{"id":732,"date":"2008-10-28T09:20:32","date_gmt":"2008-10-28T14:20:32","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/\/?p=732"},"modified":"2008-10-28T09:20:32","modified_gmt":"2008-10-28T14:20:32","slug":"diamond-duo-by-marcia-gruver","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/?p=732","title":{"rendered":"Diamond Duo by Marcia Gruver"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/a>\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

It is time to play a Wild Card<\/span>!<\/strong> <\/span>Every now and then, a book that I have chosen to read is going to pop up as a FIRST Wild Card Tour<\/a>. Get dealt into the game! (Just click the button!) Wild Card Tours feature an author and his\/her book’s FIRST chapter!<\/p>\n

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

Today’s Wild Card author is: <\/strong><\/div>\n
Marcia Gruver<\/a><\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n

and the book:<\/span> <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Diamond Duo<\/a><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Barbour Publishing, Inc (October 1, 2008)<\/p>\n

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:<\/span> <\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n

\"\"<\/a>Marcia Gruver is a full time writer who hails from Southeast Texas. Inordinately enamored by the past, Marcia delights in writing historical fiction. Her deep south-central roots lend a Southern-comfortable style and a touch of humor to her writing.<\/p>\n

Awarded a three book contract by Barbour Publishing for full-length historical fiction, Marcia is busy these days pounding on the keyboard and watching the deadline clock. Diamond Duo, the first installment in the trilogy entitled Texas Fortunes, is scheduled for release in October 2008.<\/p>\n

Marcia won third place in the 2007 ACFW Genesis contest and third in the 2004 ACFW Noble Theme contest. Another entry in 2004 finished in the top ten. She placed second in the 2002 Colorado Christian Writer\u2019s contest for new authors, securing a spot in an upcoming compilation book. \u201cI Will Never Leave Thee,\u201d in For Better, For Worse\u2014Devotional Thoughts for Married Couples, was released by Christian Publications in January 2004.<\/p>\n

She\u2019s a member of American Christian Fiction Writers, Fellowship of Christian Writers, and The Writers View\u2014and a longstanding member of ACFW Crit3 and Seared Hearts, her brilliant and insightful critique groups.<\/p>\n

Lifelong Texans, Marcia and her husband, Lee, have one daughter and four sons. Collectively, this motley crew has graced them with ten grandchildren and one great-granddaughter\u2014so far.<\/p>\n

Visit the author’s website<\/a>.<\/p>\n

Product Details:<\/p>\n

List Price: $ 10.97<\/p>\n

Paperback: 288 pages<\/p>\n

Publisher: Barbour Publishing, Inc (October 1, 2008)<\/p>\n

Language: English<\/p>\n

ISBN-10: 1602602050<\/p>\n

ISBN-13: 978-1602602052<\/p>\n

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:<\/span> <\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Diamond Duo by Marcia Gruver, Chapter One<\/p>\n

Jefferson, Texas, Friday, January 19, 1877<\/p>\n

With the tip of a satin shoe, the graceful turn of an ankle, the woman poured herself like cream from the northbound train out of Marshall and let the tomcats lap her up. In the beginning, an upraised parasol blocked her visage, but no lingering look at her features could erase the impression already established by pleasing carriage, a lavish blue gown, and slender fingers covered in diamonds.<\/p>\n

Bertha Biddie waited with stilted breath for the moment when the umbrella might tip and give up its secret. All about her most of Jefferson had come to a halt, as if the whole town waited with her. Without warning, the woman lowered and closed the sunshade.<\/p>\n

Enchanted, Bertha followed the graceful lines of her form to her striking and memorable face. At first sight of her, Bertha thought she was the devil\u2019s daughter. She bore no obvious mark of evil. Just smoldering eyes and a knowing glance that said life held mysteries young Bertha had yet to glimpse.<\/p>\n

Her hair sparkled like sunrays dancing on Big Cypress Creek. Her lashes were as black as the bottom of a hole, and her lids seemed smudged with coal. Delicate features perched below a dark halo of hair, and a pink flush lit her fair cheeks. Her expression teemed with mischief, and her full ruby lips curled up at the corners as if recalling a bawdy yarn. She turned slightly, evidently aware of the gathering horde for the first time. With a tilt of her chin and barely perceptible sway, she cast a wide net over the men in the crowd and dragged them to shore.<\/p>\n

