#geoffrey holiday hall

[sistemabibliotecariomilano]

Novità (ma non solo...)

Fonte: pixabay.com

Il vostro affezionato staff delle Biblioteche di Milano vi imbandisce un piccolo antipasto letterario, prima delle pantagrueliche proposte natalizie.

Di Geoffrey Holiday Hall si sa soltanto che fu giornalista e scrittore. Elogiato da Leonardo Sciascia che lesse La fine è nota nel 1952, pubblicò solo due gialli e poi scomparve praticamente nel nulla. La fine è nota (uscito per la prima volta in Italia con il titolo La morte alla finestra) fu premiato in Francia nel 1953 come miglior poliziesco in lingua non francese. Il titolo originale (The end is known) deriva dal Giulio Cesare di Shakespeare: “Oh, se fosse dato all’uomo di conoscere la fine di questo giorno che incombe! Ma basta solo che il giorno trascorra e la sua fine è nota”. Un giallo di classe, strutturato come un viaggio a ritroso nella vita del protagonista di cui si ricostruisce la storia passo per passo, testimonianza per testimonianza, come un misterioso puzzle che si completa, ovviamente, solo nel finale. Molto godibile è anche il secondo titolo Qualcuno alla porta, dai toni più leggeri, nonostante gli omicidi e l’atmosfera della Vienna sotto l’occupazione sovietica nel secondo dopoguerra che non ricorda neppure lontanamente gli splendori dell’impero asburgico. “Sembra uno di quei soggetti che piacevano a Hitchcock (e non è detto che il pressoché ignoto Holiday Hall, scrivendo Qualcuno alla porta, non avesse in mente le figure di James Stewart e Doris Day, o di Cary Grant e Grace Kelly)”. La frizzante coppia americana che si trova, suo malgrado, a gestire le indagini ricorda anche il duo Tommy e Tuppence di Agatha Christie. Doppio colpo di scena sul finale: cosa chiedere di più a un libro giallo?

Ha un solo difetto Un volto nella folla di Budd Schulberg: è troppo breve. Parliamo ancora dell’autore di Perché corre Sammy? e I disincantati per questo racconto appena uscito e finora inedito in Italia, da cui Elia Kazan trasse il film omonimo con protagonista Andy Griffith (l’indimenticabile avvocato Matlock della fortunata serie televisiva, per intenderci). Il tema, fin troppo attuale, è quello della manipolazione del pensiero e dei comportamenti (e quindi del voto) delle masse da parte dei personaggi dello spettacolo: in questo caso si tratta di un finto sempliciotto proveniente da un paesino dell’Arkansas che, in virtù della sua sconcertante capacità di coinvolgimento, diventa il paradigma dell’America intera. Grazie alle sue canzoni folk, a vecchi luoghi comuni sulle tradizioni popolari e a un indubbio carisma, il nostro eroe riesce a condizionare il pubblico e ad arricchirsi con i lauti proventi della pubblicità. Cambia il tema negli altri due racconti della raccolta: i ‘dietro le quinte’ del mondo del cinema in Questa è Hollywood, che l’autore, sceneggiatore e figlio di un tycoon della Paramount, non solo conosceva bene, ma sapeva anche descrivere con agile penna, e L’imbonitore, sul mondo della boxe. Ricordiamo che per la sceneggiatura di Fronte del porto (che è anche un romanzo), celebre film con Marlon Brando, Schulberg si aggiudicò l’Oscar nel 1954.

Per la serie i grandi classici hanno sempre qualcosa da dire è stato ripubblicato da Mondadori e da Sellerio Brighton Rock di Graham Greene. Una lettura da consigliare sotto tutti i punti di vista: un giallo ben costruito con protagonisti tratti sia dalla malavita, sia dal caso che fa di un personaggio del tutto inaspettato un accanito segugio alla ricerca del colpevole, come fosse Porfirij Petrovic che insegue Raskolnikov o Javert che perseguita Jean Valjean, ma con uno spirito diverso, fresco e originale. “Nello specchio inclinato sopra il lavabo si poteva vedere riflesso, ma gli occhi si distolsero rapidamente da quell’immagine di guance livide e mal rasate, di capelli lisci e occhi da vecchio. Non lo interessava. Era troppo orgoglioso per preoccuparsi del suo aspetto”.

Nuova ristampa anche per Le vittime di Norwich (1935) uno dei gialli più famosi (insieme a The House of Dr. Edwardes che ispirò il film Io ti salverò diretto da Alfred Hitchcock) fra i 31 composti dalla coppia britannica John Leslie Palmer e Hilary Aidan St. George Saunders sotto lo pseudonimo di Francis Beeding.

Da La regina degli scacchi di Walter Tevis, lo scrittore di Lo spaccone e Il colore dei soldi, è stata tratta una miniserie televisiva di grande successo. Accade spesso che i geni abbiano avuto una vita difficile, siano dei disadattati, spesso asociali, in perenne conflitto con se stessi, il prossimo e il mondo che li circonda. È anche questo il caso della protagonista, la piccola Beth, cresciuta in orfanotrofio, che trova una riscossa alla sua grigia esistenza grazie alla passione per la scacchiera. Una curiosità sul ‘caso letterario’ di Tevis: dopo il successo dei primi libri, fu dimenticato anche a causa dei problemi con l’alcol. Quando decise di riprendere a scrivere, lo fece seguendo un corso di scrittura all’Università dove fu riconosciuto dal poeta Donald Justice che, stupito, gli chiese cosa ci facesse un grande autore come lui in mezzo agli studenti, quando avrebbe invece dovuto salire in cattedra. Breve fu purtroppo la sua seconda stagione creativa: Tevis morì a soli 56 anni per un tumore.

Il voyeurismo è il tema principale dell’ultimo romanzo di Simenon pubblicato da Adelphi, Delitto impunito: composto nel 1953 durante il soggiorno dello scrittore a Lakeville nel Connecticut, fu edito l’anno successivo in volume e a puntate sul settimanale «Les Nouvelles littéraires». Il secondo tema del libro è l’invidia, quella di chi non ha nulla, né bellezza né fascino nè denaro ed è stato defraudato perfino dell’affetto dei genitori, nei confronti di chi invece ha tutto questo e ne mena vanto, e gode nell’esibirlo senza ritegno. Una lotta accanita tra due personalità, che è la lotta atavica tra gli uomini per la supremazia. “A Élie non era mai successo di trovarsi davanti un uomo completamente felice, felice in tutto e per tutto, sempre e comunque, in ogni momento della giornata, e che approfittava con candore di tutto quel che lo circondava per accrescere il proprio piacere”.

Una nuova indagine per l’improbabile detective di Partanna Giovà, metronotte per caso, coinvolto in un duplice omicidio di stampo mafioso insieme a tutta la scombinata famiglia Di Dio. Sarà ancora una volta l’anziana madre, autentica virago arroccata alle salde tradizioni popolari e armata di un cervello dalla logica “acuminata”, ad avviare le indagini verso l’inevitabile conclusione. Ma cos’è La boffa allo scecco? Questo, almeno, ve lo possiamo svelare: si tratta di un gesto simil-apotropaico (in realtà un autentico sopruso) che a tutti è occorso di subire almeno una volta nella vita, ovvero lo schiaffo di rimando, come sfogo per un’ingiustizia patita che non si è in grado di vendicare altrimenti. Roberto Alajmo non delude le aspettative.

Per quanto riguarda Sarà assente l’autore di Giampaolo Simi, si può dire che, se esiste una sana via di mezzo tra assecondare a priori i gusti dei lettori meno esigenti e scrivere in modo che solo l’autore possa comprendere i propri contenuti, Simi l’ha sicuramente trovata e ce la propone in queste succulente paginette. Dedicato a chi ha la voglia, la necessità, l’urgenza di ridere a crepapelle.

Nell’ultimo nato della serie del BarLume di Marco Malvaldi, La morra cinese, gli inossidabili vecchietti sono alle prese con l’omicidio niente di meno che di un giovane filologo romanzo alle prese con un carteggio appartenente alla famiglia di un nobile “arci-decaduto” del luogo, in cui, pare, compariva addirittura un’epistola inedita di Giacomo Leopardi. Ma questo non è l’unico movente per un delitto che non resterà a lungo irrisolto.

[shallicomparetheetolagrenouille]

2023 in books: n. 1

I will keep up with posting about this year’s reads, I swear I will! In this case, I’m just 19 days late, for example!

Language: Italian (translation)

Original title: The End Is Known

I have to say that the more I read of the Promemoria collection published by Sellerio, the happier I am that I just keep buying so many of them - because they’ve all been revelations and I totally have plans to read more from the authors I had not known before! Also, most of them look so pretty and I’m weak!

In this case, what sealed the deal was Leonardo Sciascia’s comment on the back of the book, how he picked up the novel at a train station for the trip and found out while reading that the quality of the writing was much higher than expected from a random mystery paperback, and that the author is himself an enigma, it seems that only two books were published under this name and that there is no trace of any data about him in the original publisher’s archive! The theory is that a well-known author took a ‘holiday’ (ha!) from their usual genre and used this pseudonym for just two books. So intriguing!

That said, the language used during the narration really proved to be more poetic than I’m used to in detective stories/mystery novels - in the sense that waiters in dark red uniforms get compared to cherries moving around on a creamy white cake. Metaphors and descriptions I would not have expected, but I enjoyed them all!

The fact that this was written in 1949 brought a few odd comments on women (a detective comments on a witness’s legs, for example, saying that it sure would be nice to bag such an attractive woman, she does not even sound that irritating! amazing!) and on workers (the narrator is in a top management position in a company - I can’t remember if he owns it or not - and they are about to heavily downsize the personnel, so the workers are on strike) which distracted me from the plot and the rest of the text

I called Bayard the narrator, since it is stated from the beginning that he is not the protagonist of the story - rather, he collects the information about  Roy Kearney, the man who dies at the very beginning of the novel, and that collection of information, those trips and meetings with the people who had connections with Roy is the actual ‘main character’ of the book. I liked that very much!

I had the right hunch on the culprit! I am always so proud when that happens!

[winnix85]

Finally! I found the house Lewis Nixon grew up in Santa Barbara

His mother took the family to move to Santa Barbara in 1929, and bought a house in 1930. They lived in this house until at least 1946.  So Lewis Nixon lived here from 12 yr old to adulthood.

In the social notes, it’s frequently mentioned that their address was “180 Cold Spring Rd. Santa Barbara, CA”. However, if you search in google map, there’s no 180 Cold Spring Rd anymore, the house numbers all changed.

But I noticed that mama Nix bought this property from Mr. and Mrs Geoffrey Courtney. A little futher research showed that the full name of the seller were “Geoffrey Stuart Courtney” and “Marguerite Ravenscroft”.

Long story short, this article is about and her home (which is a historic site now) https://www.montecitojournal.net/2021/04/22/marguerite-ravenscroft/

“On October 24, 1929, the stock market crashed, ushering in a worldwide Depression. Information about Geoffrey (Geoffrey Stuart Courtney) and Marguerite is scanty for the next few years, though they seemed to spend much of those years abroad. In 1930, Marguerite sold off the western portion of her property, leaving herself with approximately one acre on which Casa de Campo/Ravenscroft stands. By 1933, she and Geoffrey had parted ways. “

And, here is the map of this historic house “Ravenscroft House” at “779 Ayala Lane, Montecito, CA”, which showed that at the beginning of the Great Depression,  Marguerite Ravenscroft sold the Western half of the property to Mrs Stanhope Nixon:

The old map corresponds to this house in google map today (today’s address is 778  Cold Spring Rd, Montecito, CA):

“The house featured a sweeping view of the valley, channel, and islands from the south and a mountain view from the north. The architect Russell Ray designed an H-shaped frame house clad with three-inch brick veneer for fireproofing. The two wings were connected by a staircase hall, and the living room comprised the whole of the west wing. The dining room, kitchen, and servants’ dining room lay in the east wing. Affected by the destruction of the San Francisco earthquake and fire, she was reassured by the numerous hydrants, hoses, and a nearby reservoir. The second floor contained four bedrooms, dressing rooms, three baths, and sleeping porches. A third story on the west wing contained bedrooms and baths for the maids. As far as landscaping, the orange grove was central, but the house would be embellished with a terrace across the front and a large pergola on the east. There was also a stable, male servants’ quarters, and, of course, a garage.”

By the way, the Ravenscroft house is a rental holiday home open to public so you can find plenty of inside photos and videos LINK

[islemeadow]

Hold on to your bonnets, a storm is coming… Chapters 8 and 9 of ”Burn - Edmund Bridgerton II’s story” are out! 🌩️

▪️Chapter 8 - Hide and Seek: Eddie and Amelia deal with the aftermath of last night. A dangerous secret about Amelia’s suitor, Geoffrey Dorset, is revealed. Eddie and Amelia end up much too close to one another during a game of hide and seek.

▪️Chapter 9 - Thunderstruck: Geoffrey dwells upon the past and makes a move with Amelia in the present. Anthony’s old grudges surface, causing Amelia too flee from Aubrey Hall into a raging thunderstorm. Eddie runs after her, with fateful consequences.

Read now on either AO3 or Wattpad!

Happy Holidays! ✨

[davidastbury]

I want to tell you everything

It all happened one night in a dreadful drinking den called ‘Liston’s Music Hall’ on Market Street, Manchester. I was about sixteen - not sure exactly - certainly well below the age when I could legally buy alcohol. I was with a mixed group, wide eyed and legless, staring at the mad mass of people - it was like having walked into a Lautrec painting - a mixture between the coal furnaces of the Titanic and a sumptuous but seedy Victorian knocking shop. I was entranced.

It was there that Geoffrey G - one of our group - first showed an interest in me. He was older (he bought my drinks) had a beard and carried an umbrella hooked over his wrist. He was on holiday from the Royal College of Music and became (I followed his career) an opera singer. I owe an eternal gratitude to Geoff, not for the drinks, but for his extraordinary kindness in actuality listening to me. You see he was the first adult who showed interest in what I had to say - he listened to me as if I was important, as if what I said mattered. During those few minutes of fractured conversation I became who I am.

But the drink got me and made me dizzy. I remember a female singer in a tight metallic dress and a yellow haired compère with a lisp who made the microphone howl. I remember a fat man in a blazer playing a big electric guitar; he was sweating and chewing. And across the tables I could see a beautiful woman with dark eyes and sharp shoulders. She looked back at me - every time she looked, I looked - every time I looked, she looked.

She was double or more my age. Very thin, hair tight like a classical dancer, pointed nose and chin, concave cheeks; embodying all the excitement I was feeling. She was immensely attractive. It didn’t much bother me that she was with a man - he was bulky and ugly - someone you shouldn’t mess with - someone with skinned knuckles. But it didn’t bother me at all; I picked my moment when he got up to go to the bar and I walked up to the woman - she looked astonished - and said to her - ‘Can I take you to the pictures?’

[quoteoftheweekblog]

QUOTE OF THE WEEK 29/8/22 - ANNE BRONTE

' "It is summer yet ... " ' (Bronte, 1979, p.118).

REFERENCE

Bronte, A. (1979 [1848] ) ‘The tenant of Wildfell Hall’. Harmondsworth: Penguin.

*****

HAPPY SUMMER BANK HOLIDAY

*****

‘ ... the sun was high in heaven, though obscurred by rolling masses of autumnal vapour.’ (Bronte, 1979, p.397).

*****

THE LATE AUGUST HOLIDAY

https://quoteoftheweekblog.tumblr.com/post/660867695241248768/quote-of-the-week-30821-beverly-cleary-summer

https://quoteoftheweekblog.tumblr.com/post/627962180498866176/quote-of-the-week-31820-taylor-swift-and-jack

https://quoteoftheweekblog.tumblr.com/post/621552561319739392/quote-of-the-week-26819-herman-melville-what 

https://quoteoftheweekblog.tumblr.com/post/177952464039/quote-of-the-week-27818-vs-nepal-the-wind

https://quoteoftheweekblog.tumblr.com/post/165196629934/quote-of-the-week-28817-brian-aldiss

https://quoteoftheweekblog.tumblr.com/post/150632643769/quote-of-the-week-29816-english-heritage-the

https://quoteoftheweekblog.tumblr.com/post/127783117829/quote-of-the-week-31815-sophie-kinsella

https://quoteoftheweekblog.tumblr.com/post/95774879014/quote-of-the-week-25814-tash-aw-recording

https://quoteoftheweekblog.tumblr.com/post/59414148045/quote-of-the-week-26813-jacqueline-wilson-i

https://quoteoftheweekblog.tumblr.com/post/30161528271/quote-of-the-week-27812-oscar-wilde

*****

FOR BOOK GROUP

‘ “Have you been reading novels?” ‘ (Bronte, 1979, p.307).

