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Wednesday, April 30, 2014

ONE MAGIC NIGHT BY CHERYL PIERSON! NEW RELEASE THURSDAY




Have any of you ever incorporated your family history into your writing? Do you like to read books that are based, however loosely, on factual happenings?

My mom was the oldest of eleven children. She knew everyone in our family and how they were related. Because she and my dad grew up together in a tiny little town in southeast Oklahoma (their high school had a graduating class of twelve), she also knew quite a lot about his side of the family as well.

But when I was younger, I was not interested in the stories she told me. It was only later, when I was grown and had children of my own, that I began to wonder and ask questions, and by that time, her memory had already begun to decline.

If you have ever read the book, The Education of Little Tree, (by Forrest Carter) or seen the HBO movie, this story might sound familiar. When Andrew Jackson decided that the Indians were to be assimilated into the white man’s world, he put lots of plans into action that would take years to snowball and evolve into what they eventually became—a truly shameful period in the US governmental policies and procedures. One of Jackson’s plans, besides Removal, that was carried through into subsequent presidencies, was the idea of assimilating Native American children in white homes to integrate them more completely. The Native American children were taken from their villages and given to willing white families (along with a tidy little government stipend for their troubles) to raise.

My great-great-great grandfather was one of these children. We don’t know his real name. It was changed when he was delivered to his new “family,” a Presbyterian minister and his wife. Their last name was Walls. So his name was changed to Walls, and he was given the first name, David. Forbidden to speak his language, he was forced to forget all the ways of his People, and dress in white man’s clothing, go to white school. But he was never going to be white, and his place in the world was divided so drastically that he could not fit in anywhere. Eventually, the Rev. Walls sent David to medical school in Missouri. When he returned to the small town where he’d been raised, he was a doctor who rode to his patients on horseback. Later, he married and had children, but it was not a happy union and his son, my great-great grandfather, became an alcoholic whose own children, in turn, left home as soon as they possibly could. My great grandmother, his daughter, married at 13. Her older sister left home one day and never returned. No one ever knew what became of her.

MY GREAT GRANDMOTHER, JOSIE BELLE WALLS MCLAIN MARTIN AT ABOUT AGE 25 IN 1907

I’ve often thought of these children that were abducted by our cavalrymen, and taken away to their white “families”, forbidden everything familiar and forced to adopt completely new and different ways, even down to their speech and childhood games—and their own names. Can you imagine it? To never be allowed to see your mother and father again. Siblings separated and “given” to different families, their heritage and connection with one another lost forever. How many tears must they have shed? And how lonely and separate they must have felt, how isolated, even into adulthood…so that most of them, I imagine, never were able to fit in anywhere in the world.

My short story, ONE MAGIC NIGHT, is based loosely on what happened to my long-ago ancestor. This story has been recently re-released with Prairie Rose Publications as a single-sell short story for only .99. I'm giving away a copy of it today to one lucky commenter! Just be sure to leave your contact information in your comment!

Dr. Shay Logan has just returned to Talihina, Indian Territory, from medical school in Missouri. Shay hopes to settle down and make a life for himself, but how? He doesn’t belong to either world, Anglo or Indian He's made the acquaintance of Katrina Whitworth at the July 4th town social, and the attraction is mutual from the very beginning. Shay begins to have hopes and dreams that may be out of the question…but Katrina seems to have stars in her eyes for him as well. Will she risk everything to be with him? Katrina makes a social blunder, and Shay follows her into the woods to apologize to her, but when they return, Katrina's drunken father humiliates her. To make matters worse, her former beau shows a side of himself she had not seen before. Can Katrina and Shay have a life together that they so badly want? Here’s an excerpt for you.


FROM ONE MAGIC NIGHT:
As Whitworth’s hand started its descent, Katrina turned away. But Shay’s arm shot out, grasping Whitworth’s hand and holding it immobile.

“You will not.”

