The Lady That Scares Me Most...

by Jena Galifany

She was the most beautiful lady ever to sail the ocean. She had class from the top of her four stacks, down to her engine rooms. She was strong. Absolutely immune to disaster. She couldn't be harmed. She couldn't be damaged. She was advertised: "God himself can not sink this ship!" Yet on the night of April 15, 1912, the great lady was mortally stuck but an ice burg, and her beauty slipped into the black depths in less than two hours, taking hundreds of lives with her.

Just because I'm writing about her, I will not be able to go to sleep tonight with much ease. You see, when I was a teen, I was obsessed by the R.M.S. Titanic. I watched A Night to Remember with Barbara Stanwick and a very young Robert Wagner. I've read everything there is to read about her. I ordered the Ship Builders magazine from 1911 through my library to read how the engines were built and dragged through the street by horses to the ship yard where she was being assembled. I knew how many were on board. I knew how many lost their lives. I knew what happened that night as it was remembered by the survivors.


My loving sister bought me a book titled, "Loss of the S.S.Titanic" written by Lawrence Beesley, a survivor, and published in June of 1912, two months after her loss. it has magnificent photographs of the decks, the gym, and the grand staircase. It has a stunning photograph of her sitting at the dock and a regal photograph of Capt. Smith. This book is in mint condition and will remain so since I have difficulty opening the cover. My daughter helped me to take the photos included here and the book has been returned to it's place of honor on my bookshelf.

Centerfold from "The Loss of the SS Titanic by Lawrence Beesley

Somewhere in the years since she was found, I've developed a fear of her. The sound of a ship's horn freezes me in my tracks. I can't help think what it felt like to be on deck that night. I can close my eyes and see the tilting deck, the lights that are already below the waterline and it fills me with  horror. Yes, I feel the fear even now as I write. I was angry when they brought up things from her. To me, it was grave robbing. There were still people alive that lost loved ones there. I felt it should be left alone, a memorial to those who lost their lives. I still feel strongly about that.

I never saw the DeCaprio film and never will. I understand the movie industry did a fantastic job of the movie but I can not face seeing it. I saw a commercial when it first came out and had to sleep with my lights on for three nights. Sometimes, it is a curse to have such a vivid imagination.

"Her Perfect Man", an historical romance, is set in Southhampton, England. It begins in 1907 and ends, well, I think you can figure that one out. I'll leave you with an excerpt from the book. I'll be watching comedies all night until I fall asleep, until the Lady decides to return to the corner of my mind where I keep the things that scare me the most. Enjoy!

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Something made Anna stop. Her hand closed tightly on a gown. It was dark blue satin, shiny and cool with a sheer veiling of silvery blue lace. It was heavy in her hands. She could not turn away as the color drew her in. She shivered with a sudden cold, and clutched the material.

A biting wind slapped her face, as if she moved forward at great speed through frozen air.

The gown came loose.

A cold, wet fog surrounded her. The floor tilted at an alarming angle. Anna slid downward with nothing to hold on to.

As she melted into the surrounding darkness, an icy cold washed over her face. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't hear what was happening around her.

Where had Mrs. Trent gone? Anna tried to call out but could not. Chase? Where was he?

Fear gripped Anna as she tried to free herself from the waves that clung to her face, cold and frighteningly alive. Suddenly the scream of a foghorn sounded.

Bright lights popped overhead. The sound of twisting metal creaked, tearing, as if in the distance. Voices cried out. Hundreds of voices. Silence.

As quickly as it came, it was gone. Mrs. Trent and Mrs. Marlow looked down at Anna.

"What on earth are you doing down there, Anna?" She could hear the embarrassment in Mrs. Trent’s voice. "Are you all right, dear?" Mrs. Trent lifted the gown from her, and straightened the material as Anna struggled to her feet.

"I don't know what happened." She didn’t understand what she'd experienced but felt she should apologize. "I felt very cold, like fog on my face. It was very—strange." She tried to explain as she kept an eye on the gown Mrs. Trent handed to Mrs. Marlow.

Mrs. Trent smiled at the shop owner. "You probably see nervous brides every day, don't you, Mrs. Marlow?"

"Of course, of course," Mrs. Marlow agreed as she handed the gown to her assistant. "There is no more important day in a young lady's life than her wedding day. It is difficult to make everything come together perfectly and," she placed a reassuring arm around Anna, and led her to the bridal area, "it is your day, isn't it? You want to have everything exactly as you have always dreamed it would be, yes?"

"Uh—yes, ma'am." As if anything would be what she wanted it to be. 

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Her Perfect Man

Cheers!

Jena

More Madness? I Think Not!

By Jena Galifany -

Let's recap from the first of March.

