I digress, but it was a very…memorable five weeks.
So back to my books and the role magic plays in my stories. I’ll admit I have a tendency to get a bit outrageous—say, like when I rearranged the beautiful state of Maine to create an inland sea—but there is a method to my madness. You see, I want to make you stretch really far to suspend your disbelief, so you’ll consider the everyday magic you encounter in your own lives to be real. Sound convoluted? That’s the plan!
The magic is real, people; as real as the sunrise, the ebb and flow of the tides, the haunted call of a loon, that unseen fish tugging on the end of a line, the birth of a baby, the death of a loved one. The problem, in my opinion, is that these things seem so everyday ordinary that we forget how extraordinary they really are.
What guarantee do we have that the sun’s going to rise tomorrow? We assume it is, because it’s risen every day for the last…what, four and a half billion years? But what if it decided not to make an appearance tomorrow morning? What if the oceans stood still? What if every loon on the planet suddenly lost its voice? What if babies stopped being born? What if we stopped dying?
What if we woke up tomorrow morning and simply decided not to get out of bed?
That’s what my stories are about: getting out of bed every morning—even on days we don’t want to—and seeing the magic around us instead of…well, I’m not sure what the opposite of magic is. Maybe hopelessness? Despair? Indifference?
As the god behind the machine of my stories, I refuse to let my heroes and heroines give up. If they find themselves stuck in a vehicle with someone they don’t particularly like, they’re going to have to deal with it. Nobody’s going to swoop in and rescue them by pulling that bogeyman out of the truck, or come along and change that flat tire in the pouring rain, turn all the traffic lights green, straighten out all the curves in the road, or roll back gas prices to a dollar a gallon.
(Well, okay; Maximilian Oceanus could, but he’s not really real. I just made him up to make my point.)
And since I’m writing romance, I like for my hero and heroine to realize that if they would just team up, they could conquer the world. Or at least control—maybe even vanquish—most of those demons sitting in the seats behind them. (Didn’t I have one of my characters—a hero, I think—in one of my stories say his mom or gram told him that a problem or burden shared was cut in half?)
And the “love conquers all” equation doesn’t always have to involve the hero and heroine, either, as we learned in Charmed by His Love; Duncan MacKeage’s love for young Jacob Thompson certainly had the power to vanquish that little boy’s demons.
We’re all in the vehicle, people; every one of us is on the same amazing journey and we’re on it together. Our hopes and dreams and struggles and disappointments are shared by the people in our homes, living next door and down the street, and on the other side of the planet. And like my heroes and heroines, if we would just realize that by teaming up we could conquer the world…well, wouldn’t it be a truly wonderful world to wake up to tomorrow? So share the love—in your home, down the street, and across the world—then see if a good number of those demons don’t suddenly disappear and your burdens get cut in half. I promise it’s a gift that will keep on giving, and you’ll discover that smiles really are contagious.
Until later from LakeWatch, you keep reading about life and love and happily ever after, and I’ll keep writing it.
Janet
P.S. My dad passed away last fall, but before you start worrying that I’m sad, please understand that I’m really quite happy for him. He was nearly ninety-four and actually quite eager to head off on another fantastical adventure. The only reason I’m even telling you is because at his funeral, Dad’s sister said she had discovered just last year—at the age of ninety-eight!—that she can write poetry. Of course I asked her to send me some of her poems, then asked for her permission to share them with you—to which she kindly agreed. So if magic is not real, then explain a ninety-eight-year-old suddenly waking up one morning a poet!
POEMS BY ETHEL F. TAYLOR
Crafty Gals
They gathered round the table
These gals so fair and neat
And became busy with their craft work
’Mid laughter gay and sweet.
Laughter and jokes were being exchanged
And gaiety flowed all around
With blissful feeling I watched them
Wishing it need not end.
Families are so endearing
More so as time goes by
May we all meet together in Heaven
And never have to say good-bye.
I’ll hold this picture in my heart
When I’m once more alone
And cherish every moment
’Til the day that I’m called home.
Then at last the evening is ended
And we’ve exchanged a good night kiss
One day may we all meet in heaven
And not one of our numbers be missed.
Alethea
Alethea is a beautiful maiden
With a heart as pure as the snow
She fell in love with a handsome Marine
Many long years ago.