Bertha watched them respond to her and realized Mama had been less than forthcoming about the real and true nature of things. Forgetting themselves and the women at their sides, they stared open-mouthed, some in spite of jealous claws that gripped their arms. Even the ladies stared, the looks on their faces ranging from admiration to envy.<\/p>\n

The reaction of the men only slightly altered when the lady\u2019s escort stepped out of the Texas & Pacific passenger car behind her. Though his clothes were just as spiffy and he carried himself well, the man who accompanied that gilded bird lacked her allure, bore none of her charm. Yet despite her confident display of tail feathers, the bluebird at his side clearly deferred to him as though he\u2019d found a way to clip her wings.<\/p>\n

With great care, the porter handed down the couple\u2019s baggage, the matched set a rare sight in those parts, then held out his hand. Her companion tipped the man, gathered the bags, and walked away from the platform without offering a single word in the bluebird\u2019s direction. She cast a quick glance after him but stood her ground, her demeanor unruffled in the face of his rebuke.<\/p>\n

As was the custom, The Commercial Hotel, Haywood House, and Brooks House, three reputable hotels in town, each had transport standing by to haul incoming passengers from the station. Dr. J. H. Turner, landlord of Brooks House, waited on hand in the conveyance he called an omnibus.<\/p>\n

The woman\u2019s friend secured passage with Dr. Turner and helped him load their belongings then turned and crooked a finger in her direction. She pretended not to notice.<\/p>\n

\u201cBessie!\u201d he barked. \u201cFor pity\u2019s sake.\u201d<\/p>\n

She lifted her head, reopened the parasol, and strolled his way without saying a word\u2014giving in but taking all the time she pleased to do so. He handed her up onto the carriage, climbed in beside her, and settled back to rest a possessive arm around her shoulders.<\/p>\n

Dr. Turner eased onto Alley Street and trundled away from the station, breaking the spell cast over the denizens of Jefferson. In slow motion they awoke from their stupor and returned to their lives.<\/p>\n

Bertha released the breath she\u2019d held and gripped her best friend\u2019s arm. \u201cWhat was she, Magda? I\u2019ve never seen anything like her.\u201d<\/p>\n

When Magda shook her head, her curls danced the fandango. \u201cMe neither. And we never will again. Not around here, anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n

She leaned past Magda trying to catch another glimpse. \u201cShe\u2019s no earthbound creature, that\u2019s for sure. But devil or angel? I couldn\u2019t tell.\u201d<\/p>\n

Magda laughed. \u201cShe\u2019s human all right, just not ordinary folk.\u201d She pressed her finger to her lips. \u201cCould be one of those actresses from a New York burletta.\u201d<\/p>\n

Bertha gasped. \u201cFrom the Broadway stage? You really think so?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s certainly stylish enough.\u201d<\/p>\n

Bertha squinted down Alley Street at the back of the tall carriage. \u201cThat man called her Bessie. She doesn\u2019t look like a Bessie to me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFurther proof that beneath all her fluff, she\u2019s a vessel of clay like the rest of us.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow so?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWho ever heard of an angel named Bessie?\u201d<\/p>\n

Grinning, Bertha leaned and tweaked Magda\u2019s nose. \u201cOh, go on with you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Of all the souls wandering the earth\u2014in Jefferson, Texas, at least\u2014Bertha Maye Biddie\u2019s heart had knit with Magdalena Hayes\u2019 from the start. They were a year apart, Magda being the oldest, but age wasn\u2019t the only difference between them. Magda easily reached the top shelves in the kitchen, where Bertha required a stool. And while big-boned Magda took up one and a half spaces on a church pew, Bertha barely filled the remaining half. Magda\u2019s russet mop coiled as tight as tumbleweed. Bertha\u2019s black hair fell to her waist in silken waves and gave her fits trying to keep it pinned up. Nothing fazed self-possessed Magda. Bertha greeted life with her heart.<\/p>\n

Magda nudged Bertha with her elbow. \u201cEarthbound or not, I can tell you one thing about her. . .\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d<\/p>\n

