The Ghosts Behind Paranormal Romance Novel Somewhere My Love

A Night Owl Top Pick: “The story will draw a reader in and will not let go until the very last page. It is a novel that will live in the hearts of its readers for a very long time.”

June is when I conceived the idea for Somewhere My Love,so time for a backwards glance.

Virginia has more ghost stories than any other state in the Union, umpteen volumes of them. Not because Virginians have a more fertile imagination (although we may) but sadly because the Old Dominion has seen more bloody battles over the centuries than any other. Think back, Jamestown (founded 1607) was the site of the oldest successful English settlement and its history is a violent one. And on we go to the many heart-rending wars fought with the usurped Indians, a number of them waged on Virginia soil. March on to the Revolution; anyone heard of Yorktown, to name just one famous battle? And let’s not forget that horrific most uncivil of wars, much of it fought in, you guessed it, Virginia.

This multitude of hauntings doesn’t only feature soldiers caught in an endless fray who haven’t gotten word the war’s over, although there are legions of tales that do and entire companies of ghosts said to battle on. Many tales center on the myriad of people, great and small, who dwelt in our richly historic state. The old Virginia homes and plantations have accumulated a wealth of such stories.

It was while touring some of these English styled manor homes with my dear mother that the kernel of a story first came to me for Somewhere My Love (Somewhere in Time Series).  Added to this meld of vintage Virginia is my own heritage. On my father’s side, I descend from old Southern gentry, impoverished after the Civil War, Great Depression, and other misfortunes, including the untimely death of my brilliant grandfather. But the gracious Georgian home his ancestor built (circa 1816) still stands in the countryside near historic Staunton.  My Christmas novella,Somewhere the Bells Ring (Somewhere in Time Series), was inspired by this wonderful old home.

Since childhood, I felt the family home place was haunted and wove stories through my fevered mind, along with my continual search for Narnia which entailed frequent treks into the old wardrobe. But I digress. Frequently.  The magnificent ancestral portraits in my family and on display in other Virginia homes held me transfixed, wondering. And it was just such a portrait of a striking dark-haired gentleman who embedded himself in my thoughts. Who was he? Why did he die so young? That other painting of the fair young lady…did she love him?

Often, the guides at these old homes are brimming with tales. But other times we are left to wonder…and ask ourselves are these folk who’ve gone before us truly gone, or do some still have unfinished business in this realm? And what of the young lovers whose time was tragically cut short, do they somehow find a way? Love conquers all, and so I answer ‘yes.’

*Homes most prominent behind the inspiration for Somewhere My Love:

Berkely Plantation (On the James River & well worth a visit)

Family home place called Chapel Hill (Not open to the public)

Shirley Plantation (On the James River & well worth a visit)

Blurb For Somewhere My Love:

Fated lovers have a rare chance to reclaim the love cruelly denied them in the past, but can they grasp this brief window in time before it’s too late?

Two hundred years ago Captain Cole Wentworth, the master of an elegant Virginian home, was murdered in his chamber where his portrait still hangs. Presently the estate is a family owned museum run by Will Wentworth, a man so uncannily identical to his ancestor that spirit-sensitive tour guide Julia Morrow has trouble recognizing Cole and Will as separate. As Julia begins to remember the events of Cole’s death, she must convince Will that history is repeating, and this time he has the starring role in the tragedy. The blade is about to fall.~

“As I read Somewhere My Love, I recalled the feelings I experienced the first time I read Daphne DuMaurier’s Rebecca long ago. Using the same deliciously eerie elements similar to that gothic romance, Beth Trissel has captured the haunting dangers, thrilling suspense and innocent passions that evoke the same tingly anticipation and heartfelt romance I so enjoyed then, and still do now.”~joysann for Publisher’s Weekly

***Somewhere My Love is available at Amazon in kindle and print, but I expanded the story for the relaunched kindle version, so more for less.

Historical Romance Novel Through the Fire at Kindle Nation

To see the feature on Through the Fire visit Kindle Nation Daily

I recently revised and relaunched Through the Fire. This is the expanded director’s cut for those of you who want to be more fully emerged in the colonial American frontier and an adventure romance with a The Last of the Mohican’s flavor. This primal, essential time period has always had a huge draw on me and is the setting for many of my books, including: The Bearwalker’s Daughter, Red Bird’s Song, Kira, Daughter of the Moon, A Warrior for Christmas (now in audio), and my short story, The Lady and the Warrior.

