Excerpt

Below, please find a short excerpt from Starwallow, Book II of my Riven Country Series. https://amazon.com/dp/1734043717 The second novel involves travel to Italy from Wyoming, and the journeys back home to oneself. Each character makes their own precious way. The formatting here is a WordPress default. It’ll do.

From Chapter 2, Seagulls and Jambalaya

Rufus pulled on his good Pendleton wool shirt, a past Christmas gift from one of his daughters, then his wool vest. Still barefoot, he stepped into the warm kitchen. It smelled like fried sausage.

Gabe was seated in his usual place.

Gabe Belizaire, thirty-nine and recently retired (he claimed) as a bull rider, was born and raised in Louisiana on a ranch. An MFA from Tulane, he’d given up a teaching position to concentrate on writing. He’d just submitted a collection of short stories. But he still wanted, what he called, a “day job,” so he continued to work for the Stricklands, who now considered him family.

In 2006, one of his rides was ignored by the arena clown and pick-up men in a case of abject discrimination. The bull mauled him in a horrifying spectacle. Rufus remembered the bright red blood drenching the yellow shirt of the Louisiana man, whose skin gleamed as black as a no-moon night.

And what color was that bull? A brindle, maybe, Rufus recollected.

The Stricklands had invited Gabe to recover at their ranch, offered in the guise of a job, and the man accepted their hospitality.

After he had been treated for his injuries at the rodeo, Caroline and Senga continued his care. Senga Munro, their nearest neighbor, provided salves, tinctures, compresses and an ear.

Gabe explained he’d traveled to the Black Hills in search of his sister, who’d disappeared after Katrina’s destruction in New Orleans. A truck driver contacted his parents to say he’d driven the girls—Allie and her friend—to western South Dakota, where they had waiting jobs at a guest ranch in the Wyoming Black Hills.

“Mornin’, patron,” said Gabe. “How’s the hip? Or should I just shut up?” he grinned after Rufus threw him a look.

“Mornin’, Gabe. And how’s the recently engaged man?” He smirked. Distractions were gifts from God. Maybe they are God. He lowered himself gingerly onto the chair, placing the cane on the back. “Caro?” he held up his socks.

“Doin’ well, boss, doin’ well,” and Gabe picked up his mug of coffee.

“Be there in a sec, hon,” Caroline said, as she moved the skillet off the heat and covered the eggs with the lid. She stepped over to Rufus, knelt down and pulled on each sock. Then she reached for the slippers he kept beside the stove. “There,” and she looked up at him.

Caroline was heavier than she liked to be, and rising to her feet took some effort.

“Thank you, wife,” he said, meaning it, then to Gabe, “You’ll like it, being married; they’re handy to have around. Like pliers, you know?” He winked at her.

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If you’re in the area, The Good Earth Health Food Store on Main, in Spearfish, South Dakota, is hosting a Reading/Signing for me, on Saturday, September 19, 2020, from 2:30-4:00. This accompanies the town’s Art/Wine/Food Truck Fall Celebration; also, fellow Wyomingite Jalan Crossland, and Lacey Nelson, play from 2:00 until 6:00 at the Spearfish Corn Maze. How fun is that?? You can bet I’ll be skedaddling to the corn after the book event. 

Joys and Sorrows

STARWALLOW, the second book in my Riven Country series, is available on Amazon.com on June 21 in paperback and as e-book. I picked a strange time to release my first two novels. “Not getting any younger,” scrolled in the back of my mind, like a looping film clip. So! Carry on, doesn’t matter, I hear. The next installment takes up where The Riven Country of Senga Munro left off, with the folks in the Northern Wyoming Black Hills going about their lives with grit, forbearance, and, some grace. Travel is a theme. My short tag line reads: “. . . explores the distance between home and the travel necessary to come home to oneself.”

My joy—and satisfaction—at completing this writing project is tempered by a deep sorrow. A highly anticipated visit by our distant grandchildren has been cancelled, due to the virus. They live in the mid-west, and all possible routes lead through areas of virus spread, i.e., eastern South Dakota, or Nebraska or Colorado; and the stats are rising in Missouri itself. I abhor letting people down, especially our son and grandchildren, so it’s doubly difficult. The assertion that we would like to, someday, be able to attend the kids’ graduations, weddings, etc., doesn’t cut it, I’m afraid, and we’re left with a hollow feeling of perhaps being too cautious. Reason cries no! Still. . .

Between Joy and Sorrow there lies a field, to paraphrase Rumi. I’ll meet you there. . .

Navigating the times, a raging river, are we headed for a Niagara’s Falls? Both/and inclusion insist we’re aboard a hardy Lifeboat and shall weather the rapids, to finally make our tenuous way toward the far shore. I must believe this. Our country, and the world, have faced adversity before, as well as revolutions of mind and heart. This particular Lifeboat is large enough for EVERYONE. May all beings be safe. May all beings be loved. May all beings be free.

It may not be coincidence that my novels feature a Louisiana man who chooses to live in Wyoming, where his skin color is rare. Gabe Belizaire, of blue-Black heritage, quotes W.C. Fields to a belligerent hunter: “It’s not what they call you, it’s what you answer to.” When I began writing this story six years ago, notions of white supremacy and its hurtful message slithered in like the proverbial snake in the garden. For a reason, I suppose.

Beyond the idea of good and the idea of evil there lies a field. I will meet you there. ~Rumi

May you stay safe, afloat and, keep breathing.