The look in Magda\u2019s big brown eyes said whatever the one thing was it was bound to be naughty. She leaned in to whisper. \u201cShe knows a thing or two about the fellas.\u201d<\/p>\n

Bertha raised her brows. \u201cYou can tell that just by looking at her, can you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot looking at her, smart britches. I can tell by the way she looks at them.\u201d She fussed with her curls, her eyes pious slants. \u201cNo decent woman goes eye to eye with strange men in the street, and you know it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI guess some decent woman told you that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBertha Maye Biddie! Don\u2019t get fresh with me.\u201d<\/p>\n

Bertha tucked in her chin and busied herself straightening her gloves. \u201cMaybe she\u2019s fed up with their scandalous fawning. Ever think of that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAny hound will track his supper.\u201d<\/p>\n

The words made Bertha mad enough to spit, but she didn\u2019t know why. \u201cA pie set out on a windowsill may be a fine display of good cooking, but not necessarily an invitation.\u201d<\/p>\n

Magda narrowed her eyes. \u201cWhat on earth are you talking about?\u201d Before Bertha could answer, she stiffened and settled back for a pout. \u201cWhy are you siding up with that woman anyway? You don\u2019t even know her.\u201d<\/p>\n

The truth was, Bertha\u2019s head still reeled from the first sight of Bessie. And the way men reacted to her flooded Bertha\u2019s young heart with hope and provided an opportunity, if she played her cards right, to fix a private matter that sorely needed fixing.<\/p>\n

She knew a few things by instinct, like how to toss her long hair or tilt her chin just so. Enough to mop the grin off Thaddeus Bloom\u2019s handsome face and light a fire in those dark eyes. But she was done with turning to mush in his presence and watching him revel in it. If Bertha could learn a few of the bluebird\u2019s tricks, she\u2019d have that rascal wagging his tail. Then the shoe would be laced to the proper foot, and Thad could wear it up her front stoop when he came to ask for her hand.<\/p>\n

One thing was certain. Whatever Bessie knew, Bertha needed to know it.<\/p>\n

She tugged on Magda\u2019s arm. \u201cCome on.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCome on where?\u201d<\/p>\n

Already a wagon-length ahead, Bertha called back over her shoulder. \u201cTo the hotel. We\u2019re going to find her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat? Why?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSave your questions for later. Now hurry!\u201d<\/p>\n

Bertha dashed to the steps at the end of the boardwalk and scurried into the street.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou planning to run clear to Vale Street?\u201d Magda huffed, rushing to catch up. \u201cSlow down. It ain\u2019t ladylike.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, pooh. Neither am I. Look, there\u2019s Mose. He\u2019ll take us.\u201d<\/p>\n

Just ahead, Moses Pharr\u2019s rig, piled high with knobby cypress, turned onto Alley Street headed the opposite way. The rickety wagon, pulled by one broken-down horse, bore such a burden of wood it looked set to pop like a bloated tick. When Bertha whistled, the boy\u2019s drowsy head jerked up. He turned around and saw her, and a grin lit his freckled face.<\/p>\n

\u201cBertha!\u201d Magda hustled up beside her. \u201cIf your pa gets word of you whistling in town, he\u2019ll take a strap to your legs.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPapa doesn\u2019t own a strap. Come on, Mose is waiting.\u201d<\/p>\n

She ran up even with the wagon and saw that the mountain of wood had blocked her view of Mose\u2019s sister sitting beside him on the seat. They both grinned down at her, Rhodie\u2019s long red hair the only visible difference between the two.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, Rhodie.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, Bert. Where you going?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTo Brooks House. I was hoping to hitch a ride.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mose leaned over, still grinning. \u201cWe always got room for you, Bertha. Hop on.\u201d<\/p>\n

Magda closed the distance between them and came to stand beside Bertha, breathing hard. When Bertha pulled herself onto the seat beside Rhodie, Magda started to follow. Mose raised his hand to stop her.<\/p>\n

\u201cHold up there.\u201d He looked over at Bertha. \u201cHer, too?\u201d<\/p>\n

