Christmas from the Heart

by Rain Trueax

To date, I have written four novellas set in the American West where at their heart is the Christmas season, its traditions and expectations. Two are contemporary, A Montana Christmas and Diana's Journey, and two are historical, Rose's Gift and Frederica's Heart. There are also two historical, short stories, Blue Mountain Christmas and Connie's Gift, which were written for anthologies, one of which no longer exists. 

The idea came to put the six into a collection just for the season and price it at 99¢. Sometime in January, it will be withdrawn (maybe to return next Christmas). This book is intended to be a Christmas special, available only at Amazon and Google Play and for one month. Each of these stories has a different aspect of the season. The stories catch people at different points in their lives from relatively young to getting old and from the late 1800s to today. [available at Amazon: Christmas from the Heart Anthology or Google Play: Christmas from the Heart Anthology] 

As a writer, putting Christmas into a book has pluses and minuses. It is a holiday filled with more than the usual number of expectations. In a book, those can distract from other plot elements when if it's not part of the plot and character development. Important religiously and culturally. There are many ways to celebrate it. 


Most have read how we got Christmas trees, how far back the tradition comes and decorating it from Germany, but not so many maybe on when they became part of American family traditions.

"Most 19th-century Americans found Christmas trees an oddity. The first record of one being on display was in the 1830s by the German settlers of Pennsylvania, although trees had been a tradition in many German homes much earlier. The Pennsylvania German settlements had community trees as early as 1747. But, as late as the 1840s Christmas trees were seen as pagan symbols and not accepted by most Americans." from http://www.history.com/topics/christmas/history-of-christmas-trees

By the 1880s, some would have been influenced by books, which taught examples of Christmas, such as Little Women, one of the first books to have a family Christmas described-- published in 1868.

In 1885-86, when I wanted my second Arizona historical, Tucson Moon, to have Christmas as part of the book, some of the traditions weren't all that old. Dickens had written A Christmas Carol in 1843. You might be surprised that the song, Up on the Housetop, was written in 1864 (Gene Autry, however, sang the ultimate version of it in 1953). There were though other, less traditional ways of celebrating the birth of Christ.

Tucson Moon is not only a love story but a father's need to connect with his 9-year old daughter, Grace, whom he hasn't seen since she was born. I was looking for something that would expand the season's emotional meaning. It turned out it wasn't hard to find, since one of the secondary characters (later to have his own romance with Arizona Dawn) was Yaqui.

The Yaquis have a part of their reservation in the heart of Tucson, Pascua. With part of their tribe in Arizona and part still in Mexico, they are a people of mysticism, rich mythologies, Catholicism, and have blended these into their rituals for today. 

The Arizona State Museum has a section devoted to the major tribes of Arizona, and the Yaqui one is quite interesting. Because of my interest, I have non-fiction books on various aspects of their culture. Probably the best known books regarding Yaqui mysticism are the Carlos Castaneda books, which may or may not have a factual aspect. To add a Yaqui Christmas celebration to my historical romance enriched the story but also was fun for me in the research. 

As background, to understand the short snippet, Cord and Priscilla are the hero and heroine of the book. With Grace, Rafe, his deputy, and several friends, they have come to observe the celebration held the night before Christmas in Pascua. The description I include here is trying to stay true to what I have read and understood of this meaningful ritual.

***********

As the drums and rattles grew louder, a slender boy entered the room, shuffling his feet with a little dance step, the head of a deer on his head, his chest bare. On his ankles were rattles. He moved cautiously around the room, now and then jumping in the air but always watching the edges as though for a threat. At times he stopped as though eating. As he passed near them, Priscilla glanced at Grace to see her eyes widened with wonder.

From one side came two more dancers, wearing what appeared to be wolf or coyote masks. They had bells attached to their bodies. The deer sensed the danger, reacted, and the trio stealthily circled.

When the speaker began talking in Yaqui, Rafe moved back to whisper, loud enough for Grace to also hear, “This is the struggle of the forest, the wilderness, good and evil, light and dark, that of nature. For Easter, it would go on longer, but this is Christmas, where the season is about rebirth and joy; so the deer will not be a sacrifice and therefore escapes.”

And he did, as the coyotes continued to circle, mystified where the deer had gone before they too vanished. 
“In some ceremonies,” Rafe said, “The deer will be killed by hunters as a symbol of the sacrifice that is required for life to go on for the people.”

“It was beautiful,” Ellen said smiling up at him.

The people in the room moved toward the heavily laden table of food. Merriment was all around them as families reconnected and shared best wishes. “Did you like it?” Cord asked as he came to stand by Priscilla and Grace.
Grace was still wide-eyed. “I’d like to dance like that,” she said with a wistful expression.

