Books, Reviews, Short Stories, Authors, Publicity, a little poetry, music to complement...and other stuff including politics, about life... "Books, Cats: Life is Sweet..."
Dreams I’ve held so tight I feel their roots in me
Tell me how do I let it stay buried?
How do I forget the ghost? The specter in my bloodstream?
Half of me is sealed behind a face just out of reach
The tenor of a voice lost to the sea
A name spoken like a wound
Or never spoken at all
Forgotten like he isn’t half of me
Twenty-three chromosomes of my legacy
What did he leave behind, besides my eyes?
What did he leave inside of me?
What is him? What is me?
How much of my mother’s hatred is caused by pressing on a wound
Rather than a fresh bruise
Would he have protected me?
Don’t go digging up ghosts they say
But if I let them lie
I’ll die swallowed up whole by the emptiness of me
My lack of symmetry
One side of me abandoned
A haunted houses, my ghosts and me
So I will dig
Even when my arms shake
When the hot sun evaporates the hope from me
I’ll perform seances in the dirt
Scream into graves and brace myself for what echoes back to me
If the truth is jagged, I’ll bleed with my eyes open
If I find nothing, well at least I’ll know I searched
Sought for something
Rather than settled for nothing
Maybe no good will come from it
My ghosts volatile and malignant
Misty figures of history
Maybe I won’t find peace
Just questions with sharper teeth
But the bite doesn’t scare me
These ghosts are mine
And I’ll carry them with me
~~~
When I read this poem, I knew for sure, that this writer has much to share and I believe it is important that she does... No matter our situation, there are parts of each of us that are hidden, but, often, yearning to be shared and talked about... This poem reminded me of my father who I never knew. But, for me, at least I had his family as part of my life... On the other hand, I know very little about he as a person, as my father... How cruel people can be when they tell somebody to "get over it..." or something similar... In my opinion, they don't have the right to do that. Each of us must be able to seek a caring response... Autumn presents her thoughts, now, in an aggressive manner--she is clearly disturbed with being told to ignore some part of her life that is or was important to her. Do any of us have the right to disagree? I don't think so... Unless it could be done in a loving conversation... I'm having that type of talks with my BFF and it is amazing to be able to share openly, freely and receive a response. I hope Autumn finds that friend some day, or finds that part of her that is missing and still unknown...
My only thought is that, Autumn, you might find help from a Man who once lived and is not a ghost, but a friend called Jesus...He has always been there for me when there was nobody else and, really, always... Just a thought...
Personally, I normally don't think of it as prayer, rather as conversation... At this age in my life, I'm confident that He listens...but, remember, you need to decide to open your heart to hear... And, you know, He will never say, "Get over it..."
This novel is set in Portsmouth, Hampshire, on the south coast of England. Residents of and visitors to Portsmouth must forgive the author for using her imagination and poetic licence in changing the names of places, streets and locations. This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
‘Yes, a woman could have done it if she surprised him,’ Doctor Gaye Clayton said in answer to Horton’s question as he stared down at the body on the mortuary slab. The victim had been cleaned up but the battered face didn’t look any better than when he’d seen it on the beach. He couldn’t identify him from the photograph that Mrs Thurlow had supplied either. He would have defied the victim’s own mother to identify him. ‘How?’ He stepped back and turned his gaze on the small, freckled woman in front him. To say Doctor Clayton had been a surprise was putting it mildly. He wasn’t sure what he had expected but it wasn’t someone who looked as if she’d just finished college. She said, ‘He could have been kneeling, she came up behind him and applied a Spanish windlass.’ ‘A what?’ asked Cantelli, chewing his gum and studying the body with interest. Horton was always amazed that the mortuary smell never seemed to get to Cantelli. ‘A piece of material is looped around the victim’s neck and then tightened with a stick, like a tourniquet. If it’s done quickly enough and the victim is a relatively weak person then it’s possible.’ Cantelli said, ‘Then she undressed him? Difficult undressing a dead body.’ ‘Yes, but not impossible.’ ‘Time of death?’ asked Horton, trying to place Doctor Clayton’s accent. West Country? He could hear Tom, the mortuary attendant, a big, brawny auburn haired man, clattering about in the background whistling a tune from The Sound of Music. ‘There was rigor in the body and taking this into account, the air temperature and the rectal temperature I took at the scene I would say he had been dead about nine hours before he was found.’ ‘Which puts it at about nine o’clock last night.’ Four days since Mrs Thurlow last saw her husband on Friday. ‘Nine, ten, thereabouts,’ Doctor Clayton confirmed. ‘Not a very pleasant experience for whoever found him.’
‘I did,’ Horton bluntly announced. ‘I was out running.’ ‘Oh.’ She gave him a look that was both assessing and curious, which made him feel as if he was lying on the slab. ‘Do you know if he was killed where I found him?’ ‘There is significant bruising and scratches on his back and legs. I think he was killed not far from where you found him, Inspector, then dragged up the beach most probably to prevent him from being covered by the incoming tide. He wasn’t restrained. He was killed quickly. The photographer has taken some images of the marks on the body and I’ll blow them up on the computer later and see what I can make of them. The forensic scientist, Jolliffe — is that his name — quiet man, all teeth and glasses?’ ‘That’s him.’ Cantelli smiled. ‘He’s taken samples for DNA checking and scraped off a layer of skin for the fingerprints.’ ‘Good, we can check that out almost immediately.’ Jolliffe would feed his information into the National Automated Fingerprint Identification System, which would come back with a result within minutes. DNA would take longer. The sooner they lifted Thurlow’s prints from the comb the better. ‘When can we have your full report, doctor?’ Horton moved away, pulling off the green gown. ‘If you leave me to get on with my work I’d say some time later today,’ she answered brightly, then addressed the mortuary attendant. ‘We can start now, Tom. The nice policemen are just leaving.’ Horton smiled.