Bertha nodded.<\/p>\n

Mose cut his eyes back at the wood and then shrugged. \u201cGuess one more can\u2019t hurt. But she\u2019ll have to sit atop that stump. Ain\u2019t no more room on the seat.\u201d<\/p>\n

Magda adjusted her shawl around her shoulders and sniffed. \u201cI refuse to straddle a cypress stump all the way to Vale Street.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSuit yourself,\u201d Bertha said. \u201cBut it\u2019s a long walk. Let\u2019s go, Mose.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mose lifted the reins and clucked at the horse. Magda grabbed the wooden handgrip and pulled herself onto the wagon just as it started to move. Arranging her skirts about her, she perched on the tall stump like Miss Muffet. \u201cWell, what are you waiting for?\u201d she asked. \u201cLet\u2019s go.\u201d<\/p>\n

Laughing, they rolled through Jefferson listing and creaking, ignoring the stares and whispers. When the rig pulled up across from Brooks House, even the spectacle they made couldn\u2019t compete with Bessie and her traveling companion.<\/p>\n

The couple stood on the street beside their luggage, the carriage nowhere in sight. They seemed at the end of a heated discussion, given his mottled face and her missing smile.<\/p>\n

When Bertha noticed the same sick-cow expression on the faces of the gathered men and the same threatened look on the women\u2019s, she became more determined than ever to learn Bessie\u2019s secret.<\/p>\n

The man with Bessie growled one more angry word then hefted their bags and set off up the path. Not until Bessie followed him and disappeared through the shadowy door did the town resume its pace.<\/p>\n

Mose gulped and found his voice. \u201cShe looked as soft as a goose-hair pillow. Who is she?\u201d<\/p>\n

Bertha scooted to the edge of her seat and climbed down. She dusted her hands and smoothed her skirt before she answered. \u201cI don\u2019t know, but I intend to find out.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRoll up your tongue, Moses Pharr,\u201d Magda said from the back, \u201cand get me off this stump.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mose hopped to the ground and hurried around to help Magda.<\/p>\n

Rhodie, twirling her copper braid, grinned down at Bertha. \u201cWhat are you going to do, Bert?\u201d<\/p>\n

Magda answered for her. \u201cShe\u2019s going to get us into trouble, that\u2019s what.\u201d<\/p>\n

Bertha took her by the hand. \u201cStop flapping your jaws and come on.\u201d<\/p>\n

They waved goodbye to Mose and Rhodie then hurried across the street, dodging horses, wagons, and men\u2014though their town wasn\u2019t nearly as crowded as it had once been.<\/p>\n

Jefferson, Queen City of the Cypress, lost its former glory in 1873, when the United States Corps of Engineers blew the natural dam to kingdom come, rerouting the water from Big Cypress Bayou down the Red River to Shreveport. Once a thriving port alive with steamboat traffic, when the water level fell, activity in Jefferson, the river port town that had earned the title \u201cGateway to Texas\u201d dwindled. To that very day, in fits of Irish temper, Bertha\u2019s papa cursed the responsible politicians.<\/p>\n

But through it all, Jefferson had lost none of its charm. Brooks House was a prime example of the best the town had to offer, so it seemed only right that someone like Bessie might wind up staying there.<\/p>\n

Bertha and Magda positioned themselves outside the hotel and hunkered down to wait\u2014the former on a mission, the latter under duress. It didn\u2019t take long for the girls to learn a good bit about the captivating woman and her cohort. Talk swirled out the door of the hotel soon after the couple sashayed to the front desk to register under the name of A. Monroe and wife, out of Cincinnati, Ohio.<\/p>\n

The gentleman, if he could be counted as such, addressed the woman as Annie or Bessie, when he didn\u2019t call her something worse. The two quarreled openly, scratching and spitting like cats, and didn\u2019t care who might be listening. By the time the story drifted outside, the locals had dubbed her Diamond Bessie due to her jewel-encrusted hands, and it seemed the name would stick.<\/p>\n

Bertha shaded her eyes with her hands and pressed her face close to the window. \u201cI don\u2019t see her anymore, Magda. I guess they took a room.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course they took a room. Why else would they come to a hotel?\u201d<\/p>\n

