Christy Awards 2007

The Christy Awards.

I still can't believe we were there. I've been surrounded by CBA authors for several years at different conferences, but having so many in one room at one time was really neat.

Lauren Winner's keynote was inspiring, Michelle McKinney Hammond did a wonderful job introducing everyone and made it clear she wasn't at all bitter that her first novel wasn't nominated.

Executive Director of the Christy's, Donna Kehoe has such a wonderful stage presence. She took the time to personally come up to me and thank the folks of Novel Journey for all we're doing. We'd like to thank her in return for all she's doing to promote excellent Christian fiction through these awards.

What stands out in my mind most about the evening was:
Novel Journey got to interview most of the Christy winners and it was COOL. I mean REALLY COOL. Friends jokingly tell me I'm the Barbara Walters of the CBA and I felt that way as I sat on a leather bench with a beautiful water fountain backdrop, asking whatever question of these lovely authors that popped into my warped mind.

(MaryLu: I really did know the name of your novel was THE REDEMPTION and not Pirates of the Carribean. Beverly: I'm glad your characters weren't telling you to hurt me.
You all get the picture of the fun we had with the authors. )

So often with what we're doing here at Novel Journey, we look around and say, how did we get here? Any day they're going to figure out we're the equivolent of Wayne's World and kick us out. Instead, we're treated like media royalty and loved on in the true spirit of Christ.

If I end up writing for the ABA, I will always have a special love for the CBA because of the people here and their heart for God. They will know us by our love is one of my favorite verses. CBA authors: Your love is so transparent. Not one head had a hard time fitting through the doors to those awards as far as I could tell. You are a truly remarkable bunch and I feel so blessed to call many of you friends.

Another highlight was seeing my friend Dee Stewart who I adore more and more. Her smile lit the room. Ane and I decided to be goofy in a couple of pictures and Dee didn't pretend she didn't know us but played along. (Major brownie points!) There's something to be said about people you can be your goofy self with.

A few other highlights were meeting Randy Alcorn. Safely Home is tied with Redeeming Love and Peace Like a River for my favorite novel of all time. If you haven't read it, oh my, you need to. It's a life-changing experience.

Randy is so unassuming. If you ever get a chance to find out about his ministry, Eternal Perspectives, do. Read his story. It is AMAZING. I want to be like him when I grow up (though I secretly pray I never actually do ... grow up that is.

I got to chat with Austin Boyd, as I've said before, and meet his lovely family. Austin's spirit is so sweet. He's humble and kind, and an enthusiastic cheerleader for others. He has on many occassions sung Novel Journey's praises and we appreciate him. Austin has very exciting projects he's working on. I can't wait to chat with him about them, "on air".

Austin isn't the only one whose spirit I admire. I absolutely love Lisa Samson's work. I think she's genious. But as much as I'm a fan of her work, I'm even more a fan of her. She is kind, down to earth and tender-hearted. It was awesome to chat with her at the Christy's, even if I made a buffoon of myself by discussing undergarments. (Believe me, you don't want to know.)

So much about the evening was magical and again, thanks to Jeane Wynn of Wynn-Wynn media for having Novel Journey there.

Tim Downs

Deanne Gist



















Robin Jones Gunn





















Beverly Lewis

















Tracy Groot





















Jamie Turner

















Keynote: Lauren Winner (author of: Girl Meets God)











Life-Time Acheivment Award recipient, Phyllis Tickle



















Christy Awards Executive Director: Donna Kehoe




















Michelle McKinney Hammond (Emcee for the night)



(Photos courtesy of Wynn-Wynn Media)

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Christy Awards and ICRS

Ane and Jonathan Rogers

Heather Ivester of Mom 2 Mom Connection,

Ane, Susan May Warren, Steeple Hill Editor Joan Marlow Golan and Gina

Ane, Dee Stewart and Gina acting stupid

Lisa Samson and her biggest fan!

Tracy Groot and Ane

Debbie Macomber and Ane

Gina and one of her favorite ladies in the CBA, Colleen Coble

I hope you all aren't getting sick of hearing about the Christy Awards and ICRS because I've still got more to say. I know, hard to believe that I would being as shy and quiet as I am.

This was Ane's and my first year at both. We were invited to The Christy's as media by Jeane Wynn of Wynn-Wynn media. We were delighted and thank her very much for including us. (She did an awesome job by the way. Kept everything flowing smoothly and everyone feeling special.)

At the Christy's we ran into lots of friends we've met through writing conferences, ACFW, Blue Ridge Mountain Writer's Conference, and of course, Novel Journey. It was like a family reunion.

I ran into my buddy Ray Blackston who I'd originally met years ago at Blue Ridge Mountain Writer's Conference when he was just coming out with his first novel, Flabbergasted (which I loved). Turns out Ray is newly engaged to the beautiful, raven-haired Kathy. She informed me she's not a writer but is an avid reader. I told her that was probably for the best. I can't imagine how much tuning out would occur in a household with two introspective writers. Lots of burnt meals, children left at school, missing car keys, etc.

Their big date is Sept 22! Congratulations Ray and Kathy!!

We sat at a table in the back of the room so that we could get up without too much disruption and set up for interviews. I was excited to sit at a table with my e-friend Heather Ivester and her husband and one of my favorite publicists, Rebeca Seitz and her husband, Charlie, of Glass Road PR, among others.

Michelle McKinney Hammond gave the introductions and Lauren Winner gave a fine key-note address explaining why she reads Christian fiction. It's nice to be reminded that what we write really does affect people in their daily lives.