Issue #1: I was facing a court issue. After shuddering at the thought of going to court to take care of a frustrated competitor of my answering service, I found that I didn't have to go myself. My attorney said he would be going and  I could remain at home, fretting. He told me not to worry but I decided that fretting would be a good focus for my time. It's in my nature.

Outcome: He went. I stayed home. That was two days ago and I'm still wondering what happened. I didn't get any indication that I have to close my business so we are taking it that no news is good news. I do so wish the attorney would let me know what happened though. I guess there is a chance he is still stuck in Los Angeles traffic. It gets pretty bad at times.

Issue #2: The imminent release of my nineth book, Day Labor.

Outcome: And still I wait. I've not heard from the editor again so I suppose we are still in limbo at this time. No cover art has been yet offered, either. I know what it takes to get a book edited and properly "dressed" for it's first public appearance, so I will wait. I'll spend any free time I have (though that is not much) working on another book, another crocheted afghan for my store, another list of prospects for my answering service. Day Labor will come in it's own sweet time.

Issue #3: Jen's 21's birthday.

Nick and Jen at a banquet 2010

Outcome: Undetermined. It's not until the twenty-third. What she wants: a $1200 drawing tablet or $60 worth of online gaming cards. What her father wants to give her: a one way ticket to Texas to where her boy friend lives. Steve told her the other night that he'll send her there if she'll send back pictures of her wedding. LOL I know he was kidding... I think.

I'll probably opt for the gaming cards. Less worry involved, not to mention cost. I'll know where my baby is, sitting in her room on her computer, emailing back and forth with the love interest, and working in my stores during the day. I dread the day she leaves me. Really. I do. Just don't tell her!
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In the hopes that it won't be too much longer, I've decided to post the opening for "Day Labor". This is unedited so please forgive any typos, etc.

Chapter 1 – 2005

Mark Langston stood in the doorway to the Chief of Detectives, Grant Langston's office. Grant took his time in responding to Mark's knock. Obviously annoyed, he tossed down his pen and leaned back in his large leather chair as Mark entered and closed the door.

"What do you want?" As usual, Grant showed no pleasure at seeing Mark.

Mark pulled an envelope from his pocket. He held it up, and crossed the plush carpet in the large office. As he reached the mahogany monster of a desk, he tossed it onto the surface, and watched it slid to a stop at the edge of the blotter. "I want an explanation."

Grant didn't look at the envelope. His gaze locked instead on Mark, his jaw clenched and released before he spoke. "Now that you're married, I wanted you to know that you will receive nothing from my estate in case of my death. You have no part in my will. Just so you can let that new wife of yours know it."

"Why would Beth care? She has her own money. She doesn't care about yours." Mark burned with anger at the insinuation. Beth had more money than Grant Langston ever dreamed of having.

"So my name and my status didn't get you a bride? Congratulations." Grant commented in bored monotone.

Mark slammed his hand on the desk as he leaned toward his father. "I've done everything I could my entire life to please you. I've worked my ass off through school and college to be the son you'd be proud of. I've solved several cases that were beyond anything even you've ever handled. Now, after one of my greatest successes, I get this letter. What kind of a father are you that you’d expend so much energy hating your son?"

Grant carefully weighed his words before he let them spill from his lips. "The kind of father who only has a daughter." He smirked, and rocked back in his chair, his trained eyes watching Mark's face for a reaction.

Mark felt as if he'd been kicked in the stomach. "What are you saying?" He knew damned well what was said but couldn't wrap his mind around the words, or believe them. Not after thirty-five years. Why wouldn't Grant, or at least his mother, have told him before?

"You’re the fancy detective. Figure it out." Grant leaned his forearms on his desk, and continued before Mark could respond. "Do you recall a local incident some thirty-six years ago. A criminal was shot during a home invasion. You probably read the case file when you studied local issues."

"The man was into pornography and drugs." Mark thought back to the case. "Rape, too, I believe."

Grant nodded and clapped his hands with sarcasm. "He gets the gold star."

"What? Rape?"

Grant folded his hands on the desk. "The man had taken a gun from the home office and attempted to shoot the homeowner when he walked in on him. It was a cut and dried case of self-defense."

"What's that got to do with rape?" Mark was confused. He saw by the look on Grant's face that the older man took pleasure in traveling the long road to where he was going.

"What the report didn't say – because it was covered up – was that the bastard raped the man's wife. That woman was your mother and that bastard that I took great pleasure in shooting was your father. I don't think he left you anything in his will either." 

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Thankfully, there is no new madness. I can handle what I have now. I hope this month finishes out on a good note. I know it will be wonderful celebrating Jen's birthday followed by Steve's birthday on April 1st. I know that "Day Labor" will find it's way to a release date. And with God's blessings, all will be fine.

Cheers!

 Jena

Check out my back-list at Whiskey Creek Press and Red Rose Publishing.

 

 

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