excerpt

*The following originally appeared at Author's Galley: Manuscripts and Wooden Spoons, Where Novelist Candace Calvert asks fellow writers that simmering question: What's Cooking? We begin with a behind the scenes look at my kitchen. My poor kitchen. It’s been feeling a little neglected these days, since I’m on deadline and the last thing I think about is making dinner. In fact, if I wasn’t already planning to try a new snack recipe today, I would have to take a picture of me pouring a bag of frozen P.F. Chang’s into the skillet and turning on my rice maker.  Yep, that’s really what I’m doing for dinner tonight. So let me show you my kitchen. That’s our new coffee bar on the far wall. On the left is a stack of research books I need to return to the library. On the right, we are growing some things—and apparently letting others die a slow death. My four-year-old’s can of grass is doing very well!  We have home-made menus under our vinyl tablecloth. During the summer, our kids get to order off the menu. But at night they eat whatever I put in front of them (in theory).     The rest of our kitchen is below. I’ve also included a picture of our fridge, mostly because I love the note at the top left which says, “Mom, I will obey you every day. From Elsa Green.” I’m keeping track of that one.       The Recipe Now for the recipe for No-Bake Energy Bites!  (courtesy of www.gimmesomeoven.com) It’s easy! Because I’m on a deadline! (Also, these would be great for book clubs!) Here is what you need, along with a bowl and a spoon:     Yes, I had been snacking on the chocolate chips already. It happens. 1 c. dry oatmeal ½ c. chocolate chips (for a healthier and less delicious version, use craisins instead. Or tofu. I don't care.) ½ c. peanut butter ½ c. ground flaxseed (I used whole flaxseed because that's what I had, and it worked fine, though I hear the ground stuff is better for you. Just FYI.) 1/3 c. honey 1 tsp. vanilla Mix it all together! You can roll these into balls or spread them in a pan and cut them. Either way, spraying a little Pam on your finger tips will help the process immensely. Now put them in the fridge to set. Enjoy!   The Excerpt And now, here’s an excerpt from my latest release, Widow of Gettysburg. This scene takes place July 1, 1863 in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. (I chose this excerpt because Candace, who originally hosted this blog post, asked for a passage related to food. :) ) *** The shots were so faint in the distance, maybe Hettie was right. Maybe, if a battle was to be had indeed, it would move farther away, not closer. Bella smoothed her apron over her green checked skirt and went into the kitchen to start baking for Hettie and her girls. She hitched her thoughts to the task as she would a horse to its post, concentrating on the dusting of flour on her fingertips, the scraping of the wooden spoon against the sides of the bowl, the spicy scent of the cinnamon and raisins waiting to be mixed in. It was something her mother had taught her long ago. When your thoughts run away, focus on what your hands are doing instead, shut out everything else. It was good advice—slaves’ hands were rarely idle. Bella’s mouth tilted up. My hands are rarely idle now. At least the driver’s whip would not reach her here.             If only her memories would stay as far away.           Footsteps flew down the staircase over the kitchen, jerking Bella’s attention to the doorway until Hettie filled its frame. Truly, the lines around her eyes and mouth spoke of a woman much older than the woman’s twenty-six years. “Bella, come quickly.” It was a breath, spoken all at once, the kind that leaves no room for questioning. In one fluid movement, Bella dropped her spoon on the work table, wiped her hands on her apron, flicked her gaze to the window.             “No don’t! Come away from the window at once.” It was a whisper now, and frantic. Hettie grabbed her arm then—something she had never done before—and pulled Bella forcefully out of the kitchen, down the servant’s stairs and into the cellar.             “Stay here, at all costs, and don’t make a sound.” Hettie stood silhouetted in the doorway to the stairs, the light spilling over her shoulders from behind, the shadows hiding her face. “I will keep them away from you, I promise.” She left. A latch clicked from the other side.             Bella was trapped. Again. ***

by Donna Tallman Step by determined step I walk on through Arlington Cemetery.  A car passes on my left, then another and another. The procession of mourners drives by in slow motion making its way to the grave site. A color guard stands at attention near a freshly dug grave. A bugler waits for his call, and a squad of seven riflemen stands across the field for their moment of tribute. Cicadas hum just below the surface of unspeakable grief. I hurry under a tree, not suitably dressed for a funeral nor invited by the family; but here by circumstance in my nation’s field of honor. He is my soldier. Beautiful in its simplicity, the military funeral proceeds with expected precision.  A minister addresses the young crowd of mourners. The flag covering the soldier’s coffin is folded and given to today’s grieving widow whose two restless toddlers squirm next to her. She bows her head in anguished respect - uncertain the nation is truly grateful for her sacrifice, but so very proud of the hero her husband is. The riflemen give a twenty-one gun salute matched by twenty-one unexpected echoes from another burial in progress on the cemetery grounds. The shots of honor reverberate back and forth across the valley as if to emphasize the sobering cost of freedom. The cicadas pick up their song again whirring louder and louder until I feel them pounding in my ears. Looking up through the tree, I see that a helicopter has joined their cacophony giving tribute to this fallen hero. The bugler closes with the mournful notes of “Taps,” hanging onto the last note until it slowly dissolves into history.   The crowd disperses while I wait under the tree. Stillness returns. Slowly, I begin to walk the uniform rows of gravestones. The magnitude of what we have asked of our soldiers and the grief these families are going through comes quickly into focus. I realize that for the first time ever, I am standing in the graveyard of a war in progress. “Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13). Prayer: Father, remind me that liberty never travels without its companion, sacrifice, and that sacrifice never travels without love. When I am tempted to forget the sacrifices of others on my behalf, remind me that even You paid the ultimate price for my freedom – the life of your only Son because You loved me. *This devotion is an excerpt from Stories of Faith and Courage from the War in Iraq and Afghanistan (AMG Publishers 2009).