Dear Blog Readers, today I'm featuring Ever Constant by Tracie Peterson and Kimberley Woodhouse. Instead of an interview, we have a note from both of the authors and an excerpt from the book. I hope you enjoy it. I know I want to read the rest of the book after reading this passage. We will have the regular free book drawing.
Several years ago, Tracie and I were having a book signing
and fund-raising event for the scholarship fund in Cassidy Hale’s honor with
the launch of our Heart of Alaska series’
In
the Shadow of Denali. Music students of mine—the Powell girls—came to meet
their beloved favorite author, Tracie Peterson. The girls’ mom—Monica—and I are
dear friends, and she’s quite a fan as well. The excitement as the foursome
walked into the event was contagious. Even though the girls knew me really
well, had spent hours at my home, and understood that I had written several
books already with Tracie, the joy of getting to meet her in person put them
over the moon and in total fan mode. Giggles and smiles and chatter filled the
air.
It was at that event that Tracie looked at me and said,
“Books need to be written about three precocious, musical, redheaded sisters.”
The Treasures of Nome series was born that day. The three
main characters throughout this series are named after my precious girls. (I
will always claim them Ever Constant as mine—once a student
of mine, always one of my kids.) Whitney, Havyn, and Madysen. And while we
might have used a few character traits of the real girls, the Powell sisters in
our series are purely fictitious. I’m truly thankful that the real sisters haven’t
had to endure all the craziness we threw at the characters in our books.
Tracie and I have loved sharing these girls, the chicken
stories, the sled dogs, the chaos with the sheep, the cheese making, and all
the other adventures in this series with you.
For those of you who have read Jack London’s Call of the Wild or have seen the movie,
you know the command mush is used to get the dogs to go. Most likely this is
the English derivation from the French-Canadian marche, which meant “go.”
In this book, you will find these terms: Let’s go simply
means “go.” (The most common terms used are hike, let’s go, and all right,
which you might remember me using in Race
Against Time.)
Haw means “turn left.”
Gee means “turn right.”
Whoa means “slow down and come to a stop.”
Because I have spent so much time with real-life dog-sled
pros while we lived in Alaska
and during research trips there, I want to honor the knowledge they’ve poured
into me and respect the amazing sport.
The Grand Nome Hotel and Golden Palace Restaurant in this
book are fictitious. I know how many of you love the historical landmarks we
use, but in this instance we needed to create something for the purposes of the
story.
You will also notice that there are two different terms used
for the native people. Inupiat is plural, Inupiaq is singular. There you have
it, your language lesson for the day. Lastly, I wanted to tell you about
something that a lot of people don’t know. Are you ready?
The northern lights—auroras—make noise.
This is shown in Ever Constant, and I wanted to
assure you that, yes, it is true! I’ve heard them many times myself, but it’s
not loud. In fact, the best way to truly experience them is to be out away from
everything else. Their sound has been described as crackling, the bursting of
soap bubbles, and sputtering. Sometimes you have to concentrate on listening to
actually hear them.
Check out the Note from the Authors at the end of the book
for some fun facts and links. And make sure you join us for our next series,
which takes place in
Kalispell,
Montana. As always, we couldn’t
do what we do without YOU, our readers.
Enjoy the journey, Kim and Tracie
Prologue
Cripple Creek, Colorado—1889
Flurries of snow drifted down from the dark and cloudy sky.
Whitney Powell shivered and lifted her face to the heavens as she stopped in
the middle of the quiet street. Mama would scold her for being out in the wee
hours of the morning, but it was her mother’s tears that woke her.
Daddy wasn’t home. Again. Which meant one thing. Whitney
wanted to growl out her anger and throw something. Really hard. She’d been old
enough to understand what was going on for a couple of years now. No matter how
much her parents tried to hide it.
Lifting her chin, she clenched her jaw against the chill in
the wind and shoved her hands into her coat pockets. She had to fix Mama’s tears.
Havyn and Madysen were too young. So even if she had to drag her
good-for-nothin’ father back from the saloon––again––at least he would be home.
She cringed. Good for nothin’? What a horrible thought! What
would Mama say? How often had she drilled into her that thoughts were just as
important as the words that came out of her mouth? Reminded her that God knew
every one of them?
No doubt about it, their mother would be crushed. And she’d
be so embarrassed if she found out that her oldest daughter had gone to Saloon
Row to haul her father home. More than once.
Mama was the best lady in the world. And the most talented.
