Louisiana Sunset New Release by B. J. Robinson

A powerful, beautiful story of love and heartache emerges from award-winning author, B. J. Robinson, Amazon bestselling author of River Oaks Plantation, Romance under the Oaks, Weeping Willows, and more. River Oaks Plantation was showcased in Southern Writers Magazine as a Must Read, chosen as a Grace Awards finalist, and is an Amazon bestselling novel. Romance under the Oaks and Weeping Willows are also bestselling books. 

In the wake of personal tragedy, two people are brought together, but Lilly fights an internal battle haunted by a broken relationship in her past. Levi is a bookstore owner and pilot, called to defend his country. Deep in Louisiana swamps against a backdrop of Louisiana sunsets full of love, romance, and heartache, Lilly must confront her deepest fear while Levi confronts his in a raging war. Can Lilly learn to trust and love again? Will her dreams of always and forever be restored, or will life and war get in the way? 

A personal tragedy brings two people together and one man stands beside her and loves her through it all. A beautiful, powerful story of love, forgiveness, and second chances. 

Watch for Louisiana Sundown and Mysterious Ways, the next two novels in the Love Grows in Mysterious Ways in the Bayou Series. Louisiana Sunset may be read as a stand alone. Historical romance full-length novels.This one is thirty chapters and an epilogue.

Marcy G. Dyer Visits my Blog

Marcy G. Dyer is a Registered Nurse and suspense author. Like so many other writers, she began writing at a very young age, but never took herself seriously as a "real" writer until about ten years ago when she began taking courses and learning the craft of writing.

She currently has two novels from the Desert Winds Series available: Down & Out and Out for Blood. Blood & Lies releases in November of 2014 and Lies & Alibies follows the next winter.

In addition to writing, Marcy is a freelance editor.

Marcy is an alumnus of the Christian Writer's Guild and long-time member of American Christian Fiction Writers and a member of EPIC. She hosts a small critique group for ACFW and is involved in two other critique groups. For anyone seriously interested in becoming an author, she recommends a strong, diverse critique group to help authors hone crafts. She has also been a judge for the Grace Awards and Olympia contest.

In addition to maintaining her website,http://www.marcydyer.com, Marcy hosts a blog to help those with autoimmune diseases. While many autoimmune diseases aren't visible, they still cause chronic pain and disability. If you would like more information, please visit http://ragimp.blogspot.com

As followers of Jesus Christ, Marcy and her family are active members of Crossroads Fellowship in Odessa, Texas. Sermons are carried live via the web at our online campus - http://crossroadsodessa.tv/ at the following times on Sundays - 9:30 & 11:00 and 5:00 & 7:00 central time.

She can be found at http://www.marcydyer.com and http://www.facebook.com/marcydyer

Blog Hop on Writing Process

I'd like to thank Belinda for inviting me to be a part of the Blog Hop on the Writing Process and extend a warm welcome to her as I introduce her.

Belinda G. Buchanan is a writer of edgy, women’s fiction and mystery romance.  Her first novel, After All Is Said And Done, frequents amazon’s top 100 in women’s fictions and is a story about infidelity, healing and forgiveness.  Her other books include:  The Monster of Silver Creek, a mystery/romance, and her latest, Seasons of Darkness – a coming of age story about a young man struggling to live among the shattered remains of his family after his mother’s suicide. 

Married to her soulmate of twenty-three years, and a mom to two boys, she lives in the bluegrass state of Kentucky along with a menagerie of animals that includes two persnickety cats, one hamster, and a dog that thinks he’s a person.

Belinda loves to chat almost as much as she likes to write so come on over and visit her on facebook or twitter.  And if you’re a pinner come find her on pinterest.

Now, it's my turn to share insight about how I handle my writing process and my work environment. First, I share it with three pets who keep me company as I write: Sunflower, our golden cocker spaniel, Honi, our golden retriever, and Frankie, our shelter cat.

Work-in-Progress

I have a novel titled Louisiana Sunset in progress with the first three chapters completed and edited. Just getting a new Mac and switching from Windows and my old desktop is slowing me down a bit. I have to learn my new computer. Usually, since I'm a morning writer and do my best work then, I put on coffee, grab my red bird coffee cup with an inspirational verse on the inside, and settle down to write in the wee hours of the morning when all is quiet.

Just Completed Work

I've just completed and released a plantation novel titled Romance under the Oaks set in New Orleans and Vacherie, Louisiana. It's a historical romance love story about the first plantation owners, Jacques and Celina. Their conflict is Celina loves New Orleans, but Jacques loves the quiet plantation life and wants to move her fifty miles from her beloved city to swampy bayou country. He builds Live Oaks Plantation on River Road in Vacherie. Along comes the Civil War, and Celina is stuck out in the sticks and must escape in a buggy through the woods when the Yankees steam up the Mississippi River. She has to get out before the shelling starts. Though life as planters knew it is gone with the war, romance lives on under the oaks.

Novel Showcased as a Must Read by Southern Writers Magazine

River Oak Plantation is a plantation American Civil War novel, historical romance, released in December. It has been doing very well, on and off Amazon's best-selling list in two categories since its release, Civil War and Christian historical romance. Readers love this one. It's unique with dual story lines and dual love stories and blends the past with the present. Journey through the antebellum period with Maggie and Danny and weather the storm with Cammie and Noah. Despite a Civil War, killer hurricane, and raging, rising Mississippi River, love endures all, grows, and flourishes like the cotton and sugarcane.

Why I Write

It's my passion. I can't not write. Through writing, I've come closer to Jesus, read more of God's Word, and helped others in the process as well as myself. I have made many new friends through the people I've met in the process, and God has placed people in my life to help me along through my writing journey, just as He has with my life journey. I thank God for all those blessings.

