Author: BonnieReadsAndWrites

Weekly Update

I have been taking an unplanned hiatus! It’s been two weeks since I posted anything. I guess I needed a break, but it wasn’t a conscious decision. The last two weeks I’ve been dealing with my injured knee, which turned out to be a torn meniscus, with moderate arthritis thrown into the mix. The ortho doc wanted me to talk to the knee replacement specialist, but I’ve started physical therapy, and I’ve decided to put the knee replacement off as long as possible. (Sunday Post, Sunday Salon)

In book news, I’m finishing up my reviews and editing for the next issue of Historical Novels Review in May. I need to post some of my reviews from the February issue, which I should have done already.

Last week was fairly uneventful except for going to PT. Good news is my walking is improving already.

Need Your Advice

I came across a problem when taking an Indie Spotlight submission. I asked for an Epub or PDF, and I was sent a Word doc. I didn’t notice at first, but when I started to download it, it was marked as SUSPICIOUS. Then when I replied to them, they asked me a question I had already answered in the previous email, making me think they might be a bot. Maybe I’m wrong and this person wasn’t a bot or a scammer, but I can’t take the chance. If scammers are going to target me that way, I may have to stop taking submissions of documents completely, and only take books that are available on Kindle Unlimited or Book Sirens, or from someone I have dealt with in the past and trust. Please tell me what you think in the comments.

Upcoming Posts

I have a lot of reviews to post, and I won’t list them here right now because I need to get organized, but they are going to start coming this week! (Sunday Post, Sunday Salon)

Book Haul

Midnight Patriots

Blending fact and fiction, Midnight Patriots follows real-life friends Albert Einstein and Charlie Chaplin as they confront powerful enemies threatening America.

It’s 1940. Europe is in flames. Germany occupies much of the continent, and the Blitz rains terror on London. Fritz Duquesne, a German spy straight from the history books, plots to kidnap Einstein and steal America’s nuclear secrets. Enraged by Chaplin’s mockery in The Great Dictator, Adolf Hitler dispatches an SS assassin to silence the man who ridiculed him. The story features Charles Lindbergh, Lena Horne, and J. Robert Oppenheimer—along with a beautiful German spy on a mission of her own. As Nazi agents and FBI operatives close in, all roads lead Einstein and Chaplin to a deadly showdown aboard the Santa Fe Super Chief as it races from Chicago to Los Angeles.

Midnight Patriots is the second novel in the Einstein-Chaplin Series. The first entry, Midnight Burning, was named “Historical Thriller of the Year” by Best Thrillers Book Review and one of the “Favorite Books of 2025″ by Bookreporter. The books stand alone and may be read in any order. The novels are the first works of historical fiction by Paul Levine, best known for his “Jake Lassiter” and “Solomon vs. Lord” series of legal thrillers.

The Windsor Affair

Feuding Windsor brothers and their wives—some things, it seems, never change. The Windsor Affair recreates the cataclysmic events that nearly toppled the monarchy and incited the power struggle between Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon and Wallis Simpson. Told from the perspective of both women, the novel propels readers into the fabulous world of the debonair Prince of Wales, café society of the 1930s, and the glittering private lives of the Windsors. The first novel to be dedicated to this infamous rivalry, The Windsor Affair brings us all the gossip and intrigue between the two very different—yet perhaps more similar than they would admit—wives of royals.

As Queen, Elizabeth would become the symbol of British pluck and courage during World War II and remain a British institution the rest of her long life. Wallis would be forever forced to enact the World’s Greatest Love Story even after it sours, as she goes from being admired to vilified and, ultimately, pitied. Against the backdrop of the Abdication Crisis, World War II, coronations, funerals, births, and deaths, these two women maintain a biting, sharp-tongued feud—until age and the long arm of history bring about a kind of understanding. For the last communication between these bitter rivals was a simple, surprising message: “In friendship, Elizabeth.”

An Infinite Love Story

When Joe Mitchell launches into space, the world is watching. It’s 1968, and the country waits with anticipation and excitement for another successful mission, another celebration as America sets its sights on the Moon. And then comes the knock at the door.

Joe Mitchell’s spacecraft has lost contact. He and his fellow astronauts onboard are feared to be dead. It’s his wife Vivian’s worst nightmare come to life, her grief suddenly taking center stage as the nation waits and mourns. In her quiet moments, Vivian relives their memorable story, unable to accept that this is the end to a love that felt as though it was written in the stars.

As the investigation surrounding Joe’s lost spacecraft intensifies and the mishap is written off as an operator error, Vivian is determined to clear her husband’s name and uncover the mystery of what happened in space. When someone starts sending Vivian messages—messages she believes only Joe could send—she begins to wonder if their love is stronger than space and time, and she’ll do whatever it takes to bring her husband back to her.

**Thank you the The Caffeinated Book Reviewer for hosting Sunday Post and Deb at Readerbuzz for hosting Sunday Salon.

I’m back after a few weeks away from Sunday Post and Sunday Salon. I’ve been dealing with knee problems and walking with a cane. I’m slowly healing, and hopefully things will be back to normal in a few weeks. It’s amazing how much of a gift you realize simply walking is when it becomes an issue, and how many blessings we sometimes take for granted. This has motivated me to try to work on my health.

Doug and I have started writing our novel, and there’s a white board in our front room covered with research! It’s exciting.

For the research, Doug took a walk around the Lands Creek Bridge area. My knee isn’t up to that yet. This is an old bridge that used to carry Highway 288 over Lands Creek. Highway 288 connected Bryson City to more remote towns like Proctor, one of the towns that was flooded when the TVA completed Fontana Dam in the early 1940s. During TVA’s annual winter drawdown, the bridge becomes visible. Here are some photos that Doug took. Soon it will all be back underwater again.