Three words, quietly spoken, but with a heat that could have melted iron, a force that could have toppled mountains.

Katrina’s father’s face contorted, his teeth bared, finally, as he tried to jerk away. He didn’t utter a word. He stared up into Shay Logan’s eyes that promised retribution, as the seconds ticked by. Finally, he lunged once more, trying to pull free, but Shay still held him locked in a grip of steel. Only when he released that grip was Whitworth freed.

“You presume too much, Doctor Logan, unless you are assuming the care and responsibility of my daughter.”

"Papa! Oh, please!” Katrina felt herself dissolving into a puddle of less than nothing beneath stares of the townspeople of Talihina. What had started as an exciting, beautiful evening had become an embarrassing nightmare. It was torture to think that she was the cause of it all. How she wished she had stayed home with Jeremy as she’d first planned, before Mrs. Howard had volunteered to keep him company.

Now, Papa was saying these things that she knew he would regret later. It was always this way when he drank too much. These accusations had gone beyond the pale of anything he’d ever said before. But Shay Logan wouldn’t realize that. He wouldn’t know that Papa would be sorry tomorrow.

Evidently, there was one thing Shay did recognize, though. She saw the very slight flare of his nostrils as he drew in the scent of alcohol on her father’s breath, and in that instant, there was a flash of understanding in his eyes.

“You’ve had too much to drink, Mr. Whitworth,” he said in an even tone. “I will overlook your behavior toward me because of that, but not toward your daughter. She has done nothing, yet you would strike her, and cause her shame.”

“She’s my daughter,” Whitworth replied sullenly.

“But not your property, Whitworth. Never that. You owe her an apology.”

“No, Shay, really—” Katrina began, then as her father whirled to look at her, she broke off, realizing her mistake. ‘Shay,’ she had called him. As if she had known him forever. As if she was entitled to use his given name freely. As if she were his betrothed.

“‘Shay’ is it, daughter? Not, ‘Dr. Logan’? Shay.” He spit the words out bitterly. He drew himself up, looking Shay in the face. “I’ll not be apologizing to her—or to you. And I’ll expect nothing less than a wedding before this week’s end. Do you understand me, Doctor?”

Shay had lost any patience he might have harbored. “You understand me, Whitworth. You will not dictate to me, or to your daughter on such matters of the heart. As I say, the alcohol has got you saying things you’re going to regret, and—”

“Threatening me, are you? Threatening me?”

“Truman.” Jack Thompson stepped out of the crowd and smoothly came to stand beside Katrina. “Let’s put this…unfortunate incident…behind us, shall we?” He confidently tucked Katrina’s hand around his arm. “I can see that the church auxiliary ladies have almost got everything set up for this wonderful Independence Day meal—” he frowned at Mrs. Beal, nodding at the picnic tables behind her. She jumped, motioning the other ladies to resume the preparation.

He gave a sweeping glance around the group of onlookers. “I, for one, am ready to eat! How about you all?”

Katrina was swept along at his side as he walked toward the tables, speaking to acquaintances and friends, laughing and…and seething with tense anger the entire time. She could feel it in his body, with every step he took and the tightness of his grip as he covered her hand with his. Katrina glanced back over her shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of Shay, but the crowd blocked her view.

“Smile, my dear,” Jack gritted into her ear. “I’m hoping we can still salvage your virtue, no matter what happened, really, between you and the good doctor. If I see him near you again, I’ll kill him.”