Outside the mortuary he said, ‘You didn’t tell me she was like that, Barney!’ Cantelli shrugged. ‘What were you expecting?’ ‘I don’t know, someone older, stouter, uglier and with a moustache.’ Cantelli laughed. ‘She knows her stuff and she can hold her own. I’ve seen Uckfield try to brow beat her without the slightest effect and you know what he’s like when he gets into his stride. A double decker bus couldn’t stop him; if it ran over him he’d still sit up and give it a speeding fine.’ The corridor into the main part of the hospital smelt of cabbage and disinfectant but even that was better than the formaldehyde of the mortuary, Horton thought. Cantelli continued. ‘I suppose she’s had to be assertive working in a still predominantly man’s world, or so PC Kate Somerfield keeps telling me. I said she should try living in my house.’ Cantelli dodged a woman pushing a grumbling elderly man in a wheelchair. ‘I’m outnumbered save for Joe and he’s not even five so hardly counts. ‘I can see that Doctor Clayton has charmed you.’ ‘Well you’ve got to admit, she’s a hell of a lot prettier than old Gorringe. God rest his soul.’ ‘Anyone’s prettier than Gorringe, even you, Cantelli. What do you think now that you’ve seen the body?’ Cantelli looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘It looks like Thurlow, same build, but I can’t see Mrs Thurlow bashing his face in like that. Why wait until last night when she could have killed him on Friday night or over the weekend?’ Horton agreed but he didn’t have any answers yet. ‘Let’s go and check how Brian is.’
Brian Evans was still unconscious. Horton had a quiet word with the constable while Cantelli spoke to Evans’ wife, Maureen. It seemed the prognosis was good though, which was a relief. Snatching a glance at his watch, Horton nodded at Cantelli, who said his farewells to Maureen and Horton did the same. Soon they were outside but they hadn’t gone far when Horton saw, crossing the crowded hospital car park, a slight man, wearing a brightly patterned loose fitting shirt, over long navy shorts. He was limping. Horton could only see the back of him but there was no mistaking who he was. His heart skipped a beat. At first he thought it was an illusion conjured up by his anxieties but no, walking steadily towards a blue Mercedes, was the owner of Alpha One and the man who had ruined his life: Colin Jarrett.
‘Be back in a tick, Barney. Wait for me by the car.’ ‘Andy . . .’ But Horton was already half way across the car park. ‘Not ill, are you, Mr Jarrett?’ he said coolly, stalling him before he could climb into the car. He could see a blonde woman of about thirty-five sitting inside. Jarrett spun round; his arm in a sling and a plaster across his bruised forehead. A range of expressions crossed his pinched face starting with shock, progressing to puzzlement and ending with anger. He looked as if he was about to explode. His neck muscles bunched and his bloodshot green-grey eyes narrowed with hatred. ‘What the hell do you want?’ You, trussed up like a turkey and served up for dinner, Horton thought, staring at the sharp-featured man in his mid-forties. He had all the trappings of wealth: the clothes, the car, the blonde well-spoken wife, the boys at the Grammar School and a large house on Portsdown Hill, overlooking the city, but he couldn’t disguise the fact that he’d come up the hard way, a boy from the streets of Portsmouth. His accent was too pronounced, his taste too ostentatious and his eyes too wary. ‘Just enquiring after your health,’ is what Horton actually said. ‘Bollocks.’ ‘What happened to you? One of your customers get fed up with paying his exorbitant membership fee and give you a going over? I almost envy him.’ ‘What would you know about our fees?’ Jarrett snarled. ‘You wouldn’t be able to afford a week’s rate never mind a year. We’re selective about who we let in to Alpha One.’ ‘So I’ve heard.’ ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ ‘Whatever you want it to mean.’ Horton shrugged as if he didn’t much care anyway. Jarrett fingered the large plaster. ‘If you must know some little toe rag in a stolen Range Rover rammed me at the traffic lights at Horsea Marina, early hours of this morning.’ ‘Tch, tch, how very distressing for you.’ ‘Yes it was,’ Jarrett snapped, his unshaven face flushing. ‘And if you lot got your finger out and stopped harassing innocent men and started chasing some real criminals you might actually catch him.’ ‘Harassing? Who’s harassing? Can’t be me because, one, I’m not in the business of harassing and, two, you’re not innocent.’ Jarrett let out a heavy sigh and rolled his tired eyes. ‘Here we go again. You won’t let up, will you?’ Horton stepped closer.
‘No, I won’t. Not until I find Lucy Richardson and get to the truth.’ He could smell garlic on Jarrett’s breath and the sweat from his unwashed body. ‘Then you’ll end up being chucked out of CID, pounding the beat; or picking up your dole money. Take your pick,’ Jarrett quipped. Horton wanted to ram his fist into Jarrett’s face and wipe the mocking smirk from it. It took a supreme effort not to react. It was exactly what Jarrett wanted and if he couldn’t pass this first test then he could indeed kiss goodbye to the job and any chance of finding out exactly what was going on at Alpha One. ‘I run a perfectly legitimate business,’ Jarrett continued. ‘I’ve got nothing to hide and the sooner you get that into your thick skull the better. Lucy was just employed by me like any other girl. I have no idea why she decided to go squawking about you unless of course it was true and, like they say, there’s no smoke without fire.’ Jarrett opened the car door but before he could step inside Horton grabbed hold of it preventing him. Jarrett flinched. It was a small victory but it would do for starters. Horton wanted to scare this man so shitless that he would have no option other than to come after him. When he did he’d be waiting. ‘I’m a very patient man, Jarrett. I don’t care how long it takes, but I will find out what is going on in Alpha One.’ ‘Then you’ll have a bloody long wait.’ Jarrett’s eyes flashed with anger. ‘For heaven’s sake, Colin, get in,’ the woman inside called out irritably. Jarrett hesitated fractionally, then climbed in and slammed the door with a clunk. Horton stepped back as the Mercedes sped past him, already Jarrett had his mobile phone pressed to his ear with his free hand. Horton grinned to himself as he made his way back to the car where Cantelli, jacketless and chewing gum, was waiting for him. ‘Well?’ ‘Well what? I just enquired after his health.’ Cantelli climbed in the car and Horton followed suit. Cantelli turned to Horton with a troubled expression on his face. ‘He’s got powerful friends, Andy.’ He knew that. For a while he and Dennings, from the Vice Squad, had watched Alpha One from the vacant office opposite. They’d seen a prominent councillor enter it as well as one or two respected solicitors and well-known businessmen, and as far as he was aware there was nothing on any of them. He couldn’t question them because they’d go squealing to Superintendent Reine, and they would warn Jarrett. It would also be the same with the staff.
