Continuing where Chapter 3 left off yesterday…

Life in the factory continued on as it always did, despite the anticipation for the party. Every girl there, likely, dreamed of being Viktor Stepanov’s companion for the night, but similarly, every girl knew how unlikely they were to be chosen. Except, of course, Tanya, who displayed eternal optimism. Who knows how much of it, only in fun. Anastasia resolutely put the thought out of her mind after her disturbing dream. She had no reason to believe she would be chosen, and told herself that she didn’t care to be.

It would only deepen the pain at any rate, wouldn’t it? Attending a party would remind her of the charmed life she once led with her husband. A life forever and cruelly torn from her.

I hate war, God. I hate death. I hate grief and pain.

In the last few days, she had fallen into the habit of talking to God at the most random moments and about the most arbitrary thoughts. She wondered if it bothered Him that many of her thoughts centered on painful or confusing topics.

One of the girls made a quip about the party, and it brought her sister Milana to mind. She ought to write to Milana tonight. It had been a while. Milana’s last letter had been anything but cheerful.

Anastasia tried to bring her focus back onto her work, onto the shifting gears and machinery around her. She glanced up as Viktor Stepanov paced passed her station again, his constant watchfulness over the production of the factory somewhat unnerving. His gaze reminded her of a hawk, and she wondered if he ever missed anything. 

I wonder how much of the girls’ chatter he’s heard. If he knows that Tanya has all but claimed him for the party. If he knows what some of the others say when they dream out loud about being his companion for a day. I don’t know how he couldn’t know.

She shook her head, attempting to pull her focus away from the party once more. To convince herself that she didn’t care about it.

One of the gears shuddered and ground in an odd manner, startling Anastasia, giving her a flashback to Tanya’s near demise of a few days before. Before she could do anything about the sound, however, the gears shifted back into their normal grind. She sighed.

“Comrade.” Assistant Director Yakov’s voice sent a zing of fear through Anastasia’s heart. She spun to look at him.

“Comrade.”

“Comrade, you are to accompany me to the office directly.”

Heart sinking, Anastasia dared not disobey or even question her orders. She left her station, following the assistant director through the working women, to the quieter office at the end of the room.

Once inside, Chief Director Stepanov stood behind his desk, while Viktor stood off to one side, his arms crossed and expression unreadable. Anastasia stood across from the director and waited. The man looked her up and down in an appraising manner, the silence unnerving. Anastasia shifted uncomfortably.

“Comrade, you will accompany my son, Viktor, to the party.”

Anastasia stifled a gasp, but a response from her was not required.

“As he has chosen you, I trust that you will do all things necessary to behave in a manner worthy of such a day. I understand that you have some little experience in these matters?”

Anastasia struggled to find words. “Yes, Comrade. Experience. I have a little.”

“Good.” The director slapped his desk by way of emphasis. “Is there anything you will require from us to prepare you, Comrade?”

“I-I don’t…” Anastasia’s voice trailed away. “I can’t think of anything.”

“Very well, back to your station, Comrade.”

Anastasia made her way back to her station in a daze. Tanya started to ask her what they wanted her in the office for, but they saw the director enter exit the office and she hurried back to her own station.

“Comrades, your attention!” Chief Director Stepanov raised his voice to be heard above machinery and the clatter of working women. “My son has chosen his companion for the party. I am sure you regret that only one among you can be chosen. For the rest of you, your cake shall be provided, and drink too, at the close of day, and may you make merry with it!”

Chief Director Stepanov made a motion for the women to continue their work. Tanya sidled up to Anastasia with a conspiratorial whisper. “I wonder who he chose? It wasn’t me after all – unless he hasn’t let me know yet. I wonder why Director Stepanov didn’t tell us who the lucky girl is?”

Anastasia replied with a noncommittal shrug. She didn’t feel equal to telling anyone anything yet.

I’m going to the party. What am I going to wear? I have nothing. And… Why did he choose me?