The history my stories draw from is raw and real, a passionate era where only the strong survive.  We think we’ve gained much in our modern era, and so we have.  But we’ve also lost.  In my writing, I try to recapture what should not be forgotten.  Hearken back.  Remember those who’ve gone before you.

***A special thanks to Jim Great Elk Waters, Pipecarrier, retired Shawnee Chief and linguist, author, artist, and philosopher, for his help with the Shawnee language.

“Through the Fire is full of interesting characters, beautifully described scenery, and vivid action sequences. It is a must read for any fan of historical romance.” ~Poinsettia, for Long and Short Reviews

Story Description:

Will love inflame these two natural-born enemies in fiery destruction?

Passions run deep in the raging battle to possess a continent, its wealth and furs. Both the French and English count powerful Indian tribes as their allies. English lady Rebecca Elliot, having eloped to America with a British captain, finds herself a widow. When she ventures into the colonial frontier with the militia to seek her uncle, she unwittingly enters a dangerous world of rugged mountains, wild animals, and even wilder men. The rules are different here and she doesn’t know them, especially those of the savagely handsome warrior who captures her body and her heart.

Half-Shawnee, half-French warrior Shoka, former guide for English traders, is the hawk, swift, sure, and silent as the moon. He knows all about survival in this untamed land and how deadly distraction can be. His intent is to sell Rebecca to the French before she draws him under her spell, but if he lets her go he can no longer protect her. If he holds onto her, can he safeguard his heart? Will Rebecca, torn between a growing attraction to her magnetic captor and loyalty to her people, betray him? With battle looming and an enemy warrior bent on vengeance, Shoka and Rebecca must decide whether to fight together or be destroyed.

The French and Indian War, A Shawnee Warrior, An English Lady, Blood Vengeance, Deadly Pursuit, Primal, Powerful, Passionate…Through the Fire.

***Through the Fire is Currently At Amazon in Kindle for .99 

***Cover by my daughter Elise Trissel

"As Rosemary is to the Spirit, so Lavender is to the Soul."

‘Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram;
The marigold, that goes to bed wi’ the sun,
and with him rise weeping.’ ~Shakespeare, Winter’s Tale

If you set it,
the cats will eat it,
If you sow it,
the cats don’t know it.
~Philip Miller, The Gardener’s Dictionary, Referring to Catnip

Salt is a preservative. It really holds flavor. For example, if you chop up some fresh herbs, or even just garlic, the salt will extract the moisture and preserve the flavor. ~ Sally Schneider

The Herbs ought to be distilled when they are in their greatest vigor, and so ought the Flowers also. ~Nicholas Culpeper

The intense perfumes of the wild herbs as we trod them underfoot made us feel almost drunk. ~Jacqueline du Pre

I plant rosemary all over the garden, so pleasant is it to know that at every few steps one may draw the kindly branchlets through one’s hand, and have the enjoyment of their incomparable incense; and I grow it against walls, so that the sun may draw out its inexhaustible sweetness to greet me as I pass ….
-  Gertrude Jekyll

“There’s fennel for you, and columbines; there’s rue for you: and here’s some for me; we may call it herb of grace o’ Sundays. O! you must wear your rue with a difference.  There’s a daisy; I would give you some violets, but they withered all when my father died.” ~Shakespeare, Hamlet

Thine eyes are springs in whose serene And silent waters heaven is seen. Their lashes are the herbs that look On their young figures in the brook. ~William C. Bryant

Waters are distilled out of Herbs, Flowers, Fruits, and Roots.
~Nicholas Culpeper

“We have finally started to notice that there is real curative value in local herbs and remedies. In fact, we are also becoming aware that there are little or no side effects to most natural remedies, and that they are often more effective than Western medicine.”  ~Anne Wilson Schaef

The basil tuft, that waves
Its fragrant blossom over graves.
~Thomas Moore, Lalla Rookhm, Light of the Harem

“The herb that can’t be got is the one that heals.” ~ Irish Saying

See how Aurora throws her fair Fresh-quilted colours through the air: Get up, sweet-slug-a-bed, and see The dew-bespangling herb and tree. ~ Herrick, Robert ~Corinna’s Going a Maying

As for rosemary, I let it run all over my garden walls, not
only because my bees love it but because it is the herb
sacred to remembrance and to friendship, whence a
sprig of it hath a dumb language.
-  Sir Thomas Moore

Eat leeks in oile and ramsines in May,
And all the year after physicians may play.
(Ramsines were old-fashioned broad-leafed leeks.)