The awards were given and the winners seemed genuinely humbled by the experience. The most memorable acceptance speach to me, was Tim Downs who gave a very sweet and heart-felt thanks to his wife. (Tim thanks for running off after the ceremony, I wanted to meet you in person!) Sigh.

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Room for Freedom

Room For Freedom
by Heidi Chiavaroli

And he [Isaac] removed from thence, and digged another well; and for that they strove not: and he called the name of it Rehoboth; and he said, “For now the Lord hath made room for us, and we shall be fruitful in the land.”
Genesis 26:22

Chapter One

Rehoboth, Massachusetts, April, 1941

“Mitch, I can’t do this.” Liberty Cobb stared at the fraying rope offered in her neighbor’s palm.

“I thought you wanted to be the next Clara Barton. Well, here’s your chance.”

She snatched up the line. “A nurse, Mitch Adams. Not a veterinarian.”

A smile teased the corners of his mouth. “The quicker this calf is born, the better for Lolly. Now you pull when I tell you.” He gripped his side of the rope and spread long, coverall-clad legs hip-length apart. “Okay, now.”

She tugged. Poor Lolly. And to even think how Mitch managed to tie the wretched ropes to the unborn calf’s legs… Lolly bawled long and low. Oh, if only Daddy were here.

“Good, Lib, keep pulling!”

The encouraging words eased the growing tightness in her chest. If she had to carry through with this task, she supposed there was no man in the world she’d rather do so with than the sweaty one beside her.

“There’s his head! See it?”

Liberty breathed around a rattle in her throat and glanced at Lolly’s rear end, where a small, slimy nose perched upon two front legs.

She gritted her teeth. “And just how do you know it’s a he?”

A drop of moisture fell from Mitch’s brow onto the straining muscles in his arm. “You never mind how I know and keep up that pulling.”

The rope burned her fingers, but she continued heaving until the calf’s hips finally broke into the open. Its brown-spackled body slid onto the straw at their feet. Liberty gasped for air and leaned against the stall door.

Mitch removed the leftover birth sack from around the calf’s hind legs and untied the ropes. “A male. Just like I thought.” His satisfied grin could have lit up all of Union Station on a stormy night. He patted Lolly’s rump. “Enough resting, old girl. Come and clean your little son.” The cow’s low mooing filled the evening air.

“Uh, Mitch. I could be wrong, but, well—”

“What?”

Liberty pointed at the cow’s rear end.

“Well I’ll be. Twins” He examined Lolly with one hand and then retrieved the ropes. “He’s backwards, this one’s not going to be so easy. Come on, Lib, one more time.”

Lolly’s moans persisted as Mitch worked to tie the ropes. Liberty busied herself with rubbing the newborn calf’s slick head. When he squinted up at her with droopy eyes, a warm, tingling feeling filled her.

“Okay, all set. Let’s get this little guy out and pray there’s no more in there.”

Liberty gave the calf one last pat and grasped the rope again. They pulled, once and then twice, but no budge. A third time. Lolly tossed her head with loud, hearty protests.

“Something’s not right, Mitch.”

“It’s just because he’s backwards. Hips have to come through first. Keep pulling.”

She obeyed for three long, firm tugs, but when Lolly’s complaints turned to all-out squeals, Liberty dropped the rope and moved toward Lolly’s tail. “I wonder…”

But the thought of putting her hand there…oh for pity’s sake, if she wanted to be a decent nurse one day, she couldn’t balk at every undesirable duty. Swallowing down her hesitation, Liberty plunged her hand into Lolly’s warm depths.

Mitch strode to her side. “What in tarnation do you think you’re doing?”

Somewhere in Lolly’s gelatinous womb, Liberty felt the hard sole of the unborn calf’s hoof. She moved her hand upward. “The tail. I think it’s in the way.”

Mitch inhaled a quick breath and slapped his forehead. “Liberty Cobb, you really are the next Clara Barton!”

“I have it, I think.” She looked to Mitch for assurance.

He licked his lips and a strand of ash-brown hair fell in front of an eye. “You have to tuck it down between his legs.”

“Or hers,” Liberty ground out. With some maneuvering, she managed to wedge the long tail into its proper place. Withdrawing her hand, she brushed the smooth moisture on her floral frock and took up the rope.

This time, the calf’s hips slid out easily, followed by the rest of its lanky body. “A girl!” Liberty dropped to her knees to help pull away the birth sack. Adrenaline surged through her veins.

After a moment, Lolly shifted her heavy weight to lick her newborns clean. Liberty stepped aside and sat in a pile of untouched straw. When she looked up, she found Mitch staring at her. Was there more than admiration in those hazel pools of light? Impossible. And yet his intense gaze was exactly how the heroes in her romance novels looked upon the woman they loved. Or at least how the words on the page seemed to paint that one special moment—the moment love was born.

Oh, she’d run away with him right this minute if he asked her. They could take the calves and start a perfect little family. Of course, they probably wouldn’t be able to take the animals to Boston. They’d need a couple years in the city so she could attend nursing school. Did Mitch even like the—

Liberty’s lungs squeezed and a wheeze caught in her constricted throat. She massaged her neck. Leave it to her cursed asthma to ruin her chance for romance.
Mitch’s eyes cleared. He rubbed the bridge of his nose where a splatter of stubborn freckles hadn’t faded along the journey into manhood. In fact, they always darkened in the summer. She’d miss that this year—she’d miss him; her only regret in taking that trip to Boston.

He stood. “Maybe some heavy breathing into the jug of honey isn’t such a bad idea after all that excitement.”

She scurried to her feet. Sweet how he made it sound as if every twenty-year-old in America took up honey-breathing as a favorite pastime.