Other than that, things are pretty normal. I hope you all have been having a great last few weeks.

Last Week on the Blog

I posted a short story that Doug and I wrote called The Shy Folk.

Next Week on the Blog

I’m posting some Indie books and more reviews I did for the February issue of Historical Novels Review, the magazine of The Historical Novel Society.

Book Haul

The Lost Story of Via Belle

Time Travel for Beginners

The Light of Stars

HOW WAS YOUR WEEK?

**Thank you to Deb at Readerbuzz and The Caffeinated Book Reviewer for hosting Sunday Salon and Sunday Post.

(Also known as Bonnie and Doug DeMoss)

We finally wrote a new story! It’s been a couple of years, but we’re back to writing! This one is inspired by a bathtub that is sitting next to a branch (small creek) that runs through our property in Western North Carolina (Smoky Mountains). I assume it was put there to catch runoff or something, and it’s not used anymore, but we jokingly call it “Bigfoot’s Bathtub.” This little joke turned into The Shy Folk. Enjoy.

**Thanks to Gail Meath for editing.

The Shy Folk

         Growing up in the holler, I had always admired my Granny’s yard.  When Spring broke every year, it would be filled with flowers of all kinds.  Towering columns of 7 Sisters roses, wild daisies, daylilies (one word) in riots of differing colors, and so many patches of tulips and daffodils it was like a carpet climbing over the hills at the top of the holler where her small cabin clung.

          After a day of swinging on grape vines, chasing turtles, salamanders, and crawdads in the branch that trickled down the mountain, I’d bring her a giant bouquet of flowers, picked from the fields that speckled the clearings.

        “Granny!” I shouted as I burst through the screen door, opened to let the fresh Spring breezes clear the last vestiges of Winter from the cabin, “ I brought you some flowers!” I was 17 years old by then, but some things never change.

         Granny smiled, gathered up the bouquet, and placed it into a large brown crockery pitcher on the table.  Smiling as she arranged the flower in the pitcher, she said, “Well, the gardener outdid themself this year that’s for sure!”

         “What do you mean ‘themself’? I said with a humph.  “Aren’t you the gardener?”

         She smiled.  “Jim, I grow the tomatoes, potatoes, green beans, and corn.  But the flowers come from a master horticulturist who lives in these very woods. Let me tell you a story.  It starts when I was a little girl…”

         “Ginny!”  My father called. “It’s time to come in for supper.” 

         I pulled my sweater around my thin shoulders and headed towards the house.  Spring was in bloom, but it was still a bit chilly. The winter had been hard, with long days and nights spent huddled around the wood stove.  I was looking forward to warm summer days exploring the woods, fishing, searching for herbs, and picking flowers. Of course, there would be hard work too.  Planting and caring for the vegetables we would eat all year, including during the winter.

         Before I reached the house, I heard a rustling noise and instinctively looked up.  Something was heading up the ridge. It looked like a fairly large animal, but I wasn’t sure what it was. 

         “Daddy,” I said when I reached the house.  “I saw something head up towards the top of the ridge.  A bear maybe?” 

         Momma was frying potatoes and heating green beans, and a skillet full of crispy brown cornbread was warming on the top of the stove.  Daddy sat at the table, sipping the first of his hot coffee from a saucer. 

         “I haven’t seen any bear sign,” he said, slowly.  “But I will take a look.  Maybe it was a deer or an elk.”

         “Too tall and hairy for a deer or elk,” I mumbled around a mouthful of the cornbread I had grabbed in passing and sat down at the table. 

         “Well, you best take care,” My Momma said, heaping potatoes onto Daddy’s plate.

         “I doubt it was a bear,” said Daddy.  “No need to worry.”

         After dinner, I stepped outside, gazing far up the ridge in the fading light.  Even though the trees had lost their leaves long ago, when autumn was fading, I still couldn’t see very far.  I vowed to go exploring.

         Two days later, I hiked slowly up to the top of the ridge.  The way was steep, so I had taken my walking stick, which Daddy had carved for me.  It helped me on the slippery slope.  I looked as I walked, searching for prints, but I couldn’t see anything.  As I walked, I heard a rustle and saw a shape, smaller than I remember, slipping through the trees.  It had light brown fur. Not a deer.  A bear maybe?  Soon it was gone, out of sight.

         At the top of the ridge, I came to a meadow, surrounded by trees.  We sometimes came up here to pick apples and blackberries. The trees were just beginning to blossom. I wasn’t sure what was beyond the apple trees, but I was determined to find out. 

         “Goodness,” I exclaimed, sitting down to rest on a large rock.  I had a couple of pieces of cornbread with me and a flask of water.  As I rested, I scanned the area around me.  I could see a thicker woods up ahead, and I was determined to see if the wild “animal” was indeed an animal.  You see, I had an idea in my head, and I wanted to see if it was true.

         I’d heard stories of a wild man living in these woods, part man, part creature.  I just wanted to see if they were real.  I didn’t feel any fear back then.  Back then, I thought nothing would ever happen to me.  So I strode on, across the ridge and heading down into the holler in a part of the woods I’d never entered before, even further back into the forested hills higher up in the mountains.

         I never expected to see four of them.  They were splashing in a deep part of the creek, maybe bathing.  I hid in the trees, high on a crumbling bank at the creekside edge, barely breathing.  They seemed like a family, two parents and two littler ones.  Their bodies were covered in dense, heavy hair.  The parents were tall, taller than anyone I’d ever seen.  The children were smaller, but still taller than a grown man.

         As I watched, fascinated, I felt myself slipping….

         With a shriek, I tumbled head over heels down the steep bank and slammed down on the rock-covered shelf on the side of the creek.  Dizzily, I struggled to pick myself up and run back home.  The last thing I remember is hearing the rapid splashing of someone approaching and a pair of golden amber eyes staring into mine as I collapsed in a heap, unconscious.