THIS MONTH OUR MEMBERS HAVE ALSO READ (OR ARE READING) …

https://www.waterstones.com/book/the-inimitable-jeeves/p-g-wodehouse/9780099513681

‘I found them light and refreshing, much appreciated just now.’

…..

https://www.waterstones.com/book/swallows-and-amazons/arthur-ransome/9780099503910

’Holiday reading in location in the Lake District.’

…..

https://www.waterstones.com/book/the-mirror-and-the-light/hilary-mantel/9780007481002

‘I'm going to read it when I'm not reading our club book, it will take me ages!’

…..

https://www.waterstones.com/book/circe/madeline-miller/9781408890042

’Circe by Madeline Miller but just 10 pages read!’

…..

https://www.waterstones.com/book/sanditon/kate-riordan/9781409192879

‘The novel of the first series after having just watched series 2.’

…..

AND FROM OUR LEADER

https://www.waterstones.com/book/the-light-years/elizabeth-jane-howard/9781529049442

‘The Light Years is an easy read with characters which engage my interest and are convincing. It also gives a picture of the lives of middle class families in the late thirties.’

PLUS

‘ … occasionally The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer.’

https://www.waterstones.com/book/the-canterbury-tales/geoffrey-chaucer/nevill-coghill/9780140424386 I THOUGHT I WAS THE GIRLIE SWOT

*****

THINKING OF GIRLIE SWOTS AND CHAUCER

TAYLOR ALERT!!!!

HOT OFF THE PRESS LAST WEEK

'The songwriting of Taylor Swift will be the subject of a new literature course at a Texas university this autumn.

The pop megastar’s songs will be “read” alongside other UK and US literary giants such as Chaucer, Shakespeare, Coleridge, Keats and Plath.' (Bedigan, 2022).

REFERENCE

Bedigan, M. (2022) 'Texas university offers new course on the songwriting of Taylor Swift', The Independent 24 August [Online]. Available at: https://www.independent.ie/entertainment/music/texas-university-offers-new-course-on-the-songwriting-of-taylor-swift-41933419.html (Accessed 29 August 2022).

HOT OFF THE PRESS THIS MORNING 

SURPRISE NEW TAYLOR SWIFT ALBUM TO BE RELEASED 21 OCTOBER

‘MIDNIGHTS’

https://twitter.com/taylorswift13/status/1564100815069106176?s=21&t=KLEu_kUOhpzeJiC9Qhlrbg

HOORAH

*****

TO MY SON FOR THE GOOD NEWS 

AND TO MY HUSBAND FOR THE IDEA AS TO HOW TO WANGLE IT IN THIS QUOTE OF THE WEEK

AND TO BOOK GROUP FOR YOUR BOOKS AND COMMENTS

XXXX

FOR BOOK GROUP 2022

JANUARY - ELIZABETH GEORGE - ‘A GREAT DELIVERANCE’

https://quoteoftheweekblog.tumblr.com/post/676721712625254400/quote-of-the-week-21222-hodder-and-stoughton

FEBRUARY - ELIZABETH GASKELL - ‘MARY BARTON’

https://quoteoftheweekblog.tumblr.com/post/678081383316488192/quote-of-the-week-7322-elizabeth-gaskell-i

MARCH - RUMAAN ALAM - ‘LEAVE THE WORLD BEHIND’

https://quoteoftheweekblog.tumblr.com/post/681793059689840640/quote-of-the-week-18422-rumaan-alam-and

APRIL - JOHN GALSWORTHY - ‘THE MAN OF PROPERTY’

https://quoteoftheweekblog.tumblr.com/post/682490660436262912/httpswwwyoutubecomwatchv-ygkf60fheg-video

MAY - DOUGLAS STUART - ‘SHUGGIE BAIN’

https://quoteoftheweekblog.tumblr.com/post/684982959039741952/quote-of-the-week-23522-douglas-stuart

JUNE - MARK BOSTRIDGE - ‘FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE - THE WOMAN AND HER LEGEND’

https://quoteoftheweekblog.tumblr.com/post/688781858410987520/quote-of-the-week-4722-mark-bostridge-the

JULY - IRIS MURDOCH - ‘A SEVERED HEAD’ (SHOULD HAVE BEEN ‘THE SEA, THE SEA’)

https://quoteoftheweekblog.tumblr.com/post/690672798568464384/quote-of-the-week-25722-iris-murdoch-i-am

AUGUST - ANNE BRONTE - ‘THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL’ OR ‘AGNES GREY’

https://quoteoftheweekblog.tumblr.com/post/693831191093280768/quote-of-the-week-29822-anne-bronte-it-is

***** AND THIS IS WHAT WE READ EARLIER

https://quoteoftheweekblog.tumblr.com/bookgroup

*****

QUOTE OF THE WEEK 2011 - 2022

11 EPIC YEARS

https://quoteoftheweekblog.tumblr.com/references

FROM THE ARCHIVE

https://quoteoftheweekblog.tumblr.com/post/627962180498866176/quote-of-the-week-31820-taylor-swift-and-jack

*****

[unanoceacaso]

La colpa era scontata: ma quando era cominciata, e qual era questa colpa? Dondolandosi adagio, con voce monotona, Jessie Dermond ricondusse Paulton al tempo in cui tutto era cominciato. Benché non si possa mai dire, aggiunse, dove e quando un peccato cominci. Il momento della resa dei conti può arrivare anche molti anni dopo che il cattivo seme è stato piantato. E nessuno può dire a chi risalga la responsabilità. Il principio della fine di Roy Kearney si perdeva nel passato, risaliva a vent’anni prima della sua nascita. Era cominciato a Winona Falls, nel Kansas.

Geoffrey Holiday Hall, La fine è nota

[mayolfederico]

trenta ottobre

Mario Tozzi, Solitudine

  Due ragni

Da quando? se da giorni e giorni, mesi ormai, mentre riposo li osservo e scordo e non senza stupore riscopro: ombre d’acheni, più piccoli di mezza formichetta smarrita nell’acquaio: sempre lì, lontano quanto basta dalla lampada che ha bruciato l’incauto calabrone, diàfani a furia di guardarli, quasi trascoloranti in rosa: chi sa mai se lo sanno d’es…

[o-rchidae]

WIP Wednesday (on a Thursday) - Sleeping with Ghosts

…Jean, Joe, Phillip (17) and Diane (14) Pritchard moved into Number 30 East Drive, Pontefract in August 1966. Almost immediately, during a hot summer Bank Holiday, Phillip and his Grandmother first witnessed a baffling phenomenon, a fine layer of chalk like dust falling not from the ceiling, but from a level below head height. This was the beginning of several years of incredible, inexplicable events; green foam appearing from the taps and toilet even after the water was turned off, tea leaves being strewn across the kitchen, lights being turned off and on, plants leaping out of their pots and landing on the stairs, cupboards shaking violently, photographs being slashed with a sharp knife and an endless list of levitating and thrown objects including a solid oak sideboard and a grandfather clock.

Following these disturbing incidents, the Evening Post has called upon a noted spirit medium to better understand these strange occurrences. Thomas Barrow is an elderly gentleman from Manchester whose paranormal investigations have included the ghostly nun of Borley Rectory, the Dalby Spook and the Brown Lady of Raynham Hall, among many others. Unlike others who claim to have psychical gifts, Barrow has remained surprisingly sceptical about the paranormal, claiming 'ghosts are pretty harmless, really. It’s living people you’ve got to watch out for.’

Barrow enters the house and immediately pauses. ‘Well, there’s certainly someone here.’ He says, pointing towards the staircase. ‘Yeah, you’re not so frightening when someone can see you, eh?’ he addresses the invisible intruder. Something is thrown at us and hits me on the arm. It turns out to be a marble from the children’s room.

‘Oi! None of that! Didn’t no one teach you any manners.’ Mr Barrow shouts, ‘Now what’s this I’ve been hearing about you frightening little girls?’ Silence ‘Oh, I see. That must be very frustrating but that’s no excuse…’ More silence ‘Is there any way you can cohabit peacefully?’ The mirror on the wall, family photographs and light fittings all tremble as though an earthquake were occurring. ‘I see, well I’m sure she didn’t mean to.’

‘He doesn’t like sharing the house with people. Actually, he doesn't like the house either. It was built on top of his resting place.’ Barrow explains after this strange one-sided conversation concludes. ‘And he doesn’t like the children. He were a priest, you see, and he thinks they’re immoral because they wear shorts and listen to rock and roll music. I expect that sort of thing is pretty shocking for a four-hundred-year-old priest but it’s no excuse to drag a young lady up the stairs by her hair, is it?’ he adds pointedly as though he’s addressing the ghost instead of me. I realise I never told him about Diane getting dragged up the stairs.

I ask him whether he’s seen anything like this before.

‘I’ve not seen many poltergeists, they’re quite rare and most of the reported cases are hoaxes. This one’s particularly strong because he can feed off the energy of living people. The more afraid you are, the more powerful he gets.’

I ask if there’s any way of getting rid of the ghost and another marble is thrown at me. I still can’t tell where it came from.

‘You mean an exorcism? No, that’s all a load of rubbish. He’ll move on when he’s ready to move on. I say, just ignore him and he’ll get bored eventually and settle down.’

It is then that I notice the family photographs on the walls getting knocked to the floor one by one as though some unseen hand is ripping them from their picture hooks. I feel like Mr Barrow’s advice is easier said than done.

Curious Case of Mr Nobody, Geoffrey Hogarth, Yorkshire Evening Post, June 27th, 1968

[ravnlghtft]

Alvin Ailey born on January 5th 1931, in Rogers, Texas, at the height of the Great Depression in the violently racist and segregated south, during his youth Ailey was barred from interacting with mainstream society. Abandoned by his father when he was three months old, Ailey and his mother were forced to work in cotton fields and as domestics in white homes—the only employment available to them. As an escape, Ailey found refuge in the church, sneaking out at night to watch adults dance, and in writing a journal, a practice that he maintained his entire life. Even this could not shield him from a shiftless childhood spent moving from town to town as his mother sought employment, being abandoned with relatives whenever she took off on her own, or watching her get raped at the hands of a white man when he was five years old.

Looking for greater job prospects, Ailey’s mother departed for Los Angeles in 1941. He arrived a year later, enrolling at George Washington Carver Junior High School, and then graduating into Thomas Jefferson High School. In 1946 he had his first experience with concert dance when he saw the Katherine Dunham Dance Company and Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo perform at the Los Angeles Philharmonic Auditorium. This awakened an until then unknown spark of joy within him, though he did not become serious about dance until 1949 when his classmate and friend Carmen De Lavallade dragged him to the Melrose Avenue studio of Lester Horton.

Ailey studied a wide range of dance styles and techniques—from ballet to Native American inspired movement studies—at Horton’s school, which was one of the first racially integrated dance schools in the United States. Though Horton became his mentor, Ailey did not commit to dancing full-time; instead he pursued academic courses, studying romance languages and writing at UCLA. He continued these studies at San Francisco State in 1951. Living in San Francisco he met Maya Angelou, then known as Marguerite Johnson, with whom he formed a nightclub act called “Al and Rita”. Eventually, he returned to study dance with Horton in Los Angeles.

He joined Horton’s dance company in 1953, making his debut in Horton’s Revue Le Bal Caribe. Horton died suddenly that same year in November from a heart attack, leaving the company without leadership. In order to complete the organization’s pressing professional engagements, and because no one else was willing to, Ailey took over as artistic director and choreographer.

In 1954 De Lavallade and Ailey were recruited by Herbert Ross to join the Broadway show, House of Flowers. Ross had been hired to replace George Balanchine as the show’s choreographer and he wanted to use the pair, who had become known as a famous dance team in Los Angeles, as featured dancers. The show’s book was written and adapted by Truman Capote from one of his novellas with music from Harold Arlen and starred Pearl Bailey and Diahann Carroll. Ailey and De Lavallade met Geoffrey Holder, who performed alongside them in the chorus, during the production. Holder married De Lavallade and became a life-long artistic collaborator with Ailey. After House of Flowers closed, Ailey appeared in Harry Belafonte’s touring revue Sing, Man, Sing with Mary Hinkson as his dance partner, and the 1957 Broadway musical Jamaica, which starred Lena Horne and Ricardo Montalbán. Drawn to dance, but unable to find a choreographer whose work fulfilled him, Ailey started gathering dancers to perform his own unique vision of dance.

Alvin Ailey, a.k.a. Alvin Ailey Jr., founded the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater (AAADT). He created AAADT and its affiliated Ailey School as havens for nurturing black artists and expressing the universality of the African-American experience through dance. His work fused theatre, modern dance, ballet, and jazz with black vernacular, creating hope-fueled choreography that continues to spread global awareness of black life in America. Ailey’s choreographic masterpiece Revelations is recognized as one of the most popular and most performed ballets in the world. In this work he blended primitive, modern and jazz elements of dance with a concern for black rural America. On July 15, 2008, the United States Congress passed a resolution designating AAADT a “vital American cultural ambassador to the World.” That same year, in recognition of AAADT’s 50th anniversary, then Mayor Michael Bloomberg declared December 4 “Alvin Ailey Day” in New York City while then Governor David Paterson honoured the organization on behalf of New York State.

Ailey loathed the label “black choreographer” and preferred being known simply as a choreographer. He was notoriously private about his life. Though gay, he kept his romantic affairs in the closet. Following the death of his friend Joyce Trisler, a failed relationship, and bouts of heavy drinking and cocaine use, Ailey suffered a mental breakdown in 1980. He was diagnosed as manic depressive, known today as bipolar disorder. During his rehabilitation, Judith Jamison served as co-director of AAADT.

Ailey died from an AIDS related illness on December 1, 1989, at the age of 58. He asked his doctor to announce that his death was caused by terminal blood dyscrasia in order to shield his mother from the stigma associated with HIV/AIDS.

Choreography

Cinco Latinos, Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre, Kaufmann Concert Hall, New York City, 1958.

Blues Suite (also see below), Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre, Kaufmann Concert Hall, 1958.

Revelations, Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre, Kaufmann ConcertHall, 1960

Three for Now, Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre, Clark Center, New York City, 1960.

Knoxville: Summer of 1915, Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre, Clark Center, 1960.

(With Carmen De Lavallade) Roots of the Blues, Lewisohn Stadium, New York City, 1961.

Hermit Songs, Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C., 1963.

Ariadne, Harkness Ballet, Opera Comique, Paris, 1965.

Macumba, Harkness Ballet, Gran Teatro del Liceo, Barcelona, Spain,1966, then produced as Yemanja, Chicago Opera House, 1967.

Quintet, Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre, Church Hill Theatre, Edinburgh Festival, Scotland, 1968, then Billy Rose Theatre, New York City, 1969.

Masekela Langage, Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre, American Dance Festival, New London, Connecticut, 1969, then Brooklyn Academy of Music, New York City, 1969.

Streams, Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre, Brooklyn Academy of Music, 1970.

Gymnopedies, Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre, Brooklyn Academy of Music, 1970.

The River, American Ballet Theatre, New York State Theater, 1970.

Flowers, Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre, ANTA Theatre, 1971.

Myth, Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre, New York City Center, 1971.

Choral Dances, Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre, New York City Center, 1971.

Cry, Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre, New York City Center, 1971.

Mingus Dances, Robert Joffrey Company, New York City Center, 1971.

Mary Lou’s Mass, Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre, New York City Center, 1971.

Song for You, Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre, New York City Center, 1972.

The Lark Ascending, Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre, New York City Center, 1972.

Love Songs, Alvin Ailey City Center Dance Theater, New York City Center, 1972.

Shaken Angels, 10th New York Dance Festival, Delacorte Theatre, New York City, 1972.

Sea Change, American Ballet Theatre, Kennedy Center Opera House, Washington, D.C., 1972, then New York City Center, 1973.

Hidden Rites, Alvin Ailey City Center Dance Theater, New York City Center, 1973.