My gardens sweet, enclosed with walles strong, embarked with benches to sytt and take my rest. The Knotts so enknotted, it cannot be exprest. With arbours and alys so pleasant and so dulce, the pestylant ayers with flavours to repulse. ~Thomas Cavendish, 1532.

When daisies pied and violets blue, and lady-smocks all silver white. And Cuckoo-buds of yellow hue, do paint the meadows with delight. ~William Shakespeare, 1595.

Women with child that eat quinces will bear wise children. ~Dodoens, 1578.

Gardening with herbs, which is becoming increasingly popular, is indulged in by those who like subtlety in their plants in preference to brilliance.
-   Helen Morgenthau Fox

And because the Breath of Flowers is farre Sweeter in the Aire (where it comes and Gose, like the Warbling of Musick) than in the hand, therefore nothing is more fit for delight, than to know what be the Flowers and the Plants that doe best perfume the Aire. ~ Francis Bacon, 1625

Caesar….saith, that all the Britons do colour themselves with Woad, which giveth a blew colour… John Gerard, 1597

You have got to own your days and live them, each one of them, every one of them, or else the years go right by and none of them belong to you. ~Herb Gardner

Once you get people laughing, they’re listening and you can tell them almost anything. ~ Herb Gardner

(***These last two quotes snuck in here because his name is Herb Gardner, so he came up on my search and I liked them.)

Would You Marry Me?
“According to old wives’ tales, borage was sometimes
smuggled into the drink of  prospective husbands
to give them the courage to propose marriage.”
-  Mary Campbell, A Basket of Herbs

As Rosemary is to the Spirit, so Lavender is to the Soul.
-  Anonymous

As for the garden of mint, the very smell of it alone recovers and refreshes our spirits, as the taste stirs up our appetite for meat. ~   Pliny the Elder

How could such sweet and wholesome hours
Be reckoned but with herbs and flowers?
-  Andrew Marvel

How I would love to be transported into a scented
Elizabethan garden with herbs and honeysuckles,  a knot garden and roses clambering over a simple arbor …. ~Rosemary Verey

With holly and ivy,
So green and so gay,
We deck up our houses
As fresh as the day,
With bays, and rosemary,
And laurel complete;
And every one now
Is a king in conceit. ~Poor Robins Almanac, 1695

There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance;
pray, love, remember; and there is pansies,
that’s for thoughts.
-    Shakespeare, Hamlet

The first gatherings of the garden in May of salads, radishes and herbs made me feel like a mother about her baby – how could anything so beautiful be mine.  And this emotion of wonder filled me for each vegetable as it was gathered every year.  There is nothing that is comparable to it, as satisfactory or as thrilling, as gathering the vegetables one has grown.
~  Alice B. Toklas

Kira, Daughter of the Moon Won Book of the Month at Long & Short Reviews!

Five Stars and Book of the Month For Kira, Daughter of the Moon!

Review From Poinsettia for Long and Short Reviews: 

“One of the things I enjoy most about Ms. Trissel’s writing is her amazing ability to transport readers directly into her stories. Her mastery of descriptive language never ceases to amaze me. “Green-gold light streamed through the rippling leaves while high overhead a yellow warbler trilled sweet, sweet, sweet and the warmth of hay-scented fern wafted on the mild breeze.” After reading this first sentence, I already felt as if I were standing next to Kira in the woods. I could see, hear, and smell everything she did. Completely immersed in the story, I eagerly dove into the pages that followed…”

Blurb: Logan McCutcheon returns to colonial Virginia after seven years in the hands of Shawnee Indians. But was he really a captive, as everybody thinks? He looks and fights like a warrior, and seems eager to return to those he calls friends and family.

Kira McClure has waited for Logan all those years, passing herself off as odd to keep suitors at bay–and anyone else from getting too close. Now that he’s back, he seems to be the only person capable of protecting her from the advances of Josiah Campbell and accusations of witchcraft. And to defend the settlers against a well-organized band of murderous thieves.~

***Kira, Daughter of the Moon is available in print and kindle at Amazon and the Wild Rose Press, in Nookbook at Barnes & Noble, and ebook at other online booksellers.

