Saturday, February 28, 2015

Anna's Crossing by Suzanne Woods Fisher, © 2015

~* An Amish Beginnings Novel *~

  "...a historical fiction tale based on the true story of the Charming Nancy, the ship that brought some of the original Amish to America in 1738—an eventful, tragic ocean crossing journey of 83 days. It’s referred to as the Amish Mayflower."
   --author Suzanne Woods Fisher

Coming to America was a slow and uncertain journey in the 1700s. Tent cities are not new. Long transport before arriving at their ship destination, and then taxation of the Charming Nancy merchant vessel along the way slowed the beginnings. Stopping for provisions and ship repairs at Plymouth Sound, England, became a first week-long port stop before the crossing of the Atlantic Ocean. The lower deck held more than grains and other cargo goods ~ down below the hatch in the dark, dank, smelly underside traveled the "Peculiars," as the Amish of Swiss origin traveling from Germany were known on dock and by ship crew. Lack of sunshine and less than bearable conditions, brought disease amid the constant rocking motion to overcrowded fare-paying passengers, alive upon arrival, or dead at sea. All of this to be able to "own" land to pass on to generations. Scouting travelers ahead were awaiting the arrival of those they were preparing for to join them in Penn's Woods in the New World.

A day-by-day diary takes us along their path aboard ship, awaiting fair wind to continue their journey. A narrative we would not know so closely without this research by author gleanings. Anna's Crossing sorts out superstition and self-guiding to a gentle, firm belief in God that is everlasting; a love that is never failing.

Blending the worlds of Amish and historical fiction, Anna's Crossing shares the beginning of Amish life in America with a glimpse into the first ocean crossing, as seen through the eyes of a devout young woman and an irreverent man.

Suzanne Woods Fisher
© Dan Davis Photography
Suzanne Woods Fisher writes bestselling, award winning fiction and non-fiction books about the Old Order Amish for Revell Books. Her interest in the Plain People began with her Old Order German Baptist grandfather, raised in Franklin County, Pennsylvania. Suzanne's app Amish Wisdom: A proverb a day from the simple life delivers a daily Amish proverb to your phone or iPad (or online Amish Wisdom here). She writes a bi-monthly column for Christian Post and Cooking & Such magazine. She lives with her family in California and raises puppies for Guide Dogs for the Blind. To Suzanne's way of thinking, you can't take life too seriously when a puppy is running through your house with someone's underwear in its mouth. Connecting with author Suzanne Woods Fisher: Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram; sign up for blog or monthly newsletter.

Here is an interesting account from the author and the background for her novel: 

***Thank you to Revell Fiction for inviting me to be a part of the Blog Tour for Suzanne Woods Fisher's #AnnasCrossing, and sending me a copy of this historical fiction of the story of the first Amish who crossed the Atlantic in 1737 on the Charming Nancy ship. This review was written in my own words. No other compensation was received.***
Cover Art
Enjoy an excerpt from Anna's Crossing by Suzanne Woods Fisher ~ Chapter 1


