As Doves Fly in the Wind

“As Doves Fly in The Wind by Mary Lou Cheatham is not your typical Christian romance. The characters are flawed and gritty, and you may wonder just how a happily-ever-after is going to happen. But forgiveness (from God and man and self) is a big theme in the book — something we all need. And if you are a fan of Southern settings, this

novel has the Louisiana flavor down.”

The above quotation is from a well-written Christian blog, Beckie by the Book. I’m grateful to Beckie for writing it.

Three or four times a week, a telemarketer or publicist calls or emails me to say how much As Doves Fly in the Wind has inspired them. It seems to me that most of them found the book inspired them to ask me for money to publicize it. I confess I haven’t always been as polite to them as I should.

A few days ago, a publicist called me and said something different about the book. He told me he had read it and given it to his wife to read. He said the book had changed his life! That afternoon we talked almost three hours about As Doves Fly in the Wind. He showed me ways he can promote the book so others will read it and be inspired. It was evident he was crying, and he said he was.

Although publicists select it from my full palette of novels, the book isn’t selling. I don’t know why this novel with its lovely cover and artistic interior has gone unnoticed. It’s so unnoticed that the Kindle and paperback forms do not have an Amazon ranking. The Audible version does, however, attract a few listeners. Jodi Hockinson, whose voice is like music and who can turn on a Southern accent when she wishes, recorded it beautifully.

Obviously, I paid attention to this one random phone call, one labeled by my cellphone as telemarketer. I’ve decided to take his advice. Despite all the other books I’ve written and read lately, I can still remember vividly every scene in As Doves Fly in the Wind.  It is full of inspiration—I broke the writers’ rule not to preach by including an entire testimonial sermon.

The humor that found its way onto the pages still brings a smile to my face. I laugh about the way the well-meaning neighbors of Rousseauville, Louisiana, bring produce from their garden every morning to Jessica. They sneak over before sunrise and place the bags by her door. They dare not enter Jessica’s bed and breakfast because they think the house is haunted. Those bags of groceries take on a life of their own and become a character within the book. Then there’s the alligator who knocks on Jessica’s front door.

Why has the book not sold? The marketers have pointed out one reason: the price of the paperback book. It’s twenty dollars. The current publisher refuses to change the price although the book doesn’t sell. If it starts selling soon, I’ll have it republished and lower that price. It’s a bit of a catch 22 for me at this point.

And As Doves Fly in the Wind is a little light of mine hiding under a bushel basket. Those who have read it tell me it deserves to shine from a high hill.

Free Read for the Beach

 July 13-17, download Beach Story on your Kindle device or cell phone. Read for free. 

After you read it, share your opinions about the book on Amazon.

The North Carolina Foothills:

Twenty-seven-year-old Dove Abernathy, a beautiful woman
with Asperger’s, has established herself as an artist. She
depends on Bess, her mother, for emotional support. After Bess
receives a severe head injury while in the prayer garden, their
lives are forever changed.

A North Carolina Barrier Island:

Dove’s father, Harold, is generous with his wealth but stingy
with affection for Bess and Dove. He sends them to live in
two condominiums by the beach. Someone wants to destroy
both women. Harold hires Vic Brunson, a private investigator,
to find the evil force seeking to kill the mother and daughter.
Harold demands that Vic serve as a bodyguard for Dove. Once
the criminal is discovered, Vic must determine her motive and
prevent her escape. All the while, can he keep Dove safe?

Beach Story

Something to Read at the Beach

 

Asperger's, detective story, child molestation, credit card fraud, hoarding, underage drinking, underage smoking, goat farming, attempted murder and theft--how could all these subjects appear in one novel? 

Beach Story 

The North Carolina Foothills:

Twenty-seven-year-old Dove Abernathy, a beautiful woman with Asperger’s, has established herself as an artist. She depends on Bess, her mother, for emotional support. After Bess receives a severe head injury while in the prayer garden, their lives are forever changed.

A North Carolina Barrier Island:

Dove’s father, Harold, is generous with his wealth but stingy with affection for Bess and Dove. He sends them to live in two condominiums by the beach. Someone wants to destroy both women. Harold hires Vic Brunson, a private investigator, to find the evil force seeking to kill the mother and daughter. Harold demands that Vic serve as a bodyguard for Dove. Once the criminal is discovered, Vic must determine her motive and prevent her escape. All the while, can he keep Dove safe?

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Shell Gathering

 In and around Taylorsville, Mississippi, during my childhood, almost every classy living room had a big conch shell on the mantle above the fireplace. I wanted one. Shells are beautiful.