They walked up the back steps of her family’s farmhouse. The screen-door banged into its well-worn frame.

Mitch stopped on his way to the bathroom sink. “Hey, Lib?”

She turned from the pantry cabinet.

“I couldn’t have done all that without you. Thank you.”

A hummingbird’s wings beat within Liberty’s chest, effectively clutching her lungs tighter. She fumbled with the lid of the honey jug and inhaled the sweet, sticky aroma, careful to keep her soiled hands off Mama’s spotless kitchen counter. What would it be like to spend the rest of her days with the likes of Mitch Adams? How would it feel to wake up beside him every—

“Lib!” Footsteps fell lightly on the stairs. Liberty’s older sister, Hope, rushed down the landing and clasped Liberty’s hands. Her delicate nose crinkled at the questionable liquid glossing Liberty’s fingers. She withdrew her grasp. “What have you been…oh, never mind. I have the most exciting news! Mama just told me.” Hope drew in a deep, effortless breath, her willowy figure graceful even in this slight act. “I’m going to Boston to stay with Gram for the summer. Can you believe it?”

Liberty’s ears rang as she caught movement from behind her sister. No. It couldn’t be true. Boston was hers. That trip was to finally shift her dreams into reality. How could Mama and Daddy do this to her?

“But, but I thought I was going.”

Hope pushed a lock of dark hair behind her ear. “Gram only sent enough money for one of us, and since I’m older—”

“But I’ve been waiting forever to go to nursing school!”

Her sister shrugged. “You can go next year, when you’re twenty-one. Besides, you haven’t even applied to any schools yet. Please, Lib, be happy for me.”

How could Hope so effectively sweep her dreams aside? Did no one in this family take her seriously?

“You’re going to Boston, Hope?” Mitch stepped into the kitchen. The disappointment etched on his features dashed Liberty’s earlier fantasies into pure, unarguable hogwash. A tight ball of lead settled in her stomach.

Was it not enough that Hope held the heart of the man she loved? Did her sister also have to stomp on her greatest dream—her one chance to find purpose beyond Rehoboth?

###

Liberty paced the floor of her parents’ bedroom two minutes after her father arrived home. The meeting at church had gone late, but her ire couldn’t wait until morning.

“It’s not at all fair! I was supposed to visit Gram.” She’d been aiming for ire, but what came out was a whine. Oh, how her father hated whining.

“We never decided you were going, Liberty. You assumed.” Mama set aside her Bible. She probably couldn’t argue her case in good conscience with God’s Word before her. “I know you’re disappointed, honey, but there’s always next year. You’re still so young and impulsive. I don’t want—”

“Impulsive?” Liberty balled her hands into tight fists at her side.

“Settle down, Liberty.” Her father sat in a chair by the darkened window where he unlaced a boot. His stern features looked as if he just might take the hickory stick to her backside. “Hear your mother out. And while you’re at it, remember that fifth commandment.”

Her body grew hot all over, as if she danced a foot from a flaming fire. In some sense, she did. At moments such as this, when her irrational, impulsive emotions threatened to bubble over, she was tempted to hurl her long-buried secret at them—to scream of life’s true unfairness at the top of her lungs. Maybe then they’d show a little compassion.

Her mother reached for her hand. “Hope’s only going for a summer, you want to go for two years. I’m not sure I’m ready to have my youngest baby leave home yet.”

Fluid-like air filled Liberty’s lungs. She struggled to speak evenly. “I’m twenty, Mama, and far from your little baby.”

Mama rubbed her eyes. Wispy strands of gray shimmered in the lamplight. When had her mother become so old?

“Fact is, Hope needs some room to breathe right now.” Mama’s gaze flicked to Daddy’s. “In taking everything into consideration, your father and I feel your sister will benefit most from this trip.”

The finality of her mother’s tone made Liberty feel as if she hung at the edge of a cliff by only the tips of her fingernails. Her chance at Boston slipped farther, farther…
“But—”

“End of conversation, Liberty. Good night.” Daddy rose and stretched, seemingly oblivious that he’d just allowed his youngest daughter to fall from a precipice. Again.

With one last unladylike huff, Liberty left her parents and sought the solace of her own bedroom. She flopped on her bed and picked up a copy of Secret Marriage by Kathleen Norris. After reading two pages and not having a clue what she’d imbibed, Liberty shoved the romance novel back under her pillow.

For the first time in her life, Rehoboth felt like a prison. And her parents had tied the metal shackles around her ankles. What benefit could Hope get from Boston that she couldn’t?

Hope needs some room to breathe right now.

Mitch—that must be it. Hope and Mitch’s casual courtship hadn’t progressed much in its long three years. More than once, Hope had even hinted of how “smothered” their neighbor made her feel.

Oh to have such a problem! Liberty kicked the covers off her bed with unnecessary force. At the same moment, an epiphany rolled through her. She bolted upright, her heart knocking an unsteady rhythm against her ribcage.

Her sister would be gone the entire summer. Mitch would be at the farm helping Daddy every day.

If Liberty had to wait around another year for Miss Smothered to have her turn in Boston, she could certainly make good use of the summer. By September, Mitch will have forgotten why he’d ever been enraptured with Hope in the first place. Liberty vowed that by September, Mitch Adams would be in love with her.

###

Liberty chewed on the end of her pencil and stared out into the fields. The oak above offered just enough relief from the sultry sun. Delicate, leafy shadows danced across the crisp page before her.