April 15th, 1737

It’s a hard crossing, they’d been warned. Eight weeks in a wooden tub with no guarantee they’d ever get there. Anna König crouched beside a bed of roses, breathing deeply of the freshly turned loam. She had done all she could to avoid this treacherous sea journey, and yet here she was, digging up her rose to take along with her. She jabbed her shovel in the ground, mulling all the reasons this voyage was fraught with ill.
   It meant leaving behind her grandparents, her home, her church in Ixheim, Germany. Her people. It would be the end of everything she’d ever known and loved.
   “Some endings are really beginnings,” her grandfather had said when she told him that Christian Müller, the minister, asked—no, insisted—she join the departing families. “If you don’t remember anything I’ve ever tried to teach you, remember that.”
   Despite misgivings and forebodings, Anna relented. How do you say no to a minister? She was the only one who could speak and understand English. And that’s why she was stabbing the earth with her shovel, digging up her most precious rose to take on the journey, hoping that the hard winter and late-to-come spring meant its roots would still be dormant. If she was going to go to this strange New World, she was going to bring this rose. And she was going. Tomorrow.
   Tomorrow! The crack of doom in that one word.
   Anna had begged her grandparents to join the emigrating group, but they wouldn’t budge. “It’s a young man’s sport, that sea journey,” her grandfather said, shaking his head, ending the discussion. She couldn’t argue that point. The voyage was filled with risks and dangers and uncertainties, especially for the very young and very old.
   Anna sat back on her heels and looked around. In a few years, who would be left in Ixheim? Who would care for her grandparents in their final days? Who would bury them and tend their graves? Tears welled, and she tried to will them away, squeezing her eyes shut.
   This little valley that hugged the Rhine River was supposed to be their home, for good, for always. Here, they had tried to live in peace, keeping to themselves in secluded hills and valleys, where they could farm the land and their sheep could graze and they could go about their daily life of work and worship without worry or hassle. This valley was dear to her, peaceful and pastoral.
   Yet beneath the surface, life had started to change. A new baron held the Amish in disdain; much of the old conviviality of the village was disappearing. It was time to leave, the bishop had decided, before tensions escalated as they had in Switzerland, years ago.
   Carefully, Anna wrapped the root ball of the dug-up rose in burlap. She glanced around the garden filled with her grandmother’s roses. Their survival was a testament to her people’s story: roots that adapted to whatever soil they were transplanted into, thorns that bespoke of the pain they bore, blossoms each spring that declared God’s power to bring new life from death. As long as the roses survived, her grandmother said, so would our people. Her grandfather would scoff and call her a superstitious old woman, but Anna understood what she meant. The roses were a living witness to survival.
   The sounds of hooting and hollering boys stormed into her thoughtful moment. She caught sight first of eight-year-old Felix, galloping toward her, followed by his older brother Johann. Felix frightened the chickens that scratched at the dirt in the garden, scattering them in a squawking cloud of flapping wings and molting feathers.
   “A letter from Papa!” Felix shouted.
   Behind him came Johann, holding his father’s letter in the air, red faced and breathing hard from the exertion of climbing the hill. His eyes, bright from anticipation, fastened on Anna’s face. “My father wrote there are twice as many immigrants leaving for Port Philadelphia this year as last. And last year was three times as many as the year before. He said we must make haste to join him in Penn’s Woods and settle the land.”
   “Just think, Anna. Deer, turkey, rabbits, all easy to obtain. And with a little more effort—” he pretended to aim and shoot a rifle at an imaginary beast—“elk and wild boar to put up for winter provisions.” Naturally, Johann, at age thirteen, knew everything.
   But Anna, practical and skeptical and older than Johann by six years, held a different point of view. “I hear that the New World is a land of poisonous snakes, lions, tigers. And black bears and mountain lions. Gray wolves sweep down from the mountains in packs.” A wolf pack frightened her most of all. When the wolves here grew desperate for food, they would attack her woollies.
   Johann wasn’t listening. He never listened to her objections about America. “Good water springs, lumber for building cabins.”
   “I’ve heard stories that settlers have seen red men. Many times.”
   Johann shook his head as he came up to Anna in the rose garden. “Friendly Indians. Curious ones. Fascinated with shiny brass kitchen kettles and knickknacks. Papa said he has found a place for us to settle.” His eyes took on a faraway look and she knew he was off in his head to America to join his father. Jacob Bauer, the bishop of their church, had gone ahead to the New World last spring, to claim land and purchase warrants for those who intended to join him this year.
   Anna turned to Felix and couldn’t hold back a grin. A riot of curly hair peeped from beneath a tattered black felt hat, blue eyes sparkled with excitement, and a big smile showed more spaces than teeth.
   The Bauer boys were like brothers to her. Felix was round and sturdy, with carrot red hair that matched his temperament. Johann, blond and thin, had never been hale and was afflicted with severe asthma. His heart and body might not be strong, that Johann, but his mind made up for it. What he carried around in that head of his was what mattered.
   Now Felix was another story. Two black crows cackled from a nearby tree and he stared at them with a distant look in his eyes. “There’s a crow’s nest on the ship that’s so high, you can see the curve of the earth.”
   Smiling inside, Anna said to him, “It’s really that high?”
   “Even higher.” With a sweep of his hand Felix showed the curve of the earth. “Johann told me so.”
   Anna didn’t know where Johann got his information. He’d had no schooling and owned no books except the Bible, but he knew all sorts of things. Solid-gold facts, he called them. She delighted in each nugget, whether true or not.
   Then the twinkle in Felix’s eyes faded. “It’s a great pity I won’t be able to find out for myself.”
   “The Bakers changed their mind and aren’t going, so Felix wants to stay behind too,” Johann explained. “That means that Catrina Müller is the only one aboard close to Felix’s age.”
   Felix’s scowl deepened. “I’m not going if I have to be stuck on a ship with her. I’ll stay here and live with the Bakers.”
   “I don’t think you have much of a choice, Felix.” Nor do I. Anna would never voice it aloud, but she dreaded the thought of spending the next few months in confined quarters with Catrina and her mother, Maria. Those two had a way of draining the very oxygen from the air. She set down her shovel. “Is your mother ready to go?”
