GHOSTLY GOINGS-ON/PARANORMAL - MARGARET TANNER

PARANORMAL/GHOSTLY GOINGS-ON  –  MARGARET TANNER

 I don’t write paranormal or shape shifter novels, although I do envy those who can. Then I began thinking about it. Actually, in my historical romance novel, Daring Masquerade, which is set during the 1^st World War, there are two ghostly scenes.

Harry who is the heroine has a dream about her husband Ross who is fighting in France. Ross thinks he hears Harry calling him back from the brink of death.

                                                                ***

Ross did not see where the firing came from, but felt a thud, first in one leg then the other. As he sank to his knees, a bullet slammed into his chest. He toppled forward.  Soldiers ran over him. Boots pressing into his back forced him deeper into the mud.

This is the end. He would never see Harry again.

He regained consciousness. It was daylight. How long had he been lying out in no-man’s land? Groggily, he got to his hands and knees. Pain and exhaustion racked his body. Breathing was agony. The landscape see-sawed. Shell fire echoed in his ears.

What’s the use? All I have to do is close my eyes and sink back into the mud and oblivion.

Too tired to fight any more, he started slipping away. His body floated upward and the pain disappeared.

“Ross, don’t leave me. Fight Ross, fight for me.”

“Harry?” He opened his eyes but he was alone.  Only dead men, twisted and grotesque lay out here in no-man’s land with him.

 “Harry, help me. I don’t want to die out here, twelve thousand miles away from you,” he cried out.

His head spun like a top, every bone in his body screamed in agony. Gritting his teeth, he dragged himself up onto his knees and crawled back the way he had come that morning.

***

Harry woke up from a horrible nightmare. Ross called out to her. He must have died. Her nightgown was wet with perspiration and she shook from head to foot. He kept pleading with her to help him, but she couldn’t. Every time she reached out a hand to touch him, he would slip back into the mud, just out of reach.

Gilbert slept in the cradle beside her bed. She could hear him breathing and his face felt warm to her touch. She still breastfed him in the daytime, but now he slept through the night.

Lighting the bedside lamp and keeping it turned down so as not to awaken him, she stood staring down at him. How sweet he was. He had Ross’s grey eyes and a pretty rosebud mouth. His dark curls were shot with copper highlights.

Oh, God. She grabbed the rag doll and held it to her heart as she rocked backwards and forwards on the bed. Sleep proved impossible now. A glance at the clock on the dresser showed two-thirty in the morning. Slipping on a dressing gown and carrying the lamp, she wandered down to the kitchen, raked up the coals in the stove and set the kettle on to boil. How long would it take to hear anything from the authorities about Ross?

Tears filled her eyes, trickling uncontrollably down her cheeks. The love of her life gone, the two men who meant the world to her were lost, but she still had little Gilbert. God had at least been merciful in that respect.

Next morning Jack called her a fool. “It was a nightmare, a bloody nightmare, girlie.”

“No, it wasn’t. It seemed so real. Ross called out to me, I know he did.”

“Let’s say he did call out to you, it doesn’t mean he’s dead, for God’s sake.”

“He lay in mud, covered with blood. I tell you, Jack, I could see him as clearly as I see you. He held his hands out to me. I tried to help him, but he kept drifting away out of my reach.”

Daring Masquerade is published by Books We Love, and is available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble and other outlets. At the moment, Books We Love is running a special deal, buy from their books shop, and you receive another e-book for free.

http://bookswelove.net/authors/tanner-margaret/

 

 

 

 

SECRETS - MARGARET TANNER

SECRETS - WE ALL HAVE THEM

How many of us have secrets?

I doubt if there would be many people who don’t have at least one secret. I don’t mean of the dark, dangerous variety, but some of us may well have a secret that could place us in danger. Fortunately, I am not one of those.

My secret – I am a chocoholic. How many times have I told my hubby that I no longer eat chocolates, then I sneak off to my several hiding places (not to be divulged on pain of death), where my secret stash is hidden. You should always have more than one hideout for your illicit goodies just in case one of them is discovered. I don’t want to be like Old Mother Hubbard – who went to the cupboard to get her dog a bone, and when she got there the cupboard was bare and the poor doggie had none. Change that to and when Margaret got to her secret stash, the chokkies were gone and she had none. A disaster of that proportion could not be allowed to happen, hence a few hiding places. I call it my insurance policy.

In many families there are secrets that will never see the light of day, except if someone in the family is into Geneology. My sister has unearthed some shocking scandals as she undertook research into our family tree. I swear, I could write a book about it. One of the most shocking secrets was the fact that my grandmother had a baby when she was unmarried and only eighteen years old. The baby died when he was only 6 days old. A couple of years later she married my grandfather. No-one knew that, it remained hidden for 120 years, until my sister unearthed the information during her research.