          I don’t know how long I was out, but it was long enough for someone to move me from where I fell and arrange a bower of soft pine branches, ferns, moss, and other fluff where I managed to pry my eyes open.  The first thing to hit me as I gathered my wits was the scent.   Not exactly unpleasant, more reminiscent of an old barn full of unused hay and the memory of animals that used to shelter there, mixed with flowers. Gradually, my eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering into a glittering compact den from a small opening in the roof and another opening that had to be an entrance.  Every part of the tidy nest, walls, floor, and ceiling was covered in rocks bearing mica and quartz, reflecting just enough of the sunlight to let me get a look around.

   Gingerly, I raised myself off the warm comfort of the bower and straightened carefully, feeling all the bumps and bruises of my tumble down the bank, along with the dull throb of the knock on my head. With a slight groan and a stretch, I stepped carefully around the tidy, glimmering shelter. Glancing into every nook and cranny, I spied plants of almost every variety. Bunches of flowers sat nestled next to piles of various fruits and nuts, mushrooms, tubers, and herbs I couldn’t identify. A tiny pile of embers flickered and popped, casting a wan glow inside a niche that apparently opened somewhere outside to let the tendrils of smoke disappear.

A few items, which must have been cast-off or lost by previous owners, were scattered around. A small basket with some cloth, a battered tin cup, a dented copper pot missing a handle, a few pieces of broken crockery, and even what appeared to be an old twig broom standing near what could only be the entrance. 

           I couldn’t hear anything, no sound of any occupants, just the rushing of water from near the entrance.  I knew I’d need something to make some sort of apology for being gone for who knows how long.  I grabbed the largest bunch of flowers, and with a shrug, I pushed through the entrance.  A solid curtain of water poured down just beyond the small shelf of rock, barely wide enough to stand on without being drenched.  Pulling my sweater more tightly, I shuffled my way out from behind the waterfall and picked my way down what appeared to be a set of stairs made with various strategically placed logs and rocks, all slippery and damp with the mist from the roaring waters.

         With a slight gasp of relief, I made my way safely onto the bank of the same creek where I had seen the strange family.  I looked around carefully, squinting to try and catch a glimpse of them. I couldn’t see anything, but I could feel the pressure of their eyes on me. Looking around again, I patted the pockets of my coat and felt the water bottle I had brought with me on my hike.  I waved the flowers over my head, shouted “Thank you for your help!” and placed the flask on the nearly invisible path.  Clutching the flowers to my chest, I hurried back the way I’d come, not looking forward at all to getting back to the cabin and facing my parents.

         When I got back home, bearing a huge bunch of the most beautiful flowers I’d ever seen, which were blooming earlier than I had ever known, I thought I saw my parents exchange a knowing look.

         “Ginny, didn’t we tell you not to go beyond the meadow, and never down into the next holler?” Daddy demanded, pulling a mossy poultice I hadn’t even noticed off the place where I had knocked my head when I fell.

         All I could do was nod, but inside I was wondering how he knew where I’d been.  I also knew this wasn’t the time to ask that question. 

         My mind raced as I thought about the creatures.  I ate a bowl of beans and cornbread that I’d missed at supper, as I had arrived home after dark. A glass jar full of my beautiful flowers sat on the table.  I waited for Daddy to forbid me to go back there, but he didn’t.  I guess he thought once was enough. It was strange, though, that he said no more about it. I knew, however, that I was going back. I wanted to take them a gift, something more than the flask I’d left behind, as thanks for helping me.  But I wasn’t sure what to give them.

         And go back I did, a couple of weeks later.  As I stood above the banks of the creek I had fallen into, I looked for the strange family, but could not find them.  I wandered down to the creek and then began to follow it, staying undercover as much as I could. 

         As I walked, I thought of the family.  The gift I’d brought them was in a bag on my shoulder.  They’d seemed content, bathing and playing in the creek. I’d brought some of my Momma’s lye soap and a towel she had made me from a flour sack. I had two to my name and was giving the family one of those.  I had wanted to stitch THANK YOU onto it, but I figured they couldn’t read it.  Instead, I painstakingly stitched a little lilac, albeit in black thread, because that’s what I had.  I hoped they knew what it was.

         As I walked along, flowers began to appear on the path, scattered at first, and then more abundant.  Before long, I realized I had walked into a garden.  Lilies, daisies, and my favorite, lilac, lit up the garden with color.  Rose bushes in all colors added to the beauty.  How were they blooming so early? As I walked farther on, I saw some vegetables peeking out.  Watermelons and pumpkins, still small and green, and yellow squash blossoms, bees buzzing about them, greeted me. 

         She was there suddenly—one of the children, a girl, I think, towering above me.  I stared at her a moment and then held out my bag.

         “A gift,” I said softly.  “Thank you for saving me.”

         She didn’t take it. 

         “For you,” I urged. “Please.”

         An even larger creature was suddenly with us, the mother, I think.  I held out the bag again, but they both backed away.  I opened the bag, showing them the soap and towel. I don’t know if they understood, but the mother took it.

         “It’s soap,” I explained, having no idea if she knew what soap was.

         “Your garden is beautiful,” I said, not knowing if they understood me.  I turned and pointed to a small field of early sunflowers, waving gently in the breeze.

          “Do you like the sunflower seeds?” I asked, turning back around to realize I was talking to myself.  They were gone. But they’d taken my gift with them, and that was something. Since the sun was shining and it was a pleasantly warm day, I figured I might as well explore a little further into the riotous maze of the garden.  Humming a tune, I looked around, running my hands through blossoms and stopping to try to identify plants I didn’t recognize.  As I wandered aimlessly, soaking up the warmth of the sun, I found myself on what could only be a path, though it was hard to pick out even when I was on it, due to the dense growth of the gardens and surrounding forest. The sounds of the forest quieted as I approached a large, perfectly round clearing in the forest.  I didn’t see anyone, but again I could feel the pressure of eyes watching me. I practically tiptoed into the clearing, not sure what to expect.  There was nothing there except for a single hollow stump and a large, moss-covered boulder with a flat top.  I could see something set on top of the boulder, so cautiously, I stepped nearer to see what it was.