From the Diary of Scarlett O’Cobb
Week Five
Status: Little Progress

Ashley still remains melancholy over Miss Melanie’s departure. I have been tirelessly helping him with chores in an attempt to win his heart. I even went so far as to help him reroof the barn yesterday, although Ashley seemed almost oblivious to my winning efforts—which certainly no other female in all of Rehoboth would have attempted. On top of the horrid sweating and melting of carefully applied make-up, I fear my fingernails will never return to their normal color but are destined to stay black forever.

On the bright side, Ashley has taken a liking to teasing me. I prefer to think of it as blatant flirtation, but that may be open to interpretation.

Meanwhile, trying to come up with suitable ideas for becoming financially independent, or in the very least, a way to make enough money to buy a train ticket to Boston. While I play a splendid hand of pinochle, Mama opposed the idea of my gambling at Lewis’ Tavern.

Liberty leaned her head against the tree trunk. Bits of bark caught her hair. Maybe she should have long outgrown her need to imagine herself Scarlett O’Hara, but the codenames were ideal for her journal’s safekeeping. And while she realized that the true love story of Gone with the Wind belonged to Scarlett and Rhett Butler, she decided their unhappy ending not much better than Scarlett and Ashley’s. Besides, Scarlett’s dilemma with Ashley paralleled Liberty’s situation perfectly, for Melanie Hamilton had always reminded her of Hope—sweet, innocent…obnoxiously good, and with not an inkling of a clue to Scarlett’s feelings for Ashley.

A whistling rendition of “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy” broke through a robin’s song.

Liberty shoved her journal behind her back and spied the subject of her daydreams sauntering to the south field through flimsy grass with some tools and wire.

Rising, she smoothed her dungarees. Mitch’s song changed to a vaguely familiar church hymn as she jogged up to him and clutched a section of barbed wire trailing behind.

“It’s okay, Lib. I can handle it.”

“I know you can, but I want to help.”

He stopped and faced her, nearly causing them a collision. “Why now? I just can’t make any sense of it.”

He held her gaze for a moment. When she volunteered no answer, he continued his pace. She stared at the ground, her face hot. Drat! Weren’t her feelings obvious by now? Her mind scuttled for a quick reply as she ambled after him.

Maybe she should bring up that war. What had she heard on the radio this morning? Something about bombings in Liverpool. Oh, if only she had listened better. The last thing she needed was to sound desperate and unintelligent. Perhaps a different approach.

“I suppose I’m a little lonely with Hope gone.” A lie? Not completely. She did miss her sister a little. Yes, just a smidge, she decided. Especially when it came time for chores and two hands had to do the work of four.

Mitch stopped and coiled the wire through his palm and around his elbow, his eyes intent on the dry grass beneath his feet. “Yeah, it sure is different without her around.”

He looked to the billowing, inky clouds along the skyline, then continued trudging along with slumped shoulders.

Liberty blew blonde locks from her face and fell in beside him. “Besides, don’t you get lonesome out here all day?”

“I’m never lonely out here.” He gestured to the open farmland. Tiger Lilies dressed in brilliant shades of orange dotted the perimeter of the field. Wind-stunted pines cast long shadows over the grassland. “I have God to talk to.”

She waved a deerfly away from her head. “Well I’m sure the Almighty is just wonderful company, but at least I talk back to you.”

“The Lord talks to me. He just doesn’t keep blabbing like you do.”

Frustration boiled in her chest. Teasing. Again. She stopped short and set her hands on her hips. “Mitch Adams, is that any way to talk to a lady?”

His eyes roamed lazily over her body and a semblance of a smile played on his lips. Swells of pleasure washed through her core.

“You sure don’t look like much of a lady in those dirty jeans and wrinkled shirt.”

An insult or joke? Whatever it was, it tasted worse than the cod liver oil Mama used to force down her throat on cold winter mornings. Her chest rose and fell with measured precision.

In a blur, Liberty hurled the loose wire she held at him. “Fine, fix the blasted fence yourself!”

She whirled around and stalked back to the house, tears falling from her face. How could he be so insensitive? Maybe her pants were a little dirty, but she wore the horribly unfeminine things everyday to help him. As far as her brown cropped blouse, she’d thought it accentuated one of her best features. Did he not even appreciate looking at her as other boys so often did? Like Scarlett, it appeared Liberty Cobb was destined to turn many a man’s head—all except the one she truly desired.

Quick footsteps brushed through the grass behind her. She swiped at her cheeks.

Mitch’s fingers bit into her upper arm and turned her to face him. An unfamiliar vulnerability riddled his hazel eyes.

“Why are you so difficult, Liberty Cobb? What is it you want from me?”

She tugged her arm free of his grasp. Fresh tears escaped. “Don’t be a gentleman now, Mitch. It’s too late. Go patch your stupid fence.”

She turned back to the house and traipsed through the tall grass, fighting the urge to fling her arms around his neck, bury her face in his chest and cry. But that would never do. He’d write her off as hysterical for sure. As if to mock her, the sky spit a single raindrop onto her forehead.

Again, those footsteps. She didn’t resist when he swung her around.

“You didn’t answer my question. What do you want from me?” His soft tone, now devoid of teasing, smoothed over her coarse emotions.

She shrugged as the last ounce of fight drained from her middle. Her bottom lip quivered and a single tear meandered down her cheek. He reached out a rough thumb to gently wipe it away. His hand lingered and the ground threatened to give way beneath her.

“What is it? Why are you crying?”

She lifted her hand to his and closed her eyes. This was the way it could be forever. The dream lasted only a few precious seconds. With great care she led his fingers away from her face and opened her eyes to search the depths of his own.

“You’re why I’m crying, Mitch. You’ve made me cry for years.”