   Felix shrugged. “She’s packing dishes into barrels.”
   “She must be eager to see your father.”
   He tilted his head. “She’s humming. That’s good. She wants to see Papa.” Then he took off running along the narrow sheep’s trail that led up the hill.
   “I wish I could find a reason to go. Better yet, to stay.”
   “Change is coming, Anna,” Johann said with annoying professorial patience. “It’s in the air. We can’t stay here and live like sheep in a pasture.”
   Anna looked up at the hillside. “I like sheep.”
   He crossed his arms in a stubborn pose. “I mean there is a whole new world out there. Just think of the mountains and valleys and unknown places we’ll see.”
   “Filled with savages and the beasts. Your father has said as much in his letters.”
   “He also says there is land waiting for us which has never before been claimed, surveyed, or deeded. Land, Anna. We can live in safety. We can own land.”
   “Maybe there’s no place that’s truly safe for us.”
   He shook his head hard. “That’s not what William Penn said. He offered a place where we can go and live in peace.”
   Johann didn’t understand. He was moving toward someone— his father. His mother and brother would be traveling with him. Anna was moving away from those she loved. “My grandmother says it’s wicked to want more than you have. She wants to just stay put and thank God.”
   Johann laughed. “Your grandmother is a frightened old lady who’s had a hard life. Doesn’t mean you should be scared of new things.”
   “I’m not.” Yes, I am.
   “Everything changes. That’s the way of life. This Greek fellow Heraclitus said there is nothing permanent except change, and I think he was right.” He leaned forward and whispered in a conspiratorial voice, “Your grandmother has made Maria promise to find you a husband in the New World. She said that Ixheim has only old toothless men and young toothless boys.” He lifted his voice an octave or two, warbling, to mimic her grandmother. “Anna must have Her Chance! She is pushing twenty without a man in sight.”
   Anna laid the rose in her basket and stood, sobered by the thought. With each passing birthday, her grandmother grew increasingly distressed. The New World, she decided, was Anna’s only hope to find a like-minded bachelor.
   Johann was watching her carefully, and then his eyes took on that teasing look of his. “If there’s no one in the New World who passes Maria’s muster, and if you don’t mind holding o" a few years, I suppose I could marry you.”
   She laughed then, and her mood shifted instantly from solemn to lighthearted, as it always did when she was around Johann. “I’ll keep such a heartwarming proposal in mind.”
   “With fair wind and God’s favor,” Johann said, with his usual abundance of optimism, “we’ll reach Port Philadelphia by the end of July.”
   When Anna pointed out that he was basing that assumption on all conditions being ideal and how rarely things ever turned out that way, he rolled his eyes in exasperation. “It’s God’s will. Of that my father and Christian have no doubt.”
   And how does anyone object to that? How in the world?
   He wiggled his eyebrows and winked at her, then hurried up the hillside to join Felix, who was already on the top, to reach the shortcut that took them back to their house. Midway up the hill, Johann stopped and bent over to catch his breath. When he topped the hill, he turned and do"ed his hat at her, flourishing it before him as if he were going to sweep the floor. She grinned, and then her grin faded as he disappeared down the other side of the hill and she was left with only her worries for company.
   Tomorrow. Tomorrow!
   Like it or not, the journey would begin. They would travel down the Rhine River to Rotterdam, board the vessel a shipping agent had arranged as passage for them, and then they’d be off to the New World.
   Anna stretched her back and moved out of the shade to feel the afternoon sun on her face. The muscles in her arms and shoulders ached from spearing the shovel into the cold earth, but it was a pleasant ache. She’d always loved working outside, much more than she did the washing and cooking and keeping up of the house, the woman’s work. The drudgery, she thought, and quickly sent an apology to the Lord for her ungrateful heart.
   A furious honking of geese in the sky disrupted her reverie. Heading north for summer, she presumed. Her gaze traveled up the green hillside dotted with ruffs of gray wool. Her woollies, each one known to her by name. Her heart was suddenly too full for words as she let her gaze roam lovingly over the land she knew as home: over the rounded haystacks, the neat lambing sheds, the creek that ran almost the year round. The steep hills that brought an early sunset in summer and broke the wind in winter. It grieved her that she wouldn’t be here this year for spring, as the lambs came and the wool was sheared and the ewes were mated and then the lambs would come again. She gazed at the hills, trying to engrave it in her memory. Where would she be next spring? She wondered what home would look like, feel like, smell like. She glanced down at her basket and gripped the leather handle, hard. At least she had her rose. If it survived, so would she.
   A few hours later, Anna heard the whinny of a horse and came out of the house to see who was driving up the path. She shielded her eyes from the sun and saw Christian Müller on a wagon seat, Felix beside him.
   Why would Felix be riding with their minister?
   She noticed the somber look on Christian’s usually cheerful face, the way Felix’s small head was bowed. She crossed her arms, gripping her elbows. The wind, raw and cold, twisted her skirts around her legs. Something’s wrong.
   There came a stillness as if the whole world were holding its breath.
   Let it be nothing, she entreated silently, let it be another meeting tonight to talk about the journey, or to let her know that Johann stopped to visit a friend. Let it be something silly. With every squeak of the wheels, she felt the lump in her throat grow bigger, the apprehension build.
   A gust of wind swirled up the hill, flapping Anna’s dress like a sheet on a clothesline, whipping the strings of her prayer cap against her neck, and she shivered.
   Christian hauled back on the reins and set the brake on the wagon. Slowly, he climbed down and waited beside the wagon, bearded chin on his chest. Felix jumped off the seat and threw his arms around Anna’s waist, shuddering with sobs.
   Anna’s gaze moved over Christian’s pale face. Behind him, in the back of the wagon, was the shape of a body, covered by a gray wool blanket.
   “Christian, who is it?” An icy feeling started in Anna’s stomach and traveled up her spine. “C-Christian?” she whispered again, her eyes wide, her throat hot and tight. It was then she saw tears running down Christian’s cheeks. The awful reality started to hit her full force and she pressed a fist to her lips. Dear God, she thought. Dear God, how can this be?
   Christian turned away with his chin tucked down, then, almost lovingly, gently folded back the top of the blanket. His eyes lifted to meet hers. “The Lord has seen fit to take our young Johann from us.”
Suzanne Woods Fisher, Anna's Crossing Revell Books, a division of Baker Publishing Group, © 2015. Used by permission.