     Centered on the boulder was a small bunch of lilac flowers tied with a bit of purple thread and a wrinkled sheet of newspaper with a pile of sunflower seeds on it. From last year’s crop, I assumed.  Smiling to myself, I muttered, “Well, even if they don’t say anything, it sure seems like they can understand what I’m saying.  I’d best mind my manners.” 

          I gathered up the gifts and looked around the forested walls of the clearing, trying to spy some sign of the shy folk without success. 

    “Thanks again for your kindness and the gifts!” I hollered. “I’ll be back soon to see your gardens.”

As I turned to hurry back home with my treasure clutched to my chest, I heard a rustle of branches and heard a quiet “hoot”.  Turning to look back at the sound I spied the smaller girl child peeking from behind a tree, uttering another quiet “hoot”.  She raised her hand in a tentative wave. With a huge grin, I waved back, holding the bunch of lilacs.  “See you later Harriet!” I said. 

 Waving and grinning like a lunatic, I turned and skipped back down the trail to home.

           I hit the top of the ridge above the holler where our cabin sat and skidded to a stop when I heard my Daddy’s gruff voice quietly speak my name, “Ginny” and he filtered out of the shadows of a large tree with a stormy frown on his face.  Quickly shoving the bunch of flowers and the bundle of sunflower seeds behind my back, I pasted the most innocent look I could muster onto my face.

         “Yes, Daddy?” I answered, proud that my voice only quivered a little because I suddenly recalled that I wasn’t supposed to be going past the very spot I was standing in.  

 Hands on his hips, he asked, “Where have you been?  And think long and hard before you decide to lie to me.”

And so the story came out:  How I followed the mysterious creature, fell into the creek, and discovered a special family.  Daddy said nothing while I talked.

When I was done, he took a deep breath. 

         “So you know now.” 

I was shocked at his lack of surprise, and my face must have shown it.

         “Do you think you’re the only one who’s gone over to that holler?  Do you think I haven’t?”

         I gaped at him.  “Have you?”

         “Many times.  When I was 15, my father took me there.  I met the “Old Man,” we called him.  He knew our family a long time.  (We traded with him that first day. We traded meat we had caught for his vegetables and seeds.  The Old Man was quite a gardener.  Everything he grew was bigger and better. He could even grow some things out of season. It was almost like magic. He had a family, a wife and son.  When he died, we helped bury him in that holler.  Same when his wife died.  His son left for a while to be with others like him.

“There are others?”

“Yes, there are others.  He has people all over these mountains and in other states. His son came back with a wife, and now they have a family.”

“Do you still see them?”

“Sometimes.”

“How do you talk?”

“Gestures.  Pictures drawn in the dirt.  He and his family have picked up some words and know the names of the flowers.  I can’t seem to understand their language, though.  The way they talk to each other.”

“What are they?” I asked. 

         “One of God’s Creatures, just like us.” Daddy replied.  “But they hide from the treatment of men, who have chased, hunted, and killed them.  Some call them Wild Men, especially over in Tennessee.  In Virginia, they carry the awful name of Wood Booger.  I prefer to call them The Shy Folk.

“Why is it such a big secret?”

Daddy sighed.  “Do you think people would leave them alone, or even let them live, if they knew? So you must keep the secret too, Ginny.  Always.”

Granny returned to me from her memories. 

“Jim, I’m telling you this because I won’t always be here. This whole world is changing, and it’s not for the better.  When I was much younger than you, this whole mountain was empty, just our family and the Shy Folk in the hidden hollers up above.  Our family lived and worked this whole part of the mountains.  Then came a time when the government decided that they had to “save” us from our lives, and these mountains were a good place to make part of the mountains a National Park.  Never mind that it was already protected, not only by us and the Shy Folk, but by the isolation that made it possible for all of us to survive.”

   Leaning forward, she fixed me with a glare, a glare so intense and fierce that I recoiled slightly, “James, you’re the last of my line. You’re the only one I can entrust with this last little remnant of our family’s legacy. You’re young yet to make a decision like this, but I’ve got a feeling I’m not going to greet too many more Springs.  You’re the only one of the family who has shown any interest in the family land and what it holds.  If you decide you’re not interested, I’m afraid of what will happen to what we’ve stewarded for so many generations.”  She sat back with a sigh, “So much has been sold off or lost to bad decisions, and now our precious hills are covered with rich folks ‘vacation’ homes and paved roads instead of animal trails. You’d never know we were in a remote holler. I can’t even imagine what will become of poor Harriet.”

    With a start, I sat forward, “What! You mean one of them still lives up in the holler?” I nearly shouted

   “Of course she does, I just told you she was the one taking care of making sure the flower gardens were up to snuff,” Granny said quietly.

   “But Granny, she must be really old if she’s been up there since you were a kid,” I stated, awestruck

         “Well, thanks for that vote of confidence on my elderly status,” Granny chuckled.  “Harriet is at least my age, but since we can’t really count together, that’s only a best guess. She’s been alone since her brother left not long after her parents died.”

      “How long has she been alone, Granny?” I asked not really wanting to know the answer. I knew how it felt to be alone since my Mom had died not long after we moved back here to holler to live with Granny and Paw.

          “She’s been alone a bit longer than I have, Jimmy” Granny answered quietly as a single tear tracked slowly down her deeply wrinkled cheek. With a sniff, she squared her shoulders back up and looked wistfully at the mantlepiece covered in photos.