When I was twelve years old, I went to 4-H Club Short Course camp at Ocean Springs. To this day, I remember everything that happened on that trip. Since no one else from my hometown went with the group, I hung around by myself and participated in as many activities as possible.

The entire group of campers rode a boat to Ship Island. No camper could have been less prepared. I vomited all the way there. I didn’t know about sea sickness. Back then, we’d never heard of SPF. My mostly Irish skin turned lobster red before forming clear blisters.

When we were turned loose onto the beach, I remember being alone. The girls and boys I’d met went their own ways, but I wanted to collect shells. The 4-H Club agents gave me a sack, but they didn’t tell me I needed to collect empty shells. (Or if they did, I didn’t heed their warning.)

After we returned to the camp at Ocean Springs, we spent another night. The next day I insisted on taking my shells home. The agents tied my collections securely and placed them in the trunk of the car.

Back home, I proudly presented my collection to my mother, who said, “Take those stinky things to the faucet outside and get to washing.”

I washed my shells for days, dried them in the sun, and eventually retrieved them. Little did I realize I was killing the poor creatures just because I wanted their houses.

This trip remains one of the best in my youth, despite the sea sickness, sunburn, and stinky shells. Every night, the 4-H Club members assembled on the top of a building to dance the Virginia reel, we took swimming lessons, we learned about collecting rotten eggs in our henhouses, and saw a presentation about etymology. I didn’t know the study of bugs had such a neat name.

Christie placed some of the shells I 
collected in North Carolina in this
shadow box.

All my life, I’ve wanted to acquire a big, beautiful conch shell for the living room. A few years ago, John and I went to visit relatives at Emerald Isle off the coast of North Carolina. I spent every spare minute walking along the beach and collecting lovely shells—only the dried, empty ones. None of them were as big as I’d hoped for, though.

At last, I have a large, lovely conch shell. I bought it in Ruston, Louisiana, at a garage sale for thirty-five cents.

What do you like to do on the beach?

Yellow House Canyon

 

I live on the rim of Ransom Canyon, a part of the Yellow House Canyon, named for the Casas Amarillos, where the canyon curves to the east. At that point, a yellow cliff, which resembles a yellow house, appears. More about Yellow House Canyon

A river runs through our neighborhood. It's called the North Fork Double Mountain Fork of the Brazos River. We fish and boat in the lake formed there--Lake Ransom Canyon. Such an interesting place I now call home!

Go here to see an intersting article about the canyons of  Texas.https://www.onlyinyourstate.com/texas/little-grand-canyon-tx/

Today, the Lubbock Avalanche Journal featured a fascinating article by Jim Bertram, a retired Lubbock city engineer, about the Yellow House Canyon and the history of Lubbock. This story is illustrated by interesting photos.

Here’s a sample of the beginning:

“The Yellow House Canyon, which extends 6.5 miles from northwest to southeast in Lubbock, is the only major break in the local flat topography that is so characteristic of West Texas. The Canyon, though small in size, was formed by the North Fork Double Mountain Fork of the Brazos River. Historically, the canyon was fed by spring water and was a gathering place for buffalo and other range wildlife." Go here to read the article. Caprock Chronicles: Lubbock’s Canyon Lake (lubbockonline.com)

Life in west Texas inspired a suspense-filled romance about a Mississippi woman who moved to a ficional town south of Slaton. It is available as a Kindle ebook, a recorded Audible, or a paperback.

https://www.amazon.com/Deep-Heart-Mary-Lou-Cheatham-ebook/dp/B07NV3KJTK?

What would you do if your husband didn't come home Friday night?

Your husband, whom you love with all your heart, is scheduled to come home on Friday in the late afternoon. Your six-year-old son eagerly awaits the return of his father from work. Time passes at a creep, but your man doesn’t come home. What would you do?

Nancy O’Reilly finds herself captivated in an existence of unwavering devotion. She lives in the untamed wilderness of nineteenth-century Mississippi, where life dances to the gentle rhythm of the unrelentless creek and the lyrical breezes singing through the primal forest. Neighbors are few and distant. Her heart overflows with love for her husband.

On the front porch she waits for him on Friday afternoon. The sun sets in its golden splendor, but her beloved Amos does not come home. Her anxiety grows with every passing moment as dark shadows deepen.

