Semi-Take off!

I decided it was time to post excerpts of my novel. I will post two excerpts from different places in the story, neither one the beginning. I'd love to hear feedback, but please know that these are still very much works in progress. I hope to be finished with the book in early 2010.


The setting for the novel is 1838, western North Carolina

Set-up for Excerpt 1: Angeline, the main character, is at a party given in her honor at her father's home. She is new to this community, and new to her father's home.

Excerpt 1

I walked aimlessly away from the crowd. The noise of the music was getting on my nerves, and I needed to hear the sounds of nature. I needed to sort my thoughts after the encounter with Sam.

The log that I had sat on earlier was vacant and situated in a dark corner where I would go unnoticed. Gratefully I sank down, resting my weary feet. These delicate slippers were beautiful, but they were rubbing nasty blisters on my little toes. I eased them off one at a time and stretched my stockinged feet out in front of me.

The stars blinked above in an inky sky. Mama and I had always studied the dark skies together, and seeing them now, without her, made my heart ache. Was she looking at the same stars? Was she lonely for me? She understood me, like no one here did. But I never fully realized it until I left her.

The breeze was chilly, and I rubbed my arms, hesitant to leave my hiding place to retrieve a shawl from my bedroom. Just as I was reaching for my shoes, I heard Grandmother’s voice not very far away. I turned my head and listened, frowning as I heard my name.

“Oh, yes, she’s a dear girl. Will decided to adopt her . . . . you know he’s always considered himself an orphan since his father was killed so tragically before he was born . . . . he’s so soft-hearted towards orphans.”

What was she talking about? My stomach felt queasy.

A low pitched male voice said, “Well, Temperance, beg pardon, but we’d heard that she was Will’s illegitimate child.”

Who was Grandmother talking to? I leaned forward, trying not to roll the log, and spotted her through the foliage in a cluster of men and women several yards away. I could see her face, her eyes darting sharply from one person to another as they spoke. Her eyebrows were arched, her mouth pursed.

“Yes, beg pardon, Temperance, but a love child with a Cherokee woman is what folks is saying.” This input was made by the woman who stood with her back to me, her straw bonnet bobbing up and down with each shrill word.

Grandmother’s laughter rang out, unfamiliar and false. “How ridiculous. Will is a good Christian man. He would never do such an immoral thing. And Angeline – she doesn’t have a drop of Cherokee in her. She is white through and through.”

I felt my stomach lurch, and I covered my mouth. So that’s how Grandmother was presenting me to her friends. I was an orphaned white child. Despite her chilly reception, and the conversation I’d overheard between her and Papa, I thought she had accepted me for who I was.

“I saw her dancing with Sam Sherrill,” another man said. “He looked mighty taken with her. She’s a beauty.”

Though tears clouded my view, I held my breath to hear what she would say.

After a slight hesitation, Grandmother inclined her head and smiled, her voice dripping with condescension. “Well, Sam is a very kind young man.”

My thoughts swirled angrily. Kind young man? Yes, he would have to be a kind-hearted soul to want to dance with your half-breed granddaughter.


Set up for Excerpt 2: Angeline has survived a brutal rape after being captured by soldiers who are rounding up Cherokees for the Indian Removal (later known as the Trail of Tears).

Excerpt 2

A firm hand grabbed my hair and jerked my head out of the water. I came up, gasping and sputtering.

“Hey, now, ain’t nothin’ worth that.”

I wrenched my hair out of his grasp and scooted away from the soldier. “Get away from me!”

He held up his hands in surrender. “I ain’t gonna do nothin’ to you.”

I grabbed my dress from the bank to cover myself and scowled up at him. His face wasn’t familiar. He was younger, much closer to my age than the three men who had attacked me. This man had a thin, long face, brown mournful eyes which regarded me warily, and a ragged mustache that was barely more than peach fuzz on his upper lip. He was so lean his pale cheeks were hollow.

His hands, now slowly descending to his side, were blood-stained.