  “Her folks were in the same fire that took your grandpa and your Mama away from us.” Her brother then left to look for others like him. But Harriet has always stayed.

         Looking down into my lap and huddling into myself, “But Granny, that’s like a whole lifetime,” I said sadly, which it was for me since they’d both gone since I was just a little kid, barely 7 years old.

          “I need you to keep her secret, Jim.  And continue to trade with her.”

         “You still trade?”

         “Sure.” She smiled.  Harriet is skilled at growing herbs, and she has made poultices to help my rheumatism.   And she brings me flowers and vegetables.  I keep her stocked with soap, bath towels, meat, and some medicines.

         “But how does she remain hidden?”

         “Your great grandaddy, my daddy, bought the land in that holler years ago, in order to keep the Shy Folk safe.    He worked extra jobs to pay it off.  So Harriet has her cave home and garden, and a hundred acres.  She hides whenever anyone comes through.”  She turned a steely gaze on me. 

         “You are my heir.  You will inherit my land and Harriet’s.  You have to protect her. You must keep ownership of that land.” 

I nodded solemnly.  “I will.”

         “It’s time you met,” Granny smiled.

         “Are we going over to the other holler?”

She shook her head.  “Harriet and I have a meeting place.  Do you remember that huge, old bathtub that sits next to the branch?

I smiled.  “Sure.  I never knew where that came from.” I had a second thought. “She doesn’t bathe there, does she?”

Granny laughed.  “No,” but that is where we leave our gifts for each other now, since I can’t really climb ridges anymore.

“And Harriet can?”

“Oh yes.  She is still very strong.  I think she will live much longer than I do.”

“How does she know when to meet you?”

Granny beckoned me outside.  “Remember the dinner bell?”

The enormous black bell still hung on a post outside. 

“Sure. “We used to love to play with it as kids.”

“Yes, that was very confusing for Harriet,” Granny laughed.  You almost met her a couple of times.”

 “You see,” she grinned, “It was always more than a dinner bell. My Daddy put it up in order to communicate with the Old Man.  You and I might not be able to hear a bell in the next holler, but the Shy Folk can.  I will signal Harriet later.”

Granny rang the bell in the early evening, while it was still light. 

“If Harriet can come, she will,” she said primly, as I helped her slowly up the hill along the branch to the silly old bathtub, which was concealed in the trees.

And it wasn’t long before Harriet was there, carrying a spray of lilac.  Granny was holding soap.  It was no longer the lye soap of her youth, but a large bar of Dove and a bottle of bubble bath. 

Granny tottered unsteadily to Harriet and hugged her, looking like a tiny child against her mountainous frame.  They smiled and laughed together, and then Granny took Harriet’s hand and led her to me.

“Jim,” she said, pointing to me.

Harriet responded with a gentle trill, which I knew was a greeting.  I held out my hand, and she knew to shake it with her giant, furry one.  Granny had taught her much.

She and Granny then exchanged a series of signs, learned between them that told each one the other was okay.

Granny pointed at me and said, “Jim,” again and then made a sign. 

“That’s the sign for Friend,” Jim.  Harriet knows you are a friend.

     Granny knew what she was talking about when it came to her time to travel on.  She lasted just long enough for me to make it to my majority and allow me to inherit with no outside intervention. Walking outside, I rang the bell to let Harriet know I was back home with Granny.  Tugging a cart up the narrow path was easier than I thought it would have been, despite the heavy weight in my heart at the thought of burying my beloved Granny.  The simple pine box I had purchased from the local Boy’s Club was light enough for me to almost forget that it held someone so important. I’d prepared the hole earlier, and Harriet had come down out of her hidden spaces to help me find a suitable spot. It was no surprise that it was easy to dig and free from the rocks that made up most of the landscape. 

          As I approached, I caught a flicker in the shadows of the trees, and Harriet appeared almost as if by magic.  Her dense, heavy fur was now mostly white, but still streaked with patches of lighter brown.  She had tied ribbons of various colors and patterns that she had traded with Granny all through her fur, and tucked under her arm was a large piece of stone studded with mica and quartz.  Scratched in the center on a plain area was a lilac flower. 

  “That’s beautiful, Harriet,” I told her as I lowered the cart handle to the ground.  “I know Granny would love it, and it’s a perfect marker. She wouldn’t want anything else.”

          Harriet placed the stone at the top of the hole as I rigged up a sling to lower the simple box into the ground.  Soon enough, I had lowered Granny into her resting spot and filled it in slowly.  Harriet crooned softly, rocking in place, making motions with her hands all the while.

         Finally, tamping down the last of the mound of soil on top of the grave, I turned to Harriet and spoke softly, “Well, Harriet, it’s just you and me now. I know Granny will be watching out for us.”

          I reached out a hand for a shake, and she instead gathered me into a warm, comforting embrace.  With a soft hoot, she let go and held me by the shoulders, staring intently into my eyes before letting go and turning away to stride into the woods.

          It didn’t take long for Granny’s resting place to be surrounded by the start of a mass of flowers, most especially lilacs.  I could see that Harriet visited regularly, leaving small bits and pieces of things at the stone marker. 

         We traded regularly for a few years. I tried teaching her to write since my sign language abilities didn’t even come close to Granny’s.  I scratched my name onto a shiny rock and gave it to her as a token.  She seemed to like it, bringing me other bits of shiny rock and my favorite blackberries when we traded. Eventually, the intervals between our visits grew wider as Harriet took longer to respond to the bell.  Finally, the day came when she didn’t answer at all.  I waited a day before I trekked up to the high, hidden places to look for my friend. I searched unsuccessfully for a few days, finding a few remnants of her existence; bits of ribbon and other assorted baubles, but nothing of Harriet herself.

