Good Morning!
It's C-O-L-D here in SWLA. In fact it's going to be cold for several days here and across the nation so what better thing to do than curl up with a good book?!
Although you might recognize this book from a previous sidebar ad, our guest is brand new to the blog so please welcome, Ida Flowers!
Take it away Ida! Tell us all about Jessie's Passion, and yourself...
Thanks for having me, Pam! I write—and read—historical fiction because it transports me into the past and all its fascinations without requiring me to give up the ice in my Tom Collin’ses and my warm daily shower. I write women’s fiction because the needs and desires of women are universal across time and space, and I write Southern fiction because, simply, I am a Southerner.
Jessie’s Passion is the story of a strong-willed, impetuous young woman—much like I was at her age—who is determined to have what she wants no matter what the cost. But at the heart of her character is the knowing that she is right. She has an unshaken belief that she is meant to be with the man she loves and in the end, she is proven right.
Jessie’s Passion is set against the backdrop of the Stamp Act and the Regulator movement in the South Carolina colony in the 1760s. I have done extensive research and much of the background of this story is based upon a book I bought at a library sale that contains the diaries of a traveling minister during the time of the Regulators. I used it to fact-check my writing when my characters were experiencing events and to see what the weather was like that season. My research contributes to the cohesion of the story and makes it believable, makes us think it could have actually happened—and probably did.
South Carolina, 1765. A group of wealthy young friends. A colony terrorized by outlaws. A young woman obsessed.
Jessie Maclaine, the youngest of the group of friends from the Carolina Lowcountry, is a spoiled, passionate girl determined to have her own way and marry Robbie Stewart, who still sees her as the tag-along pest of their childhood. Her every waking thought is focused on making him to see her as a woman, and in her dreams, he belongs to her. Robbie Stewart is the eldest of the group and the heir to Brianag, his uncle’s plantation. He is far too occupied with tormenting the agents responsible for enforcing the Stamp Act and helping his deceased father’s family defend themselves against outlaws in the Backcountry to pay any attention to Jessie—except when he finds an opportunity to tease her. As unrest builds in the colonies and the outlaws continue their rampages in the mountains, Jessie learns that the world is bigger than youthful desire and that choices made impetuously are followed inevitably by consequences—some of which are irreparable.
Excerpt: I grew so weary at times I felt that I must get down and rest; but then I thought of Robbie, ill and calling my name, and this thought spurred me forward. The McDonald boys laughed and joked together with Kevin. The Creek boys went ahead and behind, watchful and quiet.
As the sun was setting, we reached the village. The people came forward to greet us. An old woman with gray hair and linsey-woolsey clothes, and odd ornaments adorning her neck, stood at the forefront.
At last memory rang true, and a shock thrummed through me. I remembered her now. I had been frightened of her when I had awakened at last from my illness. I remembered her blue eyes. I stared at her with confusion. She was not an Indian. Why did she live at the Creek village, and why was she called Old Creek Woman, when she was clearly a white woman?
Kevin lifted me down, and my knees gave way beneath me. He held me up on one side while Bobby held me on the other. My feet and legs tingled painfully as the blood returned.
"Robbie-Jessie," said the old woman, and I remembered that she had addressed me thusly before.
I tried to curtsey to her with the men holding onto my arms. "Madam," I said.
"Come," she said, and I followed her, stumbling.
She lifted the curtain on one of the houses and ducked beneath it. I bent down and followed her. At first, I could see only the fire, but then my eyes adjusted and I looked where she pointed. I stumbled forward and fell to my knees.
"Robbie," I said, "Oh, Robbie, my love."
He did not respond. My heart stopped. I thought for one appalling moment that he was dead. I put my ear to his lips and felt his breath, reached beneath the skins that covered him and felt his heartbeat, rapid and thin, beneath his burning skin. My own heart began to beat again, and my tears flowed swiftly, dropping onto his face, as I kissed him over and over. "Oh, Robbie, my love, my only love," I whispered. "Oh, Robbie, Robbie."
Now an empty-nester, Ida spends as much time as possible traveling and researching the history of women in Early America while working on the series of novels set in Colonial South Carolina.
Wonderful! Thanks again, for visiting with us today, Ida!
Until next time, stay warm Friends.
PamT