He followed my gaze, and brought them, palm up, for my inspection. “I was dressin’ the bear. We killed it, ’member?” He turned and thrust his hands into the water, rubbing them together while scarlet billows stained the clear water.

I blinked hard and rose on shaky legs, still gripping the dress to hide my body. He looked over his shoulder.

“Git yer dress on, miss.”

I squinted at him, humiliation filling me as I squatted behind a rhododendron bush. My modesty was needless; he had seen me. My eyes flooded with angry tears as I stepped into my shift, then made my trembling fingers work the hook and eye closures on the front of my dress – but it was no use. My dress was tattered. Pieces of my bodice yawned open, looking as surprised and wounded as I felt. I held them, pieces in each hand, marveling at how quickly it had all happened. I held them over my chest and stood very still. Maybe if I held them there long enough, hard enough. . . .

I heard voices from over the ridge, and lifted my head to listen more keenly. It was them. And Tamar. Everything registered then: the smell of food that had wafted down to me, their raucous voices and hers, calm. I’d been hearing these things, smelling meat, in the back of my mind, not conscious of anything except what was before me: my trembling fingers and taking one ragged breath at a time. Was it possible that common life went on around me? Or had they made Tamar suffer the same way I had?

I stood and craned my neck, but saw nothing beyond the bushes at the top of the ridge. The pieces of my bodice fell away, and I stood, exposed and betrayed by my tattered dress.

My arms across my chest, I came out from my shelter, and stepped tentatively toward the skinny soldier. “Wh-where are those men?”

The man shook his hands dry, then finished the job on his uniform trousers. He gestured with his head toward the camp. He looked at me with an expression I couldn’t read, which made my heart beat fast. I took a step back, watching him. He pursed his lips, sighed. He put his hands on his knees and stood, watching me the whole time.

“Don’t make me chase you, now,” he said, his voice lower than before. He walked toward me, his hat in his hand.

I shook my head, my breath coming in pants. My skirt tangled in my legs as I took quick backward steps, almost tripping before I turned and ran. I shrieked as I felt his bony hand close around my arm.

“Hey – now look here,” he said, steadying me with both hands on my arms. “What they did to you was bad, but you still gotta come with us.”

I looked up into his thin face, seeking understanding but finding none. “What? Go where?”

His brown eyes connected with mine, then fell away. “Stockade.”

3 comments:

Wow! I'm impressed! Your #1 had me . . . I connected to the story and your character. I could sense her shock at finding out how her grandmother was "selling her story" to the public. It made me want to know what kind of man Will is and too, what kind of mother would allow her to leave? What are the circumstances? Or is she no longer living? (Although your mention of looking at the same night sky led me to believe that she was still alive.) #2 was harder for me to connect with only because there is not much of the story to connect it with . . . why is she traveling with a group of soldiers? were the three attackers members of the army? is this the trail of tears? Your words evoke the senses. Congratulations to your work and your bravery in sharing it. I hope to read more in the future. :) Buffie

August 9, 2009 at 7:03 PM  

Teresa!

This is wonderful! I have a lot of questions too about the characters just in reading the bit you posted! I want to know what happened and why. Will you be posting more? I can't wait until it's published & I can read the whole book! Congratulations!

I guess we never know what talents people have hidden, do we? I so agree with you about the reasons you decided to follow your dream. Usually the only thing keeping us from it - is fear. I let that get in the way all the time! We just need to remember WHO gave us the dream in the first place, hmmmm ... sounds like an epiphany to me!

I pray that God will bless you with the strength, endurance and tenacity to see it through to the end!

Jacque Marshall

August 10, 2009 at 2:50 PM  

Thanks so much, both of you, for your kind words! Buffie I took your comments and enlarged on the set up for the second excerpt, so maybe that will help the sketchiness of the scene. Thanks for letting me know what didn't work for you. And Jacque, you're so right that the Creator of dreams needs to be honored first and foremost! Thanks for your prayers.

Teresa

August 10, 2009 at 11:25 PM  

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