 Sadly, I hiked back home and sat by Granny’s grave

         “Well, Granny, it looks like I don’t have a secret to keep anymore. Seems like the last of the Shy Folk have passed from here.” I laid a small bouquet of lilac on her marker and made for home.

          A few days later, I was working listlessly in the vegetable fields that Granny tended so carefully when I heard the bell on the cabin ringing raucously. Dropping my tools, I ran up the hill.  Coming within sight of the cabin, I didn’t see anyone. Slowing to catch my breath, I walked cautiously up to the house.  As I approached, I saw a truly huge figure appear from seemingly nowhere.

         It was as white as Harriet had been, and in its arms was cradled her limp figure.

“Harriet!” I shouted as I ran towards my friend without a thought for the huge form holding her. As I drew closer, more figures came out of the woods. One was about Harriet’s size, with two smaller figures hiding shyly behind her, and another just as large as the one holding Harriet, but with deep, dark brown fur.  Skidding to stop, I made the sign for “friend” that Granny had taught me, pointed to myself, and said, “Jim.”

          The older being laid Harriett on the ground.  I could see she was gone.  The younger “man” came forward with an animal skin and covered her body.  To my surprise, the large, older being pointed at himself.  “Though it almost came out as a growl, I could hear “Frank.”  His name was Frank!  I don’t know where he’d been, but he’d been learning English.  He pointed at his son, I assumed, and said “Charlie.”  I was slowly introduced to June, Daisy, and Bob, at least that’s what I heard.  I gathered that Harriett’s brother had returned and brought his son and his son’s family.  

         We laid Harriett to rest in a grave we dug beside Granny.  I said a few words and prayed, but I had no idea if they understood me.  They were speaking amongst themselves and clearly had their own language.

         Harriet’s brother made the sign for Friend, and I returned it.  He turned and led his family back up the ridge.  I didn’t know for sure if they were staying, but I hoped so. 

         Two weeks later, I tried ringing the bell and walked up towards the bathtub. I had some soap with me, and huge towels for each family member.  I waited a while, but saw nobody.  Carrying the gifts, I headed back towards the house, a bit disappointed.  When I had almost reached the house, Frank emerged from the woods.  I smiled.  The gifts, and the secret, would continue.

I hope you enjoyed The Shy Folk! Thanks for reading!

And Here’s The Real Bathtub!

**This original story is creation of and the property of Bonnie and Doug DeMoss.

Below is a review of Anneke Jans in the New World that I did for the Historical Novel Society’s February issue.

Book Review

Anneke Jans arrives in the New World from Europe in 1630 with her husband Roelof and their children.  They are part of a group of settlers brought by the Dutch West India Company to New Netherland, which consisted of what is now parts of New York, New Jersey, Connecticut, Delaware, and Pennsylvania.  They live in the colony of New Amsterdam and begin adjusting to their environment. Anneke befriends natives of the local tribe, who help them learn the ways of the land, and  Roelof signs a contract to farm for the West India Company.  But tragedy occurs, and Roelof’s death means Anneke must make some quick decisions.

The way of life in New Amsterdam is described realistically, including the evil acts of the West India Company.  They took up the practice of slavery. A hanging of an enslaved man became a public party to which parents brought their little children, and snacks were sold.  They committed murderous attacks against a nearby Native American tribe, starting a war. Girls were married off very young to much older men. And that is just the beginning of their evil deeds.

The point of view is mostly Anneke’s, but sometimes changes to other characters very swiftly, which is a bit jarring. There is also not a lot of depth to this book until the midpoint.  Events are described very factually without a lot of feeling.  There are so many characters it is hard to keep track of them all, and only Anneke is fully fleshed out. After the midpoint, Anneke starts to shine, but the book is still scattered, relating numerous events without really tying together a cohesive plot     

Conclusion

Overall, this is a well-researched story that could do with more editing.  

I learned quite a bit from this book about this early colony, and the facts are shocking, but the plot never came together.

Purchase Links

Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Apple Books | Google | Kobo

Books With Similar Themes

Here is my review of A More Perfect Union, which is also set in America. Although it was set much later than Anneke Jans in the New World, slavery was still legal. It’s another heart-wrenching look at our past and a must read.

This week’s Top Ten Tuesday topic is actually “Bookish Discoveries,” but I wasn’t feeling it, so I’m going back a few weeks to cover a topic I missed. Below are my Top Ten Most Anticipated Book Releases of 2026. Jodi Taylor’s latest is at the top of the list, followed by some more time travel, historical fiction, and some fantasy. These books are releasing between January and August 2026. I will do another list for Fall 2026 later in the year.

A Family Affair by Jodi Taylor (Time Travel and Historical Fiction) (My Most Anticipated Book Release of 2026)

From the internationally bestselling author of THE CHRONICLES OF ST MARY’S. Everyone’s favourite time-travelling bounty hunters return for a whole new adventure…

With the dust finally settling after her near-fatal shooting, Lady Amelia Smallhope is looking forward to a period of rest and recuperation. A chance for her and Pennyroyal to plan their next lucrative adventure and drink margaritas in the sun.

Yeah – like that’s ever going to happen.

An unexpected phone call blows everything out of the water. They’ve been targeted. By someone all-too familiar with Pennyroyal’s murky past.

But who would dare?

There’s only one way to find out – and the road ahead is dangerous. But as Smallhope likes to say…

When things are bad – make them worse.

Land by Maggie O’Farrell (Historical Fiction)

The award-winning, bestselling author of Hamnet and The Marriage Portrait returns with a soaring historical novel set in Ireland in the years before and after the Great Hunger.

On a windswept peninsula stretching out into the Atlantic, Tomás and his reluctant son, Liam, are working for the great Ordnance Survey project to map the whole of Ireland. The year is 1865, and in a country not long since ravaged and emptied by the Great Hunger, the task is not an easy one. Tomás, however, is determined that his maps will be a record of the disaster.