Archipelago, 1971,

The Mooche, 1975,

Night Creature, 1975,

Pas de “Duke”, 1976,

Memoria, 1979,

Phases, 1980

Landscape, 1981.

Stage

Acting and dancing

(Broadway debut) House of Flowers, Alvin Theatre, New York City, 1954 – Actor and dancer.

The Carefree Tree, 1955 – Actor and dancer.

Sing, Man, Sing, 1956 – Actor and dancer.

Show Boat, Marine Theatre, Jones Beach, New York, 1957 – Actor and dancer.

Jamaica, Imperial Theatre, New York City, 1957 – Actor and lead dance.

Call Me By My Rightful Name, One Sheridan Square Theatre, 1961 – Paul.

Ding Dong Bell, Westport Country Playhouse, 1961 – Negro Political Leader.

Blackstone Boulevard, Talking to You, produced as double-bill in 2 by Saroyan, East End Theatre, New York City, 1961-62.

Tiger, Tiger, Burning Bright, Booth Theatre, 1962 – Clarence Morris.

Stage choreography

Carmen Jones, Theatre in the Park, 1959.

Jamaica, Music Circus, Lambertville, New Jersey, 1959.

Dark of the Moon, Lenox Hill Playhouse, 1960.

(And director) African Holiday (musical), Apollo Theatre, New York City, 1960, then produced at Howard Theatre, Washington, D.C., 1960.

Feast of Ashes (ballet), Robert Joffrey Company, Teatro San Carlos, Lisbon, Portugal, 1962, then produced at New York City Center, 1971.

Antony and Cleopatra (opera), Metropolitan Opera House, Lincoln Center, New York City, 1966.

La Strada, first produced at Lunt-Fontanne Theatre, 1969.

Leonard Bernstein’s Mass, Metropolitan Opera House, 1972, then John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts, Washington, D.C., and Philadelphia Academy of Music, both 1972.

Carmen, Metropolitan Opera, 1972.

Choreographed ballet, Lord Byron (opera; also see below), Juilliard School of Music, New York City, 1972.

Four Saints in Three Acts, Piccolo Met, New York City, 1973.

Director

(With William Hairston) Jerico-Jim Crow, The Sanctuary, New York City, 1964, then Greenwich Mews Theatre, 1968.

In 1968 Ailey was awarded the Guggenheim Fellowship for Creative Arts, US & Canada. In 1977 he received the Spingarn Medal from the NAACP. He received the Kennedy Center Honors in 1988, was inducted into the National Museum of Dance and Hall of Fame in 1992, inducted into the Legacy Walk in 2012, and posthumously received the Presidential Medal of Freedom from President Barack Obama in 2014.

In August 2019, Ailey was one of the honorees inducted in the Rainbow Honor Walk, a walk of fame in San Francisco’s Castro neighborhood noting LGBTQ people who have “made significant contributions in their fields.”

A crater on Mercury was named in his honor in 2012.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

[ziraley-j-crow]

“When I’m 64″ - Crowley x Aziraphale

This one is going to be based on one of my favorite Beatles songs. Each chapter will be based on a verse of the song.

I know some of the lyrics might not coincide with their celestial nature, but we’ll have to make do!

I know Aziraphale doesn’t sleep, but I wanted to work it into my story, I just felt it worked. Thank you!

Here’s a link to the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HCTunqv1Xt4

1.

“When I get older losing my hair, many years from now, will you still be sending me a Valentine, birthday greetings bottle of wine?”

13th February 2020.

The day before Valentine’s Day.

“What do you mean you’ve never celebrated it?” Aziraphale was almost dumbfounded by the words coming from Crowley’s mouth, his hot coca not even meeting his lips.

“What?! It’s just a human holiday! Why do they even celebrate it, anyway?” Crowley said defensively, leaning against the kitchen counter. Another morning gone by without the worry of impending doom looming over both of their shoulders. 

It was a bright and early Thursday morning at Aziraphale’s bookshop. Crowley had found himself in Aziraphale’s kitchen, tinkering around the place before Aziraphale offered him a warm drink. The two sat together, embracing in chat.

“Well, although the humans had made a story about the Saint Valentine, I believe it was the poem by the great Geoffrey Chaucer that really helped boost morale for the holiday! The Parliament of Fowls, if I remember the name correctly..” Aziraphale tried to remember bits of the poem.

“So tomorrow, you will see humans expressing love for their loved ones. Family, friends, partners...” Aziraphale trailed off, smiling fondly. “Just to show them they love them. It’s rather lovely, the whole thing.” 

“Whatever it is, I certainly haven’t dabbled with it.” Crowley said, sounding uninterested. 

Oh, but how we had wanted to. For the past six thousand years pining for the angel, to finally have a whole day dedicated to spoiling him? You bet your ass he was on board with this.

“Oh, well I hadn’t really expected such a devilish fiend such as yourself to celebrate a rather joyous occasion.” Aziraphale said sarcastically, taking a sip from his drink. Crowley sneered at him, getting up from his spot at the kitchen table.

“Where are you going so soon?” Aziraphale asked, setting his mug down on the table, his gaze following Crowley.

“To get ice cream or commit a felony. I’ll decide in the car. Thanks for the coffee!” 

-

Crowley made a beeline for Soho.

“Right. What the fuck do I buy him?” Crowley muttered to himself, gripping the steering wheel as his mind wondered. Ignoring the smell of burning rubber (presumably the tires), he dodged the slower cars ahead of him - rather flawlessly. He needed to get something before tomorrow, and he needed something now.

“Okay, what does he like...” he asked himself out loud. 

A memory suddenly came to him.

~

“Listen,” said Crowley desperately, “how many musicians do you think your side have got, eh? First grade, I mean.’’

Aziraphale looked taken aback.

‘’Well, I should think-’’ he began.

‘’Two,’’ said Crowley. ‘’Elgar and Listz. That’s all. We’ve got all the rest. Beethoven, Brahms, all the Bachs, Mozart, the lot. Can you imagine eternity with Elgar?’‘

Aziraphale shut his eyes. ‘’All to easily,’’ he groaned. 

~

Crowley eventually pulled up outside a rather modern looking vinyl store in Soho. Several artists he had never heard of plastered the names on covers of vinyls, which were so neatly placed in the shop front. He hesitated.

 “Would he even like a vinyl?”

“Of course he would, he hoards the bloody things.” he reassured himself, getting out of the car and approaching the store. He knew all the composers Aziraphale loved. In fact, he shamelessly knew everything that Aziraphale loved. He made his way into the shop, the many names of Aziraphale’s beloved composers whirling around his mind as he scaled along the aisles of neatly stacked and alphabetically organised records. 

A song played smoothly from the shop speakers - a song that can only be described the way the warm sunrise touches your face first thing in the morning, the violins could carry your troubles away and leave you floating in sempiternal bliss.

“When I fall in love... It will be forever...” 

Initially, this wasn’t Crowley’s type of music. But have you ever heard a song that makes you stop in your tracks and think-

“Oh.” 

Because that’s exactly what has happened to Crowley.

-

“To get ice cream or commit a felony. I’ll decide in the car. Thanks for the coffee!”

With that, Crowley was gone. The bookshop was filled with silence once more, the bustling of the streets muffled by the walls of the lonely shop. 

“Oh.. I hope I didn’t offend him.” Aziraphale sighed sadly, turning back to the table. His mind was too focused on what happened, he wasn’t interested in finishing his drink. Had he ruined the wonderful routine he and Crowley had subconsciously slipped into?

“Don’t be absurd, you fool. It was hardly that easy to offend him!” he tried to reassure himself, but his mind wouldn’t lay off as he got up from the table. He paced the kitchen, and when he had paced all he could in there, he paced the whole bookshop, all the while overthinking.

He stopped in his tracks.

“I could call him! It’s not too soon after breakfast, surely?” Aziraphale rushed to his study, almost tearing the old phone from the wire. But he stood still, clutching the phone to his chest. Was it hesitation? Was he nervous? Just call him!

Aziraphale prepared himself for what he would say.

“Crowley! I was just wondering... No, not like that.” 

“Crowley, you wily, old serpent! No, that doesn’t work either.”

He took a deep breath, and dialed in the demon’s number slowly, his heart racing. It’s simple, just call!

He finally pressed dial, each beep feeling like eternity. Any minute now, he’d pick up on the other end and everything would be fine.

Any second now.

With every beep, Aziraphale could feel his stomach churn with anxiety. He could picture Crowley look at the caller ID on his mobile, and scoffing as he tossed his phone on the sofa. 

The call ended without anyone picking up, and Aziraphale brought the phone away from his ear. He considered calling again, his brain trying to think of reasons why Crowley hadn’t answered.

“Perhaps it’d be best not to call again, don’t want to be a bother.” Aziraphale said sadly, and placed the phone down.

-

Crowley didn’t know how he managed to find his way back to the Bentley while carrying a tower of vinyls, but he did. He could have easily miracled them into the car instead, right?

But no. He is an idiot.

An idiot in love, who has no idea what he’s doing, but he like feels he should.

Once he had the vinyls in the car, he got into the driver’s seat, and another memory came to him.

~

“That’s it then,” said Crowley, with a gleam of triumph. He knew Aziraphale’s weak spot alright. “No more compact discs. No more Albert Hall. No more Proms. No more Glyndbourne. Just celestial harmonies all day long.”

“Ineffable.” Aziraphale murmured.

~

Crowley was getting the hang of his gift buying shenanigans. Perhaps he was excited about this? Was he excited about showing the gifts to Aziraphale? To see how happy it would make him? Is this a good deed?!

“Hardly... I mean, technically it’s not a good deed. Because I’m buying these things, that means someone is missing out! Yes! HA!” Crowley reassured himself as he sped back to his apartment. 

As he staggered in the door with the vinyls to his chest, he finally realized he could simply miracle the vinyls into his apartment. While glowering at his plants, who were trembling at the sight of him, he snapped his fingers, and the vinyls disappeared neatly to the kitchen. 

“Right. Glyndbourne. Let’s see.” Crowley flopped down on the sofa, pulled out his phone and worked a few little miracles of his own. 

-

14th February 2020.

Aziraphale’s Bookshop.

Aziraphale didn’t get much sleep last night. His mind was too full from the previous morning’s events. He was ridden with anxiety, thinking he had hurt Crowley with what he thought was friendly banter. And now he wouldn’t answer his call?

The sunlight peeked through his bedroom window, the new day announcing itself to Aziraphale. But he has been awake long before the sunrise. He sighed, sitting up in his bed. He spent most of the night reading to help ease his mind. Perhaps Romeo and Juliet wasn’t the best choice of book

As soon as he was dressed in his usual attire, there was a loud knocking on the shop door. He glanced down at the bedside clock for the time, and frowned.

“It’s not even 9 o’clock yet. Who could possibly be looking for books at this time?” As he let his bedroom he quickly adjusted his bow tie, scanning the room to ensure it was in it’s immaculate state. 

Another irritable knock came from the door.

“I’m here! Just a tick!” Aziraphale rushed to the door, unraveling the blinds on the door, putting on his best shop keeper smile.

It was Crowley.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley said aloud when he saw Aziraphale through the window of the door, and smiled. Aziraphale, who was certain that he felt his heart stop for a solid two seconds, immediately opened the door, letting Crowley in.

“Crowley, I-”

“Before you say anything, Aziraphale, I had no idea what to buy, so I bought everything.” Crowley rushed as he walked into the bookshop past Aziraphale.

Aziraphale was stunned, “Everything?! What do you mean?” He shut the door behind Crowley as he strolled in, and rolled down the blinds.

“Valentine’s Day? Remember? You said people buy each other things when they... Yeah, I bought you some stuff, I guess.” Crowley trailed off, trying to be suave as he investigated the shelved books like he always does. 

And it happened. It was quick, but intense. So intense, Aziraphale thought he had lost his vision. In that moment of realization, a soft pink aura had appeared around Crowley. 

Something in the way Crowley was skimming through the various books had caught Aziraphale in a trance. Crowley had removed his sunglasses to get a better look, his golden snake eyes relaxed as they studied the unfamiliar titles. The sunlight complimented his hair, an illuminating orange, and visibly soft to touch. Crowley had picked up a random book, flicking through the old pages. Aziraphale smiled at how his brows furrowed as he tried to understand it’s contents. The soft glow from the aura was immensely calming.

Love.

“Dunno what that means. Are you alright, angel?” Crowley became uninterested in the book and placed it down, his focus returning to Aziraphale, who was staring at him in awe.

“Yes, I-I’m quite alr-”

“The gifts! I nearly forgot the bloody gifts!” Crowley suddenly exclaimed, and Aziraphale jumped slightly. Crowley snapped his fingers, and every visible surface of the bookshop had gifts of many sorts on top of it.

“I just.. Y’know.. Knew what you liked because you always talk about them.” Crowley explained, almost bashful as Aziraphale gasped at the sudden entourage of gifts. 

Neatly wrapped classical vinyls. Flamboyant bouquets of flowers Aziraphale had never seen. Several bottles of Aziraphale’s favourite wine stood glistening in the sun. There were small boxes in shiny wrapping paper topped with delicate ribbon, with beautiful colors. Aziraphale walked over to the vinyls, all composers he loved dearly. His attention was drawn to the flowers, their smell so overwhelmingly fresh. 

Aziraphale was speechless as he tried to take everything in.

“You don’t like it?” Crowley asked after a minute, seeing how Aziraphale had said nothing for some time. 

The total opposite, in fact. Aziraphale, who had his back to Crowley, felt his eyes welling up with tears of pure joy. He tried to blink them away quickly without them being noticed, but he was so overwhelmed with sheer bliss, there was nothing he could do.

“Angel?” Crowley asked him softly, “I can return them if you want. Can get cash or store credit-.” 

“I love them.” Aziraphale interrupted, not facing Crowley. His fingers gently traced the delicate petals of a pale pink rose.

“Then why didn’t you say anythi- Wait, angel, why are you crying then?” Crowley approached Aziraphale with caution. He’d never seen the angel cry, and was certain he’d never made him cry before.

“Oh no, no it’s fine! I’m fine, my dear.” Aziraphale quickly wiped his eyes, but the tremble in his voice gave it away.

“Please don’t lie to me, Aziraphale. What did I do wrong? What can I do to make you better?” Crowley’s voice was softer as he got closer, stopping when Aziraphale raised his head, and turned to face him.

Crowley’s expression soften, his eyes widened as Aziraphale looked at him with glistening blue hues. Although his bottom lip was quivering, he still managed to force it into a smile.

“Crowley, you have done nothing wrong. Quite the opposite, in fact.” Aziraphale gave Crowley a small smile. “I suppose I’m just overwhelmed with joy!”

Crowley blinked. “Joy?” he studied Aziraphale for a moment. “But you’re crying? I don’t understand...” The angel wasn’t used to such attention from the demon, and tried to avert his gaze.

“Oh, don’t mind me. I’ve just never had... This!” he gestured to everything Crowley had gifted him. He took a shaky breath in. “It’s such a wonderful feeling, I can’t even begin to explain.” Crowley was amazed.

“What do you mean, you’ve never had this?” Crowley remained focused on Aziraphale. “Are you telling me, in the 6000 years we’ve known each other, nobody has ever bought you anything? Gifts? Nothing?!”

Aziraphale said nothing, but simply shook his head, somewhat ashamed. Crowley stepped over to Aziraphale and gently gripped his shoulders, which took the angel by surprise. Aziraphale looked up at him, confused.

“Crowley, what the Heaven’s are-”

“I don’t know how many people you have known you throughout the last six millennia..”

Aziraphale couldn’t focus on Crowley as he trailed off on a rant. His eyes, as bright and intense as burning stars, were hypnotizing Aziraphale. He lied to himself. He told himself he wanted to look away, but the thought of shamelessly admiring them was too inviting. It was a sin he was willing to repent for, for all eternity.

There he was, in the middle of his bookshop, face to face with the most delectable and alluring creature he had the grace of walking the earth with for the past 6000 years. There he was, standing in the middle of the room, listening to his demon list every reason why Aziraphale should be cherished. What did he do to deserve this?

That’s when it hit him.

“So whoever hasn’t taken the time to treat you with an ounce of respect is a bloody idiot.” Crowley said, blinking at last. He was about to say something else, but stopped himself, his grip loosening from Aziraphale, and he took a step back. 