That left him with two courses of action: one to ride Jarrett as hard as he dared without getting kicked out of the police service, until he forced Jarrett’s hand in some way, and the second was to find Lucy and get her to tell him the truth. But where was she? On his return to work yesterday, he had checked criminal records. Nothing. She hadn’t been picked up on any charges in the last two months since her disappearance. Then he had checked to see if she was claiming social security anywhere; she wasn’t. So she had either been paid well to lie about him and was living off the proceeds, or she was holding down a job. If she was, then it was a black economy job because the Inland Revenue had no record of her paying any tax. His guess was that Lucy could afford not to work for some time but when the money ran out what then? She’d be back and he’d be waiting, ready. She’d show up again if only to ask for more money from the man who had paid her to lie. And he knew who that was despite all his protestations of innocence: Colin Jarrett. ‘I can’t leave it, Barney,’ he said quietly. ‘Revenge can be a cruel master.’
Horton shrugged. ‘Then I’ll take my chances.’ He felt the letter in his pocket. His phone rang. It was Walters. ‘The DCI is wondering if you’re going to join him for the briefing, Inspector,’ he said sarcastically. ‘That is, if you’re not too busy.’
‘Course I’m busy. I’m trying to find out who the dead man is,’ Horton snapped. ‘Do you want me to tell the DCI that, guv?’ ‘No.’ Horton guessed that Walters’ interpretation of his remark would be something like tell the DCI to go screw himself. ‘We’ll be there in ten minutes.’ He rang off. As Cantelli threaded his way through the city streets Horton let his mind dwell on his chance encounter with Jarrett. There was something niggling him about it. He replayed it, hearing every nuance, seeing every glance and analysing every word. Maybe he was just clutching at straws, hoping he would read some hidden meaning into Jarrett’s words or expression? For eight months he’d left the man alone despite wanting to beat the truth from him, knowing that if he did Jarrett would have won and he would have been kicked out of the police service quicker than you could say P45. Day after day he had relived every moment of that operation. Night after night he had dreamt of it. He’d even gone so far as to make some notes but he’d ripped them up one night in a drunken rage. His mind trawled back through the year. In March Catherine had thrown him out, she’d had enough of his drinking and his rage. In April, after he had continually pestered her, she had stopped him seeing Emma. In May and June he had got so drunk he could remember nothing, only in July had he come to his senses, when the case had been dropped. He’d been cleared on a technicality — Lucy had disappeared. That was about as much use to him as a hairpin in a hurricane. He had promised Steve Uckfield he wouldn’t attempt to see Jarrett, or have anything to do with Alpha One. Steve had told him to move on with his life. He had intended to but now he knew how utterly impossible that was. He had always known despite his promises. Portsmouth was a big place, but not big enough for him to avoid Jarrett and vice versa. And his future was too irretrievably linked to his past to forget the man.
‘Drop me at the marina, will you, Barney. I want to collect my bike. You return to the station; get those fingerprints over to the bureau for checking. If Uckfield asks for me tell him I’m on my way.’
~~~
Horton is a good cop who had very bad luck... A woman had charged him with several crimes, got the press and the police up in a roar, and then she disappeared... But that didn't change what happened then. His wife filed for divorce and ultimately prevented him from seeing his daughter who he cheristed. You will find him picturing Scenes between he and Emma from earlier years and he couldn't stop working to find out the truth! In the meantime, he was living on his boat... working hard to keep sober after he'd exploded not knowing what had happened, other than to know he was innocent...
Now he didn't know who to trust, except his present partner with whom he'd become close, both sharing their family problems, trying to make sense of...life...
There was no doubt in his mind that a man who had opened a "private club" and seemed to be protected, was behind this. He knew that there was probably sexual favors being distributed to the elite--so what else was new?
But a new case(s) set off what was to become a major investigation with multiple suspects and multiple deaths...But one significant aspect broadened Horton's investigation... The first death, found naked and positioned with his arms out like on a cross, while at the same time, it was cleared that he'd been "caned..." Ok, this was new to me, but I'm going to guess that you all will know what that meants... The question, however, was whether it was sexually motivated or just cruelty...
Soon another man disappears and is later found. He looks very much like the first man. And letters had been found that suggested an affair was happening between the wife and two men--one her husband and one the wife's lover. Could it be that simple? No, it was not, because while Horton was doing his usual deep search of one of those homes, he discovered a secret hiding place where extreme pornographic magazines were found--which were illegal and thus had to have been brought from other countries...
Was this perhaps a new or ongoing part of the new private club which he was positive included sexual activites, perhaps being expanded...
One thing Horton realized when a car barely missed him along a street...and later, when he found somthing on his boat that didn't belong to him, and more, that he had been marked as somebody to be eliminated...
This overview cannot even begin to share the true complexity that readers will find in this exciting novel. Horton, and I, both lost track of exactly who was behind everything... And, yet, the author keeps you totally informed, enthralled, and working to guess whodunit... All to be disclosed... And, have to share, that Lucy was found and admitted that she had been paid to set up Horton... But will it be enough to have his family reunited?
Horton hauled himself up and squinted up at Cantelli. He knew what Cantelli was doing. ‘I haven’t fallen off a horse,’ he muttered, but Cantelli was right, picking up the pieces of your life and getting on with it was the only option when you’d been betrayed and rejected. What else could you do except roll over and give in? And that was something he could never do.
Pauline Rowson is an author that started a series to watch, with a main character that will grab your heartstrings, especially if you enjoy twists so tightly done that you can't solve the mystery! Check it out!
While he filled his tank, the guy had noticed when Elgin spaced out for a minute and asked if he was okay. It was hard for Elgin to pull himself out of the confusion that often fogged his brain, but he had done it. This time.
Renegade - k-9 main character The very good...
I can’t believe that bitch is here! Elgin (the very bad main character) seethed as he peered out the front window of the house and watched Leah lead one of the female marshals he’d seen on the news, straight toward his grandfather’s front door. He stepped back into the shadows to avoid being seen. Now what am I going to do? Elgin rushed into the room he was staying in and found the gun he had stashed in his nightstand. He couldn’t stomach that they’d sent a woman after him. And adding injury to insult, they only sent one woman—by herself. Didn’t they know how dangerous he was? They showed him no respect. Elgin slid the pistol into the back waistband of his pants and ran to find his grandfather. “They found me. They’re here.”