Bertha ignored her sarcasm and continued to search the lobby for Bessie. Still catching no sight of her, she turned around. \u201cIsn\u2019t she the most glorious thing? And even prettier close up.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat she is.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid you see the way men look at her? I never saw that many roosters on the prowl at one time.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd all for squat,\u201d Magda said. \u201cThat chicken\u2019s been plucked. The little banty she strutted into town with has already staked a claim.\u201d She grinned. \u201cHe wasn\u2019t all that hard on the eyes himself.\u201d<\/p>\n

Bertha frowned. \u201cThat strutting peacock? Besides his flashy clothes, she was the only thing special about him. Don\u2019t see how he managed to snare a woman like that. He must be rich.\u201d<\/p>\n

Magda arched one tapered brow. \u201cDid you see the rings on her fingers?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI reckon so. I\u2019m not blind.\u201d<\/p>\n

Magda stretched her back and heaved a sigh. \u201cI guess that\u2019s it then. Let\u2019s go.\u201d<\/p>\n

Bertha grabbed her arm. \u201cWait. Where are you going?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHome. This show\u2019s over. They\u2019ve settled upstairs by now.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lacing her fingers under her chin, Bertha planted herself in Magda\u2019s path. \u201cWon\u2019t you wait with me just a mite longer?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s not coming out here, Bertha. Besides, you\u2019ve seen enough for today.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t want to see her. I need to talk to her.\u201d<\/p>\n

Magda drew herself back and stared. \u201cAre you tetched? We can\u2019t just walk up and talk to someone like her. Why would she fool with the likes of us?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know. I\u2019ll think of a way. I\u2019ve got to.\u201d She bit her bottom lip\u2014three words too late.<\/p>\n

Looking wary now, Magda crossed her arms. \u201cGot to? Why?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJust do.\u201d Bertha met her look head-on. She wouldn\u2019t be bullied out of it. Not even by Magda.<\/p>\n

Resting chubby fists on rounded hips, Magda sized her up. \u201cAll right, what does this have to do with Thad?\u201d<\/p>\n

No one knew her like Magda. Still, the chance she might stumble onto Bertha\u2019s motives were as likely as hatching a three-headed guinea hen. Struggling to hold her jaw off the ground, she lifted one shoulder. \u201cWho said it did?\u201d<\/p>\n

Magda had the gall to laugh. \u201cBecause, dearie,\u201d she leaned to tap Bertha\u2019s forehead, \u201ceverything inside there lately has something to do with Thad.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHumph! Think what you like. I am going to talk to her.\u201d<\/p>\n

Magda glared. \u201cGo ahead then. I can see there\u2019s no changing your mind. But I don\u2019t fancy being humiliated by another of your rattlebrained schemes, thank you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Bertha caught hold of her skirt. \u201cDon\u2019t you dare go. I can\u2019t do this on my own.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLet go of me. I said I\u2019m going home.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease, Magdalena! I need you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Magda pulled her skirt free and took another backward step. \u201cNo, ma\u2019am. You just count me out this time.\u201d<\/p>\n

She turned to go and Bertha lunged, catching her in front of the hotel door. They grappled, tugging sleeves and pulling hair, both red-faced and close to tears. Just when Bertha got set to squeal like a pestered pig, from what seemed only a handbreadth away a woman cleared her throat. Bertha froze, hands still locked in Magda\u2019s hair, and turned to find the bluebird beaming from the threshold\u2014though canary seemed more fitting now that she\u2019d traded her blue frock for a pale yellow dress.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat fun!\u201d Bessie cried, clasping her hands. \u201cI feared this town might be as dull as dirt, but it seems I was mistaken.\u201d<\/p><\/div>\n

NO REVIEW:<\/h3>\n

I requested but did not receive this book for review. If I receive it, I will post a review at a later date.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

It is time to play a Wild Card! Every now and then, a book that I have chosen to read is going to pop up as a FIRST Wild Card Tour. Get dealt into the game! (Just click the button!) Wild Card Tours feature an author and his\/her book’s FIRST chapter! You never know when […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[8],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-732","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-books"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/732"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=732"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/732\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":734,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/732\/revisions\/734"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=732"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=732"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=732"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}