Dancing Around the May Poll & Other May Day Traditions

As a child growing up during the 19^th century, or so it sometimes seems, I remember placing baskets of flowers as a surprise on friend’s doorstep early on a lovely May Day morn. Also, dancing around the May Poll festivities in which, not I, but my younger brother and sister both participated. The little girls with garlands in their hair, decked out in pretty spring dresses. Mom made my sister’s. One year the wind toppled the May Poll and then there’s the time the children got all wound up in the ribbons and over it went.  Humiliating for my young brother who’d practiced so hard and tried to no avail to instruct his fellow dancers to wind them properly. I never did trust that May Poll thing to go as planned and hoped to be crowned May Queen, surrounded by a glad assembly of courtiers. No such luck. But May Day was special and has strong flowery associations in my memory. And wind. It never entered anyone’s mind that this revelry had possible pagan connotations. May Day festivities were simply a spring rite and good fun. (*Image of cherry tree in our yard)

How about the rest of you? Any May Queens among us?

More on May Day from: http://www.infoplease.com/spot/mayday.html

“May 1st, often called May Day, just might have more holidays than any other day of the year. It’s a celebration of Spring. It’s a day of political protests. It’s a neopagan festival, a saint’s feast day, and a day for organized labor. In many countries, it is a national holiday. (Royalty free images of birch trees)

Beltane

A Celtic calendar feast ushering in the start of summer. (It also went by a variety of other spellings and names in assorted dialects of Gaelic.)

Bonfires, often created by rubbing sticks together, were common features of Beltane celebrations. Related rituals included driving cattle between two fires, dancing around the fires, and burning witches in effigy. Another tradition was Beltane cakes, which would be broken into several pieces, one of which was blackened. They would be drawn by celebrants at random; the person getting the unlucky blackened piece would face a mock execution.

In recent years, Beltaine has been adopted or revived by neopagan groups as a major seasonal festival.

Bringing in the May: *This is more what I remember.  :)

In medieval England, people celebrated the start of spring by going out to the country or woods “going a-maying” and gathering greenery and flowers, or “bringing in the may.” This was described in “The Court of Love” (often attributed to Chaucer, but not actually written by him) in 1561. Totally irrelevant, but I am a direct descendent of Chaucer on my father’s side.

“And furth goth all the Court, both most and lest,
To feche the floures fressh, and braunche and blome;
And namly, hawthornbrought both page and grome.
With fressh garlandes, partie blewe and whyte,
And thaim rejoysen in their greet delyt.” (*Wild roadside flowers near us)

Another English tradition is the maypole. Some towns had permanent maypoles that would stay up all year; others put up a new one each May. In any event, the pole would be hung with greenery and ribbons, brightly painted, and otherwise decorated, and served as a central point for the festivities.

May Day was also a time for morris dancing and other dances, often around the maypole. In the 19th century, people began to braid the maypole with ribbons by weaving in and out in the course of a dance. Other later traditions include making garlands for children and the crowning of the May Queen.”

From an interesting site: Herbal Musings

“Beltain, Bealtaine, Beltine, May Day, Cetsamhain (‘first Samhain‘), Walpurgis Night (Beltane Eve), Celtic ‘Flower Festival’

Druidic Name: Beltane

Christian Equivalent

Roodmas, Rood Day, Feast of Saint Philip and Saint James, Feast of Saint Walpurga

Beltane is the cross-quarter festival that marks the start of the summer quarter of the year and the end of the spring quarter. This is a time when nature blossoms and felicity and fertility return to the land. In times past, the livestock stockaded at Samhain was returned to summer pastures at Beltane.

…a joyful festival of growth and fecundity that heralds the arrival of summer. It is the festival of the ‘Good Fire’ or ‘Bel-fire’, named after the solar deity Bel. Bel was also known as Beli or Bile in Ireland, with Bile meaning ‘tree’, so Beltane may also mean ‘Tree-fire’. Beltane is the counterpart of Samhain (and is sometimes referred to as Cetsamhain, the ‘first Samhain’), and these two important festivals divide the year into summer and winter halves, just as the two equinoctial celebrations, Ostara and Mabon, divide the year into light and dark halves.

Lighting fires was customary at Beltane, and traditionally a Beltane fire was composed of the nine sacred woods of the Celts. All hearth fires were extinguished on Beltane Eve and then kindled again from the sacred “need fires” lit on Beltane. People would leap through the smoke and flames of Beltane fires and cattle were driven through them for purification, fertility, prosperity and protection.

It is a traditional time for Handfastings (marriages), and for couples to make love outside to bless the crops and the earth. Maypoles were often danced around at Beltane to bring fertility and good fortune. Beltane lore also includes washing in May-day dew for beauty and health, and scrying in sacred waters, such as ponds or springs.