His grandfather looked up from the thick book he was reading. “Who? What are you talking about?” “The Marshals. I told you I saw those women on the news. Now, they’ve sent one of them here to bring me in.” Elgin gestured angrily toward the window. Thomas swung his gaze in the direction Elgin pointed. Both men watched as Leah chatted with an attractive, dark-haired woman in the yard. And, as his grandfather had taught Leah, she led the stranger and her dog straight towards the house.
“Are you sure she’s a US Marshal? I don’t see a badge.” “Yes. I told you; she was on the news in Spokane.” “Clearly the authorities don’t think you’re much of a threat if they’re sending a woman after you, all by herself,” Thomas mocked. “You told me how you dealt with Rose, but now I’m beginning to wonder if you exaggerated. I thought I taught you how to discipline the weaker sex. They need to be kept in their place, and this one is no different.” Elgin’s muscles twitched. He needed another pill. “I didn’t exaggerate. I made Rose pay with her life for her betrayal.” “Perhaps she paid, but the fact that she felt like she could betray you in the first place shows me how little control you had over her,” Thomas sneered. “Your mother did a similar thing to your father, and because he didn’t teach her well enough in the beginning, he lost control and is now spending the rest of his life in prison. I’m surprised you didn’t learn from his mistake.” Elgin’s limbs stiffened and his breathing became erratic. He had found his mother strangled to death in the bathhouse when he was only thirteen. She had tried to leave the compound and his father had been right to punish her, but conflicting emotions flared up when he found her naked and bruised, her eyes bulging and lifeless. He hated his father for killing her, but he also knew that his father had to do it. Just like Elgin had to deal with Rose.
A ghost of a smile lit Thomas’s (the ugliest character) obvious recognition of Elgin’s agitatin and increasing symptoms. Their mutual condition was what connected them. “Go hide yourself. And calm down. You look like you’re about to seize. I’ll see what the woman wants.” Elgin dashed to the back of the house. His lips smacked together, and a dark stain spread across the front of his pants as he lost control of his bladder. He hid himself inside a closet behind a rack of winter hunting clothes and waited for the seizure. Thankfully, it was a short one and began to recede. He heard a knock at the door, and then her sultry voice seeped from across the room into his bones. Sensuous anger flared in his head. If he could get control of himself, this situation might turn out to be enjoyable, considering the message he wanted to send the Marshals. Thanks for the offering. I owe you one. He let out a long breath, trying to regulate his system and keep his anticipation at bay. His grandfather invited the woman inside for tea, and Elgin strained his ears to hear her response. She declined. They said a few words, and Thomas followed her outside. Elgin waited for a few minutes before he crept to a window on the west side of the house. He peeked at the gardens from behind the curtain. His grandfather walked her to the gate and then up to the tent rows and the bathhouse beyond. When they turned back, Elgin saw they were smiling at one another, seemingly enjoying their conversation. A twisted rage snaked its way through Elgin’s body. The woman had come after him, not his grandfather. She was his. Elgin moved to the center of the window, drawn by a sense of possessiveness. Suddenly, her dark eyes glanced up at the house. He jumped away from the window, hoping she hadn’t seen him. Just in case, he ran to an adjacent room. And more cautiously spied on her from there. His grandfather walked toward the house with the woman’s hand tucked in his arm, strutting like an old southern gentleman. Elgin’s breath came hot and fast. It had always been so easy for Thomas to charm women into trusting him. But how dare he try to take this one? A red haze settled over Elgin’s vision. His pulse hammered in his ears. The woman pulled away from Thomas, and she and her dog left the grounds the way they had come. At the edge of the clearing, she turned back and waved. Maybe Thomas was losing his touch, but why was he was letting the woman escape? His grandfather entered the house, and Elgin ran into the front room. “Why did you let her leave?”
The old man raised his gnarled hands in an attempt to calm him. “Don’t worry, Elgin. She came looking for you at first. But I think she likes the idea of this commune. She’s coming back in a few days. You need to learn patience. It’s so much better when they come here of their own free will. And when she returns, it will be without that dog. That’s when we’ll snatch her.” “What do you mean—we?” Elgin spat. “She’s not here for you. She came looking for me. She’s mine.” He shoved past his grandfather and yanked open the front door. “I’m going after her.” “You should change your pants before you embarrass yourself,” Thomas said with disgust. Elgin’s face flamed. He ran to his room and changed to jeans. Consumed with thoughts of the pretty deputy marshal, he pictured her hiking back to her truck, and he snickered to himself. It was a regular practice for the commune folk to lead strangers away from their vehicles and then syphon the gas out of their tanks. This served two purposes for the community. One, they had free fuel for their equipment, and two, it left the outsiders stranded and easy to manipulate into staying. He ran from the house, through the woods, to a freestanding lean-to he used as a garage, where he’d parked his stolen car. Pulling back the tarp covering the entrance, he grabbed a few supplies and ran to the vehicle. Taking a hidden back road out of the compound, he raced toward town. Elgin parked behind a stand of trees about a quarter mile down from the front entrance of the camp and waited. Sure enough… the woman’s old truck bumped and growled down the dirt road. She bounced onto the pavement, and as he’d expected, she turned into the only gas station in Tabiona. Elgin followed her from a distance. When he coasted into the lot, she was standing outside of her truck, filling her tank and talking on the phone. Fortune was his when he saw that her dog was closed inside the cab. He couldn’t have hoped for a better scenario.
