Saturday, May 16, 2026

Week Blast ~ Eliza Waite - A Novel by Ashley E. Sweeney

 




Historical Fiction

Date Published: 05-16-2016

Publisher: She Writes Press



Celebrating the 10th Anniversary

After the tragic death of her husband and son on a remote island in Washington’s San Juan Islands, Eliza Waite joins the throng of miners, fortune hunters, business owners, con men, and prostitutes traveling north to the Klondike in the spring of 1898. When Eliza arrives in Skagway, Alaska, she has less than fifty dollars to her name and not a friend in the world—but with some savvy, and with the help of some unsavory characters, Eliza opens a successful bakery on Skagway’s main street and befriends a madam at a neighboring bordello. Occupying this space—a place somewhere between traditional and nontraditional feminine roles—Eliza awakens emotionally and sexually. But when an unprincipled man from her past turns up in Skagway, Eliza is fearful that she will be unable to conceal her identity and move forward with her new life. Using Gold Rush history, diary entries, and authentic pioneer recipes, Eliza Waite transports readers to the sights sounds, smells, and tastes of a raucous and fleeting era of American history.


Excerpt

September 1, 1896


Cloudy, first fall chill. Deer in garden again. Need to mend fences.
 


“Good fences make good neighbors,” her aunt used to say.


Eliza examines her muddied property and stifles a snort. There are no neighbors, no cheery hellos or help at harvest time, no shared secrets or meals offered at the door when grief steals joy clean away. No, her neighbors are all gone from this windswept island plagued with relentless autumn rains that close in on the coming darkness.


Eliza removes her nightclothes and rushes into her undergarments, woolen skirt, muslin blouse, and thick socks. She gathers up her skirt, and pushes out through the cabin’s rickety door, inhaling wood smoke and counting her memories, both blessings and curses.


I do not know if I can endure another winter here, especially after what happened last year.


Before the epidemic there had been a store, and a post office, and a cannery, and a school. And—of course—a church. On those long ago Sundays, Eliza had squirmed each time Jacob mounted the stairs to the simple wooden pulpit at First Methodist on tiny Cypress Island, his pompousness preceding him. Eliza sat stiffly in the front pew with Jonathan close beside her. Jonathan’s delicate hands held hers and his small brown leather boots dangled over the front lip of the wooden bench. If she tries hard enough, Eliza can still hear Jonathan’s warbling voice stumbling over the words of the ancient hymns.


        After Sunday services, Eliza and Ida Lawson had poured weak coffee into china cups at opposite ends of the cloth-covered table in the basement of the church. They adjusted the china cups, filling in spaces when others were served. They checked the sugar bowls. They rearranged the teaspoons, and placed them symmetrically. They exchanged glances and shared private conversations in between parishioners.


Did you hear the foreman killed a Chinaman over at Atlas Cannery?


Another parishioner would interrupt. Pleasantries. Then another interruption. More pleasantries.


Did you see Sly Chapman walking Adelaide Winters home from school on Wednesday?


There was always scuttlebutt about the townsfolk, or the trappers, or the fishermen, or the loggers. And always about the Chinamen. In the kitchen, Eliza and Ida would mimic the Chinamen, taking small steps and bowing to each other. They stifled their laughter. Only once had they had an awkward and guarded conversation about the intimacies of marriage.


IDA’S COFFEE CAKE

This is one of the best of plain cakes, and is very easily made.

Take one teacup of strong coffee infusion, one teacup molasses, one teacup sugar, one-half teacup butter, one egg, and one teaspoonful saleratus. Add pinch of salt.

Add spice and raisins to suit the taste, and enough flour to make a reasonably thick batter.

Bake rather slowly in tin pans lined with buttered paper. Tops with cinnamon sugar and serve warm.

But those days are long past. Now all Eliza has is a heap of gravestones to visit.
 

 

About the Author

 


 Multi award-winning author Ashley E. Sweeney’s fourth novel, The Irish Girl, released December 2024. Her previous novels, Eliza Waite, Answer Creek, and Hardland, have won a total of 20 awards, including the Nancy Pearl Book Award, Independent Press Award, WILLA Literary Award, and New Mexico-Arizona Book Award. Sweeney, a native New Yorker and graduate of Wheaton College in Norton, Massachusetts, spends winters in Tucson and summers in the Pacific Northwest.

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Teaser ~ Rathuun - King of the Prairie - A Western Frontier Adventure by David Fitz-Gerald

 



Frontier & Pioneer Western Fiction; US Historical Fiction; Action/Adventure

Date Published: March 20, 2026

 


With all the swagger of a classic western, a legendary buffalo claims his rightful place among the genre's most iconic heroes.

Meet Rathuun. Born in an idyllic canyon, tragedy strikes on his first day. A grizzly bear scatters the herd, devours his twin, and leaves him to shiver and die. But the buffalo calf with a white spot on his chin survives.

The plains are changing fast. Wagons roll west in endless streams. Telegraph wires stretch across the horizon. Locomotives scream down polished rails, slicing through the earth. Extinction

seems imminent when everyone wants to kill the biggest buffalo on the prairie. Native people shoot arrows and drive herds over cliffs. Hide hunters slaughter millions. An obsessed buffalo assassin is determined to wipe them all out and change the world forever. There's an army of barking rifles, and they're all pointed at Rathuun.

Will the hunters take Rathuun's head and leave his carcass to rot on the prairie?


This sweeping epic thunders across the American West, taking listeners to unforgettable western landmarks. If you like classic westerns, thrilling action, and high-stakes historical adventures, grab your copy by the horns.

Welcome to the prairie!


Excerpt


Rathuun heard a fierce roar that rattled between his ears.


He had just finished nursing for the first time since he was born a thrum, hours earlier. His mother’s warm breath had tickled his flank just moments ago.


It was a peaceful morning on the prairie, but in a flash, everything had changed.


The thunderous roar boomed again. The entire brum was on the move.


In his haste to lead his followers away from danger, Drumm sounded the alarm and leapt forward. The old bull crashed into Rathuun, sending the thrum sprawling.


Rathuun’s legs wobbled as he tried to stand. It was a miracle that the collision hadn’t broken him. There was an instinctive pull to follow the brum, and it was centered beneath his chin, between his front legs.


He blinked rapidly, whipping his head from side to side, searching for his mother. Moments ago, she had been beside him. “Hathah!” he bleated, searching for the young cow who was his whole world.


But he knew she was gone. Gone with all the others. Why had she left him behind?


He shivered at the realization that he was all alone. His heart throbbed against his ribs. It was a struggle to make sense of what had happened.


Everything turned upside down and sideways. The panicked brum quickly vanished as the plains swallowed the pounding hooves and flashing tails, leaving nothing but a faint echo of their distant bellows.


It was eerily silent in the wake of the wild scatter of the buffalos’ frenzied exodus. Rathuun took a tentative step forward, not knowing what to do or which way to go.


Dust choked the air. His third, translucent eyelid swept sideways across his eye, clearing away the grit kicked up by the fleeing brum. He stood, dazed and completely alone.


Or so he thought. The silence quickly gave way to horrible sounds.


Rathuun turned his head. Twenty feet away, something moved. A dark, hulking monster hunched over something. Rathuun’s blood pounded with fear. There was a heavy thump in his chest. Then he saw the creature.


It was a rumbler.