Now she wears his engagement ring
And her heart is full of joy
She counts the months ’til she graduates
Then she’ll marry her Marine boy.
With a bit of sadness
Dad looks at his little girl
He has given her to another
And together they’ll face the world.
The wedding feast has been eaten
And the guests have all gone home
Alethea and Steven run to their car
And the honeymoon has begun.
Mom and Dad wave their good-byes
With a touch of sadness in their hearts
Their little girl has grown so quickly
And from her it’s hard to part.
They head across the USA
To their little home in the west
Where we all pray they’ll live happily
Like two turtledoves in a nest.
Red School House
The little red school house
Where I went years ago
Brings back fond memories
Of the days of old.
We walked to school in winter
Although it was windy as well
Then huddled round the heater
Until teacher rang the bell.
The Lord’s Prayer was always recited
Then Pledge of Allegiance too
Then out came our reading books
To show what we could do.
When the bell rang for recess
We’d all rush out of the room
The girls all played on one side
And recess was over too soon.
Beauty
The sun shone with an unearthly beauty
On the glistering trees below
One stood in awe at their majesty
And to think that God made it so.
If God makes such beauty here below
What splendor must be up above
Why are we reluctant to leave this place
And dwell with God above.
The snow will soon be melting
Then spring will once more be here
A time to get out and enjoy the sun
And see the stars so clear.
The birds will soon be singing their song
The grass will be turning green
God has given us so much beauty
Let us open our eyes and see.
Read on for a special preview of
Janet Chapman’s next
Spellbound Falls romance
The Heart of a Hero
Available March 2013 from Jove Books
Watching through the windshield of his truck, Nicholas studied the three young men getting out of the late-model pickup on the far side of th
e employee parking lot at the base of Whisper Mountain. But the more the man sitting beside him explained why he’d asked him to come down here today, the more confused Nicholas became. Rowan was second in command of Nova Mare’s small security force and quite capable of dealing with this sort of problem on his own.
“And the reason you simply didn’t intervene?” Nicholas asked, darting an impatient look across the cab. He looked back at the three young men to see one of them lift a bicycle out of the of the pickup and lean it against a tree in front of the older, mud-splattered truck they’d pulled up beside. “They’re on resort property, Julia Campbell is an employee, and last time I checked, keeping our staff safe was in your job description.”
Apparently not the least bit intimidated by the growl in his boss’s voice, Rowan shook his head on a soft snort. “If I’ve learned anything living in Spellbound Falls this past year, it’s that Mainers don’t particularly care to have strangers butting into their business—especially family business. Her brother’s the one with the peach-fuzz beard.” Rowan scowled at the young men lighting up cigarettes as they leaned against the shiny red truck they’d arrived in. “And I didn’t intervene last week because I was afraid it would make things worse for Julia when she got home. Here she comes,” he said when the bus shuttling employees down from the mountaintop resort halted in the middle of the parking lot.
Nicholas reached over and stopped Rowan from getting out. “Let’s sit and watch for a while. You say he’s here every Friday waiting for her to get off work, and that it’s obvious he’s hitting her up for money?”
Rowan nodded. “She usually has it in her pocket and just hands him some folded bills. Only last week he apparently wanted more than she was offering and grabbed her purse. They got in a small tussle, she lost, and he dug out her wallet, pulled out a fistful of money, and tossed the wallet and purse on the ground, then got in his truck and left.” He snorted again. “The punk couldn’t even be bothered to take her home, but left her to ride her bicycle in the rain. There, that’s her in the red wool jacket and black pants, carrying those empty feed sacks,” Rowan said, nodding at the workers stepping off the shuttle bus.
Nicholas saw the woman in red hesitate when she spotted the three young men leaning against the pickup, then watched her square her shoulders and head toward them—her brother straightening away when he saw her.
Julia Campbell was slightly taller than average for a woman and somewhat on the thin side, with a thick braid of light brown hair hanging halfway down her back that Nicholas suspected would spring into a riot of curls when let loose. It was dusk and starting to snow, so he couldn’t make out the color of her large eyes set in an oval face on top of a gracefully long neck. Her posture was intrinsically feminine, her stride filled with purposeful energy despite it being the end of her workday. “She’s older than I was expecting,” he said, assuming she’d barely be out of her teens, judging by the age of her brother.