Click link here: pre-order Anna’s Crossing for the chance to win an iPad!

Anna's Crossing by Suzanne Woods Fisher releases March 3, 2015.

Tuesday, February 24, 2015

When Camels Fly: A Novel of Suspense by NLB Horton, © 2014

Parched series, Book 1
international suspense novel

After an award-winning detour through journalism and marketing, then a graduate degree from Dallas Theological Seminary, NLB Horton returned to writing fiction. She has surveyed Israeli archaeological digs accompanied by heavy artillery rounds from Syria and machine gun fire from Lebanon. Explored Machu Picchu after training with an Incan shaman. Cruised the Amazon and its tributaries. And consumed afternoon tea across five continents.

Historical Jerusalem Hotels
The Main House, The American Colony Hotel, Jerusalem
After a harrowing rescue escape in the desert, archaeologist Grace Madison and her daughter, Maggie, arrive at The American Colony Hotel, and a time to catch their breath. I am taking in the scents of aromatic blooms wavering in the air, as Grace and Maggie travel about Jerusalem discussing Maggie's finds as a hydrologist. Beautiful sights and sounds assault my senses, as they continue on their way incognizant of me. Intent on an evening meal, as I barely began enjoying mint tea, they are jaggedly dodging a bar-mitzvah party and fireworks jubilees to escape yet another turmoil. Can't these ladies stay out of harm's way?

Grace's husband and son are coming from uttermost regions to find their fair ladies. They seem to locate action too. Readily there is a group of compatriots who are looking out for them in the undercurrent of political and economical unrest. Who do you trust? Those you seemingly know, even though you have been family for years, or those sent to protect you without introduction?

Grace and Maggie are quite agile themselves ~ well, maybe Grace could use some daily exercise with all of the exertion she commands to stay up with Maggie. They become separated with agendas of their own will, it seems.