 


About the Author


David Fitz-Gerald writes frontier and pioneer western fiction from the wilds of western Vermont—about as far west as you can get without slipping into New York.

Though he’s never wrangled beeves to market, Dave was a top hand on his grandfather’s dude ranch in the Adirondack Mountains… before he turned ten. He’s lived most of his life on dirt roads. Whenever he gets the chance, he travels west to recharge his spirit on the windswept prairies.

He’s an Adirondack 46’er which means that he’s hiked to the top of every mountain in the park. In 2018, Dave completed the 1960s fitness craze by hiking 50 miles in one day. That’s one heck of a long walk, but not nearly as grueling as the iconic trails that he chases in his fiction.

Even after all these years, Dave still has his head in the clouds like Ken from MY FRIEND FLICKA, and a quiet, self-reliant spirit like Sam from THE TRUMPET OF THE SWAN. That blend of wonder, heart, and spirit runs through the characters he portrays. His editor states he is “exceptionally good at creating real moments between characters”—and readers seem to agree.

Dave’s breakthrough series, Ghosts Along the Oregon Trail won Chanticleer’s Grand Prize for Book Series. He’s now the author of nearly twenty novels and counting, and as long as there’s coffee in the kitchen, Dave will be plotting one adventurous story after another.

 

Contact Links

Website

Facebook

Goodreads

Bookbub


Purchase Link

https://mybook.to/RathuunKingofPrairie

 

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Friday, May 15, 2026

Release Blitz ~ A Forced Bond - Dark Pack Series by Ann D. Lang

 

Title: A Forced Bond
Series: Dark Pack Series Book 1
Author: Ann D. Lang
Release Date: May 15, 2026






Forced together. Fated forever.

She was supposed to find her fated mate under the full moon.
Instead, she is ordered to bond with a stranger.

The full moon after Rhia’s twentieth birthday was meant to be the happiest night of her life. Among wolf shifters, it is the first full moon after turning twenty when a wolf might finally recognize the mate chosen by the Moon Goddess.

Rhia has always hoped that mate would be Caleb, the boy she has loved for years.

But when an entire neighboring pack is brutally wiped out, everything changes.

Fearing they could be next, the Red Moon Pack forms a desperate alliance with the powerful Silver Lake Pack. And alliances between alpha families require one thing above all else: a mating bond.

As the only unmated alpha daughter of Red Moon, Rhia’s future is decided for her. Instead of discovering her fated mate under the coming full moon, she is ordered to form a bond with Jalen, the future alpha of Silver Lake.

Leaving her home, her family, and the life she thought she would have.

Jalen never wanted a forced bond any more than Rhia did. But protecting their packs comes before everything. What neither of them expected was the instant pull between them, a connection that feels far too real to be political.

But if the Moon Goddess had a plan for their bond all along, it may be because the Dark Pack is not finished yet—and their own may be the next target.






"Race you to the rocks?" Rhia points to the little collection of rocks well off the shoreline.

"They are further away than you think," I try to warn her from experience, but she has already taken off.

As I soon realize, she is not only an excellent fighter but also a very good swimmer. I love it. I am a decent swimmer myself, but it is not exactly my strongest form of movement. At least that is what I am telling myself as I try hard to keep up with Rhia.

I am right behind her, but there is no hiding my labored breathing when we reach the rocks. Unlike me, Rhia is not even a little winded, and I admire her strength. "You're an amazing athlete. I can't wait to see what you can do without the necklace," I grin at her.

"Are you coming in?" As I turn back around, Rhia is already swimming away from the shore.

'Oooh, well she's hot!' Hunter's voice comes through the mind link.

'Leave now, or I will end you! This is your future luna!'

His wolf actually gives me a wink before he turns around.


When Ann D. Lang isn’t writing, she can be found with her family and her cats — who treat everyone in the house as their personal servants and are entirely unbothered by deadlines. A lifelong lover of paranormal romance in all its forms, from vampire courts and fae kingdoms to witch covens and wolf pack politics, she has spent years falling in love with other people’s worlds — and one day simply decided to open the doors to a world of her own.




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Book Tour ~ Agatha Christie, She Watched by Teresa Peschel

 

Agatha Christie, She Watched by Teresa Peschel Banner

AGATHA CHRISTIE, SHE WATCHED

by Teresa Peschel

April 6 - May 15, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Agatha Christie, She Watched by Teresa Peschel

One Woman's Plot to Watch 201 Christie Adaptations Without Murdering the Director, Screenwriter, Cast, or Her Husband

 

Care to match wits with Hercule Poirot? Share tea and gossip with Miss Marple? Chase spies with Tommy and Tuppence? "Agatha Christie, She Watched" will introduce you to must-see movies (and must-avoid) dogs that prove Agatha's genius depicting the hopeful and dark sides of human nature. These movies will tantalize you, mystify you, and make you laugh at the folly of humanity.

Teresa Peschel watched and reviewed 201 adaptations, from the German silent movie "Adventures, Inc." (1929) to "See How They Run" and "Why Didn't They Ask Evans" (2022). Each film was rated for fidelity to the original material and its overall quality. Each review takes up two pages and comes with six cast photos, list of major actors, and known film locations. Foreign movies with English subtitles from India, France, Russia, and Japan are included. We include eight movies in which the fictional Agatha Christie solves murder mysteries, debates Poirot, battles a space wasp (in Doctor Who), and plots to kill her husband's mistress.

“Agatha Christie, She Watched” is the only comprehensive collection of reviews about Christie adaptations. Use it to find the movies made from the novels you love, fill in your movie collection or host an Agatha Christie festival of your own.

Praise for Agatha Christie, She Watched:

"From the German silent movie Adventures, Inc. (1929) to Why Didn't They Ask Evans? (2022), she covers all of your favourites (including the One True Poirot) and some you may never have heard of! The level of detail and vast array of images is incredible."
~ Labours of Hercule podcast

Book Details:

Genre: Movie & Video Reference, Movie & Video Guides & Reviews, Non-Fiction
Published by: Peschel Press
Publication Date: April 7, 2023
Number of Pages: 436 pages, Paperback
ISBN: 9781950347391 (ISBN10: 1950347397)
Book Links: Amazon | KindleUnlimited | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Peschel Press

Read an excerpt:

Introduction

I’ve always been a fan of Agatha Christie, but not an obsessive one. I didn’t read and reread the novels. I didn’t go looking for obscure short stories. I didn’t read (and still haven’t) her Mary Westmacott novels. I treated her like most people did: She wrote good mysteries, and if they were handy, I read them.

Then Bill began the Complete, Annotated project by publishing Dorothy L. Sayers’ Whose Body?, followed by Agatha’s The Mysterious Affair at Styles. Over the years, as he annotated the next five of Agatha’s early novels, I read them carefully for possible footnotes. As I did, I paid more attention to her writing, her deft plotting, her sly sense of humor, and her ability to describe a character with a few sentences.

As I became more familiar with her novels, I realized that she’s underrated, probably because she was categorized as a genre writer. Some even consider her works cozies. Clearly, they never read Appointment with Death (1938), And Then There Were None (1939), or Endless Night (1967). I suspect that her Mary Westmacotts — which are described as romances — are anything but.

The publishing world applies labels to make it easier for bookshops to shelve their books in the store, not because they’re accurate.

In July 2020, as the world began opening up from the Covid-19 shutdowns, I was at the library, looking for a DVD to borrow. I spotted Crooked House (2017). I liked the novel, so I thought, “Why not?”

