Thank you to searchingforperfection and catbrown for their hard work in editing and all of their suggestions. I appreciate all votes, feedback and comments, and I do read all the comments. This story is a sequel to The Doctor's Daughter. Both are set during the War of 1812. Since the death of Major General Brock in the fall of 1812, neither side has scored...
Disclaimer: All characters and events are purely fictional. All characters are at least 18 years of age. "Bracchia et voltum teretisque suras integer laudo; fuge suspicari cuius octauvm trepidavit aetas claudere lustrum." ("Arms and countenance and those lissome ankles cooly uninvolved I commend; suspect not one whose rushing life has already drawn its f...
In the spring of 1969 I landed a job as the overnight DJ on a radio station in Seattle. I was the only person in the station during most of my shift and enjoyed talking to listeners who called to request songs or just wanted to talk to someone. One of my regular callers, Kristy, had a pleasant voice and a thing for a particular Linda Ronstadt song. She would...
(My thanks again go to Muddy for her editing. In fiction and for Mitch's benefit, this tribe exists. In fact this tribe bares no resemblance to any Native Indian tribe either in America or Canada.) If you look on any map you will never find Summer Canyon. Its name has been passed down from generation to generation, and even when map makers came they looked...
Tuesday, August 12, 2014: Life was good! After a weekend of rainy, misty weather, the sun was shining, and it was warm but not as muggy as eastern Kentucky can get, as my wife and I were sitting on our west-facing screened-in porch, drinking ice-cold lemonade and admiring the lowering sun in the distance. The sun would set in the "notch" between the two mou...
Chapter 1 Maddy and Bolt Jones own and operate a recovery 'Health Farm' on a semi-remoted place amid grassland farming and forests on the Banks Peninsular, 90 miles drive from Christchurch, the largest city in the South Island of New Zealand. The peninsular is a rugged but nevertheless charming area, surrounded by marvellous ocean vistas and peppered with...
Writing fiction doesn't pay much, and you give up a lot when you try to be a writer. Money, the things other people have, even family—you can pretty much kiss all that goodbye. But there are compensations. Your life's maybe not as wide as most people's, but it's deeper, and sometimes it's more interesting. You're always trying to explain and describe things...
2016 December "You're not from these parts, are you?" Seeing as the woman who said it had a Dublin accent that sounded like she just got off the boat, it was a little offensive. My dad did not think so. He laughed, "No, dear, we're from England," and my mom added, "from Brighton. I don't know if you've heard of it." "Of course I have." "And where a...
Mathew woke up in the dark. At first, he panicked, as he tried rolling to the right to get up. He hit a wall. "OUCH! What the?" Laying there holding his head where it contacted the wall he finally remembered switching rooms yesterday. "Grrrrr," He carefully rolled to the left and swung his legs off his bed. The sun had not even started to brighten the easter...
Charity Begins Charles was a lowly cordwainer (a cobbler in modern terms). A religious man whose wife died during the plague outbreak in 1665. He lived in an isolated community in Essex, with his only daughter Charity. Age and failing eyesight meant that he could no longer make much of a living. He worried about his daughter who, having reached the age of...