The British soldiers in charge are due to arrive any day, expecting the work to be completed, but Tomás is unexpectedly sent off course by an unsettling encounter in a copse. His life, and those of his family, will never be the same again. Liam is terrified by the sudden change in his taciturn father. What was it that caused such cracks to open in Tomás, and how is Liam, aged only ten, going to finish the mapping, and get them both home?

Land is a novel about separation and reunion, tragedy and recovery, colonization and rebellion. It is a story of buried treasure, overlapping lives, ancient woodland, persistent ghosts, a particularly loyal dog, and how, when it comes to both land and history, nothing ever goes away. As spellbinding and varied as the landscape that inspired it, Land is, above all, a story of survival, for our times, and for all time.

The Geomagician by Jennifer Mandula (Historical Fantasy)

Mary Anning wants to be a geomagician—a paleontologist who uses fossils to wield magic—but since the Geomagical Society of London refuses to admit women, she’s stuck selling her discoveries to tourists instead. Then an ancient egg hatches in her hands, revealing a lovable baby pterodactyl that Mary names Ajax, and she knows that this is a scientific find that could make her career—if she’s strategic.

But when Mary contacts the Society about her discovery, they demand to take possession of Ajax. Their emissary is none other than Henry Stanton, a distinguished (and infuriatingly handsome) scholar . . . and the man who once broke Mary’s heart. She knows she can’t trust her fellow scholars, who want to discredit her and claim Ajax for their own, but Henry insists he believes in the brilliant Mary and only wants to help her obtain the respect she deserves.

Now Mary has a new mystery to solve that’s buried deeper than any dinosaur skeleton: She must uncover the secrets behind the Society and the truth about Henry. As her conscience begins to chafe against her ambition, Mary must decide what lengths she’s willing to go to finally belong—and what her heart really wants.

The Young Will Remember by Eve J. Chung (Historical Fiction)

1950. It’s the coldest winter in decades, and twenty-eight-year-old Chinese American journalist Ellie Chang is on a military flight to cover a battle in the mountains of North Korea when her plane is shot down.

As she emerges from the fallen aircraft onto an icy field surrounded by the enemy, Ellie is sure it’s the end, certain she’ll never make it home to her parents…until a woman pushes her way through the crowd and claims Ellie as the lost daughter that she’s been searching for since the last war ended. Never mind that Ellie doesn’t speak a word of Korean.

Ellie is taken in by her rescuer—a woman who calls herself “Emma”—and the Paks, a pastor’s family. She knows she can’t stay and yet there’s no way she’ll survive on her own.

As the war intensifies, the sky alighting with bombs overhead, Ellie convinces Emma and the Paks to travel south towards an elusive promise of safety, and where Ellie insists they are more likely to find Emma’s real daughter, stuck on the other side of the frontlines.

Emma’s decision to claim Ellie, and Ellie’s choice to take her hand will connect their lives forever.

Moving and triumphant, The Young Will Remember sheds light on a “Forgotten War,” the resilience of love within our darkest histories, and the indefatigable determination of mothers to protect their children.

Time Travel for Beginners by Jaclyn Morarity

On a bustling road in Sydney, Australia, lies a nondescript storefront known simply as the Time Travel Agency. Inside, you’ll be welcomed by the smell of fresh-brewed coffee, a selection of baked goods…and the question, Where in time do you wish to go?

The guidelines are simple: you can go whenever you wish into the past, and there’s no fear of altering the present. Have tea with Jane Austen, scream at a Beatles concert, witness the Olympics in ancient Greece. Perhaps a more personal trip? Visit your long-lost grandmother, recapture the heady days of your youth, return to the idyllic time when your teen was a babbling baby—or watch yourself make the one decision that changed everything.

Is it a hoax? And if it’s real, what’s the catch?

When single mother Anna is offered a job at the agency, she glimpses the possibility of happiness. Meanwhile, Teddy’s a customer hoping to untangle his recently imploded marriage. And Jade, who has a deeply buried secret, despises the agency for offering false hope.

In Jaclyn Moriarty’s incandescent novel, Anna, Teddy, and Jade leap headlong into time, hurtling on a crash course toward one another. At turns entertaining and illuminating, Time Travel for Beginners explores the moments, big and small, that shape our destiny.

An Infinite Love Story by Chanel Cleeton (Historical Fiction)

When Joe Mitchell launches into space, the world is watching. It’s 1968, and the country waits with anticipation and excitement for another successful mission, another celebration as America sets its sights on the Moon. And then comes the knock at the door.

Joe Mitchell’s spacecraft has lost contact. He and his fellow astronauts onboard are feared to be dead. It’s his wife Vivian’s worst nightmare come to life, her grief suddenly taking center stage as the nation waits and mourns. In her quiet moments, Vivian relives their memorable story, unable to accept that this is the end to a love that felt as though it was written in the stars.

As the investigation surrounding Joe’s lost spacecraft intensifies and the mishap is written off as an operator error, Vivian is determined to clear her husband’s name and uncover the mystery of what happened in space. When someone starts sending Vivian messages—messages she believes only Joe could send—she begins to wonder if their love is stronger than space and time, and she’ll do whatever it takes to bring her husband back to her.

The Harvey Girl by Dana Stabenow (Historical Mystery)

1890. The New Mexico Territory is a lawless frontier where criminals steal money and land alike with impunity. Everyone wears a six-gun and is ready and willing to draw it.

In the new city of Montaña Roja, Fred Harvey’s growing empire is threatened by the robberies plaguing his newest Harvey House restaurant. To get justice, he needs a skilled detective to go undercover and procure answers to questions the law will not ask.