—-

Tune in for Chapter 5 tomorrow… In the meantime, join the giveaway!

To the KING be all the glory!

To celebrate Joanne Markey’s release of When Curlew Calls, we have a serial novel for you!

In our last episode with Tabitha Bouldin, we saw our heroine face to face with her former love who gives her unfortunate news about her father’s supposed sordid past. Was he innocent as she believed or is there more to the story? Find out in the next installments…

Whatever Candor may have been planning to tell me, didn’t get a chance to be formulated into words. A distant sound, certainly an explosion, drew his attention, while the man who had driven the cab disappeared through the door. I started to rise, but Candor, probably assuming I planned an escape, jumped to his feet, grabbing hold of my shoulder.

“Stay.”

The cab driver reappeared at a sprint. “They’re blowing the gates open. They haven’t gotten through, but they will soon.”

Candor shook his head, frustration in his voice. “How did they know she’s here?”

The cab driver shook his head. “I should take her. Get her out of here, before they find her.”

I looked from one man to the other. “Before who finds me? What do they want from me?”

“No time for that now!” Candor let go of my shoulder, and walked back toward his chair. “Fine. Steven, you take Alethea and get her to safety. I’ll remain here and greet our guests.”

“Why don’t you-” The cab driver wouldn’t, however, let me finish.

“Let’s go. Right now. Questions later.”

I glanced back at Candor, but he merely looked grave. “I’ll see you soon, Alethea.”

I didn’t get a chance to reply before I’d been hurried through the doorway.

Another explosion went off as we exited and the gateway fell through with an echoing crash. Steven, the cab driver, grabbed my hand and began running the opposite direction. Shouts followed us.

I couldn’t begin to keep up with him on my own, but he seemed to know how to drag me along without allowing me to faceplant. Before long, however, the stitch in my side made me wish faceplanting could be an option.

Dragging me through a short doorway, down an alley, up a long street, and down two more alleys, all I could think of were more questions. I didn’t understand.

At the same time, reflecting on Candor’s words about my father, I wasn’t sure I wanted to understand. I didn’t want to believe my father to be a criminal. Surely, Candor had to be wrong. He had his information mixed up. His proof twisted. He must.

We hadn’t suffered and believed in Father all these years, for nothing!

Down another alley, my breath coming so short I could barely get any oxygen, Steven finally stopped.

“Catch your breath. I don’t hear them anymore. I don’t think they followed us.”

I bent over, staring at the filthy street, trying to obey. Steven hardly seemed to need such trivial things as catching one’s breath.

Two cats twisted through a pile of garbage nearby, as thunder broke out once again. The rain began to come down faster again. I shivered and looked up at the man in front of me.

“Candor isn’t here.”

He stared down at me, almost, it seemed, amused. “No, he isn’t.”

I shrugged. “Since he isn’t here, you can tell me, please. What in the world is going on?”

To be continued tomorrow with Liz Tolzma… While you wait, however, make sure you enter the GIVEAWAY! It’s the best way to help deal with the suspense and anticipation!

To the KING be all the glory!

I’ve always loved Nutcrackers, but I haven’t ever had one of my own. Unless earrings count – and I don’t think they do. This Christmas, I decided to remedy the situation and get one. Or two. Or three. I did consider that the poor Nutcracker might get lonely, if I only got one, so it could only be kind to get some companions for him. That seems like good logic, at any rate.

I’ll blame Chautona that I went searching for a Nutcracker store. I didn’t know such a thing existed – let alone in Arizona – but she sent me a picture of the Nutcracker that she put in her new book, The Nutcracker Suite, and that is all I needed. Off I went on a hunt to find a store filled with Nutcrackers. My GPS led me to the wrong place three times, but I finally found it tucked away, all alone in the desert. Nifty Nutcracker’s Nook.