Why I Write What I Write

I grew up on Nancy Drew and read every one of her mysteries I could get my hands on, so I've been drawn to mystery and suspense, thus I began with romantic suspense. Touring old plantation homes has been a love of mine, and I felt drawn to write about them and history. I enjoy learning from the research involved with writing historical romance, and I find the antebellum period so interesting. I love researching that era, and it makes writing fun. You'll find mystery and suspense within the pages of River Oaks Plantation even though it's historical. I've been told it's unique, and readers say that's what they love about it.

River Oaks Plantation Showcased as a Must Read in Southern Writers Magazine

 River Oaks Plantation has been on two different Amazon best-selling lists, Civil War and Christian historical fiction and showcased in Southern Writers Magazine as a Must Read. Check it out.
http://www.southernwritersmagazine.com/index.html">

Love & Romance Endure, Grow, & Flourish

Love and romance endure, grow, and flourish during the Civil War. Experience the antebellum South with Maggie and Danny and weather the storm with Cammie and Noah as they battle a raging hurricane and flood. Will Maggie ever see her husband... ride down that lane of live oaks again, or has the Civil War claimed Danny for good this time? Noah still has the ring he bought for Cammie all those years ago. Should he give it to her? Romance under the Oaks coming soon. http://www.amazon.com/River-Oaks-Plantation-B-Robinson-ebook/dp/B00H8XZLCE/ref=la_B007DNJIKU_1_5?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1387056311&sr=1-See More

Please visit and like my new page for Historical Romance. Thanks. https://www.facebook.com/BJRobinsonHistoricalRomance

A Little Romance Under the Oaks for Valentine's Day

It's been some time since I last posted as I had to download Firefox since Internet Explorer would no longer work with Blogger. Looks like I'm in business again. I have completed the first twelve chapters of Romance Under the Oaks, the historical romance I'm working on at this time. I also have three chapters completed on my romance novel Louisiana Sunset. Romance Under the Oaks will release this spring, and Louisiana Sunset will release this summer or before. Get a sneak peak at the cover for Romance Under the Oaks.

My husband and I toured Oak Alley Plantation in Vacherie, Louisiana, in January. We loved it. He snapped the picture, and my granddaughter did the cover for Romance Under the Oaks. My latest release is River Oaks Plantation, and you can click on the cover to read two-and-a-half chapters free using Amazon's "See Inside" feature. There is a long blurb about the book, and you can check out the great reviews it's been getting. Readers love it.

Romance is blowing in the wind where the past meets the present with characters you'll root for as they weather the Civil War and a raging hurricane. Will the hurricane destroy what the Civil War spared? Give yourself a little romance under the oaks during the antebellum period in the South for a wonderful Valentine's Day read with River Oaks Plantation. You can give yourself more with Romance Under the Oaks this spring.

Florida Cracker Christmas and Christmas During the Civil War

My husband and I went to Cracker Christmas in Christmas, Florida, a few weekends ago. To my delight, I was able to speak with men and women who were displaying goods from the Civil War era. One man had a tent and replica uniforms of the Confederate soldiers as well as books and a wooden nickel. He was dressed in gray wool pants, and it was too hot for him to wear the coat. I noticed the coat was lined with the material of old-timey mattresses.

The ladies of the antebellum period were dressed in their work dresses for a day of plantation duties. They were most informative of the food available during the time, Eagle brand canned milk, hardtack crackers, and certain types of old-fashioned candy. With Christmas drawing near, I found it interesting when one lady picked up a cornhusk doll and explained that it was the type of dolls most girls would receive for Christmas, and ragdolls were considered a luxury since the rags were needed for wounded soldiers.

I ended up buying a cornhusk doll and a ragdoll. She showed me sandalwood fans, and they smelled so good. During Christmas, moms and dads couldn't just rush out to the local shopping center or mall and buy the dream doll for their little girl. They had to depend on homemade gifts, and any little girl who received a ragdoll was considered lucky.

Times have changed. Today's children would shun homemade gifts because they're all about the latest piece of technology. I truly enjoyed stepping back in time and the opportunity to complete some research for my newly-released novel River Oaks Plantation.

If any of you live in Florida, be sure to visit Cracker Christmas in Christmas, Florida, next year and step back into another time period. Women bake cornbread in iron skillets around open camp fires, and you can buy it freshly cooked. Booths of arts and crafts and delicious food make it worthwhile. I find something of interest every year and no matter how cold it is, we always get fresh homemade ice cream. This year I had strawberry with real strawberries, and it's like nothing you can buy in a store.

Just think about what Christmas was like for children during the Civil War era when simple homemade gifts were good enough, during a time of war and rations when children were thankful for what they received. Seeing the ragdoll a little girl would've received for Christmas back then made me realize that the one I received for my ragdoll Christmas so many years later, was exceptional, but it wasn't homemade. I bought my own homemade ragdoll for Christmas this year.

River Oaks Plantation Coming Soon by B. J. Robinson

Check out the cover and blurb for River Oaks Plantation. The novel is coming soon for Amazon Kindle.

When I stared writing River Oaks (working title), this is all the plan I had. I simply sat down and wrote it in a spiral notebook to get my main characters in my head. This was my working blurb. I don't outline, but I do make notes and begin with a plan of this nature to get me started. Other characters were invented and added as I wrote.

From award-winning author B. J. Robinson comes a story of family secrets and raging passions amidst a deadly hurricane and rising floodwaters in the Big Easy or Crescent City.

Margaret Sarah Turnrow first laid eyes on River Oaks Plantation amid lush foliage and oak trees dripping with Spanish moss when she returned from her honeymoon as a petite hazel-eyed bride to the antebellum mansion. She immediately fell in love with the house and grounds and beautifying the gardens with plants. Her first task involved lining the oak drive with azaleas. Determined to have the best gardens, she soon recreated formal ones designed from precious memories of France, Italy, and England from her honeymoon tour. Before the Civil War, she imported plants, and gardening became her passion. During the war, it was her only one. The fertile Louisiana soil loved and nursed her plants as much as she did, and they grew like the cotton and sugarcane.