Another relative spent time in jail in the 1880’s for aiding and abetting Ned Kelly, a famous Australian bushranger (outlaw). Then there were all the “premature” babies that were born to aunts and great aunts. Not to mention one great uncle who had two wives. Then there was a cousin who ran off with a man who was older than her father. That caused a stir. Especially as the man had a wife and 4 children. Still, can’t be all bad, thirty years later, and the couple are still together.

In my experience, and I do have to quantify this by saying I mainly read historical romance because that is what I write, there are often dark secrets lurking in the background. Some of these could be life threatening, in any case at the very least they threaten the hero and heroine’s chance of getting their happily ever after ending.

In my novel, Allison’s War, the heroine’s secret is that the baby she is expecting does not belong to her husband.

 

In A Rose In No-Man’s Land, the hero hides a secret from the heroine. She is broken hearted to find out that he won’t marry her, when in fact he wants to marry her, but can’t because he is being blackmailed by the sister of his dead wife. If he marries the heroine, he risks being hanged for a murder that he did not commit.

In Daring Masquerade, my heroine pretends she is a boy so she can gain employment with the hero. Then, of course, she falls in love with the hero. I mean, what can she do about it?

In my novel, Haunted Hearts, (the only contemporary I have published), the heroine discovers that her father-in-law has been going through her drawers and stealing her panties.

So, you can see that secrets abound in my novels, and I am sure I am not alone in this regard. A secret can drive our stories along, add passion and drama, and keep the reader wondering what is this secret? How can it be resolved? Will the hero and heroine get their HEA?

Margaret Tanner writes historical romance for The Wild Rose Press and Books We Love.

http://www.margarettanner.com

 

THE ORDER OF THE WHITE FEATHER

For several hundred years the white feather was handed out as a symbol of cowardice. 

Who could forget the powerful movie, The Four Feathers, taken from a novel by A.E.W. Mason? It starred Heath Ledger and Kate Hudson? Set in 1884, against the background of the Sudan War. A British Officer, who resigned his post just before going into battle, is handed four white feathers. One is from his fiancée and the other three from his army friends.

In England, in August 1914, The Order of the White Feather was founded by Admiral Charles Fitzgerald, to shame men who would not enlist for the 1^st World War. Women mainly handed out these feathers to young men who were not in uniform. Sometimes they would stick the white feather in the lapel of the man’s coat.  Of course, these women didn’t know or obviously care, that many men who may have volunteered for the army had been rejected because of health reasons, or perhaps they had a vital job to perform in munitions etc.

Many men were persecuted or shamed into joining the army, sometimes with deadly results, or if the army would not take them, they were driven to suicide. The stigma of having been handed a white feather stayed with some men for a lifetime.

Here is a short extract from my novel, Daring Masquerade, which shows how unfair and cruel the act of handing out a white feather could be.

Ross is the hero, Harry the heroine and Gil is her wounded soldier brother and the recipient of the white feather.

                                                ***
Harry stared into the shop windows as they sauntered along the street. Poor Gil had pushed his stump into his pocket so no one could see his missing hand. Her heart bled for him. She went to slip her arm through his. Remembering at the last moment that she was supposed to be a boy, she hastily drew back.

The verandah covered shops were made of the same yellow sandstone as the pretty little church they had passed coming into town. A small rotunda set amidst lawns and colorful flowerbeds, stood at the end of the main street.

“We need to support our soldiers after their valiant battle in the Dardenelles. They’re crying out for reinforcements,” a portly gentleman said. “What type of man would loaf around here while his fellow Australians are dying in the trenches?” 

“Here, here,” a well-dressed young woman cried out. “Conscript all the shirkers who won’t enlist.”

“What are you doing here, young man? Aren’t you ashamed to be so cowardly as to let other men fight for you?” A middle-aged matron shoved a white feather into Gil’s hand.

“You old bitch,” Harry yelled, knocking her hand away, while Gil stood pale and shaking. “How dare you accuse my brother of cowardice?”

“Why doesn’t the coward enlist?” someone else called out.

“You despicable creatures!” She screamed back. “You should be arrested.”

Back and forth, Harry and several of the women hurled insults as more people milled around listening to the argument. Harry became so inflamed she didn’t care what came out of her mouth. “You parasites, living comfortably here while forcing someone else to die.”

“Your brother is a coward, young man,” the portly gentleman said. “He should enlist and do his bit for the Empire.”

“Here, here, Mayor,” someone endorsed his views.

“He’s done his bit,” she shouted. “You pompous, overstuffed pig. Show them, Gil, show them your arm.”

From the corner of one eye she saw Ross striding toward them, but didn’t care. She dragged Gil’s arm from his pocket and raised it high. “He’s given one hand to the war, isn’t that enough?”

Silence reigned. Amidst the embarrassed muttering, Ross’s voice rang out loud, clear and deadly.

“What the hell are you up to, Harry?” He strode forward and grabbed her arm. “Are you mad?”

“They gave Gil a white feather for cowardice.” She fought him as he dragged her kicking and screaming from the dais. “They gave Gil a white feather.”