 *********

For more on my books: https://raintrueax.blogspot.com/

 https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B006UX64X8

https://romanceswithanedge.blogspot.com

Images above from Stencil other than the one of the Deer Dancer. It is a metal work of art in our Tucson backyard-- and turned painterly with a Dreamscope app.

50 BRIDES FOR 50 STATES!! A SERIES THAT'S HISTORY IN THE MAKING...AND READING!

Did you hear the news?! Forty-five authors came together to write 50 mail-order bride stories taking place in all 50 states (although a few were territories at the time). I’m so proud and excited to be a part of this!!

A common prequel is now available and will start each story. The year is 1890 and a textile mill in Massachusetts has burned to the ground leaving the women who worked there without employment or prospects. But hope springs eternal with an idea for many of the single women to become mail-order brides.

AMAZON FREE PREQUEL

Another exciting aspect of this project was many of us joined together in correspondence groups linking the stories of two to four of the women together. So, watch for name dropping and letters in each story to guide you to the various linked tales. (Here are those books attached to Gillian's. We had the best group!)


   

When are the books released? The prequel is already FREE on Amazon! Starting NOVEMBER 19^th there will be a book released EVERYDAY through January 7, 2016! Many of the stories are already up for pre-order! Check them out on: http://www.newwesternromance.com/!

Additionally, many of the authors will have their stories in KU!

Is there an order to read the stories?
After the prequel, there is no set order to the books. Read away and enjoy!




The heat level for all the stories is PG!





There is also a Sooper Prize!

Beginning November 19th, readers may share the book of the day from the Facebook page and be entered into a Grand Prize drawing. At the end of the release period (January 7, 2016), a Kindle will be given away along with one ebook from each author’s list of books. So, on November 19th start sharing to win! NOTE: the books on the Kindle will not be the American Mail-Order Brides Series books.

To find out more about the series and to see all the gorgeous covers visit:
AMERICAN MAIL-ORDER BRIDE SERIES WEBSITE

Or join us on Facebook at:
AMERICAN MAIL-ORDER BRIDES SERIES

My story, GILLIAN: BRIDE OF MAINE will release December 11^th! But it is up for Pre-Order right now!!  GILLIAN: BRIDE OF MAINE PRE-ORDER

Gillian Darrow fled her father’s house in Maine before he could put his evil plans into action. Now the actions of another unscrupulous man have left her without employment and few prospects. Following in the footsteps of other women from the factory, Gillian decides to become a mail-order bride. The advertisement from a lighthouse keeper in Maine catches her eye, and Rhys Chermont’s letters catch her heart. She hopes the lighthouse keeper can guide her home.

There’s only one problem…Rhys Chermont never posted an advertisement for a wife and never wrote any letters to Gillian Darrow.

The last thing Rhys Chermont wants is another wife. While life at Bass Harbor Head Lighthouse keeps Rhys busy, he has to admit it would be nice to have a helpmate. The solitary life of a lighthouse keeper drove his first wife into the arms of a wealthy shipbuilder and led to a scandalous divorce. Luckily, for Rhys other forces are at play during the Christmas of 1890, and in Gillian he just might find the light that leads him home.

 Kirsten Lynn is a Western and Military Historian. She worked six years with a Navy non-profit and continues to contract with the Marine Corps History Division for certain projects. Making her home where her roots were sewn in Wyoming, Kirsten also works as a local historian. She loves to use the history she has learned and add it to a great love story. She writes stories about men of uncommon valor...women with undaunted courage...love of unwavering devotion ...and romance with unending sizzle. When she's not writing, she finds inspiration in day trips through the Bighorn Mountains, binge reading and watching sappy old movies, or sappy new movies. Housework can always wait.

THE ADVENTURES OF BABY JESUS by Cheryl Pierson

Hi everyone! This is a version of a story that was published by Adams Media several years ago in one of their Christmas anthologies. I had several stories in their Christmas anthologies and their "Rocking Chair Reader" series anthologies, and this one was one that I thought you all might like that gives a glimpse into a little girl's idea of Christmas in the early 60's. I hope you enjoy!


No one loved Baby Jesus like I did. He was my constant holiday companion. From the moment we took the nativity set from the box to decorate for Christmas, I carried him with me.

I couldn’t just let Him just lay in the cardboard manger unattended. The nativity was old, even older than I was. It was made of thick brown cardboard, as was the manger. A few pieces of straw were glued into it, but not nearly enough to make a good baby bed!

I thought of Baby Jesus as the little brother I had begged for and never got. Someone had to take care of Him. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, as well as two of the attending sheep, were made of plaster. They’d chip or break if not handled with great care.