Cheryl's Amazon page: www.amazon.com/author/cherylpierson


12 comments:

  1. Cheryl,

    You have done it again. What a great premise for a story and if the excerpts are any indication, a well told one. Readers can be thankful that your stories are being made available for those who missed them the first time. Yeah!
    Doris

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    1. Thanks, Doris! I love this story because of my family history. I just had to give him a happily ever after ending. He sure deserved it. Thanks again for stopping by!
      Cheryl

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  2. This was a most excellent story. I loved it.
    I really cannot imagine the emotional torture that Native Americans suffered at the hands of "well intended" Europeans. It seems every culture that exists in the United States has had its time to suffer until acceptance finally comes. The Irish were hated and lived in squalor and virtual enslavement by disreputable sweat shops and many were bond slaves, mistreated, abused and never released into freedom. It's been a struggle to blend into the great melting pot of America. It's such a painful transition and I don't understand why it happens.
    You have such a rich family history, Cheryl. I love that you use it in your work. A reader can tell when a writer's real spirit is in his or her work. Yours is definitely visible.
    In my grandfather's trunk is a picture unlike any picture from the early 1900's. I can tell by the clothes it must be before 1920. It's a lovely young woman and a man who appears to be Native American. What's really different is the unguarded joy they display for each other. Unlike the usual stern, no smiles, stilted pictures of the day, this one has them hugging and smiling. No one ever mentioned a Native American in our heritage and I have no idea who they are. It's a tantalizing mystery. Don't you love those?
    A wonderful blog today, Cheryl.

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    1. Sarah...I would HAVE to find out. With a picture like that--you have to become a genealogy hound now! LOL I found out through family records that one of my ancestors who came over from Ireland married an Indian woman named "Horse Shoe"--don't know the tribe, etc., but this was back in the 1700's I think. Thanks so much for all your kind words, Sarah! I appreciate you so much!
      Cheryl

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  3. I suspected from your use of characters of Native American ancestry in your novels that you have some in your ancestry. I would be interested to know what tribe. My husband's family is from the Oklahoma-Texas-Arkansas region and family tradition says that he has some Choctaw on his father's side and some Chickasaw on his birth mother's side. We would love to know the history behind those first marriages. In spite of years of family history research, we have yet to make those connections. I did enjoy the research and writing I did in my novel, AURORA RESCUE, about the Lenni Lenape (Delaware) tribe and their interactions with the Haudenosaunee (Iroquois) tribes. I have yet to incorporate my own family history stories into my writing, but, believe me, I have thought about it. I would enjoy reading this story, ONE MAGIC NIGHT.

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    1. Robyn, I don't have your e-mail addy but you won another of my giveaways a few days ago. I posted it, at the end of the day but didn't have your e-mail. If you will e-mail me at fabkat_edit@yahoo.com I will see that you get your prize!

      Yes, you really should incorporate your family stories in your writing. It's very cathartic. As far as I know Cherokee and Choctaw--MAYBE Chickasaw, too, but not certain are what I have in my bloodline. But also, as I mentioned to Sarah above, I would love to learn about HorseShoe and what tribe she was from. I suspect maybe a northern tribe of some kind, but I truly have no clue. I think this because the ancestor of mine that married her had gotten off the ship from Ireland in the NE--probably NY. I hope you are able to find out eventually about your husband--we still don't have the proof we need to get a CDIB card. SIGH. Maybe one of these days.

      Cheryl

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  4. I remember that story and loved it, Cheryl. You are a wonderful writer. Best wishes for continued success!

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    1. Thanks, Caroline. I'm so glad you enjoyed it. I was so glad my mother taught me these family stories so that I could use them in my writing.
      Cheryl

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  5. Cheryl, Your family stories are so interesting. I have many hand-me-down family stories, but nothing relating to the 'old west'. My family migrated from the east to Missouri and Iowa before coming on to Colorado. I do have quite a few family Depression Era stories, though.

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    1. Kaye, my mom was the oldest of 11 kids, so she grew up knowing a lot of the older people and hearing stories from them. She had a wonderful memory for detail in her younger years, and would recount the stories as she heard them growing up, and into adulthood. I wish I had paid more attention then--but what do kids know? I treasure what I can remember of the stories she told me.
      Cheryl

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  6. I love how much research you done for your books.

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    1. Thanks Heather--I love research--I can just get lost in it. I'm so glad you stopped by today--be sure to check back and see if you are my winner!
      Cheryl

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