Azirphale was speechless. His vision became cloudy, causing Crowley to appear blurry in front of him, but this time he didn’t try hiding his tears, and let them roll down his cheeks. 

“Aziraphale? Did I say someth-”

“How long?” Aziraphale interrupted, his voice a shaky whisper.

“What?” Crowley asked softly. Aziraphale cleared his throat in an attempt to stop the lump in his throat from giving him away, and adjusted his bow tie, a habit for comfort.

“H-How long have you...” Aziraphale gestured to the gifts that were surrounding them. “This?” He felt rather meek, trying to discreetly get his words out.

“Angel, this is not the time for a game of charades.” Crowley said desperately, imitating Aziraphale’s gesturing, causing the angel to huff.

“Oh for Heaven’s sake, Crowley. How long have you been in love with me?” Aziraphale’s nerves got the better of him, the question ripped itself out, and his hands flew up to his mouth to stop his from saying anything else.

“Now look what you did, you’ve ruined a perfectly good friendship. Well done, lad.” he thought to himself. He couldn’t read Crowley’s expression. Was he angry? Was he going to laugh and walk out? He had to do something. Maybe there was a way he could turn back time to literally ten seconds prior?

“I-I mean, ignore that question. Dear, what I meant to a-ask was-” 

You’ve heard of the age old expression “to take your breath away”, right? Well, that’s what happened to Aziraphale. In a flash, Crowley was gripping Aziraphale’s coat front, their bodies rigid with nerves. Crowley caught Aziraphale in a nervous kiss, which made the angel yelp in surprise. Crowley immediately retracted, not daring to look the other in the eye.

“Angel I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. I understand if you don’t want to talk to me again. See ya.” Crowley turned quickly and made his way to the shop door, but was stopped from opening it when he felt a hand on his arm, pulling him back.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley didn’t half expect Aziraphale to have followed him, and certainly didn’t expect to be kissing the angel again, this time against the bookshop door. This kiss was urgent, exciting. Aziraphale took in a deep breath, hesitantly putting his hands on Crowley’s shoulders. It was messy, but it was new to them. It’d be like learning to ride a bike, they’d just need more practice.

“Mm.. M-Wait. Angel, wait.” Crowley mumbled between kisses, slowly opening his eyes. Aziraphale stopped immediately.

“Did I do something wrong?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley shook his head, excited, fiery eyes gazing dotingly at the angel.

“No, quite the opposite, But I think we have some explaining to do before anything else happens.” Crowley said with a smile. Aziraphale nodded, his heart beating with excitement, but led Crowley into the living room.

“Have a seat, my dear.” Aziraphale gestured to the couch that Crowley had sat on many times before, and once more he made himself comfortable. Aziraphale sat on the seat opposite him, adjusting his coat. 

However, the two sat in a deafening silence for the first time, shooting quick glances at each other. The streets outside had come alive now, Aziraphale was certain it was past the shop’s opening hour, but that didn’t bother him at all. The ticking from the clock seemed to be the peacemaker.

“Perhaps I should start.” Aziraphale began. He was nervous, good God he was nervous, but at least they had the time and space to say what they felt. They had waited for so long to bring this to the table.

“Crowley, I have been foolishly blind to your emotions. For how long, I do not know.” Crowley stared intently at Aziraphale, listening to his every word. “But for however long I haven’t acknowledged your feelings, I hope you know I am deeply sorry.” Aziraphale finished with a sigh. Perhaps a sigh of relief. He looked to Crowley.

“Sorry? Aziraphale, what could you possibly be sorry for?” Crowley asked, shifting in his seat. “It wasn’t deliberate. You, not knowing how much I... I like you, is not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault.” he said with a soft chuckle. “I just wish I had told you sooner.” Crowley said quietly, and Aziraphale smiled softly at him. He thought for a moment.

“My dear, may I ask exactly how much you like me?” Aziraphale asked, the questions sounding more flirtatious than innocent, which took Crowley by surprise.

“H-How much?” Crowley said, and Aziraphale nodded eagerly. Crowley cleared his throat, quickly thinking for the most appropriate action to do next. An idea came to him.

“Would you like me to show you exactly how much?” he asked gingerly, leaning forward in his seat towards Aziraphale. The angel’s eyebrows knit together.

“Crowley, we’ve made this clear. You already have shown me-” He stopped when he noticed Crowley raising an eyebrow. “Oh,” he said softly “Then yes, I’d very much like you to.”

In the blink of an eye, they were on each other once more. With eyes closed, their lips met with an urgent crash, neither of them seeming to mind the blunt force. The kiss meant a number of things for bth of them - comfort, relief, delirium, certainty, worship, love.

Six thousand years of friendship, bonding, judgement, rejection, fighting, all for this moment. And boy, was it worth it.

They were excited, roaming hands touching everywhere they had waited to. Crowley’s hands gently cupped Aziraphale’s face, pulling his lips impossibly closer to his own. He breathed him in through his nose, sighing contently into the kiss. Aziraphale’s hands had snaked their way around Crowley’s waist, and was pulling himself flush against the demon. 

Personal space? Who’s that?

“Mm..A garden saw I... Full of blossomy boughs...” Crowley breathed between kisses. Aziraphale stopped kissing him. The two were breathless, but stayed where they were. Aziraphale was wide eyed, visibly impressed by the words he just heard.

“Crowley? Was that-” Aziraphale voice was excited.

Yes, it was. The poem Aziraphale briefly mentioned to Crowley the day before. The poor demon took it upon himself to study the poem inside and out. Just to impress his angel. 

“Upon a river, in a green mead.” Crowley continued, gazing lovingly at Aziraphale, a tempting smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Aziraphale wasted no time in returning to the kiss, nearly knocking Crowley down with sheer excitement. Crowley giggled at the behavior of the seemingly quiescent angel

“There as sweetness evermore enough is..”

Crowley slowly trailed his hands down Aziraphale’s back, the angel not seeming to mind the slightest, seeing as one of his hands were busy with Crowley’s hair, and the other was cupping the back of his neck. He certainly didn’t mind when Crowley gently squeezed his buttocks, the thrill of it caused him to gasp and grab a fistful of Crowley’s fiery hair.

“My dear, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to!” Aziraphale said suddenly, when Crowley moaned at the sensation. Crowley opened his eyes slowly, as if to relish in the feeling. His pupils were fully blown, a sight Aziraphale wasn’t too familiar with.

“I think.. I think I liked that.” Crowley said, his voice was gravelly and he squeezed Aziraphale’s buttocks again, pulling him flush against him, smirking down at the angel as he did so. 

“Oh, is that so?” Aziraphale played along. “What if I did it again?” he asked innocently. Crowley suppressed a moan, and began kissing below Aziraphale’s ear. It was Aziraphale’s turn to moan, pleasure rippling through him at the unfamiliar sensation. The sound Crowley elicited from him was heavenly. It excited Crowley, and he wanted to hear more.

“Better make haste, angel, or I may just discorporate in your arms.” Crowley growled into his ear, slowly peppering light kisses along Aziraphale’s soft neck. Aziraphale sighed in bliss, his fingers threading through Crowley’s hair once more. He’d never felt anything like this.

“Oh Crowley, that’s wonderful.” Aziraphale purred in bliss. The last place he ever imagined he’d be was in the middle of his bookshop, with a demon whispering sweet temptations into his ear.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this..” Crowley said between each kiss.

“Do what, my dear- Ohh my goodness!” Aziraphale moaned in euphoria when he felt Crowley nip a tender spot on his neck, and tugged Crowley’s hair once more, high on pleasure. 

With that, Crowley found Aziraphale’s lips again, pulling him in for a hungry kiss. It was urgent, passionate, and they were both drunk on love, feeding off each other. Crowley gently guided them towards the couch, neither pausing for a breath. Aziraphale collapsed onto the couch, dragging Crowley down with him. The demon straddled his hips, completely flush against Aziraphale. The world could be ending right now, and this is all they would want to be doing. Nothing else mattered at this point in time.

Crowley pulled back from the kiss, the taste of the angel still on his lips. He placed his hands on both of Aziraphale’s shoulders for balance. Breathless, the two sat on top of each other, a childish giggle erupting from the both of them. Crowley could watch Aziraphale’s face light up when he laughed for the rest of his eternal life. The way his nose wrinkled when he beamed a smile was nearly enough to discorporate him. But his laugh - oh, his laugh - gleeful and bubbly, was enough to rid the demon of any negativity.

“Has anyone told you how devastatingly radiant your eyes are?” Crowley said, his tone drenched in awe as he lightly traced his thumb across Aziraphale’s cheek, causing the angel to blush.

“I hardly believe anyone would think such-” Aziraphale hushed when Crowley gently placed his finger on his lips, and gave Crowley a look which translated to “And what is the meaning of this?!” 

“Cerulean blue, like the ocean on the sunniest day. Clinquant in the sun’s brash rays. A sapphire paradise I am eager to drown in, if you’ll allow me to. If I stare any longer, I’ll be floating in sempiternal tranquility. If your eyes are the sea, then I’m shamelessly a thalassophile.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Aziraphale was speechless due to pure astonishment at Crowley’s flawless use of words. Crowley, the now hopeless romantic, was still gazing into Azirphale’s eyes, perhaps staying true to his words.

“Crowley, where on earth did you learn that?” Aziraphale asked quietly, blinking to wake Crowley from his trance. Crowley was visibly pleased with his work, beaming a smile.

“When I first lay my eyes on you, it’s the only thing that went around my mind that day. And everyday since then. Just kept it tucked away until now.” Crowley confessed. 

“Oh Crowley, my dear.” Aziraphale cooed. His brows drew together as he turned a deeper shade of red, looking away to avoid Crowley’s gaze. He was at a loss for words, the charm from Crowley was something he wasn’t used to, and Crowley knew. Crowley gently put his fingers under Aziraphale’s chin to guide him back.

“Hey,” he said softly to get the angel’s attention once more. “Would I lie to you?” he asked, his eyes trailing down to the angel’s plush lips, before lazily dragging his gaze back up to meet Aziraphale’s. 

With a coy smile, Aziraphale pressed his forehead against Crowley’s. “No.” 

The two share a chaste kiss together. Unbothered, peaceful, on a Friday morning in Central London in the bookshop.

Their first Valentine’s Day was a success this year.

[sheerfreesia007]

Fallin’ All In You (Pt. 39)

Title: Fallin’ All In You (Pt. 39)

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Author: @sheerfreesia007​​

Words: 1,037

Warnings: Fluff, domestic life

Tags: @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​, @two-unbeatable-beaters​, @randomness501​, @sevvysaurus​, @paryl​, @fioccodineveautunnale​, @talesfromtheguild​

Author Notes: I love Disney movies if you couldn’t tell and the image of dressing up Tequila as Izma and Kronk hits me just right in the feels. I feel as if he’d be totally down to dress up like him too. I love Tequila. Haha! Any feedback is always welcome. Thanks for reading!

Gif Credit: Google Search

           “Tequila hurry up! Or we won’t get a good spot on the line!” you shouted from the living room. Your long white lab coat swished around your calves as you twirled around in front of the mirror in the front hall. You grinned as you stared at yourself loving that you and Tequila were able to pull together these Halloween costumes in time for the holiday, even if you had to filch old lab coats from the New York lab. It was a pain finding one that would fit Tequila’s broad shoulders but you had managed to do it luckily. You were most excited for the haunted house that Tequila had suggested you two go to. He had said it was called Gravesend Inn and was run by students from New York City College of Technology. And even though you weren’t a fan of haunted houses the fact that Tequila was so excited for it made you excited for it. You loved seeing him get passionate about things that he liked.

           Just then you heard the sound of the bathroom door opening and you turned around laughing brightly. Tequila wore the matching long white lab coat, long black gloves, a pair of dark black glasses, a black wig and a blue hat that sat atop his head. Squealing in joy you ran in place with excitement.

           “We look so awesome!” you shouted out and Tequila laughed loudly.

           “Well I must say we look as close to the movie as possible.” Tequila said grinning widely. Tequila came to stand next to you in front of the mirror and you grinned widely as you felt excitement and giddiness swirling around inside of you. The two of you were dressed as Izma and Kronk from Emperor’s New Groove and you were excited to go out for Halloween dressed like this. “I gotta say Cur, you’re real creative.”

           “Thanks Tequila. If there’s a costume contest we are so going to win!” you said enthusiastically.

             It was hours later and the sun is just softly rising on the horizon as you and Tequila walk into the apartment complex. Your costumes are little worse for wear now that the night is over, your lab coats are dotted with fake blood, Tequila’s wig is gone but he managed to keep the little blue hat and he’s holding a medium sized trophy that’s in the shape of a skeleton couple. You on the other hand still have all your costume but the black wig that you had hair sprayed to stand up straight is drooping down to your shoulders. You know the two of you look like a sight but you still wave over at Geoffrey the doorman with a bright grin as Tequila laughed softly. You both quickly moved to the elevator and you pressed the button for Jack’s floor wanting to get up into the apartment and possibly sleep for a good few hours.

           You enter the apartment quietly as to not wake up Jack in case he’s sleeping since he had been away on a mission for the past week. He had sent you a text while you were out with Tequila last night that he had gotten home and would be there when you returned.

           As you move to the kitchen to start making breakfast you spot Jack leaning against the kitchen counter waiting with his mug for the coffee to finish brewing. He turns his head and has to quickly do a double take as you and Tequila enter. His deep rich laughter bursts out of him as he gets a really good look at the two of you.

           “Who are you supposed to be?” he asks once he’s able to control his mirth. You gasp and Tequila barks out a loud laugh as he moves around both you and Jack to the dining room.

           “Oh you’re in trouble.” Tequila says lowly as he takes a seat at the dining table. Jack looks over at him confused before he turns to you. You’re standing in the middle of the kitchen with your hands on your hips and Jack has to admit whoever you’re dressed up as, you’re awfully cute as them. He moves closer to you wrapping his arms around your waist tugging you against him before he dipped down and kissed you softly.

           “Whoever you are, you’re awfully cute.” He says lowly and Tequila chuckles from behind the two of you.

           “Alright Romeo.” You chastise him teasingly. “I’ll make breakfast for the three of us and we’ll watch the movie that Tequila and I dressed up as while we eat. Deal?” you suggested smiling widely up at Jack.

           “What’s for breakfast?” Tequila asks hopefully from behind making you and Jack chuckle.

           “I was thinking over easy eggs, sausage, potato hash, and bacon.” You reply and hear Tequila whoop in agreement.

           “Deal!” Tequila shouts as he gets up and moves to the spare bedroom and bathroom. Jack chuckles happily as he tugs you close to him once again nuzzling his nose behind your ear.

           “You really are cute dressed like a mad scientist. It fits you.” He teases you and you smirk at him affectionately.

           “Oh hush you’ll see who I am when we watch the movie.” You explain as you move to start pulling out the breakfast ingredients. Jack comes and presses his chest against your back and presses soft kisses to your neck.

           “Whatever you say darlin’.” He says as he begins helping you cook breakfast.

             The credits are just rolling for Emperor’s New Groove and you grin widely as you turn your head to look at Jack. He’s staring at the tv with a wide smile on his face before turning to look at you.

           “Now I get it. You two are the perfect Izma and Kronk.” He says chuckling softly. You chuckle affectionately as your eyes dart over to Tequila who is splayed out in the armchair snoring with his head thrown back. Jack leans over to press a kiss to your cheek. “Still think you’re cute dressed up as her.” He gets up from his seat and starts collecting all the plates and smiles warmly as he watches Tequila snoring in the large arm chair.

[phoenixflames12]

Candles in the Window

A/N: A small pre-canon, pre Ettersburg one shot inspired by x, x and @utrinque-paratus‘s heartbreakingly beautiful Nightingale headcanons. 

On AO3 here

June 1919

The house is silent when he comes home from Casterbrook after their deaths.

Ghosts wander the corridors.

Ghosts that take the shape of Edward and Victor’s laughter that had a habit of flowing and out of each other so he could never be sure where one ended and the other began. Ghosts that are the living likeness of Geoffrey bowling cricket balls in the hall for him to prepare for the summer term at the end of the Easter holidays and failing to hide a confidential smile when they tried not to hit the family china. The warmth of his mothers’ smile, his elder sister Harriet practicing her scales in the drawing room on the concert grand, Bea and Alice squabbling about a book.