Crooked House was the second Agatha Christie film adaptation I had seen. Sir Kenneth Branagh’s Murder on the Orient Express (2017) was the first.

We needed fodder for the website (peschelpress.com) and I’d already been reviewing books, so I wrote a review of Crooked House. This reminded me that Bill was working on an annotated edition of The Secret of Chimneys. Was there a movie version? A review for the book would be nice. There was. It was an episode in a box set from ITV’s Marple.

Oookaaaay.

Having become overly familiar with Chimneys, I knew Agatha wrote it years before Miss Marple was a twinkle in her eye. But we watched it anyway. It was terrible. Bill wrote his review for The Complete, Annotated Secret of Chimneys, and I wrote mine for the website.

Since the library’s Marple DVD set included three more episodes, we watched them and I reviewed them for the website.

That’s when Bill said the fateful words that brought us here: “Let’s watch more Agatha films. You write the reviews. I’ll post them on the website, and we’ll publish them as a book.”

So here we are nearly three years later. We had no idea how big the Agatha project would become or how many films have been made for cinema and TV. Bill and I have watched more than 200 adaptations. This includes all the English-language ones we could find beginning with Adventures, Inc. (a 1929 silent movie), and many of the foreign versions too. For those, we were limited by availability and whether or not they had English subtitles. It’s criminal neglect that some of the finest Agatha Christie film adaptations in the world are from Japan, yet they’re unavailable in the West.

To my knowledge, we are the only people who’ve watched all the films. I’m definitely the only person who’s written and posted reviews for all those forgotten TV shows and kinescopes.

Along the way, I became much, much more familiar with Agatha’s writing as I had to read the novels and short stories to compare them to the films. She was cutting edge from the beginning. She invented what we call The Poirot, the practice of bringing together the suspects, explaining the clues, and fingering the criminal. It was a trope born of necessity, when her first attempt — Poirot testifying at the trial — didn’t fly with her publisher.

She began experimenting with narrative structure in 1924 with The Man in the Brown Suit. That novel has two narrators, one of them unreliable. Brown Suit is also a romantic thriller disguised as a mystery. Read the passage where Anne Beddingfeld administers to a mysterious, half-naked, sexy stranger’s wounds. This scene could be ripped from any romance novel of today (the sweet kind, not the spicy which would include far more detail). As a side note, the 1989 TV movie is very true to the text despite being turned into a contemporary.

Agatha was an innovative writer throughout her career. Her The Seven Dials Mystery (1929) is a mash-up of P. G. Wodehouse and John Buchan thrillers. Partners in Crime (1929) is a loose cycle of 16 short stories starring Tommy and Tuppence. Each short story is also a parody of a famous mystery writer, including herself! And unlike Miss Marple and Hercule Poirot, Tommy and Tuppence aged in real time, from the young, eager lovers in The Secret Adversary (1922) to retired grandparents in Postern of Fate (1973).

And what’s And Then There Were None (1939), in which 10 characters are dispatched in an entertaining manner for their sins, but a PG-rated slasher flick? As a sign of its influence, the basic plot has been lifted, the serial numbers filed off, and rewritten in dozens more novels and movies. The A.B.C. Murders (1936) is a prototypical serial killer novel.

Agatha’s innovations could fill a book and go a long way to explaining why she’s still read today.

The other reason is more subtle.

Whatever you can say about the quality of the adaptations (like The Secret of Chimneys, bleah), they keep Agatha in the public eye. Never underestimate the importance of TV shows and movies on an author’s reputation. For each person who reads, 100 people go to the movies, and a 1,000 people watch TV. Every time an Agatha Christie film is shown, people who’ve never heard of her learn she exists. Some of them search out her books and discover how good her writing is.

When a writer dies, they can vanish under the constant tsunami of books being written and published daily. Dorothy L. Sayers is a prime example. Sayers wrote at the same time as Agatha. She’s highly regarded and her books are great. But her estate, unlike Agatha’s, shows no interest in licensing her stories and novels for TV or movies. Say the phrase: “Murder at Downton Abbey,” then ask why her literary estate isn’t capitalizing on Lord Peter Wimsey, detective in the peerage and a duke’s brother.

The Agatha Christie estate does not want her writing to suffer that fate, so they license her short stories and novels. Some adaptations are excellent; some are dreadful. For a few, the only commonality between novel and film is the name. Most range in between but all have something to offer, even if it’s only great period clothes, quality acting, or English Country House Porn. Linenfold paneling! Crenelated ceilings! Parquet floors as elaborate as the finest Persian carpet!

Excuse me while I stop and fan myself.

Watching 200+ Agatha adaptations also taught me plenty about filmmaking, pacing, and soundtracks. I can now, sometimes, recognize an actor from another adaptation. I’ve enjoyed seeing how one novel can be interpreted multiple ways, resulting in wildly different films. The Pale Horse (1961) is a good example. The three films (including Miss Marple in one!) are recognizably the same story, yet they’ve nothing to do with each other. The emphasis is different, the characters different, the tone is different.

I’ve watched 13 different Poirots (including an anime version). Seven different Marples (including an anime version). Multiple Tommy and Tuppences. Each actor or actress brings something new to the character.

The foreign films demonstrate how universal she is. She wrote about dysfunctional families, mapped the class divide, noticed the lengths we go to for status and security, and found reasons for murder ranging from money to passion to safety.

Ironically, foreign filmmakers respect Agatha more than she is at home. Appointment with Death (1938) has been filmed three times, but the Japanese version is the only one that captures the novel’s cruelty and horror. The two English language versions fail, one moderately and one spectacularly. Of the four versions of The Mirror Crack’d From Side to Side (1962), only the Japanese version gives a voice to Margo Bence, one of Agatha’s most abused secondary characters. The other three versions ignore her because to face Margo Bence’s pain would mean admitting that the film business cares nothing for children unless they can be sold to make money.

We did not watch every single foreign TV episode even when they were readily available. There just wasn’t enough time. The best we could do was see enough to convey the flavor of a given series. If you want to see them, enjoy yourself! They provide very different views of Agatha and can be rewarding.

The novel that’s been adapted the most is And Then There Were None (1939). We saw ten versions, ranging from a blurry kinescope to slick studio productions with an all-star cast, so it merits its own chapter. Some versions hew to the stage play with its radically rewritten ending. Others stick to the novel, nihilism intact. Some combine the stage play and the novel, so Vera Claythorne learns who the puppet master was, begs for her life, and receives rough justice.

One final warning before you go: spoilers abound, so beware! Unlike Agatha, I don’t play fair with my reviews and hide whodunnit. Where I play fair is in telling you what I thought of them. I liked films that critics panned, and I disliked films others loved. I say why. I go down sidetracks. I enjoyed myself and I hope you will too.

So won’t you join me for an Agatha Christie Movie Marathon? You’ve got hundreds of hours of viewing pleasure ahead of you. Just remember to never accept a cup of tea you didn’t make, or take trips to lonely islands (or châteaus, or country houses) with strangers.

How to use this book

The films are organized by the starring detective. Miss Marple comes first, followed by Poirot, and Tommy and Tuppence. Next, a chapter is devoted exclusively to And Then There Were None, followed by the rest of the adaptations, and the final chapter is movies in which Agatha herself is the star.

Each chapter opens with a photo gallery showing the actors and actresses who played her detectives and characters.

