In September I introduced you to Laura DeNooyer when she shared treasures with us. Laura returned in October with some thoughts on the elephant in the room. Today we're getting a peek into her novel, All That is Hidden so please give her a warm WELCOME....
Until the summer of 1968.
Ten-year-old Tina Hamilton’s life changes forever. Trouble erupts when a proposed theme park threatens her tiny Appalachian town. Some folks blame the trouble on “progress,” some blame the space race and men meddling with the moon’s cycles, and some blame Tina’s father. A past he has hidden catches up to him, his family, and the entire town. Suddenly, the clash of a father’s past and present becomes the microcosm of the clash between progressive ideas and small town values.
Tina struggles with her shaken confidence in a father who, in hiding his past, has made a string of choices that shape her childhood. Gradually, Tina gains insight into her father through seemingly unrelated circumstances: her feud with a fellow ballplayer, her friendship with Old Joe who lives alone on the mountain, a gift left to her father by a neighbor fourteen years dead, and a broken promise.
Meticulously researched, this moving and engaging coming-of-age tale is a delightful, richly-textured tapestry of family stories woven with the timeless wisdom of generations past, all of which guide Tina and create the fabric of a journey to forgiveness that will warm your heart.
Tina is forced to answer a difficult question: are secrets worth the price they cost to keep?
Pour yourself a cup of tea, settle in, and come along. Then you decide.
EXCERPT:
Dad spoke differently with Phil than with anyone else I knew. In addition to his northern speech, longer sentences and complicated explanations took the place of his short, pithy quotes and simple observations. It must have been how they used to talk together up in New York.
Phil said, “I’ve done my homework, too, and the job problem has not yet been solved.”
“Well, I don’t care to have a repeat of the Blue Ridge Parkway project. That, too, supplied jobs and necessary revamping but it also built so many new and good roads that life here changed forever, the biggest change in my mind being the tourist draw. We’re not called the Good Roads State for nothing. And this park, to be successful, would warrant more development—”
“The Parkway project is an unfair comparison,” Phil countered. “Besides, the theme park will complement, not destroy, the nature and heritage of these mountains, while improving the economy at the same time.”
“Of course I understand that, but even if it starts out that way, it’s not always going to live up to its good intentions. We’ll end up overcrowded with cheap souvenir shops and silly amusements. Investors will come to set up shop and exploit us. Fields and trees will be plowed over and we’ll all be run by clocks and schedules.”
“Some things will be sacrificed, yes, but not without great reward. Think of all that land out there going to waste! We’re going to make it more available to everybody—”
“And reap money out of their pockets.” Dad’s voice was agitated. “Is that how we measure the land’s value, by how many people use it? By how much money we can make from it?”
“Drew,” Phil spoke deliberately, “I find it hard to believe that you are one of the finest and longest standing members on this town council yet you are blind to the unemployment situation. You put a bigger price on preserving that land out there than you do on people’s welfare—”
“That comment is out of line and you know it.”
“I’m not so sure. Look, whatever side of Civil Rights you’re on, when that whole rioting business blows over, both colored and whites alike can be served by this park. We could be a model town of progress not only in our county but in our state. Your vehement opposition to this is unfair to all those in town who are so easily influenced by you.”
There was a pause and I could picture my father taking a deep breath to compose himself, the way he did with me on the verge of reproof. He spoke again, his pace slower, his tone reasonable. “Phil, I never tell anyone what to think and I don’t appreciate your inference. I merely believe that the list of cons outweighs the pros and I’m happy to pass that list along to any interested party. Not to mention—this is the south. Let’s face it. A park that serves both colored and whites alike is not necessarily going to be welcome here.” The couch springs squeaked as Dad sat back down and calmly continued. “And even with all your Economics Research Associates feasibilities studies, you’ve no guarantee of the park’s success.”
Papers rustled again as if for emphasis. Phil said, “The same numbers you quoted earlier to prove that the tourist industry is alive and well are the same numbers that guarantee the success of this park.”
“But you can’t operate on idealism here,” Dad countered. “Every attempt by anyone else to try something similar to Disneyland has failed and that would surely be a waste of our resources. And even if it were successful, I’m not so sure I want a Disneyland duplicate around here.”
Phil took on a sarcastic tone. “Yes, and we all know how much artistic integrity Disney sacrificed to create his little paradise. You of all people shouldn’t be threatened by your architectural bias. This is truly ironic to hear you—”
“People change. I’ve seen what happened to the Cherokee tradition around here, adulterating real Indian crafts and customs. Something is lost when things go on display like museum pieces that tourists can walk by, point to, and remark how quaint it all is.”
Another pause lingered, then Phil spoke with quiet pity, as if delivering a diagnosis for a terminal illness. “I’m sorry you’ve grown so opposed to progress.”
“Progress? Progress? Now that’s a misnomer if I ever heard one.” Again, Dad stopped to collect himself. “To have to market ourselves in order to be worth something is a downright falsehood. Is it progress to link our town to highways and big cities, the rat race, and rushing around? And when our kids have to wake up every morning wondering who’s going to beat them to the big job or the big salary? When they start counting money and positions instead of old-fashioned values and—”
“Baseball cards, Drew. Baseball cards and home runs. Kids can’t stay sheltered from the rest of the world forever. They’ve got to learn there’s more to life than just a sandlot game. And it’s not our intention to cash in our small town values, but instead to bring in some big town ideas for the betterment of everyone. Now that’s progress.”
“You may see the park as a ticket for that, but I see it as a one-way ticket from tranquility to a lot of things I never want my children to see.”
“Like what you did in New York?” Phil’s voice was sharp. Mom’s head perked up as she stood washing dishes.
My father did not reply so Phil added, “It’s a shame we can’t work together like we used to. Until today, I still had hope that there was even a speck of the old you. But now I see you’ve really changed, Drew.”
“I see it as a change for the better.”
BIO:
Award-winning author Laura DeNooyer lives with her husband Tim
near Milwaukee, Wisconsin. They have four adult children. On either end of
child rearing, she taught middle school and high school English, creative
writing, and/or art. She currently teaches writing to home schooled students,
participates in writers conferences and critique groups, and hosts a blog that
celebrates creativity: Journey to Imagination. Laura has a young adult fantasy
series underway, as well as historical fiction for adults. Find out more by visiting Laura's Blog and connecting with her on Facebook.
All That is Hidden can be purchased at Amazon.
Thanks for sharing your book with us, Laura! We certainly wish you the best of luck and God's blessings.
Until later, friends....take care and God bless.
PamT