Bea meets him on the front steps, her face set and pale under her sun hat. She looks like she is on the verge of tears but is trying to keep them at bay for his benefit and he wishes that she wouldn’t.

Wordlessly, he steps into her embrace, his throat tight, letting the warmth and security of her touch flood through him as he had done after the last Rugger match of the autumn term when he had scored the winning try, mud splattered, elated and grinning from ear to ear.

‘I knew you could do it! I just knew it!’

Her face beaming at his as she had cupped his cheek and kissed him before passing him to their parents, his father solid and silently proud in his suit and tie, his mother quietly indulgent as she had kissed him on the cheek.

His Mother who had died on the same night as Harriet just a few months later, fighting for each bloody breath in the bed where she had borne each of her children, clinging to her husband’s hand.

According to his Father, his Mother’s last words before she died were ‘promise me.’

Promise her what? He thinks now as he clings to Bea, shoulders heaving, his throat heavy with the weight of the sobs, her fingers slowly, brokenly stroking his hair.

Harriet’s face pale and strained, her cheeks flushed and hollow under the weight of each breath.

The weight of his sisters’ hand, her long, pianist fingers slipping in and out of his grip, her dark hair fanning out in a mane of mahogany on the pillow, her eyes wide and frightened as they roved across the sunlit shadows that fell across her room.

‘I’m frightened, Tom!’

And he had held her hand tighter and had hoped that it would not happen. That the silent weeping from outside the bedroom door that could only mean one thing, was not real.

‘It’s all right, Harrie,’ he had whispered, although at that point he hadn’t been sure if she had heard him or not.

‘It’s going to be all right.’

And now, crumpled in Bea’s arms, he tries not to think of his Father, or Alice, or Harriet or their Mother, or his brothers’ bodies far away in mud-soaked Belgium, or the small werelight that he had conjured to hover above their sisters’ bed during that endless nocturnal vigil.

‘Shall we go inside? Nanny’s… Nanny’s made tea in the nursery and Alice’s home,’ Bea chokes the words out and tries to smile down at him, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Part of him doesn’t want to.

Doesn’t want to walk the hall that still echoed with his brothers’ laughter or climb the stairs up to the small, cosy, achingly familiar nursery that had been the home of toasted cheese, bedtime cocoa and his brothers, when they were still young enough to be in there, telling ghost stories to scare his sisters and make Nanny scold them in the self indulgent way.

But he knows that he must.

Another part of him, the Casterbrook part, the part, the part that he had thought he had left behind on the cold, achingly lonely railway carriage from Suffolk that had caught the high, treble C in chapel, had scored the winning try at the last rugger match of the season and formed formae without thinking, knows that he must.

Alice and Nanny are occupying the two beaten squishy armchairs by the unlit fireplace. The window that overlooks the terrace and the sprawling gardens beyond which had been their mothers’ pride and joy is open, but he finds that he cannot look out. A pot of tea sits on the fender with four cups and a plate of untouched fruit cake. Thomas knows without being told that it is his Mother’s recipe, copied out painstakingly into a large, morocco leather-bound book, the size and weight of the family Bible that held all the family recipes and her cures for illnesses that did not require a doctor, all copied out in beautiful, faded copperplate handwriting and can’t bear it.

Cannot bear to see any more ghosts, to make any more promises that everything would go back to the way it was before the war, before the telegrams from the War Office, one after the after, were handed to his parents, stating the fate of his brothers.

Edward dead of trench fever, mustard gas poising and grief last year, wasting himself away after he had been invalided home.

Victor killed in action during the first week of the Battle of the Somme, his body resting in a grave marked only by blood red poppy petals fluttering in the breeze.

Geoffrey. Geoffrey reported missing in action. His parents clinging to the fraying hope that their middle son would be out there somewhere in Europe. Would be in a field hospital in France or Belgium, under a new identity that was worn like an ill-fitting coat and would by some miracle come home some day

‘Tom.’ His name is a breath on Alice’s lips as she crosses the room and enfolds him into a tight embrace. His middle sister wears the same haunted look that carves out Bea’s features, her hazel eyes that remind him so much of their Father huge and sorrowful, looking far older than sixteen.

Her eyes are wide with silent questions that he does not wish to find the answers to.

How are you?

How… How’s David?

He melts into her touch as she holds him, her hands working small, comforting motions up and down his back, her voice lapsing into soft, sweet nothings that are completely lost to the silence.

His throat is burnt and raw, seared by the shadow of a sobbing scream, his eyes burning with tears.

‘It’s all right,’ he hears her murmur over and over again as he squeezes his eyes shut against her breast and tries to breathe.

From somewhere in the depths of the nursery, he hears Bea make her way over to join them.

Feels the warm weight of her draw near as she wraps an arm around his shoulder and draws Alice closer.

‘It’s going to be all right,’ he hears her murmur fiercely into his hair and feels Alice’s strained laugh splinter like broken glass into his shoulder.

                                              ****

That night he dreams of David.

Dreams of a grey eyed, lopsided smile and the warm weight of his friends’ hands clapping him on the back as they practiced their formae in the dormitory.

‘You’re a prodigy you know that, don’t you songbird?’

Dreams of beeswax polish, mud, sweat and the steady, polished tick of a wound clock, sun-kissed honeysuckle and the willow tree that spread its’ leaves over the river that tumbled at the bottom of the rugger pitch at Casterbrook.

Dreams of a slight touch, the breath of David’s fingers lingering against the back of his hand, the reflection of those soft, grey eyes, a loosely untucked jacket, an untied school tie and a gleam of an emotion that neither of them could name yet glittering in his smile.

Dreams of his parents as they had been at the Open Day for the Easter term accompanied by Harriet, who took in Casterbrook’s yellow sandstone gables and cloisters in wide eyed wonder. Harriet had immediately disappeared into the music room and had had come down again with wide, glittering eyes and a soft smile. He remembers her fingers running unconsciously over the tablecloth as they had sat down for tea, lost in the memories of the beautiful Bösendorfer.

Dreams of that night- six months ago now, when he had clung to Harriet’s hand, her skin burning under his touch. Her face had lost its’ flush, instead a slow, haunting paleness had flooded her cheeks and each breath had been strained and bloody.

‘Don’t… Don’t leave me, Tom,’ she’d managed to rasp out after another fit of coughing, her shoulders heaving under the weight of his hand as he had propped her up on the pillows.  Her eye had been full of a fear that he wished he could prevent but knew deep down that he couldn’t.

‘Shall I ask for Doctor Peters to come, Harrie? He’s with Mother now, I-‘

But she had shaken her head and smiled at him sadly, reaching out a trembling finger to trace the line of his cheek.

‘There’s nothing for him to do now, Tom. Cast me a one of those… One of those lights, will you? It’ll show me where to go.’

He’d done it because she’d asked it of him, the formae trembling into shape against his palm, its glow blurring against a veil of tears as his throat ached  with unchecked sobs.  She had lain back, her breathing evening out into the slow, choking death rattle that he will learn to hate with all his being.

They had remained there until their Father and Alice had come in, broken and hollow with grief and had told Tom to go back to bed.

                                                      ****

He wakes to the echo of a scream searing across his throat.

Shadows flicker across the darkness and it takes him a long moment to orientate himself.

At some point during the night, he must have kicked his coverlet away and it pools in a puddle of sweaty linen at his feet, the sheets twisted and crumpled over his ankles.

The shadowy hush of a birch tree flutters against the glass of his window and from somewhere in the garden he hears the long, low call of a tawny owl.

Dawn is still a long way off, the nights’ blanket over the house thick and unrelenting.

Blindly, he gropes in the dark for the chorded light switch beside his bed and waits for the dim bulb to flicker into life, throwing the darkness away into stark, sharing shadows of his small bedroom and tries to breathe.

Home.

He was home.

Each breath tears at his lungs in a bloody, perverse reminder of Harriet’s final hours and he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to focus, trying not to think.

Tries to ignore the thickness in his throat and the stabbing pains of unshed tears as he slowly begins to control his breathing.

Home.

But it wasn’t home any more, was it?

It was the shell of a house inhabited by ghosts, ghosts that he would give anything to see again.

Pale faces looming out of shadowed rooms that once radiated warmth and love and comfort in the form of cake and cricket bats and his father doing the crossword. Edward debating the news with Victor and their Mother, the soft melodies of Harriet’s piano practice and Geoffrey coming home from an expedition in the hills with a mud stained, bright eyed face, a terrier or two yapping at his heels. Bea and Alice quarrelling about a lost book, a Greek philosopher, some Latin prep from school.

Dead eyes glistening from the windows. Dead eyes, dead, clawing hands, cold and lifeless in his own.

The biting, acidic tang of bile scorches his throat at that thought and he chokes it back. He desperately does not want to be sick.

‘Tom? Tom, are you all right?’

Bea is in the room before he has registered the questions.

Her face is muddled with sleep, her hair falling in tangled waves about her face as she scrambles onto the bed beside him, drawing him into another tight embrace.

He can’t reply.

Can only just think about not vomiting over the bedsheets at the force of his nightmares.

‘Are you ill? Shall I call Doctor Peters?’

Bea’s face flickers in and out of the candlelight, reaching up to feel his forehead with the back of her hand for any signs of fever, her touch soft and gentle as she continues to hold him, rocking him gently as if he were a fretful child who needed sleep.

He shakes his head mutely, unable to stop the tears from welling up again.

‘Just a… Just a nightmare,’ he whispers finally, his voice sounding small and frail, not at all his own.

‘Oh Tom,’ his sister murmurs, clasping his trembling hands in hers, pressing a soft kiss in his hair with her soft, wet lips.

‘Do you want me to stay with you tonight?’

He nods, unable to speak, the lump in his throat tight and unyielding.

‘We’ve got each other,’ Bea says after a long, slow moment, the words breaking with choked tears and yet somehow staying resolute at the same time, running her fingers through his hair. ‘And Alice. And- And their memories. We mustn’t forget that. Ever.  We’ll be all right.’

He nods into her chest as she gathers him further into her lap and they stay there, rocked into oblivion, clinging to each other as dawn slowly rises over the horizon.

Much later, when the sun is fully risen and breakfast is laid out, on her way to talk to Cook about that evening’s meal Alice finds her little brother’s bedroom door ajar. Slipping inside, she cannot help but smile at the sight of the pair of them, curled like kittens in Thomas’s bedclothes in a muddle of summer sunlight.

Moving slowly through the room, she kisses each in turn, smiling slowly as Bea stirs, blinking away sleep dust and tangled curls, shifting carefully as not to wake their brother, raising a quizzical eyebrow in her direction.

‘Go back to sleep,’ Alice murmurs with a smile that she has been told on more than one occasion is a carbon copy of their mothers’, although she has never been able to see the resemblance. ‘I’ll wake you both later.’

                                                             ~***~

                                                            Fin

Please feel free to read and review! Comments, suggestions, constructive criticisms etc are like chocolate to my brain! Much love and enjoy x

[the-record-obituaries]

Feb. 12, 2020: Obituaries

Bobby Shoemaker, 90

Mr. Bobby Shoemaker, age 90 of North Wilkesboro passed away Sunday, February 9, 2020 at Hugh Chatham Memorial Hospital in Elkin.

           Graveside services will be held 2:00 PM Friday, February 14, 2020 at Arbor Grove Baptist Church Cemetery with Rev. Lane Roark officiating.  

           Mr. Shoemaker was born March 15, 1929 in Wilkes County to Robert McKinley Shoemaker and Addie Mastin Shoemaker.  He was a retired carpenter, first working for Foster Sturdivant Construction Company on projects that included the Reins-Sturdivant Chapel and Arbor Grove Baptist Church.  He was also a brick and block mason and helped to build the racing garages for race car owner Junior Johnson in Ingle Hollow. He also worked alongside his two brothers to build many homes in Wilkes County.   He loved to hunt and raised beagle dogs for many years. His greatest joy was his family and especially his grand and great grandchildren.  

           He was preceded in death by his wife of 69 years, Vecie Hall Shoemaker, his parents, two sisters R.V. (Robert Virginia) Bowman and Agnes Alexander, two brothers; Bruce Shoemaker and Edward (Dink) Shoemaker and a son-in-law; Mike Cannon.

           Mr. Shoemaker is survived by two daughters; Lynn Shoemaker Dyer and husband Danny of Millers Creek, Diane Shoemaker Cannon of Wilkesboro, a son; Bobby F. Shoemaker and wife Pam of North Wilkesboro, four grandchildren; Robin D. Hamby and husband Matt, Amber C. Shumate and husband Andy, Ashley D. Cannon and fiance' Bobby Sheets and Adam P. Shoemaker, six great grandchildren; Aaron and Adrienne Hamby, Emeliegh and Ashlyn Shumate, Dawson and Gage Sheets, and a sister-in-law; Ruth Shoemaker, and his special friend and caregiver; Debbie Whitley.

           Flowers will be accepted or memorials may be made to Arbor Grove Baptist Church Cemetery Fund, 196 Arbor Grove  Church Road, North Wilkesboro, NC 28659.

 Gene Stewart 89

Mr. Gene Ray Stewart age 89 of North Wilkesboro passed away Sunday, February 9 2020 at his home.

           Funeral Services will be held at 2:00 PM Wednesday February 12, 2020 at Welcome Home Baptist Church with Rev. Lyn Lambert, Rev. John Triplett, Rev. Jeff Collins, and Rev. Dean Crane officiating.  The family will receive friends from 12:00 to 1:30 PM prior to the service at the church. Burial with Military Honors by Veterans of Foreign Wars Post 1142 will be held in Welcome Home Baptist Church Cemetery

           Gene was born August 18, 1930 in Watauga County to Edward "Eddie" and Blanche Luther Stewart. He served in the United States Army in the Korean Conflict. He was a graduate of Clevinger Business School.  He retired from Holly Farms Poultry/Tyson Foods as a manager in the accounting department. Gene was a member of Welcome Baptist Church where he served as Secretary-Treasurer for many years.

           Mr. Stewart was a member of the Silver Striders through the YMCA. He loved fishing, gardening and spending time with his grandchildren.  He was a devoted husband, father, and grandfather. He was a faithful church member and was known for his mild mannered spirit. Gene was a Tarheel Fan and Braves Fan, and loved watching his grandkids involvement in sports. He enjoyed watching West Wilkes Basketball.

           In addition to his parents, he was preceded in death by his wife, Opal Faw Stewart, and two brothers, John Stewart, and Jimmy Stewart.

           He is survived by a daughter Jeannie Stewart Stinson and husband Joel of North Wilkesboro, two sons, Stephen Ray Stewart and girlfriend Jayme Love of Statesville, and Reverend Dean Crane and wife Betty of Purlear, seven grandchildren Lucas Stinson, Jackson Stinson, Mackenzie and Christopher Stewart, Matthew Crane, Adam Crane, Josh Crane seven great grandchildren and three sister in-laws; Bonita Greene Stewart of Wilkesboro, Linda Stewart of Lenoir, and Babe Faw of Wilkesboro.

           Flowers will be accepted or memorials may be made to Hope Ministry Toy Store C/O Brushy Mtn Baptist Association 514 Elkin Hwy. North Wilkesboro, NC 28659 or Nichols For Kids-Wilkes County Schools C/O April Marr 613 Cherry Street North Wilkesboro, NC 28659

           The family would like to thank Pruitt Health Hospice and Home Instead for their excellent care of their dad. A very special thank you to Lucille Johnson, Katherine Comer, Pam Osborne, and Gloria Wood for helping to make our dad's last year's wonderful.  We love you.

 Jesse Church, 83

Jesse Carson Church, age 83, of North Wilkesboro, passed away, Saturday, February 8, 2020 at his home. Jesse was born April 11, 1936 in Wilkes County to George and Nettie Adams Church. He was of the Baptist Faith. Mr. Church was preceded in death by his parents; and brothers, Albert, Marvin, Clayton and Richard Church.

           Surviving are his wife, Mary Catherine Cooper Church; several nieces and nephews.

           Memorial service will be held 3:00 p.m. Sunday, February 16, 2020 at Harvest Time Fellowship Church, 2865 Elkin Highway 268, North Wilkesboro, NC 28659 with Rev. Tom Lineberger and Rev. Steve Rose officiating. The family will receive friends at Harvest Time Fellowship Church from 1:00 until 3:00 on Sunday, prior to the service. Flowers will be accepted or memorials may be made to Hospice of Wilkes or any other Hospice organization. Miller Funeral Service is in charge of the arrangements.  