It really should have been Nutty Nutcracker’s Nook, if you ask me, but I get ahead of myself. The moment I stepped inside, the scents and sounds of Christmas engulfed me. Someone must have been baking cookies and brewing hot apple cider, because no candle can get those to such perfection. Music from The Nutcracker played at the perfect volume, while twinkle lights strung about the room seemed to chime with tiny bells with every sparkle. Green garlands decorated the shelves and tables, while a literal army of Nutcrackers in all shapes and sizes stood at attention. I didn’t see another human, but I can’t say that I looked for one.

Mesmerized by the Nutcrackers, I began wandering through the irregular store. Near the back, standing on a very furthest corner of an old bookshelf, decorated and filled with Nutcracker men, I saw one who I fancied looked rather shy. I reached for him and, to my horror, off dropped the poor Nutcracker’s head! I caught the heavy ball of wood, staring at those painted eyes, wondering where I’d seen them before.  

“Puu eee ack!”

I think I just stared.

“Puu eee ack!”

The head of the Nutcracker began to tremble in my hand and I wondered what in the world I had gotten into.

“Puu ee ack, oo you ‘ear? I iding!”

Why I understood the thing, I don’t know. I suppose it must be difficult to talk without your lower jaw, but I knew what he said. No, my shock came from the ball of wood talking to me. Perhaps, I should have been better prepared. I’d just read Pinocchio, after all. I shook my head.

“Put you back? You’re… hiding?”

The eyes seemed to nod. That’s when I recognized the face.

“You look exactly like Chautona’s Nutcracker!”

His eyes widened.

“You are Chautona’s Nutcracker!”

“Puu ee ack. ‘Iding.”

“Why are you hiding?”

“I ‘on’t ee ‘ear ‘ong.”

“Why won’t you be here long?”

Either he didn’t trust me or he grew tired of talking. Both are plausible.

“Put him back! Put him back!” The chant, beginning soft and low, grew in depth and volume as the army of Nutcrackers voiced their support of their broken brother. I stared far longer than I should have, before I nodded. I moved two of the tallest Nutcrackers on the bookshelf, then carefully placed the headless body well behind them. Carefully, I balanced the head on top.

“ank you. ‘ot afe. ‘Ight eak ee again.”

Before I could assure the Nutcracker that no one would be breaking him again, that I would do my best to keep him safe, I heard the store door open. All the Nutcrackers grew silent. I moved the two giants further back to better hide the poor broken fellow, and moved to examine a row standing on a tall shelf.

“Where is he!”

I couldn’t see the speaker, but he sounded human and quite angry.

“The broken Nutcracker, lady, where is he?”

I stuttered, trying to see whoever seemed to see me. Also, I despise being called “lady” in that voice.

“I know that you know and you’ll tell me!”

“I…”

“Don’t tell! Don’t tell! Don’t tell!” The Nutcracker chant began again.

I blinked.

“Where is he?” The figure started to come around the corner, large and intimidating. “If you don’t tell me-“

I bolted awake. When had I fallen asleep? I checked my phone. Of course, I ought to be asleep at 3:49 in the morning.

A message from an unknown number showed a picture of Chautona’s broken Nutcracker, demanding to know how he broke. Still fuzzy from my dream, I typed back a response, “I don’t know. I certainly didn’t break him. I only hid him. Go ask Sandra Barela.”

Not until the sun rose did it occur to me that answering unknown numbers with the names of people I knew, not only was something I never did, but also wasn’t all that bright. All the same, I’m pretty sure that Sandy can take care of herself, so she’ll be all right. I’m quite certain.

“…Rumpelstiltskin.”

I looked up at the grinning blue eyed little girl, her blonde hair dancing around her shoulders. I don’t recall for certain what she said to me, other than that she included her newest nickname for me. In the short time I’d known this girl, several years my junior, she had come up with a small number of names to call me, often with a meaning that went above my head. Like today.