Pale as a magnolia blossom, she sparkled like the sun reflecting off Lake Pontchartrain when she flashed pearly white teeth with her camellia-red smile, but small white hands tucked demurely into the folds of her gown as she sat quietly during elegant dinners, concealed her true vivacious spirit. The war would change the shy woman-child as it ravaged through her life and took its toll on the home and family life she came to know and love with all of her heart.

Before the Civil War, dashing Daniel Paul Turnrow stood six-foot-two, as tall and elegant as the white-columned plantation home he'd purchased on the banks of the Mississippi River. He led a charmed life as a charismatic cotton baron known as one of the richest men around New Orleans and on River Road. River Oaks boasted over thirty-five-hundred acres of fertile Louisiana soil, mostly planted in cotton with the exception of some sugarcane along the Mississippi River banks and his wife's gardens.

Danny returned from the war a different man, as broken as the pillared splendor of the South. Surrounded by cypress swamps and sugarcane fields on the river's end and white blankets of cotton edging the dirt roads, the plantation still stood, but the grand life he'd led turned to one of backbreaking toil. He no longer stood so tall and proud with an aching back hunched over Louisiana cotton and sugarcane fields.

With the future uncertain, fear lurks in his heart and soul and clouds his mind. What will sustain his marriage through the loss? Can they defend what's most precious to them and maintain River Oaks as a working plantation? The manor home is the only legacy he has left. Will he lose it?

Years later, Amaryllis Camilla O'Brien is stranded alone with two dogs on the top floor of an antebellum plantation in Vacherie, Louisiana, as a deadly hurricane rips and roars through the city and raging floodwaters threaten to devour the old home. She discovers a yellowed diary. Will family secrets drown in the flood with her? Will the diary matter? She's determined to save it and the dogs, or die trying. Has her great grandmother left her a sinking ship?

Noah Gautreaux, the plantation manager, took vehicles to higher ground and is supposed to return, but will he make it in time to save Amaryllis and his pet girls? The old house withstood the floods of 1973, 1983, and 1993. He doesn't think he has to worry about it floating off down the Mississippi River, but as excessive rain and wind continue to batter the area and the water continues to rise when the levees breach, he realizes there's a first time for everything and this could be it for the white-columned beauty of ages past. Will River Oaks Plantation, the only woman he's ever loved, and his pets drown or be blown away?

With the future uncertain, fear lurks in their heart and soul and crowds their minds. Can they save what's most precious to them? If the Mississippi River doesn't take it, will River Oaks ever be the same again? The manor home is the only legacy they have left. Will they lose it? Just as they thought things would work out, will they lose everything they hold dear? Will it be gone with the flood?

Stay tuned, as I said, this is the working blurb. There will be another and more information. I'm in the editing and layering process and will be about half finished after tomorrow, Lord willing.

This novel begins in 1856 before the Civil War, and Danny and Maggie's story ends after the Civil War. The chapters alternate between their story and Cammie and Noah's, which begins in 2005 with Hurricane Katrina. I've put in lots of time and research on this one, and you will get the story of two couples in one book. At this time, I'm working on refining it and finishing touches. Maybe I should have titled this one Gone with the Flood.

Calm Before the Storm is an Indie Award Winner!

I just found out Calm Before the Storm won an award today. Here's the email I just opened. I'm so excited and thrilled. My first indie award :) on behalf of the IBD Awards. It's featured on their homepage.
http://indiebookoftheday.com/calm-before-the-storm-by-b-j-robinson/

Vera Minette Brady left Louisiana six short years ago and never looked back. Heart ripped apart by a Louisiana man, she hadn't counted on her sister's illness to lure her back. There were times she missed Lake Pontchartrain, but not enough to return after her high school sweetheart ripped her heart asunder. She hadn't counted on a hurricane and her sister's illness to lure her back. She hated hospitals and wondered why a feeling of déjà vu iced through her veins and overpowered her each time she entered one. The truth was she knew why. She just didn't want to think about it.

Douglass Stevens, the owner of a construction company, wanted to construct something besides a building. He desired to rebuild the relationship he once enjoyed with Vera. Why did it seem something always got in the way? This time, he'd be a plant that wouldn't budge at the hospital, determined not to let her get away again.

Together, their path is littered with obstacles that threaten their very lives. They have to decide if it's God's will, hospital error, or someone playing God as they helplessly watch loved ones die. Will Douglass be strong enough to provide the support Vera needs through this storm in her life? Can their love weather the storms that rage against them both? First book in the Storms of Life trilogy. May be read as a stand-alone. Has a definite conclusion. Romance thriller. Romantic suspense. http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00BJWSF5A

Calm Before the Storm
US: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00BJWSF5A
UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00BJWSF5A

Louisiana Deerhunter Missing in Manchac Swamp on Christmas Eve

Years ago, my children's father was a Louisiana deerhunter, my fodder for this story. He used to bring home the venison, and we'd have deer roast each New Year's Day, but this deerhunter may not make it home in time for Christmas. Only $2.99. June's deerhunter husband is missing in a Louisiana swamp on Christmas Eve. She prays for accident victims miles away in another parish while her own husband is missing and for her husband's safe return.

 June Russell is the daughter of a small-town Louisiana strawberry farmer determined to have a career besides her mother's berry farm.

 Andy Allen is a strawberry inspector at the local bureau whose interest in June has grown past business into more a personal one.

 But June's mother, Myrtle, thinks June can do better than a simple strawberry inspector. Worse, Myrtle's wild beliefs in anything superstitious appear almost prophetic when June and Andy are thrown time and time again into unexpected and life-threatening situations.

 A storm, an accident, escaped convicts, Andy missing in a Louisiana swamp.
Can love survive the obstacle course placed in their path? Can June and Andy overcome each trial with belief, faith, hard work, and the power of prayer?