There’s also an index, which is more important than it appears.

Seems logical, yes? Except that some adaptations removed Agatha’s chosen detective, turning the novel into a police procedural. When that happens, the movie is not included in the detective’s chapter. It’s included in “The Rest of the Christies”. Many of the foreign adaptations fall into this category.

Other adaptations (cough, ITV’s Marple, cough) insert a detective who didn’t exist in the novel. That’s why many standalone novels appear in the Miss Marple chapter. She’s now the star of The Sittaford Mystery, Murder Is Easy, The Pale Horse, and others. She also appears in a Tommy and Tuppence novel, By the Pricking of My Thumbs. Similarly, Margaret Rutherford snatched two Poirot novels and made them her own, so they appear in the Miss Marple chapter.

The chapters dedicated to And Then There Were None and the movies not part of a detective series are self- evident. “Agatha the Star,” however, deserves an explanation. In addition to her stories, Agatha’s life has become fodder for Hollywood. This includes the dreadful Vanessa Redgrave/Dustin Hoffman biopic Agatha (1979), a documentary that quotes from her and her work, a Doctor Who episode, and three movies that show Agatha’s exciting life investigating mysteries in a parallel universe. It focuses on Agatha, not her writing. Any relationship to Agatha’s real life should be considered coincidental. Even the documentary in this chapter is not entirely reliable.

Within each chapter, the films are organized chronologically. As you move forward in time, you’ll see changes in how a character was depicted and movie-making styles. Adventures, Inc. (1929) sets the stage. It’s the earliest Agatha film and the scriptwriter, Jane Bess, played fast and loose with the text. She led the way for hack screenwriters everywhere to rewrite Agatha’s prose.

Each review gets two pages. We chose a banner image and six photos of important cast members. I rate films by fidelity to text (or life in “Agatha the Star,” and either the play or the novel in And Then There Were None) and by the quality of the movie overall. The two ratings are separate, but they complement each other and give you a clearer understanding of what to expect.

The cast lists place detectives and police at the top. Everyone else follows in rough order of importance. We group families together to make it easier to work out relationships. Our cast lists are not comprehensive but the main characters are there.

Also note that for those foreign films which don’t name their characters from the novel, we provide that information. This was omitted when they rewrote them so much (such as Unknown (1965), the Indian version of And Then There Were None) that it would not be helpful.

At the end of the list come the film locations, or (in a couple episodes) a song list. Internet Movie Database and Agatha Christie Wiki provided most of the locations, but Bill added to that from other sources (see the bibliography). Knowing the film locations means you, dear reader, can visit the same castle as Poirot or Miss Marple.

Subtitles matter to me. We always looked for versions with subtitles as so many actors mumble or the sound quality is bad. If I can’t understand the dialog, I miss important points. Not every DVD was released with subtitles.

Fortunately, some of the older films like the Joan Hickson Miss Marples are being cleaned up for streaming. They get subtitles. But they aren’t being released as new DVDs so, no subtitles. If you can watch a streamed version, no problem. If you must use your TV and DVD player, you’re out of luck.

We had to have subtitles for the foreign films. We couldn’t see some films we wanted to (we especially regret passing up the Japanese Murder on the Orient Express) because they either weren’t available with subtitles or they weren’t available at all.

The index will help you find a specific film. This isn’t just because some novels got Miss Marple inserted, putting them into the Miss Marple chapter. Agatha’s novels were often released under different names. For example, the novel Lord Edgware Dies (1933) was released in the U.S. as Thirteen At Dinner. It’s been filmed three times, twice as Lord Edgware Dies and once as Thirteen At Dinner. But they’re all based on the same novel and the index connects them.

I list all the names, with a note as to which film it applies to. Or, as with Margaret Rutherford, the film’s name doesn’t correspond to any edition of the novel but I tell you what to look for.

The bibliography provides further reading and shows where some of my information came from.

Enjoy the book. We enjoyed watching the movies, podcasting about many of them, and writing the reviews. We want it to be used, encouraging you to watch Agatha Christie on the screen, always different but always her.

How the movies are rated

Each movie is given two ratings. Fidelity of text is exactly what it sounds. How close is the film to the original text? Sometimes, only the names match. Other films are so faithful, they’re lifeless.

Quality of movie is about the movie itself. Did everything together work as a film? Often, a very good movie isn’t faithful to the text at all (see Miss Marple in Ordeal By Innocence (2007)). If something jars about the movie, I’ll indicate it here.

The rating icons demonstrate Agatha’s many, many ways of killing. Blunt objects, poisoned cocktails, garrotes, knives, guns, stranglers, being pushed down a flight of stairs. They usually reflect the first murder in the film.

A few films, such as And Then There Were None, get five different symbols to reflect all the ways those nasty people got iced.

How to find the movies

We watched the vast majority of the films on DVD on our TV set, the one our neighbors were throwing away. You’re correct that we count our pennies.

That’s why we use our public library. If yours is like ours, it contains a surprisingly large collection of Agatha Christie films. All you have to do is get a library card to borrow them.

You may, like us, have access to more than one library. It’s worth learning what’s available in your area. We belong to our local library (the Hershey Public Library) and to our county library (the much larger Dauphin County Public Library). They often carry different titles so I always check both before moving on to the next step.

Your library is bigger than your municipality, your county, or even your state. Ask for the interlibrary loan librarian. For us, it’s Denise Philips. Denise got us all kinds of DVDs from libraries across the country. This service is usually free, as libraries are tax-supported. Ask and you may be very pleased. The interlibrary loan may take a few weeks for the requested movie to arrive, but it nearly always will.

If Denise could not get us a title, Bill would search eBay and Amazon. We bought a universal DVD player so we could play DVDs from Europe.

There were obscure kinescopes that were on YouTube, so we watched them on the computer.

There are streaming services, including Amazon which gave us access to Britbox. Dailymotion let us watch the Japanese films.

We don’t recommend skeevy pirate sites. They’re illegal, don’t pay royalties to the creators, and whatever you get will be loaded with viruses and malware and the film may be incomplete or damaged.

*** A review ***

The Sittaford Mystery (2006)

Epic expansion of Trevelyan’s life
leaves little room for a coherent
mystery for Miss Marple to sort out

Fidelity to text: 1 pharaoh’s curse

The novel was eviscerated. The murder, séance, escaped prisoner, and a few names remain. Everything else, including the murderer, were altered beyond recognition. Miss Marple resented being shoved in; she stayed defiantly offstage for long stretches.

Quality of movie: 1½ pharaoh’s curses

The scriptwriter shoved ten pounds of plot into a five-pound running length and the result is incoherence with snow.

The Review

Queue up Sir Mix-a-Lot and “Baby Got Back” and recite along with me:

Oh. My. God.
Look at that plot!

You’ll have to sit through this episode twice (at least) to understand what’s going on. This film is 93 minutes long, not long enough for all the disparate plot threads to be woven in a cohesive fashion. The film needed a minimum of another twenty minutes running time to do it justice.

But since ITV didn’t do that, you, dear viewer, will be left asking what just happened? Rewind, dammit! That’s what we did. Repeatedly. Yet there were many moments when I still can’t tell you what was going on.

The trouble starts with forcing Miss Marple into a property that was never written for her. This can work: see ITV’s By the Pricking of My Thumbs, a Tommy and Tuppence novel.

