Everyone's Story is thrilled to welcome back author Kathleen Rouser. Since Kathy's last guest appearance in 2013 (wow--can't believe it's that long ago, can't believe I've blogged all this time!) I've been blessed to deepen my friendship with this lovely woman. I hope you will see Kathleen's warmth shine as you read her encouraging words. Bonus: if you subscribe to Kathleen's blog, plus Everyone's Story, via email subscription or Google Follower (both options are found on our blogs' right-hand sidebars) you will receive 1 extra chance to win Kathleen's BookGiveaway. Present Everyone's Story's subscribers who subscribe to Kathleen's blog will also receive a bonus drawing. Both Kathleen and I look forward to hearing from you.
Kathleen is offering 1 printed copy of the anthology BRAVE NEW CENTURY, which features her novella THE POCKET WATCH to 1 randomly chosen commenter. The winner will be announced here on Friday, June 19th between 5-6 PM EST. To be entered in the Giveaway, please leave your contact information within your comment. *** To receive a bonus chance to win this Giveaway, please subscribe to both Kathleen's blog and Everyone's Story. Thanks!
An excerpt from Kathleen's THE POCKET WATCH:
THE POCKET WATCH
By Kathleen Rouser
CHAPTER ONE
The winds and rains of October, 1899
seemed to conspire against Isabel Jones as she rushed to cross Jefferson Avenue.
She squinted to avoid the cold stinging drops and strands of wet hair from
whipping into her eyes. Isabel gripped the bottle of much-needed cough medicine
in her pocket, which she had procured for the little ones at the orphanage. She
hurried to get back to them before the croup worsened. Chugga, chugga, chugga... She
looked up just in time to see one of those motor contraptions barreling around
the corner.
“Miss! Watch out!” An iron grip on
Isabel’s upper arm propelled her backward.
She didn’t see her rescuer until
they had tumbled onto their backsides and both sat like children playing in a
puddle on the side of the road. The bewildered look on her rescuer’s face
chased away Isabel’s embarrassment. She bit her lips together in vain. Laughter
bubbled out.
The glint in his sky-blue eyes
belied his amusement, despite his serious expression. Then he smiled. “May I
ascertain whether you’re well, miss?”
“I’m quite all right, but the bottle
of medicine must have broken. What a mess!” She held up her gloved hand, sticky
liquid dripping onto her navy woolen cloak. “It happened so fast.” Isabel
blinked, then, much less amused.
The young man stood then and helped
her to her feet. “I am so sorry. I’ll take care of it. What was the medicine
for?” He reached for a black bag, which he’d dropped next to him and then
rattled around in it.
“The little ones are sick with
croup.”
He gave her a quizzical gaze.
“Oh, they’re not my children, but I
help with them.”
“I see.” He handed her a small
bottle. “Don’t worry. I’m the real thing, not part of a medicine man sideshow.”
He grinned.
Isabel took the proffered medicine.
“Where do you live, miss?”
She swallowed. “I...”
“I’m terribly sorry. I don’t mean to
be improper. I only want to make sure the druggist delivers more to you as soon
as possible. I’ll be heading that way momentarily.”
She relaxed. “I’m Miss Isabel
Jones.” She pulled off the soiled glove. Where could she tell him she lived?
Isabel took in the strong chin, straight nose, the blond hair with a bit of
curl in front and a moustache. He might as well be a handsome prince rescuing
her on a steed. Perhaps the orphan asylum looked like a mansion, but living
there wasn’t as impressive as abiding in the Gothic structures on Griswold. She
stared down at her wet boots. “Over at Elmwood and Jefferson, at the Protestant
Orphan Asylum of Detroit.”
He took her fingers lightly in his.
“Delighted to meet you, Miss Jones. I’m Dr. Daniel Harper.”
“Pleased to meet you as well,
Doctor.” Isabel pulled her hand away. “I must get back now. Thank you.” She
held the bottle up, turned, looked both ways, and then ran across the street.