 Available in paperback or ebook through Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Sony, Kobo, and Christianbooks.com.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Southern-Superstitions-B-J-Robinson-ebook/dp/B006X8GAWA/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1385131072&sr=1-2&keywords=southern+superstitions UK Link

http://www.amazon.com/Southern-Superstitions-ebook/dp/B006X8GAWA/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=

Louisiana Y2K Christmas

Only 99 cents. A Louisiana Y2K Christmas bonus changed my life. Other stories and poetry included. December 17, 1999, I bought a used computer for $650 from an ad I found in the newspaper. That one step would change my entire life. Everyone talked of Y2K which would render it useless and said I probably wasted my money. It was my Christmas present to myself that year. December 21, 1999, I had it connected to the Internet, but on December 31, 1999, if the Y2K scare was correct, only ten days later computers worldwide would crash from the Y2K bug.

http://www.amazon.com/Louisiana-Y2K-Christmas-ebook/dp/B00GA3KQOG/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1383085498&sr=1-1&keywords=Louisiana+Y2K+Christmas

Interview with Shelia Deeth about Bethlehem’s Baby

There’s a young servant marching with those magi out of the desert, so we’ve sent our intrepid reporter to talk with him.

 

Reporter: Hello young man. Can you tell our readers where this caravan is heading?

Student: Sure. We’re on our way to Jerusalem.

Reporter: What? In Israel? Why on earth would professors from Babylon be heading there?

Student: Well, we saw a star.

Reporter (points): That star?

Student: Yes. That’s right.

Reporter: And I suppose your wise professors have some great theory about what it means.

Student: Yes, well, no. Not exactly. It was my theory first.

Reporter: Your theory?

Student: Yes. Everyone was arguing about it, see, so they sent me off to the library to see what I could find.

Reporter: Lots of books in that library, are there?

Student: Tons of them. I thought I’d start with the old Israelite stuff though, ‘cause my great great granddad... whatever... my ancestors were Jews back in the day. Came over to Babylon with Daniel.

Reporter: With who?

Student: With Daniel. He was a great Jewish professor, a prophet they called him. He’s got lots of books in our library.

Reporter: Well, since you’re heading for Jerusalem, I guess you must have found something in those books.

Student: Yes, I did. It was in Daniel’s stuff. He had lots of numbers and seventy seven...

Reporter: Um... Could you skip the mathematics please?

Student: Sure, okay, but it’s really cool. Well, anyway, if you add up all Daniel’s numbers and count them right, well, there’s a king going to be born right around now who dies about thirty years on.

Reporter: Seriously? You’re telling me King Herod’s going to die in thirty years?

Student: No, not him.  A new king.

Reporter: A new king? I don’t suppose old Herod will be too thrilled with a new upstart claiming his throne.

Student: That’s not my problem. I just read the books.

Reporter: And let the professors take all the credit I suppose.

Student: Of course.

Reporter: And clean up after the camels?

Student: Well, yes, that too. Sorry, I’ve got to go.

 

So there you have it folks. Babylonian professors are on their way to Jerusalem to welcome a new king, and we won’t be responsible for what King Herod does when he finds out.

 

More about Bethlehem’s Baby:

Meet the Emperor Augustus’s advisors, the quiet research student helping wise men study stars, the shepherd whose granddad keeps complaining, an Egyptian fisherboy, a Roman soldier, and more in this set of 40 5-minute read-aloud stories based around the events of the Christ Child’s birth in Bethlehem.

 

Links:

Find Bethlehem’s Baby at: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00EY172MA/

More of the Five-Minute Bible Story^TM Series on the publisher’s website: http://capearagopress.com/Five-Minute.html

 

Connect with Sheila at:

Sheila Deeth: http://about.me/SheilaDeeth

Blog: http://sheiladeeth.blogspot.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/sheila.deeth

Fan page: https://www.facebook.com/SheilaDeethAuthor

Twitter: https://twitter.com/sheiladeeth

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2853735.Sheila_Deeth

 

Where did the Ideas come from for Southern Superstitions?

Mother was a natural-born storyteller. She told stories from the past about horse and buggy days when grandpa courted grandma. He lived on the banks of the Clio River. She lived in Springfield, Louisiana, and it'd take him all day to get from Clio to Springfield to visit her, driving a horse and buggy down gravel roads. She explained how the mattresses were stuffed with the gray Spanish moss that hangs from live oak trees. In the winter, they had to heat bricks to put in the bed with them and warm their feet.

She brought the past and our family history back to life for us. I lost my father when I was only four on Christmas Day. After his death, all I had were her stories and my memories. He was from Brookhaven, Mississippi, and they met on a Greyhound bus.

Mother died, and her stories died with her, except for the ones stuck in my memories. Her love for stories, books, and reading taught me to love books and value reading at an early age. She read all the classic fairy tales to me before I started school at five years old, the first grade. Because of her stories, I now write my own. If not for her stories, and her guiding spirit, I doubt I'd ever told any myself. Southern Superstitions began with my mother's words, "The Lord has something better in mind, and the Lord works in mysterious ways." I wrote a short story that came to me from working on a strawberry farm with her while I was still in elementary school and from listening to her words. I titled the short story, "The Lord Had Something Better in Mind," and it won first place in fiction-writing competition at Southeastern Louisiana University. I penned it in my first college creative-writing class. Years later, I developed the short story into my full-length novel, Southern Superstitions.

Mother was full of old wives' tales and superstitions. I expanded my short story into a novel using many of them. With the book, Mother lives on. Her voice rings with the words of the book. She is in essence the woman, Myrtle. She brought humor to many situations, and I know of no one else who can tell stories the way in which she did, including me.