His brow furrowed and raw uncertainty painted his features. Without warning, his face smoothed and comprehension lit his eyes.

Unable to bear his response, Liberty turned and ran back to the farmhouse. The rain began in earnest. This time no footsteps sounded. An overwhelming sadness sluiced over her as she dragged her limbs up the stairs of the house.

Before entering the safe haven of the kitchen, she glanced once more to the south field. Just a hazy shadow beneath the torrent, Mitch still looked her way.

She remembered her journal. The clean pages were surely soggy and ruined beneath the oak tree. It didn’t matter. Mitch knew the truth, now. She could stop trying to earn his attention, his love. She was done with the journal, done with him. Hope could have Mitch Adams for all she cared.

Tears melded with raindrops on her cheeks, bearing witness to the lies she told herself. She needed to get away, to escape this mortifying mess. Scarlett O’Hara would lift her chin, refuse defeat, and vow to make Mitch hers, but Liberty hadn’t the fortitude to face the humiliation that surely waited.

She needed refuge. She needed Boston—and for the-love-of-all-that-was-good-in-the-world, she’d find a way to get there.

She raised her chin in one final salute to Scarlett O’Hara. “I will get to Boston. Hope will not ruin all my dreams. Tomorrow, I’ll think of some way to get there. After all, tomorrow is another day.”

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ICRS ~ Day 3

I went back to ICRS today with Nora St. Laurent. Boy can she accumulate books! Because she works at a LifeWay store, and leads all those book clubs, she's interested in every book available. She had a bag full by the time we left.

On Monday, Gina and I spotted Camy Tang signing books. Today, she was flying home, but Nora and I had a delightful lunch with her, giggling the whole time.




We saw a lot of things available besides books. Mind boggling to say the least.






Amy Wallace and Mark Mynheir both were signing their books, but took a moment and posed for Novel Journey. Watch for a future interview with Mark. He's a Police Officer/Writer and author of The Void.









We got to spend a few minutes with Deborah Raney, who invests so much of her time in teaching new writers, this one included.







On the way out, we picked up a couple of new friends, who will not be included in future interviews.


But a few who will are Debbie Macomber, Tracy Groot, Beverly Lewis, Anne Goldsmith, and many more.

Gina and I picked up a lot of new and interesting ideas at ICRS that we plan to bring to you in the coming months. Ideas for marketing, tips for writing, and as always, great interviews.

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Room for Freedom

ROOM FOR FREEDOM
by Heidi Chiavaroli

And he [Isaac] removed from thence, and digged another well; and for that they strove not: and he called the name of it Rehoboth; and he said, “For now the Lord hath made room for us, and we shall be fruitful in the land.”
Genesis 26:22

Chapter One

Rehoboth, Massachusetts, April, 1941

“Mitch, I can’t do this.” Liberty Cobb stared at the fraying rope offered in her neighbor’s palm.

“I thought you wanted to be the next Clara Barton. Well, here’s your chance.”

She snatched up the line. “A nurse, Mitch Adams. Not a veterinarian.”

A smile teased the corners of his mouth. “The quicker this calf is born, the better for Lolly. Now you pull when I tell you.” He gripped his side of the rope and spread long, coverall-clad legs hip-length apart. “Okay, now.”

She tugged. Poor Lolly. And to even think how Mitch managed to tie the wretched ropes to the unborn calf’s legs… Lolly bawled long and low. Oh, if only Daddy were here.

“Good, Lib, keep pulling!”

The encouraging words eased the growing tightness in her chest. If she had to carry through with this task, she supposed there was no man in the world she’d rather do so with than the sweaty one beside her.

“There’s his head! See it?”

Liberty breathed around a rattle in her throat and glanced at Lolly’s rear end, where a small, slimy nose perched upon two front legs. She gritted her teeth. “And just how do you know it’s a he?”

A drop of moisture fell from Mitch’s brow onto the straining muscles in his arm. “You never mind how I know and keep up that pulling.”

The rope burned her fingers, but she continued heaving until the calf’s hips finally broke into the open. Its brown-spackled body slid onto the straw at their feet. Liberty gasped for air and leaned against the stall door.

Mitch removed the leftover birth sack from around the calf’s hind legs and untied the ropes. “A male. Just like I thought.” His satisfied grin could have lit up all of Union Station on a stormy night. He patted Lolly’s rump. “Enough resting, old girl. Come and clean your little son.” The cow’s low mooing filled the evening air.

“Uh, Mitch. I could be wrong, but, well—”

“What?”

Liberty pointed at the cow’s rear end.

“Well I’ll be. Twins” He examined Lolly with one hand and then retrieved the ropes. “He’s backwards, this one’s not going to be so easy. Come on, Lib, one more time.”

Lolly’s moans persisted as Mitch worked to tie the ropes. Liberty busied herself with rubbing the newborn calf’s slick head. When he squinted up at her with droopy eyes, a warm, tingling feeling filled her.

“Okay, all set. Let’s get this little guy out and pray there’s no more in there.”

Liberty gave the calf one last pat and grasped the rope again. They pulled, once and then twice, but no budge. A third time. Lolly tossed her head with loud, hearty protests.

“Something’s not right, Mitch.”

“It’s just because he’s backwards. Hips have to come through first. Keep pulling.”

She obeyed for three long, firm tugs, but when Lolly’s complaints turned to all-out squeals, Liberty dropped the rope and moved toward Lolly’s tail. “I wonder…”

But the thought of putting her hand there…oh for pity’s sake, if she wanted to be a decent nurse one day, she couldn’t balk at every undesirable duty. Swallowing down her hesitation, Liberty plunged her hand into Lolly’s warm depths.