The festival is sometimes referred to as Roodmas, a name coined by the medieval Christian Church in an attempt to associate Beltane with the Cross (the Rood) rather than the life-giving symbol of the Maypole. Beltane was also appropriated by the Church as the Feast Day of Saint Walpurga, who was said to protect crops and was often represented with corn.”

(*Royalty free images of the Archangel Michael and the sacred herb Angelica)

Short Historical Romance Story

“The Lady and The Warrior is a very short story that is a pleasure to read. Beth Trissel transports us into a special world with her descriptions, well-rounded characters and delightful writing.” ~Amazon Reviewer Reader Forever

Excerpt: May, 1783, the Virginia Frontier, the Allegheny Mountains

That terrified cry came from the stream.  Zane didn’t have much time to reach her.  And he was so close!

He slid the musket strap from his shoulder.  Grasping the long firearm, he raced over the misty path.  Like a buck taking flight, he dodged stones and sprang over fallen limbs.  He skirted an enormous downed trunk capped with toadstools.  Shouldering the musket again, he pushed through the underbrush.

Branches snagged his brown hunting shirt.  Briars snatched at his leather breeches and wool leggings.  He tore free.  A tangle of vines lay between him and the woman.  Taking the tomahawk slung at his side, he chopped his way through.  Chest pounding, he arrived at the engorged stream.

With eyes honed to detect the barest hint of man or beast, he scanned the swift current.  Woodland debris bobbed in the brown flood.  No woman.  She must be farther downstream.

He sprinted along the edge of the bank.  Whoever this unfortunate female was, she was about to drown.  Even without knowing her, it goaded him.  And the urge to save her swelled inside like the muddy water overflowing its banks.

There!  Zane spotted the young woman clinging to a branch as the torrent did its damnedest to rip her away.

“Hold on!  I’m coming!”

Her head swiveled toward him, face white with fear and fatigue.

“Hold on!”

She managed the barest nod.

He laid his musket on the ground.   Wedging his moccasins against the stones and roots, he sidestepped down the slick earth.  Then reached out and grasped the branch she held to—testing its strength.  The wood was firm beneath his hand.

So far, so good.

He leaned over the swirling water.  Careful.  One misstep and they’d both be swept away to a watery grave.

Desperate eyes met his, the hue of summer leaves and marbled with brown like the forest.   Her fingers slipped.

Quick!   He snagged her shoulder, digging in his fingers so her cloak wouldn’t come away in his hand.  “I’ve got you!”

She clutched at him.

“Don’t!  You’ll pull us both in!”

A look of misgiving flitted through her panicked gaze.

“Trust me.  I’ll not you let go.”

The Lady and the Warrior is .99 at Amazon. This short historical with a The Last of the Mohican’s flavor gives a taste of my long historicals.  If you like it, chances are you will enjoy them too. Also available at Barnes & Noble as aNookBook.

***Images of stream and old family musket, powder horn, and hunting pouch by my mom, Pat Churchman. Cover by daughter Elise.

Strange Occurrence in The Shenandoah Valley of Virginia

This account is from ‘Shenandoah Voices‘ by late Valley Author/Historian John Heatwole:

Dark Being:

“Between Dayton and Bridgewater (not far from where I live) around Christmas 1901 there were reports of a dark being standing by the road in the dead of night. Apparently, it threatened no one, but it was not considered human, and for a few weeks there was a general uneasiness in that part of Rockingham County. (The not human part would get my attention)

In Harrisonburg one night, a stranger stopped by C. L. Jordan’s livery stable on German Street and requested to be driven out to Bridgewater. Mr. Jordan harnessed a team and carriage and asked Follinsbe Welcher to accompany them, so he’d have a companion on the return trip.

The three men drove along quietly for some time. They passed Dayton and were on the upgrade toward Herrings Hill when they beheld the dark form that had terrified the countryside by its mere silent presence. It stood close by the road, featureless. Mr. Jordan was a brave soul, and he sprang from the carriage to investigate. He grabbed the creature, but was overpowered by an unnatural strength and could do no more than call for help. Mr. Welcher rushed to his aid, only to find his added strength to be insufficient in contending with this entity. The unequal contest lasted for several minutes, and the two liverymen were left sprawled on the ground. The creature, the dark, unyielding form, had melted away into the night.~

What was it and where did it go? Nobody seems to know.  But I’m creeped out and hope it stays gone. I don’t want to see the dark being while driving by that spot at night.