First written April 6, 1999

I've had good reviews on Amazon for the novel, but some readers think of her as a complaining old woman. She was so much more, for she taught me Bible verses among all those old wives' tales and Southern superstitions. And, she taught them to me in a way that would stay with me forever. I used to think she talked in riddles and wondered why she didn't just speak in plain English. It took me years to grow up and understand. I'd never have spent much time thinking about something that she just came right out and told me point blank, but she produced though-provoking riddles that made my mind work and made me think. Some of those old superstitions are included in Southern Superstitions. You might've grown up with some of them, too.

Blurb:

June Russell is the daughter of a small-town Louisiana strawberry farmer determined to have a career besides her mother's berry farm.

Andy Allen is a strawberry inspector at the local bureau whose interest in June has grown past business into more a personal one.

But June's mother, Myrtle, thinks June can do better than a simple strawberry inspector. Worse, Myrtle's wild beliefs in anything superstitious appear almost prophetic when June and Andy are thrown time and time again into unexpected and life-threatening situations.

A storm, an accident, escaped convicts, Andy missing in a Louisiana swamp.

Can love survive the obstacle course placed in their path? Can June and Andy overcome each trial with belief, faith, hard work, and the power of prayer?

Available in paperback or ebook at Amazon. Available at Barnes and Noble, Sony, Kobo, and Christianbooks.com.

Andy falls in love, but June's mother thinks her daughter can do better than a strawberry inspector. Can Andy convince Mrs. Myrtle he'll be the son she has never had and win her approval? He's going to have to change her mother's mind in more ways than one if their relationship is to survive. Can he persuade June that there is more to their relationship than friends? He doesn't want to be the big brother she never had. It's going to take more than Myrtle's superstitions to see them through an April flood, an accident, and escaped convicts when Andy goes missing in a Louisiana swamp while on a deer-hunting trip during Christmas season. Can love survive the obstacle course placed in their path? Will June be able to give Andy a child? Can two determined young people overcome each obstacle with belief, faith, hard work and the power of prayer? Will they ever convince Mrs. Myrtle to let go of superstitions, or will she stubbornly cling to them just like she vows she'll never fly on those big-winged mechanical birds because man ain't got no business messing with God's plans? June never gives up on Andy and clings to hope that he'll return to her. It was faith in God that would bring her husband home. Even a lucky penny or dime declared, "In God we trust."

 

June couldn't keep bittersweet memories at bay. She remembered a New Orleans trip when Andy had convinced her to stroll the Riverwalk. When she'd asked where he planned to take her in that big, wicked city, he'd laced his hand through hers and replied, "How about the zoo?"

Her heart ached when she remembered how flippant she'd been when she'd answered, "As if I'd monkey around with you." She wanted nothing more than to have Andy in her arms again. Her hand darted to the spot he'd kissed her, and she pressed her fingertips against it. She'd turned her face, and his lips found hers.

Then, he'd pulled her to her feet, took her hand, and said, "Come on. Let's enjoy the water some more before the sun slips away." Holding her by the hand, the two walked into the river together.

After all they'd been through, convincing her mother to accept Andy, an April flood, struggling to have a child together, and working side-by-side, the love of her life, her soul mate was missing and nothing would ever be the same. How could she go on listening to her mother's superstitions? Was there no changing the woman's mind about them any more than changing it about flying on an airplane? She could hear her mother rave about those big-winged mechanical birds and how man had no business messing with God's plans, but deep in her heart she knew it was faith in God that would bring her husband home. Even a lucky penny or dime declared, "In God we trust." Only $2.99 http://www.amazon.com/Southern-Superstitions-ebook/dp/B006X8GAWA/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1327008085&sr=1-2

Look what people are saying about B. J. Robinson's Southern Superstitions!

Shawn K. Williams says, "Southern Superstitions is an inspirational story that's full of personality as well as intricacy in the way it explores the complexities of family life and the conflict between faith and luck. Barbara does a great job of pulling together the deeply rooted superstitions of the South and entwining them into a suspenseful tale of faith, romance, and endurance. I especially enjoyed the setting and the culture of the deep South."

Kathy Boswell says, "Very good. She never gives up hope that Andy will return to her someday. She puts it all in God's hands like she's done every crisis in her life. She knows He will take care of this for her."

Pam Cable says,
"When I read Barbara Robinson's Last Resort, I thought it can't get any better than this. But, as a southern writer myself, I found myself caught up in this book of superstitions and the power of God. With a strong hand, the writer delivered the goods here. As good as a read from Eudora Welty. I was wrapped in the "pages" from beginning to end. Captivating. Loved the character
of Andy ... Enjoyed the ride, B. J. Robinson."

 

 

 

Prologue to Magnolia A Wilting Flower

Prologue

 

Before I was old enough to read, Momma had me hooked on fairy tales. She bought a new one for me each month out of the small social-security check she received after my father's death. She rocked me to sleep reading my favorite ones each night. I loved The Glass Mountain, Cinderella, and Snow White. I was only four years old when my father died one cold Christmas Day in a charity hospital.

Four years earlier, I'd been born in a charity hospital in New Orleans, Louisiana. We never had much, but I'd not yet realized that. To me, before Daddy died, we had everything.

We lived in a small town on South Third Street in a rambling white apartment house. We only rented, but I didn't realize what that meant at the time. To me, we were rich, for I was rich living in my make-believe world of fairy tales, rich in sunshine and fresh air, swinging in my board-and-rope swing underneath the giant pecan tree in our front yard.

I was a happy little girl who had everything she could possibly want. I had a doting daddy a loving momma, and a precious little sister, who was only four months old when our daddy died. Daddy rocked us and sung us to sleep, singing about our beautiful blue eyes, or Mother would read and rock us to sleep with fairy tales. My world was rich, happy, and content. I wanted for nothing. Little did I know then, that my life would be no fairy tale. Happy endings were all I knew.

