Sneak Peak

Ok, so a few of you have expressed curiosity.  Others of you have heard about it long enough that you really don't care.  But just so you know what's going on (and I commented on this at the end of my Day 30 post, but I don't really think many, if any, saw it), I have been talking forever about setting to paper the story line of the musical I wrote with Cathy Dorton.  I've been dabbling at it here and there for several years (kind of like the kitchen remodel?) but would like to finally just dig in and finish it.  The story line has been set in my brain for several years.  It's just a matter of finding time to complete the research and get the writing done.

I'd love to share the Prologue with you.  I have to admit, however, in doing so it's kind of like taking a little part of me and placing it out there without a stitch of anything on. Scary.  Exposing my faults along with my strengths.  See I can write just about anything on the blog and feel like people aren't judging it for it's writing merits.  But when I place something I am proposing as supposedly real writing, well that's a whole nother story.  So be gentle.

Basically the story is about three main characters, and they are each introduced below.  If you notice anything (granted, a lot of it will be confusing, because it's simply an introduction to be fleshed out later in the book) you feel like I need to clarify here, or typos, or anything else you think would make these paragraphs flow better, please let me know.  I'd love your comments.  And I'd like to know if you'd like to hear more about these people.  I am considering creating a blog for the book, and posting chapters on line for people who are interested.

(Note:  the following is copyrighted material)

Follow Your Heart, by Julie Loveridge 

Prologue

Dec. 24, 1844

A soft whistle of wind slipped through the glass panes, sounding like a cat sighing in the dark room.  It wasn=t a harsh sound, just enough to keep Kjristina from falling back to sleep. 

 Nestled next to her in the soft feather bed, Kjristina could feel Jenny=s tousled hair tickling her chin, her deep breaths warming Kjristina=s shoulder.  As she stared into the black of the Norwegian winter night, Kjristina wished she could sleep as soundly as her little sister, but growing inside her eight-year-old stomach was a knot of excitement.  She kept trying to push it down, but just as she=d find a comfortable spot under the heavy quilts, the knot would rise again, all the stronger.

AIs it almost time?@ she sighed to herself.  She listened for sounds of her mother stirring across the hall, but all she could hear was Jenny=s breathing, the whistle wind, and down the hall, the big Grandfather Clock tick-ticking away the silence.

Being careful not to bounce the mattress, Kjristina rolled over.  Every year it was the same.  The night before Christmas was always exciting. The night before Christmas had a magic in the air and it became all the more chimerical in the early morning hours when Mum slipped into the room to steal her away to the kitchen. She=d be there again this morning, helping her into the crisp white gown and placing a wreath of ribbons and candles over her long blond braids, transforming her into the mystical Santa Lucia, Bearer of Light.

If only morning would come more quickly.

The scab on her left knee itched.  Kjristina rolled again. Morning was never going to come.

*****

Across the world, his knees pulled up under his chin, a young man stared into the fireplace as it cast a flickering light across the empty room.  Dark was just beginning to shadow the thin winter sun as it settled to the west.  Jacob Whitlock had kept the fire burning through the day, and now, as evening began to close upon his world, he should be letting the flames settle into glowing embers.  But he, too, was listening.

Tomorrow all of Nauvoo would be celebrating Christmas, but in this small cabin on the outskirts of town there were no signs of the pending holiday - no popcorn chains, no ginger cookies, no gifts wrapped in brown paper and tied with ribbon.  Only snatches of carols drifting through the crisp air reminded Jacob of the day to come. But that no longer mattered.  What mattered now was what was happening behind that curtain.

In the corner of the cabin, a quilt, worn thin with use, had been hung to give privacy to his mother=s bed.  From behind the make-shift curtain, Jacob could hear Sister Carrie=s voice crooning softly as she bathed his mom=s forehead with cold water.  Ma had taken fever three days earlier.  It should be breaking now, she should be getting better, but she was not.  Today she felt hotter than ever, and then, around noon, she slipped into a very deep sleep and she wouldn’t wake up.

Jacob swallowed the lump in his throat and pushed his hands hard against his eyes to keep the tears from welling up.  AGo away, go away, go away,@ he willed his mind to push out the fear washing over him.

AJust think happy things,@ he told himself.  AHappy things.  Think.@

He forced memories to the surface.  Tadpoles.  Fishing holes.  Playing stick pull with Pa.  The fresh smell of Ma=s apron when she pulled him out of bed early in the morning - the warm cooking smells of her apron at the end of a long day when she nestled him into her lap for a bedtime story.  Her twinkling blue eyes.  The love he saw in them.

His mind wandered back to a crisp autumn day, years earlier.  There was a warm golden cast to the damp gray sky, and campfire smoke trailed lazily upward.  It had been a hard day, and they were grateful to have finally arrived at the small settlement springing up around the mill on the creek.  It would be their new home and he liked the feel of it.