If only she could stand up for herself. She always saw the good in everyone,
believed in them, cheered them on, and recognized what she called their
potential.
Why couldn’t she see that people took advantage of her
goodwill? No matter how many times Mama had been hurt, she’d still forgive.
Whitney gritted her teeth. In all her ten years, she’d never
met anyone on earth as good as her mama. If only she could be as kind and
generous. No matter how much she tried to mimic her mother’s behavior, she
couldn’t do it. Mama’s patience and goodness rivaled that of any saint.
Granddad said so himself.
“Maybe by the time I’m all grown up I can be like Mama.” Her
words puffed from her mouth in the icy air.
For now, as the oldest daughter, it fell to her to take care
of their mother when their father wasn’t capable of doing it. She’d gone to get
him four times now. Four. She’d had to scrape up all her courage to go to the
saloons that first time, but she’d done it. Because she loved her Mama and
couldn’t watch her suffer and worry.
She shook her head and continued walking toward Saloon Row.
The still of the evening was disrupted by sounds of the establishments ahead. The noise
crescendoed with every few steps.
How many more times would she have to do this? How long
before someone found out? She’d thought about askingGranddad for help. Other
than her sisters, he was her best friend. But he already didn’t think too well
of Daddy. . . .
The wind bit at her face while the scent of logs burning in
stoves filled her nose.
Music from the saloons drifted toward her, and she flinched.
It was nothing like the beautiful music they played and sang at home. This was
harsh, raucous, and out of tune. How could people even stand it? It hurt her
ears. The closer she got, the more she hated the sound, the noise, the smells.
Oh, to curl up in her bed like her younger sisters and go to sleep as if she
didn’t have the weight of the world on her shoulders. All because Daddy
couldn’t control himself.
Two men wobbled down the street toward her, then one of them
doubled over and got sick in the middle of the road. She covered her face with
her scarf and stepped several paces around them. Why did they do that to
themselves? Disgusting.
Picking up her stride, she kept her chin down. There were
things here that she didn’t want to see.
Not again.
Questions peppered her brain. She wouldn’t allow them entry.
Best to think about music. Mama. Havyn and Madysen.
Wait a minute . . . the hairs on the back of her neck
prickled and a shiver raced up her spine. A lump in the street—no, not a lump.
A man.
For a moment, she couldn’t take another step. Could barely
breathe. No. Please. That scrawny heap couldn’t be her father. But . . . the
blue coat.
She’d recognize the coat anywhere. Mama made it for him last
Christmas.
With a deep breath, she moved forward. At least she could be
thankful he wasn’t inside one of the saloons. She hated going in them. The
adults always tried to shoo her out, but her presence made it easier to get her
dad out the door. No one wanted a little girl inside.
The closer her feet brought her to the telltale form, the
more she wanted to run away. But then she was standing beside him. Daddy wasn’t
moving. Was he even breathing?
She knelt down beside him and poked at his shoulder. Hard.
Nothing happened. When she touched his face, it was cold.
Her stomach revolted and her heart sank.
Oh, Daddy . . .
Shaking her head, she closed her eyes and took several deep
breaths. A sharp clenching in her chest made her gasp for air. She fought the
tears that threatened to flood her eyes and race down her face. He wouldn’t
leave them . . . would he?
As much as she detested his actions, he was still her daddy.
She leaned her ear close to his face. He stunk. It made her
stomach turn again.
She couldn’t hear any breath. She poked him again. Harder.
And again. Even harder.
“Daddy?” She shook him with all she had. No response.
She touched his face again. Cold. But it was snowing outside,
and the temperature was frigid. Maybe he was passed out. He did that at home
all the time lately.
Sitting down beside him, she shook him and poked him. Over
and over. If he was dead . . . what would they do? Mama and Havyn and Madysen
would cry. So would she.
What would become of them?
Ever Constant • T. Peterson,
K. Woodhouse Bethany House, a division of Baker Publishing Group © 2022 used by
permission
Thank you, Tracie and
Kim, for sharing this new book with us today. I’m eager to read it, and I know
many of my blog readers will be, too.
Readers,
here’s a link to the book.
https://www.amazon.com/Ever-Constant-Treasures-Nome-Book-ebook/dp/B09B2N4XY4/ref=sr_1_2?keywords=Ever+Constant+Tracie+Peterson+and+Kimberly+Woodhouse&qid=1644962894&s=books&sr=1-2
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