When she glanced over her shoulder
and waved, the young man lifted his hat. “Good-bye.”
Isabel made it to the corner with
her heart pounding and stopped. She had left the parcel with the broken bottle
near the curb. It could be a danger to someone. She went back. Miss Crabtree
would be furious she’d taken so long. She opened her cloak and untied her apron
to wrap the sticky pieces of glass. Where rain collected just off the curb,
something shone in the wan sunlight. She found a stick to hook the gold chain
peeking out from the murky puddle. Along with it came a pocket watch.
Isabel grasped onto the dripping
treasure. On the back she read the initials DJH. Daniel...something... Harper perhaps?
“Doctor!” she cried out, looking
round for the gray tweed overcoat and matching newsboy cap. Passersby stared at
her, but Dr. Harper was nowhere to be seen. She didn’t have time to check at
the pharmacy, so she put it into her pocket, tucked next to the sample he’d
given her, and picked up her garbage.
More of Isabel’s hair tumbled free
from under the front brim of her hat. Her navy wool cloak and gloves were
probably irreparably stained. She was Cinderella without glass slippers. No
handsome prince would ever come to her rescue.
* * *
Daniel Harper, MD held tight to the
handle of his black bag. The girl’s laughter had tickled him—no—it had gotten
under his thick skin he’d carefully grown since the betrayal. But her chestnut
hair had fallen out from under her hat in a most fetching way. The fact that
she was more worried about getting medicine to her wards than the stains on her
worn clothing pricked at his heart as though Cupid dared try to enter its
chambers again with his deceptive arrows.
Daniel noticed the sun began shining
like a golden smile between clouds. It must be at least mid-morning. He’d
promised to stop at the pharmacy, but Mrs. Campbell would be pacing the floor
with little Timmy, in quite a tizzy. If he didn’t get to his patient soon, he
would have to medicate them both. Reaching into his waistcoat, he felt for his
timepiece, but the spot was empty. He searched all around his feet. The pocket
watch seemed to be long gone. Even the button he attached the chain to dangled by
a thread. Had it happened when he fell? There wasn’t any time to look, but
there certainly wasn’t time to buy a new one either.
* * *
Miss Crabtree stood waiting inside
the door with arms folded. “What took you so long, young lady?”
Isabel felt six years old again as
she stooped to remove her boots and bit her tongue against her impertinent
reply.
“Just look at you! You’re an
absolute mess! I send you on a simple errand, and you can’t even complete it.”
“Yes, ma’am. I do have the medicine,
though.” She fished the small bottle from her pocket.
“What? This isn’t nearly enough.
Didn’t you hear all of the children up there coughing the whole night,
struggling for breath? And you bring me this?” Miss Crabtree snatched it from
Isabel’s hand.
“But the wind blew my hair into my
eyes, and I closed them against a sheet of rain for just a moment. And I didn’t
see the automobile coming around the corner—”
“I don’t want excuses for your
laziness!” Miss Crabtree began a new tirade.
“Is there a problem here, Biddy?” Mrs.
Pleasance put a hand on Miss Crabtree’s shoulder, stopping her friend short.
“You handle this slothful child,
Hope! I can’t do anything with her.” Miss Crabtree turned and stomped up the
central stairway.
“I’m sorry Mrs. Pleasance, I know I
must look frightfully unkempt, a terrible representative of the home.”
“Nonsense, dear, wherever you take
your smile, you shine forth. Oh my, you must have had quite a run-in! Let’s get
those wet things off of you. There’s nothing a little FelsNaphtha soap
cannot handle in getting rid of tough stains.”
After Isabel changed her clothes,
Mrs. Pleasance accompanied her to the laundry tub. They stood scrubbing her
garments, side by side, while Isabel told the account of her savior-doctor and
his kind offer of more medicine.
The orphanage director smiled.
“Well, that was a double blessing for us, saving your life and being generous
enough to replace the bottle of medication.”
Isabel nodded. Somehow, the young
doctor appeared more than that. She kept thinking about the surprised amusement
on his face, when she laughed about falling in the puddle. He looked jolly and
boyish, not stern and tough like some of the doctors who’d visited the orphan
asylum.