I turned my attention back down to the Monopoly board, but her brother shook his head. “Wow. You have the nicest names for her!”

I snapped my head up again and the girl’s grin deepened. I turned to her brother. “What is Rumpelstiltskin?”

She started to giggle, while he raised his eyebrows. “You don’t know who Rumpelstiltskin is?”

“No.”

He didn’t answer, but took his turn at Monopoly instead.

“Is Rumpelstiltskin good or bad?”

He shrugged. “He’s pretty much a villain.”

The girl laughed.

That night marked my very first introduction to the gold spinning character of fairy tale. Over a decade later, that grinning blue eyed girl still calls me Rumpelstiltskin (or Rumple, depending) except she’s a lovely blue eyed woman instead. (And one of my favorite people, in case you’re still questioning her choice of nickname.) I looked up the fairy tale when I had a chance and it stayed on a shelf in my mental library. Just waiting, apparently.

Waiting until Chautona Havig told me about the mystery fairytales series. She told me all about them one night, all about the plans to turn fairytales into mysteries set in the 1920’s. Despite being in the middle of deadlines for other books, I found myself fascinated. Fairytales and mysteries together? It sounded like so much fun.

When the opportunity to join the series came my way, I took it. As for fairytale? I said I had an idea I could do for Beauty and the Beast, but what I really would like to do would be… Rumpelstiltskin. Years of hearing my nickname had created an affection for the fairytale, while those same years of ruminating on the storyline had wrought a desire to do something with it myself. I just wasn’t sure that anyone else would like the idea. But Chautona did – and off I went!

I discovered one problem, however. I didn’t have much of an idea how to write about Rumpelstiltskin in the real world –  with a murder mystery, no less. I only knew that I wanted to…

In southern Arizona lies Superstition Mountain. It’s beautiful, high, and majestic. It is also one of my favorite sights. To add to the fascination, Superstition Mountain has a legend buried deep within its canyons. The Legend of the Lost Dutchman Goldmine.

I have been enchanted with the legend of the Lost Dutchman Goldmine since childhood and when I thought of Rumpelstiltskin and that goldmine together, they simply clicked. Every roadblock I came up with faded away. I started research – so much research – and even that seemed to align perfectly as I went along. Tiny Apache Junction, the Goldfield ghost town, the dance pavilion, the beautiful desert with all of its cacti, scraggly plants, and critters… The area around Superstition Mountain began to populate, 1929 began to come alive. I saw twirling dresses, slow moving burros, storytelling old prospectors… And then, Dorothy Sinclair showed up, looking out of her low window with the Superstition Mountain towering above her… And I knew I had my story.

It took some time as I went along until I found my Rumple, but find him I did… I just won’t tell you where or how.  Thus, The Lost Dutchman’s Secret was born into the Ever After Mysteries Series.

And speaking of the series… We’re doing our cover reveals! You really ought to go back and see the covers that we’ve already put up – but today is the cover reveal for The Lost Dutchman’s Secret!

But there’s a thing – see, Amazon has a placeholder cover for the book currently, but it’s changing soon and the first person to find the placeholder cover replaced with the real cover on Amazon, shares it somewhere online, and sends the link or screenshot to that share will win a free advance reader copy for the book! You’ll get it before anyone else (except the launch team) gets it!

What are you looking for?

Remember, the left is the placeholder that is on Amazon now. We’re releasing one final cover per day on Amazon and making a game of it. Watch the Amazon Book Page for the change to the beautiful cover painted by Josh Markey. (I loved the new cover the moment I saw it!) We’re so excited that he’s doing this series! His work is just lovely. Keep an eye out, share that link, then send your email to celebratelit@celebratelit.com. The first email to arrive with proof of sharing The Lost Dutchman’s Secret wins!

It’s a series though, so tomorrow make sure you go and see Denise Barela’s cover reveal, (it’s her debut novel!) watch out for her cover change, and share it too!

To the KING be all the glory!