“One more thing. I remember when Mr. Mitchell brought you here in ’63. You had stars in your eyes when you left and I couldn’t tell whether it was happiness at seeing your new home—or for the man himself.”
My face warmed. I swallowed and studied the marred floor planks.
#mottysoath

The metallic smell of blood from the butcher’s counter mixed with a sudden wrench in my stomach. I read the words again, my eyes catching on bank failures and financial institutions suspending operations. The tomato split in my hand, its juice running between my fingers, warm and sticky. #mottysoath

I struggled to breathe. “Get me out of here!"
Motty pulled off the bodice, turned it inside out and found the neck had been stitched together.
Mary's hand covered a giggle, the other pointed at me. “Crazy hair.”
I glanced in the mirror. Sure enough my hair stood on end, crackling with electricity.

Stepping into the frigid morning, my breath streamed gray and frosty. The sun glinted off white roofs as I tiptoed around frozen slices of ice in wagon ruts. Tucking the scarf over my nose, I headed east to John Street, a wide thoroughfare that led straight into downtown Cincinnati. #mottysoath

Conversation flowed easily between Andrew, Julia and I, while Mrs. Wild focused on her dinner, adding only a word or two when asked for her opinion. I sensed her the type to save up for when what she had to say would either be important or contrary.
#mottysoath

Andrew requested to spend time with me, but I had no desire to return the favor. I found him annoying with his constant babble, his anatomy unattractive, and yet, he’d called me beautiful. Would I have to endure time with every man who commented as such? Did I have a choice? #motty'soath

I know so many people who think this word should be banned from the English language and I'm not exactly sure how I feel, but in the interest of people reading my work, the word moist will never appear in my manuscripts.

No directions were needed—we followed the crowd, as they fanned out on the grassy slope, blankets spread like a patchwork quilt, leading down to a flat area where a wooden floor had been set up for the performance, clusters of Turnverein members in all white suits with red sashes. #mottysoath

Last in line for a Saturday bath, I took extra care washing my hair and rolled it in rags before climbing into my cot lined up with eleven others along the wall. My only dress—a practical gray wool—ignored style and a week ago I’d let down the hem for what I hoped would be the last time. #mottysoath

“He doesn’t love me.”
Her head tilted a fraction. “Of course he doesn’t.”
This blatant summary of my love life broke the dam. Sobbing, I said, “I love him. I thought he loved me too. Said I was beautiful.” At this last, I broke down, crying uncontrollably, until I started hiccupping.
#mottysoath

I took the last empty chair at the table. A fine scraping sound of spoons and forks whispered against the china as we settled into the food. I, on the other hand—nervous and impatient—handled my utensils as if I were a five-year-old, irregular clinks and pings inviting unwanted attention.#mottysoath

Last night’s rain erased the smoky haze that usually obscured the river and the West Side of the city. Factory smokestacks stood oddly barren—Sunday being the only day they didn’t belch gray ash. Steamboat whistles and church bells, evoked memories of a painful Sunday visit with Papa.
#mottysoath

"I leave tomorrow?"
“Remember, this is temporary. You can leave most of your belongings in your trunk for now and retrieve what you need on Sundays.”
“Sundays?” So much happening too fast.
“I hope you will come and visit on your day off. I fear for the library without your oversight.”
#mottysoath

“I wonder if you can point me to the Borden Print shop. Number 151.”
He straightened his glasses on a nose hooked at the end, like that of an eagle. Behind the lenses a set of brilliant blue eyes narrowed as he stared at me.
Simultaneously, we both blurted, “I know you!”
#mottysoath

Having achieved total independence, I wished for a home of my own, a husband, children. But going about getting those would take time. Motty would keep hounding me to come live with her when she got her own place but I categorized that direction as emergency only. #mottysoath

“I'll miss the library. And you,” I said. Before I’d been here a month, I came to see Matron as a mother figure, giving me the care and attention I lost when my mother died. In reality, I wasn’t special. Matron treated everyone the same.
Swallowing, I said, “It's time I go.”
Matron nodded in assent.

“You mean it’s not consumption?”
Mary's pallor matched the pillow's pale cover.
Jane grabbed my hands. “No! It’s not. She'll be fine!”
Since Motty told me yesterday about my sister’s cough, I'd spent hours worrying and praying because a cough in my family meant a long illness—then death. #mottysoath

Heading straight for them, I stood in the way, waving my arms and hands over my head to get her attention—make her stop.
“Stop, Motty! Please stop!” I yelled.
She saw me and for a moment, her gaze so intense, I thought she’d run me over. But she halted the horse and it slowed to a stop. #mottysoath

By the sixth week, the bodice was ready for a fitting. I couldn’t wait to try it on. Motty held it over my head and I slipped my arms into the sleeves. The neckline failed to part, leaving me completely shrouded.
Covered and suffocating, I struggled to break free. “Get me out of here!"
#mottysoath

A compact man in shirtsleeves and a vest entered the room. “Rosa, it’s not necessary to yell for me. I’m not a dog.” His energy hummed like a machine, its rhythm steady and sure.
Mrs. Spining’s round cheeks reddened. “No, dear.”
It was clear who wore the pants in this house.
#mottysoath

As we walked the property, I observed this man, a friend of the family since the first year of the war. His movements were lithe and steady—self-possessed. Always a fastidious dresser, he wore a brown leather greatcoat, weathered and perfect to protect his fine suit from errant spring thunderstorms.

The clock on the mantle ticked.
“Mr. Mitchell came to see me today and he thinks it’s time,” I blurted out, feeling the need to convince her of my readiness.
A flash of pain stole over her features before neutrality took command. Was it the mention of EB coming or that he’d put the idea in my head?

With that, she plucked the hat from the pile and stuck it inside her blouse so her uniform bib covered it.
“Damn it, Lizzie. I don’t know who you are.”
“I’m just a girl trying to be a woman. It’s time I grow up.”
“So growing up means stealing and lying.”
“It means I won't get caught.”
#mottysoath

Messy first draft. This is the sequel to Motty's Vow which came out last year. Are you a writer or reader or both?

Historical Fiction

“It was on your ninth birthday when we almost lost Mary. She wanted that green dress so much, she hid under the table.”
“That was my fault.” Lizzie's head drooped onto her chest.
I reached over and lifted her chin with my forefinger. “I left you in charge of her too many times.”
#mottysoath

Having been there only once in all the years I’d known him, I found the second floor door with A. B. Merrison and E. B. Mitchell - Brushes and Bristles, stenciled on the door. Unsure if should knock or walk in, I turned the handle and immediately heard two men in heated conversation. #mottysoath

My newest book, historical mystery, is written in present tense and is unusal for the genre. One beta reader said she does not care for anything written in present tense and in particular for historical. Kindle Unlimited readers seem to start then stop. Should I consider changing to past tense?

“You know, Olivia,” the secretary adds, “I felt terrible for those men. They seemed like decent family guys. But after we lost the case, people would look at me funny at the grocery store-like I'd been helping traitors. Made me wonder if maybe the CPLE was right all along."

At fourteen, I had little experience to draw upon, but I did know two things. One, we had to work together, which meant Mama could not hibernate in her room. Two, I promised to take care of the family. For the second to be true, the first had to be handled. #mottysvow