Caitlyn’s throat felt thick, and she pressed her hand against her aching chest. She didn’t want to fight with Colt over the phone. They needed to talk about Jace and all the changes that were in store, but she wanted to do it in person, not on her cell phone. It was too easy to have misunderstandings if they weren’t face to face. She opened her mouth to tell him so, when something hard smacked the back of her head. A sharp pain radiated through her skull, and her vision blurred. As she spun to see what caused the pain, a firm hand clamped a soft cloth over her nose and mouth. She breathed in a sweet disinfectant-like odor that burned her throat, and hot spikes of adrenaline screamed an alert in her brain. A body pressed firmly against her back. She tried to hold her breath as the strong arms of a man gripped tight around her chest. Her phone clattered to the ground as she rammed her elbow into the man’s exposed midsection. He grunted as she scraped the hard edge of her boot heel down her attacker’s leg. She stomped on his foot, hoping to get him off balance so she could tuck and roll him over her shoulder. She tossed her head backward, aiming to hit him in the nose with her skull. Her vision dimmed and then darkened. Vaguely, she registered Renegade barking and snarling furiously. He clawed at the truck windows. Her pulse skyrocketed, but her muscles refused her brain’s command to move. Black cotton clouds covered her thoughts and her mind floated into an abyss.
~~~
Earlier in my life I would have binged on this series, but I'm too committed now to reading and sharing many of the great books out there so, even though reading it became a personal pleasure, this will probably be the only one I review... And I can guarantee after reading this one book, you can't go wrong in choosing to
follow Renegade, one of the greatest written dog characters I can remember reading... In fact, the book has one character who is now breeding Belgian Malinois for use as K-9 support dogs where needed...
Another point in favor of this series is that there are multiple cases being followed and multiple groups of police officers that are represented. Plus there are family and/or couples in love who are involved, as necessary, when one of the characters gets in trouble... You'll see this near the end of this book (and as excerptd above)
Because I just have to share that Renegade is the hero of the book...that is, in addition to the main character, Deputy Marshal Caitlyn Reed...
It all started when a prison movement of inmates was underway and had an accident in which the driver and one other guard was killed... The only man to escape was Elgin Payne, who, before he left the scene, made sure everybody left was dead... And then he left to find his wife still living at home... Only when he got there, he could hear that she was "involved..." First he killed the man in their bed and then raped/strangled his wife... And then he went on a killing spree as he moved across the country heading to the only other place where he could find family...
And Caitlin and Renegade was soon called in because they were finding that the skills of the pair were greatly needed in following his trail... They say it's easier making that first "kill" and soon cars were being stolen as he left the drivers' bodies behind...
Back where Caitlin lives, there is a wedding being planned and everybody is involved, except when the various officers are off doing their jobs...Caitlin is looking forward to her marriage, as well, to a member of the local police office, but that relationship hits a big snag when they were out one day and both saw a woman from high school with a young boy who looked exactly like Colt! Yes, a one-night stand when in school resulted in a child that has now come to live with his mother's family still living there... Does Colt want a connection with a son he never knew about? Will Caitlin be willing to have a ready-made family, with a child taking part of her new husband's time right from the beginning?
No matter how she looked at it, Caitlin was having a hard time wondering what Colt would decide. So, everytime something major happened with her chase of Elgin, she would be the first wanting to move quickly to take the next step... Even when there wasn't enough time or staff nearby to follow the new lead... And... that is exactly what happened when she decided to follow when they learned that he might have gone into a local cult community... Where she thought she was in control, but while leaving, realized that she had run out of gas, even though she thought she had plenty...
She then stopped at a local station and got out... and was knocked on the head and drugged... By the time, somebody checked on her van, Renegade had torn the inside completely apart, frantically trying to get out and follow Caitlin... Soon, the entire family from back home was there... But Caitlin wasn't at the community where she first went looking for Elgin... Where was she?! And it was Renegade who led the hunt!
All types of emotions are found in this exciting ongoing series: Love and romance, fear, courage, danger as well as family and friends coming together to answer a call for help! Fantastic scenes keep readers engaged, interested, and wondering what we would do in the various situations in the plot... Excellent control of multiple plots by the author, resulting in a page-turner that can't be beat by too many other books in the genre... Comparable to Lauren Carr's multiple series within same family, with animals...Kudos to Jodi Burnett!
And, finally, Renegade is happy to be home, resting his head while his master's gratefully sits quietly, watching as the little boy who looks so much like her beloved, plays with the new litter of pups...
I have been commissioned to write the biography of Professor W. J. Fluker who spent 40 years on the history faculty at Tuskegee University. If you took one of Fluker’s history classes and are willing to share your experience and how Fluker impacted your life and career, please inbox/contact me, preferably on LinkedIn.
When I saw this notice, I immediately thought of a book I once read... and reviewed... I was working with Branden Books at that time, so format was much more formal then, LOL But I did want to refer you to this book for possible background reference...
The history of Bethel Christian Methodist Episcopal Church dates from 1863, 160 years ago, as of this writing. According to the 1860 Census, Macon had a population of 8,247; of that number, 2,851 were Black enslaved people. When the Civil War started, the business leaders of Macon were quick to pick up the cause of the confederacy to protect the legalization of slavery. The economy of Macon and Middle Georgia depended on cotton and enslaved people who planted, cropped, and picked it.
Two years after the shooting started, President Lincoln issued his proclamation of emancipation on September 22, 1862, to becomeeffective January 1, 1863.
Lincoln’s proclamation commenced during the third year of a bloody civil war between northern and southern states. The Emancipation Proclamation freed enslaved people in states liberated by Union military forces under the federal government’s command. It did not free enslaved people in free states who were not in rebellion against the federal government.
The Emancipation Proclamation was important to enslaved people in Macon and Bibb County, Georgia. As the fall of 1862 gave way to winter, enslaved people in Middle Georgia greeted the coming New Year with great anticipation and fear.
For blacks working and living on the Dunlap and other plantations in Macon, Georgia, in 1863, Lincoln’s “Hail Mary” pass to save the Union did not bring immediate freedom. Freedom would only come when Union troops arrived to liberate the enslaved children of God from bondage in America.
At the time of founding the Watch Night service, which would be the beginning of Bethel Methodist Church, the Confederate States of America controlled the State of Georgia. Georgia had dissolved its contract with the United States of America on January 19, 1861, thereby retaking possession of all the rights of sovereignty it had relinquished when it joined the Union as one of the original thirteen colonies. Georgia was the fifth state of thirteen to secede from the union, following South Carolina, Mississippi, Florida, and Alabama.
Freedom seemed so far away on January 1, 1863, when a band of farsighted Christians, some following the Methodist doctrine and others adhering to the Baptist order, seeking a place of worship, gathered under the leadership of Rev. John Zorn, an ordained Methodist preacher, in a two-room house.