 Clarence Carty, 86

Mr. Clarence Ray Carty, age 86 of Wilkesboro passed away Sunday, February 9, 2020 at Accordius Health at Wilkesboro.

           Funeral services will be held 2:00 PM Wednesday, February 12, 2020 at Edgewood Baptist Church with Pastor Eddie Tharpe officiating. Burial will be in Edgewood Baptist Church. The family will receive friends from 1:00 until 2:00PM prior to the service at the church.

           Mr. Carty was born September 24, 1933 in Washington County, VA to Maiden and Ella Mae Holbrook Carty.

           In addition to his parents he was preceded in death by a granddaughter, Valerie Teague, and a grandson, Jonathan Teague, and thirteen brothers and sisters.

           He is survived by two sons; Jeffrey Lynn Carty and wife, Gigi of N.Wilkesboro and Timothy Ray Carty and wife, Vicki of North Wilkesboro, nine grandchildren; Misty Davis and Alex, Mindy Teague and Drew, Tasha Summerford and Dan, Christina Harrold and James, Shonna Davis, Tabitha Carty, Rebecca Minton and Anthony, Brandi Linville and Kenneth, Samantha Carty and Michael, and sixteen great grandchildren.

           In lieu of flowers memorials may be made to Ebenezers Children's Christian Home P.O. Box 2777 North Wilkesboro, NC 28659 or St. Jude's Children's Research c/o Window World Cares. 118 Shaver Street, North Wilkesboro, NC  28659.

Raydell Blackburn, 80

Raydell Billings Blackburn, age 80, of Mulberry, passed away Sunday, February 9, 2020 at Wake Forest Baptist Health-Wilkes Regional. Raydell was born March 18, 1939 in Wilkes County to John and Nellie Key Billings. Mrs. Blackburn was preceded in death by her parents; sister, Shirley Billings Miles; and nephew, Ronnie Elmore.

           She is survived by her husband, Clyde Blackburn; daughter, Karen Blackburn Earp and spouse George of Hickory; son, Brent Blackburn and spouse Erica of Mulberry; brother, Danny Billings of Mulberry; grandchildren, Julia Golden and spouse Matt, Justin Earp, Claire Earp, Olivia Blackburn, Lilly Blackburn; great grandchildren, Embry and Violet.

           Funeral service will be held 2:00 p.m. Saturday, February 15, 2020 at Mountlawn Memorial Park Mausoleum Chapel with Pastor David Jones officiating. Burial will follow in Mountlawn Memorial Park. Flowers will be accepted. Miller Funeral Service is in charge of the arrangements.  

 Yolande Caudill, 97

Mrs. Yolande Desmond Kerbaugh Caudill, age 97 of North Wilkesboro, died Saturday, February 8, 2020 at Villages of Wilkes.  

           A graveside service will be held 11:00 AM Wednesday, February 12 at Mountlawn Memorial Park with Dr. Bert Young officiating.  The family will receive friends from 1:30 until 3:00 PM at Reins-Sturdivant Funeral Home after the service.  

           Mrs. Caudill was born October 27, 1922 in Greenville, TN to John Thomas and Eula Leonard Kerbaugh.  She was a lifetime member of First Baptist Church of North Wilkesboro and a FBC choir member, was a member of the VFW Auxillary and the Crickett Home Demonstration Club. She was an expert seamstress, made the best yeast rolls, and was a crafter of Chrismons, displayed at FBC North Wilkesboro during the holidays.

           In addition to her parents she was preceded in death by her husband, Thomas Lee Caudill, Sr.; one sister, Vivian K. Greene; and three brothers, Shoun Kerbaugh, Glyn Kerbaugh, and Lyn Kerbaugh.  

           She is survived by one daughter, Sharon Caudill Adams and husband, Jack, of Clemmons; two sons, Thomas L. Caudill, Jr. and wife, Vickie, and James S. Caudill and wife, Joann, all of Wilkesboro; five grandchildren, Michael B. Caudill, Brian T. Caudill, Andrea A. Turner, Geoffrey T. Adams, and Sara A. Caudill; eight great-grandchildren, Matthew B. Caudill, Brandon A. Caudill, Brennen T. Caudill, Lilly Kate Turner, Savannah C. Turner, Madison G. Adams, Colton T. Adams, and Mila A. Morales; and one sister, Doris K. Bentley and husband, Jim.

           In lieu of flowers, memorials may be made to the Rainy Day Fund, c/o First Baptist Church of North Wilkesboro, P.O. Box 458, North Wilkesboro NC 28659.  

 Julie  Minton, 50

Julie Christine Minton, age 50, of North Wilkesboro, passed away Thursday, February 6, 2020 at her home. Julie was born October 13, 1969 in Wilkes County to Thomas James "Johnny" and Mary Christine Bouchelle Call. Julie attended Cricket Baptist Church and was a loving mother to her sons.      She was preceded in death by an infant brother; grandfather, Clarence C.J. Call; and uncle, Joey Call.

           Surviving in addition to her parents of Wilkesboro; are her sons, Jonathon Marshall Minton, Joshua Austin Minton both of Hays; brother, David James Call of North Wilkesboro; sisters, Tammy Annette Shew and spouse Bodean, Sandy Ann Yates and spouse Keith all of North Wilkesboro; grandmother, Della Call of North Wilkesboro; nephews, Austin Shew and spouse Ashley, Michael Lane Bare all of Hays; nieces, Catherine Yates and Hope Yates both of North Wilkesboro; great nephew, Bentley Shew; aunts, Patricia, Joann, Janie, Gail, and Jeanette; and uncles, Jimmy and Jeff.

           Funeral service was February 10,  at Fishing Creek Arbor Baptist Church with Rev. David Wellborn and Rev. Ronnie Millsaps officiating. Burial  followed in the Church Cemetery.   Miller Funeral Service is in charge of the arrangements.  

 Teodulo DeLeon, 80

Mr. Teodulo Meza DeLeon, age 80 of North Wilkesboro passed away Thursday February 6, 2020 at Kate B. Reynolds Hospice House in Winston Salem.

           Funeral Services were February 9,   at Reins Sturdivant Funeral Home Chapel with Father John Hanic officiating. Burial was at Scenic Memorial Gardens in Wilkesboro.  

           Mr. DeLeon was born February 17, 1939 in San Luis Potosi, Mexico to Gunercindo Meza and Severiana Meza DeLeon. He retired from Tyson Foods.

           In addition to his parents, he was preceded in death by three sisters, Felipa Meza, Antonia Meza and Cecilia Meza.

           Mr. DeLeon is survived by his wife, Antolina DeLeon DeMeza of the home, four sons, Agustin, Natalio, Emeterio and Crispin Meza, six daughters, Ubalda, Catalina, Maria, Bertha, Carmen and Guadalupe Meza, twenty-seven grand-children, ten great grand-children, four sisters, Marciana, Marcela, Atanacia and Agapita Meza, two brothers, Crispin and Leopoldo Meza.

           Flowers will be accepted.

 Darcie  Call, 88

Mrs. Darcie Lee Minton Call, 88, of Wilkesboro, passed away on Wednesday, February 5, 2020 at Wilkes Medical Center.

           Darcie was born on May 14, 1931 in Wilkes County to Ransom Edgar Minton and Connie Lee Parker Minton.  

           Darcie is survived by her daughters, Brenda Call Hooks (Len) of Chesnee SC, Phyllis Call Johnson (Bryce), Thricia Call Walter (Steve), Wanda Call Smith (Rick), all of Wilkesboro; sons, Ransom Call (Shirley) of Wilkesboro, Nelson Call (Laurie) of North Wilkesboro; twelve grandchildren and fifteen great grandchildren.

           Funeral was February 9,  at Fishing Creek Arbor Baptist Church.  Burial was in the church cemetery with Rev. David Welborn  officiating.

           In addition to flowers, memorial donations may be given to Fishing and Creek Arbor Baptist Church Building Fund, 2446 Fishing Creek Arbor Rd, Wilkesboro, NC 28697.

           Adams Funeral Home of Wilkes has the honor of serving the Call Family.

 Randy Osborne, 34

Mr. Randy Paul Osborne, 34, of North Wilkesboro, passed away on Wednesday, February 5, 2020.

           Randy was born on June 25, 1985 in Wilkes County to Brian Tracy Osborne and Cathy Marie Fitzwater Osborne.

           Randy is preceded in death by his grandparents, Lonnie and Rose Osborne, Samuel and Cordelia Fitzwater; aunts, Mary Moran, Donna Fitzwater and cousin, Jason Fitzwater.  

           Randy is survived by his parents Brian and Cathy Osborne.

           A private service will be held at a later date.  

           In lieu of flowers memorial donations may be given to The American Liver Foundation, 16 Hampton Village Plaza # 215, St. Louis, MO 63109

           Adams Funeral Home of Wilkes has the honor of serving the Osborne Family.

 Mamie  Osborne, 91

Mamie "Nell" Osborne, formerly of N. Wilkesboro, is heaven bound after spending 91 years on earth as a loving daughter, sister, mother of five and grandma to many.

           Nell was born in Wilkes County on June 30th, 1933, to Marion Frank Church and Daisy Agnus Milam Church during the Great Depression.

           The red head was also known for her wit and spunk. Never did one have to guess what Nell was thinking. She was funny, but also exceptionally bright. She was an avid reader and writer. She documented many of her life stories and travels through her books and poems. She always had a word search, a good book and her Bible close at hand.

           Her humor, kindness and selfishness will be remembered by all who came in contact with her during her 91 remarkable years.

           A celebration of Nell's life will be held Friday, February 7th at Miller Funeral Service from 1-2 p.m. Family and friends are encouraged to come gather in her memory.

           Special thanks to the team at Chatham Nursing and Rehabilitation.          Memorial contributions may be made, in honor of Nell, to Samaritan's Purse - a local charity that she supported during her life.

 Peggy Taylor,  74

Peggy Ann Prevette Taylor, age 74, of McGrady, passed away, Tuesday, February 4, 2020 at her home. She was born June 7, 1945 in Wilkes County to Dewey Gaither and Hazel Johnson Prevette. Peggy was a graduate of Wilkes Central High School, was a Teacher's Assistant; and a school bus driver for Mulberry Elementary School. Mrs. Taylor was preceded in death by her parents; and a daughter, Pamela Taylor West.

           Surviving are her husband, Wallace Taylor; daughter, Mandy Wyatt and spouse Ricky of McGrady; grandchildren, Eric Brown and spouse Chelsea of Purlear, Evan Handy and spouse Victoria of Wilkesboro, Lauren Mitchell and spouse Ethan of North Wilkesboro; brothers, "Junior" Dewey Prevette and spouse Linda of Wilkesboro, Kenneth Prevette and spouse Sarah of Lewisville; sister, Kathy Williams and spouse Dean of North Wilkesboro; several nieces and nephews.

           Funeral service was February 7,  at Miller Funeral Chapel with Rev. David Key officiating. Burial   followed in Taylor Cemetery in McGrady.   The family has requested no food. Memorials may be made to Mtn. Valley Hospice, 688 North Bridge Street, Elkin, NC 28621. Flowers will be accepted. Miller Funeral Service is in charge of the arrangements.  

           Pallbearers were Eric Brown, Evan Handy, Ricky Wyatt, Ethan Mitchell, Danny Gambill and Johnathan Billings.

 Lawrence  Pruitt,  86

Lawrence Allen Pruitt, age 86, of Traphill, passed away Tuesday, February 4, 2020 at Wake Forest Baptist Health-Wilkes Regional. Mr. Pruitt was born May 7, 1933 in Wilkes County, he was a son of the late Archie and Jettie Shaver Pruitt. Lawrence served in the Army and fought in the Korean War.

           In addition to his parents, he was preceded in death by his sons, Michael Allen Pruitt and Thomas Wayne Pruitt; and sister, Loreen Cockerham.

           Lawrence is survived by his wife of 63 years, Wanda June Pruitt of the home; son, David Mitchell Pruitt and lifemate Ann Sossaman of Traphill; daughter, Zendoline Kay Adams and husband Roger Adams of Traphill; brothers, Jarvie John Pruitt and wife Alice Pruitt, Gene Pruitt and wife Renee Pruitt all of Traphill; sister, Abby Pruitt Combs and husband Edsel Combs of Roaring River; grandchildren, Tara, Chad, Lance, Ayla and Leia; great grandchildren, Oaklen and Lily.

           Memorial service with military honors by Veterans of Foreign Wars Honor Guard Post 1142 was February 8,   at Miller Funeral Chapel with Pastor Keith Wood officiating.

           In lieu of flowers, memorials may be made to Oak Level Baptist Church Cemetery Fund, 2587 Austin Little Mountain Road, Roaring River, NC 28669. The family has requested no food. Miller Funeral Service is in charge of the arrangements.

 Jera  Wagoner, 40

Jera Lee Parsons Wagoner, age 40 of North Wilkesboro passed away Monday, February 3, 2020.

           Private services will be held at a later date.

           Jera was born May 27, 1979 in Wilkes County.

           She is survived by her father; Jerry Parsons of North Wilkesboro, her mother;

Rita Looney Hatmaker of Elkin, her husband; Ritchie Wagoner of North

           Wilkesboro and one sister; Kristina Parsons of Hays.

           In lieu of flowers memorials may be made to St. Jude Children's Hospital, c/oWindow World Cares, 118 Shaver Street, North Wilkesboro, NC 28659.

 David Dearman, 82

Mr. David Dewitt Dearman, age 82 of North Wilkesboro passed away peacefully at his home on Monday, February 3, 2020.

           Funeral services were February 8,   at Baptist Home Baptist Church with Rev. David Jones and Rev. Mark O. Hollar officiating.        Entombment was in Mountlawn Memorial Park Mausoleum.

           Mr. Dearman was born April 28, 1937 in Wilkes County to Dewitt Talmadge and Rena Miller Dearman.  

           David married his high school sweetheart, Carolyn on December 18, 1955.  

           He was preceded in death by his parents.

            David is survived by his wife of 64 years; Carolyn Johnson Dearman of the home, three daughters; Kimberly Dearman-Wilcox and husband Shaun of Oak Island, NC, Tamera Dearman Newton and husband Steve of North Wilkesboro and Kandice Dearman-West and husband Chris of Matthews, three grandchildren that he adored; Cameron David Newton, Joseph Stephen Newton and Kassidy Caroline Newton, special niece; Teresa Dancy Casey and his special dog; Duncan.

           Flowers will be accepted or memorials may be made to Baptist Home Baptist Church, 2367 Sparta Road, North Wilkesboro, NC 28659, Alzheimer's Association, 4600 Park Road, Suite 250, Charlotte, NC 28209 or Mountain Valley Hospice and Palliative Care, 401 Technology  Lane, Suite 200, Mt. Airy, NC 27030.

 Wanda Montgomery,  87

Wanda Kay Harms Montgomery, age 87, of Mt. Airy, formerly of West Jefferson, passed away Monday, February 3, 2020 at Twelve Oaks Nursing Center.

           She was born July 18, 1932 in Wilkes County to Harrison Columbus and Minnie Leola Brown Miller.          Her DNA says she was a mixed of English, Wales, Germanic, European, Ireland, Scotland, and small percent of Native American.

           Mrs. Montgomery was a great great great grand-niece of Daniel Boone. She moved to Savannah, Georgia in her early years and married William Harms Sr., then in 1972, she married Walter A. Montgomery, who was in the military and they traveled with their family all over the world and come to retire in Ashe County.

           Mrs. Montgomery was preceded in death by her parents; a son, Keith M. Miller; and siblings, Thelma, Herman, Blanche, Beulah, Dorothy, Clyde. She will be missed by all.

           Surviving are her husband, Walter A. Montgomery; her children, William S. Harms, Jr. and spouse Linda of Ellabell, Georgia, Lilly A. Harms of Vidalia, Georgia, Todd Stewart of Gainesville, Georgia; one grandson; and one great granddaughter

           Funeral service was February 7,  at Union Baptist Church with Rev. Julius Blevins officiating. Burial followed in the Church Cemetery.  .                               Memorials may be made to Hospice of Ashe County, 392 NC Highway 16S, Jefferson, NC 28640. Miller Funeral Service is in charge of the arrangements.  