“I asked the shuttle driver her name after that little tussle,” Rowan said, “then went back up to your office and checked her employee file. She turned thirty a few months ago, has been married but is divorced. And even though I’ve since learned her mother’s dead and that she lives with her father between here and town, she listed a sister as next of kin to notify in an emergency. The empty sacks she’s carrying were full this morning. Her family owns a cedar mill, and Julia supplies the resort with kindling and pine cones for the fireplaces to supplement her wages and tips. She works housekeeping Tuesday through Saturday, and from what I’ve gathered from quietly checking around, she asked to always be assigned the same eight cottages.”
Nicholas glanced over at him, arching a brow. “Any particular reason you’ve become an expert on one of our female employees?”
“I’m concerned,” Rowan growled back. “Sweet Prometheus, man, I’m old enough to be her father.” He suddenly grinned. “And yours, sir,” he drawled, just as Julia Campbell reached her brother, her hand already emerging from her pocket holding some money. “I don’t like interfering in family business,” Rowan continued, “but I also don’t like seeing a woman being harassed. That’s why I asked you to come down here today and help me decide what to do—if anything.”
“Our authority ends at the resort’s property lines, which means it’s not our place to interfere in—” Nicholas stopped in midsentence when he saw Julia hand her brother the money then twist away when he made a grab for her. She stepped around him and pulled a set of keys from her pocket as she walked to the older pickup, but halted again when the other two boys moved to block her path.
Nicholas was out of his own truck and halfway across the parking lot when he saw Julia’s brother start dragging her to the bicycle while trying to wrestle the keys away from her. “Come on, Reggie, it’s snowing,” Nicholas heard her say as he dodged employees walking to their vehicles. “Give me a ride home.”
“I’m not heading back to town,” the punk said, still dragging her. “Dad’s drinking again, so I’m spending the weekend at Corey’s camp.” Finally getting hold of the keys, he gave her arm a shake. “You were supposed to leave the keys under the mat so I could get the truck this afternoon. I had to wait four freakin’ hours in town.”
She yanked out of his grip. “I kept them so you’d give me a ride.”
“Not happening, sis. Peddal fast and you’ll beat the storm. And while you’re at it, you can figure out how to lug your kindling on your bike from now on, because you’re not getting my truck again.”
“Is there a problem?” Nicholas asked from directly behind the boy.
“Not that I know of,” the kid snarled as he pivoted around, only to stumble back when he found himself glaring at a broad chest. “Who the hell are you?” he asked, taking another step back.
“Director of Security for Nova Mare,” Nicholas said, matching him step for step. He looked past the boy to see Julia stop rubbing her arm when she saw him looking at her. “You in need of some help, Miss Campbell?”
Her eyes widened, apparently surprised that he knew her name, before she dropped her gaze and shook her head. “No, everything’s okay.”
“I’m outta here,” the boy hissed, reaching toward his truck.
Nicholas placed his hand on the door to hold it closed. “I believe your sister asked you for a ride home.”
“No, that’s okay,” Julia said as she suddenly headed for the trees. “I’ve decided I’d rather ride my bike.” She set her sacks and purse in the basket attached to the handlebars, shot Nicholas a forced smile as she gave a nod, then walked the bicycle along the tree line before veering into the parking lot several vehicles away.
Suspecting Rowan was right about their interfering creating more problems for her, Nicholas turned to the boy. “I catch even a whisper that you’ve laid a hand on your sister,” he said quietly, “on or off the resort grounds, you and I are taking a long walk in the woods together, you got that?”
“Are you freakin’ threatening me?”
Nicholas leaned in, crowding the punk against the mud-splattered door. “Yes,” he said succinctly, just before turning and walking to his pickup. “Take the shuttle back up the mountain,” he told his second in command when the man fell into step beside him. “I’m going to give Miss Campbell a ride home.”
“So much for not interfering,” Rowan said on a chuckle as he headed to the bus with a wave over his shoulder.
He’d had to interfere, Nicholas decided as he got in his pickup, because he couldn’t stand seeing a woman being harassed any more than Rowan could. He started his truck, but then had to wait for several cars to idle past before he was able to pull out behind them. And why was Julia Campbell letting some fuzzy-faced punk half her age push her around? If the little bastard wanted money, he could damn well break a sweat for it, not bum it off his sister.
Courting Carolina Page 29