We had a small front porch, and hummingbirds flew right up to the wild azalea bushes, pink honeysuckle, that grew alongside it. I'd try to catch those cute little birds, but Momma and Daddy told me to leave them alone, or they'd hurt me. I didn't see how anything so cute and tiny could hurt me, but I did as I was told, being the good little girl I was. Daddy said he was proud of his good little girl for leaving nature in peace.

I was an outdoors child who bounced up early to run outside into the sunshine and yell for Daddy to push me in the swing he'd made for me, underneath the old pecan. It didn't matter to me that it wasn't a store-bought one like my neighbor had. For, my daddy pushed me so high that my tiny feet nearly touched the low-hanging branches. I'd squeal with delight and scream. "Push me to the sky, Daddy!"

Daddy would laugh and say, "That's my girl. She already knows the sky is her limit."

My neighbor's shiny new gym set sat untouched and unused in her backyard. No loving father took the time to push her. She said her father was too busy making a living to buy her and her mother all the finer things in life. Her daddy was more important than mine because he was such a busy man with an important job. She'd tease me and brag about how she'd have so many nice things and all I'd ever have was what Daddy could put together for me with a board and some string. "Your daddy isn't important. He doesn't even hold a job, but my daddy works all the time," she'd brag. My swing is prettier than yours. Mine cost more. Yours is just an old cheap board-and-rope swing, homemade at that."

I'd run home crying to Momma and tell her all the mean things she'd said to me.

"Now, now, child, don't cry so." Momma patted my shoulder and hugged me. "You wear your heart on your sleeve. Don't let her have her way. That's what she wants, to see you cry. Tell her, Sticks and stones will break your bones, but words will never hurt you."

I dried my eyes, ran outside, and yelled the words across the street that Momma told me to say.

She responded. "If words don't hurt you, why do you run home crying to your momma, little girl?"

My friend was older than me and in school. She said she wanted to become a teacher when she grew up. Sometimes she'd practice on me. I liked her then, and I was curious to learn as much as I could from her. She taught me how to count and taught me my ABC's. Thanks to her and Momma's reading to me, when I started school at five, I could count, say my ABC's, and knew all the nursery rhymes and fairy tales by heart.

I practiced for Daddy, and he was so proud of me. He bought me a little red-plaid book sack to begin first grade. Today they're called book bags or backpacks, but it was not a backpack like the ones known to students of this age. It had a small handle and was carried like a briefcase. I'd fill it with my fairy tale books and pretend I was going to school. I still had a year to wait before I would actually start, and Daddy always told Momma that he wanted to make sure I had a book sack to start school with, just in case anything happened.

I had no idea what he meant. Momma thought he was giving me the book sack much too early, since I still had a year before I would begin school, but I was tickled over it and played school while I waited to begin the real thing. Little did I know then, school would play a very large part in my life.

I didn't understand why Daddy didn't work like other fathers. Momma told me he received a check each month because he was disabled, whatever that meant. But, Daddy didn't seem disabled to me. He was able to play with me, swing me, sing to me, and walk me to the store. He could do all kinds of things. In my eyes, Daddy was king. He walked on water. I was his little princess, and he had me spoiled rotten. If I decided I wanted watermelon at 12:00 o'clock at night, he'd let me have some. When Momma fussed at me for something, I'd run to Daddy crying. He'd pet me and make me feel better.

Daddy had a special chair. It was an old green overstuffed one, and I could curl up in it and get lost, which is exactly what I did when Daddy wasn't home and Momma fussed at me. After Daddy died, when Momma hassled me, I'd run to his chair. Somehow, I felt like I was still with Daddy when I curled up in his chair and cried my eyes out.

The year I was four years old is the year I remember best about Daddy. I can't remember much before that year. It was such a good year in the beginning. Little did I know that before I turned five, Daddy would be forever lost to me. Daddy took me with him nearly everywhere he went that year. If I didn't get to go with him, I'd sit in the swing he made for me and watch the road and wait for his return.

My mother, Alice Myrtle, would tell everyone, "Magnolia is the apple of Edbert's eye." It was plain for the world to see that I was Daddy's little girl. Momma named me after the beautiful white flower because she and Daddy got married in Magnolia, Mississippi. I often asked her to tell me about how she met Daddy. Her eyes would take on a faraway look, and she described how she met him on a Greyhound bus. She was from the small town of Springfield, Louisiana, and he was from Brookhaven, Mississippi. Momma always told me it was fate that they met that day.

Momma was a strawberry farmer's daughter, and Daddy was the son of a cotton planter. Destiny brought them together. They had so much in common. They both loved pretty sunshiny days, the country, and watching flowers or plants grow.

Before Daddy became sick and disabled, he worked at a New Orleans shipyard. He stayed in the city during the week while he worked and came home on the weekends. This was when I was very young and we were living in Mississippi beside my Grandma Russell's, Daddy's mother. My father's brother, Uncle Ernie, took over the cotton farm in Mississippi.

When I was only four years old, we visited Uncle Ernie's farm before my Daddy died later that year. Uncle Ernie let me use a smaller sack than all the other pickers and told me that I could help pick the cotton. I was tickled and proud because I had a job and could earn my own spending money. I carefully filled my sack, and he paid me twenty-five cents for each one I filled. I didn't make very much money because I soon played out, and I didn't fill very many sacks. I think I ended up with a dollar.

Uncle Ernie liked to play with me like Daddy did, but he wouldn't spoil me like Daddy. He'd bounce me up and down on his knees and let me climb onto his back, so he could give me piggyback rides. However, if I tried throwing one of my temper tantrums that always worked so well on Daddy, Uncle Ernie would say, "Cry a little louder," and he just ignored me. At first, I'd scream and yell and cry just as loud as my little throat and lungs would allow, but I soon realized that it'd get me absolutely nowhere with Uncle Ernie. He just sat on the porch in his rocker, laughed, and said, "Come on. Cry a little louder. You can do better than that. We can't hear you."