“Best stop daydreaming and get about
your chores now, Isabel. Why don’t you stay on the first floor, and give Miss
Crabtree a wide berth.” She smiled. “You could clean the office for me and be
there in case anyone stops in.”
“Yes, Mrs. Pleasance.”
With so many children ill, the
office had fallen quiet. Isabel filed papers as she’d been shown. Her humming
filled the silence. Once everything was better organized, Isabel found the
feather duster and went about her cleaning. The middle drawer was slightly ajar
in a tall dark wood filing cabinet…not just in any cabinet, but in the forbidden
cabinet…filled with the secrets of the children’s pasts. She should push it
closed, search for the key, and lock it.
But a white corner of paper taunted
her. It would be okay to look, if she tucked it back inside, right? Placing the
duster on the shelf behind her, Isabel pulled the file out. Molly Duncan’s full
name was written on it. Inside she found a birth certificate, complete with
parents’ names and information about where she’d been born. It rang true with
what she knew about little Molly. Both of her parents had died, and she had no
kin close by. The distant relatives had never come for her, but occasionally
Molly had a new Sunday dress she said her cousins sent.
Isabel tucked Molly’s file back
where it belonged and began to push the drawer closed. But what about her own?
There must be something in here about her past.
Whenever she asked, Mrs. Pleasance
had changed the subject, telling her to think of the good things the future may
hold, but she still wondered.
Who were her parents? All she knew is
that she’d been dropped off at the orphanage in a little basket with Isabel printed on the paper pinned
to her blanket. Mrs. Pleasance
added Jones, rather than Smith, but there had been no other clues, according to
the director.
Isabel’s hands grew sweaty, her
heartbeat louder than the clock ticking in the room. She rifled through the
folders, not even stopping to watch in case someone opened the door. Ah! There
was the file she sought!
“Miss Isabel! What are you up to?
Close that drawer immediately!” Miss Crabtree stood with arms akimbo, her
eyebrows furrowed.
Isabel dropped the papers in her
hands, pushing it shut onto her fingers. “Ow!” She pulled them away, feeling
quite guilty. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me. The drawer was open
and I—”
“We have taught you honesty and to
honor the rules of this home, but you simply act like a spoiled child. You will
go to your room and wait until Mrs. Pleasance and I can deal with you.”
“Yes, Miss Crabtree.” Isabel bit her
lip and held her throbbing fingers. She just wanted to know whose family she
had come from, which the unfeeling woman probably couldn’t understand. “I just
want to find out who I am.”
“What? Don’t raise your voice at me.
You’re nothing but the child of some riff-raff off the street, no doubt, so
don’t get any high-faluting ideas. Be thankful you still have a roof over
your head.”
Isabel turned away, marching out the
door and up the stairs to the room she shared with three other young women.
Ginny Baker, who slept on the bottom bunk to the left of her, breezed in. A
halo of ginger hair curled around her freckled face. “We’ll be serving lunch in
a few minutes. What are you doing up here?”
“Haven’t you ever wanted to know
more about your past?” Isabel stared into her friend’s blue eyes.
“Remember, silly? I was a little
older when I came to the orphanage. I have some memory of my family.” Ginny
placed a hand on her shoulder.
“I’m in trouble for looking in the
forbidden files. Now I have to wait for Mrs. Pleasance.”
“I’ll save you something to eat. I
just came up to put my sweater away. It’s warm by the ovens.” Her dear friend
hugged her. She was like a sister. “Don’t worry. She’ll understand and go easy
on you.” Ginny attempted to reassure her with a dimpled smile.
As Isabel watched her leave, Mrs.
Pleasance appeared in the doorway with a small box under her arm. She bit her
lower lip, and her eyes shown with a sympathetic light. “Isabel, I think it’s
time we talk about something important to you.”