Not here. In fact, Miss Marple disappeared for long stretches of the film, doing heaven only knows what in Sittaford House while sitting out the blizzard. Maybe she was questioning the staff (we only see one servant in the mansion but there must be more), knitting, and speed-reading Captain Trevelyan’s memoirs. She certainly wasn’t at the Three Crowns Inn, inspecting the body and questioning the guests, even though most of the action takes place there.

An entirely new plot is shoehorned in, vastly expanding Captain Trevelyan’s character and backstory. Suddenly, he’s a war hero (WWI), a suspected war profiteer (WWII), an Olympic skater in between (I think; the dialog was incomprehensible at many key points), a major candidate to be the next prime minister (Winston Churchill (!) has a scene with Captain Trevelyan), and he’s a noted archeologist having discovered a major tomb in Egypt back in 1927 that made his fortune! Compared with Capt. Trevelyan, Indiana Jones was a lazy amateur.

But all this rewriting was necessary to give Timothy Dalton scenery to chew to earn his paycheck. In the novel, Captain Trevelyan exists to be swiftly murdered. He doesn’t even get one line. In the movie — since he’s Timothy Dalton — when he’s not emoting in front of us, he’s the topic of conversation by the other characters.

Which I can understand. It’s Timothy Dalton, and my goodness does he look yummy. Some men age very well and he belongs to that lucky cohort. He’s also got to be expensive so the producers made sure to get their money’s worth. Pity they didn’t spend some of their money on a better script or more film stock.

But he didn’t age that well. I had a hard time believing that virginal, lovely, dewy, eighteen-year-old Violet Willets (Carey Mulligan) fell madly in love with a man old enough to be her grandfather. I know why he did, and it’s not just because Violet resembles the woman he callously abandoned twenty-five years prior in Egypt. Violet is delicious, naïve, and believes every word he says and what man doesn’t want that? As for Violet, she didn’t come across as a gold-digger, which is the usual reason sweet 18-year-olds marry men old enough to be their grandfather. Or maybe she was one and the tacked-on ending where Violet runs off to Argentina with Emily Trefusis proves it.

Violet certainly wasn’t broken up about her husband being murdered on their wedding night. If anything, she seemed relieved. She got it all. The Trevelyan name, the inheritance, two tickets to Buenos Aires, and she didn’t have to sacrifice her sweet toothsome body to some old man, even if he was Timothy Dalton.

The Egyptian subplot was of major importance yet it didn’t make any sense. There was the paranormal aspect too, with a ghostly maiden showing up in Captain Trevelyan’s visions. Was there a curse on the gold scorpion? Was he going crazy? We’re never told. The ghost follows a different movie’s script when it appears and vanishes.

This script also doesn’t tell us how an Egyptian servant can show up in isolated Sittaford in 1949 and get hired on, no questions asked. I understand that the servant problem was bad enough that the upper crust didn’t ask as many questions as they could. But here? Really?

We know Captain Trevelyan did potentially bad things in Egypt. Yet he wasn’t suspicious when this mysterious Egyptian showed up at his door? He’d been having weird dreams about his past. He’s got a burgeoning political career which means close scrutiny of his private life. He’s supposed to be a smart man.

Add in the even more incoherent subplot about the escaped prisoner from Dartmoor prison. None of that made sense; not the purchase of the inn a year prior to the events of the story, not the backstory of how the star-crossed lovers met, not how the prisoner escaped from Dartmoor prison and found his way across the moors to be reunited with his paramour and cousin and their eventual escape to freedom.

There’s also the American war profiteer who helped Captain Trevelyan make a fortune manufacturing substandard munitions that killed more American sailors than the enemy. The American war profiteer’s personal aide-de-camp and quack doctor made even less sense. Why did the war profiteer need him around, other than as a dogsbody? There was mumbled dialog that sounded like they were both in the mafia, but it was unclear.

We also meet the incompetent government clerk who’s looking into Captain Trevelyan’s background to ensure nothing questionable is revealed to the press, thus discrediting the party. He’s not doing a very good job if Captain Trevelyan was a known associate of American war profiteers and he doesn’t know.

Then there’s Charles Burnaby. In the novel, he’s boy-reporter Charles Enderby. The name change was the first step in his complete reworking of motives and backstory. Yet we get no foreshadowing of his dramatic personal life or of his connections to the Trevelyan family.

We get almost nothing of James Pearson’s connection to Captain Trevelyan either. We get even less of a reason for Emily Trefusis to be engaged to James Pearson, boy alcoholic, other than that old standby: He’ll inherit big when Captain Trevelyan dies. Maybe that’s why Emily runs off to Argentina with Violet. She gets the money and the girl and doesn’t have to marry the boy alcoholic.

I could rant on, but you get the picture: This movie was a mess, barely suitable for Timothy Dalton fans. ITV could have saved the cost of his salary and paid for a better script. Or, they could have capitalized on Timothy Dalton and added another twenty minutes of movie, explaining all the subplots and how they connected.

General Information

Based on: The Sittaford Mystery (U.S. title: The Murder at Hazelmoor; novel, 1931)

Run time: 1 hr., 40 min. Subtitles: No

Writer: Stephen Churchett

Director: Paul Unwin

Cast

Geraldine McEwan as Miss Marple

Timothy Dalton as Clive Trevelyan
Mel Smith as John Enderby
Jeffery Kissoon as Ahmed Ghali
Laurence Fox as James Pearson
Zoe Telford as Emily Trefusis
James Murray as Charles Burnaby
Rita Tushingham as Miss Elizabeth Percehouse
Michael Brandon as Martin Zimmerman
Paul Kaye as Dr. Ambrose Burt
Patricia Hodge as Mrs. Evadne Willett
Carey Mulligan as Violet Willett
Matthew Kelly as Donald Garfield
James Wilby as Stanley Kirkwood
Robert Hardy as Winston Churchill

Film Locations

The Flower Pot Pub, Henley-on-Thames, Oxfordshire (pub exterior)
Dorney Court, Dorney, Buckinghamshire (Sittaford House interiors)

***

Excerpt from Agatha Christie, She Watched by Teresa Peschel. Copyright 2023 by Teresa Peschel. Reproduced with permission from Teresa Peschel. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Teresa Peschel

Teresa Peschel never planned to become a writer, nor did she plan to become an expert on film versions of Agatha Christie stories. Then, as a supportive wife, Teresa read and edited Bill’s annotations to Agatha’s first six novels. A desire to promote the books led to writing movie reviews for the Peschel Press website, which led to Bill suggesting they could publish a collection quickly. Two and a half years later, Agatha Christie, She Watched was born. This book got Teresa — and Bill as her supportive husband — an invitation to speak at the 2024 Agatha Christie festival in England.

Like Agatha Christie, Teresa reinvented herself and because of Agatha Christie, she’s become a better writer.

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Book Tour ~ The Bush Tea Murder - A Caribbean Island Mystery by Ashley-Ruth M. Bernier

 

The Bush Tea Murder by Ashley-Ruth M. Bernier Banner

THE BUSH TEA MURDER

by Ashley-Ruth M. Bernier

April 20 - May 15, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

The Bush Tea Murder by Ashley-Ruth M. Bernier

A CARIBBEAN ISLAND MYSTERY

 

Culinary journalist Naomi Sinclair is cooking up a maelstrom of trouble upon her return to the blue waters of her native Saint Thomas.