The canvas tent was up and the entire family was helping unpack the wagon.  He felt the tug of the heavy wooden crate in his young arms.  How he wanted to do his part, to be big like his older brother Andrew, strong like Pa. But the crate was too heavy and he couldn’t hold on.  Slipping from his grip, it crashed to the ground, spilling the contents across the mud.

He felt hot shame flush his face.  And then Ma was there, swooping down to rescue the cooking pans from the ground.  Her eyes met his, and suddenly she was smiling.

AThose pans seem to be in bigger hurry to get out of that old crate than we are to get them there,@ she laughed, reaching out to tussle his hair.  AMust think its time for supper!@

Then she paused, and added quietly, AThanks, my little Jake.  You=re really growing up.  Think you could take a break and start a fire while I get something ready to put in this old pot?@

He wanted to be grown up for her, to show her she could be proud of him.  He worked hard to start the fire the way Pa had taught him: begin with the little wood, and add the bigger pieces as the little wood began to burn.  His pa told him that was the way life was.  Begin with the little things. Then the big things come easy.

He was just coaxing the kindling into flame when he heard a scream from the tent.  He knew that scream.  He=d heard it before.  It was a special scream Ma saved only for snakes.  She loved animals, she tolerated bugs, but she absolutely, unequivocally despised snakes.

Jacob=s little legs ran as fast as they could to catch up with Pa and Andrew.  They reached the tent just as she came bursting through the canvas.  Fiery darts had chased away the usual twinkles in her eyes, and her hairs were standing on end. 

Jacob couldn=t help it.  He knew he shouldn=t laugh, Ma was seriously scared, but she looked so funny!  He tried to stifle the giggle rising in his throat, but it bubbled contagiously to the surface.  Andrew joined him, and a minute later all three were doubled over in laughter.

Ma stood away from the tent, waiting with her hands on her hips.

AWell?  You men just going to stand there splitting your sides, or is someone going to kindly go in and get rid of that snake?@ she demanded.

By the tone of her voice, Jacob knew what the answer better be.

He volunteered.

Inside the tent he poked around the crates without much success.  He knew she had to have seen something, but he sure couldn=t find any snake.  He searched through a stack of blankets.  Nothing there.  He checked between and under the boxes.  He was about to give up, figuring it had slipped back out the way it had come in, when he spied something in the ground.  Ma wasn=t going to like this.  They=d gone and pitched their tent right on top of a snake hole!

Jacob smiled now, as he remembered moving their entire camp about a quarter mile up the road, Ma scouting out a piece of land as smooth and as free of holes as possible in that part of the country.  They would build their home there.

But that never happened.  The next day ...

Jacob=s thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door as it opened with a rush of cold air.  He swung around to see Bishop Evans standing in the doorway.  He wasn=t a big man, but something in his manner always made him appear larger.  He stepped into the room and closed the door softly behind him.

AJacob,@ he asked, Ahow=s your mother?@

Jacob turned his face back toward the corner.  He couldn’t let the bishop see his red eyes. 

AFine,@ he mumbled.

ASure,@ the bishop said behind him, a hint of sarcasm lacing his concern, AI can see that.@

There was an uncomfortable pause.  All the fear and the tears Jacob had been trying to keep stifled, welled up and started to spill over.  He knew he shouldn’t lie, especially to the bishop.  Ma wouldn=t like that.  He fought with his emotions. Part of him, the child part, wanted desperately to run into the bishop=s strong arms and let him take away all the pain and worry.  But the other part, the almost-a-man part, wanted the bishop to respect him, to know he was strong and could take care of his mother like the bishop had asked him to. 

AShe=s ... she=s not ... doin= too good,@ Jacob finally admitted, focusing on the chinks between the logs.

ABishop,@ Sister Carrie=s voice interrupted softly.  AShe=s going fast. I don=t think I can do much more for her.@

AYou=ve been wonderful,@ Jacob heard the bishop say.  AIt=s Christmas Eve, and you need to go home to your own family.@

AI=ll stay longer if I can do anything.@

Her voice lowered and Jacob only heard snatches of the remaining conversation before he felt the breeze from the open door again and she was gone.  The only word that made sense to him sent a chill to his bone.  Pneumonia.

*****

Awa  jerked his hand away from the nest just as the big bird=s talons dashed against it.  AOuch!@ he cried as he ducked his head to keep the eagle from catching his eyes in the next attack.  Just as he turned away, his hand slipped on the icy bark and he lost his hold, finding himself tumbling headlong to the frozen ground below.

AOomph!@ his lungs exhaled on impact.  The sky above him darkened and swirled as he gasped for air.  His chest felt like it would explode.  He rolled to the side and curled up, wrapping his arms around himself, gulping the cold air to catch his breath.  As he spun into unconsciousness he could hear the bird screeching high above him.  His world went black. On the frozen winter turf the small Ute boy slept, and as he slept, his clutched left hand relaxed, exposing the majestic eagle=s feather collected at such a high price.