 Frances Greene, 87

Mrs. Frances Curlee Greene, age 87 of Wilkesboro passed away Monday, February 3, 2020 at Wilkes Senior Village.

           Private family Graveside serviceswere February 7,  at Barnes Family Cemetery in Churchland with Rev. Mike Hamby officiating.  

           Mrs. Greene was born September 16, 1932 in Union County to Abraham M. and Lois Witmore Curlee.  She was a member of the First United Methodist Church of North Wilkesboro. Mrs. Greene graduated from Catawba College in 1953.  She was a devoted wife, mother, grandmother and homemaker and loved art and music.  

           In addition to her parents, she was preceded in death by her husband; Edward Franklin Greene, a son; Richard Edward Greene and a daughter; Katherine Ann Greene.

           She is survived by one son; Stephen Brian Greene and wife; Vanya of Wilkesboro, four grandchildren; Matthew Greene of Sarasota, FL, Trevor Greene of North Wilkesboro, Trenton Greene and Lindsay Greene both of Wilkesboro and one great grandchild; Lillian Katherine Greene.

           In lieu of flowers memorials may be made to the Donor's Choice.

Ronald  Hamby,  62

Ronald "Ronnie" Darrell Hamby, age 62, of Deep Gap, passed away Saturday, February 1, 2020 at Wake Forest Baptist Medical Center in Winston Salem. He was born August 24, 1957 in Wilkes County to Sherman Garfield and Gladys Hicks Hamby.

            He was preceded in death by his parents; infant son, Ryan Hamby; and brother, Donald Hamby.

           Surviving are his wife, Claudine Billings Hamby; daughters, Felicia Griffin and spouse Rodney of Wilkesboro, Jessica Brown and spouse Robbie of Millers Creek, Melissa Kay Lewis of Caldwell County; sons, Brad Samuel Hamby of Caldwell County, Ronnie Andrew Hamby of Florida; brothers, Calvin Hamby and spouse Loretta of Purlear, Robert Hamby and spouse Norma of Burke County, Greg Hamby of Greensboro; sisters, Sharon Duncan and spouse Jake of Sawmills, Carolyn Hamby of Crumpler, Nancy Walters and spouse Donnie of North Wilkesboro; eight grandchildren; several nieces and nephews.

           Graveside service was February 6,  at Mtn. View Cemetery in Deep Gap.   Flowers will be accepted. Miller Funeral Service is in charge of the arrangements.

 Ronald Canter  71

Mr. Ronald Gray "Ron" Canter age 71 of Wilkesboro passed from this life to his eternal home February 1, 2020 surrounded in peace and love by his family.  

           Ron was born November 2, 1948 to Hubert Alton and Gozeal McNeil Canter. He served in the United States Air Force during the Vietnam Conflict. Ron obtained a Bachelor of Science Degree in Psychology from Appalachian State University.

           In addition to his parents, he was preceded in death by his brother James Alton Canter.

           Ron is survived by his wife of 50 years, Nancy Church Canter, of the home; two daughters - April Canter Greenwood and husband Charlie, and Alison Canter Moore and husband Chris; four grandchildren:  Hollie Gray Moore, Mitchell Joseph Moore, Charles McNeil "Mac" Greenwood, John Edwin "Win" Greenwood all of Winston-Salem; One brother Kenneth Canter and wife Carol of Wilkesboro; One sister Patty Broyhill of Taylorsville; Nieces and Nephews Jeff Canter, Richard Canter, Susan Canter Boyles, Steve Canter, Gary Broyhill, Janet Broyhill Sherrill, Sandra Broyhill Hawkins, and many special great-nieces and great-nephews.

           A private memorial prayer service will be held with wife, children and grandchildren.

           In lieu of a funeral, a "Celebration of Life" was held. In lieu of flowers, the family requests that donations be made to any of the following: First Baptist Church of North Wilkesboro (firstbaptistNW.org), Mountain Valley Hospice and Palliative Care- 688 Bridge Street Elkin, NC 28621 (mtnvalleyhospice.org), or any charity of your choice.

[knittastically]

A Lioness Amongst the Wolves Pt 22

First of all I hope you have all had a lovely Holiday in which ever way you chose and I wish you all a Happy, Peaceful, Healthy New Year for 2019.

I  love to read your comments and if you could reblog that would be fantastic and much appreciated

If you would like to be added to or removed from my readers list just let me know and I will oblige. :)

As for this chapter there's just a liiiiiiitle  bit of smut.

Part 1  Part 2   Part 3  Part 4  Part 5   Part 6 Part 7  Part 8  Part 9  Part 10

Part 11   Part 12   Part 13  Part 14  Part 15 Part 16   Part 17  Part 18

Part 19    Part 20   Part 21

You can also find all chapters here on AO3

Raymond’s chest rises and falls beneath my cheek, I smile and press my lips against his skin as I do his arms tighten around me a little more. He did not so much invite me into his bed, rather he gave a silent crie de coeur and I could not refuse him. Within moments of pulling me into his arms and pressing a warm kiss to my temple he is drifting to sleep. I can't blame him, He's exhausted and in pain but selfishly a tiny little piece of my heart feels slighted that he chooses to close his eyes and do no more than press a single kiss to my temple.

Sleep may have come easily to Raymond but not to me. My mind whirls with what I saw as approached the stairs, each time I close my eyes I see Théo and Ghislane and wonder what they are to each other. I had once loved him Théo Fontaine, even though there were times when he treated me ill but best not to dwell on that and I am certain now that he never loved me. Deep down have always known that his whispered words of love and affection were nothing more than a sop thrown to me.

He was always a little ruthless, predatory even, now he appears more so and something about him sets my nerves on edge. Looking back, everything about our time together now seems a sham. Could the gossip about his wife be true, did he really murder her? I recall the expression on his face, when he realised I’d seen him and it was feral, I don’t doubt that he could have done it. Bile rises in my throat and I shiver as I wonder should I tell him about the child?

“No, it isn’t your business you bastard, you gave up any right to know when you walked away and abandoned me for a rich wife at court.”  

My eyelids feel heavy. The gentle sound of Raymond’s breathing and the hissing of the rain is lulling me to sleep and I curl closer to him. All the while, as I have laid wrapped around him he has stroked his hand gently back and forth along my leg from thigh to knee as if it soothes him somehow. But as I rest my left hand against his chest, he moves his hand to lay it over mine. Raymond seems to sense my disquiet and tightens his other arm around me. I feel his warm breath as he mutters something against my hair. Drifting into sleep I realise what he has said.

*“Tu es ma vie, mon amour, mon cœur.ʺ*

It is not only Isabé who has noticed Théo and Ghislane, Eleanor has missed nothing. Without hesitating she weaves her way through the chattering crowd and towards the King. Philip is engaged in conversation but he sees her, gives the slightest nod of his head and the moment he is alone she steps towards him and curtsies. As she speaks quietly to him his expression hardly changes but his eyes grow hard and cold. “I will await you in my chamber Madame, best we discuss this in a more private setting.”

Théo watches her closely and shudders, Eleanor Forrestier is a dangerous bitch. Sweeping a quick glance around the room he catches sight of Ghislane in the shadows beneath the arcade, she nods to him the moment he catches her eye. When he looks back Eleanor has disappeared, melted away into the crush of people and the king is striding towards his chamber deep in conversation with the Baron.

Fontaine motions a page over to fill his wine cup then, strolls leisurely around the Hall, sharing a joke here, a laugh there, dropping in and out of conversations. Though beneath his veneer of affable good humour, he is as taut as a bow string.

By way of small rooms and narrow corridors known only to those who live within the Chateau, Eleanor has made her way to The King’s chamber. This visit may not be a Grand Progress for Philip but nevertheless the King is the King and his door is guarded by two well-armed soldiers. There is no bar though to Eleanor Forrestier, they know who she is and as one guard salutes her the other steps aside and pushes open the door. If she is surprised to see the Baron she doesn’t show it.

Philip has made this room his own, when he travels he doesn’t travel lightly even on a “private” visit such as this. The furnishings have been replaced with his own trappings. Folding seats, a throne like chair, linens, red and gold hangings and even a bed which can be taken apart for travelling. All are painted in bright blue and rich red, accented in gold. His own wine cups and ewers are set on the table, a gilded, jewelled reliquary and small but ornate crucifix are set on the larger of his personal travelling chests. Yes the King’s possessions reflect his power, wealth and status but Eleanor finds them overpowering, gaudy, and to her eye a little tasteless. They make the room feel even more oppressive in this sultry weather.

Philip himself pours wine for Eleanor and hands her the cup, there are no servants present though she is certain he has someone closeted behind the door to the adjoining room.

“So Gauthier, do I take it you approve of Raymonds choice of wife?”

Gauthier de Merville glances across to Eleanor, he has always liked her, admired her even and this must be at least a little painful for her, yet she smiles at him over the rim of her wine cup.

“I doubt anything I could say on the subject would carry any weight with my son Majesty, he is a grown man and knows his own mind best, though if I’m honest I think despite her confidence Isabé might not prove a match for him.” He stares pointedly at Eleanor she glances from Philip to Gauthier and back to Philip and laughs.

"Monseigneur, I’m sure Isabè will prove to be a most suitable wife for Raymond, whereas I, most definitely would not that. She already has his measure and  will never be a simpering little wife.” Eleanor takes a sip of her wine. “More than that she will give him give some stability and be a fixed point in his life. It’s what he needs and it is something I can’t provide, as you well know it doesn’t sit well with our particular profession.”

“As wise as ever Eleanor” Philip smiles she nods her head in acknowledgement. Both men know very well what that little speech has cost her and for few moments there is a regretful silence hanging in the air.

“Now with respect Majesty, I think we should turn to more important matters.” It is rare for Eleanor to show her true feelings but neither Philip nor Gauthier miss the catch in her voice

"So, Eleanor, tell us, what is your opinion?” Philip is always is direct. “Do you fear for Raymond’s safety?”

“Yes, and also for Isabé’s. Guillaume is back in the fold and is no longer a problem. Geoffrey Maçon is gone but those two are a real force. If what we know is true then they have a wide network. I’m sure you are already aware that information about your troop movements to the South have already made the ears of the renegades.”

Philip nods and smiles at his well-informed agent.

"Indeed Eleanor and sensibly Ramon of Toulouse has already joined us and helps to keep us well appraised, he values his own safety too highly to defy the Church but his Nephew Trencavel, is another matter and he is holding fast against His Holiness.”

The Baron snorts “Trenceval always was and always will be a fucking fool.”

“We are all fools at one time or another Monseigneur” Eleanor’s retort is sharp” “If you really want my honest opinion, I think his Holiness is the biggest fool of all. If his Church can’t stand a little competition from the Cathars then so be it”. She shrugs “This has been rumbling for years why he doesn’t he just let it pass, who are they harming?”

Philip is a devout man but nonetheless he admires Eleanor’s stand, he is even a little amused by it and tries to supress a smile.

“Have a care Eleanor.” The Baron’s voice rumbles around the room. “Heresy is a serious matter, should anyone outside these walls hear your words, it is likely you will be arraigned and executed.”

She raises her eyebrows and smiles sweetly. “Baron, you and I both know that a charge of Heresy would simply be one more entry at the end of a very long list of my transgressions and possibly not the worst.”

Studying both men closely she addresses the King.

“What are you not telling me Sire?

“I think this is mostly your story Gauthier.” Philip yields to the Baron.

"As you wish Sire”

Frowning, Eleanor looks from one to the other as Gauthier de Merville takes a swallow of wine.

“Eleanor you may or may not know that Théo Fontaine and Ghislane Bérenger are Mother and son.

“I did not know” Her voice is calm and she hides it very well that she is furious with herself for that gap in her knowledge.

“That information was known to me,” Philp smiles at her, “And to Gauthier, Individually each of them is dangerous.” Philip shakes his head “Together they could well prove lethal”

“It was also known to my darling Marguerite, God rest her.” Gauthier cuts in. Eleanor smiles, it is not often the Baron refers to his late wife, let alone in such affectionate terms, even after almost 30 years he still feels the pain of her loss more deeply than most people imagine.

“Ghislane’s husband was Luc Roussel one of my best men, possibly the best. Fierce, brave and I thought loyal, he rose high and fast. My trust in him was unfounded and I had him executed when he was found to be passing information to our enemies, not just in Ireland but elsewhere. Rather than lay the charge of treason against him he was tried and convicted on charges of looting and murder. He never revealed anything to us and went to his death laughing.”

Eleanor twists the stem of her cup between long fingers, a tingle runs down her spine and she is uneasy.

“I assume the lesser charge was to try draw out any other agents, or to give them false security?”

“Both”. Philip and Gauthier answer together.

“And was Ghislane one of those other agents?”

Now that the king is seated, Gauthier follows suit, he takes a swallow of wine. “There was no evidence against her.”

“Simply because you could not discover any Monseigneur does not mean....”

Gaulthier cuts her off sharply. “Nothing was discovered because at the time there was nothing to discover Madame Forrestier.”

“Your pardon Monseigneur.” Eleanor bows her head and yields to him as he continues. “Ghislane damned near lost her mind at Luc’s death and became too ill to serve in her new position as Marguerite’s companion. I arranged for her to be lodged at the convent where they could care for her. When the child was born she wouldn’t nurse him, didn’t even want to look at him and so he was fostered out to the Fontaines to be brought up by them. She was in a poor, ravaged state of mind for some time and for her own reasons has always maintained she never had children.”

“How fortunate Monseigneur, forgive me, but that kind of madness can be feigned and she could easily have given up her child to the Fontaine’s knowing that he would be cared for and she would have easy access. A child can be a hindrance to someone like Ghislane”

Eleanor and Gauthier hold each other’s look and Eleanor could kick herself for having said that aloud, she and Ghislane are two sides of the same coin but she could never give up her daughter.

“Has Nicolette ever been a hindrance to you Eleanor?” As soon as the words leave his lips the Baron regrets it.

“I believe you can answer that for yourself Monseigneur.” Eleanor narrows her eyes at him for a moment then returns to the matter in hand.

“But why bring Ghislane back here?

“I felt I owed her something, in spite of what Luc had done so why not bring her here to take up the post she had been offered, especially as Marguerite was most unwell.

“Why did she take up her Maiden name of Bérenger?”

“I have no idea, perhaps she thought people would assume she wanted nothing more to do with the name of Roussel. I admit to having being deceived by that conniving bitch but it was only much later the extent of her treachery was discovered though it was decided that she should be allowed to live.”

“Why? Surely it would have been a very simple matter Monseigneur.”

"Because I forbade it.” At the sound of Philip’s soft, silky voice Eleanor turns to her King.

“She had been the one in complete control, not only of Luc, but of many others. Her network of contacts and agents was impressive in fact second to none and it was certainly in our own interests to recruit her as a double agent.”   “We gave her just enough accurate details to make her seem credible. But for some time her information seems to have been either outdated, false or at the least tenuous.” As he looks down at the floor Gauthier suddenly feels very old.”

“So Sire, on a whim you allowed her to continue passing information resulting in the needless deaths of our own men.”

An expression of anger passes across Philip’s face, disappearing almost as quickly as it appeared.

“I do not act on whims Madame Forrestier, and as for needless, I think of it as sacrificing the few for the many.”

“Oh the hubris of Kings.” 

Eleanor thinks as she shakes her head and anger burns in her, she itches to slap her Sovereign for his arrogance in playing with the lives of his agents and soldiers.

“Are you telling me that this has been going on for almost thirty years, God men are such fools.”

Philip does not react to Gauthiers anguished voice when he grinds out “I am inclined to agree with you on that point Eleanor, I am certain she murdered Marguerite.”

Eleanor gasps out loud.

“It could never be proven, Marguerite was in such pain with her illness that it needed a strong draught to dull it, who can tell whether it was enough to end her life?”

Gauthier’s face pales at the memory, his hand trembles as he lifts the wine cup to his lips.

“I believe in my heart she was responsible, I believe it was revenge for the death of Luc and I think that apart from anything else her mind never fully healed and it is failing again, I fear for all of my family.” He smiles at Eleanor, “That of course includes you my dear” he takes hold of her hand and raises it to his lips.

“What of Theo, what is his purpose?” She frowns up at the Baron but it is Philip who answers.

“He is driven by ambition and revenge in equal measure he wants to be near the throne to work against it and I have no doubt he intends to make suffer anyone involved in his father’s execution.”

“Well stepping into Maçon’s shoes has certainly secured his advancement.”