“Shut up,” he snarled, “before you get arrested. What happened, Gilbert?”

Gil tried to speak, but the words would not come out. He opened up his hand and a white feather fluttered to the ground.

http://www.amazon.com/Daring-Masquerade-ebook/dp/B0081CJECY/ref=sr_1_10?s=books&ie=UTG8&qid=13364772888&sr=1-10

 

 

MEMORIAL DAY - MARGARET TANNER

MEMORIAL DAY – BATTLEFIELD SCENE
Call it blatant self promotion if you will, but I thought as it is only a few days to Memorial Day in the US, I would post a battlefield excerpt from my latest historical romance, Daring Masquerade, which is set during the 1^st World War.
In Australia we remember our war dead, on ANZAC Day, 25^th April and also Remembrance Day/Armistice Day on 11^th November.
ANZAC Day commemorates the landing at Gallipoli in Turkey by The Australian and New Zealand Army Corps (ANZACS) on the 25^TH April, 1915. And the 25^th April is now sacred. It is when we remember the brave men and women who paid the supreme sacrifice in the 1^st World War and in subsequent wars, 2^nd World War, Korea, Vietnam, Iraq and Afghanistan. These battlefields are also stained with American blood, as you would be well aware.

War is a terrible thing, it not only affects the soldier on the battlefield, but also those who are left at home. How many lives have been blighted by war? How many families torn apart? Even after a war ends the consequences are still dire. Young men and women return home, broken in body and mind. Some never recover and carry the scars of their war service for the rest of their lives. This in turn affects their families. I can remember as a child, my father (who saw active service in World War 2) having these terrible nightmares. He would scream out so loudly that he woke up the whole household.My mother who had been engaged to him before he went to war, said that when he returned home, he was not the same man that he was before. Consequently, because of Dad's nightmares, we could never have friends stay overnight, in case Dad had one of his "turns."

DARING MASQUERADE – Out on Kindle from Books We Love Publishing
The third battle for Ypres had begun. The first and second Australian Divisions marched through the ruins of Ypres in Flanders, and fought their way along the Menin Road ridge. Their ultimate destination was Passchendale.

It had been raining steadily, the front had turned into a sea of mud, criss-crossed with miles of concrete German blockhouses. A German arc of machine gun fire dominated the landscape and the casualties were terrible.

Ross despaired of the carnage ever ending. After one battle another always followed. Men died or were wounded; many simply disappeared into the mud.

Reinforcements came and went, followed by more reinforcements. Few old faces were left now.
Increasingly, he feared he might never leave this chamber of horrors and return to Harry at Devil’s Ridge. Never get the chance to utter the words, ‘I love you,’ to his wife.

How much longer could his luck hold out? He had suffered several minor shrapnel wounds that only required a dressing.

On the morning of the fourth of October, 1917, Ross’ unit was sent to Broodseinde Ridge. Forty minutes before the attack, soldiers waiting in the rear a mile behind the line saw white and yellow German flares through the hazy drizzle.

0530 hours.  Heavy trench mortars fell on Ross’s men as they sheltered in shell holes. At 0600 hours, the British artillery barrage opened up and he waited. Another attack—more casualties in this endless saga of death and suffering.

White tapes marked the jump off area. When the signal for attack came, he urged his men on.
“Come on, come on.”

He stood up and started running. Officers led by example, he remembered from training. The men charged forward now, yelling and screaming.

A line of troops rose from some shell holes a little in front of them, and Ross suddenly realized they were Germans mounting a counter attack. Too late to do anything but keep on going.

He did not see where the firing came from, but felt a thud, first in one leg then the other. As he sank to his knees, he felt a bullet slamming into his chest. He toppled forward.  Soldiers ran over him. Boots pressing into his back forced him deeper into the mud.

This is the end. I’ll never see Harry again.

He regained consciousness. It was daylight. How long had he been lying out in no-man’s land? Groggily, he got to his hands and knees. Pain and exhaustion racked his body. Breathing was agony. The landscape see-sawed. Shell fire echoed in his ears.

What’s the use? All I have to do is close my eyes and sink back into the mud and oblivion.

Too tired to fight any more, he started slipping away. His body floated upwards and the pain disappeared.

“Ross, don’t leave me. Fight Ross, fight for me.”

“Harry?” He opened his eyes but he was alone.  Only dead men, twisted and grotesque lay out here in no-man’s land with him.

Did he want to leave Harry a widow at twenty? Never hold his son? Oh, God, he couldn’t die like a dog out here. His body might never be recovered. Harry would wait and mourn, but keep on hoping for years. She would never hear the words ‘I love you,’ fall from his lips. What a bloody fool he had been obsessing over Virginia, instead of letting himself fall in love with Harry. Now it was too late.  She would never know the true depth of his feelings for her. He couldn’t do it to her. He must survive.

http://www.amazon.com/Daring-Masquerade-ebook/dp/B0081CJECY/ref=sr_1_10?s=books&ie=UTG8&qid=13364772888&sr=1-10