Food journalist Naomi Sinclair doesn’t expect a side of murder with her passion fruit juice. But when her return to Saint Thomas heralds a series of troubling cases, ranging from petty theft to cold-blooded murder, that threaten her tight-knit community, that is exactly the kind of unsavory treat she must sink her teeth into.

Luckily for her neighbors, Naomi is as adept at solving puzzles as rolling johnnycake dough—a good thing, since her island community, though small, keeps serving up plenty of trouble. With the help of her friends and her crush, Mateo, Naomi must navigate the tumultuous turquoise waters of life in the Caribbean, all as her beloved father battles an illness that keeps tugging her back to her island amid her rising career stateside.

Rich with mouthwatering recipes, lush landscapes, and a hefty dose of fun under the sun, The Bush Tea Murder has all the ingredients to make up the perfect beach read.

Praise for The Bush Tea Murder:

"Zigzagging between Charlotte, North Carolina, and Charlotte Amalie, St. Thomas, this debut offers plenty to enjoy . . . Fun-filled and fulfilling."
~ Kirkus Reviews, starred review

"Rich in history and culture . . . Fans of Joanne Fluke, Vivian Chien, and Mia P. Manansala will delight in this mystery-plus-food concoction."
~ First Clue Reviews

"Ashley-Ruth M. Bernier’s The Bush Tea Murder is the perfect blend of intrigue, family drama, mystery and Caribbean culture. You’ll want to savor it to the last drop."
~ Olivia Matthews, author of the Spice Isle Bakery Mysteries

"At its heart, this is a charming, immersive cozy mystery steeped in Caribbean culture, vibrant characters, and sun-drenched intrigue—a fresh and flavorful delight. The mystery unfolds at a measured, satisfying pace, allowing the rich worldbuilding and character dynamics to shine. I especially loved the subtle tension between Naomi’s stateside ambitions and her deep-rooted love for her island home, which adds emotional depth beyond what’s typical for the genre. With engaging twists, well-developed characters, and a beautifully flowing plot, this is a cozy mystery that lingers long after the final page."
~ Debra Sennefelder, author of the Food Blogger mystery series

Book Details:

Genre: Culinary Cozy Mystery
Published by: Crooked Lane Books
Publication Date: April 21, 2026
Number of Pages: 336
ISBN: 9798892425230
Series: A Caribbean Island Mystery, Book 1
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Penguin Random House

Read an excerpt from The Bush Tea Murder:

Chapter One

Present

I’ve been told my entire life that the perfect cup of bush tea is magic, and this morning I hope with every fiber of my being that this is true. There are some hard truths I have to spill, and I’ll take every ounce of help I can get. I’m settled in one of the scarlet chairs in the EAT TV conference room, directly across the table from Travis Spriggs and his nauseating brand of bright, crisp-cut perfection—just right for television, but less like sunshine and more like a fluorescent spotlight at four in the morning. He’s flanked by two people whose names I’ve only seen in producer credits at the end of some of the highest performing shows on network television: my boss’s bosses, both sporting dark suits and expressions like cliff faces. Bronwyn, the studio exec who oversees me, Travis, and the other on-air talent at EAT TV, sits in the plush chair at the head of the table, her usual pleasant expression as drained as the tumbler of coffee in her hand.

They’re all here for me.

“I’ll get things started, Miss Sinclair,” Bronwyn says, looking at me but speaking to the executives. She hasn’t called me Miss Sinclair since the interview when she hired me three years ago. “Mr. Revilla and Ms. Abbott called this meeting. I’m sure you know why. They’re very ready to start work on the show—”

“My show,” Travis murmurs with a smug smile.

“That hasn’t been officially decided,” Bronwyn says. “We can’t have a conversation about our next steps because—well— because we don’t have your ending yet, Naomi.”

“You’ve given us a lot, Miss Sinclair. Lord knows—” Mr. Revilla gestures with a meaty hand at the chunky beige file folder in front of him. “You’ve given us a hell of a lot here.”

“But you haven’t closed the case,” Ms. Abbott speaks up. Woman’s got a twist-out with impressive volume, and I’m glad I’m not the only hair naturalista in the room. Her coils jiggle as she leans toward me. “You still haven’t told us who killed Ursula Merchant.”

I glance at my mug. The Universe seems to be following a recipe for an uncomfortable morning, blending each ingredient together artfully like the chefs I interview on A Word from the Kitchen. But if there’s a recipe for a poisonous morning afoot, I’ve got the antidote here in the cup in front of me. Bush tea—balsam, mint, and lemongrass—picked from the window herb garden in my townhouse kitchen, and brewed fresh daily the way my parents and Virgin Islanders before me have done for generations. Even with the early morning, smarmy coworker and hard truths, one sip can take my mind away from the over

cast Charlotte cityscape beyond the conference room window straight to the sunny green hills of Charlotte Amalie, St. Thomas. I’ve lived in North Carolina for eight years now, but St. Thomas will always be home—and anything that gets me there this fast is magic indeed.

But not right now. I need to stay here, in everything this moment means. Immersed in all that’s led to it. Focused on the possibilities it will usher through. A sip will have to wait.

“That’s what you’ll get from Naomi, Ms. Abbott,” Travis says, injecting his tones with the most bored affect he can muster up. “She’s supposed to be giving you the details for one story, but instead you’ve got—what, five of them in here?” “Six,” Mr. Revilla mutters.

Travis’s brown eyes go wide. “Well, damn, sir, she’ll go off on a tangent or two, but I wouldn’t have guessed as high as six! For a journalist like me, who focuses like hell on the one story he’s got, that’s incomprehensible.”

“We read all six. And we enjoyed them,” Ms. Abbott is quick to assure me.

“But that’s not the point, is it?” Travis asks. “We were each asked to investigate one unsolved food-based mystery for this show you conceived. I gave you that. Naomi’s brought more stories than you can count on one hand, but she hasn’t given you what you asked for. She hasn’t answered the big question.” There’s enough sauce in the smile he beams at me to cover ten full racks of ribs. “You even know who killed her, Nay?”

Bronwyn looks caught between checking Travis’s tone and waiting out my answer. Her bosses follow suit. I sip my tea, still piping hot, and decide to address both. “Of course I know who killed Ursula Merchant,” I answer. “It’s right there in that folder I gave Mr. Revilla. That’s what these are—my notes on the investigation.”

Mr. Revilla and Ms. Abbott exchange a look. She’s ultimately the one who responds. “There’s . . . certainly a story here. Several. You’ve solved quite a few problems on St. Thomas over the past year. But when it comes to the story of Ursula Merchant, the one you were supposed to be investigating the whole time . . . there doesn’t seem to be much of anything.” “Nothing at all,” Mr. Revilla echoes.

“Naomi, they’d really like to make a decision,” Bronwyn says. “Travis presented a fine investigation on the Barbecue Sauce Killings—”

“The Carolina Barbecue Murders,” Travis speaks up. Bronwyn waves him away.

“He’s given us history, interviews, and a compelling hypothesis . . . along with a deep sense of the process, flavor, and sizzle of both styles of Carolina barbecue,” Bronwyn says. “The case you’ve been investigating, this—tea maven in St. Thomas being shot to death in her locked office—it’s equally intriguing. But while you’ve given us so much, you still haven’t given us an ending.”

“You’re right. I haven’t,” I say. “That was intentional. I’m hoping to do that today. Right now, as a matter of fact.” I clasp both hands around my mug.