At four years old, I knew how to be careful—especially with Baby Jesus and His entourage. The proof of what could happen was all too evident in poor Mary. Two years ago, Someone had been too rough, and there had been a terrible accident. The blue shawl that covered Mary’s back had been broken, revealing a ghastly silver rod that disappeared into what was left of her shawl, gathered about her feet. At the top, the exposed rod extended into the back of her head. Mary had to be positioned just so, to keep the world from seeing that horrid sliver of metal that kept her in one piece.

I couldn’t help wondering if my Baby Jesus had a rod running through Him like His mother did. I finally convinced myself He didn’t—He was a lot smaller, and there probably weren’t any rods that tiny...Being the Son of God, He didn’t need a rod.
Joseph struck a thoughtful pose, kneeling beside Mary, both of them watching the perpetually empty manger. He was a bit wobbly since Someone, in a terrible accident, had chipped quite a chunk from his orange and yellow robe near his feet. Kneeling was a challenge for him now, but not impossible—especially if he leaned a little on Mary or the manger, or one of the poor chalk sheep who had lost their tails somewhere along the way.

The three kings added color to the scene in robes of red, green, and purple. They had been added at a later time, and were made of a thick, brittle plastic rather than plaster. They carried gifts that were of no value to a baby.
Balthasar’s arm was missing. He had been extending his gift of frankincense—perfume! I cut a small blanket of green velveteen from the back of a dress in my closet and laid it over his stump. Jesus would enjoy a warm blanket in that drafty stable more than an old bottle of perfume.

Melchior knelt in humble repose, a hinged gold box in his hands. As if Jesus could open a box! Being four, I didn’t have any “baby toys” left to offer, but I did have something better than what those supposed “wise men” brought.
I had colored marbles—something pretty for Jesus to look at. And I had crayons to color Him a picture. I imagined Baby Jesus would be getting mighty tired of Christmas music right about then—it was all He ever heard. I headed for my collection of 45’s and settled one onto the turntable of my record player. Johnny Horton belted out the strains of “North to Alaska” while Baby Jesus and I danced together.

We didn’t have a Drummer Boy for our nativity set, and I felt the loss keenly. I wanted our Baby Jesus to have the best nativity in the world. It was bad enough that Someone had irreparably broken the only shepherd we had about two years ago in a terrible accident. Now, we had sheep milling in the stable with no shepherd, and no Little Drummer Boy, either.

It was a situation I could easily remedy. I had four different colors of Play-Doh. After a long, tedious ten minutes, I had what I considered to be a passable Drummer Boy and his drum—complete with tiny drumsticks.

The other wise man, Caspar, was in bad shape, but there was no help for it. Someone, in a terrible accident, had broken off his head. My mother had re-glued it, but after it had dried, the glue line showed as if he had not washed his neck after a month of hot Oklahoma summer days. I tied my Annie Oakley bandana around him. It would cover his broken neck, and give him a mysterious look—like a western Superman carrying his leather-bound gift box. It contained myrrh, which I knew was a kind of oil. Finally, something Baby Jesus could use!

We had a cow, a donkey, and an angel made from the same hard plastic as the wise men. In a terrible accident two years ago, the donkey’s rear had been broken off. I put him at the back of the stable. The cow was lying on the ground, its legs folded beneath it. It must have seen whatever had befallen the donkey and gotten to the ground in time to avoid disaster.

The angel baffled me, though. Evidently, she had not been so quick or lucky. There was the same brown glue line across her right wing that poor Caspar suffered at the neck, and I was fresh out of bandanas. I figured she had slipped off the stable roof a couple of years ago. She never watched where she was going, because she was looking up to the heavens, singing. Maybe, her being an angel and all, that injury would heal. By next Christmas, we might not even be able to see it...

I brought Baby Jesus out of my pocket and gave Him a kiss. It was then that I noticed what bad shape He was in. I had loved Him too much! His baby hair was spotty, as if the paint had been worn off in places. His body was dappled unevenly from constant handling, and His nose was almost completely flat.

But His blue eyes were open, sparkling joyously. I knew He must have caught a glimpse of His nativity set. I held him out to get a good look.

I had taped a freshly colored picture of a boy and his puppy inside the stable wall. It covered the window and kept out the night wind. I showed Him His bed with the marbles around the base of it, the sheep on guard to keep them from rolling out of the stable.

Caspar’s bandana looked mighty fine, safety-pinned across the glue line. I had done as much as I could for the others; hidden the donkey’s broken rear and Mary’s metal rod, and let Joseph surreptitiously lean against the kneeling cow so he wouldn’t fall.

I laid Baby Jesus in His bed and covered Him with Balthazar’s new offering—the blanket.

Just then, my mother rounded the corner, the green velveteen dress in her hands, a look of disbelief in her eyes. “Cheryl, do you know what happened to this dress?”
I only hoped Baby Jesus could help me, now.

You can still order these anthologies and all my other work on Amazon here:
Cheryl's Amazon Author Page:
https://www.amazon.com/author/cherylpierson