The assignment falls to Clare Wright, a young Pinkerton agent. Disguised as one of Harvey’s famous hostesses, Clare travels west where she risks being exposed at every step of her investigation. To get answers – and to get out alive – there are only two things she can trust: her instincts, and her derringer.

The Astral Library by Kate Quinn (Fantasy)

Alexandria “Alix” Watson has learned one lesson from her barren childhood in the foster-care system: unlike people, books will never let you down. Working three dead-end jobs to make ends meet and knowing college is a pipe dream, Alix takes nightly refuge in the high-vaulted reading room at the Boston Public Library, escaping into her favorite fantasy novels and dreaming of far-off lands. Until the day she stumbles through a hidden door and meets the Librarian: the ageless, acerbic guardian of a hidden library where the desperate and the lost escape to new lives…inside their favorite books.

The Librarian takes a dazzled Alix under her wing, but before she can escape into the pages of her new life, a shadowy enemy emerges to threaten everyone the Astral Library has ever helped protect. Aided by a dashing costume-shop owner, Alix and the Librarian flee through the Regency drawing rooms of Jane Austen to the back alleys of Sherlock Holmes and the champagne-soaked parties of The Great Gatsby as danger draws inexorably closer. But who does their enemy really wish to destroy—Alix, the Librarian, or the Library itself?

The Lumber Baron’s Wife by Lynn Austin (Christian Historical Fiction)

1873. After a devastating loss, Hannah Wagner never imagined she’d leave her comfortable home for the harsh, unfamiliar wilderness near Lake Michigan. But when Henry Abernathy—a friend of her husband, John—offers them a fresh start in a booming lumber town, where John’s skills as a doctor are sorely needed, Hannah reluctantly agrees. There, she meets Kate, Henry’s spirited, much younger wife. Kate’s sharp tongue and outsider status have made her unwelcome among the town’s elite, and when she begins confiding in Hannah, it’s clear her marriage is not what it seems . . . and that a secret from her past could destroy everything.

Present day. Ashley Gilbert never planned to settle in Michigan, but when her husband lands his dream job as a conservationist, she agrees to follow. While restoring their historic home—built in the 19th century for a doctor and his wife—Ashley becomes captivated by its past and its connection to the nearby Abernathy mansion, now being transformed into a museum. While volunteering with the restoration, she stumbles upon the unsolved mystery of Kate Abernathy’s disappearance. What begins as curiosity soon becomes a quest for the truth—one that will connect her to two women whose stories and struggles echo and inspire her own.

In The Fields of Fatherless Children by Pamela Steele (Historical Fiction)

In late 1960s Appalachia, many things loom darkly over June Branham: the Vietnam War is dividing the country, and a strip mine is eating away the mountain at the head of the holler where she lives, threatening the natural landscape and the only way of life she has ever known. While still in high school, June has fallen in love. She is pregnant, and the father may be Ellis Akers. Ellis is the son of Solomon, a mortal enemy of June’s stepfather, Isom. The feud is so old it fuels two vengeful men with the power of long animosity between rival families.

June’s brother, Tom, leaves to enlist in the war, and so does Ellis. Suddenly, June is on her own, at sixteen with a newborn, and is a mother unable to protect her daughter from the wrath of Isom. Without warning, her baby is kidnapped. Guided by her love for the generations of women before her, but now desperately alone, June must carefully navigate the search for her child alongside family and strangers in a wild and disappearing landscape.

In the Fields of the Fatherless Children is a powerful story of love and perseverance, masterfully told by a writer of exquisite care who knows intimately the rural people of this time and place.

What Are Your Most Anticipated Book Releases of 2026?

**Thank you to That Artsy Reader Girl for hosting Top Ten Tuesday.

Below are the Top Ten Books I read in 2025, with some links to my reviews either here or on The Historical Novel Society website. This is all fiction. I read some wonderful poetry and nonfiction books as well, so I’ll do a Top Ten for those later. This time I couldn’t keep it to ten, so there are actually twelve of my favorite 2025 books below. The majority of them are Indie books that were either published by the author or small presses, and I love that. My wish for 2026 is that readers will seek out Indie books, not just for the lower prices, but for quality writing. I can go on Kindle Unlimited and find so many great books to read that don’t cost me anything above my monthly subscription fee. It is worth the price.

I am not numbering these, as I don’t have a distinct number one. I loved them all, so they aren’t in any order.

My Top Ten

Horse Show by Jess Bowers: A riveting collection of short stories, all featuring horses in some way: See my review on this blog and on The Historical Novel Society Website.

The Ballad of Mary Kearney: See my Review on this blog and on The Historical Novel Society Website.

Finding Naomi: My Review on Amazon. Apparently I haven’t put it on this blog yet so I will do that.

The Weight of Snow and Regret: A story of the last Poor Farm in Vermont. My review on this blog and The Historical Novel Society website.

Wild As The Stars: A Historical Fantasy that combines dance with magic and the 1920s. My Review on The Historical Novel Society website. Another one I didn’t post here so I will do that.

Julia: The exciting life of Julia Child. My review on this blog and The Historical Novel Society website.

Those We Carry: WWII from the perspective of a Dutch resistance fighter and a Canadian soldier: My review on The Historical Novel Society website.

Out of Time: The latest book in Jodi Taylor’s Time Police Series. My review on this blog

When Secrets Bloom: Beautifully written story of a gifted Saxon healer in 15th Century Transylvania. Here is my review on this blog.

The Maestro and Her Protege: Here is the Amazon description. I can’t post the review until it’s published on The Historical Novel Society website in February.

A Bloody Banquet: Book 2 of Stone and Steele Mysteries set in 1930s Hollywood. Here is my review on this blog.

A Fashionably French Murder: This is book three in the An American in Paris mystery series, which features Julia Child as a supporting character. See my review on this blog.

Thank You to That Artsy Reader Girl for hosting Top Ten Tuesday.