Mitch strode to her side. “What in tarnation do you think you’re doing?”

Somewhere in Lolly’s gelatinous womb, Liberty felt the hard sole of the unborn calf’s hoof. She moved her hand upward. “The tail. I think it’s in the way.”

Mitch inhaled a quick breath and slapped his forehead. “Liberty Cobb, you really are the next Clara Barton!”

“I have it, I think.” She looked to Mitch for assurance.

He licked his lips and a strand of ash-brown hair fell in front of an eye. “You have to tuck it down between his legs.”

“Or hers,” Liberty ground out. With some maneuvering, she managed to wedge the long tail into its proper place. Withdrawing her hand, she brushed the smooth moisture on her floral frock and took up the rope.

This time, the calf’s hips slid out easily, followed by the rest of its lanky body. “A girl!” Liberty dropped to her knees to help pull away the birth sack. Adrenaline surged through her veins.

After a moment, Lolly shifted her heavy weight to lick her newborns clean. Liberty stepped aside and sat in a pile of untouched straw. When she looked up, she found Mitch staring at her. Was there more than admiration in those hazel pools of light? Impossible. And yet his intense gaze was exactly how the heroes in her romance novels looked upon the woman they loved. Or at least how the words on the page seemed to paint that one special moment—the moment love was born.

Oh, she’d run away with him right this minute if he asked her. They could take the calves and start a perfect little family. Of course, they probably wouldn’t be able to take the animals to Boston. They’d need a couple years in the city so she could attend nursing school. Did Mitch even like the—

Liberty’s lungs squeezed and a wheeze caught in her constricted throat. She massaged her neck. Leave it to her cursed asthma to ruin her chance for romance.

Mitch’s eyes cleared. He rubbed the bridge of his nose where a splatter of stubborn freckles hadn’t faded along the journey into manhood. In fact, they always darkened in the summer. She’d miss that this year—she’d miss him; her only regret in taking that trip to Boston.

He stood. “Maybe some heavy breathing into the jug of honey isn’t such a bad idea after all that excitement.”

She scurried to her feet. Sweet how he made it sound as if every twenty-year-old in America took up honey-breathing as a favorite pastime.

They walked up the back steps of her family’s farmhouse. The screen-door banged into its well-worn frame.

Mitch stopped on his way to the bathroom sink. “Hey, Lib?”

She turned from the pantry cabinet.

“I couldn’t have done all that without you. Thank you.”

A hummingbird’s wings beat within Liberty’s chest, effectively clutching her lungs tighter. She fumbled with the lid of the honey jug and inhaled the sweet, sticky aroma, careful to keep her soiled hands off Mama’s spotless kitchen counter. What would it be like to spend the rest of her days with the likes of Mitch Adams? How would it feel to wake up beside him every—

“Lib!” Footsteps fell lightly on the stairs. Liberty’s older sister, Hope, rushed down the landing and clasped Liberty’s hands. Her delicate nose crinkled at the questionable liquid glossing Liberty’s fingers. She withdrew her grasp. “What have you been…oh, never mind. I have the most exciting news! Mama just told me.” Hope drew in a deep, effortless breath, her willowy figure graceful even in this slight act. “I’m going to Boston to stay with Gram for the summer. Can you believe it?”

Liberty’s ears rang as she caught movement from behind her sister. No. It couldn’t be true. Boston was hers. That trip was to finally shift her dreams into reality. How could Mama and Daddy do this to her?

“But, but I thought I was going.”

Hope pushed a lock of dark hair behind her ear. “Gram only sent enough money for one of us, and since I’m older—”

“But I’ve been waiting forever to go to nursing school!”

Her sister shrugged. “You can go next year, when you’re twenty-one. Besides, you haven’t even applied to any schools yet. Please, Lib, be happy for me.”

How could Hope so effectively sweep her dreams aside? Did no one in this family take her seriously?

“You’re going to Boston, Hope?” Mitch stepped into the kitchen. The disappointment etched on his features dashed Liberty’s earlier fantasies into pure, unarguable hogwash. A tight ball of lead settled in her stomach.

Was it not enough that Hope held the heart of the man she loved? Did her sister also have to stomp on her greatest dream—her one chance to find purpose beyond Rehoboth?

###

Liberty paced the floor of her parents’ bedroom two minutes after her father arrived home. The meeting at church had gone late, but her ire couldn’t wait until morning.

“It’s not at all fair! I was supposed to visit Gram.” She’d been aiming for ire, but what came out was a whine. Oh, how her father hated whining.

“We never decided you were going, Liberty. You assumed.” Mama set aside her Bible. She probably couldn’t argue her case in good conscience with God’s Word before her. “I know you’re disappointed, honey, but there’s always next year. You’re still so young and impulsive. I don’t want—”

“Impulsive?” Liberty balled her hands into tight fists at her side.

“Settle down, Liberty.” Her father sat in a chair by the darkened window where he unlaced a boot. His stern features looked as if he just might take the hickory stick to her backside. “Hear your mother out. And while you’re at it, remember that fifth commandment.”

Her body grew hot all over, as if she danced a foot from a flaming fire. In some sense, she did. At moments such as this, when her irrational, impulsive emotions threatened to bubble over, she was tempted to hurl her long-buried secret at them—to scream of life’s true unfairness at the top of her lungs. Maybe then they’d show a little compassion.

Her mother reached for her hand. “Hope’s only going for a summer, you want to go for two years. I’m not sure I’m ready to have my youngest baby leave home yet.”

Fluid-like air filled Liberty’s lungs. She struggled to speak evenly. “I’m twenty, Mama, and far from your little baby.”