At first, that made me that much madder, and I cried that much louder, but finally my throat ached, and I was out of breath and red in the face. The worst part was that it'd all been for nothing. I finally had to give up in the end because I never got my way with Uncle Ernie.

Now, Grandma Russell was a different story, and I missed her after we moved away. She spoiled me like Daddy did, and she let me play with whatever I wanted.

Momma told me I got into her kitchen cabinets and tore off all the labels from her canned goods. Grandma just laughed about it and said we'd have a surprise each time we ate. Momma fussed at me and threatened to whip me, but Grandma just said, "Oh Amelia, (used Amelia for mother's name) kids will be kids. She's done no real harm."

I was spared a whipping, but Momma said, "You should be ashamed of yourself, young lady. Now Grandma won't know what she's opening."

Another time I was at Grandma's house rocking in my little red rocking chair Daddy surprised me with on his last weekend trip home. I rocked away as hard as I could. The next thing I knew, the rocker turned over, and my head hit the floor.

Momma and Grandma both came running when they heard my cries. "You're okay," Momma said. "Lucky for you, you've got a hard head."

Funny, but I was to be called hardheaded many times after that, but I didn't yet know it. One day my own husband would tell me that I was one hardheaded woman.

The last thing I remember about my early Mississippi days was the way I loved to play outside in Grandma's front yard with the little doodlebugs that looked like little Volkswagen cars. I was fascinated by the way they rolled up their tiny bodies. Momma thought I should be ladylike and play with dolls and keep clean all of the time, but I loved the dirt and the mud. My favorite pastime was making mud pies. I can remember Momma running outside many a time and yelling, "Magnolia, you're certainly no flower blossom. Just look at how filthy you are, young lady. Get yourself inside and cleaned up this very minute. Why I named you Magnolia, I'll never know." Hands on her slim hips, her hazel eyes flashed in fury.

When I was a little older, I'd always reply, "Because you and Daddy were married in that pretty little Mississippi town." She'd laugh at me surprised that I remembered.

Momma would always say, "Why can't you be more like your sister, young lady?" Those hazel eyes of Mom's flashed green with anger. Her shoulder-length reddish brown hair glowed more red than brown with the sun, but she soon found a boxed solution to keep her hair what she termed brown. It looked black to me. Mom ranted. "She plays with dolls and keeps clean. You act like a tomboy, always playing outside in the dirt and wanting to play with boys' cars and trucks instead of your baby dolls."

After we moved from Mississippi, my aunt who hadn't seen me since I was four sent a huge box of toys for Christmas. My sister had all dolls, tea seats, and doll clothes. I had all boys' toys. Trucks and cars, not one doll. "Momma," I said, "my aunt thinks I'm a little boy. She don't even know that I'm a little girl." Tears ran down my cheeks because she knew what my sister was and had sent her all her favorite toys.

Momma tried to make me feel better. "Magnolia, perhaps your aunt remembered how much you liked to play with cars and trucks when we were in Mississippi. Don't worry. I'm sure your sister will let you play with some of her dolls and tea sets."

"I don't want no baby dolls. "I'm too old and big for a doll. I wanted skates for Christmas, and I didn't get any, so I'll just make skates out of those big stupid trucks."

Momma just looked at me and shook her head. "I hope you don't break the trucks or your legs. I didn't get you roller skates because I was afraid you'd break a leg and now you come up with your own."

I took a big yellow dump truck and a red fire truck and put one on one foot and the other on the other foot. Then, I skated across the living room with trucks on my feet.

Momma said, "I wish she'd sent you dolls like she did your sister. If you'd been more ladylike I'm sure she would've. She must remember how much of a tomboy you always were. Girls should be girls." Momma tossed her hair and with a swing of her hips, flounced to the kitchen.

When we grew older, we played school. Like my friend had once taught me, I practiced on my sister. "It's not fair," she'd cry. "You always have to be the teacher. Why can't I be the teacher sometimes?"

"Because I'm the oldest, and I know more than you." We played school underneath a huge shady tree in the pecan orchard. It branches served as the roof of the schoolhouse, and many times they served as the roof of our playhouses.

Momma always declared that she could tell the weather by my moods. Dreary weather depressed me, but sunshine seemed to mirror my very own spirit. I loved to awaken to a fresh, sunshiny day, with the sun streaming through my bedroom windows. I loved to look out the door and see the sun smile down and listen to the birds sing their happy morning tunes. Once, before we moved back to Momma's neck of the woods, Daddy bought a piece of land in Angie, Louisiana. We lived in a rent house while we were working to build our own home. I would bounce up early, ready for the fresh air and sunshine. "Momma, it's daylight. Let's get up!"

"It's just little daylight, Magnolia. Go back to sleep and wait for big daylight before you wake me up." That was Mom's way of getting to stay in bed a little longer. I'd have her up at the crack of dawn when the roosters crowed, if I could.

When we lived in Angie, Mom told me I got into her kitchen cabinets one night while she and Daddy were watching television. They didn't have many groceries, and I took all of her rice, sugar, and salt and dumped them into toy pots. I pretended to cook on my little green kitchen stove. She said she had a fit when she discovered me because I had her rice, sugar, and salt all over. It was scattered on the countertop and a trail ran from the kitchen to my bedroom. That's how she found me. She followed the mess from the kitchen and there I was stirring rice, sugar, and salt together to make a gumbo. She said that's what I told her I was cooking.

Momma declared that my face was like an open book. She could always tell if something was on my mind, or if I was upset about something. In later years, I recall how she said she could tell from the way I walked home from school each day if I'd had a good day or a bad one. If I came down the sidewalk with my shoulders sagging, my head hanging, and my eyes downcast, she knew that something bad had happened to me at school that day. If I had a good day, I'd come strutting down the sidewalk like a cocky old rooster strutting his stuff with my head held high. Words gushed from my mouth before I got inside the door. I just couldn't wait to tell Momma what I was excited about. Momma said she always hated to see me coming with my head down because she knew something bad had happened. She said I was like a flower, either blossoming or wilting. I'd say, "I should be. After all, you named me after a flower."