They prayed and sang all night until the sun broke, announcing a new day and a new year. It did not seem like anything had changed. At least they were alive, and their freedom was no more restricted than before Lincoln uttered his proclamation.
Freedom did not come until December 1864 when the Macon city fathers released Union General George Stoneman to General William T. Sherman.
Stoneman had been captured outside of Gray, Georgia, on July 31, 1864, by a militia of Macon residents, near the house where the black Methodists and Baptists worshiped; General Stoneman received his freedom in exchange for a Confederate prisoner of war and General Sherman’s agreement not to torch Macon as he had done to Atlanta and would eventually do to Savannah.
Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation brought this group together at midnight in 1863, even as they feared retribution from plantation owners as freedom dawned on New Year 1863. The worshippers had a reasonable suspicion that Middle Georgia planters did not want to lose them to freedom. Shortly after the war, the number of Blacks in Macon rapidly increased from 2,851 to 5,946 by January 1867, and Whites were alarmed that soon there would be more Blacks in the city than Whites.
Business leaders pushed the federal government to remove Black troops from Macon, and in 1868, General Grant permitted Black troops stationed in Macon to be reassigned. Instead, the Black regiment was disbanded.
Almost from the beginning of Negro freedom, Blacks in Macon were ignored by Whites. Few Whites welcomed Blacks into the brotherhood of Americanism. Black people were left to figure freedom out for themselves. Poverty abounded in the Black community. Military units were used to drive Blacks from their homes rather than protect them. Martha Ayers describes the abject poverty in Macon’s Black community two years after the war ended in a letter to her friend George Whipple:
“A freed woman, Sally Franklin, she is starving—the day is cold, but she is without covering, in an open building, without windows. A baby is wailing at her side, and the mother’s bosom is bare, though her last conscious act had been an effort to nurse her child.”
According to the Macon Telegraph, October 15, 1865:
“Six months after the war Mayor Stephen Collins reported that ‘the city had buried thirty negroes in a one week period, and that of that number nine or ten were picked up dead in the streets and alleys of the city.’”
C. Mildred Thompson, in her book Reconstruction in Georgia, posits:
“As living conditions in the city’s [Macon] Black sections worsened, the rate of disease increased. The mortality rate among Blacks was frightfully high. In December 1865, about five hundred died compared to the ordinary death rate of only about forty a month.”
These are the conditions the early worshippers confronted as they turned to their faith in God to help them through this nightmare in the land of the free and the home of the brave.
One city official opined that through July 1866, around five thousand Blacks had died in the city and federal hospitals. According to Paul Michael Johnson in his paper, The Negro in Macon, Georgia 1865-1877, “During the epidemic Macon leaders generally maintained a ‘business as usual’ stance…”. They blamed the spread of smallpox squarely upon the Black community.”
The small pox outbreak did not meet pandemic proportions because it was contained in the newly freed Negro communities in Macon and did not spread to White Macon. Probably because the town was segregated by race. Epidemics of smallpox, other diseases, and fires that burn down Black churches usually do not happen in a vacuum.
It is not hard to fathom that Macon’s rapidly growing Black population was cause for concern to White leaders who feared a Black takeover of the commerce of a prosperous section of the state. It would not be the first time that genocidal practices were applied to non-white populations that White Americans wanted to eliminate from participating in the process of American prosperity. See the population of Natives at the Ocmulgee National Mounds.
Such was the political, economic, medical, and moral climate our ancestors endured while organizing this Zion.
Very little information exists to document the members of that early church meeting in the house on the eastern side of the property of W. F. Elder Lumber Company near Central City Park. Elder specialized in lumber and building supplies.
According to William Richard Cutler in the American Biography, “Mr. Elder was a son of David P. and Nancy (Head) Elder. His father was a planter in Spalding County for many years and was a leader of general affairs of the Methodist Church denomination. By 1910, W. F. Elder Lumber Company had a “capital stock of $12,000.00,” according to the Macon Telegraph. Twelve Thousand Dollars was a nifty sum in early twentieth-century dollars.
Initially, Elder’s Lumber Yard's worshippers were Methodists and Baptists. When the Baptist members of this fellowship left to form a Baptist Church, the Methodists continued to worship on this site. They adhered to the discipline of John and Charles Wesley. The Wesley brothers did not believe in slavery; thus, possibly the founding members of this church were freedmen. In any event, W. F. Elder was probably aware that a group of Negroes were worshipping in a house on his property.
This Methodist Church was made possible by a question raised at the Methodist Conference of 1790: “What can be done to teach poor children (white and black) to read?” The 1790 Conference answered like this, “Let us labor to establish Sunday Schools.”
This resolution was vital to forming Bethel Methodist Church because enslavers in the South had agreed to permit mission schools to teach Christianity to enslaved people.
Thus, within the framework of White Supremacy, for lack of a better term, the church could teach Blacks to read the Bible without running afoul of the law that prohibited the teaching of those in enslavement.
The Methodist Church Connection used this law loophole to teach enslaved people to read. It was still unlawful to teach enslaved Blacks how to write. If an enslaved person could write, Whites feared it would make them equal to their White enslavers and enable the enslaved to send communication to each other, perhaps plotting and planning to escape from captivity.
In her book Slave Missions and the Black Church in the Antebellum South, Janet Duitsman Cornelius notes that “Sunday Schools organized and led by blacks [Blacks] thrived in… Macon, Georgia.”
Among this group of church founders was Rev. John Zorn, who could have left the Methodist Episcopal Church, South, along with others in 1844 over the question of slavery but declined to do so.
Zorn may have been the offspring of Rev. Calvin Zorn, a white circuit rider from Virginia who rode the Methodist circuit in Georgia. If Calvin Zorn was his father, this could explain why Rev. John Zorn continued to worship with the Methodist Episcopal Church, South Connectional Church. He pastored Bethel for thirty-one years.
In 1865, The house of worship on Seventh Street and Riverside Drive in Macon was initially known as a Methodist church. It was more likely aligned with the Methodist Episcopal Church, South, as the northern church split with the southern church in 1844 over the issue of slavery when Bishop James Osgood Andrews received notice to step down because he held Negroes in captivity. For a moment, the Methodist Church, South gave Andrews a pass, but then his wife inherited two enslaved Negroes, and the connection rose and said Osgood had to go.