Mama rubbed her eyes. Wispy strands of gray shimmered in the lamplight. When had her mother become so old?

“Fact is, Hope needs some room to breathe right now.” Mama’s gaze flicked to Daddy’s. “In taking everything into consideration, your father and I feel your sister will benefit most from this trip.”

The finality of her mother’s tone made Liberty feel as if she hung at the edge of a cliff by only the tips of her fingernails. Her chance at Boston slipped farther, farther…

“But—”

“End of conversation, Liberty. Good night.” Daddy rose and stretched, seemingly oblivious that he’d just allowed his youngest daughter to fall from a precipice. Again.

With one last unladylike huff, Liberty left her parents and sought the solace of her own bedroom. She flopped on her bed and picked up a copy of Secret Marriage by Kathleen Norris. After reading two pages and not having a clue what she’d imbibed, Liberty shoved the romance novel back under her pillow.

For the first time in her life, Rehoboth felt like a prison. And her parents had tied the metal shackles around her ankles. What benefit could Hope get from Boston that she couldn’t?

Hope needs some room to breathe right now.

Mitch—that must be it. Hope and Mitch’s casual courtship hadn’t progressed much in its long three years. More than once, Hope had even hinted of how “smothered” their neighbor made her feel.

Oh to have such a problem! Liberty kicked the covers off her bed with unnecessary force. At the same moment, an epiphany rolled through her. She bolted upright, her heart knocking an unsteady rhythm against her ribcage.

Her sister would be gone the entire summer. Mitch would be at the farm helping Daddy every day.

If Liberty had to wait around another year for Miss Smothered to have her turn in Boston, she could certainly make good use of the summer. By September, Mitch will have forgotten why he’d ever been enraptured with Hope in the first place.

Liberty vowed that by September, Mitch Adams would be in love with her.

###

Liberty chewed on the end of her pencil and stared out into the fields. The oak above offered just enough relief from the sultry sun. Delicate, leafy shadows danced across the crisp page before her.

From the Diary of Scarlett O’Cobb
Week Five
Status: Little Progress

Ashley still remains melancholy over Miss Melanie’s departure. I have been tirelessly helping him with chores in an attempt to win his heart. I even went so far as to help him reroof the barn yesterday, although Ashley seemed almost oblivious to my winning efforts—which certainly no other female in all of Rehoboth would have attempted. On top of the horrid sweating and melting of carefully applied make-up, I fear my fingernails will never return to their normal color but are destined to stay black forever.

On the bright side, Ashley has taken a liking to teasing me. I prefer to think of it as blatant flirtation, but that may be open to interpretation.

Meanwhile, trying to come up with suitable ideas for becoming financially independent, or in the very least, a way to make enough money to buy a train ticket to Boston. While I play a splendid hand of pinochle, Mama opposed the idea of my gambling at Lewis’ Tavern.

Liberty leaned her head against the tree trunk. Bits of bark caught her hair. Maybe she should have long outgrown her need to imagine herself Scarlett O’Hara, but the codenames were ideal for her journal’s safekeeping. And while she realized that the true love story of Gone with the Wind belonged to Scarlett and Rhett Butler, she decided their unhappy ending not much better than Scarlett and Ashley’s. Besides, Scarlett’s dilemma with Ashley paralleled Liberty’s situation perfectly, for Melanie Hamilton had always reminded her of Hope—sweet, innocent…obnoxiously good, and with not an inkling of a clue to Scarlett’s feelings for Ashley.

A whistling rendition of “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy” broke through a robin’s song. Liberty shoved her journal behind her back and spied the subject of her daydreams sauntering to the south field through flimsy grass with some tools and wire.

Rising, she smoothed her dungarees. Mitch’s song changed to a vaguely familiar church hymn as she jogged up to him and clutched a section of barbed wire trailing behind.

“It’s okay, Lib. I can handle it.”

“I know you can, but I want to help.”

He stopped and faced her, nearly causing them a collision. “Why now? I just can’t make any sense of it.”

He held her gaze for a moment. When she volunteered no answer, he continued his pace. She stared at the ground, her face hot. Drat! Weren’t her feelings obvious by now? Her mind scuttled for a quick reply as she ambled after him.

Maybe she should bring up that war. What had she heard on the radio this morning? Something about bombings in Liverpool. Oh, if only she had listened better. The last thing she needed was to sound desperate and unintelligent. Perhaps a different approach.

“I suppose I’m a little lonely with Hope gone.” A lie? Not completely. She did miss her sister a little. Yes, just a smidge, she decided. Especially when it came time for chores and two hands had to do the work of four.

Mitch stopped and coiled the wire through his palm and around his elbow, his eyes intent on the dry grass beneath his feet. “Yeah, it sure is different without her around.”

He looked to the billowing, inky clouds along the skyline, then continued trudging along with slumped shoulders.

Liberty blew blonde locks from her face and fell in beside him. “Besides, don’t you get lonesome out here all day?”

“I’m never lonely out here.” He gestured to the open farmland. Tiger Lilies dressed in brilliant shades of orange dotted the perimeter of the field. Wind-stunted pines cast long shadows over the grassland. “I have God to talk to.”

She waved a deerfly away from her head. “Well I’m sure the Almighty is just wonderful company, but at least I talk back to you.”

“The Lord talks to me. He just doesn’t keep blabbing like you do.”

Frustration boiled in her chest. Teasing. Again. She stopped short and set her hands on her hips. “Mitch Adams, is that any way to talk to a lady?”