Travis leans back in his seat, pressing the tips of his fingers together. “You sure that’s what you want? Naomi’s going to take you on a circular journey, which is the way she operates on A Word from the Kitchen. A ton of loose threads—”

“—which she always weaves together. The connections are there,” Bronwyn interrupts. “The best thing we can do right now is just hear you out, Naomi. You say you know how the story ends and what happened to Ursula Merchant. So let’s hear it. Who killed her, and how did all of this lead you there?”

I’m not at the head of the table, but all eyes are on me— Bronwyn’s perfectly lined and shadowed gray eyes are full of hope and curiosity, Mr. Revilla’s and Ms. Abbott’s are expectant behind their eyeglasses, and Travis seems to be trying to will his into lasers capable of slicing me to shreds. I take a deep breath, letting the scent of the brew in my cup ground and fortify me. I’d had a hot cup of bush tea that morning, too. The morning that started it all. The magic in my mug was what set this whole thing into motion—as bush tea always manages to do.

***

Excerpt from The Bush Tea Murder by Ashley-Ruth M. Bernier. Copyright 2026 by Ashley-Ruth M. Bernier. Reproduced with permission from Ashley-Ruth M. Bernier. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

The Bush Tea Murder by Ashley-Ruth M. Bernier

Ashley-Ruth M. Bernier’s work has appeared in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, Black Cat Weekly, Stone’s Throw, Smoking Pen Press, Malice Domestic's Mystery Most Devious and Mystery Most Humorous, The Best American Mystery and Suspense 2023, and other esteemed anthologies. Originally from St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands, Ashley-Ruth writes mysteries highlighting the vibrant culture of her home. Ashley-Ruth is a 2022 winner of NCWN’s Jacobs-Jones award, a 2023 SMFS Derringer finalist, a Killer Nashville Claymore finalist, a 2024 recipient of MWA’s Barbara Neely grant for Black mystery writers, and a 2026 Agatha Award nominee. THE BUSH TEA MURDER (Crooked Lane Books, 2026) is her first novel-length work. She currently lives with her family and teaches first grade in Apex, North Carolina.

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Book Tour ~ Montana Matrimonial News by Candace Simar

 




Historical Fiction

Date Published: 10-07-2025

Publisher: NorthStar Press



Loneliness gnaws and chews like the relentless prairie wind. Dakota homesteader, Digger Dancy, props his feet in the oven and waits for the storm to end. His brother, George, barges into the soddy in a swirl of blowing snow. George announces he will abandon his claim to seek a wife. He can’ t stand the loneliness. Digger slaps a stack of old newspapers on the table and convinces him to place an ad for a correspondence bride in the Montana Matrimonial News. Doctor Gamla, the almost-doctor and midwife, treats George’ s frostbite, and offers a cure for his melancholia. She tells of two sisters living in tar-paper shacks along the Mad Dog River. The brothers cannot imagine how Doctor Gamla’ s cure will change their lives. Nickelbo’ s whole world is wheat. The homesteaders talk about crops, worry about the weather, complain about prices, and dream what they’ ll buy after the harvest. Asa Wainwright busts sod with a grasshopper plow. Ingrid Larson dallies over planting to avoid her sister’ s wedding. Drunken Oscar Borgom gets lost in a storm on the way to the outhouse. Through it all, Doctor Gamla delivers babies, treats ailments, and offers advice. “My cures work if you can stand them."

 

December 1888

 

Digger Dancy paced back and forth across his soddy, ten steps from door

to stove, eleven steps from table to bed. He had survived four long winters,

and he would survive now. It was a matter of mental discipline. He focused

on pleasant things: playing baseball in July, a keg of beer cooled in the river,

turning the crank at the ice cream social, dancing to a polka band. Don’t think

about Christmas coming. Don’t count the months until spring. Don’t worry

about your brother. Read. Sing. Recite poetry. Read some more. Remember

the poems you memorized in school. Listen my children and you shall hear of the

midnight ride of Paul Revere. And the Bible verses you learned in church. Jesus

wept. God is love. The Lord is my shepherd I shall not want. Get ahold of yourself.

Digger cracked open the door and peered out into the storm. A white

curtain of blowing snow wrapped the world into a cocoon. He couldn’t see

a thing. Yesterday, the storm roared out of Canada and dumped three feet of

snow across Dakota Territory. Snow was still coming down. Icy cold robbed

his breath. He slammed the door and added kerosene to the lamp. The earthen

walls absorbed the light, leaving only a feeble glow.

He had sweet-talked his brother into homesteading the adjoining claim.

They would share work and keep each other company. They would build their

own life, away from their bossy mother and relatives. Sitting on a claim for five

years was worth the title from Uncle Sam, in his opinion, but George suffered

from melancholia. Dark winter days pushed him to the edge of sanity. George

always snapped back in the spring, but even so, Digger worried about him.

Lately he had been withdrawn and morose. As soon as the weather cleared, he

would go check on him. Dear God, don’t let him do anything rash.

He pulled his chair next to the stove, rested his feet on the open oven door,

and opened a Fargo Argosy that was almost old enough to vote. He reread a

report of a baseball game. Homesteaders were too busy and too isolated to play

much ball. Next summer he would convince his neighbors to play a game once

in a while. It was the only thing he missed about Iowa. He didn’t miss his bossy

mother or the town gossips. He didn’t miss everyone trying to tell him how to

live his life.

The door burst open, banging against the wall, and sagging on leather hinges.

George barged inside in a swirl of artic air and driving snow. He stood wildeyed

and gasping for breath, swathed in snow-covered blankets. His slate blue

eyes stared out from a face so coated in ice that it hid his carrot-colored beard.

“You red-headed-son-of-a-biscuit.” Digger jumped up with a clatter, tipping

his chair. He lurched toward the doorway and fixed the latch. A skiff of

snow covered the floor in front of the door. “Have you lost your mind?”

George staggered to the stove and held his hands to the heat. His eyelashes

melted into plops of snow that sizzled on the stovetop. His teeth chattered

clickety-clack.

“Couldn’t see a damn thing.” His words came out between shivers. “Faced

into the wind until I bumped the side of your barn and found the guide rope.

Could have missed it. Wouldn’t that have been something to write Ma about?”

“It’s not funny.” Digger could have wrung his brother’s neck. Folks froze to

death in blizzards all the time. “Take off those wet clothes. Check for frostbite.”

“I know.” George gathered a handful of snow from his coat and rubbed his

face with a trembling hand. His teeth clicked so hard that his speech came out

in uneven rhythm. “Big brother, always the straw boss.”

Digger draped the wet clothes near the stove to dry. The smell of wet wool

filled his nostrils. “Ma would blame me if you died, no matter how it happened.

You’ve always been her favorite.”

George grinned through a mustache long enough to cover his crooked

teeth. “There’d be hell to pay. She never wanted us to homestead.” He donned

Digger’s extra union suit, mostly clean, and a pair of Digger’s dirty socks. He

buttoned Digger’s buffalo coat around him and wrapped himself in the blankets

from Digger’s bed.

Digger fetched a heated stone for George’s feet and motioned for George

to take the chair. He poured a cup of coffee stiff enough to stand a spoon. “Ma

will eat her words when we prove up on our claims next fall.”

“If we make it,” George said.