Those White worshippers who favored Osgood owning human beings, as one would hold a piece of property, stayed with the Methodist Church, South. Those in opposition split off to form the Methodist Church, North. In 1968, the Methodist Church, North dissolved and formed the United Methodist Church to unite all Methodists. Today, the question of Gay marriage threatens to split the United Methodist, similar to the issue of slavery in the nineteenth century.
Contrary to the Methodist philosophy conceived by John and Charles Wesley, Andrews believed that owning human beings was not inconsistent with the Methodist doctrine; thus, he refused to free the humans he held in captivity. Therefore, the northern Methodists were not active in the southern states following the split of the Methodists Connection in 1844. The liberal Methodist left White southern Methodists to their own devices, owning and selling humans created by the same God who created them.
However, permission to organize missions on plantation property received approval, and Blacks continued to receive help and instructions from the Methodist Episcopal Church, South. Sometime around 1860 and possibly earlier, a group of Black Methodists held Sunday service on the banks of the Ocmulgee River. Many of these members organized the Holsey Temple C. M. E. Church.
As previously noted, other Black worshippers in this group gathered in a house in a lumber yard near Central City Park on the banks of the Ocmulgee River. The park’s development occurred in 1826, three years after the city’s founding in 1823.
Founding members of what would become the Bethel Methodist Episcopal Church were Brother and Sister Washington King, Brother Obie Jackson and his family (Jackson is the grandfather of the late Sister Anna Parker), Brother Reuben Richardson and his family, Brother and Sister Mingo Fickling, Brother and Sister Rena Ballard, Rev. Campbell and his family and Sister Sleina Gibson (Great-granddaughter of Sister Ursula Webb). Tyrone Wyche, who has worshipped at Bethel Christian Methodist Episcopal Church since the early 1960s, is a direct descendant of Sister Sleina Gibson. His grandmother and great-grandmother were the Bethel church family's mainstays for much of the twentieth century's first half.
The congregation grew with the close of the Civil War in 1865. The Baptists who gathered at the house in the lumber yard during what would become the church’s first “Watch Night Service at midnight on January 1, 1863, would soon leave the Dunlap house on the lumber yard property and build a church under a brush arbor, then a physical structure at the corner of Riverside and Seventh Street, then a new church at 1660 Pio Nono Avenue, in West Bibb County, at that time, outside the city limits of Macon, Georgia.
Paul Michael Johnson, in his paper The Negro in Macon, Georgia 1865-1877 summed up this period expertly:
“It is not surprising that Macon [B]lacks in the face of disease, poverty, and critical [W]hites began to look beyond the limits of the city for a better life. During the summer of 1866, some prominent [B]lacks in Macon organized a movement to recruit the city’s [B]lacks for emigration to Liberia…The vast majority of Macon Negroes were trapped in the city by virtue of their poverty, unable to leave the poverty, disease, and injustice that surrounded them; most [B]lacks realized that if their lives were to improve at all, it would have to be in Macon.”
Johnson concludes his study on Negro in Macon, Georgia, 1865-1871 with this dreary assessment of Black life in Macon in the early days of freedom.
“The educational, political, and economic progress of [B]lack Maconites from 1865 through 1871 could hardly be termed satisfactory. When the Civil War ended, Macon [B]lacks had little or no education, political power, or economic status. When 1871 came to [a] close [B]lack, Maconites had schools but still possessed nothing approaching quality education. They had gained some political power during the years, but by the end of 1871, they had lost it all. Also, Macon [B]lacks stilled lived in abject poverty.”
“Let it resound loud as the rolling sea. Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us, Sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us, Facing the rising sun of our new day begun, Let us march on till victory is won.” --James Weldon Johnson, The Negro National Anthem
I don't know about you folks, but I'm furious with what this president has instigated to take us backwards, in this case, to the 1800s! Implementing DEI, for instance, is taking us back to the time when white supremacists--rich men who used slaves--are we any differnt now, except in extent of servitude--to allow them to get richer and richer... Don't be fools! Study the history of our nation! Read this and other books... Search historical videos!
As you can see from this brief excerpt, even laws sometimes cannot force the rich from discriminating in any way they can, to both gain more riches and to cause harm to the rest of us! And the conman in the white house is the worst, and best, of thinking up ways to "use all of us!"
Especially Non-Whites!
Do NOT Allow the use of religion and claims that this is what God wants!
It Is Not True!
Keep listening and learning of God's Truth and His Love!
This is a true story of God using others to confirm my (or your) thoughts... I hope you will take the time to listen to the entire video by Maya Angelou who will be sharing God's Wisdom to you... For me, it was a confirmation of something I had been thinking about for the last week or so. Specifically, did I really want to read and talk about the book commonly known as Project 2025? (Announced on May 21st)
One of my goals has been to provide information that may not be easily available; however, after announcing that I was going to share and talk about this book, and, in fact, selectd the first chapter, Department of Justice, that I wanted to spotlight--and frankly, was having a hard time getting it sized large enough to allow easy reading, I was also skimming some of the words... And saw how it had been written... I was thinking that it would be like a dissertation--you know, a long essay written on each department... It was not...
I realized that if I even began to talk about what I had read, I would be responding to what had been written. I became concerned... in essence, justifying my own opinions... Did I really want to do that? After all, we were all seeing the reality of these "Executive Orders" that were being routinely developed, signed, and put in to action... And the subsequent millions of people protesting... and being hurt by firing, hunger, confusion of university students, and more...
So, this morning, I remembered an old silly cheerleading phrase from highschool, that was so catchy that I remembered it and have used it just for fun...
Regurgitate, Regurgitate,
Throw up all the food you eat
F I G H T!
Actually, I had felt queasy just thinking about reading the recommendations that supposedly became mandates for our president... So you can see why I thought of the little song...LOL In other words, I had no stomach (pun) for reading this book when I'd seen in the first 100 days what had been done to respond to that supposed mandate...
I had already written the first part of the heading on this post... and then adding after I listened to Maya, "Choosing to Keep My Response Silence..." Yes, I believe that today, when I went out to see if an old cheerleading skit was on a video, LOL, instead I saw Maya's message to keep my mouth shut... Isn't this so cool?! God knew that I would get all wound up in a quandry trying to speak against such things as ignoring the rule of law... I just couldn't do it...