She nodded back at the orphanage
director, moving up the edge of the bed to make room for Mrs. Pleasance, who
sat down next to her. “I’m sorry I have had to put you off for a long time.
Part of this is my fault.”
Isabel shook her head. “I got
carried away, I—”
“No.” Mrs. Pleasance squeezed her
hand. “You have asked me many times and I have avoided the whole story.” She
pried the lid off the paperboard box. “These are yours, Isabel. Go ahead.”
She reached in to touch a white
blanket, yellowed with time, and felt its softness, like a whisper of her
mother’s love. Isabel held her breath. This little covering was a part of her
life, her beginning. It smelled of attic dust and lost memories. “I came here
wrapped in this blanket?” But there was more! An envelope lay in the bottom of
the box with a lump in the middle. The yellowed paper crinkled at Isabel’s
touch. “This is mine, too?”
The older woman nodded. “Yes, my
dear.”
At nineteen, Isabel felt the odd
wonderment of childhood, despite her age. She rubbed her fingers over the
object in the envelope. Opening it, she then emptied the contents into her
other hand. A petite red oval gemstone shone almost pink, catching the brief
rays of sunlight. She sucked in her breath as she took in the gold filigree
setting and two little diamonds, one on each side of the stone.
“Your mother likely came from a
local mission for…women. She was ill when she rang the doorbell and tried to
run, but we opened it quickly and implored her to come in. She would only say
that she wanted you to have a better life than she could give you. Your eyes,
for that was all we could see in the dark, are much like hers. It was winter
and her scarf was wrapped close around her face. She refused any assistance
from us, but she asked us to give you the ring when you grew up.”
Isabel slipped the piece of jewelry
onto her right ring finger, which fit like it was made for her. She felt richer
for it—not because of the gem or the precious metal—but because it had been a
gift from the woman who had birthed her. The ring, next to her Bible, was her
only other treasure.
“Thank you.” She could barely get
the words out as she choked back a sob.
“One other thing, Isabel, it’s time
for you to see more of the world outside of these walls.”
Isabel shook her head. “I’m happy
helping with the children.”
“I understand, but I know just the
job for you. A gentleman who needs a companion for his invalid wife called. I
believe you’re a perfect fit. You have a gentle, helpful spirit.”
“I thought you needed me here.”
Isabel couldn’t look into Mrs. Pleasance’s eyes.
“My dear, someday you may want a
family of your own. Keeping you here until you become a spinster isn’t the job
of the orphan asylum.” Mrs. Pleasance patted Isabel’s hand again.
Isabel’s gaze fastened on the ring
as it glinted in the daylight. Her own family? If the good Lord gave her a
family, she would never leave her children. But could she be the right kind of
mother when she wasn’t able to even deliver a bottle of medicine to the
orphanage in one piece?
Learning To
Trust God With The Outcome
by Kathleen Rouser
Trust has been a theme word for my life for more than a
year. Wherever I’ve turned, God has showed me He has everything under control.
From absolute exhaustion to a cancer scare, the Lord has reminded me He never
leaves my side. Then, sometimes the little things are harder to let go of,
including a change in blog look and theme.
The
nervousness and excitement of trying something new surged through me while
perusing possible new headers and backgrounds. Though I told myself I could
always go back to the look of the old website, I had this feeling there was no
turning back. So I plodded forward. The title of my blog, Writing, Whimsy and Devotion, has become Kathleen Rouser (& Cat!) While short messages on Facebook and
Twitter serve their purpose, my desire has been to connect with a readership at
a deeper level. A blog seems like a worthy venue to accomplish this online.
 |
| Lilybits |
My
blog, which sometimes includes the fictional musings of my cat and alter-ego, Lilybits,
has been a place where I could share insights the Lord has placed on my heart,
my gleanings on writing, or share about other writers and their books. Since I’ve
felt that other authors, more qualified than myself, are serving aspiring
wordsmiths well, I’ve backed off on writing advice for the most part.
As
my blogging has evolved, I have been in prayer for guidance on a niche to fill.
Bad news and disasters overtake headlines online, in print, and on television.