His eyes roamed lazily over her body and a semblance of a smile played on his lips. Swells of pleasure washed through her core. “You sure don’t look like much of a lady in those dirty jeans and wrinkled shirt.”

An insult or joke? Whatever it was, it tasted worse than the cod liver oil Mama used to force down her throat on cold winter mornings. Her chest rose and fell with measured precision.

In a blur, Liberty hurled the loose wire she held at him. “Fine, fix the blasted fence yourself!”

She whirled around and stalked back to the house, tears falling from her face. How could he be so insensitive? Maybe her pants were a little dirty, but she wore the horribly unfeminine things everyday to help him. As far as her brown cropped blouse, she’d thought it accentuated one of her best features. Did he not even appreciate looking at her as other boys so often did? Like Scarlett, it appeared Liberty Cobb was destined to turn many a man’s head—all except the one she truly desired.

Quick footsteps brushed through the grass behind her. She swiped at her cheeks. Mitch’s fingers bit into her upper arm and turned her to face him. An unfamiliar vulnerability riddled his hazel eyes.

“Why are you so difficult, Liberty Cobb? What is it you want from me?”

She tugged her arm free of his grasp. Fresh tears escaped. “Don’t be a gentleman now, Mitch. It’s too late. Go patch your stupid fence.”

She turned back to the house and traipsed through the tall grass, fighting the urge to fling her arms around his neck, bury her face in his chest and cry. But that would never do. He’d write her off as hysterical for sure. As if to mock her, the sky spit a single raindrop onto her forehead.

Again, those footsteps. She didn’t resist when he swung her around.

“You didn’t answer my question. What do you want from me?” His soft tone, now devoid of teasing, smoothed over her coarse emotions.

She shrugged as the last ounce of fight drained from her middle. Her bottom lip quivered and a single tear meandered down her cheek. He reached out a rough thumb to gently wipe it away. His hand lingered and the ground threatened to give way beneath her.

“What is it? Why are you crying?”

She lifted her hand to his and closed her eyes. This was the way it could be forever. The dream lasted only a few precious seconds. With great care she led his fingers away from her face and opened her eyes to search the depths of his own.

“You’re why I’m crying, Mitch. You’ve made me cry for years.”

His brow furrowed and raw uncertainty painted his features. Without warning, his face smoothed and comprehension lit his eyes.

Unable to bear his response, Liberty turned and ran back to the farmhouse. The rain began in earnest. This time no footsteps sounded. An overwhelming sadness sluiced over her as she dragged her limbs up the stairs of the house.

Before entering the safe haven of the kitchen, she glanced once more to the south field. Just a hazy shadow beneath the torrent, Mitch still looked her way.

She remembered her journal. The clean pages were surely soggy and ruined beneath the oak tree. It didn’t matter. Mitch knew the truth, now. She could stop trying to earn his attention, his love. She was done with the journal, done with him. Hope could have Mitch Adams for all she cared.

Tears melded with raindrops on her cheeks, bearing witness to the lies she told herself. She needed to get away, to escape this mortifying mess. Scarlett O’Hara would lift her chin, refuse defeat, and vow to make Mitch hers, but Liberty hadn’t the fortitude to face the humiliation that surely waited.

She needed refuge. She needed Boston—and for the-love-of-all-that-was-good-in-the-world, she’d find a way to get there.

She raised her chin in one final salute to Scarlett O’Hara. “I will get to Boston. Hope will not ruin all my dreams. Tomorrow, I’ll think of some way to get there. After all, tomorrow is another day.”

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Christy Awards Photos

I still have more photos to process from ICRS, but here are a few more from the glamorous Christy Awards.



The hotel was beautiful and the keynote speaker, Lauren Winner, gave a wonderful address about why she reads Christian fiction.








We saw the divine Ms. B, glittering and glowing as always.

















Gina interviewing Tracy Groot, winner of the historical category.








A Novel Journey exclusive!

For the first time ever in one room, we bring you the President, Robin Lee Hatcher, and Queen of the Big Honkin' Chicken Club.



(our Secretary, Deb Raney, was in the other room at the time, chatting at the Chi Libris table)












Gina with Gail Martin, who looked so elegant.













Here's our photographer for the evening, Nora St. Laurent, with Beverly Lewis.





Nora will soon be a contributing columnist for Novel Journey. She comes with a new perspective for our readers. Nora leads three book clubs, two at LifeWay where she works and one at Borders.

Nora will be sharing some fascinating information in the coming months.

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More From ICRS - A Memorable Day

Today is burned in my memory forever ~ I made a fool of myself at ICRS. It wasn't entirely my fault; Gina bears most of the responsibility.




The day started out great, meeting friends and arranging for future interviews. We have some new and exciting ideas for Novel Journey. Gina interviewed a celebrity author whose name I'll let her reveal next week.

I hugged my friend Karen Ball,

Posed with Melody Carlson, Andrea Christian and Gina















Saw my good buddy Julie Dearyan












Then we decided to take a last stroll around the floor. Bad mistake. We're walking down one asile when Gina stage-whispers, "There's Chuck Norris!"

And sure enough, there he was. Signing books. I'd heard he'd written a book. So naturally I whipped out my camera, a Novel Journey card and proceded to trade cards and arrange for an interview.

While his assistant handed him books to sign, I told her how I used to watch him at the karate tournaments back in the 70s, before he ever became famous. Handing him another book, she gave me the strangest look. As that book passed beneath my nose, I glanced at the cover.

The name on the front wasn't Chuck Norris.

My eyes widened, I gave her a weak smile and ran for the nearest exit. Gina circled back and asked someone in line who they were waiting for.

It wasn't Chuck Norris.

Sheesh.

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