And, now I know that God did not want me talking!
That there were some big things that only He could handle...
Oh, I know that I'll continue on a smaller level to speak out, but fighting against those rich guys who think they know what is best for our country and are forcing it down our throats so badly that we "might" throw up, was not to be my fight alone... it's being handled by...
Many times, I get upset, confused by all that is happening, but then God sends a wiser woman to tell me to keep my mouth shut this time... WOW!
How Cool Is That!
So, if you want to read that book which I now know will make your stomach queasy and worried, and, therefore, God told me, "I Got This One..." I want to have no part in sharing those words... you can still download it yourself, but I just refuse to make you sick at your stomach... And now I know I don't need to.
God Bless America!
This wonderful singer became my hero when he spoke out!
I love this in the minor key
Now that's what I call finding a way to share YOUR story!
We all have a chance to speak out, Me,
I Speak Jesus
You can Too
We all have a part in God's Plan!
ALL OF US! Including All Readers from other Lands!
Listen
Softenly and Tenderly
Jesus is Calling
Come Home...
Gabby
You know, God really does have a sense of humor
Hope you enjoy this very true tale... with a little jollification...
I met Autumn Rayne sharing her wonderful poem on Tumblr and I immediately knew I wanted to share it here... There is a very important message in these few lines--one that needs to be widely circulated, so I hope you will share to your friends as well...
My Mother was a wonderful woman who worked 24/7 to take care of her four children as a widow. She had little time to spend with us in normal mother-child interaction, but we always could feel her love and concern... At the same time, I had read that children develop their personality about the age of 4... Here's what WebMd says:
Do parents influence child's personality development? Common knowledge, parents influence their children's development and personality. Whether we want to admit it or not, parents are a child's most influential role model. As parents, we spend more time with our children than any other adult. We model to our children our values, as well as our likes/dislikes.
Without belaboring statistics, I'd like you to stop and reread this poem, without reference as to who wrote the poem; that is, whether it is a parent or a child. You can decide that, I believe. So what did I and my siblings learn in those early years... We all became involved in a religion, we all became career/work individuals and were hard workers in the chosen fields... At the same time, there was little communication at a personal level, so we each faced somewhat of a solitary period of moving forward in who we were... My being the youngest, without any time with a father--my father was killed in an accident while My mother was pregnant--I became and still am to an extent, a loner and a blacksheep of the family as a whole. All other siblings married, for instance...
With that as my background in reading the poem, frankly I was horrified at what was shared through these words. I immediately felt great sympathy for the child of this individual, the mother who let it be clear that she really didn't want that child she had carried... If you disagree, do let me know in comments, because I'll be moving forward based upon this assumption...
But I did talk a little with the author to let her know what I planned to talk about and she indicated she agreed it was ok... So, very simply, long before the recent issue of Roe being overturned, I had learned through books, my own personal experiences, or by talking with my peers, that it was clear that, sometimes, a woman, or family, didn't deserve to have children... It did, and still doesn't make sense for it to be a law that all women must have children. In fact, knowing that many children are often abused, including physical abuse, incest, and rape, I felt that "choice" was the only opinion IF A LAW HAD TO EXIST... Normally I would say, as many do these days, it is indeed a personal medical issue, but given the fact that white men have been in power for far too many years, I agreed that, yes, a law had to exist. Let's face it, the parents are often the very ones who are committing these abuses against their own children...
But, it was not until I read this poem that I realized that I had ignored one of the worst types of abuses!
Oral communication by parents--mother and father to child!
Of course, the poem was dramatized, meaning that the words may not have been those actually stated by the parent. However, the overall tone of the drama that the child faced on an ongoing basis is very clear, don't you think? In fact, the poem is so well done that I wanted to reach out and hug the recipient of such abuse--yes, abuse! To me, my opinion could only be that she should never have been allowed to have a child... Yes, what is done to our children has always been a thorn in my heart that I needed to respond to, actively and publicly... Our children, indeed, even into their adult lives have been pinpointed for ownership and abuse, just because they gave birth to that child. There is no way to imply that these issues are to be ignored...
Further, let's be very specific. Across the world are millions of children dying due to hunger, being caught in war situations and killed, or left without any major educational opportunities... Further if they are different in some way, such as due to race, religion, or nationality, many are purposely targeted! Resulting in pedophilia, oral demeaning communication, even, now, selling children within human trafficking that never seems to be legally stopped... And our present administration has made it much, much worse!
Since Roe was overturned, women are dying during childbirth, women are being kept alived for months while a child within her dead body is born... We have seen that this is not a racial issue--women of all races are being affected... The white men in the republican administration are denigrating women, such as me, for being single, without children, or worse, claiming that all women must bear children, even if the family can't afford even one or especially more children...
Obviously I could go on and on... But the majority of women across the world are already aware of the problems created by decisions made by those who have no real way to make their own decisions based upon reality, but, as some political tool to be manipulated...
I want to thank Autumn Rayne for allowing me to share her powerful words... Finding music to explore this important problem was difficult... Instead, what I decided was to provide songs of encouragement, as, surely, Autumn has found in some way to get past the oral abuse she lived with, but was brave enough to speak out so eloquently at a later point in her life...
Finally, because it is Memorial Day, I want to use this closing to spotlight both the soldiers and innocent adults and children who had died and continue to die based upon authoritarian leaders who have only one concern--to have money and power over others... I spotlight the leader of Russia, the prime miniister of Israel, the loss of so many in Ukraine, the devastating hatred, retribution and power and money seeking of the president of the United States, whose first act was to take food away from starving children and let it rot rather than allow it to be used (USAID) as well as using OUR money $6M to send non-white men to a different country where they live like chickens in cages... as well as, all the children in America who are targeted for sexual exploitation by those who should be helping them to grow and prosper...
Thank you, Autumn, for becoming a guest poet and, hopefully, allowing your courageous words to be heard or read across the world... You've made a big contribution to helping us move forward rather than backwards as many are trying to do...
God's Blessing to Those Hurting
Gabby
Hey Autumn, I've already picked out the next poem--My Ghosts and Me... Want to Share? Pretty Please... LOL
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