed. In other families, maybe this sort of exchange would have touched off a cross-generational conflict. For Rox
ie, it was just Friday.
She tucked her phone into a back pocket and adjusted her speed, power walking along the historical riverfront board walk. If only she could push the rewind button and slip on a better attitude. But she’d have to go back several weeks, at least, to before she was convinced to move home.
Glancing at the slow-moving river, she wished for the tiniest breeze. She’d been out of the house only a minute and was already sweating through her shirt. The kitchen at Sunshine Bakery would be at least twenty degrees hotter. The giant vats of hot grease produced a constant stream of beignets, fried rice fritters, and mini apple pies. Since it was nearly the end of October, the daily crush of tourists was dwindling, but the Crawfish Festival had brought in a whole new surge of visitors. Plenty of people would still be lined up for their morning coffee and artery-clogging breakfast.
She passed a couple strolling arm in arm, eyes only for each other. Roxie couldn’t help but notice the man’s Ferragamo loafers and the woman’s Vuitton purse. She worked as an advertising copy editor at a fashion magazine, and you couldn’t proof a thousand glossy pages of brooding young people without absorbing a little bit of couture knowledge.
Working for a fashion magazine wasn’t as glamorous as it sounded, especially since she’d spent five years before that as a classics major. Her advisor had tried to warn her that it wasn’t a degree that translated well to a real world job, but Roxie had ignored all the nay-sayers. That was her M.O. for everything. Stubborn to the core, if you told her she couldn’t, she’d set out to prove you wrong.
Along the Cane River: Books 1-5 in the Inspirational Cane River Romance Series Page 78