Tommy, their cherished six-year-old son, waits with her. “Where’s Papa?” His words voice her fears, but she must hide her concerns so the boy will remain calm. “When is Papa coming home?” The minutes stretch into eternity as she gropes for answers to the child’s questions.

Nancy has none of the conveniences we rely on today to help us solve our problems. She has no telephone to bridge the gap of long distances. Instead of an automobile, she has a team of mules and a farm wagon. Her family exists without the trappings we consider essential.

Law enforcement does not extend to the woods where she lives. The thick vegetation surrounding the O’Reilly farm holds onto secrets of what may have happened.

The pieces of my latest novel, All Her Dreams of Love, blend together like the patterns on the quilts Nancy and the women who visit her from miles away sew together. Throughout the story, her unwavering spirit unfolds in the face of adversity.

Near the conclusion of the tale, she holds a delicate cotton bloom in her work-worn calloused hands. Her trials and triumphs are as fragile as a blossom. Come walk with me beside Nancy, my dear readers, as her life becomes meaningful because of her enduring faith.

I don’t know yet when All Her Dreams of Love will be released. The printer is formatting the text and designing the cover. If you’d like to read a pre-release copy, message me on Facebook. My page: Mary Cooke (Mary Lou Gregg Cheatham)

The True Story of My Great Grandmother

  

My mother told me the story of her grandmother and grandfather. They loved each other both tenderly and with the fierceness that defied hardship. In the 1880s, life was simple yet full of hazards that shaped their souls.

Great Grandpa John Riley was a brave, hardworking man with a devoted heart. Born in the region of Meath and Kildare, Ireland, in 1846, he migrated with his family to the United States. Mother said he lived in central Texas, the Mississippi delta, and finally near the banks of Cohay Creek in south Mississippi.

He labored all week at a sawmill near Mize, Mississippi, about eight miles from their home. Every Friday, John walked home to his precious Nancy Catherine, who struggled throughout her life with Erb’s palsy. Because of an injury to a shoulder when she was born, one arm was smaller than normal and had limited use of its muscles. Mother always said her grandmother had a withered hand. While he worked at the nearby town, she took care of her son and three daughters.

On Friday, as the brilliant shades of gold, pink, vermilion, and purple, changed to gray and the sun slipped behind the virgin pine trees, he would arrive at his home, his little haven of love. All week long, he must have yearned to see his family. He longed to see Nancy and his adoring children.

But life took a different turn for John and his family. One fateful Friday, Thomas didn’t arrive. His absence sent shockwaves through their little world, casting a shadow of despair upon the hearts of Nancy and the children.

Days turned into weeks, and time seemed to stand still. Nancy, a woman of strength despite her affliction, refused to succumb to the anguish that threatened to destroy her life. She clung onto hope with a tenacity only a true believer possessed. Every day after she completed the demanding chores of caring for the family and the farm, she stood on the front porch and looked for him. When she had time, she walked the paths around her home in search of some clue about John’s disappearance.

Tom, her only son, grew into a man at a tender age. He worked to help his mother and three sisters. The little girls worked hard too.

The fertile fields of white cotton on sturdy plants stretched all around their simple but well-constructed home. Giant green stalks of corn danced in the winds that blew near the creek. Pigs snorted, cows grazed, and watermelons ripened. Peanuts emitted their pungent odors as they waited to be harvested. And there were sugar cane, field peas, and sweet potatoes. Without John, the farm waited suspended in time.

As Nancy worked the land, her heart heavy with unanswered questions, she found comfort in her memories of John. Every furrow little Tom plowed, and every seed she planted, became a symbol of hope to survive. The land whispered stories of love and sacrifice, urging her to carry on, to keep the flame of hope alive. No matter what happened, Nancy remained cheerful as she placed her faith in her God.

She held tight onto the memories of John, and she never gave up hope, even though the mystery was eventually solved. She didn’t believe anything except that John would come home to her. When she grew older, she doted on her grandchildren and limited her farming to a large garden.

The story of the love and devotion between John and Nancy Catherine has lived through the generations of Riley descendants. Their love was a burning passion that refused to be extinguished. The tales told by Nancy’s grandchildren branded their story on our hearts.

Although I never saw Nancy Catherine Collins Riley, I feel her spirit speaking to me. She never gave up on life. Some day I will sit at her feet and listen to her laugh.

I always wished another great man would have crossed her path. As an incurable romantic, I’ve written a novel in which Nancy finds new love. (Yes, we fiction writers are liars.) She held onto her dreams and hopes of her beloved and his return. What becomes of her? The title of the novel is All Her Dreams of Love.