“You won’t, if you go tramping around in blizzards.” Digger scooped soft

coal into the firebox. The stovepipe glowed red hot. “Fool stunt to leave your

soddy.” The wind rattled the stove pipe and shutters, howling a low moan

around the roofline.

“I was out of smokes.” George propped his feet on the oven door and pulled

the blankets tighter around him. His teeth no longer snapped together.

Digger fetched the tobacco can and threw it in George’s lap.

George lit his pipe, inhaled, held the smoke, and exhaled a perfect ring.

The fire crackled, the sweet smell of tobacco, and the stench of dirty feet filled

the dwelling.

“Out with it.” Digger knew George had plenty of tobacco. “You didn’t risk

your life to fill your pipe.”

“Damn it,” George said. “I can’t take it anymore. Alone in the soddy day

after day, no one to talk to, sleeping cold.” A look of anguish crossed his face.

“I’m throwing in the towel and heading back to Iowa.”

“You’re cooped-up crazy, that’s all. The worst is behind us.” Digger scrambled

for words that would prevent George from throwing away four years of

labor. “Only a fool would give up now.”

“No woman wants a soddy in the middle of the prairie.”

Digger sighed. That again. Every time they got together, the talk shifted

to women, or rather, the lack of them. “There must be someone who wants to

marry a farmer.”

“Ten men to every woman out here on the prairie, and the good ones already

taken.”

It was true. How was a homesteader supposed to go courting when he had

to sit on his claim for five years? Taking leave for a few months to find a wife

left a homesteader open for accusations when the time came to finalize the

deed. Why, a man just west of them went to Fargo for his father’s funeral and

stayed through the winter to help his mother. A neighbor disputed his claim

and bought out the options from under him. All his work for nothing, just because

of a greedy neighbor.

George might sell his land later when he held clear title. Then he would

have money to start somewhere else if he wasn’t satisfied with Nickelbo, Dakota

Territory. Digger couldn’t let him ruin his life.

“Maybe there’s a girl back home in Iowa. Send her a train ticket and meet

the preacher in town when you pick her up.” Digger named single girls they had

known in Iowa. Ina Bunch was too sickly to last on the prairie. George said the

last letter from Ma said she had married Percy Simonson.

“That panty waist?”

“That’s what she said.”

Gladys Nelson was an old maid set in her ways. Twyla Kennedy was promised

to a man from Arkansas.

“That’s the rub. Out-of-towners swoop in and skim the cream. Twyla

would be a perfect wife,” George said with clenched fists. “I’d like to meet that

Arkansas scoundrel on a deserted road sometime.”

They commiserated about their bad luck. Digger poured shot glasses of

blackberry brandy. “We should have courted before leaving home.” Digger felt

the brandy burn down his throat. “It didn’t seem important at the time, and

now look at us. We’ll end up bachelors.”

“Not me. I’m getting married,” George said. “I want a dozen boys to help

with the farm.”

“Mathilda Jones is single and sturdy, but she’s ugly as a mule, and owly even

on a clear day,” Digger said. “But she can cook. Remember her coconut cream

pie at the ice cream social?”

George shuddered. “I’d have to blow out the lamp to stand it. She’s the type

of woman who looks better in the dark.” He laughed at his own joke. “I’m looking

for a beauty. One who cooks and bakes and keeps a tidy house. Someone to

tend flower beds and vegetable gardens. A quiet girl who knows her place and

lets me rule the roost.”

“Neither of us is the best catch,” Digger said with a snort. “You, a redhead

with a temper, and me going bald on top.”

“You still have a little hair,” George said. “Even if it’s the color of mud. What

about that new teacher in Fingal ?”

“Already promised,” Digger said. “Skeeter told me.”

Skeeter Jorgenson, their neighbor to the south, had stopped by earlier in

the week with a stack of old newspapers for sale. The papers stank of cat piss

and crumbled around the edges, but were useful for the outhouse and starting

fires. Digger plopped the stack in George’s lap.

“Maybe you’ll find a bride in the Montana Matrimonial News,” Digger said.

“You selfish pig.” George’s eyes sparked fire. “Hogging these all to yourself.”

“Settle down. I just got them a few days ago. Skeeter has read them so many

times that he can quote them by heart, though the women listed must all be

married by now, or in their dotage.”

Outside the wind howled. Digger scraped frost off the window, blew on

the glass, and scraped again. Nothing but swirling white. He moved the lamp

closer to his brother who thumbed through the papers. “You won’t be going

anywhere tonight. Guess I’ll fix a little supper.” Digger shoved George’s feet off

the oven door. “Have to bring the heat up for the biscuits.”

George was so engrossed in reading that he seemed not to notice.

“Listen to this. There is a lad in Missouri with a foot that’s flat, with seeds in his

pocket and a brick in his hat, with an eye that is blue and a number 10 shoe—he’s the

bull of the woods and the boy for you.’” George chuckled. “Seems he could bait his

hook a little better than that.”

“I’ll say,” Digger said from the dough pan. “Paying good money about a

brick in his hat?”

“Wastrel,” George said. “And a braggart. Maybe he was drinking.”

“I’ll bet he’s still single.”

“Here’s one from a woman. Is there a gentleman from 30-45 years of age,

weighing 170 to 200 pounds, measuring 5 feet and 10 inches up, honorable, and intelligent,

that desires a good wife and housekeeper? Let them answer this number. I

can give particulars, photo, and best of references if required. Christian preferred.”

“She’s old and fat. Read through the lines,” Digger said.

“Maybe I wouldn’t mind a fat one. She’d be warm on a cold night.” George

wore a dreamy expression. “And a good cook.”

Digger slammed the dough in disgust. Finding a wife was more than pretty

faces and warm beds.

 

About the Author

 

 Candace Simar likes to imagine how things might have been. She combines her love of history with her Scandinavian heritage in historical novels that examine the early days of Minnesota and North Dakota. “I write historical novels to share painless history lessons about the fascinating and unique history of our region.”

Her historical novels include: Sister Lumberjack, book five in the Abercrombie Trail Series (North Star Press, March 2024) Follow Whiskey Creek (Sweet Honey Press 2023) Escape to Fort Abercrombie (Five Star Cengage 2018) Shelterbelts (North Star Press 2015), Blooming Prairie (North Star Press 2012) Birdie (North Star Press2011) Pomme de Terre (North Star Press 2010), and Abercrombie Trail (North Star Press 2009). Her short story collections: Dear Homefolks (River Place Press 2017) and The Glory of Ordinary Time (Wolfpack Press 2018). Farm Girls (River Place Press 2013) is a book of poetry co-written with her sister, Angela Foster. Candace’s short stories have been published in the anthologies: Spoilt Quilt (Five Star Cengage 2020), Librarians of the West (Five Star Cengage 2021); and Why Cows Need Cowboys (Two Dot Press 2021).

Simar is a Spur Award winner and Spur finalist from the Western Writers of America for her Abercrombie Trail series. Shelterbelts was a finalist in both the Willa Literary Awards in Historical Fiction and the Midwest Book Awards. Escape to Fort Abercrombie holds a Will Rogers Gold Medallion and a Peacemaker Award from Western Fictioneers.

Her short stories and poetry have received awards from the Bob Dylan Creative Writing Contest, Lake Region Review, League of Minnesota Poets, National Federation of State Poetry Societies, Dust and Fire, and the Laura Awards for Short Fiction.

Candace enjoys sharing her research and writing with groups and book clubs across the nation.


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