“Indeed Madame, and to have him close is preferable to keeping him at arm’s length, as for you Gauthier I should keep a close watch on Ghislane, and take steps to safeguard your granddaughter and your daughter-in-law, they could prove easy targets.

Before the Baron can answer, one thump rattles the heavy door, it swings inwards and the Guard begins to announce Théo Fontaine

“Imbecile, I am His Majesty’s Envoy, he knows who I am.”

As he strides in the guard scowls at his back. Théo presents himself to the King, then turns to the others with a smile that makes him look like a benevolent bat.

“Monseigneur Baron, he extends his hand and grudgingly the Baron takes it.

“Fontaine.” Gauthier’s greeting is cold enough to freeze the pizzle off a bull.

“Théo, welcome." Eleanor crosses to greet him, a wonderful if fake smile plastered on her face. “It is an age since we saw each other and the first time since you arrived that I have had the chance to properly welcome you.” She holds out her hand, he clasps it and smiles a tight little smile.

“As beautiful as ever Eleanor.” Then as he stoops to kiss each cheek whispers.

“Is really your place to welcome me to the Chateau Eleanor, you are no longer Raymond’s Mistress so you hold no authority but I will accept your good wishes.”

The smile sets on Eleanor’s face as she answers quietly “Indeed that is true enough, however I am still the Mother of his child and I know he would defend me had he cause to do so.” It is a threat and though politely put Théo understands completely. Blanche say she knew when I was happy as a child because when I slept I lay on my back. Always with my left arm shoved up under the pillow, my right hand resting on my stomach. It follows then that I am happy.

I don’t want Raymond to know that I’m awake yet. He lays on his uninjured side with his left arm under the pillow and hand curled gently around mine. His right arm is draped across me, long calloused fingers gently tracing swirling patterns on my right hip. Our feet and legs are tangled together and I feel content to lie here in the warmth of the early morning.

There is a hint of a laugh in the warm breath that ghosts against my ear as soft words roll out.

"I know you're awake Isabe."

I lie still and don’t answer.

The hairs of his beard tickle my skin as he brushes gentle kisses along my ear ending in a nip to the lobe. A shiver runs through me and the smallest purring sound lodges in my throat as I turn my head towards him and slowly open one eye.

“How could you tell?”

“By your breathing, the sound and rhythm of it, by the way your breasts rise and fall.” His blue eyes are dark, hot, full of mischief and desire.

“You are talking nonsense!” Suddenly I am aware of the warmth of his skin where it presses against mine and feel heat rising in my cheeks.

“Oh I have been very thorough in my study Isabé, in fact I would say it verges on the scholarly.” He smirks like a naughty schoolboy and as he shifts and slides down the bed a little his grin broadens. Through half opened eyes I watch him as he dips his head, deliberately grazing his beard against the pale skin of my right breast.

“For instance I believe this one is a little larger than the other.”   

I stare down wide eyed now and  mesmerised as he licks at his lips then latches them onto me. My mouth drops open and a little mewl of surprise squeaks out. He does not nip, scrape or bite but lazily licks his tongue around and over my nipple coaxing it to hardness, before one last flick and a whisper of warm breath over the damp skin. 

Sharp and sweet an ache shoots straight down me and stalls between my thighs. Without taking his eyes from mine he slowly strokes his right hand up over my belly and ribs and cups it around my right breast. The lightest brush of his thumb over the already tightening tip sends another jolt through me, my thighs tighten of their own accord, my skin tingles and raises into gooseflesh. 

He is certainly not Theo, for I could have said “no” to Raymond and he would have stopped, I'm certain of it. 

"But I hadn’t wanted him to stop, you I couldn’t pretend otherwise." 

Nonetheless, I try to convince the both of us that I am annoyed and so I swat him smartly across the back of his head.

“You Sieur Raymond are very forward!” 

His roar of laughter bounces from the walls.

“Isabé, I swear to God you are the only woman on Earth I know who could say that and mean it, whilst lying naked in my bed" 

He shifts and winces.

“It still pains you?”

“Not so much now.”

“You idiot.” I rest my hand against his face and stroke his beard. “You should have woken me, I would have mixed you something to ease it.” He presses his lips against my palm.

“There was no need.” Lids close over blue eyes, dark lashes flutter against his cheeks for a moment, he sounds almost embarrassed and he flushes a little as he speaks again. “Thank you Isabé for having the courage to stay with me.” As he tightens his arms around me he frowns.

“Mon Coeur, your poor face, am I to blame for that?” 

His lips are gentle against my cheek.

“You couldn’t help it, I told you it was an accident.”

“You did? I don’t remember that.” He whispers “but then I rarely remember” there is a sad resignation in his voice.

“I take it there’s a bruise?”

He looks down at me with a rueful smile. “Yes a large one it’s a very pretty shade of purple and you have a lump the size of a sparrow’s egg.”

“Well no doubt it will be a sickly shade of green come Saturday. I only hope my veil will hide it.”

There is laughter in his voice again. “So you have decided to marry me?” 

“Yes and I only hope I don’t come to regret it.” I begin to laugh. “What a pair we make, I am naked in your bed and you are as bare arsed as the day you were born. Tongues will surely wag, not that I care one way or the other.”

I shuffle higher up onto the pillows and Raymond hitches up beside me settling on his side, head propped in his hand. He reaches across to tuck strands of hair behind my ear and there is a sober look on his face.

"Let me clean the cut for you?”

“There really is no need Raymond, I can tend to it later.”

“Stubborn as ever.” He presses another gentle kiss to the cut. “Do you really not care what anyone might think of you for staying with me?”

“No one’s opinion of me has ever mattered overmuch.” 

“Not even mine?” He grins at me again and as his eyes lock onto mine he strokes his fingers along my shoulder leaving burning trails on my skin, I stare straight back at him.

“No, not even yours, why should it? After all you don’t really know me” He seems more than a little taken aback at that, as if he expects me to simper and solicit his approval, if does is then he will have a long damned wait. His voice is subdued when he answers.

“I know enough of you Isabé, to know you are brave, clever, strong minded to the point of wilfulness and you are kind.”

It is my turn to laugh.

“You make me sound like a candidate for a nunnery, though I doubt I’d last very long, I’d certainly spend more time doing penance than anything else.” 

He snorts, “Hellfire, Henri, would have to pay through the nose for them to take you, I doubt they’d even consider you without the promise of a vast acreage and half your body weight in gold.” 

“Wretch.”

I catch him unawares and with one quick push overbalance him, as he falls he wraps his arms tight around me holding me to him and as he lands on his back I am sprawled across him our faces almost touching. Warm skin settles against warm skin and I can feel the beat of his heart, it is certainly faster than before.

“Full marks for effort Mon Coeur but none for execution, always make sure you know the strength and skill of your adversary.”

"Bastard.”

He threads the fingers of his left hand into my hair and my oath is lost in his sweet kiss as he pulls me even closer. I feel his other hand slide down over my backside and under my thigh hitching it up.

“You do know I love you Isabé?” His voice is no more than a whisper.

Mischief is in my mind, I wiggle out of his arms and boldly straddle his thighs.

“You’ve already said as much to me but love is a convenient little word Raymond, people use it when they mean it of course they do, but they also use it to get something they want. In all honesty I can’t say I love you.”

His expression doesn’t change.

“But I will concede that I have grown to like you and you are a very handsome man, the scars on your face and body do nothing to change that.”

I lean forward a little and slide my hands up his thighs, making sure my thumbs brush the edge of the dark thatch of hair and slide along between thigh and hip. His swelling cock twitches and a hiss of breath escapes him.

I slide my hands down and then back up his thighs. Suddenly I freeze and hold my breath, shocked by my own bold and reckless behaviour, aware of the heat and muscle of his thighs beneath me, conscious of our nakedness. Nevertheless as I look down at him I am unable to stop myself licking at my lips and when I look back up at him his eyes are burning hot.

Now I feel daring, fearless a delicious sense of wantonness surges through me. “I know you want me Raymond.” My voice slides out throaty and low.

“Yes my darling of course I do, can’t you tell” he winks, laughs and glances down at himself “I want you as much as you want me and you do want me Isabé, I can feel your heat and wetness against my thighs.” His voice is like warm honey, at the sound of it the heat flares through my body again and the ache between my thighs is almost painful but it is such a sweet pain. I stare down at  him and gnaw at my lower lip to stop myself from smiling.

“Dear God in Heaven, Théo Fontaine falls very short of Raymond in every way.” 

Emboldened again I brush the back of my hand up the soft skin of his cock then trail just one index finger back down the thick vein. His head tilts back his breath sighs out slowly and as I stroke him gently he grabs at my hips.”  Tilting forward I slide my hands up to his chest his nipples harden at my touch, he growls as I rake them with my nails and shivers when drop forward to swirl my tongue around each one in turn. As I lick at the hollow of his throat I  taste the saltiness of his skin and the low throaty noise Raymond gives out sounds like the purring of a large cat.

“Isabé, you know that if you stand too close to a fire you are like to get burned and believe me girl I can and will burn you.” I shudder at his words even though his voice is soft and his hands are gentle as he strokes my back and hair, quietly he adds. “But never, ever, fear me Isabé never.”

His beard tickles my lips as I kiss his chin. “I know yours can be a hard life Raymond, your work for the King makes you an assassin, spy, soldier and all of these put you in danger. Doubtless this won’t be the only time you return home wounded, but when you left me to go to Paris, you left me burning for you.” His eyes darken a little, there is a feral look in them and I hesitate for a moment.

“That day I would have let you fuck me against that wall out there with the whole Chateau watching us and I would have felt no shame.” His hands grab at me and he digs his fingers hard into the flesh of my backside. There is no innocence in my kiss, it is savage and he gives back the same in return but winces as I rake his lip hard between my teeth. He digs his fingers in even harder

“Bitch you’ve drawn blood” he licks at the inside of his mouth. 

Sitting up quickly I slide back onto his thighs, curl my fingers lightly around him and stroke gently up and down barely touching his skin.

“No Théo Fontiane does not measure up in anyway at all.” 

“Sweet Christ Woman.” he grabs at my other hand lacing his fingers between mine.

“Raymond your leaving I can bear, any woman who weds a soldier must learn to do that but believe me when I say that if you ever, for whatever reason, lay with a whore again you had best make sure she leaves no marks on you because I swear by the Holy Mother, I shall geld you. The only woman who has the right to mark you is me.”

There is his smirk again but his eyes blow wide and dark with anticipation as I hover over him and make as if to kiss his chest. When sink my teeth hard into his left breast he yelps with surprise but simply strokes at my hair as I suck and bite the livid mark into his flesh the mark I know he wants me to make. I lick at the bruise, touch my lips to it, blow my breath over the almost broken skin.

“You should heed your own advice in future Raymond and make sure you know your adversary.”

Swiftly I scramble from the bed and keeping well out of his reach, snatching up my shift to pull it on quickly then I worm and wriggle into my dress, and gather up my veil, hose and shoes. Raymond has made no attempt to hinder me but I can feel his eyes on me, when I glance at him my heart thuds.

“Stay.” His voice is thick, almost pleading, and his eyes gentle. “Isabé, for God’s sake.” he stretches out his hand to me and looks down. Even beneath the sheet he has pulled over himself, his arousal is still clearly visible.

“I have work to do Raymond or have you not heard there is to be a wedding on Saturday? I nod at the sheet covering him. “You could try tying a knot in that it might help.” He shoots me an evil look then his lips curve into a smile and he raises his left brow. “Saturday, cannot come soon enough for me Isabé but remember, there are many hours between now and then.” 

I understand him completely and I’m certain he has seen both longing and lust in my expression before I turn away from him.

It would be so easy to return to his bed but without another word or look I leave quickly, closing the door quietly behind me. Something has eased around my heart, and I race back to my own chamber before I change my mind.   *”You are my life, my love, my heart.”*

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[redcarpetview]

Kerry Douglas' Gospel Mix Christmas Available Now!

    BMI AWARD-WINNING SONGWRITER KERRY DOUGLAS’ NEW GOSPEL/CHRISTMAS ALBUM GOSPEL MIX CHRISTMAS IS AVAILABLE ON ALL STREAMING PLATFORMS NOW

    Stream Gospel Mix Christmas Here

https://fanlink.to/GospelMixChristmas

         ATLANTA,GA) - November 7, 2021- Today, Blacksmoke Music Worldwide and Kerry Douglas announced that the highly anticipated LP, Gospel Mix Christmas is available on all streaming platforms. The album arrives just in time for the most wonderful time of the year and features Gospel music’s heavy hitters as well as emerging artists: Zacardi Cortez, Keith Wonderboy Johnson, Earnest Pugh, James Johnson, Lasha’ Knox, the late legend Shawn McLemore, Monica Lisa Stevenson, Derrick Stevenson & Friends, Cinque Cullar, Cedric Ballard, Paul Turner & CMI, Angela Spivey, Algeron Wright, Geoffrey Golden (Season 7 "Sunday Best" Winner) and Nikki Ross. The songs range from nostalgic holiday favorites to new school Christmas songs of celebration and praise. 

        As a dynamic worship leader, a BMI award-winning songwriter, Stellar Hall of Fame Inductee and CEO of Blacksmoke Music Worldwide, Kerry Douglas has taken several unknown artists and turned them into Billboard #1 acts for over 25 years. GRAMMY® nominee, James Fortune, stratospheric crooner Earnest Pugh, quartet queen Evelyn Turrentine-Agee, Pastor Mike, Jr. and the prodigious Zacardi Cortez are only a few artists that Douglas has helped transcend. Kerry Douglas has a drive for success that is rooted in his childhood. Raised by a single mother, he had to work hard for everything that he had.

        After a little time in college, Douglas began working as a car salesman, where he staged R&B and rap concerts in the parking lot. Soon, Douglas quit the dealership and began promoting R&B concerts fulltime. After a near death situation, he became a born-again Christian and decided to use his sales and marketing skills to build the careers of some of the Houston-based gospel artists he had met – and Black Smoke Music Worldwide was born.

           The label’s first hit was the late Rev. E. Stewart’s "I Believe" project in 1997. From there, Douglas signed Keith "Wonderboy" Johnson & the Spiritual Voices. Douglas then dusted off Evelyn Turrentine-Agee’s 20-year old tune “God Did It,” remixed it and sent it out to radio. Broadcast Music, Inc. (BMI) cited it as the most played gospel song of 2000. Douglas has been breaking hits ever since. While Douglas formerly only promoted Black Smoke artists, over the last few years he’s taken on several artists for major labels. In 2018, Douglas gave gospel legend Bebe Winans the first No. 1 hit of his solo career with “He Promised Me.” Before that, he took Ricky Dillard & New G to the top of the charts for the first time with “Amazing” in 2014.

         "Music speaks a universal language and I wanted to have something special that we could share with everyone,” says Kerry. "Gospel Mix Christmas is my gift to the world as we come together in the spirit of the holidays, sharing love, peace and goodwill with friends and family both near and far. I am grateful and count myself blessed to be here after having a major heart attack and going through rehabilitation and therapy. Its these times that allow you to single out the things that matter the most and value and appreciate the gift that life gives to us. So a very Kerry Christmas to all."

         Christmas is a special time of year. Gospel music's number one hitmaker Kerry Douglas is full of Christmas cheer as he releases his Gospel Mix Christmas compilation. Gospel Mix Christmas can be found on all streaming platforms now. The full track list is below.

     Intro

Zacardi - That’s What Christmas Means To Me

Lasha’ Knox - First Noel 

Shawn McLemore - Christmas Day

James Johnson - Christmas time is here again

Monica Lisa Stevenson - Have yourself a merry little Christmas 

Keith Wonderboy Johnson -  12 Days Of Christmas 

Derrick Stevenson & Friends - Everyday Is Christmas

Earnest Pugh - O Come, All Ye Faithful 

Lasha’ Knox - Give Me Jesus

Cinque Cullar - King of Glory

Shawn McLemore - Joy To The World

Zacardi - Oh Come all ye faithful

Cedric Ballard - Agnus Dei

Paul Turner & CMI Featuring Angela Spivey- Jesus Celebration 

Algeron Wright - It’s Christmas Time

Nikki Ross - Noel (acoustic) 

        For more information on Blacksmoke Music Worldwide, Kerry Douglas, and Gospel Mix Christmas follow their Facebook.