"Yes, and little did I know it at the time, but it was a perfect name for you. Sometimes you droop like a flower wilting or dying. Other times, you seem to sprout or spring open like a flower blossoming." She smiled. "Perhaps I should've named you blossom."

"I like Magnolia better. Besides, I think it's rather romantic to be named after the little town where you and Daddy were married. It's full of beautiful magnolia trees. Momma and Daddy had taken me on a Sunday drive once during the spring of the year to that pretty little Mississippi town. It seemed to me that Momma meeting Daddy was like a fairy tale, especially the way she told the story of them meeting on the Greyhound bus. But, like my own life was to be, Momma's was no fairy tale either. However, at that time, I was still living in my fairytale world of make believe, and I loved Momma's romantic stories.

I'd grow up loving romance novels, perhaps because there never seemed to be enough romance in real life, at least not for me. Danielle Steel was one of my favorite romance authors. Many others were destined to follow. I went from fairy tales to romance novels like a runaway roller coaster and got what little romance I could out of life from the characters in my books. In years to come, a country music singer would come up with a song about a Louisiana woman and a Mississippi man. I'd tell Momma that each time I heard that song I'd think of them, since she was a Louisiana woman and Daddy was a Mississippi man.

Daddy never got to hear the song, but Momma loved listening to Conway Twitty and Loretta Lynn sing it. She was a country music lover and reared me on it. I like other types of music, too, but country is my favorite because it tells stories about life, and I listened to it from childhood to adulthood.

I loved to listen to Momma's stories about Daddy. Her stories were all I had left after his death. She had a way of making him come back to life for me, with her hazel eyes sparkling as she told me stories about their happy times and life together.

She told me how Daddy always showed up loaded down with surprises for both of us. He'd come laughing inside, glad to be home with us once again and say, "How's my two favorite girls?" He'd grab Momma and hug her until she thought he'd surely break her small bones in two. He'd pick me up from the crib or playpen and head to the rocker. "Got to make up for lost time and sing to my baby girl."

Eventually, Daddy sold the house in Angie and the one in Mississippi. He sold the one in Angie before he completed it. He moved Momma back to her home state so she wouldn't have to be away from her family. She could be closer to all of her relatives in Springfield, Louisiana, her hometown. I often wonder if Daddy moved us back because he knew he wasn't going to be around much longer, and Momma would need her people.

When we first moved back, he had a job at a New Orleans shipyard, where he worked until he became disabled. At first, we lived in a tiny house in Springfield. I remember Daddy taking me fishing with him when we lived there. I watched the ducks swim on the water, and the chickens followed us to the river. Daddy showed me how to bait my cane pole with a real live worm. He took me fishing and taught me how to bait my own pole when I was only four years old.

From there, we moved to a rambling white apartment house on South Third Street. I lived there until I lost my Daddy at four years old on Christmas Day.

The last week Daddy stayed in the city, Momma and I went to New Orleans to surprise him. I was too little to remember the trip, but I was all ears when Momma told me about it after Daddy passed. She was reminiscing about happier times.

"When we got to your daddy's room in that boarding house, I knocked on the door, but he didn't answer at first. I pounded and pounded and finally I heard him coming to open the door. He'd been sleeping with the gas heater on in that room without a crack in the window. It's a good thing we went to visit your Daddy when we did, or we could've lost him sooner. I had to crack the window and let the fumes air out of that room. He was so surprised and glad to see us. There, by the side of his bed, was a big walking doll he'd bought for you. He had his gifts for us and thought he'd be bringing them home and surprising us as usual. This time, we surprised him though, because we didn't wait for him. We caught a Greyhound bus and went to him.

I loved listening to Momma's reminiscing about the olden days, what she called the good old days, when she was a little girl growing up on my grandfather's strawberry farm in Springfield, Louisiana. I loved those strawberry tales about how hard my Grandpa and Grandma Threeton worked on their strawberry farm. Years later, I found out they really weren't tales at all, but truth. Most of all though, I loved listening to her tales about Daddy and how good he was to us, how happy we'd been, once upon a time. Just like a fairy tale, there was a once upon a time, but unlike a fairy tale, we had no happy ending. All we had were our happy memories.

The little girl Momma had reared on fairy tales would one day grow up and discover just what a cold, cruel adult world the real world could be. She'd soon find out how cruel life could really be and that real life was, indeed, no fairy tale. Though she dreamt of Prince Charming who'd ride up and rescue her on his white horse just like the fairy tales described, she was not destined to meet her own Prince Charming, at least not for years. Then, just when she finally thought that she had, their lives were interrupted. Later, she'd often wonder where had all the fairy tales gone?

Sadly, one day it'd be her who'd tell her own child that life was not fair and that he may as well face it. She'd grow up saying life was not fair and having someone tell her over and over that no one ever said that it was. The words, "Life is not fair, Kid," would often ring in her ears.

But until the time she was four years old, life was fair and good. Everything came up roses. She was the princess of sunshine, and her daddy always told her, "Your sweet smile is like a ray of sunshine; don't ever lose it."

Little did she know at the time, as she beamed that smile at her daddy's loving eyes, that one day in the near future, there'd be no more sunshine for her. Her world was getting ready to cloud over, and the blue skies would turn gray. She had many storms to batter, but for the time being, her life was storm free, and she could happily smile for all the world to see.

B. J. Robinson writes Southern fiction from Florida where she lives with her husband and pets, a golden cocker spaniel, Sunflower, a golden retriever, Honi, and a shelter cat named Frankie. She's an avid reader and passionate writer. When she's not writing, she's reading and reviewing books.

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