Having been through quite a few difficult trials over the years, I am aware how
much energy is needed to focus on the positive in a negative world. Yet, I’m
truly surrounded with blessings--life is over all very good. So many people
trod through this life filled with deep hurts and emotional pain and need a
touch of humor and happiness. Because of this, I wanted to have a lighter feel
to my blog and have continued to believe this is worthwhile.
Lilybits’
commentary on life is tongue-in-cheek of course. After all, I’m half convinced
if cats had the gift of speech and opposable thumbs, they would set to
conquering the world. Their big eyes and purrs are already enough to melt our
hearts into those of willing servants and companions.
Sometimes,
however, I enjoy sharing the things the Lord has shown me through His word and
put on my heart by His Spirit. As brothers and sisters in Christ we have so
many common trials and need to encourage each other, lifting one another up.
I
also would like to continue promoting authors of uplifting Christian writing.
Eventually, I also hope to share history, which has played into creating my
stories.
Often,
it seems, our human nature is drawn to the negative, but I would hope my blog
can be an option to that, in a God honoring way. I chose to replace an antiqued
look with a vintage one, using a fun background with white polka dots on a blue
field. The header shares an element of this background and who wouldn’t smile
when they see a bubble with the words, “Chatting about the good, the cat and
the inspiring!” coming from the very cat who lends her charm to the website?
Well, if you find this too silly, I will perhaps elicit an eye roll, if nothing
else.
With
the help of my good friend, Elaine Stock’s, input, I rearranged the blog’s text
as well. She also gave feedback on the side bar content. I admire the way she
encourages people, giving them a platform to share their stories and their
writing, and I appreciate the clean, folksy look of Everyone’s Story.
With
my new look and an increase in number of weekly posts, my page view numbers are
going up to some degree or another. Daily comments are lacking and my followers
are slow to increase, but here I must be patient. Like any other prose, the
writing must be done with a view to the glory of our Creator. Investing time
and craft is like planting seeds and watering the garden. I must continue to
work the soil and weed out what’s not good, trusting there will someday be a
harvest.
**You can see Kathleen's previous Everyone's Story feature, An Author Bridging The Past To The Present, here.
Kathleen's Ah-hahs To Tweet:
Author's Bio:
**You can see Kathleen's previous Everyone's Story feature, An Author Bridging The Past To The Present, here.
Kathleen's Ah-hahs To Tweet:
Author
@KathleenRouser on Everyone’s Story: A new blog look and hope! #BookGiveaway (Tweet This)
#Writers:
Author @KathleenRouser asks why bother re-designing a blog for your #readers? (Tweet This)
Like #HistoricalFiction? Check out
@KathleenRouser’s #BookGiveaway (Tweet This)
Author's Bio:
An author and speaker, Kathleen Rouser,
has loved making up stories since she was a little girl and wanted to be a
writer before she could even read. Kathleen’s first novella, The Pocket Watch,
was part of the anthology, Brave New Century, and was published by Inspired
Romance in 2013. She has a short story in the bestselling anthology, Christmas
Treasures, released in 2014. Her first full-length novel will be published by
Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas in April, 2016.
She studied communications and English
during her first college years. Kathleen has been published in Homeschool
Digest, An Encouraging Word, the Oakland Press and Happy Sis. She
interviews authors for the Novel PASTimes historical fiction blog. Her desire
is to bring to life endearing characters, who resonate with readers and realize
the need for a transforming Savior in their everyday lives.
During a long career as
a home school instructor, she and her husband raised three sons. She graduated
in 2012 with her Associate in Applied Science and is sometimes a mild-mannered
Registered Dental Assistant by day. Kathleen is longstanding member of ACFW,
former critique group moderator, past Genesis judge and former Great Lakes
Chapter board member. Along with her sassy tail-less cat, she lives in
southeast Michigan with her hero and husband of 33 years, Jack, who not only
listens to her stories, but also cooks for her.
Places to connect with Kathleen:
Website/blog
Twitter
Facebook
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