An undermined water rights claim has a major role; either by the lack of or its transference. I certainly was treading, trying not to get swooped under so compelling a current. A fast-moving story, each member of the Madison family in search of their goal, fully equipped to stand in their own right.

I liked how the chapters are broken up in small sections individualizing point of view and action. The author is well-versed in the subject. This is a strong story of espionage, ...and love clinging together amid all odds. Book 2 of the Parched series is entitled The Brothers' Keepers.

Image result for the brothers' keepers

***Thank you to author NLB Horton for this review copy of When Camels Fly. This review was written in my own words. No other compensation was received.***

Enjoy this excerpt from When Camels Fly by NLB Horton ~ Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Arabian Desert, western Jordan

“You risk everything by killing her.” The Israeli voice outside Maggie’s tent rattled with age.
   “How much do you think she knows?” The second speaker sounded young, his diction precisely well educated. Based on her work in the region, she thought his accent was Lebanese or Jordanian. He was not the same caste as the Bedouin guard who communicated with a grunt, and leered and cleaned his pistol across from her now.
   The men had circled outside the twenty-seven-year-old hydrologist’s prison for fifteen minutes, discussing her death and their crime. She was bound and gagged, but wasn’t deaf.
   “She knows plenty.” The old Israeli spoke with military precision, almost growling. “She visited three locations in thirty days. When I saw her at the second, I decided she must have discovered something. Weigh the risks. Do we hold her captive until it’s too late to stop us? Or is she threat enough to warrant inquiries after her death?”
   “Do you want to free her and find out?” The Arab laughed as he spoke.
   Goose bumps carpeted her arms. She was cold despite knowing temperatures outside the tent had passed a hundred degrees hours ago.
   The Arab stopped laughing long enough to lecture the Jew. “We risk four years of work and die in prison if we’re discovered. Israeli prisons are unpleasant, General. Especially in old age.”
   A scratching noise made her think one of them lit a match. She hoped it was to ignite a cigar or cigarette and not the tent in which she was imprisoned.
   Then the Jew, “General,” made a suggestion. “Her death can be an accident. Desert people stage them well. She got lost. By the time her bones are found, we’ll be untouchable.”
   They stood near her, separated only by a homespun goat-hair fabric wall. Then the Arab ended the conversation as cigar smoke seeped under the hem. “We have a week. Let me take care of this.”
   Through a gap made by a plant growing under the tent edge, she spied polished leather shoes and desert boots. She tried to see the men’s faces, but they moved out of sight before she could inconspicuously reposition herself, slowly, so as not to alarm the Bedouin cleaning his gun. She’d never forget their voices.
   Scraggly vegetation, glimpsed through the same gap and on her two daily “nature treks,” was consistent with the desert of northwestern Jordan. During the outings, she recognized the hills west of Amman. Her waking hours were spent reasoning through the mechanics of vast amounts of disappearing water, and how to escape if she had the chance.
   When she escaped, she’d have a plan.
 She was rolled—tightly enough to secure, but not so tightly as to suffocate—into a worn Heriz rug similar to ones her mother, an archaeologist, brought to the family’s homestead years ago, expanding a collection now creeping from the floors to the ranch-house walls. Woven near Mount Sabalan, Heriz are functional masterpieces of abnormally dense, long-lasting fibers that muffle noise. Not that soundproofing mattered—she was in the middle of nowhere and her execution was imminent.
   A tailgate clanked after someone slid the rug into the bed of a pickup. The bumpy ride included a stop-and-go border crossing. Her Bedouin captor’s interrogation by an Israeli soldier indicated she was moved to Israel. If anything went wrong, the Israelis would be blamed in a tactical move she understood.
   Hours later, she was rolled out of the rug and onto the desolate desert floor. She recognized this area, too. Once upright, she shuffled down a trail into a wadi near the aptly named Dead Sea. How appropriate that she would die in one of God’s drainage ditches.
   Only a miracle would save her. Her hands were bound, her ankles shackled with only enough slack for baby steps. He held the gun, but she was calm. Faith led her to believe in eternal life. The thought of grieving her family edged her close to tears. She wouldn’t let him mistake her sadness for fear, so pushed their faces from her mind. And tried not to hear Mama’s voice. She stayed ready for the opportunity to escape—one she knew wouldn’t come.
NLB Horton, The Brothers' Keepers NLB Horton, © 2014.